The 'View From Here

On Sunday, I was reading a blog I frequently peruse. It's written by a guy I met last summer through a mutual friend and it’s called "Personification of Crazy" . Now while I haven't seen any sides of the crazy he speaks of, he's a cool dude and lately I read his stuff and think "Damn, I could have written the exact same thing." Any who, he participated in a series called "Interview Me". The rules are as follows:

1. If you want to participate, leave me a comment saying, “Interview me (and give me your e-mail address if I don't already have it).” (Note from me: if you don't want to publicly advertise your email address, you can send me an email)
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

After reading his interview, I was intrigued and it sounded like fun. I wouldn't mind sharing my 'view so I did as instructed and followed the rules (for once...LOL). I wondered what kind of questions he would ask and prayed they wouldn't be ridiculous/perverted/sadistic...you get the picture. So with out further adieu, here's my 'view as asked by Mike.

1. You went to school in Virginia and live in New York. In your experience, are men down south better than those up north or are all men about the same? Does chivalry exist anywhere anymore?
Hmmmm. When I was in school I dated no one from New York. I figured if I wanted a New York boy I might as well stay in New York. LOL With that said, I will say neither is better than the other - just different. The approach was definitely different. I remember feeling like the aggressor in some situations in school. But I quickly learned soft and "pink" was the way to go but I never lost that New York edge. I guess that's why all the guys who "found" me on our alumni website tell me they used to think I was mean back in the day. Interesting enough, all those dudes are from Down South. LOL
Now as far as chivalry, its status of life or death depends on the situation. I find that when I am acquainted with the guy, they know that I expect some sort of chivalrous gestures. And I don't have to say anything; it's a quiet expectation that if we are going to hang/be friendly/date, you better come with your A game. Conversely, I find in some day to day interactions with strangers, chivalry may be dying a slow agonizing death. I've had doors closed on me when my arms are full; guys stepping on or off an elevator before me. One dude even stepped in front of me and damn near tripped me to get on the elevator first. But just when I think someone has pulled the life support plug and chivalry is gasping on its final breath, a guy (a stranger) will do something so simple as hold the door for me when I'm not immediately behind him or offer to carry my packages. Now the question is: Is flirting masked as chivalry???

2. You and I met in a bar last summer, and during our first round of drinks, I toasted to my new found freedom. When was the last time in your life you felt completely free?
Hmmmmm....that's a tough one. I've had snapshots of freedom in my life like when I walked away from teaching with no actual job lined up (sounds weird but it was more liberating that sunbathing on a nude beach).Another weird "freedom" moment was when I turned a guy down last year who wanted us to be serious. He had marriage on his menu and while he was good in theory, I actually listened to myself and said "no". He wasn't the one for me. No matter how many zeroes he had in his bank account or how many times he sent his driver to take me to run errands (actually I could have gotten used to that...LOL) or how many amazing restaurants he exposed me to or how kind, thoughtful, and sweet he was, I couldn't do it. In the past, if a guy wanted to be with me then I agreed to a relationship even if he wasn't in my best interest. But that day, I was free to say “no, I can’t be with you” and I was okay with that. (kinda miss the driver though…lol)

3. You once had a guy you were dating read your blog. Is there currently anyone in your life who you would not want to stumble across your blog?
Well, as a (new) rule, I’d prefer it if the guys I date don’t read the blog. If I meet a guy and I think he wants to date me, then I may or may not tell him I write a blog. And if I do tell him, I never give the address. It’s unbalanced access to my life. And I’ve had guys read past entries and want to analyze me like this is an assignment for English Lit Class (one day, but not today). That freaks me out. Also, I would hate if my Dad read my blog. While I think he would find it entertaining, he doesn’t need to know about my dating life. I’ve painted the perfect picture of the me I want him to know. Reading this blog would destroy all of my hard work. But honestly, I wish there was a way that he could read some entries and I could block the others. I need some sort of Parental Control on here. LOL

4. What is the most spontaneous thing you have done for a guy?
A few months back I posted a photo-blog visualizing one of the spontaneous things I’ve done for a dude. I actually walked out of my apartment, took the elevator with my new neighbor, and walked to a waiting car outside with no one knowing what wasn’t underneath that trench coat. Hustle was so caught up in my new glasses that we were about 25 minutes into a 30 minute drive before he realized what was going on under the trench coat. Good times. LOL
I have a spontaneous spirit so I always think of spur of the moment things to do. I woke up one morning and decided to make lunch for the boo du jour (this was a while ago). I delivered it to his office complete with a beverage and dessert; made sure he got it, then bounced. The next dude I boo up is gonna be spoiled. LOL

5. What is your favorite guilty pleasure?
Ohhh that’s a tough one. Ummm, reality shows like Real Housewives but shit Anderson Cooper is a fan. How “guilty” is this pleasure??? LOL
Ummm, ice cream out the carton. Oh yes, I just want a spoon and the carton. I hate when I have to be all civilized and scoop it into a mug (I hate using a bowl for ice cream unless it’s a bowl/mug hybrid. LOL). Now that I think about it, I have a few guilty pleasures. I just may save the rest for an entire blog entry one day.

Thanks, Mike for the interview. It was harder than I thought (that’s what she said….hahahahahhahahaha)

Retraction of sorts......

Okay, so I've been cursed out. Well not really. But I had a stern talking to from a few over the past couple of days. So, I guess I need to post a disclaimer/retraction/whatever to clear the air.So in my last depressing post, I lamented on being alone. (Gosh, how did you read that?! It was painful to re-read). However, in my re-read, I realized that I forgot to mention one tiny detail. I didn't tell anyone about my mom's procedure. I didn’t call anyone and say “Hey, my mom’s going to the hospital tomorrow and I could really use some company.” And for that I was in Troubbbbbbbble (remember how Tootie on Facts of Life used to say it?? Yeah, like that! hahahahahaa). Actually I told 3 people.
1. My boss so I could have the day off.
2. Guy Guru. And if I remember correctly that was like total accident side-bar kind of mention on G-chat like:
Me: “I’m killing myself at work to finish this project especially since I won’t be here tomorrow.”
Guy Guru: “you playing hookie tomorrow son?”
Me: “haha. I wish. My mom is having surgery of sorts tomorrow.”
Guy Guru: word?! is everything okay??
Me: “yeah, it’s cool. So on Friday blah blah blah”
3. My BFF, Zilla. And even when I told her I had no information. It was just like “hey my mom’s has to have surgery again” as an afterthought to another conversation. And I didn’t tell her when the surgery was until the night before because honestly I forgot.

As these conversations point out, I have a hard time sharing bad news. I don’t want the pity and the conversations and all the pomp and circumstance that goes along with it. I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to process it, think about, write about it. But hardly ever do I want to talk about it. Which led to my post on Thursday. And the subsequent “cursing out” for the past couple of days.

From what I gather the sentiment is not about me choosing to be alone. It seems to be because in that documented vulnerable moment I felt alone. And according to the discussions over the past couple of days that’s the source of discontent because I didn’t have to feel that way. From actual offers to sit with me to just wanting to support through prayers and text messages, I’ve heard it all. Baskin Robbins was especially upset with me because I didn’t say anything until that evening when he asked “how was your day?” Telling him hadn’t crossed my mind. And even now I can think of a few reasons why. But at the end of the day it made me realize that I’m not big on sharing that small part of me that is completely vulnerable. I can share a story of a bad day or a funny moment. But when it comes to those moments in life when I’m scared or when my true vulnerabilities have the potential to be exposed, I shut my mouth and let my fingers do the talking. And while pouring my heart out through the pores of my fingertips feels therapeutic and pushes the envelope in the development of my writing, it doesn’t help in my personal relationships. Saving that side of me for the written world is not completely living. And damn sure isn’t sharing. So what do I do? Well, I can’t stop writing. Helllooo, I just got Carrie B. so I can’t stop now. Maybe when it comes to those vulnerabilities I’ll shut my fingers and let my mouth do the talking for a change. And share more of me to those who genuinely care.

So to all those that matter most to me, I apologize for making you an afterthought and not a forethought when I was going through yet another challenging episode in my life. While I may have been alone at the hospital on Thursday, I never once felt lonely. And I have you to thank for that. I will do better. I have to.

Malnourished

I find myself sitting here again. At damn near the same table. Last time I had a pen and a few sheets of printouts to compose my thoughts. This time I have my laptop. Alone. Just me and Carrie B. (yes I named my laptop – her full name is Carrie Bronze Obama). Whenever I find myself waiting in the hospital cafeteria I am acutely aware of my status. Actually, that awareness slaps my perceptions into reality in the family waiting area. There I see family huddled together. Laughing, joking, crying, praying. Together. And my singleness is singled out as I am relegated to the lone hard chair in the corner as opposed to the comfy warm sofas lined around the room. I see the glances with the looks, a mix of bewilderment and pity. “Wow, you’re going through this alone?! I couldn’t imagine…” “Awwww you’re going through this alone. I couldn’t imagine…..” When the bewildered pity becomes way to stifling I escape to the Garden Café in the basement (where the only garden I see are three poster size pictures of the Botanical gardens hanging by the cashiers). The “café” is a mix of hospital staff, construction workers (they are forever improving this hospital), and transient guests - those of us who are forced to be for one reason or another and hope that we don’t have to return. Here everyone is too busy to glance my way. Well except for the construction guys but I think they have carnal thoughts in mind.

While Carrie B. can distract me and captivate my fingertips, she cannot hold my hand. She can’t restore my faith that everything will be okay….again. She can’t pray with me. I know I said before that I think I’m getting tired of dating and this is one of those times where I can see the benefits of being in the circle of 2. That support, the every present “having my back”, the take charge when I can’t, allowing me to be vulnerable and weak because I know someone else has strong taken care of for both of us. Someone who will let me rant my innermost thoughts and still love me after the revelation. I can’t say that I’ve ever had that in my life but something in my soul is telling me that it’s what is missing. Maybe its too many days spent cramped in a hospital cafeteria waiting for my mother to come out of surgery. Maybe it’s the upcoming birthday. Maybe its finally believing that anything is possible thanks to my new president. Whatever it is, I have a feeling of malnourishment and I don’t know what else my soul needs. Am I starving myself by keeping relationships at bay? Am I an relationship anorexic??

If I find myself here in the Garden Café at damn near the same table, I want the option to leave Carrie B.

(Butterfly Note: My inauguration blog is forthcoming. I have been swamped at work and today my mind was elsewhere. I hope you understand. And if you don't, the little red x in the corner and you should get acquainted. Go' head and click on it. Smoochies)

New chapter.....

Right now at this moment, I'm sitting in bed. In my jammies and spectacles. Watching Sex and the City. And typing this blog on my brand new HP laptop. Yes family friends stalkers and stans, I, your favorite Resident Butterfly is now the proud owner of a beautiful 17 inch screen, HP Pavillion Entertainment PC (well that's what the little inscription says in the right hand corner).

Since I couldn't get out of this all consuming big city of mine, I decided to do just go ahead and buy my ever elusive missing link between Carrie and I - my laptop. And true to the love of all things beautiful, my new baby is bronze. All over. Except the mouse pad area. That's a mirror. You mean I can type to heart's content and then check my makeup without missing a keystroke??? Sweeeeeeet.

I've had ideas just pouring into the forefront of my brain ever since I got over my sticker shock, and actually committed to opening the box (Sidebar: does anyone else feel sick to their stomach when they buy a big ticket item??? like "holy crap I just spent $XXXX. I could solve world hunger/pay my mortgage/pay a hitman to rid the world of stalkers/take an extensive vacation" and a hundred other options to spend your money?? please don't tell me I'm the only one). It's as if someone turned flicked the on switch and my fingers can't keep up. What's most on my mind lately??? What else? Relaysheeships. Blame it on the Sex and the City marathon on my TV. Blame it on all the images of the Obamas ingrained in my brain all weekend. Blame on the alcohol (this new song on Jamie Foxx's Cd is becoming my fav of the moment. And if I'm not mistaken it was written by a fellow Hamptonian. I bet our Home by the Sea provided some inspiration for it. hahahahahahaha).

I know any talk about my feelings on relaysheeships or my dating activity (or inactivity) has been missing lately from my blog. Just like the sticker shock that took hold of me earlier, I'm kinda afraid to open that box at the moment. I have no explanation why, it's just the way I feel at the moment. But maybe my new toy will open the vault on those emotions.

Introduction of D. Tone

I just hung up on my godbrother. Notice I didn't say "with', I said "on". And I don't regret it one bit. He needed to speak with Ms. D. Tone because I had nothing more to say and she always has something to add to the convo.

Once my original plans for this weekend were canceled, I figured I might make the trip to the Philly area to spend time with he, his wife, and their daughter (technically, the original plans were my Plan B plans when Plan A was too costly for a trip without a sandy beach and an umbrella'ed drink). My godbrother always complains that I don't spend any time with them. So a last minute trip would have been perfect. And cheap.

I ask him if he had any plans for the weekend. He tells me he doesn't because of a snow storm blowing through the area. I hadn't heard about a snow storm but then again I wasn't looking at the weather in Philly. Hmmm, snow in Philly??? Okay, no problem. (The fact that I, would even contemplate anywhere in snow is a testament to my need to get away for just a moment).

Then the foolishness starts. First its the "don't get married speech" which always puzzles me because ummmmm yeah he has a wife. Then there's the "why you ain't got no man?" spiel. When I tell him about the dudes that I'm dating, he finds fault in everyone of them. "He has about 3 kids that he's not telling you about." "You're not fucking him but somebody else is". "You sure know how to pick a winner, remember _______ and _________. " This of course always leads to the walk down Mistake Mile. And it seems that its only my mistakes that reside there. He reminds me of every bonehead wild child thing I did when I was in college and thereafter. And quite frankly I'm sick of this route. UGH!!! Enough already. I did this some of this shit like 12 years ago. You have nothing more to say.???Or better yet compliment me on the things I've done right, like graduate and dump ______ and ________????

And frankly, today seems to be the day that I'm done with it. Hell no, I'm not going to Philly to hear more of this shit. Hell no, I'm not calling him back until he realizes once and for all I'm done with this brand of foolishness (yes, I punked out and sent him an email detailing WHY he had to speak to Ms. D. Tone). He needs to realize that there's a better me here today. And that I don't call him for a beatdown on my character or the choices I make in life. I call him because I love him and his family and I want him to be a part of my life. I call him because he's like the big brother I've never had and sometimes I need to lean a little on him. I call him to vent and to cry and to plan and to think and to laugh and to love. But all he seems to give in return is ridicule. So, Ms. D. Tone meet my godbrother. Hopefully, you won't be friends for too long.

There are signs everywhere.....*

Printed on my Starbucks cup this morning:

The Way I See It #76

The irony of commitment is that

its deeply liberating - in work, in play, in love.

The act frees you from the tyranny of your internal critic,

from the fear that likes to dress itself up and parade around

as rational hesitation. To commit is

to remove your head as the barrier

to your life.

--Anne Morriss

Starbucks customer from New York City

She describes herself as an "organization builder, restless American citizen, optimist.

With my mind occupied with thoughts of commitment to all things work, play and love lately who knew I would find some insight on the matters on the back of my Starbucks cup?? Later today when I went to order coffee for a staff meeting from the same Starbucks. No one else had this message. Only me. Maybe there is some truth to signs being everywhere. In any case, I'm paying attention.

*A dollar to the first person who guesses what movie I got the title from. (Stalkers need not respond...hahahaha)

(there are also funny signs everywhere. who the hell is Slippy and why do I need to heed caution?? hahahaha)

You know better....

Butterfly's note: This was actually written on my beloved Treo on Dec. 30 with all intent to be posted before the end of the year. Somehow in my mind, I didn't want to post it this year since it was a "last year" issue but on the flip side I didn't want my last post of the year to be about this either. However, ever since the incident its still taking up residence in my brain and I find myself re-writing without pen, paper, or Treo handy. Thus leading me to spill it. Proceed.


"I DON'T GIVE A FUCK!"

"FUCK THAT NIGGA, YO! THAT MUTHA FUCKA'S DEAD ASS WRONG"

"YO WHY THE FUCK YOU YELLIN', YO?! WE RIGHT HERE!"

"YEAH I'M GETTING LOUD SO FUCKING WHAT. YOU AIN'T HEARING ME! WHAT THE FUCK YO"



This was the conversation I walked into on the D train. From the magnitude of the volume emanating from behind the closed doors as the train pulled into the station, one would think the entire car was embroiled in a bitter battle. But no such luck. As I entered the train I realized it was 3 girls apparently arguing over the nuances of their friendship.



"I'M SAYIN'. YOU GIGGLIN' AND SHIT ON THE PHONE WITH THIS FUCKING BITCH BUT YOU MY FUCKIN' FRIEND. THAT SHIT AIN'T RIGHT, YO!"



There's no telling how long this discourse was taking place since I'd just got on the train but if I had to guess from all the eyes rolled to the top of the train car it had gone on for quite some time.

The passengers were just trying to ignore them and get to their destination. So I joined them and rolled my eyes upward and shook my head at the audacity of hood. But it's really hard to ignore the shrill yells of teenage girls.



"OKAY. ENOUGH. YOU NEED TO STOP FUCKING CURSING LIKE THAT IN FRONT OF MY GRANDBABIES.



Now its quite ironical (yes I know ironical is not a real word but I like it, okay...hahahaha) that Grandma used the same language in front of her grandbabies to get her point across but judging from the THUNDEROUS applause resonating through the subway car, she wasn't the only one who felt the same way.

Now what happened next I want to say shocked me but more so I felt shamed.

"WHO THE FUCK YOU THINK YOU TALKING TO??"
"LITTLE GIRL YOU HEARD ME. STOP USING THAT LANGUAGE IN FRONT OF MY GRANDBABIES. THEY DON'T HEAR THAT SHIT AT HOME AND WE'RE RAISING THEM RIGHT."
"LADY YOU DON'T FUCKING KNOW ME. FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!" (okay she said it like 20 times in a row...I wonder if she set a world record)
(Grandma is standing up at this point) "LITTLE GIRL, I TOLD YOU. YOU MAY NOT HAVE NO RESPECT FOR YOURSELF BUT YOU NEED TO CUT IT OUT AND STOP CURSING IN FRONT OF MY GRANDBABIES. "
"BITCH, WHO YOU STEPPING TO. FUCK YOU. DON'T COME AT ME LIKE THAT. SUCK MY DICK."
"YO, CHILLLLL. HER GRANDKIDS ARE HERE. JUST TAKE AN EL AND BE QUIET" (this was "little girl's" friend she was arguing with; at least one of them seemed to have some common sense)
"NO FUCK THAT I'MA KEEP FUCKING TALKING. FUCK HER. SUCK MY DICK, BITCH. SUCK MY DICK."


"Mommy can we go to another train? I don't wanna be on the cursing train no mo'." said the little one seated next to me. (sidebar: how in the midst of all this foolish I got a seat is beyond me). As the little one put her tiny fingers in her tiny ears, her mother also fed up, tapped "little girl" on the shoulder. When "little girl" spun around, the woman whispered to her "Look, my kids are here too. You need to cut it out." Her response gave a peek into her rationale. "I'm sorry but she ain't have to fucking step to me like that, you know what I'm saying. She all cursing at me and shit!"

So let me get this straight, the ONLY reason she proceeded to behave like a wild banshee spewing four letter words like dollar bills in a strip club was because the older woman cursed at her???? After she was dropping F-bombs like it was the Gaza Strip on the D train???? The fact that this was an elder, somebody's grandmother didn't strike a chord?? The fact that she had white folks looking at the rest of us like "sucks to be you right now, buddy. don't you wish you were white?"had no bearing on her adolescent judgment.

While I understand that she is young (and therefore dumb), she should "know better." How many times growing up did you hear that phrase "Girl/boy, you know better" as a way to cut the foolishness before it got a chance to take root. Did anyone stop her with that admonition in her young life?? Maybe its my naivete, but I refuse to believe that we have gotten to a point where this behavior is deemed appropriate. Somewhere deep inside I want to believe that "little girl" knew better but let her swagger get the best of her, her teenage bravado overwhelmed and embarrassed by the situation. I want to believe that doing "hoodrat things my friends" will cease in the *09.

As some of you know, every other Saturday I teach for a program sponsored by the girls organization famous for their cookies (don't need my students or their parents finding my blog and reading my adventures....hahahahahaaa). Of the three classes I teach one of them is Etiquette. And this year is by far the worse to date - the attitudes, the disrespect, the bragging about fighting, etc. Most days I feel like I'm teaching The Bad Girls Club. And more disappointing, this is the first year where my class is all black. I've had to close the door and say some things I wouldn't dare repeat just to get their attention and stress how important these social skills of etiquette are in the way they present themselves to the world. Some of them just don't get it. Its so disheartening to see them wanting to be "ghetto" and not wanting better. They know that better exists, they just have no desire for it. I almost wish they didn't know of better's existence because how could you know if you want it if you never knew about it. Fortunately, I see some of them seeing the possibilities of better (honestly, if I didn't, I don't know if I could go back). I pray something I say or do sticks with them. I want to save them from the cruelty of not knowing better. That's the reason I got out of teaching. There were too many to "save" and I couldn't handle not succeeding in my efforts. In this situation, there aren't that many students but every time I walk in that classroom, I aim to show them better. I wish "little girl" was in my class and maybe I could knock some sense into her by the end of the program. I also wish that during that encounter, I had the strength to deal with her and her foolishness. But a) I wasn't trying to get into a shouting match with a teenager and b) just how many am I supposed to save??

By the end of the month, the Commander in Chief will look more like us than ever before. If only for his sake, we not only need to know better but we need to do better. The foolishness of the past can no longer get a pass. We can't lay our excuses in the hands of "the man". I'm not saying that racism, classism, will miraculously disappear when he takes the Oath of Office. But don't you think that everything "we" do in the streets will have an a trickle up effect to the White house. The roads leading there are paved black. We have to walk better, talk better, treat each other better, perform better, work better. With the cesspool that the economy finds itself in, he has more important things to worry about than someone saying "how can you expect us to do blah blah when you're own people can't get it together??". No its not fair because damnit we didn't hold every white person accountable for Dubya but we already know the double standard. That's why our parents made sure we knew better.

(PS I hate that this post sounds like one of those "back in my day, blah blah blah...........unfortunately, its the truth)

Say what now.....

Okay so I know this is my first *09 post and I wanted it, as my first for the new year, to be all philosophical and shit about my goals and plans and dreams all in my effort to SHINE IN '09!!!! However, when scratch the needle across the record moments occur I have to share them with my friends, fans, stalkers and stans. (SIDEBAR: will stalking go out of fashion in the '09...I'm just sayin'..hahahahaha).

This is a text I received a little while ago:
"So what's up with u? U seeing someone - male or female?"

SCRATCH THE NEEDLE ACROSS THE RECORD. WHAAAAAT?????!!!!

Mini background story is this is from a guy I've known for quite some time. He's a friend of a friend. I ran into him and the mutual friend last week at a party and numbers were exchanged for non-hooking up purposes. When he sent me a "Good Morning" text earlier, I knew I was in trouble because I got a feeling he's interested and I think I'm growing sick of dating (another blog for another day). So being the lady butterfly that I am, I responded in kind. Of course this leads to a discourse about running into each other at the party and how good I looked that night and blah blah blah. As the convo progressed I could tell he would figure out a way to ask me out. However, I was NOT expecting a sexual orientation disclosure via text. Like for real????!!! Is this how it's done in the streets these days???? And furthermore (and even scarier), why would YOU think I (MOI) am interested in chicks beyond wondering where they bought their shoes???? Don't let the natural hair fool you, bro. I am strickly dickly. Penis pleases me. Make that 100% natural, USDA Grade A certified, sent from Heaven above, purely organic flesh and veins beautiful penis. Yeah that's what I like. Strap ons and va-jayjays need not report for duty.

I've been on the dating scene for a minute now but this shit right here?? Yeah this is a first. Of course in this day and age you have to ask because thanks to Jerry Springer, you just never know. But ummm, call me a prude (yeah right) but ummm can we eaaaaase into that conversation and not trip over it right at the gate????

So how do I respond???
I can be super duper sarcastic and say something like "I got the best of both worlds with this tranny I'm with." but its hard to convey sarcasm and wit via text (and besides I have a reputation to uphold and this fool might actually believe me). I can be straight gangsta and say "MOTHER F***A, WHAT YOU ASK ME??? YOU BET NOT ASK ME NO SHIT LIKE THAT AGAIN!!!" but come on, who believes me as gangsta??? Do I get all siddified and respond with "I will not dignify such a crass inappropriate question with a response"? As much as I like to get my siddity on, my refusal may be interpreted as an acknowledgement that yes yes I date both genders. And that is soooooo not gonna work. I have an idea on how I will respond but I'm curious how would you handle it??? Feel free to get ignant. LOL

Santa Baby...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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





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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gag me with a spoon.....

Lemme just vent on a pet peeve for a minute.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part 2: Baring All...

Please read Part 1 here before you continue below.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Baring All

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What I know for sure

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pinky strikes again......

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, but it's the seeeason."

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

"You have such good taste, Janelle."

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

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

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

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

On my mind........

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Man Law

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Pending in Purgatory

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Learning to Make it Rain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Never say never

"Never in my lifetime"

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

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

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

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

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


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

No. 117

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're killing me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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