Dumb Pregnant Girl

One of the benefits of being a “mature” student is that I have an appreciation for the education I should have received over ten years ago that my younger counterparts don’t. Their attitude towards college astounds me. They’re constantly dropping classes for the most asinine reasons.

“It was too early in the morning.”

Excuse me, but you knew what time the class was held when you registered for it.

“The instructor doesn’t like me.”

And you don’t have to like him. Just do the work.

I would never drop a class, not for any reason. Hell, I can’t afford to! I’m already getting a late start. I would like to obtain this degree before I’m 50. I recently met a classmate who makes me question not only what she’s doing in college, but how the hell she managed to make it through high school.

My Film Appreciation class is held in a room where the rows of seats are arched. I sit about three rows back dead center; the best seat in the house for movie viewing.  The class is every Monday and Wednesday night from 8pm to 10:15. Besides really interesting it was fun because it was like going to the movies two nights a week.

To my right is an empty seat, then next to that sat this cute little gay boy. He’s all hair flipping, spastic hand waving when he speaks, a pink polo shirt with a popped collar, and a Louis Vuitton messenger bag for his school books. He’s fabulous with a capital FAB. And two seats away from him sat the dumbest girl I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting.  The very first night of class she asked the professor if leaving early counted towards an absence because she didn’t want to miss the American Idol finale. I’m not even kidding.

Class begins and the first thing the professor tells us is that we will be having a quiz next Wednesday, but since we don’t meet this Monday due to holiday, tonight’s class is our only opportunity to take notes and ask questions.  Pretty much, this is an important lesson.  Also, it’s our first real lesson since Monday night when all we did was go over the syllabus and watch Citizen Kane, so it kind of sets the tone for what’s to come.

We begin with shots; recognizing a shot, learning about shot scales (extreme close-ups, long shots, etc.), framing, and camera angles.  Then we watch the opening to Back to the Future and discuss it as it pertains to what we just learned.  Kudos to me for recognizing that most of it was one long shot, no cuts.  I felt very comfortable taking the notes and participating in the discussion as I’ve written two screenplays and feel somewhat “experienced.”

At this point, I am so in love with this class I find myself wondering if I’d change my major to Film.  Then without so much as raising her hand, or clearing her throat, American Idol girl asks, “What time is it?”  I check my cell phone. 8:59pm

“Nine o’clock.”

“Nine exactly?”

What the fuck? Is there a bomb in the building? Does she know something we don’t?

“Well, 8:59.”

I’m oblivious. I’m not even thinking American Idol until the gay guy next to me mutters, “You have got to be fucking. kidding. me.”  I’m looking at American Idol girl and you can actually see the conflict inside of her.

Even then, I’m giving her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she wants to leave the room to call home and get an AI update, or go use one of the computer labs to get an online update, but I was not prepared for what happened next.  We’d all turned our attention back to the professor when we hear a chair scrapping against the floor. American Idol girl had her sweater on, purse in one hand, and car keys in the other. She was ready to go.

And she was pregnant! How did I miss that on Monday? Like super pregnant. 15 months pregnant.  Seriously, she was big.  She’s giving birth to a mid-sized sedan. I’m certain of it. The professor stops talking ‘cause we’re all staring at her massive belly and equally massive nerve.  Gay boy’s mouth is wide open and shaking his head so hard I think it’s about to fall off.

The professor shakes her own head and asks, “Are you seriously leaving?”

She said this so incredulously that what I heard was, “Are you fucking serious?”

Dumbass Pregnant American Idol girl just kinda grins and looks around for help; as if she expected one of us to suddenly jump to her defense and say, “Well, it iiiiiis American Idol, Professor. Cut her some slack.  She has McPheever.”

The professor says, “Well, it’s up to you. I’m just telling you that it’s going to come back to haunt you.”

Dumb Pregnant Girl (her new name) shrugs and waddles out.  Everyone in class just kind of had the same look on their face, “That bitch just left class an hour and fifteen minutes early for American Idol.” The professor continues to lecture, but then fifteen minutes later she says suddenly, “I’m sorry. What was I saying? I’m really flustered because I can’t believe she left.”  Several people, including me, mutter, “Me either.”

We start to discuss aspect ratio, widescreen vs. full screen (my father would disown me if he saw a full screen DVD in my house), and filming on photographic film vs. digital.  I loved every second of it.

Me and the gay guy (I never did find out his name) were later walking to our cars after class when he says, “You know, it wouldn’t have been so bad, but she actually admitted on Monday that she wanted to be home for American Idol. Who does that?!” And then he shakes his head, flinging his fabulous locks, and floats to his car.

You Reap What You Sow

I’ve always encouraged Kali to speak her mind. Just because they’re children doesn’t mean they don’t have opinions and feelings. I want Kali to express herself, to tell me how she feels about the decisions I make that affect her, and be honest. It’s my hope that she’ll be an outgoing and outspoken woman because of this.

That’s not always a good thing.

First, the other day, she came downstairs while I was on the computer.

Kali: Can I use the computer?

Nina: Sure, when I’m done.

Kali: I want to use it now. Are you going to be on a long time?

(Keep in mind she has her own darn computer in her room)

Nina: I’m going to be as long as I’m going to be.

I lean over to kiss her. She pouts and pulls away.

Nina: Fine. Be like that.

She folds her arm, leaves the room, and heads for the stairs.

Kali: It’s just you won’t let me play on the computer.

Nina: You can, but it will just be awhile.

Kali: Well, it will be awhile before I give you a kiss.

No. She. Didn’t.

Later that afternoon, she asks me for popcorn, and I put a package in the microwave.  The moment the timer goes off, she wants me to go get it.

N: Kali it’s really hot. You have to let it cool off.

K: I don’t care if it’s hot.

N: Well, I care. I don’t want you to burn your mouth.

K: Well, your life isn’t my life.

N: What did you just say?

She repeats it.

N: Your life is whatever I tell you it is. I gave you your life.  If I say you wait for popcorn, you wait for popcorn.

Now I know what she meant.  Why should I care if she likes to burn her mouth on popcorn, if it’s not my mouth being burned?  How do you explain to your seven year old child that you live and breathe for them? That the other day when she got her first paper cut I felt bad because I know how bad they smart, and you don’t like the thought of your child in any pain at all?

How do you explain that it’s not about the popcorn, but the unspoken vow you made to protect her from ALL forms of harm? How do you do that without sounding like an emotional madwoman?

You can’t.

Finally, last night was my anniversary.  I got home from math class and Donny had already fed Kali. We were both too lazy and tired to cook so we decided to order from Ruby Tuesday.  And I’m starving so I ordered a lot of food.  Asian dumplings with Thai peanut sauce, full rack of ribs, fries, and chocolate tall cake for dessert.  Don’t judge me! I know it’s not on the diet, but it was a special occasion.

Anyway, from the moment I walked in the door, Kali needed something. Every five seconds it was something else, and I guess my patience was wearing thin.  Kali goes to bed, and Donny and I are just about to eat and watch a movie when she comes downstairs for something to drink.

Keep in mind that before she went upstairs she drank a coke and then came back downstairs for water. Now she wanted milk.

Nina: Kali, that’s enough. You’re stalling. Go to bed.

Kali: I just want a little milk.

Nina: No.

Kali: How come you won’t take care of me?

My mouth drops open.

Nina: I take care of you!

Kali: No, you don’t. If I’m thirsty and you won’t let me drink, that’s not taking care of me.

And just like that she won.  I pour the milk. She finishes.  I see ribs and chicken dumplings in my very near future.

Kali: Can you come tuck me in now?

Nina: Let me eat first, and I’ll be right up.

Kali: See, I told you. You won’t take care of me.

Nina: Fine! But that’s playing dirty!

Your Breath Smells Like Corn

My Mom would deliver the best zingers when my siblings and I were getting on her nerves. Some of my favorites were the ones she would deliver after we got hurt doing something she warned us not to.

A hard head makes a soft ass!

Or another she would deliver when I would insist on being cute over being warm when getting dressed for school, “You’ll be a pretty corpse.” I never could master zingers quite like my Mom. One night Kali came downstairs after she was long supposed to have been asleep.

“Mommy, my neck is sweaty, I can’t sleep.”

“Kali, your butt is going to be sweaty if you don’t go to bed.”

Kali knows I’m not going to hit her since I don’t believe in spanking, and she didn’t even bother to be frightened because what I said didn’t make any sense. She just looked at me nonplussed. This is how it would have gone with my Mom:

“Ma, I can’t sleep. I’m hot.”

“Girl, your ass gonna be hot if you don’t get in the damn bed!”

See?

Kali, still looking completely miserable asked, “Can you put my hair up?”

I start to brush her hair in a bun.

“Why do I have to have hair like this anyway?”

“Cause your mother is black and your father is white.”

“What does that have to do with my hair?”

“I don’t know. It just does. You have hair like white girls.”

“But, I’m not white.”

“What are you?”

“I’m kinda… peachy.”

I laugh, pull her into my lap, and give her a kiss. Her response?

“Your breath smells like corn.”

Cold Case Lesbians

I woke up one night from a bad dream and couldn’t fall back asleep. So, like a good wifey I woke Donny up so we can both be miserable.  That’s what marriage is all about; shared misery.  We decided to watch a program on the TiVo.

We settled on an episode of 48 Hours Mystery that had been on the TiVo for close to  two weeks.  Apparently, the night it originally aired some basketball game went into overtime so all of CBS’ programming was off by 15-20 minutes.  Instead of the beginning of 48Hrs Mystery, we got the last 15 minutes of Cold Case.

Do you know this show?  This weird looking blond chick heads up a police unit that investigates cold cases.  The show incorporates flashbacks of how the victim and suspects looked when the crime originally occurred with present day scenes.  Each episode usually ends with the victim’s “ghost” looking on as the bastard who killed them and got away with it for a gazillion years is finally brought to justice.

So when the TiVo starts we see this white dude holding a black girl by her neck, and he has her pressed up against the wall.  A white girl is holding a gun on him, and demanding he let the black girl go.  Being no fool, he does.  The two women hot tail into this really old car.

From the way they’re talking and the make of the car, I know it’s a long time ago.  That’s all I got for you.  I’m bad with time periods as well as geography. I can’t tell you where or when shit happened. I just know it happened.  So anyway, they’re now hauling ass away from the white dude who has hopped into another old car and is in hot pursuit.

Black Girl: Slow down, he can’t hurt us no mo’

Great, slave talk.

White Girl: He’ll kill us both.

Now it becomes clear that the two girls are lovers and the white guy in pursuit is the white girl’s husband. They go back and forth weighing the pros and cons of stopping the car; lynching, beat downs, etc. There’s a sign up ahead that reads, “The Bridge is Out.  Turn Your Asses Around!” Or something like that.

WG: I’m your girl, right?

BG: Yes, you’re my girl and I love you.

WG: How’d you like to love me forever?

At first the black girl looks confused. Then she gets it.  A look of, “Cracker, is you crazy!” flashes in her eyes.  But no, that wouldn’t be romantic.

BG: Yeah, ok baby…ok.

WHAT?!  I would have been like, “Bitch, if you don’t pull this car over.  We got a gun! We can take your crazy ass husband.”

White girl accelerates, lets go of the wheel, and they hug and brace themselves for the crash into the water.  Like an interracial, dumb, lesbian Thelma and Louise.  They crash, and who comes bobbing out of the water? The white girl! I was a dickswing away from throwing my TiVo remote at…Donny.

“See!” I exclaimed hitting him on the arm with the remote.

“What!?”

“See how your people do?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Whatever.  She knew the sister couldn’t swim!  This show sucks.”

“Then stop it.”

“No, I want to see what happens next.”

So it flashes forward to modern day and this old ass white lady is recounting what we just saw to the main characters of the show.  They’re sitting in a park.  The investigators walk away.  I guess satisfied that it wasn’t murder.  Like I’m supposed to believe that they were investigating the cold case of some lil old black country girl to begin with.

Now it’s end slo-mo montage time. The old white lady looks up, and who should we see but the black girl she loved and killed.  Looking like her old self in a three piece suit.  They hold hands and start strolling through the park, only now you see the white girl as she was when she was young and pretty. Not old and wrinkly.

Kinda like in Ghost when Demi Moore wants to be close to Patrick Swayze via Whoopi, but they show you Demi and Patrick because no one wanted to see Demi feeling up Whoopi.

“Once again the white man gets away with murder.”

“Shut up and go to sleep.”