Mission Delicious

Last week was Baskin Robbin's birthday. In the midst of all that was going on with my mom, I was trying to think of something nice to give him for his birthday. Sometime after March Madness: The Birthday Edition, he took the time to surprise me with a simple yet thoughtful gift so I wanted to do the same for him. Also, during my mom's hospital stay, he'd been so supportive - praying with me, calling to check on me throughout the day, letting me vent- that I wanted to also say thank you for being a friend (cue "Golden Girls" theme song)

I know my relationship with him makes no sense to anyone. Intermittently, I've had friends ask 'Sooooo, what's up with you two?" And my response has been "Ummmmm what do you mean? And ummm [insert relevant topic changer here]". Yes, I know that's avoidance. But basically, there are many hurdles to overcome before the subject of "us" could be broached and I'm not even sure there should be an "us". Don't get me wrong, I care for him as I know he cares for me. However, I've learned that just because you care for someone doesn't mean you MUST be with that person. So I enjoy his company when I see him, and I enjoy speaking to him when face to face time is not a viable option. With him, I live in the moment and let the future worry about itself.

So while watching TV in my hotel room one night, I came up with the idea for Mission Delicious. I made a few phone calls to see if the idea in my head could be played out. Once I got the confirmation I was looking for, I proceeded with my mission.

At the stroke of midnight of his birthday, we were on the phone. Once I sang my version of Happy Birthday (horribly I might add but it makes for a good laugh), I informed him that he had a mission to complete today. Of course he responded with a "What?!" I reiterated, "At a predetermined time today you will receive further instructions for your mission if you choose to accept. Which you better accept. hahahahaha" He laughed and responded "Ohhhhhhkay". Shortly thereafter we ended our convo. But not before he tried to get more info out of me. I'm not that easy and this was way too much fun to see he was already curious.

That morning I got up and traveled down to see my mom. Before I got caught up in the whirlwind of doctors and nurses and therapists and case managers, I sent the following text:

Mission Delicious: You have been selected to complete this mission. Report to [address redacted] in [City, State where he lives] at 1 pm. When in route, please respond to this message via text with the code word [inside joke] for further instructions.

He called me in less that 3 minutes. LOL In between his fits of laughter, he wanted to know if he had to be there at exactly 1 pm. I informed him that 1pm was the starting time but that it was okay for him to show up at said location any time after one but before seven or his mission would expire. He next question kind of threw me for a loop.

"Where the hell is [address redacted]?"
Now I'm familiar with the city he lives in, despite the construction renaissance that's been going on there. I've even seen where I'm sending him the last couple of times that I've been there so I don't understand why he doesn't know where this is. I'm 1000% sure I gave him the correct address because I copied it directly from the website and I confirmed with the location that it was indeed the address. So I responded the only way I know how. With sarcasm.

"Whatchu mean where is [address redacted for stalker purposes]? And ummmmm, don't you have GPS in the car??"
"Hahahaha. You're right. I thought I could get you to tell me where I'm going. hahahahah"
"Silly negro. Tricks are for kids. hahahahaha. Now, remember, text me when en route for further instructions."

A couple of hours later, I received the text I was waiting for. I replied:

Upon arrival (with the help of your GPS..LOL), walk into location and give the following password [nickname we have for each other that happens to be the name of a luxury brand]. Upon verification, you will receive further instructions.

A few minutes later, he called me. Laughing. If a man could laugh hysterically, then yeah that would be the way I would describe his laughter. "I'm here!!" He sounded like a kid on Christmas. Was that a squeal?! He was soooo excited and hadn't even gotten his gift yet. He quickly hung up the phone when the woman behind the counter asked "How can I help you?"

About 2 minutes later, as I'm shopping for new sunglasses at one of the outlets, he calls me back. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!!!!!" is all I hear when I answered the phone. He was beaming through the phone and I couldn't help but smile as brightly as the sun shining outside (hence my need for shades). "Awww, you're welcome!!! I'm glad you like it." I respond. YAY!!! Phase 1 of Mission Delicious was a success.

So what exactly did I get him?
I ordered a bouquet of chocolate covered strawberries from Edible Arrangements, complete with his age carved in chocolate dipped pineapple pieces in the center of the bouquet.
Why chocolate covered strawberries??
The man loves them. LOVES THEM. He attempted to make some for me once (the chocolate hardened by the time he got back to the room, so it was more spreadable than dippable but we still ate them. LOL). Also, a coworker got a very similar bouquet delivered to his job about a month ago, and it was so memorable that we talked about it on two separate occasions.
Why the covert operation?
Sure I could have just had them delivered to his house/job but where's the fun in that?! Also, he had me in a state of suspensful crazy shakes and stalking my mailman a couple of months ago so why can't I add a little mystery to his life? And besides, I realize men love the hunt/the chase/whatever the hell you want to call it. So this time, I had him chasing strawberries since I wasn't there. LOL

And for those of you who were paying attention, Mission Delicious is not over yet. This was only phase one of this covert operation. Hmmmmmm, what's in store for Phase 2??? I'm working on it. Hopefully, it will be sweeter than those strawberries.

Mental Escapades

In my last post, I said that writing feels real again. While this may be true, time has been a successful runaway slave. By the time I return to the hotel, eat, go to the gym (maybe), shower, and research medical terms and treatment options, I am B-E-A-T. On most nights, Carrie B. is in the bed with me. Not my idea of who I’d like to snuggle close to in a plush hotel bed but hey, what am I gonna do about it?? LOL

What’s so ironic about time running away from me like I beat it until its name was Toby is I’ve had some time for my brain to wander. I guess when things get so overwhelming with my mom, my mind checks out and plays in various mental playgrounds where it can skip and jump and play until the bell rings. Some days these thoughts are life revolutionary but most days they border on the ridiculous and make me giggle. And with so much heaviness, I decided to share one of these mental playgrounds with you.

I’m going to have to be tipsy when I sleep with Idris Elba.

Yes this was a thought I had one day while flipping through a magazine. And notice I didn’t say IF I WERE TO EVER SLEEP WITH him, I said WHEN. Now before you guys start shopping for a white jacket with armholes that wrap around my back in my size, hear me out. Yes, I know that there’s a slim chance of me ever being intimate with THE Idris Elba. But that’s just a minor detail and wasn’t quite relevant in the playground that day. Besides, I met him years ago (around the first season of The Wire when he wasn’t that visible on the radar) and he’s so down to Earth (at least he was that night) that he always seems like an attainable fantasy instead of some never in a million years would this happen kind of guy.

Now why would I have to be tipsy? You would think that for our night I would want to be stone cold sober when our escapade….errr make that plural, escapades occur to remember every miniscule detail. While he seems like a average guy who happens to be superbly above average fine, all that chocolate yumminess is a bit intimidating. And I fear, I’d have performance anxiety if I was uber sober when the time came. So I’ll need a shot or 2. No more than that or I’ll be too silly. And drunk sexy ain’t all that sexy….at least not the first time. There's a time and a place for everything.

I’ve also eliminated what I can’t drink on that fateful first night. It won’t be Hennessy or as I call it “The Bitch” for obvious reasons. I can’t have an attitude when I’m trying to get my swerve on (sidebar: do people still say swerve on?? And where exactly did this phrase come from? Lol). Vodka perhaps? Nah, it makes your breath stink the next day. Rum?? Ummmmm, rum is like water for me. There will be no coitus interuptus for a potty break. Wine?? While wine is sexy, one glass of wine will put me to sleep and I want to be wide awake for the action that will take place. Tequila? Hmmm. Yes, I think I will take a shot of tequila, particularly Patron XO Café (coffee liqueur made with Patron tequila for those uninformed or too lazy to click on the link). A shot of Patron is just enough to loosen my nerves a bit but to keep my sensibilities in check. I’ll be ready for the party.

As I type this I can’t help but wonder if this mental playground was about my Idris fantasy or more about my desire at the time for a drink. Since I didn’t venture into the how it will be territory, I may be inclined to believe that I was thirsty. However, isn’t it more fun to allow the mind to circumvent the desire by way of such a delectable fantasy?? Well, it was fun for me damnit. LOL

PS Mr. Elba, if by some google search chance you come across my blog because I've mentioned your name, please understand it is not my intention to objectify you as a piece of (well endowed I hope) meat. I apologize but ummm can I apologize in person?? It will be sincere and yes, I will have had that shot of Patron XO cafe. :D

Fear Factor

Writing makes it real.


That's what I've been telling myself lately. And lately, reality has been difficult to deal with. Since many of you are friends in my head, you have a right to know as well.


If we're friends on the book of Face or you're my follower in the Twitterverse, then you already know my mom is in the hospital. Again. And this time it was far worse than any previous hospital stay. She was in ICU in a medically induced coma for almost a week. And this time, she wasn't in NY. So I've had to travel back and forth to tend to her. As I type this, I'm in a nice hotel suite, with ocean and outlet stores views, away from home but trying to make it some semblance of home, and barely enjoying any of it....well, except for housekeeping. I always enjoy that.


Going through this, as you can imagine,......there are really no words to express the emotional roller coaster I've been on. On one particular restless night, (as there have been many), my BFF, TootieZilla, recommended that I write. Her exact directive was: "Go write. Then eat something." Neither option was appealing. Nourishment of my body nor my soul felt right. As I tried to navigate a way through my thoughts and fears, that's when I convinced myself:

Writing makes it real.


And that stopped me dead in my tracks. The doctors told me my mother's condition was "fragile". How could I write about my fears of losing my mom if the mere act of writing it somehow makes losing her a reality? Admitting that feels asinine. However ludicrous that sounds, its what I felt. And I couldn't shake it. Not that I tried very hard to shake it. I believed, so writing was put on a time out punishment.


Seeing my mother on a ventilator was hard. Just laying there, sleeping so peacefully, yet seeing this tube machine contraption actually inhaling and exhaling for her was something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. It is only by God's grace that I didn't go completely stir crazy when I walked into her room and saw her like that. Having to make rational decisions regarding her care while fully emotional is an epic internal battle that left me bruised, broken, and weary.


Its no coincidence that 2 days after she was removed from the ventilator and breathing on her own, and 1 day after she transferred from ICU to a regular floor in the hospital, that I've returned to blogging. I feel a bit more free to wander around in my writing mindspace, explore the things I've put up on a mental shelf for safekeeping, get reacquainted with what means so much to me.

Writing feels real again.