Tuesday, September 30, 2008


A few blogs back I mentioned Rufus Leroy. This is an actual person who works in my office building. I don't know his real name but Rufus Leroy just seems to fit. After reading this you'll know why.

The first time I met Rufus Leroy was on my first day. I was new and without a clue so when he stopped into my office looking for someone else, I greeted him pleasantly and informed him that the person he was looking for no longer worked for the company. This is where being cordial bites me in the ass. Since that first encounter, Rufus Leroy makes a point to attempt to strike up conversation. And in his attempts he is really old man slick with the information he includes. So far, I know that Rufus Leroy is about to be 44, he just moved into his own one bedroom apartment, and that his kids "and they mommas" are "finally" out of his pockets. Now why do I know this???? Because whenever Rufus Leroy is bringing something that I've had delivered or something that one of my business contacts has messengered over to me, he brings it to my desk and always asks if he can have a piece of candy. Now as long as he understands that all I'm offering is the lifesaver candy in the candy dish and not the candy sitting in my seat, then we are cool. However, I'm beginning to notice that in his candy conversation he drops ridiculous hints about what's going on in his world. Like. I. care. And to make matters worse, whenever I'm walking through the lobby of the building whether out the front door or through the side door to Starbucks, he calls out like I know him from the neighborhood. In front of all the security guards and other building personnel. Yes, it has dawned on me that Rufus Leroy might be making his move and (attempting) to mark his territory but here are the Top Five Reasons it ain't gonna happen:

1. I don't want ya, Rufus. Rufus has a grey patch in the middle of his head that is about the size of the plattering of bird poo. He probably wieghs a buck forty and is about 5 feet 5 inches tall. Rufus Leroy looks to be about 54, not 44. Not that there is anything wrong with 54 year olds. They're just not right for me. Until maybe when I'm 54. LOL My rule is if your back in the day stories sound like my daddy's, keep it moving sir.

2. Rufus Leroy looks as if he used to have a substance abuse issue. I can't be worried about my shoes and jewels being stolen or being made to feel guilty when he falls off the wagon.

3. Rufus Leroy works in my building. Even if he were fine as hell, looking all Boris Kodjoe-ish, I would really have to think about whether I could date someone who has that kind of access to me ("I know you leave at 5; which entrance you leaving out of?"). And someone having that kind of access to me screams stalkerific.

4. Rufus bragging about his kids and "they mommas" being out of his pockets ain't cute. What the hell am I supposed to say to that??? "Oooh that's good Rufus Leroy. Now take me to Sizzler?" Yeah, okay.

5. Refer back to number 1. hahahahahahahaha

So what am I gonna do about Rufus Leroy??? I can't have him calling "Hey Ms. ________ (name of my company)" through the lobby like that's my nickname from eighth grade. But I don't want to offend him either. I'll never get another package. Maybe I'll just put a picture of me and my "boo" up as a screensaver. Or maybe I'll start talking about digging in my babies' daddies' pockets every time they get paid. That should make Rufus Leroy run. However, no matter what I think, there will be more Rufus Leroy stories to come. Sigh.

Oh wait, I forgot to mention that he tells me that his breath must be "kickin'" everytime he takes a piece of candy. Ewwwwwww. Just loverly. LOL


My mom is home. Finally. She's not 100% but she's better than she was 2 weeks ago.

These past 2 weeks have been exhausting. Work. Hospital. Home. Repeat. (with a few distractions. Talks with friends. Brunch with friends. Dinner with friends. Debate watching with friends. Eric Roberson with friends. I heart my friends).

As I've said before there are absolutely no words to describe the outpouring of love, prayer and support that I have received over the past couple of weeks. Hopefully, that doesn't reflect on me as a writer. LOL But seriously, I don't know how I would have survived through this without my family in Queens, Harlem, Tennessee and Florida (the rest can kick rocks. real talk), my beautiful gems I call friends, and everyone that stops by this page. Even though I am my mother's only child, time and time again, you reassure me that I am not alone in this world. And that touches my spirit in a way that rarely lends itself to words. Its a swirl of gratitude, love, and energy that has kept me going. I can't lie, there have been some scary moments during these past couple of weeks. Moments when my own strength failed me. It was the strength of my loved ones that picked me up and forced me to surge forward. How can I ever repay that debt??? I could fill this blog with 700 billion thank you's and it wouldn't be enough. If Wall Street gave me the estimated trillion dollars it lost yesterday, that still wouldn't be enough. (well, on second thought that could buy each of you a really nice....CARD! HAHAHAHAHAHA).

I don't think I can ever ever repay you for all that you've done over the past couple of weeks. But I'll carry this memory on my wings forever.

The Resident Butterfly

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

From the bottom of my heart.....

I received all the emails, the comments, the text messages, the phone calls. My mother is still not out of the woods. In fact, she will have surgery today. While I face this and deal with the complications, I feel the love and support freely flowing. Sometimes my tears are actually tears of joy that my friends, complete strangers and family (well some...but they know who they are) shower with an overwhelming dose of support. On the days I've been down, you've been here for me. And I am eternally grateful for your kind words and multitude of prayers.

As you can imagine, I have been through it this past week. From the outside looking in, I must look like a basketcase. One minute laughing hysterically on the phone, the next minute sobbing on a street corner. Thanks to the lady who walked all the way over from the other side of the train just to give me an unopened pack of Kleenex tissue as I silently cried on the D train. Thanks to the friend who let me vent for 30 minutes uninterrupted when my grandmother pissed me off (as I completely expected her to but that's another story for another day...I'm actually in a decent mood today). Thanks to my cousin who just let me break down and verbalize my fears (sidebar: I'm still waiting to hear about that pole dancing class. I ain't forget. LOL). Thanks to the bus driver who made me laugh and forget my troubles while we were stuck in traffic because of the kids in the street after the African American Day Parade (sidebar: did anyone go? was the chubby dude with the marching band from Baltimore who is a FAN of high kicks and twirls there??? those bands from Baltimore are something else - not sure if that's a good thing or not. LOL). I even have to thank my boss, for dumping a huge multi-million dollar project in my lap and expecting me to have it completed by Monday (which I did.....at nine p.m. sigh) . It was just the distraction that I needed. Oh, and I may just have my laptop after all. Watch out, Carrie. Now all I need are my Manolos or better yet, Louboutins. Or maybe, both. LOL

I have so much I wish to blog on. I miss writing like a fish misses water, like Pookie misses crack. I must introduce you to Rufus Leroy (my blog name for this character...hahahaha). But that's for another day. I just wanted to send my thanks for your love, encouragement and support as I travel through this extremely difficult journey.

Thursday, September 18, 2008


Yesterday evening, I received a call that stirred up one of my greatest fears. My mother was being rushed to the emergency room. Those that know me know that my mother is not in the very best of health. And I often struggle with this notion of "what will I do when.....?" It all came crashing down around me when I got the call. I tried to be strong. I tried to be rational. But when I arrived at the hospital, I felt like a scared five year old, lost in the grocery store, only wanting her mommy.

"Yesterday all my troubles seem so far away/Now it looks as though they're here to stay/Oh I believe in yesterday "

How do I balance being a scared five year old in the body of a supposed fearless 32 year old??I have to be brave, strong, rational. But really, I just want to curl up with my blankie and close my eyes until all the monsters under the bed go away.

Yesterday, I had to leave my mother at the hospital because they want to run tests. Leaving her in a hospital bed should be easy for me. I've had to admit her and be listed as next of kin 3 times in my adult life. While the outer me handles the various people at the hospital like a champ, the inner me is slowly dying.

"Yesterday, love was such an easy game to play/now I need a place to hide away/Oh I believe in yesterday "

Please, whatever deity you believe in, ask him/her/them to watch over my mother. Oh and call your mother and tell her you love her. I just did.

I don't know when but I'll be back........just need a minute to get over yesterday.

Friday, September 12, 2008

I got beef.....

....with the dude who mans the fish counter in Pathmark. Apparently, this is an ongoing feud. So before I reach over and smack the shit outta him with a rainbow trout let me get it out of my system. Now let me explain, I am often in the supermarket. Usually because I'm inspired to cook something that is not in my freezer on the way home from work. With that said, I have no idea when the beef in the fish department started even though I frequent it often. I wasn't aware of this dude's 'tude until one day a couple of weeks ago.

What had happened was.....
I walked over to the fish counter all set to pick up a grouper for dinner. There was one chick ahead of me that fish dude was helping (I now know, according to his name tag, his name is David; that's right full blast, negro. LOL). Now he's helping this chick but also flirting with her as well. His rap made me chuckle because while it was quite lame, it was kinda cute. While I'm listening to this banter and eyeing the 2 groupers that would look yummy on my dinner plate with a spinach and orzo pasta dish I had a taste for (yes, I can cook, damnit! LOL), another lady steps up to the fish counter. David glances over and continues his mackin'. Normally, when a fish dude has wrapped up your seafood, they reach over the ice and the glass partition. But uh, mack daddy fish dude had to walk around the display and hand it to his lady of interest for the moment. Initially, I thought the gesture was sweet until he took a few steps away from the counter to holla at shawty for a minute. Wait make that a few minutes. The other lady and I stood there in disbelief as he abandoned his fish duties to get a number. Now if he was really suave with it, he would have had the digits before he even handed her the ten dollars worth of scrimps she ordered. But apparently suave is not an attribute taught at fish school. So being the sarcastic butterfly that I am, I asked "Ummmm, is the seafood department closed?". Shawty and the older woman standing with me chuckled. David rolled his eyes and kept waving his pen to shawty for her to write her digits. The older woman waiting with me left to find a manager while I stood there, waiting. I receive a phone call where I tell friend on the phone the audacity of hood that is going on around me. David hears my account of the details as he saunters back to his station in life. Dude sucks his teeth with a "Can I help you?". (SIDEBAR: first he rolls his eyes, then he sucks his teeth. Is this dude a questionable sexual????) I turn to him and say, "Wow. Oh thank you for taking the time to help lil ole me. I'll have these two groupers, head off and split. Thanks." Hey I said it with a smile. He did as I asked, handed me my package over the ice and partition, and off I went on my merry way. By the way, dinner was yummy. Gold star for me.

Fast forward this week, I was in Pathmark and picked up a bluefish which I broiled. It was sooo good that I decided to have it for dinner the next night. (No he wasn't at the counter that night. I received my bluefish without incident). The next evening, I stop in Pathmark on my way home from work, ready for my bluefish. I walk over to the counter and look who's there - Fishy David along with another fish dude. I peruse the selection and don't see any bluefish but hmmm, the red snapper looks mighty delish (well it will after I cook it. LOL). "Yeah, can I help you?" "I look up and ask "Do you have anymore bluefish?" "Nah." and with thatfishy dave walks away to resume his convo with the other fish dude. Ummm I wasn't done. So I could have gotten hood with him and started the whole neck roll, hand on hip, screaming at him like he stole something thing but I was still basking in the glow of my new position and wasn't quite ready to come off the high. And as you know, hood ain't me. But I digress. I stand there and wait, making sure the annoyance is painted on my face like the new fall collection of makeup from MAC. The other fish dude, who's back was to me the whole time, turned around and said to fishy dave "yo, did you help her?" he responded with a "yeah she wanted some bluefish and told her we don't have no more". To which other fish dude responded: "well did you think to ask her if she wanted anything else??" Hellllloooooo, what kinda shady customer service is fishy dave operating on?
"Ma'am what can I get for you?" the other fish dude inquired as he brushed past fishy dave. I asked him again about the bluefish because "someone else seems too preoccupied with his conversation to give me a full answer." Take that fishy dave.
"No, we ran out earlier."
"Dang, okay I'll have the red snapper, head off and split, please."
"Sure, no problem."

Fishy dave had the nerve to turn around and ice grill me. And I gave him the "what the fuck is your problem?" look of disgust. His refusal to help me, his ice grilling me, his overall rude behavior made me wonder what the hell I did to deserve this "fishy" attitude? I'm a lover not a fighter. I don't want no beef. Only fish.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Behind the Wings: Hustle

Dear Readers: Okay, I'm cheating. This was composed during the week of my vacation and was supposed to be the next entry in the Behind the Wings series. But because of my lack of internets access, it was left in the draft box. I have so much I want to blog about but I'm trying to navigate this new world I find myself existing in. Honestly, I have the time to blog at work. Sssshhh, don't tell anyone. :) But I'm still trying to be on my best behavior. At least for now. LOL So please enjoy what you should have read last week.

The Resident Butterfly
Now you know I couldn't do a best of series without Hustle. For those that are new to the site (i.e. my family - heyyyyy), Hustle is a guy that I've been dating for about a year. He's not my man/boyfriend/exclusive significant other. He and I are the walking wounded when it comes to relaysheeships. As my friends, fans, stalkers and stans know I've written about him a lot, primarily because he is so damn funny. And because he has his own set of fans and stans on this site (Goooo Team Hustle...NOT! hahahahaha)

I first wrote about him in July of 2007 in my first post breakup dating story. While that wasn't our first date, I felt it was time to start writing about my dating experiences. And besides all that breakup emotional shit gets old and repetitive really quickly. I was moving on. It's funny. I don't even remember what happened to the other dude I wrote about. But for some reason, Hustle is still around. My friends have their theories about us. But theories are meant to be disputed and refuted.

In a stranger twist that even my overly active creative mind couldn't come up with is the fact that he reads my blog. I have no idea how long he'd been reading but he let me know that he thought a date I went on was hilarious one day via text . Of course I wrote about the experience. I was mortified then and it's still something I struggle with. It's one thing to want an audience to read and appreciate your work. But it's another to actually know someone in that audience is going to what to discuss and disect what you say. Especially when you are invested in that person. In preparing this best of series and reading everything I have posted since November of '06, I realize that once I knew he was reading, I'm not as candid with my dating stories. I don't hide them but I'm always aware that he may be reading so I do censor stuff or delay writing about this other side of my life. I know this ventures into some serious shades of charcoal grey but this is the life I've created for myself for the time being. And yes, he's still reading (and has even commented! Twice. HA!). I got a lecture on Sunday about documenting going to the grocery store with no panties. The old man thinks he's my pops! HA!

We have what others may view as relationship tendencies. He leaves me in his apartment. I still have friends who question me about that and cram to understand how I attained this right when he and I are not in a relationship. I can't explain why. Mostly, it's out of necesity (mornings and I are currently engaged in the 100 year War and I am oh so slow to the daily battle) and he should know by now that I'm not a snoop. I respect him and vice versa. He's pissed me off. Just a handful of times. But once, I was soooo pissed I sat and wrote about it. In his apartment. On his laptop. Of course weeks later, he brings it up. Just by quoting a line from what I wrote about the incident. I blush. He laughs. But we discuss it. And keep pushing the cart through the aisles of Costco.

My favorite Hustle post is the Questionaire. It was my first two part post, and to me its simply hilarious. This is quintessential Hustle to the max. His questions and my answers are typical banter between us. Say what you may about what we are. One of my friends actually called us Big & Carrie one night after a party. I think she was drunk. I know I was. LOL But on the real, we aren't Big & Carrie ( I still don't have a laptop or the Manolos). I am me and he is he. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Monday, September 08, 2008

What the helll....

Okay this is just a quick post. But I had to share. I've been in my new office (in my new position...HOLLLA) for approximately 2 hours and I've come to realize that I work in an office with damn Republicans. Now their party affiliation doesn't bother me. I expected it...they are middle age and wealthy. McCain's aces in the hole. Now what I didn't expect was the constant political banter. "Oh I really like Palin. She's the fire we need." "Yeah, did you see the numbers. We got a good bump from the convention. It's only going to go up. "Hey, we have our own hockey mom." (said after I politely put my foot down with a vendor). "Should we book our tickets to DC now for the inauguration?" Jesus Christ of latter day saints, church of the Mormons (what I say so technically I'm not saying the Lord's name in vain. LOL). What have I gotten myself into?

You know I can't hold my tongue. I don't know how to smile and nod. There are going to goad me into a political conversation. I feel it. Besides visions of fat paychecks dancing in my head (and doing the 2 step in my bank account), what the hell am I to do??? Do I lie? Or do I wear my Obama button on my lapel??? I don't think I've ever worked in an office where NOBODY has my my political point of view. So I ask, WHAT THE HELLLLLL AM I GONNA DO???

Wednesday, September 03, 2008

Excuse me ma'am....ummmm, your panties???

Well that's where the story ends (or begins depending on your perspective). Of course I can't just leave that statement out there without any explanation. So what had happened was..........

I always overpack. ALWAYS. I can't help it. I need options. So instead of packing outfits and sticking with the plan, I pack the highlights of my wardrobe for the season so I can't say "damn, I wish I would have brought blah blah blah because it would look soooo cute with yadda yadda yadda". What complicated the matter further was that I didn't get a chance to do laundry before I left. But my sister has a washer and dryer at her place in Florida. (Yes, I spent by "break from the world" in the hotbed of American debauchery well at least on the east coast- Miami ). So I grab a plastic bag, stuff my dirty clothes in it, and pack said bag inside my suitcase.

Now, since the airlines are now in the business of nickel and diming its customers (shit, they'll take pennies too), most have some type of paying for checked bags policy. Delta's policy your first bag is free if its under 50lbs. That's a whole lot of luggage for most people but for moi? Lets just say if that were an Olympic event the US wouldn't even send my ass to the trials. I have no concept of measurement estimates. NONE. So basically, the airline execs salivate and get hard-ons when they see my name on the airline's travel manifesto. But I digress. I arrive at Laguardia and a skycap takes my bag from the curb. Papi chulo drops my bag on the scale and informs me that my bag is 18 pounds overweight. "Mami, can you take anything out the bag? I don't want to charge you $80 to check it." Excuse me??? Eighty dollars. On top of the what I paid to sit my ass on the plane?!
"Welll, " I respond. "I have a bag of ummmmm clothes in there but I can't take that on the plane."
"Lemme see."
So I unzip the top of the bag and begin to tug at the huge, bright yellow Ikea bag. Why did I pick that damn bag? Why couldn't I pick a more chic plastic bag to hold my currently un-chic garments?

Of course once I take this ginormous sunshine yellow bag with royal blue lettering splattered across the side out of the bag, papi chulo skycap is willing to let me check my bag without paying the overage fee.
"Are you surrrrrre I can carry this on the plane?"
"Yeah mami, you good. That will be $3 for curbside check in."
Do you take pennies, papi? Of course you do!

I walk away from curbside check-in. I look down at my chocolate brown walking shorts, tan top, and natural colored espadrille wedges. Cute. Chocolate brown suede Coach carry-on bag. Cute. Ginormous yellow bag filled with dirty clothes. Not cute. I take a deep breath, hear Tim Gunn from Project Runway in my head (Make it work."), and stroll to airport security. I get through security with no problem. I even stop at Starbucks to fuel my addiction before boarding the plane.

Okay so the Ikea bag isn't cute but damnit I'm going on vacay. This is the break I need. Some sun. Some fun. Maybe even a little debauchery. I board the plane. Stow my bag in the overhead compartment and begin my mental relaxation. I was fortunate enough to pick a window seat with no middle passenger so I and the gentleman in the aisle seat had room to stretch out.

"We are taxi-ing to the gate. The weather in Fort Lauderdale is currently 88 degrees with a few passing clouds. The weather here should be great. Thank you for flying with Delta."
Ahhhhhh, I made it. I already feel the humid breeze blowing through my straight hair (of course not for long). The drinks, the nightlife, the fun with my sisters are all calling my name as I pull my bags down from the overhead compartment. I'm sailing on the joy of what this week will bring when I hear a "Excuse me ma'am...ummmmmmm, your panties?" Scratch the needle across the record. I turn around and there they were. My chartreuse lace Vicky Secret thong, dangling from the overhead compartment.

Who knew a black woman could turn beet red?! "Ohhh shit!!" I laugh and snatch them down from their airplane display. Stuff them BACK into the Ikea bag and saunter right off the plane. What else was I gonna do??? Luckily there weren't too many passengers still on the plane as I was sitting in the pre-Montgomery Bus Boycott section.

First stop on the vacay? The Mall. The butterfly needs another carry-on. With a zipper.

I need to explain.....

Okay, so my Behind the Wings series didn't fly quite as planned. I planned on finishing the edits and behind the wings commentaries on the entries I picked but was denied access to this here site the entire time I was away. So while enjoying my fun in the sun, I was also going through blog withdrawal. I couldn't write a blog. I couldn't read my favorites. I felt so disconnected from my blog world. But I'm back. If I had access to this here page the next entry would have been a break in the supposed scheduled program.