Bit by the Travel Butterfly..again

I went away....again. This time to Martha's Vineyard. I have a group of friends who go every year and every year without fail they invite me, I'm down, then something comes up and I can't go. Well except for this year. Time, opportunity, and the finances all lined up to allow this butterfly to spread her wings and take a journey up to New England.

Like the other trips I've taken this year, this was a first. While I've heard of the Vineyard, my experience with it came from watching the movie, Inkwell. Although I'm a private school prodigy, I wasn't a Jack and Jill kid. My parents didn't use the word summer as a verb as in "We summer every year in the Cape". I had no clue what to expect. All I know is that I was going with my houghmies (that's what we call each other....or hough for short) and that I had actually confined all that I needed to take with me into my new Cole Haan brown leather weekend duffle bag and my Coach brown suede carry on tote. That, exclusively, deserves a round of applause because damn if I don't try to pack the kitchen and the bathroom sink whenever I go away.

I arrived Thursday. It was a nasty rainy mess all day until we got to the ferry. I swear on every pair of shoes I love, the clouds seem to part and the sun made her debut about 15-20 minutes before I arrived at the ferry. Upon boarding the ferry and finding seats on the sunny top deck, I was in awe of the amount of Black folks I saw. Call me ignant (yes, ignant) if you want, but I had nooooooo idea this many black folks escaped to the Vineyard for the 4th.

During the 45 minute ride, I took in all of the natural beauty around me: the water, the scenic tree covered cliffs, the pretty boys sitting on the opposite of the deck from me. Hmmmmm, this might be more fun that I thought, and I silently cursed that I didn’t pack more outfits. But whatev, in terms of my wardrobe I was going to have to “make it do what it do”. And I did.

On the 4th, we attended a beach party in South Beach (not Miami’s South Beach….I’m not that much of a jetsetter….yet! there’s a South Beach in the Vineyard also). Upon arriving at the pre-determined location, I squealed (yes squealed) at the sight of all these beautiful black folks. A sea of folks, lounging, sipping, dancing, eating, flirting, frolicking. It was as if my whole black college experience had been uprooted and replanted on the shores of Martha’s Vineyard. My houghmies and I sipped on a concoction alllllllllll day. It was so yummy and delish. I wish someone was sober enough to have written it down. hahahaaaa (Sidebar: Does anyone else wonder how you can drink like a fish on vacation and still function but have 2 glasses of wine at home and feel a lil tipsy?? hahahaha)

If I had to sum up the entire trip in one word, I guess I would say it was idyllic. The gingerbread houses, as they are called, were cozy. The walks to The Circuit were peppered with friendly hellos as you walked past people sitting in huge rocking chairs on their porches. The rocky beaches werethe landscape of children collecting seashells and running into the not so warm water with absolute glee, couples at different stages of the age continuum canoodling. Everyone was just as easy as the breeze. I could have stayed there forever.

So like all of my trips so far this year, I plan on returning to the vineyard. Note to self: May need to rethink teaching. I need an abundance of annual vacation time. LOL

Oh yeah this was dinner! :)

Rock Forever

Even though the pain and heartache

Seems to follow me wherever I go

Though I try and try to hide my feelings

They always seem to show

Then you try to say you're leaving me

And I always have to say no...Tell me why

Is it so

That I

Never can say goodbye

No no no no,

I

Never can say goodbye

This was my initial shock on hearing the news while on my way to a baseball game. Nah-uh, stop playing. Mike ain't dead. How can you believe a gossip site?? (tmz first confirmed it)

Another day is gone, I'm still all alone

How could this be, when you're not here with me

You never said goodbye, someone tell me why

Did you have to go, and leave my world so cold

Everyday I sit and ask myself

How did love slip away?

Something whispers in my ear and says,

That you are not alone

I am here with you

Though you're far away

I am here to stay

You are not alone

I am here with you

Though we're far apart

You're always in my heart

But you are not alone

On Friday, these lyrics made me close my office door (even though I was here solo) and openly weep for his passing. I started this blog on Friday (as evidenced by the date above) but I didn't have it in me to write anything. On Friday it was real. There was no "Gotcha". No waving of the gloved hand from a hospital window. Nada. Just sadness and disbelief.

So tonight gotta leave that nine to five upon the shelf

And just enjoy yourself

Groove, let the madness in the music get to you

Life ain't so bad at all

If you live it off the wall

Life ain't so bad at all (live life off the wall)

Live your life off the wall (live it off the wall)

By Friday afternoon, I had received over a dozen emails, text messages and facebook announcements that my favorite Friday party was gonna be an MJJ tribute. So as he instructed I left my 9 to 5 up on the shelf, and just enjoyed myself. Despite the line to get in (and I have NAYVER stood on line for this party), despite my five inch heels not lasting as long as I would have like them to, I partied just as Michael Jackson has been instructing me to do all my life:

Gotta hide your inhibitions

Gotta let that fool loose deep inside your soul

Want to see an exhibition

Better do it now before you get to old'

Cause we're the party people night and day

Livin' crazy that's the only way

I let that fool loose on the dance floor. It was the only way I knew to pay my respects to the man who was my first celebrity crush (back when he was brown skinned, and had had only maybe 1 or 2 nose jobs), the man who I saw in concert ON my birthday as a kid (I swore he planned it that way), the man who has provided a significant portion of the soundtrack to my life. By the end of the night, my entire body had cried a sea of tears in sweat.

You give me butterflies inside, inside and I

All I gotta say is that I must be dreaming, can't be real

You're not here with me, still I can feel you near to me

I hope the world allows this man to truly rest in peace. We will still feel him near with his songs, his movie videos, his gravity defying dance moves(Real Talk: How many of you busted your ass trying to moonwalk in socks or the Smooth Criminal lean??? hahahahahaa). Every time you hear his "shamon"s or his "ma ma se ma ma sa moo ma coo sa", you'll feel those butterlies and remember the time..........

And when the grove is dead and gone

yeah, you know that love survives

so we can rock forever

Michael Joseph Jackson August 29, 1958 - June 25, 2009

While he couldn't live forever, his music and his legacy will survive and there is no doubt that we'll rock forever.

Nuts and Bolts Workout

I just returned from my lunch time workout at the gym. Operation Bangin' Beach Body aka Operation I Like to Wear as Little Clothing as Humanly Possible and Still Look Good is in full effect. Since there is a location of my gym right in my office building's underground maze I have NO DAMN EXCUSE why I shouldn't be there during lunch time. While today wasn't my first day there, it was definitely blog worthy. Lesson learned: there are some strange folks in the gym in the middle of the day.

First, after changing my clothes I go further downstairs to torture room *ahem* I mean machine room. I find a free elliptical machine (love that machine) and pop my Ipod earbuds into my ears. As Beyonce is singing the hell out of Deja Vu to warm me up on the machine, I notice a man with a sweatband and mactching wrist bands sitting on a machine behind me and slightly to my right. Initially I figured, he must be exhausted from just completing his workout and focus on my task at hand. Later, as Leaders of the New School are telling me all about the "Scenario", I look up and see dude still sitting there now with his head tilted slightly to the left in my direction.

Oh no this can't be happening. Is this perv sitting here watching my.........

I calm myself down. I don't want to jump to conclusions. But I rationalize with myself that if he's still sitting there by the time Biggie's "Nasty Girl (The Remix)" comes blasting through my earphones, I may have to kick in the door, waving the four four. So I close my eyes and pray this man is not still sitting there. Luckily, as soon as I hear "I go...on and on and on and on and...." the geeky creepy dude is gone. THANK YOU LORD!!! I swear I didn't want to be the lone chocolate chip in the gym who then had to resort to violence because this creep was trying to get his jollies off by sneaking peaks under my gym shorts.

As Luther is bellowing 'A THOUSAND KISSES FROM YOU IN NEVAH TOOOO MUCH", my earbud pops out and the lady who's been working out next to me the entire time decides to try to strike up a conversation. Lady I don't come to the gym to socialize. I ain't got time for that! No I don't say that but I politely nod and pop my earbud back in just in time to hear my favorite part: "Who needs to go to work to hustle for anotha dollar/I'd rather be with you 'cause you make my heart scream and holla". SANG IT LUTHA!!! But yeah, I remember I need to get back to work to hustle for another dollar so I pick up the speed to get my 3 miles in.

3.00

I've never seen such a glorious number in my life. I am sweating like...well apparently like the governor in South Carolina who dipped out for 4 days to take his honey dip to Argentina and didn't even tell his wife or his kids that he wouldn't be there for Father's Day (Sidebar: As a future novelist, I doubt I could make this shit up! But I digress). I'm sweating but damn I feel good. I strip and hop in the shower damn near about to whistle. That's how good I feel. I jump out the shower, wrap two towels around me (clearly these itty bitty towels are made for itty bitty chicks with itty bitty bootays, hence my need for 2....or 3), and strut over to my locker. Adjacent to my locker is a station of hair dryers for the gym patrons to use. I've seen some disgusting things done with those hair dryers but that's another story for another day. The same woman who tried to engage me in conversation is there drying her hair. I scoot past her and begin the hurried process of drying off, lotioning up, and getting dressed. Now at home, the towel would drop to the floor the minute I was semi dry. However, at the gym, I like to be as covered up as possible when changing clothes. But at some point you have to be exposed.

So I bend over to pull my panties on, when I hear a southern drawl exclaim:

"Oh what a cute mole!"

Now this is something that only a select few know about me (until now) but I have a mole on my bootay. The location is irrelevant for the purpose of this blog just know its there. Needless to say(but I'll say it anyway..LOL), I. WAS. MORTIFIED. What the fuck do you say to that????!!!!!

I instantly shot up with panties pulled up higher than they really needed to be. I turned around and she was just blow drying her hair as if she had complimented me on my shoes. I turned back around, threw my clothes on and didn't even unbuckle my sandals to put them back on. I double checked my locker to make sure I didn't leave anything and BOLTED. I'd had enough of these fruitcakes to last me for the rest of the day (Come on, I live in New York, you know I'll encounter some more doozies tomorrow..LOL)

This looks like this is going to be OPERATION Dodge a Nut aka OPERATION Bangin' Beach Body aka OPERATION I Like to Wear as Little Clothing I Can Get Away With Without Having Some Unauthorized Nut Comment on My Mole.

Random in the Rain

About a month ago I wrote a sultry introspection about the sexiness of Rain. More than 30 days later, I'm ready to beat the crap out rain. Seriously. On Friday, a newscaster commented that it had rained 15 of the past 19 days in the month of June. That is 79% of the month of June, filled with waterlogged, I can't press my hair days. Now granted I was gone for about 5 of those 19 days but still. I understand in life a little rain must fall but sheesh, this is re-damn-diculous. I don't have enough rain clothes in my wardrobe and in June I don't plan on investing in rain gear either. Enough already. Its officially my FAVORITE season of the year and how does it greet me?? More freaking rain. I never realized how crappy weather affects my mood. Scratching Seattle as a possible place to live off of my list. As my Facebook status read the other day:

I can't stand the rain........against my stilettos.

ENOUGH ALREADY. And according to the forecast, more rain in the forecast here in NYC. Le sigh.

Despite Mother Nature forgetting to take her anti-depressants, and putting the sun on time-out, I had a fabulous weekend. Nothing grand but fab none the less. And almost completely random. Now that I think about it I've had 2 random, sketchy planned but great weekends back to back. I hope I didn't just jinx myself. LOL Last weekend, I spent time with out of town friends, the other members of the Fab 4 (my name for BFFs), partied, trooped out to Brooklyn for makeup and a cocktail named a Joygasm (soooo delish), and dinner convo with old and new friends. Oh and I can't forget the paparazzi shots.

LMAO. Good times indeed.

This weekend I trooped out to Queens for a potluck. Normally for these types of events I would cook. But the rain discouraged any culinary creativity (read: too lazy to shop in the rain). Instead, I picked up a couple of orders of Buffalo Wings from my favorite spot, and muddled through the puddles out to Queens. All I have to say about my public transportation ride to the borough of Queens is: sitting in traffic with hot smelling good Buffalo wings on your lap is not the business when people start looking at you like "hmmm, I could snuff this chick and eat whatever she has in them bags." LOL
It was all worth it when I arrived. I laughed until I thought I was going to have a heart attack. Literally. I was clutching my chest a la Fred G. Sanford. And the food?? The food was soooo yummy my inner chubby girl was EXCITED. I was so stuffed I didn't know how I was going to make it through the rest of the evening for my date.

I had a date. With Baskin Robbins.

So Sunday, since my dad lives in Tennessee, all I had to do was call to wish him a Happy Father's Day. I'd spoken to him the day before because I saw a Mustang parked by my apartment and then saw a Mustang parked near where my friend lives in Queens. My dad is a Mustang Fiend. He met my mom in a mustang. He met my stepmom in a Mustang. He wants all of his children to own Mustangs (only one does). He currently owns either 2 or 3 Mustangs. He goes to an annual convention for Mustang nuts. I told you - a FIEND. LOL So, I snapped a pic of the second Mustang and sent him a text asking "Are you following me?" LOL He laughed. I laughed. And he urged me to come to visit. Awww my daddy misses me. I think I'll look into visiting for his birthday.

Since I couldn't be with one parent on the holiday designated for him, I spent the day with the other half of my genetic makeup. After making brunch for my mom, she and I decided to take my cousin out for Father's Day since he was in town with his wife and their 2 sons. With my mom's dad deceased and my dad over a thousand miles away, we couldn't remember the last time we did anything on Father's Day. So my mom, my aunt, my cousin, his wife, the 2 most adorable boys ages 4 1/2 and 1 1/2,and I went to a local chain restaurant known for their Texas size drinks. What?? Did you think I was treating all these folks to dinner at the Four Seasons??? Sheeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiittt! LOL

Can I just say I can't remember a time spent with my immediate family that was so pleasant?? We genuinely had a good time. The boys kept us entertained. Between the 4 year old, finding no napkin, deciding to wipe his BBQ sauce covered hands on his shirt with a shrug and the almost 2 year old flirting with every female under the age of 10 in the place (with a chicken bone situated in his mouth like a toothpick), we laughed until tears came out of our eyes. Their was no dog to kill me. No contention over old family shit. Just family coming together and having fun. It was so random it was perfectly orchestrated.

Over the past 2 weekends, a lot of rain has fallen in New York City. But leave it to my friends and family to brighten my days in unexpected, random ways. Its these pockets of sunshine that keep me going. And keep me from beating the crap out of rain.

This is for my homies....

During my Vegas Recuperation Week, I lost a friend. Don’t worry. Not in the dearly departed “this is for my homies” way; more so in the “you pissed me off so we can't play together no more” kind of way. While I don’t care to dwell on the drama of it all (not even here on my blog), there are a few things I’ve learned about me in the process.

For one, if someone’s view of me is so far removed from the person I strive to be, there is no reason for us to be friends. Not to say I’m a slice of walking perfection. I recognize my faults and own up to my shortcomings. But when the picture someone paints of me is so……lame, I have to remove myself from the situation. Seriously, why would that person even want to be friends with someone they regard so poorly?? If you thought a friend of yours had the attributes of say….a serial killer, would you still be friends with them??? Further more what's more disturbing: the fact that you would allow your mind to even consider remotely that your friend - someone you allow into your life- is a serial killer or that you are indeed friends with someone who has the propensity for serial killing??

For the record I wish this "friend" (scratch that person) no ill will. The memories shared over the years will be treasured. It’s unfortunate it came to this parting in this way but as my Guy Guru pointed out: “Sometimes you have to clear your roster in order to make room on the bench.” or some shit like that. Y’all know I’m fuzzy on sports analogies. Still doesn’t make me a serial killer, maybe a cereal killer though.

That’s all.

Sidebar: I would post the video of the song I referenced above but its so damn depressing. If you really want to see it, youtube it. ( I think I just made youtube a verb. like google. hahahahaha)

Not so happy hour

I needed a week to recuperate. Vegas was that great. If you haven’t been, GO!!!!
I have a blog about my trip but I really need the photos (well the photos I can actually post without ruining my chances of ever running for public office….hahahahaha). However, Carrie B. and my camera seem to be behaving worse than the NY State Senate. I’m hoping these 2 will settle their differences soon so I can download my pictures and share.

In the meantime I have a bunch of little blogs I wish to post. Little stories or observations I’ve made. Sometimes I have a tendency to be overly verbose and I’m trying to streamline my thoughts.

Friday Night.

I went to happy hour with my good buddy Willie Burger (blog name and my personal nickname for him in life…hahaha). He travels a lot for work and recently decided NOT to be my neighbor (traitor) so we haven’t caught up in a while. While sitting at the bar of an establishment with a colorful name in NY’s Greenwich Village, we were annoyingly entertained by a very loud, very drunk (most likely high on something else) group of folks. They tried to engage us in their foolishness but we wanted noooo parts of that. They were annoying as hell and while yes it was a bar, obnoxious didn’t have to be on the bar tab. The foolishness was the least of my worries when “Happy Hour” morphed into “True Confessions”. The ringleader of the fooltastic shenanigans was grinding her booty on a dude she was with. She leans on the back of my barstool while still wiggling booty on dude to say:

Ooooh I know I shouldn’t be dancing on my cousin like this but umph look at him. He just got back from Iraq and he’s going back in a couple of weeks. We just umph showing him a good time. But damn look at him. Oooh yeah he’s going to be filet mignon tonight.

CHECK PLEASE! Almost instantly, my ears hurt, my eyes hurt, and that nice tingly alcohol induced feeling was gone. Talk about instant sobriety. By far that is the nastiest thing I have heard and witnessed. For the record, she and her cousin were getting it in like they were in some dark corner in a club. Before she revealed their shared genetic makeup, I kinda assumed she was giving the dude the business on the dance floor because she was going to give him the business in the bedroom (or wherever) later. But once she revealed her family ties with the person who was smacking her ass I was D-O-N-E. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. And the chick tried to hug me when I left. Heffa please.

Where's Dave Chapelle when I need him??? This is a perfect example of "When Keeping it Real Goes Wrong". She didn't need to tell me that her dance partner was her cousin. She didn't need to tell me he was going to be "filet mignon" which apparently means she was gonna give him the biz (I don't see the correlation between meat and sex acts but whatev). She didn't need to grunt and moan as she danced with him. It's "Happy Hour" damnit but unfortunately I left disgusted.

Sidebar: why do people talk like this chick talk to me???

Day Dreams of a Mind Traveler

I fell asleep that night with the balcony door open, allowing the crashing waves to be my lullaby. That is the most peaceful sleep I’ve had in a long time. (considering buying one of those nature CDs to play at night. yeah not so much. LOL). As I snuggled my comforter, I dreamt. Dreams of the old couple and me turning into them. Snapshots of playing in the sand, and feelings of contentment paraded through my dreams.

The next morning, I awoke around 7 am. I sat up in bed and smiled. The sun was playing peek-a-boo with passing clouds and I popped right out of bed. Nothing like a peaceful night’s rest to jumpstart my day. Careful not to wake my sisters, I grabbed a swimsuit out of my suitcase, washed and brushed the essentials, shimmied into said suit, scribbled a note, and bounced. I headed down to the lower level to go sit on the beach. I’ve always wanted to just sit by on the beach as morning yawns and stretches to begin its day.

On my way to the beach I walked by the outdoor café of the restaurant. Other early risers were already munching on muffins, and waffles and omelets (Oh my!). In my haste to get to the beach I dropped my always present notebook, and everything else in my hands. (Why was I walking around with my cell phone in hand and not in bag, I’ll never know).

“I got it! I got it!”

I swear she had to be no more than 4. She ran over from her table and squatted down to help me gather my stuff with one hand, while she held firmly onto her croissant. I looked up for a parent before somebody tried to have me arrested for kidnapping this adorable lil one. I made eye contact with a woman about my age and got the universal “its okay - I won’t have you arrested” head nod and hand wave.

“Aww thank you sweetheart! You are so helpful.” (I have a habit of calling all kids sweetheart if they’re not misbehaving)

“I know. I saw you yesterday.” She informed me as we scoop everything back into my bag. (SIDEBAR: I keep way too much change at the bottom of every bag)

“You did?? Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh. Your hair is like minez. I remember.”

With her spirally curls all over the place (hers were way cuter than minez), I could kind of see where she got that from.

“Wow. You have a lot of monies.”

“Well, for being so helpful, lets ask your mom if you can have some of this monies.”

Wide eyed, she said “Really?” like I just promised to take her to Disney World after breakfast.

As she grabbed my hand to walk me over to her mom, I couldn’t help but think: We look like mother and daughter. With her untamed hair and massively big expressive eyes, it was like looking at myself about 30 years ago. For the entire 10 steps to her mother's table, she chatted me up the entire way, talking a mile a minute. Yeah, she could definitely be mine. LOL

After chatting with her mom for a minute, and paying the lil one her reward for being so helpful, I continued my solitary journey down to the beach. As I sat there writing the above exchange, I listened intently to the music of the ocean. I can’t help it. I was awe-struck at how much that lil girl looked like me. I have pages and pages on what it means or doesn’t mean in my notebook. I wrote and wrote and wrote. Just poured it all out on paper. And then I stopped. I took it all in. The scenery. The sounds. The emotions. Then I opened my notebook and wrote a simple phrase on a blank page before snapping it shut.

“You’re ready.”

And I let my mind travel on that for the rest of my trip.

Butterfly note: by the time many of you read this (i've seen the stats, more morning hits...LOL), I will be en route for my second vacation in as many weeks. This time, I'm heading West to Vegas. My first trip there. I'm sure I'll have lots to tell. Not sure if I'll have permission to tell it though. LOL

Smoochies

Mind Travels*

I mentioned in my previous post, that I had a lot of stolen moments to think, really think, while I was in Puerto Rico. I thought about my career path (grateful for a j-o-b, but I need to find a new gig – something more creative, and definitely more social). I thought about my thoughts on moving out of New York (still just a notion – but its growing more comfortable in my head; most importantly I’ve accepted that I’m fearful of taking the leap). Whenever I had a moment to myself, my thoughts took off on their own adventures, turning over new leafs, and discovering new possibilities that I hadn’t given myself the time or the energy to find.

My first night in Puerto Rico, I was exhausted. A party that I LOVE in New York was ending its run at its current location. Having so many fond memories there (including meeting Hustle), I had to party there one last time and say goodbye to the venue. Despite having a 6 am flight, I hatched a plan. I called the promoter (a friend of mine) and asked him if I could just bring my suitcase to the party. I figured I could leave the party around 3:30 ish, and take a taxi to the airport. Which would leave me time to check in and chill (read: sleep) at the gate until I could board the plane (and sleep some more). With an almost 4 hour flight, I figured I would get about a good 5 hours of sleep time. What my theory did not take into account was the exhaustion I started the night with and how 5 hours of sleep just wasn’t enough. I arrived in San Juan cranky from sleep deprivation. But its funny how feeling the sun shining down on me made me forget all about that sleep deprivation. Until later that night.

After a day of touring the island and shopping (leave it to me to find an outlet mall in Puerto Rico with a BCBG; lawwwwd have mercy), we immediately came back to the hotel to change clothes and go out to dinner in Old San Juan. With its cobblestone streets, tightly packed stone buildings, and fountains, I was immediately smitten. Especially when I saw a Starbucks. I figured that jolt of java would sustain me through the evening of dinner and club hopping. Wrong. My body wasn’t having it. After a rather craptastic dinner, I was in no mood to shake what my momma gave me – no matter what language I was instructed to do it in. (SIDEBAR: whoever came up with asian-latin fusion cuisine is the devil; I went all the way to beautiful Puerto Rico to eat chicken lo-mein) I ditched my sisters and their friends and decided to head back to the hotel. On my walk back to the taxi stand (I didn’t care how much it cost me at that point), I couldn’t help but admire the charm of Old San Juan. As tired as I felt, I was captivated by the blend of old and new. I dipped back into Starbucks to order another round and took a brief walk to explore my surroundings. Don’t worry, I used the street smarts my momma gave me (besides the booty) and stayed on main well lit streets, never venturing too far from my landmarks – the fountain, the taxi stand, and Starbucks.

During my brief walk, I had to sit and change my shoes. Stilettos and cobblestone streets are a recipe for twisted ankle disaster. Luckily, I stashed my flip flops in my clutch. While sitting there, I encountered an older couple. They were walking hand in hand at a snail’s pace indicative of their age. What struck me about the couple is that seemingly out of nowhere, he turned to her and kissed her. A brief but intense peck on the lips and she giggled like she was 15 which in turn made me giggle. They caught me watching them and I blushed and apologized. They waved off my apology and told me they were celebrating their 58th wedding anniversary. All I could say was “Wowwwwwww. Congratulations!!!”. Damn 58 years with the SAME PERSON (not philosophically speaking of course; most of us aren’t the same people from one year to another but you know what I mean)!!! As I tried to wrap my brain around the concept of that particular length of time (approximately 21,184 days give or take) and all that it encompasses, the older gentleman interrupted my thoughts.

“What is a pretty young lady like yourself doing out here by yourself?” (Thankfully their English was perfect)

“Adios mios! She’s not out here by herself. She’s waiting on her husband.” the wife stated as a matter-of-fact.

I looked up from my seat and blinked a few times. I didn’t know how to respond. My thoughts had already taken off on their own adventure.

*there's a possibility that there is a part 2 to this story. Maybe.

What I would not do......

I guess you’ve wondered where I’ve been
I’ve gone to find the love within……..*

Well, kinda. I know I’ve been MIA lately but with good reason (I swear). First, work. I think there is a culture in corporate America these days where your gratefulness for having a job in these tough times translates to you taking whatever BS that come your way. I can count on one hand how many days in the past 3 weeks or so where I’ve left the office before 6:30. And I get here at 9. Okay 9-ish but you get the point. Long hours at the J-O-B equals no time for M-O-I. My work/life balance has been wayyyy off kilter lately so I decided to something about it, which leads me to my second M.I.A. reason.

Two months ago one of my sisters asked me to join her on a trip for her 30th birthday. Between work and a commitment to another trip 2 weeks after hers, I declined. I thought about how great it would be to be with my sisters on vacay – something we’ve never done before. But work was beginning to get extremely stressful and I rationalized that I was being a responsible adult by saying no. Two trips in two weeks? Who does that?? No, no, no. I’m not going.

A couple of weeks ago, I cried myself to sleep on a Friday night. Work was getting the best of me. I was too tired to go out. I damn near burned my kitchen down because I fell asleep while cooking – something I never ever do (thank the Lord for good pots). As the tears dried into my pillow and I drifted off to sleep, I lamented that this is not the life I wanted or envisioned for myself. The next morning, I awoke to the double chirp emanating from my phone, notifying me that I have a text message. It was a message from my sister, asking me if I could reconsider coming on the trip because someone backed out. I sat up in bed and thought of the night before. I responded: “Lemme see if I can find a cheap ticket. I’ll be there.” I hopped out of bed and grabbed Carrie B. from her perch and fired my baby up. After about 15 minutes of searching the web, and comparison shopping I found a great deal. I dug in my purse looking for my credit card, and just as I was about to enter those 16 digits I damn near know by heart, I hesitated. Is this too frivolous? I just paid for my June trip. Is this being fiscally responsible in these economic times? Can I really afford to do this?? All of these thoughts crept into my mind, and I couldn’t bring myself to give Carrie B. my info to transmit to JetBlue. I sat all day thinking, weighing the pros and cons, actually afraid to do it (that’s what she said). Finally, around midnight, I took a dose of Fuk-itall, and purchased my ticket. Puerto Rico, here I come!

Now if I’m going to be honest (and if I can’t be honest on my blog what’s the point?), I’ve never had a strong desire to go back to Puerto Rico. I went once over 10 years ago. I took a cruise with my family and that’s where the ship began our 7 day sea adventure. Coming from VA, I got to Puerto Rico before my family. I did the responsible (read: broke college student) thing, and went directly to the cruise ship, checked in, and wandered a street fair by the pier. While that couple of hours were fun, I didn’t think I needed to see anymore of Puerto Rico. Let’s face it. I’m from New York City. I used to teach in the Bronx. Misguided people think I’m half Puerto Rican. I’ve encountered more Puerto Ricans in my lifetime that the average American. Why should I go to Puerto Rico when it seems to be in my back yard, so to speak? Yeah, I know that’s slightly ignorant but it’s the truth.

This is one experience where I’m glad my ignorance and fears didn’t win over. TE AMO PUERTO RICO!!!! The people, the beaches, the food, the beaches – I had a really good time. So much so, I’m trying to go again – within the next year (I'm counting on you guys to hold me to that...hahaha). Three days just wasn’t enough. In the midst of being there with 15 people (including my 3 sisters), I found the time to be very introspective. There is something quite magical about clear blue waters crashing on smooth sandy beaches that makes you (well, me) honestly examine my journey in life. I came back rejuvenated, refreshed, renewed. And slightly tanned. Only slightly, because I was cough cough sick on Monday and couldn’t justify coming into work on Tuesday looking like a browner sun kissed version of myself. This week found me back on the work grind with pressing deadlines, paperwork, meetings, and more damn paperwork. But I haven’t slept on tear stained pillows since I’ve returned.

*This is one of my favorite songs of all time. I can listen to it daily and never tire of it. But his ponytail mullet is killing me in this video. Hahahahahahahahaa

Sooo how much is that life insurance policy worth??

That’s what I want to ask a relative. They must have a huge policy out on my life for the foolywag shenanigans I’ve had to put up with.

This particular relative has a dog. (I won’t name relations but to my family who reads this blog they will know who I’m talking about and they better not tell that I’m on to this relative’s plot…hahahaha). To say that this relative owns the dog is not quite accurate. This designer mutt has a last name, goes to spas, and has racked up quite an impressive amount of frequent flyer miles in its young lifetime. The dog has gone to college graduations and almost to a wedding (opted for a spa day instead). The lil bitch is living the good life (insert Kanye’s synthesized voice here and throw your hands up to the skyyyy). Apparently, the dog even barks shotgun because it always sits in the passenger seat, and humans must sit in the back or not ride in this relative’s car at all. If the dog ain’t comfy, WALK (insert Bill Bellamy as Hollywood in Love Jones here)!

So what’s my problem with this canine addition to my family tree? I’m allergic to dogs. Red itchy eyes, red blotchy skin, a sneeze symphony, the works. And to make matters worse, I’m severely allergic to this dog. I’ve gone to this relative’s house and had to leave because this dog takes my breath away. Literally. And not in a good way either.

On Sunday, I had Mother’s Day dinner at my apartment. Everyone knows that I am allergic to the designer mutt, so I didn’t think I actually had to call this relative to inform them not to bring the dog to my house. Common sense, right? Common sense must have had the day off to celebrate with his momma because he damn sure didn’t make an appearance with this relative. I answered the door and lo and behold, there’s my lovely relative carrying their mangy mutt. (sidebar: why do people carry dogs? don't they have more legs than people?? I'm just sayin')

Me: “You really brought the dog? Over here? To my place?”
Relative: “I sure did. Get me an old plastic container to give [dog’s name] some water.”
Me: “Ummmmmm, are we forgetting I’m allergic?!”
Relative: “You have medicine. You’ll be alright.”
Me: Shaking my head in disbelief.

Now I could have gotten all indignant with this relative, Larry David style, and told this relative to WALK (again, insert about Love Jones reference here). But I didn’t. First, my mother would have killed me (but then later told me I was right to refuse canine entry into my humble abode). And second, while my family royally gets on my nerves, I don’t see them often so I popped a Claritin and hoped for the best.

Initially, everything worked out. Whenever I got a chance to sit, I sat in my dining room, while the relative and the 4-legged family member sat in the living room watching movies. From time to time my throat felt scratchy, but either I was too busy or too tired to cater to the allergy symptom.

Finally, it was time to leave. Everyone had packed their doggy bags (no scraps for fido) and goodbye kisses (again, no love for fido). Once the house was empty, I went about tackling the Mt. Kilimanjaro of dishes stacked in my kitchen. (Next time these fools are using paper plates, cups and forks or my next spot must come with a dishwasher. Or better yet, how about we just order pizza for the next holiday meal????!!)

Exhausted, I collapse on my new sofa and sink into the firm comfy-ness of its cushions. Oh, I am going to fall asleep right here I think to myself as my eyelids hide the glow of the TV from my eyes. Ooooh sleep feels so good when you are exhausted as I am. I snuggle my accent pillow likes it’s the softest hypo-allergenic bed pillow money could buy. This is going to be a good sleep.

Cough. Gasp. Cough. Cough. Gasp. Gasp.

I can’t breathe. That’s the first thought that pops into my mind. What the fuck?! My choking wakes me up from my sleep induced coma with a force that scares me. I’ve never had this feeling before. I fight to inhale some good old fashion oxygen but continue to cough. I run to the bathroom and as I fill my cup with water from the bathroom sink, I look in the mirror. My entire chest is covered in red spots like a child had gotten a magic marker and decided to make me their canvas. That’s when it hit me. THAT DAMN DOG. I searched my medicine cabinet for some stronger allergy medicine (and contemplate going to the ER), and I'm thinking about how I could have come in contact with the dog and why did it hit me hours later. And like a flashback in a soap opera, it comes to me. My relative always sits with that dog in their lap and I recall seeing the relative sitting on my new sofa at some point. Putting two and two together, I surmise the dog must have been up on my sofa. (Sidebar: why is the saying two and two; why not 3 and 3 or 4 and 4, etc??? just sayin’).

No need to call Agatha Christie or Precious Ramotswe of the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency (love this show) because I have figured this out. There must be a hefty life insurance policy somewhere out there on my life and this relative is the beneficiary. I joke with my mom, “Your [relative’s relation to my momma] is tryin’ to kill me.” and we laugh but this time as I look at these blotches and slowly catch my breath as the stronger meds take effect, I’m not so sure I’m joking anymore. So if I die from an allergy attack, look for the furry mourner in the black dress. That’s my killer. And if any of my relatives start driving Bentleys with customized doggie front passenger seats after I'm gone, call the cops.

Auditory Assault

I step onto my iron chariot which has come forth to carry me home, away from a long day at the office. I lean against the door to play a game of relaxing mindless Bejeweled. Thankfully the train isn't too crowded. While I'm lost in the world of lining up jewels to score points the message carried on the voice ringing in my ears brings me right back and I'm forced to look up.

"Yo, I beat the shit outta that bitch yo. Them other bitches back the fuck up. She the only girl I had to go toe to toe with like that. Hahahahahaa. Word"

What?!

The 2 "men" sitting across from me in the 3 seater seem to be reminiscing quite gleefully about Friday night smackdowns with the women in their lives. I try to block their convo out but unfortunately its spring break, meaning no loud ass teenagers to amuse/embarass me and thus block this ignorant conversation from reaching my sponge absorbing cerebrum.

"Yo the last time son...hahaha....yo afterwards? Her face was so fucked up she had to stay in the house for like 2 weeks, yo. And you could still see cuts and shit on her light ass" he chuckled as his boy congratulated him with the universal brotherly pound. My eyes cut lethal daggers in their direction to no avail. For the duration of my ride Bejeweled provided no solace. The conversation continued, each trying to outdo the other with tales of choking chicks & decking dames. I was tempted to ask them to shut the hell up in the sweetest way possible. But then I rationalized that if they beat the crap out their "loved ones" with such boxing ring bravado no telling what they would do to me, a cute stranger. So I kept my mouth shut & my face unpummeled. Still seething, as they entertained each other with the blow by blow sportscaster-esque commentary.

Finally, my chariot pulled into my home station. I was itching like a fiend to get off this train and away from this auditory assault. As I waited for the doors to open, one of the guys called out to me "yo u kinda cute. U married ma?" Ummm so you can kick my ass too? And whatchu mean kinda?? I didn't even dignify his crude ass with a response. And people wonder why I'm not rushing a relaysheeship?! Hmph.

Note to self: Take I-Pod out of gym bag and place in purse. Apparently ears need peace on the train also.

Rain

Rain is for.....

....big round mugs with steaming hot tea, sweetened with a spoonful of honey and a pinch of brandy.

....cell phone off, TV on kinda days.

.....planning to go to the movies and popping in a DVD instead.

....old movie marathons.

.....comfy comforters and cozy high thread count sheets.

.....a pajama party with someone special. without the pajamas.

.....the spoon. of the human variety.

......falling asleep to the lull of the drops tapping your windowsill.

......waking up to the patter of different raindrops in the exact same spot.

.....not cooking a damn thing and ordering in for every meal.

.....baking cookies from scratch just for the warmth that escapes when you break them in two.

....sharing secrets face to face. and not going anywhere.

So why am I here at work????

Does that make me crazy?!!!!!

I found it quite comically ironical* that during my almost nightly conversation with Baskin Robbins, he brings up the whole idea of “crazy”. I know I don’t mention him often. Only the truly faithful (i.e. Rashad and Keba) may actually remember the last time I mentioned him here. But that’s not the point. I was tempted to ask him “did you read my blog today?” but he swore he wouldn’t months ago and I try not to bring it up to entice him to break his vow. Furthermore, I checked my stats this morning; no hits from his neck of the woods so last night’s convo was just a co-winky-dink.

The conversation meandered into the perception of crazy and crazy moments. We’ve already shared with each other our not so shining moments in the relationship department so “crazy” discussions were nothing new. But do these shot in the dark moments in our life define who we are? Of course not, it takes a whole lot to equal the sum of my whole. But damn, do I wish I could subtract some things out of the equation. I get that I am who I am because of every experience I’ve been through but can’t the fabric of my history be tie-dyed so that some of those moments are bleached from existence? No? Damn.

Fortunately for both us, our brief departures from self were not filmed. We can continue in a daily lives unscathed (for the most part). Unlike this reality show chick, she can’t escape her crazy image no more than she can escape that tattoo on her face. If she ever tried to distance her self from either, there will always be a tell tale sign.

We are also very fortunate, that even after we revealed our unpretty sides, we both picked up the phone to continue our conversation. Is that crazy or what?! ;)

(note: when I started writing this I thought about actually revealing my "moment" - hence the title but I still like walking around and denying it ever happened so I scrapped it. LOL)

*I initially thought ironical wasn't a word and wanted you to know that I know its not a word. However, "WORD" didn't scribble it so it must be a word right?!

Crazy? Not Sexy. Not Cool.

Last night I watched the reunion special for one of my "reality" show guilty pleasures, For the Love of Ray J. Sure I could expound on the why an educated woman with a hectic schedule like myself would watch a dating reality show, but what’s the point? I watch it and most importantly, I admit that I watch it. So that take that all you closet watchers. (Hahahahahaaaa) Anyway, I was compelled to watch it last night because of a certain contestant. For those who didn’t watch it (and those who claim they don’t watch it), there was a certain young lady vying for Ray J’s attention who was downright crazy. At first she came off as aloof, different. I mean how many people do you know have a tiger tattooed on the side of their face? But towards the end of her reign on the show she was straight up losing it.

While watching the show, I wondered why he kept her around so long, especially after she admitted that she physically attacked boyfriends in the past and had thoughts of killing or harming other chicks in the house (and she smashed the homies; hahahahaha). Even in her dismissal, she was quite confident that her love would win out in the end and that they would always be connected. Straight jacket anyone?!

While I don’t think Ray J speaks for all men across the globe, he revealed something that just may be true. When asked why he kept her around, he said something about how it was cool when she was just a lil crazy and her craziness was just a kinda sexy UNTIL crazy side became dangerous and a somewhat too much to handle. But all in all, he admitted he was attracted to her crazy side.

This phenomenon is not new. How many times have you shook your head at your friend's boo like "this mofo is crazy and he/she (your friend) loves his/her crazy draws". I once had a friend of a friend come up to me and declare "your man is crazy". Yeah, just like that. No hello, no chitchat. Straight up, no chaser. I didn't know her so I just chalked it up to her being the crazy one in the room. Later on I realized one crazy person can always identify another in a crowd and I should have listened to her crazy ass.

But what is it about "crazy" that is attractive to so many people? Could it be that there is never a dull moment? Is there some excitement in the element of danger that crazy always brings? Is irrational behavior sexy?

That TLC song “Crazy. Sexy. Cool.” comes to mind. I didn’t realize it was a priority list for desirable personality traits in a mate. Had I known that, it may not have been the song playing on my voicemail in college (HA!). Having had to deal with my own brand of crazy, I want noooooo parts of crazy. It’s not fun, it’s draining, and damn sure not sexy. Give me a nice, normal, psychological test passing, kind of guy. All others need not apply, especially if you can’t pass a psychological test. Just sayin’.

Hopefully, Ray J learns this lesson before Season 2. *

*come on, you KNOW there will be a Season 2; Lust only lasts until the day before the check for Season 2 clears.

Reunion

OOOh are my eyes deceiving me??? Does the weather report on New York 1 depict today, saturday, sunday, and well into next week with not only a big ol' sun (with no clouds) but also the number 8 as the first digit in the temperature forecast?? Really??? No more 38, 48, 28 degree highs??? Really??? Ohhhhh yes, oh yes, oh yes!! Gorgeous weather is my lovah and as I make plans to be out in this gorgeous weather, my calendar with 4 simple words, scratches the needle across the record and puts an end to my warm weather hi-jinx. High School Reunion Weekend. Ugh!

Its not like I didn't know the reunion was this weekend. I'm on my school's planning committee. To those who know me that is shocking in and of itself. I went to a small elite, all girls school on the upper east side of Manhattan where Central Park was the landscape for Gym and Fitness Classes, and Museum Mile was my Art History textbook. My feelings about high school are mixed. On one hand, how many people can say that their Spanish teacher was from Spain or that a famous Hollywood actor came and spoke to her class right before he won an Oscar for his role in a movie with Denzel Washington about the social dynamics of such a powerful film? On the other hand, those were some of the most contentious years of my life. I'm pretty sure we all had our teen angst but existing in such a small environment under a social microscope was exhausting. When asked for the African American point of view I always erred on the side of militant. What the hell did I know? I was 14. I barely had my own point of view. Then having to always explain, where I went to high school in the neighborhood because no one knew my uniform (for the non- New Yorkers who read this blog: there are a billion catholic schools here, each with their own distinctive uniform. if you saw a girl in a navy blue skirt you knew she went to one school, if you saw a bunch of girls in burgundy skirt, you knew they went to another. Since my school was so small, no one from my neighborhood knew the uniform. Continue). I couldn't wait for college. I lived for college from 10th grade - like actually planning when I could finally graduate. It wasn't until years later that I fully appreciated the lessons (both good and not so good) I learned for my 4 year stint in a world I otherwise would have had no exposure to.

So I go back this weekend. Once again to smile and giggle and wear the mask I first created in those marbled walled classrooms. Then I will remove the mask, and bask in the glory of the sun.

Prom

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

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

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

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

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

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

The End.

The Pressure

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

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

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

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

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

What type of crowd is it?

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

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

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

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

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

You Decide!

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

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

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

Let the games begin! lol

No explanation.....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*Fan emails make me blush.

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

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

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

Welcome to my world....AGAIN

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

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

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

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

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

Facebook??? Really.

He replied simply "Yep."

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

Torture and the Sea

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

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

Release

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

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

Gardening

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


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Art of Being Phoneless

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

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

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

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

* I miss my Solitaire Tournaments.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stellar

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

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

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

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

All that I can say...

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

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

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

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

...is mimosas are the truth.

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

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

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

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

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

Quiet Dawn

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

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

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

Stuck......Literally

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

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

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

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

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