Ask and Flush

I read this article yesterday. For those who are not inclined to tear themselves away from my wonderful site to read it, the article spoke of a certain republican radio talk show host who has a penchant for prescription pills and who's name rhymes with "Flush" making fun of what he thought was the President saying "ax" instead of "ask". I read the article (and listened to the audio clip) with disgust, but was immediately reminded of an incident in High School.

As you may know I went to a tony independent all girls schools in one of the wealthiest zip codes in Manhattan. My graduating class consisted of 24 girls, 5 of which were black (and shout out to the lone Puerto Rican in my class). To say I had a hard time adjusting is a gross understatement. Growing up in Harlem gave me somewhat of a thick skin but people expecting you to live up to the stereotypes of what it meant to be a black chick, growing up in Harlem in a single parent home was quite daunting (see why I ran to the best HBCU on the planet??? hahahaha). "No I don't know a good place to buy drugs in harlem" and "If you search my locker for a gun, I'm calling Al Sharpton!' were sentiments I actually had to utter at the age of 14. By the time senior year rolled around, I was numb. My scholarship was held over my head like a noose (I scored a perfect score on the entrance exam - my four year scholarship wasn't going anywhere as long as I didn't kill anyone), my mother had been insulted in my presence (I thought my mother was gonna have to smack a bitch but thankfully I know my mothers nonverbal cues and dragged her away immediately), and they stole my Cornsilk Cabbage Patch Kid (no I didn't walk around high school with a doll like a dork. I used her for a project on Africa, and got an A, thank you very much. ). Just when I thought nothing else could get to me, we had Senior Seminar, a weekly forum for all things pertinent to the graduating class, with the Headmistress of the entire school - the Chief Head Honcho. She was a nun, but unlike any nun I'd ever seen. She wore Gucci shoes and Prada bags.

When Senior Seminar was over, she called out for me to stay behind. My classmates looked at me like "What the hell did you do now?". Yeah I was sorta a rebel in high school but not criminal. I just questioned everything. But I had to ask myself, "Shit. What the hell did I do now?"

"Thank you for that wonderful insight on college visits. But there's something I noticed. You did this while you were speaking. You said 'ax' instead of 'ask'. And I've noticed it often when I'm around black people, whether they are doctors or captains of industry. You all say 'ax'. I don't know why that is but we must break you out of it."

I looked at her like she had 4 heads. I tried to deny this accusation of ebonic proportions as I straightened my navy crested prep school blazer but she just reiterated her point and added "I don't even think any of you realize you say it." At that moment, I had 2 choices. I could curse her out and storm out. However, it was senior year of high school and that definitely would have gotten me kicked out. And besides, while she didn't wear the habit and the squishy nun shoes, she was a nun nonetheless, and I knew cursing her out would only seal my fate and send me straight to the fiery gates of hell (we catholics are so dramatic when it comes to hell...hahahaha). Or I could suck it up, listen to this nonsense, and go about my merry way.

I chose the later. And I've always regretted it to a certain degree. It was so damn humiliating, sitting there saying "ask" over and over and over until she felt certain I wouldn't make the egregious mistake again. And there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. There was no benefit of the doubt that maybe I stumbled over the sounds of my words (as a former speech therapist, I know that EVERYONE suffers from dysfluency in their speech at times, its the frequency and severity of that dysfluency that warrants therapeutic intervention, but I digress). She went straight for this "black dialect" that Mr. "Flush" speaks of and all the negative connotations that are embodied in that phrase.

So when I read this story, the entire incident came flooding back to me. I say to "Flush" as I wish I said to my headmistress all those years ago, "Go fuck yourself. For your information, in order for that slight of tongue to be considered part of the 'black dialect' or 'ebonics', there must be other rules used within the context of that sentence to qualify as such. You can't scream 'Hola' and present yourself as being fluent in Spanish. While controversial, this dialect you speak of has rules and patterns in which it is spoken, just like other dialects of other languages. And furthermore, how dare you go right to the race card. Why couldn't you give the benefit of the doubt of a slight slip of tongue, a case of fleeting speech dysfluency caused by words with similar sound patterns surrounding the word 'ask'? Would you have said the same if you heard a white person say what you believe to be 'ax'? Of course you wouldn't. You chose to focus on one tiny one syllable word, instead of focusing on the message of the entire speech. I don't have to call you racist. Your diatribe spoke for you. You can put your sheet back on now. Oh, and ummm Go fuck yourself".

* Whew that felt good!*

Since I've become active in my Alumnae Association over the last couple of years, I've run into the former Headmistress a few times at various events (she's also an alumna of the school). And oh how I wish I could call her out for the numerous slights against me, the color of my skin, and the lack of substance in my trust fund. But I play the game. I play it quite well actually. So well, that she wouldn't dare ASK me to participate in such nonsense again. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for "Flush". Oh, how I wish I could just flush them both down the toilet.

Q 4 a B-Fly: My Sexci

Q: When do you feel your sexiest? ~ Anonymous

A: Dear Anonymous,
Your question is so simple yet .......not so much. Have you ever seen the symbol for Pisces? If not, its a picture of 2 fish swimming, one swimming up, the other swimming down, essentially in opposite directions but somehow forming a circle. While you didn't ask for my astrological sign, this depiction captures my ideas of sexiness. There are times when I feel 'sexy" but my "sexiest"?? I'm lost. I don't believe I've reached that pinnacle in my life to say "At this very moment I feel my sexiest!" Somehow to me that implies that my sexy is going downhill from there. LOL

But to answer you're question, I've created a list of moments/instances when I feel pretty damn sexy. So without further ado, I present My Top 10 Sexay. (damn did I just let my fingertips commit to a list of 10...good grief!) Ummmm, Lets make this a Top 5 list instead, mmmkay?!! (Mind over fingers)

*this list is in no particular order.*

1. Dressed. I think I have a pretty good sense of fashion. But sometimes when I pull an outfit together with the right accessories, makeup is flawless, and hair is commercial worthy, I step out of the house feeling oh so sexy, like those Top Models have nothing on me. But if any one of these elements is out of sync, then not so much.

2. Nerd. At heart I'm a nerd. Really I am. I love to read about as much as I love to write. When I start reading a new book (or a classic - currently reading Pride and Prejudice - again), I feel sexy. Something about nourishing my mind is so empowering and so damn sexy to me. So lately when I sit on the train and I'm reading all the prim musings of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, I feel pretty damn sexy. And smart.

3. Home. As much as I like to glam it up when I step out the house, I am the complete opposite at home (hence the Pisces symbol). Sure I could feel sexy in the lacy, silky, naughty, frilly frocks in my third bottom drawer (and on occasion I do feel sexy in those things...hahahaa). But I love house shorts. LOVE THEM. In fact, I have a black pair with LOVE written right across the bootay. At home, with my glasses, cotton bootay shorts, and a wife beater, I feel ironically sexy. Truth be told there is nothing sexy about this outfit. At least I don't think there is. Funny, I am not a fan of wearing my glasses out of the house. I feel shy and introverted. But at home? I can't wait to put them on. Unless there's company. But that's another blog for another day.

4. Surprise. I feel sexy when I catch someone off guard in a good way. I've written about it before but when I got in Hustle's car with only my glasses, undies, and a raincoat on, it wasn't the fact that I was damn near nekkid that made me feel sexy. It was the fact that he had nooooo idea what I had going on that made me feel bold and sexy. I believe its the element of surprise - the element of "that's the last thing I would ever expect her to do" - which makes surprises like this one so sexy.

5. Shoes. If you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you know I LOVE SHOES. I would say shoes are my crack but that would make them so low class, so I will say shoes are my prescription pain pills. Slipping my manicured feet into a high heel shoe and watching my foot mold into the shoe is heaven. Then seeing my calf muscles flex under the smoothness of my skin because of the heel of the shoe is damn near orgasmic. I could wear a paper bag, but as long as I had on a sexy pair of heels, I feel my entire being would scream sex appeal. Right now, I am crushing HARD on these babies:

Carlos Santana. {might be my birthday shoe}

6. His. (Yeah I know I said Top 5 but its my blog, my rules to break.) Anytime I wear something that belongs to a guy, I feel incredibly sexy. His (clean) boxers, a tshirt, his button down shirt as a robe, his neck tie a la Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, anything that belongs to him. Since I tend to like guys who are tall, their clothes dwarf me and give me a petite sexy feeling. I've hijacked a few shirts in my day and sleep in them from time to time (well the ones that aren't rotting in somebody's landfill).

Thanks for taking a glimpse into my sexy.

Smoochies,

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay people, the questions are dwindling down. You know there is something you want to ask me. Let's keep this going. http://www.formspring.me/ButterflyRefuge

Real

Okay so apparently, its easier to write this blog during the week than it is on the weekend. As you can tell from my previous post, Saturday was a not a day for writing. And Sunday, I didn't even attempt to pour my words through my fingertips.



If he still reads he's gonna kill me, but I spoke with Hustle on Saturday. We've been engaged in a game of phone/IM/text tag, and finally we spoke for damn near 3 hours. That's one of the things I love about he and I. We don't have to speak everyday but when we do, there is such a natural ebb and flow to the conversation its damn near effortless.



But on Saturday, he rendered me speechless. He informs me that he won't make any of the birthday festivities to which I've invited him. And of course, I immediately get an attitude. "WHATCHUMEANYOU'RENOTCOMING?"



If you know me, or have been reading this for a while, you know my birthday is the most important holiday on the calendar. And yes, I said holiday. I really truly from the bottom of my heart believe my birthday should be a national holiday - complete with a day off from work, a parade and an insane sale. But I digress.



Initially, he tried to laugh it off with jokes about forgetting my birthday (blasphemy) and not noticing that he wasn't around. I was buying it. "WHATCHUMEANYOU'RENOTCOMING?"

"I'm having surgery the day before."

I fumbled and dropped the phone. In that instant it took me to catch the phone before it dropped, I was dumbfounded. Surgery. WHATCHUMEANSURGERY

He laughed and joked about how I thought of him as invincible. He's right. This is the man who accosted me by the bathroom at a club during my darkest hour and forced me to dance the night away and laugh when I didn't think I could. This is the man who rescued me from the demons I struggled with after the end of my toxic relationship. WHATCHUMEANSURGERY

While respecting his privacy, I will say its not major surgery, an outpatient procedure where he can leave once he comes out from under the anesthesia. But still its surgery. I tried to remain calm on the telephone but he could tell I was FREAKING OUT. I should have been reassuring him that he's going to be fine but he was the one reassuring me.

After a few awkward moments, the conversation returned to the normal ebb and flow. I looked at the clock and realized I was supposed to be somewhere 2 hours earlier. For the first time ever, getting off the phone with each other felt awkward. Usually one of us makes a snide comment (him) to which the other (me) responds and then we both laugh, never saying "Goodbye."

For the past couple of days this has been on my mind. When I arrived at my friends house, I tried to push it out of my mind and enjoy some rum punch with my girls, but it kind of sat there right next to me on the sofa. When my phone suffered a temporary battery cardiac arrest and died (as in I needed a battery transplant), I thought of not being able to get in touch with him. I'm keenly aware of not being in touch with him, when normally he and I can go weeks without speaking on the phone.

To everyone looking in, we have the strangest relationship - something out of a novel or a TV show (shit one of my friends call us Carrie and Big). But suddenly, one little world have thrown us into reality. Surgery.

Tipsy

Please note: I'm writing this after three (maybe 4) glasses of rum punch, so if I ramble, please forgive me. But please also note and give me props for my dedication to my 40 day challenge. :)

Now back to the regularly scheduled program.



Can I just say I'm a lil tipsy right now and the thought of writing this blog is hilarious to me. hahhahaha

Ooh damnit, we're about to watch The Hangover. How can I resist watching this movie this tipsy???

(remember my original dislclaimer....some of these entries will suck...hahahahah)

Damn, who drank all the rum punch! Somebody needs to make some more.......

Fact or Fiction: Train Ride

As I approached the turnstile, I heard someone over by the token booth call out my name. I looked over to see a gentleman smiling in my direction. It took a quick second but I recognized him. I smiled and walked over.

"Heyyyy. You don't remember me?!"
"Man, shut up. Of course I remember you!" I replied as we embraced.

"How are you?" I asked. If his appearance was any indication, he was doing quite well for himself. Smooth mahogany skin accented with the precision of a freshly trimmed goatee. His coat hung and fell in all the right places. Stylishly dressed but not overtly metro-sexual.

"I'm doing well. You must be doing well." he said as he too gave me the once over.

We laughed.

"Hey, are you heading downtown?"

I nodded as we both walked over to the turnstile and swiped our Metrocards to allow us entry to the platform.

"Cool so we can really catch up." he replied with a megawatt Colgate grin.

Damn, was his smile always that perfect?? I asked myself just as the train pulled into the station.

As the train snaked its way downtown, he brought me up to speed on what had been going on in his life since I last saw him in my teen years. This neighborhood boy had done well for himself, traveled the world, built his career. With so much grit surrounding us, it's touching to see a fellow neighborhood kid rise above it all.

With only 2 stations away from my departing stop, he asked if we could keep in touch, "you know if that's okay?"

I laugh at his not so subtle way of asking for my number and pull out my phone since yes it was okay for us to keep in touch.

"What stop are you getting off?"
As I dropped my phone back in my purse, I looked up and replied "Ummm, the next one."

"Oh, okay. Hey, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure!" I mentally start running my calendar through my mind, because surely this handsome man is about to ask me out on a date.

"Do you ever think about our night together? I do." he whispered.
"Our night??"
"Yes. our. night." he said with a raised eyebrow a la The Rock.
"Uhhhhh, we had sex???!!!" Damn, did I say that out loud?!

By the look on his face, that was not the answer he was expecting. Foot, meet mouth. But I really don't remember this night he speaks of. Just as I was about to mentally run down, "my list", the train pulled into my departing station. I gathered my things and waved goodbye. He looked crushed but there was no time to repair the damage of my outburst. I blurted out "I'll call you". We both knew that shit wasn't gonna happen.


Now you decide:

FACT OR FICTION

*by fact, it could be my truth or someone else's truth as told to me OR it could all be a fig newton of my imagination. Either way, what do you think - FACT OR FICTION????!!! ;)

38 days left of this writing challenge.........

Q 4 a B-fly: Deep

Q: When was the last time you really, really cared about someone deeply? ~ Anonymous

A: Dear Anonymous, I don't know what it is about these formspring questions, but a song or a lyric from a song pops into my head each time I read one. This time it was

"have you ever tried sleeping with a broken heart? / Well you should try sleepin' in my bed..."

No that's not an invitation to luxuriate in my 400 thread count. Also, that's not to say that I'm perpetually with a broken heart. But for some reason, it was that song that passed through my mind as I contemplated how I could possibly answer your question.

To be honest, I don't know when was the last time I cared for someone as deeply as your questions suggests. I'm gonna assume that you are talking about a love interest and not family member or a friend or a friend's baby that I just can't get enough of.

See, I know my capacity to care, to love is deep. I've seen glimpses of that capacity in certain relationships. And those glimpses frighten me because I know how much more I could give of myself. So I've never completely and totally just let go and allowed myself to feel for someone as deeply as I believe your question implies. Have I loved? Of course I have but I always felt like I was holding back, leaving a reserve for myself, protected from the dangers of rejection and complete heartbreak and devastation.

But. There was someone. A special someone. Someone I believed would.......... well, let's just say a friend. Who I thought that I could open up to. Completely. No reserve. So I tested the waters.
And said things I never thought I would ever have the courage to say out loud. Opened the floodgates and allowed the emotions to flow.

And nothing. Nada. Zilch. I haven't heard from him since. I must admit it hurts because I thought we were better friends than that - the kind of friends who could talk through anything. I stepped out of my shell and exposed a part of me that is not readily available to the viewing audience. And I'm proud of myself for doing so. It means that I'm getting comfortable with my feelings. It means I'm trusting faith enough to step out on its ledge. Even if it seems as though I've lost a friend in the process.

All of that to say, I don't know when was the last time I really, really cared about someone as deeply as your question implies. But I'm looking forward to when that time comes. I'll be sure to let you know when that happens.

Smoochies,


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Keep the questions flowing. http://www.formspring.me/ButterflyRefuge I can only answer what you ask. And I'll answer every question (don't get freaky though..well not too freaky..)

Commitment

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent - the time of year where Catholics all around the world wear the badge of sacrifice. All week, people have been asking me "What are you giving up for Lent?". I contemplated giving up alcohol but my birthday is in exactly 2 weeks. Lets be real. My birthday without booze is no bueno. Even Jesus knows that. I thought about giving up meat again, but at this point it doesn't feel like a "sacrifice" since I barely eat anything but seafood. I may eat chicken, beef and/or pork MAYBE once a week. I even toyed with the idea of going on a shopping freeze, where I would only shop for essentials like food, toothpaste, etc. and nothing else for 40 days. But my mother's birthday is in 10 days and I don't think she'd appreciate groceries or toothpaste for a birthday present. Not to mention (again), my birthday is in 14 days and I'm going to need a few outfits for the festivities, and I need to buy my birthday panties (Sidebar: Am I the only one who buys new undies to wear specifically on the day when I was born without them??). And not to mention, I have to buy myself a bday gift. See, no shopping isn't going to work for me, unless Lent falls after my birthday. Sure I could have planned better and shopped before today but clearly that ain't happen.

So what's this butterfly to do??

I've given some real thought to this and instead of thinking of this time of year as a time od sacrifice, I would like to think of it as a time of challenge - a challenge to step out of my comfort zone, a challenge to push my self-imposed boundaries, a challenge to make me a better me. Part of this challenge is my writing. I haven't been as dedicated to my writing as I should be. I waste a lot of time daily, and at the end of the day I say, "damn I should have blogged today" or "damn, I could have finished that chapter today". So instead of excuses, for the next 40 days of Lent. I will write. DAILY. That's right, this Resident Butterfly is going to blog everyday for the next 40 days. Saturdays and Sundays included. The heart of this challenge is committing the time to do so. Outside of work, I have the worst time management. I struggle to apply all of the professional techniques and strategies I've mastered to my personal when it comes to managing my time. So by challenging myself to this 40 day Writing Challenge, I'm forcing myself to prioritize my time by making sure at some point during the day, I'm writing both for the blog and for the book.

I know this is going to be hard for me (that's what she said...hahahahaha). And I'd like to put the disclaimer out there now. There will be some entries that suck (she said that too...hahahahahaa). I will do my best to write brilliant prose and musings but realistically, I'm not sure that can happen on a daily basis for the next 40 days. But I'm willing to try. I don't know if this is the faith that Jesus spoke of that I'm supposed to be stepping out on but I'm afraid if I don't do this now, my dream of author may end up in a Langston Hughes poem. I have enough regrets in my life. I don't want to add my dreams of writing to that pile of regrets. It's time to get serious about my passion for words.

Another disclaimer. Q 4 a B-Fly, my ask me anything segment, will still be a feature as long as you ask the questions in that box to your right. And I promise I won't only answer questions for the next 40 days either. That's kinda like cheating. But I kinda like the idea too. Maybe its something to consider after I've completed this challenge. Damnit, getting sidetracked already. LOL

Oh, and yes today's entry counts. So, 39 more to go. I hope you'll enjoy this ride with me. Damn, that's what she said too......hahahahahhaa

Q 4 a B-Fly "Drifting on a Memory"

Q: How many times a day do you think of that "special" someone? ~ Anonymous

A: Dear Anonymous,
Please don't be offended, but when I read this question I had to laugh out loud - FOR REAL. No LOL inside my head laugh but a real true hardy -har. I laughed because currently there is no "special" someone in my life. Well except for me. I've been single for a while. But don't cry for me, Argentina. I date.

However, I must admit that the guys I date cross my mind throughout the day. Something usually triggers a memory - someone will say something that alludes to an inside joke, a taste from a meal, a song we danced to playing on Pandora, a whiff of a cologne my olfactory has been acquainted with. Anything my cerebrum has attached to thoughts of that person. I'll smile and keep it moving. Honestly, I can't remember the last time I was that chick who wonders endlessly "Is he thinking of me?" "Oh, I wonder what he's doing right now." I was once in a relationship with a guy who was concerned because I didn't call him during the day at work. When I responded, "Ummm because you're at work and I'm at work?!" He seemed to be offended that I wasn't thinking of him during the day enough to reach out and call. I was teaching at the time. My focus was the 600 kids I was responsible for - not the big baby sitting in a downtown office. Clearly, this relationship didn't last long. Is that harsh??

But memories have a funny way of seeping into your everyday. Just because the men I date have yet to earn the "special" someone title, it doesn't mean that random thoughts of them don't evoke a smile, or a warm fuzzy fleeting feeling. But that's only if there in my good graces. If we're at a place without conflict. Otherwise, any memory, no matter how endearing, how touching, how funny will get the quintessential "side eye". I can't give in to those warm fuzzies if conflict is in the air. Is that harsh??

Now, to answer your question. If I classify myself as that "special someone", well damn, I think about me all the time, so much so I can't even count how many times daily. I wonder what the future holds for "us". I plan "our" next step. I ponder ways to make "us" happy. And if I'm going to be truthful, sometimes, not often, just sometimes, I wonder who that other "special" someone will be. I wonder what it will feel like to be with him. And wonder if maybe I will pick up the phone occasionally during the day, just to say "Hi. I was thinking of you."

Sincerely,


PS After laughing, the first line of this song popped into my mind. So I had to listen to it. And then I had to share.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The questions are great. Keep them coming. Post your questions in the box to your right or go directly to http://www.formspring.me/ButterflyRefuge

Lady Bug and the Bitch

Stress and hormones don't mix. Worse than oil and water. Worse than Kool-aid and champagne. Worse than Mo'Nique and Nair.

Seriously, this week my mood has been all over the place. I think I have traveled the emotional continent on a world tour in the past week. Crying at the drop of a Kleenex over things I don't normally cry about. I cursed out a cabbie (well, he deserved it but I went IN on my tirade). I've been non-social (and you KNOW that's not me). I conjured up all kinds of not-suitable for the viewing audience blogs. Luckily, a hint of my sanity remained because I would hear her say "Bitch you can't publish that?! What the hell is wrong with you?" I, too, had to wonder "what the hell is wrong with me?"

On one hand I'm stressed. Yeah, this corporate divorce and subsequent corporate jumpoff status has wreaked havoc on my finances, my plans, my life in general. I dread going to the plantation (as I call it now). Then most days the job posting suck stinky monkey balls. Like really you expect me to do all of that for less than my 1st job salary??!! Ummm, yeah, NO! Add that to other life stressors - family, dating, my booty (yes my booty stresses me out..I feel like I'm a cheeseburger away from being thrust into a Jenny C.r.a.i.g commercial against my will just because I'm a fatty).

So add to the stress, the torrential hormonal flux of The Lady Bug (as I call that time) and you have the recipe for an emotional roller coaster - complete with twists and turns, and death defying drops. I'll admit to PMS - I get a lil moody (mostly just quiet and introspective), the girls feel like cannonballs on my chest (those who know me, know these chicks ain't NO WHERE near cannonball size), I crave salty snacks (give me my Honey BBQ, Salt & Vinegar, Onion & Garlic potato chips. Not all together but if you love me, you will make sure I have a supply of at least 2 varieties once a month). This is all "the usual" for me. But this week coupled with the stress, I've felt like someone else. Everything was exaggerated. When my reactions should have been a 2, I felt they were a 10. You know how every damn thing is over-dramatized on the soaps?? Well I felt like Erica Kane this week, queen of the over-drama.

I can't live like this. I've lived with the PMS since the awkward big booty teen years, so that I can manage (as long as I have my chips! hahahaha). But the stress??!!! Sheeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiit, this bitch called stress has got to go. She needs to be evicted from my life ASAP, like YESTERDAY!! I try not to get overwhelmed and normally, I manage the bitch quite well. But when Stress and Lady Bug meet for a playdate, all hell breaks loose. And while I'm not a control freak, I like to be in control of what I say, control of what I do.

So I'm looking for ways to either eliminate the stress or distract me from it. I know primarily, I have to change the situation with this job bull. I know that when I find a gig that I respect, enjoy, and gives me nice satisfying corporate orgasms (paychecks"), I will feel more at peace. But in the meantime, I need to create the peace for myself. I'm just not sure how. But I know damn well, I will need to figure this out in the next 3 weeks or so. If not, I'll be writing another crazy WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME/YA'LL MIGHT WANNA HAVE ME COMMITTED blog, and while I love a cute white spring jacket, uhhhh straitjackets won't go with anything in my closet.


PS I thought yesterday was Tuesday and sat down to write Q 4 a B-Fly. When I found out it wasn't Tuesday, I damn near cried and stopped writing my response to the next question. See??!! A MESS!!! hahahahaha I'll finish either tonight or tomorrow. I won't let the week pass without answering your questions. They really are fascinating.
Smoochies,