I'm ready to have a baby. I'm ready to experience the joys of motherhood. The 3 am feedings, the frequently stinky diapers, the total invasion of life as I know it. The spit-up all over my favorite tee. The incessant crying and not knowing how to solve it. All of it. Under one condition. If I can look like this 6 weeks post delivery.

Halle Berry's skin is dewy and radiant like she just stepped off the private jet from the Fiji Islands (on my top 10 list of places to visit in my life by the way). No baby-won't-let-me-sleep sleeping bags camped out under her eyes. And her boobs??? Oh my Lorrrrd??!! Most chicks are lining up around the block and paying Dr. 90210 top dollar to get a set of those. But dayumm, those are au naturale??All from being pregnant??? As a straight, strickly-dickly chick I can say this. The pregnancy gods definitely rewarded her handsomely for enduring pregnancy. I don't think I want that much but anything to graduate from the itty bitty committee would be a vast improvement.

Okay I am well aware that these pictures are the result of hours of stylists hovering and yards of spandex underneath, but sheesh to say she looks fantabulous is an understatement. The pregnancy gods cannot only shine on her. Well her and my best friend who is looking supercute with the baby bump but I'm kind of biased because she is, after all, my best friend. But alas, the BFF didn't get the Halle boobs. Could the pregnancy gods be saving them for me??? hahahahaha

I want the dewy radiant skin instead of this dry allergy mess I'm dealing with now. I want the well rested bagless beautiful browns. I want the shiny healthy bouncy hair (okay so hers is a weave but you get my point). And don't forget the boobs. Maybe I should have her people call my people to make sure my pregnancy looks as great as hers. No cankles, no nose from ear to ear, no water retention in places that water just shouldn't be. Just beautiful blotch free skin and boobs. If this is what post-labor and delivery looks like, then sign me up. Impregnate me, damnit!!!

*Disclaimer: This blog entry is by no means representative of the typical views expressed by Janelle, The Resident Butterfly or indicative of what she would write if she were in her sane, graduated from an uppercrust HBCU rational mind. So please don't offer baby shower gifts or your sperm donations as a result of reading this blog.

Spring hates me. I know it. She knows it. Every year, we engage in this battle but I somehow figure out a way to survive and kick her to the curb. However, this year this heffa is kicking my ass. Everything itches, from my eyes to my ears to my throat, and most annoyingly my skin. I sneeze like I'm trying to set a new world record. And the most pathetic part is I like spring...well, at least the weather. It's a precursor to my favorite season, Summer. Maybe that's why this heffa hates me. She knows I like her but love another. So like a jilted lover, she stalks me, haunts me, and makes my life miserable.

I'm convinced Spring concocts plans to embarrass the hell out of me. Last night, I went to the grocery store. Now since its nighttime I have the craziest notion that my allergies won't flare up (looking back, I have no freaking idea where I got that notion from). So I go to the supermarket without my regular arsenal. I walk up the hill, enjoying the mild night weather, loving that I can walk leisurely in a v-neck tee and a blazer. About a block and a half away from my apartment, I feel the little tickle in my throat. Do I turn around and grab my artillery or do I forge on??? By the time I walk another block and a half the corner of my eyes are itching. Oh dear. I fight the urge to scratch my eyes because I WILL look like Garfield the cat. I arrive at the grocery store and firmly grip my shopping cart. I go about my business of choosing groceries off of my shopping list, ignoring all the little "itchies" I feel. As I make my way through the grocery store, I notice a very tall, very handsome man who seems to be shopping from the same list as I am. Okay cutie, I see you. hahahahahaa
Somewhere between the yogurt and the cheese in the dairy corner he actually introduces himself to me. WOW. A gentleman in the grocery store. As I extend my hand to introduce myself, Spring springs into action and forces a symphony of sneezes from deep within. I'm not so sure but I think I sneezed on the man. Great! Just great!!!!! He kind of chuckled and offered me a tissue. I sheepishly accepted and apologized. He continued another few seconds of conversation (he's new to the neighborhood...yadda yadda yadda) and walked away with a "Well it was nice meeting you. Maybe I'll see you again. You may want to pick up some Benadryl...hahahaha". What??? That's it??!!!

Damn you, Spring. Damn you and your pollen. Damn you and the itchy eyes and the sneezing, and that nasty noise you force me to make in the back of my throat. Damn you and my daily addiction to Claritin, which is the only med that doesn't make me drowsy (even non-drowsy benadryl knocks me out..hahahaha). Damn you and the Flonase nasal spray that leaves a nasty taste in mouth. If I could boycott you I would. Just know that the more you hurt me, the more I LOVE SUMMER (the season, not my sister...love her too but you get the point, damnit...hahahahaha). If it weren't for the gorgeous sunny weather with the warm mild temperatures, I would treat you like your BFF, Winter, and perpetually give you the middle finger and the side eye .

So spring, hate on me, hater 'cause I'm gonna do me. Itchy eyes and all. I'm counting down the days to summer, my true love. And most importantly, to finally be rid of you.

An Open Letter

Dear Friends,

It was recently brought to my attention that I tend to come off as self-absorbed, especially in conversation. Because the bearer of this revelation is someone that I love and cherish, I actually listened to what she had to say. As my real friends, you are probably already aware that I have the gift of gab. But that gift was never meant to isolate and feel as if I don't care. My "it's soo funny because....." is meant to bring us closer, share a common moment, maybe help you to learn from my mistakes. But apparently it comes across as "unintentionally self-centered". Ouch!

As my friends, I cherish you as the beautiful gems you are. You inspire me to reach for whatever greatness I am destined for in this life. But apparently I'm not doing the same for you. And that hurts. I could explain my behavior away as some only child syndrome or a measure of my insecurities spilling over or my attempt to overcompensate for whatever is lacking in my life. But I'm not interested in excuses, just change.

I know I'm not perfect. None of us are. Hopefully, through all of my overeager sharing you know that all I wanted to do was share. But I want to be a better friend. Someone who listens to you without interruption. Someone who demonstrates that she's "into you". Someone who cares enough to shut the fuck up. So I'm on a mission to change the way I am a friend to you.
Yes, I will stumble and fail occasionally, but it's not my heart's intention when it comes to you and our friendship. So from now on, as I used to tell my kindergarten students - my listening ears are on. I'm ready to not only hear you, but to listen to what you're saying and not saying.

Most importantly, thanks for loving me flaws and all. I would be nothing without you, my beautiful gems.

Love Always,

The Resident Butterfly

Friday Night. Friends' birthday parties. Same night. One uptown, the other all the way downtown on the Lower East Side. The uptown affair was a chill night at Harlem Lanes, the black-owned bowling alley. The downtown affair was a sexy event at a night club where Eve, the guest of honor specifically required her girls to show up in a hot "freakum dress". Damn. What the hell am I going to do??? Both friends are notoriously late (I know I have nerve to talk...hahahahaha), so I knew showing up at the bowling alley at the predetermined time in appropriate bowling clothes would be a waste of time and an outfit. I could have changed clothes at the bowling alley into the outfit for the second half of my night but my fear of public bathrooms and the thought of having to take my shoes off and possibly touching the floor with my bare pedicured feet sent waves of nausea crashing against the walls of my stomach. That option would also require me to carry what would look like to everyone else, a booty bag. And since I had strict instructions from my best friend to be in Harlem the next morning, that wasn't an option. I could go to the bowling alley, stay for an hour, run home, slip into my freakum dress, jump in a cab and head downtown. That idea went just as quickly as it came as the sky continued to dump rivers of rain on the city sidewalks. Shit!!!!!!! This is when my celebritous status needed to kick in to overdrive (I haven't used my word celebritous in a while.Time to kick it up so I can get in the dictionary. hahahahahaha) Between my personal assistant, chauffeur, and stylist all I would have had to do was show up and leave them to worry about the mundane details.


So I did the only option available to me. I slipped on my gold stilettos and teal itty bitty freakum dress and called a car service to take me to the bowling alley. I tried to conceal my outfit with a slightly above the knee coat but no such luck. The split in the front of the coat revealed that there was even less material underneath. From the minute I passed through security at the bowling alley (hey its Harlem), I got the double take like "What the f**k?? I know this bitch isn't bowling in THAT??". Sigh!!! Yes I know my outfit is highly inappropriate for a bowling alley. But damnit I ain't bowling and I ain't staying. I figured in a very celebritous manner I would make an appearance, buy the birthday girl a drink, clink a glass with her, have my drink, then bounce. As I walked through the bowling alley looking for my friend and her party, I couldn't help but think about how many times I've seen someone inappropriately dressed at an event. How many times have I nudged my girlfriends and whispered "She ain't got no friends!" or "Is she serious?!!!" I couldn't help but think it because I saw the nudges. It would easy to dismiss them as haters since they couldn't wear what I was wearing or should I say shouldn't wear what I was wearing (and yes, people, there is a difference...hahahahahaha) but I understand where their judgement was coming from. Not knowing me, they probably thought I just showed up at the bowling alley dressed provocatively - simply for the attention. But if that were the case wouldn't I have opened my coat????

I finally found my friend by the bar in the lounge area. Apparently they were so busy at the bar, they decided to make her party in the lounge area and forget about bowling. While this area looks like any bar and lounge and nothing like a bowling alley, I never took my coat off. Short freakum dress at a bowling alley no matter how upscale the decor just doesn't work. Like a black man at a Klan rally it just doesn't work no matter how you try to justify it.

My original plan was derailed a little since by the time I got there the bday girl was already twisted but I did have a drink for her, mingled, collected a few business cards (always networking..hahahah), then called the car service to come back to pick me up. All in all I was there for the maybe 30 minutes. And in that time I had one drink, caught about 30 eye rolls, had 2 quite thuggish oh so not my type dudes grab my hand with a "Damn, ma. I'm sayin'", and overheard about 4 "What the fuck she got on??". Whatever! I was on a mission. It's not my fault it was impossible for them to know what my mission was.


On my way downtown, I freshened up the lip gloss and popped a mint. Fluffed the hair a little bit and spritzed a little smell good right behind my ear from the purse size spray. As soon as I was granted access inside, I flung open my coat. It was time to show this dress off!!! I checked my coat, and made my way through the crowd looking for my friends. This time I stood out but blended right in. I found my girls and the party was well under way!!!! In our freakum dresses, we dropped down low and swept the floor with it. I found a "soldier" on the dance floor to get me bodied. A few let their inner naughty girls out and those baby boys were so not ready because I know no made me lose my breath. What is it about the recipe of 1 freakum dress, 1 pair of sexy stilettos, a heaping of friends, a dose of good music, and a splash of guys to dance with that makes a rainy Friday night oh so worth it??? Was it the dress? Or could it be the friends??? It gotta be the friends!!!


Friday night. Two friends' birthday parties. One freakum dress. Judgement, stares, 2 steps, and cocktails. For my friends, it's always worth it.

I know its been a minute. 9 days to be exact. And I left you hanging - high and dry (where the hell does this expression come from??? is it high as in unreachable high or I just smoked some serious weed high? and what does dry have to do with high??? hahahahaha). But its all with good reason. I've been busy. And tired. Actually I'm exhausted right now but since a new reader put me on blast (thanks, Kelli...hahahahaha) I knew I had no choice but to write a post.

I've been busy with a new position. It's exciting. It's demanding, and is definitely taking me out of my cushy ushy comfort zone. I'm still a little skeptical. I've never seen so many happy people in one place. I'm wondering if there is "happy juice" in the water cooler or if they are all eating the "special brownies". I'm not quite ready yet to write about it. Not sure if I will. Who the hell wants to read about work anyway?? But if yes IF I ever decide "yesss, I love my job", I just may have to write a blog. But until then I'm avoiding the water cooler and any brownies being passed around. hahahahahahaa

So if I know anything about my legions of readers, fans and stalkers, I know some may be wondering what happened after I posted the last blog. Well here's a mini-update on what's been going on with me.

Tuesday, April 1. April Fool's Day. First day in new position. Could that be a sign?? I definitely wondered if I was a fool for jumping into this new role. But anywho, I posted this picture on my crackspace page in honor of the auspicious holiday. It definitely got a laugh or 2.

And no people, its not real. You know how I feel about relationships and commitment, and that right there is a definite commitment. For now, I'll leave that kind of commitment to my best friend. More on that topic later. Later as in the next time I blog. And don't ask when, damnit, just keep checking the page...hahahahahahaa

Friday, April 4. Tired as helll. I mean really really really tired. Like sooo tired tears stream down your face when you yawn tired. But somehow I had enough energy to meet Jo for drinks while she killed time before a date. And somehow my tipsy tongue committed me to making chicken soup for a sick friend. What the hell was I thinking??? Damn those frozen apple martinis!

Saturday. Jumped out of bed at 6:30 in the morning. Turned the shower on before I sat on the porcelain throne to tinkle. And as I sat there on my throne with elbow propped on my knee and my eyes still closed, I realized it was Saturday and not FRIDAY. Damnit. Usually, the realization will hit me while I'm still in bed so I can just roll over and return to the land of la-la (land of my deep beautiful sleep people, not the mtv chick who got knocked up by Carmelo Anthony....hahahahaha). But never do I make it all the way to the bathroom without knowing what day it is. That was a whole 2 minutes of sleep that I lost. I ran back to my bedroom to recapture those 2 minutes. Got up later to buy the ingredients needed for the soup. I couldn't back out...my sober self had to cash the check my drunk ass wrote the night before. And I must say my chicken soup came out pretty darn good. Just as my drunk ass said it would!! hahahahahaha

Sunday. Spent the day with Hustle. We went to church. Don't get all sappy on me, people, and read too much into this. We thought the mayor was going to speak at a megachurch so we went to see what he had to say. Either we picked the wrong megachurch or the wrong showtime at the right megachurch, because Mayor Bloomberg wasn't there. Thankfully, the sermon wasn't too intense so the lady sitting next to me didn't fall out (on me) with all of her hand waving and occasional joyful noise unto the Lord. HALLELUJAH!!!

At some point during the day, we talked about his questionnaire. He couldn't believe I actually posted it. Of course I replied with "Ummmmmm, didn't you dare me to post it?" Unfortunately, during the course of the day, I violated a few of the questions. And no, I'm not revealing which ones. Too embarrassing. Even for me. All you need to know is that I was shocked and mortified. And for the record it had nothing to do with farting....hahahahahahahaa

So that's what's been going on. Welllll, at least the highlights (or lowlights, depending on what we're talking about...hhahahaha). I know I have to do a better job of balancing my work life and my creative outlet. Just give me a minute to adjust to life in the Land of Happy Juice, and I'll be back on track.

Part Deaux

Put that in your blog.....

That's the dare I spoke of yesterday, and this is one challenge I shall not walk away from. So without further adieu, here is Hustle's relaysheeship questionnaire. Along with my answers.


If you can answer yes to every question, you are a catch and will never be lonely.


do men try to holla at u wherever u go?
Not to toot my own horn but have you seen me??? hahahahaa

can u cook?
I'm not Julia Child but I've been known to throw down in the kitchen (sidebar: I cooked dinner for Hustle and he was shocked that I could cook because he thinks I'm a "Sex in the City" girl...hahahahahaha)


can u clean?
Ok. I'm not a neat freak. However, I'm tidy. Annnnnd I always clean up (and make the bed) before I leave Hustle's condo.


can u pay ur own bills?
Yes and if I ever need help a man is the last person I would ask. Its my stubborn pride.


can u sleep on the couch when ur on the rag?
hahahahahahahhaa. this is a prime example of Hustle's warped sense of humor. Okay, so technically, I've never been on the rag at his house. But I know I don't like to be touched on that first day and I just want to curl into a ball. Given that, one of us will sleep on the couch. hahahahahaaa

can u shutup when i say so?
What??? Oh Hustle, you and your warped sense of humor. I can shut up when you say so ONLY if you shut your pie hole when I say so. Or when I give you that look. You know what I'm talking about. hahahahahaa

can u promise not to ask to live together?
Most definitely. Not interested in shacking up. I like my space. And I'm not interested in seeing you scratch your balls while sitting on the couch.


can u promise not to ask about kids and marriage?
Most definitely. I'm not ready for all of that so what's the point in freaking you out unless I'm trying to get rid of you.


can u put the toilet seat up when ur done?
Can you put the toilet seat down when your done? I think that's a lovely compromise.

can u never ever let me smell ur fart?
Have you smelled them yet??? hahahahahahahahaha

can u never make a screw face when i nut in ur mouth?(men dont make faces when ur juices is all in our mouths)

You mean like this??

Don't worry that's my "I hate beer" face. hahahahahahaa
But anyway, just for the record. Why the hell are you looking for facial expressions at that point??? Do you really care?? I don't care what face you're making "down there" as long as the job is getting done. hahahahaha

can u act like im the first and last man to ever insert u?
This is soooooo the male ego talking here. Sooo here we go: Yes, as far as I'm concerned you're the first, the last, the only. End of story. (how's that for stroking his ummmmm ego?? hahahahahaha) But can you act like I'm the sexiest woman you've ever been with everytime we're together and not just the first time???? Hey, I stroke your ego, you stroke mine.

can u always maintain the same weight throughout the relationship?(6months grace period after a child god forbid)
I will maintain the same weight as long as you maintain the same weight. And if said child were to miraculously appear, don't give me no crap about watching the baby so I can go to the gym with my personal trainer that you have fully paid for.

can u promise to always be on birth control?( no placebo's)
I can promise to pick up the condoms when they're on sale. Or when we're at Costcos. But never from the dollar store. hahahahahahaa

can u put in writing that child support court will never be an option?
As long as you put in writing that you will equally take care of our child without me having to nickel and dime you. And what child are we talking about?? Are you making plans with my uterus behind my back??


can u promise to buy ur own sanitary napkins and never let me see them?
Helllll yeah I will buy my own. You would bring the cardboard kind instead of the plastic and then I'd have to cut you. Or you'd pick up the wrong length without wings and again, I'd have to cut you. And the fact that you have no idea what I'm talking about proves my point. And no you won't see them unless you're looking through my stuff. Or the trash can and that's just nasty.


can u promise to never go through my personal effects(ex;apartment,car,cellphone etc)?
I believe I wrote a blog about that. I'm no snoop. And keep your nose out of my stuff.

can u pay 33% of the time?
Pay for what? hahahahahaha Just joking, of course I can pay. Just remember when we go out and you pick up the check, I probably just bought the cute outfit you've been admiring, paid for a manicure, pedicure and any other grooming necessary for the evening. I may have spent more than the tab but the look on your face is worth it. So pay attention, damnit. hahahahahaha But I'm not afraid to pick up the check occasionally.

can u never fake an orgasm?(very counterproductive)
Bring your "A-game" and I won't.

can u always smell good?(yes i said it)
Of course I can. And I do. Can you always smell good?? Well at least decent??? Okay, can you just NOT stink????

can u always take pride in ur appearance?(if people know that we are rocking i am then associated with u. ex:no wearing a doobie outdoors)
That goes without saying. I'm too much of a girly girl to not take pride in my appearance. I know if we're together you want your friends to secretly hate you for snagging a bad bitch like me. hahahahaha And a doobie outdoors??? Well there would have to be extenuating circumstances in order for that to happen. And I'd still look cute. hahahahahaha
Can you take pride in your appearance??? I have a reputation to uphold. You looking bad makes me look bad and I want my friends to secretly hate me too. hahahaha

can u make sure the wash cloth u tie around ur head at night to keep ur hair together is clean?
Yes it will always be as clean as my hair. But if I ever catch you washing your ass with my head scarf, we are going to fight.

can u never use the last of whatever if i paid for it?
Okay, if I use/eat the last of whatever, I promise to replace it. Quickly or tell you immediately that I used/ate the last of whatever so you can replace it for me. I know that feeling of pouring a bowl of cereal to find there is no motherfucking milk. Arrrrrrrrgh


last but not least can u promise to never fuck anyone that knows me when we're done?
I've met your friends. Nuff said. hahahahahahahahahaa

Like I said yesterday, regardless of whether I answered yes to all the questions, I know I'm a catch. I'm just not ready to get caught. But catch me if you can. Good luck with that. hahahahahaa

Put that in ur blog......

This was the dare I received from Hustle last week. To give some background info, we were engaged in a spirited email conversation (are you surprised??? hahahaha). This time the conversation was not about being convicted of murder without a body (a crowd favorite). This time the conversation was about relationships. Now before you start sending out "Save the Dates" and dragging me to a bridal shop kicking and screaming to try on a dress, this was not one of those "where is this going/what are we doing" conversations. Far from it. Very very far. It started with an email forward he sent to me about a woman telling a man that she's dating EXACTLY what she is looking for in a relationship. Its pretty lengthy but basically she told him that she was looking for a smart, spiritual, finacially stable partner that she can be submissive to (more biblical, less pornographic...hahahaha). I replied that the email was interesting but it would have been more interesting if the woman would have posed the same question to the man and then he in turn outline what he was looking for in a mate to give the male perspective. So Hustle in his infinite male wisdom takes this as a challenge and says that he can give the male perspective on relationships. Oh dear! What have I gotten myself into? Lets just say, Hustle's views on relationships is comical at best and pessimistic at worst. So he comes up with a list of questions which, according to him, if I could answer yes to all of the questions. I am indeed "a catch" and I "will never be lonely".

From the first question I was cracking up. Hustle, like me, has a very warped sense of "relaysheeships", marriage and kids specifically. Hence, why I think we get along so well and what made the questions so damn funny. Despite the fact that my girl Eve calls us Carrie and Big, we are pretty clear and therefore content in the space where we exist in the absence of a "relaysheeship". So I sat there and did a mental checklist through his list of 25 questions (slightly more inquisitive than 50 cent..hahahahah). We had a mini debate on the validity of a few of the questions but all in all, it was quite an excercise. However, I never doubted that I'm "a catch". Just not ready to be caught. Not to toot my own horn but I'm cute, curvy, witty, intelligent, grounded, friendly, loving, loyal, sensual, sensitive, and.......TOOT TOOT!!!! You get the point. hahahahahahaa

I know some of the questions were posed just to spark more debate (or "foreplay" as he calls it) while others I really think he wanted to ask me just to make sure we're on the same page when it comes to "relaysheeships". Every couple of months he needs to check and make sure. Kind of like that "Change Oil by [this] date or [this many] miles" sticker on your windshield. I think he expects me to wake up one morning and demand more from him. I don't see it happening. At least not for the next 3,000 miles.

So you may be wondering "what are the questions?" I will live up to the dare and post the questions and my answers. Tomorrow. No I haven't chickened out. Why would I go through the trouble of writing this much about it if I were going to punk out and NOT post the questions??? His questions, plus my answers, annnnd what I've written thus far makes for an extremely lonnnnnnnnnnnng entry. And besides I've never done a Part Deux blog. So I'm trying something new. I have accepted Hustle's mission. And no, this message will not self distruct in 9 seconds. hahahahahahahaa

You caught my eye from across the room. Beautiful brown. Pleasantly thick. Sinfully hot. I thought back to when the last time we saw each other. Damn, has it been that long??? You never had a great hold on me. I could take you or leave you - and most days I chose the latter. Normally, when I see you I just shrug and give all my attention to someone else. But something about the way you looked and your fragrance as you passed me by, I had to have you. I could care less who I had with me. It was you I wanted. I needed you. I craved you at that very moment. Where is this feeling coming from?? I never feel this way about you. Ever. All I know is right here, right now, you were all I wanted. And I wouldn't stop longing for you until I had you. In my mouth. Again. For the first time in a long time. And from the moment my tongue touched that thick juicy steak I was in heaven. Mmmmmmmmmmm.

I've never been much of a beef eater. When I want a burger I'll have a turkey burger or my new fave, a chicken burger. I'm the one who will order salmon at a steakhouse, no matter how well known they are for their cuts of beef. I couldn't care less about the difference between a porterhouse and a T-bone. In my house, steak knives are used to cut everything but steak. I can go months without ever touching it and never once miss it. This time it's been at least a year since I've eaten steak. No, its not for health reasons I just never want it, never have a taste for it. Until Sunday at Brunch. When they put my friend's steak and eggs down next to my Spinach & Feta cheese omelette, I immediately had plate envy. All of a sudden I didnt want no damn omelette. I WANTED STEAK. But I didn't send my plate back. There was nothing wrong with my omelette. It was made just the way I ordered it. It's not the omelette's fault that it wasn't the juicy delectable piece of meat to my immediate right. So I ate the omellete and rolled my eyes as everyone at the table raved about the steak.
A few pitchers of unlimited mimosas later, people got hungry again but no one wanted to eat a full meal. I convinced my friend to order another steak and eggs so we could split it. The waitress could barely put the plate on the table before I had my knife and fork poised and ready for action. My friend continued telling a story while I got to work on that steak. With that first re-introduction my eyes rolled to the back of my head not out of annoyance, but from pure joy from its taste. Ohhhh steak, where have you been all my life?? I'm so sorry for neglecting you. My friends were cracking up as steak and I had "a moment". And my friend barely had any of it. Hey, I left him the eggs. I shared, damnit. hahahahahahaha

You would think that after that reacquaintance with my old friend, steak, I would want it again and again and again. Nahhhh, I'm good. Until it calls me again. And then I can't resist. Is steak my bootycall?? Mmmmmmmm.

I received flowers this weekend. 2 dozen. Pink. Roses. From a guy. For no reason. That's never happened before. EVERRRrrrrrrrrrr. I never thought I was a "flower" girl. Maybe because I get them sooo rarely. But as they sit here on my desk, I can't help but smile whenever I glance to my left. They're beautiful. If I had my camera (damn you, Best Buy), this post would be accompanied by a picture. But, sigh, it's not. And no picture in google images does my arrangement justice.

Sorry, no introspection or wonderings today. I just wanted to remember this moment. Pink. Roses. 2 dozen. Wow.

I was all set to get up this morning and blog about a beautiful inspiring event I attended last night. However, my sleep was invaded my visions of sandy beaches and tropical drinks, hot weather and scorching outfits, clear blue water and no damn cell phone. No errands, no stress, no worries. And all day, instead of doing what I'm supposed to do, I've been thinking about vacations. I need one. Desperately.

People have been telling me for MONTHS "You need a break" and I've been blowing them off. But now??? Well if "break" is Swahili for "vacation", I'm all for it. And while right now I don't know when, how, or on who's dime, I think I am going to lose it if I don't refuel, refocus, and rejuvenate in a tropical paradise. Just for a few days. Nothing extravagant. Just beautiful sunny hot weather and a beautiful beach. And a bathing suit. And my journal. And maybe a companion. But that's it. Oh and a sexy dress with some killer heels for tropical nights. That's it. Oh and my favorite Marc Jacobs sunglasses and sunscreen. And my IPOD and ummmmm......damnit, you get the picture. hahahahahaaa

Any destination suggestions???

I think this picture says more than I can ever say about how I feel on vacation. Yes that's me, the Resident Butterfly.

As my legions of fans know, I rarely step into the ring of politics in my should be daily wonderings (yes I'm still on my Kanye with the numbers, people; work with me! hhahahahaha). It's not that I don't follow politics because I do. Faithfully. A day doesn't go by when I'm not reading, watching, and/or analyzing in my head the political game. Especially now because of the presidential race. CNN has become my lullaby as I drift off to sleep and my morning greeter when I rise(which I now realize may have been why I was filled with pissivity at Gov Dial-a-Ho for invading my dreams with all that dial-a-ho talk). For my Great Debater (Hustle) and I, politics is always on the menu. I think I shock even him with my command of the nuances of how this political game is played. HA!
I've had people question "Why don't you write about politics, the war, etc?" And my usual response is "Because I don't want to." Plain and simple. Its not that I don't care about these topics. When I sit down to write my should be daily wonderings, I go where my fingertips and keyboard take me. And what more can I add to the mix that hasn't already been said? I've become a bit of a blogwhore lately and extensively read a growing population of blogs. Many are political and say EXACTLY what I would have said on the topics if my fingertips led me in that direction.

With that said, there were 2 events today that, even after watching them, sat with me alll day and are still swimming in the pool of my mind. I take that as a I sign that maybe I should blog about it. hahahahaa
The first being Barack Obama's speech in Philadelphia in response to the remarks made by his former pastor. Before watching the speech and reading his transcript, I'd listened to what commentators had to say. Calls to "denounce his pastor" and questions of his morals and ethics were all over the media circus. Before Barack stepped on that podium and uttered a word, I was disgusted. Why should a person's morals and character be called into question because of something that someone else said? We all have people in our lives that we don't necessarily agree with their views. I have a great aunt who I love immensely who recently revealed to me at her sister's birthday party that she doesn't eat chocolate cake because she doesn't "eat anything darker than" her. Now, that is the most ignant (yes ignant) shit I have ever heard come out of her mouth. Wait, I take that back. Let's just say that's the most RECENT ignorant statement. Does that mean that I don't love her and enjoy every moment spent in her company?? Does that mean I don't eat chocolate cake too?? (Okay, so I'm not a fan of chocolate BUT I swear it has nothing to do with it being darker than me. hahahahahaa As a matter of fact, I prefer dark chocolate over milk chocolate if I have to have chocolate. So there! hahahahahaaha) My great aunt will be 80 years young this year. She's very fair skinned with green eyes. She grew up in a different era where her equally fair skinned aunt instilled the whole "nothing darker than me" food barometer along with other darker than "us" creeds (which my great aunt apparently didn't listen to. She's the palest one on her branch of the family tree. hahahahaha) When I called her out on the foolywag nonsense, she replied "Do you know how old I am? I ain't gonna change now! Ooooh I should beat you. You so fresh." And she was absolutely right (well not about the beating part. Do you know how old I am, Auntie??? hahahahahahaha). I wouldn't want her to change. That sliver of family history is a part of who I am. The good, the bad, and the ignorant. I'm not ashamed of it (maybe a little embarrassed) but who am I to say she has to eat foods darker than her. She still taught me life lessons that are far greater than her elimination of dark food (this still makes me laugh though..hahahahaha).

Some may argue that while I can't choose to denounce a family member (ohhh really??!), Barack could choose to denounce his pastor and worship elsewhere. Yes, that could be true but I think you should look at why he chose to stay. I've had my own religious turmoil over the years. As a Roman Catholic, I grew up with very archaic views on women that I do not agree with to this day. In my particular church, I don't agree with the clique-ish behavior and the condescending manner that some use with others in the congregation. It just so happens that I believe my pastor and I hold some of the same political views. However, I don't go to church for political fulfillment. I attend church and listen to his sermons for spiritual nourishment. While he has every right to preach whatever his heart leads him to say, I have every right to agree or disagree with his sermons and still come back the following Sunday. Yes, some churches are more political than others. And yes, some ministers use the pulpit for their own political agendas. However, the media behaves as if Rev. Wright gets up in the pulpit EVERY SUNDAY and denounces the wars this country is fighting, the treatment of black people in this country, and speculates on the cause of September 11. What about his sermons on compassion, forgiveness, and other Christian tenets?? Where are those clips on CNN, MSNBC, FoxNews, etc? I see the game that's being played. You can't get any authentic dirt on Obama, so you create an Achille's heel for him by tying the words of his pastor to him.

What the hell does this have to do with the true issues at hand in this country and how Obama can deal with them? Well, after watching his speech, I saw that it had everything to do with how he would deal with adverse situations in this country. He was forceful yet respectful, eloquent without being condescending or sugary sweet. He tied the racial divide together so beautifully, I'm surprised people didn't start singing "Koom-by-ya" at the end. He interjects in every speech his audacity to hope for a better tomorrow, something he picked up from his pastor's sermon. But no one wants to focus on the good. Just the bad and the ignant (yes, ignant. hahahahhahaa)

Oh the other event I wanted to speak on?? Governor Patterson and his wife Michelle having to tell of their infidelities in a press conference today. But I'm tired. All I can say is it's a damn shame that someone would even hint at blackmailing him over such a private matter that he and his wife obviously dealt with and moved forward. But that's the political game we play, right?

Okay, I'm off to hear my lullaby put me to sleep. Nite nite.

If you've ever attended an event at a concert hall, arena, stadium, etc. you know how ridiculously crowded the surrounding space can be. People milling around, bumping into you, looking around while yelling into their cell phones "Where are you??!!! I'm right here!".

Saturday night I made the ridiculous mistake and advised my girl, Jo, to meet me in front of Madison Square Garden so we could walk over together to the PATH train for a get together in Jersey. Completely oblivious to the NCAA tournament going on, I marched right into the center of madness that is Madison Square Garden. Since I arrived before Jo, I stood off to the side and decided to partake in one of my favorite hobbies - people watch. It allows my overactive imagination to roam free and come up with vignettes on the story of peoples lives. Maybe one day I'll be brave enough to take pictures of the people I watch (still without my beloved digital camera...SIGH) and post what my story of make-believe reality is for them. Or maybe not.

Well anyway while sipping my venti skinny Cinnamon Dolce Latte from my beloved Starbucks, I was constantly accosted with "Want tickets? Got tickets!". For those unfamiliar, right in the center of this March Madness is the realm of scalpers. Visually seedy men, who somehow scored tickets to coveted events and wish to charge you your children's tuition , your mortgage and possibly a pint of blood for a coveted seat for said event. I focused my people radar on them for awhile and observed them in action. They seem to work in teams but are always in competition for the good old dollar. They scurry. They whisper. They scan the crowd watching, looking, circling swarming then pouncing on their prey. Reminiscent of a drug fiend trying to bargain for a hit, they have this rapid fire speech that leaves the consumer a little overwhelmed and their wallet excessively lighter. After being engrossed in this scene for longer than I ever wanted to be, I turned to see if Jo was coming up the escalator. Instead of finding Jo directly in my line of vision. I found Richie. Richie is a dude I dated very briefly in high school. He was a basketball phenom, having reached 6'3" by the age of 14. He loved basketball. He breathed it, lived it. sexed it (since he wasn't getting it from me...hahahahaha). Just the sound of the ball hitting the pavement in neighborhood bball courts brought a gleam to his eye and a confident smirk to his face. College scouters were already knocking at his door in the projects his freshman year of high school. He was what they called destined in terms of a basketball career. Fast forward to the present and while I'm not a basketball expert, I've never heard basketball career and Richie's name uttered in the same sentence. At least not in present tense. I run into him from time to time, more infrequently as the years fade. So I wasn't shocked to see him Saturday night. It seemed befitting that I would run into this bball addict at the Garden during March Madness. I saw that he was talking to some people so I took two steps in his direction knowing that I was now in his line of vision. I observed him for a minute and thought "damn Richie's getting old". I tried to dismiss this thought quickly seeing as I just had a birthday and am in fact "getting old" myself. He finally looked my way and it was gone. That gleam in his eye. The smirk on his face. His charming exuberance. All gone.
"Hey J. What's going on? What you getting into tonight?"
"Hey, Richie. I'm good. Waiting on my friend so we can go to Jersey for a get together. How are you?"
"Yeah? That's what's up. What's good for tonight?"

What???!! Before I could respond with "Dude, didn't I just answer that." and a chuckle, I saw his eyes darting back and forth. He wasn't paying attention to our conversation, he was watching the crowd. Initially, I gave him the benefit of the doubt and thought, maybe, JUST MAYBE, he's looking for his friends so they could get their night on and poppin'. As soon as that thought fluttered in my mind, it just as quickly passed when a very short older man with a permanent scowl approached him with "Mannn, Rich. Don't ever do that shit again. mannnn. It ain't right.You know better than that, mannn. Come on!" And that's when it dawned on me that he is one of them. He wasn't out there to meet some friends and kick back with a few brews at the game. He was trying to sell that dream to others at a ridiculous rate.

As he walked away with a "Aiiight, J. I'll holla", I watch his once confident swagger swarm the crowd for his prey. I watched him circle the crowd and scurry from one side of 7th avenue to the other. I know a few times he caught me watching him as he held my gaze for a few seconds before sniffing out fresh wads of twenties from the Bank of America on the corner, just waiting to be handed over. Then the questions began to swarm in my head: How the hell did you get here? What happened? Is this why you look "old"??

My girl, Jo arrived a few minutes later, and I relayed the encounter to her. Her ever optimistic nature said "Well, maybe he just had an extra ticket to the game to get rid of." I gave her the "No, girl" side eye and explained that I KNOW that's not the case. Our conversation continued about dating and men and this get together we were going to, but my mind wandered back to in front of Madison Square. I know my life hasn't exactly taken the path I thought it would when I was 14. But what twists and turns led him there. Where did he lose that gleam? The sadness weighing down his cheeks didn't appear overnight. Life is full of harsh realities and disappointments. I am fully aware of that (umm have you read my blogs??? hahahahahahaaa). But I've witnessed the beauty and joy of life also. And I wonder if maybe witnessing that beauty and joy keeps the gleam in my eye and the swagger in my strut? And if that's the case, why didn't anyone show Richie?????

For the past 24 hours I've been in a funky mood. Well, maybe not the ENTIRE 24 hours(caught a great sale yesterday) but all day right below the surface of my facade there's been an underlying feeling of pissivity (there I go making up words again..hahahahah).

And guess what triggered this funky mood??? My governor. Yes, the entire world world knows that Elliot Spitzer has been cold busted with his hand (and other body parts) in the Happy Hooker cookie jar. The cheating on his wife part doesn't even bother me (which in and of itself is cause for concern and makes me wonder if I'm turning over to the dark side and beginning to believe the mantra that all men cheat). HOW CAN HE PRESENT HIMSELF AS A CRUSADER AGAINST CRIME AND CORRUPTION FOR ALLLL THESE YEARS AND GET MIXED UP WITH HOOKERS AND TAKING THE HOES ON TRIPS AND SHIT??? That's what disgusts me. Don't take on this role, don't wear the mask if you can't live up to it. Who the hell thought it would be a good idea for him to run solely on getting rid of crime and corruption when he in fact is obviously corrupt and has allegedly committed a crime??? Honestly, I would have rathered him slap bellies with an intern. He could have flown down to DC, had the intern take Amtrak, and gotten some exciting out of town ass without the Feds up his ass and without embarrassing the hell out of his wife and kids. While it may be immoral, it's not illegal. But nooooooo, New York's self proclaimed end to crime and corruption decides to dial-a-ho. I also wonder WHY THE HELL WAS HE CALLING FOR ASS HIMSELF??? DID HE NOT HAVE A FLUNKY ON PAYROLL TO HANDLE MUNDANE THINGS LIKE ORDERING LUNCH WITH A SIDE OF COOCH??? All of it just disgusts me. Probably more so because I voted for his hooker loving ass.
I was approached yesterday by a TV news reporter for a comment on the Dial-a-Ho Scandal. I told the reporter I didn't think it was a good idea. When he pressed further, here was my response: "I'm completely disgusted and I want my vote back. He should have just fucked an intern like all the other politicians." So clearly, I wasn't on the news last night.

Now, I realize that Governor Dial-a-ho is not the cause of my pissivity. Just the trigger. There are things that have been bothering me lately that I've but on the back burner. I guess instead of turning the stove off, I allowed them to simmer to a boil. And now I'm officially pissed. I realize that my pissivity is delayed and thereby may seem irrelevant to the offending parties. I won't examine what has been pissing me off. At least not here. Not today. I think a rant at this point would piss me off further. And the cycle of pissivity has to end somewhere.

I believe that you truly have to give into your emotion sometimes. Be pissed off. Be angry. Shout. Cry. Whatever. Just get it out and let it go. No it's not pretty, it's not polite. But it's real and it's honest to my experience at this particular moment. When I started writing this I figured I would be over my feelings of pissivity. And for the most part I'm right. Nothing's been solved. Nothing has changed. I'm over the feelings and can now focus on how to handle it in the absence of emotion. Pretty much the way New York is over Governor Dial-a-Ho.

PS: Conan O'Brien did a hilarious "commercial" for Governor Dial-a Ho last night. I've checked youtube all morning to no avail. I hope someone posts it soon because that was funny as hell and want to post it here.

*******UPDATE********
11:40 am: Governor Dial-a-Ho is no longer governor of New York. As of Monday, New York will have it's first Black governor. I hate that it's shrowded this accomplishment will always be asterisked with a ho scandal.

At 12:40 am, I didn't wander the streets like this. Mainly because it was like 25 degrees outside with winds gusting up to 25 miles per hour. And more importantly my red bra is in the hamper and there is no way in hell I could walk the streets barefoot. As I said in an earlier post, I am a Wire junkie and with the end of the series I am forced to go to rehab. I was supposed to go to a Wire party that I invited myself to but after a long conversation with my cousin and the prospect of going back outside led me to reconsider my self-extended invitation. And besides I knew I would be in state of draining withdrawal when the instrumental began to play for the closing credits for the last time.

Because I missed its initial showing at 9 (damn daylight savings time had me all screwed up) I closed myself off from the outside world at 11:05 for the replay. I stretched out across my bed with my head at the foot of the bed, propped up on my arms, tossed both phones to the other side of the bed, and prepared myself for the end.

And what an end it was. I like that everything wasn't answered and wrapped up in a nice pretty bow. There is nothing pretty and nice about this show, about this life it portrayed. I inwardly cheered when Bubbles sat at the table with his sister for dinner after being ostracized in the basement for his past sins. I outwardly wept and cried out "Dukie, no! Noooooooooo" when Dukie put the needle in his arm in a dark alley. Dukie reminds me of some of the students I used to teach. So much potential but without guidance and loving support the potential just turns into pipe dreams. I felt just as helpless watching him turn to the darker addictive side of street life as I did most days when I used to teach. And that helplessness was one of the reasons I left the profession. Of all the story lines in the show, this one hit me the hardest (thus my tears). Probably because it hit so close to home. I know kids who will go from Dukie to Bubbles circa Bubbles Depo era in a matter of a few years. And that's not being pessimistic. That's real. And that's what I love about the show. It's so realistic. No one is absolute in their good or evil. There were shades of grey to this shit. The ones you deemed good got screwed or walked the road to hell on good intentions. Not all the bad guys got what's coming to them in the end of the show. But you got the feeling that a bitch named payback was lurking right around the corner. And that's how life plays out.

My mother asked me how could a "girly girl" like me love The Wire, the same 'girly girl' who adores Sex and the City. Its the writing. Plain and simple. The layers upon layers of nuances. The characters who are no longer characters but seem like real people. I was sucked in and lived as a fly on the wall for six years in places I normally have no access to (really didn't want to take a trip to the docks but I now see why). The realism of each plot and subplot almost makes my reality a work of fiction.

I will continue to look at kids and wonder if they are "street kids" or "corner kids". I will read between the lines when I read the newspaper and wonder if there is any fabrication going on under those bylines(SIDEBAR: did anyone else want GUS to knock templeton OUT just once for being such a bitchass or was that just me??). Sheeeeeiiiiiiiit, I will continue to say sheeeeeeeiiiiiiiit. I will pray that one day the pipe dreams can no longer overcome potential.

Thank you David Simons and the rest of the producers, writers, directors, cast and crew. Thank you for stepping to the plate and making a work of art that scared Hollywood (hence no emmy...now that's some bitchassness right there...hahahaha) and opened our eyes to the complexities of life, no matter what side of the law that you happen to reside on.

And HBO I hope you have a complete DVD collection in the works for this masterpiece. I promise to store it right next to my Sex and the City Collector's Edition.

More to come on my birthday festivities wrap up. This weekend was a blast and just like The Wire, I didn't want it to end. But I had to address my addiction first. Now, I'm off to rehab.

Oh for true Wire Fans, David Simons posted a very thought provoking letter on HBO's website. Find it here.

I so wish I had the energy to blog about my birthday week thus far. But I don't. I so wish I suspended every moment in time like a snapshot. But I can't.

My evening started with an emotional river of tears in Best Buy. Now before you walk over to your calendar and start counting in 28 day increment let me explain. Yesterday I discovered that my beloved Canon digital camera would not turn on. I did what any normal person would do. I took the battery out and recharged it. And waited and waited until the little light turned green. Since green means go, I went straight to the camera. And the little sucka still wouldn't start. I was livid. Until I remembered my 4 year extended warranty plan I purchased. So my lividity (is this a word??) simmered to quiet annoyance since I wouldn't have a camera for the Alumni mixer (which by the way was a very nice event....annnnd no one asked about my phantom husband and children; the Birthday Gods and Goddesses love me!!! hahahaha).

So I went today to Best Buy armed with my warranty. The last time I had a camera problem they just told me to pick out a new camera worth the same price since I had the extended warranty. I was psyched thinking I would have a camera tonight for my Girl's Night Out event at the Puck Building with DeeDee, Mo & Jo. Now you know something is wrong when the person helping you starts scratching their head. And you really know something quite ain't right when the person they called over for help starts scratching their beard. Apparently last year when I got my new camera, some genious sold me a warranty for the camera that I had a problem with and returned instead of for the new camera. And the freaking warranty was for the then current selling price of the old camera (which was $150 cheaper than the original price). Do you understand??? Yeah, neither did I. All I know is that I did what I was supposed to do: I purchased the warranty and saved my receipts. How the hell was I supposed to know they sold me the wrong warranty with the wrong product number. Do I look like I give a rat's ass about SKU numbers and product numbers??? So my annoyance started to boil over into lividity until they rectified the warranty problem. Now I was given the green light to head over to the Geek Squad. All I needed was a Geek to declare my camera unfixable (which happened the last time) and I would have my pass to the cool newer model of my beloved camera.

Oh camera. We've had some good times and you given me good memories. Remember my birthday last year? Remember my sister's wedding? Oh and we can't forget Miami! But now its time to go to Geek Heaven and make room for another camera in my life. I will always think fondly of you. But this time, it's you, not me. Take care in Geek Heaven. Smooches.

"Okay, so your camera will be back in about 2 to 3 weeks. Please sign this work order."
Whaaaat??? You're gonna attempt to fix this. I don't get a new one TODAY???!!!

And that is when the waterfalls behind my eyes were given the green light to commence. I stood in Best Buy in front of the entire squad of geeks and cried.

"But you don't understand.......(sob, sniffle)....it's my birthday.....and (sniffle) I have events all weekend....(sniffle)...I need...(sniffle)....my cameraaaaaa (sob)."

"Miss, please don't cry. We have to send the camera for service. Hopefully it can be fixed."

"So you want me wait on hope? I can't take pictures with hope." (yeah even through tears I can be sarcastic....hahahahaha)

"Sorry, miss. I really wish there was something I could do. Please stop crying. It's your birthday. Happy...ummm birthday".

I scribbled my signature on the paper, refused his offer of a tissue and a hug (damn, geeks are getting bold these days! hahahaha), and sulked off. I wandered the store for a minute, trying to get myself together before meeting up with my friends, steering clear of the camera section for another breakdown. After buying 2 CDs to cheer me up, I descended into the train station to catch my train. I was in such a foul mood I didn't know how I was going to get through the night. I felt the frown etched in my eyes, and didn't want to be a sour puss all night at such a fun event.

I arrive and the first person I bump into is Jo. In the short time I've known her she is always smiling. In her Texas twang, I got a big "Hey, girl!" with a matching smile and chuckle. A few minutes later, Mo arrives. I tell them about my camera situation and then we laugh it off saying the free cocktails will cheer me up. We stategize how we're going to navigate this shopping and cocktail-palooza. Jo whips out her camera to take a picture. I had a fleeting moment of sourpussism. Oh my camera. I miss it so! But thoughts of my camera faded when we got our deluxe goody bag and Chambord cocktails. Nothing like a bag of freebies and a cocktail to make all your troubles go away. About an hour later, DeeDee arrived. We wandered from vendor to vendor, telling everyone it's my birthday. I got a few extra freebies and snagged some great deals. I even went to a beer tasting. And it confirmed what I already knew: I HATE BEER!!! YUCK!! Oh you should have seen my face with each sip. Thankfully or tragically, Jo captured the yuck-face with a quick click of a butoon on her camera.

It was a FANTABULOUS NIGHT. I was with friends. And cocktails. And shopping bags of goodies. What more could I want?? Yeah, my camera. With or without it though, the parties will continue. And at the end of it all, that's all that matters. I'd rather be surrounded by friends than photographs.

Okay so for the past couple of days, I've been doing just as 50 instructed and partying like its my birfhday since it was in fact my birthday. Some things I wish I had the time to blog in detail, other things I would much rather forget. All in all, I've had some "wonderings" wandering around my head. And since this is my refuge, I decided to share.

*Ummmm, since when did being the wife of the President give you 'the experience' to run the country??? I was once the girlfriend of a cop. Does that mean I have 'the experience' to shoot someone?? I'm just sayin'.......

*Is it ever okay for an old southern white man to use the word nigger in your presence?? What if said white man just picked up your $300 bar tab as a kind birthday gesture prior to using the slur? Would it have been better if he said "colored"?

*What exactly does a hangover feel like?? I think I had one on Sunday but since I've never had a hangover I'm not too sure.

*Why do women reach their sexual peak in their 30s?? Is it because morals and obligations would prevent us from acting on our inner slut's impulses?? And why didn't anyone prepare me for this revelation??? I feel like Nia Long in "The Best Man". "I'M HORNY. MY HORMONES ARE RAGING. I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT NO GOTDAMN PEAS." (and no this is NOT a solicitation; it's just a thought, damnit...hahahahaha)

*What is it about red pumps that drive men nuts? Really. Is it a repressed Dorothy from The Wizard of OZ (The Wiz for black folks) fetish?? Ladies, test my theory. Wear something you've worn countless times without a second look from anyone but this time throw on some red stilettos/pumps and see the reaction you get.

*Can you ever really tell family members "you make me sick. Leave me alone. Lose my number."? (Even if I can't, it just felt DAMN good typing that...hahahahahahah)

*How old is too old for a man to: a)ask for a threesome, b)refer to the mother(s) of his children as his "baby momma(s)" c) wear Timberlands as shoes to every event???

*How old is too old for a woman to: a)shop at Forever 21, b) post pictures of her ass on MySpace (or as I like to call it Crackspace but I thought there would be some pun intended with that moniker..hahahahah), c)carry anything Hello Kitty???


I'm going to HU Alumni Mixer tonight. And by HU, I mean Hampton University. We may not be the first HU but we are indeed the better of the 2. But I digress. It should be interesting (and by interesting, I mean blog-worthy..hahahahaha). I haven't participated in anything Hampton related in quite some time. Lets see who remembers me or who I remember. I wonder how many times I will hear: "You're not married? No kids??? Damn, I thought someone would have scooped you up by now." While I get the underlying flattery in that comment, it makes me seem like the fat kid no one wants on their team for dodgeball. Like I have some sort of defect because I'm not rocking the 2 carat princess cut on the left hand and showing pics of the kids in soccer uniforms in the right. This is after all my birthday week, so hopefully the birthday Gods and Goddesses will cut me some slack and keep the wine coming. hahahahahahaha

Today, at exactly 3:30 PM, I will be 32 years old. I am peacefully terrified by the dawning of this new age for me. Terrified of the unknown and uncertainties but at peace with the decision to be patient and see how it will all unfold.

I woke up this morning and just stared out my window. Stared at the traffic whizzing by on the FDR Drive below my high rise window. Stared at the sunbeams kissing the waves of the East River. Stared at the progress of the construction sites across the river in the Bronx. Stared at everything and nothing. I was lost is a stream of past, present, future, enraptured by examining the depth of my growth. What is it about your birthday that makes you stop and reflect? Is it a rebirth of some sorts? Its almost like your own personal New Years without the ball dropping and fireworks. (Hey, I don't know about you but I think my birthday should have fireworks,a parade and a holiday sale at every major store..hahahahaha)

So far the celebration of my National Holiday has been pretty good (sidebar: what do I have to do to really have my birthday declared a national holiday??? hahahaha). Since we both love Thai food, on Saturday Hustle took me to one of my favorite restaurants in the city, Sea. We had about an hour wait and decided to wait by the bar, especially when I snagged 2 seats right in front of the bartenders. 2 pomegranate mojitos in very large glasses on a very empty stomach made for a very interesting dinner. He saw a side of me that he's never seen and was quite amused by my constant smiles and giggles. All in all, great food, great drinks, great company and a dash (or 2) of flirting made for a very nice birthday dinner. The celebrations for my National Holiday continue for the rest of the week with events planned with friends and loved ones everyday this week. I'm pretty sure some of the events will be very blogworthy.

With trepidation and amusement, I am looking forward to see how my 32nd year on planet Earth unfolds. There are a few things and/or people that I know won't be a part of this stage of my journey. But there are many new experiences and new beginning coming my way. And on today of all days, I can honestly say I was born for this. All of it. So welcome to my life, 32. I hope you are as ready for me as I am ready for you.

Happy Birthday to me.

PS Can I just say how ironic it is that I was born on the 3rd day of the 3rd month at 3:30 PM. Its almost like fate stepped in to make my arrival just a lil special. Or maybe I needed to make a memorable entrance. LOL

Someone recently asked me what my "type" is. This is one of those questions I absolutely hate, especially because when I say "I really don't have a type" I get the "oh come on" side eye. But its true. If you put all the guys I've dated in a line up, the only similarity would be that they were all over 5'10". But everyone has a "type" right? Something about someone that draws them in time and time again. The conversation continued about types to finally I was asked "Well who are your celebrity crushes?". I guess this person thought that by revealing my celebrity crushes that this would provide insight into exactly what my type is. I will let you decide.
In the spirit of all these awards shows that were oh so boring, I'm decided to give my crushes awards. The 2008 Crush Awards Recipients are as follows:

THE LIFETIME ACHIEVEMENT AWARD goes to:


Chris Webber. I have loved this man since the first time I saw him playing for Michigan when I was 15. It is written in my high school yearbook that I would marry him. Every guy I've ever dated knows its over if Chris Webber were to step on the scene. Yes, I met him once. He gave me a hug and I had to tell myself to step away before security was called. To paraphrase Dolly Parton/Whitney Houston: "I will always loooooooooooooove" him.

THE POPCORN LOVE AWARD goes to:



Michael Bivins. Yes, Michael Bivins of New Edition. And yes, I'm aware that he probably doesn't meet my height type. However, this crush developed when I hadn't met my height potential either. My best friends and I would stay up all night at sleepovers and plan our weddings to each member of New Edition. Of course we were all going to get married at the same time. I remember when my mother and aunt took me to the N.E. Heartbreak tour. That was the first time I verbalized my crush to an adult and my aunt said "Oh shit. Pam, she likes bad boys." Dang, why she had to tell my momma that!

THE ME LOVE YOU LONG TIME AWARD goes to:


Ken Watanabe. For those that don't know, he's a Japanese actor. I saw him in "Memoirs of a Geisha"(one of my favorite books/movies) and was instantly smitten. I must admit I've never seen him in any other movie. The image of him in that white suit looking oh so debonair is all I need.

The OLD SKOOL ANCHORMAN AWARD goes to:

Chuck Scarborough of Channel 4 News in New York. Before I loose any more cool points, let me explain. When I was about 6 years old I used to watch the news with my mother. She thought it was very important for me to know what was going on in the world and watching the news fed my overly inquisitive mind. At one point, I turned to my mother and told her I was going to marry Chuck. She laughed until I began to refer to him as my husband. I think that may be why we started watching Eyewitness News on Channel 7.

THE WHAT'S THE 411, HUN? AWARD goes to:


Okay, I have a few newsmen I crush on. So they all have to share this award.


Anderson Cooper of CNN


Marvel Scott of Eyewitness News Sports (this was the only image I could find online. Sigh)


Peter Jennings


TJ Holmes of CNN

THE INTENSE HEAT AWARD goes to:

Common. I don't know what it is about this man. Yes, he's fine. But when he looks at me (through the TV) I feel as if he is looking through me, peeking at my soul and dancing with my thoughts. How's that for intense heat???

THE COLLECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS AWARD goes to:


Black Thought. Yes, I've written recently about becoming a true FAN of the ROOTS but there as always been an attraction to him. Maybe it's the confidence in his voice. Or maybe it's his message, his swagger. I don't know. But he definitely makes me do a double take.

The SUPER CRUSH OF 2008 AWARD goes to :

Did you have to ask??? Antonio Pierce. Since the SuperBowl I've come close to meeting him twice but to no avail. Now, of course if I ever were to meet him, I would punk out and not say a word about my crushy feelings. I would smile and make sure nothing about me screams "SuperGroupie". And I would never mention this blog. hahahahaha

THE WHITE CHOCOLATE FANTASY AWARD goes to:


Robin Thicke. It used to be Justin Timberlake because he makes me giggle but Robin Thicke has snatched the title. There is something about Mr. Thicke that sends a tiny shiver down my spine. I can listen to his smooth mellow soul daily and his voice makes me smile.

THE ROCK AWARD goes to...


The ROCK, damnit. hahahahaha Oh Duane, Duane, Duane. That man made me watch wrestling and I hate wrestling more than I hate lima beans. His smile, his body, his tattoos. Ohhhh lorrrd! That man makes me swoon. And if we ever met, I probably would swoon like a jackass and embarass the hell out of myself. And then fully document my embarassment on this here blog. LOL


THE GIRL CRUSH AWARD goes to:

Beyonce. Come on. Every girl has a girl crush. Not in a "I want to sleep with her and swear off men for life" kind of way. More like "Oh my gosh. I love her and I think she stole my life" kind of way. I love her music, her style, her confidence. And I swear I think I dance like her when I'm out at a club. And don't let one of her songs come on. I embody my Beyonce-esque spirit and get to shaking my bootylicious derriere. I drop down low and sweep the floor with it like a pro. Did I ever tell you about my 4 am rendition of "Deja Vu"??? Priceless.

THE NON-CONFORMIST AWARD goes to:


My man, Lenny. Lenny Kravitz. I loved him from "It Ain't Over to It's Over"(and yes, I admit that song is a lil stalkerific but he was in a vulnerable place, damnit. hahahahahahah). My ultimate favorite favorit love song is by him. "I Belong to You". The dreads, the fro, the nose ring. I take all of it. I'm dying to go to one of his concert. But shiiiiit, I just might throw my Vicki Secrets on the stage. hahahahahahaha

THE SMOKING AWARD goes to:

Idris Alba. This man just exudes sex appeal. Yes I was PISSSSED when they killed Stringer Bell on The Wire. But it had to be done. I've had the pleasure of seeing him out and about in town a couple of times. This man just brings dirty thoughts and naughty smirks to mind.

THE OH SO PRETTY PRETTY BOY AWARD goes to:


Boris Kodjoe. Do I really have to explain this one??? hahahahahhaa

This list could go on and on and on. But in compiling this list I see my friend's point of asking me about my celebrity crushes. I'm interested in seeing what you have to say is my "type". I will post another post on your feedback and my wonderings as well.

With my birthday being approximately 10 days away, I kicked off the celebrations for my National Holiday with The Roots at the Apollo last night.

Since we were going to the 11 PM show, the night started with dinner and drinks (or should I say drinks and dinner...hahahahaha) with Guy Guru and 2 new gal pals, Jo and Mo. They are actually Guru's friends but I'm claiming them now. Why do people instantly believe that women are catty? Why have we bought into the stereotype that women inherently cannot get along or will at least fake the funk like we like each other and talk about each other later?? I bring this up because I was stepping into a situation where I was meeting 2 females for the first time and was about to spend approximately at least 4 hours with them. I would be lying like somebody in that baseball steroid scandal if I said I didn't have a fleeting thought of "I wonder what these chicks will be like". However, in true Janelle fashion, I didn't get bogged down in those thoughts. Any of my friends will tell you, I will befriend anyone. I have so many circles of friends that sometimes I can't even keep up. If I can be friends with the woman an ex left me for, I can be friends with ANYBODY!!!! hahahahaha
We had a ball at dinner. Glasses raised, laughter wafting, and conversation flowing. There we were: a dude looking ever so pimptastic with 3 hot chicks looking like a girl group. Cattiness and bitchiness were no where to be found. I believe I've added another circle to my collection.

We continued our good time as we eased on down the road to the Apollo Theater. I've always taken the Apollo for granted as just a place in my neighborhood. I tell people I went to tapings of Showtime at the Apollo as a teenager with the same nonchalance as telling someone about going to the movies. It's impact never hits me until I hear an out of towner talk about going there with a gleam in their eye. I'll admit I take the magnitude of the Apollo and all of its gloried history for granted just because its never been new to me. Its forever stitched in the fabric of my history as a background image. I don't say that with any disrespect. I surmise that it would be the same as growing up in the White House. It's just a house to the President's kids while its a hallowed symbol to the rest of the world.

As we walked into the Apollo, I was stunned by the amount of white people who were in attendance. In our section we were really the minorities as we were literally surrounded by white folks. I wondered whether this was a testament to the mass appeal of The Roots or the gentrification of my neighborhood that white people from all walks of life (the grungy granolas, the wall street types, the trust fund babies, the suburban former cheerleader, former star of the football team types) were at the Apollo in the middle of Harlem after 11 PM. My astonishment was unwavering. Who knew white people were such fans of the Roots?? I think I will use The Roots as the code ice breaker when I encounter white people. Like "Hey, that new Roots CD is amazing, right?!" and gauge their response.

The concert was simply amazing. There were no pyrotechnics, no elaborate stage sets, no distracting accessories. Just instruments and their respective musicians. The musical energy was sexy, intoxicating. However, there is nothing sexy about a tuba. AT ALL. But I digress. Even the songs I didn't know had me out of my seat, shaking my hips, clapping my hands/snapping my fingers to the beat. The pungent but illegal cannabis in the air added to the intoxicating energy that The Roots gave their audience. There are very few concerts that I've attended where I leave craving more. I walked in admiring the Roots and walked out a true fan. I am now on a quest to love and absorb anything by The Roots.

I don't know who's idea it was to have The Roots play as the kick-off performance for my National Holiday but my birthday (or should I say birthseason..hahahahaha) is off to a great start.

I had my V-day blog all mapped out in my mind until I overheard this conversation in a department store this afternoon between Negro A and Negro B.
Negro A: Yo, look at this pink shit, my nigga. Get this for yo ho, mann.
Negro B: Nah, my nigga. She ain't no pink bitch. She like black and shit.
Negro A: But this is Nautica, my nigga. Buy that bitch this shit for Valentimes Day and get it in.
Negro B: Yeah, you right my nigga. My bitch betta like it cause its Nautica. Yeah, yeah!!! She put this shit on and I'm takin' it right off dat azz TONIGHT, my nigga.
Negro A & B: hahahahahahahaaa

Now before you dismiss them as some ignorant high schoolers, I guesstimate (and yes I hate when people use this word) them to be in their early 20s. This was later validated when Negro A shouted to his shopping companion: "I'ma grown ass man, my nigga. She's been on my dick since I graduated from [won't embarass the High School named] in '03. This bitch will like whateva she get from me. I ain't sweating it." So if he graduated from high school in 2003 and actually graduated on time then that would put him at approximately 23. Correct?

I initially did a triple take. Did he just call his friend's girl a bitch (and a ho) and did his friend just cosign on calling her a bitch? And are they really having this conversation in the middle of the lingerie department of department store in the middle of the day when the soccer moms and socialites (ahem slackers ) like myself frequent this establishment? And thats when panic set in. I immediately turned around to see if any white people were within earshot of this . You can clutch the pearls all you want but I know I'm not the only one who does this. I don't want anyone to think in any way, shape, or form that I have any affiliation to this hot ghetto mess of a conversation. And yes my embarassment led me to straighten my coat slung over my arm, fix my hat to make sure it was tilted more stylish less thugnificient - all in an effort to visually distance myself from the coonery and buffoonery on display.

Once I realized that I was "safe", I walked away feeling a little sad. Not sad for myself but sad for the "bitch" getting the pink Nautica cotton pajamas for St. Valentine's Day. Sure, I could whine, complain and wax quiet poetically about how I've never had a nice Valentine's day. The kind with flowers and dinner and candy and gifts and some declaration of love and devotion from the opposite sex- the standard V-day fare. But in that moment I was grateful to never have any of it because I wasn't that "bitch". And don't give me that Nas philosophy of term of endearment fooly wag and thus taking the "bite out" of traditionally degogatory monikers. Damn if this is the shit I have to look forward to, then you can keep this love shit and I'll remain single for just a little while longer.

Most likely I will post my original post tomorrow. I'm still feeling it but I couldn't ignore this bitch shit.