During my recent travels, I decided to conduct a little social experiment. Stepping out the box or should I say stepping over, around and through the box is pretty normal for me. Coming up with this idea while as zany as it was falls right in line with my "hey! Why not?"philosophy on life.

My friend, Rashad, has written in his blog on several occasions about how he reads Playboy during his morning commute. According to him, he is genuinely reading the articles, but I know he also wants to see what peoples reactions are. I mean, can you imagine getting on the subway with your IPod in one hand, newspaper in another, racing for a seat, and the only seat available is next to a dude reading Playboy at 8 am like its the Wall Street Journal?? Every time I read his blog or talk to him about his reading choice, I laugh hysterically, secretly wishing I were on the train with him to see people's reaction to him.

So the night before I left town, I was inspired to try my own social experiment. I was at my best friend's house, just chilling, doing what best friends do: talking shit. During the conversation she tells me about a bachelorette party she attended that weekend., and of course the conversation turns to the entertainment. While describing his ummmm shall I say skill sets, she tells me that he kept talking about being on the cover of the recent Playgirl magazine. Oh really?? I asked her if the issue was on the newsstand. She wasn't sure so we looked it up online (ahhh the power of the Internet! LOL). My plan was coming into play. Over whatever the hell we were drinking that night I told her I was gonna buy Playgirl at the airport in the morning. She gave me that "no you're not!" side glance, and we both fell out laughing. When we came up for air, I said I was going to buy it , read it at the gate, and document people's reactions to me. I rationalized that this would be great material for a character in my book (SIDEBAR: writing this book has been an unbelievable journey. I am sometimes in awe and amazed at the words I've poured onto paper. I still can't believe I'm living out my life's dream. Hopefully one day you will read it). And besides after all the manchild drama of the past few weeks I needed to feel like the lyrics to a Prince song:

"Let's go crazy/Let's get nuts/Let's look 4 the purple banana 'Til they put us in the truck, let's go!"

(SIDEBAR: I had noooo idea these were the lyrics to the chorus of the this song. Purple banana??? what the helllll???? Prince was on some shit!!! LOL Still one of my favorite songs though.). I needed something to feel as carefree and giddy as this song makes you feel when you hear it. Don't front. Right now, the song is playing in your head and you want to get up and dance around the room like a fool, head bobbing, fingers snapping, kicking your legs out in front of you like a rockstar. LOL

The next day I carefully chose my attire from the casual Gap section of my closet: blue and white seersucker pants (not too tight, but hug my now lil booty just right..LOL), white tank top, white fitted jacket, white leather flip flops. I carried my brown suede Coach carry on bag (yeah I know it didn't match the outfit but its the biggest one I can get away with carrying on the plane with my notebooks and the rest of my government sanctioned crap. And it says stylish, sophisticated traveler). If my social experiment were going to work, the people needed to believe that I at least appeared to be a sensible, classy, normal traveling woman, who would probably read Marie Claire, People, and maybe Time instead of Playgirl. If I wore anything from the club section of my closet, no one would have thought twice about my reading choice. I almost wore my glasses to the airport to make the look more authentic but everyone knows I never leave home in my glasses. NEVER. lol

Despite a small glitch that morning, I arrived at the airport 2 1/2 hours early - plenty of time to breeze through airport security and get my experiment started. I was giddy with excitement, not just from my trip but from what was going to happen as I waited at the gate before boarding my plane. Passing through airport security, I saw a newsstand to my left and a Starbucks to my right. I must admit I was a little nervous, so I made a detour to the Starbucks. Nothing like a Venti skim, sugar-free, iced cinnamon dolce latte - no whip to steel my nerves (it was too early in the morning for a shot of Patron Silver at the bar, well at least for me.LOL). So now I'm armed with my expensive, but diet-friendly coffee beverage (with extra espresso shot, thanks to the cutie making my beverage. heyyyy!), and I begin the walk across the way to the newsstand. I step into the enclave with bright lights and shelves of magazines, books, and overpriced snacks and beverages (they are going to hell for charging $5 for bottled water that cost $1.39 at RiteAid). I scan the shelves to direct me to the Women's section of the magazines. You know where they clump all the beauty magazines and gossip rags in one area?? As I walk past the Men's Section (sports, cars, electronics, etc.), I notice Playboy on the top shelf wrapped in strategic graphic-printed plastic. When I arrive at the Women's section, I immediately look up to the top shelf, looking for my own strategic graphic-printed plastic wrapped magazine. All I found on the top shelf were magazines about knitting and traveling. I walk over to the counter to ask the women working there if perhaps the Playgirl issue was sold out. In my best prep school voice: "Umm, hi. yes. I'm looking for the recent issue of Playgirl magazine. I can't seem to find it." And in response, I got "Playgirl? Weaintgotdat. But Playboy is ova dere. Get dat instead." And again in my prep school voice: "No, umm, I'm looking for ummm Playgirl not Playboy. Why would I want to read Playboy? " "What's wrong with reading Playboy?" was the response from the large woman with the wife beater on under her airport issued smock from behind the counter (did I fail to mention the Allen Iverson-esque cornrows and rings on every finger??). Aww shit, this is not how my social experiment was supposed to happen. I walked out of the newsstand deflated (and a little scurred 'cause big momma was eyeing me like a slab of ribs on the grill..LOL).

I arrived at my gate, sipping my latte. I started thinking. Why wasn't Playgirl sold at the airport??? Why is it in 2007, it is socially acceptable for men to read whatever the hell they want wherever they want but I, as a woman, am limited to tips on summer makeup trends, knitting, and who is sleeping with whom in Hollywood??? What about the smut for da ladies??? Since I had time to kill, I walked to another newsstand (you didn't think I was going back to big momma did you??). This time I scanned the Men's section. There were at least a dozen magazines with scantily clad women on the cover from Maxim to King to Playboy (well from what I could see through the graphic-printed plastic wrap). The only smut for da ladies were those Harlequin type novels but damnit they don't have pictures, and I didn't want to read about how some lonely desperate woman's breast heaved from the heat her lovah's passionate kiss was sure to bring to her boring dull life. blah blah blah.

As I walked around the newsstand, I realized the only magazine of its kind that I could think of was Playgirl. However, I could think of a multitude of smut magazines for men. In this world of "equality" where is the equality in the adult magazine trade. I'm not talking about straight porn but a little smut is good for everyone - men and women. I want my smut too!!! I want access to it when I want it (at the airport where no one knows me and I will hopefully never see these people again! LOL).

I walked back to my gate, and in my caffeine induced haze, I came up with a plan. I wondered if Big Perm (ahem, I mean Al Sharpton) would march for my right to smut magazines, a "Smut 4 Da Ladies' campaign. Would he lead protests outside of LaGuardia Airport because I was denied the right to my smut??? Would he rent a steamroller and roll over copies of Ladies Home Journal and Redbook until my need for smut in the airport was met??? Would his hairline revert back to its natural state after his fiery passionate speech about women having equal rights in this society?? Damn, maybe I need to lay off the caffeine.

My social experiment may be halted for now. Next time I will just bring the damn magazine with me, and avoid another encounter with Big Momma. Now excuse me while I go looking for that purple banana.


"I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!"

I recently wrote a blog where I spoke about giving up on love. I expressed my feelings about not believing in the beauty of love and all of its possibilities. I was coming from a place of raw emotion, like exposed flesh to toxic chemicals. I was feeling like that extra napkin you grab at McDonald's. You pick it up knowing damn well you don't need 10 napkins to eat some fries. But you do anyway, and as soon as you've had your fill, and your belly is full, you toss those extra napkins away. Never giving any consideration that by balling them up and trashing them, the napkin is no longer useful to anyone else. So when I made that declaration about being through with love, I was balled up, laying in the trash, feeling used and useless, unloved and unlovable. But apparently, there were lessons to be learned, even in the trash can.

After I posted that blog, I've had friends try to console me and persuade me to change my mind on the topic. During numerous conversations, I heard it all: "You can't give up on love." "He's an ass. Don't let him take love too!" "You're hurt now; but you will laugh about this later." My response?? "Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitttttt!" (gotta say it like Clay Davis from The Wire for full effect!! LOL) I would concede that yes I believe love exists, out there somewhere - just not for me. Life with the absence of love is apparently my destiny and I have to get okay with that. The conversations would continue, until they would give up, and say "Okay Janelle. Fine. No love for you. I'ma pray for you." I would just shrug and say, "Whatever, man." As I settled into this new existence, navigating the ins and outs of not caring anymore, and coming to terms with my loveless fate, a stranger said one of the most profound things to me. Someone who reads my blog that, as far as I know, I've never met, left a comment saying "to give up on love is to give up on God". Wait a minute. Give up on God? What the........? That goes against all of the thousands of dollars my mother spent on 12 years of Catholic school education. Giving up on God is a hell of an existence (both figuratively and literally, according to Sister Mary and all the other nuns who taught me). I've read this stranger's entire comment so many times, I hear those words whispered in my mind. She even took it a step further and challenged me (yes, challenged ME) to "believe in the impossible". I've carried these words around with me over the past week. Took them with me to Memphis for my sister's wedding (Beautiful by the way; another blog entry to follow). Heard these words whispering on the wind in my ear as I sat in the church during the ceremony. I knew I looked good in my dress, just didn't feel good in it. I sat there in the pew, happy for my sister and her happiness but all the time thinking about my current state of unhappiness. My tears were a mixture of joy for her and sorrow for myself because I truly believe I will never know this happiness. During the sermon,the Reverend instructed my sister and her husband to simply let go; to let go of the pain and hurt from all past endeavors. He told them in order to truly love and honor each other they must love and honor who THEY are TODAY standing before each other, ready to make this life long commitment, not whomever they THOUGHT they loved before, and the pain, anger, frustrations and disappointments those people brought to their lives. He told them if they were going to argue, go 'head and argue - just don't say and do things you wish you could have said and done to the persons who hurt you. "The person standing before you today is not the one who hurt you in your past. Remember that." He told them that a part of their commitment today was a commitment to let go and forgive the past. According to this Reverend, if they couldn't let go and forgive then they might as well give up on love now. I felt as if he were saying this more to me than to my sister and her husband. After all, I was the one who had signed my own Declaration of Lovelessness with the remnants of my broken heart. Here I was, just waiting for the ceremony to be over so I could party like a rock star at the reception, and instead I was given instructions on how to deal with my unhappiness: simply let it go and forgive. Could it really be that simple?? I wanted to yell out, "Rev, you're asking for too much! It ain't that easy, mannn!" But fear of a down home beat down for ruining my sister's day took over, and I sat there and just let his words soothe my soul and tend to my broken spirit.

Okay, now I've received the challenge from a stranger, and the instructions from a reverend (sounds like a scavenger hunt, right?? LOL), so what now??? I'm still not quite sure of who I am and what I feel. How can I believe in myself again, trust my judgement, and be confident in the decisions I make?? Honestly?? I have no freaking clue. Helllooooo, if I had all the answers I'd be making Oprah money right now, ummkaaay???LOL But seriously, I realize now that this, in and of itself, is a journey, a process. So it's okay for me to give love the "yeah right" side eye for now. It's okay for me to see a couple holding hands and feel a little sad. It's okay for me to want to scream out "Why???" at the top of my lungs. Its okay for me to rip a tshirt he gave me to shreds (damn that felt good!!! LOL) I now know I won't feel this way always and forever (the song is playing in your head now too, right??? LOL) I'm letting go little by little everyday. The burden of it all doesn't feel so heavy and cumbersome. The load is getting lighter and somewhat easier to carry. Eventually, I will forgive manchild (I'll never forget this shit though. I ain't stupid now..LOL) for the layers upons layers of lies and deceit. One day, his words and actions will no longer affect me in such a negative manner. That will be the day I have finally, simply let go. I know that day is coming: just can't tell you the exact date. What I have realized about myself is that TODAY I am okay with existing in the journey. The journey is where I need to be for a moment. And I know this journey ahead is not easy; after all is said and done, I am fighting for the life I deserve, and I fight to win . So if I backslide, please remind me of this blog posting. I promise to pick myself up and keep it moving.

While today I still don't quite believe in the existence of the beauty of love for me , tomorrow is another story. I'm okay with not knowing what it holds for me, because what I do know is that tomorrow will be vastly different from today. I have a stranger, a reverend, and, most of all, God to thank for that.

My friends, your prayers have been answered. I no longer dwell in the trash can. I accept the challenge and believe that the impossible could possibly be possible. There is a glimmer of hope for me after all.

"Hey there, kiddo!" in a slightly raspy but smooth as quality bourbon voice was the greeting I received from my Uncle Harold for most of my life. His easy going smile and tall presence always reminded me of my grandfather who passed away when I was five. Now I'm left with family photos and stories for my relatives to share because Uncle Harold passed away yesterday. When I received the news from my tearful cousin, I was dazed. I didn't cry. Still haven't. I stood for a moment on the busy rush hour street and let the sun hit my face. I deeply inhaled and prayed his buddy, my grandfather, was there to meet him at the heavenly gates. I know that sounds very "Highway to Heaven" (who remembers that show...LOL) but it brought me great comfort to think of these two strong, hardworking, fun loving family men greeting each other with a big hug , smacking each other on the back. "Long time no see" Uncle Harold probably joked as my grandfather handed him a glass of Dewer's White Label. That vision made me smile and I was able to continue on my journey for the rest of the evening.

Uncle Harold was such a central part of my family but in a quiet unimposing kind of way. Marrying into a family of strong and stubborn women and men, couldn't have been easy for him. But his way with Mama Gloria (yeah that's what we call her. What can I say? My family has Southern "ruuts". LOL) had an incomparable finesse and grace . But don't let that grace fool you. He was a quiet storm - a force to be reckoned with. I remember a family trip by VAN from New York to Mount Pleasant, South Carolina, in particular. We used to go every year; but this particular time I had to be about 9 . While Down South (as we used to call it - for the longest time I thought "Down South" was the name of the place we were....LOL), my cousin of the same age said something extremely inappropriate to me. I didn't understand what the hell he was talking about, so I walked over and repeated it to my mother for clarification. My mother asked me where did I hear that. I told her "Jamel said it." My mother grabbed that boy by the arm and dragged him over to his grandmother, Mama Gloria, for him to repeat what he said to me. I remember giggling that Jamel was gonna get in troubbbbbbbble and wouldn't be able to go behind the counter at my family's sweet shop and take whatever candy he wanted. "The candy is all miiiine, " I laughed to myself. Before Mama Gloria could react, Uncle Harold swooped in and started wailing on that ass. Seriously, I started crying from the steps of the house for my cousin. I never saw Uncle Harold that angry before, and I never wanted to see it again, at least not directed at me. I felt so bad for Jamel, who after the ass beating in the yard, was confined to the hot ass house for the remainder of that summer day. I even snuck him a piece of candy. Took the wrapper off and everything, so there would be no evidence of him eating candy while on punishment. Didn't want to witness that ass beating again. I recall during the beating, Uncle Harold told his grandson "you don't talk to girls like that EVER." And I remember being so terrified and impressed all at the same time. Terrified because I never wanted to say or do anything in his presence that would warrant that kind of beating. Impressed because like a superhero, he was defending my 9 year old honor.

There are so many more stories I could tell. It's funny how once someone dies, the levees for your memories break, and every moment spent with that person floods your mind. It's been a while since I last saw Uncle Harold. He was battling Alzheimer's disease, and had to go to a nursing home. To see a man so strong and with such a quick wit deteriorate and struggle to remember where he is and who you are is heartbreaking. One of the last times I saw him he asked me "where's the baby? with Georgie? Confused at first, I then realized he thought I was my mother (hey ma, told you we look alike!!! LOL) and that me - "the baby"- was with my now deceased grandfather. At the time I didn't dwell too long on how sad I was. But looking back, I realize that all I wanted to hear was "Hey there, kiddo".

I'll miss you Uncle Harold. Rest in Peace.

Disclaimer: To my friends: Please read the disclaimer from the previous post. Little by little this writing really does help. I felt ten times better after the last post, and I'm pretty sure I will feel better after this one as well. I anticipate this to be my last post on the situation. However, I can't make any promises. I'll see where my heart and words take me. Love you all! Smooches ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As kids, we learn: "Sticks and stones may break my bones; but words will never hurt me." Who came up with this crock of shit?? No, I'm serious. Yes I understand that maybe it's an attempt to keep kids from fighting on the playground. When I was a teacher, I was guilty of using the same cliche time and time again. But its a crock of shit, a lame ass string of words. Words do hurt. They rip you apart, tear you down, sear through the toughest exterior. Sticks and stones may cut, scratch and/or bruise our skin. But our skin is tough, strong, able to stand up to the outside world. That's what it was made for. But words and actions cut deeper than any stick or stone could ever reach. A place that is very rarely subjected to the elements. But once that place is touched, it is forever changed.

"Yeah we had sex last night and this morning. So what? I'm telling you tonight that I'm dating someone."

This from the man who whispered " I love you" in my ear just hours earlier. These words were a .38 caliber shot to my core, shattering everything I believe in - love, respect, kindness, decency, friendship, and most of all, love. The delivery was so cavalier and nonchalant he might as well have asked me to pick up some Pepperidge Farms Chocolate Chip Cookies from the supermarket. These words cut deeper than any stick and bruised harder than any stone. There was no regard for my feelings in that statement or in subsequent conversations. There wasn't a hint of love and respect for me behind his words or his actions.

Please be clear this isn't about him moving on. That is not the issue. Honestly. While it does sting (mostly because I was caught so off guard), it's insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Yes it was the catalyst that lead to his declaration but the manner in which he handled the situation is the serrated, rusty knife in my back and in my heart. His words. His actions. I felt used for giving him whatever he needed, manipulated for continuing to believe in him and in us, and stupid for not seeing the obvious handwriting on the wall. Everything about the love we shared feels cheap and tawdry, like some illicit affair instead of a true friendship, a real relationship.

Yes I understand breakups are never easy. I understand that there is no perfect time to tell someone that you want to move on with your life. But timing, my friend, is everything. Timing is the difference between parting amicably and the nasty war that has ensued. Timing stands between total love and respect for someone and total disgust and contempt for same person. Timing is the fork in the road. On one side the road is paved, smooth sailing over difficult discussions filled with mutual love and respect. The other road is filled with potholes and cracks over heated exchanges of hurt and betrayal. Why did we have to go down the latter? Why couldn't this be handled on the high road instead of down in the gutter? The only answer I have is because of timing. Had this manchild told me about his new situation before he entered my promise land repeatedly, knowing what he was building on the side behind my back, the situation would not be what it is. Instead he waited until the last possible moment (mostly likely forced to), which just so happened to be after he sampled a taste of my sugar walls. This, my friend, is the source of my hurt, the epicenter of my pain; not the fact that I am not the "chosen one" like this was sort of reality game show. I feel used. Rationally, I know my worth. I know that I am an intelligent, kind-hearted, loving, funny, beautiful person. The people who truly love me remind of this everyday, helping to ease the pain. But emotionally, I am drained, depleted, destitute. I know longer believe in the power of love and the beauty it can bring to your life. I'm happy for those who have found it, who have navigated through the land mines of bullshit. But after the ugly episode that has unfolded, I'm just left to pick up the shattered pieces of my core. Maybe I can find some beauty in that. Or maybe not.

Disclaimer: To my friends: I know you don't want me to write this. You will say that this will only drag out the drama. Or you will say through revealing my emotions, I allow him access and further control over me/situation. Or you tell me "don't put your business in the street, girl". But, my beautiful gems, this is my way of releasing the pain and the hurt. I've cried; it doesn't work. Writing is my therapy, my release. By putting these thoughts into words, I am no longer holding on to anything associated with him. I am now in control of me/situation. His reaction or anyone else's reaction to this is their concern, not mine. I love you all for being so protective of me, and helping me through this, but this is just something I gotta do. I hope you understand. If you feel you can't read this I will understand. I still love you. Smooches!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Breakups. Rarely pleasant. Seldom mutual. Very often messy. The tabloids are chock full of celebrities and their former lovers battling to the bitter end. Unfortunately, I don't have to flip through the pages of US Weekly or the Enquirer for a slice of the break up drama pie.

There has to be some mathematical theorem which stipulates that the degree of intensity of the relationship must directly correlate to the degree and intensity of the breakup. So I guess it goes without saying that the manchild I loved the most has turned into the ugliest, nastiest, meanest breakups I have ever experienced. Who needs All My Children or The Young & the Restless? I have all the elements of an award winning soap opera, right here in my life.

Lies? Check.
Deceit? Betrayal? Check. Check.
Sex? Check.
Physical altercation? Check.
Back from the dead with amnesia?? Ummmm, that would be a no.

I no longer recognize the caring fun loving man I fell in love with. In his place I see a disrespectful, mean-spirited, selfish, self-centered, vindictive manchild, hell bent on controlling me and breaking my spirit. Throughout this ordeal, I've asked myself has this manchild always been here, lurking in the periphery of our relationship, waiting for his time to get acquainted with me? I must admit I saw glimpses of him - in stories he would tell, the way he dealt with ex-girlfriends, the manner in which he spoke of his friends and family at times - I would see a flash of this manchild but would cloud my vision by putting on the love glasses, and would rationalize what I saw.

The woman I see in the mirror is a stranger to me as well. The confident, self assured, rational loving woman has been recast as a tearful, emotional (okay..so I've always been a tad emotional...lol), angry, hurtful, hurtfilled reactive child. I've never seen her before and her impulsivity is not what my former self is accustomed to. I've watched myself slip deeper and deeper into the manipulated hole - totally succumbing to emotions triggered solely by this manchild. When he wanted me to be happy and secure, he told me he loved me daily, caressed the small of my back as his own public display of affection, shared his dreams with me, was my loudest cheerleader and supporter. When he wanted to see the insecure me, He came out with the " you're situation is hurting our relationship. I'm not sure if we can be together. But I'll always love you." And when our situation slipped into shades of gray, instead of the clearly defined black and white it was before, I got the "you never know what our future holds, babe. You'll see." to keep me going in this charade - the hopeful me. Finally. when he wanted to see angry me, he pulled the rug and the floor out from under me, sending me into a tailspin of emotions, while he sat back and smirked, fully entertained by the gamut of my emotions, the lashing out, the crying, the sarcasm, all of it.

I don't blame him for his power over my emotions. After all, I gave it to him. Walked over and handed the remote control to him lovingly. I even showed him how to program his favorite shows through the sharing of past experiences and divulging my innermost thoughts. So with just a flick of his thumb, he could call upon any emotional show or display he felt like being entertained by at any given moment. And I gave in every.....single......time. What rational intelligent woman confident woman would do that? I've always been the type who shook her head disapprovingly at women who got caught up in the stupidity, all in the name of love. Instead I should have reached down and pulled them up because now I know exactly how it feels to exist in the gutter of your emotions. But I can't front though. Even reading what I wrote thus far, I feel stupid and weak for participating in this madness. This is so not me. How could I relinquish so much control of my life to this person? Is this what love is really about?? If it is then I'm through with it. Take it away, remove this kind of love from the menu of my life. I can't handle this level of hurt, betrayal, and pain again. But what if it's a case of me choosing the wrong person for me to love? How will I know who the right person is to love? Maybe next time, I pull the curtain back sooner, and look for the manchild lurking in the corner.

Destiny's Child has a song on their Destiny Fulfilled CD, entitled Free:

"Ain't no feeling like being free/ When your mind's made up and your heart's in the right place, yeah/ Ain't no feeling like being free/ When you've done all you could but was misunderstood, (it's all good, it's all good)/ Ain't no feeling like being free/ I'm like an eagle set free and finally I'm looking out for me/Ain't no feeling like being free/'Cause my mind's made up and my heart's in the right place, yeah/"

While this song is talking about being free from a toxic relationship (no comment), every time I hear it, I feel breezy. Like driving down an empty highway in a convertible, top down (chrome spinning...okay, maybe not. LOL), shades on, kind of breezy. Walking ocean edge on a tropical island, sun kissing your eyelashes warm kind of breezy.

"I'm like an eagle set free/Finally I'm looking out for me."
Those 12 words resonate so deep within me in a place I've closed off for far too long. Maybe this feeling illuminates from the impending proposal of a new job (you thought I was going to say something else, didn't you?? LOL). I believe this job, through Divine intervention, was tailor made just for me. I've never felt so excited in my life. (Okay, maybe on Christmas Eve when I was 5, I felt more excited. Santa and gifts were my crack of choice back then, and I was giddy for a hit of the excitement.) But I can envision me doing this job. I actually see it - me behind my desk, making a difference and running thangs (and above all getting PAID). I see my business cards in a metal business card holder on my desk and in that cute Coach business card holder in my new "congrats on getting the job" matching tote. I'm confident and optimistic like a mug. (SIDEBAR: you know I gotta ask, right. What the helllll is "like a mug"?) I've already figured out the quickest route to work in the morning; the one where I can stop at Starbucks en route for my grande skim, sugar free cinnamon dolce latte - no whip, please. Yummm

Ain't no feeling like being free....
This blog is my first public venture into the freedom of my creative voice. My friends have been nudging me for years to write something...ANYTHING - as long as I was writing. These beautiful gems saw a talent in me that I never took the time to appreciate. I just didn't see my writing as important.

"Wait a minute, I think I gotta take some time and clear my mind/'cause if I don't, I might scream/ Scream out loud."
This feeling(go back to second blog for proof) coupled with the example of my friend, Rashad's work led me to this space. This blog has ever since been cathartic, it's my therapy in a way. While its been very hard to examine my true feelings, I've faced it. But unfortunately (or fortunately, depends on how you look at it), not without restraints. Trust me, I write everyday, but fear of offending someone or revealing my true vulnerabilities, something too personal or hurtful, holds me back (well, except that one time). I'm trying to learn to shake that restraint. But the tides are changing. I'm changing. I'm feeling free.

Ain't no feeling like being free.......
I feel like I've finally entered the marathon of my life. I'm at the starting point. I'm off and running. My mind is clear(on many aspects of my life...just one more issue I wish I had the courage to resolve..whatever that resolution is going to be, I'm going to stick to it; at least try to). My mind is free to venture into the next phase of my life. I'm ready. No longer afraid. I'm crying as I write this, but each teardrop is a symbol of my joy. The joy I feel that I am finally free to be me - the REAL me; the me I am discovering each day. The me who is reaching for the impossible, the formerly unattainable. I'm exploring the possibilities that life has to offer. The possibilities of life are suddenly beautiful from my point of view. I'm going to write that book. Wait scratch that. I am CURRENTLY writing that book - the story that's been on my heart and taking up space in my head for a couple of years. Maybe purging these thoughts is where this new found "free"dom and clarity originates. Pouring my words on paper is passion personified. It's the excitement of learning the body of a new lover. I approach it tenderly at first, with trepidation, for fear of doing something completely untrue to the bond we share. I concentrate on learning the rhythm of our trysts, committing them to memory. Then with reckless abandon, I pour my everything into it, give my all just as I do with a man I love, no holding back, no holds barred. Finally, after my session, I look down at this body of work that has flowed out of me. I smile with amazement, satisfied with what I am able to accomplish, knowing my words are just as happy for the release as I am. I walk away from my body of work, tired, but anticipating the next time we can spend some alone time together again. I'm giddy just thinking about it.

Ain't no feeling' like being free......
I don't know where this rebirth came from. Honestly, I woke up one day, sat up in bed, looked out at the sky outside my window, and said, "Fuck it. Today is the beginning of my new life. Today is the day I live my dreams. Not tomorrow, TODAY." I have no idea what I was dreaming about, but whatever it was boy, that must have been one hell of a dream. And that was the day I wrote my dreams down on paper. On the first page of the notebook that now holds the beginning of my novel. That entire day I actually felt like an eagle set free, soaring amongst the clouds of my dreams. Not even my dysfunctional family could bring me down. I got reacquainted with the possibilities of my dreams, and let my mind go as far as it wanted to. I've never experienced this euphoric feeling before. It's exciting and peaceful all at the same time, exhilarating and calming. I can barely describe it(damn, if that's the case, this book thing is going to be harder than I thought...LOL) It's a feeling I never want to leave. Everyday I try to recapture that feeling. It's my fuel, my crack of choice these days if you will. My dreams, in particular, my words, are my dealer, enticing me to take a hit. And I refuse to resist. Yes, I know there will be days where I will feel discouraged and discontent. But that's the beauty of being free. I'm free to live in that moment momentarily, and then get back to chasing that high.

It feels so good to be free.........
Yes it does Michelle. Sing it again, please as I walk away, hand in hand with my dreams, embracing all my future holds for me. I'm ready for this. I was born for this. Freeee is meeeee...........

"As I sit back, relax, steam a blunt, sip a Becks......" Ok, so I'm not Biggie and they aren't many R&B singers that I want to give the business to (damn, I wonder if Chris Webber can sing??? LOL). But as I load my Ipod (still loving it!!!) with a gazillion songs there are certain songs that are movies in my head. The moment I hear them my mind instantly rewinds back to a moment in my life. As the song plays, I watch the movie of my memory and honor whatever emotion the song/movie evokes. Some I wish I could freeze frame and live right in that moment again; others I want the song to hurry up and end because its accompanying memory is still too painful to bear no matter how distant the memory was supposed to be.

Kissing You by Total. We walked hand in hand down the streets of New York City on a typical but beautiful sunny summer day. I talked, he listened. He talked, I listened. Smiles and laughter ever present. Our first date was full of butterflies, nervous energy flying all around. As conversation flowed as easy and steady as our stroll down the street, suddenly he stopped me, right in the middle of the sidewalk. I turned my body slightly toward him to inquire why we were stopping. He cupped my face, with his middle fingers behind my ears and his thumbs caressing my sun-flushed cheeks. Before I could fully wonder , "what the helllll??", he simply and quietly proclaimed " I have to kiss you". As just like that, his lips gently grazed mine and as if on cue, all I heard in my head was " Kissing you is all that I've been thinkin' of/Kissing you is ooooh, oooh". It was as if someone pressed play on the cd player in my head (didn't own my beloved Ipod yet). As the kiss got deeper, the music got louder and the constant roar of the city faded to a background purr. I have no idea how long that first of many, many kisses that day lasted. Whenever we stopped this very public display of sweet affection, we stood there for a moment, face to face, grinning like two 5 year olds with big plans for the dollar in our pockets. Then without missing a beat, we resumed our city stroll, hand in hand. I talked, he listened. He talked, I listened. Smiles and laughter ever present. I couldn't help but wonder (still wonder, actually) why that song?? It was most likely a decade old and it had been a minute since I last heard it. But his lips on mine was all I need to hear it its soft melody in my head.

Square Biz - Teena Marie. I'm sitting on the edge of the bed, legs swinging in time with the song, watching the scene in front of me. " I wanna go. Can I go witchu?" "No, you're too young to go to Bentley's." She replied as she wiggled her booty into her skin tight Sergio Valente jeans, perfect Farrah Fawcett flips flapping up and down right along with her. That made me giggle. I slide down off the bed until my footie-pajama feet touch the floor. Hand on hips, "But I'm five. I can go!!! Pleeeeeeeeeeeeaase" I start singing along "I told you square bits to the baaabay. Square square bits. I talkin love dabit dabit square bits." This makes her friends, sitting on the other twin bed across from me giggle. I pout. "I'm telling Granny you won't let me go!". storming out of the room, knowing she was gonna get in trouble with my great-grandmother for not taking me with her. Why wouldn't she get in trouble? She always got in trouble for not wanting to take my very inquisitive ( and could remember everything we did) behind with her and her teenage friends. Guess who got a beating for being up past her bedtime?? Back then (before I knew any better), I thought my 17 year old aunt was the coolest person in the universe, the galaxy even. Her clothes were always funky fresh, and she had the dopest boyfriend, Calvin (sigh,my first crush..lol)

What is it about music that triggers a connection within?? I don't just listen to music; I've lived it. It apparently serves as the soundtrack to my memories. It's as if the music travels from my ears and reaches down into the bag of memories in my soul and inexplicable attaches itself to a movie frame in my life, and refuses to let go. They are intricately intertwined and the connection to my soul is made. One day, I can only pray my writing touches my audience the way these songs touch me. But in the meantime, I will continue to press play and relish in the memories(good, bad, sad...whatever) music is bringing to the forefront of my mind.

In the movie, "I'm Gonna Get You Sucka", Jack Spade questions John Slade about the band following them down the street. Slade replies, "Oh, that's my theme music. Every good hero should have some." While it would be highly impractical for me to walk the streets of New York City with a band playing my theme music every step of the way, I do believe that every woman should have some theme music, playing in her ear. (SIDEBAR: if anyone out there could actually7 make that happen and get a band for me, even just for one day, one hour even, please get The ROOTS. How hot would that be?? LOL)

On my IPOD I created a playlist entitled, "STRUT". That's right STRUT. It's my walking music. Walking to the train station, walking to the store, walking to meet some friends, walking to the gym, any walking that I do. However, instead of walking, I now strut to the tunes in my ear. AND yes, there is a difference between a walk and a strut. A walk is left, right, left, right, stop when necessary. It serves it purpose; it gets you where you have to go. It's blah, has no presence, no standing out in the crowd. Now a strut??? Honey, let me tell you. A strut is more left, bounce, right, bounce, left, jiggle, right, jiggle, and stop with a swish in the hips. A strut is the walk you do when you know that fine ass brother is watching you walk away. You want him to stand there and watch until he can't see you anymore, captivated by your strut.

My STRUT list consists of music that no matter what the day holds for me, I feel like a hot seductress, taming the jungles of New York. No matter the outfit or the footwear, there is an extra swish in my hips, a little jiggle in the booty (SIDEBAR: this is intentional jiggle. Not the "I ate a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts last night after dinner and it went straight to my ass" jiggle. There IS a difference. LOL). With this playlist, I walk with my head high, smirk on my face (like don't you wish you knew what was making me smile?? LOL), shoulders high, and pep in my step, always in beat to the music. Ms. Jay, Tyra, and the contestants on America's Next Top Model ain't got nothing on me. I feel confident, sexy, carefree, even when reality doesn't always allow me to feel that way. It's a mood booster. It's my drug of choice as I walk the runway of the city. And yes, I'm addicted. No rehab, please.

So you may ask, how did I come up with my STRUT playlist. As with everything, there are rules, my friend, commandments if you will. They are as follows:

1. Songs must be songs that have a good beat. It could be mid tempo or more upbeat but the beat must be something you can strut to.
2. No depressing songs. You want a song that will make you sashay across the street not slash your wrists.
3. Song must be a song you have danced in the house to. Matter of fact, if the song has a video, you must have danced along with the video at least once.
4. Song must be a song that you would play while getting ready to go out. I mean go OUT: party, club, hot date, whatever. Something that gets you in the mood for the rest of the night.
5. Songs must connect to you somehow. When I hear every song on my STRUT playlist, I must feel all the qualities I feel that go along with a good strut. They make me smile.
6. Playlist must be personal to you. Whatever gives you that swagger, that strut, whether its the Dixie Chicks or DMX.
7. Songs can be changed at will. Replace your songs with old or new strut songs. Playlist should be fresh, never feeling old and boring. Nothing old and boring lends itself to a good strut.


There is a downside to having my theme music playing in my ear. I want to sing out and dance right in the middle of the street or on the train, like I'm begging for change. While I may listen to Beyonce (my alter ego by the way..LOL), I probably sound more like Bea Arthur. So singing out in the middle of the street may get me beat up, arrested, institutionalized, or most likely, all of the above. I think there should be a car on the train for those who want to sing along to their IPODS. This would allow us to belt out the favorite part of the song or the whole damn song if you want to without the stares from the other passengers. Hey, it's an idea. Who's ready to sign the petition to the MTA?? LOL

This blog wouldn't be complete with out a great STRUT song. Ladies, get to STRUTTIN' and fellas, watch out for the bounce, jiggle, swish; you will be mesmerized.

One of my girlfriends, Tania, gave birth to a healthy, beautiful baby boy about 2 weeks ago. It made me think back to when I first met Tania - at a club. She worked with my best friend, and I met them at some after work spot right by the bar. I remember she made me try a drink called a Purple Motherfucker. One sip and she became my new best friend. When I started working for the same company (for future reference, let's just call it "HELL") a few weeks later, I could always go to Tania's desk to know where I should go that night, or any night of the week. She was my party guru. Our friendship grew, along with a select group of other women, out of camaraderie. We all were intelligent, recent college graduates(stressing the intelligent part, a rarity at company HELL), and were working in HELL. Long before Carrie, Miranda, Samantha, and Charlotte made life in New York glamorous, we painted the town brick red (red with a hint of brown in it...lol). Sipping cocktails over talk of men, parties, relationships, work, men, family, men, future dreams, and MEN was ever flowing just like the cocktails. One by one, we left HELL, for different opportunities, but our friendship remained in tact, and in fact grew stronger. Yeah, we had to make more of an effort to see each other. We could no longer walk over to each other desks to catch up during a break, or fool our supervisors into all of us taking lunch at the same time. I spent the better part of my 20s with Tania and these women, enjoying life, and it seemed as if the party would never end. But then the 30s hit. And like a walk through the looking glass, we've somehow become adults, making adult decisions. Friends have moved out of town, gotten married, are having babies, climbing the corporate ladder.

The birth of Tania's son (did I mention that he is beautiful) has me thinking a lot about my own journey in this life and apparently has my mother thinking about it as well. For those that know my mother, she is the quietest person I know. Whenever anyone in our crazy family has previously asked when I am going to settle down, she would pipe up and say, "Leave Janelle alone. She will when she's ready." My mother has always instinctively known that I march to the beat of my own drummer, that I have to do things in my own unique way. I guess that way of thinking went out the window when after telling her about Tania's baby, she asked me "Soooo, ummm do you think you'll ever have kids??" I kind of stammered out a half ass, "ummmm, I don't know. Maybe???" I wanted to ask her, "Ma, where is this coming from??" This was the first time ever she has ever asked that of me. I believe she is worried about me. As my friends around me settle into "adulthood", I think she thinks that I am missing out on something. I wonder if I should tell her about my back up baby daddy? Yes, you read that correctly. I have a back up baby daddy. I made a deal with a friend of mine (who shall remain nameless) that in the event that if by a certain predetermined age (which shall remain under wraps) and I am not in a serious relationship with a man I want to have a baby with, then he and I will have a child together. See?? Simple. No pressure, no worries. I chose a man I have a great friendship with, intelligent, attractive (my aunt once told me to look at a guy's pictures of his family before having a baby with him. She said this after a cousin had a not too cute child with his wife...LOL), and by all accounts is a great dad to the child he already has. Maybe that's why I'm not so pressed about having a baby. I think every woman needs a back up baby daddy. a break in case of emergency sperm bank if you will. You will find that once you've secured that Plan B, you don't look at every guy you meet as a potential husband/father of your children. You can date without pressure. The biological clock may be ticking but mine is on vibrate at the bottom of my gi-normous bag as I walk down the nosy street called life - can't hear a damn thing. At least not yet. So don't worry, Ma, I got a plan!!! And while my plan may be flawed, it works for me, and I'm not asking any guy I date about his sperm count and family medical history. So for now, I am content to spoil Tania's son (ADORABLE) and all my other friends' children (yeah they are cute too), until the time is right for me to give up the Purple Motherfuckers for purple dinosaurs, and trade in my stilettos for stinky diapers.

I was having a conversation with a male friend about what else, men and women. During the conversation, he showed me a picture of himself with 2 very pretty women. When I asked him about the prospects of the women for himself, he told me that one was in a serious relationship and the other only likes light skinned dudes. He went on to say that if asked she will admit it, wholeheartedly. I was shocked, initially. I mean, it's 2007, and there are educated people out there whipping out brown paper bags??? I could understand if this were an older woman from maybe my grandparents' era because that's the mentality they grew up with. But this particular young woman is 24!!! She grew up in the time where "chocolate brothers were in" and "light skinned brothers were making a comeback", so how could she discriminate???
But after a few minutes of conversation with my friend, I asked him "Aren't we all superficial to some extent?" I have a friend who won't date a guy if he doesn't have a college degree, even if he's making 6 figures as a plumber. I know guys who only date women with long hair, no weaves. I know a guy who says his woman must wear between a 34C - 36D bra size. Damn dude, do you work for Victoria's Secret??? And then of course, I have friends who will not date men with kids. But after some of the baby momma drama I have encountered in life (another blog for another day), I can kind of understand that one(didn't say I live by that one but sisters, I understand..LOL). I have never been superficial when it comes to skin color. My friends could tell you my choices in men would probably look like a United Colors of Benetton advertisement for brothers. Just like the Skittles commercial, I have tasted the rainbow (keep it clean, people). I also don't care one way or another about career choices. I've dated doctors to doormen. My only concern is that they enjoy what they do.

So what am I 'superficial' about when it comes to men??? Height. I will not date a dude who is my height or shorter. I look back at all the men I've dated and the one thing, the only thing, they have in common is that they were all at least 5'10". I don't want to walk down the street holding hands with my man, and from the back it looks like I'm holding my child's hand as I cross the street. Just the thought of the sight makes me cringe. Time and time again, I've had height challenged guys hit on me. I look down into their eyes and say "thanks but no thanks." Now, short men need love too but I just don't see them getting it from me. Somebody out there will love them. My name just ain't "Somebody".

My friend reminded me that the girl is only 24. At 24, we are all hot shit, thinking we can have anyone we want. with just a look, a flirtatious smile. We easily toss people to the side, because something about them doesn't meet our lofty list of attributes that our soul mates must have, no matter how trivial. How many times have you said, ""I don't need him/her. Look at me!"??? But as we get older and choices become slim, that laundry list becomes more like a 10 item or less express lane grocery list. I hope this woman realizes this lesson long before she ends up alone with a house full of cats.

Don't get me wrong; we are all entitled to our type - whatever floats your boat. But are we limiting ourselves to the possibilities with tunnel vision for our types only? When do we separate what we need from what we think we want? What if the packaging isn't what we're looking for but the present on the inside is everything we had hoped for? But who is taking the time to look past the packaging. I just pray that my present comes in a 5'10" or better packaging, preferably named Chris Webber. Hey a girl can dream, right???

Did no one read my last blog entry??? I sent it to newspapers. I walked across the street to Al Sharpton's headquarters and gave someone there a copy to give to Big Perm (ahem, of course editing out the Big Perm references). So it seems no one cared to listen to my idea of a formidable punishment for Don Imus, and as a result, the man has lost his job. Do I think he should have been fired?? Hell No! Do I believe he should have had some sort of punishment?? YES! I don't believe the punishment fits the crime. I think I am one of the few black people willing to say this. I was in the locker room at the gym the other night, and conversation, of course, turned to this whole controversy. When I stated I didn't believe Imus should be fired, there was a brief second where I thought I was going to be jumped in my sports bra and yoga pants by a bunch of half naked women old enough to be my mother and/or my grandmother. They looked at me like I was the one to call them jiggaboos, and were about to whoop my ass for betraying them. However, I quickly explained that the only way to truly hurt a man is in his pockets. Wanna see a man cry? Take him to court, try to take all he got (yes, I paraphrased Biggie...LOL). Losing his job with the prospect of making millions more doesn't hurt him, it helps him in the long run. I explained to them that making him pay a hefty fine, or taking a portion of his earnings to donate to the Rutger's Women Basketball Team, was the better way to go. He will never forget that chunk of change that was taken out of his bank account because of his ignorance and what he believed to be funny. He will always remember it down to the last penny, and think twice about saying some foolishness again. Most men don't like to part with their money, unless it's for something that will benefit them. After I pleaded my case (did I mention that one woman stopped putting her belt through the loops of her pants when I initially spoke), they seem to come around to my way of thinking. They agreed that we needed to find better ways of dealing with situations, instead of demanding that he be fired, because that's the easiest and quickest way to handle the situation. One woman even said she was going to call Al Sharpton when she got home to tell him my creative solution. I thought, "wow, lady. You have Big Perm on speed dial. Are you his hairdresser??" But I kept my comments to myself for fear of the belt and undermining my point.

I truly believe we needed him to stay on the air, and get to the root of why he thought it was appropriate humor. How about forcing the networks to make his programming dedicated to the heart of the matter? Force an open and honest dialogue on racial and sexist attitudes in the country? We need to stop seeking these quick and easy bandaid solutions. We have to start thinking long term. If not, it will happen again and again without any real change.

I wonder when Don Imus lands that multimillion dollar contract with Sirius or XM radio (and he can get away with saying far worse than what he said without worrying about the FCC and other "nappy headed hoes" breathing down his back), how much of a percentage is going to Big Perm's Inaction Network??? I'm just curious.

So another white man with a microphone has spouted racist views this time not only on a nationally syndicated radio program but on a national cable news network as well. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HFwdeiZaynw

His description of these women athletes is appalling. Calling them "nappy headed hoes" rolls so effortlessly off his tongue that you know that he has thought this or said this (or worse) time and time again. He not only attacked their race but also attacked their womanhood. Hey Imus, why they gotta be hoes??? Because the majority of the team is black?? Are we as black women predisposed to whoreish behavior?? In order to be able to dribble a ball up and down the court they had to dunk a few balls in their coochies?? Are you telling me that the only reason these talented women picked up a basketball was to get the attention of a male basketball player and become his basketball "ho"?

And then you call them "jiggaboos" and try to throw Spike Lee's name in there as if that makes it okay. Yes, Mr.Lee used the term in the movie, "School Daze" (not "Do the Right Thing", you idiot). But he didn't use the term all willy nilly (SIDEBAR: who are willy and nilly and why do we use their names for reckless behavior?? were they careless??). He was making a point about the self hatred amongst black people in terms of the difference in our skin color. He was highlighting how ridiculous we sound when we talk about "good and bad hair" and all the other silly, superficial attributes we use to divide ourselves. He didn't throw the term in there for what you believe to be comedy. For your information, "jiggaboo" is just as racist as "nigger", "kike", "gook" (thanks, Rashad..LOL), "chink", "spic", "sand nigger" and "African booty scratcher" (I don't know why black children say this but this right here will start a fight on the playground!!! LOL)

So now Imus wants to apologize. He says that he didn't say it with "malice". What did he say it with? Disgust?? Superiority?? What?? How else are these despicable comments supposed to be taken?? Out of allllllllll the words in the English language he chose the most derogatory words and phrases that can be used against black women??? How could the intentions behind this statement be deemed as anything but malicious? In his apology tour, he's now going to Al Sharpton's Radio Show. Is there some script out there fro this B.S.? Step 1: Offend group of people publicly. Step 2: Wait for said people to find out about it. Step 3: Issue half ass apology through publicist/spokesperson. Step 4: Go on radio show of "leader" of said group to explain yourself. Step 5: Keep job and maybe get a book deal out of the whole thing. I hate to tell this, Imus, but Big Perm, I mean Al Sharpton, does not speak for all Black people. So while you may go on his show and publicly kiss his ass, that neither excuses or condones your remarks in the eyes of most black people.

People are calling for him to lose his job. No I don't want that to happen. Unfortunately, if Imus is fired by WFAN and MSNBC, he will get picked up by one of those satellite radio stations and make 10 times more money than he is making now. You know I'm right. I say suspend him without pay for a couple of months. Make him pay a hefty fine to the FCC. Have all of his earnings for 2007 donated to the Women's Basketball Program at Rutger's University. Simply getting him off the air is not enough. Hurt this idiot in his pockets. That is the only way that he will remember to at least save such disparaging, racist, sexist remarks for home and not on a nationally broadcasted program.

Thank you, Imus, for taking off the hood and revealing yourself to be the true racist your words have shown you to be. Since we all know racism still exists (actually, it never really went anywhere), this is the type of racism I prefer. That way I know exactly what I'm dealing with. Now, I will never mistake you for an unbiased open-minded individual. Again, as I did with Michael Richards, I have to quote that old Kodak commercial. " I see you're true colors shining through/ I see you're true colors shining/And that's why I love you/So don't be afraid to let them show/ Your true colors.."

Last night, I attended a soiree at a swanky hotel in the Meatpacking District. For those that don't know, the Meatpacking District in New York used to be just that - a place where meat was packed (hence the name - no one said it had to be creative! LOL) and distributed around the city - basically, a market of wholesale butchers. But with New York being the ultimate higher power in the game of reinvention, it has now become this uber-trendy, celebrity partying, used to be a butcher’s freezer but now its a million dollar apartment hot spot. I've actually seen paparazzi lurking with those gi-normous telescopic lensed cameras, waiting for their rent-for-the-month money shot. The soiree was a birthday party for a woman I recently met, and in true sisterhood, she has adopted me and taken me under her wing. The invitations called for all ladies to wear their hottest stilettos and Beyonce-esque black 'freak-um dress". For over a month, I've been waiting for this event. Between the location (did I mention it was in the lounge in the Penthouse????) and the attire request, I was psyched. As my friends know, I am a shoe whore and had the perfect gold, "you wanna fuck me don't you?" stilettos eagerly waiting in my closet. Something about those shoes, whenever I put them on, I strut my best runway, red carpet, sexy diva strut. Not one of those conceited, I think I’m all that struts. More like one of those I’m confident, and it’s okay to watch me walk across the room struts. Unfortunately, the weather in New York is as uncooperative as a man taking up 2 seats on the subway. So the shoes and the original boobilicious dress went in the back of the closet, and out came a black pencil skirt, black sleeveless top, black chunky belt with gold buckle, paired with black knee-high books with gold buckle accents on the side (“You gotta coordinate!” LOL) Once hair and makeup were done, I thought I looked pretty good. Not the original plan, but the substitute was cute.

From the moment I arrived, I felt like I had entered Oz. From the doorman, to the guy who pressed the elevator button for me (what’s his job title??), to the coat check girl who actually assisted with the removal of my coat, I was given a glimpse into a world I only knew from watching Access Hollywood or reading InStyle magazine. Sure I’d gone to posh events before (I think it was on the curriculum at my elitist high school), but nothing quite this celebritous (yeah I made it up). As I walked off the elevator, I looked around and stepped into a Brooks Brothers meets United Color of Benetton commercial. Only in the ‘common area” of the bathrooms, coat check, and area by the bank of elevators was there any co-mingling. Black folks (dressed beautifully I may add) were in one section, white folks in another, and Europeans just hanging on the periphery. It was as if the KKK had set up velvet ropes clustering each group with their own. Maybe I was reading too much into the scene. I was there for a black woman’s birthday celebration, after all. Maybe, some white person there had a celebration for one of their white friends. Who knows? And honestly, it didn’t have any impact on my time at this event. As I sipped my passion fruit martini (sipped because I was paying Hollywood prices), I glanced around the room, and thought to myself: “This is niiiiiiice! I could get used to this!” As the photographer came around taking posed and candid shots (SIDEBAR: this woman knows how to party!! I am so happy she adopted me!! LOL), I tried to imagine myself as the celebrite du jour. The “It” girl being photographed with other “It” people, toasting the night away in some designer you paid how much for this outfit. Walking to the ladies’ room, I made sure not to stumble or misstep. Who needs implications about falling off the wagon in tomorrow’s Page Six, or next week’s US Weekly?? I mingled and played the classic Negro Game, ‘Do You Know??” You know the game. “Oh you went to Hampton? Do you know (fill-in-the-blank) from West Bubblefuck, Mississippi? He/She is (fill-in-the-current –description which is nothing like how they looked in college..lol)”. I chuckled at the right times, walked around with a smile plastered on my face just in case the paparazzi were watching. Can’t ever let them get a bad shot. I networked and took business cards with promises to “do lunch”. As the crowd began to dwindle and the music became less recognizable, I decided it was time to leave. I gave hugs and air kisses with promises of ‘we must get together soon”. I wafted over to coat check on a celebritous high (I’m hoping the word catches on). When the woman returned with my coat, a white man waiting behind me helped me with my coat. Yes, you read that right – a dashingly good looking white man helped me – ME- with my coat. Before my celebrity trip into Oz, I’ve rarely encountered white men who were so courteous, who actually treated me like a lady, and not some mutated ghetto creature that they don’t care to understand. This celebrity life works for me. I could really get used to this. I graciously thanked the elevator button pusher man (what else can I call him), as well as the nice doorman who complimented my choice of tweed coat on my way out. I walked out of the hotel lobby with the strut of a confident woman who had just taken the celebrity world by storm, who knew there would be nothing but favorable tidbits in the celebrity sightings column in tomorrow’s gossip pages.

But reality came crashing at my stilettos when the homeless man by the train station told me to “move the fuck out” his way while he’s eating. As I sat on the train, I delighted at the thought that at least I had a taste of the celebrity pie, even if it were only a sliver. But one of these days, I will have a bigger piece. I’m destined for it.

I interviewed last week for a job I really want. It was my third interview and by far the hardest interview I have ever had to endure. In the event that my future colleagues stumble upon the fact that I have a blog, I will save my impressions of that interview for a later date. But I bring up this interview because I feel like I'm in a holding pattern, suspended in time and space. They told me that I would hear back from them this week. Yes I know it's only Tuesday but it's still THIS week. I checked my email at 3 this morning as if the recruiter couldn't sleep from the joy of offering me the position and had to let me know at an ungodly hour (sidebar: if God created the world, and time, etc. what is so "ungodly about 3 in the morning??? ). I don't know if my anxiety is because I really want this job (I really do) or if I'm just tired of being unemployed (I really am). Being unemployed is a humbling experience. I wish it on no one and everyone, all at the same time. The ability to walk away from a career as I did was both frightening and exhilarating. Frightening because I had no safety net. I had no clue what I was going to do. All I knew was that teaching wasn't for me. And I had to get out fast before I lost myself in the fundamental inadequacies of the board of miseducation. I walked away feeling exhilarating because I have never experienced walking away on my terms. Yes I've left other jobs before but it was only when something else came my way. I stayed because it was there, even if I hated it. But this time, people looked at me like I was crazy. But I honestly felt that this particular job wasn't my calling. Over those 3 years I watched all my hopes and dreams vanish. You walk into it all idealistic and with plans for change and growth. I knew it was time for me to leave when I didn't care anymore. Now those are three years I will never get back. I still believe that the right career is out there for me but I never anticipated that it would take this long. I took that leap of faith and am still soaring until I land where I am intended to be. Yes there are days when I feel like I have made the biggest mess of my life. It doesn't help when those around keep asking you "You get a job yet??" I know its out of concern and probably lack of conversation, but don't you think if I got a new job, I would have told you??? I'm not looking to work for the CIA; I'm not the next James Bond. There will be no need for secrecy when I gain employment.

So I saw my friend from the previous blog this weekend. We both attended a birthday party for a mutual friend. I wish I was the next James Bond and had one of those special spy cameras pinned to my coat when we walked in to capture her double take. I say we because I walked in with my current "ex". He was invited to the birthday bash as well so we went together. He and I have been hanging out a lot lately. But that's another blog for another day. I know she was dying DYING to ask me what was up. But I didn't say boo! Yes I was cordial. I spoke and participated in group conversation. I have to thank my ex for that. At one point in the evening the three of us shared a cab. Actually, that occurred twice that evening. But anyway, each time he initiated and drove the conversation. He knows about the fallout between us - which is weird for me because in telling him about it I had to reveal how I really feel about the breakup. Left up to me there would have been a very comfortable silence in the back of those taxis. I don't know how he did it but he got us both talking without really talking to each other and without talking about anything heavy on a fun night. It was weird, after that first cab ride, I almost forgot that there were issues between us. We all exited the cab, laughing and joking, ready to party, like there was nothing going on. I love him for that. Sigh. Well anyway.........I write all of this to say, that on some level, I realize that our friendship will never be the same. Whatever was there is gone. I've had many many many disagreements with my best friend. But despite it all, we have never wavered on our commitment to our friendship. And honestly, I don't feel committed to trying to working through this. Maybe it's because so many things in my life are up in the air, suspended in time and space just like me. maybe when other areas of my life become more settled, I can focus on repairing this friendship. Maybe not. I thank her for being in my life for the time she was meant to be here. I don't say this to shun her. If by some miracle, we come to an understanding, then yeah, we could be friends but definitely not on the same level. And I'm okay with that.

Do you know how many times I've come to this site, stared at this blank box, and have tried to will myself the courage to express my innermost thoughts, musings, and other random commentary? I'll tell you. Nine. Yes over the past 21 days, I sat here 9 times trying to come up with something witty, entertaining, thought provoking, intellectual, overall an expression of me. But as much as I try to push it to the side, the only thoughts that loom in the forefront are related to the 2 things that cause me the greatest pain and stress: my love life and my lack of a professional life. Two of the most depressing and crippling aspects of my life. Who wants to read that? Better yet, who wants to write that? I've written about it enough. Like a DVD, I wish life had the scene selection feature. Even though I know the bad parts exist and that I have lived through them, at least I could skip over them. So I guess in the meantime, I've kind of placed myself in timeout or the "alone zone" as I used to call it in my teaching days. As much as I want to be out there at participating in this thing called life, I needed to separate myself and figure out some things. I cant say that I have figured out anything to date, but at least I'm not staring at a blank box anymore. Baby steps my friends, baby steps.

How long is too long for a disagreement between "friends" to fester? When do you reach the point of "do I continue to try and revive this? or "Time of death is..... "This" being this "friendship". Obviously I'm at odds with a friend. We are at odds I think because fundamentally, we have different opinions on what it means to be a friend. This friend called me for relationship advice when I was still raw with emotion from my own relationship woes. I apologized and told her that I couldn't be that person for her right now. I was in no place ready, willing, nor able to discuss relationships. How could I when mine was blown to smithereens (what the hell is a smithereen by the way??) 48 hours prior to this conversation? I couldn't even see a couple holding hands on the train without bursting into tears (yes this did happen) so how could I be expected to give solid relationship advice? Her response when I explained to her that I couldn't give her advice right now?? She hung up on me! While I was hurt at the time, I was also numb so , I didn't fully feel the magnitude of the situation. Through email about a week later she explained to me that she thought that as a friend I should have been able to put what I was going through to the side and assist her. I replied that as a friend I feel that I should have been given a pass in light of the circumstances. So who's right?? Honestly, I think we both are. I think that as friends, we do put ourselves and our shit to the side to be there for our friends. However, I do believe that at times, our friends can't be what we may want them to be all the time. And we have to accept that of them. I think that's the part that bothers me the most with this friend. I feel that there was a lack of acceptance of the many sides of me. The one time I can't be what you want me to be or what you may be accustomed to from me, you turn your back on me. For me friendship is accepting the good, bad, ugly, and indifferent sides of that person. There are things about my best friends that I can't stand and drive me nuts but at the end of the day, I love them for who they are - all parts of them. Conversely, I KNOW there are things about me that my friends can't stand (ummm what time do I have to be there??? LOL) but despite these character flaws, they are as invested in me just as I am in them (SIDEBAR: ladies, don't even think about asking me about this because I ain't tellin'! LOL) So where do I go from here? Hell if I know! I've reached out to this friend two times after this initial email exchange and have heard NADA, zippo, zilch. I'm coming to terms with the fact that I've done all that I can and all that I'm willing to do. If she decides that she is ready to talk, then I'm there. However, if this is the end of the road then 'thanks for the memories!" That was a hard decision for me to make but in the spirit of this new phase in my life, I have to be honest with how this situation has made me feel. This is new for me but then again this is a new me. Baby steps my friends, baby steps.

Tomorrow is my 31st birthday. It's a bittersweet milestone. I'm officially IN my thirties. I look at my life and I am no where near where I wanted to be at this point. It's weird when you're like 16, 31 seems so far off and you have these visions of where you'll be, what you'll do, and what you'll have accomplished. But then life plays out and the gap between the life you envisioned and the life you're living grows wider and wider.

I called my birthday party a Celebration of All Things Beautiful: Life, Love, and Me. What a farce. From where I'm standing today, life is blah, love stinks, and me? Well, I still look good. Planning this birthday in the midst of a breakup has been the most hollow, empty experience ever. I don't even feel like celebrating. Which is strange for me because I believe my birthday should be a National Holiday. But my friends would kill me. So to avoid death on my birthday, I planned this celebration. I feel like I'm doing this more for them than for me. I'll show up, smile, laugh, drink, eat, drink, dance, drink (in that order) like I'm supposed to. But I will still feel empty. I hope my performance wins me an award from the Academy.

Yesterday on the subway, an Asian guy hit on me!! I was flabbergasted. He told me I was beautiful and asked me for my number. I kind of stammered out that I had a boyfriend, since that's been my automatic response for a while and I didn't know what else to say (yes, I thanked him for the compliment! I may be going through some thangs but I'm not rude!!! LOL). I should have given him my phone number. We could have had a tribe of video vixens or maybe even some Caublinasions like Tiger. He got off at my stop (another shock. I'm still adjusting to this new Harlem). Maybe I'll see him again.

Yeah I know it's been a while since I've posted. Considering my last post and all the phone calls, emails, text messages I've received since, I know many are worried about me. Put your fears to rest, I will be fine. No I'm not under suicide watch or eating a pint of Haagen Dazs ice cream 3 times a day. That's not to say that I didn't mean what I wrote. That was probably the most raw and unedited I have ever written. That was a peak into my true thoughts and emotions that I don't readily share unless I have it scripted and filtered in my head first. I still feel what I wrote but at a duller intensity. Honestly, I doubt that will ever go away. I am changed.

Even though I haven't written in a while, there have been some wonderings in my mind:

* Why does it take so long to bury rich/famous people??? James Brown was dead over a month before his children buried him in an undisclosed location. Undisclosed because they don't want other family members to know where he is!! Anna Nicole is beginning to look like the crypt keeper, according to the medical examiner's office, and her people are fighting over her remains. If I ever become rich and famous, fight over my money not my dead body. If I am not given an appropriate service befitting all the wonderful contributions I've made in this life, then forget about getting your grubby hands on my millions. I guess Biggie was right: "more money, more problems". At least when you're broke, your family will scramble to get you buried and make sure you look good for the wake.

**Why do people approach me to ask for directions??? Somehow on a crowded New York street, train, bus, or even in a store, people will walk up to me and ask me for directions or advice. I've told people the best way to get somewhere, pointed them in the right direction when they get turned around. I've even had a group of people ask me to choose a restaurant for them!! A lady asked me yesterday which exit is the best exit out of Macy's. Why me??? What is it about me that makes people think I would know the answer to that question??? Lets not forget about the people who strike up a conversation with me on the train. People tell me their life stories as the train rolls from station to station. Yes, I always travel with a book, or at least the games on my cell phone. But that doesn't matter. People talk to me. Why me?? How do they pick me out in a crowd??? As most native New Yorkers, I don't necessarily walk around with a smile on my face. Maybe my ice grill isn't cold enough. LOL

***Why has the Dreamgirls soundtrack played over and over in my mind for the past couple of days??? No just one song. The whole damn soundtrack. As I walk down the street, while I'm eating, trying on clothes in a store, even using the bathroom (yeah I hummed "We Are a Family" as I sat on the toilet!! LOL). It's playing in my head right now! I don't mind (at least not yet) but the funny thing is I don't own the soundtrack (at least not yet)!

Until next time folks.......

Unconditional steadfast is my love for you but all I get in return are conditions and stipulations. Like Mary said " Loving you/ everyday/ don't you look no more love without a limit." I could still sing right along with her but your words and actions are telling me the feeling is not mutual. I open up and you pull the rug out from under me. I'm empty, naked to the world, no longer confident in the woman I am. How could you caress the small of my back, infiltrate every aspect of my life, and then when I finally believe in you and what we have you snatch it all away? I waved the white flag and surrendered but you shot me anyway. I gave all that I have. There's nothing left. I wish I could hate you. It would make it so much easier to walk away. I should hate you for the person I've become but in some twisted way I blame myself. So instead of hating you, I hate me.
Omarion, can you tell me how you got this "icebox where (your) heart used to be"? I'm trying but my tears keep melting it. But I can't stand it. How much more can I take. One heatbreak after the next. I want to be cold. Cold will numb me to the outside world. Life will be easier without emotions. I can't trust my emotions. anymore. I'm through with love.

Friendship, friendship

It's the perfect blendship.

When other friendships have been forgot,

Ours will still be hot!

No I haven't taken to writing poetry. Those are the lyrics from a song from the musical "Anything Goes". These words have been playing over and over in mind over the past week. I received an email last week from a news website that I've been meaning to unsubscribe from. Usually I delete them from my mailbox but on this particular day the subject line grabbed my attention and I opened it. It was in this random piece of "junk" email, I learned that the best friend of an ex-boyfriend passed away unexpectedly the night before. I was floored. Memories came flooding back of my interactions with this person. You know how it is - you start dating someone and through that relationship you develop fleeting friendships with their friends. My ex and his best friend were as tight as I've ever seen 2 grown men in my adult years. Right or wrong, they stood by each other and to me, there was never a question about their love and loyalty to each other. My memories of them are filled with jokes and laughter - even after the "relationship" ended, he always had a joke and a smile (along with the nickname he gave me that I haven't been able to shake 12 years later) whenever our paths crossed.

But I still can't believe that he's gone. I know death knows no boundaries. There is no guarantee that our expiration dates are in the far far distant future. There's no "perfect age" to die. But when you read that someone who was 38 dies of "natural causes", it's disturbing. What is natural about dying at 38??? Natural is the way my great-grandmother died - in her sleep after 92 years of a fulfilling life. While I miss her and wish to hold her hand, to talk and laugh with her, there was a part of me that had prepared myself for what was to come because as sad as I was I knew death was inevitable at her age.

Maybe it's out of empathy for someone I care about but I've been thinking about my best friends and how would I feel if they were gone tomorrow. I don't speak to these three women as often as we used to when we were kids but I can't imagine life without them. Because of who they are, what we've been through, and the possibilities of what lies ahead, I love these women as if we were born together(I'd still be the youngest!! LOL). Yeah I could sit here and say "oh I'm going to make more of an effort to call them, hang out with them, etc., etc. " but is that out of some sort of guilt that I may be feeling because I am blessed to still have my best friends here and know that there are only a phone call away? I can't answer that and I don't know if that effort is forthcoming. All I know is throughout my life when other friendships have come and gone, falling to the waist side, ours has always been hot through horrible wardrobe choices, different hairstyles, drama-filled relationships, and all the other elements that plagued us over the past 20 years. (SIDEBAR: damn I feel old when I say I've known ANYTHING or ANYONE for over twenty years. LOL)

To my girls: I love you more than I have ever expressed. You are a part of me forever and always.

Rest in Peace, Shawn. Thanks for the memories, and reminding me of the true qualities of friendship.

I love walking in Harlem in the morning. The neighborhood is just coming alive. Children are cranky about being dragged to school (literally in some cases..LOL). People are speed walking to catch their train or their bus. Can't be late for that j-o-b. The older gentlemen from my building are holding court out front with their morning papers. During my walk this morning there was something that disturbed me. Can someone please explain to me the need for a liquor store to be open at 9 in the morning?? During my walk this morning I saw 2 liquor stores open. Not only were they open at that hour but one of them had a line of customers. Now, I understand why Dunkin Donuts is open early in the morning. Coffee, donuts, muffins and bagels - all breakfast staples. So they need to be open when people typically eat breakfast. But I'm struggling to find a valid reason why the liquor store was open next door to the Dunkin Donuts? Are people dunking their donuts in Kettel One instead of coffee? Is life that hard that you need a fresh bottle of Ripple to get your day started? Which goes better with scrambled eggs - Absolut or Jack Daniels?

So I was recently told that as usual February 14th is going to suck. This wouldn't be so bad or out of the ordinary if I weren't in a relationship. Wait let me back up. It wouldn't be so bad if I weren't in such a good relationship. Those who know me know that last year this time I was in a crappy relationship so the lack of a declaration of love and devotion wasn't surprising. What bothers me more than the fact that the man in my life has to go on a business trip from the 13th through the 15th is that I am actually bothered by not celebrating a day I have NEVER celebrated. Yes, I have NEVER celebrated Valentine's Day. EVER. Well I've never celebrated the day with a man. Getting drunk with my girlfriends and hiring a stripper for the occasion may count as a memorable Valentine's celebration but I don't think Hallmark makes a card for that. I can count on one hand how many cards/gifts I received from those who claimed to have loved me in the past. No romantic dinners, no floral bouquets, and thankfully, no boxes of chocolate. Maybe my disappointment lies in my deep down, never revealed notion that I somehow expected him to redeem all the past losers I've dated and make up for the mistakes of all of them. Not only is that unfair to him, I know how irrational that sounds. While the rational side of me says " I know he cares for me. I don't need some Hallmark fabricated day to know how he feels for me.", the irrational side of me is stomping her feet like a 2 year old having a temper tantrum in the aisles of Toys R Us, screaming. "IT'S NOT FAIR! I WANT THE BEST DAMN VALENTINE'S DAY, AND I WANT IT NOWWWWWWWWW!" With maturity comes the realization that I am going to have to slap the crap out of my irrational side just to shut her up. I am trying to be mature about this. Thankfully, I have enough sense to have not said anything to him about it. I was very ladylike when he told me: "For real??? Damn, that sucks. Oh well, we can celebrate it another day, I guess". In reality I wanted to give in to my 2 year old temper tantrums, but I realize a) nothing will change about the situation and 2) I will definitely look like a crazy woman. He doesn't deserve that. So on Valentine's Day, I will cherish the love we have (ummm is that from a song????), and celebrate all of life's blessings. I promise to stay away from romantic restaurants, flower shops, and chocolate. Unless anyone actually wants to see my rendition of a 2 year old's temper tantrum. If so, meet me in the Barbie aisle at Toys R Us.

There is a regular segment on one of my local news programs called "What's Bugging You?", where a reporter roams the streets asking for people's comments on whatever the "what's bugging you?" topic of the day is. Well, Jeff Rossen, since you've asked, there is a lot bugging me. In no particular order, the following points are what's bugging me:

* SoHa. The proposed name for an area of Harlem below 125th Street. SoHa is short for South Harlem. I have gone along with all these million dollar construction projects invading my neighborhood. I've watched a wave of different hued people moving into former crack dens. All of this "gentrification" and "community renaissance" has sparked many debates about the changing of the fabric of our community. But SoHa??? What the fuck is that? (I know...I know I said I was going to work on the cursing but damn it that's the only word that fits my sentiment right now.) SoHa sounds trendy. However we are not a trend that will be out of style next season, we are a community. How dare you come in and try to change the name of even a portion of my community. I understand that you developers in all your meetings came up with this idea to attract those with multi-million dollar bank accounts to purchase this matchbox condos built adjacent to the projects. Yes there was a time where some of the streets were considered wastelands where all you found were drug addicts and dealers, hookers and their customers. But what you money grubbing developers fail to realize about Harlem, it that we take the good with the bad. We didn't distance ourselves from those streets then and I'll be damned if we do it now that you've built a pretty building and put a few trees in the sidewalk. The old building and former residents may go but the name stays the same. It is allllll Harlem. And if these trust fund babies can't accept that, then we don't want them in our 'hood.

*People who think that because I am currently unemployed they can bug me at anytime day or night. Right now as I am trying to focus on writing this, I have an acquaintance who is bugging me on IM for some non-emergent information. When I replied back to tell him that I can't talk right now, he proceeds to continue to send me the request as if to say "It's not like you're at work, so you should answer me NOW!" My time is just that..... MY TIME. It's bad enough that I haven't been diligent enough on this blog thing but I've realized that it helps me stay focus and clear on my main objective - FINDING A NEW CAREER. But honestly, I don't care if I was sitting here scratching my ass and watching Maury tell someone he is....NOT the father, if I say I can't talk right now, then damn it, LET ME BE.

* I was reading an tiny tiny article in the paper the other day that there is a plan before my community board to rename my street, James Brown Way. Now, before I continue, let me say that I am sorry the man is dead, and I know he changed the landscape of music and entertainment not only in this country but around the world. For him to accomplish what he did as a Black man in this country is an great achievement. And I will forever be grateful for "I'm Black and I'm Proud". I think I sung that song every day in high school just to keep my head high in the face of the institutional racism I faced every day at that affluent elitist school. But ummmmmmm, did I miss something??? James Brown never lived on my street. If I'm not mistaken, I don't think he ever lived in Harlem. His funeral procession to the Apollo Theater began on my street. Does that mean my street name has to be changed???? We can honor this man in so many other ways, but let's do it in a way that makes sense - like naming a cultural center in Harlem after him.

*Men sitting on the train. Why do you insist on sitting with your legs wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide open??? It doesn't matter the race, age, outward appearance, or perceived economic status, men get on the train and sit with there legs so far apart they might as well do a damn split. Why do you need all that space?? Honestly, your dick isn't that big. The average penis unaroused is about five and a quarter inches long. (I learned that on Real Sex the other night..LOL). I don't know what the average width is but come on people, its not that wide! You're taking up 2 seats for what???? Just to let you know, women are not impressed by the fact that you think you have to sit that wide. We are pissed because you took the last 2 seats in the car and WE WANT TO SIT DOWN!!! Think about it, how many of you men sitting on the train like that have gotten any play from a woman STANDING in front of you??? How many times?? Not never!!!!

So that's what's bugging me. Thanks for asking, Jeff.

I just spent the past two and 1/2 hours talking to an old friend. It amazes me that I am old enough to say I have an old friend by the way. What is so special about this conversation is that if someone told me 3 years ago that I would have a conversation with this person, I probably would have dismissed them with my standard "shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit" (you have to say it with like Clay Davis from The Wire to get the full effect). After slamming a door in her face the last time I saw her and subsequently not speaking for over 6 years, to say that she and I were no longer friends would be an understatement. Yeah I could rehash the whys and the how comes but today, right now, none of that matters. I am grateful to another friend for forcing us into a situation where we had no choice but to speak after all those years. In the absence of hurt feelings and emotions we were truly able to communicate with each other 2 years ago. Through emails, cards, and occasional telephone calls we have both made an effort to maintain the open lines of communication. While we may never speak as often as we used to in our heyday (what the hell does that mean???), I find that everytime I speak with her I am reminded how far I have come as a person. The ability to let go, truly let go, has always been a struggle for me whether good or bad. But in this situation I had to weigh my options: I could either hold on to this grudge and keep the feud going or I could forgive AND forget and move on with my life. I realized that going with the latter option would be my best option because it allowed me to live my life as I wanted to. Carrying this extra baggage was weight I no longer wanted to carry. When I get angry at people around me I allow myself to fully feel that emotion because I know now that eventually I can and will get over whatever may come my way. The rebuilding of this friendship has taught me that. If this friend ever reads this I want her to know that even though she and I weren't always on the best of terms, she has taught me alot. More than she will ever know.
No I am not professing some Buddha-like perfection nor have joined a convent (sorry can't take the vow of poverty or chastity...LOL), but every now and then small things happen in life where I stop and figure out the blessing. And this entire friendship, through the good, the bad, the ugly, and now the beautiful, I know that I can always come out on the other side a better person just because of the journey. Thank you my friend; you know who you are.

Allow me to reintroduce myself. My name is...okay it's not Hov. But for some reason that song has been on my mind all day. Not even the whole song just this damn line. I guess I do need to reintroduce myself. It's been a minute since I've put my thoughts and wonderings out here in cyberspace. My friends have even stopped asking me when am I going to put up a new entry. But its a new year and with that comes thoughts of new beginnings and the resolution for change. So who is the new me that I will have to reintroduce in 2007? Haven't figured it out yet. Damn it's only 8 days into the new year give me a minute! LOL

So much has gone on in the past couple of weeks in my very dysfunctional family. I was so tempted to sit at this computer and write about every transgression to relieve myself of all the different emotions associated with this roller coaster ride. While I am obligated to love these people, I do not like them. If it weren't for these genetic links I probably wouldn't associate with them. I know that sounds harsh but it's my reality. No I'm not talking about my entire family. Let's just say there is a small group within my very extended family that tick me off time and time again. I would never name names or reveal their relations. I guess I care more about them then I thought. However, looking back at the sequence of events I realize that while you can't control who you share DNA with, you can control the effect they have on your life and the limit their involvement in your life. Family is what you make it.

It's 2007. I cannot allow anyone or anything keep me away from something I love. I have to apologize to myself. The words were right here but I stifled them, cast them away , violated their purpose. But I acknowledge the error of my ways and will work harder at honoring my gifts.

At the stroke of midnight New Year's Eve/New Year's Day, I was walking down Lenox Avenue on my way to a party. A group of boys, probably about 13-14 years old comes running around the corner, throwing their coats in the air and screaming, "IT'S 2007, BITCHESSSSSSS! FUCK THE HATERS!!!!! SUCK MY DICCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKK!" Gotta love the hood!!!!! LOL Now while I may not agree with their language, I appreciate the sentiment and long for that exuberance. They were sooo excited to see 2006 end and seemed to welcome whatever 2007 may bring. So in the spirit of my young neighbors I say "Fuck the haters" in 2007. If all you're bringing is hate (and negative energy) into my life, refer back to the earlier statement. Well except the "suck my dick" part for obvious reasons but you get the point, damnit! LOL