Special Delivery

Saturday morning. 9:15 am. Phone rings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now I have 2 cards on my dresser.

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

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

A: Dear Earmuffs:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hope this helps.

Smoochies,

Suspense is One Helluva Drug

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


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


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


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

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


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


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


"Something like what?"


"You'll see."


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


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


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


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


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

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

Amore

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

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

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

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

Honestly, so far, me likey.

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

SEE?!

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hypocrisy

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

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

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

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



-- Sent from my Palm Prē

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

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

A: Dear Lexycon,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pros.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smoochies,



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

He called....

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

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

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

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

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

-- Sent from my Palm Prē

Birthday of a Butterfly

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

-- Sent from my Palm Prē

On a Sunny Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-- Sent from my Palm Prē

Stumble

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ask and Flush

I read this article yesterday. For those who are not inclined to tear themselves away from my wonderful site to read it, the article spoke of a certain republican radio talk show host who has a penchant for prescription pills and who's name rhymes with "Flush" making fun of what he thought was the President saying "ax" instead of "ask". I read the article (and listened to the audio clip) with disgust, but was immediately reminded of an incident in High School.

As you may know I went to a tony independent all girls schools in one of the wealthiest zip codes in Manhattan. My graduating class consisted of 24 girls, 5 of which were black (and shout out to the lone Puerto Rican in my class). To say I had a hard time adjusting is a gross understatement. Growing up in Harlem gave me somewhat of a thick skin but people expecting you to live up to the stereotypes of what it meant to be a black chick, growing up in Harlem in a single parent home was quite daunting (see why I ran to the best HBCU on the planet??? hahahaha). "No I don't know a good place to buy drugs in harlem" and "If you search my locker for a gun, I'm calling Al Sharpton!' were sentiments I actually had to utter at the age of 14. By the time senior year rolled around, I was numb. My scholarship was held over my head like a noose (I scored a perfect score on the entrance exam - my four year scholarship wasn't going anywhere as long as I didn't kill anyone), my mother had been insulted in my presence (I thought my mother was gonna have to smack a bitch but thankfully I know my mothers nonverbal cues and dragged her away immediately), and they stole my Cornsilk Cabbage Patch Kid (no I didn't walk around high school with a doll like a dork. I used her for a project on Africa, and got an A, thank you very much. ). Just when I thought nothing else could get to me, we had Senior Seminar, a weekly forum for all things pertinent to the graduating class, with the Headmistress of the entire school - the Chief Head Honcho. She was a nun, but unlike any nun I'd ever seen. She wore Gucci shoes and Prada bags.

When Senior Seminar was over, she called out for me to stay behind. My classmates looked at me like "What the hell did you do now?". Yeah I was sorta a rebel in high school but not criminal. I just questioned everything. But I had to ask myself, "Shit. What the hell did I do now?"

"Thank you for that wonderful insight on college visits. But there's something I noticed. You did this while you were speaking. You said 'ax' instead of 'ask'. And I've noticed it often when I'm around black people, whether they are doctors or captains of industry. You all say 'ax'. I don't know why that is but we must break you out of it."

I looked at her like she had 4 heads. I tried to deny this accusation of ebonic proportions as I straightened my navy crested prep school blazer but she just reiterated her point and added "I don't even think any of you realize you say it." At that moment, I had 2 choices. I could curse her out and storm out. However, it was senior year of high school and that definitely would have gotten me kicked out. And besides, while she didn't wear the habit and the squishy nun shoes, she was a nun nonetheless, and I knew cursing her out would only seal my fate and send me straight to the fiery gates of hell (we catholics are so dramatic when it comes to hell...hahahaha). Or I could suck it up, listen to this nonsense, and go about my merry way.

I chose the later. And I've always regretted it to a certain degree. It was so damn humiliating, sitting there saying "ask" over and over and over until she felt certain I wouldn't make the egregious mistake again. And there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. There was no benefit of the doubt that maybe I stumbled over the sounds of my words (as a former speech therapist, I know that EVERYONE suffers from dysfluency in their speech at times, its the frequency and severity of that dysfluency that warrants therapeutic intervention, but I digress). She went straight for this "black dialect" that Mr. "Flush" speaks of and all the negative connotations that are embodied in that phrase.

So when I read this story, the entire incident came flooding back to me. I say to "Flush" as I wish I said to my headmistress all those years ago, "Go fuck yourself. For your information, in order for that slight of tongue to be considered part of the 'black dialect' or 'ebonics', there must be other rules used within the context of that sentence to qualify as such. You can't scream 'Hola' and present yourself as being fluent in Spanish. While controversial, this dialect you speak of has rules and patterns in which it is spoken, just like other dialects of other languages. And furthermore, how dare you go right to the race card. Why couldn't you give the benefit of the doubt of a slight slip of tongue, a case of fleeting speech dysfluency caused by words with similar sound patterns surrounding the word 'ask'? Would you have said the same if you heard a white person say what you believe to be 'ax'? Of course you wouldn't. You chose to focus on one tiny one syllable word, instead of focusing on the message of the entire speech. I don't have to call you racist. Your diatribe spoke for you. You can put your sheet back on now. Oh, and ummm Go fuck yourself".

* Whew that felt good!*

Since I've become active in my Alumnae Association over the last couple of years, I've run into the former Headmistress a few times at various events (she's also an alumna of the school). And oh how I wish I could call her out for the numerous slights against me, the color of my skin, and the lack of substance in my trust fund. But I play the game. I play it quite well actually. So well, that she wouldn't dare ASK me to participate in such nonsense again. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for "Flush". Oh, how I wish I could just flush them both down the toilet.

Q 4 a B-Fly: My Sexci

Q: When do you feel your sexiest? ~ Anonymous

A: Dear Anonymous,
Your question is so simple yet .......not so much. Have you ever seen the symbol for Pisces? If not, its a picture of 2 fish swimming, one swimming up, the other swimming down, essentially in opposite directions but somehow forming a circle. While you didn't ask for my astrological sign, this depiction captures my ideas of sexiness. There are times when I feel 'sexy" but my "sexiest"?? I'm lost. I don't believe I've reached that pinnacle in my life to say "At this very moment I feel my sexiest!" Somehow to me that implies that my sexy is going downhill from there. LOL

But to answer you're question, I've created a list of moments/instances when I feel pretty damn sexy. So without further ado, I present My Top 10 Sexay. (damn did I just let my fingertips commit to a list of 10...good grief!) Ummmm, Lets make this a Top 5 list instead, mmmkay?!! (Mind over fingers)

*this list is in no particular order.*

1. Dressed. I think I have a pretty good sense of fashion. But sometimes when I pull an outfit together with the right accessories, makeup is flawless, and hair is commercial worthy, I step out of the house feeling oh so sexy, like those Top Models have nothing on me. But if any one of these elements is out of sync, then not so much.

2. Nerd. At heart I'm a nerd. Really I am. I love to read about as much as I love to write. When I start reading a new book (or a classic - currently reading Pride and Prejudice - again), I feel sexy. Something about nourishing my mind is so empowering and so damn sexy to me. So lately when I sit on the train and I'm reading all the prim musings of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, I feel pretty damn sexy. And smart.

3. Home. As much as I like to glam it up when I step out the house, I am the complete opposite at home (hence the Pisces symbol). Sure I could feel sexy in the lacy, silky, naughty, frilly frocks in my third bottom drawer (and on occasion I do feel sexy in those things...hahahaa). But I love house shorts. LOVE THEM. In fact, I have a black pair with LOVE written right across the bootay. At home, with my glasses, cotton bootay shorts, and a wife beater, I feel ironically sexy. Truth be told there is nothing sexy about this outfit. At least I don't think there is. Funny, I am not a fan of wearing my glasses out of the house. I feel shy and introverted. But at home? I can't wait to put them on. Unless there's company. But that's another blog for another day.

4. Surprise. I feel sexy when I catch someone off guard in a good way. I've written about it before but when I got in Hustle's car with only my glasses, undies, and a raincoat on, it wasn't the fact that I was damn near nekkid that made me feel sexy. It was the fact that he had nooooo idea what I had going on that made me feel bold and sexy. I believe its the element of surprise - the element of "that's the last thing I would ever expect her to do" - which makes surprises like this one so sexy.

5. Shoes. If you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you know I LOVE SHOES. I would say shoes are my crack but that would make them so low class, so I will say shoes are my prescription pain pills. Slipping my manicured feet into a high heel shoe and watching my foot mold into the shoe is heaven. Then seeing my calf muscles flex under the smoothness of my skin because of the heel of the shoe is damn near orgasmic. I could wear a paper bag, but as long as I had on a sexy pair of heels, I feel my entire being would scream sex appeal. Right now, I am crushing HARD on these babies:

Carlos Santana. {might be my birthday shoe}

6. His. (Yeah I know I said Top 5 but its my blog, my rules to break.) Anytime I wear something that belongs to a guy, I feel incredibly sexy. His (clean) boxers, a tshirt, his button down shirt as a robe, his neck tie a la Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, anything that belongs to him. Since I tend to like guys who are tall, their clothes dwarf me and give me a petite sexy feeling. I've hijacked a few shirts in my day and sleep in them from time to time (well the ones that aren't rotting in somebody's landfill).

Thanks for taking a glimpse into my sexy.

Smoochies,

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay people, the questions are dwindling down. You know there is something you want to ask me. Let's keep this going. http://www.formspring.me/ButterflyRefuge

Real

Okay so apparently, its easier to write this blog during the week than it is on the weekend. As you can tell from my previous post, Saturday was a not a day for writing. And Sunday, I didn't even attempt to pour my words through my fingertips.



If he still reads he's gonna kill me, but I spoke with Hustle on Saturday. We've been engaged in a game of phone/IM/text tag, and finally we spoke for damn near 3 hours. That's one of the things I love about he and I. We don't have to speak everyday but when we do, there is such a natural ebb and flow to the conversation its damn near effortless.



But on Saturday, he rendered me speechless. He informs me that he won't make any of the birthday festivities to which I've invited him. And of course, I immediately get an attitude. "WHATCHUMEANYOU'RENOTCOMING?"



If you know me, or have been reading this for a while, you know my birthday is the most important holiday on the calendar. And yes, I said holiday. I really truly from the bottom of my heart believe my birthday should be a national holiday - complete with a day off from work, a parade and an insane sale. But I digress.



Initially, he tried to laugh it off with jokes about forgetting my birthday (blasphemy) and not noticing that he wasn't around. I was buying it. "WHATCHUMEANYOU'RENOTCOMING?"

"I'm having surgery the day before."

I fumbled and dropped the phone. In that instant it took me to catch the phone before it dropped, I was dumbfounded. Surgery. WHATCHUMEANSURGERY

He laughed and joked about how I thought of him as invincible. He's right. This is the man who accosted me by the bathroom at a club during my darkest hour and forced me to dance the night away and laugh when I didn't think I could. This is the man who rescued me from the demons I struggled with after the end of my toxic relationship. WHATCHUMEANSURGERY

While respecting his privacy, I will say its not major surgery, an outpatient procedure where he can leave once he comes out from under the anesthesia. But still its surgery. I tried to remain calm on the telephone but he could tell I was FREAKING OUT. I should have been reassuring him that he's going to be fine but he was the one reassuring me.

After a few awkward moments, the conversation returned to the normal ebb and flow. I looked at the clock and realized I was supposed to be somewhere 2 hours earlier. For the first time ever, getting off the phone with each other felt awkward. Usually one of us makes a snide comment (him) to which the other (me) responds and then we both laugh, never saying "Goodbye."

For the past couple of days this has been on my mind. When I arrived at my friends house, I tried to push it out of my mind and enjoy some rum punch with my girls, but it kind of sat there right next to me on the sofa. When my phone suffered a temporary battery cardiac arrest and died (as in I needed a battery transplant), I thought of not being able to get in touch with him. I'm keenly aware of not being in touch with him, when normally he and I can go weeks without speaking on the phone.

To everyone looking in, we have the strangest relationship - something out of a novel or a TV show (shit one of my friends call us Carrie and Big). But suddenly, one little world have thrown us into reality. Surgery.

Tipsy

Please note: I'm writing this after three (maybe 4) glasses of rum punch, so if I ramble, please forgive me. But please also note and give me props for my dedication to my 40 day challenge. :)

Now back to the regularly scheduled program.



Can I just say I'm a lil tipsy right now and the thought of writing this blog is hilarious to me. hahhahaha

Ooh damnit, we're about to watch The Hangover. How can I resist watching this movie this tipsy???

(remember my original dislclaimer....some of these entries will suck...hahahahah)

Damn, who drank all the rum punch! Somebody needs to make some more.......

Fact or Fiction: Train Ride

As I approached the turnstile, I heard someone over by the token booth call out my name. I looked over to see a gentleman smiling in my direction. It took a quick second but I recognized him. I smiled and walked over.

"Heyyyy. You don't remember me?!"
"Man, shut up. Of course I remember you!" I replied as we embraced.

"How are you?" I asked. If his appearance was any indication, he was doing quite well for himself. Smooth mahogany skin accented with the precision of a freshly trimmed goatee. His coat hung and fell in all the right places. Stylishly dressed but not overtly metro-sexual.

"I'm doing well. You must be doing well." he said as he too gave me the once over.

We laughed.

"Hey, are you heading downtown?"

I nodded as we both walked over to the turnstile and swiped our Metrocards to allow us entry to the platform.

"Cool so we can really catch up." he replied with a megawatt Colgate grin.

Damn, was his smile always that perfect?? I asked myself just as the train pulled into the station.

As the train snaked its way downtown, he brought me up to speed on what had been going on in his life since I last saw him in my teen years. This neighborhood boy had done well for himself, traveled the world, built his career. With so much grit surrounding us, it's touching to see a fellow neighborhood kid rise above it all.

With only 2 stations away from my departing stop, he asked if we could keep in touch, "you know if that's okay?"

I laugh at his not so subtle way of asking for my number and pull out my phone since yes it was okay for us to keep in touch.

"What stop are you getting off?"
As I dropped my phone back in my purse, I looked up and replied "Ummm, the next one."

"Oh, okay. Hey, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure!" I mentally start running my calendar through my mind, because surely this handsome man is about to ask me out on a date.

"Do you ever think about our night together? I do." he whispered.
"Our night??"
"Yes. our. night." he said with a raised eyebrow a la The Rock.
"Uhhhhh, we had sex???!!!" Damn, did I say that out loud?!

By the look on his face, that was not the answer he was expecting. Foot, meet mouth. But I really don't remember this night he speaks of. Just as I was about to mentally run down, "my list", the train pulled into my departing station. I gathered my things and waved goodbye. He looked crushed but there was no time to repair the damage of my outburst. I blurted out "I'll call you". We both knew that shit wasn't gonna happen.


Now you decide:

FACT OR FICTION

*by fact, it could be my truth or someone else's truth as told to me OR it could all be a fig newton of my imagination. Either way, what do you think - FACT OR FICTION????!!! ;)

38 days left of this writing challenge.........

Q 4 a B-fly: Deep

Q: When was the last time you really, really cared about someone deeply? ~ Anonymous

A: Dear Anonymous, I don't know what it is about these formspring questions, but a song or a lyric from a song pops into my head each time I read one. This time it was

"have you ever tried sleeping with a broken heart? / Well you should try sleepin' in my bed..."

No that's not an invitation to luxuriate in my 400 thread count. Also, that's not to say that I'm perpetually with a broken heart. But for some reason, it was that song that passed through my mind as I contemplated how I could possibly answer your question.

To be honest, I don't know when was the last time I cared for someone as deeply as your questions suggests. I'm gonna assume that you are talking about a love interest and not family member or a friend or a friend's baby that I just can't get enough of.

See, I know my capacity to care, to love is deep. I've seen glimpses of that capacity in certain relationships. And those glimpses frighten me because I know how much more I could give of myself. So I've never completely and totally just let go and allowed myself to feel for someone as deeply as I believe your question implies. Have I loved? Of course I have but I always felt like I was holding back, leaving a reserve for myself, protected from the dangers of rejection and complete heartbreak and devastation.

But. There was someone. A special someone. Someone I believed would.......... well, let's just say a friend. Who I thought that I could open up to. Completely. No reserve. So I tested the waters.
And said things I never thought I would ever have the courage to say out loud. Opened the floodgates and allowed the emotions to flow.

And nothing. Nada. Zilch. I haven't heard from him since. I must admit it hurts because I thought we were better friends than that - the kind of friends who could talk through anything. I stepped out of my shell and exposed a part of me that is not readily available to the viewing audience. And I'm proud of myself for doing so. It means that I'm getting comfortable with my feelings. It means I'm trusting faith enough to step out on its ledge. Even if it seems as though I've lost a friend in the process.

All of that to say, I don't know when was the last time I really, really cared about someone as deeply as your question implies. But I'm looking forward to when that time comes. I'll be sure to let you know when that happens.

Smoochies,


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Keep the questions flowing. http://www.formspring.me/ButterflyRefuge I can only answer what you ask. And I'll answer every question (don't get freaky though..well not too freaky..)

Commitment

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent - the time of year where Catholics all around the world wear the badge of sacrifice. All week, people have been asking me "What are you giving up for Lent?". I contemplated giving up alcohol but my birthday is in exactly 2 weeks. Lets be real. My birthday without booze is no bueno. Even Jesus knows that. I thought about giving up meat again, but at this point it doesn't feel like a "sacrifice" since I barely eat anything but seafood. I may eat chicken, beef and/or pork MAYBE once a week. I even toyed with the idea of going on a shopping freeze, where I would only shop for essentials like food, toothpaste, etc. and nothing else for 40 days. But my mother's birthday is in 10 days and I don't think she'd appreciate groceries or toothpaste for a birthday present. Not to mention (again), my birthday is in 14 days and I'm going to need a few outfits for the festivities, and I need to buy my birthday panties (Sidebar: Am I the only one who buys new undies to wear specifically on the day when I was born without them??). And not to mention, I have to buy myself a bday gift. See, no shopping isn't going to work for me, unless Lent falls after my birthday. Sure I could have planned better and shopped before today but clearly that ain't happen.

So what's this butterfly to do??

I've given some real thought to this and instead of thinking of this time of year as a time od sacrifice, I would like to think of it as a time of challenge - a challenge to step out of my comfort zone, a challenge to push my self-imposed boundaries, a challenge to make me a better me. Part of this challenge is my writing. I haven't been as dedicated to my writing as I should be. I waste a lot of time daily, and at the end of the day I say, "damn I should have blogged today" or "damn, I could have finished that chapter today". So instead of excuses, for the next 40 days of Lent. I will write. DAILY. That's right, this Resident Butterfly is going to blog everyday for the next 40 days. Saturdays and Sundays included. The heart of this challenge is committing the time to do so. Outside of work, I have the worst time management. I struggle to apply all of the professional techniques and strategies I've mastered to my personal when it comes to managing my time. So by challenging myself to this 40 day Writing Challenge, I'm forcing myself to prioritize my time by making sure at some point during the day, I'm writing both for the blog and for the book.

I know this is going to be hard for me (that's what she said...hahahahaha). And I'd like to put the disclaimer out there now. There will be some entries that suck (she said that too...hahahahahaa). I will do my best to write brilliant prose and musings but realistically, I'm not sure that can happen on a daily basis for the next 40 days. But I'm willing to try. I don't know if this is the faith that Jesus spoke of that I'm supposed to be stepping out on but I'm afraid if I don't do this now, my dream of author may end up in a Langston Hughes poem. I have enough regrets in my life. I don't want to add my dreams of writing to that pile of regrets. It's time to get serious about my passion for words.

Another disclaimer. Q 4 a B-Fly, my ask me anything segment, will still be a feature as long as you ask the questions in that box to your right. And I promise I won't only answer questions for the next 40 days either. That's kinda like cheating. But I kinda like the idea too. Maybe its something to consider after I've completed this challenge. Damnit, getting sidetracked already. LOL

Oh, and yes today's entry counts. So, 39 more to go. I hope you'll enjoy this ride with me. Damn, that's what she said too......hahahahahhaa

Q 4 a B-Fly "Drifting on a Memory"

Q: How many times a day do you think of that "special" someone? ~ Anonymous

A: Dear Anonymous,
Please don't be offended, but when I read this question I had to laugh out loud - FOR REAL. No LOL inside my head laugh but a real true hardy -har. I laughed because currently there is no "special" someone in my life. Well except for me. I've been single for a while. But don't cry for me, Argentina. I date.

However, I must admit that the guys I date cross my mind throughout the day. Something usually triggers a memory - someone will say something that alludes to an inside joke, a taste from a meal, a song we danced to playing on Pandora, a whiff of a cologne my olfactory has been acquainted with. Anything my cerebrum has attached to thoughts of that person. I'll smile and keep it moving. Honestly, I can't remember the last time I was that chick who wonders endlessly "Is he thinking of me?" "Oh, I wonder what he's doing right now." I was once in a relationship with a guy who was concerned because I didn't call him during the day at work. When I responded, "Ummm because you're at work and I'm at work?!" He seemed to be offended that I wasn't thinking of him during the day enough to reach out and call. I was teaching at the time. My focus was the 600 kids I was responsible for - not the big baby sitting in a downtown office. Clearly, this relationship didn't last long. Is that harsh??

But memories have a funny way of seeping into your everyday. Just because the men I date have yet to earn the "special" someone title, it doesn't mean that random thoughts of them don't evoke a smile, or a warm fuzzy fleeting feeling. But that's only if there in my good graces. If we're at a place without conflict. Otherwise, any memory, no matter how endearing, how touching, how funny will get the quintessential "side eye". I can't give in to those warm fuzzies if conflict is in the air. Is that harsh??

Now, to answer your question. If I classify myself as that "special someone", well damn, I think about me all the time, so much so I can't even count how many times daily. I wonder what the future holds for "us". I plan "our" next step. I ponder ways to make "us" happy. And if I'm going to be truthful, sometimes, not often, just sometimes, I wonder who that other "special" someone will be. I wonder what it will feel like to be with him. And wonder if maybe I will pick up the phone occasionally during the day, just to say "Hi. I was thinking of you."

Sincerely,


PS After laughing, the first line of this song popped into my mind. So I had to listen to it. And then I had to share.


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The questions are great. Keep them coming. Post your questions in the box to your right or go directly to http://www.formspring.me/ButterflyRefuge

Lady Bug and the Bitch

Stress and hormones don't mix. Worse than oil and water. Worse than Kool-aid and champagne. Worse than Mo'Nique and Nair.

Seriously, this week my mood has been all over the place. I think I have traveled the emotional continent on a world tour in the past week. Crying at the drop of a Kleenex over things I don't normally cry about. I cursed out a cabbie (well, he deserved it but I went IN on my tirade). I've been non-social (and you KNOW that's not me). I conjured up all kinds of not-suitable for the viewing audience blogs. Luckily, a hint of my sanity remained because I would hear her say "Bitch you can't publish that?! What the hell is wrong with you?" I, too, had to wonder "what the hell is wrong with me?"

On one hand I'm stressed. Yeah, this corporate divorce and subsequent corporate jumpoff status has wreaked havoc on my finances, my plans, my life in general. I dread going to the plantation (as I call it now). Then most days the job posting suck stinky monkey balls. Like really you expect me to do all of that for less than my 1st job salary??!! Ummm, yeah, NO! Add that to other life stressors - family, dating, my booty (yes my booty stresses me out..I feel like I'm a cheeseburger away from being thrust into a Jenny C.r.a.i.g commercial against my will just because I'm a fatty).

So add to the stress, the torrential hormonal flux of The Lady Bug (as I call that time) and you have the recipe for an emotional roller coaster - complete with twists and turns, and death defying drops. I'll admit to PMS - I get a lil moody (mostly just quiet and introspective), the girls feel like cannonballs on my chest (those who know me, know these chicks ain't NO WHERE near cannonball size), I crave salty snacks (give me my Honey BBQ, Salt & Vinegar, Onion & Garlic potato chips. Not all together but if you love me, you will make sure I have a supply of at least 2 varieties once a month). This is all "the usual" for me. But this week coupled with the stress, I've felt like someone else. Everything was exaggerated. When my reactions should have been a 2, I felt they were a 10. You know how every damn thing is over-dramatized on the soaps?? Well I felt like Erica Kane this week, queen of the over-drama.

I can't live like this. I've lived with the PMS since the awkward big booty teen years, so that I can manage (as long as I have my chips! hahahaha). But the stress??!!! Sheeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiit, this bitch called stress has got to go. She needs to be evicted from my life ASAP, like YESTERDAY!! I try not to get overwhelmed and normally, I manage the bitch quite well. But when Stress and Lady Bug meet for a playdate, all hell breaks loose. And while I'm not a control freak, I like to be in control of what I say, control of what I do.

So I'm looking for ways to either eliminate the stress or distract me from it. I know primarily, I have to change the situation with this job bull. I know that when I find a gig that I respect, enjoy, and gives me nice satisfying corporate orgasms (paychecks"), I will feel more at peace. But in the meantime, I need to create the peace for myself. I'm just not sure how. But I know damn well, I will need to figure this out in the next 3 weeks or so. If not, I'll be writing another crazy WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME/YA'LL MIGHT WANNA HAVE ME COMMITTED blog, and while I love a cute white spring jacket, uhhhh straitjackets won't go with anything in my closet.


PS I thought yesterday was Tuesday and sat down to write Q 4 a B-Fly. When I found out it wasn't Tuesday, I damn near cried and stopped writing my response to the next question. See??!! A MESS!!! hahahahaha I'll finish either tonight or tomorrow. I won't let the week pass without answering your questions. They really are fascinating.
Smoochies,