Stuck

Tomorrow is my mom’s birthday. It’s also the day I leave for my Dad’s state of residence for his father’s send-off. Do you see my guilt just jumping off the screen??? Not yet. Well how about, I have absolutely no clue what to get her for her birthday. Yeah, nowwwwww you feel it. LOL

Usually, my mother is very simple to shop for. She’ll mention something that she likes. Feigns not knowing where to purchase such item and then I’ll buy it for her. Awwww, thoughtful daughter applause. However, now that she’s been home recuperating, she has gotten acquainted with the nuances of online shopping. She has purchased everything online, including the kitchen sink. No, for real. She’s having her kitchen remodeled and found a better deal online for her kitchen sink and faucet. She’s not a shopaholic (actually, she’s a save-aholic) but she now knows her UPS man by first name.

So now I’m stuck like Republicans looking for a new image. I’ve bought her books, clothes, jewelry, DVDs, DVD player, Cd's, etc. etc. This year I’ve come up with nada. I was thinking about purchasing her a record player that converts her albums to MP3 files for her Sony MP3 player. But not only are they costly, it wouldn’t have gotten here in time for her birthday. I was thinking of getting her a spa package but the idea of being naked while strangers touch you mortifies my mother. Me? Not so much. Hahahahaha

So far, I’m having flowers delivered to her early in the morning. But that’s more so out of the guilt I feel about leaving on her birthday and not being able to take her to dinner on her birthday. At lunch time, I will go out and buy her a beautifully sappy birthday card – the kind she likes. But I feel like I need something else, something tangible. Something she could years later say, “Oh my baby gave me this for my birthday in 2009.” Realistically, my mother will be happy with just the card and the flowers. Unfortunately, that’s not enough for me. Any suggestions???

PS My birthday is in 5 days. If you’re struggling with what to get me, just let know. I have a list. Haahahahahahaha (just jokes...kinda)

Man Made

My dad called me early this morning. When I saw the missed call I knew something was up. First, there's a time difference, so early for me is waaay too early for him. And like me, my dad is sooo not a morning person. Once I got up to get my day started, I called back. His father passed away. And even though my dad cracked a joke in our conversation, his sadness was palpable through my cell phone. He had been in a nursing home for a few years so it wasn't completely unexpected. My fluctuating emotions aren't for the man my father called "Daddy". It's more so for the grief my Dad is feeling.

Due to various factors, I've never had a connection with my father's father. When my mind wanders to that place in my heart for reserved for the bond with grandfathers I think of my Poppa, my mother's father. He was the one who was everything a grandfather should be to me. With my father's father on the other hand, my interactions with him were limited at best and on the few occasions I did see him, I got a feeling he wasn't particularly interested in me anyway. So whenever my dad would call to update me on his father's surgeries, his women (and ummm his plethora of children), his move to the nursing home, and his failing health, I would courteously listen but without any emotional connection.

Now I don't know what to feel. I called my mother and told her that her baby daddy's father passed away. She was saddened (having lost her father herself) and asked me if I was okay. I kinda scrunched up my face and asked "Am I not supposed to be okay?" I get what she was saying. Technically, in terms of relatives, he's what's considered "close". However, close just isn't there for he and I. The closest emotional connection I feel is as if I were hearing of his death on the morning news. Like "ohhhh" and then continue eating bowl of oatmeal.

I'm waiting to hear back from my Dad. I have a feeling that he expects me to travel to his birthplace to bear witness to this passage. I wonder which mask will I wear. The outwardly grieving first grand-daughter? Nah, too dramatic. Even for me.

So I guess I say all of this to say Rest in Peace to the man who created my father. I wouldn't be here without you. That's all......

Autosave is not my friend today.......

i was injured yesterday
thankfully mostly bruises
learned alot about myself
had something more eloquent written
too bad you won't read it

thats all.....

Fire

I know it’s been a minute since I’ve posted. I have so many reasons why. So many thoughts and wondering roaming in my dome but nothing I really want to share. Yet.

However, something is royally pissing me off at the moment. And I’m about 2 seconds from saying something. And probably lose my job in the process. So I sat to write. Let my fingers do the talking.

To set up the scene, my boss is in Europe. We have business there and he went to check on “our” interests there. He’s been gone since last week. And everyday he’s been gone, Pinky has been all up in here. May I remind you that Pinky doesn’t actually work for my company? Yeah, as in he’s not on the payroll. He’s an investor who attracts others with his kind of dough and by his kind of dough I’m talking multiple estates, trust funds for not born yet great great great grandchildren kind of wealth. Since The Brit (my blog name for my boss) has been gone, Pinky has been up in here acting like he owns the place. The rest of us just roll our eyes and keep doing what we have to do. But Pinky has really been testing me the past couple of weeks. Asking me to do shit that has absolutely nothing to do with the company, talking all kinds of out of pocket foolishness. I’ve checked him (politely of course) but sometimes I have those Ally McBeal moments where I visualize pounding his head on my credenza over and over and over and over and…..whew. I must admit. I was taking it personal. Being the only woman and the only person of color with a company does something; chinks away at the professional armor a little bit. It’s not like I haven’t been in an “only” situation before. I’ve just never been the only woman, only black person, and only person under the age of 45 all at the same time. But I digress.

Pinky’s wife came into the office today. While I’ve spoken to her a few times on the phone, I’ve never met her. Until today. As I’ve stated before I’ve always wanted to meet the woman who keeps this man in pink clothing and accessories. (sidebar: he hasn’t been wearing full on pink for a while but he still wears those damn pink glasses from time to time). She’s so petite was my first thought. This itty bitty thing makes this barrel of a man don pink clothes??? So we exchanged pleasantries. Gave her my best prep school persona and went back to eating my yummy salad. She walks over to the guest office where her husband is on a call. And what I heard next damn near knocked me out of my swivel chair. He begins to berate her. While I couldn’t hear all of the conversation, (I do have work to do you know), it was quite clear that she was not in favor. The tidbits I heard involved words like “stupid” and “it’s all your fucking fault”. And for some reason, her picking at her “damn fingernail polish” seem to really set him off as I’ve heard him admonish her at least a dozen times for it.

Helllooo, this is an office, a place of business. Save your domestic shit for your residence. To save some face, I went to close the door to the guest office. He looked up and shot me a look but I think my expression clearly said “I wish you would!” and I turned on my brown tall stiletto boots before his nonverbal could respond to mine.

I returned to my office fuming. First of all, why is he berating his wife in an office? Secondly, who gave him permission to treat her that way?? Lastly, there ain’t shit I can do about it, so why is it burning a fire in my belly? As I sit here typing, Mrs. Pinky has since quietly walked out of the guest office and is waiting for her husband at our small conference/lunch table. I know they are having problems at home with their younger son and I can feel the weight of the stress emanating from her slouched shoulders. Add to that the weight of her dick head of a husband, can you blame her for looking so……dejected???

If I ever have to choose between wealth and respect, I’ll be financially broke for the rest of my life.
I’m off to make some tea. Maybe that will quiet this fire in me.

Dream a little dream of me......

Today I slept. And it felt really good. Lately, between work and other obligations, sleep has not been a priority. Like the Energizer Bunny, I've been going and going and going and going and going and....you get the point. After returning home at 2 am from a family dinner last night, all I wanted was the comfort of my olive green corduroy Tommy Hilfiger comforter and my 400 thread count sheets. As I got ready for bed, I fantasized about how good it would feel to climb up into my big, cushy but firm bed. I hopped up and slid waaaaaay under my comfy comforter. I closed my eyes letting sleep envelope me. And my phone rang. I smiled. It was a distinctive ring.

After my late night call, not only was I ready to sleep I was ready to dream. No tossing. No turning. No alarm clock. Unfortunately, my bladder didn't get the memo and I woke up 3 hours later at 6. No worries. I climbed back into bed after my brief sleep intermission and back to la-la land. I slept until noon. I can't remember the last time I had the time to even do that. But today was such a gorgeous day. In my I hate winter funk I couldn't let such a pretty day go to waste. Before I left my apartment I looked back at my bed. The sheets and comforter were still thrown back in the spot I left them an hour earlier. I could almost hear them calling me back, inviting me back into the fold.
After being out for about 2 hours, I abruptly decided that, to paraphrase R. Kelly, my bed was calling for me. Sure I could think of a million different things I could have tended to but body and brain vetoed those bills as I dunked my Metrocard in the machine on the bus to return home.
I left a trail of attire and bags from my front door to my bedroom. I swung open my bedroom door and jumped into bed. I hugged my pillow and let my comforter embrace me. Just as I let slumber take over, my phone rang. It was a distinctive ring. I smiled. And then I slept. And dreamt.

I didn't watch the Superbowl on Sunday. Unusual because I usually do, especially with my friends - hot wings and fruity alcohol beverage. Oh yeah and with some circle of my crew too. Anywho, this year I wasn't in a position where watching the Superbowl was an option. I planned on rooting for the Cardinals - well kinda. It was the whole underdog, never won a Super Bowl story on which my decision was based (hey, I'm a sucker for a good story). I wasn't fanatical about my support. I just figured well maybe I'll root for them since it seems everyone is going for the Steelers. All of that changed after I overheard a conversation between 3 strangers.

Blonde dude: Do you even watch the Superbowl?

Blonde chick: Yes, of course. The Cardinals better win it.

Sandy Brown chick and Blonde dude: The Cardinals?! Really?!

Blonde dude: The Steelers have the best defense blah blah blah (I tune everyone out when they start quoting sports facts and figures and blah blah blah)

Blonde chick: Nooooo, the Cardinals have to win. We need this win.

Blonde dude: Ha! That's right, McCain is from Arizona. hahahahaha


And then they notice my ass eavesdropping before I could hear more. But frankly I heard enough before feeling even more sick to my stomach.


Soooooooooooooooo, let me get this straight. A football game where the outcome is based on skill, luck, referee calls, and time on the clock is somehow going to rectify the wrong that is in the phrase "President Obama" in your eyes???!! Like really??? In retelling this story to someone, it was brought to my attention that President Obama is a Steelers fan. Which I guess added fuel to this woman's sense of Cardinal love.

But just so we're clear, is this how it's going to be for the next 8 years?? (yeah, I said 8. I'm claiming it. Well for the Pres anyway. LOL) So everytime there is a black coach versus a white coach, you're going to NOT root for the black coach just because he looks like your Commander in Chief? And everytime a team from Arizona plays a team from Chicago (or any team that is liked by the President), you are going to shun the team that gets some Obama Love? And does this disdain for all things loved by the President extend to other things also? Like food, music, movies, television programming, etc? If so you're gonna be one starving, malnourished physically and intelligently, socially inept creature. I'm just sayin'.

Sorry Cardinals, but I'm glad you lost on Sunday. Not because I wasn't rooting for you. Because your lost made someone out there realize that like it or not: WE'RE HERE. And that is sweeeeet victory to me.

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. ;)