Where's my shoe?...

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


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

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


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


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

hold this...

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

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

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




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


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



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


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


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

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

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

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



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



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

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

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

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


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


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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who is this woman......

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.