Sunday, January 29, 2006

It's Sunday; can I get an amen?

Now, ya'll know that I usually don't do the weekends (cuz girly doesn't work on the weekends), but, today, mi hijas, marks an exception. In other words, I've been inspired...

Can I ask why most acts of ghettoness in the black church generally have something to do with candy and cell phones? Now, I know a few of ya'll might disagree, arguing that stuff like hairdos and clothing choices should top the list, but I'm not trying to win any first-class flights to hell by dissing people who potentially just don't have very many resources. So, I'll stay off the church folks, per se, and on their behavior.

I recently left my old church with its highfalutin membership and now regularly attend another one, where the only semblance between the two is the fact that most of the folk inside are brown and Baptist. I like the new spot a lot, but the parishioners can be a bit of a trip at times. Just this afternoon one woman embarrassingly struggled to locate her cell phone and turn off the ringer cuz the likes of Omarion put her a$$ on blast throughout the church. Besides, how are you pushing 45 years old and got a bump-n-grind music ring tone? And, then, you don't even have enough sense to put that joint on vibrate before making your way up in the church. AND, then, as if her ringer episode wasn't annoying enough, her co-parishioner (who had to be pushing 65, no doubt) kept popping peppermint candies like they were Lorotabs and rattling the empty wrappers as if she were one minute from OD'ing.

Another woman had the nerve to answer her ringing phone just right when the pastor had begun to read the Day's passage. Then, she had even mo' nerve to dip her head way toward her daughter's bible, so to appear as if she were reading the scripture to her, when, in fact, she was conversing on the cellie.

By this point, I was furious and fading fast. Not to mention that I had already performed the annoyed swing around and stare at this ignant group of teens three rows back. I even had the nerve to snap, "I know you all DON'T plan on talking throughout the WHOLE service." Yet, the churchtime ghettoness session was not yet done, as the two sets of the worst offenders - the mother on her cellie and bad-a$$ teens - were actually ONE group. I realized this b/c the daughter of said woman whirled around and summoned the other tweens to pass her puffy coat FROM FOUR ROWS BACK! So, one by one, clueless parishioner by clueless parishioner, we all passed this little girl's coat forward. What was the urgency? Well, once girly got her coat, she paused while reaching in the pocket b/c it looked like she was about to take a smack down from her mom for disturbing the grown folk. That is, until, girly reached in her pocket and with a smile, head tilt and shoulders shrug, held up the blue pack of Starbursts. What followed next was totally unbelievable. Just like a Mentos commercial, her mother tilted her head, shoulder shrugged and giggled, too. I nearly punched a hole in my friend's arm trying to bring her attention to the madness unfolding two rows ahead.

Oh well, let me go now before some lightening comes through this roof... Happy last day of the weekend ya’ll!

R.

Friday, January 27, 2006

C-A-S-U-A-L F-R-I-D-A-YS: Trick, get a job! (EOE Edition)

I propose a new national honor that distinguishes and raises up the most-widely (over?)talked public figures, just so we can tell them PUBLICLY to sit the f#ck down! Being the hardworking, black woman professional that I am, I'd call it the "Trick, get a job!" honors. Now that I have a name for my award who would I ever pick??? Let's start with these homely arses below.

BTW, don't start writing me about the fact that we're helping white folk find a job today. For those of you not "up" on the acronyms, "EOE" stands for "equal opportunity employer." So let's just simmer down and be fair to our vanilla brothers and sisters in need...


J-GO (AND PLEASE STAY THE FARG AWAY!)
Tired as the day is long, I'd like to give Jennifer Aniston's washed up a$$ something special to hold on to... Namely a man, as broad obviously has problems doing so for herself. Cocoa Girl's personal take: Brad left her because her other "friends" left her, a.k.a. J-Go was speeding too fast down "has-been" lane.

To this scraggly ho, I say: Trick, get a job! (and leave those wacka$$ romantic comedies and washed up white male actors w/ beer guts to the likes of J-Lo).



ANGELINA "HO"LIE
Habla Espanol? If so, then you prolly understand that the first syllable of this girly's last name - when pronounced in Spanish - is quite fitting for one of our nation's most-covered homewreckers to date.

Yes, I just finished dissing J-Go, but A-Jo (pronounced "ho" for ya'll non-bilingual Cocoas) needs to get employed quick. Hell, she ain't nothing more than a glorified Baby Mama! Besides, if she screw somebody else's man while they're away at work, she might end up with a knife in da back. So, I say, let's help this ho (stay safe!) by getting da trick a job! (and let it not be freaking down other women's men)!


UNCLE JAMES (FREY)
Now, ya'll, listen to yo Antie Cocoa. I wan' you to go back in my room and reach up in dat top drawah. Den...get me dat number to dat place where we sant yo uncle Ray-Ray and cousin Tyrone the last time they was on dat sh!t. Uh, huh, cuz after tellin' all those lies and f#cking around wit' Miss Opie, yo Uncle James fenna be back on dat stuff reaaaal quick.

Antie Cocoa say: Get that n!gga a job! (cuz he ain't gon' be f#cking up my tab down at the Piggly Wiggly, no mo')!


CG

Thursday, January 26, 2006

Keepin' it real vs. keepin' it at home?

Quiet as kept, I’m really a little bourgeoisie and just don't let down my ghe(tto)-dar too often, ESPECIALLY when at work. Now, before you go getting all po'd at me, let me assure you that it's NOT that I believe everyone at work should resemble the person in the cubicle next door. Rather, it's more so that I KNOW the office powers-that-be expects everyone on the job to, well, to resemble the person in the cubicle next door. Unfortunately, it’s a game that we all must play when working in Corporate America, and while workers DO have a right to be pissed about it, let’s first ask ourselves: If a sistah never spots any of cubicle cohorts rocking talon-length manicures with panoramic scenes of South Beach - IN a white bread office - then why on earth would she go into work wearing that H.A.Mmy mess??? And, trust me, many of them rock the nail decals, too. They’re just savvy enough to cop a bottle of that good stuff before reaching the office on Monday morning!

But, hey, who I am to be judgmental? Fresh out of college and at job #1, I was broke but managed to maintain a penchant for eating out every meal of the day (I know: whole 'nother blog!). So, I, along with the two other resident black chicks always dined in at this cheap-a$$ fried-fish joint around the corner from work. BUT I nevah – I repeat, NEVAH! - brought that stuff back to the office. Why not? I was fully aware that neither my JAP, fabu Brit gay-guy, old-monied, or new-money bosses would have found that move too cute! They were snobs, but I knew this from day one, so I always proceeded accordingly. I also had enough sense to know that fried imitation crabmeat had no place alongside eel rolls, Edamame OR my promotion! Some things have always been just a matter of common sense to me, which pretty much explains why I was shocked by the (Afro-American?) antics of the only straight, black male to ever work for our supa-white P.R. firm. Brother obviously wasn’t up on G'Al Reynolds' tips for being "ethnic" on the weekends


1. TIMBS. Yes, as in the boots. If you work at a Manhattan public relations firm, where 85 percent of the office is female and 90 percent is white, you should not/cannot/must not wear Timberlands to the office on casual Fridays. This rule should be even more apparent when said white women at work find it okay to comment, “Oh, [Cocoa Boy] you dress SO cool. We were just talking about how you look like you just stepped off the cover of Vibe magazine.”


2. POPEYE’S. Every day, I shrank in disbelief as, every day, I watched homey lug that blue, red and yellow logo’ed plastic bag into the office. A sistah knew (all too well, ya’ll!) what lay ahead. Dude would even rip off a piece of box and empty onto it ‘bout 55 ketchup packets to create a mountain of “sauce” for his spicy legs and biscuit. Folk, if you have never seen or smelled shortening, Louisiana Hot or anything fried in your office – especially if the two 85 and 90 percent reasons above apply - leave yo’ sh!t of similar persuasion at home, or in the “restaurant!"


3. BAGGY JEANS. At one point during his brief tenure with the firm, a sister got so fed that I even contemplated criminal intervention on behalf of The Race. Why on earth did this Cocoa Boy think he could roll up in the office channeling the likes of Chingy and T.I. when all the other males were khaki'ed out like Bob Saget?





QUESTION: How have you - or another employee - ever let the 'black out' while on the job?

R.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Paranoia, The 4th 'P' of Success...

...or at least to keeping a job!

I know there are those Cocoa cubicle-nazis out there who just gawked at my new version of the P's like it's hella ridiculous, kind of like an atomically gay man masquerading as an oh-so mediocre former chubby chick's husband. But, I contend that my stuff is not THAT ridiculous! No, I am just a little on edge about this whole mysterious-blogger-but-not-really thing that I’ve been doing from somewhere other than my home; somewhere I go to every day (at least Monday-Friday). It’s vast, boring, full of Caucasians and contains lots and lots and lots of computers, pale dirty-looking-but-clean-looking carpet and … Okay, okay, so you got the “hint,” but I already informed you that I am seriously paranoid!

Recent dreams, new and old conversations and evil eyes from some folk in charge, whom out of fear for my P-Touch's safety, shall remain nameless, have collectively led to this little blogger’s anxious state of mind. Hell, they already took down Mwabi, da Supa Sis and word has it that they moved in on girly like The Eraser. She was blogging from work one day and - BAM! – the next morning all she had left was a ransom note with an insane demand. Okay, it didn’t really happen like this, but the ish sound fabulous nonetheless;-)

So, why in the flip do I keep going on and on about this madness? Well, just so you now know that I am officially under cover (literally – it’s damn cold outside) and bloggin’ from home here on out. Cool?

Cool.

So, back to my dream… Lately, I’ve been dreaming a lot and eating way too much (of the wrong kind of food, mind you). I've dreamt two quasi-scary dreams two nights in a row this week, which is quasi odd because I have never been the dreaming type. These visions were even more strange because they shadowed real feelings, fears and thoughts that I experience on a daily basis. For instance, Sunday’s dream focused on my obsessive bloggin’ from “that place” outside of my home and climaxed (hehehe…I always giggle when I read that word…) with a certain individual demanding that I never post from “that place” again, or else my paycheck would be pushing up daisies. The next night I dreamt that I received a call from some weirdo at my lit agent’s company, stating that my rep had bounced and he was my new representative! Now, the other dream threatened my dollars and didn’t even make me bat an eyelash, but this one seemed three times more horrific than Whitney in the morning! All I can remember thinking was “how in the hell is this dude going to pick up my project mid process and make a sell?!” Yet, I am still employed and still have my agent. So, all is good again in this little writer’s world.

Yet, even in good times and happy endings, craziness still runneth over. Today at work was one of the craziest days that I have experienced in quite some time. Why? For one, I actually had to do work and, for two, I actually didn’t get a chance to do much else outside of work. Damn, these employers can be soo frickin’ selfish at times! So, now, I am like, totally, backlogged in terms of my personal daily to-dos, e.g. ordering a new clock for the bathroom at home and researching a vacation package for some fun in the sun away from home.

Well, since I have never (*cough*) been the type to do things like blog from work, then I should have lots of time to handle personal stuff during normal business hours, right? Yeah. See ya tomorrow (night?).

R.

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

Tuesday's Tip

TUESDAY'S TIP: A THANK YOU TO REMEMBER
According to a survey by Vault.com, only 35 percent of workers regularly send thank you notes following an interview. The reasons anyone in their right mind would continue to partake in such nonsense continues to escape me, especially since we live in a Bush nation where spotting a decent job opp is 10 times less likely than coming across yet another celebrity Crackie on the telly. Yet, the trick is not just to send the suck-up note - you must do it right!

If only one-third of interview angels are making good on Mom-duke's sermons, then you too should yearn to be among this number. Think about it: just doing so further sets you apart from the remaining two thirds of the competition. Next, take this a step even further by skipping the typical "thank you" cards and instead opting for an artfully designed card with a blank inside. Scribe your words of appreciation on the inside flap and (of course!) include your business card. So, how is this idea better than the standard joint above???

Hiring managers receive TONS (I repeat: TONS) of standard thank you letters and cards each week, and I'd bet a pretty penny that they all look the same and, thereby, face the same fate (can anyone say, 'receptacle?'). But what vain, power tripping ruler of the world (aka H.R. rep) would toss a beautiful reprint of the Mona Lisa (though I personally think girly's none too cute) or a breathtaking landscape of snow or flowers (in season, of course!). Thing is, most people wouldn't toss it. Matter of fact, I'd bet they'd want it to decorate their desks versus the bottom of their waste baskets. Hey, human beings are vain creatures who just don't pass up an opportunity to make ourselves - or extensions of ourselves (in this case being the office) look more attractive.
So there you have it...with just a bit of effort (and a couple of dollars) you can leave a great impression of yourself for hiring managers to view every day. I find this method especially effective when cold writing/following up on job opps that don't yet exist!

A bit of warning: I am sure mother must have told you that common sense is always very necessary, the same bit applies here. Stay on the safe side of the P.C. fence and avoid cards with ethnic, religious and political connotations. Go for beauty and awe-inspiring prints instead. See examples below:








Good luck and God speed.

CG

Friday, January 13, 2006

C-A-S-U-A-L-F-R-I-D-A-Y-S: Celebrity Coworkers


Dave as Calvin, the newest WacArnold's employee...

I cannot imagine wanting to belong to another race - at least not on the "good" days. You know, when the black folk aren't in the movie theatre shouting out the all punch lines; acting all crazy on the subway circa rush hour, or looting Airforce Ones and Pelle Pelle for the whole world to see while a natural disaster has their city in ruins. Yet, in all my black pride, black love and black folk unite-ness, I cannot imagine wanting to work in a totally black environment either...even if my coworkers were celebrities!

We all love to love those lovely stars, especially our Cocoa-coated ones. Yet, I can quite easily say that I don’t want half of those Prozac stock owners working beside me in anybody's office...let alone in a classroom, precinct, hospital, New York City bus route, etc. With that said, check out some of these celebrity/cubicle pairings and think real hard about...

If [X] Was an Ordinary N!g 'wit a Job!

1. HALLE. Her mother was a nurse, but something tells me that we couldn't trust her a$$ around nobody's drugs...and it ain't her convincing junkie portrayal in Jungle Fever either.

2. TERRENCE. Pimping may not be easy and it sure as hell ain't legal either. Don't know what he could do. What type of regular jobs exists for Duke Ellington wannabes with obvious Murray's and Doo-Rag affections?

3. FLAVA FLAV. I know...I was just f$cking with ya'll!

4. QUEEN LATIFAH. I actually could picture girly being one of the most-popular folks in the office. You'd love her; I'd love her; we’d all love her! Wait a minute...WTF am I saying??? That means she'd be the one loved Negra in the office! Working alongside her would be a fargan nightmare... My colleagues would hate me in comparison and raise her up as the lone proof that Corporate America is not racist; Affirmative Action has done its job (and can now go somewhere and screw itself) and that “they” really do love black people. Gulp.

5. BOBBY BROWN. Visions of an unarmed security guard keep coming to mind, toothpick dangling from the corner of the mouth in all. I see BB sequestering cars full of scared whites and fearful immigrants outside downtown parking ramps. Yeah, a parking ramp attendant with the little b/w TV propped on a folding chair, directly facing his folding chair, with a bucket of Rally's in plain sight. Yeah.

6. CIARA. Hmm? Everyday jobs just don't exist for folk with no talent. Oh, wait a min, that's why she's a celebrity!

7. PARIS HILTON. Office slut.

8. NICOLE RICHIE. Office druggie...and slut...by fault of a blurry memory by fault of a wild side by fault of some serious drug addiction.

Did I miss anyone?
R.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Am I getting lazy...


...and forgetting what it feels like to work? Although I've now been with my current employer for more than one year (still never received my bottle of Strawberry Hill), I confidently can surmise that I've only spent about 50 percent of said time working. By working, I mean actually performing a task listed within the 100 bullet points of items better known as my job description. Not that I am lazy or a rogue employee with my own agenda, it is just that my job doesn't require a ton of responsibility - all the time - nor doe it require the Chicken Little-ing of so many other overrated titles.

Nope, I guess that I'm just a bit like a rogue employee with my own agenda... You see, I would never ever truly complain about my lack of daily to-do's, as I happily accepted this gig b/c of its standard hours (with O.T. only if requested). It’s easy assignments cleared the way - and my mind - for me to pursue new career avenues, which over the past year happens to have been starting/finishing my manuscript; completing the nearly suicide-inducing book proposal (for real!); getting an agent, and selling my first book. So far, I'm 3 (well, more like 2.75) for 4. Not bad. My manuscript isn't totally done (the source of the one-quarter point deduction), yet my agent is fi-ERCE (somewhere, G'Al Reynolds just snapped two fingers in a circle) and she is working some major voo-doo on my behalf – partially finished manuscript, new writer status in all! She told that an editor at one of the major houses once commented that she is "like the Suge Knight of the publishing industry."

I sleep quite well at night, thank you very much.

I guess I’m just whining because I feel left out and cannot really remember what it feels like to run around with a marathon-length To-Do list, feeling rather important for no damn reason at all. Many might think I am crazy for somewhat missing that b!tch-on-wheels worklife, but cracking a whip was always so much fun to me. Now, I only get to do so in a "No! You do not need - and will not get - another Blackberry..." mama-of-a-million-dollar-baby (a.k.a. stock trader) sort of way. So, until my book is sold and/or I figure out career #2, then this is pretty much it.



R.

Friday, January 06, 2006

C-A-S-U-A-L F-R-I-D-A-Y-S: Al deserves an Oscar; Narnia hits the streets

Again, while the angle of my blog IS working while black, female and professional, I do allow myself to journal (read rant) about anything under the sun on Friday's. Honestly, I do not want to snap, a la Postal, thereby, crediting Corporate America with the advent of our nation's first black woman serial killer. So, for me, venting is very necessary...

Forget Terrence, Give that Brotha an Oscar...
Star Jones' husband, Al, is not only a blind or gay (c'mon, he has to be one or the other), but he's also apparently a really, really, really, really great actor. When asked by PEOPLE magazine to share his feelings about his wife's *cough* lovely new figure, the forever shining other half (ok, really like 1/4) of the D-level celebucouple S.T.A.L.E. (Star & Al, with an accented "e" for obligatory gay effect) commented,
"I think maybe a two-piece is coming out this summer!"
Truly an earth-shattering performance. I mean, really, how many men - straight, gay or perspiring from the kiss of a barrel against the temple - could feed a trained reporter such a boldface lie-of-enthusiasm without any hint of uncontrollable laughter, nausea or Prozac addiction? Niiiice!

The 'Chronic' of Narnia
Okay, so it may really not be the "chronic" that suddenly has caused young urban women to take hold and choke the damn life out of the (utterly ridiculous) white "fur" trend. No, perhaps these (mis)fashion mavens started clocking the look of Jadis, the bad-a$$ ice princess of Narnia, because girly rocks a chinchilla, dreads and one fierce "I'll whoop the f&@k out of ANY trick" look. BTW, no, her name is NOT short for another fallen soul, who's antics happen to be just as detrimental to the future of our nation's youth.

I honestly do not know what to do about this new fashion disease of pandemic proportions. Stroll the sidewalks of New York, the streetz of Boise and the malls of Moneyapolis (and St. Paid) and you will find thousands of coats, boots and handbags decadently sporting the wannabe hip-hopper, Paris Ho-ltons white "fur" thing, with the most-offensive displays being of the SantaBear, cotton swab, or "100% Polyester" -fill variety.

May God bless America, I say, God bless America!

R.