Butterfly in Philly....

(you know I love butterflies. Philly 2008)

This weekend I left The Big Apple and landed in the city of Brotherly Love. My presence was requested at the wedding of my cousin to his girlfriend, the mother of his 2 sons (notice I did not call her baby momma...hahahahahaha). I was more than happy to be there to witness this occasion. My cousin is like a lil brother to me. He, like me, is his momma's only child, and since our mothers are sisters, our childhoods are intricately woven together. I remember, at 7, wanting to take him to school for "Show and Tell" the week after he was born (and telling my aunt she didn't love me when she said no....yes I was dramatic even back then...hahahahahaha) I remember picking him up from daycare with our great-grandmother and his disgusting love for turkey franks. I remember his first real crush (Tina Turner - that Private Dancer album cover did some thangs to the tyke...hahahahahaha). I remember when he came to visit me at Hampton and was completely in love with the "black college experience" and couldn't wait for the day he went away to school. I also remember from that visit that when my boyfriend at the time came by the house, my scrawny 13 year old cousin came to the door with the broom like that was gonna do something (SIDEBAR: Oh, how I wish lil cuz had swept that sucka out the door...hahahahahaha). I remember surviving the torture of driving him from Harlem to Atlanta when he decided to go to Morehouse.

So here he is, 25 years old, graduate of Morehouse (I don't hold that against him...hahahaha), father of 2 sons, and now about to be a husband. The little boy I used to take to violin practice. The little one who used to cling to me and run from my mother. How can this be?? Life. That's what happened. Just as I have grown, he did too. I can't imagine at 25 being responsible enough to be married with children. (Shit, I can't imagine at 32 being responsible enough to be married with children...hahahahahahahah). But that's the life he has mapped out for himself. And as always I couldn't be prouder of him.

Now the only trepidation I had about going to this wedding was caused by the anticipation of what the hell my family would say to me. I already know how my grandmother feels about my single life but I knew this occasion would give her fair game to lay it on thick. And lay it on she did. She tried bribery ("I'll pay for it. Just get married already."), guilt ("I would like to see you married before I leave this earth."), interrogation ('well who are you seeing? and why isn't he proposing??"), prophesying ("You're next. I see it.") and bartering ("okay, I'll get my knee replacement surgery so I can dance at your wedding. You work on the wedding. I'll work on the surgery."). I thought I was gonna need my grandfather's flask filled with something potent to deal with her but luckily my cousin didn't sit us at the same table. (SIDEBAR: I owe you one cuz!). But he did sit me with my mother's younger sister and her 4th hubby and she of course picked up where my grandmother left off. Watching my cousin and his wife celebrating their nuptials, I get why I was getting the full court press (check out my sports reference..HA!). My family just wants to see me happy and to them happy means husband, 2.5 kids, white picket fence. But that's not my definition of happy. Happy for me is peace of mind. Happy is knowing that I am living as close to drama free as allowed. Happy is taking the time to figure me out. I have to reassure them that I am in fact happy. Life isn't perfect but it's mine and I'm working on it. I was tempted to give my grandmother this website address so she can see just how happy I am and to understand me better (because I don't think she has a clue who I am). But then I remembered my last post and decided against it. hahahahahahahahaa

This blog wouldn't be complete without pictures of the joyous occasion.

(the ceremony took place outside at a gazebo at WaterWorks in Fairmount Park in Philly. Each guest was given a pink umbrella to protect themselves from the beaming sun. tres chic)

(My godson apparently didn't like the attention that he got as ring bearer. )

(while his baby bro was chillin'...LOL)

(yeah!!! he kissed the bride)

(when his mommy and daddy kissed my godson stepped down from the gazebo to give his lil bro a kiss. awwwww how cute)

(I loved my dress but I was having Marilyn Monroe issues the entire time. I mooned the entire city of Brotherly Love. Thankfully I didn't wear a thong! hahahahahahah)

(the bride, groom, and bridal party getting down to You're All I Need by Method Man ft. Mary J. Blige. The first dance was the original song by Marvin Gaye and Tammy Terrell, and then they segued into the other version when the bridal party was asked to join them. That was hot - I equally love both versions. I wish I thought of that...guess I can't use that IF I ever get married...hahahahahahahaha)

I couldn't resist posting these songs. Like sweet morning dewww/I took 1 look at you/ and it was plain to see/ you are my destiny........

Have you ever.....

Have you ever......

.....felt your entire body glisten with illuminating droplets of sweat and wondered is this what morning dew feels like?

.....laid there and listened to your labored breath and wondered is this what the wind bristling through leaves sounds like up close and personal??

......felt the tops of your toes and tips of your fingers get all tingly and wondered is this what shooting stars feel like?

......felt your heart pounding in your chest and wondered is this what a hummingbird's wings flapping against a summer breeze feels like????

.......had a pulse pulsating in the southern hemisphere and wondered is this what a volcano erupting feels like????

.......felt the remnants of a single tear dance down the full slope of your cheek when it was all said and done and wondered did I just fucking shed a tear??? DAMN! DAMN!! DAMMMMN!!! (I hope he didn't notice)

Tell 'em why you mad, son.....

Okay, I'm not really mad/angry per se but lately a few things have been bugging me. These random rumbling have been irritating me just below the surface of my cheery disposition. And I can't ignore them anymore.

1. If you fucked up, pick up the phone. Whether you forgot to pick up the dry cleaning or forgot that you scheduled a date, own up to it. I'm not a screamer (unless you're the owner of the dollar store who told me to take my "bougie money" elsewhere). I understand life happens but own up to the mistake. I'm not going to berate you like a child who just wanted to do hoodrat stuff with your friends. If you call, all is forgiven. Honestly. It's that simple. I think I've proven time and time again that I can be more than understanding and I like to think that I am pretty easy-going. Shit happens and life gets in the way. But if I have to call you out on your bullshit, before you own up to it: Houston, we have a problem.

2. If your approach has worked on chicks with gold teeth, don't talk to me. Yes, Harlem is hood (despite the abundance of white people infiltrating). So by association, since this is my home, I too have some hood in me. However, I don't not wear it like a badge of honor, more like a container of mace in my purse: only bring out when absolutely necessary (like when I have to scream on the man in the dollar store for his deceptive business practices). With that being said, when I walk down the street, I'm in my own world, happily enjoying being a spectator of the stage play that is Harlem on a daily basis. So don't freaking approach me with some "Hey ma. You're gorgeous. I'm Thug Love." as you lick your lips like I'm a T-bone steak, cheese eggs and Welch's grape and expect to get a response. The "hey ma" only slightly annoys me. But do you really think a woman of my caliber (look at me get all siddified...hahahahaha) would respond to a man that calls himself "Thug Love". Are you kidding me???? Am I on candid camera??? And when you call out, "damn, I can't even get a name?!", don't throw a temper tantrum when I respond with "Sorry, I don't have a street name to give".

3. I am not my hair. Yes, that's a line from an India.Aire song (which if I recall, I didn't particularly care for it when it came out. go figure). This actually has inspired a longer post that I will post one day but damnit don't judge who you think I am because of the way I wear my hair. It's a hairstyle not a lifestyle. So don't act all flabbergasted and shit when you see me chomping down on a slab of ribs. Because you think I'm some earth mother vegan does not mean that I have to be. Whatever preconceived notions you had about me when I had a perm, go back to that so I will not have to put you in your place when you say idiotic shit about who I am based on my hair.

In other Butterfly news, Spalding's brother called me last week to ask me to help him with a business plan. I haven't spoken to Spalding since right before that last encounter. I'm not even sure if his brother knows what happened. While I do feel kind of awkward helping his brother, I'm still going to lend whatever advice/assistance I can. It's not his fault that his older brother played himself like the Philharmonic. And I get that Spalding's baby bro has always looked to me as some type of older sister (even though he has one). On some level I feel honored that he came to me but that honor has some weird edges. I just hope he doesn't bring up his brother. My plan is to get there promptly at 6 (okay maybe 5 minutes late...hahahaha), help him for an hour and then skedaddle out of there with my yet to be determined but I need to have some "other plans". No rememeber when stories, no faded pictures in a broken glass. Nada. Just get in, do what I do best (write people....what were you thinking??? hahahahaha), and get out.

I know this blog is kind of all over the place today, but that's kind of where my mind has been - all over the place.

At Last.....

At last my life is mine again. As noted in previous blogs, this past Saturday was the Baby Shower for Prego (aka Zilla) and her husband. It was beautiful chaos. Over a hundred people in attendance. Air conditioners not working as great as they should. Tears of joy and gratitude. Laughter. Good food. Ahhh, good times indeed. But damn it's a lot of work. From conception to execution my hand was all in the pot. My friends and I worked together to pull off an event to remember. And by the end of the night I was so exhausted I couldn't even talk straight. And I truly believe that was the case for everyone who worked soo hard. But it was all worth it. Zilla cried from the moment she walked in the place (I was NOT surprised...and this has nothing to do with her unstable hormonal state...hahahahaha). And by the end of the evening after mountains of gifts were opened, Zilla and her hubby shed tears for the outpouring of love, support (and gifts) from everyone in the place. I had a convo with my girl Eve as we were on our way out to Brooklyn the next day about the emotional outpouring at the shower. She explained it best "a baby shower is one of those few moments in life when you really really know how people truly care about you because of the love they show you and your child. It's a rare opportunity to actually see how people feel about you." With that conversation, I finally got it. Sure, Twiggs, D. and I said throughout the planning and running around for this shower "[Zilla] is lucky I love her." And in our own way, that ties back into what Eve said. Trust and believe I wouldn't do 1/3 of what I did for someone who didn't mean as much to me.

So in the next couple of months I will once again be on the planning committee for D's baby shower. Sheesh. I need a break from this madness. While I love seeing creativity come to fruition, these visions rob me of my own personal creativity. No blogs. No book writing. Can't even recommend a decent restaurant for a friend or plan a nice bday evening for Hustle (technically he fell asleep when the subject came up but I had no energy - or money- to insist...hahahaha). So I'm asking all my friends near and dear to me: please just send me an invitation so I can just show up like everyone else.

This onesie pretty much sums up this baby. I know her momma. hahahahahaaaa

We started a college fund for the baby. There will be no pole dancing in her future.

Do you see this mountain of gifts??? And this picture was taken early. Man, this baby shower business is a racket. I think I'm going to throw me a Single Shower, celebrating my singleness. Where should I register for gifts???

Believe it or not this is actually a cake. The entire "bag" and its contents are edible. Now that's creative. We had to stop a few little ones from grabbing the "pacifier".

Start the baby's taste for the finer things in life early. Hmmm, I think I just found where I am going to register for my Single Shower. hahahahahahaa

So now I'm back. I slept for the past couple of days (okay I went out Sunday to a BBQ in Brooklyn but I slept all day Monday...more on Sunday later). Since I'm back there will be more of me on here. More Hustle stories (it was recently brought to my attention that I haven't written about him in a while...he apparently has fans....hahahahaha), more dating stories, more commitment-phobe wonderings. You know, the usual.

Easy Like Saturday Morning.....

Dear Friends, Fans, Stalkers, and Stans:
I know its been almost two weeks since my last post. I just have to two words to speak to my absence: BABY SHOWER. Man, I love my friends to death and into eternal life thereafter but I am pooped. And since I KNOW Prego is reading, all I will say is "I can't wait for this to be over." I promise one of these days I will blog about the experience in detail (and maybe with pics). You deserve better and I promise to do better. (I think I got that from that new Will Smith movie. Funny, I can quote a movie I have absofuckinlutely no desire to see)

Now back to our regularly scheduled programming (I've always wanted to say that...hahahaha)

On a sunny Saturday morning, I looked out the window for some out of the house inspiration. Since the view in front of me is strictly residential, I was looking more at trees, houses and a few cars drive down the street below. From the corner of my left eye I saw a couple walking down the street. It was obvious they were basking in more than the glow of the sunshine. He walked with his arm wrapped confidently around her shoulder as she snuggled in closer to his embrace. Left. right. left. right. Their steps were in tune as if they were competing on "Dancing with the Stars". Halfway down the street, just as they were directly in front of my view, he dropped his hand and reached for her hand in one fluid motion. Instinctively, their fingers reached out to one another and were intertwined before I could blink. And with the swing of their arms, their leisurely stroll continued down the street. I watched them as they faded from sight, but not from memory.

It's scenes like this that make me long for that easy breezy. The I'm comfortable with you no matter what stride, that we're in this together embrace, that you're all I need to get by swagger. The type of bond that makes people stop and stare from a window in a t-shirt and undies early on a Saturday morning. The kind of connection that......
Smack. "Here drink this."
Ow, stop smacking my booty. What's this?"
"It's tea. Now stop asking me questions and drink. It's good for you."
"Oh shit, it's hot."
"It's tea. What do you expect? hahahahahhaha"
"Ha ha - very funny."
"What are you doing?"
"Ummmm, just looking out the window, enjoying the view." (I can't tell him what I was really looking at)
"You have too much time on your hands. I'm getting ready for work." Smack.
"Owwww, damnit!!!!"

(Confession: I wrote this last summer after a visit with Hustle. I stumbled across it on my phone - apparently wrote it on the lonnnng train ride home that day and decided to post it today. No rhyme or reason. Just wanted to share) Now I'm off to handle baby shower details.

A Trip to Fantasy Island

The other night I was in the midst of an online fantasy shopping spree (you know when you fill your "shopping basket" with a ton of beautiful finds in your size and oh and ah over them and imagine all the hot exclusive places you will wear these lovelies before seeing the total and quickly hit the little red X in the right hand corner before you lose your mind and hit purchase...hahahaa). As I'm streaming through the pages upon pages of shoes at Nordstrom's, nothing is quite catching my eye. Yeah those flip flops are a cute necessity but there is no ummph to them. No va va voom. Until I landed on these.

Hello Lovah! was my inital reaction to this shoe (SATC fans know exactly how to say it...hhahaha). Be still my heart was the next. These shoes are hot!!!! I've written before about my love affair with red shoes. There is something inexplicably carnal about a red shoe. The sex appeal of a red shoe is undeniable. And this shoe lives up to the fantasy. Ooooh and a 4 inch heel too??? Hot damn, I would want to do me in these shoes. hahahaha

I feel me slipping my feet into them and the softness of the fabric embracing my freshly pedicured feet. I see me and these stunners all over town - out on dates, at soirees, wherever they want to go. I imagine pairing them with about 10 different outfits already in my closet, yearning for the opportunity to paired up with such a shoe. I could play them classy sexy and pair them with black wrap dress. I can play them hot wanton seductress and pair them with dark denim cuffed shorts and a wifebeater. Oooh I think about the wedding I have to go to at the end of the summer that these would be perfect for. And yes, I would build my outfit around my shoe. Doesn't everyone???

Lets make this fantasy a reality. There are on sale (50% off) and I can't bare to leave this for the next chick. First, select size. That's easy. I can do that. 10, please *(yes, I have big feet but I like to think of it as a) 10= dimepiece - which is hot these days and b) I need big feet to balance out my big butt...hahahahahaa). Then, select color. Okay, that's easy. Red, please. Wait, where's red?? Beige. Black. Green. No red. What. the. fuck??? How can you do this to me, Nordstrom?? Beige is blah and does nothing for my skin tone. I don't want a black shoe. I have plenty of black shoes. And green??? That green looks like strained baby peas. No thank you. I WANT HOT SEXY TEMPTING SEDUCTRESS RED, DAMNIT.

Wait, I'm resourceful. So I do what anyone would do. I google my shoe. "Max Studio Sidewinder". And wouldn't you know, a plethora of sites pop up. Oooh I'ma have my shoe. NOT.

None of those freaking sites had my size in red. Some of the sites didn't even carry the red. What the hell is wrong with this picture?? The one time I try to make my fantasy a reality, I can't. Why oh why did I look at the shoes on Nordstrom?? The heartbreak is too great to bear. Like Mariah said, "We belong together, baby". No wearing the stunners on date. No oohs and ahs at events and soirees. No pairing the shoes with the hot sexy teddy from Victoria Secret for someone special. Sigh.

This was a instore (online) heartbreak (N.E. fans/stans know what I'm talking about). Unless. Maybe, I'll go to Nordstroms. In person. Live and in living color. And strut in my red object of desire. Oooh I feel all tingly. Not pushing the dress or the shorts or the teddy to the back of the closet yet. I still have hope. Keep hope alive, my friends. KEEP. HOPE. ALIVE.

A Stan's Tribute

Today, the group New Edition will be honored at an event for their contributions to the R&B world.

"New Edition will be presented with the Golden Note Award at ASCAP's 21st annual Rhythm & Soul Music Awards. The ceremony -- which also honors the organization's top songwriters and publishers in R&B/hip-hop -- will take place June 23 in Los Angeles.A progenitor of the '90s boy band craze, New Edition is celebrating its 25th anniversary as a group. Members Ricky Bell, Michael Bivins, Bobby Brown, Ralph Tresvant, Ronnie DeVoe and Johnny Gill are known for the R&B/pop hits "Candy Girl," "Cool It Now," "Mr. Telephone Man" and "Hit Me Off," among others. New Edition joins such previous ASCAP Golden Note Award honorees as Lionel Richie, Stevie Wonder, Jay-Z and Quincy Jones."(source)

Okay anyone who knows me knows I am an absolute New Edition fan. Like total fan. Borderline stan if you will. But I'm not alone in my devotion. It's one of the few things the Fantastic Four (the BFFs) collectively agree on. Its one of those entities that bind us together. New Edition was the soundtrack of our youth. We bought every album. Used to tape every new video and learn every dance move. We even planned a group wedding we're we would all marry a member of the group together (Prego and I fought over Mike Bivins...lmao). Almost 6 years ago, they performed at the Beacon Theater in New York City. It was late July. And my BFF, Twiggs was about 8 months pregnant. And yes she attended the concert. The rest of the Fantastic Four crew threatened to never speak to her again if she went into labor during the concert. Even though, we later thought that if she did happen to go into labor during the concert, that maybe Ronnie, Johnny, Ricky, Mike, and Ralph might show up at the hosptal to offer congratulations after the concert. HA! But fortunately or unfortunately, she gave birth about a month later.

I can't believe they are celebrating 25 years in the biz. Maybe it's because I can't believe that I've known anything for 25 years. I was rocking (scratch that) grooving to the sounds of New Edition at 7?! Developing my first celebrity crush at 8 (oh Mike how I loved you so...which is so funny because he is no where near my height requirement of late...hahahaha)? Attending every New Edition concert that came to town (my true motivation for remaining an A student). Wow, that wasn't all just yesterday??? If they're 25 years older, am I 25 years older too??? Sheeeeiiiiitttttt (still missing the Wire)!!!

I know I've been on a video posting kick lately. Just let me indulge just one more time (or a hundred times; this is after all, my blog...hahahahahahaa)


This is where it all began...how many of us didn't think we were a Candy Girl???


I still don't know what the hell a Popcorn love is but don't you know it's the real thing, gurrrl? LOL

New Edition - Is This The End
Uploaded by clcbarueri

Oh teenage heartbreak at its finest. When this song came out, I had no freaking idea what this felt like. Damn, I wish for those days. LOL

NEW EDITION - Count Me Out
Uploaded by maKash

Still waiting for this type of devotion! hahahahahahaha

New Edition - Mr. Telephone Man
Uploaded by New-Edition

Now I realize that this song is borderline stalkerific but what the hell did I know back then?! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!


Warning from friends to either (a) not be stalkerific or (b) don't ummmm come to the party to soon! hahahahahahahahahhaha

New Edition - You're not my kind of girl
Uploaded by welcomeback

If this is not the most blatant but gentlemanliest way a man has ever rejected a chick. It's still fucked up though! hahahahahahaaa


Okay, so I still know damn near every dance move in this video. And yes, I'm proud to say it! HA!

New Edition . N.E. Heartbreak - Ma-Tvideo France2
*CaptainFunkOnTheRADIO!*




SATURDAY NIGHT. www.radiobeton.com.




http://www.myspace.com/captainffonk.

Mots-clés : soul funk

Video de captainfunk

This was the flyest, dopest, freshest video. With all the celebrity cameos. The Fantastic Four couldn't wait to live this life with our boos. ahahahahahahahahaha (SIDEBAR: I had to translate French in order to embed this video. Do you see my devotion people???? hahahahahaha)



Still one of the most beautiful love songs. One day it will play at my wedding reception during the New Edition hour (yes, I said hour...hahahahahaha)



They still got it. But Diddy did 'em dirty, man!

Okay, going to renew my New Edition Fan Club membership now. I wonder if my NE Heartbreak t-shirt still fits!

Circle of One

There is an innocence that I've lost. Never to regain again. I've taken off the rose colored glasses. The ones you gave me at birth. Now all I see is disappointment and despair. It was always me and you against the world. That's what you said. That's what you promised. Now, you made your choice and I see I was the only soldier in my army. For 32 years, I was spoon fed the notion that nothing was more important that me. Those damn rose colored glasses. You chose left as I was waving to you on the right. Now I see everything is more important than me. The totem pole is upside down and I'm realistically at the bottom. Well, at least for you. But not for me as I remove myself from the situation. I'm crushed but isn't life about learning the lesson and moving on in your journey??? So I'm left with no other choice but to dust myself off, pick up the pieces and move on as I leave an innocence behind. And step on those damn rose colored glasses.

I want to be the one to walk in the sun......

Yesterday after I posted the Pat Benatar song, I couldn't get 80's music out of my head. Something about the music from that time in my life, you can't help but grove. It didn't matter if the artist was black or white. Shit, half the time we didn't even know what the singer looked like until we used our allowance to buy the album or we happen to catch the video on Video Hot Traxx or MTV (remember, when they actually played music videos on the Music Television Channel??? hahahahahah). Yes, everything about the 80's was fucked up (Hello Reaganomics, "ketchup is a vegetable", just say no a la Nancy Reagan and shoulder pads - need I say more??? oh wait I can't forget crack, I did grow up in Harlem...hahahahaha), but the music was good. So in keeping with the theme of my singleness and honoring the 80's baby in me, here's my Fun Friday Blast from the Past. Go 'head...dance in your seat if you want to. I won't laugh at you. hahahahahaha (that was me laughing with you, not at you. hahahahahahahaaa)



Okay, I have to confess. I thought Cyndi Lauper was THEEEE cooolest chick. I played that record until it was scratched. I used to dance around my house with my neon green leggings and my mid calf length ballet tu-tu to try to emulate her look. Thank goodness my mother wasn't camera happy during that stage in my life. hahahahaha

Oh and that line "when the working day is done/oh girls they want to have fun"? I thought she said "oh what in the world have theyyyy done?/oh girls they want to have fun"....I could butcher a song back in the day...hahahahahahahaa

HAPPY FRIDAY!!!

Love is a Battlefield

When people are in relationships why do they want everyone around them in one??? It's like trying to induct you into a secret society - they can't tell you all the benefits but try to convince you to join anyway. Like one of those cults - they show you all the good to lure you in then brainwash you and have you walking around in a homemade dress down to your cankles made from an old sheet trying to recruit people to be more like you. GuyGuru is in love. I've watched him grow from a "love is for suckas" cynical bastard to a "love is for lovahs" cynical bastard. He's not sappy with it. He's just absofuckinlutely happy with the place he's in life. And since he's so happy, I guess he wants me to feel that brand of happiness. My BFF, Prego (aka Zilla aka Shenegro), has been married for ummm 3 years I think(she's going to kill me when she reads that I can't remember how long she's been married but hey I remember her anniversary). Lately I have to say she hasn't been as forceful with her "don't you want to settle down?" but I blame that on the pregnancy. Once my niece is here I'm pretty sure I will hear about my lack of husband annnnd baby. LOL My godbrother is even in on the shenanigans. He's been married ummmmmm I think 5 years (damn I'm bad at this) and he's ALWAYS on my case with: "You ain't found a man, YET?!" or his "You mean to tell me you can't find no one to settle down with?". I'm not even going to start with my family. Let's just say my grandmother has questioned my sexuality because I refuse to bring a man around the family (SIDEBAR: would it be rude to tell my grandmother "I'm strickly dickly"; just wondering......) I swear this cult is attacking me from all angles. Can't they just give me a pamphlet that I can throw in the garbage can on the corner like I do when the Jesusfreaks give me one on the street???

With the exception of grandma, these people, along with my legions of friends, fans, stalkers, and stans, are pretty much aware of how I feel about the subject of relaysheepships and . Yes, my feelings have changed (love is no longer on my shit list) but I'm in no rush to sign up for the cult either. I'm still working on me.

I get that my friends and families are worried that my opportunity might past me by because I'm enjoying my freedom. I even had a date tell me "you enjoy being free a little too much". I chuckled when I should have said "Dude, you're just mad because I'm not clinging to you."

In the past couple of weeks I've witnessed some harsh realities that began all in the name of love. An impending most likely nasty divorce. A love affair with a con artist who probably won't ever be punished for the amounts he swindled. I will admit that these situations initially had me running for the hills and hiding under the covers. I wanted to put love back at the top of my shit list because I was reminded of its evil side. To see people I care about go through the agony and heartbreak is numbing. But then I realized that I can't take on the pain of others, just as my friends couldn't take away mine. To support doesn't mean to fix. Another lesson learned in my journey.

So while love and relationships aren't on the top of my shit list, please believe they get the "umph, I see you, sucka" side eye. But I've added a wink and a chuckle to the mix because it's just not that serious anymore. To allow them to remain at the top of said shit list would mean they won the war. Pat Benatar sang it best - "Love is a Battlefield". I'm just in the process of figuring out exactly what is worth the fight. And what's the cost of membership in this cult. But ummm can we make the uniform for the cult a lil bit more sexy since I don't have cankles??? That's non-negotiable.

When keeping it real goes wrong....

I attended my BFF, D.'s son's graduation on Saturday. He graduated from 8th grade. He's on his way to high school. We were so proud. Like us in the Fantastic Four, he attended a catholic elementary school. With the culture of violence and poor quality of education in many neighborhood public schools, he was NOT going to become a statistic in the New York City Bored of Miseducation. So off to catholic school with strict nuns he went. And of course the graduation was in a church. 2 hours. 98 degree weather. Fans, no air conditioning. But this isn't the reason keeping it real goes wrong. Here's when keeping it real goes wrong:
At the end of the ceremony, all the kids are filing out of the church, all smiles and happy. Families began to file out after them wanting to preserve the many memories of the day with snapshots. Traffic to descend the steps is backed up worse the highway near my house when the Yankees play. Once I reach the bottom of the steps into the sweltering unforgiving heat, I hear a bit of a commotion behind me. I don't pay any attention to it because I too want to capture digital memories of D.'s son in his cap and gown. A few minutes later, I was informed that the commotion I heard at the top of the stairs was a fight. Yes, a FIGHT. In a church, a few steps away from a marble basin of holy water and statues of various religious deities. And no, it wasn't the kids, it was their families. This fight was complete with fist flying, ripped shirts, and claims of "I'm on 8th Ave, bitch! You know where to find me!" Apparently, (of course we got the scoop, the 411, the bonchinche later) 2 children in the class had been having problems all year. So I guess, the families decided to settle the score once and for all at the graduation. From a catholic school. In a church. Lawwwd have mercy!!! LOL

Maybe its the fact that I grew up in the Catholic Church but does anyone else see the problem with this. First of all, how are you going to fight in church??? Fight on the corner in front of the church but not in the church!!! How are you going curse and fight in church?? Is there any place sacred anymore??? Secondly, how are you going to ruin your child's special day by embarrassing them in front of their friends and respective families?? I graduated from 8th grade ummmmm 18 years ago (dayumm...lol). I remember everything about that day: what I wore, where my family sat, my valedictorian speech, taking pictures with family and friends afterward, having my first boy-girl party for graduation (complete with a DJ...I was supafresh! hahahahaha). Can you imagine the memories these children are left with? "My momma got her ass kicked at my 8th grade graduation" "My pops/uncle/momma's boyfriend had a fly ass suit on for my graduation but it got dirty when he wrestled so and so's father/uncle/momma's boyfriend to the ground."

I understand having beef. Hello, I grew up in what I like to call Harlem - The New Jack City Era. But settling that beef inside of a church is just wrong. I don't care how real it is.

Back away from the Kool Aid....

I just found out that another one of my best friends is pregnant. One is due this summer and now this one is due probably late 08 - early 09. Out of the Fantastic Four (what I like to call us...hahahaha), I am the only one with no children. From the outside looking in, most would probably think that I am bothered by this. But from the inside looking out, this just delays me having to give birth. None of us ever want to steal thunder from the other. Its an unspoken rule we have. We never compete against each other. We never try to outshine the others. We all shine in our own way. So in true friendship, I will allow D. and Zilla to have their moments of mommyhood without me intruding. LOL

Seriously, I am happy for both of them. Two more babies to spoil and give back to their parents. Two more cuties to buy books for and read to them (Confession: I love reading to children. character voices and all...hahahahaha). Two more kids to share embarrassing back in the day mommy stories with. One more baby shower to plan. Shit. This shower business is a racket but more on that after Zilla's shower. I suspect she's increased her readership of this blog to find out details about her own baby shower. Nosey ass. I see you, Zilla.

While mommyhood seems to be on my mind lately (only because of the shower and the impending birth of my niece), I can't help but wonder if and when I'll be ready for "the final frontier". But no worries, I'm not drinking the water or the Kool Aid from either of them. This seems to be contagious.

Summer Blush..

The bus was crowded but thankfully cool because it was definitely a scorcher outside. I made my way to the back of the bus and found an oasis for me and my shopping bags. As the bus bustled down Broadway, I ran through my mental checklist of the errands that still needed to be run before I could crash under my AC.
"Is it hot enough for you?" I hear to my left in an accent that is definitely not from any corner of this country.
I turn and see that the guy speaking to me is a very tall, very round white man with blue eyes that actually sparkled like pools of water to match the pools of sweat streaming down the sides of his face. I reply "Yes, I love summer. I've been waiting months for this." with a chuckle. I turn back to gaze out at the sweating suckers on the sidewalk when my bus neighbor continues the conversation.
"So what is there to do here in New York?"
As I try to place what corner of the world his accent is from (I guessed New Zealand or Australia), I respond "Whatever you want to do. There is always something going on in the city."
As I've said before, people always talk to me on public transportation, especially tourists. In a strange way, I like to think that in that short span of time I've dispelled a couple of rumors about New Yorkers (we are not rude) and Black women(we are not all starring in videos shaking our asses with ten different baby daddies).
The conversation continues as I give him a brief rundown of where he could get information on what's going on here in the city. I suggest a few restaurants, attractions, etc.
"You seem to know a lot about this city. Are you from here?"
I laugh because my social butterfly status is exposed and reply "Yes, I'm from here. Born and raised right here."
"Have you ever been to South Africa?"
"No I haven't but I plan on going next year with a friend of mine. (yes, that's the truth. lol) Is that where you're from?"
"Yes, yes. Johannesburg. You will love it and they will love you. You are breathtaking."
Huh?? Breathtaking??? Who says that?? Am I blushing? Why are my cheeks hot???
I manage to stammer out a "thank you" because I was completely caught off guard and slightly embarrassed. The entire time I'm thinking I'm just being a friendly New Yorker and this guy is hitting on me! WTF??? I never saw this coming primarily because he's white. Not being racist or anything but come on, that shit doesn't happen everyday where a white man not only strikes up a conversation but is flirting. With me. Go figure.

"So what are you doing this evening?" he inquires.
"Oh I'll be home, sitting under the AC making invitations for my best friend's baby shower." (once again, the truth. I swear. LOL)
"That's too bad. I was hoping you could accompanying me to some of the places you've mentioned. Would you reconsider?"
"Oh thank you, but I can't. I'm making over 100 invitations by hand and I need to get them in the mail ASAP."
The bus makes a turn and I realize my stop is the stop right after the turn. I didn't want the guy to think I was bailing off the bus because he scared the shit out of me, so I begin to gather my very heavy bags.
"Getting off already??"
"Yeah, I have to run into a couple of stores in this neighborhood."
"Well...it was indeed a pleasure speaking with you. I may check out some of the places you recommended. Thank you."
"You're welcome. Enjoy your visit." I say as I hop off the bus.

As I walked to Kinko's to pick up my copies, I couldn't help but wonder about my bus convo. If I didn't have to make these invitations, would I have accepted his invitation??? If he looked more like Brad Pitt and less like a young Dick Cheney (complete with the 7 months pregnant belly)would that have swayed my decision?? And if I did go out with him, would I try to justify it by saying "Well, technically he's African."? On the flip side, he could have been some international serial rapist/killer and I could have just saved my own life. Hey, I watch Law & Order:SVU. Sick fuckers come in all shapes, shades, and sizes.

Breathtaking??? Really? Me??? Nahhhh. He was just trying to score a date I laugh to myself. Don't get me wrong, I think I'm attractive but I never would associate the word breathtaking with me. Breathtaking is reserved for Hollywood beauties and the natural wonders of the world of which I am neither. But I must be flattered because my cheeks are still hot or is it the beaming sun??

Say cheese......Finally!

I have been a butterfly flying from flower to flower all about town ever since I got my camera back. Yes, the infamous ordeal with Best Buy is now over. And now you, my legions of friends, fans, stalkers, and stans, can resume your shopping experience at Best Buy.

I received a voicemail from Best Buy stating something like "Ummm this message is for The Resident Butterfly. We ummmm have your camera back in the store. Please pick it up when you can." Okay so first thought was, "Camera back in the store?? Whatthefuckdoesthatmean???? Is is fixed or what??" So instead of getting worked up over nada, I marched into Best Buy looking extra cute with suppressed attitude underneath. I have no idea why I put that much effort into my 'look' to go to Best Buy. Maybe, if I looked professionally cute they would be least likely to arrest me if I slap the crap out of somebody if once again my camera came back unrepaired and with a new dent in the casing.

So I saunter over to the Geek Squad with the Marc Jacobs sunglasses still perched on my face and wait my turn. As the older gentleman walks away from the counter, I extend my paperwork to the Geek behind the counter, with a "I received a phone call about my camera" said with as much cool snobbery I could muster before the attitude made its way to the surface. He looks it up in the computer, makes a face, and looks at the paper again. "Is there a problem?" I ask, still chill but I feel a little neck roll as I say it. "No, no problem, but I remember you. You cried when you dropped it off. I can't believe we still have your camera. That was a while ago." Damn, I was hoping I could forget that little crying episode in the middle of Best Buy. Apparently not. But I explained to him the ordeal of Best Buy keeping my camera for over a month and then sending it pack unrepaired with a brand new dent. I left out the "it took me a week to calm down enough just to come back in the store to have the situation rectified and not burn this bitch down". Didn't want to scare off the Geek.

He walks into the back of the Geek dungeon in search of my camera and as I wait I think of all the fun events that my camera missed while being out of commission. The Geek walks back to the counter with a bubble wrapped contraption in his hand. Uh-oh! Why is my camera all wrapped like that??? Sunglasses off?? Check. Hand on hip?? Check. I was ready to bring it up in BestBuy at 10:30 in the morning (yeah, I was pressed! hahahaha). He hands it me as he returns to the computer to print something out. I gingerly unwrap the camera thinking this time its in a million pieces. My attitude is bubbling just ready to spill over. on to the counter. I finally unwrap the bubble wrap and there she is. My camera. In one piece. No more dents. All shiny and looking brand new. And I beam. Just as bright as the metal on my camera. "Hello lovah" (My Sex and the City fans know exactly how to say that phrase). The Geek informs me that the lens, the casing, and the motherboard (I think that's what he called it) have been replaced. "Uh huh. Does that mean it works?". The Geek chuckled in a oh-how cute-and clueless-this-chick-is kind of way. "Yes that means it works." I eased my fully charged lithium battery into its slot, closed the door, flipped the camera over and pressed the button. It felt like an eternity to hear that little ding. And I heard it!!!! Champagne for everyone!!!! hahhahahaha

I take a test picture just to make sure that it not only looks good but works as well. I am so happy I could almost reach across the counter and kiss the Geek. But I restrain myself. I can't go around kissing random Geeks.

I wanted to walk around the city with my camera in hand capturing every little detail as I walk down the street just like a tourist. But then I remember, tourists get on my nerves when they stop in the middle of a crowded street and start taking pictures of billboards and buildings and people and whatever else they capture through their lens. But I'm bursting with excitement. I have to release and take some pictures.

Sawagani: Flash fried Japanese River crabs @ Sushi Samba. (I don't think this is what my table mates had in mind when this was ordered but it was so pretty and interesting I had to take a picture...) And for the record, while I am pretty adventurous when it comes to food, hell no I didn't eat it.

Looking down at the pattern of my dress I noticed a heart in the middle, so I took a picture. Yes this was after a cocktail or 2. :)

Meatpacking District. The Flasher. Thankfully, I didn't get arrested! lol

(sidebar: that dress is underneath is uber short and uber HOT!!!!)

This was shrimp and grits @ Sunday Brunch. Delish. Especially with the unlimited mimosas. :)

However, I was mad at the Wonder bread when it was supposed to be garlic toast. Manny, you're slipping.

Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Superhero Fashion exhibit.

I want someone to make this for me as a Halloween costume (and find a stellar halloween party to attend as well. LOL). I don't even know what character this is but this look is HOT!!!!

5th Avenue. Metropolitan Museum of Art. Street performer in the middle of the street. hahahahaha

Can you see how much I've missed my camera???? However, while at the museum, I realized something isn't quite right with my camera. I used to have a feature called "continuous shot" where I could simply keep pressing the button and as I move the camera it would continue to take pictures. Well, since I wasn't supposed to be taking pictures in the museum, I wanted to hurry and get as many as possible before security caught me. So I tried to switch to this feature and it never came up on the menu. All I had was "single shot" and "10 sec timer". Noooo, I don't want those. I loved that little continuous shot feature. Where is it??? So now I have to take my camera back to Best Buy to find out what happened to my beloved feature in my beloved camera. But what if it takes 2 months to get it back?? That's practically the entire summer. I have weekend getaways, baby showers to attend (not as the guest of honor), wedding to travel to (not as the bride). I can't risk not capturing these moments of my life.

This is like a love affair. Key word affair. It feels good in the beginning. Does right by you until it gives up. You try to make it work but then something ain't quite right and its not the same. You're so elated just to have it but do you settle??? So do I stick it out and make it work or do I give up and trade it in for a newer model? Damn, what should I do???

Memories don't live like people do.....they always 'member you*

Officially, Memorial Day is a holiday in observervance of those who died while serving this country. Unofficially, it's the Summer Kickoff with a plethora of cookouts, a shitload of festivities, and a smathering of summer fashions to come. And in true form, I kicked it HARD that weekend. Dinner and dancing with friends one night. Strolling a street fair, crashing a few barbeques, chilling at a lounge 'til last call. Grabbing breakfast with old and new friends at a place that provided ghettotainment from the moment we walked in. Riding the train at the crack of dawn. Experienced different but extremely delicious Thai food. Reunited with Hustle. Handled business on a holiday. Late dinner with a hodgepodge of friends.

Instead of giving a play by play, my friends and I composed a list of quotes from the weekend as we sat at the ghettotainment dining experience. I started scribbling on the paper tablecloth and the list grew and grew as we laughed on stolen breaths. I'm surprised none of us required the Heimlich in the midst of all that laughter. I've added some quotes to the list.

"Text love is the shit. I love me some text love. I fucks with text lovin'." (said by Burger. yes, I ran into Burger. I wonder if that was some reference to his digital post-it. Even if it were, seeing him just validated my gratefulness that we never actually dated. He would get on my nerves. Quick.)

" I was supposed to be in the East Hamptons for the holiday but realized BAM (Brooklyn Academy of Music has an Annual Dance Africa Street Festival) was where I had to be seen." (must say it in the most snobbish British accent you can muster. Mind you the person who said it was no where near British but every time we repeated this quote that's the way we said it. hahahahaha)

"Girrrrl, do you see his moobies?"
"His what?"
"Moobies. Moobs. Man boobs, girl! His rack is bigger than mine. How do you play with moobies?" (Thus sparking a 5 minute discussion on the art of moobs and what the hell to do with them.)

"Wait, they won't take credit cards but they'll take personal checks?" (A true what the fuck moment)

"Girl I thought I'd find you grinding yo ass on the bar like last time."

"Here's the bus. And here's Eve under the bus."

"I'ma call the cops. I'ma call the fuckin' cops!"
"You wanna call the cops?? Call the fuckin' cops. Nine. One. One. That's the number. Tell them Officer ****** is at the door. (this said as the officer takes his shield from under his "Security" shirt)"

"Don't give me no bullshit. I want a porterhouse penis."
"You give me 22 minutes and I'll give you the world."

"Wait, damn I need a shot of Patron before I answer that."

"Girl you got GPS in your pussy or what?"

"Shit, that had to be a sheet cake from BJ's to cover all them big bitches". (Back story: The ghettotainment unfolded on the street below as about 5 really large women came out of the party below covered in cake, ready to fight somebody. But instead of wiping the cake off and throwing it to the ground, they ate it.)

"Oh that's cake?? Girl I thought she had white braids. GHE-TTTO!"

"Crazy begets crazy. That's all I know."

"The Oracle says you attract young boys."
"Michael Jackson, is that you???"

"Wait....is THAT your man?"

"You chose me?? Nigga I chose you. Don't play!" Said at approximately 5:30 in the morning at the table next to us loud enough for the entire restaurant to stop, look and giggle.

"Oh shit! That chick looks like an extra from Idlewild! Rooster, is that you??"

"Gurrrrl. Look at my breasts. This is the best bra. EVER. Feel it. Gurrrl, you gotta go to Nordstroms for a bra fitting. Let them feel all over your breast. They will do you right. Nordstroms, girl. Nordstroms." (At some point, we all thought this chick knew someone in our group. We later realized after she left, that she was a complete stranger! hahahahaha)

"I don't mind someone asking me 'what do you do?' if they're making 6 figures too. But if its the chick from the register at McDonald's, she's just trying to make a come up"

"Nah. Her family's American but she's Haitian by penetration."

"Will somebody tell Lurch the White Shadow to stop blocking the chocolate eye candy. I don't want no one thinking he's with me."

"Uh oh. Don't make eye contact with Idlewild. She's recruiting for the ho stroll."

"Damn...you stay making a mess in the bed"

"Damn, who ordered the side of ass crack with the ribs??!"

"That fast hump bang bang is for amateurs. Stick with the pro."

While I recognize that Memorial Day Weekend is an holiday of revered remembrance and summer kickoffs, this is a holiday of memories for me. I lived, I laughed, and loved. Typing these quotes, even a week later, brings it all back. I'm still savoring the memories of my memorial weekend. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

*I know my brooklynites are proud that I quoted a reggae song. Damn, after all these years you chicks are rubbing off on me. hahahahahaha

I'm back....sort of

I can't believe I haven't written a word since May 21. No blog writing. No book writing. nada. I have ideas swirling in my mind like water going down the drain but they always hit me at the most inopportune time like when I'm in the midst of a heavy conversation with friends or when I'm sitting on the porcelain throne or when I'm running (literally) from one appointment to the next. I have a great recap of quotes from Memorial Weekend scribbled on a paper tablecloth from a restaurant at 6 in the morning quoting my friends or people we encoutered over the weekend ("Gurrrrl, look at my breast. This is the best bra ever. I want to marry it" said by a complete drunken stranger who sparked a big boob conversation with my girls in a bar.) Maybe I'll post it tomorrow. A week later and it still makes me laugh! HA!

I know this isn't a typical post, just wanted my friends, fans, stalkers and stans to know I was okay and just taking a break from my passion. Stay tuned......

Where's my shoe?...

It appears that Latarian is at it again. Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse than a 7 year old stealing his grandmomma's Durango to do "hoodrat stuff" with his friends, a friend emailed to me an article (thanks, J.) about Latarian beating up his grandmother in Wal-mart after she refused to buy him some chicken wings. Yes you read that correctly. A 7 year old boy beat up his grandmother because she, a grown ass woman, would not comply with the wishes of a child. In my over-active, hyper-imaginative mind, there is no way in hell I could have made this up if I tried.


This kind of shit scares me. Not in a I'm scared of my child kind of way. I am afraid of my reaction. My reaction would probably be to push the shopping cart out the way, wrestle him to the floor and proceed to whoop his ass right in front of the chicken wing counter for all to see. And then when someone pulled me off of him, I would have dragged him to the bathroom, and beat him some more (don't act like you never got beat in the bathroom or threatened with a beating in the bathroom while you were out in public with your parents). I would have been buying a new pair of shoes in Wal-Mart because I would have left the old ones in his ass. Yes, it may seem excessive. But I believe for the most part we saw glimpses of crazy in our parents and that fear of seeing it again pretty much kept us in check.

But where is his fear??? Fear of forever living with shoes up his ass if he ever put his hands on his grandmother??? Fear of consequences for his actions?? He's a celebrity now. He's been on TV. The police department decided not to charge him with grand theft. And according to this article, he's now at a hospital taking tests for a mental evaluation.


The last time I blogged about this topic, Hustle commented that this is a result of us allowing the government to raise our children (yes it was really him.LOL). While I don't agree with his safety pin strategy (if I see a safety pin lying around his apartment, I'm running..hahahaha), he has a point (no pun intended). It's now criminal to discipline children. Yes, there are people who have gone to far, but why should rational level headed parents be punished for disciplining their children. What is that telling the child that you as a parent have no say so and that they have all the power. Same goes for teaching. Remember when you had to write 100 times "I will not talk in class" as punishment for well..talking in class?? Well, now a teacher can lose her job and her license for that because that is considered "corporal punishment". I remember once getting a memo that forbade teachers from raising their voices at children. Are you kidding me??? A lil bass in your voice and a mean sneer were the only weapons we had as teachers and they wanted to take that away too??? In the words of Clive Davis, SHEEEEEEIIIIIIIITTTTTT (damn, I miss The Wire).


Yes, some may say it's easy for me to sit here, pass judgement and proclaim what I would do and what I wouldn't do because a) I don't have children and b) I'm not in that situation. However, while they are right, I can only imagine instilling the fear of God in my children by any means necessary. And if that means they have to walk around with a gold stiletto up their butt, then so be it. I can (and will) buy another pair.

hold this...

Last night I was online searching for a nice traveling bag. I have my beloved chocolate brown suede Coach carry-on bag but I'm looking for a "weekender" or a "traveler" - something more stylish than a duffel bag but roomier than a tote. So as I'm perusing the sites, I came across this bag:
Cute, right?? The madras print is very in these days (at least that's all I see in the stores for the summer collection). And while I'm not looking specifically for a tote, it seems roomy enough. So what's the problem?? It's a man's bag. I found it in the Men's Section of the website. (Confession: Sometimes I look at men's clothing online a) to see what's new on the fashion scene for the fellas and b) wonder what I would purchase for my phantom significant other if there was ever a need to shop for my currently imaginary SO. weird, right??? hahahahaha) According to J. Crew's website:

Pack up your gear in a man-size tote inspired by a vintage tool bag.
Garment-washed for a worn-in look and feel. Authentic yarn-dyed cotton madras
from India.

I know men need bags to carry their belongings. But a tote bag??? I'm looking at the pictures and I'm trying to imagine the men that I know carrying a madras print tote bag. GuyGuru, would you carry a madras print tote bag??? Or what about a bag that looks like this:




I can already hear the profanity laden diatribe from Hustle if someone ever tried to give him a bag like this to carry. I just may give him the bag just to watch his reaction. (I kid, I kid...hahahahahahaaaa)


I get that men do need a bag because I'll be damned if I see a dude putting his clothes in a DuaneReade shopping bag for a weekend getaway. (Sidebar: for those unfamiliar with DuaneReade, it's a drug store here in New York that has very sturdy, very ugly white shopping bags with blue and red lettering all over the damn thing...get my point now???). But a tote??? There is nothing masculine about a tote. At. ALL.



A tote is an over sized purse. Most men I know groan or absolutely reeefuse to carry any bag that resembles anything like a purse for a woman. So now it's okay for them to carry it as long as it has their stuff in it?? And what about the shoulder straps?? The shoulder straps on a tote are made long enough to go over your shoulder but short enough to fit in that snug space under your arm and close to your torso. What is a guy supposed to do with a shoulder strap??? Ladies, can you see your guy carrying a tote up on his shoulder and holding the straps in place with his hand at the same time as he makes his way through airport security for your weekend jaunt???? Will you still respect him in the morning???


Is this a case of metrosexual gone too far or am I just over thinking the situation??? What do you think???


In a strange case of irony, I absofuckinlutely heart this bag I found on the Kenneth Cole website. Yes, in the Men's section, damnit! But so what?? What would you rather see: me looking oh so stylish carrying this bag or a guy carrying a madras tote??? Yeah that's what I thought! hahahahaaa

Buy me some...what?? No martinis?

As I mentioned in my previous blog, I attended my first professional baseball game at the famous soon to be a pile of barney rubble Shea Stadium (pictured above). I had no idea what to expect but I was super duper excited, kid in a candy store sugar rush kind of excited. While I can't say I intently watched each and every play in each inning until we left (Sidebar: why is it so damn chilly in May like leather jacket, cashmere sweater, pashmina chilly??? Is this the price I have to pay for the mild winter of 07-08??), I can say that this Butterfly thoroughly enjoyed myself. Here's a guide for other girly girl baseball rookies.

1. Who cares??? Apparently, the ticket guy doesn't give a shit if this is your first game or your millionth game. Show your ticket and keep it moving. LOL (that one is pretty self explanatory..hahahahaa)



2. There are no stilettos in baseball. My girl, DeeDee warned me to wear flats or sneakers. Now those that know me know sneakers are not a staple in my fashion repertoire so ballet flats were the shoe du jour. And I am sooo grateful I listened. All that hiking just to get to our gate and then the hike up 2 levels just to get provisions would have made stilettos unbearable and left me crying in baseball.



3. "When in Rome......" You've seen my "I hate beer" face. With Bud or Bud Light being my only options (I don't drink soda), what's a girl to do?? What else could I do. I drank a beer. Bud Light to be exact. And I drank the entire bottle with only a few cringes. Thankfully, the food gods (and the old man working the concession stand) love me because I was able to eat a cheeseburger and not a gross stinky hot dog. And forget that peanuts and cracker jack crap; I had gummy bears and almond M&M's in my purse.

(yes that's me drinking a beer. had to capture the moment.)

4. Are you talking to me??? Something about the air of sportsmanship makes totally perfect never would talk to me otherwise complete strangers strike up conversation. Back in my seat as I was preparing my cheeseburger with the requisite 2.5 ketchup packs, a guy comes up to me and asks me "ummmm where did you get that from?" I looked up to see a Matt Lauer looking straight laced white man peering at my burger. I told him where he could find one and he too was not a fan of the trek it would take to actually get one. He asked if it was worth it. I took a bite just for him (well for him and the hunger pains duking it out in my stomach) and informed him that yes it was worth it. So maybe its not the sportsmanship that's the common bond. Regardless of race, creed or color, we all get hungry.

(okay, Lil Sis informed me that the best way to eat a cheeseburger is to put your fries on the burger. Her rationale is "it's all going to the same place". So since this is a night of firsts, I gave it a try. My inner chubby girl was pleasantly pleased)


5. Heads up is a way of life. Okay when you hear that ball to bat crack and everyone around you starts standing up or looking up, you better pay attention and scan the sky for that tumbling white object. Sitting as close as we were, I was in constant fear of being hit by a ball going faster than the speed limit on the highway. Oh the horror!!! But then I thought maybe this could be my Sex and the City moment when Carrie caught the ball and dated the "new Yankee". I don't know who's a new Met or not but judging from some of their pics on the ginormous screen, I wouldn't mind getting their balls.
(Lil Sis, Me, and DeeDee. And yes, we sat that close to the outfield. And yes, I was paranoid that we were going to get hit while taking this picture)


6. Control yo kids, damn it. Okay, I usually feel this way in the supermarket and department stores when people let their kids run around like I'm the idiot for shopping in the middle of their children's playgrounds. But there were kids running around all over the damn place. Why are you spending 30 bucks and up for your kids to completely ignore the game and organize a game of tag in the aisle and up and down the stands??? They can do that somewhere else for free, you know. I almost lost it when 2 kids bumped me as I carried my 5 dollar fries, my 9 dollar burger and my 8 dollar beer. After my cross country hike to the concession stand for my reeeeeediculously overpriced dinner, I would have beat a kid down for knocking me and my meal to the ground.



(DeeDee, Me, Mr. Met, & Lil Sis. Oh and the cutie who was Mr. Met's handler. Damn, a dude with a big ass ball on his head has a "handler". Where can I get one of those??)

Special Shout out to DeeDee and Lil Sis for not only accompanying me to my first pro baseball game but for also bringing their cameras to capture the moments (you may want to start a bail fund for me because BestBuy is STILL holding my camera hostage. If I don't get it back in time for my trip, somebody call Johnny Cochran. Oh wait, he's dead. Okay, call Star Jones. She's looking for work, right? )

Take me out to the ballgame.......

Believe it or not, I am going to my first professional baseball game tonight. And like a kid on Christmas Eve, I am super duper excited. I have absolutely no love for the sport of baseball. I've tried to watch it on TV and its like counting the minutes to being released from prison (not that I'm familiar with what that's like but you get my point...hahahaha).

So what do you wear to a baseball game??? I hate beer, hot dogs, and peanuts and cracker jack - is there anything else on the menu like martinis, Caesar salad and fruit snacks??? How long is this damn thing??? Will all the eye candy be drunk frat boys?? What if the opposing team is cuter than the home team- can I root for them instead???

I'll probably write about the experience manana. If you happen to watch the game tonight, look for the chick in the Marc Jacob sunglasses and a martini glass in the crowd. That be me.

LET'S GO METS!!!!!!!! (ummm that's what I'm supposed to say right????)

Who is this woman......

A couple of days ago, I was cleaning out a closet and came across these pictures of my mother. Judging from the book I found them in, this was approximately 3 years pre-me or the year 3 B.J. (Before Janelle...hahahahahaa). I looked at the pictures and wondered "who is this woman?" - not in a way like I don't know my mother. I know the basics - her name, where she went to school, her friends, a few anecdoctal stories here and there, the fact that after each surgery she has she winds up hating a new vegetable (this time it's peas...hahahahaha). But this woman in this picture is a mystery to me. What did this woman like? What pissed her off?? What were her dreams?? Where did she see her life 5 years from that day? 10 years? What made her smile? Who made her smile? Who got the other two pictures from the photo strip??

If you would have asked her these questions anytime after my arrival, the answers would have been easy. It was all related to me. And I don't say that in a self-centered kind of way. My mother gave up everything for me. I was her priority. Every move, every decision was made because of me. And while I love her immensely for her dedication to me (and making sure I didn't do hoodrat stuff with my friends...hahahahaha), I can't help but feel guilty that I took her away from whatever this woman in the picture had in store.

So with Mother's Day being on Sunday, I want to celebrate this woman. The woman who stepped into a photo booth on a whim. The woman with the cute hair cut and the cute winter outfit. The woman with the slight grin in her eye. The woman who appeared to not have a care in the world. While the woman in this picture wasn't a mother yet, I think there is some of her in me. And I have my mother to thank for that.

Usually, there is no crime I would think of committing primarily because of my absolute fear of jail. My mottos on the subject tend to "I'm too pretty for prison" or "too fine to do time". However, with that said, I would probably be a big girl's bitch in the big house if this were my grandson. There is no way I would have enough composure to be interviewed by CNN nor would he be available for interviews. The only thing he would be available for is the ass beatings waiting for him. In front of the cops. And yes I know that's my rage talking. But what other emotion is left after watching this. Did you see his grandmother's car???? "I like to do hoodrat things with my friends"???? At 7(shit at any age for that matter)????? What the hell is going on???

On some level, as sad as it is, this incident doesn't surprise me. Having taught for 3 years at a school my friends nicknamed Rickers Academy (yes after the prison), the 7 year old in this clip has the same nonchalant inconsequential attitude I faced on a daily basis. There were always those students who, no matter how much love and guidance you tried to show them, they still didn't care and only wanted to do "hoodrat things". I would ask myself daily "how can I change this? how can I get these kids to understand that just because you're from the hood you don't have to be a 'rat. My decision to leave the school system was not an easy one. I never wanted to be a bitter cynical educator who was there only for a paycheck and Jewish holiday vacations. And I felt that bitterness and cynicism creeping in - part of the reason I left. While, on most days, I am at peace with my decision and am much happier, it's stories like these that make me feel guilty for walking away. Like I abandoned the children to roam the streets and do shit like this.

This whole hoodrat culture hurts me in my core. Offically, I am a hoodrat having grown up in Harlem when the only white people you saw were the cops assigned to the neighborhood precincts, the teachers assigned to neighborhood schools, and the drug addicts who would drive into the neighborhood in their Beemers and Jettas with out of state plates looking to score. I am very proud of growing up in Harlem, especially when it looked like a scene from New Jack City. But moreso, I'm proud of succumbing to the power of my mother's foot in my ass and not the lure of the street. I fully admit my mother did not condone hoodrat behavior in her home. Any hint of it was met with an eye that meant "girrrrl, don't test me", and if that didn't work, her hand became reacquainted with my behind. Maybe if they had been kicking this little boy's ass and not rewarding him with video games and frequent trips to McDonald's, he would not feel like "doing bad stuff is fun". And now this boy will be in the system, and while they can't officially lock his ass up because he's too young, they will be watching him like Pookie in the drug lab for the rest of his life.

What kind of punishment is appropriate for this 7 year old??? According to him, taking away video games for a "weekend" should do it. Sorry, Latarian. You are going to need a little more than that, unless you want to eventually become some big dude's bitch in the bighouse. The problem here is not only getting him to understand the magnitude of his actions (which is difficult just because of his age) but to also deter him from continuing to be a delinquent with his friends (who smoke cigarettes at 7??? what. the. fuck???)

I wish I had the answers. I wish the solution was something that can be solved in 30 minutes like this is a sitcom. What I do know is that if Latarian and children like him don't get help, then we all need to go to jail because we have failed a generation. People often ask me if I would return to teaching. While "never say never" is an often used phrase, today I know in my heart of hearts, the answer to that question is "hell to da naw" (gotta say it like Whitney Houston for full effect...hahahhahahaha). But I know something has to be done. Something more than what I'm doing now. I'm just not sure what.

Is it is or is it ain't????.....

What makes a date??? What's the difference in "hanging out" "and a "date"? This all important, life changing dilemma has been plaguing me all weekend. And I'm no closer to the answer thanks to my friends.

I hung out with a friend this weekend. My Guy Guru and my girl E. seem to think it was a date. They wouldn't think it was a date if I was hanging with one of my girls. So why did the rules change because my dinner companion didn't have lip gloss and breast??? According to my Guy Guru I would be swinging from chandeliers by the end of the night and "giving it up". The day of my outing, E. called and asked what I was going to wear on my "date". I reminded her that it wasn't a date and that I would probably wear jeans, a cute top, and heels. This look tends to be my uniform so no big deal there. She asked if I was nervous. I told her "hell no" with a well placed side eye to my phone that I only wished she could see. This was just a dinner with an old friend, right???

Don't get me wrong. I had a great time with my friend. We had great convo at the restaurant, damn near shutting the place down. After dinner, we made our way to a dark cavernous lounge where old school hits (and misses) were the perfect soundtrack to our incessant laughter at the dancing machines (more like dancing fools) in the place. As a perfect gentlemen should, he made sure I got home safely at the end of the night. That's it. No swinging from chandeliers. No giving it up. No nervous energy. Just a fun filled evening. If time and space ever permit, we plan to hang out again. So was this a date??? Hell if I know. All I know is I hung out with a friend and had a great time doing so. And if your barometer is the all consuming question of who paid, the answer is the only time I came out of pocket was for the taxi downtown to meet him since I was running a little late (surprise surprise! hahahahahaha). So is this a date because he paid for dinner and drinks?? What if I offered??? Is a date because it was only he and I in attendance?? What if our mutual friends lives hundreds of miles away and neither one of us brought a chaperone??? Is it a date because we both are single??? Can't two single people hang out??? If we go out again, is that a date???

I'm confused. I was perfectly fine in my bubble of belief until my friends popped it. Now, I don't know what this was. Thanks, my friends. Mannnn, fuck it I don't care what you call it (as you can probably guess, I just came to this revelation as I was typing...hahahahahahaaa). I had fun and I'll do it again. And you can call it whatever the hell you want. hahahaha