364 Days

One year ago today, at around 8 in the morning I voted. At that time in the morning I happen to be number 117 on voting machine number 2 at my polling precinct.

Yesterday around 6:30 in the evening, I voted. Once again on voting machine number 2 at my polling station. This time I was number 168.

Now if the polls open at 6 am and I was number 117 approximately 2 hours later last year, shouldn't I have been a higher number last night when I went to vote after work?

One year ago today, I had a childlike giddiness in anticipation of marking a little x by my candidate's name. A first for me.

This year, I faced voting with dread and uncertainty. A first for me.

For my non- New Yorkers let me explain. Yesterday was a mayoral election and it was down to 2 candidates. The incumbent who after balking at overturning term limits voted for by the people, switches gears and campaigns to overturn them so he could have one more term (at least) but generally liked more than the dude he replaced (SIDEBAR: I think Satan is liked more than the dude he replaced...hahahaha). And then there's his challenger, the former head of the bored of miseducation but generally all around quiet nice guy. On principle, I didn't want to vote for the incumbent. As a democracy, I believe we can't have politicians changing laws all willy nilly to suit their own needs. (Sorry, Willy and Nilly for once again getting the bad rap). And quite frankly, the challenger didn't inspire me. Not to mention, he would (once again) have control of the school system here, and I'm not sure what the hell he did the last time he ran it but I'm not too trusting him to do better.

One year ago today, I stared up at the names on the ballot with pride and awe inspired glee seeping through my pores.

This year, I stared up at the names on the ballot and wondered WHAT THE FUCK??!!! as I unconsciously shook my head (think: "this is some BULL").

Begrudgingly, I voted. Flipped the tiny x next to a candidate's name. While I may not like either candidate, I had to vote. People forget that it wasn't that long ago no matter how light I am, I wasn't allowed to vote in this country. We also get so caught up in the daily routines of our lives that we forget that this one single action effects the daily routine we are so caught up in in the first place. I often wonder why people find reasons not to vote instead of looking around their neighborhoods to find reasons to vote.

So while there was no rock star excitement, no hope, no change I can believe in this time around, I voted. But for the first time in my history of voting, I felt like my vote didn't matter. Maybe next time, someone's name will inspire me, will make me believe in the process again. Like it did one year ago today.

Technicolor Scent

His scent lingers on my skin. And while the sheets are cooling from his recent departure, it’s his scent that comforts me like a hot toddy on a cold night in his absence.

I bury my nose into my skin. Each note of his scent is a snapshot, a reminder of each touch, each kiss. Each snapshot is vividly 3D. His fragrance is like no other. I wish I could submerse my self in it completely if only to relive these moments again and again and again.

Funny thing about scents though. Like feelings, they fade. What were once vibrantly Technicolor snapshots has faded into shabby black & whites. Maybe I inhaled too deeply, thus diminishing the potency at a greater than average rate. Or maybe the scent was never as strong as my nose led me to believe. Either way, my skin is no longer intoxicated with his scent. My nose now wants to reject my normal familiarity and search more for remnants of him. Unfortunately, he is long gone and like New Edition I wonder if this is in fact the end.

But damn do ALLLL good things have to come to an end??

Maybe its time to leave the Technicolor alone and dream/smell/taste/love//live in sepia tones instead. Sepia appears safer.

Flashback Friday on a Monday: The Altercation, Hampton Edition

Freshwoman year. Fall Semester. The Union.

I fought a dude. With the exception of being accused of stealing a classmate’s bubblegum in the 3rd grade, I’d never had a physical altercation with a guy (for the record, I didn’t steal his bubblegum. I didn’t know that the classmate who offered the gum stole it from lil dude. He kicked me. I kicked him back. End of story..hahahaha). But there I was being dragged across the floor of the Multipurpose Room (home of the famous Union Jam) in my cream colored Calvin Klein jeans by other students trying to break up the fight.

I guess I need to back up and start from the beginning.

Lets call him LI. LI was from Long Island (hence, the lack of creativity for his blog name). Whenever, I’d encountered LI solo on campus, he was cool, polite, chill. However, whenever I would encounter him in a group setting, he always had something slick to say about me as if I were the Pam to his Martin. Initially, since he was from Long Island (thus, no kind of real swagger as the kids say these days), I ignored him. Until finally one day, I couldn’t take it anymore and told him, “You’re a herb from Long Island. We ain’t friends. Don’t talk to me or about me because you no longer exist in my world.” After his banishment from the real world (aka my world), he would attempt to speak to me on campus and I would look through him like the wind. Eventually he got the hint. Until one night at the Union.

After an organization’s meeting I waited for some a few of my dorm-mates to walk back to our dorm together. I could have gone it alone but it was dark, it was late (for VA so that means sometime around 8:30..lol), and I was not trying to be a statistic. As they chatted up LI, I stood a few feet away, entertaining myself by reading page for page of the Hampton Script (SIDEBAR: that should have been an indication that I love this writing ish…I couldn’t wait to read the school paper. Lol). Somehow my name came up in the conversation (wasn’t paying attention), and guess who was yucking it up at my expense? Yeah, LI. Initially, I ignored him and kept reading the school paper. But I guess my lack of enthused attention to his shenanigans was ammunition for him to GO IN. When I finished reading the paper, I calmly folded it and walked over to him with the “didn’t I tell you to keep my name out of your mouth?!” Looking back maybe I should have continued to take the high road and ignored his corny ass. But I was tired of his antics. So my question laced with all kinds of attitude started an argument. The last thing I remember saying was something like “Corny motherfuckas from Long Island always sucking New York City d*ck! Now get off of mine!” (not the most lady like thing to say I know...oh and for the record, I don’t have a male appendage) The next thing I know he grabbed me by my shirt and pushed me into a wall. I was stunned. However, I refused to let any sense of fear show. I’m screaming “Let go of me!” and he’s saying God knows what with one finger in my face while I’m hemmed up against the wall.

A big football player dude came to my rescue and pulled him off of me. Standing between us and holding me back, he tells LI “Man, come on. You don’t do that to no female” to which LI replied, “F*ck that. She ain’t no female. She a bitch!” And spit in my face. You read that correctly. His saliva mixed with a peppermint was sliding down the side of my face. At that moment, I blacked out.

The next thing I remember was being dragged across the floor with pieces of his yellow fleece jacket clenched in my fist and thinking my cream calvins will never be clean again. From what I was told later, I pushed the football dude out of the way and lunged at LI, causing us both to fall to the floor. I proceeded to choke, scratch, punch, kick, choke dude. At that point in my life, I’d never been so enraged. All I remember is the feeling - the rage at being disrespted in such a disgusting manner. And it really is like everything was saturated in the color red.

I’m assuming as quickly as the fight started, it was broken up. Hampton has a zero tolerance for foolishness policy and if caught by university police, I would have definitely been kicked out of school THAT NIGHT (Out by 5 or you’re arrested for trespassing) – no questions asked. When that realization hit me, I cried and cried and cried. Granted, I probably would have been granted a hearing and upon hearing what he did I may have been allowed back into school. But who knows how long that would have taken. In that moment, I could have lost everything. And the most ironical (*yes ironical) thing is, like MJ said, I’m a lover not a fighter. I can count on one hand how many fights I've ever had in my life. And yes the bubblegum incident is one of them.

For the remainder of my time at Hampton, anytime I saw him on campus I would seethe on the inside but was reminded of 2 things: 1) Fighting him (again) now would most definitely sign my expulsion papers and 2) I was comforted by the creative way I got him back. And no I can’t share. But violence was not involved. I swear.

October 24, 2009. Homecoming. Armstrong Stadium.

I arrived to the game later than I wanted to. I approached the ticket booth (Sidebar: $25 for a general admission ticket to an HBCU football game. Damn, I used to pay $2. Talk about a markup…hahahaha). A guy walks up to me; arms open with a “Heyyyyyy!!!! Long time no see.” I looked over to see LI walking right up to me. In my mind, I know he must have me confused with someone else. Before I could react, he had me in a Hampton hug (errybody hugs errybody at Hampton), with a “Janelle, it’s soooo good to see you!!” Huh?? What?? My friend I was with had no knowledge of this history I had with this guy in front of me so she also greeted him with a Hampton hug. He then in turned introduced me to his wife and family. I’m rendered damn near speechless as he tries to make small talk. Just as I was about to walk away, he asks “Did you already get your tickets to the game?” I respond “Ummm, no.” like damn does he want to sit with us too?? Actually, he had extra tickets and offered them to us for farrrrrrrr lesss than the $25 my beloved Home By the Sea wanted to charge me. So far less, it almost felt like old times reaching into my wallet to pay for the tickets.

As I walked away, a few things ran through my mind.
1. Being pleasant, even if I have to fake it, works in my favor. I could have easily cursed this fool out and walked off to pay full price for my ticket. But instead I had extra wiggle room in my budget to buy cute tees at the game and afterward.
2. I wonder if he remembers our altercation in the Union or chooses not to remember it. I mean its not like he can introduce me to his wife like “Hey honey, this is Janelle. I spit in her face freshman year.”
3. Maybe its time to let this go. Yeah, he did one of the most vile things a person can do to another human being but I have to forgive him at some point, right???!! Isn't that what my faith has taught me??
4. He is not aging well. (hey, I may be a Christian but I am not Jesus Christ – no turning the other cheek over here today) The man looked like he has been living a harrrrrrd life. No judgements, I’m just sayin….

Hampton’s motto is “Education for life”. That creed finally clicked all these years later. And I still have some learning to do in this life.

Commercial Break.

Blogger did it to me again. Erased a blog. So pissed.

Be back. shortly.

The Return of Real Talk (Maybe)

I know I haven’t done one of these in a while but the mood hit me. For those that may not remember or haven't been reading that long, the real talkisms are mini rants -straight no chaser. Enjoy.

Real Talk……I don’t care if you raped the girl in 1970-something or yesterday, if you plead guilty, you should do the time. And all of those people who are saying you shouldn’t go to prison because of the wonderful genious you are must be drinking the Kool-Aid too. There are plenty of people who were good at their careers sitting in a prison cell. Join ‘em.

Real Talk….What the fuck happened to Summer???!! Seriously, this was one of the fakest summers on record. I still have sundresses with tags on them!!!! And to top it all off, its chilly. Like winter is tomorrow chilly. WHYYYYY Mother Nature whyyyyyyyy?????!! I just need Mother Nature and Father Time to work out their differences so I can wear my cute clothes.

Real Talk….This is for my melanin challenged compadres of the human species; DON’T TOUCH MY FUCKING HAIR. EVER. Well unless I’ve given you permission which is not going to happen. I am not a dog to pet. I am not a touchy feel exhibit in a museum. Touching me will make me slap you. And then you’ll try to have me charged with a hate crime. And in turn I will be forced to call Big Perm, ahem Mr. Sharpton, to march on my behalf. I know he will understand.

Real Talk……Speaking of Mr. Sharpton, ummmmm he and Lisa Raye are a couple??? Diamond and Big Perm???? This just sounds like a bad blaxplotation movie coming to theaters near you.

Real Talk…….All these people who believe that there isn’t a problem with guns in this country need to live in the hood and see innocent kids killed. Guns need to be regulated. PERIOD. Not everyone is mentally fit to carry a gun, and filling out a piece of paper doesn’t make you mentally fit. Any idiot can write their name and vital information. And for the record, I hate that saying “Guns don’t kill people; people kill people.” I have never seen on the news a story about someone loading a person to kill another person.

Real Talk………Enough about the Gosselins. Sure I used to watch the show. But damn, I want Jon and Kate to shut the hell up and sit down. They both need a time out.

Real Talk…..When you’re sick, why do people feel the need to tell you that you either look or sound like shit?!! Do they think that’s helping the sitchiation??


Real Talk.....If your kid is 1/3 of your age or less but twice your size in girth, you might want to keep walking past Popeyes, McDonald's, Burger King, etc., etc. Matter of fact, how about you walk your child to a playground.


Real Talk.... Chik Fil A sammiches last for a week in the fridge. I wonder how they hold up in the freezer. You know, just in case somebody wants to send me some. :)

Lessons from a Messenger

Today is my father’s birthday. And I came to Tennessee to celebrate with him.

This year, it hit me that in my entire life on Earth I’ve never spent a birthday with my dad – his or mine. And when that realization went from passing random fact to a constant note in my brain, the fact alone annoyed me. As you may recall I was thissss close to spending my birthday this year in Tennessee due to a blizzard that blanketed all of Memphis and its surrounding areas. I remember how happy my dad was at the fact that there was a slight possibility that he would be with me on my life anniversary. And when the lady at the ticket counter worked some miracle to get me on a non-stop flight (first class no less), I saw the flicker of light diminish a little in his eyes. While I was happy to get the hell out (3 cancelled flights in 2 days makes you almost want to strap your ass to the wings of the plane and ride it out), his expression was something that haunted me whenever I thought about it.

So knowing that his birthday was coming up, I decided to board yet another plane this year, and spend some time with my dad to celebrate his life anniversary with him. The timing was perfect. My headaches hadn’t come back (thank goodness). But doctor’s (and friends’) order were that I needed to relax. And spending some time in the South is the slower pace that my body was telling me I needed.

My dad and I lovvvvvvvvve to talk. I can’t count how many times one of us has had the batteries die on our respective phones due to one of our marathon gabfests. I think he’s trying to make up for all of those years where we were so distant. It’s something I marvel at. To hear us on the phone, you would never think I went years without uttering one word to him.
So when he picked me up from the airport, it’s no surprise we easily fell into our rhythm of conversation. Somehow, we brushed on the topic of my dating life – something he NAYVER likes to talk about. He never wants to know who I’m dating, what’s his name, nothing, unless it’s someone who is serious enough about me to get on a plane to Tennessee and have a chat with ‘dear ol’ dad”. So far, no brave takers. But during this particular conversation, my dad said something to me that made me pause.

“Janelle, there is no man, NOT ONE MAN, walking God’s green Earth, who I will ever think is good enough for you. NOT ONE.”

Once the words filled the space of his Mustang (a Shelby to be exact), I silently inhaled these words. Breathed them in and let them nourish me, taking hold within. It wasn’t so much the message. It was the messenger. Don’t get me wrong, I know my dad loves me – he tells me every time we speak. But our relationship has been filled with peaks and valleys. And truth be told, he has never ever said something as powerful to me as the statement above.

This is the day I realized how important fathers are. It's not about my father putting me up on some ridiculously unrealistic pedestal. This is about the standard by which he holds my heart, a higher standard than I have held it at times.

I couldn't help but wonder: How many of the losers I've dated in the past would have gotten past "Hello" if I'd heard this sooner in life??

Happy Birthday to my Mustang loving, joke cracking, Mork & Mindy quoting,horn playing, country twang talking Dad!! You've created my life and have changed my life.




*I started this blog on my dad's birthday and wanted to post it on his day. Sorry for the delay. Back to blogging full speed ahead next week. Smoochies :)

Harpo, Who dis woman??

That's the question I posed to myself the other day. (Sidebar: if you have no idea what movie this is from, FIX IT!!! hahahahah).


On Sunday, I went to my first NFL game. A friend of mine who recently has been feeding her adventurous spirit as well, sent me an email asking if I were interested in going to a football game. Like me, she'd never been and decided now was as good of a time to go. My only caveat was that we attend sooner rather than later because I'm not sitting outside in the winter for NOBODY. Have YOU seen butterflies chilling outside in winter??? Yeah, no.


In full disclosure, I must admit, I've never been much of a football fan. Don't get me wrong, I like the game but with all the rules and somehow making five seconds stretch out to five minutes (with commercial breaks of course), it could never hold my attention for long. Sure, I've always been that girlfriend who would watch with her man if he wanted me to but it wouldn't be long before watching the game on TV would bring out the inner ADD in me and I'm off baking, reading a book, taking a nap, ANYTHING to not just sit there. Sure I'd come back and watch a couple of minutes, long enough for the ADD to kick in once again. Such a comical sight.

But once I knew we had the tickets, I was like a kid who just finished writing their letter to Santa - not sure what they were going to get, but knew something good was on the way. Then I told my Guy Guru and Baskin Robbins that I would be at the Jets vs. Patriots game, and they both were hyped. In fact, every male I told that I was going to the Jets-Patriots game gave me the same reaction - awe. "Oh man, you're going to that game? Damn, that's a hot ticket!" (well, maybe not those exact words but that was the general consensus) And they weren't even Jets or Patriots fans. Something about a longstanding rivalry. Yeah, New York/Boston blah blah blah. I get it. The fact that they were so hyped about me going to this game got me hyped, like that same kid who wrote her Christmas letter a month ago and its now December 23 - good things are right around the corner.


In prepping for the game, I had no idea what to wear to the game. What does one wear to a football game I asked. "Sneakers (or tennis shoes for all those that wear sneakers and don't play tennis but call them tennis shoes anyway...hahahahah)" was the overwhelming crowd favorite. Now here's the problem - I don't do sneakers. I own a pair that I wear at the gym and a pair I bought earlier this year when I was stranded in Memphis is a snow blizzard with pumps and ballet flats. I knew I would only be comfortable in heels. So I decided on these shoes.



Hot right? And yes the heel is about 4 inches on them. While these sexy steppers are comfy (they really are), a pair of flips were on standby in my purse in their "Break out in case of emergencies" shoe bag.


So how was the game?? To sum it up the game was BANANAS. The fans, the actual game, everything. We had so much fun. J-E-T-S JETS JETS JETS JETS. And then for the Jets to break the their losing streak against the Patriots for lil ol' me???!! PRICELESS. Oh my goodness, I love FOOTBALL. When the 4th quarter was over and all the players ran on to the field, I was sad it was over. I wanted more. SO much so, I came home and watched the Giants-Cowboys game. Granted, I did change the channel a few times. However, it seems live football games have quieted my football ADD and I clocked more football minutes in front of the TV than I ever had.


Tuesday night, Hustle and I went to a Mets game. Neither of us are baseball fans but the choral group from my high school sang the National Anthem and the school had discounted tickets for alumnae. When the email, came around, I thought "Why not?!" Also, more than anything I wanted to see the inside of this new stadium, Citifield. Everyone has been raving about it since the beginning of the season. I asked Hustle if he wanted to go, and he too said "Why not?!"


Citifield is beautiful. We entered through the main gate into the Jackie Robinson Rotunda and we instantly had that head tilted upward tourist stance that I normally despise. We even joked about feeling like tourists. We took the long way to our seats to bask in our touristy awe. By the time we arrived to our designated area, we were impressed.


Unfortunately, the Mets were not as engaging as the Jets. In fact, the game was a snooze fest. It didn't hold our attention. We had absolutely no interest in what was going on on the perfectly manicured field below us. Conversation flowed just as easily as the beer (none for me of course. Can a butterfly get a martini bar at a ball field?? I'm just saying. hahahaha). By the time the 7th inning mosied on, we decided to go back into tourist mode. We said our goodbyes to my fellow alumnae and high school folks and walked off, hand in hand, in tourist glee.

I dubbed this week, my sports week. But I feel like its more than that. So much that I almost don't recognize this woman. Football and Baseball?? That's not me. I'm the shoe loving girly girl. Right? Well, whoever, this new woman is, I'm enjoying getting to know her and seeing what other new adventures I have in store. Stay tuned