Prom

Is it Wednesday already??? Sheesh. This week is passing me by faster than that Pharcyde tune. It’s been cereal for dinner and passed out with paperwork on my sofa. No torture from the trainer. No socializing social butterfly. Just a busy worker bee (always better than a killer bee I suppose. I don’t know; I’m allergic to both anyway..LOL).

Judging from the spike in page hits, you all must be wondering “WHAT HAPPPENED?” on Saturday. Simply put, I had a great time. So great I laugh at how nervous I was. So great I almost wish I could do it again. So great I couldn’t have written a better story if I tried. The original plan was for me to get ready at his place but you know what they say about plans and making God laugh, right? So despite all the damn traffic in the city on Saturday, the plan was changed and he picked me up from my apartment (really, there has to be a way that there is no Yankee game and Mets game scheduled on the same day around the same time. FIX IT!! ). The weather was so beautiful even at that time of night. I wore a strapless double layered sheer dress. I guess I would call the color sand. My shoes were multi-shades of coral open toed jeweled creations. Very Sex and the City Carrie Bradshaw type (without the price tag…hahahaa). Hair was done with a nice swoop of reddish brown hair hanging over my right eye (yeah I changed my hair color again..need to finish that blog too). Makeup? Flawless, if I must say so myself since I was the artist behind my painted face. LOL Accessories? Bold and on point.

Hustle called to let me know he was downstairs. I gathered my clutch and other belongings and sailed out of my apartment. I was giddy and nervous like this was actually prom. I arrived downstairs and in full STRUT mode, made my way over to his car. I caught a hint of a smile before he looked away. I slid into my seat and noticed how impeccably dressed he was. In all his black James Bond-ness, he wore a nice fitting pinstripe suit with a black open collar shirt. Let the choir say, “Sexy!” As I’ve said before, I’m glad I don’t see him like this often. I’d be in TROUBBBBBBBBLLLLEE.

We arrived to the function late (damn traffic) but thankfully in time for dinner (I think I heard both of our stomachs growling in the car). I saw a few stunned looks when I walked in with a date but I had warned Hustle that I NAYVER bring anyone around so there might be a few double-takes. Hustle was a phenomenal date. He chatted with friend’s parents and even played with friend’s children. I was quite impressed. I wasn’t even afraid to leave him at the table a few times. Now that doesn’t mean he didn’t have black Larry David moments. He damn sure did but I was the only one privy to his shenanigans. Thank the LORD.

Once the event was over, and we snapped all the pictures we could pose for, and drank all the cocktails my bladder could hold, it was time to say goodnight. But we weren’t ready to call it a night. We decided to go out dancing because we didn’t dance at all at the event. Well I danced with my other date. Hustle had competition. My best friend’s 6 year old son was my dancing partner at the event and I kiddie 2-stepped it for quite a few songs. And then of course there were all the slides. You know? The Electric Slide, the Cha-Cha Slide. And now added to the mix, the Cupid Shuffle. And yes I know all of them. hahahahahaaaa

Hustle and I hit up 2 spots that night and made up for not dancing at the event. Hustle and I met at a party and danced that first night away, so it is only appropriate for us to do the damn thing whenever good music is playing. I was afraid to sweat out my hair so I tried to keep it PG. Operative word: try. (LOL) We may have been slightly overdressed for a simple night at the club but that didn’t stop us. But fatigue did. After only an hour (barely) at the second spot, we were ready to pass out. Yawning in our drinks and asking each other “you ready?” The coach was turning into a pumpkin and this Cinderella was ready to take off her Sex and the City shoes. It was time for 007 to return back to just plain ol’ Hustle. Back to normal. Back to reality. And now…..back to work. (sigh)

The End.

The Pressure

Well so far only one of my faithful readers has honored my previous blog request. Smoochies to you (I won’t shout you out by name because you didn’t say if it was okay in email). The request was for more Pinky stories and more dating stories. While I see Pinky damn near everyday, he has been relatively tame lately. Either one of you guys told him that I write about him or he’s gearing up for Spring to really hit. If that’s the case, I will have plenty to write about. Oh wait, one day he came to the office in a yellow ensemble: yellow pants, yellow striped shirt, yellow sweater, yellow puffy vest, and loafers. Oh and orange socks. No, I’m serious. I may have to change his blog name to Rainbow Brite. Or Elton John circa 1970something. And yes people, he is straight. Hhahahahaa

Soooo tomorrow evening I have an event to go to, a fancy soiree at a manor. Anywho, my best friends and I will all be there. I joked with Zilla (new name Tootie…hahaha) the other day that this feels like prom. I bought a dress (of course already had the shoes), got my hair did (another blog for another day), and have a mani pedi appointment tomorrow afternoon. Since none of the members of the Fab Four (my besties and I) went to the same high schools and they are indeed older than I (only a year but so what..haahaaa), this is indeed like a prom for us. The Guest of Honor for this event asked me if I was going to be a plus one. And that’s when it hit me.

Oh shit. I’m going to be the only single person at the table.

Out of our circle of 4, I am the only one with no attachments – no kids, no boo. And as you already know, it doesn’t really bother me. But the thought of our “prom pictures” with me dateless was not something I wanted preserved in the archives. So I asked my go to, Hustle. (Are you surprised??? Hhahahaha) And surprise surprise, he was actually excited to go. So much so, he challenged me with a “don’t let me look better than you.” The NERVE. LOL I swear the man thinks he is the black James Bond. But I must admit, he looks damn good in a suit. Thankfully, I’ve only seen him wear a suit once. LOL

We worked out the logistics and everything is set. This week he sends me a text.

What type of crowd is it?

I explain that it’s an older crowd but that we will be at the younger table with friends and hubbies/boyfriends. Then he hits me with:

You’re not afraid of me embarrassing uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu? (he's so dramatic...hahahaha)

Textually, I replied “Nope. You have home training. LOL” But then I got to thinking about him meeting the rest of the Fab Four and their respective significant others. He’s met 2 of the 3 but each time was in a dark hot ass club, so there was no conversation going on beyond ‘Hi. Nice to meet you”. But this time, this will be 5 hours (maybe slightly less) of mingling and conversation. I know he can hold his own but I always worry about people’s perception of people in my circle. Like what if they don’t like something he says or does or vice versa. Or will he, like my Guy Guru, have a Black Larry David moment, and I'm left shaking my head like Cheryl and asking myself why? WHY?????? Oh the pressure. I. CAINT. TAKE. THE. PRESSURE.

Then there’s the realization that this is the first time I’ve brought anyone around people I consider to be family (outside of the Fab 4). I hope they realize it’s just a date and that its by no means “more”. He hasn’t even met my mom. (And yes you can date someone this long without them meeting the family. It’s actually quite stressless -yeah I made that up but you get the point. )

I know I’m probably panicking over nothing and that all will go well. But you know me; I have to worry just a lil bit. It’s like my good luck charm. When I don’t worry a lil bit, that’s when you should worry.

You Decide!

Miss me? Believe it or not, I’m walking on air/I never thought I feel so freeeeeeeeeee…okay that’s not what I was going to say but that theme song is stuck in my head. Go figure. A dollar to the first person who can name what show that’s from (ummm and that dollar is of the Monopoly variety…it’s a recession people!). LOL
But what I was going to say is believe it or not, I miss you too (well most of you…some of you? eh not so much. Hahahaa)

As many of you can probably tell, I’ve been on somewhat of a writing hiatus lately. It’s not like I haven’t written anything but once I pour these words and string them into thoughts on my computer screen, I skip the most relevant step – click publish. Some of the things I’ve written lately have been so dark, brooding, morose, and that’s not the mood I’ve been in lately. Or maybe I’ve finally began to believe in the mask I wear daily. Whatever the case may be, ultimately those writings aren’t what I want to publish. Not yesterday. Not today. But never say never. Maybe one day. Or maybe not.

I am curious though. What do you, yeah you the reader, want more of from me, yeah me, the writer of this here blog??? I know I have a propensity to write extremely random symphonies of life but I know that some of you have favorite topics. So I’m opening this up to you. Give me a topic and I’ll write about it. It could be something I’ve written about before that you want more of or something you would like to hear...errr read my thoughts on. Whatever you’d like for me and my fingers to explore on my keyboard. You can post the topic here in the comments or hit me up on email. You decide.

Let the games begin! lol

No explanation.....

*Can't help but wonder where I'd be if I turned left instead of right on this journey. This is where one of those TV movies showing just how different my life would be really comes in handy.

*I think my questionable sexual neighbor meant it as a compliment when he told me I dress like a gay man.

*I've written 5 blogs in the past couple of days. Maybe I'll hit publish one day.

* I like Hustle with a beard, very Idris-esque. On second thought, too dangerous. I'm glad he shaved.

*Reading other people's brilliant thoughts makes me want to burn my notebook (what movie is THAT from.....)

*I had a dream that I got married. And it was everything I never thought I wanted. I woke up smiling.

*As I continue to work out, my behind looks video vixen disproportionate to my body. And I'm almost tempted to put the weight back on to even everything out. Somebody needs to invent a concoction Booty Be Gone, because this is re-damn-diculous.

*I wish I saw more of my long distance friends more.

*Some people are just too damn nosey and they need to find another hobby other than studying me.

* As much as people compliment me on it, I really don't like my hair. But thoughts of relaxing it give way to pangs of guilt.

*Fan emails make me blush.

*I wonder if I have the fortitude and focus to finish this book.

*I'm convinced my office Starbucks is a club. They are always jamming to the latest. When was the last time you walked into Starbucks and heard 1, 2 Step by Ciara and Blame It on the A-A-A-A-A-Alcohol by Jamie Foxx back to back?? Yeah, I buy coffee at Club 'Bucks.

*I have so much more to say but I think I will stop. Until next time.

Welcome to my world....AGAIN

My new occasionally favorite pastime is checking my email on my new and improved mine for now mobile device as I wait for the train (well in the stations where I can actually get reception) . I was on my way to meet my girl and her son for a lonnnnnnnnnnnnnnng public transpo voyage to the land of Biggie and many many many of my beautiful gems ( I have way too many friends in the BK...I wouldn't trade them for anything, but that train ride is re-damn-diculous).

[Insert Hustle's Government] has added you as a friend. We need to confirm that you know [Hustle's first name] in order for you to be friends on Facebook.

*EYES BULGE* Are my eyes and my contacts deceiving me??? Has Hustle joined the very social network he has clowned me for joining annnnnnnd is now requesting me as a "friend"? I can't tap the screen fast enough for my mobile web browser to upload. This has to be a mistake. Or maybe I know some one with the same name (Sidebar: this actually happened on FB. A dude I know from my itty bitty days and a dude I know from my HU days have the same name, and it never dawned on me until I received the 2 friend requests within a week of each other. I know too many people. LMAO).

As I heard the train rumbles getting louder, I curse that FB is not loading fast enough. Do I wait on the platform just to quench my curiousity or do I board my iron chariot alllllllllllllll the Brooklyn with no mobile reception and suffer through the agony?? Honestly, if BK Transplant and her adorable needs his own reality show son weren't waiting for me at the very next stop I would have stood right there just to see if what my email said was true. So I begrudgingly got on the train and left my crystal clear reception right there on the platform. Sadly waving goodbye as my bars began to disappear. As soon as BK transplant got on the train and her son was settled in with his Nuggets, this had to be discussed. No one I date is currently on my FB page. Weird?? I don't know. My past experience with social networking sites has taught me a few things when it comes to dating and I just try to keep the 2 worlds separate to avoid the foolywag brouhaha. My page is uber-private with good reason. I have nothing to hide. No pics of me and a "boo"; no salacious wall posts; no misconstrued innuendos in my status updates. Nada. So what's the big deal??? I can't really explain it (thought I could by the time I got to this point of this here blog but oh well. LOL). It reminds me of the time I discovered he read my blog. - I felt exposed, naked, vulnerable. Then it was a one way mirror into my world. And it most likely will be the same on FB. He won't update his status like 3 times a day like I do. He won't post pictures of drunk people in clubs like I do. He won't take those stupid ass quizzes or write one of those chain notes. Well I don't do those either. But you get the point.

As BK Transplant, her son and I emerged from the belly of the iron beast, I couldn't wait to check my phone. As soon as I saw one tiny lone stick bar in the right hand corner I tapped my web browser. Sure enough, that's Hustle. I bit my lip as I contemplated my choices. I confirmed our "friendship" and sent him a wall post (took me 10 minutes on the bus to compose it. And yes after 2 trains, I then had to get on a bus. Oh the things I do for my beautiful gems. LOL). I logged off my web browser and sent him a text message.

Facebook??? Really.

He replied simply "Yep."

I know that affirmative was laced with all kinds of "you scared?". He didn't have to ask because he probably already knew the answer.

Torture and the Sea

As many of you, my family, friends, fans, and stans may know, I’m Catholic. And with this being the season of Lent, there were some sacrifices that Sister Aidan and all the other nuns in my life taught me to make. So in an effort to be an overall healthier me, I gave up meat and hired a personal trainer. The whole give up meat thing wasn’t that much of a sacrifice I must admit. I love seafood so eating various types of fish and other ocean crustaceans almost daily has been quite enjoyable. This has also forced me to cook more. I actually enjoy cooking but never make the time to. Now I’m making pretty flavorful think outside the box I should be cooking on TV kind of dishes. Steamed, grilled, broiled, stuffed, baked, pan seared. You name it. Except fried (hello, I did mention a healthier me….hahahaha). Marinades, salsas, reductions, oh my! I’ve made them all over the past couple of weeks. I thought about doing a recipe blog and share some of my Columbus-esque discoveries (like I know I’m not the first to discover stuffing a snapper with garlic cloves, fresh basil, onions, cilantro, sweet (not really) peppers and slices of mango but my palate discovered something new and in true Christopher Columbus fashion, I’m claiming it…hahahaha). While I contemplated the new direction this culinary creativity could take me in, I was reminded of one impeding factor: I don’t measure shit. Hahahahahhaa I only break out the measuring cups when I bake and that’s only because baking is really like science and even though my dad is a science teacher, I’m not science minded at all. But whenever I cook a meal, I just gather the ingredients I need and make it work. So I could tell you the ingredients I use but never how much. I’m also not methodical in how I put stuff together so my step by step directions may not work for everyone. I don’t need anyone suing me because they burnt down their kitchen following my recipe. Hahahahaah (By the way, I’ve never burned down a kitchen. I just needed to clarify that.)

My second undertaking of this Lenten Season really deserves a blog all by itself. My adventures with Terrorist X. That’s not just a blog name. It’s actually what I call my personal trainer. I used to work out semi-regularly but I had to quit going to that gym. So I recently upgraded and joined a new gym, and needed something to kick my ghetto bootay into high gear. In comes Terrorist X. He and his wife are really good friends of mine and unlike my first trainer, he is actually serious about this ish. During our talks about my fitness goals I told him I never want to be a gym rat where all I do is talk gym, workouts, protein shakes, and more gym. However, I don’t want to be one of those who say “yeah back in my twenties, girrrrrrrl, you couldn’t tell me I wasn’t shaped like Beyonce” but now I’m looking like Madea. Aww hell to da naw! I told him that I still want to look like a girl, meaning I don’t want a hard bodybuilder, muscles for boobs, bench pressing beemers type of body. I want to maintain my womanly curves, my assets if you will. And thus began what I can only describe as torture. He is killing me and not softly either. After a recent workout I updated my Facebook status to say: “whoever said no pain no gain, can kiss my a$$”. Hahahahaha Yeah yeah yeah, I know its all worth it and I will soon have than slamming centerfold body (without the fake boobies sitting up high on my chest) but damn it, this is H.A.R.D W.O.R.K. And usually, I’m all about the lesson in the journey, but sheeeeiiiiiiiit I just want the final destination lesson this time around. Is there anything wrong with that???

Release

I wept. Openly on the 14th St. platform. I wept. In front of complete strangers. I wept. Maybe my tears ducts were in sync with the clouds above ground creating puddles on the sidewalks. Whatever the case I wept. Maybe the fears and emotions I've been holding back for a while were testing the levees I've built behind my eyes. Or the unvoiced concerns lodged in my larynx were attempting to break free. In spite of or because of, I wept. I read a passage recently about being open to crying because tears are purifying and cleansing, a release. A necessary release. Well right in my seat on the platform, I let the tears fall like raindrops from up above. I didn't release all. But just enough . I think they call it a passing rain. As I heard my train rumble down in the tunnel I wiped away those last few drops that hadn't made it down to the folds of my scarf, gathered my bags, and smiled. Right there on the 14th street platform. I smiled. In front of complete strangers. I smiled. And continued on my journey.

(Butterfly note: I composed this all on my beloved phone. I'm so happy she's back. Well at least a newer, improved while not the model I dream of version of herself..hahahhaa)

Gardening

As I've mentioned before I still flex my teaching muscles for a famous for cookies girls' organization. I've also stated before that this year, my class on manners and lady-like behavior (you know the word that begins with an "e" and ends with "quette") has proven to be most difficult. A few weeks ago I was ready to throw in the towel. After a series of lessons on table manners and proper place settings one of my girls proceeded to share the following story:


"So last week, right. Me and my family were at TGIFridays for my dad's birthday, right. And I was standing up with a rib in my hand, right. And I started laughin' and raised my hand like this when I was laughin', right. And a piece of meat from my rib flew off and went into my cousin's glass of wine and she got mad at me but I ain't do it on purpose."


Excuse me? Scratch the needle allllllllllllllllllllllllll the way across the record on both Side A and Side B. In an effort to get this child to see the error of her ways independently without me telling her specifically I began to ask her questions.

Why were you standing up at the table with a rib in your hand?
Because I was hungry.

Were all the seats taken?
No, I was about to go to the bathroom.

With a rib?
Yeah, cuz I was hungry but I wasn't going to go in there with it.

Were you that hungry that you couldn't wait 3 minutes for you to return from the bathroom and properly complete your meal while sitting at the table?
Umm, yeah.

Jesus take the wheel. I was T-H-R-O-U-G-H. While some of the other girls giggled because they could see the error of her ways (or the indignation written all over my face), I didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. We discussed proper table manners, and no where in the manual I gave them did it say that her actions were acceptable. More importantly your parents actually let you stand up at a restaurant with food in your hands??? At the end of this exchange I couldn't even formulate an appropriate response without going off. I told her to think about the mistakes she made in her story and how she could have better handled the situation. I did say " I need you to understand that flinging rib juice at a dinner table is never ever appropriate" and I also recommended that she should send her cousin $10 to cover the cost of her wine with an apology note. She balked. I cringed. Oh and at the end of class, she asked me "what do I get for completing this class? Is there some kind of prize or something" I replied "Yeah. Knowledge." She didn't get it .

Ever since this exchange, I was dreading the final class. The girls were instructed to present something they learned in the class and discuss the importance of said lesson. Their parents were invited to come. With my other 2 classes, I had faith that these classes would far exceed my expectations because the girls in the other classes were just that fabulous. But with stories like the one mentioned coupled with the ghetto mentality, I was prepared for the absolute worst.
Thankfully, I was proven wrong. The girls who actually got up to present brought tears to my eyes more than once. Things that I didn't think they learned were highlighted with such clarity and understanding . I was in awe. While I was slightly disappointed that only 4 girls out of my 20 plus got up and spoke, their sentiments and gratitude more than made up for it (for the record only 13 showed up). With the parents the class turned into a frank discussion about why we want better for them and how they can achieve that. The girls opened up and participated in ways I never thought they would. They shared their fears of being perceived as "acting white". This bothers me on so many levels, primarily because I've heard it all my life. When are we going to stop this??

At the end, one of the parents thanked me for "pulling the weeds out" of her daughter's ears. She said I tended to the soil of their minds and hopefully planted new seeds. And once again, the tears fell. While I've never been a gardener, I got what she was saying. All this time, I felt like I was fighting an uphill battle with these girls, thinking nothing was sinking in. When all along, I was pulling weeds and planting seeds. On Saturday, the flowers began to bloom. Now its up to the people around them to tend to the flower. I've done my part.

Oh I guess I should mention Rib girl didn't show up on Saturday. Some weeds are just too stubborn.

The Art of Being Phoneless

Thankfully, I received my phone delivery this weekend. Over 48 hours without mobile communication felt like being lost in a foreign country. I had no clue what to do with myself. When did I become this tech dependent person?? On some level, I did enjoy being off the "grid". I was able to do some things on my time at my leisure without worrying about mobile interruptions. There are some things I learned about me during this time and I wouldn't be me if I didn't share these newfound discoveries.

Things I've Learned While Being Phoneless
* I don’t trust the time on my watch. And no my watch isn’t cheap. I’ve developed a habit where watch time needs to be verified by the celly time.

* I have nothing to do while walking the mean streets of my beloved city but think. Mostly "damn, I miss my cell phone." Or "Crap. I need to call so and so about blah blah blah. " Or "what's the meaning of an unmobile, non-communicative life?"

* Tipsy Texting (or Saucy Sexting; sexting = sex texting…hahahaha) is no longer an option. And thinking about what you would say IF you had a phone ain’t cute either.

* I miss my Solitaire Tournaments.

* It’s too conspicuous to take reading material with you into the bathroom. A phone provides so much more entertainment if you’re gonna be in there for a while (like Solitaire Tournaments).

* I have no where to jot down my random mobile thoughts. By the time I pull my notebook and pen out of my purse the thought has passed me by.

My purse is lighter without my cell phone accoutrement - charger, phone, holder(which I never use but carry just in case I may want to use it).

* I can’t fake like I’m on the phone when some random not phone number worthy dude starts licking his chops when he sees me walking down the street.

* While I have a really good memory (most days), I only know the area code and last 4 digits of a person’s telephone number.

*My FB status updates are quite creatively hilarious. Updating my friends on my status of being phoneless (like a penny with a hole in it. yeah yeah yeah) has provided some comic relief in these non-communicative times.

* Payphones absolutely disgust me. Not even in an emergency do I want to use one. I think I broke out in hives at the thought of having to use one. So I didn't. I couldn't remember the person's number anyway.

So now I'm back to Solitaire tournaments and updating my FB status mobiley (is that a word?!). I'm tipsy texting with a vengeance and not even trying to remember any one's phone number. Happy days are here again.

Stellar

Have you ever had one of those days that from the moment you leave the house you look back lovingly at your abode like "are you sure I can go back in and curl under the covers"???? I think today is that day for me.
Once again I had bank issues. I ordered something online for a project I'm working on and I was charged not once, not twice but three times for my order. Yes, three times. I called the bank on Monday. The situation was rectified in a matter of 10 minutes. About 5 minutes later my money is back in my account, waving at me on the computer screen like "Heyyyyyy girl! We're baaaaaaaaack! Whatcha got planned?" I check my account this morning to balance my checkbook and I see some serious ducats casting absentee ballots in my checking account. Upon further inspection, the previously removed charges have made an reappearance. What the hell??? I silently scream to my computer screen and scowl with my best "I'm gonna get you sucka" screw face. I don't even know who holds fault this time around because I've spoken to the merchant ("oh that's on the bank. we only have one charge for you") and I've spoken to the bank ("there's nothing we can do ma'am while the charges are pending, please speak with the merchant".) I admit I got a lil boughetto with the telebanking personnel. But lemme say this: when you say things like "Listen sweetie. Lemme speak to someone who makes more than you because they're paid to resolve this" in the nicest sweetest, most polite voice, it works. Two minutes later a supervisor was on the phone and after a couple of minutes my lootchie was back where it belonged - waving from the computer screen once again right next to the beautiful phrase "available balance".

No sooner did I have that issue resolved my cell phone starts blinking on and off like its sending a message in Morse Code. Okay those you really know me know I need a new cell phone badly. It's no longer pretty (has more boo-boos than I did from my accident a couple of weeks ago). And about 1/2 of the cool functions I love about it don't even work anymore. So why do I keep it??? Because a newer waaay cooler version is due out this year and I want it. But damn Sprint keeps pushing back the release date. The technological soon to be love of my not that tech savvy life won Best in Show at the tech convention back in January. And no, I'm not linking any links here UNTIL I get the phone. FIRST. hahahahaa But I digress. I take my beloved dinosaur in the cell phone world to Sprint. And they keep it. They need to verify that it doesn't work. Ummmm, if have to hold the battery down (with force) into the battery cavity while I simultaneously glide the battery cover over it (*with force) with the other hand to maintain enough power for it to turn on, what do you need to verify???? FIX IT!!!! Oh and I think I annoyed the hell out of the chick helping me because I needed to verify that I wouldn't lose my loyal customer money towards my new I refuse to mention here phone. I asked her 3 times in three different ways. hahahahaha Look, I'm a lady on a mission.

So here I am, money in the bank but no one to call because I'm phoneless. It's so sad. When did I become this person??? I have been going through phone withdrawal all day. I can't see my Barack Screen Saver. I can't send text messages. Sigh. Is there a 12 step program???

Today was just stellar. (if you can't read the sarcasm dripping from that 4 word statement, click the lil red x. Yeah that one, up there!!! hahahahaha)

All that I can say...

....is just when I thought I didn't know what was missing from my birthday my friends walked in and made everything as close to perfection as God allows.

...is my friends are truly sent from heaven.

......is Brunch should be a national pastime.

......is that 5 inch heels make me feel like a supermodel. (and I like it...hahahaha)

...is mimosas are the truth.

...is telling your friends exactly how you feel about each and everyone of them warms your soul.

...is seeing old and new friends together is like sitting back and reading your own biography in blissful awe.

....is my friends really know me as evidenced by the thoughtful gifts that I've received.

...is I need to download the pictures. Especially the ones of my shoes. hahahaaa

....is doo-da-doo-da-doo-da-doooo. (my inspiration for this post.)

Quiet Dawn

Yesterday was my birthday. I wrote a blog, all introspective and reflective but didn't hit publish. Can't really say why. I wanted to commemorate the day and explore this whole "dawning of a new day" thing but at the end, I didn't want to explore it publicly, I guess. Overall, the day was quiet. The bouquets of flowers were(are) beautiful. The birthday wishes on Facebook and Crackspace were heartfelt. The plethora of text messages and phone calls from midnight until 11:59 were so much appreciated. The shoes I purchased are seriously to die for. HOTTTTT

But for some reason, something was missing. I can't put my finger on it. I don't know. Even sitting here, writing this, I thought whatever "it" was would come to me since that's usually how this works. But not so much today. Today that "it" remains illusive. And maybe that's the point. Like maybe I'm not supposed to figure it out just yet. Maybe I'm supposed to just be aware that the lesson is coming soon. I know this is so not like me. And I kinda sorta apologize. Birthday posts should be celebratory. Maybe I'm not in too much of a celebratory mood because the actual celebrations have yet to begin. The begin tonight (a date) and continue through next week. While I can't outline all the events just yet, I can tell you that I will be wearing these for at least one birthday event:

One of my birthday presents to myself, courtesy of Stuart Weitzman. Told you they were HOTTTTT! lol

Stuck......Literally

Here I am. In the Memphis airport. Me, my carry on bags and Carrie B. Stuck.

Lets see. At last count I've had 2 flight delays and 4 cancellations in the past 24 hours. My initial plan was to leave yesterday afternoon. However Mother Nature had other plans. Her ass dumped a foot of snow Saturday right after my grandfather's funeral. As soon as I upload the pictures I will post them. Of the snow, not the funeral. (LOL) I was first in denial that it would snow in Tennessee. Especially since I only packed my red round toe pumps to wear to the funeral and my yellow suede loafers. Can we say ill-equipped?? "Come on. You're not going to get any real snow here in Tennessee" said like a typical New Yorker like whatever they get pales in comparison to anything I've seen. Then waves of shock and awe covered me like the snow enveloped the town my father lives in. Tree limbs fell under the weight of the snow. Power was off on a few streets (thankfully not my dad's). Liquor stores closed early (which apparently was a blow to the party going on at my aunt's house later that night.(..that's another blog for another day. hahahahhaha).
Sure I said I wish I had more time to spend with my family. But did I really need a snow storm???

While it was sad that a funeral brought me here, I really am grateful for the time I got to spend with this side of my family. I almost got up during the family remarks portion of the funeral. My heart wanted to say something about while I may not have had a relationship with my grandfather, he must be proud of the sea of descendants sitting before his coffin to pay his respects. But my booty stayed planted in the pew as my mouth punked out and kept quiet. I met soooo many cousins I can't even keep names straight. Everyone was described by an article of clothing and where they sat. LOL Most of all, i got to spend time with my immediate family and most importantly, my brothers. I have 2 brothers, 12 and 13 years younger than me. While I am tight with my sisters, I've never felt that close of a bond with my brothers until this weekend. Blame it on the large age gap or blame it on the "you're a boy what the hell do I talk to you about?" Whatever it is, beyond courteous greetings, we had nothing to talk about. This weekend I was granted the opportunity to really chat with my brothers. We shared jokes, swapped stories, learned new things about each other. My baby brother even offered to carry me when my shoes got stuck in the mud when we were leaving the burial. It was sooo sweet to experience this relationship with my brothers. Like Sally Field, I was stoked that "they like me. they reallllly like me."

So here I sit. Stuck in the airport with another freaking delay but comforted that I am firmly planted in the fabric of my Tennessee family. And I guess I have Mother Nature to thank.

Sidebar: With my bday being tomorrow I am plagued with fear that I will spend my birthday in an airport. Now THAT would be a story to tell but one I pray I won't have to write. LOL

Stuck: The Update

If you read yesterday's blog, then you know I was really really uninspired in the gift arena. Not having a gift for my mother on her birthday would have been oh so wrong. But I have 2 people to thank for kicking my butt into high gift mode and giving my mom a gift that she will enjoy and greatly appreciates. First, I have to thank this guy. He's my Guy Guru's younger bro and he's new to the blog world. While catching up on his blog during lunch yesterday, I came across something he wrote about people questioning his family's decision to only have one child. Now as an only child for most of my life (I was an older sibling 2 weeks out of the year when I went to visit my dad..does that really count?? hahahaha), I am very passionate about people putting in their two cents about the plight of the only child. So I left a comment, talking about all that my mother was able to do for me as a child because there is only one of me. As if we all were on the same page, Chubbsy left a comment yesterday saying I should give my mother an experience - something to do. Hmmm, Guy Guru's brother inadvertently reminded me of all the things my mom has done for me. Then Chubbsy suggested I do something for her.

When my mother opened her card this morning, she found tickets to a Broadway show, and a gift certificate for a manicure at a spa near her job (that way she only has to expose her naked hands to the strangers...hahahaha).



During the course of my mind spinning trying to think of a thing, I was reminded that sometimes the thing we want most of all is the experience of time. Thanks, Jamal and Chubbs.



Gotta run...off to catch my planes to the Deep South (yes I said planes. No damn direct flights. Ugh). I'm sure I'll have some stories to tell upon my return. Smoochies.

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.