Monday, December 31, 2007

Dear 2007,

When you were a baby 364 days ago, I don't think either of us expected you to turn out the way you have. As you entered this world, we both had such high hopes for what you would bring to my life. Now as I put you to rest, I see my hopes then and my hopes now are intermingled in a web of similarities and vast differences. Neither one of us looks the same physically or emotionally as we did when we met on January 1 at the stroke of midnight. I never imagined your tenure would play out this way. Did you?

This year you brought me oceans of tears and pain. But you also gave me seas of smiles and infinite happiness. You reminded me of the sorrow that death brings. But you also revealed the joy a birth brings to the lives of those around me. You changed my entire perception of love but forced me to witness the beauty of it in the lives of others.

2007, for a while there I thought you had placed a revolving door at the entrance to my life with the influx of people running in and out of it. But as you got older, I realized that I was cleaning house to make room for the invaluable people I cherish more and more each day. You have introduced me to some characters this year. Some I will never forget. Others I have forgotten already. You brought someone back into my life that I never thought I would see again, the same someone who I'm not sure if I will see again. You introduced me to someone who's company I thoroughly enjoy without any pretense and few expectations. You opened my eyes to see the true spirit of the people around me, good bad and fugly (fugly = fucking ugly, in case you were wondering. hahahahahaa)

2007, you helped me to find my voice this year. The voice to sing the melody of my dream to write professionally. The voice to stand up for myself in a way I never knew I possessed. The voice to say some really difficult shit when it needed to be said. The voice to laugh at myself. The voice to ask for help even when my pride was trying to silence me. The voice to be courageous enough to post some of my innermost feelings on my blog page. The voice to shut up when I've said all I care to say without repeating myself over and over again.

I have christened you my Year of Lessons, 2007. I've learned that the depth of my strength is infinite. I've learned that the plate the Lord serves me is larger than I ever imagined because He heaps loads and loads onto it and apparently its never more than I can handle. I'm still standing with His help and guidance, of course. I've learned that dating is actually fun, and that I'm in no rush for anything. I've learned that the nice and easy pace of a slow grind is waaaaaaaaaaaay more intoxicating and satisfying than the punishment of the BANG BANG BANG pounding (still not going to shed a tear though, hahahahahaha). I've learned how to check my emotions at the door before they cloud my judgement on the reality of what's at hand. I learned how to walk it out, how to drop down low and sweep the floor with it, dance like a soulja boy, shuffle with cupid, and manage a drink while I 2 step (actually, I learned that a while ago but I think I perfected it this year...hahahahahaha). I've learned that everything happens for a reason and to embrace the lesson each experience brings my way. I've learned that I am no closer to being perfect than I was 364 days ago. I've learned that meaningless people provide opportunity for meaningful introspection.

While I can't take you with me into 2008, I will never forget my Year of Lessons. Some years blur and fade into the next. But you will always stand out as a year of preparation for the next chapter of my life. I'm thinking of dubbing 2008, my Year of Lessons in Action. What do you think? I figured I learned so much from you that I might as well put these lessons into motion. All in your honor.

I have to go now. I need to prepare for the arrival of 2008. This year I'm welcoming '08 in style. If I ever get nostalgic for the memories of you and I together, at least I have this blog to come back to. Thank you for everything.


Thursday, December 27, 2007

For me, Christmas this year was pretty quiet, just the way I like it. Here are some highlights from the occasion:

*Call me Betty Crocker. I was a baking fool on Christmas Day. I made a sweet potato pie, 2 sweet potato pecan praline pies, and a rum pineapple upside cake. I even thought of making a sweet potato cheesecake but thought that would be overkill on the sweet potato. I made the pies to take over to my aunt's house for the family gathering. The cake was for a gathering at a friend's house later on that evening. There is something about the holiday season that always puts me in the mood for baking. I love the smell of sugar and cinnamon baking in the oven. I would bake everyday during the holiday season if time and my waistline permitted. But I know before the season is up, I have to make my spiked apple crisp. It's my favorite desert to make and to eat. Its not too sweet and with a hint of alcohol, served warm with a tablespoon of ice cream, its a taste of heaven for me. I think nothing of the gym as I savor each bite. Damn, maybe I will stop by the farmer's market and pick up some apples this weekend.

*I received many many many text messages from friends, family members, etc. sending holiday wishes my way. I can always tell the mass sent texts versus the personalized ones. Its so convenient. Compose one thought, send to everyone in your address book. 2 minutes and you've reached out to everyone. You still have time to enjoy your day and everyone you care about received a heartfelt sentiment from you. Everyone wins. There was one text message I received that literally made me pause. It was from a friend of mine that I haven't spoken to in a couple of months. Normally, for me that isn't cause for great alarm but with this particular friend it was. I have known him for over 5 or 6 years and I would count him in the Top 3 male friends of all time. We have seen each other through a lot. I always joke that if he ever ran for office, he would have to put me on the payroll because I know too much. I've thought a lot lately about why we aren't speaking. I surmise that it boils down to a break down in communication which in turn led to hurt feelings (well at least on my part). I had all intentions of reaching out to him on Christmas, just to simply say 'Merry Christmas'. But he beat me to it. His message was simple but it made me shed a tear. His message made me realize just how much I do miss our friendship. Hopefully, we will find each other again in the new year.

*I saw The Great Debaters. Its ironic how I saw a movie about the power of words but struggle to find the words to describe it. Powerful is an understatement. Amazing is selling it short. It's interesting that shortly before this movie came out, there was an article in the Wall Street Journal on the great debate on the need for Historically Black Colleges and Universities in today's "equal" society. Except for in the areas of amenities (i.e. no air conditioning in a dorm in the south should be a health hazard; f**k landmark status ...hahahahahah) and food (Gourmet Services is an oxymoron), I've never regretted my decision to attend an HBCU. Watching The Great Debaters reinforced my feelings of pride and being part of a fabric of history and tradition by attending Hampton University. All of my friends who attended HBCUs have a pride like no other in their respective school. For us, homecoming is like a family reunion. For us, any and all accolades attained by our alma mater are bragging rights. For us, its a badge of honor. And the Great Debaters, captured that brilliantly. May I also add that Nate Parker, the actor who plays Henry Lowe in the movie has a certain je ne sais pais quality that was a definite bonus to watching the movie. As always, I'm a sucker for a smile. (hahahahahaa). Oh and I am sooo in love with the fashion of the period. The hats, the dresses, all of it was oh so chic and feminine. I really think I am going to incorporate it into my new wardrobe.

*Overall, Santa was good to me. Still no laptop but I have a feeling its in the works. Thankfully, my grandmother didn't give me any neon green undies this year, and actually gave me a Macy's gift card. I was soooo shocked . That's the best gift she has given me in my adult years. I didn't even have to pretend to like it. So far the only tangible gift that I received from my letter to Santa was the Victoria's Secret gift card. Sexy Little Things, here I come!!! hahahahahaa

This Christmas was a good one. Not so much because of the tangible gifts. I just remember closing my eyes Christmas night without any thoughts of holiday stress. I spent it just the way I wanted to - some family time, some friend time, and most of all some me time.

Monday, December 24, 2007

At this precise moment, at this very second I am supposed to be finishing some holiday shopping. Yes, on Christmas Eve. In New York City - a city that is already overcrowded with residents and tourists. But add the holiday crunch to the mix and this is my recipe for pure hell on earth.

Usually, when I go holiday shopping, I have a list and I know exactly what each person is getting and where I can go to get it. This minimizes my time in the stores. I get in, pick gift, stand on line, get out. 30 minutes tops in each store(mostly because of long lines). However, this year for the people still remaining on the list, I have nooooooooo freaking idea what to give them. Yes, I know its the thought that counts but I like my thought to be appreciated. I think about the person, think about their likes, and give them gifts accordingly. And I've done that for the most part with my very modest list. But these last couple of gifts have me stumped. I can't even begin to imagine what to get. I can't even think what store I should go to where I can look for an appropriate gift.

I know that sitting here writing this blog (which hands down, I think is the worst blog I've written to date...hahahahaha) is my own diversionary tactic. I could have gone yesterday but the weather was crappy. Honestly, I just have no desire be out in the crowds or the foolishness that is waiting for me once I step out the comforts of my home. I wish I could re-gift. But I don't think my grandmother's husband would appreciate a gift basket of fruity gels, lotions, and candles from Bath & Body Works.

Ok, I guess I've stalled enough. I have to get out there and get some fantastic gifts, hopefully at fantastic prices. Is there anyway I can convince one of you to go shopping for me??? No? Nothing I could do?? Damn. Well, do you think a 75 year old man would like the scent of Cherry Blossom in a lotion or shower gel??? No? Damn.

Wish me luck. Deliver me from the hell on earth that awaits! hahahahahaha
Merry Christmas!

Saturday, December 22, 2007

Most Sex and the City fans remember Berger. He was a guy that Carrie dated who broke up with her on a Post It.

watch from the 2:26 mark to see how it unfolds.

While I'm not Carrie (she has a laptop), I received my own Post It via text late Thursday night. Yes a TEXT MESSAGE. While the text didn't say "I'm sorry...I can't...don't hate me", the sender sent the same message with "its me and my fear of being an asshole....this is lame and generic but we can at least still be friends". Now here's the background story. I met a guy a few weeks ago. I haven't blogged about him to date simply because there was nothing to tell. Burger (as he is now christened) is my age, lives in Brooklyn, single (supposedly), and very witty. He and I have had some really interesting conversations over the phone but nothing else. I thought about blogging about him a few days ago and naming him Mr. Telephone Man for that reason alone but I guess I will save that moniker for someone else.

Now, I have always been under the assumption that if you meet someone that you're interested in, you usually follow up a few phone conversations with making plans for some face to face time. Well, apparently I was wrong because no matter how great the conversations were on the phone or how many times Burger would say "I'm looking forward to seeing you again", he never made any plans to actually hang out. While I was very clear from our very first conversation about my take on relationships at the present time and my current dating status, he was still interested at least on the phone. After a couple of weeks passed, still no plans were made. Which initially was cool with me. I honestly was just enjoying the conversation. But after a while, the phone got heavy and my arm fell asleep. I began to wonder if he was just looking for a "phone a friend". With all this damn time spent talking on the phone, the inevitable happened - a disagreement, a difference of opinion occurred on the phone. It was so freaking weird. I kept thinking to myself: "how the HELL did I get here?" This is supposed to be fun, light, easy breezy, not serious, contentious, draining. So fast forward a week. No conversation with Burger since the disagreement. He didn't call me and I wasn't going to call him. It just wasn't that serious to me. He was the one who seemed to have a problem with my stance on the issue. I was cool with it. No pressure, no worries.

Thursday night, while I'm out with my friend DeeDee at a hilarious event (the original topic for today's blog), Burger and I are having a text message convo (too noisy to talk on the phone). The convo is heating up. He is actually initiating dialogue about seeing me. Holy cow, Batman. But then the Joker steps in, and my cell phone battery died. End of convo. At least for the moment.

When I get home, I plug in my phone and call him. Primarily to feed my curiosity as to where the text convo was going. He answers and we fall right into "phone-a-friend" mode. In the middle of telling him about my crazy evening at a "holiday party", my phone alerts me that I have a text message. I figured it was DeeDee telling me she made it home, so I didn't check it immediately. Burger and I keep talking, keep laughing. After a few minutes, I reach for my earpiece so I can answer DeeDee's text while still on the phone. Only it's not DeeDee's name I see on my screen.

"(Burger), did you send me a text message?"
"No, I sent you a couple of emails."
"My phone is telling me you sent a text."
"Ohhh, you're just getting that???"

And that is when I got my version of "I'm sorry...I can't...Don't hate me". My digital Post It came through while I was actually on the phone with Burger. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I couldn't believe it. Apparently, he sent the text while my phone was dead, and it didn't come through until after my phone charged for a while which was while I was on the phone with him. In all of the hours of phone conversations with Burger I was speechless. Not because I was overcome with emotion, more so because the digital Post It was sooo random and so out of left field. How do you tell someone you want to see them and then turn around and tell them you can't date them or get to know them further? All because I was "right" in a previous disagreement and you fear looking like an "asshole"? What kind of bullshit is that?

"Wowwww. Okay."
"Is that all you have to say?"
"What else am I supposed to say ? You must know from all the phone conversations that I'm not the chick to ask you 'why?' or to ask you to reconsider your decision. It's cool."
"But you're okay with this?"
"I'm okay with what??? If you're asking me if I'm okay, HELL YEAH I'm okay. If you're asking me if I'm okay with how you feel, HELL YEAH I'm okay with how you feel. Trust and believe, I am not devastated because the only time we spent together was on the phone. It's not that deep. I'm just a little caught off guard but it's all good."
"I know it's me. And I know I'm wrong. But I'm like this with everyone....and..."
"It's okay. Really it is. I'm not upset. It is what it is."

I changed the subject and we spoke a few more minutes about an article he emailed to me. I could tell that the conversation just wasn't there. The tone and the flow was no longer at ease. There was nothing left to say. The Post It said it all. He ended the call with a promise to call "soon" but I knew when I hit the end call button on my cell phone that it was just that - The End.

I pulled out my Sex and the City Complete Series Collection that night. One of the first things that struck me after I read the text message was: "Damn, why does this feel like a Sex and the City episode???" So I flipped through my collection to re-watch those episodes. Now here is where my Burger and Carrie's Berger differ. Carrie and Berger dated for a few months (episodes) before this epiphany to bail struck him. Burger and I haven't even met for a burger with cheese. Berger left this Post It for Carrie right after he spent the night with her. Burger hasn't spent any nights with me unless they were the free nights and weekend kind. Carrie was angry and hurt. I was confused and cracking up. Confused by the "at least still be friends" part. The wording implies that there was once more than that, and I wasn't aware of that deal. If you only speak to someone on the phone, can you really be more than "phone a friends"? Cracking up because it was just that damn funny and I could hear my friends saying "Only you, Janelle. This shit would only happen to you." hahahahahahahaha

Watch from the 1:57 mark to see Carrie tell her friends. Then watch from the 4:41 mark for her "Carrie-ism".

In my situation, I am not searching for the lesson learned. I am not looking to leap from confusion to Confucius. I'm just chalking this up to one of those weird dating experiences. Well, damn, would this even be considered dating? I'm not foolish enough to believe that the reason he gave me was the real reason why he made his decision. However, I don't care to know what his reasons really are. My friends have their opinions (they pretty much are on the same page as Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha) and I'm pretty sure while you are reading this, you have your own hypotheses. I'm just glad he revealed himself this early before I invested anything more than my free nights and weekend minutes.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

Dear Santa,

I hope all is well and you aren't too stressed out YET. My last letter to you was a wish list for others. This one is alllll about me. As I've said before, I've been pretty good this year. So if you're still using the whole naughty or nice barometer, I believe I fall closer to nice. (Yes, Santa, I've been naughty on a few occasions but it was requested so I believe that honoring that request was indeed nice! hahahahahaha)

So the following is a list of what I want for Christmas:

A laptop. Santa, this is more of a need than a want. I would totally be finished my book by now if I had a laptop. I get sooo bored sitting in my big leather computer chair at this big desk writing. I am a social writer. I need to be out and about to feed my creativity. I am that chick parked at a table in Starbucks with a Venti skim sugar free cinnamon dolce latte no whip, writing until my brain is drained from its caffeine fueled high. I'm that woman with books of photographs scattered around the universe of my writing at the library, pulling visual inspiration from the pictures around me. Yes, I could go out and buy said laptop but a gift from you or one of your loving elves is sooooo......inexpensive. For me, of course.

A Starbucks gift card. Santa, everyone knows that I am totally addicted to Starbucks. Especially now in this cold, heartless weather condition we called winter. So why not feed my addiction? It's not like it's crack. Its a coffee beverage and only 160 calories for a Venti skim sugar free cinnamon dolce latte with no whip cream. And it would be a perfect companion to the laptop, so my writing experience at Starbucks would be completely gratis. For me, of course.

Underwear. Ok, Santa, I'm sorry to make you blush. But here's the deal, you know I've lost over 35 pounds this year, and you've seen all the clothes I've given away. Nothing fits and that includes the undies, especially the cute stuff. I need new cute Vicki's Secret sets. Wait, scratch that. Not cute as in stripes and polka dots and little girl patterns. Cute as in sexy, hot, steamy, seductive (and still comfortable. Have you ever walked around with a pearl g-string on all day, Santa??? Probably not.) Since you don't know my size, a gift card from Victoria's Secret will do (Sidebar: If it's on my body, how is it Victoria's Secret?? Isn't it my secret??? My name isn't Victoria. Annnd, with those bright pink bags, stores in every shopping area, and commercials on regular TV 1,000 times a day, how is this place still a Secret????). Plus, I don't want any beef from Mrs. Claus when you bring home bra and panty sets in my size and not hers. And yes, Santa, this is gift is for me. Of course. And maybe for another set of eyes. But primarily for me. hahahahaaa

A literary agent and publisher. I understand, you can't place these people under my tree on Christmas Day because of kidnapping and unlawful imprisonment laws. But Santa, a multi-book deal and the people to make it happen would be greatly appreciated. I will even shout you out in the Acknowledgements of the first book to show my gratitude and to prove once and for all that you really do exist. Who needs a Miracle on 34th Street???

A vacation. Santa, I'm in desperate need of a vacation. Somewhere hot, sunny, tropical, and fun. Somewhere that I can relax on the beach for a couple of hours daily. Somewhere that I can have adventurous fun. Somewhere that I can experience local culture and learn something new about the people and about myself. Somewhere that will fill the memory card for my camera with amazing pictures. Somewhere that I can take my laptop and write of the experience until my heart is content or until I pass out - whatever comes first. hahahaha

More. Santa, yes, I want more. More time with my loved ones. More fodder for this blog. More trust in myself. More opportunities to leave my footprint on this world. More money. More decisions to make. More steps in the right direction. More passion.

No mo'. On the flip side, Santa, I want no mo'. No mo' drama. No mo' excuses. No mo' negativity. I've learned all I needed from these experiences. So instead of taking the drama, the negativity, and the excuses with me, how about I just take the lessons learned and nothing else??? It will make my laptop bag soo much lighter to carry.

Santa, I know you have sooo many other letters to read and requests to honor or dishonor. But thank you for reading mine. Oh, and my mother got a 92 on her final so she will definitely remain on the Dean's Lists. Thanks again, Santa!!


Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Life over the past couple of days has thrown me some doozies. Some shake my head, fall to my knees and pray really hard shit. But right now, I just don't have the fortitude or the verbiage to document the weightiness of it all. Nor the desire to lay my emotions bare for heightened scrutiny. I recognize that reflection, prayer, continued action, and constant prayer are all that I can do on these matters. But I still turn to my refuge for some comfort and solace. With the weight of my world on my shoulders, my mind wants to frolic in fields of frivolity, to bathe in seas of endless laughter. So I made a list of topics that amuse me and if I post them here I hope they amuse you as well. A complete distraction is what I need to keep going. To keep praying. To keep doing. To stay focused.

Friday, December 14, 2007

Since Christmas is less than 2 weeks away, I figured I've put off my letter to Santa long enough. And since Santa is one of my millions of readers, why not post it here instead of mailing it. I save money on postage and I save a tree on this paperless letter. Just keep those brownie points coming, Santa.

Dear Santa:
As you already now, I've been pretty good this year. Not seeking a nomination for sainthood but overall, I've been loving, kind, selfless, supportive, giving, good-natured, truthful (for the most part), hardworking, etc. etc. (Santa, on second thought, you may want to reconsider that sainthood application...hahahaha.) In the spirit of the giving nature of this season I am writing to you not for myself but for what I wish for others. In no particular order here's my Christmas wish list:

My Grandmother: Santa, can you please give my grandmother a high grade spam filter on her computer. Better yet, make that a filter that will trash all the "AOL will send you a check if you send this to 20 people" emails and the "Beware there's cancer in ketchup" emails and the computer virus threats that were supposedly heard on CNN but are nowhere mentioned on the CNN website. Despite my protests to her 20 email warnings a day, she still sends them out. Oh, and could you tell her that yes, I love Jesus and that I pray for her, the refugees, the troops, the sick children, Bob Barker and cures for every disease on the face of the planet so there is no need to bombard me with 20 more emails directing me to do so. Oh, and please tell her that my faith in the Lord is not dictated by how many emails I forward.

Al Sharpton: Well, Santa, initially I was going to ask you to give him a years supply of Creme of Nature No-lye Relaxers but since all of his friends, business associates, along with all records for his organization and business ventures have been subpoenaed by the Feds and the IRS, I changed my mind. Can you either please give him a Johnny Cochran-esque lawyer or a one way ticket to Cuba? I don't want to see Big Perm go down like that and be without....his hair care products. They won't give him a touch up every 6 weeks in prison. And that sight would be a crime.

My neighbor: Santa, please please please give this man a clue. I don't care how snazzy he thinks his jogging suits with the matching Kangol turned to the back are. I don't care how loud he makes his girl scream in the middle of the night. I don't care how many times he grins in my face in front of said woman or his friends with teeth missing all on the side of his damn mouth. I don't care how many times he gives me a compliment or asks me "where's the party at tonight?". Santa, can you please clue dude into the fact that I DON'T WANT HIS OLD ASS!! There is no drug or alcohol concoction that would even make me consider giving him the business. I've tried to be polite, Santa. But I think he's too dense to realize that I have been brushing him off for years. So maybe with your gift of a clue, he will just say "hi, neighbor" without the head to toe gazing and keep it moving.

My Legions of Fans, My Millions of Readers: Santa, please give them all fingertip exercise machines. That way their fingers will have the strength to type a comment on this here page. I can only assume that weak fingertips is the condition that is keeping them from posting a comment on their favorite website. hahahahahaa

Rashad: Santa, this is my most loyal reader and commenter. Please grant him everything on his Christmas wish list before he shits on the bitch. (Santa, if you're not a Biggie fan then you really won't get the joke. hhahahahahahaaa)

Alllllllll of my friends (the real ones not the fake ass wannabes): Santa, I have been blessed with a great group of friends that has expanded exponentially over the past year. If I were to list a wish for each and everyone of them, we would be here until June. So please give them a token of my love, a gesture of my thanks, something that lets them know just how much I love them and would be lost in this cold heartless world without them in my life. There is no amount of bling to compare to my true friends.

My mother: Santa, please give her at least a B+ in her class this semester. She is stressing out and therefore stressing me out. I took the class 10 years ago, how am I supposed to help her now??? I am sooo proud of her decision to return to school. So please, please, please, give her at least a B+ so she can remain on the Dean's List, and thus stop stressing me out.

Hustle: Santa, please give this man a vacation. That's all I'm gonna say. Oh wait, can you also tell him that he is not going to win but he can keep trying. He'll know what that means. hahahahahaha

Santa, there are sooo many people that I have wishes for. Like Michael Vick ( a hood repellent that gives him some damn sense when he's making millions of dollars to know he can't participate in hood activities no mo') and Don Imus (nappy headed grandchildren who grow up to be nappy headed hoes) and Rudy Giuliani (20 sessions of speech therapy to correct that damn Daffy Duck lisp) and George Bush (an eviction notice from the White House sooner rather than later. Oh wait he's never there in the first place, never mind.). I could go on and on but I need to start working on my own Christmas wish list. You didn't think I would completely forget about what I want for the sake of others???? Shiiiiiit, save that for the saints.

Thanks, Santa!!!!



Sunday, December 09, 2007

Last night, on a whim I was invited to see The Color Purple. I was lounging around in my house uniform of tank top and shorts , replaying a recent phone conversation with a friend in my mind, while also trying to figure out what I was going to eat for dinner. I had already resigned myself to the confines of my very hot ass apartment for the evening, when my phone rang. My girl, T. asked if I wanted to see The Color Purple because she had an extra ticket for last night's performance. I said, "YESSSS!" Those that read my blog faithfully (Rashad), may remember that I saw the show last year around this time. I had 90 minutes to shower, curl my hair, apply makeup, get dressed, and make it downtown. Now for those that really know me, know that I needed about 30 more minutes in that time frame.

I arrived at the theater approximately 2 minutes before the curtain went up (hey I made it, ok??? hahahahahha). While I had seen the show before, this is was the first time I saw the show with Fannie Mae, I mean Fantasia, in the lead role. A few changes but the show was beautiful, just as I remembered it to be. The music, the actors, the set were all in sync, in a type of fluidity that grabbed a hold of you from the opening number. If it weren't for the teenager sitting in front of me who kept bouncing her seat back onto my knee, my attention would have never left the stage.

Throughout the show I couldn't help but think of my earlier phone conversation. I'd wished my friend were with me to see this play. It spoke on a lot of what we were discussing about faith in times of hardships. Its easy to have faith when everything is right in your world. But in those moments when you feel that you can't breathe because of the pressure from the weight of the world is when you have to lean a little bit harder on your faith and beliefs. I realize in typing this that I should be the last person talking about faith and trust because of my own struggles with the concepts of late. However, what's wrong with wanting the best for a friend, even when you can't envision it for yourself??? Does that make me a hypocrite?

During intermission, I ran into a girl who went to Hampton while I was there. If I'm not mistaken I believe she was Ms. Hampton University at some point. I could be wrong, but I think I'm right. I was walking past her section to return to mine, when she said, "Heyyy girl!!! How are you? I haven't seen you since back at Hampton" It wasn't until she said her name that I vaguely remembered who she was. We hugged, chatted for a minute, I told her to enjoy the rest of the show and went on my merry way. This phenomenon always leaves me shaking my head. This girl was definitely at least 2 years ahead of me, I think. We shared no class together, no mutual organization affiliation that I can remember, and I don't believe our circles of friends intersected at any point (unless one of my boys was banging one of her girls but that hardly ever connected back to me. hahahahahaha). If she was in fact Ms. Hampton , she was a quote on quote celebrity on campus, and I would hardly put myself in the celebritous category at least not at the time..hahahahahaa. While people tell me often that they remember me from college, I can't think of anything memorable I did during my time at my Home by the Sea. While the social butterfly in me blossomed during those years I was never a cheerleader (even though I could shake it, shake it, SHAKE DEEEES like I was on the squad...hahahahahahaha), I didn't pledge (the all important status symbol at a Black college), I was President of an organization but it wasn't that big of a deal. I guess at the end of the day I'm always questioning how people remember me and why?? What footprint did I leave for someone to even care to remember?

When the show ended, I didn't cry like I did the last time. And I was very conscious of that. Yes, I knew the ending because I'd seen it already. But shit, I've read the book a couple of time and I can quote the moving on a whim ('it's gon' rain on yo head." "You just a big old heffa. Ha Ha Ha" "You sho izzz uglay". I really could go on and on...hahahahahaha). This time around I was very conscious that the emotional out pour wasn't there for me, and I have to admit it bothered me a bit. I could be trite and blame it on the hunger battle being fought in my stomach but I recall the same battle was fought at the end of the show the last time. Maybe I'm just reading too much into it. Maybe I'm over analyzing me these days. I still really enjoyed the show and would see it again. It was a beautiful evening with friends and at the end of the day that's all that really matters.

Oh by the way I would like to thank my millions of readers for spreading my disdain for grocery store attire in the theater. I saw not one sweatpant or baseball cap all night. Definitely an upgrade. Keep the movement going, people.

Thursday, December 06, 2007

On Monday I received an email. This email has permeated my thoughts all week. Everyday I sit at the computer and check my email, there it is sitting in my inbox marked unread (which is a lie because I did in fact read it). I could ignore it or I could give some generic response, but what point would I make by doing that. I know I have to respond eventually. I just needed some time to think about it. This was the email:

Take your time, really think about it..... WHAT MAKES YOU HAPPY? I mean everything from the simplest of joys to the warmest of feelings to even the shit that's so heavy you tear up...

It was so random yet so thought provoking, so window to my soul. How the hell can I answer this?? Even sitting here writing this in the back of my mind I'm struggling with the answer. I could be psuedo-intellectual with my response and say something like: Life and the sum of all its complexities and nuances make me happy. But that my friends, while very true, is a shitty ass response to a very un-shitty question.

I know I could answer the proposed question. But what if every single answer is analyzed and probed for deeper meaning like that ink blot psychological exam? Can't a donut from Krispy Kreme when the "HOT NOW" sign lit make me and my inner chubby girl happy without some deeper darker meaning??? What will my answers reveal about me? And is that the me I want to reveal? Will I reveal too much??

In no particular order, the following make me happy:

* Laying out on a tropical beach with the sun kissing every pore of my exposed skin makes me happy.
*Looking down at my toes in one of the following colors - after sex, bourdeaux, fishnet stockings, capri, clam bake, fifth avenue, material girl or wicked after a fresh pedicure accompanied by iced chai latte painted fingernails makes me happy.
*Laughing until my cheeks hurt, my eyes squint and my sides ache.
*The "Hot Now" sign at Krispy Kreme makes me happy. (sidebar: THANK GOD they closed the Krispy Kreme on 125th street. My inner chubby girl would have won the battle and the freaking war!)
*The memories of the hand in hand slow walks with my great grandmother or the memory of me yelling across the street 'Granny, here cooooomes the bus" whenever I was leaving her apartment in the Bronx to come home.
*The memories of crawling into my grandfather's lap with my Mickey Mouse fork in hand and telling him: "It does, Poppa. For real, it tastes better on your plate. Canihavesomepleeaaaaaasssseee???"
*Writing the grandfather character in my book in the vision of who my grandfather would be if he had lived beyond 5 years of my life makes me happy.
*High heel shoes make me happy. Very high. Very happy.
*Finally finding a pair of jeans that fit my new frame makes me happy.
*Good consistent toe-curling, skin tingling, mind numbing, legs trembling, praising the Lord repeatedly, multi-orgasmic sex makes me happy. Very happy. Very very happy. Yeah I said it. (don't think I will add this one to the email though...hhahahahaha)
*Buying anything on sale makes me really happy. I'm a whore for a bargain. hahahahahahaa
*Celebrating my birthday as the National Holiday it is destined to be makes me happy.
*Filling the pages of my passport makes me happy.
*Sweet affection makes me happy.
*Staying in a warm comfy bed on a cold dreary and or rainy day makes me happy.
*Flipping through a photo album and reliving the memories they bring makes me happy.
*Taking pictures to capture new memories.
*Holding my friend's son and the way he looks up at me with those big beautiful brown eyes makes me happy.
*Spending time with my sisters and realizing that we are more alike than different makes me happy.
*My friends, my precious precious gems in all of their beauty, sophistication, intelligence, psuedo-ignorance, comedy, drama, love and support always makes me happy.
*Dancing makes me happy. Dancing to my favorite song of the moment makes me happy. (I really think I think I'm Beyonce sometimes on the dance floor....hahahahahahaha)
*The sound of music makes me happy (not the Julie Andrews movie, the actual beat and sound of music....hahahahahaha)
*A compliment makes me happy.
*A sugar-free skim cinnamon dolce latte with no whip makes me and my svelte figure very happy.
*The woman I am - at this very second, this precise moment in life with all of my quirks and inconsistencies makes me happy.
*A great tasting drink makes me happy. (not in the "I'm an alcoholic I need help" kind of way. More in the "I'm out having a good time life couldn't be better" kind of way. hahahahaha)
*Leaving the salon with my hair freshly pressed makes me happy.
*Trying something new makes me happy.
*A big bear hug, completely wrapped in his arms, safe from all the bullshit and the drama of life makes me happy.
*Writing brings me joy.

I could go on and on and on and on and on. As I began to write, everything just started to flow. But I still worry if I have revealed too much or too little about me. What are my ink blots saying about me? I challenge you to think about what TRULY makes you happy. What do your ink blots say about you?

Monday, December 03, 2007

Hustle: The blog of Blue bringing his brother is hysterical.

This is the text message I received Friday afternoon. Yes, Hustle, a guy I'm currently dating. Someone who has intermittently been mentioned on this here page. A guy I have been dating for months reads my blog. As you can imagine my already large beautiful browns bugged out of my head. Like those cartoon illustrations. OH SHIT!! OH SHIT! OHHHHH SHIIIIIT!!! was the thought screaming in my head.

Me: ummmmm, I didn't know you read my blog. (prime example of me playing it cool. hahaha)
Hustle: I see everything.
Hustle: You scared?
Me: Scared? Why would I be scared???
(prime example of me talking shit but hey, you can't let them see you sweat, right?? hahahaha)
Me: U scared?
Hustle: Nope.

While the text version of me gave the impression of " So what?! I don't care", the real me was FREAKING THE FUCK OUT. I felt like I was just busted by my parents sneaking in after curfew (never happened by the way...hahahah). I tried to figure out what he was thinking and most importantly how long he's been reading.

I'm conflicted. A part of me is flattered. He takes a moment out of his day to read my thoughts, to see what I have to say. I'd like to think he's a fan of my writing and realizes that I actually have some talent. But I realize that's my ego talking. And a part of me is tickled that he's stroking it (*I'm referring to my ego. At least for the moment...hahahahahaha) On the other hand, I am terrified. See up until now, the person he knows me to be is the one I've allowed him to see. While he and I have very deep, extensive conversations, I'm aware that I very rarely talk about my feelings or my innermost thoughts. But now he's pulled back the curtain and taken a peek at the real me. Well at least the real me I post. And I can't front, when I read that text message, I had a fleeting thought and wondered if he was still interested in me. What does he really think of me now???

It just seems weird to me. Especially when he called me later that day and we talked about Blue . Yes, we discussed my chaperoned date with Blue, and some of my other blogs that he's read thus far. How do you talk to a guy you're dating about a guy you've gone out on a date with??? I haven't seen that article in Essence or Marie Claire. Should I pick up GQ to find an article on such a conversation??? Will we now be discussing his current dating adventures????

Yes, Hustle and I are just dating (despite the protestations from a small group of friends. you know who you are, damnit! I can't hear you!!! hahahahahahahaah). Yes, we enjoy each other's company when we're together. We laugh, we talk, we joke, we sit on his living room floor and eat takeout while watching Weeds or Californication or some other show he attempts to get me hooked on. But when we're not together, its like recess. What happens in the playground, stays in the playground. I don't know what goes on in his playground, and up until Friday, I thought he didn't know what was going on in mine. Have you ever been in a fitting room and forgot to lock the door behind you, and the minute you are most naked, the door swings opens and there stands the fitting room attendant with a "oh I'm sorry"? That's exactly what Hustle's confession of reading my blog feels like. Slightly embarrassing, but nothing tragic or life altering.

At the end of the day, it is what it is. There's nothing I can do. I'm not going to shut the site down. And I damn sure am not going to stop writing about my life and my thoughts. While this particular post is probably one of the hardest blogs I've written, I know there is one particular reader who is getting a kick out of seeing me squirm. With his permission, I will continue to write about him and with my blessing, I will continue to write about everything else in my life.

So with this posting, I would like to officially welcome Hustle to my website. Welcome to my wonderings and the stories of my life. We can even continue to discuss them if you wish. Yes, I will be squeamish and yes, I will squirm and attempt to change the subject but I will at least try to discuss my thoughts with you. And yes, I will soon be writing about our current ongoing battle. I told you: you are not going to win. As a certain rapper said: I will NOT lose. hahahahaha

Friday, November 30, 2007

Let me just start off by saying, men confuse the hell out of me. There, I said it. I cram to understand the rocket science degree it takes to understand what the hell is going on in their minds.

For instance, I attended an event and was introduced to a group of 4 men. All equally attractive, but in very different ways. As conversation flowed it became apparent that 2 of the gentlemen were interested in me. I noticed the head to toe glances, the casual but not so subtle way they asked about the whereabouts of my man. The eyebrows raised when I replied that I am single. The compliments on my hair and telling me how "tight" my shoe game is (the red patent leather 4 inch heel round toe pump is quickly becoming my new favorite.)So who's business card was in my purse at the end of the night?? Neither. They both kind of lingered when they said goodbye, like they were interested but wanted me to make the first move. One even invited me to a bar that they all frequent. What am I supposed to do? Just roll up at the bar on some random night and expect to see them there?? Or did I read this scenario wrong?? Or was this one of those "I don't want to step on my boy's toes" moments? Did they each make the first move and were then waiting for for my counter move??? Sheesh, this is harder than my Dad trying to teach me how to play chess.

Another prime example of the man induced confusion occurred on a date. I met this guy at yet another event. He was handsome and thankfully tall, impeccable preppy style attire, and most importantly made me laugh. Blue (as I will call him here) and I exchanged information and agreed to see each other soon. In subequent text and telephone conversations, we realized that we both had pretty tight schedules. The first level of "Huh?" came when he invited me to a party and requested that I bring along some of my girlfriends for his boys. Huh???? Come again??? You want me to pimp my girls to your boys, sight unseen. I'm sorry I value my friendships and hooking my girls up with dudes I know nothing about is grounds for immediate expulsion from the circle. Its right there in the handbook. But instead of saying that, I respectfully declined. Didn't want to offend him or his friends (in the event they were cute and dateable, I could invite my friends to meet them at a later date...hahahahaha). So after a few more conversations Blue suggested I meet him for dinner before he goes to this party. Sounds like a plan. A mini-date was planned for dinner at a restaurant downtown. I arrive before he did and made myself comfy at the bar with a cup of tea with honey and lemon. He sends me a text saying "running late. stuck in traffic". I respond "ok". Traffic in New York can be a bitch with a grudge - can't shake it, so you deal with it until you're back in her good graces. About 20 minutes later, he sends another text "just parked. be there in 5. my brother is with me". Huh??? Excuse me??? Come again??? Yes you read that correctly, he brought his brother with him on our date. Since when do you bring a chaperone on a date??? I called my girl, E. to freak out for the 4 minutes I had before he arrives. "WHAT THE FUCK, E.??? ME, HIM, AND HIS BROTHER??? ON A DATE??? PLEASE TELL ME I'M ON HELL DATE AND A LITTLE MIDGET IN A DEVIL COSTUME IS GOING TO COME RUNNING OUT FROM THE BACK OF THE RESTAURANT???" She laughs hysterically. I giggle my frustration away. And sure enough, he walks in a few minutes later, with a shorter version of himself. I take a deep breath, give him a hug, and in my best prep school manner, extend my hand and shake his brother's hand with a high wattage Ms. America, very genuinely fake smile. "Hi. It's so nice to meet you." I coo. Blue explains that his brother is going with him to the party. I wave it off like "it's okay". Meanwhile, I'm trying to figure out just what the hell was he thinking??? So what that your brother is going to the party?? You couldn't come up with a better solution??? Or just meet up with me another time???
So the 3 of us are seated at a table and thus begins our date with talk of work and sports, sports and work. Hellllooooooo???? Aren't you supposed to at least attempt to get to know me?? Isn't this the purpose of a date?? Even if it is chaperoned. I felt like I was hanging with one of my boys and his brother - not on a first date with someone. About an hour and a half later, the date ended. He had to get to this party and I had to get home to call my friends so they can laugh with me about my chaperoned date. We're standing outside and again I shake his brother's hand with a "It was a pleasure meeting you." Blue stands there kind of awkwardly and gives me a hug. It wasn't one of those great date hugs - you know the kind where you hold on tight and never want to end?. It was more like a thanks buddy pat on the back hug. Which I was cool with. Hey, I got a free delicious meal, and definitely a story to tell. Not bad for an ordinary weeknight.
The next day, Blue sends to me a good morning text, and thus begins a text conversation. Somewhere in the midst of the convo, he throws out there " I don't think u feeling me. U didn't try to kiss me at the end of our date." Huh???? Excuse me??? What the hellll??? When was I supposed to kiss him???? Somebody please tell me. While his brother was standing right there??? He can't be serious, right?? And what does he mean "you didnt try to kiss me"?? Huh??? Since when was the attempt for a kiss placed on MY SHOULDERS??? It has been my experience that its the guy that makes the attempt, right??? Was this a passive aggressive ploy to feel out whether I was feeling him??? Or am I just, once again, confused??? Instead of saying all of this I respond "I'm a lady & ladies don't make attempts. And besides, I think your chaperone would have been offended. LOL" with the winking smiley face for good measure. He wants to go out again. I told him that we can go out again if and when his chaperone has the night off.

So here I am confused like an recent immigrant in a foreign land with foreign languages, and unfamiliar customs. Maybe I should just go back to school and get that damn degree in rocket science. It has to be easier than navigating through the land of Men and Dating.

Monday, November 26, 2007

Weekend Recap.

Yeah I know I said I hate these types of blogs before but they serve a purpose. Thankfully this weekend actually began on Friday and not on Tuesday like in my last weekend recap. hahahahhahaha

My weekend began with an afternoon conversation with Spalding. I know its been a minute since I've made any mention of him but I've had my reasons. This particular conversation was one of those lay it out on the line convos - no holding back. It leaves me more uncomfortable than at ease. Why is he the only one that gets under my skin?? I know its because of my stance on relationships and love. But I feel more naked than that stupid ass Cowboy playing the guitar in his tighty whiteys in Times Square in the dead of freaking winter. When I hung up, I was left with more questions. Mostly for myself. I wondered if I would ever be comfortable with letting go. Again. I try to tell myself that I'm here and he's there (there being aproximately one thousand two hundred eighty six miles away. approximately. hahahahahaha). But that shit isn't easing how I feel. Shit this is too heavy. Especially for a Friday. So instead of sitting in the house and replaying my afternoon convo in my mind, I went to a party to get my drink and my 2 step on. And yes, it was on! This party was exactly what I needed. A complete distraction. I flirted, got my drink on, and managed to drop down low and sweep the floor with it a few times. For some reason every guy I met kept telling me how good my hair smells. Weird, right?? But after such a heavy afternoon, I needed the frivolity of it all. No talk of relationships and feelings. Just kicking up my 4 inch red heels and shaking my ass as if rent depended on it. Good times.

I had a hell reunion. I know I've mentioned here before that my first job out of college was at a place that was pure HELL. It didn't help that the office building's number was 666 and my office was located on the 6th floor. Along with my best friend, the 5 of us were a force to be reckoned with. We were educated, confident, intelligent black women - management's worst nightmare. Thankfully, we all left HELL for bigger and better things, and above all remained friends. One of my girlfriends was in town for the holiday weekend so we all got together. We went to a restaurant in Brooklyn that was pathetic. The service was meager at best and the food was mediocre at best. I just want to know: how can you open a Caribbean restaurant in Brooklyn, the epicenter of Caribbean culture in the US, and your jerk chicken, a signature Caribbean dish, is fraudulent? Barbecue sauce on pieces of chicken breast? Are you kidding me? But I digress. The food didn't matter (even though my stomach paid the price later..hahahahaha). We were together like old times. Laughing, joking, tackling serious subjects, offering advice. I looked around at the table and realized how important each and every woman present is important to my life. I have learned so much from these women. I wanted to wrap every minute, every second into the finest, most exquisite material (what is this? velvet??? hahahahahahah), and lovingly unwrap it every time I feel happy, sad, lonely, frustrated, joyous, loved, unloved. That is how much they mean to me. I loved every minute of it. We made plans to get together soon but so often life gets in the way. Despite the terrible food and the gastric pains that ensued it was definitely good times.

I woke up pretty early because my bedroom is a sauna. Like someone installed an oven right under my bed sauna. My bedroom floors are never cold and most nights I flip my air conditioner on before I close my eyes. No, I'm not complaining because yes I am grateful for the heat. But damnit, I'm about to rent my bedroom out as a weight loss medi-spa. Guaranteed to sweat 10lbs of ya ass or your money back!!! hahahahahaa
My journal was in the bed with me (wished it was someone and not something but I digress...hahahahaha), so I started from the beginning and read and read and read. I let my legs dangle from the edge of my very high bed with the bright sun kissing my back through my window. After I laughed, cried, and laughed some more, I stared out my window with thoughts of the past couple of days swirling around. Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest but my mind was racing like it was speeding on the highway below my high story window. That need for calm forced me to get my ass up and go to church. I've been going to church more often lately. In the rebuilding of the kingdom of me (like that don't ya? hahahahah), I figured I needed to return to some basics in my life, the tangible and the intangible constants. I didn't go last Sunday because I was kidnapped by Hustle. Again, another blog for another day (or maybe not). But I've been going. Alone. No friends, no family. Just me. I focus better that way.

This particular Sunday, we had a guest priest officiating. Yes, I said priest. Yes I'm Catholic, as in Roman Catholic. (Sidebar: why do people always look at me like "Really?" when I say I'm Catholic. Yes, Black folks love the Pope too. hahahahahaha) Now a guest priest giving the sermon can lead to disaster. Either you can't understand a word they are saying because English is not their first language or you miss the message because you were too busy nodding off. Thankfully, this was not the case. This priest gave one of the most powerful sermons I've heard in a long time. He had people out their seats, shouting "AMEN" into the rafters, which we just don't do as Catholics. We calmly say "amen" with our hands reverently clasped in our laps and clap at appropriate moments for exactly 5 seconds. hahahahahahaaa. This was the only time in my life when I wished my church was one of those ginormous, altar looks like a talk show set, pastor drives a Bentley church, because I knew a DVD or CD of his sermon would be for sale in the vestibule right next to the Jesus Loves You carving knife set. I was moved to tears. Right there in church. The last time I gave way to my emotions during service was the Sunday after I found out someone I knew died in the World Trade Center.
What was the topic, you may ask? Well the priest paraphrased a Mary J. Blige song and told us "You can't hide from [God's] love" (and yes he did quote the song). Now, you know, I have issues with the whole love thing, so initially I was squirming in my pew like I was the 2 year old sitting in front of me. But since I was sitting there alone, I had no choice but to focus on his message, with my hands reverently clasped in my lap. Of course.

Sitting there on that hard ass pew in my soft grey turtleneck dress, I realized why my mind has been racing a mile a minute lately. I'm too busy running. Running away. Yes, I don't trust love in my hands. I feel that I may break it since clearly, I haven't been able to take care of it properly. So I turn and run. Run for the hills, the valleys, who cares as long as I'm not near it. The priest flat out told me that I "can never outrun God's love so cut it out." I chuckled along with everyone else but I was very uneasy. Normally, I listen to the sermon, and think "Uh huh. I know somebody just like that. Ooooh , so & so needs to be here to hear the message". Don't act like I'm the only one who does that. Well I guess this Sunday I was "so & so" because I got to hear the message. (SIDEBAR: you know I gotta ask! Who the hell is "so and so"? How do we know them??? hahahahaha) I understand that I need to sit still and figure some shit out. I let fear be my running shoes and yes I'm deathly afraid. But I'm not afraid to admit it. That has to be a step right in the right direction, right????
I left church and checked my cell phone. I had 6 text messages and 3 missed calls, all with plans for the rest of the day. Didn't feel like brunch, or going to a movie, or going shopping (yes clutch the pearls, I didn't want to go shopping...hhhahahahaha). I sent text messages to everyone, declining their offers. After this sermon, I went home, turned my phone off for the better part of the day, took my running shoes off and let my bare feet dangle from the edge of my very high bed for a minute. Yes just for a minute, but hey, you gotta start somewhere, right???? Good times, indeed.

Thursday, November 22, 2007

OK my plan to find a Holiday Husband didn't work out. Mainly because I put forth absolutely no effort to find one this past weekend. Thanks to Hustle. But that's another blog for another day. So here I am, at my grandmother's house, stuffed worse than the half devoured turkey on the table. And yes, my family lived up to my every expectation. Career, relationship, children, were all on my menu right beside the turkey and the sweet potatoes. Four hours and 37 minutes of intermittent interrogation. All I could do was roll my eyes, answer, and then eventually retreat to my grandmothers computer room with the worst headache. I've had this headache since I left the house this morning. I know they are worried about me but damn, can I just be? Just be to figure me out. What is soo wrong with that??? There are many things I'm thankful for on this day of thanks and turkey, but most importantly I'm thankful for this time in my life. A time when I have the opportunity to question everything. A time when I decided the status quo won't cut it in my life anymore. The time to figure out exactly what it is I want out of life. Many would kill for the opportunity but instead they remain trapped, caged in by what others say is right for their lives. I am preparing myself for the best life for me and I could care less what my family or anyone else has to say.

Next year, I'm beginning my Holiday Hubby search in July. I'll avoid the headache and just eat leftovers.

Friday, November 16, 2007

I need a Husband. ASAP. Particularly a husband with a large family. Explicitly, a husband with a large family that is gathering together for Thanksgiving dinner. My need for a husband is not only urgent but practical during this holiday season. Forget all the love shit (still not inspired to believe in it for me; not yet anyway). Me having a husband who's family is hosting Thanksgiving dinner is the ONLY reason my family would accept for me to miss Turkey Day with them.

Here's the deal. I love my family. Really I do. But just like my best friend's most adorable, most lovable Yorkie on the planet, I'd rather love them from a distance because I'm allergic to the family and dogs. But this isn't your normal allergy: no itchy, watery eyes; no stuffy nose; no hives. When it comes to my family, my nerves are allergic to them. See, many of my family members (not all) get on my fucking nerves. I mean that in the nicest way possible. Really I do. Unfortunately, Benadryl and Claritin just wont help in this situation.

So I figure a Holiday Hubby would be a perfect cure for my family allergy. No more heated arguments over spades, where my grandmother will curse me out if I underbid my hand (yes, literally CURSE ME OUT...hahahahah). No more trying to remember my aunt's fourth husband's name. No more fighting my other's aunt's dog for my plate of food. No more dying from embarrassment when someone pulls out the photo album filled with naked baby pictures of yours truly. No more dodging creepy looks from my crazy older cousin after everyone laughs over said photo album. No more having to explain the choices I've made in life both personally and professionally. I can just go to my Holiday Hubby's family's house, eat, have polite conversation, stay out of family politics, and go home with a piece of pie for later.

The downside of this cure is that I will miss my mother's cooking. Even though the family will assemble at my grandmother's house this year, my mother is going down 2 days early to cook. THANK THE LORD!!!! My grandmother and my mother's 2 sisters are not master chefs. I have mastered the art of pushing food around on my plate and have starved at plenty of family events to know this for a fact. However, since the Iron Chef is my mother, and I just so happen to be her favorite (and only) child, I'm pretty sure I can ask for a Thanksgiving replica in the middle of August, stuffing my face with her cheesy mac & cheese, her to die for greens (my father wants me to ship him some to Tennessee...hahahahahaha), the not too sweet sweet potatoes, and all the other delectable treats. Yummmm. My mouth is just watering thinking about her cooking. Still not enough to deter me from my quest to find a Holiday Hubby.

So I need to find a Holiday Hubby this weekend. I figure if we get married on Monday, Tuesday the latest, I can call my grandmother and say "Sorry. Can't make it. I have to go to the in-laws. You know how it is! Love you! Smooches!" Or maybe I will shoot her an email. Either way, I will be off the hook.

To any prospective Holiday Husbands out there, this could be mutually beneficial. Your family will FINALLY stop asking you "When are you gonna settle down?" Well at least for one day out of the year. What I am proposing here is not long term (can't have you falling in love me...hahahahah)! We can have it annulled the Friday after Thanksgiving. You can date/fuck whomever you choose ('cause it won't be me...hahahahahaha)You go your way and I go mine. Until next year. Sometime around the 4th Thursday of November when we have to do this all over again.

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

A client came into the office for a meeting yesterday. She's a older woman, has to be in her late seventies. But she's always spunky whenever she comes to the office. As she removed her coat, I noticed she was wearing a gold name chain. Very Carrie-Sex in the City-esque with the name written in script on a delicate rope chain, but yes Grandma was rocking it well and very sophisticated I may add. That in and of it self made me giggle. She asked if I had anything to read while she waited. I offered the newspaper, and my Marie Claire magazine. She turned down the newspaper ("Who wants to read about war all the time? Too depressing"), and reached for the magazine. While I definitely had work to do, she chatted me up like we were old friends. She sat with her legs crossed and flipped through the magazine. She saw I had a page turned back on a coat I want to purchase. She informed me that the coat would look "stunning" on me, and that I should hurry up and purchase it. All I could do is giggle and thank her. Here was this woman who I would normally never interact with (she's wealthy and white; I'm broke and black....hahahahahaha), chatting me up as she passed the time, waiting for her husband to arrive and the meeting to begin. I never got the impression from her that she was trying to be young and hip. It just seemed she is innately young at heart. She gives off this vibrant youthful vibe that doesn't seem forced or contrived. She is who she is, no matter what her birth certificate says. Can I be her when I grow old?? Well, except for the white part. hahahahaha

Her husband arrives about a half hour later. With his grey suit, big round eyeglasses, and comb over, he looks like he stepped straight out of the 1970s. The minute this man saw his wife, he literally got excited, like he hadn't seen her in years. He greeted her with a "Hey, Darling." and swooped her into an very sweet embrace. After she sat down, they compared notes on what they each did that day since they left the house that morning. He turns to me, and "says thank you for keeping my doll company." I wanted to burst into tears right then and there. Not because I'm sad but because that was the sweetest thing I've ever witnessed. She flips through my magazine and shows him the coat I plan on buying. "Darling, won't this look stunning on her?" "Hubba! Hubba! You're husband won't be able to keep his hands off of you" he says. "Because of a coat?" I reply. (didn't even want to get into the whole no husband thing...hahahahaha). He gives me a piece of advice: "Janelle, dear. It could be a potato sack. You will always be stunning to him. Just keep that twinkle in your eye" What the helllllll??? Did I just step into a Audrey Hepburn or Dorris Day movie from the sixties??? Is this man's real name Cary Grant??? Do they still make men like this??? It was obvious this man adored his wife. From the way, he held her hand while walking into the office and the way he bent down to kiss her when he realized he hadn't kissed her all day. Hands down, this couple gets the Couple of a Lifetime Award. It wasn't sugary sweet, or overwhelming. It was like a small piece of chocolate after dinner, just enough to satisfy your sweet tooth, without putting you into a diabetic coma. After over 50 years of marriage, they couldn't keep there hands off each other, and they still had that twinkle in their eye. I guess I wish that this was a glimpse into my future with my un-named hubby. I know for sure I will definitely be spunky, probably rocking my name chain and my Marc Jacobs sunglasses. Need the sunglasses to protect that twinkle in my eye. hahahahahahaha

Yesterday was the born day of this here blog. Today is the anniversary of my first real blog. Thank you for all the encouragement and sharing all of my laughs, my joys, my highs, my lows. Keep reading, and I'll keep writing. Smooches.

Friday, November 02, 2007

Last night was one of extremely different experiences. I started the evening going to my best friend's son 13th birthday party at Pizzeria Uno. I can't believe he is 13. She called me the day before, to inform me of the dinner celebration. While I had already made plans for that evening, there was no way I wasn't going to show. Plans are made to be adjusted. And this is a time when always being late will work in my favor. hahahahaha

We talked for about 20 minutes, catching up on each others lives. We never talk on the phone. EVER. We usually get updates on each others lives through another best friend. There are 4 of us and we have been friends - best friends since legwarmers, name chains, and four finger rings were first in style. Since there was no Best Friend Constitution ratified on a specific date back in the early 80s, I'm not really sure exactly when our friendships were solidified. However, does it really matter when and how when you have such longstanding bonds with people?

I remember when she called me from college to tell me that she was pregnant. My first thought was "oooooooooooh. Your father is going to KILL you." Now here we are, 13 years later, laughing and joking with friends and family, and a table full of kids (not all belonging to people at the table. My best friend's son's friends were there too). When the time came for me to leave, I really didn't want to. I realize I miss my best friends. While I have so many friends, there is nothing like your childhood to adulthood friends. The ones who have seen me grow from contacts to glasses, from saddle shoes to stilettos. We intrinsically know each other because we were there to witness the formation of who we are today. We each probably played a significant part in that formation. I am who I am today partly because of these 3 women. One of my best friends is having a birthday in a couple of weeks. I asked her what did she want to do for her day, she said "nothing. just me and the kids" She is such a mother (and I mean that in a good way). I think at some point, the 3 of us should hang out. Go to dinner, go bowling, do something. We don't hang out like we used to. The last time all four of us were together was.........ummmmm, damn was it my birthday?? That was back in March. No wait. My friend hosted a sex toy party in the early part of the summer and we all went to that. But of course, I had to leave to go to another event. Story of my life. hahahahaha Either way I think we are long overdue for a girls night, just the four of us. I'm going to make that happen. Soon.

So I left the birthday celebration to meet my friend E. at a function downtown. She didn't give me much detail but insisted that I had "to be there". Okay, that's usually all the convincing I need. I stepped out of a taxi in front of the address she gave me. I was standing in front of some nondescript brownstone building on a quite side street. This is where I "had to be"? She was waiting for me outside. While she smoked a cigarette, she just kept telling me how "fabulous" this party was. As she's detailing the "fabulousity" and telling me "you just have to see for yourself", I suspected she just might be right, judging from the people floating up and down the stairs, entering and exiting the building. Beautiful brown folks, corporate browns, artistic browns, model browns, wannabe model browns, blue collar browns, white collar browns, celebrity browns, regular folk browns were everywhere. As we climbed the stairs and navigated our way through the multiple levels of the host's brownstone, I was in awe. There were so many beautiful people in the place. What was so refreshing is that everyone we encountered, everyone we passed by or shall I say squeezed by (because it was packed) was very friendly. I must have said "Hi" with a smile well over a dozen times all before we reached the center of the party on the 3rd level. So often, I find people posted up with their nose in the air at these types of events, thinking that their are too superior to be there. I always say, if that's the case, then break out homie so we can get this partay started.
As the bartender made a concoction with some kind of Spanish whiskey (which by the way, was the smoothest drink I've ever had. no clutching the chest or scrunching up my face because the taste is too strong. hahaha), a guy approached me and informed me that I look very familiar. He kept saying "I know you". So thus began a game of "Name that Negro" you know the one where you try to place how you know another black person in 5 questions or less?? After questions about school and childhood homes proved to be unsuccessful, he went to events attended as possibly being the common thread. "Were you at So-and-so's barbeque on Fire Island? "Who? Ummm, no, I wasn't there. "Were you at the Vineyard this summer?" By "the Vineyard" he meant Martha's Vineyard (SIDEBAR: I once overheard a conversation where a girl said to her friend: "Martha Stewart got so much money she has a vine-yard named after her and its a whole island!" Oh dear, somebody clutch the pearls. hahahahaha). "No I didn't make it this year." After a few more questions about even more exclusive events and places, we just concluded that I must have a twin in the world. In my mind, I concluded that my twin is stealing my invitations to great events. We parted ways, but not before he handed me his business card. I chatted with someone else and we started playing Password: the Brown Edition where the person upon hearing you went to __________ (fill in the blank with name of high school/college/grad school), they try to get you to remember someone that attended the school within a five year span of you being there by describing said person. How often do you win that game???

More fabulous brown folks and a few more fabulous brown drinks. I spent the night, sipping, two stepping, and getting to know some really fabulous people. With extended invitations to attend the soiree again, I just may have met some new friends. Maybe, maybe not. Either way, they will never compare to the three who rocked legwarmers and name chains with me back in the day.

Oh before I forget....can you pleeeeeeeaase hurry up and see American Ganster??? I have so much I want to say about it. But I'm trying to respect the fact that you haven't seen it. I can't hold these thoughts forever. It came out today. Go see it. Now. Right now. Tell your boss to shove it. The work will be there on Monday. You're not doing any real work on a Friday anyway. hahahahaha. HURRY UP, PEOPLE!!!!
Smooches ;)

Thursday, November 01, 2007

In 2002, my mother became ill. For months, I watched her health deteriorate. With no clue as to what was wrong with her, she went from doctor to doctor seeking some kind of solution. She went to just about every –ist in the medical profession: gynecologist, oncologist, etc. etc. She took test after test after test. They swabbed, poked, X-rayed, and took samples of every bodily fluid. All tests came back clear. But that still didn’t explain why she had absolutely no energy to do the simplest task like crossing the street, or washing dishes. This went on for months. Initially, I was ok, thinking the doctors are handling this. But as her condition began to incapacitate her, I was simply afraid. Afraid that this was it. My mother lost her father at the age of 26, was I destined live out the same fate? Luckily, she finally saw a kidney specialist who thought my mother's lab results were erroneous. She called on a Sunday (how rare is that??) and said she wanted to see my mother in her office first thing Tuesday morning (Monday was Labor Day). She told my mother this must be a lab error because no one should be walking around with these kinds of numbers. That Tuesday morning, I had to bathe and dress my mother. She was simply too weak to do it anymore. In the cab ride to her doctor's office, I remember my mother kept patting my hand and telling me that everything was "just fine." I looked at her like she was nuts but I just nodded my head and watched the FDR Drive and the East River blur into one.

We later found out that her initial lab results weren't wrong, my mother was just that sick. She was admitted into the hospital that day for the 3rd time in my life (the first time being when I was born so she kind of had to be there for that one…hahahahah). The last time my mother was in the hospital was to have her gall bladder removed, and I was 4 years old. My most vivid memory during that time was my grandfather trying to tame my long, thick unruly mass of hair. Frustrated and without any other hair holding device left in the house (because he broke them all), he bunched my hair into a massive ponytail on top of my head with his hand- no brush, wrapped duct tape around the "ponytail" to hold it in place and took me to school. Yes, you read that correctly, duct tape. Needless to say, my nursery school teacher spent the better part of the morning doing my hair. The next day a cousin came over and braided my hair into long cornrows with pretty beads, a first for me. I just recall the sounds the beads made and how all I wanted to do was jump, run, turn my head from side to side, just to hear the sound of the beads hitting each other. I remember being told that my mother was in the hospital but didn’t quite grasp the concept. I vaguely remember going to visit her once but all I remember is climbing into her bed so she could play with the beads in my hair.

This time around I was 26 and without my grandfather to hold my hand or to take care of the situation. After calling my boss to inform him I wouldn’t be coming in, I didn't know what to do. My mother had to tell me to call the family. I had no clue what to do. I was lost. I sat down and did something my mother does everyday. I wrote a list. My mother can't make a move without writing a damn list. I always roll my eyes at her crazy list. But it gave me something to focus on. While I was writing my list of who to call, what to bring from the apartment, the doctor came over to speak with me. He informed me that my mother's "levels" were dangerously low. In doctorspeak, he threw all kinds of medical terms my way. All I heard at the end of his monologue was I may want to discuss with my mother her "plans". I remember I wanted to scream. I wanted to yell. I wanted to bash his head against the medicine cart so he would stop talking. Just mush him one good time and watch his dome bounce off the industrial sturdy plastic. Instead I asked a few questions and thanked him before he scurried off down the corridor in a blur of hospital scrubs and lab coat. I didn’t leave her side that night. For the next 3 months, I spent at least 5 nights a week in that hospital. I would leave in the morning, take a taxi home, shower, change, feed Tabitha, my mother's cat and go to work. Leave work, go to hospital, speak with doctors, nurses, specialists, have dinner with my mother, entertain her always lively dementia suffering roommate, then fall asleep in my mother's bedside chair. Wake up and my day would start all over again.

Everyday my boss, my contractors, my friends, and my neighbors would ask "How's your mom?" "She's okay." became my mantra. I realize that it still is today. I may switch it up with "She's fine" or "She's good" or the classic " "Getting on my nerves so she must be okay". What else am I supposed to say? It's automatic at this point, even though I see the signs that she isn't doing as great lately. I see the fatigue setting in again and I feel the fear creeping in again. I nag her like a bill collector about her going to see the doctor. She tries to wave me off but there is no feeling that compares to seeing the person who made you, raised you, and loves you, lying on bleary white sheets in a motorized twin size bed with tubes sprouting out of them like tentacles. I could close my eyes right now and still see her laying there, her hazel eyes not as clear and feel her hands as cold as a December morning. That memory is forever etched on my soul. I don't want to relive that feeling again.

My mom and I talk a lot all the time. But lately, we've been talking about my future. We discuss my move, and how she can decorate the second bedroom of my home for whenever she wants to rack up some frequent flier miles and come to visit. We talk about my future kids, and what she will and won't tolerate from her grandbabies. We talk about my decision to stop teaching to find my true calling in life. We discuss the changes I've made in my life. We talk about my book. She's the only person who has read a portion of Chapter 1 (I won't let her read any more than that and she is sworn to secrecy. hahahahaha). We talk about her current work on her completing her degree, and what she plans to do next. I love these talks with my mom. I see that twinkle in her hazel eyes dazzling and I feel like all is right in the world. But there is a part of me, all the way in the back of my mind, way, way in that little corner, that whispers how much of this will she be here for?? Will my children really know her or will they create her in their mind from stories I tell them and the pictures they see of her? Who will tell them that Mommy is a writer because Grandma used to help her make little books out of construction paper and the cardboard insert from pantyhose packaging when she was their age or younger? Will they ever experience the joy of tasting my mother's famous Carrot Cake or will they just have to accept my substitution (SIDEBAR: to my friends: I will NOT be making the alcohol cakes for the children, ummkay?? hahahahahah) ?? How many of my books will she have read? Will she actually get to accomplish the plans she has for her next phase in life? Lately, these are the questions that swirl in my mind when I see her get tired sooner rather than later. No she's not dying tomorrow, but ever since she was hospitalized 5 years ago, the actual possibility has always been more that a theory and more liking something lurking right around the corner. And yes I panic when I think of all that her absence would mean in my life. I wish that thought process and its accompanying feelings on no one.

I've never verbalized this story or these fears, not even when I was told to discuss "her plans" with her. I've kept it all in. No one knew about the doctors instructions. To verbalize it, makes it real. That is just a reality I wasn't ready to accept, not then or now. There is a song by Tamia, called "Smile". In it, she simply but emotionally sings:

"So I put on my make up/ put a smile on my face/ and if anyone ask me,/ 'everything is ok'/ I'm laughing cuz no one knows the joke is on me/ cuz I'm dyin inside with my pride/ and a smile on my face.../on my face singing, la la la, la la, lalala, la la, la la, la la, la la, la la, la la la Laaaa"

This is me whenever I hear "How's your mom?"

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

The Top 10 Things that Never Cease to Amaze Me

10. Alcohol at a Baby Shower. I went to a Baby Shower that was unlike any baby shower I have ever been to. The lights were dim, the DJ was spinning, full stocked bar, dudes hitting on girls (ummm sounds like a disaster waiting to happen given the setting), and children doing the Soulja Boy dance all over the damn place. Is this a club??? While I enjoy a good partay and I tend to party like a rockstar, this is too much. A friend of mine makes the best rum punch EVER!!! But I couldn't enjoy it like I usually do, especially when a 4 year old tried to take my cup thinking it was Kool-Aid and had a certified fit when his mother took it out of his hands. I spotted the Baby Momma to be talking to a group of friends who all had cups of rum punch in their hands. You could see the look of "oooh I want some" gleaming in her eye. At my baby shower, there will be no alcohol. If I can't sip (as my Granny used to call it...hahahaha), you can't either. hahahaha

9. Smelling Weed in the morning. A crowd of people got on the train and stood all around my seat. As the doors closed, I couldn't help but detect a very distinctive fragrance. A strong aroma of it floated through the train car. I almost thought someone was bold enough to light up on the train (which by the way would have been hilarious if undercover officers were in the car). Whoever it was, they reeked of Mary Jane. Their coat, their bag, their newspapers, shit maybe even their pores wore the fragrance as if it were a new bottle of cologne. Damnit its 8 in the morning!!! Did you really have to light up this early in the freaking morning?? Is life really that hard??? And lets be clear this wasn't some "I smoked last night with my dudes down the block" smell, this was the "okay I have to walk three long ass blocks to the train, might as well light up" aroma. How can someone walk into work smelling like that?? Are you really climbing the corporate ladder?? Well, if they work for High Times magazine, then maybe showing up to work smelling like marijuana is a ploy for the corner office. Good luck with that.

8. White people who want to touch my hair. Since I've been rocking the natural do, this phenomenon always make me chuckle. Yes I understand that the texture of my hair may not be something they are accustomed to, but what makes you think I want your hands in my hair??? And don't get offended when I say "No" or pull back when I see that hand reaching up towards my head. Can you walk up to the Mona Lisa and just touch it? Can you reach out and touch the President without the Secret Service tackling you to the ground(if they do, can you scream out "Don't tase me, bro!"? That shit is hilarious!!!! )? Can you just reach over and take food off of a stranger's plate??? Hell no. Its rude. Get over it. And stop trying to touch my hair.

7. People who question my parentage. Now this has been a long running joke with my Georgia crew from college, so I expect it from them and if I were a conspiracy theorist, I would think they are telling people to question me so they can get a good laugh. But please people, don't get offended when I look at you blankly because No hablo espanol. As my country folks would say: My momma black, my daddy black. First of all, I don't see me as looking like anything else but African American, but I've heard Dominican, Puerto Rican, or "ummm, so both your parents are black? really???". Yes really. I love the politically correct inquiries the best. "Oh where are you from?" "Here." "No, like where is your family from?" "Umm, here" "No ummm, I mean like, ummm what's your, ummm, background?"

6. People who believe that George Bush is a great President. What more is it going to take??? Video surveillance of he and his cronies laughing at how much money they have made since he moved into the White House while most can't afford to fill their gas tanks?? Jesus testifying before Congress about the sins George has confessed??? Osama Bin Laden writing a tell all book??? I'm just saying.

5. Speaking of politics, Rudy Guilani. With his comb over and his lisp, is this really someone we want representing us as the leader of this country? Aren't other nations already laughing at us because of our current leader?? Looney Tunes was right: Daffy Duck was never the leader of anything. His plans always failed. He got no respect. He wasn't your favorite character. And his lisp was annoying as hell. I'm not even going to get into Rudy's whole exploitation of September 11 to improve his image. But do I really have to hear him refer back to how magnificent a leader he was on that day for the rest of the election process?? Give me a break already.

4. Parents who thinks its cute or funny when their children behave as adults. Whether its a 4 year old cursing like they have a standup routine on Def Comedy Jam or an 8 year old dropping it like its hot, complete with splits and sex like body motions. Yes, I have no children so you may say I am sitting high on my throne making judgements but come on, you know I'm right. I don't need to give birth to know right from wrong. That 4 year old will soon be a 14 year old cursing you out (or worse) and that 8 year old will be doing those same dances with pasties on and using a pole as a prop. I wonder what is it going to take to raise children as children??

3. How on days when I absolutely feel like crap, I get hit on by a hottie. Where is the logic in this??

2. Big Perm. Now those who read my blog regularly, know that Big Perm is a black "leader" in this country. While I applaud his efforts at times, I wonder what his true agenda really is. All that protesting for Don Imus to lose his job, and now he's okay with the man landing a lucrative deal on another station. How much of that lucrative deal is going to Big Momma's Press N Curl????

1. Damnit, there are a million things that never cease to amaze me like the ease of a conversation when both parties are in sync, the flower that grows in the middle of the concrete. If you want a Top 10 list, watch Letterman. ahahahahahaha


Oh by the way, American Gangster is amazing. And no, I didnt see it bootleg. hahahahaha
Go to the most suburban theater you can find to go see it, so you can actually hear what's going on! ahahahahaha

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

It’s been brought to my attention that out here in the World Wide Web or the Internets like old folk say, there are some who have taken offense to my blog. Some who think I’ve crossed a line by writing about people I encounter. Some who even think that anything I’ve written here is a lie or negative in connotation.

I started this blog as an outlet – a freedom of expression if you will. I chose to write about things that occur in my life. Key phrase: MY LIFE. Yes, I know that I’m not an island so obviously my life experiences involve others whether directly or indirectly. And those people are extensions of my experiences, and sometimes they become a topic of a blog either directly or indirectly. But if you read carefully, while a person may be mentioned in my blog, each entry always refers back to me. Back to what I think or feel about a situation. Back to me questioning decisions I’ve made. Back to me wondering out loud about things that occur in my life. I am the butterfly and this is MY REFUGE. Not yours.

So here’s the thing. If you don’t wish to possibly be a topic of my blog, don’t enter into my life. Stop contacting me. Stop entering into my personal space. Stop giving me material. For some, I can’t help if what you see written here is negative – that’s the material you’ve given me, I won’t spin the facts to make you look or feel better about yourself or to your fans.

And since I’ve brought up this little thing called fact, let’s talk about it for a minute. The fact is I am a woman of my word. While I may have a horrible habit of arriving late to damn near every event (yes I am working on it…hahahahaha), I pretty much do what I say I’m going to do or what I’m not going to do. Those whom I have embraced and welcomed into my life, know that if I say I’m going to do something for them no matter how big or small or tiring it can be, it’s done. I stick to it. Once I make up my mind, that’s it. Case closed. I mean, shit. I chose not to speak to my father for 2 years because of some perceptions I had of him and issues we had. I’m not saying this as something I am proud of but there was nothing no one could say, that would make me speak to him, and trust me I heard it all. I am proud of the relationship I have with my Dad now. I needed those years apart from him to grow as a woman and to see him for the man that he is and not who I expected him to be. I tell this to say once I’ve made a decision about something that I feel strongly about, that’s it. It’s final. Nothing will sway me. This is what I know about me. This is my fact.

So when I tell someone LEAVE ME ALONE or STAY THE FUCK OUT OF MY LIFE, I pretty much mean it. How much clearer can I get??? There is no shade of gray in those statements. There are no maybes hidden in there. There is no room for freaking interpretation. These aren’t statements I’ve had to say often in my life but if I've gotten to the point where I have to verbalize it, then I’m pretty much done. I've posed the following scenario to a few friends: If someone told you to leave them alone, and he/she refused to answer any phone call, respond to any email, or acknowledge your presence in public, would you continue to reach out to them? The answer I've gotten every single time is HELLLL NOOOOO. Something about pride and having some self respect always enters the conversation.

So some may ask: Why do you continue to write about someone who you are done with? Don’t you have anything else to write about?? The answer is simple. Nothing else works. And I’m hoping this will open people’s minds to honor my request. It’s not about hatred toward anyone. Hatred requires too much energy and I have too much going for me to waste energy on such a useless emotion. I've said time and time again: I hate no one, I just love me more. But feel free to hate on me, haters. I’m not afraid. (Wait didn't I say that in another blog??? Guess, some people just didn't get the message.) I have told people to their face, via email, phone and text that I don’t want to be bothered. I have ignored people for months, thinking eventually they will grow tired of being ignored. I have changed my routine so as not to deal with the foolishness. I have even gone so far as to seek out legal advice about filing a harassment complaint before the 3 am phone calls finally stopped. But when someone keeps invading your personal space with threats of: “you sucker! I still got your sexy ass no matter what you say or do” or messages of “I truly don’t give a fuck about you” or publicly implies a threat " to back off" and that “it can get real nasty and ugly real quick” because the person you are referring to (I wonder who) “isn’t built like that”, no one really blames me when I’m not responsive to the messages of “maybe we can have a soda at the Heights” or “maybe one day we can be friends again”. I’m sorry. Will all of my friends who have lied to me, threatened me, disrespected me , told lies about me, continued to harass me and who forcibly try to infiltrate my life despite my repeated objections, please stand up???? Go ‘head, I’ll wait! (SIDEBAR: gotta say it like Kat Williams for the full effect of the sarcasm. Hahahahahaha)

And the end of all this, I’m tired. Tired of the invasions. Tired of the threats. Tired of the olive branch of friendship laced with thorns to hurt me in the end.

So here’s the deal, to those out here in the World Wide Web who have a problem with my lil ole blog, you have 2 options. 1. Don’t read my blog. Erase it from your favorites. Never visit my site. If you never read it, how can its content upset you? It’s like cable TV. With so many options, there is no need to watch my channel. Watch someone else’s. 2. Stop giving me material to write. Yes, I know I’ve said this before but I think it’s such a good idea that it's worth mentioning again. If you stop trying to invade my life, I will have nothing to question, nothing to wonder about, nothing to write about. The Earth is big enough for all of us to exist peacefully, just stop trying to be a part of my world. Enough is enough.

To all of my fans, I apologize for this rant. Think of this as your favorite programming being interrupted by a Presidential speech. Thankfully, I have a better command of the English language that the man who lives on Pennsylvania Avenue and I didn’t tell any gynecologists to spread their love to women across the country. Hahahahahahahaha

We will return to our regularly scheduled programming tomorrow.