Santa Baby...

I'm bored as hell at work today. I'm flying solo in the office and the only reason I'm here is because the lovely auditors decided to send requests over the holidays. I should still be fa-la-la-la'ing around the Christmas tree and all that other good holiday ish. But nope I'm here trying to get some kind of focus on this here blog. I don't know what to write about.

Hmmmm, I could write about what I received for Christmas but that would seem like bragging. Who am I kidding??? Of course I want to tell you guys what I got for Christmas. If you think I'm bragging, do you see that little red X in the right hand corner?? Yeah that one. Click on it. hahahahhaaa
For Christmas I received:
* I'm a Toys R Us Kid. Okay, I have been dying for a Wii and was even a lil jelly when my grandmother got one for her birthday (yes you read that correctly...hahaha). I was completely and utterly shocked on Christmas morning when I pulled back the wrapping paper and saw that white box with 3 letters W-I-I. And proceeded to do the Happy Dance in my undies around the living room while shouting " I GOT A WII. I GOT A WII. I GOT A WII". Yes, I have big kid tendencies. I even fell asleep, hugging the box just like the little boy in A Christmas Story (one of my fave Christmas movies by the way).

* Fantasy Island. Showtime Championship Boxing for the Nintendo Wii. I have a confession. I love boxing. LOVE IT. I even used to take a boxing class UNTIL my instructor wanted me to participate in a sparring exhibition. Oh Helllllllssss nooooo, sir. I can't have anyone hitting me upside my head. It would be a "man down situation". No thanks, I'll pass. I'll just watch from the sidelines. Or beat the hell out of someone on my Wii.

*No more withdrawal. I damn near passed out when I pulled the wrapping off and saw the The Complete Box Set of the Wire. You know how much I love the Wire. I still have moments of Wire withdrawal because I miss that show so much. Sheeeeeeeeiiiiiiit, I even wrote about my love a couple of times. I need to have a Sex and the City/The Wire Box Sets party. I am truly about to put a serious dent in my new sofa. hahahahahaha

* I've got my love to keep me warm. Well not really, so I need a warm winter coat. But I hate down coats. I think they make everyone look like either the Pillsbury dough boy or the Michelin man. However, I found one in my favorite winter color (cream) with a cinched waist and a brown leather belt. Tres chic. Tres me. Thanks, Santa.

*Old Faithful. Money and gift cards. I swear you can never go wrong with these 2. I will be planning my shopping excursions to Macy's and Victoria's Secret accordingly while the money has been deposited in my vacay fund.

*Crap. Okay so Christmas with my family always yields at least one crappy gift so of course this year was no different. Luckily this year, I was given only one. A Tweety Bird pajama set. In a size 22. Yes you read that correctly. Umm hello, I stopped being a tweety bird fan sometime in college. I mean I still think Tweety is cute and all but rocking a lime green shirt with Tweety's face plastered across the front with matching navy blue and green pants with hundreds of little tweety birds all over them is not my idea of a good time. Especially not in a size 22. I could tell this was a conspiracy gift as in "oh I don't know what to get for so and so." "oh you should get them _______ because they will love it." and then they both watch your reaction to the idea of the gift/the actual gift. There were 2 parties present who were overly eager for me to open this gift so I knew who to place the blame. I mean, really??? The largest size I've ever worn in my life was a 14. I'm currently a size 10. Why do you think buying something for me 6 sizes too big is appropriate??? Just because it has a character that I used to love back when I also used to love the Smurfs and the Electric Company. Sheeeeeeiiiit, you should have stuck with Old Faithful, even if it was only $15 (the cost of this damn gift since you left the price tag on it!!!!). I can do a lot with 15 bucks that ain't got shit to do with Tweety Bird.

*Time. This Christmas, I got to spend some long overdue extended quality-esque time with Baskin Robbins. It was nice. Really nice. And he even gave me a Christmas present - a beautiful blinged out watch. Hands down, better than any gift I've received in a lonnnnnnnnng time from a dude. He put thought into and didn't just walk into a store and put his credit card on the counter. Of course the days leading up to Christmas I was frantic because I haven't purchased a gift for a dude in a minute and was clueless as to what I should give him. I put my creative thinking cap on (hence no blog....okay I'm lying...hahaha), consulted with a couple of friends and came up with the right gift that was equal parts cute, thoughtful and memorable. He loved it. However, I wish Santa would have given me about 10 extra hours each day. I missed seeing my Twin (my BFF who moved South a few years ago; Twin, is this your first blog shout-out???). I haven't seen her in forever and I underestimated the power of time and how it can run out on you. Along with extra time, maybe next year Santa should grant me time management too. LOL I also missed seeing another good girlfriend of mine and her plus 2. Funny, she and Twin live in the same area. Maybe I should go for a visit and kill 2 birds with one stone (such a morbid catchphrase but you get the idea). Definitely something to think about.
I also spent some quality time with my family. I actually enjoyed myself. I still only ate what my mother cooked because these fools just can't be trusted with food tasting good but overall a pleasant time was had by all. My fave moments were with my lil godsons/cousins. Especially the baby. At a year old, I can't get enough of him. He's a snuggler. He likes to crawl up into that space right under my arm and chill out. For like an hour. What's not to love???!!!! Don't tell anyone, but I even changed a diaper. Well it was only a "yellow" diaper and not a "brown" diaper but still. If you tell, I will deny it. hahahahaa

Overall, Santa was good to me. I can't even lie. I got (almost) everything I didn't even know I wanted. And I've been smiling ever since. :) Sheeeeeeeeiiiit, I think I did alllllll right.

*Of course the title of this blog is in remembrance of Eartha Kitt. She was a legend who lived by her rules, coming up at time when someone else wanted to write the rules for her. She will be missed. Oh and I kept saying, "Marrrrrcus, dahling. I don't have any panties on." all damn weekend. She seduced the hell out of Eddie Murphy in Boomerang. hahahahahahahahaa





**damn. did anyone else noticed that first James Brown and then Eartha Kitt died on Christmas????

And while we're on the subject.......

Speaking of pet peeves, this one falls under the Holiday category.

Yesterday, I went to the Hallmark store near my job on the hunt for Christmas cards for my family. I come from a long line of "sure you bought me a Rolls Royce for Christmas/Birthday but where's my card?!" kinda people so if I show up without cards, I might as well go home (hmmmm, thought for next year...hahaha). I found a card for my Dad first. He's easy. His card must be funny and never mushy. Next up, my god-mother. Also an easy one. Primarily since they're aren't too many godmother cards so I pick the least juvenile looking one (when are they going to give up on the color the picture cards....hahaha). I look for a card for my grandmother. Tricky. All the damn cards are way too mushy for the relationship I have with my grandmother. She didn't bake me cookies as a child, she didn't tell me stories of my mom growing up. But Hallmark only had those cards, so I have to scour the racks of Duane Reade/CVS in the hopes of finding a "Merry Christmas, Grandma! Love Ya!" card. No fuss. No muss.

Next up, my mother. Okay, so my mother's card needs to be the right balance of mushy love and happy memories. My mother cries with every card I give her. Never fails. I remember as a kid, she would cry when opening those ugly ass cards I made in school. And yes, I can say they were ugly because I can't draw for shit. But I could color the hell out of a handout. But I digress. SO I peruse the section of cards for mothers and happen upon the Mahogany Line. For those unfamiliar with Hallmark, Mahogany is their line of African American cards with African American images that "represent" the African American experience in greeting card form. And also the source of my peeve.
Every damn card for mothers addressed mothers as "Mama". All of them said beautiful wonderful sentiments but they all said "Mama". For the record, I have NEVER addressed my mother as "Mama" unless I'm paraphrasing Jay-Z when someone comments on my bootay since I get it from my mama. I can't tie a sweater over this ass or hide it in pajamas. hahahahaha Who the hell says "mama" besides Jay-Z and Boyz II Men???? Not me, and I can't cosign on a greeting card that calls my mother something I do not.

Why is the Black experience in this country so monolithic?? Yes, I get its only a greeting card but just like other Americans I address my mother as "Mom", "Motherrrrr(used when she is working the nerves she gave me)," "Maaaaaa (for when she is not paying attention and she needs to do what I say....obviously I don't use this one too often..hahahaha) or the ever favorite "Pamela Anderson Lee"...well Mom's tig ole bitties are real (something I DIDN'T get from her..hahahaha) but I digress (again). Why can't the cards that look (somewhat) like me be reflective of me and my vernacular??? Am I making a big deal out of this??? Probably, since I found a card with the correct balance of mushy love and happy memories in the "general" section that had no images of white women holding their white children (that's a whole other conversation and I'm not trying to be too militant-political).

I realize I have nothing else to say about this post. I could go on but I'm trying to embrace the spirit of the holidays. And escape with my sanity and my money in hand. hahahahaha

Not sure if I'll post tomorrow but if I don't MERRY CHRISTMAS, friends, fans, stalkers and stans!!!!! Smoochies (none for you stalkers....hahahaha)

Gag me with a spoon.....

Lemme just vent on a pet peeve for a minute.

I just got a call from one of my vendors (who I don't like speaking to anyway).

"Hey Janelle. What's up?" is how he starts the conversation. Dude I am not your homegirl from prep school. This is business, not pleasure.

And then I hear it. The sound that makes my skin crawl. He's eating in my ear. Now if it were a crunchy chip or cookie, the sound doesn't bother me. But if it sounds soft or mushy, I want to gag. He sounded like he was smacking on mashed potatoes. The sound of his gums and saliva just smacking on whatever was enough for me to say "Would you like to call me back later?"

"Oh I didn't know you were busy, Janelle. I'll call you back later this afternoon to discuss blah blah blah. " (and yes he was still smacking when he said this. yeck!)

Seriously, I wasn't busy. I've completed most of my tasks for today. I have no scheduled meetings. No one is flying in this week. To put it lightly, I'm straight chillin' probably for the next 2 weeks. However, I don't care how much time I have on my hands, that sound invading my eardrum would make me spill all kinds of intelligence data, just to make it stop.

Hopefully by the time he calls me, he will have finished eating and I will have regained an appetite. yeck!

Part 2: Baring All...

Please read Part 1 here before you continue below.

To say I was floored would be an understatement. I remember sitting in the midst of all the holiday hoopla and with those two words (I'm engaged), the room around me suddenly became silent. I heard nothing, felt nothing, saw nothing. I was completely still as my brain processed the message my ears had sent. I sputtered out a "What?! Wowwwwwwww. Reallllly?!" before I regained my senses with a "Congratulations." We chatted for a while as he told me the story of "He" and "she". As "He" relayed the story of the journey to his proposal, all I kept thinking was "Thank goodness I didn't say a word about fleeting feelings. I would have made an ass of myself."

We still continued our wekly talks. He kept me abreast of the wedding plans and I kept him abreast on what was (and wasn't) going on in my life. "He" spoke of some of his fears and I told him not to worry because he would make a great husband. I asked him once if he was happy. Not on some "okay this is my moment to steal him away" shit. It was more for me. I needed to hear someone say they were happy and in love. My issues with relationships were leaning more to the "hellll no, never again. I can't trust my instincts on this shit no mo". When he said he was happy, I breathed a sigh of relief. I trust him completely, with my life, so I know if he's happy then this brand of happiness may be out there for me.

I was invited to the wedding but didn't attend. I refused to go without a date. Roomie wanted to go with me and while it would have been nice for both of us to see old friends, I couldn't do it. I thought it would be best if I went with a guy. Like I needed to show everyone I was okay. And while I had options in the men's department, I never asked them. I wasn't sure how I would feel, sitting there watching the ceremony unfold. I tend to wear my emotions painted on my face like a window display at a department store. It's okay to shed a tear or 2 at a wedding, but I kept picturing myself sitting there at the ceremony bawling (at then getting beat up by the bride's friends in the ladies' room for my emotional display...hahahahahahaha). Luckily for me, my sister got sick, so I was spared my dignity (and a beat down).

"He" called me before the Big Day. And while the details of that conversation are too sacred to share on this blog, I will say this. The title says it all.

Now I knew post-Big Day, our friendship would change. It had too. There was no way in the world I would be okay with my newbie hubby chatting up some chick on the phone weekly for hours on end. But damn, we went from feast to famine with 2 words - "I do". I've spoken to him once post nuptials. ONE TIME. And the conversation was so brief I didn't get to ask anything about the wedding, etc. In the time since we've reconnected, I've never gone this long without speaking to him. And I know how cliche this sounds, but I miss him like crazy. Please be clear, this is not about him being my illusive "One" as I pondered before. While I love and care for him deeply, he's not "the One". At least not for me. Don't believe me? Well for one, I can't imagine any type of physical contact with him beyond a hug. No kissing. No sexing. No holding hands. Nada. And for the record, he is a handsome dude. (Don't want ya'll thinking he looks like Shrek thus my reason for not wanting any physical contact....hahahahahahaha) Secondly, even if he were single I would be afraid I would fuck it up. Again. And last but not least, my woman's instinct tells me he's not it. He may be a close second, but not the "One".

I miss the comfort of our friendship. Talking to him was like crawling under your blankie on a cold winter night, extra whip cream in your hot chocolate, fresh out the oven soft chocolate chip cookies with the steam that escapes as you break it in half. I miss bouncing book ideas off of him (sidebar: I know I haven't mentioned the book lately. I put it down for a while with everything else that was going on in my life lately but I'm writing again. ). I miss picking his brain as the archetype of the male species. I miss hearing his nickname for me and the inside joke that seems to have grown since it was started when I was 18. I miss the way we used to laugh and try to outjoke each other. I miss dreaming out loud with him and encouraging each other to dream bigger, higher.

Something came across my Internets perusal the other day, and the minute I saw it, I thought "Oooooh, [He] should totally do this" and then I was reminded all over again that I no longer had that EZ Pass into his life anymore. I can't just pick up the phone and shoot the breeze (sidebar: whoever has ever tried to actually shoot breeze probably rode the short yellow bus to school. I'm just sayin'...hahahahaha). While I have his email address, I even feel sending him an email would be an invasion of epic porportions. I exist on the outskirts now, allllll the way out in the boonies sitting on distance memories, looking at faded pictures. I get that "He" had to make room for new memories and new inside jokes but it doesn't make living out here without the warmth of my blankie any easier.

Baring All

A couple of weeks ago, I mentioned there were 2 guys that were on my mind but I only wrote about one. Now, I'm sitting here, thinking about something not quite entirely unrelated (I can connect the dots if I reeally wanted to but there are a whole lot of dots to connect if I tried...lol). And my thoughts sort of whispered to my brain "you're ready. so spill it". Thus leading me here.

Let me preface this spill by saying a few of you out there may know this person, or may think you know this person. As I type this I'm thinking of ways to protect his identity because this is one post I don't want to come back and bite me in the ass. I can't even give him a blog name because every one I think of might reveal who he is. I'll surprise myself if I have the courage to click "publish post" and not simply "save now". We'll see how this goes.

So to understand the full scope of this story, I gotta go back. Way back. Back into time. Circa 1994. Freshwoman year of college. "He" was an upperclassman and we instantly hit it off. As friends. My roomie tried to hint that "He" may be interested a whole lot more but I just played dumb. Looking back, I can admit I had a small feeling otherwise (the Midnight Love dedications kinda sealed the deal even though I protested with "there are a few Janelle's on campus; that ain't me getting the dedications"). But with my New York 'tude, I was used to dudes just coming out and saying "yo, shorty. what's up? can I holla atchu for a minute?". I wasn't accustomed to the genteel ways in which things were done where "He" is from. So I kept him in the friend role until "He" actually voiced his feelings years later. And I shut "He" D.O.W.N. - "I like the friend zone. I'll fuck this up if we pursue something more". Being the gentleman that he is, "He" respected my wishes and we remained friends. UNTIL I broke the rules of engagement and, according to my roomie, his heart. Without going into detail (to protect the identity of the innocent - him- and the stupid - me), just know that I was wrong (told you I would fuck this up). When "He" graduated later that year, we weren't speaking. At all.

Years go by and every so often, I would think of him. I still have the gifts he gave me back in college. Technically, they were for my roommate and I but somehow in the madness of packing, I got custody. He was so nice, so sweet, and I was an idiot. I would wonder how he's doing, what he's up to, blah, blah, blah. But it was always fleeting because I had no way of getting in touch with him and would probably chicken out if I did have a way.

Fast forward to late 2005-ish. Thanks to the internets and social networking, we were reunited (and it felt soooo goood; sorry I couldn't help it...hahahahahahaa). As friends. First it started with a friend request, then the exchanging of a couple of comments and messages. Then at one point, phone numbers were exchanged (I was stranded in his hometown airport for 8 hours). And then just like that I had my buddy back. We would talk for hours about everything and nothing. Never once did "He" mention my fuck-up. We were older, more mature. I was just ecstatic to have my buddy back. My roomie, the hopeless romantic (to some degree) would hit me with "You know [He] still loves you." And I would give the phone the side eye and tell her "There ain't no love here." Almost the exact same conversations we had back in our Home by the Sea days, except we were no longer cramped in a dorm room with no air conditioning (by the way, that should be illegal in the South. Landmark building my ass! hahahahaha). We were grown adults having 18 year conversations. Months went by and "He" and I still talked and talked and talked. Eventually I was in a "relationship" and nothing about our phone convos changed. I still spoke to him at least once a week for hours on end. See? Friends forever!!

Ease on down the road to 2007. I was in the throws of a breakup. "He" called me everyday to check on me. Every single day. "He" kept telling me I needed to get out of New York to escape the madness that my life had escalated to. "He" offered to send me a ticket. I refused. "He" offered to drive to NY and we could make a road trip back to his neck of the woods or wherever I wanted to go. Still refused. So he called. Everyday. To make sure I was okay. I laughed. I cried. I vented. All of it. And he still called. Everyday. A couple of months later, I began to feel a certain way. Like I wondered if "He" was the all illusive "One". I knew I was going through some shit but I couldn't help but wonder about "He" and me and possibly being a "we".

So I did what all girls do. I consulted one of my girls. I didn't consult roomie because I felt her judgement would be skewed - primarily because she was all intertwined in the intricacies of our history and I didn't want to hear "I told you so". Once I told my girl "I think I'm falling for "He", I felt relieved and sick to my stomach all at the same time. I left that convo thinking I was just trying to displace all of my lovey dovies out of the toxicity of breakup hell I was existing in and on him instead since it was a much better place than the former residence. Anywho. I kept my mouth shut to "He". Our phone calls went from daily to weekly to bi-weekly. He would ask me to come and visit still. Instead of flat out refusing, I would say "okay, maybe in _____" with ______ being a month further down the road. As 2007 drew to a close, I still had those wondering in the back of my mind. What if I did go to visit?? What if we hit it off?? So with the courage of the New Year ahead, I promised myself I would visit him in February, just to see what was what. Come hell or high water, I was going to visit. (Sidebar: where does this "hell or high water" come from??? Like are the options burning in hell or drowning in water??? That doesn't sound appealing either way. hahahahaa). I just waited for the right time to tell "He" about my travel plans.

"He" called me on Christmas Day to share some news. "He" was engaged.

(to be continued..........)

What I know for sure

Oprah has a column (I think) entitled "What I know for sure" in her magazine. Its about life and the bountiful lessons this journey provides. These are the lessons I've learned the hard way recently:

*Nothing in life should be expected except taxes and death. Everything else should be appreciated.

*History is not a good enough reason to go hard for anyone or anything.

*When shit starts off badly, that's usually how it ends.

*If it ain't sincere, it ain't right.

*Negative feelings seem to create road blocks and obstacles at every juncture.

*Once your heart's not in it, it's no longer fun.

*Appreciate the things your loved ones do for you like they ate ramen noodles for a month to make you happy.

*Sometimes that glimmer of hope will bite you in the ass and you're left telling yourself "I told you so."

*Snow is pretty until it's dirty. Then it's a pain in the ass. Both real and fake snow. And life too.

*People love the cake when you don't tell them you got it from Costco's.

I know this post seems reeediculously random. But these are the lessons I learned. Unfortunately the hard way. But at least I know them now. And I know for sure.

PS Thanks Eve for the talk! Smoochies ;)
PPS Some of the lessons were paraphrased from a g-chat with Eve. Give credit where credit is due. Another lesson learned. ;)

Pinky strikes again......

..without wearing a stitch of pink. Well at least not any I care to see. (please don't force that image in my brain. i just may throw up a little in my mouth. hahahaha).

I came in to the office today with a totally different blog all mapped out in my head. Until Pinky stood up to greet me. I was stunned to say the least. I couldn't even get through all the pleasantries ("how was your thanksgiving? blah blah blah) without asking:

"(Pinky), what is that on your pants?"

Chuckle. "They're reindeer. Don't you like them?"

"Ummm, that's an ummm interesting look." (trying to fight back the tears that the laughter I can't let go of is forcing behind my beautiful browns. )

"It's Christmas. I wait all year to wear these."

"We have 22 days until Christmas, (Pinky). "

"Yes, but it's the seeeason."

"I can't wait to see your holiday ummm flair."

"You have such good taste, Janelle."

Riiiiight!!! I just know how not to insult a very wealthy man this close to Christmas. LOL

Okay to paint a complete picture of this holiday tangnastiness. Pinky is wearing a very lovely kinda mossy green sweater with a tan button up shirt underneath. Nice right? Uh huh. Scan down and find a pair of chocolate brown corduroy pants with miniature reindeer stitched all over the pants. ALL OVER. Similar to these pants from J. Crew's critter collection:

I'm at a lost for words.........

All I want to know is WHY????????????

On my mind........

I've got 2 men on my mind. Most likely, not who you may be thinking of.

Blast from the Past sent me a Happy Thanksgiving text. Since that was all it said, I responded in kind. I should have known that he would call. He called this evening to inform me that he's in town and wants to see me. Oh great! I know that probably sounds a tad bit ungrateful. After all he did take me to the very beginning of my life journey - Syracuse University(where Mama Butterfly met Daddy Butterfly). And he made me face the realities of my fears when it comes to relationships and most importantly, love.

So why will I probably duck him for the rest of the weekend?? For one, we always wind up arguing. We fall in to this pattern where he will say something to piss me off, which in turns, manifests itself into an argument. Most likely, it will be about the fact that I don't call him and I why I have yet to pack my bag(s) and visit his neck of the woods. But why would I fly allll the way down to _____ to argue with someone face to face when I can just hang up on that person and not speak to him for a couple of months???

Secondly, he said something that really bothered me. We were having a heated conversation a few months back about my lack of enthusiasm of coming to visit and just as I was about to reacquaint him with Ms. D. Tone (first name Dial), he throws out there "we should just get married". Scratch the needle across the record. Whaaaat?! Blast from the Past goes on to expound on what I like to call his Jagged Edge Theory on love and commitment. To paraphrase he said something like "look, you're single; I'm single. Why don't we just get married. You're not getting any younger." Hold up! Stop the press! Did he just basically say "we ain't gettin' no younger/we might as well do it" just like Jagged Edge in that damn song "Let's Get Married"?? (For the record, I hated that song just because of that damn line...well except for the remix; I gots my boogie on to that one! hahahaha)

I am not a last resort bride. I know my ideas on love and commitment are shaky at best. Wait, scratch that. My ideas aren't shaky. They may have lost that lose my self completely romantical garbage but my ideas on love and commitment, I believe, are stronger than ever. But I digress. Anyway, I told him what he could do with his half ass "proposal". When I get married, its not going to be because me and my husband to be have nothing (or no one) better to do. Nor will we be each other's choice because we got lazy and turned to former lovers as an easy route to matrimony (I learned the value of "there's a reason he's an ex"). If that's how its going to be, then "Let's stay single" to paraphrase Jagged Edge.

Lastly, the reason I will duck Blast from the Past is, most importantly, he now irks the shit out of me. I don't know if its the pointless arguing, the Jagged Edge proposal or what. All I know is that speaking to him feels like I'm taking 3 steps back and 1 to the side. And why would I cheat myself out of all the growing I've done. Don't get me wrong; he's a nice guy, attractive and ambitious, but just not the one for me. Maybe I'll tell him someone came with an offer better than one of convenience and he can remain where he's supposed to be - in the past.

I know I said there were 2 guys on my mind. But I'm tired and quite frankly the other guy needs his own post (shit it might be a whole series). But I'll say this: I miss my friend terribly (and yes he was a friend sans benefits; we never even kissed). Unfortunately, I doubt we will ever be the kind of friends we used to be. I'll leave it right there for now. Maybe one day I'll be brave enough to bare my soul and tell the story.

(while typing this post, this was the soundtrack in my mind. apropos)

Man Law

Okay I know as a woman I am considered umm ill equipped to call forth to vote on a Man Law. However, in this new Age of Obama, I'm inspired to make a change that will benefit all of society.

This morning I was sitting on the ___ train minding my own business. The train was pretty packed at my stop but I was able to secure a seat. With nothing to read and no beloved Ipod, I pretty much just sat, people watched and day dreamed. At the next stop on my iron horse, a man got on the train and stood directly in front of me. With sweatpants on. (pause for visual to hit you like it almost hit me.)

So there I was sitting there with his frank and beans all up in my "view". And as the train swayed...lets just say the cars on the train weren't the only things moving back and forth (dude, I hope you were wearing underwear). There was nowhere to look but down. So I rearranged the contents of my tote bag which was sitting in my lap for a few minutes. I even fought the urge to look up out of habit when we pulled into the next station. With nothing left to do, I simply closed my eyes for the duration of my trip. This fool knows he's wrong. I would have given him the side eye but that required me to look up and before I could look up at his face I would have had to visually pass his package. Yeah, no thanks.

As I sat there, clearly embarrassed and he, clearly oblivious (or was a total perv but I'm going to venture on the side of oblivion so I can ride the train again), I thought up the following Man Law.

Man Law # 2735158.12
If you are standing in front of a woman on the train who is NOT intimately acquainted with your frank and beans, you must turn 45 degrees to the left or to the right to keep your junk out of her face. Standing directly in front of a woman whose sitting height is in the same region as your pelvis is a violation of this Man Law. Those found guilty of not obeying this Man Law are punishable with up to 12 trips to the pharmacy to purchase feminine products. (Sidebar: since there is a punishment attached is this now a "penal code"??? and isn't that word so apropos??? hahahahhaa).

I understand for this Man Law to be passed it must go up for a vote. This is a democratic society after all. So to steal the words from my new workout buddy:
All the single ladies, (all the single ladies) All the single ladies, (all the single ladies) All the single ladies, (all the single ladies) All the single ladies, NOW PUT YOUR HANDS UP!!!!


(any excuse to post my daily workout!! UH OH OH OH OH OHOH UH OH hahahahaha)

Pending in Purgatory

I'm angry. Hot steaming mad. Furious sounds more like it. You know the cartoons wher they depict steam coming out of someone's ears when they are angry?? Picture me with fire. I heard a saying in a movie once "Don't mess with my man or my money". And since I'm currently officially unattached the source of my ire is messing with my ducats.

I attended a dinner with some friends and associates on Saturday. I arrived at the restaurant late (what's new?! LOL). As I approached the restaurant I thought hmmm, maybe I should duck into the bank and take some money out. I looked at my watch and saw that I was later than I expected to be and abandoned the notion of stopping at the ATM. Of course in hindsight that was my Palin mistake. You betcha I shoulda took my ass to the ATM. (*shooting pistols and winking. hahahahahaha I doubt this will ever NOT be funny! hahahaha)

So after good food and a great drink (the Caribbean Cooler instantly made me think of sandy beaches, clear water to match the clear skies, limited clothing...ahhhh I need a vacation.), the bill came. This is when the proverbial shit began to hit the fan. I hate dining with large groups unless I know the folks at the table. If these are my peeps, then typically we split the bill evenly. We don't get into the pettiness of "you had 2 drinks and I had 1." W
e enjoyed each other's company and that's what matters. Now if I don't know everyone at the table, then I believe that the tax and tip should be evenly divided. Once that portion is taken care of, I believe in the "pay for what you ate" manner of taking care of the bill.

Someone how my girl Double G (no those aren't her initials) and I are left to take care of the bill. People are passing money our way and we're just deducting it from the total. So you know we got screwed, right??? I had a salad, an appetizer, and 2 drinks of the alcohol variety (those Caribbean Coolers - man I was ready to slap my passport down on the table after 2...hahahahaha). My total was 37 prior to tax and tip. When we tallied up every one's money, the bill was short. Those who were still there began ponying up more to contribute but we were still shorter than Gary Coleman at an amusement park. I didn't feel like fighting with people over what amounted to a few dollars so Double G and I decided to cover it. I was already done at that point and resolved never to eat with these fools again unless I have a separate check.

I hand the waiter my card with CLEAR instructions "put $60 on this card; the rest of the bill is in cash". (ummm yeah you see how I went from $37 to $60, right??? riiiiiiight!). A few moments later, the waiter hands me 2 sets of receipts.

"Oh ma'am, I'm so sorry. I accidentally charge your card for something else. But I voided it and it won't appear on your card. Here's the receipt for the $60"

I look at the first receipt and my modest 2 figure bill had now jumped to a date night, I better be getting laid WITH copious amounts of foreplay, a full body massage, ample cuddle time annnnd a cheese omelet breakfast in the morning after this dinner 3 figure amount.

I slipped out a "What the fuck?" and reached for the waiter.
"Oh miss, please don't worry. I voided it right away. It won't appear on your card. See I wrote Void on the receipt. See?"
"Ummmm, I'ma need to see a manager. "

After speaking to the manager, I was assured this matter was resolved. I continued to have a conversation with some very interesting women and left the matter alone. I checked my account later that evening and the charge was still pending but I figured it would fall off after midnight. I checked my account again on Sunday and the charge was still listed as "Pending" I finally called my bank and spoke to a rep in Customer Service. I figured she would say something along the lines of "Well, ma'am it's Sunday. You will see the reversal of the charge by tomorrow morning. "
HA! If only the bank worked the way my overly active imagination did.

"Ms. Butterfly, there is nothing we can do while the charge is still listed as pending. I can't even see if there is a credit for this charge or not because of it's Pending status. It takes 3 to 4 business days to clear."

What?????? I tried not to get mad at her because its not her fault. But I couldn't contain my passionate discourse. "So you mean to tell me that my money is in banking purgatory because some fucking idiot at the restaurant made a mistake. I never authorized that amount of money to come out of my account. Why should I pay for his mistake??? And what do you mean you don't see a credit??? Shit what about my bills???!!!"

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry or hit somebody. Since there was no one to hit and didn't feel much like laughing or crying, I paced. If the weather were nicer I would have gone for a very long walk in my neighborhood but the cold weather would have upset me more so I paced in my ghetto heat having living room (no I am not complaining just stating the facts). I thought about the shopping I planned to do this week - first for this damn baby shower (yes I know that the few references I've made about this event are always punctuated by the word "damn", but you would too if you knew all the bullshit I've been through) and then the after Turkey Day shopping for self (oops I mean presents for others. riiiiiiiiiight!LOL) . This wouldn't be a problem if this were my credit card. The credit would appear on my next billing statement. But I have a problem using my credit card to pay for something that will be in a sewer long before I get the bill. And I've grown to become less dependant on credit cards. Whew that was a hard habit to shake. LOL

I begrudgingly transferred money from savings (which I vowed not to touch). But that's not the point. The point is why do I have to pay for someone else's mistake??? Why do I log onto my bank's website and see fire when I see pending next to the 2 charges from this restaurant??At this point, not even those Caribbean Coolers would cool my jets.

So what have I learned???
1. Listen to your intuition. I should have just gone to the bank. I was already late; another 3 minutes wasn't going to kill anyone.
2. Use cash at restaurants. In this age of plastic, this just proves that paper is better for the economy and my stress level.
3. Be thankful. I'm grateful that I was able to cover the money sitting in bank purgatory. In this time of economic uncertainty, I really shouldn't complain but shit - it's my money. LOL
4. Learn the recipe for the Caribbean Cooler. I must have this drink again. But I'm afraid of walking back into that restaurant any time soon. I might wanna slap somebody. And I'm too fine to do time. ;)

No I haven't been kidnapped.....

I've been reading my fave blogs lately and it seems we’re all in a slump. Blame it on the rain (cue Milli Vanilli…hahaha), the impending holidays (I’m sure I’ll have something to say about that), the economic blues, whatever. All I know is that I haven’t felt much like sharing my world (cue Mary J.) lately either. Actually, that’s not true. I’ve written blogs, just didn’t hit publish. I wrote one about a co-worker who I nicknamed Bitter (he was a McCain supporter) but after reading it, I sounded…..well, bitter so I avoided the publish button. But for the record, he’s a bitter SOB and I’m on to his shenanigans which I expect to increase the closer we get to inauguration day. Wait until he finds out I’m going to DC. LOL (Sidebar: shit! Did I just reveal where I’m going to be on a date in the future?? Stalkers and stans, I’m lying. Everyone else, you know where to find me. Hahahahahaa)

I’ve written more about Baskin Robbins but I’m not quite ready to share with the fans and stans (especially the stans…hahahaha). Oh but update: my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. Well not fully anyway. He did mention that he may come up that weekend but he found out the next day that his family decided to go out of town so he decided to stay where he is. Still no clue where I got the Greyhound part of the story from. But at least I’m not going crazy. Well not completely certifiably so.

I watched a man struggle to get his key in the lock to open his office door today. And the first thing that came to mind? Damn, he must not be getting any. As I turned the corner, I realized that I think that whenever a man fumbles with keys. In my twisted mind, I equate his inability to put the key in the lock is a direct correlation to his inability to ummm put his key in the lock, per se. I have no idea where I got this theory from. But I’m sure I’m not the first person to make sexual correlations to non-sexual activities.

I was having a conversation with a friend (no blog name necessary) and he posed the following question to me:

Would you rather date a tall punk or a short man with heart?

Of course I had to qualify the question.
Define short. Is he short when I have on heels or if I’m barefoot?? Define punk. Are we talking someone inflicted by Terminal Chronic Bitchassness (otherwise known as TCB) or a lover, not a fighter (cue MJ and Paul McCartney before things went sour)???

My answer: If he’s shorter than me barefoot or if he suffers from TCB, then most likely I’ll be single. If I choose the short dude with heart he might have a Napoleon complex and think he can tackle the world. And if that's the case, he may be beaten to a pulp or shot, thus leaving me single. Or if I chose the tall brother with TCB, I won’t have any respect for him anyway, thus leaving me single. Hahahaha

Holy crap, Batman! Bossman is closing up shop early today. As in right now. His exact words: “Whoever wants to reach us, that’s what the Blackberry is for. Go home.” And I don't even have my Blackberry yet! Lorrrd, I love working for the Brit! Happy Friday!!! Cheerio!

Learning to Make it Rain

Lately, I’ve been on a quest to broaden my horizons, expand my interests so to speak, in an effort to enjoy a more fulfilled and satisfying life (and expose myself to more fodder for this blog..hahahahahaaa). So far, I’ve joined a wine club and tried bikram yoga (or as some may call it “hot yoga”, 90 minutes in 105 degree room, clothing minimal, sweat maximum).

On Saturday, I faced another feat and tackled the pole. And by pole I mean of the strip club variety. A friend of mine for her birthday wanted to take this class and found a place which offers a private class for birthday, bachelorette and divorce parties (at least that’s what it says on the flyer). Those who know me can attest that if it sounds like fun, I’m usually down for the cause. So it probably goes without saying that I checked HELL YES I WILL BE THERE on the evite! LOL

While I was super psyched about this class, I was also super exhausted before it was time for me to leave for this class. Besides the torrential rain here on Saturday, I had been out all day in the rain (not singing in it AT ALL). I sooo wanted to give in to the calls of my 550 thread count on my bed but I quickly shut the door to my bedroom and packed a bag of gym shorts, my Nike Rebel tank top and uber high stripper-esque black patent leather platform stilettos. Pictured here:

I greeted the bday girl with a hug and a squeal, dashed into the restroom to change my clothes and was ready for action. The first hour was easy. We learned how to walk around the pole, frame the pole, and perform body waves against the pole. Some of us attempted to slide down the pole. When it was my turn, I was stuck. Like my legs were stuck to the pole thus there was no sliding going on. Sensing my deflation, the instructor informed me that me being stuck to the pole was actually a good thing, especially when it was time to climb the pole and swing. Swing???? On the pole???? What. The. Helllllll????

For the second hour we entered into a bigger studio with a pole for everyone. We pulled the curtain back and saw about 8 poles set up on the floor. The glee and awe was palpable. We met our instructor who I like to call Sergeant Stripper. Sgt. Stripper was no joke. She immediately started teaching us routines like we were auditioning for “So you think you can strip?”

Within 15 minutes with Sgt Stripper, I was beginning to feel moisture on my freshly pressed hair. Damnit I just got my hair done and I’m not going back to the salon until the week of the dreaded Turkey Day. But as I swung around the pole and hooked my ankle on the pole to hold my body weight as I leaned forward, I could care less about my damn hair (of course the euphoria wore off when I looked in the mirror at the restaurant later). The swish of wind created during one of the many twirls I would do that night lifted me to a place I never thought I could quite reach. The sexual confidence is something no one can escape. It’s a defiant power I noticed when I caught a glimpse of myself in the wall of mirrors opposite my pole. Who is that vixen looking back at me??? Now I get what Beyonce is talking about with that alter ego stuff. Janelle, meet your alter ego, Sasha. Sasha, meet Janelle. (Sidebar: At one point Sasha used to be my fake name in the club. I’m stealing it back from Beyonce. Hahahahahaha).

Sasha will be beginning classes of the pole variety as soon as Janelle finishes paying for this damn baby shower. Sgt, Stripper, this is Private Sasha reporting for duty, sir!

(PS: 2 days later, I’m sore as hell. My thighs, my arms, my abs, my bootay – ALL SORE! I’m walking stiffer than John McCain. I gotta give props to the chicks who shake what they momma gave ‘em on the pole and make it rain for several hours repeatedly. This is hard work. For real!!!! Oh and I'm NOT quitting my day job; I'm just building my skill set! hahahahaaa)

( I wonder how long it will take me to do this?!)

My mind's playing tricks on me.....

Granted the Ghetto Boys used to scare the bejesus outta me back in the day (well really, just Bushwick Bill but I digress). But I swear my mind is having some fun at my expense so that's why this song is stuck in my head.

Late Friday night, I get a call from Baskin Robbins. I was already in that I've turned over twice and damn this sleep is starting to feel reeeeaaaal good kind of sleep when my cell phone rang. I answered on the third ring (1st ring to wake my ass up, 2nd ring to clear the sleep out of my voice, 3rd ring sit up in bed and answer with a "hey there").

"Are you sleeping?"
"ummm, no. "
"Yes you are."
"nope."

And thus began our late night conversation. I was tired as hell but I didn't want the conversation to end. I enjoy our talks and I wasn't gonna let a little something like rest get in the way.
Maybe I should have let my mind and my body get the rest they needed. I awoke hours later, and couldn't for the life of me remember the conversation past the "what did you do this evening?" stage. Oh shit, how long was I on the phone? And more importantly, what the hell did I say??? Did I reveal any CIA worthy secrets like the time when my best friends and I................... or that time when I was on vacation and I...................................(I'm conscious now, damnit! hahahahaha)??? As I tried to piece together the remnants of the conversation, all I remember was Baskin Robbins saying he was come to NY this weekend. I remember him telling me when he would leave the state he's in now and when he would leave NY. As I replayed the conversation in my mind the only thing that doesn't make sense is the mention of Greyhound. I could have sworn he said something about Greyhound having a special fare for $19.99. But Baskin Robbin drives; why would he mention Greyhound??? Maybe I was dreaming. Or maybe the conversation about his NY visit was real but Greyhound was a fig newton of my imagination (SIDEBAR: I have a tendency to sleep with the TV on and some of the craziest shit infiltrates my dreams; does that happen to anyone else?? LOL)???

After convincing myself that he was indeed making the trek to NY, I called him on Saturday afternoon.

"So what time will you be arriving?
"Huh?"
Don't huh me. hahahhaha"
"hahahhaaa. I don't know what you're talking about."
"Okay, silly. Is it true that you're coming to NY this weekend??"
"Nope."
"Stop playin'!"
"hahahahaha. Nope, I'm not coming up this weekend. Lemme call you back. hahahahaha"

Dagnabbit. What kind of jedi mind tricks is my mind playing on me??? If I could have slapped myself upside the head, I would have but I had a cute hat on with just the right tilt to the side. A slap to the head would have thrown the whole steelo off. hahahahaa

Now I just hope Baskin Robbins doesn't think I'm pralines and cream nuts for fabricating his road trip. Sigh. We'll see..........

ps I thought about posting the Ghetto Boyz video but I couldn't get past Bushwick Bill running around with one eye. He gives me the Willies (sidebar: what the hellllll are "the willies?"). If you want to watch it, click here. While looking for this video, I found this one. Man, you gotta love Youtube. hahahahahhahaha

Happy Birthday to Ya........

Yesterday was my 2 year blogiversary. I've come along way, baby! (who remembers that Virginia Slims advertisement???)I can't believe its been 2 years. Funny how times flies when you're having....growth. There are very few opportunities in life where one can actually measure and quantify your growth over an extended period of time. But this blog is proof of my growth. When I started, I was in a dark place. I was uncertain and unhappy with many facets of my life. And while life will ALWAYS have uncertainties, I am soooo much happier. I don't think I have ever been happier with who I am (maybe when I was 4, but my world consisted of riding around in my grandfathers sky blue Caddy with white leather interior like a princess - legs crossed in the back seat, Barbie dolls and lollipops. Who wouldn't be happy with that???? LOL). I'm not perfect but I love me just the same. And this blog, this page helped me to see that. I started off with just one reader. Thank you, Rashad, for reading every damn thing on this page and not using it against me. I even have some new blogfriends who read and comment regularly. Thank you sooo much for investing in my wonderings (and not using it against me....hahahahaa)
My blogfriend, Lex, said it best:

There is nothing more rewarding (hyperbole abounds. there are quite a few things more rewarding) than haphazardly piecing a few of my raggedy and sometimes ghettoe(with an e because i'm fancy) thoughts together, hitting publish, and coming back a few hours or days later to find that somebody( or bodies), decided that the subject was interesting enough for them to take the time and not only read it, but leave some feedback! Its teh awesome! I really appreciate it. I don't think I've ever said it before and that's remiss of me.

I've often said "pouring words onto paper is passion personified" (yes I came up with it and if you use it, give me some credit damnit! hahahahahaha). I never knew I had this much passion for ANYTHING. I've always had a zest for life but this writing experience has opened up a whole new world for me. A world full of new ideas, new perspectives, new energy, new strength, new possibilities.

I've navigated this space on my terms and conditions. Expressed myself unabridged and unadulterated (well that's not necessarily true because I edit and filter daily to protect the innocent and the stupid; but its at a level I feel comfortable with...on most days anyway.). I make no apologies for who I am or what I say. Cue Frank Sinatra, I did it myyyyyyyy waaaaay! LOL

So what does one do to celebrate a blogiversary??? And like wedding anniversaries are there particular gifts to be had for this occasion?? According to this site, second anniversary gifts are cotton (traditional) and china (modern). How about I just buy a cotton sweater made in China from the Gap?? Will that do??? LOL

I just wanted to thank my family, friends, fans and stans. I would probably still write if you weren't here but I appreciate you nonetheless. Thanks for stopping by my refuge! :)

Never say never

"Never in my lifetime"

That's all I've heard for the past 24 hours. Sheeit, honestly, its been whispered over the past 22 months since Barack first announced he was running for President of the United (but lately divided) States of America. But last night, while sitting with 2 of my best friends making baby shower invitations , we proved ourselves wrong. We jumped and hollered when we saw that Barack not only met the magic number, he exceeded. Instantly, we heard the crowds downstairs. People, our people were in the streets, cheering, honking horns. Literally dancing in the streets. High up from our perch on the 17th floor, we stepped out on the terrace and celebrated too. We came back in, had a celebratory shot, cracked jokes ("oh look at the Africans dancing in the street in Africa!". "Oh wait, no that's Atlanta!" hahahahahahahaha - man I really wish I had a videotape of that one) and returned to making these invitations. But throughout the night I would whisper, "We got a Black President, ya'll!" in a childlike amazement. And like a child I felt I was watching a movie in wide eyed amazement.

Immediately I alternated between calling my mother, my father, and a friend. With no such luck. It was like freaking New Years Eve when you try to call anyone a second after your boisterous 'HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!" and all you get are busy signals in the age of call waiting or nothing at all.

Sometimes, I reflect on my decision to leave teaching. It wasn't an easy one nor was the road thereafter a breeze. This morning, I thought about my former students as I was getting ready for work. I wished that I was still teaching, just to say to them "See, I told you, anything is possible." This is one of those teachable moments that teachers live for. I remember how brokenhearted I was in 2004, when doing a Martin Luther King lesson, and the kids didn't believe that they could go to school with white people. Living in an area where the only white people you saw were your teachers and the po-po (police officers if you're not up on the lingo...hahahaha), I guess I understood where the kids were coming from. But it was a testament to the limits they had already imposed on their possibilities. At eight years old. I had to bring in my high school yearbook to prove them wrong. They still didn't believe me. But today? Today I wish I could walk in to see the restrictions lifted. These kids will hopefully FINALLY believe that they can do whatever they desire with hard work and determination. I don't want to want to get all mushy and sentimental. But that's where my mind is today.

Throughout his campaign, Barack has spoken of messages of hope, change and a new direction. I listened. I wanted to believe but was cynical. I knew where my vote was going but Middle America scares the beejesus out of me. They will never vote a black man into the white house. Not in my lifetime. But because of last night, can I now say "why not in my lifetime?"

This victory is not about painting the white house black, barbecues in the Rose Garden, or black folks getting a "free pass" for dumb shit like "yeah, I robbed 4 old ladies but the president is my cousin so don't I get off??". And whoever thinks that life is going to miraculously get better for "us" and worse for "them", is delusional. This is about proving to yourself and to the world that "never in my lifetime" should never exist in one's vocabulary.


The Wiz is one of my favorite movies. I was Dorothy in a production when I was about 10. I still have the soundtrack in double album (and a tape of me as Dorothy safely hidden from the world. LOL). Last night when it was official that Barack Obama was elected president, this was the song that played in my head. It's still playing. I like what this person did on YouTube.

No. 117

The calls starting coming in at 6:15 this morning.

"Hewo?" (my groggy I have no idea what time it is but I know it's too damn early for me to be conscious version of hello. continue)

'Hi honey. You better get up and go vote now. The line at our polling place is wrapped around the corner."

I opened one eye to see that it was my cousin.

"Girl, we don't vote at the same site! What time is it??"

"Really? Are you sure? It's a little after 6."

"You're killing me.

"Well you're up now so get up and go take [your mom] to vote."

My mom and I walked to the polls. With her health issues, she's not as strong as she used to be. So a less than 5 minute walk to our polling precinct turned into probably a 15 minute one. She was tired. But we kept chanting OBAMA! OBAMA!OBAMA! in a whisper and we kept going.

We arrived at our community room to vote and the line was longer than I've ever seen. You would have thought it was 11:50 at a free before midnight party. I have never seen that many people waiting to vote IN MY LIFE!!! One of my former neighbors told me the line was almost up to the next avenue at 6 when the polls opened. Really??? Are you kidding me??? We're really voting like that??? That line was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. Everyone was laughing, upbeat. No screwfaces to be found in the sea of brown folks waiting to vote.

Because my mother uses a cane, we didn't have to get on the end of the line. We were told to just walk up to the front. I thought "oh shit, somebody's going to say something about us cutting." But my people proved me wrong. They smiled and nodded as we walked by. As we approached the entrance someone came out of the room with both fists in the air and the crowd cheered. Apparently this man was a first time voter and those waiting in line wanted to congratulate him. I was in awe. There are no words....... was all I thought as I smiled and took everything in.

Once inside it was straight chaos but noone was complaining. Once at the front of the line, the lady, after finding my name, handed me a piece of paper. I was voter #117 on booth #2. While waiting for my mom to come out of the booth, I stared at that little slip of white paper. As many times as I've voted I've never paid attention to that slip of paper. I just go in, do my business, and bounce. But today, that little piece of paper said voter number 117 on booth number two was voting for a historic election. While I hope and pray it goes the way I want it to, you can't doubt that whichever way the election swings, it will be historic. I'm just hoping the election runs far far away from the pitbull with lipstick. That ain't cute. At all. LOL

I walked into the voting booth and read the instructions like I've never voted before. For some reason I needed to make sure that THIS time I was doing it right. Once I realized I had the instructions down, I stared at the name on the top row in the left hand corner. BARACK OBAMA. I squealed with glee. Like a 70% off shoe sale kind of glee. Like a dude I like giving me a compliment kinda glee. The glee found in the Cold Stone Creamery Coffee Lovers Only Signature Creation. I smiled at the voting booth like the man himself was standing in front of me. As I flipped the lever to put that X by his name I bounced with excitement. Never before has my passion for a candidate manifested itself like this. The first time I voted was via absentee vote so I was robbed of that first voter experience. And while I've voted in every election since, none can compare to today. THIS IS HUUUUGE!!!! After I voted for everyone I wanted to vote for, I couldn't help but take a second to admire what I just did. Before I pulled the big red lever back to its original position, I saw all my little xs and thought about the big impact they will have. With a sense of pride and accomplishment, I did it and I can tell my kids one day that I voted for a Black man who was running for President. I can say Voter Number 117 on Booth Number 2 voted for what her wildest dreams could never imagine. But as Christopher Williams said, "If I'm dreaming/then just let me sleep./Don't wake me up 'til my dream is complete. " I guess voter number 117 won't be waking up until January 20, 2009. LOL

(I knew if I referenced the song, I would have to post it too. Enjoy the flasback to the nineties. LOL)

Too far....

I can't take the tanginess that is Pinky. He has gone so far as to wear glasses that have pink "arms" - light pink on the inside and hot fuchsia on the inside. I'ma need his wife to write a book, a step-by step guide on how the hell she convinces this grown ass "straight" man to walk out of his townhouse looking like a bottle of pepto bismol. Forget the CIA, send this chick overseas to find the terrorists. Apparently, she knows how to make men do exactly whateva she liiiikes (paraphrasing TI right here...hahahaha).

I was in the process of writing another blog, when Pinky walked in all his pinktastic ghey glory. You didn't think the nonsense stopped at the pink eyeglasses did you??? Once again this fool is wearing a pink sweater, with a pink button up underneath. With these DAMN GLASSES. We had a brief meeting and all I could think was 'damn you look like a ghey pink panther". (Sidebar: now that I'm forced to think about it, I don't think the pink panther was ghey. his music was too cool - perfect for mackin' the ladies! ahahahaha) I find myself punking his pink ass and I have to check myself. But come on, how much respect can I muster when he has worn more pink in the past 2 months than I have worn in a lifetime???? AND I'M A GIRL!!!! hhahahahhaaa

maybe I'll post later, maybe I won't. But I couldn't keep all of the gheylike shenanigans of Pinky to myself.

Sulking

to say something out loud puts some truth to it. so I guess I need to face my reality. I'm not going to homecoming this year. I've been planning on going to homecoming for months. But due to circumstances called life, my friends aren't able to attend. I'm not angry. Just disappointed. I haven't seen my roomie and my other friends in years. We speak regularly on the phone (well my roomie and I) but hanging out and reminiscing live and in living color can't be beat. Walking the yard in our Hampton uniform - fitted jeans, cute fitted shirt/tee/sweater, blazer, and hot heels. Running into old flames and crushes and laughing at how intense and urgent our feelings were back then. Catching up with former classmates and dormmates. Seeing how grown up we really are (or aren't...hahahahah). Cheering at the game - rocking the blue and white; shakin', shakin' SHAKE DEEES (you have to have to be a Hampton alum in order to appreciate this...hahahaha). I wanna see the half-time show and hear what songs by the Temptations or the O'Jays that the band will play (again have to be a Hampton Alum to get that joke too...basically, they never play current music during half-time at homecoming - only music that the old heads can reminisce to; LOL). I wanna go to the parties. Get all dressed up, so my haters can hate and the admirers can........well admire. LOL

Sure I could roll solo as I'm sure I'll run into old friends and acquaintances but that's too much of a high risk investment. And the cost would fall squarely on my shoulders. No fun in that.

I wanna stomp my feet and throw a grown up size temper tantrum. I might even through myself on the floor and roll around until I get my way like "some" kids do. Its not fair! Its not fair!! I wanna go! Did I mention that Baskin Robbins will be there? While he's not my sole reason for wanting to go, it's definitely an added perk. I haven't seen him in a couple of months (no I didn't write about it) but it would be nice to at least see him and chat it up face to face.

I'm going in the corner to sulk now (some more).

Last Night Beyonce saved my life.....

Friday night. Friend's 30th birthday bash. VIP.

While I was certainly having fun in VIP, I can never stay in one spot too long. Especially if I haven't walked around and thoroughly surveyed the crowd. I need to be amongst the people, even if that means becoming a dance floor contortionist to get through the crowd. So I make my way down from the VIP perch to mingle. Actually, first I went to tinkle, then I went to mingle. I make my way through the crowd and I get the hand pull. You know when you walk by and some dude you didn't even see grabs your hand and tries to pull you back over to him?? Yeah that. I gave the "sorry, charlie but I don't wanna dance with you" half grin, half head shake and kept it moving. As I'm making my way from the bar back to VIP I feel someone pluck me HARD on my bare arm. I turn around with the "what the fuck" fire in my eye, ready to curse someone OUT. That shit hurt!!!! LOL
When I turn in the direction of the pluck, I see a chick who looks just as stunned as me and then above her I see a dude laughing his ass off. That's when it registered. I know this fool.

Rewind 7 years. It was around early April. I was hanging out with my girls. All of us single and dressed to party. I don't remember why we were hanging out. Back then we didn't need a reason, we just partied alll the time (cue Eddie Murphy..hahaha). The party wasn't packed so my girls and I had plenty of room to do what we do best - dance to our hearts content and clown folks in between songs. I was standing in a circle with friends laughing about some clown that tried to holla at a friend by the bar, when this guy just stepped in the middle of the circle, grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the dance floor. My girls and I were stunned. Partly because he was so bold with it like he just knew I wouldn't turn him down. And partly, because he was so damn fine. He stood about 6'1", milk chocolate skin, bald head. His lips were kind of thin but his smile could light Times Square. His eyes were brown but there was a light in them, like the damn twinkle of Santa Claus. I was hooked. Right there on the dance floor. We danced for a while and then I excused myself to the ladies room. I was on my way to the ladies room when he approached but I wasn't going to let a little something like relieving my bladder of all the alcohol stop me from dancing with him. When I returned from the ladies room, I tried to walk back over to my girls but just as I took a step in their direction he was right there.

"Where you think you going??"

"Okay, Ike. Calm down. My name ain't Anna Mae. "

He laughed. I laughed. God I wanna see that laugh over and over and over.

We continued to dance until my girls were ready to leave. It was late. I gave him my number. He promised he would call. My girls and I left. We talked about him the entire walk from the club to the train. The more we talked about how fine he was, the more I felt like I would never hear from him again. Don't get me wrong, I've dated some pretty handsome dudes but no one like him. There was just something about him that unnerved my confidence.

He called the next day. And the next. And the next. And the next. We were always together. Laughing, joking, hanging out. He would meet me after work and we would just walk the city streets. I met his brothers and his cousin. He met my mom. Now that I think about it, he scored big when he went grocery shopping for my mother. LOL He was perfect in my 25 year old naivete. But I kept thinking, why me?

Almost 2 months after we met, I was going on vacation to Jamaica with some of my girls. The trip had been planned since January. And I was superexcited to go. He offered to take me to the airport to see me off. I stayed with him the night before my trip. I wanted to wear a linen pantsuit on the plane but it had gotten crushed in my suitcase. I asked him to set up the iron for me so I could iron my pantsuit. He took my pantsuit and painstakingly, ironed it for me. He put the Chinese dry cleaner to shame. The next morning he got up extra early, made me breakfast, and drove me to the airport. Since this was pre-9/11, he walked me to the gate while I waited for my friends. He left when my friends arrived. But not before giving me a big old kiss in the airport. I had my foot raised and everything.

Before we even got on the plane, my friends were sick of me. I had that McDreamy far off look. Through boarding, the safety exit speech, takeoff, flight, and landing, he was alll I wanted to talk about. Not about the amazing trip we were going on. Not about all the things we were gonna do (and NOT gonna do) when we arrived in Jamaica. Just him.

By the end of the summer, we were done. I found out some things that made me question his sincerity. And I got off the rollercoaster ride before it got too nauseating. He'd even gotten a nickname out of it- Manwhore. But looking back it wasn't that deep. When it was over, I wasn't crushed or devastated. There were no Haagen Daaz runs. No comfort found in a Krispy Kreme. I didn't even hate him. I just shrugged it off and moved on with the next. (Actually, I wrote him a letter and THEN moved on...hahahahaha) Ahhh the resiliency of 25.

How appropriate that I ran into him at a club since that's where our history began. After I smacked him (on his arm) for plucking me, we fell into this easy conversation like old friends do. He asked about my family (he always asks about my mom and my grandmother). I asked about his.
Damn, he's still as fine as ever. Remember when he............. Why can't I give him my number again????

I could tell by the look on the chick's face that had been standing there that she too was caught up in the rapture of him. But before the deal could be clinched, he was caught up in catching up with me. And then I remembered why manwhore couldn't have my number. He was still running an amusement park and the rides no longer amuse me.

Mission One. I'ma put this on/ when he see me in my dress/I'ma get me some (hey)

"Uh oh. That's my song. I'ma go find my girls. Take care."

And with that, I shimmied my way back to VIP. I saw him throughout the night. But for the most part, I kept my distance. At the end of the evening, I walked past with my coat on. He grabbed my arm.

"You're not gonna say goodbye."

"Ummm you're dancing. I didn't want to disturb."

"I'ma call you later." {sidebar: I've had the same cell phone number for about 10 years. it's a curse and a blessing. If he really does still have my number, that is definitely a curse. LOL}

"Don't bother. It was good seeing you though. Take care. Good night."

Ahhh the wisdom of 32.

Pinky, where's your brain???

There's a man who visits my office frequently who I call (in my mind of course) "Pinky". The reason for this name is that this man insists on wearing pink. In October. Every time he comes to the office he has on something pink. And I'm not talking about a pink accented tie or thin pink pinstripes in a shirt. No I'm talking full on pink. Last Friday, for instance, he wore pink pants like this:

and a pink and green plaid shirt like this:

(yes, I realize that's NOT a shirt and is a sneaker but that's the closest I could find to the pattern of the shirt he was wearing. Use your imagination. LOL)

And unfortunately for him, he is not as fine or as svelte as the above pictured Bruce Willis (don't talk about my gets better with age crush on Bruce. LOL). As it appears in the picture, it appears to be a summer month or a warm climate when Bruce is wearing said pink pants. It was 60 degrees on Friday. Furthermore, Bruce manned up the pants with a black shirt. Pinky accented his pants with a freaking pink and green plaid shirt. And this is not Pinky's first frolic in the land of Pink. Today he has on a pink and beige blazer with a pink and navy checked shirt with charcoal grey slacks.

Initially I thought he may be a questionable sexual because of this overzealous love of pink. We were in a meeting one day and he crossed his leg to reveal pink and orange socks. I was mid sentence and lost my train of thought for a second at this bizarre sock revelation. Those shits were briiiiiiiiight.
The questionable sexual thoughts pranced right out the window with talks of his wife, kids, and the few times I've actually caught this old fool checking out my butt - like leaning back in the chair to get a full view of the bootay check. Perv.

I'm beyond baffled where this love of pink comes from in a middle aged white man who probably wipes his ass with $50 bills. I mean its not like he's representing Cameron and Dipset. However with this abundance of pink-tastic shenanigans going on, I wouldn't be surprised if Pinky owns a pink Escalade like these hood rich fools.

I have to know where does this love of pink come from. I gave in to my curiosity today by complementing him.
"Good Morning, (Pinky). Nice shirt." (Sidebar: it really is a nice shirt - if I had a man to shop for I might consider it; the pinktanginess of the blazer is what throws the whole outfit off)
"Oh thank you. My wife picked it out. She picks out all my clothes. I don't have time to shop"

What the hell????!!!! Why in the world would a woman send her man out into the streets looking like a cartoon character??? What could he have possibly done to deserve such fashion cruelty??? Granted, I think he's a grade A asshole but I didn't commit to love honor and blah blah blah for all the days of my life. I mean when you're a couple, don't you want your partner to look good because that is a reflection of you as well???

But at the end of the day, he's a grown ass man. Even if his wife buys all his clothes, can't he man up and say "Muffy, take all that pink shit back to the store before I cut your expense account!"? I'm pretty sure there have to be mirrors somewhere in that upper east side townhouse. Can't he see what he looks like??? Does the thought ever cross his mind, "Is this too ghey?" Or does she have complete control over his mind too??

I must admit. I have to admire her gangsta. For one, she knows no woman is coming within an inch of her man (and his money) because he looks like a ghey game show host walking down the street. Secondly, she must have some serious "lovin'" to play jedi mind tricks on the man convincing him that it is quite all right to wear this much damn pink. However, I'll continue to use my jedi mind tricks for good not evil. And this much pink on a man is the real axis of evil. LOL

today is a good day....

I mean it just has to be a good day. I'm probably jinxing myself with this proclamation so early in the day but oh well, that's how I feel. I woke up 5 minutes before my alarm clock rang. I knew EXACTLY what I was wearing today right down to the proper undergarments. Even better, everything I wanted to wear today was actually clean (I hate doing laundry. If I could find a man to not only love my dirty drawers but to wash them too, we are soooo jumping the broom. LOL). I didn't have to move my bed to find a missing sole-mate(I swear I think my shoes wander under there in the middle of the night. LOL). I ran into an old elementary school friend who was taking the same train as I, so I had someone I actually wanted to speak with on the train instead of some creepy slimy old dude making slick creepy slimy old dude comments. As we descended into the train station, I said "please Lord, let that be a ___ train" and voila! said train came roaring through the station. And I got a seat. Crowded, rush hour train on a Monday morning and I, me, the Resident Butterfly got a seat. And I didn't have to push anyone to get it either.

As Old School Chum and I happily discussed the topics du jour we were entertained by the musical shenanigans of a fellow passenger. There was a woman with her mega-headphones perched on top of her slightly askew wig who must have thought she was auditioning for the new reality show "So you think you can dance with the stars and be an idol for love or money while you sell your soul to Bob Johnson". This woman sat in the two-seater on the ___train and proceeded to dance in her seat and move her hands as if she were dj'ing. She continued her musical entertainment by singing out loud "EVERYDAY, I'M HUSTLIN'! EVERYDAY I'M HUSTLIN". And may I add, she even had the deep Rick Ross voice down as she sang the chorus. To add to the shits and giggles entertainment, she segued into 'THROW SOME DEES ON THAT BITCH", hand movements and all. You know the one where you raise your hand over your head and point your index finger down in time with the music. Yeah that one. At 8:40 in the morning. On the ___ train. School Chum and I couldn't stop laughing. At my station, I said my goodbyes and he chuckled as the Music Maestro began her rendition of 'I PUT ON FOR MY CITY/ON ON FOR MY CITY" for the duration of his trip.
The good times kept flowing as I stepped into Starbucks with my coupon for a free cup and was handed another one for a free cup (upon completion of a survey but hey my coffee will be free tomorrow too. Beat that, suckas!!! LOL)

Since I'm probably setting my self up for failure by declaring at 9:35 in the morning that today is a good day, I shant be surprised if this turns into one hell of a shitty day. But for right now, as I replay Ice Cube's "Today was a Good Day" in my mind, all is right in my world for now. Until someones fucks it up. Maybe I'll see music maestro on my way home on the ____ train. I'll probably need a good laugh by then.

In the meantime, this is the funniest.

ALL THE PLUMBERS IN THE HOUSE PULL YO PANTS UP! PULL YO PANTS UP! PULL YO PANTS UP!

The Power of the ___________

I just received an email from one of my fave stores, The Gap. I am admittedly a Gap ho but more on the explanation of my gap ho-ness at another time.

In the spirit of the spirited election season The Gap has launched a "What Will You Vote For?" campaign.

Show us what you're voting for
Gap is giving you the chance to stand up
for your beliefs. Get a customizable "Vote for ______" T-Shirt online
now and in stores on October 23 while supplies last. "

Here's the T-shirt:

(well that's the women's version; for men's click here.)

The tee is so simplistic but the ___________ is so powerful. I pondered what I would write in that space when I received my t-shirt (notice I said when, not if. I'm seerious about my gap ho-ness. hahahahahaha)

This was the heading for the email they sent. And for the most part, I couldn't agree more. Actually, I keep reading it over and over and thinking "damn, did I write this?!" But if I had to customize my own it would probably read something like this:

Vote for Truth. Conquering Your Fears Long Weekends Short Workweeks Creativity Growth Communication Wisdom Happy Hour (yeah I stole it...hahahahahaha) Shoes Stability Love Building Foundations Creating Opportunities Expanding Your Horizons Deep Laugh Lines Peace of Mind, Body & Soul Great Sex (yeah I said it...isn't that in the Constitution?? hahahaha) Stepping out of your Comfort Zone Finding Beauty in All Discovery Bliss Joy Your Future Ice Cream The Road Less Traveled Tolerance Beating the Odds

So what will you vote for????

SIDEBAR: I just remembered I have a shirt from the 2004 election from French Connection United Kingdom. It reads "F.C.UK. YOU, I'M VOTING" I fcuking love that t-shirt. hahahahahahhahaha

Quirks make the world go round (at least in my head)

On Friday, just as I hit "publish" on my work rant, my blogfriend/friend in my head, Chubbs, tagged me for this uh shall we say social revelation. How did she know I needed a break from the rants swirling around in my head? (I have no idea why I've been feeling edgy lately. Lemme go check the calendar. LOL) Thanks, Chubbs for the much needed distraction. :)

1. Link back to the person who tagged you


2. Mention the rules on your blog


3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours


4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking to them


5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged bloggers blogs letting them know they've been tagged


6. You can now display this charming dalek image i created when tagged!

Dang, this was hard. I reveal so much here, you would think all quirks would be exposed already. But alas, I came up with 6. Even though I'm not quite sure how 'unspectacular' they are. LOL

1. I must MUST sleep with at least my big toe if not my whole foot peeking out from under the covers. I need the ventilation to stave off feelings of claustrophobia in my sleep. Even though, I'm not claustrophobic. Oh and the covers can never be completely over my head either.

2. I'm deathly afraid of people on stilts. If they get too close, I wail and run like a terrified 3 year old. I was chased down 3rd avenue in high school by a man on stilts passing out fliers and I ain't been right since. Bastard.

3. I've never shaved my legs in my life. And for the record, I've never had to. Take a look at the picture above. Do you think I need to shave??? LOL

4. I dance around my living room as if I were on the set of a music video. I come up with the concept of the video in my head and then act it out. Only in my living room. The mirror is the camera.

5. I stack my groceries in a neat tight rectangular shape when I place them on the conveyor belt at the grocery store. It's like a puzzle game to see how all my food fits together.

6. I scrutinize people named Janelle. If I encounter anyone named Janelle I size them up to see if they are worthy to share my name. And they lose 2 points if they spell it wrong.

So there you have it, even more butterfly quirks. And now that I've been forced to think about it I can think of quite a few more but I'll spare you the more embarrassing ones and stick with six.

Mackdiva, Miss BB, Eve, Asha, Wendy, JazzBrew and The Black Larry David - TAG! You're it. (SIDEBAR: yes I can count but another one of my quirks is that I believe in the spirit of the law not the letter of the law. Sue me! hahahahahahaa)

oh and let me insert the image (see I do follow the rules...when I remember...hahahahaha)

That's some bullshit.......

One thing that bothers me to absolutely no end is people who wait to the last minute for shit. Now, the ironical (yes I know that ain't a word) part is that I am a procrastinator at heart and am damn near late for everything (except work when the trains don't fuck up and when I teach - gotta set an example for the youngins. ). So here I am at work today in a empty freaking office (yeah I forgot monday was holiday. ). I say to myself "Self, its a beautiful day. You've finished all your projects this week. As the youngins say, let's bounce!" No sooner do I have this self to self convo a colleague of mine who works out of town and knows that I'm flying solo today sends me a request. DAMNIT. Can we just take a moment to call him a hater??? Go 'head I'll wait. LOL

Now, here's where I fucked up. I have been resisting the Crackberry craze since I took on this position. I now realize that if I'd taken said berry of crack I could have managed the request mobilily (is that a word??). Instead I'm chained to my office watching the bright sunshine wave through my massive windows. Maybe I'll jump down the rabbit hole with the rest of you mofos and take the damn berry of crack.

As I type this rant I hear the words of Hustle screaming in my head "See that's what's wrong with you people. You complaining and you got a job! Mofos paying you and you wanna act all 'I can't believe he has the audacity to ask me to do some work' [said in his version of a bourgie accent]. Get the fuck outta here. Stop yer complainin and go do some damn work." Hustle, if you're reading this did I get it right???!! You know damn well you sound like somebody's pops sometimes. hahahahahahahaha

And while he may be right (don't tell him I said that), and I am thankful for a job in an industry that is actually growing during this economic uncertainty, can't a sistah just get a lil something off her chest and just be a lil indignant at the atrocity of me not being able to go to Banana Republic at 3 in the afternoon????