Road Trip

The weather was gorgeous on Sunday. So unseasonably warm, I saw fools in shorts.
As I waited in a seating area in an outdoor parking lot for my bus, I turned my attention to the baby blue sky and prayed. Actually, I sat there having a conversation with God. No need to rehash all that was on my mind, but I asked him for a sign. A sign that the plan in my mind was indeed the path I needed to take. A sign that I was in fact ready to move to where I was at the moment. I continued my conversation in peaceful silence until the bus attendant reminded everyone to pull out their ticket confirmation to make boarding easier. I looked down at my confirmation and realized, in horror, I booked my return ticket to NY for Saturday night instead Sunday. Holy crap, what if this guy doesn't let me on the bus to NY because of my silly mistake?God apparently has a sense of humor when he's doling out signs. hahahahahaa All I could do was laugh.

I went to DC this weekend. This mini getaway was planned weeks ago, before my sudden and imminent corporate divorce. I thought about canceling the trip altogether. But I'd gotten such a great rate on my hotel that it was non-refundable, non-transferable, basically "take it or leave it". I'd also purchased my bus ticket exactly 10 minutes before the proverbial shit hit the proverbial fan. Since I am definitely not in a position now to squander money, I packed my bags and left it all behind.

First order of business - check into hotel. 3hours ahead of schedule. I figured I'd get turned down and the best they would do is hold my bag until the designated check in time. Well, I figured wrong. I walked up to the counter and plainly stated, "Good morning! I'm [Resident Butterfly's government name] and I'm checking in today." Smile. And it worked! "Sure Ms. Resident Butterfly. You've already paid for the room. Here's your room key. Let me call a bellman to escort you to your room. Enjoy your stay!" Minutes later, I was in my king size bed suite, standing in awe. My suite was sweet! Not as sweet as the suite in Vegas but this was niiiiiice. And I immediately thought of all the naughty things I should be doing in that room. But I digress. I had business to take care of. Pleasure would have to wait.

I went to Howard to take my mentee to lunch. I hate calling her my mentee as if I have all the answers in the world, but she's only 18, too young to be my friend. We graduated from the same elitist high school (obviously not at the same time...hahahaha). She wanted to speak with someone who'd left the marbled hallways of our school to attend a historically black college. The Alumae Director put her in touch with me and ever since I've taken on this advisor role. While Howard is NOTHING like my illustrious Home by the Sea, I felt quite nostalgic being on campus. There is something about an HBCU, a feelings of pride and memories all rolled into one, even though this wasn't my alma mater. As we strolled on campus and headed off campus to go to lunch, I wanted to know everything - roommates, classes, parties, boys, THE WORKS. And in those 3 plus hours she filled me in on everything. I could already see that glint of school love in her eye. And as much as I love her, I will now rip her school every chance I get. That's what we do. hahahahhaaa

I later met up with my guy guru, Rashad, to coordinate the rest of the evening's plans. I met him at a restaurant/bar where he was hanging out with 2 of his friends. Okay, soooooo I promised (kinda) I wouldn't say anything bad about one of his friends anymore (kinda) so all I'm going to say is that they were both attractive men but one was an assclown while the other was a gentleman. Wait let me rephrase that. One of them BEHAVED like an assclown while the other was a gentleman. And no I won't elaborate. (Sorry, Rashad, I couldn't help it. hahahahahhaa). Oh and for the record, this wasn't some "lemme meet your friends so I can hook up with one of them". Nah, buddy. This was all about getting the evening's agenda confirmed. So also for the record, there was no need for the assclown behavior in the first place. But I digress.

Despite this minor speed bump, the rest of the weekend was beautiful. I have to thank Rashad and his lady for really showing me a good time. I got my sports fix in by going to the Wizards-Pistons game, then watched the Pacquiao - Cotto fight at a local bar. By the end of the night I was nice and tipsy, and still able to navigate my way safely back to my hotel (aka coherent enough to tell the taxi driver the address to my hotel and hold a decent conversation with said taxi driver....hahahahaa). On Sunday, after brunch, I had some alone time, to get a feel for the city. The weather was so perfect for me to just walk, and observe. Getting a feel for the city is so much easier when the weather allows you to stroll. Finally, it was time to head back to the hotel to pick up my bag and wait for my chariot back to New York.

I left New York slightly frayed. I returned with a plan. Thanks to God and his sense of humor.

For the record, the bus attendant was too busy complimenting me to notice my ticket did not have the correct date on it. To paraphrase the old American Express commercials, as far as being a woman, "membership has its privileges". hahahahhaa

Separation Anxiety

"So ummm let's say next Friday is your last day?"

"Next Friday as in a week from 2 days from now??"

"Too soon? Okay, how about the day before Thanksgiving? That will make it 2 weeks notice. Okay? Okay. I'm off to catch my train."

And this ladies and gents, is how I found out yesterday afternoon that officially on the day when people gather to give thanks, I can cross "I'm thankful for having a job" off of my thankful list.


The saga with my job has felt like a soap opera at times. I was told months ago of this possibility to then be told "DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT" (a la Shaq in the ESPN commercial...hahahaha). The saga continued with our office management company deciding not to renew our corporate lease on our office space. The lease is up in March. Around the same time, my company issued a press release that the corporate headquarters would be moving south of the Mason Dixon line (funny, I found out about the move only when I was inundated with calls from moving companies and hotels in that area seeking to pack my shit and give me and my employees a place to stay when we transitioned to the area. Since no one was here that day, I used trusty google news search to find the press release. And voila! there it was. Don't you just love how no one bothered to tell me?? But that's another story for....who am I fooling...after today I never want to tell this story again but I digress.) With the lease ending in March and the Corporate Move to Dixieland coupled with my Shaq-like assurance, I was under the impression that my job was safe until the end of March. I began looking but not aggressively thinking I had time.


Boy was I wrong.


I can't even lie. I bawled. Right at my desk. Not in front of Mr. Gotta Catch an Amtrak Train And Have No Time to Sit and Talk to You like a Human Being I Respect. Oh no, I waited until I heard the front door whoosh back into place before I breathed and let the tears flow. It felt like a bad breakup. Like my significant other just fessed up to loving another while all the time telling me he loved me. No regard for me and my well being. No offer of a door prize (severance package) just "We used you until we're done with you. NEXT!".


But as I sat there, creating water puddles on the report I no longer gave 2 shits about, I realized two things. One, I was pissed at the nature it was handled. How do you barely walk into someone's office, stand in the door way, and deliver some shit like that??? And not even have the decency to at least fake some sorrow about pulling the rug and the floor out from under them?? And secondly, I wasn't crying over the end of this relationship (the job). I was bawling over the sudden loss of the orgasm (my paycheck). As in most caustic relationships, towards the end, all you care about is the orgasm until it no longer sustains you, and then you leave in search of something new, something better. But you always want it to be on your terms. You know. Get them before they get you. Well I got got.


Then, the pissivity led to anger. How could you do this to me right before the holidays??? Seriously. Thanksgiving is stressful enough with my family as is. But now you've added no job stress to my ever present dealing with family stress. Are you trying to make me slit my wrist instead of carving a turkey (real talk: ya'll know that won't happen right?!! I have a low threshold for pain and I need my wrists in tact to support the heavy purses I carry...hahahaha) While you're all festive and spreading your holiday cheer, you've officially turned me into Scrooge. Bah-humbug motherfucker. You'll be fa-la-la-la-ing around the Christmas Tree. I'll be fucked with no tree in sight. I have officially cancelled the holidays thanks to this lack of regard for my well being. I'll go to church but all the festive fun I love about the holidays - the decorating, the gift buying and wrapping, the carols, the spiked eggnog - CANCELLED. Wait, who am I kidding?? I won't cancel eggnog. hahahahaaa

As you can see by the publish date and the actual date posted (tuesday, nov. 17), I needed a moment to wrap my brain around this. I've been numb ever since (well except for this weekend..details to come). To put it in words seemed to break my spirit all over again. I can't say that I'm all better now but I can say I haven't cried today. Isn't that progress???

I know I'll be okay. I have faith that I will land exactly where I need to be (details to come on that too). Knowing these things doesn't heal the wounds of this professional breakup but it's beginning to take some of the sting away.

One final note. Guess who was the most pissed in my office (after me of course)??? Pinky. Yes, Pinky cursed everyone to holy hell for the way the situation was handled. Even behind closed doors, I could hear every 4 letter word he spewed after he found me in tears. In the midst of my tears, I couldn't help but to smile and chuckle. The man who I make fun of the most is my champion defender in all his pinktastic glory - pink reading glasses and all.

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. :)