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)

Too far....

I can't take the tanginess that is Pinky. He has gone so far as to wear glasses that have pink "arms" - light pink on the inside and hot fuchsia on the inside. I'ma need his wife to write a book, a step-by step guide on how the hell she convinces this grown ass "straight" man to walk out of his townhouse looking like a bottle of pepto bismol. Forget the CIA, send this chick overseas to find the terrorists. Apparently, she knows how to make men do exactly whateva she liiiikes (paraphrasing TI right here...hahahaha).

I was in the process of writing another blog, when Pinky walked in all his pinktastic ghey glory. You didn't think the nonsense stopped at the pink eyeglasses did you??? Once again this fool is wearing a pink sweater, with a pink button up underneath. With these DAMN GLASSES. We had a brief meeting and all I could think was 'damn you look like a ghey pink panther". (Sidebar: now that I'm forced to think about it, I don't think the pink panther was ghey. his music was too cool - perfect for mackin' the ladies! ahahahaha) I find myself punking his pink ass and I have to check myself. But come on, how much respect can I muster when he has worn more pink in the past 2 months than I have worn in a lifetime???? AND I'M A GIRL!!!! hhahahahhaaa

maybe I'll post later, maybe I won't. But I couldn't keep all of the gheylike shenanigans of Pinky to myself.

Sulking

to say something out loud puts some truth to it. so I guess I need to face my reality. I'm not going to homecoming this year. I've been planning on going to homecoming for months. But due to circumstances called life, my friends aren't able to attend. I'm not angry. Just disappointed. I haven't seen my roomie and my other friends in years. We speak regularly on the phone (well my roomie and I) but hanging out and reminiscing live and in living color can't be beat. Walking the yard in our Hampton uniform - fitted jeans, cute fitted shirt/tee/sweater, blazer, and hot heels. Running into old flames and crushes and laughing at how intense and urgent our feelings were back then. Catching up with former classmates and dormmates. Seeing how grown up we really are (or aren't...hahahahah). Cheering at the game - rocking the blue and white; shakin', shakin' SHAKE DEEES (you have to have to be a Hampton alum in order to appreciate this...hahahaha). I wanna see the half-time show and hear what songs by the Temptations or the O'Jays that the band will play (again have to be a Hampton Alum to get that joke too...basically, they never play current music during half-time at homecoming - only music that the old heads can reminisce to; LOL). I wanna go to the parties. Get all dressed up, so my haters can hate and the admirers can........well admire. LOL

Sure I could roll solo as I'm sure I'll run into old friends and acquaintances but that's too much of a high risk investment. And the cost would fall squarely on my shoulders. No fun in that.

I wanna stomp my feet and throw a grown up size temper tantrum. I might even through myself on the floor and roll around until I get my way like "some" kids do. Its not fair! Its not fair!! I wanna go! Did I mention that Baskin Robbins will be there? While he's not my sole reason for wanting to go, it's definitely an added perk. I haven't seen him in a couple of months (no I didn't write about it) but it would be nice to at least see him and chat it up face to face.

I'm going in the corner to sulk now (some more).

Last Night Beyonce saved my life.....

Friday night. Friend's 30th birthday bash. VIP.

While I was certainly having fun in VIP, I can never stay in one spot too long. Especially if I haven't walked around and thoroughly surveyed the crowd. I need to be amongst the people, even if that means becoming a dance floor contortionist to get through the crowd. So I make my way down from the VIP perch to mingle. Actually, first I went to tinkle, then I went to mingle. I make my way through the crowd and I get the hand pull. You know when you walk by and some dude you didn't even see grabs your hand and tries to pull you back over to him?? Yeah that. I gave the "sorry, charlie but I don't wanna dance with you" half grin, half head shake and kept it moving. As I'm making my way from the bar back to VIP I feel someone pluck me HARD on my bare arm. I turn around with the "what the fuck" fire in my eye, ready to curse someone OUT. That shit hurt!!!! LOL
When I turn in the direction of the pluck, I see a chick who looks just as stunned as me and then above her I see a dude laughing his ass off. That's when it registered. I know this fool.

Rewind 7 years. It was around early April. I was hanging out with my girls. All of us single and dressed to party. I don't remember why we were hanging out. Back then we didn't need a reason, we just partied alll the time (cue Eddie Murphy..hahaha). The party wasn't packed so my girls and I had plenty of room to do what we do best - dance to our hearts content and clown folks in between songs. I was standing in a circle with friends laughing about some clown that tried to holla at a friend by the bar, when this guy just stepped in the middle of the circle, grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the dance floor. My girls and I were stunned. Partly because he was so bold with it like he just knew I wouldn't turn him down. And partly, because he was so damn fine. He stood about 6'1", milk chocolate skin, bald head. His lips were kind of thin but his smile could light Times Square. His eyes were brown but there was a light in them, like the damn twinkle of Santa Claus. I was hooked. Right there on the dance floor. We danced for a while and then I excused myself to the ladies room. I was on my way to the ladies room when he approached but I wasn't going to let a little something like relieving my bladder of all the alcohol stop me from dancing with him. When I returned from the ladies room, I tried to walk back over to my girls but just as I took a step in their direction he was right there.

"Where you think you going??"

"Okay, Ike. Calm down. My name ain't Anna Mae. "

He laughed. I laughed. God I wanna see that laugh over and over and over.

We continued to dance until my girls were ready to leave. It was late. I gave him my number. He promised he would call. My girls and I left. We talked about him the entire walk from the club to the train. The more we talked about how fine he was, the more I felt like I would never hear from him again. Don't get me wrong, I've dated some pretty handsome dudes but no one like him. There was just something about him that unnerved my confidence.

He called the next day. And the next. And the next. And the next. We were always together. Laughing, joking, hanging out. He would meet me after work and we would just walk the city streets. I met his brothers and his cousin. He met my mom. Now that I think about it, he scored big when he went grocery shopping for my mother. LOL He was perfect in my 25 year old naivete. But I kept thinking, why me?

Almost 2 months after we met, I was going on vacation to Jamaica with some of my girls. The trip had been planned since January. And I was superexcited to go. He offered to take me to the airport to see me off. I stayed with him the night before my trip. I wanted to wear a linen pantsuit on the plane but it had gotten crushed in my suitcase. I asked him to set up the iron for me so I could iron my pantsuit. He took my pantsuit and painstakingly, ironed it for me. He put the Chinese dry cleaner to shame. The next morning he got up extra early, made me breakfast, and drove me to the airport. Since this was pre-9/11, he walked me to the gate while I waited for my friends. He left when my friends arrived. But not before giving me a big old kiss in the airport. I had my foot raised and everything.

Before we even got on the plane, my friends were sick of me. I had that McDreamy far off look. Through boarding, the safety exit speech, takeoff, flight, and landing, he was alll I wanted to talk about. Not about the amazing trip we were going on. Not about all the things we were gonna do (and NOT gonna do) when we arrived in Jamaica. Just him.

By the end of the summer, we were done. I found out some things that made me question his sincerity. And I got off the rollercoaster ride before it got too nauseating. He'd even gotten a nickname out of it- Manwhore. But looking back it wasn't that deep. When it was over, I wasn't crushed or devastated. There were no Haagen Daaz runs. No comfort found in a Krispy Kreme. I didn't even hate him. I just shrugged it off and moved on with the next. (Actually, I wrote him a letter and THEN moved on...hahahahaha) Ahhh the resiliency of 25.

How appropriate that I ran into him at a club since that's where our history began. After I smacked him (on his arm) for plucking me, we fell into this easy conversation like old friends do. He asked about my family (he always asks about my mom and my grandmother). I asked about his.
Damn, he's still as fine as ever. Remember when he............. Why can't I give him my number again????

I could tell by the look on the chick's face that had been standing there that she too was caught up in the rapture of him. But before the deal could be clinched, he was caught up in catching up with me. And then I remembered why manwhore couldn't have my number. He was still running an amusement park and the rides no longer amuse me.

Mission One. I'ma put this on/ when he see me in my dress/I'ma get me some (hey)

"Uh oh. That's my song. I'ma go find my girls. Take care."

And with that, I shimmied my way back to VIP. I saw him throughout the night. But for the most part, I kept my distance. At the end of the evening, I walked past with my coat on. He grabbed my arm.

"You're not gonna say goodbye."

"Ummm you're dancing. I didn't want to disturb."

"I'ma call you later." {sidebar: I've had the same cell phone number for about 10 years. it's a curse and a blessing. If he really does still have my number, that is definitely a curse. LOL}

"Don't bother. It was good seeing you though. Take care. Good night."

Ahhh the wisdom of 32.

Pinky, where's your brain???

There's a man who visits my office frequently who I call (in my mind of course) "Pinky". The reason for this name is that this man insists on wearing pink. In October. Every time he comes to the office he has on something pink. And I'm not talking about a pink accented tie or thin pink pinstripes in a shirt. No I'm talking full on pink. Last Friday, for instance, he wore pink pants like this:

and a pink and green plaid shirt like this:

(yes, I realize that's NOT a shirt and is a sneaker but that's the closest I could find to the pattern of the shirt he was wearing. Use your imagination. LOL)

And unfortunately for him, he is not as fine or as svelte as the above pictured Bruce Willis (don't talk about my gets better with age crush on Bruce. LOL). As it appears in the picture, it appears to be a summer month or a warm climate when Bruce is wearing said pink pants. It was 60 degrees on Friday. Furthermore, Bruce manned up the pants with a black shirt. Pinky accented his pants with a freaking pink and green plaid shirt. And this is not Pinky's first frolic in the land of Pink. Today he has on a pink and beige blazer with a pink and navy checked shirt with charcoal grey slacks.

Initially I thought he may be a questionable sexual because of this overzealous love of pink. We were in a meeting one day and he crossed his leg to reveal pink and orange socks. I was mid sentence and lost my train of thought for a second at this bizarre sock revelation. Those shits were briiiiiiiiight.
The questionable sexual thoughts pranced right out the window with talks of his wife, kids, and the few times I've actually caught this old fool checking out my butt - like leaning back in the chair to get a full view of the bootay check. Perv.

I'm beyond baffled where this love of pink comes from in a middle aged white man who probably wipes his ass with $50 bills. I mean its not like he's representing Cameron and Dipset. However with this abundance of pink-tastic shenanigans going on, I wouldn't be surprised if Pinky owns a pink Escalade like these hood rich fools.

I have to know where does this love of pink come from. I gave in to my curiosity today by complementing him.
"Good Morning, (Pinky). Nice shirt." (Sidebar: it really is a nice shirt - if I had a man to shop for I might consider it; the pinktanginess of the blazer is what throws the whole outfit off)
"Oh thank you. My wife picked it out. She picks out all my clothes. I don't have time to shop"

What the hell????!!!! Why in the world would a woman send her man out into the streets looking like a cartoon character??? What could he have possibly done to deserve such fashion cruelty??? Granted, I think he's a grade A asshole but I didn't commit to love honor and blah blah blah for all the days of my life. I mean when you're a couple, don't you want your partner to look good because that is a reflection of you as well???

But at the end of the day, he's a grown ass man. Even if his wife buys all his clothes, can't he man up and say "Muffy, take all that pink shit back to the store before I cut your expense account!"? I'm pretty sure there have to be mirrors somewhere in that upper east side townhouse. Can't he see what he looks like??? Does the thought ever cross his mind, "Is this too ghey?" Or does she have complete control over his mind too??

I must admit. I have to admire her gangsta. For one, she knows no woman is coming within an inch of her man (and his money) because he looks like a ghey game show host walking down the street. Secondly, she must have some serious "lovin'" to play jedi mind tricks on the man convincing him that it is quite all right to wear this much damn pink. However, I'll continue to use my jedi mind tricks for good not evil. And this much pink on a man is the real axis of evil. LOL

today is a good day....

I mean it just has to be a good day. I'm probably jinxing myself with this proclamation so early in the day but oh well, that's how I feel. I woke up 5 minutes before my alarm clock rang. I knew EXACTLY what I was wearing today right down to the proper undergarments. Even better, everything I wanted to wear today was actually clean (I hate doing laundry. If I could find a man to not only love my dirty drawers but to wash them too, we are soooo jumping the broom. LOL). I didn't have to move my bed to find a missing sole-mate(I swear I think my shoes wander under there in the middle of the night. LOL). I ran into an old elementary school friend who was taking the same train as I, so I had someone I actually wanted to speak with on the train instead of some creepy slimy old dude making slick creepy slimy old dude comments. As we descended into the train station, I said "please Lord, let that be a ___ train" and voila! said train came roaring through the station. And I got a seat. Crowded, rush hour train on a Monday morning and I, me, the Resident Butterfly got a seat. And I didn't have to push anyone to get it either.

As Old School Chum and I happily discussed the topics du jour we were entertained by the musical shenanigans of a fellow passenger. There was a woman with her mega-headphones perched on top of her slightly askew wig who must have thought she was auditioning for the new reality show "So you think you can dance with the stars and be an idol for love or money while you sell your soul to Bob Johnson". This woman sat in the two-seater on the ___train and proceeded to dance in her seat and move her hands as if she were dj'ing. She continued her musical entertainment by singing out loud "EVERYDAY, I'M HUSTLIN'! EVERYDAY I'M HUSTLIN". And may I add, she even had the deep Rick Ross voice down as she sang the chorus. To add to the shits and giggles entertainment, she segued into 'THROW SOME DEES ON THAT BITCH", hand movements and all. You know the one where you raise your hand over your head and point your index finger down in time with the music. Yeah that one. At 8:40 in the morning. On the ___ train. School Chum and I couldn't stop laughing. At my station, I said my goodbyes and he chuckled as the Music Maestro began her rendition of 'I PUT ON FOR MY CITY/ON ON FOR MY CITY" for the duration of his trip.
The good times kept flowing as I stepped into Starbucks with my coupon for a free cup and was handed another one for a free cup (upon completion of a survey but hey my coffee will be free tomorrow too. Beat that, suckas!!! LOL)

Since I'm probably setting my self up for failure by declaring at 9:35 in the morning that today is a good day, I shant be surprised if this turns into one hell of a shitty day. But for right now, as I replay Ice Cube's "Today was a Good Day" in my mind, all is right in my world for now. Until someones fucks it up. Maybe I'll see music maestro on my way home on the ____ train. I'll probably need a good laugh by then.

In the meantime, this is the funniest.

ALL THE PLUMBERS IN THE HOUSE PULL YO PANTS UP! PULL YO PANTS UP! PULL YO PANTS UP!

The Power of the ___________

I just received an email from one of my fave stores, The Gap. I am admittedly a Gap ho but more on the explanation of my gap ho-ness at another time.

In the spirit of the spirited election season The Gap has launched a "What Will You Vote For?" campaign.

Show us what you're voting for
Gap is giving you the chance to stand up
for your beliefs. Get a customizable "Vote for ______" T-Shirt online
now and in stores on October 23 while supplies last. "

Here's the T-shirt:

(well that's the women's version; for men's click here.)

The tee is so simplistic but the ___________ is so powerful. I pondered what I would write in that space when I received my t-shirt (notice I said when, not if. I'm seerious about my gap ho-ness. hahahahahaha)

This was the heading for the email they sent. And for the most part, I couldn't agree more. Actually, I keep reading it over and over and thinking "damn, did I write this?!" But if I had to customize my own it would probably read something like this:

Vote for Truth. Conquering Your Fears Long Weekends Short Workweeks Creativity Growth Communication Wisdom Happy Hour (yeah I stole it...hahahahahaha) Shoes Stability Love Building Foundations Creating Opportunities Expanding Your Horizons Deep Laugh Lines Peace of Mind, Body & Soul Great Sex (yeah I said it...isn't that in the Constitution?? hahahaha) Stepping out of your Comfort Zone Finding Beauty in All Discovery Bliss Joy Your Future Ice Cream The Road Less Traveled Tolerance Beating the Odds

So what will you vote for????

SIDEBAR: I just remembered I have a shirt from the 2004 election from French Connection United Kingdom. It reads "F.C.UK. YOU, I'M VOTING" I fcuking love that t-shirt. hahahahahahhahaha

Quirks make the world go round (at least in my head)

On Friday, just as I hit "publish" on my work rant, my blogfriend/friend in my head, Chubbs, tagged me for this uh shall we say social revelation. How did she know I needed a break from the rants swirling around in my head? (I have no idea why I've been feeling edgy lately. Lemme go check the calendar. LOL) Thanks, Chubbs for the much needed distraction. :)

1. Link back to the person who tagged you


2. Mention the rules on your blog


3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours


4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking to them


5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged bloggers blogs letting them know they've been tagged


6. You can now display this charming dalek image i created when tagged!

Dang, this was hard. I reveal so much here, you would think all quirks would be exposed already. But alas, I came up with 6. Even though I'm not quite sure how 'unspectacular' they are. LOL

1. I must MUST sleep with at least my big toe if not my whole foot peeking out from under the covers. I need the ventilation to stave off feelings of claustrophobia in my sleep. Even though, I'm not claustrophobic. Oh and the covers can never be completely over my head either.

2. I'm deathly afraid of people on stilts. If they get too close, I wail and run like a terrified 3 year old. I was chased down 3rd avenue in high school by a man on stilts passing out fliers and I ain't been right since. Bastard.

3. I've never shaved my legs in my life. And for the record, I've never had to. Take a look at the picture above. Do you think I need to shave??? LOL

4. I dance around my living room as if I were on the set of a music video. I come up with the concept of the video in my head and then act it out. Only in my living room. The mirror is the camera.

5. I stack my groceries in a neat tight rectangular shape when I place them on the conveyor belt at the grocery store. It's like a puzzle game to see how all my food fits together.

6. I scrutinize people named Janelle. If I encounter anyone named Janelle I size them up to see if they are worthy to share my name. And they lose 2 points if they spell it wrong.

So there you have it, even more butterfly quirks. And now that I've been forced to think about it I can think of quite a few more but I'll spare you the more embarrassing ones and stick with six.

Mackdiva, Miss BB, Eve, Asha, Wendy, JazzBrew and The Black Larry David - TAG! You're it. (SIDEBAR: yes I can count but another one of my quirks is that I believe in the spirit of the law not the letter of the law. Sue me! hahahahahahaa)

oh and let me insert the image (see I do follow the rules...when I remember...hahahahaha)

That's some bullshit.......

One thing that bothers me to absolutely no end is people who wait to the last minute for shit. Now, the ironical (yes I know that ain't a word) part is that I am a procrastinator at heart and am damn near late for everything (except work when the trains don't fuck up and when I teach - gotta set an example for the youngins. ). So here I am at work today in a empty freaking office (yeah I forgot monday was holiday. ). I say to myself "Self, its a beautiful day. You've finished all your projects this week. As the youngins say, let's bounce!" No sooner do I have this self to self convo a colleague of mine who works out of town and knows that I'm flying solo today sends me a request. DAMNIT. Can we just take a moment to call him a hater??? Go 'head I'll wait. LOL

Now, here's where I fucked up. I have been resisting the Crackberry craze since I took on this position. I now realize that if I'd taken said berry of crack I could have managed the request mobilily (is that a word??). Instead I'm chained to my office watching the bright sunshine wave through my massive windows. Maybe I'll jump down the rabbit hole with the rest of you mofos and take the damn berry of crack.

As I type this rant I hear the words of Hustle screaming in my head "See that's what's wrong with you people. You complaining and you got a job! Mofos paying you and you wanna act all 'I can't believe he has the audacity to ask me to do some work' [said in his version of a bourgie accent]. Get the fuck outta here. Stop yer complainin and go do some damn work." Hustle, if you're reading this did I get it right???!! You know damn well you sound like somebody's pops sometimes. hahahahahahahaha

And while he may be right (don't tell him I said that), and I am thankful for a job in an industry that is actually growing during this economic uncertainty, can't a sistah just get a lil something off her chest and just be a lil indignant at the atrocity of me not being able to go to Banana Republic at 3 in the afternoon????

Simple Mathematics

plus

multiplied by

equals

Who knew math could be so simple??

[Source: trenchcoat, glasses, garments. Fireworks - like the old school record commercial said "No my brother, you gots to get your own." ]

Spectacles of Life

All my life, I've been insecure about my glasses. Growing up, that was the only thing I got teased about. Well that and that my mother was white (which isn't true....but that was the harshest insult when you grow up in the hood. but I digress. LOL) When I finally was grown enough in my mom's eyes (ahem 16), all I wanted were contact lenses. Since my 16th birthday brought the contact lens fairy, I haven't looked back with four eyes, only 2. The more I wore contacts and looked at the wack ass pictures of yesteryear, the more I was determined to portray this image of me without the spectacles. The few times I've worn glasses in public, I feel like a completely different person. More wall flower, less social butterfly. Dare I say shy even? It was like some old Clark Kent alter-ego thing going on. With contact lenses, I actually am the free spirit I think I am. But with glasses, I'm always thinking, always pensive, definitely insecure. I didn't like this person. So I vowed that life with contact lenses was the only way to live. Boyfriends would never see me in glasses. Naive me never trusted the notion that if he's with me, flaws and all, it shouldn't really matter. Four eyes or 2. Sure I was more likely to be called a bitch by my teasers and tormentors, but that's because the haters didn't have the glasses to diss me on. I removed their only weapon of mass destruction. I did what Bush couldn't do in the past 7 years. Identified the problem. Eradicated said problem. Problem solved? Nope. Damn.

"Fugly four eyes"

I went to the eye doctor about 2 weeks ago. My left eye was red. All day. I thought it was from the emotional outburst due to my mother's hospital stay but ummm wouldn't both eyes be red?? So off to Lenscrafters I went. The eye doctor (who reminds me of a cross between Mr. Rogers from Mr. Rogers neighborhood and Al Gore. go figure) informed me that I would have to lay off the contacts for a while. He wouldn't even write a prescription for a new set until I come back to see him in a few weeks. Without contact lenses (or glasses for that matter), I am blind. I've been wearing glasses since I was 7 freaking years old. So what's a girl to do???? Well, I went out into the Lenscrafter showroom and picked out a new pair of spectacles. Thankfully, the selections are waaaaay better than they were in oh lets say 1989 when I wore something that looked like this. I picked out a pair and waited the pre-requisite hour in Lenscrafters (really, where else was I going to go without glasses or contacts in midtown Manhattan on a sunny Saturday afternoon??LOL)

"Are those glasses or coke bottles?"

When I put the glasses on, everyone in Lenscrafters raved about how nice they looked. Of course, you'll say that. I just dropped a few hundred dollars up in here. I just paid you to say that. I looked in the mirror and all I saw looking back at me was "NERD" and I'm not talking about Pharell either. LOL I felt the insecurities creeping back into my psyche like an old blanket - a little scratchy but familiar. Oh man, what the hell am I gonna do?? Going blind is not an option and I was determined to follow Mr. RogersGore's orders to the letter. So I stepped out of Lenscrafters and into the hustle and bustle of the streets. I decided to walk to the hospital to visit my mother. For one, to get used to actually wearing glasses again and to give my eyes a moment to adjust. And secondly, I wasn't trying to fall into the train tracks while I adjusted to this new (again) way of seeing. The entire walk I looked down, as if that would somehow make and the specs invisible.

I arrived at the hospital and my mother grinned. With a "ohhhh look at my baby", she commented "how lovely" I looked. I told her she had to say that. She's my mother, after all. When's the last time you heard a mother say "Holy shit. My child, you are sooooo funny looking." She tried to reassure me they look nice. I wasn't quite convinced. I mean they're cool specs but on me??? I'm not so sure. At work on Monday, my boss told me my glasses look "smashing". But he's British. (Yeah that's the reason I gave myself - whatever that means. LOL). Even Rufus Leroy commented on them. He said I looked like a teacher he once had. Now considering Rufus probably went to school in nineteen sixty-something, that meant I looked like some old white lady. Thanks, Rufus. But beyond that, nothing. Men weren't checking me out. Or maybe my peripheral vision isn't has sharp and I miss the side glances. I was cloaked in my visual insecurities.

After a few days, I got used to them. Sure, I can't wear my celebritious Marc Jacobs sunglasses. And its still taking some getting used to not seeing the tv when I wake up in the morning. (yes, I slept in my contacts. primarily for that reason. I want to see from the very moment I wake up in the morning. I know. I got issues. LOL). The more I got used to them, the more confident I felt. Eventually, my head was back up, front and center for all to see. Dare I say I even strutted a little?? And wouldn't you know it, the men started paying attention. I realize how extremely vain and shallow this sounds. But this is me. I'll never be perfect. I can admit sometimes a man's raised eyebrow like "wow" makes my day. Is there anything wrong with that??? No for real, that's not a rhetorical question.

The true test? Hustle. He's been dying to see me in my glasses, ever since he found out I wore them. We dated for months before he even knew I had visual acuity issues. He would ask to see me in my glasses and I would look at him like he was nuts. Why would I want you to see the less than perfect version of me???? He would respond with some snarky comment about the way I look when I wake up, so what difference does it make. LOL So now its time to put the theory to the test. I assumed he would crack up laughing when he finally saw me and my specs, thus confirming my childhood fears.

"Guys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses."

As I got in the car, he glanced over. With a "ohhh shit", he grinned. "It's about time you wear your damn glasses. You look sophisticated. I like. Alot." Wait, did I just see a raised eyebrow??? Ohhhh shit is right, I thought as I buckled my seat belt.

I'm not saying I'm completely over the spectacle of my spectacles. But I'm learning to appreciate me, flaws and all. Whether its with four eyes or two or back to four again, I'm still me. After all these years, I can finally see that.

(Oh if anyone's interested, here are my new glasses.)