Return of Saturn

Twenty nine years ago today, at 2:18 a.m., I was born. Yep, today is my birthday. How am I celebrating? By going to work and going salsa dancing afterward. So far, my cat, Simba, is the only one to wish me happy birthday. He hopped on my bed to wake me and scratched the side of my face, narrowly missing my left eye. I tell ya, there's nothing like starting your birthday with dried blood on your face. My back hurts and I want to go back to bed -- these are both signs that I am slowly becoming an old woman. Or wiser woman, depending how you want to put it.

For me, today means that I have 364 days to get my life together. By the time I'm 30, I want to have a better outlook on life and finally be rid of my quarter-life crisis. Of course, by the time I'm 30 I'll probably have something else to brood about. But for my 30th birthday, I hope to be in Egypt for a vacation. That's a trip I've been fantasizing about most of my life. I guess I should start saving some money.

Anyway, I did some research on my birthday and the number 29. Here's some random facts about both in no particular order:

Rebirth of Saturn: The planet Saturn takes 29.5 years to orbit the sun, when it returns to the exact degree along the ecliptic it occupied at the time of a person's birth. This is called 'Saturn's Return.' Saturn is symbollically associated with challenge, fear, doubt, confusion and hard lessons. There are also some positive things like accomplishment, reflection, power, prestige and maturity. No Doubt used this phenomenon as the title to their 2000 album because lead singer Gwen Stefani's 29th birthday was occuring that year. Read more about Saturn here.

March 24 in history: In 1837, Canada gave Africans the right to vote. Greece became a republic in 1923, one year before my grandmother was born. Today is World Tuberculosis Day, which commemorates the day in 1882 that Dr. Robert Koch discovered the cause of the disease. There's more information about this date here.

Celebrities with my birthday: The late Norman Fell (Mr. Roper/Three's Company), designer Tommy Hilfiger, TV personality Star Jones Reynolds, and actress Lara Flynn Boyle.

Ok, it's time to go to work. Happy birthday to me!!!

The Wonderful World of Neighbors

I'm exhausted again. All week long, I've been either begging for boxes, packing boxes or taking boxes back and forth to my new apartment. It's more draining than I imagined it could ever be. These constant drives back and forth helped me realize that I'll miss some of the people at my current apartment complex that have made my year here so memorable. Here are a few:

Jimmy the Joke Man: Thank you, Jimmy, for all those times you stopped me in the parking lot to tell me a new joke you've incorporated into your routine. No matter how fast I walked, or ran, you always caught up with me. I never knew how many knock knock jokes there were until I met you. Your imitation of Bill Clinton was priceless. Best of luck in your future career as a comedian. So what if you're like 57 years old and can't carry on a normal conversation without going into Rodney Dangerfield mode. The world is yours. And if you're ever in my new neighborhood .... nah, forget it.

The Recovering Rocker: I did appreciate all those times you knocked on my door and offered to give me free guitar lessons inside your apartment, just the two of us. Pardon me if I was a bit taken back by your offer. I don't get many bearded men reeking of weed banging on my door at all hours of the night to talk about music. No hard feelings about the Mace, okay?

Mr. Mute Bigamist: You did keep it interesting. I would see you in Apt. A with wife #1 in the morning and watch you retire in the evening with wife #2 in Apt. B. Amazing! Then every evening at 6 p.m., you'd stand on the front porch, drinking coffee and smoking a cigarrette. I often wondered how you did it, but you never spoke to me. I joined you on that porch many a evening, only for you to smoke and sip in silence. I made it my mission to get you to speak to me, but I never heard even a simple 'hello' pass your lips. Now I know why. I saw the eviction notice that was taped on Apt. A for all to see. I never saw wife #1 again and you have no choice but to live in Apt. B with wife #2. I'm so sorry. If I knew how hard things were for you, I would have bought you some cigarrettes myself. Or at least found you a replacement wife.

The Divorce': I hate to break it to you, my dear neighbor, but that's what you are. I've lived next door to you for a year and you've lived here at least another year longer than that. Your story has been that you and your wife are separated and you're staying here until you guys can figure things out. After such a long time period apart, it's safe to say wifey has moved on. You should be counting your blessings. Just last November you were telling me how glad you were to celebrate Thanksgiving alone, since you didn't have to cook for anyone for once. And who has to listen to your random curses at 2 a.m. or your loud phone conversations with wifey? Me! Yes, the walls are that thin. Do yourself a favor and sign the divorce papers. The only one losing sleep over this marriage is you.

Mr. Universe: My life wouldn't be complete without you, you sexy stud of a man. There's nothing like coming home from work and seeing all 250 plus pounds of you, shirtless and spread out on the couch with the blinds wide open to the parking lot. I've come to admire the way you can drink beer and turn the remote at the same time. Such skill, such agility! No matter what the weather is, you're always sweating. I love the way the beads of sweat dangle in the center of your chest hair, right between your man breasts, with no place to go. I wanted to stare at you longer today, but your wife sent me a dirty look. Sigh. All the good ones are taken.

I think that sums up all the memorable characters. I can't wait to learn about the people in my new building so I can post about them.

(Photo courtesy of http://www.z99.ky/images/FatMan.jpg)

Messy Tessie

I've become a total slob. It's a natural occurence, since I have half-packed boxes everywhere and a huge amount of laundry in my hamper. It's the clean clothes that are the problem. After spending an evening packing, I have no energy to do such a strenuous task as tossing my clothes in the hamper or folding up clean ones. Instead, I do what I call the 'strip & toss.' When it's time for my shower, I shed my garmets, clean my body and leave my clothes lying on the floor.

With my apartment in such disarray, I've been neglecting my usual anal duties. I don't know if I mentioned this in the past, but I jot down what I wear on a calendar. These little notes keep me from repeating an outfit in a short amount of time. I know it seems silly, but there are several times I came close to wearing the same outfit in a week because my brain was so fried. This week, my brain has been too fried to even write down what I wear. I could have been wearing the same outfit all week, for all I know.

Oh well, I'm extremely tired. Time for me to dig out tomorrow's outfit from that pile on the floor.

Roughin' It

I'm moving this weekend and recently learned that I would be without Internet access for about a week. This came as a serious blow to me, someone who no longer has cable. How will I handle those late-night lulls, when I'm not ready to go to bed and there's nothing on TV? But the Internet lady assures me that I should have my DSL hookup by April 3 -- I think that's the day she said. Since I'm going to be incognito for that time period, I'm proposing a blog marathon for myself. Every day until the Powers that Be disconnect me from my lifeline, I will add a new post. So here goes day #1 of Strength/Courage /Wisdom's Blogathon:


In the 11th hour, my colleagues are starting to get concerned about Ned. Mind you, two weeks ago I was typing at my office computer with a fever and practically coughing up a lung. When I looked around for support, there was none. I did eventually leave work early because I was sick, but it would've been nice if the sweet old ladies who sit next to me said something along the lines of, "Are you alright, Strength? You don't sound so hot." I got no such thing. I tried not to be bitter and went home.

Ned is slowly leaving the picture, but he pops up now and again to kick game. I coughed once this afternoon -- once -- and these elderly women showered me with concern.
Old lady #1: Strength, that's a pretty nasty cough.
Me: I know, but I'm getting better.
Old lady #2: You poor thing. I hope you're not coming down with anything.
Me: I'm not. That was last week. I'm much better now.
#1: You don't sound like it.
#2: Would you like some tea? Or maybe cough drops?
Me: I have prescribed cough syrup, thank you.
#1: Well, it doesn't seem to do the trick.
#2: Have you tried Alleve?

The conversation continued until I wanted to scream. Where was their concern when I thought I was dying? I resisted the urge to climb my cubicle wall and cough all over them. The heffas. Maybe Ned will go after them next. I saw him checking them out.
(Photo courtesy of http://www.savetz.com/bandaid/commercials/c1p5.jpg)

Love, Peace & Hair grease

So I went to the Midwest this weekend and saw LeftBehind. We hung out for an evening and things felt strangely the same as they did one year ago. He had me cracking up at his crazy jokes and my heart jolted when he told me how much he missed me. I realized that I missed him too. Despite all that I've been through in the last year -- even while I was with an ex, who I refer to as the Controlling Bastard -- LeftBehind has stayed on my mind. I wonder what things would have been like if I stayed put in the Midwest, plodding away at my unfulfilling job, writing in my spare time and happily enamored with him. Instead, I moved across the country to work at another unfulfilling job, grad school and a ho-hum social life. Maybe things would be different if I could go back in time.

But I imagine that a long-distance relationship could be the death of us. All those late night phone calls, road trips across the country as well as flights could take their toll and we'd wind up hating each other. We're both too stubborn to move. I refuse to be Felicity and move back to the Midwest with my tail between my legs. And shoot, if I'm all that he claims that I am, what's stopping him from arranging to make this work? Why can't things be like that last scene in 'love jones', after Nina moved to New York, but she still thought about Darius?
Recap:
Nina: This will never work. I live in New York, you live in Chicago.
Darius: I don't care. I love you and that's urgent like a m***f****.

Too bad I'm not in Hollywood. Here's something funny that happened. A few months ago, I was in CVS trying to buy a new hair grease. I found a bottle that worked well and smelled vaguely familiar. I've used it ever since. When I went to LeftBehind's place, I learned that it's the same hair grease that he uses. That's why it smelled so familiar. Oh well. Maybe if I throw out the hair grease, stop taking his calls and get rid of everything that reminds me of him, I'll be able to forget him. It may take some time, though.

Pimpin' the Oscars

I've been meaning to post something about this year's Academy Awards, but Ned got in the way. There's so much I could say about that award show, but I don't want to ramble on forever. The best way I can summarize my feelings on the awards is by offering my version of what the academy called Best Original Song. The award went to 'It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp' for the movie, 'Hustle & Flow.'

Here's my own version of the song. I call it, 'It's Hard Out Here for a Chick.'

Don’t you know it’s hard out here for a chickkkk
being typecast in bad movie scripts
it’s hard out here for a chickkkk
hustlin and flowin
directors knowin
you only get Oscar for showin tits
it’s hard out here for a chickkkk
unwed mothers
down-low brothers
and a System with rules that ain’t legit.
It’s hard out here for a chickkkkkk.

That is my phrase for the '06. It's hard out here for a chick.
Peace.
s/c/w
(Photo courtesy of http://fredericktown.k12.mo.us/hs/highschool/1009_musical_notes.jpg)

True Love?

Today marks my one-week anniversary with my cough, whom I’ve nicknamed Ned. I remember the day Ned popped into my life in the form of a scratchy throat, watery eyes and a pounding headache. His hold over me was so forceful that it caused me to call in sick to work. I spent the entire day listening to Ned try to woo me. He was much too aggressive for me and I tried to resist in the beginning. I tried to fight him off with orange juice, soup and all kinds of over the counter drugs, but Ned wasn’t having it. He wedged himself deep in my throat and pounded against my esophagus repeatedly, so I would recognize his power. I had no choice but to become one of his victims.

Ned and I were lovely in the beginning. He even came to work with me, much to the chagrin of my colleagues. They would stare as my loud, grumpy boyfriend interjected himself in my conversations and left me gasping for air. The catty women at work told me Ned was no good for me and tried to ward him off with cough drops. I shunned their advice and continued on my reluctant love affair.

It was my doctor who finally sealed the deal for Ned and me. She said if Ned truly loved me, he wouldn’t hurt my ribcage like he did, nor would he leave me breathless and teary eyed. And besides, he was cavorting with at least 10 other women, who were also seeing my doctor for ways to get rid of him. I asked Ned what was going on and for the first time, he was speechless. The doctor gave me a prescription and I was eager to put this relationship behind me.

Like most men, Ned ain’t going out without a fight. He continues to show up at my job and tries to talk to me at the worse possible times. It’s too early to see any real results from my medication, so I’ll have to wait it out. It does come with some side effects though – drowsiness, constipation, upset stomach, nausea, vomiting, dizziness or headache. Sheesh. Is it worth all that just to get a controlling and manipulative man out of my life? Hells yeah.

(Photo courtesy of http://tell.fll.purdue.edu/JapanProj/FLClipart/Verbs/cough.gif)

Bah humbug

Because I've been ill, I've been downright grumpy. And my grumpiness has led me to post a list of things I hate. Most of these things have to do with television, since all I did all week was drug myself and watch the tube. It should be noted that I don't have cable. *sigh*

I hate the following:
1. The Ghost Whisperer. I was trying to find something decent to watch Friday and stumbled across this garbage. I've never been a fan of Jennifer Love Hewitt and I was surprised to see that she still had a job. To say this show is garbage is a gross understatement. The story was poor and the acting was something out of a dime-store production. Love's hair and makeup job is all wrong too. From the looks of her, you'd think this show was set in the 1960s. Nope, it's present day.

2. Tyson Beckford. Ok, I don't hate him , but I was unimpressed with his showing on Oprah. First of all, who comes on Oprah wearing jeans and tennis shoes? Tyson, apparently. He was talking about a car accident he was in that nearly took his life. He started crying and looked like a punk by doing so. I have nothing against man tears, but Tyson's were of a different sort. It would be one thing if he said that the accident bought him closer to God and helped him turn his life around and realize what matters. Nah. Tyson sniffled about the dude that tried to run him off the road. "I don't know why he wanted to hurt me," Tyson cried. "I don't know what I did to make him so mad." Not to minimize what happened, but isn't he from the Bronx? Sheesh. Time to man up, T.

3. The Shaggy Dog. Sometimes I'll see a movie preview and wonder why Hollywood took the time to make such garbage. The Shaggy Dog is such a movie. I've watched Tim Allen and Kristin Davis on interviews talking about this movie as if it's worth the $8.50 admission. Puhleeze. Ya'll can keep that.

4. Lost repeats. I'm about to leave these mofus on that deserted island if they don't show a new episode soon. Two weeks of reruns? Are they crazy? I hear that they want fans to use this time to watch the old episodes and find any clues that they may have missed. Bump that. A repeat is a repeat. I have no more room for deja vu in my life. New episodes please!

5. 24. It hurts my heart to say this, but Jack Bauer and Co. aren't doing it for me this season. Yeah, they woke up my man Tony this past week, but the show isn't getting me weak in the knees like it has in the past. And they killed Michelle! WTF?!! This may be my last season watching this show.

6. Dayquil/Nyquil. Why is it that Nyquil is the only one that causes 'marked drowsiness'? I like to get knocked the hell out in the daytime too.

7. St. Patrick's Day. I loathe the color green, so I'm already dreading March 17, when hoardes of people will be dressed in that horrible color and come out in drunken droves. Then there's always that person who thinks their cute and pinches me for not wearing green on that holiday. I think I'll break that person's finger.

8. Tests. I have another exam this week. Yuck. I'll never understand the point of memorizing pointless facts from a textbook. I'll just forget them once the semester is over.

9. Moving. In two weeks, I have to pack up this apartment and move to another apartment complex all because the powers that be are jacking my rent way the hell up. When the lady at the office told me it would cost me an additional $50/month to renew my lease, I laughed in her face. I need to buy property. Rent is killing a sistah.

10. Being sick. The weather is soooo delightful, but I can't enjoy it because I'm a sniffling, sneezing mess. I step one foot outside and either my eyes start watering, my nose starts to run, or a huge sneeze erupts from my body. Grrr. Calgon take me away!!

'It's Hard Out Here For A Chickkkkkk'

I've been meaning to post, but I've got post-block....if that's even a word. I've been sick and have spent much of the week on my couch, drugging myself and watching mindless TV and rewriting the lyrics to what the Academy has deemed best original song. I don't have strep throat (Thank God), but I have a deep, manly cough, sneezes, and a runny nose that just won't quit. I left work early yesterday and spent today doing my Ally McBeal routine once again on my couch. I don't have a fever anymore, which is a good thing. I have no appetite and my orange juice/dayquill diet has enabled me to get into my skinny jeans. I'm hoping that I can be back to my normal self tomorrow because one of my friends is having a huge party that I must attend. I don't care if I infect everybody there with my germs ... I'm going. Wish me luck!

s/c/w

He was more than Shaft

In honor of Gordon Parks, 1912-2006.

Photographer
Musician
Poet
Novelist (The Learning Tree, Born Black, A Choice of Weapons, etc)
Journalist
Activist
and Film director ("Shaft" and "Shaft's Big Score")

And I thought I was busy. *Whew* I'm tired just thinking about this resume. RIP Gordon Parks Sr.

"I suffered evils, but without allowing them to rob me of the freedom to expand."

"The guy who takes a chance, who walks the fine line between the known and unknown, who is unafraid of failure, will succeed."

The Strep Throat Diaries

My aching throat forces me to call in sick today and search for comfort in all things fuzzy -- my flannel pj's, my favorite blanket, my couch and my cat, Simba. I feel like Ally McBeal, except that my hair is wrapped in an Aunt Jemima-esque scarf and there are no dancing babies around to torment me. Ah well. I try to stretch out on my couch and accommodate myself around my cat, but he doesn't budge. I turn on the television and a Purina commercial comes on, showing all these happy cats smothering their owners with love. I turn to Simba, "Now that's the way you're supposed to treat me." He looks up, gives me the finger and goes to sleep. I swear, I'm trading that cat in for a dog one of these days. After an hour on the couch, I grab my flashlight, race to a mirror and look for white spots.

I've had a fear of getting strep throat for as long as I can remember. My mom had a friend who got strep throat and the pharmacist literally backed away from him, saying untreated strep throat causes brain damage. He also said that it is very contagious. I learned that the way to check for the disease is to look in a mirror with a flashlight and check for white spots. The white spots denote strep throat. So every couple of hours, I run to the bathroom and search for the spots. None so far. That's a good sign! Maybe I'm being paranoid, but whatever. If I don't check for the spots, I'll get strep throat and that will lead to diseases like Tourettes' syndrome, rheumatic fever or worse. I'm not going down without a fight.

The only other disease that scares me to this magnitude is meningitis. I think we all know what can happen if that is untreated. I often have a mini- panic attack when my neck is sore, which is one of the last signs of meningitis before you keel over and die. But today, it's all about the strep. Time for me to check for spots and try (unsuccessfully) to cuddle with Simba. Ta Ta! ~s/c/w

I am Michelle Dessler

Take the quiz:
http://quiz.myyearbook.com/zenhex/quiz.php?id=54604"> size = "+2">Which "24" character are you?

Michelle Dessler
You are Michelle Dessler! Your more of a behind the scenes kind of person, but you are loyal and will do anything to help save the day! You are sweet, smart, and compassionate.. Though you have lead before its not really your thing.

by myYearbook.com -- the World's Biggest Yearbook!

Tag, you're it

I saw this on another blog, so I'm doing it for myself and tagging some of my blogging friends. So here we go:

Four jobs I've had:
1. Current job
2. Babysitter
3. Cashier at Blockbuster Video
4. Cashier at Cinnabon

Four movies I can watch over and over:
1. The Last Dragon
2. The Color Purple
3. The Sound of Music
4. Sparkle

Four Places I have lived:
1. Here
2. Detroit
3. New Jersey
4. Baltimore

Four Shows I love:
1. 24 (but my interest is waning)
2. Lost
3.Felicity
4. Three's Company

Four highly-touted TV shows I don't get the hype:
1. Survivor
2. American Idol (it takes good music and spits on it)
3. Everybody Loves Raymond
4. Saturday Night Live (it's past its prime....cancel it already!)

Four books I'd recommend to anyone, anytime:
1. A Lesson Before Dying -- Ernest Gaines
2. Your Blues Ain't Like Mine -- Bebe Moore Campbell
3. The Coldest Winter Ever -- Sista Souljah
4. Middlesex -- Jeffrey Eugenides

Four places I have vacationed:
1. Dominican Republic
2. Mexico
3. Orlando, Florida
4. Tennessee (don't ask)

Four of my favorite dishes:
1. Fried chicken
2. Spaghetti
3. Lobster
4. Vegetarian lasagna

Four sites I visit daily:
1. My blog
2. Juicy's blog
3. Margie's blog
4. New York Times

Four places I would rather be right now:
1. Egypt....seeing the pyramids
2. In my bed
3. On a beach
4. Japan

And I'm tagging:
1. Juicy
2. Margie

The Girl Next Door....naw, really?

I took yet another one of those lovely personality quizzes today and it gave me shocking news. I'm the 'Girl Next Door.' Actually, according to this quiz, I'm a cross between the 'Girl Next Door' and the 'Progressive Girl.' Since I've been called the GND my whole life, I'm so much more interested in this progressive chick. It says PGs 'want the world to be a better place, but they live out their politics in a moderate left-of -center way.' Ok, I can deal with that. I did stage my own one-woman protest against the Rush Hour movies because they looked like complete coonage and I do have an adopted child through the Christian Children's Fund. Little Claudencia lives in East Timor and it's been awhile since I've made a payment, but that's not important. I'm living out my politics in a 'left-of-center way.'

It's this GND that pisses me off. We have way too much in common. 'She drives an American car' -- yep, I have a Ford Focus. 'She can talk for more than 10 minutes about her family traditions' -- I sure can, but that's only because my family's nuts. 'She owns any of the following: a Bible, her grandmother's engagement ring, scrapbooks or heirloom quilts.' Ok, I have a Bible. Three to be exact. And a scrapbook ... but I haven't worked on it since high school. *Groan* I guess I have more in common with the GND after all. Lucky me.

They always say that nice guys finish last, but the same is true for nice girls. All of us Girls Next Door spend our lives pining after the Boy Next Door, but he's too busy screwing the Girl Across the Street. And it isn't until after he gets the Girl Across the Street pregnant (or she gives him an STD, cheats on him, dumps him, etc.), does he realize how wonderful the Girl Next Door is. Brangelina is an example of that. Jennifer Aniston is good looking, smart, pleasant -- the perfect GND. She snags Brad Pitt and the world cheers. Then here comes a Girl Across the Street like Angelina Jolie and ol' Brad can't keep it in his pants. Now she's preggers and Jen is trying to drown her sorrows in Vince Vaughn. Yet another door slammed in the face of the GND.

In a perfect world, I'd be the 'Party Girl' -- the one who loves to drink and be merry. The only thing is I hate the club and bar scene, which should be evident from the fact that I'm sitting here blogging on a Friday night. Ah well. I guess I'll have to embrace my inner GND, as well as the progressive side of my personality. But there are several other aspects of my personality that can't be nailed down into one of these silly quizzes. I'm much too complex for one category. I may have a little Girl Next Door, a little Progressive Girl, and a tad of the Academic Girl, but I know one thing is true. I ain't no hollaback girl.

Raisins in the Sun

Today I noticed that I lost weight, but not in a good way. I lost weight on the one part of my body that I wish would grow: my breasts. I'm a small-chested person and I've learned to overcome my insecurities about it. I don't stuff my bra, chant 'I must increase my bust' 100 times before bed, nor have I ever considered getting a boob job. But that was all before today, when my strapless bra practically slid off of me.


In my family, most of the women are small chested, but I'm the smallest. Somehow I managed to make it through puberty, despite being raised around a cousin with triple-D sized breasts and being the only girl in fifth grade who struggled to fill a training bra. My mother tried to reassure me that I'd grow. She said she was once my size, but her chest eventually grew. Of course, none of that happened until she got pregnant. Since that wasn't in the forseeable future, I had to learn to love my California raisins.

Anyhow, I wore a strapless bra to work, but I had to run to the bathroom to adjust it several times. I would walk for about five minutes, and then I'd feel like the darn thing had fallen to my knees. My colleagues must have thought I had food poisoning or something, because I kept racing to the bathroom. I've worn this bra several times before and nothing like this has happened. What causes shrinking breasts? Is it a sign of weight loss? Or is it a more serious problem? Until I figure out what the deal is, I'm breaking out the contour cream and chanting 'I must increase my bust.' I know I won't leave the Itty Bitty Titty Committee anytime soon. But a girl can dream. *sigh*

(Photo courtesy of www.trekearth.com )

Comments & Observations Pt. II

Here are some random things I've noticed in the last week.

(I'm standing in line at the Post Office. There are only three black people in the room -- myself, the customer being helped and her young son, who is about 5. An old woman stoops down to talk to the little boy)
Cashier: That'll be $10.
Woman: (handing him her card) Here you go.
Old woman: You are such a handsome boy!
Boy: Thank you.
Cashier:I'm sorry ma'am, but this was declined.
Woman: (rummaging thorugh her purse) Try this one.
Old woman: You have such a pretty smile.
Boy: Thank you.
Cashier: I'm sorry, but this was declined also.
Woman: (digging in her pockets) Ummm, wait a minute...
Old woman: And what pretty teeth! Do you brush them every day?
Boy: (nods, after giving her a 'whatchu talkin' bout, willis?' stare)
Old woman: Good for you. (she pinches his cheeks and walks away)
Woman: (handing the cashier some bills and loose change) Is it all there?
Cashier: Yes. Have a nice day.



Two noticeable bumper stickers:
'White Witch'
'Why do you assume I'm Christian?'
A white man was driving the car. But wouldn't it be hilarious if a black minister was at the wheel? Hah!

Interesting sight:
I was at a light and I saw a girl of about 12 trying to stuff herself into an open car trunk. She would hop in, see how much room she had inside and then jump out. She'd go through the process repeatedly. I'm baffled as to why she would do this. Was she trying to clear the way for a dead body that she was about to load into the car? Or was her day that tough that she needed to retreat into the crevices of a vehicle? Part of me wanted to ask her if she needed help, but another part wanted to push her out of the way and jump into the trunk myself. *sigh* But the car behind me honked, so I couldn't do anything.