Refuge of a Butterfly

And so it begins. Again.

2012-01-04T15:39:00.001-05:00

I received a message from a dear friend the other day.

I hate to be one of THOSE people but I miss your blog.

Since this person is a dear friend and not a creepy stalker and writes way more than I do, I had to accept his challenge. He may not have meant it as a CHALLENGE (gotta say it like Bill Cosby for full effect). But because I respect him, I accept the challenge.

Yesterday, another dear friend sent me an email with a link to a site with 25 tips for writers (I'm honored that she still considers me a writer). Upon reading the article, I realized all of the tips can be summed up into this phrase:

SIT THE FUCK DOWN AND WRITE DAMNIT.

Well....if that's not the universe sending you signals like all these weight loss commericals telling us to collectively get off our fat post holiday asses, then I don't know what is.

So here I am. Again.

I have to address why I stopped in the first place. For one, the topics swirling around in my mind just were so damn depressing. Out of control family issues. Watching a friendship unhinge, fall completely off track, and not able to do anything about it but watch. Love wonderings. Loneliness. Unfulfillment. Square peg in a round friendship. Etc, etc, and a cashmere sweater. Did you really want to read all of that?? Well, if you did, I decided you didn't and avoided coming back to my blog. (ALSO, blogger erased an epic blog that i wrote about my high school headmistress and I was pissed pissed pissed. Like I'd get fined, ejected from a game, curse the reporters at the post game interview, and suspended for the rest of the season pissed. If this blog gets erased like the last one, so help me butterfly, I'll need some metta world peace.....)

Secondly, and way more exciting, I dedicated myself to starting my own business. You are now reading the musings of the Creative Director and Founder of a greeting card and event stationery company (will post the new website soon). I started selling handcrafted cards last year and not only do I love it, but I've actually had people purchase cards from me. And quite frankly, I love my job. Seriously, I LOVE MY JOB as a trainer for the old folks but the money? Honey, not so much. And I need all the streams of income I can get without making a career of doing something strange for change. But this business start up shit is h-a-r-d. So many decisions to make. So many expenses. I started a business plan because I want my company to be legit. Writing this business plan is harder than writing a research paper and I haven't been back in school for a minute. I truly believe its worth it but writing the business plan made me realize how much I miss the creative process. There are no word flourishes in a business plan. No puns, no tongue in cheek. Just blah blah money money blah blah projections blah blah research. No word joy at all.

And so I'm here. Again. I need a break. I needed the word joy again.

So here I am. Reclaiming my joy. Again.

Text Stance

2011-09-21T10:15:00.001-04:00

I'm in week 11 of a 10 week training cycle. No, you're mind is not playing tricks on you. Yes, I wrote that correctly. One of my sites needed to start later than the other sites so we tacked on an extra week at the end. When this decision was made, back in the sunny everything is great days of summer, it didn't seem like a big deal. Now??? I curse having to dress in "work" clothes, travel 30 minutes to conduct a ONE HOUR training session and then bounce. I'm grateful for the work but I'm the only trainer who's not getting a full 17 day break between Summer Cycle and Fall Cycle. With this last training classes and meetings I need to attend because...sound trumpets....I'm getting interns, I'm getting more like 10 days (including weekend). I know to many of you this sounds like a great big bowl of whine and complain stew but damnit I need my days. I've been busy as hell between work, a new business venture (not ready to announce this one), and I'm still making cards and invitations and writing (yes, just because I'm not blogging doesn't mean I'm not writing). Again, not complaining because its either this life or none at all at the moment. I choose what's behind door number one. Thank you very much.

About a week and a half ago, I received a text message that read something like this: *

This will be the last text message you receive from me. You don't have time to talk or to even answer. I don't want to bother you anymore. Take care.

I read it as I was changing my purse that morning and thought: DAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMNNNN.
I thought for a minute and then responded:

Ummmm, I'm sorry you feel that way. But that's life. Take care of yourself as well.

The text message was from my high school ex-boyfriend's younger brother. A couple of months ago, he made a play for me and I promptly threw a flag on the field. He went back to being my pseudo-little brother and life returned to some semblance of normal. Or so I thought.

Now, I can't lie. Initially, his play for me weirded me out worse than Ron Artest errrr Metta World Peace's blonde hair art on Monday's Dancing With the Stars episode. It took me a minute to get back into the groove of our normal conversation. Eventually, I got over it and myself, and resumed our periodic text convo without any reservations. I thought, "Eh, I don't speak to him often. How difficult can this be?" Famous last words.

This boy (oops, I mean man. he's damn near 30 but I still picture him as a 10 year old asking me to help him with his homework when I came to see his brother but I digress). has the uncanny talent for texting me at the worst possible time. Seriously. I'm speaking during a meeting? Text. I'm out on a date? Text. I'm in my sub-basement training room where I have no phone reception for 4 hours and I'M WORKING? Text (along with the occassional followup "u there?' text). I'm in a bad mood and not answering anyone??? Text. Sometimes I remember to answer but others I don't. Quite frankly, he's not saying much. The convo is as predictable as a soap opera.

He: Hey. How are you?
Me: Heyyyy. I'm good. How are you?
He: Chillin. So what's good? How are you?
Me: Uhhhhhh didn't I just tell you I'm good? LOL (always gotta soften the blow of my sarcasm with an LOL)
He: true true. lol

End Scene.

Yeah that's it. So of course there were times that I didn't entertain this predictable banter. And I will neither confirm or deny that I copied and pasted a response or two. So when I got his tempter tantrum text, I had no previously typed response to copy and paste so I responded as I did. He then responds with sarcasm about how I responded to that message so quickly and blah blah blah, you're too busy. As I'm now sitting on the bus on my way to work, I felt like I was engaged in a battle of words with a 10 year old. I answered one last time - told him he was right to say I was busy. I'm busy living my life and living on MY schedule and not what works for his time frame. I stated once again that I was sorry he felt this way (clearly not an admission of guilt on my part) and I wished him well. He responsed to that message but as usual his timing was off and I was busy.

I'm not saddened or bothered by his decision. Just like his older brother, his time in my life clearly has passed. It's his pronouncement that seems soooooo.....juvenile. It reminds me of the time I told my mother I was running away from home, filled a garbage bag with all my clothes and toys, realizing it was too heavy for my 8 year old self to carry, and my mother calmly sitting on the sofa doing a crossword puzzle and stating " you better put everything back where you found it." We both knew I was acting on emotion just as I'm sure this guy's text message was laced with. maybe I was right all along to look at him as that 10 year old boy with the ketchup stained shirt, asking me to help him with his homework.

end scene.

Silence Stalker

2011-09-12T12:55:00.003-04:00

My work schedule is crazy and most days I love it. I'm never in the same spot for longer than I have to be there to conduct my training. However, my schedule sometimes collects its toll like an EZ-Pass. I have no choice (at the moment) but to pay up, shut up, and keep it moving. I don't have an office. I feel like I'm constantly on the go so much that when I have my own personal errands to run my get up and go is giving me some serious side eye like "bitch please. it's my day off."

But there are moments, like this exact moment, that I live for. Silence. One of my training sites shuts down the room I use for training up to an hour before my class begins. I hustle from my morning site, pick up some semblance of healthy cuisine in the Bronx (another Debbie Downer in weighing the pros and cons of my job), navigate my way through the hustle and bustle of this commercial neighborhood and descend into my silent refuge aka my training room. What adds to the joy? I have no cell phone reception in the room whatsoever. AHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhh. (Am I the only person who relishes from time to time being off the grid, so to speak?)

As I sit here, I realize that there aren't too many silent moments in my life. I'm always in the hustle and bustle of the never quiet city. When I'm home, there's the million channels on cable that I must watch because I pay for them and there's my mother and all of her needs, and there is her cat that never ever leaves me alone so much that I've renamed her damn cat, Shadow. Maybe that's why I love this silence so much. Sitting here in a quiet room with the dull hum of some computer machinery, the murmur of a whoosh from the central air, and my click, click, click on the keyboard. That's it. Pure bliss.

Once I close that door, the outside world is no longer buzzing in my ear. I don't even want to hear the sound of my own voice - another side effect of talking all day for work purposes. Even in composing this blog, I feel like my voice in my head is on whisper -just audible enough to gather my thoughts in my head without intruding on my silent bliss.

I know I'm a walking contradiction. I have many friends. I'm always out and about. Not to beat the cliche like a Mike Tyson circa late 80s opponent, but I am a social butterfly. Don't get me wrong. I love that side of my life. But the balance of silence is missing. And I crave it like men crave the fall and its bosom buddy football. Now that I have it, I don't want to let it go. I feel like I'm stalking silence. Soooooo, how do I get more of this bliss?

I got next....I guess...

2011-09-07T16:14:00.000-04:00

I guess I'll see you next lifetime.....

When this song came out in 1997 I had not an inkling how true it would ring in my lifetime.

I guess being single for as long as I've been, this was bound to happen. The odds for it not to happen are clearly not in my favor. It happens so often I feel like this song is on repeat loop in life's soundtrack.

I meet a nice guy. A down to earth, normal attractive guy. No swag on a full tank, not dripping swagu (hate Kanye for this term by the way). Normally for me, this is a somewhat quiet, laid back kind of guy with a mix of shy nerdiness sprinkled in for good measure. Maybe it's the shyness in him or maybe it's my seemingly outgoing personality but this guy may hint at possible interest but never follows through.

Him: "We should hang out sometime"
Me: "Okay. Cool"

Nothing.

Some time may pass before I see this guy again. But when I do, he's quite vocal with how he finds me attractive and blah blah blah. Now, something changed. He's more confident with his words and more direct with his eye contact. Not to the point of obnoxious arrogance but the volume is just a tad bit louder, enough to be noticeably undeniable.

So what's changed? Sigh.....
You need to know/I've got somebody, but/ You're beautiful.........

He's married or engaged or in a seriously committed monogamous relationship or any variation of the above. All in all, unavailable for me in this lifetime. As Badu says, "it ain't that kind of party nowww" so being the other woman, at this stage in my life is not attractive and is damn sure not an option I want for myself. So I guess I'll see him next lifetime as a few have suggested. The problem is unless there is more feline in my DNA that I would even consider, I don't have that many lifetimes to go around.

I'm always puzzled by this surge of confidence though. Where the hell did it come from? Most importantly, why NOW and not when you initially met me? I've heard some saying somewhere in my life travels that says something like "the love of a woman will make a man feel like he can conquer the world". Sooooooo if I'm to believe this to be true, does that mean that this said woman's love also gives you the confidence to tell another woman that you're attracted to her and "damn if only I wasn't blah blah blah...."??

The more I think about it, I believe it's a sub correlation to my "Nothing to Lose" theory. Initially this theory applies to the no teeth, colt 45 drinking, 10 baby momma fool that always finds you in the club and wants to holla at you "for a minute" (read: for the rest of the damn night). He knows he has a snowball's chance in hell with you and most likely already has baby momma #9 and #10 lined up for the evening but he likes to gamble. Hence, he has nothing to lose when he approaches you. Baby momma #9 and #10 are still going to entertain his foolishness whether you audition to be baby momma #11 or not. In a more refined manner, this shy guy now has nothing to lose as well. The possibility of my rejection does not affect his life at home. He's now afforded the luxury to drip a little swagu into our conversations without the bruise of the perceived rejection he assumed I would send his way.

What is clearly ironic or right out of a romantic comedy movie, most of these guys, if they would have mustered up enough swagu initially and asked me out on a date, I would have said yes. When it comes to dating, I'm pretty easygoing. A great conversation is all I need. I won't even mandate that you must feed me and I damn sure won't throw Michelin ratings in to prove that my bourgie ass knows how to eat well. It's a date, not a walk down the altar. Plain and simple. So what's the harm in asking me out before you find yourself in a relationship. I don't bite.......well, at least not on the first date.

Unfortunately, we'll never know what could have been. Unless we hit the reincarnation jackpot and get another chance next lifetime.

Baby we'll be butterflies.......

-- Sent from my Palm Prē

Hook

2011-09-02T09:49:00.001-04:00

I have a blog written about how Irene (the recent hurricane)is a hater and how she completely destroyed my weekend plans but eh, I'm over it....kinda. Not really. I really wanted to curse her out but are we tired of talking about Irene and the mess she left behind - including my weekend plans?!

Late last night, a male acquaintance of mine asked me about a female friend of mine in the vein of "What's up with _______? Hook a brotha up!!!" After a slight pause, I had to say, "Nahhhhhh, I couldn't do that do you." and very vaguely told him why I wouldn't hook them up without giving him the specifics.

For the record, I'm not interested in dude. I actually know him through a long gone ex and he's always been cool with me. So don't think I want to stockpile him all to myself like those people on those hoarders shows. Also, I'm not a hater. As I told another girlfriend of mine, if he would have asked about any of my other single friends, I might have have told him to go for it. Personally, I hate hooking people up. As someone who has been hooked up, that shit doesn't work. It's always awkward and at some point, you wonder "what the hell was my friend thinking?" Then, inevitably the "Why didn't you tell me about ____________ (insert catastrophic baggage here)?!" Who needs the drama, the accusations, the awkwardness? Not me. Most times, I will tell someone "Hey, if you happen to meet them, then fine. But I'm not hooking anyone up." I don't like playing cupid because frankly Cupid's outfit ain't cute.

So why did I give the red light instead of the green light? Well here's the 1, 2, 3. First of all, I know he's not her type. She likes flash, glitz glamour and he likes a t-shirt and a fitted. She likes bottles popped; he likes beer bottles. She's a Louboutin. He's a Timberland. Don't think Beyonce and Jay-Z. Think video vixen du jour meets the mailman in his uniform. The only time their worlds mesh is when he is bringing her something she wants. Secondly, let's seee......how can I put this in the most diplomatic way possible???? Ummmmm.......damn Madeline Albright, I am not....sooooo let's just say she wants to lead the Glamorous Life (cue Sheila E.) and in the few conversations I've had with him, that's just not him at all. I may not be Miss Cleo or one Dionne Warwick's friends, but I could see this going horribly wrong and lil ole me would get the blame. Which leads me to my last point, I'd never hear the end of it. Years ago, it was my BFF, Tootiezilla's idea for me to give my ex my phone number. I listened to her and we all know what happened. Even all these years later, I remind her that all of his foolishness is her fault from time to time. Like now. LOL I wanna keep my very close to impeccable hookup record spotless. And this duo would have been a big ink stain on my angelic white dress. Not a good look.

After my vague veto explanation, he thanked me for my (vague) honesty and said he would admire her "fine ass" from afar. Whew! I'm off the hook. On the surface, it may look like I threw a friend under the bus but in actuality, I believe I pushed two people out of the way of a mack truck.

But, it has me wondering:

How many times as someone asked a friend about me in the "Hook a brotha up!" vein and they've responded, "Janelle? Nahhhh, I couldn't do that to you." ??? LOL

Lunch with a side of quake

2011-08-24T09:22:00.006-04:00

While I flipped through New York Daily News this morning, I came across this picture:

I chuckled.

Not because I don't take the ground shaking underfoot without the rumble of a subway or the touch of the right man at the time in the right spot seriously. Oh trust and believe, it freaked me out and my first thought upon finding out was "oooohh, Momma Nature is not happy right now?" Actually that was my second thought. My first thought was "What?! Oh Shiiiiittttt!!!"

I chuckled because while this above scene played out with undoubtedly some panic and memories of the uncertainty of almost 10 years ago, I was sitting with an almost demolished chicken and spinach burrito, a mojito, and paperwork at one of my chill eateries, and most ironically, didn't feel a damn thing. For the record, I never indulge in an afternoon cocktail on a work day. But I was having a pretty intense day, had 3 hours to kill and when I walked into my favorite watering hole, one of my favorite bartenders was behind the bar and she makes a damn good mojito, sooo I called it fate and ordered one. And once again, she didn't disappoint.

To put this in perspective, the scene pictured above was less than 20 minutes away from where I was sitting and the only thing I felt was a fully belly and after drinking that mojito, a stronnnng need for a very large cup of Starbucks to get me through my evening training sessions. And to make matters even more comical (well at least in mind), my phone was charging behind the bar, and when the bartender told me my phone was blowing up like crazy, I told her, "Eh, ignore it. I'm out to lunch.", completely oblivious to what was going on in the world around me. Of course by the time I finished my meal and afternoon cocktail, paid my bill and collected my phone, I had not a hint of phone service when I tried to return all of my missed calls.

Upon hearing that there was an earthquake in Virginia, I reached out to people I know there to make sure they were okay. I still didn't know anything about its effect here in New York until I arrived at my training site (armed with my caffeine fix). Apparently, the building had been evacuated as a precaution. Some of my training clients told me they felt it. The entire time I'm wondering, "Where the hell was I?!" This felt like some kinda Alice in Wonderland slipping down the rabbit hole experience, only I was completely and utterly oblivious to what was going on. I spent the day exactly as I wanted - had a damn good lunch with a damn good cocktail, ran a couple of errands, and apparently walked on shaky ground without even knowing it. Talk about a day. Ah well, I at least I had a damn good mojito.

Microphone Check

2011-08-22T09:08:00.001-04:00

*taps mic* Hello, is this thing on?????

I've been gone for a minute but unlike Lil Kim Konnichiwa I'm not back with the jump off. For the record, I've attempted to write 2 blogs in the last week or so and blogger has smacked me around like a 2 bit ho for abandoning my blogging corner by erasing my words. One entry, I cried when it disappeared. It was a entry about my mom waking up from a coma a year ago on August 8. I poured everything into that entry and to see it disappear with a click of a mouse and never to return again was heartbreaking. The other entry?? Well, I took it as a sign from Sweet Baby Jesus above that I had noooooooo damn business writing that angry black woman diatribe in the first place. Moving on....

For the legions of you who still check my site, first thank you for continuing to come and check on me. Secondly, in case you've been wondering, I've been working. My new job has me out in the field Monday - Thursday. I never realized how much I miss an office until I realize I don't have a computer to log into or blog on in my downtime. Maybe I should think about getting an iPad or the HP Touchpad?? Or maybe my legions of fans will chip in and buy me one?? Noo?? Really????!!! Okay. Sigh..... Moving on. (Sidebar: I just read the news about HP abandoning the Touchpad, my beloved Pre telephone, and the entire WebOS operating system. Bastards. Oh well, guess I'll be a reluctant iPad groupie...sigh. And I have no clue what the fuck I'm gonna do about a phone. Thanks HP. If Carrie B wasn't an HP I would curse you to burn in hell for getting me all hype for nothing. Oh well...moving on.....)

I work with senior citizens. And let me tell you, there are many days when I feel like I am back teaching in public school. I broke up an argument that had all the potential to turn into a physical fight the other day. Two older women in my class got into an argument over personal space and the use of a computer than one claimed was hers (ummm like my mom used to tell me "None of this is yours. Its all mine. You didn't pay for it." LOL). Tempers flared and next thing I knew, I'm standing between them, yelling at them to "CUT IT OUT!!" with threats of "I'ma kick yo ass!" flying through the air above my head. Looking back, it was quite comical. One old lady could barely walk so I don't know whose ass she was going to kick. The other, as quiet as she normally is, actually looked like she might be able to take the other one as she said in her thick Puerto Rican accent, "Jooo don't know what I capable of." If I would have seen this on a sitcom, I probably would have laughed until I damn near cried but unfortunately, this was real life and there wasn't anything funny about it.....well not until I walked out the building. Then, I laughed my ass off. Tears rolling down my face laughter. In relaying the story to friends, in between the shock followed by howls of laughter, everyone wanted to see a video of this Granny Smackdown. Thankfully, none of the senior citizens have smartphones to record said outburst and they all think you tube is an ointment. So alas, there is no such video of the tomfoolery.

I'm pretty sure many of you are wondering about my dating life. Especially since I've devoted so many pages upon pages on this site to tales of my dating highs and lows. Eh.....yeah that about sums it up. I guess I'll go into detail soon enough but "Eh....." is about right. At least for right now.

I'm finding a rhythm again. I'm making time for writing again. So that's my start....again. Thanks for stopping by and reading. Next blog won't take as long for me to post. If I drag my feet with the next post, you have permission to kick my ass like the old folks. Jooo don't know what I'm capable of. At least not yet. :)

Small Fry Said it With His Chest

2011-07-18T09:04:00.005-04:00

Blogging hasn't been my forte lately for reasons as varied as the accents I hear walking the New York City streets. Too personal. Too painful. Too boring. Fear of hurting someone's feelings (readership is a blessing and a curse). But over the last couple of days, I realize that 1)some aren't worried about hurting my feelings; 2) pain will remain painful until I release and heal; and 3) what may be boring to me others may find amusing so stop be an assclown. And so here I am, writing. Again.

Also, I've been dating again. I've been feeling like I'd hit a dating slump (doing the same things with the same people without any change) and summer is the perfect season to cure the slump. I met someone recently and after our first date I already knew what his blog name would be. But today's blog is not about him. Still figuring that one out (in a good way).

Most summer nights in the city, you never know where you will end up. You could leave work and end up at a rooftop cocktail party or by happenstance wander into a street fair while running errands. That's one of the things I love about living in New York during the summer.

This past Friday night, after an emotionally brutal day, I stopped by a liquor tasting at my favorite wine store in Harlem. After buying a bottle, my friend and I wandered over to a happy hour (don't judge me). We sat at the bar and were instantly embraced by the other patrons at like this was Cheers. To our right, there was a group of women who insisted we take a whipped cream vodka shot. We happily obliged their recommendation and chatted it up with them. Before the evening got too hazy (again, don't judge me damnit), I recall thinking how refreshing it was to have women treat each other as equals and not give the stank face up upon arrival and throughout the night. To our left, there was a gentlemen who started chatting my friend and I up almost immediately. He was nice and friendly so we welcomed his conversation.

Truth be told, I swore he was interested in my friend. She was sitting closer to him, he occasionally touched her arm and smiled. All the markers of flirting in my book. Clearly, I need to rewrite this book because the minute my friend stepped outside, he moved in on me like immigration on a sweatshop. From the group conversation, I'd learned that he's in his early 40s, has a son in his even earlier 20s, and is from Harlem as well. Overall, a cool dude. Except for onnnnnnnnneee thing. He reminds me of the comedian, Kevin Hart. In looks and in stature. Those of you are not familiar with the comedian and his vertical challenge, he's not as short as Danny Devito but for a man, he's average women's height.

Eventually, he moves in for the kill and asks for my phone number. Now, I have flip flops on and I can look him straight in the eye. For those of you who know me, KNOW I LOVVVVVVVVVE A TALL MAN. I believe I even wrote about it on here once. So here I was, faced with a superficial but real challenge. Dude was nice, funny, attentive, seemingly good conversationalist. What more should I want from a potential date. And truth be told, IT'S JUST A DATE. Not committed relationship, not meeting the parents, no meet me at the altar - A DATE. So I gave the Kevin Hart doppelganger my phone number (because he said it with his chest...hahahahaha....gotta know Kevin Hart's routine to get this joke)

And you know what? My superficiality should have won this debate.

He still seems like a nice guy but all the "honey" "baby" "beautiful" "sweetie"nicknames are rubbing me the wrong way. I mean, we haven't even gone out and he's already giving me all these cutesy-coo nicknames?? What the deuce?? That rubs me worst than thigh friction on a hot summer day. And the text messages? Gag me with a teaspoon. The sugary sweetness radiating from my phone is about to put me in a diabetic coma.

I know some may say "Look, be happy you have a man giving you some attention." or the ever popular "See? A man is showing you some love and you can't appreciate it." But look, today is Monday (err.......Wednesday. I started this blog on Monday...lol) and I've been called honey, baby, etc more than 20 times and I just met this dude on Friday (yes I counted all the references in text messages. I'm thorough, ya dig?! lol). It feels fake. It's like that horrible aftertaste that artificial sweetners leave behind. And there is a part of me that feels like its probably easier for him to call me all these cutesy-coo names so he doesn't have to remember my mother-given name.

And the ultimate deal breaker? I met him on Friday, and he invited me to "come over and watch TV" with him on Sunday. What? This must be a sign of my maturity because 10-15 years ago that may not have been a problem (especially if I was feeling the guy...young and dumb, I know). But now? I'm all about the Law & Order consequences of such a scenario. I can see my friends telling Benson & Stabler about when they saw me last and how he's such a small man and didn't seem like a viable threat. No thanks. I don't want to be that cold body on the street as the theme song plays. Call me crazy but I need to been seen out in public with you at least once before I cross your threshold. Or maybe that invitation coupled with the saccharine sweet nicknames has me raising up all kinds of guards against small fry. Whatever the case may be, the Kevin Hart look a like and I may have seen eye to eye sitting side by side at the bar on Friday, but we damn sure don't see eye to eye on dating.

Brother's Keeper

2011-06-07T12:21:00.001-04:00

A couple of years ago, I wrote about a former love who had resurfaced in my life in a rather unexpected way. Months later, I wrote about how he had to exit stage right out of my life because of a woman reaching out to me. Throughout all of this, I've kept in touch with his family still. The former flame lives far away and his family is still here in New York. I don't think they know what happened between us because like me, he's an extremely private person. They've still asked me from time to time why we didn't make from way back in high school. My response is always 'Ask your brother."

Out of all of my former flame's relatives, his younger brother keeps in touch the most. He'll call or mostly text, just to see how I'm doing or to ask my opinion on something. I always looked at him as a kid in a little brother kind of way (well, if I grew up with my own younger siblings, I might have already known what that feels like but I digress). I remember tutoring him when he was a kid and how he always wanted to tag along when he brother and I would hang out. So when he reaches out now, I still respond in a sisterly type of way. Our conversations are normally short and superficial. "Hello" "How are you?" "How's so and so?" Do you remember when blah blah blah?" That is until he recently asked me out. Like on a date.

That evening's text conversation, started off with the usual pleasantries. Then he asked "can I ask you a question?" to which I responded "uhhhhhhhh sure." When someone utters those 8 words, all I can think is "Ohhhhhhh shit! What truth/half-truth/spin-doctored answer am I going to have to come up with?" I hate the question because until the actual question the person wants answered is asked, you spend those precious seconds racking your brain trying to figure it out before they ask.

"Why aren't you married?"

Now, if there is ever a question I hate it is that one right there. There are many reasons why I'm single: loved the wrong men, wasn't ready, haven't been inspired, unsure on marriage ideals as a whole for me, wasn't a priority......the list goes on and on. But what I hate about that question is that the implication implies there's something wrong with me. Or at least that's what I infer from the question. Whenever, I get this question I like to respond with a little bit of humor. So I responded with:

"I don't know. Ask your brother. LOL (just jokes)"

Quite frankly, I wasn't about to get all introspective via text with someone I only have superficial conversations with. I expected his reply to be an "LOL" with a topic change. Oh boy was I wrong. This boy went INNNNNNNNN:

"U SERIOUS? That's the past. How long has it been? My brother is dumb. I could of been wit u. I like you alot. I could be ur husband. We should go out."

"Uhhhh say what now??? Dude, are YOU serious??"

First of all, I dated his brother. So what, it was back in high school. His brother wasn't just one of those random I like you, you like me dudes in my life. I LOVVVVVVVVED his brother. For many many years, up until this recent incident with his woman reaching out to me, his brother was the guy I compared every guy to. He was the guy I would wonder how my life would be different if we'd stayed together (realistically, who stays with their high school sweetheart but I digress). Even though I can't stand that he lept off my pedestal and became a common asshole like some of the others, there is still a teeeny tiny minuscule part of me that still loves him and I probably always will. Actually, that's not quite right. I care for him. I wouldn't use the word love to express my feelings for him. Not anymore. Wow....that just hit me. Anyway, entertaining the idea of dating his baby brother felt........gross.

Second of all.....wait.....I don't need a damn second point. That's it. Even though we're not together, my former boyfriend's family has always been a weird extension of family to me. Kind of like the family you see at family reunions. You know you're connected some way, some how. But you don't keep up with the minutiae of their lives, nor do you care to. You keep it pleasant and most of all, you keep it moving.

So how do I respond to the baby brother? I don't want to hurt his feelings but I wanted him to know that what he was proposing was NAYYYYVER going to happen unless we start ice fishing in hell and even then his chances are slimmer than Anthony Weiner getting a Fruit of the Loom endorsement deal.

I responded that he and I could never be, partly because of his brother but mostly because I've always looked at him as a younger brother. The younger brother that I used to tutor after school and walk to McDonald's when no one else in the house wanted to. I told him that I was flattered that he thought so highly of me but that he'd be better off finding someone his own age (did I fail to mention that baby brother is 7 years younger than I?) and who didn't have history with anyone in his family. I hit send and held my breath, silently freaking out.

"I don't know but ok. I'll leave it alone. Im done....my brother is still dumb though. "

I didn't respond. There was nothing left for me to say.
I didn't hear from him for a while until recently. He sent a text:

Heyyyyy. What's good with you, sis?

Even if he didn't mean it, I felt like all was right in the world.

A Dime a Dozen

2011-06-03T11:59:00.000-04:00

On Monday, I skimmed through the "news"feed on the book of face when a post caught my eye. A woman I went to college with wrote a note entitled "Is Being Pretty a Blessing and a Curse?"

For some background story, yes, she is a pretty woman (not in the Julia Roberts hooker-Cinderella kind of way). I know her from college and if I remember correctly she was our school's beauty queen representative during one of our years as students there. I didn't really know her, "know" her then but thanks to the book of face I know more about her now than I did then. She's a divorced mother of 2. But to give credit where credit is due, she is still pretty and appears to be in great shape.

In her note, she pondered whether pretty girls have a tougher time in relationships than say average ones. According to her , men, good men, perceived "dimes" as narcissistic, selfish and drama-driven and instead choose average less attractive women to settle down with to avoid these behaviors. (Sidebar: are we still using "dime" and its relative, "dimepiece" to describe the attractive qualities of women?) She notes that because these good men choose the Plain Jane, no where near a dime, can't hold a candle to me, blah-worthy women, all that is left for the "dimes" are selfish men with few morals and values. Well damn. (insert Love Jones voice here)

She further went on to use celebrity "dimes" who've publicly had failed relationships or less than stellar dating lives or more audaciously, have settled with non-dimes as proof positive that her theory is true. (Sidebar: After this post, I hope I NAYVER use this damn word again unless I'm speaking of US currency but I digress). She turned her lense to her and her friends who are all single, "pretty dimes", and can't find dime-worthy men as anecdotal proof of her blessing and curse theory.

As you can imagine this post sparked a wave of comment and debate over the validity of her claims (which as of this morning it appears that she has since deleted all comments and also edited her original post as there is a memorable anecdote from the first read that is no longer there). I quickly skimmed the comments and shut down the book of face so I can get on with the rest of my day. But her note has been on my mind ever since.

I don't want to discredit how she feels because we are all entitled to how we feel. However, this line of thinking comes across as shallow and narcissistic (something she admits she's been called since college). While her focus on appearance is crystal clear, her thinking is a little muddled. She mentioned that her ex, "a dime", wasn't faithful because he's a dime and eventually couldn't resist the temptation. Huh??? Look, I've been cheated on by men that no one would call "a dime". (Real talk: I would never call a man a "dime". Fine? Yes. Sexy? Yes! But dime? Hell no! But again, I digress.) I say that to say that regardless of outward appearance, if a person wants to cheat, guess what's gonna happen? Somebody's rockin', knockin' the boots. (oh she can use dime but I can't quote a line from a song from the nineties??) I'll concede that maybe the attention he received from these other women may have fed his ego a little too much and gave him a false sense of booty entitlement. Or maybe, he was no longer interested in being married and wanted to live the days of his bachelor years. I have no idea. But to equate his infidelity to his "dime" status is her "dime" ego speaking. As in, "as fine as I am, there is no other reason why this man would cheat on me".

I hate to be the one with the pin to this bubble but, POP, this shit just doesn't fly. First of all, life happens. Weight happens. Disfigurement happens. Shit happens. Looks come and go. They fade to black like the end of a movie for numerous reasons. What may start of as a dime, may not always be that way. And if you fall for this person based solely on their dime status and heaven forbid something happens, you may find yourself looking at the front door. Chicka boom boom boom.

Secondly, what the hell is wrong with being "average" in the looks department?? Beauty is a genetic lottery, luck of the draw. While we have control over how we maintain ourselves, unless you're signing up for the deluxe total revamp, look nothing like you're driver's license plastic surgery package, you can't control what you were born with. Just because someone is born with the genetic jackpot in the looks department does not entitle them to someone who equally hit said jackpot. Why is an average looking person completely out of the question? Because you're too pretty for them? Because they are beneath your rigid standard of beauty? I'm talking average run of the mill attractive not someone who was less fortunate in the beauty crapshoot like say, Flavor Flav. But truth be told, that man has a whole tribe of kids so someone was loving his ass. Repeatedly. Yeah Boy!!

I can't help but wonder how many average good hearted, kind, God-fearing guys my schoolmate has overlooked because they didn't pass the initial Prince Charming stud evaluation. I also wonder why are a person's looks sooo important to her that her ideal sole mate MUST be a so-called dime to the point where average doesn't even get a second glance. Does she realize how unattractive that may make her to one of these dimes she's seeking?

I'm not saying that someone should lower their standards. Maybe a reevaluation of what truly is important to them. Step down off that high horse. Dismount off that pedestal. Land on terra firma where the air is clear and expectations are realistic. A place where nothing about your outside appearance ever feels like a curse.

Defining Success, Defining Me

2011-05-25T13:15:00.002-04:00

Define what success means to you, then do it. - Ralph Marston

This quote appeared in my timeline on Twitter early Saturday morning. Ever since, the words have danced across my mind in a melody that plays over and over. Not in an annoying way like half of the crap that comes on the radio these days. More like a harmonized dance in my brain. Like the thought was supposed to be there all along but just found its beat. The idea of success intrigues me. I mean, who doesn't want to be successful? (cue Drake....actually, don't)But I realized, when faced with the task of putting together a string of words, strung together to have meaning to me, I'm stuck. What the deuce is MY definition of success???

For some, success means the cars, the house, the Louis bag, and all the accoutrements that we're led to believe are the meaning of success. Well, I could really care less about a car unless it drives, is clean, and has 4 doors - regardless make, model, or appearance in a music video. While owning a home is supposed to be the apex of the American Dream, it screams MONEY PIT NIGHTMARE to me -not my idea of success. And the Louis bag....shit, who am I kidding. I'll take it. But is that success??

I know some who would define success by hubby, 2.5 kids, dog and picket fence. I'm allergic to dogs, and don't have any of the other stuff, but does that mean that success is not for me? Is success climbing the corporate ladder?? Eh...what happens once you reach the top of the ladder?? Do you hang on in the same spot? Do you let go and fall? Either option doesn't sound like success to me.

I'm supposed to have the answers at this point in my life. But I don't. I'm supposed to have carved a path and be content on the journey, right?? But where does success fall on this journey?? Is success the destination or just a bump in the road??

Sure I want the hubby, the kids (yes, I actually do) but what if it doesn't happen. Does that make me unsuccessful, a failure? Could this be the root of my lack of definition? The fear of failure?

When I close my eyes and think about success, I see myself smiling. I'm happy. I'm at peace. I'm loved. That's how I see success. But how do I get there or what brings me to that point? I'm not so sure. But I'm willing to take the journey, no matter where it takes me as long as the end result brings me what I see when I close my eyes.

I guess that's my definition of success. Well, at least a working one. For now. Subject to change like a new melody dancing across my mind.

Navigation

2011-05-11T16:34:00.000-04:00

Why doesn't life come with a GPS navigation system?

Even if that little voice is annoying as hell, it still guides you in the right direction. It tells how where to go, how to get there, and how long it will take. Perrrrrrrrfect.

When you make a wrong turn, instead of shouting at you "I said TURN RIGHT, asshole." the little voice pauses and says "recalculating" and, within seconds, puts you right back on track (rather smugly I might add but still). (Sidebar: Wouldn't it be funny if that little voice really did berate you just a little for making a wrong turn?!)

There are periods in my life where I desperately wish I could just type in my destination, then sit back and enjoy the ride. Let the GPS worry about traffic and roadblocks and obstacles. This is one of those times.

Business for Mother's Day was beyond incredible. I far exceeded my order projections and made a nice little piece of change in the process. But the stress? Oy vey, the stress seemed insurmountable. I lived, breathed, slept (barely) card orders. I found glitter in places that if I were in a relationship, I would have to explain how it got there without a wad of cash in my purse. Simply put, it consumed my life. And quite frankly, I'm not used to ANYTHING consuming every facet of my life. Granted, it was just the distraction I needed but I digress.

So is chasing a dream supposed to consume you? What about your other dreams? Where do they go in the meantime? Will every little step I take from here on out have to be consulted with this new business venture? I've always prided myself with the innate ability to compartmentalize everything in my life. Relationships and emotions go here, work goes here, family goes here, the family I can't stand they go wayyyyy over there. Nicely folded and neatly organized, very rarely crossing barriers (why can't this system work for my closet though? LOL). But lately, it seems that my system is failing me. I panic a little and wonder if stepping out on my own is really the best idea for me.

With a GPS system, I can ask for directions to Happy Lane at the intersection of Success Avenue and Love Boulevard, and happily sit back to enjoy the ride. Without the panic, without the fear, without the uncertainty, and definitely without the obstacles. Sure, tell me to enjoy the journey bumps and all. Blah, blah, blah. Can't a butterfly just arrive at a peaceful place unscathed just once in my life?

No? Really??? Okay, fine. Back on my grind. Destination: Learn the lessons on the journey because it's the lessons that make the reward that much sweeter in the end. I get it. I get it. Now make a right, asshole. I have places to go.

You Don't Have to Call.....

2011-04-25T21:47:00.005-04:00

Thursday night, I went out after work. Usually, my schedule has me dead to the wall tired by the end of the day but I avowed I was going out before I left the house that morning. Take a break from these Mother's Day card orders I'm working on any chance I get. I also felt like I needed an emotional hiatus, leave feelings behind for a few hours and just have fun.

First, I met up with a friend at a local restaurant for happy hour. We sat down at the bar and immediately recognized the bartender as a semi-famous personality from reality TV (lonnnnng before reality TV became this fake reality many of us get sucked into week after week; she's from an era when it was "real"). Through conversation for the duration of the evening, she confirmed her identity and we immediately answered simultaneously "Oh yeah, we know!" causing all three of us to laugh out loud literally. She's cool as shit and makes a mean cocktail so naturally we stayed longer than either of us intended. Good times indeed. And like Arnold, "I'll be back!" (corny I know but its the truth damn it!! lol)

After happy hours (yes, hours), I happily tipsily dashed home, changed clothes (cue Jay), freshened my makeup, and hit the streets in less than 20 minutes (my personal best). I headed downtown to meet another friend who was already partying at a popular after work spot. By the time I arrived and walked through the heavy curtains, the ties were a little loose, the cocktails were flowing, party was in full swing.

As I searched the room for my friends, a guy approached me. The first of 3 for the night. No need for blog names for any of them because I seriously doubt I will hear from any of them. Yes, I gave each of them my contact info. They each were attractive and witty and in my book that will at least get you a coffee date. One by one throughout the night, I was approached quite differently but the message was the same: "I neeeeeed to get to know you better." While their approaches were different, one factor was the same with each and every one of them. After the formalities - "what's your name?", "where do you live?"; "are you married?" - each guy in his own vernacular uttered "Here's my number. Call me so we can get together. "

Huh? What???!!!

Soooo let me get this straight. YOU approached ME, spent all of 5 maybe 20 minutes chatting with me, and I'm supposed to chase after you by calling so YOU can take ME out on a date?????? Am I missing something here???

In my dating life, in all of the years I've been dating (if I stop to count now, I'll really be depressed so lets just say I've been dating for a while), I've NAYVER made the first call. EVER. So why on this night did 3 different dudes, who (from what I can tell) did not know each other, expect me to call them first? Is this some new phenomenon on the dating scene?? Dude number 2 actually looked stunned, like I threw the drink he just paid for in his face, when I responded, "Well here's my number. If you'd like to see me again, you'll call." The last dude was semi passive aggressive in his approach by asking for my phone and proceeding to call my his number from my phone. Then he tells me "Save my number in case you decide to call me or so you know who's calling you. " Say what now???

It's not like I haven't been dating in the past 4 years but I must admit my attention to dating has been lazy during this time. And it seems while my attention to details has gotten lazy, dudes have gotten lazy in their attention to courting as well. But now that it seems the tide has changed, do I - clutch the pearls - buck what I know in my heart is right and call these clowns or do I wait, patiently wait, for the right man to be man enough to cut the crap and dial my lovely 10 digits?

For now, I think I'll bank on patience. Sigh.....
In the meantime, I'll dance.

Invisble Butterfly

2011-04-18T14:57:00.000-04:00

I like Grey's Anatomy. But damn, I hate this scene. I've always hated this scene. I feel like Meredith betrayed me. How could she stand there and plead, beg even, for this man to pick her, choose her, love her. And guess what?! He didn't (Well, at the time he didn't. Those who watch the show, even in passing, know he did pick her, choose her, love her but that came about a season later and even then they couldn't get it right for another couple of seasons). I remember watching it and thinking "Girl, where is your pride? Your self respect? Sheesh, can you please go back out and find them both?" Recently, I've seen this scene used in promos for watching old episodes in syndication. Oy vey, the humiliation goes on and on. Mildly put, this scene makes me more uncomfortable than my annual GYN checkup.

Then life stepped in. And forced me to look at it differently. Sigh. I hate to even admit that. Meredith is putting her bid in, throwing her hat in the ring. Pride and self respect be damned. All in the name of love. No one wants to be the fat kid, the last one standing because no one wants you on their team in gym class. So you have to be your own cheerleader and PR team. Market the hell out of yourself. Immortalize your shit. And then on top of it all, just state your feelings. Bare your soul. Make yourself as vulnerable as humanly, emotionally possible. All things I have fought against my whole life. But what has it got me?? Keeping my feelings pent up has gotten me absofuckinlutely nothing. And I have no one to blame but the butterfly in the mirror.

What's worse than not being chosen? Not even being considered in the first place. It's like the gym teacher telling the fat kid to sit down before the teams are chosen and to keep score instead to spare their feelings. But guess what? Their feelings aren't spared. It hurts worse. Sparing them the act of being considered, the fat kid becomes invisible. If you’re considered but subsequently rejected, you know why. It may not seem fair, but there’s a tangible reason. But when you’re not even considered as an option, you’re invisible. Nothing about you matters - you, your feelings, nothing. You're a walking virtual stranger to that person - a bum on the street, a fat kid riding the bench. You live, you breathe, you feel but none of that matters to the person that matters to you. Unless........you jump up and down and yell PICK ME. CHOOSE ME. LOVE ME. Is this really how it works?? Risk vulnerability to be considered and possibly, chosen??

Thanks Meredith for the lesson. I get it now. Still hate it, but I get it. sigh........

Rude Distraction

2011-04-15T09:43:00.001-04:00

Sooooooooo remember that grumpy geezer I spoke of in my last post?? The one flashing his pearly dentures my way after I put him in his place? Well, here's a snippet of an email he sent to me today:

Keep it simple stupid

Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Say what now??!!!

Okay, I guess I need to explain. During my training class one of the exercises involved sending an email to my work account. Obviously, I couldn't check it while I'm in the midst of a training class. I waited until I parked my behind and my chic but not quite practical tote bag full of training materials on the train on the way to training site number 2 before I read my emails(sidebar: that sentence has a lot of train in it....feels trainy. LOL). I decided to read everyone's emails before I responded to them. And there it was. My first job related insult on this job. On day 2, week 1.

To say I was floored is like saying the Trumpster won't ever be president of the US. No need to state the obvious. And yes, this is coming from one of "the blacks". But I digress. I re-read the email with my jaw firmly planted on the floorboard of the 4 train. As I passed Yankee Stadium, a fly ball could have landed right in my mouth. Pause. Major pause. What the deuce was I supposed to say to the grumpy geezer? Luckily, my stop was next because I wanted to tell him:

I'll keep it really simple when I knock those dentures out your mouth. Don't ever disrespect me. Oh, and polydent these nuts, beeeyotch!

Or something like that. Yeah right...hahahahahahaa. Quite frankly in my recent emotional state, I'm kinda shocked I didn't. How dare this man insult me when I'm helping his ass?? And via email?? Leave a note on my desk. Scribble it across the white board. Make it the screensaver on my computer. Spray paint it on my tote bag. But send an email from your email address that I have on record?! Smart. Reallllllllllly smart.

Once I got to my second training site, I sat down to one of the computers in my classroom. Still fuming but laughing. On my walk to the center, I started laughing. Out loud. The ridiculousity of it all was quite amusing. Here was this old ass man behaving like a wayward 5 year old. Didn't I tell you adults are children with bigger clothes and bank accounts? I'm pretty sure laughing while I walked down the street in the middle of the day may have looked odd. Wait, what am I talking about? I was in the Bronx. I blended right in.

I decided to be the grown up in the situation. And yes, I kept it simple. I forwarded the email to my boss and asked what our policy was in dealing with such offensive behavior in our training class. I can't wait to see what the outcome will be. Whether he stays or whether he gets the boot, I'm prepared either way.

You know....Maybe I should thank the grumpy geezer. After all, this has been a nice, albeit brief, distraction from other....stuff. How do you thank someone for being rude and quite frankly stupid but who made you laugh in spite of it all??

Hmmmm, I think I saw a coupon for Polydent in Sunday's paper.

Yet another new phase....

2011-04-14T08:17:00.002-04:00

By the time most of you read this, I'll be at work. For the 2nd day this week. Yes, you read that correctly, the Resident Butterfly, yours truly, has a j-o-b. Well a piece of a j-o-b but it's mine, all mine. It's part time. Initially, I thought about turning it down but that thought lasted for all of 2.5 seconds. I'm officially a trainer for a nonprofit with 2 locations for which I provide training services for. I've wanted to be a trainer ever since I left the Bored of Miseducation but for some reason, former speech teacher wasn't resonating with those who held the keys to the jobs I wanted. I was told once that they didn't think I had enough experience with adults to be a trainer. * blank stare* Ummmmmm adults are just children with bigger clothes and bank accounts sooooo ummmm hire me!! lol And finally, just by having a random conversation with a fellow HS alumnae association exec, the door to this job opened for me. It really is about who you know and not so much what you know these days. I would have never heard of this nonprofit agency if not for this random small talk conversation which led to an email introduction with led to an informational meeting (also known as "we can't hire you but sure we'll answer your questions) which led to a "hey we have a job opening; you want it?" email a few weeks later. Which reminds me I need to send my fellow board member a thank you card (with a Starbucks gift card of course). First day at work was rough!! Can you believe I overslept? On the first freaking day?! Oh the humanity. Thankfully, this only put me 10 minutes behind schedule which got me to my first site 20 minutes before class instead of the 30 minutes like I wanted. But once I got rolling, I loved it. The people who take my classes so far are wonderful. Well with the exception of one but I put that grumpy geezer in his place QUICKLY and eventually he saw things my way. He even smiled his pearly dentures in my direction by the end of his class. Yay! I came up with a list recently right before my birthday (sheesh that was over a month ago and I still haven't written about my birthday adventure *hangs wings in shame*).It's a list of 35 things I want to accomplish in the year that I am 35. I can't believe I actually put my age out here on the blog. I still can't believe I'm 35. But hey, I'll take it because it damn sure beats the alternative. Anyway, one of the goals was figure out my career goals and pursue them (outside of launching a business which is also on the list. Hmmmmm, maybe I should post the list.) While this may only be day 2 of this new phase in my life, I can't help but feel somewhat giddy as I put a check next to its place on the list. My life may not be perfect and this journey has been filled with heartbreak and hardships but its moments like this, as I start a new phase, that somehow it makes it all worth it.

Sigh

2011-04-13T05:52:00.003-04:00

Doubt thou the stars are fire

Doubt that the sun doth move

Doubt truth to be a liar,

But never doubt that I love

(~William Shakespeare

Hamlet, Act 2 )

People say I'm the life of the party

'Cause I tell a joke or two

Although I might be laughing loud and hearty

Deep inside I'm blue

(~Smokey Robinson, Tracks of My Tears)

Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements

Even if it leads nowhere?

(~Adele, Chasing Pavements)

Exactly how I feel.

One tear suspended indefinitely. One tear filled with all the emotions in my heart.

Don't ask. I'm not telling. Just know.

End of an era. Beginning of another I guess. Sigh.....

(~Me, right here, right now)

Announcement....

2011-04-07T22:40:00.001-04:00

I'm launching a business.

Whewwwwwwww Lawwwwd!!! I said it out loud. Publicly. There it is. No turning back now. Four words that are changing my life.

Writing will always be my first one true love. This new venture was born from that love. And just like parents who enjoy watching their baby take their first steps, I am reveling in the steps that I'm taking. I, however, don't like the paperwork. Good grief, Charlie Brown!! My business plan, incorporating my business name, trademarking said name, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.Trying to do this as legitimately as possible is not an easy feat. It's hard out here for an entrepreneuress.

So what's the business?? I can't tell you the name of the business until all my paperwork is finalized (but I know when you finally see it you will smile and say to yourself, "OF COURSE!!"). I can tell you that the biz is two-fold. One arm is a custom designed greeting cards and event stationery line (invitations, announcements, save the dates, etc). If we are friends, and I actually have your address beyond the gmail/aol/yahoo variety, you've received one of my custom designed Christmas cards. I've been sending them out to my loved ones and have gotten so much positive feedback that I decided to actually sell cards this year. I sold Valentine's Day cards as a first attempt. And let me tell you - a lot of folks are in love or, at the very least, lust. I made a nice pile of change that came in very handy in Mexico a few weeks later. I just finished my Mother's Day samples today. Maybe I will post the samples here as well. Would that be crossing my two worlds?? Hmmm, something to think about.

The second arm of my business is something people have been telling me to do for years. My mom, my friends the beautiful gems, people I meet at social gatherings, my Guy Guru and his wife have all been telling me. Even my 13 year old goddaughter told me THREE years ago "You should work for yourself and plan events." I've planned parties, dinners and social gatherings for quite some time but I've always done it out of fun and necessity. So here I am stepping out on faith and creativity. And I can't front, I'm scurrrrrrrrrrrrrred ya'll, but I'm more afraid of never taking this time to fly on the wings of my dreams.

So there you have it. Out loud. Publicly. No turning back now. Four hundred and eight words that are changing my life. Wish me luck.

Turn to the Heart

2011-03-29T10:07:00.008-04:00

Last week, a dear friend sent me an email asking for advice. As I sat on the train composing my ever so long response, I said to myself "Oh this feels like a blog". I wasn't talking about what I wrote to her, it was the writing process itself. It felt....good. If I knew how to ride a bike, I'd imagine that's what getting back on a bike must feel like. (Yes, I don't know how to ride a bike. I know. I've heard it all. Its crazy and no, I'm not all that inclined to learn at this stage in my life either...well, maybe a little inclined.)

When I wrote my last post, it was ever intended to be a hiatus post. Life just happened to point me in a hiatus direction. Truth be told (where else am I going to tell it), l was depressed. Not suicidal depressed. Not looking all melancholy and heavily medicated like those damn Cymbalta commercials. Just feeling off kilter. The unemployment, the ups and downs of caring for my mom (she's good by the way, but diabetes and kidney disease is a scary roller coaster ride), feelings of unfullfillment, non-supportive family shit. They all began to catch up to me like a car chase on a highway. I couldn't avoid it. All I could do was brace for it. Unfortunately, writing became a casualty. And I began to think and feel that nothing I had to say was worthy or important. Writing was in traction.

I wasn't feeling it. Not that I haven't had a lot going on in my life. Trust, I've been out living life. I rode the subway sans pants with an improv group. I saw Prince in concert for . I told dude from the last post to kick rocks. I went to Mexico for a much needed vacay for my birthday. Just to name a few (and possible blog posts). But the introspection it takes to write from my heart led me down dark paths I just wasn't prepared to venture on. So I shut down that part of me. Temporarily. At first, I felt guilty. I was letting down my legions of fans ( Kanye numbers with a Charlie Sheen ego). Blogging is a commitment. And I'm failing miserably at commitment these days. Oy vey the guilt! Then, rationalization set in. I began to rationalize my blog absence and fill possible writing time with anything but writing - watching TV, talking on phone, going out, watching tv, watching TV, watching TV, oh and reading too. Lots and lots of reading (I'm not even trying to be funny...I'm serious about the reading and the TV watching....reality TV is the devil! LOL).

A couple of weeks ago, I started feeling nostalgic. I miss writing. I miss the intimacy of being vulnerable with words. I miss the community ( I wasn't reading blogs when I wasn't writing - too painful if that makes sense). The self imposed depressive silence was lifting. My heart was beating. I was beginning to feel like me again. But then the panic set in. Where the fuck do I begin?? Do I pick up where I left off? No, I don't want to blog about that assclown again - once was enough. Do I start from the now as if I never left?? Nooooo, there are actually things that have happened since my last post that I'd like the opportunity to write about. So I took to Twitter. Asked my followers "Where do I begin?" (sidebar: I hate the term 'followers' for Twitter. I ain't Jesus. He has followers. And Charlie Manson. He had followers too. I am neither. ) A fellow blogger and friend replied "The beginning :)". The beginning?? Where the hell is that?? Can I find it on Google Maps?? Can Hopstop give me directions??

So I sat there that evening and tried to start from "the beginning." But that post was so God awful, complete with a Kelly Clarkson reference, that I closed Carrie B. (my laptop for those who forgot) and took my uncreative tired ass to bed. I haven't been back on the site until this morning. Why this morning?? Well it hit me, completely out of the blue like the rays shining so brightly into my bedroom this morning. The beginning is in my heart. That's where I've always written from. I SWEAH it was like an epiphany, well minus the light bulb over my head or music playing from the heavens in the background but yeah it was pretty spectacular. This post may not be the best I've ever written but hey, I wrote it. And that's a start (again). Most importantly, my heart is in it again.

Good Intentions

2011-01-19T11:01:00.003-05:00

A couple of weeks ago I promised a post about someone new. Since writing that, I've struggled with what the hell I was going to say about him. It seems as if as soon as I publicly mentioned him, there's been a shift and I'm not sure where he stands at the moment. I guess I should start from the beginning.

I met someone a couple of months ago. You know how people tell you that you will meet someone when you least expect it? Well, this man definitely falls in that category. I met him while I was volunteering. There I was clad in a plastic apron, gloves, a hairnet and...clutch the pearls.....sneakers, and he saw someone he wanted to get to know. IMMEDIATELY. Within a couple of days of meeting, we spoke. He's older (we were not born in the same decade but thankfully, he wasn't born in the same decade as my parents either). And from our very first conversation, he was focused. During that convo, he was eager to get to know me. I was kinda caught off guard because he was so clear and direct. Most guys I meet, play all nonchalant like "I don't want her to know I'm digging her" and it's like playing that game "Operation" in trying to get to know this person. Ooops get too close to a topic and ZINNNNNNNNNNG you're out of the game. On our first date, he continued to be clear and direct about his intentions and where he sees his life over the next couple of years. I told him about my not so stellar dating history and told him that it was fine for him to jump all in if he wanted to, but I was gonna sit on the side of the pool, dangling my feet, and getting comfortable with the water before jumping in. I've learned, finally, to be cautious when it comes to matters of my heart. He reminded me that he was older, meaning he doesn't have time for the games. He calls himself the visionary, saying that he could see all the good that's in store for us and calls me the project manager, the one who is more practical in getting us there. I thought it was cute. And quite accurate.

He accidentally met a friend of mine and she was highly impressed, telling me that I needed to hurry up and see the vision. It wasn't that I didn't want to see the vision. I just want to see more before I could envision the possibilities he spoke of. I have to figure out whether his focused intent is admirable or if it scares the bejesus out of me.

So here we are, just a couple of months down the road. And I'm not still not seeing the vision. He says all the right things, and when we actually hang out, I have a good time. But...........he's not consistent. Or better yet, his follow through is lacking. I can look at his schedule and projects that he's currently working on and say to myself "There's no way in hell I'll see him this week." While that can be disappointing, I'm realistic and okay with it. He works 16 hours days, 5 days a week, and is working on a major multi-million proposal for his organization on top of that. In spite of it all, he will try to see me for a mini date - like going for a drink after work. When I raise my concerns over what has to be his sheer exhaustion, he will insist that he will be fine. Day of our mini date comes and guess what? He cancels for all of the reasons I believed why we shouldn't have arranged the date in the first place. I've voiced my frustration over it and he insists that he has good intentions when making plans. But I've often used the quote : "The road to hell is paved in good intentions. " I've told him that when he cancels last minute its not only disappointing but makes him appear unreliable. It has gotten to the point where I now make other plans on days we're supposed to go out. And that's not good.

So what do I do? He says that his schedule will ease up soon and has asked for my patience. But what am I waiting for exactly? I don't know if I'm not sure I can believe in his vision or maybe I'm not ready to date exclusively or maybe a combo of both. Or none of the above. So until I know for sure, in limbo he sits. And yes, I realize no matter what, I may never know for sure. Especially when it comes to love and dating. So back on my observation deck I go. At least for now.

Casting Call

2011-01-05T16:35:00.005-05:00

As I review my topics, I'm getting kinda nervous. Do I start off upbeat or do I dredge through the sludge and try to make sense of it. Begrudgingly, I decide to tackle the elephant in the room. I figure it will clear my mind for carefully scripted prose to move in. The difficult topic, you may ask?

Family. Sigh.

Seriously, no seriously, I wish I could send out a casting call for family members. I often see celebrities on TV in various interviews and starring in various TV programs and I think to myself "Wow this person would be perfect as my grandmother/aunt/uncle/cousin". Am I the only person that does this???

First, let me state a disclaimer. I would not want to recast my ENTIRE family. Ironically, the people I share the closest percentage of a DNA match are the ones that need to be swapped out of my life like Aunt Viv on Fresh Prince of Bel Air. My extended family of cousins and my father's side of my family, while I don't know them that well, are not the people I'm referring to in this post. Specifically, I speak of my mother's mother, my mother's sisters, and through annoyance, my mother's nephew.

During my mother's illness they provided absolutely no support to me. I wish I made this up; it would make for a great dramatic series and I would be Shonda Rhimes PAID. One of my mother's sisters lives in the same city where my mother was hospitalized for over 3 weeks and never showed up. Not once. Not ever. Not even a phone call. And she wonders why I don't respect her. My mother's mother was content to allow me to see my mother on a respirator in a coma alllll by myself, even though she lives 30 minutes away from the hospital. And then when she finally came to the hospital while I was there, the only thing she asked me was "Did you cry when you saw her?" as if that's some indication as to how much I love my mother. For the record, after being in the room for all of approximately 10 seconds and seeing my mother hooked up to all those damn machines and tubes in her mouth I lost it and had to be gently escorted to the family room by strangers. How's that for love??? My mother's other sister decided to continue to not speak to me over some petty shit that occurred months ago. Despite the uncertainty of her sister's illness, she felt it was best to not reach out to her sister's only child. Such a Christian. My mother's nephew called me 3 weeks into the ordeal and said he didn't realize her illness was that serious. My response? "How do you spell serious? I-C-U or C-O-M-A, fool!". Throughout this entire ordeal, they never ever ever reached out to me to see how I was doing or if I needed anything. Not one time. I got more support from neighbors, friends, non-immediate family, and you guys than I received from these people. This is probably why I am sooooooo eternally grateful to each and every one of you. You filled a void without even knowing it. Shit, for most of you, without even knowing me personally.

So months later, what do I do with this?? To say I'm hurt is an understatement. Funny I'm only mildly shocked (my family has done so much crap in the past that this incident was just another drop in the proverbial shit bucket). But this time, I took a stand. Instead of keeping it bottled in, I spoke to my mom about it. One of the best gifts that has ever come out of this ordeal is my mom and I communicate like never before. We spend hours just talking and it feels like mere minutes. I believe we have a better understanding and appreciation for each other as women. So I told her how I felt and told her that I would not be guilted into just "letting it go." Quite frankly, I don't know if I can ever just let this go. So without the aid of the holiday husband I've searched for in the past, I decided I would not spend any of the holidays with these people and would not make any excuses as to why I wouldn't be there. No holiday husband. No sudden case of bird-swine-canine-feline-human flu. I took a stance and simply said "No!"

Thanksgiving was easy. No one wanted to travel and they definitely didn't want my mother to travel so we spent the eating frenzied holiday with my great aunts and cousins. My baby sister, who's a recent South to North transplant spent the day with us as well. Best Thanksgiving I've had in a lonnnnnnnnng time. As Christmas neared, I could tell my mother was a little nervous. The topic of where to spend Christmas holiday did not come up until the week of Christmas. Once I heard that the family was gathering at my mother's sister's house, I knew there was no way in BET hell I would spend the day there. Would you enter the home of someone who has made it very clear that they won't utter one word to you??? I was content to spend the morning with my mother, make sure she got to her sister's house, and then partake in the New York non-Christian tradition of a movie and Chinese food on Christmas Day. I started stock piling my snacks to smuggle into the theater and timed the movies so I could actually do a 2 for 1 deal at the theater.

Christmas Day arrived and after Santa surprised the hell out of me, my mom and I went to a friend's house for her annual Christmas brunch. My mom and I toasted multiple times with the ever-flowing mimosas. She laughed and really enjoyed being with my friends and all of their shenanigans. GOOD TIMES. A few hours later, she went off to her sister's house and I eventually mosied over to a cousin's house for a quiet but entertaining wine flowing dinner. I didn't make it to the movies as originally planned, but my day was drama free. And quite honestly, that's all I wanted for Christmas.

So here we are in a New Year. And I don't have to deal with the original family cast for a while. My mother's birthday is next month and I'm secretly wishing she doesn't want to get together with these folks. Because her born day is the ONLY day I'm willing to do whatever she wants. I really don't know how to deal with these people. Do I fake it? Do I let it go? Do i drink my self into a stupor to tolerate being around these people for a few hours?? Do I completely sever ties? Severing ties with this group of people is hard because the ripple effect is so great - I miss my godsons immensely and I know it saddens my mother (she respects my decision but I don't know how long that will last). But right now I feel it is so damn necessary. In any other aspect of life, you choose who you let into your life, who you interact with, and how much involvement they have in your life. If a boyfriend wronged you REPEATEDLY, you break up. If a friend turns their back on you, you stop hanging out with them. So why can't the same thing be done with family?? I'm on to the next one. Somebody call the casting agent, please.

***************************************
For those of you wondering who my cast would be, I would cast Patti LaBelle and Paula Dean as my grandmothers (I'm not even biracial but yeah these 2), Vanessa Williams, Regina King, and Traci Ellis Ross as my aunts, and Reggie Bush as my cousin (Sidebar: since I don't have an older sister, Traci Ellis Ross would be cast as my young aunt who would be like a sister to me...hahahaha). The list is completely random but this would be the new family cast in my comedic drama series called "Life".

New

2011-01-03T11:10:00.005-05:00

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yeah, I know, I suck. Epic monkey balls suck. I could tell you that there are over 20 unfinished blogs yearning to break free from writing purgatory but you don't care about all of that. As you've witnessed in my absence, writing took a back seat in my life. Like Rosa Parks get your butt to the back of the bus back seat in my life. Many days, I wondered if writing was still riding with me as I often stared blankly at the computer screen. This has absofuckinglutely been the worst writer's block I've ever had. It took me 2 days to come up with the phrase inside of my custom made holiday cards. It was one sentence. *head hanging shame*

A friend recently challenged me to write. Write. Write. Write. She told me. No matter how craptastic I think the writing may be she told me to write at least 500 words daily. I don't know about the 500 word count (I haven't counted words since I submitted college essays) but she's right. So here I am. Again. Writing.

So much has been going on in my life since my last post (SideBar: I hate, hate, hate that my last post - the first one on my page to all the millions who click on my site - is such an emotional raw post. I wanted to write 10 blogs of crap just to bury it. ). I could write one post detailing it all but I believe it would read like the Odessey. Without the Cliff Notes. And the English teacher breaking it down for you. No bueno.

There are some things I want to write about. I'll call them my topics of the week. In no particular order:
*Family
*I met someone
* Love? (yes that's an intentional questional mark)
*35

One bit of great news I will share today is my mom is doing well. She went back to work a couple of weeks ago. She started part time but will ramp up to full time probably by the end of this month. Even on my best linguistic day, I couldn't express how happy I am that she has recovered enough to even contemplate going back to work. Of course I still worry about her. On most days I feel like there is some serious role reversal going on ( I threatened punishment once....WTF???!!!), but thankfully those kinds of days are happening less and less. I cannot begin to thank you enough for all of your prayers and well wishes.

With all of that said, yes I'm back in my refuge. And this isn't quite as craptastic as I thought it would be. I guess writing is like riding a bike. Although I wouldn't know, since I never learned to ride a bike but that's another story for another day. LOL

I hope you'll stop by again and read and comment and ride this journey with me. Again. I think I miss you guys as much as I THINK you miss me. Well most of you, anyway. LOL

Absent Letter

2010-11-04T01:05:00.001-04:00

Dear You,

The absence of you has been torture. Especially given your abrupt departure from my life. Just when I thought I was ready to be open to the possibilities of it all, you disappear like a thief in the night. Literally. Mr. Hit & Run/Dine & Dash/Love & Leave 'Em formerly known as my friend.

The absence of you has thrown me into frigid ocean waters with a paper cut. Unexpectedly, the waters shock me into a cold reality I never imagined. Then, the salt from the sting of the ironic beauty of your words seeps into the paper cuts on my soul. At that moment, all I can do is scream........and drown. Then, shake it off like nothing ever happened. And occasionally, take ten steps back. (like right now)

The absence of you makes me question every chapter I wrote with you. Fiction? Non-fiction? Romance? Sci-fi? Friend? Foe? Sweet dream? Nightmare? Reward? Retribution?

The absence of you is a glaring reminder of all that I was willing to give up for you. And all I wish I never said. Some secrets aren't meant to see the light of day. I thought you were my safe haven, the place my secrets could rest peacefully. Now, they're out there and this shit feels like hell. Next time, I'll keep my mouth shut. Thanks for the reminder.

The absence of you fills me with regret. I regret even knowing you. There's no way I'd want to be friends with a person who could so capriciously and callously turn their back on someone they claim to love and care about. If this is your version of being my friend, sign me up for the enemy line; it's safer there. I'll never know why you did what you did. The absence of you leaves nothing but my dangling questions and no one to reply with a sensible answer. With so much time between your presence then and your absence now, NOTHING you say would be sensible at this point.

The absence of you makes me hate you. Just when I was open to the possibility of loving you. And I wish I never did it...........

Sincerely,
Me

*inspired by this song playing on my iPod...not necessarily real life. not necessarily.

Hello......

2010-10-08T12:44:00.004-04:00

....is it me you're looking for??? (*cue Lionel Richie. No need to start sculpting)

*peeking around and waving from behind the wall I've built*

My last post was not supposed to be a pre-hiatus post but that's what it turned out to be. I thought that I was ready to hit the ground running and write, write, write until my fingertips were numb from banging on this keyboard. But as I've recently uttered, "Writing feels like a pretty dress in my closet that I've gained too much weight to wear without being embarrassed."

Taking a break from writing may not have been the wisest choice I've made lately. I should have worked and worked at it until that dress fit like a glove. But there was....is.... sooo much taking up my mindspace. I didn't think I should write that shit. Way too personal. Even for my refuge.

My world was turned upside down on August 3 - the day my mother was admitted into the hospital. I thought when she was out of a coma and subsequently off of ICU, my life would miraculously be turned right side up again - writing, job hunt, move, back on track. Oh how wrong was I! Simply put, this has been my earthquake. While my mother has been released from the hospital, she spent a month in a rehabilitation facility/nursing home, which we affectionately call "Shady Pines" (did I really need a reference link for Shady Pines??? lol). Luckily, Shady Pines was in New York, so I no longer had to travel out of state to see her, tend to her. However, it was still emotionally and physically draining - like tremors after a major earthquake. Add to this the emotional and physical abandonment of my so called immediate family, I'm often amazed that I haven't completely and utterly lost it like wandering the streets disheveled and drug hazed like some alleged "celebrity" caught by the paparazzi. But somehow, some way, I've held it together. I know its prayer. And I have to thank you, my readers, my friends, my fans - even the damned stalkers - for those prayers.

After an earthquake, you'd straighten the paintings on the wall, turn the furniture right side up, sweep up whatever broken glass or unpotted plant, and throw out the trash. Afterwards, everything looks normal like nothing catastrophic ever happened. . Until you discover cracks in the foundation. That's how I look at things these days. Everything I thought I knew, I don't. Well that's not entirely true. For one, writing this, as disconnected as it may read, feels really good - as I suspected it would.

However, my foundation is cracked. Thankfully, by the grace of God, the cracks aren't permanent. And with time, I pray they will be healed. In the meantime, I'm going to make more of an effort to write. I need that dress to fit again.

We, the People....

2010-09-09T11:29:00.003-04:00

......are seriously fucked up.

What is this trajectory this country is on?? Seriously, I'm not all Pollyanna and Mary Poppins with my patriotic optimism but I never imagined I would find my country moving in such a divisive manner . Is this what having a Black president brings out of people??

This controversy over the site of the Islamic Cultural Center in lower Manhattan is appalling. Yes, men who professed to be followers of Islam commandeered planes and committed crimes against humanity so egregious it's still a sore wound for me, almost 9 years later. And yes, in the aftermath there were some who cheered because to them the hijackers were David and we were the fallen Goliath. However, that does not give us the license to condemn this project. Every religion has fanatics and extremists (wait....are there Buddhist extremists??? I don't know). The KKK claimed to be Christians. I don't see anyone protesting the building of churches near where people were lynched, brutalized, terrorized. Timothy McVeigh was raised Catholic. Are we saying that no Catholic Church or anything related to the tenets of Catholicism can be erected any where near the site of the Oklahoma City Bombing because doing so would be "insensitive"?
(Sidebar: I see no one protesting the current existence of strip joints and "massage" parlors in such close proximity to these hallowed grounds in lower Manhattan. Sooooooo, sex is okay but religion is not?? Ohhh, okay. )

This blanket condemnation has to stop. The people behind this project had NOTHING to do with the mass murders that occurred on September 11. Don't you think that if they did, the government and the media would have figured it out by now?? All they want to do is build a center that accommodates their congregation since they have outgrown the space they currently occupy (which, by the way, was already in the neighborhood). The religion itself is not responsible either. The Pope may not be happy with the way I live my life all the time but I'm still a Catholic. It's my interpretation of my faith that plays a role in how I live my life. That doesn't mean that every single Catholic in the world subscribes to my interpretation. Instead of burning the Qur'an - a book held sacred to some just as the Bible and the Torah are sacred to others, how about we read it and understand the beliefs of this religion we clearly know nothing about? In this case, knowledge is definitely power. Power against propaganda and close minded viewpoints. Don't get hoodwinked by the zealots that stirred up your fears. If so, we're doing EXACTLY what they wanted us to do. We no longer need to elect politicians, we're allowing them - the terrorists- to govern our lives. We are becoming no better than them. Why stoop to their level??

Personally, I believe the Islamic Cultural Center would be a great addition to the lower Manhattan neighborhood. It would stand as a symbol of tolerance and acceptance of diversity. A testament to not allowing the actions of a few to define the beliefs of all. If the center is built as planned, it will include a performance arts center, a childcare center, fitness center, culinary school, art studio, September 11 memorial, and a prayer space for Muslims to worship. Someone please explain to me what is so evil and insensitive about such a structure. I've tried to see the opposing points of views but it all just sounds like codes for bigotry and xenophobia. I'm almost expecting a resurgence in white hooded outfits and cross burnings. Will I be considered 3/5 of a person again? Will I be relegated to the fields picking cotton?? Will people be burned at the stake for not going to church?? How far are we taking this??

Some people do cruel unconscionable acts, all in the name of religion. Why can't the rest of us turn our backs on the hate and embrace our differences, all in the name of humanity? Isn't that what this country was founded on? If we, as a country, as a people, continue on this intolerant, insensitive, hate filled road, we will see more attacks, more divisiveness, more hate. We can't afford anymore wars. The United States essentially becomes an oxymoron and the Constitution becomes nothing more than some old piece of paper. Like Spike Lee famously admonished through the voice of Laurence Fishbourne at the end of School Daze, WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKKKKKKKKEEEEEEE UPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!

*To those who may stumble across my blog because you've set up an alert for any of the controversial terms mentioned above, respect my space. We can agree to disagree, however I won't tolerate or publish any viscious or negative attacks on me personally. I can't go for that, no can do.

Clicked

2010-09-02T12:33:00.004-04:00

On Sunday, after dancing my wings off in the hot sun at Spike Lee's birthday party for Michael Jackson in Prospect Park, my friends and I boogied on down to a restaurant near the Brooklyn Pier. As a native New Yorker, I can say I've never been here. As many times as I've been to Brooklyn, I've never actually taken a walk down to the Brooklyn Pier. And it was absolutely beautiful. With the Brooklyn Bridge to my right, and Manhattan directly in front of me across the river, the entire setting was simply........ New York. If life had a movie soundtrack, at that moment you would have heard the instrumental piano version of Empire State of Mind quietly playing in the background. At least that's what I heard in my head while standing there. I couldn't help but smile.

My friends and I were in the area to go to some restaurant/lounge for.........you know what?? I still have no idea who or what we were there for. All I know is I was with friends and having an amazing time. LOL We get to the venue and they are playing all the music that I love. I'm dancing through the crowd like its a Sooooooooooooooul TRAIN line. This place was packed. Wall to wall beautiful browns in more colors than Crayola could invent, more flavors than in Baskin Robbins (the real Baskin Robbins ice cream store not the blog person...LOL). After about an hour of cocktails and 2 stepping to everything MJ, we FINALLY finagled a table made for 2 for our party of 4. Yeah it was that packed. Unfortunately, we were informed by a member of staff that food orders were on a moratorium for an hour. Ummmmmm, I have to wait at least 3,600 seconds BEFORE I can even tell you that all I want is an order of sweet potato fries and another cocktail??? *scratch the needle alll the way across that life soundtrack*

TAXI!!!!!

My girls and I hit up another popular Brooklyn hotspot for a bite to eat and people watching. We settled into a table outside (it was finally cool enough to appreciate being outside but still warm enough to make you want to linger and enjoy the evening) and were joined by 2 guys who were friends of a friend. Of course, the conversation kicked into high gear at that point. You know how it is, you put a table of men and women of a certain age and maturity, the conversation is ALWAYS going to turn to relationships. Never fails. In between bites of yummy goodness (that food was pretty tasty; never disappoints. ), we laughed, joked, and laughed some more over the nuances of dealing with the opposite sex.

Towards the end of our evening, the question was "What are 3 attributes you look for in a mate (besides aesthetics)?" Usually when questions come up like this I roll my eyes, like here we go with the bullshit. Everybody's gonna say something that sounds good, but they know they don't mean it. But lately, maybe because of my mother's illness, I've been thinking about the make up of my mystery man. As we went counter-clockwise around the table, I listened to everyone's answers and couldn't help but think, regardless of background, gender, educational pedigree, we all pretty much want the same damn thing. Everyone before me (I was last), gave answers that I nodded my affirmations to like "Yep, that's on my list too" or "Yeah, that's a good one too". But since we could only give three, here were my picks:

1. Consistency. Simply put, the tactics you use to woo me in the beginning, need to be present throughout the relationship. I'm not saying that you must take me to 3-star Michellin rated dining establishments everytime we go out to eat if that's what you did in the beginning. I'm talking about not taking me for granted. I observe a lot of relationships, and just like a career, relationships take work. At work, you can't slack off once you get the promotion. If you do, you're demoted or fired and someone else will be doing your job. Same holds true for relationships. Consistency builds trust. This is not to say that you don't or can't evolve while in a relationship. But be consistent in who you are fundamentally as a person.

2. Communicator. I need to be with someone I can have difficult conversations with. Whether it's about money, family, work, etc. it doesn't matter. It is very difficult for me to let down my guard but like consistency, communication takes work. I have to work at not only effectively speaking with my mate, I also have to work at effectively listening to him as well. I also need a mate who is willing to work at effectively communicating with me as well. Years ago, I dated a guy who was the nicest, sweetest guy I'd ever met. He was consistent, loyal, trustworthy, funny...everything you could bring home to momma. However, our ability to communicate with each other was blah. I would ask him "Oh what are you doing this weekend?" and he would respond "Oh, nothing." Eventually, I had to tell him "When you say 'nothing', I hear 'I don't want to see you." He stated that's not what he meant and couldn't understand how I interpreted his message that way. I, on the other hand, knew of no other way to interpret it. Eventually, our relationship ended. It became stagnant. I had to realize that we communicate very differently and it wasn't going to work. I also realized how important I needed communication to be in future relationships (okay, so I didn't always follow my own sage wisdom with some of the mistakes I dated afterwards, but hey you live and learn, right?! lol)

3. Ride or Die. No, I'm not talking in the literal, rap song implication. I'm not committing a crime for anybody, ya heard me?! My friends and I use this term because no matter what, we are there for each other, no questions asked. When my mom became ill and my so called immediately family wasn't there for me, I thought a lot about being with someone who would just be there for me, no questions asked. Of course, people have jobs and obligations but there were many times, I wanted someone to just be there for me, whether it was serving as a buffer between me and the dysfunction I'm related to, or reminding me I have to eat, or just holding my hand when I had to sit in my mother's room and watch a machine breath for her. Like Meth said, I wanted someone that "even when the skies are gray, you would rub me on my back and say baby, it'll be okay/that's real to a nigga like me baby". There are no guarantees in saying it will be okay, but knowing that someone is there to support and protect you is all I need to get by. Ride or Die for me is also synonymous for being adventurous or at the very least, being willing to step somewhat outside your comfort zone for that other person. I could never commit my life to someone who is soooo closed off from the world and its experiences, so boring and dull. Eat something besides chicken every single day, go ziplining through the Costa Rican forest, dance with me in the street because oooh that's our song and we don't care what these strangers walking by may say. That's what I want. No, that's what I need.

That night I left Brooklyn rejuvenated. It was as if another piece of the puzzle I call life had fit perfectly into place, clicked into the groove right before my eyes. *cue up that life soundtrack again, maestro.*

Mission Delicious

2010-08-22T23:17:00.004-04:00

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

2010-08-17T15:57:00.003-04:00

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

2010-08-10T10:11:00.004-04:00

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.

Assaulted

2010-07-27T11:36:00.004-04:00

Last weekend, I was assaulted. It left me paranoid and disgusted. And having a greater appreciation for baths.

I boarded a bus to DC very early Saturday morning. One of my Hampton gems is having a baby. So after over a decade since the seven of us were all in the same room (collective head hanging shame), we hopped on planes, buses (well technically just one bus since I'm the only one who arrived that way), trains (who knew Pentagon and Pentagon City were NOT the same stop in the DC Metro system?? lol), and automobiles to be there for her baby shower. I could have left Friday night but I waited until the last minute to make her gift - a personalized frame and gift basket. And early Saturday morning seemed like a less stressful trip than Friday afternoon. Have you seen NY/NJ/MD/DC traffic?? (yes I realize I left out Delaware but seriously, its like 3 seconds long - you blink and its "Welcome to Maryland"). Also, I figured the 7:30 am bus would be empty so I'd be able to stretch out and sleep. WRONNNNNNNNGGGGG!!!

When I first boarded the bus, my dreams of 2 seat slumber seemed to be a reality. Like Ms. Badu, I took the window seat and didn't want nobody next to meeeee. I placed my large gift bag in the seat next to me and everyone kept moving further back on the bus. Just as the bus driver was about to pull away from the midtown street, she surveyed the empty seats, opened the door, and asked if anyone waiting for the next bus to DC wanted to catch the earlier bus. Of course they obliged. And there went my 2 seat slumber dream. I stuffed my gift bag under my seat and almost immediately this young-ish African dude plops down next to me. And he smiles. And I....I roll my eyes. I was in no moody to be friendly. I wanted to sleep damnit!!! Once he settled in, he turned to me and asked "Do you have change of a twenty?" to which I responded with a curt "NO!" which had all the attitude of a "HAYELLLLLL NOOOO!!" And let me tell you why.

First of all, for this particular bus company, all tickets are prepurchased online with a credit or debit card so there is no need for cash for the next 4 hours. Secondly, I'm not reaching into my purse to retrieve money with a damn stranger sitting that close to me when I plan on falling asleep in the next 10 minutes. What kind of BooBoo the fool does this assclown take me for? Lastly, and most importantly, when he exhaled on the word 'twenty', I SWEAH my eyebrows and eyelashes were singed off. Seriously, I was stunned into a state of hot garbage shock. Not knowing what to do, I turned to Twitter:

"Great! This mofo sitting next to me not only wants to chat but his breath smells like garbage. I need to click my heels 3x and be in DC NOW"

Once I vented in 140 characters or less, I did reach in my purse. For my iPod. And let my music be the soundtrack for the scenery rolling by outside my window as I breathed the air straight from the air conditioning vent to clear my nostrils.

Then, it happened. My iPod slipped from my lap and fell between the seat. As he repositioned his body to retrieve it for me without uttering a word, that's when it hit me. It wasn't just his breath. Every pore, every fiber of his being smelled. BAD. Like weapon of mass destruction bad. Remember this scene from Beetlejuice (1:50 mark):

Yeah that bad. I immediately let out an "Oh damn!" and stood up in my seat. I looked around. The bus was packed. No empty seat - even the seat next to the bathroom was taken which would have been a first class upgrade compared to the seat I was currently sitting in. I was stuck next to this smelly mother fucker for the next 3 hours and 45 minutes. I had no choice but to turn my body completely towards the window, put my head down next to the air conditioning vent and go to sleep. Eventually the cold air, and the gentle bounce of the bus rocked my tired ass to sleep. And it was a good sleep too, dreaming of every lovely sweet smell I could imagine. At some point I must have turned my head in the direction of Stench because I was jolted out of my seat like my alarm clock went off.

This fool is sitting in his seat on his phone with his right arm up over his head like he is lounging in his living room, and just like that scene in Beetlejuice my head felt like it was gonna shrink. I let out a very disgruntled "Oh COME ON!!!" and repositioned myself to breath the processed air conditioning air. And couldn't go back to sleep. DAMNIT

I had time to analyze this nasal assault. I theorized that it was 2 parts hot shit, 1 part no soap, and 1/2 part locker room funk, 1/2 part public housing staircase with a background note of sanitation truck. Yeah it was THAT BAD!! Funny thing, if he was perfectly still I couldn't smell a thing. But the minute Stench moved a centimeter, I damn near threw up in my mouth. I don't even want to make the generalization that because he was African, he stank. This stench went waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyy beyond the lack of deodorant. which may or may not be a cultural thing (I'm not even touching that topic). And its not like he looked like he stank, just like most serial killers don't "look" like a serial killer. Seriously, does this look like someone who's funk is off the stink charts??

(Yes I took his picture while he was sleeping. This was one of those still moments when I could inhale without fear of an olfactory attack. Don't judge me! LOL And he woke up not too long after this picture was taken, he woke up and assaulted my nasal cavity yet again! )

With about 45 minutes left in this ride of smell hell, the unthinkable happened. When I didn't think this ride could get any worse, he turned to me, smiled and said:

How can I get to know you better?

To which I replied (louder than I thought):
You can't. Listen, you stink.

And everyone around me gasped. Like I was the bad person. Sure, that may not have been the most polite, ladylike way of handling things but I'd already endured a little over 3 hours of the stench of the belly of the beast. Manners went out the window somewhere along the Jersey Turnpike. By that point, I was angry that I had to endure this abuse, I was paranoid (I swear I kept smelling myself for hours after getting off the bus). It was so bad, I literally had tears in my eyes. And, I was trapped. So fuck common courtesy. I was in survival mode.

Stench was shocked that my response was so blunt. He grinned, looked the other way and didn't say another word to me for the rest of the ride. Thank God for small favors. I also kept my hand over my nose for the duration of the ride. Manners be damned.

Finally, FINALLY, the bus pulled into the lot in downtown DC. It took every pore, every fiber of my being to stop me from flipping that emergency exit switch on the ledge of my window. Doesn't this count as an emergency?? The assault needed to end sooner rather than later.

Once I gathered my bag from underneath the bus, I inhaled deeply. Like if I could have sucked in every ounce of air in a 2 block radius, trust me I would have. There's a Starbucks near the bus drop off site. I ducked in there and didn't buy a thing. I just smelled the bags of coffee on display. I know I probably looked like a mad woman but I read somewhere that some perfume counters keep fresh coffee beans on their counters to clear a customer's nasal memory so the perfume smells don't get muddled when they are smelling multiple fragrances. I needed to clear that smell out of my nose faster than a speeding bullet. And besides the line was too long and I had a baby shower to get to.

Luckily, God granted me a solo seat on the way home. I had a window seat with nobody next to meeeeeeeee. And it smelled like heaven.

Centennial Celebration

2010-07-21T23:01:00.001-04:00

My great grandmother was born on July 21, 1910. It doesn't take a math genius to figure out that she would have been 100 years old today. However, she died in her sleep 7 years ago. Cause of death: natural causes. It was just her time to go. It didn't matter that I wasn't quite ready to see her go.

I could dwell on how much I miss her and how I would give anything just to hear her laugh or ask me to pour her "a little nip" or to be able to take one of our lonng slow walks just one more time. But reality tells me that's not going to happen. Instead I choose to celebrate.

I celebrate how lucky I was to have a great-grandmother. No one I grew up with had one.

I celebrate that she was my great- grandmother for 27 years, where to date that's way more than half of my life.

I celebrate her survival through the Depression. Even though I hated that because of said survival, she used to make me eat the ends of the bread loaf as she saw it as wasteful not to. I still hate the bread ends.

I celebrate her sage piece of advice as I left for college: "Keep your dress down and your panties up." Even though I didn't always follow said advice. I think I transposed dress and panties in her advice a few times.

I celebrate her unconditional love. She is the epitome of unconditional love. To me, the patron saint of unconditional love. I never ever felt like she didn't love anyone in my family, even when some of us were doing some idiotic crap (some waaaaaay more often than others but I digress). She was always there, with a kind word, a funny story, a pat on the hand, and a threat to whack you across your heiney with a wooden spoon (Now that I think about it, I never got that wooden spoon whack across my heiney. Well at least not from Granny. lol).One of my tattoos is an homage to her and her unconditional love.

I celebrate her laugh. Granny loved to laugh. As do I. Maybe its in the genes.

I celebrate her intelligence. Granny did the newspaper crossword puzzles. In Pen. And finished. Oh and did I mention this was the New York Times AND the Daily News crossword puzzles. And yes, this was daily. Ummm, yeah one day I'll attempt this feat.

I celebrate her broad spectrum views on life. In the later years, Granny only watched two television programs - Jeopardy in the evening and Maury in the morning. Jeopardy for obvious reasons and Maury because she found it quite entertaining that these fools had no idea who had the label of "my baby daddy".

I celebrate her warmth. She loved everybody. Her doorman, my best friends, her daughter's ex-husband (my grandfather), "the fellas" (her general word for her male senior citizen friends in her building. I think she just couldn't remember their names so her crew became "the fellas").

I celebrate her love of storytelling. She may not have had the delivery of Sophia but she loved to share stories - all funny. Only she could tell a story about the Depression and make it funny.

I celebrate all of this and so much more.If I can exude a tenth of her warmth, charm, humor, and giving heart, then I've succeeded in life.

My Granny. My Great-grandmother. My friend. Now my guardian angel.

Instead of missing her for the rest of my life, I celebrate all that she was to me for the rest of my life. I think she would prefer it that way.

Big Spenda

2010-07-09T04:57:00.003-04:00

By the time you read this, I'll be on the road or maybe even at my destination for the weekend. This weekend is my BFF, TootieZilla's birthday and we're taking this celebration on the road. I won't reveal the location just yet(damn stalkers) but please believe the weekend is jam packed with parties, fun, laughter, and celebrating. I've been to this place before but never with my girls. I'm actually pretty excited.

So what's been going on with me lately?? I know someone has probably nominated me for the most absent negligent blogger. Please don't call child protective services on me though. I've been absent for good reason - there's been a lot going on lately that I'm not sure I want to publicize....at least not yet. I'm still writing, just not hitting publish. But I'm going to try to do better. I see my stats though. I really appreciate MOST of you for checking in to see if I'm writing. It gives me the guilt gut punch I need to sit down to write.

Last Friday, I was out window shopping (okay, I bought a dress..sue me) and was behind a young woman buying a shitload of men's suits from Banana Republic. I noticed her arsenal because I was kinda in a rush and there was only one person ringing up purchases ( which didn't discourage me from putting the dress down though. It was on sale!!!!! ). I had no choice but to eavesdrop on her phone conversation (she was talking louder than the musak). Apparently, her man was starting his new job on Tuesday and she wanted to surprise him with new suits for the week. She beamed on the phone as if she had just landed that dream job. She was sooo proud of her man. Standing there, I had to reflect. I ain't NAYVER done anything like that for a guy before. But I added the idea to my future boo bag of tricks. The man I settle down with is gonna be spoiled. I think. But I digress. As I watched the cashier ring up the abundance of suits, shirts, ties AND socks, I was actually in awe of her grand gesture. AND the grand total. Sheesh. Phone bill, student loan, rent, cable, electricity, grocery bill, and my entertainment budget for the month would have been covered. But I digress. She left with and armload of bags that she could barely carry but somehow managed to not only carry the bags but continue to carry on with her conversation as she exited the store.

About 5 minutes later, I was finally done with my itty bitty purchase and gleefully swung my itty bitty shopping bag out the door. And that's when all hell broke loose.

I emerged on the other side of the revolving door to find Ms. Big Spenda screaming into her phones at the top of her lungs and thrashing white Banana Republic shopping bags against the buildings facade. Apparently, in the time it took for the chatty cashier to recommend some accessories to compliment my find, ring up the dress and not the accessories he tried to push on me, and discover I was entitled to an additional discount on the garment, Ms. Big Spenda found out that her man had cheated on her the night before with one of her friends. Yep, her man smashed a homie.

In the span of 5 minutes, her world was just as disheveled as the suits now thrown on the pavement. And she let the world know exactly how she felt about it. Like everyone else I just stood there. Eyes blinking, astonished. Seriously, what the fuck was I supposed to do?? I mean my heart went out to the girl. While I would never throw just purchased expensive clothes out in the middle of the sidewalk, I too have had the rug pulled right from under my happy feet. So I did what any New Yorker would do - I stepped over the strewn clothes, put my sunglasses on and continued on my way to my mani-pedi appointment. However, I will say by the time I crossed the street, she'd gathered up the clothes and marched right back into Banana Republic with an armload of suits, shirts and ties. I said a silent prayer for her that a)she didn't loose her receipt during her emotional tantrum and b) none of the store's employees saw the clothes on the ground and refuse the return. Since I didn't see any reports that a girl went postal inside a Banana Republic, I'm gonna assume my prayers had been answered.

While I don't know the particular details of the story, I'm still quite intrigued about bits and pieces I discovered while eavesdropping. Her man slept with a friend. Oh. MY. GOD. I love my friends with every fiber, muscle, connective tissue, and nerve endings of my heart. However, I don't know what the hell I would do if I ever found out some shit like that. Would I have the ultimate 2 year old tantrum on a random street in midtown in front of about 8 million strangers? Would I try to beat both of their asses??? Would I get all soap opera-ish and sleep with said friend's boo and carry his love child that she will try to kidnap when the paternity is revealed on a Friday?? (okay, clearly I've been watching the soaps lately....hahahahhaha). Luckily for me, my friends and I may have the same taste in shoes, clothes, jewelry, etc, however, we absolutely do not have the same taste in men. NOT AT ALL. Well unless we're talking about Idris Elba. But he's a universal crush. So he doesn't count. However, if I ever date him (a girl can dream) or seriously date someone who looks like him, I'm getting a restraining order. My friends will not be allowed within 100 yards of Idris and I (or his look-a-like). hahahahahahaha

I could expound on the possibilities of the scenario for hours on end but I have a road trip to prepare for. I really do hope Ms. Big Spenda has found some peace and didn't become Ms. Smashed My Homie and My Man With A Bat.

Enjoy your weekend!!!

Smoochies

Oh and the dress is packed in the suitcase!!! They. Aint. Ready.

We Blamed it On the Boogie Before We Blamed it On the Alcohol: Q 4 a B-fly

2010-06-25T13:50:00.002-04:00

Q: What are your top five Michael Jackson songs? - Anonymous

A: How could you ask me to pick my top 5 MJ songs?? That's like asking me to pick my ultimate top 5 pair or shoes. To pick one over the other is betrayal. Similar to a Lays potato chip I can't just pick one (or 5). So in no particular order here are my 5 picks. You want a countdown? Turn to MTV.....oh wait they don't show music anymore. Seriously what the hell does the "M" stand for now? Misled? Mush? Muchoshit??? Okay I'm stalling.

1. Butterflies. Come on! Look at the title of this blog. How could I NOT pick this song. It's a tender sentiment sung over a nice midtempo 2 step beat. I think of dancing with "that guy" at the end of a party. I think of summer drives, windows down, with "that guy". The song just makes me smile. And just listening to it, gives me butterflies.

2. Off the Wall. Seriously I think I listened to this record so much on my baby blue and white record player when I was a kid, MJ ingrained in me to live life off the wall. If you know me, you know I am conventionally unconventional and challenge life to be pretty much off the wall as much as I can. Since I can't claim the entire album (I'm trying to follow the guidelines of this question), I have to claim the title track as the one that does it for me. I could listen to this song ALL DAY ON REPEAT and sing along every single time. While prepping for this challenge, I listened to all the MJ songs on my iPod (Sidebar: I'm thinking about getting a new iPod. Any thoughts on the newer models. Don't ask me what "generation" my iPod is because I have no clue. Its white, has the click wheel and I've had it for about 2 or 3 years. LOL). When I got to this song, I played it back 4 times and chair danced/bopped my entire train ride. And then I had to listen to it one more time as I did my "Strut" down the street to meet a friend.

"There'll be no darkness tonight/lady our love will shine/just put your trust in my heart/and meet me in paradise/Now is the time/Girl, you're ever wonder in this world to me/A treasure time won't slip away"
3. Not only is "The Lady in My Life" one of my favorite MJ songs, its one of my favorite ballads of all time. Its loving, sexual without being vulgar, tender, and whoever he was singing about, he convinced me that he meant forever with this woman and not just until morning. Between me and you, whenever my love life (or lack thereof) has me feeling a lil off, I play this song. It affirms my belief that maybe one day, some guy will play this for me. And mean it.

4. Okay, I'm going to cheat a little and pick a Jackson 5 song next. Hey, you didn't specify strictly MJJ songs and for God's sake he sang on it so it counts right?! Its not like that group that used the voice of one of the Weather Girls in a song BUT used the body of model chick in the video who knew damn well she didn't have the poundage to belt out "COME ON LETS SWEAT! BAAAABAY, LET THE MUSIC TAKE CONTROL LET THE RHYTHM MOVE YOUUUUU". But I digress. Even picking a song from the Jackson 5 era was difficult. I mean Joe had them churning out albums like he churned out babies. But ONE of my favorite Jackson 5 songs is "Can You Feel It". Sure there are a gazillion other songs I could have picked but this song just moves me. Ask my friends, if this song comes on WHEREVER I am - at a club, in a store, in a car, I'm dancing. Hands overhead, eyes closed, body pulsing, all that (well unless I'm driving). Not to mention the message of the song. Its downright spiritual. It's so inspiring with its hope for a better more peaceful world, you almost want to scream out YES, I CAN FEEL IT!!! (*ahem, that's what she said.)

5. Damn one more song to go. Should I pick Liberian Girl? Scream? Blame it on the Boogie? Never Can Say Goodbye?? Dancing, Dancing, DANCING I'ma Dancing Machine??? I'll Be There? Remember the Time ( I mean who DIDN'T try to learn that entire video dance sequence)?? Dirty Diana??? Actually I wouldn't pick this song. It's my least favorite Michael Jackson song but I digress. You Rock My World? Or maybe I Can't Let Her Getaway? Or how about Heaven Can Wait?? You know what, I can't. I can't pick just one more song to add to this definitive list. I love them all, well except Dirty Diana. But one song out of a catalog as extensive as Michael Jackson's is unheard of in this age of "lemme git one hit on my cd" revolving one hit wonders.

So I leave this list unfinished just as Michael left his work unfinished when he left this Earth a year ago today. Damn, I still can't believe he's gone. It's still surreal. To finish this list would be to close a chapter, to end my love affair with his music. And that's not something I wish to do. Ever. I leave the door open to fall in love all over again with any one of his songs.

Yeah, you could say I cheated because I didn't fully answer your question by giving you the 5 songs you requested. Sue me. As the late great Michael Joseph Jackson sang with his brothers, "Don't blame it on the sunshine/Don't blame it on the moonlight/Don't blame it on the good times/BLAME IT ON THE BOOGIE"

Since you asked me, what are your Top 5 Michael Jackson songs? Feel free to list them in the comments below.

Smoochies,

PS To the person who sent this question to me, I apologize for the delay. You sent this to me in March but as you can see it took me a minute to answer this. First the list was unbearable to compile and secondly, it just seemed like a fitting tribute to Michael Jackson on the sorrow-versary of his passing.

PPS I know I haven't answered these questions in quite some time, but please feel free to ask away. I want to resurrect this feature on the blog but can't do it without you. Thanks.

Butterflies Don't Wear Tu-Tu's....do they??

2010-06-10T22:59:00.000-04:00

In an effort to put myself on a routine and not be a complete bum during my FUNemployment lady of leisure days, I started going back to the gym. I may have exercise ADHD because despite the workout playlist on my iPod I get bored. So to avoid giving up, I looked up the classes offered by my gym last night. I noticed there was a ballet class offered today and decided to check it out.

As a kid, I took ballet classes and loved them. Sure, I stopped taking ballet about 17 years ago but whats that saying about riding a bike??? (sidebar: for the record, I don't know how to ride a bike so I don't know if the saying is true or not! hahahah)

Ummm yeah, about that ballet class..........

It became pretty evident after about 10 minute in class that this butterfly was never meant to be a ballerina. EVER. Thankfully, I remember some of the stances and positions but ummm that's about it. And to make matters worse there were only 3 students in the class - some Baryshnikov Italian Vogue model hybrid, a soccer mom yoga devotee, and me. Every comment the instructor made about "form" or "don't compare yourself to others in the class, I knew was directed at my ass. And I couldn't help but giggle which made me think of the following list:

The TOP 3 Reasons I'll NAYVER be a Ballerina

1. My bootay. I do not believe that I have the biggest, roundest, most audacious video booty on the planet. However, when the instructor kept reminding me to keeping my backside in line with my shoulders, I was reminded of a similar situation at dance school as a youngster. Back then, my instructor would admonish me to "tuck it in" as she pointed to my behind. Finally, I told her "I can't tuck it in no more" thus dashing my ballerina dreams even back then. My booty is gonna stick out. I can't help it.

2. My boobs. Now, my boobs have NAYVER been in the Pam Anderson league. Until I gained weight, I was a proud member of the itty bitty committee. And even with the weight, I'm still not some busty vixen....well not without the help of my Vicki Secret undergarments but I digress. However, its difficult to be gracefully with your movements with the fun bags in the way. Every arm movement change, I knocked into my breasts. I couldn't help it.

3. I look broken. For those who don't me, let me share a secret with you. I have hyper-extended joints. In hood speak, I'm double-jointed. And yes, Ive heard every joke about this, so spare me (remind me to share my friends' DJ theory one day). Since there were only 4 people in the studio, I got a chance to get a full length snapshot of myself moving through these graceful movements. And Lord please forgive me but I look like a paraplegic. My legs were bent way too far back for anything I did to look as graceful as I pictured it my head. In fact, it looked like I met a bully in a back alley and refused to give up my lunch money. And when I tried to fix it, my knees were too bent to actually move my ass across the dance floor.

So you would think that after this revelation, I would say to hell with this ballet bullshit. Especially since, my ENTIRE body is sore like I just went one round with Mike Tyson. Seriously, I do not recall ballet hurting this much. I KNOW I wouldn't have let my mother spend all that money on ballet lessons and tu-tus for recitals if the shit hurt this bad. Muscles I probably haven't used since my last ballet class are SCREAMING AT ME!!!!

Call me crazy, but I'm sticking with it. As a matter of fact, this butterfly is going to the same place my mom used to buy my leotards and slippers as a kid. But this time, just for the slippers. I'll save the tu-tu for a night out on the town.

The Bad Tan

2010-05-28T16:41:00.003-04:00

One of the unfortunate things I walked away from hearing President Obama speak at graduation is a tan. A bad tan. I wore this French Connection halter style maxi dress:

with this statement necklace (courtesy of Banana Republic):

While it was a beautifully sunny day it wasn't very warm, initially, so I wore a blazer. When I returned to my hotel room on a full Obama high, I noticed that the area of my cleavage not covered by necklace, dress or blazer was red. But since it is well documented that I take FOREVER to tan, I thought nothing of it. Until I woke up the next day.

Not only were "the girls" about 3 shades darker but I had an outline of the statement necklace etched into my skin!! What the deuce, global warming?? It wasn't even that hot out that day.

Two weeks later and its just as prominent. I've been camouflaging the discoloration with other statement necklaces and/or higher cut tanks and tees. On Saturday at a day party, I commented that I hadn't even started to peel when someone noticed the 2 tone (sidebar: I went to a day party at 4 in the afternoon and got home after 2 in the morning....different spin on day party...hahahaha). Usually, I peel in a week. Now, I feel like I'm permanently stained.

Monday, I was in a good mood. I woke up feeling like that damn Black Eyed Peas song. I had a feeling oooooh ooooh.....Until, I heard from Bubba - the idiot moneyman of my former company. And of course it wasn't good thus smashing my ooooooh ooooh good good feelings into a pile of shit.

To say that I was pissed is the understatement. I understand why people lose it at work. Not saying that I would do that, because I wouldn't. I realize these motherfuckers ain't worth it. BUT.......I understand. Its so easy to make these decisions from hundreds of miles away and not to my face. I often speak of the end of my time with the company as a corporate divorce. For the first time, it felt like a divorce,the underhanded sneaky kind where a spouse is hiding money in an offshore account in his momma's name. I'd been duped to believe I'd be treated with kindness in a fair manner. WRONG!!!

Since I couldn't smack a bitch Wayne Brady style, I cried. I cried out of the sheer frustration of it all. It's like a line from a Lauren Hill song: "It could all be so simple/but you'd rather make it hard." I cried until I thought couldn't cry anymore. And began to cry again. Big raindrop tears sliding down the contour of my face.

In an effort to stop crying about this, I decided to take a shower and wash my hair. There is something infinitely relaxing and calming about having water streaming from my hair to my skin. I slathered conditioner in my hair and just let the water hit me until my skin was pruned and my tears seamlessly blended into the water. I have no idea how long I stood there in the shower.

Eventually, I grabbed my loofah and body wash and began to lather up. Scrubbing across my chest area, something felt odd. I opened my eyes and looked down. There, on my chest,were tiny rolled up somethings. Upon inspection I realized, my skin was peeling!!!! I've never been so happy to see such a disgusting sight. Instantly, my tears turned to laughter. There I was, in my shower, laughing like I was watching an episode of Modern Family { Sidebar: Hands down, this was the funniest show this season. I don't know if we can be friends if you disagree. LOL}

In that moment, it hit me. Nothing lasts forever. No matter how permanent it may seem. My tan. This bullshit with my ex-employer. Eventually, they will all fade to distant memories. I realized that I would be okay.....shit, I'd be more than okay!! Who knew that somewhere in a bad tan, there was a lesson I needed to be reminded of. I stepped out of the shower and proceeded to hum:

I got a feeling..........oooooooh ooooh

Rant: The Last Hoorah

2010-05-18T11:32:00.008-04:00

Over the past couple of months, a few things have occurred that under different circumstances they would have been an instant blog, letting my fingers do the ranting. However, the corporate divorce became a tenant in my mindspace. But every time these lil' things happened I would think "I soooo wanna blog about this." And since the corporate divorce has been officially evicted I think its time to evict these rants from my mindspace as well.

About a year ago, a guy expressed interest in me and I wasn't sure I could date him. He seemed like a nice guy, was quite attractive, and always pleasant when I would run into during the work day. So what was the problem??? Well it wasn't a problem, it was more of an issue. He was younger than me. He's in his twenties and I'm........well I'm not. I've NAYVER dated a guy younger than me. EVER. Not even a year younger. Truth be told, I've always preferred a guy at least 2 years older. So once I knew Youngin's age, I built up a wall faster than the US-Mexican border patrol. But he was persistent. And eventually I agreed to hang out with him (see I won't even call it a date...lol). I must admit, I had fun that night. But I still couldn't get past the age difference and our schedules never seemed to mesh. I rarely had a weekend free and he never had a weekday free.

So fast forward to March, the birthday month. I invited Youngin' to my birthday party and he accepted the invitation. Trust and believe, I was way to occupied (errrrr....... read: tipsy) to wonder whether he would show up or not. However, the following day I received a text message from him basically stating that he was way too drunk to make it to my party but wanted to make it up to me. Ummm, okay? (Insert *shrug* here). I saw him a few times after and he continued to apologize and wanted a chance to make it up to moi. By the end of March, I relented and said "Okay, you can make it up to me. Better yet, I'll even make myself available on a weekend. Just let me know when. "

A few weeks passed and I didn't hear from him. Again insert *shrug* here. No big deal. No worries. The corporate divorce had become my boo by then.

One late night, I happen to log onto the book of Face. While scrolling through my friends and their silly status updates, I come across a cryptic message from him (full disclosure: he requested me as a friend after I told him he could no longer read the blog if he was trying to date me. He stopped reading and I got a friend request. LOL). I clicked on his page to read the previous status to understand the one I saw and that's when I saw it. Right under his name:

Relationship Status: Married to XXXXXXXX

WHAT. THE. FUCK????????? MARRIED??!!!

As my curiosity caused me to scroll down the page, I noticed this status had changed sometime in March. Soooooooo, let me get this straight. In the same month he vowed to "make it up to me" he was making a vow to someone else to love, honor, and cherish 'til death they part????? Get the fuck outta here, man. Seriously.

I wish I could say this is the only time this has happened to me but sadly/comically it's not. A dude I know from childhood was trying HARD to get at me but I just wasn't interested (and yes he met the age requirement...hahahaha). I could never pin why I didn't want to meet him for drinks, go out for dinner or any other request he sent my way. I just wasn't interested. A couple of months go by and I find out that he is getting married to a girl I know. Granted I haven't seen the girl in years but I know her and he KNOWS that I know her.

These 2 situations have bugged the hell outta me. First of all, I AM NOT YOUR DAMN LAST HOORAH. Seriously, if you've committed to MARRY someone, you should have sown your royal oats PRIOR to asking for her hand in marriage. You will not use my time, energy. mindspace, and damn sure not my body as your bachelor party. Secondly, stop thinking with your dick! Okay, you find me attractive. So fucking what??? You're already committed you and your dick to another chick. And quite frankly, I don't want it. Finding me attractive is a compliment. Thank you. Trying to talk to me when you're en route to the altar is an insult. No thanks. Lastly, how do you know I wouldn't pull something like this:

Seriously, men complain all the time, "chicks are crazy" (and to be fair, vice versa). But with a different chick (damn sure not me), this could be a photo in their wedding albums, complete with the above drama (this is a staged photoshoot, by the way). However, where's his responsibity for her "crazy"? What role does he play in what drove a woman to that point of "crazy"? Just as I didn't know of their altar destinations, they didn't know what I could have been capable of. Is getting with me, really worth that risk???!! I mean I'm aiiiiiight, but damn, really??

I actually saw Youngin' twice after the book of Face notified me of his relationship status change. The first time, I was quite rude, which is typically not me. But it was late, I was tired, and I'd been trying to hail a cab in midtown for over 20 minutes, all of which combined, does not not make for a cheery Butterfly. The second time was my last day at the plantation. He did me a favor. While I was grateful, I did tell him "um that's the least you can do" and that's all I said on the matter. We said goodbye, I wished him well and I ended the convo with "take care" - the quintessential "there's nothing more to say and I doubt you'll hear from me".

I guess the writer in me wants to know the what ifs....what if I rationalized my way out of saying no to these dudes? What if I'd spent time with them? What if I started to care for them? But thankfully, I'll never have to know. Another chapter of drama I can leave to the imagination.

(whew! just one or 2 more rants to go. clearing out my mindspace one toxic tenant at a time. WHOOOOOOOSAH)

*photo by a fellow Hamptonian, Jack Manning III. Check out his amazing work, here. If our schedules mesh (and I lose a few), hopefully we'll shoot soon before he gets too big time! LOL

The Indelible Date

2010-05-14T11:58:00.003-04:00

On Saturday, at 2:30 in the morning, I found myself in one of the seediest place in New York City , Penn Station. At this time of hour its usually filled with drunk kids who've missed the last trains to Long Island, homeless people trying to catch a few zzz's, and lets not forget your garden variety weirdos/junkies/drunks who amble throughout the spacious transportation hub. And there are also your travelers. Of course I was part of the later group.

There's a train that leaves New York at 3am. And there was no amount of junkies, weirdos and such to stop me from boarding that train. I had a date. A date with history. A date with Obama.

During the tornado storm of my corporate divorce, I was notified of an opportunity of a lifetime. President Obama was speaking at the commencement ceremony of my alma mater, Hampton University on Mother's Day, and there was a lottery of 1,000 tickets given away online. Prior to the announcement of the lottery, I'd secretly wish there was a way I could go but hid it under the nightmare of it all - traffic, people, stress.. So when the lottery was announced it was as if my secret was laying the smackdown to my doubts. And then I won. I happened to score 2 tickets in the lottery. I was sooooo excited - greater than a kid in a candy store, more than a pig in shit. I was over the moon 10 times over.

When I boarded that train, my fatigue was greater than my excitement. The long work hours, the actual corporate closing, the constant on the go of the past couple of weeks finally caught up to me. I fell asleep way before the rocking of the train had a chance to lull me to la-la land. I have no recollection of dreams. I just slept. For hours, I was comatose. When I woke up, the sun was shining brightly, and the country side greenery had replaced my urban concrete. And just as quickly as the scenery had changed in my consciousness, my fatigue gave way to my excitement. I went to the bathroom to remove my headscarf and uncoil my hair (the ONLY time I have EVER left my house with the headscarf) to give myself something to do, a distraction if you will.

Finally, an hour late, my train pulled into the train station. And there he was. Baskin Robbins. Waiting for me. It felt like a scene from a movie. The warm breeze billowing my maxi dress and sweeping through my hair as I descended the train with my travel bag and walked towards him. He stood by his car, with his hands in his pockets, looking for me in the crowd. Since he's so tall, I spotted him first. I tried to hide my smile, rationalize that it was my excitement of finally getting here and one step closer to seeing Obama. Maybe I was right. Or highly delusional.

My excitement quickly gave way to pissivity. I arrived on campus to pick up my tickets to be told that I was on some waiting list and that I would have to come back. WHAT??!!! Stop the press!!! I came allllllll the way from New York to be told I was on a waiting list and that I needed to come back later in the day to pick up my alleged wait listed tickets on a first come first serve basis. That's not what my email said. It read "Congratulations" for goodness sake. This ladies and gents, is what I like to dub "BCBS" - Black College BullShit. Don't get me wrong. I LOVVVVVE MY SCHOOL. But as any attendee and/or graduate of a historically black college or university can tell you, there are some things that happen that you know is some bullshit that your counterparts at white institutions don't have to deal with, whether its a computer glitch (as in this case), the crappy food (Gourmet Services is an oxymoron), or the quintessential run-around, its all BCBS.

Luckily for me, my girl KP was able to pull some influential strings and secure a ticket for me. I couldn't thank her enough. As a matter of fact, days later and I'm still thanking her. Unfortunately that meant Baskin Robbins was without a ticket. I felt bad because he was my plus one but not so bad that I would give him my ticket. But I must admit, just between me you and the internets, there were times during the ceremony that I wish I had someone sitting there right beside me. Someone to share the moment with. But I digress. And if you repeat this I will deny, Deny, DENY. But I digress.

Earlier than I ever want to get up on a Sunday, my alarm goes off. While I was uber excited to head over to campus to see OUR president, my body was not having it. Especially since I was wrapped in chocolate. Being single doesn't offer many opportunities to cuddle. So when the opportunity arises, its like.....heaven. Seriously, I realize that I'm gonna need a cuddle clause in my pre-nup. But like Chuck D, I had to fight the powers that be. I had a date.

The commencement ceremony was outside on the football field. Since you could feel the excitement blowing in the wind once you arrived on campus, there was no way any building could contain all that positive energy. The graduates began to march in and there was a swell of pride rippling through the stadium. But every couple of seconds everyone kept looking towards the right side of the field.

And then he arrived.

The standing ovation paled in comparison to the standing of our pride. There he was, the President of the United States of America gliding into the football stadium with the same confident stride you've come to expect of the President. I saw grandma's batting their hankies at the corner of their eyes, little kids jumping up and down like Santa Claus arrived or Yo Gabba Gabba took the stage. The graduates??? Mannnn, I'm surprised no one fainted and had to be carried off the field. I could compare it to the hysteria of Michael Jackson fans, but this IS HAMPTON UNIVERSITY so it was way more dignified but the emotion was still the same.

Before I went traveled down to Hampton, I had to essentially ask my mother's permission to miss the holiday dedicated to her for birthing and raising me. After her initial sarcasm ("I don't recall Obama writing a tuition check to Hampton"), she said, "I have a feeling you need to be there and I don't want to stand in your way. This will be good for you." I wasn't so sure about needing to be there as opposed to wanting to be there. My mother is never dramatic (she leaves that to me) but I just nodded and said "Uhhh okay, Ma". But as I listened to President Obama speak, I must admit, she was right. I needed to be there. Not only his speech, but the experience has touched me in such an indelible way. Its hard to describe how I felt. Challenged, inspired, optimistic, renewed all come to mind. Every single step, everything I'd been through up until that moment was worth it because it all let me to this moment.

After the ceremony, I went to meet a friend who was there in a more official capacity, one of the photographers assigned to cover the event. I walked across the football field to find him and giggled because in all the time I've spent at Hampton and all the football games I attended, I'd never ever walked across the football field. As I got closer to the stage and podium where the President has stood just moments before I felt like Armstrong Field was my own personal field of dreams. In that moment, I felt there is nothing that I can't do. As I enter this new chapter of my life, a chapter where uncertainty and doubts will sometimes rear their ugly heads, that moment, that speech, that spot on the field reassured me that I will be just fine.

For those of you that want to see OUR President speak at MY school:

Overdrawn

2010-04-23T17:02:00.005-04:00

I know my absence on here is more consistent than my presence at times but this week has been one of those weeks. The disolution portion of this corporate divorce has me by the......well balls if I had some but you get my drift. The vice grip hold on my time, my thoughts, my mind is more like a suffocating choke hold. This week has been wake up, dash to work, crisis greets me at the door, put out multiple fires at once, curse, stress, pack, curse some more, leave work drained, drink to ease my nerves, pass out and start all over again. And yes I said drink. I've had a drink every night this week. Wine on Monday. Margaritas on tuesday. Wine & margaritas on Wednesday. Frozen apple martini on Thursday. Some may say I should exercise or meditate or take walk or some healthy life improving shit like that. Those all sound like lovely options but this week I aint got time for all that.

Yesterday was by far the worst...so far (Praying as I write this on the subway that today is not a repeat..and yes I'm going in on my day off. See why I drink?!). It started with the furniture guys cancelling my appointment to pick up all this damn office furniture. Apparently they skipped a day in kindergarten when a valuable lesson was learned. They don't want to share the frieght elevator with another tenant. So I'm scrambling to negotiate a new move out date with the landlord that happens to fall after the end of our lease.

In the midst of that I get into a shouting match with someone in the leasing department of the Copy machine company. I know I'm stressed but she started it! The only thing I will quote from that argument is "For $7.50 an hour it's not rocket science. What the fuck is your problem?! What's so hard about scheduling a pick up for this piece of shit" I know that's not nice. But she and allllll this stress took me there. Needless to say, the shit still isn't resolved.

As if that wasn't enough to send me over the edge, I had to call 911. Long story short, our computer consultant got really ill in one of the offices (I'll spare you the gory details). After he cleaned up, I thought he left (he said "Bye. I'll call you tomorrow to reschedule"). About 20 minutes later, someone knocked on my office door and told me that the guy was passed out in the men's room. Good Lord, Baby Jesus, save me and send me on vacation!!!!

And then the ridiculous happened. I waited patiently in the hallway by the men's room for EMS arrived (wanna feel like a perv for no reason? stand by the restroom for the opposite sex. The strange looks are priceless....and a lil dirty feeling). When they finally arrived, one went right to business. The other was cracking jokes and gave me the once over, you know the head to toe assessment. When I noticed it I thought to myself, Did she just give me the 'assessment'? Yes you read that correctly and this is not a typo. SHE!!! She then proceeded to compliment my blouse and the color (I must say the peachy tones of my blouse were quite nice on my skin tone as she noticed in her compliment but still that kinda fish is not on my menu). Before I could thank her she said "Mmm, you're cute!" with a wink! And that ladies and gents was when I, The Resident Butterfly, was officially done! D-O-N-E. I almost did a crazy person wall slide right there in the office corridor (for the record I did thank her - I have manners - and informed her that I was straight. Talk about awkward!!)

This day couldn't get any stranger or any more stressful. I'd reached my limit. Matter of fact, I was maxed out. I'm surprised my mind, body, and soul haven't charged me overdraft fees yet because I have to be wayyyy over my stress limit. I alternate between wanting to cry (I'm still an emotional woman), punch a wall (I think my male friends are rubbing off on me), or just sit in a corner and laugh (but that might land me in the land of loony tunes). I need overdraft protection. I never ever ever ever want to do this again. Well unless the money is reallllly good. (and that does not include getting hit on by a tatted up white EMS woman; there is no amount of money to endure that)

Okay I feel like I'm rambling and the subway is about to pull into my station. If any of you want to gift me a calgon take me away tropical destination vacation because you pity the foolishness I've had to endure, you know how to find me. Hopefully, I won't be in a corner in a straight jacket. I'd rather be in a corner with a cocktail.

-- Sent from my Palm Prē

*as you can see by the time I posted this, I forgot to hit send on my email. And no the day didn't get any better. Pray for my sanity please.

Special Delivery

2010-04-19T23:51:00.001-04:00

Saturday morning. 9:15 am. Phone rings.

30 minutes later, I'm having breakfast with a friend from high school (in sweats and sneakers!! and if you really know me, you KNOW this is MAJOR..hahahaha). Afterwards, I decided to stroll the streets of Harlem. I talk about my love of my neighborhood often but with the hustle and bustle of life, I realize I walk the same streets, travel the same way daily. Not only is that not safe (I see you, stalkers) but I'm missing out on the beauty of my hood.

I wandered into stores that I always make a mental note for. I purchased a great cup of peppermint tea from a small bakery. I wandered into a small dress boutique, picked out a dress to order (saving my pennies to afford said dress....plantation layoff is trying to kill my summer wardrobe), and struck up a very inspiring conversation with the owner. As I walked up and down the tree lined streets, I wondered if I was really ready to leave it all behind. Like really ready.

When I arrived home, with bags of all that was purchased on my walk home, I made a beeline for the mailboxes. My mission to stalk the mailman had not be lost. I was FOCUSED, MAN. I peer down into my mailbox and on top of my InStyle magazine, there it was. A key. I started doing the happy dance right there in the mailroom. My neighbor asked me if I was okay. Let me explain. In my mailroom we have lockers. And if you have a package that's too big for the box (that's what he said), the mailman will put the package in a locker and place the key in your box (he said that too).

I dragged all of my bags over to the lockers and looked for the magic locker that corresponded to the number on my key. Voila! There inside this locker laid a cardboard box with a brightly hued label addressed to me. WOOOOOHOOOOOO!!!! Seriously, I was a kid on Christmas. Right there in my lobby. Giggles and glee galore. There is a picture hanging in my apartment of me on Christmas morning holding a blue and white record player. I had to be about 6 years old in the picture. Even years later, the photo barely contains my excitement. If I'd taken a picture on Saturday, I'm pretty sure I'd look like that picture. Well without The Smurf pajamas then and dyed hair now.

I calmed down a bit. Well....enough to drop everything right by my front door. Well....everything except the brown cardboard box tucked securely under my left arm. We had some business to take care of.

I settled into my bedroom (don't know why I felt compelled to open package in my boudoir...but that's where I dashed to when I got home). I called Baskin Robbins. I wanted to be on the phone with him when I unraveled this mystery. UGH!!! He didn't answer, therefore forcing me to begin to open the gift bestowed upon me (and my mailbox). After the battle of epic proportions between myself and the clear packing tape that was stood between myself and the answer to my stalkerific behavior, the box was finally opened. I screamed in sheer delight.

Among some other things, this man sent me a Bell Biv Devoe CD and a notebook. Lemme explain why this had me kicking up my heels and screaming with glee on my queen size bed (without the man even being in the room). Back in March, during March Madness: The Birthday Edition (what I dubbed my 31 days of bday celebrations), I saw Bell Biv Devoe in concert. If there is anything to know about me, I am a New Edition fan. A serious fan. I still have New Edition albums in mint condition. ALBUMS SON!!! I still have the tour book from the NE Heartbreak tour. I skipped school in HS to stand on line to get an autograph from Ralph Tresvant at a record store (safely secured in a photo album to this day). I told a best friend 7 years ago if she went in to labor during a New Edition concert, our friendship was over. I've known her since I was 6 (actually we used to plan our weddings to NE members together at sleepovers). My love for New Edition and most of its derivatives (Johnny, eh not so much) is strong and deep. So my friends got together and treated me to one of the best Sunday nights - a BBD show. And I loved EVERY. SINGLE. NANOSECOND.

Of course after the show, I spoke to Baskin Robbins and damn near gave a play by play of the show, complete with a medley style vocal rendition of their hits. As usual, we laughed at ourselves and each other. And then the conversation moved on to other points of interest.

The notebook in hindsight is kind of a no brainer. I recently read to him something I wrote. He quoted something from it later on in the conversation and I blushed. I don't think before I was brave enough to read to him that he took my writing aspirations as more than a hobby, a fleeting pastime.

Some of you may read about the contents of this box and think, "That's it?" But he listens. He gets me. That's what I saw in that box.. He didn't just walk into a store and plop his credit card down on the counter for some meaningless unimaginative crappy gift like some prepackaged gift basket. He thought about me. Like really thought about something that would make me smile. This may not seem earth shattering to some, but to paraphrase MJ, he rocked my world. I was really touched. I've always proclaimed its the little things that matter most to me. Finally, someone listened.

Now I have 2 cards on my dresser.

Q-4 a B-Fly: Who Let the Rabbits Out?

2010-04-15T15:39:00.004-04:00

Q: My upstairs neighbors are very...uuugghh...amorous. They are screwing like rabbits and keeping me up at night. What should I do? ~ About to Make Rabbit Earmuffs

A: Dear Earmuffs:

Damn. This is a tough one. On one hand you don't want to labeled a bitter bitch who aint getting any. However on the other hand, shit you need your rest or you'll be labeled a sleepy bitch who ain't got no job. (and yes I used the ebonic vernacular for dramatic flair, creative license if you will)

First, where is the sound is coming from in all this rabbit fucking going on upstairs? If the sounds and vibrations are coming through a wall, like a thump thump thump, then it is possible they have a headboard and that headboard is fucking the wall which is causing you to lose sleep. If that's the case you may slip them a note under their door asking them to move the headboard far away from the wall so you don't get the sounds of their rabbit rhythm amplified through the walls.

Now if the woman (assuming these are hetero rabbits) is doing her best porntastic impersonation while she is ummmmmm "doing her thang", then you might say something to her when you see her alone (and clothed). Something like "Ummm, I hear you (with a knowing look). Do you mind keeping it down?" should work. If she has any sense, maybe she'll be embarassed and will keep that in mind the next time she's feeling amorous.

Now if the neighborly neighbor thing doesn't work out that's when you reach into your bag of tricks.

Freshman year of college, Roomie and I lived adjacent to 2 girls from Cali. Given the time difference they would be up all hours of the night watching (and singing along with) Sister Act (why that movie? I have no fucking clue). Literally, they were up until 2, 3, 4 o'clock in the morning. Roomie and I would just suck it up and throw our covers over our head like eventually these heffas have to get used to the time difference. Well thanks to the ability to choose all afternoon classes, they never got used to the time difference. So Roomie and I went to plan B. Since both of us had morning classes, we would get up EARLY (you know you have to look cute on the yard) and BLAST Michael Jackson or Mary J. Blige or Total or TLC EARLY IN THE MORNING on my NYC boombox. Its not my fault you just went to bed 2 hours ago. One of them tried to slyly throw shade at our early morning DJ sessions with something like "Wow, I didn't know anybody still loved Michael Jackson like that." To which I responded, "Wow, I didn't know anybody loved Sister Act like that (raised eyebrow)." Point. Set. Match. Not to say they completely stopped their late night movies but they were a lot quieter about it. So what you may want to do is BLAST WHATEVER MOVES YOU IN THE MORNING. Turn that volume ALL THE WAY UP in your bedroom. And if you can, point your speakers upward towards the ceiling. Hey, if you can't get to sleep at night then you need the music to move you to get your day started. If they have the audacity to say something, you can then in turn bring up (again) how their late night music keeps you up as well.

Taking a broom stick and banging on the ceiling works as a definite coitus interuptus. Initially they will stop like "wait did you hear something?", listen for a second and then slowly get back to their old rabbit habits. Once the party gets started again, bang again. They'll get the hint. Or so I've been told.

You could make your own bit of rabbit noise but that would only piss off the people below you, thus causing a chain reaction kind of rift in your apartment building. No bueno.

Last step, and only go this route when you are at your wits' end, notify management. Nothing spells embarrassment like getting a letter from your property manager telling you to keep the late night noises down to a minimum (so I've heard). Depending on the rules and regulations set forth by your property managers, repeat complaints could get their asses evicted and homeless rabbit fucking ain't cute.

Or as a concerned citizen you could call the cops. If you're awaken in the middle of the night by violent thrashing taking place in the apartment upstairs, you very well could be concerned about the safety of your neighbor and yourself for that matter. To be on the safe side, you may want to have law enforcement intervene to make sure that everything is okay upstairs. This by no means endorses any kind of making a false police statement foolishness. Oh no, officer, with crime being up all over the country, you can never be too safe.

And if all else fails, make those rabbit earmuffs headphone equipped and go to sleep listening to the rhythmic thump of your IPod.

I hope this helps.

Smoochies,

Suspense is One Helluva Drug

2010-04-14T13:24:00.003-04:00

Last week during a conversation with Baskin Robbins, he tells me "I'm sending you something. You should get it by next week. Look out for it". And nothing else. No hints as to what was in the mail. NADA. (Sidebar: I know its been a lonnnng time since I've mentioned Baskin Robbins on this blog. As always I have my reasons. All I'll say is "peaks and valleys, my friends. PEAKS AND VALLEYS. carry on)

oh for the love of all things gift wrapped, whyyyyyy???

See, I love a surprise. I love to surprise people - the looks on their faces in that moment when they realize the surprise is PRICELESS. I actually like being surprised (pleasantly surprised, all that negative unhappy shit can kick rocks). However, I don't like knowing that I'm going to be surprised. It's Abu Dhabi torture.....okay not really that tortuous but you get what I mean, right??

The very next day I began stalking my mailman. Yeah I know he said a week but maybe he was trying to throw me off my game, right?! No?! Oh! This still didn't stop me. I even made my bladder wait an extra 3 minutes to relieve itself because I HAD TO CHECK MY MAILBOX. And nada. I even checked the mailbox on Sunday. *hangs head in shame*

Finally, I said something Sunday evening. I had to. I was trying to play nonchalant but I couldn't be so cool about it no mo.

"Sooooooooooo ummmmmm, I've been checking my mailbox.....and ummmmm, I haven't seen your name on anything....so yeah, I ummmm, I feel like I'm stalking my mailman......"

"Hahahahahaha. Nah, you can start stalking him Wednesday the earliest. I didn't mail it out right away. I was looking for something."

"Something like what?"

"You'll see."

And after asking me how big is my box (that's what he said) and how far is my post office from me if I have to retrieve something (oooh its bigger than my box - that's what she said...hahahahahaa), he stealthfully changed the topic. I let it go for the time being. But with the requisite * side eye * to the phone of course.

So here we are. It's Wednesday, and I am ridiculously impatiently wanting to leave the plantation just to go home and check my mailbox. NOW!!!! I've attempted to call my local post office to find out the approximate time of mail delivery for my building and I couldn't get past the incessant ringing since apparently they are too busy to answer the damn phone. I'm tempted to * cough, cough* leave early but then I'll be pisssssssssssed with the postal service if there is no package waiting for me when I get home. (And please oh please don't let me get that ugly ass salmon colored slip telling me I have to go pick up my package. My assigned post office is in the HOOD and yes, I'se scurred. I'm allergic to that level of hoodtastic foolywag like its pollen and ragweed)

A couple of months back, Baskin Robbins sent me a card in the mail. He didn't say anything about it. But once I opened my mailbox after a particularly craptastic day and saw this pink envelope with my name scribbled in his handwriting amongst my stack of bills and junk mail, all was right with the world. I grinned from diamond earring to diamond earring. It wasn't a mushy card, but that's irrelevant. The fact that he thought enough about me to actually buy the card, hunt down my address (I've sent him a few things in the mail but I didn't think he kept my address handy), and drop it in the mail was touching. The card is still on my dresser.

The beauty was I never knew it was coming. He scored MAJOR butterfly points with me for that. This isn't to say that he won't score additional butterfly points when I actually get to tear open this package like its Christmas morn. I get why he felt compelled to tell me to expect the arrival because, with this being a package, it obviously costs more than the $2.69 he spent on my card (what?! I can't look at the back of the card?????). So whatever it is, I pseudo-patiently await its arrival and gleefully torture myself into a state of crazy shakes wondering what the hell could he have sent to me?? For the record, he could send me a year's supply of this cereal and I would be happier than Tiger with anyone but his wife (and my digestive tract would thank him as well...hahahahaa). And by Tiger, I mean Tony the Tiger. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. LOL But seriously, its not about what's in the package. I don't care what it is. I. JUST. WANT. TO. KNOW!!!!!

Ugh! I really don't want to stalk my mailman. He's a nice guy. But he needs to hurry up and bring whatever Baskin Robbin has sent my way. The suspense is killing me faster than this new finagled KFC sammich will kill this country (SIDEBAR: really KFC, you couldn't think of anything better than slapping 2 pieces of fried chicken together to act as a bun with bacon, cheese and sauce slapped in the middle?? WTF?!! I hate to tell you this but ummm, if Big Pun is your target audience for this edible disaster, he's dead BUT I did meet his stunt double recently. I'll let him know about your sammich if I ever see him again). How many more hours, days, weeeeks (exaggeration for dramatic flair) do I have to wait to find out exactly what Baskin Robins decided to bestow upon lil ole me???

I hope I've worked you up into a curious tizzy as well. Have you worked yourself up into a state of crazy shakes wondering what the hell is coming in the mail?? You know what they say: misery loves company. But this is a good kind of misery, right??!! Are you with me??

Amore

2010-04-09T09:38:00.002-04:00

I woke up in such an amorous mood this morning. Like make a cheese omelet in the morning* kinda mood. Literally, I woke up smiling. As I entered into morning consciousness, I felt my face muscles upturned and thought "What the duece? Am I smiling?!" And then..wait for it......I giggled. Seriously, giggled. Like a five year old who laughs at silly grownups kinda giggle. I even had to laugh at the giggle.

When I hopped up out the bed, I turned the music on (really??!! did you think I would say "turnt my swaaaaaaag onnnnnnnn"???). I danced around my apartment (well after the morning tinkle, I danced but I think I did the tinkle dance en route to the bathroom so does that count??).

I had to assess this feeling. Those who really know me, KNOW this butterfly is not a morning person. AT ALL. I grunt. I roll my eyes. I give good screwface. I don't want to talk until about a good 30 minutes after I wake up. But this morning, I felt like a Disney cartoon - all happy and sing-songy. And then it hit me. I feel love.

Now, don't go shouting from the rooftops or plan my bachelorette party. I said "I FEEL love", not "I'm IN love". I woke up this morning with love in my heart which pumped that feeling to every fiber in my being until I had no choice but to embrace it and love it. I don't know where it came from. Nothing extraordinary has happened in my life to provoke this feeling. I don't know how long this feeling is going to last but I'm running with it. I am utterly consumed with love. I'm full. And haven't eaten a thing.

Honestly, so far, me likey.

*seriously, did you have to click the link to get the cheese omelet reference???!! Fast forward to the 2:53 mark to see the reference. Go back about 30 seconds to see what caused the cheese omelet in the first place. LOL

SEE?!

2010-04-07T18:25:00.003-04:00

After the last post, I thought I could shut the door for a while and be quiet. However, my brain didn't get the memo. In fact, my brain was on speakerphone. Every time something happened over the past week, she was yelling all in my skull "SEE?! YOU NEED TO WRITE ABOUT THIS!!" I think my brain is staging a protest. I keep replaying 3 different things in my mind that remind me what I need to open that door between my thoughts and my fingertips and let them do what they do best - write.

The day after my self imposed written silence, I logged on to Twitter (yes, I'm on there too! You know the Resident Butterfly is quite a social being! LOL). In my timeline a few cerebral celebs that I follow posted tweets about a writer from The Wire dying of a brain aneurysm the previous day. Now, you know I'm a stan for all things THE WIRE, so you know I took this kind of hard (sidebar: It's been 2 years since my beloved show went off the air??!! damn, time flies). He was currently working on a new series set in New Orleans, set to debut soon on HBO. What struck me in all that I read was that he blogged the day before he died. Blogged on Monday, dead on Tuesday. Damn. And my brain wouldn't let that point go, screaming "SEE??!! YOU NEVER KNOW - THAT LAST BLOG COULD BE YOUR LAST BLOG!! WRITE!!". As I perused his blog, there were things he said he wanted to discuss later as if later would come. Most of us live like that but eventually later never comes unfortunately. My brain was banging on the door for my thoughts to open up but I ignored it like it was Jehovah's Witness ringing my doorbell on a Saturday morning.

The next day, a guy I grew up with sends me a message on the book of Face asking if I remember a girl he believed to be my grade school classmate. I corrected him and told him she was in my best friend's class which was a year ahead of me, confirmed that I remembered her, and inquired why. It was so random a)that this guy sent me a message and b) that he would ask about this girl. I hadn't seen or heard her name in YEARS!!! His response literally almost made me fall out my office chair:

She was recently murdered in NC. Her husband killed her and 2 of her children.

As I waited for him to reply to my "WHAT??!! WHEN???!! WTF???", I was numb. Granted the girl wasn't one of my besties and I hadn't seen her in at least 10 years, but still. I knew her. We wore the same uniform; we played double dutch in the park during recess. Our histories are intertwined for a few years in the grand scheme of life's journey.

When I finally read the tragically gruesome story, I wept. Closed my office door and wept. I wept for her, the kids that were murdered also, and the kids she left behind. No one deserves to have their life and life's story include this chapter. Murdered at 35. The End. Once I dried my tears, I couldn't help but think "damn she's only one year older. And gone." Something about that thought made me think about my own mortality. Not in a tragic way though. More so in looking at life for how precious and fragile it is kind of way. And once again my brain started screaming "SEE?! YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY. KEEP WRITING!" and "HOW WOULD YOU FEEL IF SOMETHING HAPPENED AND YOU NEVER GOT A CHANCE TO WRITE AGAIN??" That thought made me weep, again. And for the first time in a while, I actually had the urge to write. However, time marched a little bit faster than my leisurely stroll that day and before I knew it the day was over and no writing had been done. But I felt full of a creative energy I think I've been missing and was happy to have back.

The following day, I brought my niece with me to work. In the biological sense, B. is not my niece. Her mom is my best friend from way back in the days of uniform required saddle shoes, pigtails and pickle wars (keep it clean folks; we used to have contests to see who could take the longest to eat a pickle; she always won - 3 hours later she still had a piece tucked in her cheek. okay, this sounds really gross now but back then not so much...hahahaha). We are more like sisters so her children I refer to as my niece and nephews. B.'s birthday is 10 days after mine and spending the day with her reminds me of myself at 12 minus my ginormous glasses. She has this craving for more out of life. She's a dreamer, just like me. I sat her in the conference room, gave her 2 tasks to complete, and went into my office to complete my own corporate to-do list. Upon leaving work early, she and I spent the rest of the afternoon having girls day. In her 12 year old wisdom, she told me what I need to do for a career ("you need to be your own boss. you'll be great at it."), she shared her travel plans ("you and I should go to Paris for vacation one day") and her career aspirations ("I think I want to be a fashion designer so we have to go to Paris during Paris fashion week okay?!"). While I spent a shitload of money that day (note to self: kids are EXPENSIVE!!!!), I couldn't remember having a better day in the middle of the week in a lonnnnng time. By the end of the evening when I took her home (after mani-pedis, dinner, and dessert), she had me thinking about my own dreams. The dreams I've deferred. And to that my brain shouted "B. LOOKS UP TO YOU. GIVE HER MORE. WRITE DAMNIT!" B. wouldn't let me leave until we scheduled monthly "just girls days" (I got the child addicted to pedicures, such a mini me...hahahaha). Hanging with her made me realize I want to live my dreams partly because I hope she realizes that she too can live out hers.

And so I began to write again. I've fallen in love with it all over again. Sure, my inspiration to open the door came out of 2 tragic events and one wonderfully dreamy day but that's life. In tragedy and beauty,there's a lesson. Thankfully my brain was attentive enough to see them, even when I didn't want to.

Hypocrisy

2010-03-29T15:33:00.003-04:00

Everything in front of me, everything that has consumed me lately is nothing I can write about. None of it. As a writer & someone failing miserably at my self imposed challenge, this sucks major donkey balls. But I can't. It's as simple as that. Not that I don't have the ability to do so. I know the words and the rhythm of their flow. I just can't play them for an audience - way too......much.

I realize the hypocrisy of this. This is my refuge but it's not safe to write my innermost thoughts. I've created this blog to allow those of you who care enough an opportunity to peak into my world, I followed the creed "write what you know" - my life - but shut the curtains to the peep show. Hello, my name is The Resident Butterfly and I am a hypocrite. For now, its a moniker I accept. Hopefully temporarily.

All this time I've turned inward to write, let my heart doing the writing. Damn near everything I've ever written started as an idea in my heart while the mind served as spell check. However, that's not an option at the moment. The heart will tell what the mind won't. The result of this battle between heart and mind has led to utter un-inspiration. It's as if I've placed sanctions on my words to keep from spilling my heart onto paper.

So what am I to do now? Where do I go for inspiration?? Like someone who loses their sight, I have to retrain my survival skills, regroup and rely on something else for the time being. But in the end, is this true to me?? Time will tell.

-- Sent from my Palm Prē

Q 4 a Bl-Fly: New York State of Mind

2010-03-18T13:00:00.003-04:00

Q: Would you recommend NYC as a good place to live? I've been idly toying with the idea of picking up my roots and planting them in the big apple. I probably won't(the cold weather es no bueno)but still I want your opinion. ~ Lexycon

A: Dear Lexycon,

As I contemplate picking up my roots and planting them a little farther down 95 South, this couldn’t come at a better time.

Simply put, I LOVE NEW YORK. Yeah that sounds like some cheesy tourism slogan but seriously, I love my city and I love the fact that I was born and raised right here. I think that’s why I came back after college and why it has taken me so long to give serious thought to moving out. Many people who aren’t from here can’t imagine growing up on a concrete playground. I can’t imagine life without it.

I could go on and on and on and….( and that's my BIG Tribute (RIP)…can you guess what song I stole that from?). Instead I’ll give you a pros and cons list of New York.

Cons (yes I’m starting with the Cons. Lets just get all the unpleasantries out the way, shall we???)

1. Crowded. If you’re obsessed with the parameters of personal space, then this city is not for you. With 8 million people who live here, coupled with the millions of tourist who visit DAILY, personal space goes out the window, especially on public transportation when strangers get closer to the cookies than dudes on a first (or second) date.

2. This dump costs how much? The cost of living is high here, especially when it comes to your humble abode (and many apartments in NY are humbling to say the least). I have friends elsewhere who pay less in mortgage for a modest 3 bedroom house than what some New Yorkers pay for rent on a box they call 'home'. Mortgage/maintenance/rent will eat a lot of your budget. Anything with convenience or amenities will have you paying out the arse. Unless you got a hook-up. Then all is irrelevant. But you may have to pack and move in the middle of the night. LOL

3. Nature. If nature is your thing, then this may not be your place. In some neighborhoods, you may have to take the subway to see grass. (I really don’t see this as a con since I’m allergic to grass but some will see it as such).

4. Winter. As you mentioned, cold weather is no bueno here. There are days when that winter wind whips you like you stole something from their momma. This social butterfly is not all that social when I have to bundle up in 10 layers and then have to take off most (not all) of these layers when I arrive somewhere to then turn around to put all 10 layers back on to go back out into the bitter cold. Sure I’m exaggerating as people from sub-Arctic climates like to point out whenever they hear New Yorkers complain about the cold temps (which I loathe by the way. I choose not to live in your sub-Arctic world so let me complain about freezing my ass off because this is about as cold as I care to know, okay. wooosah). However, a pro to this con? I haven't shoveled snow in YEARS!!!!! That's what groundspeople, maintenance workers, and sanitation are for. I must admit though I live on a major street in Manhattan. Its not the same on side streets in outer boroughs.

Pros.

1. Calendar Overload. There is ALWAYS something to do in this here city. ALWAYS. So much so, that there are stretches of time where I just find myself going and going and going and going. Between new restaurants and gallery openings and museums and Broadway and off Broadway and way off Broadway and TV show tapings and clubs and lounges and bars and events and fundraisers and meetups and organization obligations and brunches and lunches and happy hours and dinners you will always have something to do. And often times many of these things are free (did I mention I saw Corrinne Bailey Rae in Concert back in December, heard her entire new album, and some crowd favorites from her last CD? All for F-R-E-E). And if not free, then low-cost.

2. Shopping Mecca. Yeah, I said it. And I mean it. New York is the Holy Grail of shopping. Whatever your style, whatever your price point, you will find it here. Of course now a days, you get anything on the Internets but it doesn't beat strolling into a store with no expectations and strolling out with a bag full of wardrobe goodies. What I love best is that not everything is a chain store. Sure I spend a shitload of money in Banana Republic, Ann Taylor, Marshalls, etc. but occasionally I score key pieces in my wardrobe from some lil shop in Soho or a street vendor on the Upper West Side (I actually tried on and purchased a dress in the street. Gotta love this place. hahahahaaaa)

3. 24/7 convenience. While the saying the "city that never sleeps" is not quite true, New York is definitely a night owl/early bird hybrid - sleep is involved somehow, maybe in shifts. This weekend while I was in DC (later blog), I wanted a cup of Starbucks Saturday night. Every Starbucks was closed, like lights out, n*gga (what song is that from..hahahaha). It was only 9:30!!! Seriously, Starbucks here closes at 11 and there are a few that close at midnight. Why was everything closed at 9:30??!! Like could I really live in a place where I can't get a cup of Starbucks at 9:30 at night. And don't judge me (or ask me why) I needed a cup of Starcrack at 9:30. Just know that I'm used to the convenience of my life here. If I want a sammich at 2 in the morning and I have no bread or meat in my apartment, I know I can walk to the corner store and ask the man to make me one through the class partition. Or I can get to a great 24 hour diner in less that 20 minutes. Our public transportation system (while sometimes a piece of shit) runs 24 hours a day, 7 days a week (the weekends are hell, hence my previous assessment. you'll get to where you have to go but on the weekends, its always a process). Then there is also our lovely system of yellow taxis. Trust you will master the art of hailing a taxi in a matter of days. It comes in handy when you are PLASTERED at 4 am when you're leaving a party and you need to get home (look ma, no drunk driving!! hahahhaa)

4.United Colors of Benetton. Remember those old school ads from Benetton? The ones with the darkest black person on the planet juxtaposed against the lightest white person on the planet and both embraced by an asian or pacific islander?? Well, I don't know for sure but someone had to have gotten the idea for that campaign while walking the streets of New York City. Every corner of the world is represented here, whether its through a restaurant or just walking down the street. New York has to be the only city in the world where a billionaire will sit down next to someone on welfare on public transportation. Yes many of our neighborhoods are segregated but I think of it as authentic cultural enclaves throughout the city. Chinatown just wouldn't be the same if an influx of Mexicans took over. (and I don't mean this in a racist way. I'm just trying to make a point. I don't want to end up on slyfoxnews defending my words. hahahahaha)

5.Summer Summer Summertime. Yeah I know a man from Philly penned this song but damn if New York is not theeee place to be in the summer - the rooftop parties with views of of any iconic facet of the New York Skyline, the streets are happier and so are the people when the weather is nice. There is a barbecue in Brooklyn every summer that makes me fall in love with black people all over again. A sea of beautiful, educated, non confrontational, unghetto (yes I made that up)multi hued, stylishly dressed black folk gathered in the name of sun and eye candy. I don't care where I live in the future, I must be back here for this barbecue (and a few other summer rituals). Oh and the street fairs!!! Seriously there is a street fair EVERY WEEKEND in this city. Of course some are better than other but with delish foods, delectable treats and bargains all under concrete street anchored tents with sunny blue skies overhead - what more can you ask for??

6. Tough Skin. Sure there are a plethora of songs devoted to this city but Old Blue Eyes said it Best: "If I can make it there/I'll make it anywhere". This city has a nurturing toughness about it. Its not easy to live here but after living here, I guarantee you can live almost anywhere else in the world (war zones and third world countries excluded) and feel like you're gonna make it after all (cue Mary Tyler Moore and throw hat in the air). Instead of filming all of those Survivor episodes in remote deserted locations, there needs to be a Survivor: New York Edition. I can respect the winner of that one. New York gives you that liquid courage that most people only find in a liquor store. There is this air of invincibility like there really is nothing you can't do, these streets do inspire you (cue A. Keys and Jay Z; grab your Yankee fitted) and you can in fact leave here knowing that you will indeed make it anywhere.

I could go on and on and on but I think you get the point. I hope I've given you some food for thought. Writing this has definitely given me something to think about.

Any New Yorker feel free to add your pros and cons in the comment section. Lex, if you move here you will find New Yorkers are indeed quite helpful (contrary to Hollywood belief) - another pro. ;)

Smoochies,

I know I've been slacking on these Q 4 a B-fly questions like George Bush at Yale, but please keep them coming. I truly enjoy answering them. To make up for my slackitude(yes I made it up), I'm going to answer another question tomorrow. Ask away at formspring.me/ButterflyRefuge or click in that little white box to your right. xoxo

He called....

2010-03-17T12:19:00.005-04:00

I spoke to "He". It had been awhile since I've spoken with him. I don't think I blogged about it the last time we spoke last fall. Recently, out of the blue, he reached out & I answered. With glee. Like kid in a candy store euphoria.

Seriously, I don't know what's worse - not speaking to him at all or speaking to him so infrequently that I dread hanging up because only the Lord knows if and when we'll speak again.

In all fairness, I never reach out. Except for one day a year - his birthday. But I always choose the quasi-passive aggressive but least intrusive approach - happy birthday via text. My rationale is that I don't want to intrude on his new life with his new wife. Its a club I don't belong to so I feel like quite alien-like if I try to reach out.

However when we actually do speak, on the surface our conversations are just as easy breezy as they were before "the revelation". We trade stories of the ridiculosity we happen to witness in our everyday. We update each other on the family. We laugh until my belly aches. All the trappings of what friends do. But there's a big pachyderm in the room that we'll never ever acknowledge. EVER. So we go through the motions sidestepping Dumbo but, at least for me, the motions feel slightly disjointed. Have you ever watched Dancing With the Stars and you think a performance was incredible but the judge says something like "your left big toe was half a degree off center while your arm wasn't fully committed to the turn" and they give the person a 7 when, to your untrained eye, it deserved a 9?? Well that's what this feels like to me. No one would suspect that something is off but I know the ignorant bliss of our friendship before and that makes the friendship we now have that much more off balance.

I begrudgingly hung up. While our conversation had been going on for about an hour, it felt like 5 minutes and was over way to soon for me. Yes, I'm being all kinds of selfish and wrong but just maybe I still regret not saying how I felt sooner and maybe I regret letting my fears get best of me and maybe I just want what I can't have and just maybe I wonder what if from time to time. Or maybe I just really miss my friend.

-- Sent from my Palm Prē

Birthday of a Butterfly

2010-03-11T12:33:00.005-05:00

If I could choose just one word to describe my birthday it would be ENERGIZER - yes as in the pink bunny with the drum set strapped to its back!!!! From the stroke of midnight on March 3 until this moment, I've been going and going and going and.....well you get the point.
I'd probably have another novel on my hands if I tried to recap EVERYTHING - drama and all. However, there are definitely somethings worth posting on this blog (and I won't incriminate myself in the process....hahahahahha)

Stroke of midnight
Since my birthday fell on a Wednesday I made no plans. I already had a jam packed weekend planned and I didn't want to tack on another event for my friends to feel obligated to attend. However, sometime after midnight I found myself at a ghey karaoke bar belting out Single Ladies in my best tipsy Beyonce impersonation with my friends cheering me on in the audience. Yeah scratch the needle across the record. You read correctly: ghey karaoke bar. Lemme explain. Tuesday night, I went to a farewell dinner for someone I know through a committee I work with. While there, my friends sent a text for me to join them at a restaurant/bar uptown. I hopped in a cab after the lonnnnng dinner (and upteen glasses of wine). Once at the new location, one of the guys with us is ghey and recommended the karaoke spot so we shuffled into another cab to check it out. And we had a blast. The drag queen host with the subtle stubble sang to me. And for my encore I sang "You Aint Gotta Call" by Ursher complete with ad libs & monologues. I sang that one from the heart (there are a few people who I could dedicate that one to...hahahaa). Thankfully none of my friends had video cameras because I might be a YouTube sensation by now.

Partay with a Purpose
With the exception of last year, I always ALWAYS have a birthday party. I love getting my friends together for drinks and dancing and more drinks and more dancing sprinkled with a little debauchery for good measure. Lord willing, I hope when I am 95 at Shady Pines, I will still be on the dance floor shaking what my momma gave me. This year, while I still wanted to get my party on, I wanted to do something a little more.

A very close friend of mine has a nephew who has an inoperable brain tumor. Thankfully, he is responding well to treatment but I remember when she called to tell me the news. I felt like a vacuum had sucked all the air out of me. So I could only imagine how she and her family felt. He's only 11 and shit like that is not supposed to happen to an 11 year old. For a while I kept thinking, I wish there was something I could do. I'm not a surgeon so I couldn't help that way. One evening at home, while sipping on one of my latest favorite glasses of wine, it came to me. What if I could raise money to send my friend's nephew and his mom/her sister on the family vacation this year? I figured I could at least try to raise money to give them something fun to do this year. So instead of having a birthday party and then turning around to throw a fundraiser, I decided to combine the two. With the help of friends and the most gracious party promoters (who I also call friends) by the end of the night I raised over $300 with money still coming in my birthday cards (still have a ways to go but that's a great start - I had no expectations). Also with the help of said friends and party promoters, I was beyond tipsy by the end of the night. Allegedly, the things I said were LEGENDARY. And no, I will not incriminate myself by repeating alleged quotes on this here blog.

Bottomless Brunch.
This too has become a birthday ritual for me. With my favorite brunch spot being closed for damn near a year now (how could you do this to me?) I needed to find a location to accomodate about 20 friends AND provide unlimited brunch elixirs. Thank the Lord for Google because I found this location and made arrangements to scout the location in a day. As you can tell from the website, I was quite impressed with what I saw.

For some reason I got the bright idea to have BOTH birthday events back to back - party Saturday, brunch Sunday afternoon. What the hell was I thinking??!!! Thankfully, my friends love me and the weather was gorgeous because we all made it there at a reasonable time. My Guy Guru, Rashad and his lady came all the way from DC just to attend my birthday brunch (okay that's a lie - they really came up for a jazz concert the night before but it sounds so much better when I say they came up here for me, don't you think??). And I must give a special shout out to Rashad. He was only one of 3 guys in attendance and he endured about 30 minutes of CC, DD, and PP (cock convo, dick dialogue, and penis prose - hows that for alliteration....hahahahahahaa). And that's when I asked the manager to turn on the Lakers game in our private alcove - he and the other guys more than deserved it. I was surrounded by old friends, new friends, friends I saw a few hours earlier, friends I haven't seen in almost a year. Friends from many different points in my life. And I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

When I blew out the candle on my red velvet cupcake, I made a wish that the love and joy I feel on my birthday never fades and that it carries me through whatever life brings my way. There is nothing like the warmth you feel from the love of your friends. And I get to feel it for at least the next month as the birthday celebrations continue with a couple of dinners and a concert. I'm going to need to recharge this Energizer bunny when its all said and done.

PS There will be another birthday post, documenting the fashion of the weekend - talk about drama. Guys, you've been warned. LOL

-- Sent from my Palm Prē

On a Sunny Day

2010-03-10T11:57:00.003-05:00

I missed the bus. The bus was already at the next stop when I turned the corner. Do I walk to the train station? I thought. My feet balanced on 4 inch heels vetoed that idea. Damn should I take a cab then? My wallet shot that idea down as well. Well I guess I'll be waiting for the next bus. Thankfully it was a gorgeous sunny spring day - the kind of day that makes you pull up your boss' email address to inform him that you are *cough cough* sick but then you realize this is the first of many beautiful sunny days so you carry your ass to work.

There was a woman sitting at the bus stop. She was an older woman with a few bags at her feet. She moved one bag off of an empty seat when she saw me approach.

"Thank you" I said as I eased down onto the chilled metal seat. We both watched a young man cross the street with the top of his pants barely covering his kneecaps. I shook my head in a state of I'm tired of seeing these fools' drawers. She chuckled at my reaction thus beginning spirited and enlightening discussion on the state of our youth. Her insights were so full of wisdom and socioeconomic theories I felt like I was chatting with one of my former Hampton professors.

I turned to look down the street & my extra long chariot was about a block away. As people gathered closer to the bus stop sign to line up to board the bus, I stood up & offered to help her get on the bus with her bags.

"Oh no honey! I'm just sitting here at the bus stop until the shelter lets me back in this evening. Maybe I'll go to the park in a little while. Have a blessed day" she said with one of the most beautiful genuine smiles I'd ever seen. She returned to repacking her bags & that's when I saw the myriad of bags she had stuffed all around her.

All I could say back was "oh". What else could I say? Wallet was empty so I had no money to offer nor could I wave an Oprah wand to place this lady in permanent housing so she wouldn't have to sit at a bus stop to pass the time away.

I dipped my metrocard & actually got a seat on the bus. I watched this woman repack her bags & wondered how the hell did she get here.

She must have sensed me staring because she looked up smiled & waved as if she were sending her child off to school. I laughed at the thought & waved back. And smiled.

-- Sent from my Palm Prē

Stumble

2010-03-04T10:39:00.004-05:00

I started this 40 Writing Challenge with good intentions. But as the saying goes, "The road to hell is paved in good intentions." Not to say that the actual writing has been hell - for me that's the easy part, the joy. Once I have a topic in mind, I sit down and let the words flow. When I started the challenge, even I did a writing calendar - a daily list of all the things I wanted to write about. However, hell for me is Time Management.

I can't seem to get it together. I could blame it on planning my mom's birthday (this past Saturday which because of the snow storm I had to revamp all plans at the last minute, leaving me with a refrigerator full of red velvet cupcakes) and planning my National Holiday festivities (birthday was yesterday; festivities this weekend). But as I've recently told a guy (Starbucks aka Mr. Mink), "you make time for what's important". And I have yet to prioritize my love of writing which is just re-damn-diculous. How can I expect to grow as a writer if I don't work on it?? Athletes practice. Actors act. Writers write. And I'm not writing as frequently as I should. I suck.

I've tried writing in the morning but seriously my brain is not fired up that early in the morning. I barely grunt out verbal greetings in the morning so I know damn well I can't string words together into cohesive streams of thought. Late morning - midday is when the urge to purge words usually hits but I'm at work (yes still at the plantation - dysfunction at its finest to say the least). But here's the problem. Most days they actually expect me to do their work and not my own. Go figure.

Ray Charles may have belted out "You know the night time/is the right time/to be with the one you love" but my social calendar does not permit me to engage and be one with my writing. Too many distractions. Committee meetings, dinners with friends, the occasional date, running errands (groceries, laundry, cooking, cleaning), catching up on all the shows I've DVR'd. By the end of the evening, I'm falling asleep with my laptop in my lap. Where did the time go???

So what do I do now?? Today is day 16 of Lent and I've written 8 entries (including this post). Do I give up now? Do I start over? Or do I just pick up from here and keep it moving until the end of the journey? I think you know by now the answer. It may not always be brilliant but I'm gonna try my hardest to complete this challenge with more than a 50% success rate. While the school systems these days may say 65% is passing, I don't even want that shit. (Sidebar: how the hell is one standard deviation above the median considered passing?? 65% on anything is nothing to be proud of. Thanks for lowering the standards so low that there is no pride in the quality of education anymore. *stepping down from soapbox.* Carry on)

I've stumbled but I'm working on picking myself back up. So please bear with me through this challenging journey. I should have known this wouldn't be easy.

Ask and Flush

2010-02-25T12:24:00.002-05:00

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

2010-02-23T22:01:00.006-05:00

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

2010-02-22T16:09:00.004-05:00

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

2010-02-20T21:07:00.002-05:00

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

2010-02-19T17:40:00.004-05:00

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

2010-02-18T21:45:00.006-05:00

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

2010-02-17T12:08:00.004-05:00

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"

2010-02-07T11:32:00.004-05:00

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.

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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

2010-02-04T11:18:00.004-05:00

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,

Q 4 a B-Fly "Bag Lady"

2010-01-26T10:25:00.004-05:00

Q: How do I let him go or better, how do I move on? ~ Anon

A: So you want me to tackle the hard stuff, eh? Okay, by no means am I a relationship expert but I happen to know a thing or two about letting go of foolishness and moving forward. And by foolishness, I am not trying to belittle what you are going through. I'm just at a point in my life where, looking back, it was a whole lot of foolishness I've endured over the years. And hopefully, one day, you will label it as foolishness as well.

So how do you let him go?? At the end of a relationship, someone is left holding the bag - the bag of dreams deferred, the bag of emotions, the bag of whys and how did this happen, the bag of hurt. And unfortunately, in this situation you're it. Like Ms. Badu sang, "Bag lady, you're gone hurt your back/Dragging all them bags like that". My experience has taught me that creating closure is like spring cleaning for your heart, an opportunity to dump these bags and lighten your load. You're seeking closure and this person will never give it to you. EVER. No answer he gives will ever be a good enough reason for breaking your heart. Start off by packing up everything that reminds you of said ex - the cards, the pictures, the cute undies in his favorite color, ALL OF IT. Next, write him a letter. Tell him exactly how you feel. I don't care if it makes War and Peace look like a pamphlet. Take your time and GET IT ALL OUT. Every point you want to make, no matter how hurtful, how silly, how petty it may be. The point is to purge. However, you are to NAYVER mail this letter. Place the letter in the box with your relationship mementos and hide it from yourself. Put it in the back of your closet, out in your garage, your parents basement, somewhere where you won't see it everyday. One day, when you're ready you will open the box and will no longer feel the same, so you will be comfortable with throwing out its contents (and buy you some new panties in YOUR favorite color. hahahaha).

Whenever I've gone through my "moving on" phase at the termination of my girlfriend policy, I thought of it as a competition between the offending ex and I. Instead of my teammate, he became my opponent. Whenever I felt down, I felt like he was winning and hell if I wanted him to beat me in this "game". I know this sounds silly but it helped because I would acknowledge the sadness and do whatever I had to do to move past it, similar to how a football team identifies the play of the opposing team and does whatever the hell they can to stop them from gaining yardage (I know this is a weak sports analogy but give me some credit for trying, okay *wink*). Every happy memory of "us" was replaced with how he treated me in the end. Now, I can look back on fun times with some of my exes but its devoid of the emotional attachment attributed to that memory. It takes time to get to that place though. "Remember him at the end" became my mantra after each breakup until I got through and got over.

Next up, dating. Yes, I know dating is scary. But its a necessary evil in this love journey of life. It's so easy to hold on to the love we had. But I had to learn that the love you had will not call you, just to say "hi" (unless he's a stalker; another story for another day). The love you had won't compliment you on your new hairstyle/outfit/career accomplishments; it won't take your car for an oil change; it won't keep you warm at night. By not dating or, even worse, comparing each date to the ex you are robbing yourself of any opportunity to grow and move on (sidebar: if your ex was all that great to be the barometer by which you measure everyone else, he would still be with you. So he ain't that great.). And trust and believe me when I say, you will meet some sorry ass dudes who will make you want to curse your ex out and gouge his eyes out for making you a single woman again who has to go out and meet these losers (do you remember my chaperoned date??!! LOL). BUT you will also meet some really nice guys that even for one night, you will fall asleep thinking about someone other than him. So, you have to be open to it. Sometimes, someone else helps. And that someone else doesn't have to be "The One", he can be "The One for Right Now".

This may not work for everyone, but I started dating IMMEDIATELY after my last breakup. Not on some "he got a boo so let me get one too" mission. For me, I didn't want my ex to be the last guy I laughed with, the last one I shared a nice meal with, the last one I kissed, the last one I....well, you get the point. He didn't deserve that distinction. But again, I think that speaks to that competitiveness I spoke of before. I didn't go out often but enough to see that I was gonna be just fine (cue Mary).

Some other tips include:
1. Change his name in your phone. Change it to something that will remind you not to answer if he calls or not to lose your dignity by calling him.
2. Find a non-relationship outlet. For me, it has always been writing. Take a kickboxing class, paint, study Arabic, anything to focus your energy elsewhere.
3. PRAY. I know this should have been first but PRAY, girl!!! Whatever your spiritual center is, turn to it. Pray, meditate, chant, whatever you have to do, do it. I prayed everyday the same prayer - to get me through the hurt, the pain, and to smile again. And when that prayer was answered I prayed for something else.
4. Seek help outside of your friends. As much as we love and rely on our friends, sometimes they can barely help themselves, let alone help you. And really, after a while, they get tired of hearing about your same shit over and over. Seriously, pay someone to listen. If you feel that you're just not coping, seek therapy. Therapy doesn't make you crazy. Not seeking professional help, however, does. A trained professional will help you identify why you aren't letting go and provide you with the tools to move on.

People often say "Time heals all wounds". Well I disagree somewhat. I say "Time coupled with action heals all wounds." Time alone can drag on and leave you right where you stand if you don't do anything about it. I read a quote the other day (and posted it on the book of Face).

"I have found that if you love life, life will love you right back." ~Arthur Rubinstein

I hope this helps. Like I said, I'm not a relationships expert (aka "don't sue me"). But keep me posted on your progress.

Smoochies,
The Resident Butterfly

PS You know I had to post this right.....LOL

and this....LOL

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What else do you want to ask?? Ask, ask, ask away!!! Go to http://www.formspring.me/ButterflyRefuge or just enter your question in the box to your right. Keep asking and I'll keep answering. :)

Oh and yes I know this post is late. As you can tell from the date, I started this with all intentions to finish it on time for Tuesday. There is just a lot going on right now and I'm working on managing my time better. I hope you understand. If not, kick rocks sucka!!! hahahahahahaha

Q 4 a B-Fly "Guy Guru"

2010-01-19T16:14:00.004-05:00

?: Who is the guy guru you speak of, and how did he get that title? ~ Anonymous

A: This question is so on time. My Guy Guru's birthday is tomorrow (Jan. 20) and what better way to celebrate him than by posting an entire blog about him (ummmm you know this means you ain't getting a gift, right?! hahahahahaha)!!

My Guy Guru is my friend, Rashad. While we met at our illustrious HOME BY THE SEA, we weren't friends until years later. I sometimes wonder what kind of friends we would be if we were as close then as we are now but I'm just glad he's around now. Neither one of us remembers how we met. It was more or less the "we go to a school in the South so we have to speak to everyone we pass on campus unless you slept with my man/woman, then I don't have to speak to your ho ass" introduction. We knew a few of the same people (one of his roomates was my Big Brother) so I knew him in passing. But somehow over the years that pleasant "Hey" has grown into him being my Guy Guru. I often describe his personality as the Black Larry David. If you watch Curb Your Enthusiasm, you get what the picture. If not, what the hell is wrong with you?? That show is hilarious. hahahahaha Basically, Larry says/does all kinds of inappropriate/non-social shit BUT its never malicious, and underneath it all, he has a good heart.

Guy Guru started as a blog name. Since at the time everyone was getting one, why shouldn't Rashad?? But it totally fits him. Like totally. To call him simply a "friend" would be like calling Kareem Abdul Jabbar simply a basketball player. He is like my brother, without the sibling rivalry, I'm tellin Mom/Dad on you bullshit. When I'm trying to figure out guys, I call Rashad. When I'm need to bounce an idea of someone, I email Rashad. When I need to vent because someone has thoroughly PISSED ME OFF...yep, I hit up Rashad. Oh and its definitely reciprocated. Through the years, he has been here for me. Making me laugh when I want to cry; encouraging me when I want to give up; listening to me say the most asinine shit without judgement. So before I shits on the bitch (private joke when either of us gets too mushy..guess who we got it from?), he is the best dude in my corner. As a matter of fact, you guys can thank him for this here blog page. He has a blog and inspired me to start this page. He is my most faithful reader (and commenter) to date.

I think every girl should have a Guy Guru, a male friend you can turn to when seeking advice on their brethren. Because let me tell you, Rashad has hipped me to somethings that I NAYVER thought about from the male perspective. But there are rules to this shit (I swear I'm cursing more in this blog because of Rashad. All for you, buddy...hahahahahaa).

1. Your guy guru has to be a man you have no desire to see nekkid. Seriously, you can't cloud your friendship with thoughts of "I wonder what it would be like to kiss/lick/suck/f*ck". This is not to say my guy guru isn't attractive. Quite the opposite. However, I've never looked at him in that way. Ever.

2. You have to know your role. He is my friend. Not my man. As a matter of fact, he has a woman. So I'm not calling him all hours of the night. I'm not sending provocative pics of myself. While we can have quite colorful conversations, we have boundaries. Once (at band camp), I spent the night at the apartment he shares with his lady. I could have worn a burqa and been less covered up. Sure I had to reach waaaaay back into my dresser to pull out big ass pajama pants, an oversized shirt and a robe but its about respect. I respect our friendship. I respect our boundaries.

3. You have to be willing to listen. He and I may not agree on everything but we have both provided each other with valuable insights into how the opposite sex thinks. Not to say that every man thinks like Rashad (thank God...hahahahaha), but generally speaking I know more about how men think now than I did before Rashad's insight.

4. Most importantly, find someone you trust. Lets just say if either of us ran for office, the other would have a sweeeeeet cabinet position to compensate for that lucrative tell all book deal we would be missing out on.

So there you have it. My Guy Guru. If you don't already check out his blog, please do. He writes way more frequently that I do (showoff).

HAPPY BIRTHDAY RASHAD!!! YOU'RE THE BEST GUY GURU A BUTTERFLY COULD ASK FOR. I LOVE YOU, MANNNN!!!! (now proceed to shits on the bitch!!! hahahahahahahah)

(Me, ?uestLove of The Roots, Guy Guru. Fun fact: 2 people in this photo have the same birthday. The one with breasts is not one of the 2!! hahahaa HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GUYS!! Oh and I made this picure black and white because I was wayyy to light bright in this picture. I look like an albino standing next to these chocolate brothers. hahahahahahaha)

*keep the questions flying my way. I know there is something you're dying to ask me. Enter your question in the box in the right hand corner, or submit it directly at
http://www.formspring.me/ButterflyRefuge

Oh and I have a few blogs I'm working on. I promise I won't only do Q 4 a B-fly posts. Life's been a lil hectic later. Smoochies.

Q 4 a B-Fly: "Starbucks Dude"

2010-01-12T12:40:00.006-05:00

Q: So what happened to dude from Starbucks? - Anonymous

Resident B-Fly: I knew I would have to do a follow-up on this one. For those who may not know the story, click here.

In preparing to respond to this question, I realized that I don't talk about my dating life as much. I will mention a guy, give him a blog name, and then POOF! Banished to blog purgatory -the place where the words are formed but never published. Occasionally, I may reference them or hint of their existing existence in my life, but that's it. So I shouldn't be surprised that one of you wanted to know what happened with Mr. Mink aka "dude from Starbucks".

Well, I've gone out a few times with Mr. Mink ( I'm really thinking of changing his blog name to Starbucks Dude...hahahaa). We had a Barnes & Nobles date (he sat down to read one of my favorite children's books. sweet). We've gone to a couple of nice restaurants (including one where the table of guys sitting next to us hit on me when he got up to use the restroom. I still can't believe that one). He gave me the most beautiful roses on Christmas Eve. Totally unexpected. Simply thoughtful. (never knew I was a "flower" girl, but I smiled everyday until they died)

Sooo...........

I don't know. I will say he's unlike any dude I've ever dated. He's really quiet, damn near shy. And for those that know me, know quiet and shy are not attributes that jump out at you when thinking of me. So needless to say, sometimes talking to him feels like a speech therapy session trying to elicit more than a 2 word utterance. But then he has moments where he's sooo forthcoming and verbose, I think I'm talking to someone else. I almost think he stores his ideas like a chipmunk.

I just don't know. I can't peg him. He's sweet, he's kind, he's thoughtful, he's funny (when he's in a loquacious mood), he's attentive (the details he remembers is mind blowing). But??? Damn, its even hard to put in words. Okay, I'm not sure if he wants to date me or be my friend. No, that's not it. He has said at least that much - that he's interested in me. There's something that's.......off (for lack of a better term). Not off in terms of red flags being raised. But just.........different. Not a bad different, just different.

Maybe this is just an adjustment. Every guy I date doesn't have to have such a big......ego (what did you think I was gonna say??? hahahaha). Maybe that's it. I tend to date guys with big personalities, so much that I tend to be quiet around them. But as one of my girls pointed out recently, "both of you can't always have big personalities. You need someone mellow to balance you out." Hmmmm, that is something to consider. I guess.

So to answer your question, Starbucks dude aka Mr. Mink is still in the picture. I hope I won't need an IV of Starbucks just to figure him out.

Keep the questions coming. Wanna know something? Anything? Ask @ http://www.formspring.me/ButterflyRefuge or type your question directly in the box to your right. . This will be a regular Tuesday feature until you guys stop asking questions!

Smoochies ;)

Resident B-fly

Come and Talk to Me

2010-01-05T13:26:00.001-05:00

Yes, 2 posts back to back! But this is more of an announcement than a regular post so I'm not sure if it counts. Now that I think about it, HELLLLLL YEAH IT COUNTS. I still wrote it. hhahahahahaa

With this being a new year and all, I decided to add a new feature to the blog. If you look to your right you will see a new site addition, Questions for a Butterfly. This is your opportunity to ask me ANYTHING. You want a followup about something I wrote before, ASK. You want to know "what ever happened to ____?", ASK. You want advice about something, ASK. You want to ask me some random, existential damn now I have to think about this kind of question, ASK. Just type your question in that box and click send. You can even be anonymous. You can also go to this site, http://www.formspring.me/ButterflyRefuge and ask your questions directly.

This will be a weekly blog column, "Q 4 a B-fly", where I will answer at least one question (could be more depending on answer length). I can't wait to see what you guys want me to answer. Let's see how long I can keep this going. hahahahaa

Year in Review: Part Deux

2010-01-04T11:50:00.003-05:00

I know, I know, I know this is uber late and before you write me off, give me the side eye, smack me a la Rick James in a Dave Chapelle skit, pull a gun on me a la Mr. Arenas (allegedly), let me explain. On New Years Eve, I got sick. Really really sick. Like sicker than I've ever been in my life. Instead of sipping the champagne bubbly, I was sipping the seltzer bubbly. I'll spare you the gruesome details but lets just say publishing a blog was not high on the priority list that day. Thankfully, whatever ailed me left (along with about 6 pounds) and I'm beginning to feel like my butterfly self.

So without further mention of my medical exorcism (whatever that was, it was EVIL I tell you...hahaha), here's the 2nd half of my Book of Face updates.

JUNE (of course I know I covered June in my last post but there was more to say. I'm taking liberty with mine, okay?! Sue me. hahahahah)
* "Someone left a Granny Smith apple (my fave) on my desk and no one is copping to it. I'm not eating this. I saw what happened to Snow White. LOL "
* "We blamed it on the boogie before we blamed it on the alcohol. RIP MJ"
*"is a dancin' dancin' dancin'....DANCIN MACHINE!!! WATCH ME GET DOWN!! Heels on flip flops in the purse - All for you, MJ!"
*"Okay, so when my cab driver gets back in the taxi and stops arguing with the guy behind us, THEN I'll be a dancin' machine! LMAO"
*"It's official. I can't watch the BET AWARDS without commentary from my FB friends. I CAIN'T! " {real talk: logging on to FB and watching the awards "together" with my friends has been a hilarious experience. It's like one mega conference call or a supersize living room with everyone gathered in front of the TV}

JULY
1. "just had a workout on the beach. cha cha slide, cupid shuffle, dollar whine...whew!!" {Martha's Vineyard; that party on the beach was sooo much fun}
2. "Home Sweet Home. Wine Chilled Wine." {I need this on a plaque, hanging in my home. Seriously.}
3. "There is a free ice cream event in my office lobby for all workers in building. Who set this up? Satan?? LOL"

AUGUST
1. "is on my way to the John Legend concert at MSG....for FREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!" {did I write about this concert?? It was great. I completely underestimated John Legend}
2. "ummmm Naked Yoga?? and you want me to rent a towel and mat??" {a friend sent me a link to a place for yoga. yes naked yoga. while the nekkidness doesn't particularly bother me, the towel and mat rental do. }
3. "Its easy to pray for those you love and care for. Lord, give me the strength and humility to pray for all the others."

SEPTEMBER
1. "Ummmm, if you're a bum on the street begging for a dollar (a dollar! whatever happened to "some change"?), guess how much of my money you're getting if you stop your sob story to answer your cell phone?? Take a wild guess? lol" {yet another 'Only in New York' true story. hahahaha}
2. "DAMNIT KANYE." {MTV Award debacle. no further explanation necessary}
3. "Letting your toddler run around the airport barefoot is swine flu-tastic. FAIL!" {If I wasn't running for a plane, I swear I would have reported that mother. Swine flu is all over the damn news and she lets her toddler run around the ENTIRE TERMINAL barefoot. Now if that ain't child endangerment, I don't know what is.}

OCTOBER
1. "If you can afford the $2.25 to get on the bus, you can afford a bar of soap!! This is nasal assault. DAMN!"
2. "Public Service Announcement: Certain songs shouldn't blast from your earphones while on a crowded corporate elevator. A certain song by Akinyele that came out in the 90s is one of them."
3. "Walked in the rain for a good cause - Making Strides against Breast Cancer. If survivors can endure chemo/radiation, I can endure the rain. "

NOVEMBER
1. "is gem rich. I may not have millions in the bank or any of the trappings of wealth (yet), but the Lord decided to bless me with the most amazing friends, my precious gems. I could say more but I'll stop now....Love you guys!" {written after a long night with my girls. I swear I love my friends more than I could ever tell them}
2. "has come this far by faith...leaning on the Lord....trusting in His holy Word....He's never failed me yet!!!! The Lord has seen me through many many obstacles and I trust He will see me through this one as well. Keep praying and keep moving.... {Day of Corporate Divorce notification}
3. "REAL TALK: Jermaine looks like Nipsy Russell as the Tin Man in The Wiz." {most commented on status update. hahahahahaa}

Honorable Mentions:
*'Oh Whitney!!! I will always love the skinny because I'm skinny and not strung out, big weave pink lipstick wearing, ohhh I wanna dance with somebody, baby you give good love Whitney. This Whitney is the new egg in the frying pan PSA for drug use. * le sigh *"
*"whoever had the bright idea to sell tuna fish sammiches at dunkin donuts should be fired" {if that's not the nastiest combination. why would I go to a store I frequent for donuts and such for a tuna fish sammich???}
* "Mom quote: 'Oh I like this Chrisette girl. She can sing, not like that other one (Keri Hilson). All she did is move her hips. Is that all you need to make a record?? If that's the case, you go make a record. ' Gee thanks, Mother. LMAO"

DECEMBER
1. "Now I know why this bus was $5. It's the Senior Citizen special. I think I'm the square root of these folks' ages. Lord, I pray I arrive to DC safely and not smelling like Ben Gay." {I know I didn't write about it, but I went back to DC. Just overnight for a career opportunity. Still haven't seen if it was worth the trip yet but I'm optimistic. And yes, one way from the Big Apple to Chocolate City was a whopping $5}
2. "is at the Hiro Ballroom waiting for CORRINE BAILEY RAE to hit the stage. Viva the spontaneity of my life!" {I actually started a blog about this night but never finished it. That was a beautiful concert. I almost cried but beautiful none the less.}
3. is fighting the urge to eat this bread pudding in my fridge. Its calling me. I'm hanging up!" {I made this really delish amaretto bread pudding. I've been baking a lot lately. I know there's a meaning in here somewhere.}

So that's was my 2009. Looking back, there was soooo much that happened in my life this year, both good and not so good. I'm grateful for it all though. Each opportunity, each thought, each smile, each tear was a chance for this butterfly to spread my wings and live. I don't thank you guys enough but thanks for continuing to read. I will do my best to be a better blogger this year. This is not a New Years Resolution. It's what I need and want to do. Smoochies. ;)

Year in Review: The FB Edition

2009-12-30T10:10:00.004-05:00

Some of you are my friends on the Book of Face. Some of you aren't. Some of you didn't even know I subscribed to this site. Well I do. A Pirate friend of mine (Hampton U Pirate, not taking over your ship and demanding ransom kind of pirate) had this cool application on his page, which gathers all of your status updates in 2009. I'm not one for the silly applications on the Book of Face (really?? grown ass people with their mafia and farming fantasies?? Didn't we stop that with Old McDonald and Cops & Robbers???). But this one was a collection of my thoughts. How could I not love it??

So as 2009 draws to a close, I thought this would probably be the best way to wrap up my year. Once I downloaded the application, I had over 50 pages of updates. DAMMMMN I had a lot to say in 500 characters or less. And while I'm known for being wordy, even I won't subject you to read every single thought. I'm thinking more of a TOP 3 of each month. Some I will explain. Some need no explanation.

JANUARY (in no particular order)
1. "[Resident Butterfly's government name] wonders why do they send a man to clean the woman's bathroom? And why does he get an attitude when I have to "go"? LOL "
2. "Does anyone else wonder how the Secret Service stays warm with no hat, no gloves, no scarf?? And where can I buy whatever they have?" {Inauguration Day wondering}
3. "just saw a crackhead give another crackhead a pedicure on the train. Nail file and all. No more last car riding for me. " {I swear this is a true story. Gotta love New York. hahahaha}

Honorable Mention:
- is sick of snowboots. I need pretty shoes on my feet. {I said this at the end of January and I'm already saying it in December. Its gonna be a lonnnnnnnnnnng winter}

FEBRUARY
1. "is celebrating the love I have today and not worry about tomorrow. {must have said this crap around Valentine's Day.....hahahahahah}
2. "wonders if the people in the People You May Know section are waiting to see who will crack first and send the friend request? LOL"
3. "hates Airtran. It's the Greyhound of the Skies." {This should really be their slogan. Wrote this as I was stranded in Atlanta airport en route to Memphis when plane I just got off of was going to Memphis but the chick at the ticket counter didn't bother to tell me the first time I asked about changing my connecting flight. Heffa. Yeah, I'm still mad. LOL}

MARCH
1. "just had a group of tourists ask for my autograph. I hope whatever I scribbled on the paper matches the signature of whomever they thought I was. *shrug* "{still don't know who the hell I was supposed to be. hahahahahaha}
2. "just saw a dude with a Jheri Curl Shag and laughed right in his face. Lord, please forgive me but You know that was funny!! hahahahaha" {that man looked at me like he could have killed me on the spot but damnit you can't walk out with no Ice Cube circa Boyz in da Hood, "follow the drip", "just let your Souuuuuuul Glo" Jheri Curl in 2009 in MARCH (no where near Halloween) and not expect someone to bust a gut. I'm just sayin'. }
3."feels like #?#! after my torture session. whoever said no pain no gain can kiss my a$$! hahahaha" {need to find a new trainer. Oh wait, not in my budget. Well I'm buying a fitness game for my Wii. I have travel and bikinis on my menu}

Honorable Mention - The Phone Saga
*"She's just like you and me but she's PHONELESS, she's PHONELESS/as she stands there singing for money LA DAH DEE, LA DAY DAH"
*"Industry Rule Number Four thousand and eighty: CELL PHONE COMPANIES ARE SHAAAADY!"
* " They say I'm PHONELESS....like a penny with a whole in it...yeah yeah yeah."

APRIL
1. "is a wordwhore. The written word is my passion. I'm claiming it. " {one of my faves.}
2. ""is looking at some of these friend requests and wonders 'Harpo, who dis woman?" {seriously, this bothers me to NO END. You know damn well that you don't know me. Stop trolling your friends pages for their cute friends.}
3. "is enjoying today because tomorrow won't be the same. "

MAY
1. "No mas el Cinco de Mayo para mi." {margaritas on a work night. LAWWWWWD have mercy!! hahahaha}
2. "soy de salir del trabajo temprano para emapcar mi suitcase. La fiesta de FREEDOM esta noche; manana, PUERTO RICO" {yes, I was testing my spanglish in preparation for my trip. And yes, I took my suitcase with me to a party and went straight to the airport afterwards. hahahaha}
3. "Pet Peeve # 22: The word is JEWELry not JURY. A jury is comprised of the 12 people who sent your baby fahhhva upstate! And no I'm not stereotyping - somehow jewelry and her baby daddy's stint in prison were in the same conversation. lmao"

JUNE
1. "Some 'Diva' just tried to sell me a pair of shoes in a bar. Called himself my fairy godmother. Only in NY. LOL"
2. 'is getting hit on by a guy working in Victoria's Secret. Can I buy my panties in peace, please? Is that too much to ask?? lol"
3. "just got a to-go cup for my Mai Tai. I LOVE VEGAS!!! lol" {seriously, anyplace that allows you to walk down the street while sipping on a spirited concoction is alright with me. Hmmm, maybe I can do a world tour of such places and document it. Funding please! hahahaha}

Whew, this is longer that I thought. Rest of the year up tomorrow. Promise. Smoochies.

Judging Covers

2009-12-21T15:03:00.004-05:00

Last Thursday, my friend Law & Order invited me to a holiday party/toy drive. Due to the corporate divorce and subsequent corporate jumpoff status, I haven't been in much of a mood for partying lately, which if you know me, that is totally against who I am. LOL However, it was a toy drive, and you know the Resident Butterfly loves the kids, so I sucked it up (that's what she said), bought a motorized hot wheel sports car (to inflate some poor manchild's ego about the celebritous status he'll surely have if he gets the real thing when he's older) and made my way to the party.

Within five minutes, I was ready to go. Okay, maybe 15 minutes. But still

I walked in and was greeted by a nice looking brother in a suit. You already know a man in a well fitting suit is my Kryptonite so I thought maybe, just maybe, this lil holiday shindig will be the distraction I needed.

WRONG.

Don't get me wrong. It was a nice looking crowd and people were having a good time. But if these weren't the stuffiest nee-groes. You know the type: all about your pedigree and what firm you work for; the ones who use summer as a verb. Every dude who spoke to me (all of 3) asked what firm I was with. I didn't know this was an attorney exclusive party. When I informed them, that I was invited by a friend and indeed was not an attorney, they were deflated. As if they were already planning how great a power couple we could be in 3.5 years with 2.5 kids. While on the outside, mingling with beautiful upwardly mobile people would appear enticing. But these stuffy mo-fos were drier than my aunt's turkey on Thanksgiving.

This was the kind of party where all people wanted to do was pass their business cards. It was like speed-networking:

"Hi. What do you do?"
"Oh really. Here's my card."
NEXT

I gave myself a 9 pm exit time before I got there because I really needed to finish a project I was working on for the holidays. I started looking at my watch at 8:15. Where's the bar?

The nine o'clock hour struck on my watch (which meant it was really 8:50 but who's counting) and it was time to go. I kissed my friends goodbye and sailed out the door, not before 2 dudes handed me there business cards as I made my exit, no conversation, no name, just business cards. I threw those damn cards out the minute I walked outside. If I ever need legal representation, I have Law & Order as my friend. And if she can't help me, well damnit she mingles in this crowd, she'll find me somebody.

After leaving the Stuffed Shirt Soiree, ,I need some caffeine. Well, it was either a shot of Patron or Starbucks. Luckily, there was a Starbucks on the next corner.

I walked into Starbucks and there was a gentleman in front of me at the counter. Mink jacket, jeans, tims - the flashy hood winter uniform. Not giving him a second glance, I decided to focus on the menu instead. (As if I didn't know what I want. You all know I'm a Starbucks fiend. hahahahaa). After his order, he turned around, looked in my direction and said "Wow. Hello." It was as if I caught him off guard. It wasn't aggressive, just a simple "hello". Not wanting to be rude I responded in kind (without the wow part) with a smile. I proceeded to order my grande skinny cinammon dolce latte with an extra espresso shot (it was gonna be a long night) without giving any thought to Mr. Mink. My mind was alll over running to the ATM machine to take out some cash so I could take a taxi home out of this cold weather. By the time my drink was ready my mind was already 75% down my long to-do list for the rest of the evening.

I reach out to push the door open, and its already opened for me. I look up and there is Mr. Mink standing there holding the door open for me. While I smiled and said "thank you", my mind was thinking "Oh great, let the ghetto games begin."

WRONG.

He held the door open for me and complimented me. When he let go of the door, he extended his hand and said "Hi, my name is [Mr. Mink's full government]. And yours?" I was so caught off guard by his finesse I stumbled over the 4 syllables in my own name as I shook his hand. We chatted for all of a minute before he asked for my number. I still wasn't completely sold but I gave him my number anyway. We parted ways before I dashed into the bank before hailing a taxi. The entire ride home, I asked myself "why the hell did you give that guy your number?" I couldn't come up with an answer.

Yesterday, while I was watching the Jets game, he called to ask me to dinner. And since I couldn't think of any reason why to decline, I agreed. We met up at Starbucks, the same one where we met. We sat and had a conversation while I drank my skinny cinnamon dolce late (we were both late by the way, so that cancels it out right? hahahaha). This was my way of feeling him out so to speak. If I rolled my eyes once during this 10 minute convo, DATE OVER!! I had already planned my escape strategy - "Girrrrl, call me in 15 min. If I answer, make it sound urgent." (Don't judge me. You do it too!! hahahahaaa)

I have to admit, I was quite impressed with the gentleman sitting across from me. Over the course of the evening, conversation traveled through ports of religion, politics, stalkers (can't have a first date these days without that convo...hahahahaha), aspirations, travel, family (and he still wanted to talk to me...hahahaa) the lists goes on. By the time he dropped me off at home (a few doors down from my building...I ain't crazy), I felt like I'm been around the world of conversation with him.

He is not at all what I initially pegged him to be. He's smart, funny, slighty sarcastic, sweet (so far) and attentive (so far...hahahahaha). And once I looked past the mink jacket and what can be construed as trappings of hood, he's actually kinda cute. Sure his outerwear didn't appeal to me. But look at those ass clowns I encountered earlier in the evening. Sure they looked damn fine in those beautiful suits. (SIDEBAR: Seriously, a man in a NICELY FITTING SUIT*??!!!!! GOOD LAWWWWWWWWD TAKE THE WHEEL AND HAVE MERCY ON ME!! ******fanning myself with the MLK church fan******* Yes, it is that serious for me. ahahahahaa). However, they turned me off worse than a guy with jeans sagging past his ass yelling down the street"YO MA! LEMME HOLLA ATCHU FOR A MINUTE!"

So yes, I'll admit I was just as shallow as those lawyers and I judged a book by its cover. But luckily, I took the chance to read inside the jacket cover.

Corporate jumpoff

2009-11-30T13:33:00.002-05:00

I've been gone for a minute but I'm back with the jumpoff......

Good grief, Charlie Brown, I just quoted Lil Kim.....er, Lil Kim's ghostwriter!!!! What is the world coming to?? LOL

I once dated a guy who decided that even though the relationship was over, we should continue to engage in the fringe benefits of being in a relationship without the un-fringe benefits, title, etc. aka demoting me from girlfriend to jumpoff. Needless to say, I flat out refused. Sorry Sade, I know of at least one occasion where love ain't stronger than pride and this was it. Even in my weakest moments, my pride laid the smackdown on any thoughts of agreeing to these terms.

Years later, I find myself in a similar situation.

Today, I'm at work. Yes, I'm sitting at the plantation. When I last posted, my last day was actually supposed to be last Wednesday, and just as I was settling into the idea of waking up on Thanksgiving without a job to be thankful for, the powers that be decided they needed me through the end of this week. I agreed since a)while it may not be a full paycheck, its a paycheck none the less and b) I really hate to leave things undone. Sure it would be easy to leave them in a lurch with the project unfinished like you should have thought of that shit before you told me to WALK! (Love Jones reference for you slow ones..hahahaha) but I'm here being the good karma worker bee.

To further complicate our relationship, I was offered jumpoff status with a part-time consulting gig with my current company. I would work three days a week for my company working on the various crap that I handle now 5 days a week until either I find a new job or they are done with me, whichever comes first. Ahhh, but there's a jumpoff clause - no benefits (health, dental, etc) and no taxes out of my check, meaning it may feel good now but I'll have to pay later. So while I wouldn't get paid as much as I bring home after taxes, I would still get some pleasure out of my corporate orgasm, "my paycheck". In the back of my mind, my pride is screaming HAYELL NO, DON'T LET THEM MAKE YOU A JUMPOFF. THEY WILL NEVER RESPECT YOU. However, my wallet is ready to celebrity death match my pride, and love all over my corporate orgasm. Momma has bills to pay, money to save and shoes to buy.

Decisions. Decisions.

It should be a no brainer. Take the money while in search of a better situation. Let this be my rebound relationship, until something better comes along. But like a relationship turned sour, there is no trust here. Between payroll issues, the vague terms of my consulting agreement, and most importantly, the utter lack of respect for me displayed in my corporate breakup, I don't trust these fools. And as we all know, once trust is gone, the relationship is O-V-A and you're singing along with Beyonce and Mary J. on your "Fuck 'em, Girl" playlist.

While I'm appreciative of the effort it took to even get this offer, I hesitate to trust yet again in my life. And I know its my pride. Many times my pride rules my life like a dictatorship, instead of a democracy with my other emotions having an equal vote. I'm pretty sure I've admitted on here that I view vulnerability as a sign of weakness, and depending on this place for my livelihood now after all that has happened has me feeling pretty damn vulnerable.

Maybe there is some truth to what Sade sang. Love of me and all that I need to accomplish in the very near future has to be stronger than pride. I can't go on if I don't believe that.

You know I had to post this. I absolutely love the heartbreaking simplicity of this song. I think I envy the vulnerability and the courage it takes to say something so simplistic, yet so emotional. Hmmmm, that just came to me. Just now. Something to think about. Or not.

Road Trip

2009-11-17T14:28:00.004-05:00

The weather was gorgeous on Sunday. So unseasonably warm, I saw fools in shorts.
As I waited in a seating area in an outdoor parking lot for my bus, I turned my attention to the baby blue sky and prayed. Actually, I sat there having a conversation with God. No need to rehash all that was on my mind, but I asked him for a sign. A sign that the plan in my mind was indeed the path I needed to take. A sign that I was in fact ready to move to where I was at the moment. I continued my conversation in peaceful silence until the bus attendant reminded everyone to pull out their ticket confirmation to make boarding easier. I looked down at my confirmation and realized, in horror, I booked my return ticket to NY for Saturday night instead Sunday. Holy crap, what if this guy doesn't let me on the bus to NY because of my silly mistake?God apparently has a sense of humor when he's doling out signs. hahahahahaa All I could do was laugh.

I went to DC this weekend. This mini getaway was planned weeks ago, before my sudden and imminent corporate divorce. I thought about canceling the trip altogether. But I'd gotten such a great rate on my hotel that it was non-refundable, non-transferable, basically "take it or leave it". I'd also purchased my bus ticket exactly 10 minutes before the proverbial shit hit the proverbial fan. Since I am definitely not in a position now to squander money, I packed my bags and left it all behind.

First order of business - check into hotel. 3hours ahead of schedule. I figured I'd get turned down and the best they would do is hold my bag until the designated check in time. Well, I figured wrong. I walked up to the counter and plainly stated, "Good morning! I'm [Resident Butterfly's government name] and I'm checking in today." Smile. And it worked! "Sure Ms. Resident Butterfly. You've already paid for the room. Here's your room key. Let me call a bellman to escort you to your room. Enjoy your stay!" Minutes later, I was in my king size bed suite, standing in awe. My suite was sweet! Not as sweet as the suite in Vegas but this was niiiiiice. And I immediately thought of all the naughty things I should be doing in that room. But I digress. I had business to take care of. Pleasure would have to wait.

I went to Howard to take my mentee to lunch. I hate calling her my mentee as if I have all the answers in the world, but she's only 18, too young to be my friend. We graduated from the same elitist high school (obviously not at the same time...hahahaha). She wanted to speak with someone who'd left the marbled hallways of our school to attend a historically black college. The Alumae Director put her in touch with me and ever since I've taken on this advisor role. While Howard is NOTHING like my illustrious Home by the Sea, I felt quite nostalgic being on campus. There is something about an HBCU, a feelings of pride and memories all rolled into one, even though this wasn't my alma mater. As we strolled on campus and headed off campus to go to lunch, I wanted to know everything - roommates, classes, parties, boys, THE WORKS. And in those 3 plus hours she filled me in on everything. I could already see that glint of school love in her eye. And as much as I love her, I will now rip her school every chance I get. That's what we do. hahahahhaaa

I later met up with my guy guru, Rashad, to coordinate the rest of the evening's plans. I met him at a restaurant/bar where he was hanging out with 2 of his friends. Okay, soooooo I promised (kinda) I wouldn't say anything bad about one of his friends anymore (kinda) so all I'm going to say is that they were both attractive men but one was an assclown while the other was a gentleman. Wait let me rephrase that. One of them BEHAVED like an assclown while the other was a gentleman. And no I won't elaborate. (Sorry, Rashad, I couldn't help it. hahahahahhaa). Oh and for the record, this wasn't some "lemme meet your friends so I can hook up with one of them". Nah, buddy. This was all about getting the evening's agenda confirmed. So also for the record, there was no need for the assclown behavior in the first place. But I digress.

Despite this minor speed bump, the rest of the weekend was beautiful. I have to thank Rashad and his lady for really showing me a good time. I got my sports fix in by going to the Wizards-Pistons game, then watched the Pacquiao - Cotto fight at a local bar. By the end of the night I was nice and tipsy, and still able to navigate my way safely back to my hotel (aka coherent enough to tell the taxi driver the address to my hotel and hold a decent conversation with said taxi driver....hahahahaa). On Sunday, after brunch, I had some alone time, to get a feel for the city. The weather was so perfect for me to just walk, and observe. Getting a feel for the city is so much easier when the weather allows you to stroll. Finally, it was time to head back to the hotel to pick up my bag and wait for my chariot back to New York.

I left New York slightly frayed. I returned with a plan. Thanks to God and his sense of humor.

For the record, the bus attendant was too busy complimenting me to notice my ticket did not have the correct date on it. To paraphrase the old American Express commercials, as far as being a woman, "membership has its privileges". hahahahhaa

Separation Anxiety

2009-11-12T14:02:00.004-05:00

"So ummm let's say next Friday is your last day?"

"Next Friday as in a week from 2 days from now??"

"Too soon? Okay, how about the day before Thanksgiving? That will make it 2 weeks notice. Okay? Okay. I'm off to catch my train."

And this ladies and gents, is how I found out yesterday afternoon that officially on the day when people gather to give thanks, I can cross "I'm thankful for having a job" off of my thankful list.

The saga with my job has felt like a soap opera at times. I was told months ago of this possibility to then be told "DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT" (a la Shaq in the ESPN commercial...hahahaha). The saga continued with our office management company deciding not to renew our corporate lease on our office space. The lease is up in March. Around the same time, my company issued a press release that the corporate headquarters would be moving south of the Mason Dixon line (funny, I found out about the move only when I was inundated with calls from moving companies and hotels in that area seeking to pack my shit and give me and my employees a place to stay when we transitioned to the area. Since no one was here that day, I used trusty google news search to find the press release. And voila! there it was. Don't you just love how no one bothered to tell me?? But that's another story for....who am I fooling...after today I never want to tell this story again but I digress.) With the lease ending in March and the Corporate Move to Dixieland coupled with my Shaq-like assurance, I was under the impression that my job was safe until the end of March. I began looking but not aggressively thinking I had time.

Boy was I wrong.

I can't even lie. I bawled. Right at my desk. Not in front of Mr. Gotta Catch an Amtrak Train And Have No Time to Sit and Talk to You like a Human Being I Respect. Oh no, I waited until I heard the front door whoosh back into place before I breathed and let the tears flow. It felt like a bad breakup. Like my significant other just fessed up to loving another while all the time telling me he loved me. No regard for me and my well being. No offer of a door prize (severance package) just "We used you until we're done with you. NEXT!".

But as I sat there, creating water puddles on the report I no longer gave 2 shits about, I realized two things. One, I was pissed at the nature it was handled. How do you barely walk into someone's office, stand in the door way, and deliver some shit like that??? And not even have the decency to at least fake some sorrow about pulling the rug and the floor out from under them?? And secondly, I wasn't crying over the end of this relationship (the job). I was bawling over the sudden loss of the orgasm (my paycheck). As in most caustic relationships, towards the end, all you care about is the orgasm until it no longer sustains you, and then you leave in search of something new, something better. But you always want it to be on your terms. You know. Get them before they get you. Well I got got.

Then, the pissivity led to anger. How could you do this to me right before the holidays??? Seriously. Thanksgiving is stressful enough with my family as is. But now you've added no job stress to my ever present dealing with family stress. Are you trying to make me slit my wrist instead of carving a turkey (real talk: ya'll know that won't happen right?!! I have a low threshold for pain and I need my wrists in tact to support the heavy purses I carry...hahahaha) While you're all festive and spreading your holiday cheer, you've officially turned me into Scrooge. Bah-humbug motherfucker. You'll be fa-la-la-la-ing around the Christmas Tree. I'll be fucked with no tree in sight. I have officially cancelled the holidays thanks to this lack of regard for my well being. I'll go to church but all the festive fun I love about the holidays - the decorating, the gift buying and wrapping, the carols, the spiked eggnog - CANCELLED. Wait, who am I kidding?? I won't cancel eggnog. hahahahaaa

As you can see by the publish date and the actual date posted (tuesday, nov. 17), I needed a moment to wrap my brain around this. I've been numb ever since (well except for this weekend..details to come). To put it in words seemed to break my spirit all over again. I can't say that I'm all better now but I can say I haven't cried today. Isn't that progress???

I know I'll be okay. I have faith that I will land exactly where I need to be (details to come on that too). Knowing these things doesn't heal the wounds of this professional breakup but it's beginning to take some of the sting away.

One final note. Guess who was the most pissed in my office (after me of course)??? Pinky. Yes, Pinky cursed everyone to holy hell for the way the situation was handled. Even behind closed doors, I could hear every 4 letter word he spewed after he found me in tears. In the midst of my tears, I couldn't help but to smile and chuckle. The man who I make fun of the most is my champion defender in all his pinktastic glory - pink reading glasses and all.

364 Days

2009-11-04T15:24:00.004-05:00

One year ago today, at around 8 in the morning I voted. At that time in the morning I happen to be number 117 on voting machine number 2 at my polling precinct.

Yesterday around 6:30 in the evening, I voted. Once again on voting machine number 2 at my polling station. This time I was number 168.

Now if the polls open at 6 am and I was number 117 approximately 2 hours later last year, shouldn't I have been a higher number last night when I went to vote after work?

One year ago today, I had a childlike giddiness in anticipation of marking a little x by my candidate's name. A first for me.

This year, I faced voting with dread and uncertainty. A first for me.

For my non- New Yorkers let me explain. Yesterday was a mayoral election and it was down to 2 candidates. The incumbent who after balking at overturning term limits voted for by the people, switches gears and campaigns to overturn them so he could have one more term (at least) but generally liked more than the dude he replaced (SIDEBAR: I think Satan is liked more than the dude he replaced...hahahaha). And then there's his challenger, the former head of the bored of miseducation but generally all around quiet nice guy. On principle, I didn't want to vote for the incumbent. As a democracy, I believe we can't have politicians changing laws all willy nilly to suit their own needs. (Sorry, Willy and Nilly for once again getting the bad rap). And quite frankly, the challenger didn't inspire me. Not to mention, he would (once again) have control of the school system here, and I'm not sure what the hell he did the last time he ran it but I'm not too trusting him to do better.

One year ago today, I stared up at the names on the ballot with pride and awe inspired glee seeping through my pores.

This year, I stared up at the names on the ballot and wondered WHAT THE FUCK??!!! as I unconsciously shook my head (think: "this is some BULL").

Begrudgingly, I voted. Flipped the tiny x next to a candidate's name. While I may not like either candidate, I had to vote. People forget that it wasn't that long ago no matter how light I am, I wasn't allowed to vote in this country. We also get so caught up in the daily routines of our lives that we forget that this one single action effects the daily routine we are so caught up in in the first place. I often wonder why people find reasons not to vote instead of looking around their neighborhoods to find reasons to vote.

So while there was no rock star excitement, no hope, no change I can believe in this time around, I voted. But for the first time in my history of voting, I felt like my vote didn't matter. Maybe next time, someone's name will inspire me, will make me believe in the process again. Like it did one year ago today.

Technicolor Scent

2009-10-27T17:42:00.001-04:00

His scent lingers on my skin. And while the sheets are cooling from his recent departure, it’s his scent that comforts me like a hot toddy on a cold night in his absence.

I bury my nose into my skin. Each note of his scent is a snapshot, a reminder of each touch, each kiss. Each snapshot is vividly 3D. His fragrance is like no other. I wish I could submerse my self in it completely if only to relive these moments again and again and again.

Funny thing about scents though. Like feelings, they fade. What were once vibrantly Technicolor snapshots has faded into shabby black & whites. Maybe I inhaled too deeply, thus diminishing the potency at a greater than average rate. Or maybe the scent was never as strong as my nose led me to believe. Either way, my skin is no longer intoxicated with his scent. My nose now wants to reject my normal familiarity and search more for remnants of him. Unfortunately, he is long gone and like New Edition I wonder if this is in fact the end.

But damn do ALLLL good things have to come to an end??

Maybe its time to leave the Technicolor alone and dream/smell/taste/love//live in sepia tones instead. Sepia appears safer.

Flashback Friday on a Monday: The Altercation, Hampton Edition

2009-10-26T17:29:00.004-04:00

Freshwoman year. Fall Semester. The Union.

I fought a dude. With the exception of being accused of stealing a classmate’s bubblegum in the 3rd grade, I’d never had a physical altercation with a guy (for the record, I didn’t steal his bubblegum. I didn’t know that the classmate who offered the gum stole it from lil dude. He kicked me. I kicked him back. End of story..hahahaha). But there I was being dragged across the floor of the Multipurpose Room (home of the famous Union Jam) in my cream colored Calvin Klein jeans by other students trying to break up the fight.

I guess I need to back up and start from the beginning.

Lets call him LI. LI was from Long Island (hence, the lack of creativity for his blog name). Whenever, I’d encountered LI solo on campus, he was cool, polite, chill. However, whenever I would encounter him in a group setting, he always had something slick to say about me as if I were the Pam to his Martin. Initially, since he was from Long Island (thus, no kind of real swagger as the kids say these days), I ignored him. Until finally one day, I couldn’t take it anymore and told him, “You’re a herb from Long Island. We ain’t friends. Don’t talk to me or about me because you no longer exist in my world.” After his banishment from the real world (aka my world), he would attempt to speak to me on campus and I would look through him like the wind. Eventually he got the hint. Until one night at the Union.

After an organization’s meeting I waited for some a few of my dorm-mates to walk back to our dorm together. I could have gone it alone but it was dark, it was late (for VA so that means sometime around 8:30..lol), and I was not trying to be a statistic. As they chatted up LI, I stood a few feet away, entertaining myself by reading page for page of the Hampton Script (SIDEBAR: that should have been an indication that I love this writing ish…I couldn’t wait to read the school paper. Lol). Somehow my name came up in the conversation (wasn’t paying attention), and guess who was yucking it up at my expense? Yeah, LI. Initially, I ignored him and kept reading the school paper. But I guess my lack of enthused attention to his shenanigans was ammunition for him to GO IN. When I finished reading the paper, I calmly folded it and walked over to him with the “didn’t I tell you to keep my name out of your mouth?!” Looking back maybe I should have continued to take the high road and ignored his corny ass. But I was tired of his antics. So my question laced with all kinds of attitude started an argument. The last thing I remember saying was something like “Corny motherfuckas from Long Island always sucking New York City d*ck! Now get off of mine!” (not the most lady like thing to say I know...oh and for the record, I don’t have a male appendage) The next thing I know he grabbed me by my shirt and pushed me into a wall. I was stunned. However, I refused to let any sense of fear show. I’m screaming “Let go of me!” and he’s saying God knows what with one finger in my face while I’m hemmed up against the wall.

A big football player dude came to my rescue and pulled him off of me. Standing between us and holding me back, he tells LI “Man, come on. You don’t do that to no female” to which LI replied, “F*ck that. She ain’t no female. She a bitch!” And spit in my face. You read that correctly. His saliva mixed with a peppermint was sliding down the side of my face. At that moment, I blacked out.

The next thing I remember was being dragged across the floor with pieces of his yellow fleece jacket clenched in my fist and thinking my cream calvins will never be clean again. From what I was told later, I pushed the football dude out of the way and lunged at LI, causing us both to fall to the floor. I proceeded to choke, scratch, punch, kick, choke dude. At that point in my life, I’d never been so enraged. All I remember is the feeling - the rage at being disrespted in such a disgusting manner. And it really is like everything was saturated in the color red.

I’m assuming as quickly as the fight started, it was broken up. Hampton has a zero tolerance for foolishness policy and if caught by university police, I would have definitely been kicked out of school THAT NIGHT (Out by 5 or you’re arrested for trespassing) – no questions asked. When that realization hit me, I cried and cried and cried. Granted, I probably would have been granted a hearing and upon hearing what he did I may have been allowed back into school. But who knows how long that would have taken. In that moment, I could have lost everything. And the most ironical (*yes ironical) thing is, like MJ said, I’m a lover not a fighter. I can count on one hand how many fights I've ever had in my life. And yes the bubblegum incident is one of them.

For the remainder of my time at Hampton, anytime I saw him on campus I would seethe on the inside but was reminded of 2 things: 1) Fighting him (again) now would most definitely sign my expulsion papers and 2) I was comforted by the creative way I got him back. And no I can’t share. But violence was not involved. I swear.

October 24, 2009. Homecoming. Armstrong Stadium.

I arrived to the game later than I wanted to. I approached the ticket booth (Sidebar: $25 for a general admission ticket to an HBCU football game. Damn, I used to pay $2. Talk about a markup…hahahaha). A guy walks up to me; arms open with a “Heyyyyyy!!!! Long time no see.” I looked over to see LI walking right up to me. In my mind, I know he must have me confused with someone else. Before I could react, he had me in a Hampton hug (errybody hugs errybody at Hampton), with a “Janelle, it’s soooo good to see you!!” Huh?? What?? My friend I was with had no knowledge of this history I had with this guy in front of me so she also greeted him with a Hampton hug. He then in turned introduced me to his wife and family. I’m rendered damn near speechless as he tries to make small talk. Just as I was about to walk away, he asks “Did you already get your tickets to the game?” I respond “Ummm, no.” like damn does he want to sit with us too?? Actually, he had extra tickets and offered them to us for farrrrrrrr lesss than the $25 my beloved Home By the Sea wanted to charge me. So far less, it almost felt like old times reaching into my wallet to pay for the tickets.

As I walked away, a few things ran through my mind.
1. Being pleasant, even if I have to fake it, works in my favor. I could have easily cursed this fool out and walked off to pay full price for my ticket. But instead I had extra wiggle room in my budget to buy cute tees at the game and afterward.
2. I wonder if he remembers our altercation in the Union or chooses not to remember it. I mean its not like he can introduce me to his wife like “Hey honey, this is Janelle. I spit in her face freshman year.”
3. Maybe its time to let this go. Yeah, he did one of the most vile things a person can do to another human being but I have to forgive him at some point, right???!! Isn't that what my faith has taught me??
4. He is not aging well. (hey, I may be a Christian but I am not Jesus Christ – no turning the other cheek over here today) The man looked like he has been living a harrrrrrd life. No judgements, I’m just sayin….

Hampton’s motto is “Education for life”. That creed finally clicked all these years later. And I still have some learning to do in this life.

Commercial Break.

2009-10-22T10:09:00.000-04:00

Blogger did it to me again. Erased a blog. So pissed.

Be back. shortly.

The Return of Real Talk (Maybe)

2009-10-07T10:30:00.002-04:00

I know I haven’t done one of these in a while but the mood hit me. For those that may not remember or haven't been reading that long, the real talkisms are mini rants -straight no chaser. Enjoy.

Real Talk……I don’t care if you raped the girl in 1970-something or yesterday, if you plead guilty, you should do the time. And all of those people who are saying you shouldn’t go to prison because of the wonderful genious you are must be drinking the Kool-Aid too. There are plenty of people who were good at their careers sitting in a prison cell. Join ‘em.

Real Talk….What the fuck happened to Summer???!! Seriously, this was one of the fakest summers on record. I still have sundresses with tags on them!!!! And to top it all off, its chilly. Like winter is tomorrow chilly. WHYYYYY Mother Nature whyyyyyyyy?????!! I just need Mother Nature and Father Time to work out their differences so I can wear my cute clothes.

Real Talk….This is for my melanin challenged compadres of the human species; DON’T TOUCH MY FUCKING HAIR. EVER. Well unless I’ve given you permission which is not going to happen. I am not a dog to pet. I am not a touchy feel exhibit in a museum. Touching me will make me slap you. And then you’ll try to have me charged with a hate crime. And in turn I will be forced to call Big Perm, ahem Mr. Sharpton, to march on my behalf. I know he will understand.

Real Talk……Speaking of Mr. Sharpton, ummmmm he and Lisa Raye are a couple??? Diamond and Big Perm???? This just sounds like a bad blaxplotation movie coming to theaters near you.

Real Talk…….All these people who believe that there isn’t a problem with guns in this country need to live in the hood and see innocent kids killed. Guns need to be regulated. PERIOD. Not everyone is mentally fit to carry a gun, and filling out a piece of paper doesn’t make you mentally fit. Any idiot can write their name and vital information. And for the record, I hate that saying “Guns don’t kill people; people kill people.” I have never seen on the news a story about someone loading a person to kill another person.

Real Talk………Enough about the Gosselins. Sure I used to watch the show. But damn, I want Jon and Kate to shut the hell up and sit down. They both need a time out.

Real Talk…..When you’re sick, why do people feel the need to tell you that you either look or sound like shit?!! Do they think that’s helping the sitchiation??

Real Talk.....If your kid is 1/3 of your age or less but twice your size in girth, you might want to keep walking past Popeyes, McDonald's, Burger King, etc., etc. Matter of fact, how about you walk your child to a playground.

Real Talk.... Chik Fil A sammiches last for a week in the fridge. I wonder how they hold up in the freezer. You know, just in case somebody wants to send me some. :)

Lessons from a Messenger

2009-09-26T20:02:00.005-04:00

Today is my father’s birthday. And I came to Tennessee to celebrate with him.

This year, it hit me that in my entire life on Earth I’ve never spent a birthday with my dad – his or mine. And when that realization went from passing random fact to a constant note in my brain, the fact alone annoyed me. As you may recall I was thissss close to spending my birthday this year in Tennessee due to a blizzard that blanketed all of Memphis and its surrounding areas. I remember how happy my dad was at the fact that there was a slight possibility that he would be with me on my life anniversary. And when the lady at the ticket counter worked some miracle to get me on a non-stop flight (first class no less), I saw the flicker of light diminish a little in his eyes. While I was happy to get the hell out (3 cancelled flights in 2 days makes you almost want to strap your ass to the wings of the plane and ride it out), his expression was something that haunted me whenever I thought about it.

So knowing that his birthday was coming up, I decided to board yet another plane this year, and spend some time with my dad to celebrate his life anniversary with him. The timing was perfect. My headaches hadn’t come back (thank goodness). But doctor’s (and friends’) order were that I needed to relax. And spending some time in the South is the slower pace that my body was telling me I needed.

My dad and I lovvvvvvvvve to talk. I can’t count how many times one of us has had the batteries die on our respective phones due to one of our marathon gabfests. I think he’s trying to make up for all of those years where we were so distant. It’s something I marvel at. To hear us on the phone, you would never think I went years without uttering one word to him.
So when he picked me up from the airport, it’s no surprise we easily fell into our rhythm of conversation. Somehow, we brushed on the topic of my dating life – something he NAYVER likes to talk about. He never wants to know who I’m dating, what’s his name, nothing, unless it’s someone who is serious enough about me to get on a plane to Tennessee and have a chat with ‘dear ol’ dad”. So far, no brave takers. But during this particular conversation, my dad said something to me that made me pause.

“Janelle, there is no man, NOT ONE MAN, walking God’s green Earth, who I will ever think is good enough for you. NOT ONE.”

Once the words filled the space of his Mustang (a Shelby to be exact), I silently inhaled these words. Breathed them in and let them nourish me, taking hold within. It wasn’t so much the message. It was the messenger. Don’t get me wrong, I know my dad loves me – he tells me every time we speak. But our relationship has been filled with peaks and valleys. And truth be told, he has never ever said something as powerful to me as the statement above.

This is the day I realized how important fathers are. It's not about my father putting me up on some ridiculously unrealistic pedestal. This is about the standard by which he holds my heart, a higher standard than I have held it at times.

I couldn't help but wonder: How many of the losers I've dated in the past would have gotten past "Hello" if I'd heard this sooner in life??

Happy Birthday to my Mustang loving, joke cracking, Mork & Mindy quoting,horn playing, country twang talking Dad!! You've created my life and have changed my life.

*I started this blog on my dad's birthday and wanted to post it on his day. Sorry for the delay. Back to blogging full speed ahead next week. Smoochies :)

Harpo, Who dis woman??

2009-09-24T12:22:00.003-04:00

That's the question I posed to myself the other day. (Sidebar: if you have no idea what movie this is from, FIX IT!!! hahahahah).

On Sunday, I went to my first NFL game. A friend of mine who recently has been feeding her adventurous spirit as well, sent me an email asking if I were interested in going to a football game. Like me, she'd never been and decided now was as good of a time to go. My only caveat was that we attend sooner rather than later because I'm not sitting outside in the winter for NOBODY. Have YOU seen butterflies chilling outside in winter??? Yeah, no.

In full disclosure, I must admit, I've never been much of a football fan. Don't get me wrong, I like the game but with all the rules and somehow making five seconds stretch out to five minutes (with commercial breaks of course), it could never hold my attention for long. Sure, I've always been that girlfriend who would watch with her man if he wanted me to but it wouldn't be long before watching the game on TV would bring out the inner ADD in me and I'm off baking, reading a book, taking a nap, ANYTHING to not just sit there. Sure I'd come back and watch a couple of minutes, long enough for the ADD to kick in once again. Such a comical sight.

But once I knew we had the tickets, I was like a kid who just finished writing their letter to Santa - not sure what they were going to get, but knew something good was on the way. Then I told my Guy Guru and Baskin Robbins that I would be at the Jets vs. Patriots game, and they both were hyped. In fact, every male I told that I was going to the Jets-Patriots game gave me the same reaction - awe. "Oh man, you're going to that game? Damn, that's a hot ticket!" (well, maybe not those exact words but that was the general consensus) And they weren't even Jets or Patriots fans. Something about a longstanding rivalry. Yeah, New York/Boston blah blah blah. I get it. The fact that they were so hyped about me going to this game got me hyped, like that same kid who wrote her Christmas letter a month ago and its now December 23 - good things are right around the corner.

In prepping for the game, I had no idea what to wear to the game. What does one wear to a football game I asked. "Sneakers (or tennis shoes for all those that wear sneakers and don't play tennis but call them tennis shoes anyway...hahahahah)" was the overwhelming crowd favorite. Now here's the problem - I don't do sneakers. I own a pair that I wear at the gym and a pair I bought earlier this year when I was stranded in Memphis is a snow blizzard with pumps and ballet flats. I knew I would only be comfortable in heels. So I decided on these shoes.

Hot right? And yes the heel is about 4 inches on them. While these sexy steppers are comfy (they really are), a pair of flips were on standby in my purse in their "Break out in case of emergencies" shoe bag.

So how was the game?? To sum it up the game was BANANAS. The fans, the actual game, everything. We had so much fun. J-E-T-S JETS JETS JETS JETS. And then for the Jets to break the their losing streak against the Patriots for lil ol' me???!! PRICELESS. Oh my goodness, I love FOOTBALL. When the 4th quarter was over and all the players ran on to the field, I was sad it was over. I wanted more. SO much so, I came home and watched the Giants-Cowboys game. Granted, I did change the channel a few times. However, it seems live football games have quieted my football ADD and I clocked more football minutes in front of the TV than I ever had.

Tuesday night, Hustle and I went to a Mets game. Neither of us are baseball fans but the choral group from my high school sang the National Anthem and the school had discounted tickets for alumnae. When the email, came around, I thought "Why not?!" Also, more than anything I wanted to see the inside of this new stadium, Citifield. Everyone has been raving about it since the beginning of the season. I asked Hustle if he wanted to go, and he too said "Why not?!"

Citifield is beautiful. We entered through the main gate into the Jackie Robinson Rotunda and we instantly had that head tilted upward tourist stance that I normally despise. We even joked about feeling like tourists. We took the long way to our seats to bask in our touristy awe. By the time we arrived to our designated area, we were impressed.

Unfortunately, the Mets were not as engaging as the Jets. In fact, the game was a snooze fest. It didn't hold our attention. We had absolutely no interest in what was going on on the perfectly manicured field below us. Conversation flowed just as easily as the beer (none for me of course. Can a butterfly get a martini bar at a ball field?? I'm just saying. hahahaha). By the time the 7th inning mosied on, we decided to go back into tourist mode. We said our goodbyes to my fellow alumnae and high school folks and walked off, hand in hand, in tourist glee.

I dubbed this week, my sports week. But I feel like its more than that. So much that I almost don't recognize this woman. Football and Baseball?? That's not me. I'm the shoe loving girly girl. Right? Well, whoever, this new woman is, I'm enjoying getting to know her and seeing what other new adventures I have in store. Stay tuned

Flashback Friday: Date Night, the Hampton Edition

2009-09-18T01:03:00.006-04:00

I met BX my freshwoman year at a party in Virginia Beach. He didn't go to Hampton but went to a school about 45 minutes away. He was from the Bronx (hence the blog name) and made it quite clear that night that I was "that chick". We exchanged numbers and spoke at most once a week for a few minutes. (To the youngins reading this here blog, this was before cell phones and free nights and weekends. We had campus issued calling cards with a $75 limit which seem to run out in 7.5 minutes but I digress. )

BX called to say he was coming down to the Hampton Roads area to go to another school's Spring Fling weekend of events. Since he was going to be in the area, he asked if we could go out on a date. I tried to play coy but who was I fooling. A boy wanted to take me off campus and pay for me to eat something other than Gourmet Services. Hell yeah I was down!! We made plans for the following Thursday (sidebar: clearly he missed a day of class to attend a weekend celebration at another school; that should have been a clue..hahahahaa).

I spoke to him about 2 times before our actually date. Something about finally seeing each other (hadn't seen him since we met a few months before) must have peaked his interest. He actually admitted he was excited to see me and bragged how he was going to get his car detailed before heading my way.

Thursday. After class I came back to my room to change clothes. It was a beautiful sunny spring day. The kind of day where the sun seemed to be on FULL BEAM from the second it rose until the second it set. While I was changing my clothes, Roomie checked out the Menu Line. Now for those of you not fortunate enough to experience all that is Hampton University (insert snobbery here), in every dorm room, there was a phone. And on every phone, there was a button you could press to hear one of the elderly ladies read to you what the menu was for lunch and then later in the day for dinner. Oh how I wish I had an audio clip of the Lunch Ladies because it was hilarious. But anyone who went to Hampton, can quote the menu line better than a rap lyric. But I digress. So Roomie called the menu line and through the phone we heard:

Thank you for callin' the Virginia Hall Cleveland Hall Dinin' Room Menu Liiine. Our menu fo' today...dinner...is: Fried Chicken....."

Click.

Okay, real talk. That was all we needed to hear. And I know how stereotypical this is going to sound but whenever the lil old lady said "fried chicken" on the menu line, it was a stampede to the Caf. It wasn't because that was all us black folks wanted to eat. No, it was because that was the best damn thing they could cook. The line would be lonnnnnng as hell - like out the door long. Looking back, I realize how stereotypical that must look, but one of the beauties of going to a black school is that for a couple of years of your life, you're not completely conscious of every single stereotype and how it plays a role in your everyday life.

Roomie asked if I wanted her to try to sneak me back some chicken from the cafeteria. "Of course not! I'm going on a date. I don't have to wait on line for fried chicken tonight." said with all the indignation I could muster while thoughts of my pending date swirled through my head.

The phone rang.

"Janelle you have a visitor downstairs".

I stood at the top of my dorm steps and there he was, leaning against his black Acura Legend, gleaming in the sun. I smile and walk down the steps. He greets me and opens my door. Wow a gentleman. I was impressed (remember I was 18...hahahaha). He got in, made a U-turn, and we were on our way. Now, even though I was a freshwoman, my dorm was outside of campus gates. My dorm was right off of THE main street off of campus - the street that leads to you to the highway and other local streets. We're sitting at the light making small talk. Light turns green and Bx makes a right.

"Umm, didn't you mean to make a left?" I asked as we turned towards the back gate of campus.

"Chill, ma. I got this." he stated as he rolled down the windows and opened the sun roof. So I did as I was instructed and chilled. I sat back in my seat as he cruised at like 2 miles an hour through campus. It was dinner time and the weather was nice, so there were a lot of folks out on that end of the yard. I waved to a few people I knew, sat back, enjoyed the music he was bumpin', and chilled.

Yes, I realized he was profiling but damnit I was 18 and was on my way to a restaurant where I hoped no one would ask me "you want some mo' rice, babay?" As we circled through campus, I realized he was going out the back way down the road that separates Hampton U. from the VA Hospital. Hmmmm, I wonder why he's going this way when he can get to Mercury Blvd (and all the restaurants, movie theaters) by going a different way. But I didn't question it.

Finally, we're at the light. He's turning left. And then he makes another quick left. Into the parking lot of McDonald's. Initially, inside I was like "WTF?" before there was the acronym. But Hampton girls have a reputation for being these ultra prissy, stuckup chicks, and I didn't want to wag my manicured finger in his face like "How dare you bring me to McDonald's?". I push that thought to the side and thought "Janelle, he's a college student just like you, i.e broke. Get a grip".

We walk into McDonald's. I'm all filled with mixed emotions but my 18 year old self didn't quite know how to eloquently express how I felt, so I stare up at the brightly lit menu like I'd never seen it before. Damn, I gave up fried chicken night in the Caf' for McDonald's???

"Welcome to McDonald's. May I take your order?"
Me: "Ummmmm....."
Bx: "Oh, lemme get a #2 Meal.....Supersized."
Cashier: "What kind of drink?
Bx: "Lemme get a orange drink. "
Cashier: "What else?"
Bx: "Oh, nah. That's it."
Me & Cashier: "That's it???!!"
Bx (laughing): "Oh my bad. Lemme get a extra cup for the drink."

Wait a minute. Did he just ask for an extra cup for orange drink?? Wait what's a number 2 value meal anyway (because I already had my chicken sandwich with cheese and a sprite all picked out in my mind)?? Do you know what a number 2 value meal is??? Do you?? It's the 2 cheeseburger value meal. This mofo expected me to split the 2 cheeseburger meal and his supersized fries and orange drink. I DON'T EVEN LIKE ORANGE DRINK. And that my friends, is when I went off.

"You mean to tell me that you got your car all shinin' like new, drove an hour to see me, to not only take me to McDonald's but to expect ME to split a cheeseburger meal with you?? Are you fucking crazy? How do you know if I even eat beef, huh?? You didn't even ask what I wanted??Do you know it was fried chicken night in the Caf and I gave that up for this?"

"What? I'm saying I can give you a coupla dollars towards your meal if you can't eat a burger?"

And that is when I turned on my heels, walked out of McDonald's and walked back to campus. Now I was terrified of the VA Hospital (too many urban legends and scary movies about the kind of people in there...don't judge me, I was 18. hahahahaha). However, my anger far outweighed my fear that day.

As I stomped back on the yard, I couldn't believe the vast difference between his definition of a date and my definition. Sure, I was a lil put off that he chose McDonald's for our dining pleasure but I sucked it up. At the end of the day, it was a meal and he wanted to break bread...errr, fries,......with me. But to offer to either split this paltry meal or even better "a coupla dollars" towards me reaching in my purse and paying for my own meal???!!! HAYELLL NAW.

I looked at my watch. I still had time to catch the Caf'. But then I thought about my roommate, sitting at dinner with our Big Brothers. She's probably already told them I had a date. What the hell do I look like walking up to the Caf' less than 30 minutes later??? I would have to tell them the story. Oh the humiliation. Luckily, my dorm is outside of campus gates so I can avoid the Caf' and everyone over there as I go back to my dorm.

I return back to my dorm, quiet as church mouse. I went up the back stairs to my room. I slipped in and just laid across my bed. Dwayne Wayne would have never done this to Whitley, not gas up a "date" and then expect her to fend for herself.

I wanted to call somebody. But the whole story was so embarrassing. So I called my mother. And told her the entire melodrama - fried chicken and all. She laughed but at least her laugh wasn't "HA! HA! You got played." It was more one of those motherly I'm going to send you a care package tomorrow laughs to make you forget all about this fool. (which she did by the way...hahahaha). She even offered to put an extra $10 in my account if I wanted to order pizza since she knew there was no way in HELLLL I was showing my face in the cafeteria that night. I think that was the moment I realized, "Mommy is pretty cool".

PS I ran into Bx, a couple of months later here in NY. He tried to act like he didn't know me. That was the best thing he could have done.

PPS In that care package my mother included a McDonald's coupon and a Tupperware container to bring food back from the cafeteria on nights when I have a date. Yes moms got jokes. hahahahahahaa

This my friends, has gone down in my history as one of THEEE worst dates of my life. And I've shared it with you. Well isn't that special?!

The update on Pain....

2009-09-16T12:28:00.003-04:00

Shortly after writing yesterday's post, I left work early - something I NAYVER do. I may take a day off or come in late but I never leave work early. The pain was just too great to continue looking at spreadsheets, contracts and press releases. I'd decided to go to the emergency room. I couldn't take another day of mind numbing pain or the mind numbing madness of trying to find a doctor who was willing to see me AND take my insurance.

Now since I was dressed for work (dress, heels), I decided to go home first and change clothes. I knew I would be sitting in the ER for about 3 million hours freezing my ass off. So I left my office and hailed a cab in midtown. Luckily at that time of the afternoon, catching a cab was a breeze. Unfortunately, that's the only easy part. First he wants to turn on the radio to an urban radio station (sidebar: why assume that's what I want to listen to?? For all he knows I could be a Reba McIntire/Carrie Underwood fan - even though I love that Think Before He Cheats song....ssshh, don't tell nobody). So I asked him to turn it down. Clearly turn it down translates to turn to another station in another language because next my head was assaulted with the theme music from 1010 Wins. If I had to listen to 22 minutes of that, I was going to bash his head with the world. "Please mister. I need SILENCE." That's all I could say. He looked at me like I had 2 heads (shit at that point I felt like I had 2 heads on my head) and dutifully turned the radio off. And that's when I heard something rattling around in his trunk . GOOD GRIEF, CHARLIE BROWN!!!! I tried to calm myself and remind myself that every noise was going to annoy the crap out of me but I was on my way to doing something about it. Something about knowing that a solution was imminent seemed to stop the bowling ball from knocking down all the pins in my brain.

Having been in one too many emergency waiting rooms, waiting for my mother, I packed a little bag to take with me. Honestly, it was the "just in case they keep me bag." But I really didn't want to think that. I hadn't been an overnight guest of honor at a hospital since some man slapped me on my butt and pronounced to my cut open momma "You have a girl!!!" I slipped off my career wear and looked at my closet like "Hmmm what does one wear to a Emergency Room??" Sweats and a tee-shirt with flip flops for easy removal.

Before I jumped back in yet another taxi, I went to vote. In my painful brain, I had rationalized that people before me dealt with more than a headache to vote. And while some may rationalize that it was "only" a primary, the civil rights activist in me was not giving up. Do you see how bad my head hurts??? I've missed a primary for happy hour before. But nah uh not today.

Once I made my way back downtown to the hospital, I began to get nervous. (yes I went back downtown to the hospital - my fave hospital actually. Look, they have valet parking and a taxi stand. Any place that cares that much about a person's convenience is the place I need to be...hahahaa). Nervousness led to terror. What if this is life threatening. What if there is a tumor on my brain. I began to feel around my head to see if I could feel a lump under my skull. Luckily, I didn't have time to weigh these options as I was given a bed, a hospital gown, and a "specimen" cup, and an IV within 30 minutes of arriving. Oh and let's not forget about the industrial strength drugs at the hospital. Within hours I felt normal again. The pain left in layers, like a peeled orange. Weird, right??

After numerous tests, all irrational thoughts of tumors and brain distortions were thrown out the window. My CatSCAN was only a picture of my pretty brain (the doc showed me...there was nothing in the pic that shouldn't be there). Apparently, my headaches seem to be caused by dehydration (no more Starbucks for me for a while) and S-T-R-E-S-S. But I have to go for more tests to rule out migraines. Good grief, Charlie Brown, this growing up (and old) shit sucks!!! Yeah, where was THAT episode of Charlie Brown and the gang, huh???