Goals

What you see here is an addict.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been drawn to the school supply aisle of any grocery or drugstore. I know that that’s where I can find the items that feed my pen and paper addiction. It is there that containers of pens, pencils, folders, heck, even sharpeners, really turn me on. I’ve learned to discipline myself into only buying these tools when absolutely necessary. But it is a struggle.

I can’t say the same for my addiction to binders. Notebooks, loose leaf and composition books? Gotta have them. And I pick them up every chance I get. Within these pages, I write my daily to-do lists, short stories and even the beginnings of novels. And even after said novel or short story is completed, I like to keep these handwritten pages as a rough draft of my beginnings. So I often have multiple binders available. The used ones are stored on my top closet shelf as shown above.

Recently, I stumbled upon a notebook that I began in 2010 (I also date each entry). In it, I had a list of things I was unsatisfied with in my life and how I’d go about changing them. I put the notebook away and forgot all about it. But when I found it the other day, I realized I’d completed quite a few of these goals without even remembering the list. I knew these notebooks would take me somewhere!

A Tale of a Fateful (Blogging) Trip: The Minnow is Not Lost

When I think about my blog I can't help but think of Gilligan's Island. That's the TV show where a bunch of folks were stranded on a deserted island and something always prevented them from getting back home. (I also think the show had closely related themes with Good Times, but that's for another post). These days, I feel like the Gilligan of the blogosphere.

I started this blog seven years ago with no plans whatsoever. I thought it would be a hobby. A place to vent my frustrations, A forum to laugh at my own jokes.

Imagine my surprise when I became immersed in the blogging world. I discovered great new blogs and all these wonderful writers were discovering my site and I was discovering theirs. It was a great forum for meeting people, but not really meeting people, if you get my drift. Suddenly, I had contacts around the country - maybe the world - and I could learn from their experiences.

But things changed, and that's where the Gilligan part comes in. I feel like I'm on a deserted island because a lot of my blogging buddies have disappeared. They've either shut down their sites or post so infrequently that I wonder about their well being. I don't post much anymore either, but one reason for that is because my regular crew isn't around to read them.

Oh, woe is me, right? Enough of the pity party. I've been terribly busy, so I haven't had the time to blog. that doesn't mean I've stopped writing, I've just been doing it in other venues. Now I'm trying to get my mojo back on this blogging thing. Yes, I'm still upset about the absence of my blogging friends (I won't mention any names, but you know who you are (!!L!!!)), but all I can do is keep my head down, blog like hell and hope for their safe return.

Sure, I'll Be A Role Model

 Today was day one of my eight-week session of being a role model. A professional organization I belong to needed volunteers to help with a weekend workshop they were doing with high school students and I agreed to participate. Sure, it takes a commitment of getting up early on Saturday mornings and spending a full day with teenagers, but the opportunity intrigued me. And let's be honest, I'm always looking for new things to put on my resume.

This was an orientation day, so the coordinator introduced everyone and a keynote speaker addressed the audience. I also spoke to a few students and parents who were curious about what I did for a living. I only felt old twice - once when I had to explain who Maria Schriver was ( long story) and another time when a high school girl told me that she was so overwhelmed with career possibilities that she'd likely push back having children until she was at least 30. And then she gasped. And then I side eyed.

Naturally, I found an adorable boy I would have loved to have in my group. He had that nerdy teenage awkwardness, but he was so smart and so sweet that he made me think "awww" at least 9858457454545748 times. And then there was another boy I immediately didn't want in my group. He also had that same nerdy teenage awkwardness, but he seemed to think it was swagger. He made me think "shut up" at least 9858457454545748. Then we separated into our groups. Guess who was in mine? I'll give you a hint - I won't be saying aww for the next eight weeks.

Anyway, that's the evolution of my Saturday. As soon as I finish this post, I have to get caught up on my own writing which I've neglected all week. And later tonight, my real weekend will start! That's my hope, anyway.

Nasal Strip Nightmares

I snore.

It’s something that I’ve been told. I even heard it after recording myself. It’s not a loud, earth-shaking sound, but it is a snore. My problem is that I have allergies and I get congested, especially at night. My nose can barely release air when when I’m awake, let alone when I’m sleeping. So those six to eight hours I spend in bed are really a fight between oxygen and my nasal passages.

Because I’m the Google Queen, I’ve found several ways to solve my problem. The only one that seemed worthwhile were the nasal strips. What you do is put one of these taped strips on your nose while sleeping and your sinuses open right up, and there will be no rumble emanating from the nostrils. I’m willing to try anything that my FSA will pay for, so I bought a pack of Breathe Right Nasal Strips.

Do you know what’s been happening? My sinuses open up as they never have before. I get into my bed and I’m out until my alarm clock goes off. I sleep hard, and I sleep quietly. But there is a downside to that. For me, that’s the dreams. I often have a dreamless sleep (or dreams I forget by the time I wake) and when I do dream, they’re pretty crazy and are usually because I’d been lacking sleep.

I’m in a whole new world with these Nasal Strip Nightmares. I’ve committed murder. Driven off cliffs. Beaten elderly men with their own canes. Watched our new CEO transform into a snarling lion. Then I awake in a slight state of panic and rip the strip off.

I could stop using the nasal strips, but I can’t. You see, NOTHING has ever made my nose feel this clear so I’m willing to make the sacrifice. It’s time for me to go to bed anyway. I wonder what I’ll dream up next. 

In Search of a News-Free Morning Ritual

I'm a creature of habit.

I spent my weekday mornings getting dressed to the hum of the television. Over the years, my viewing has changed. As a child, my mother rushed me out the door to the sounds of the morning news program, which was likely Good Morning America. In college, I prepared myself for the real world by watching the Today Show and planned my outfits based on Al Roker's weather report. And once I got into the real world, I tried to lessen the workday's blows by watching reruns of The Smurfs before I headed outside. (And if the network hadn't switched things around, I'd still be watching the blue people)

But in recent years, I returned to the Today Show. I can't explain why. Maybe it was those college memories of eating oatmeal and chatting with my roommate as Matt Lauer hovered on the screen. Or maybe it was my  ongoing crush on Matt Lauer. (#DontJudgeMe) These were people I had come to know, and I liked them. I was there through Katie Couric, Meredith Vieira and Ann Curry. So when I watched a video of tearful Ann talking about her new duties with the show, I got mad. I turned off the television and decided I was going to explore other a.m. alternatives. 

My first attempt to boycott the Today Show sent me over to their competition, GMA/Good Morning America. (You can't convince me Robin Roberts is sick, the woman looks AMAZING). While I enjoyed the stories and the banter among the hosts, I didn't have a connection to them. They were having too much fun. I wanted to toss them in the corner and shout “This is news, people! It's serious!”

So then I turn to CBS This Morning. I really love the CBS Sunday Morning program, so this was a natural progression. And as a fan of Gayle King, I figured there was no place I'd rather be. But while the folks at GMA are having too much fun, it hits me that the folks at CBS aren't having enough fun. Sure Gayle will swoop in with her witty personaliy, but it doesn't seem to mesh well with the stagnant Charlie Rose.

I'd been tempted to throw in the towel and go back to the Today Show. But recently, I found a better option. Adult Swim airs reruns of King of the Hill early in the morning. I dvr those episodes and watch them at my leisure, lately in the morning. Hank Hill's life is so much more interesting than the real world. So I now start my mornings in Arlen, Texas, where both propane and John Redcorn rule.  

**photo from http://blog.mysanantonio.com/jakle06/files/legacy/kingofhill.jpg **

Losing Wisdom

I'm not a dentist, but I play one really well.

Before I start this post, I should confess a few things. The first is that I have hypochondriac tendencies and I've been known to Google every single symptom I have. The second is that I have an aversion to the medical system, i.e. doctors, dentists, hospitals etc. The third is that I made a commitment to be more responsible about my health care needs this year. The fourth is that I'm very proud of my teeth; folks are usually impressed to learn I've never worn braces.

Earlier this year, I had a nightmare. In it, I dreamed that my tongue had become a two-headed snake and was lashing out at both of my jaws. I woke up in a cold sweat, and with a pain in my right jaw. I chalked it up to it being a developing canker sore.

Fast forward a few months, and the pain grew. I couldn't sleep because my jaw would just throb in pain. I googled 'healing canker sores' with abandon and tried every solution around. I gargled with my mouthwash. I gargled with salt solutions. I used Orajel. I downed Ibuprofen like it was candy. After one sleepless night, I went to the urgent care clinic desperate for some relief. The nurse said my allergies were probably causing this canker sore, and gave me a prescription for some magic mouthwash. If the problem continued, she suggested I rinse with Maalox and Benadryl.

Well, the problem continued. The throb wasn't just my jaw, but also my back teeth. It was like I was teething all over again. Then I saw the season finale of Mad Men of Mad Men and the main character was fighting with a dental abscess. That's when it hit me. Aha! I have a dental abscess! I shall find a dental office and have the dentist take care of this abcess.

So I step into this office and I tell the dentist all about my woes – that I have an abscess, and maybe a canker sore too, and that I just need relief. He proceeds to poke around in my mouth as a way to do his job, and likely, as a way to keep me from telling him how to do his job. After some poking and prodding, he tells me that what I'd seen in my mouth, it is NOT a canker sore. It's just an ordinary indentation that everyone has. But what was troubling me was my wisdom tooth, which is decaying in that same region. The other two (I have three wisdom teeth, not four) would likely give me the same amount of pain, so it's best to have them all removed. He gave me drugs, and sent me on my way.

Since then, I've called the nearby oral surgeon. I have a preliminary appointment next week, and then we'll set aside a time for the Big Removal. I'm nervous. What helps is knowing that I'll have a legitimate excuse to be away from work. What doesn't help is hearing all of the wisdom teeth horror stories, of which there are 983463473743. And it's only a matter of time before I Google 'wisdom teeth horror stories.'

Anyway, it's time to whip out my insurance card and see what other appointments I need to make. With my family history, I can't afford to avoid medical professionals.

Make New (Blogs) But Keep the Old....

Ok, so it's obviously been a long time since I've been on here. There's no one reason why, just got super busy. There were things I wanted to blog about, but didn't get the time. And then when I sat down to blog about it, the moment was gone. Sigh. But I'm back in action, in a slightly different way.

So a while back, I had an epiphany. I wondered why people -- people like me, particularly -- are so drawn to things like Date Lab and New York Times Sunday wedding profile feature. For me, I like reading about connections. How people got together, what they thought, and how it worked out. I decided to do my own version like that, but from a perspective of girlfriends, or BBFs, if you will.

What I'm saying is, I'll still be blogging here from time to time. But I have started a new blog,one based on sista(er)hood. It is in the VERY VERY early stages and I will post a link when it's ready for public consumption. However, if you have a close girlfriend -- yes, it's all about female friends -- and you'd like to be profiled, please drop me a line and we can set something up. In the meantime, take care and I'll talk to you soon.

Let Me Be Your Motivation

There have been several workplace changes over the last few months. In short, a lot of folks have gotten the heck on out. The company's finances are questionable, since we are sent misleading notes about how well things are going, then hit with a surprise furlough day. As I told my coworker, we're like the orchestra on the Titanic.

Never fear, I'm coping as best I can. I have two ways to handle the psychological prostitution that has become my Monday-Friday gig. One way is to wrap my resume up in sexy lingerie and prop it up on every street corner I know. The other is through my insane filing system. (I've come along way from how my desk used to look)

I started my filing system as a way to get better organized, and a way to stay sane. One of my critical folders is a file I've labeled “Goodies.” But honestly, the file's true name is “Things That Keep Me From Going the Fuck Off.” This folder was assembled in a moment of panic, when my Least Favorite Coworker Ever began tweeting EVERYTHING, when the higher ups began calling me by the other black person's name, when payroll 'accidentally' misplaced my mileage check, and when – now THIS was my final straw – some crazy MoFu walked by and tossed his ish in MY trash can! But I kept my cool. I grabbed a folder, some scissors, and I got to work.

Hence the birth of the Goodies folder. It contains various forms of inspiration, be it motivational quotes, obituaries of folks who overcame the odds and even fortune cookies that made me feel real good.

From this picture, you'll see glances of my good stuff – a sweet note that came with my Valentine's Day bouquet, an obituary of a blind man who ran an office supply store, a fortune cookie that says “Not Having a goal is more to be feared than not reaching one” and favorite quotes like “I am not afraid of storms for I am learning to sail my ship” - Louisa May Alcott and “Follow your passion and success will follow you” -Arthur Buddhold, which are from my Live Love Dream Desk calendar. Because I'm a handwriting geek, it also contains a few handwritten notes from people telling me I did a good job on various things. I keep those notes partly for inspiration, but partly because I like their penmanship so much that I dream of imitating it.

Anyway, these are the things that keep me from going homicidal. Everyone needs a coping mechanism!

My Mama's Mama's Mama's Mama

There are people in my life who shower me with great gifts. One of them is my college roomie, who continues to Wow me on my birthday and Christmas. Her latest gift – this tshirt – got to the writer in me. So I went to the site to check out what else they had to offer.

I was amazed that you could create your own shirt. Naturally, Only Child Syndrome kicked in and tried to think of what else I could design for me. I decided to take the writer theme and make the shirt a tribute to the women in my family. I fiddled around with a few sayings, and settled on Pearl & Vera & Vanny & Me. That boils down to my great grandmother, grandmother, mom and myself.

Then I remembered how much Mom raved about my original shirt. I knew she'd be just as ecstatic about the new one, so why not get her one as well? I decided to do a four generations of women thing with her too. But there was one problem? My knowledge of family history stops at Pearl. I don't know of the people who came before her, only the ones who came after.

So I tried to do some research, research that wouldn't send this google/factchecking/genealogy-obsessed blogger to go into overdrive. I set up some particulars on Ancestry.com. That got me nowhere but continuous emails about a free trial. (Resist, resist!!) Then I asked a relative. She told me to ask another relative, who was dealing with a terminally ill spouse so I wasn't about to bother her. I knew Mom didn't know, because Pearl died before she was born, as did all of her history.

I became obsessed. I did a couple of Internet magic tricks and wound up with … NOTHING. On a whim, I sent a tweet to a cousin. Thankfully, she knew the answer! She knew not only the name of my mama's mama's mama's mama, but also her mother and father. Sweet!

Now that the puzzle is complete, I can go to the site and create Martha & Pearl & Vera & Me. Then I'll wrap that bad boy up and give it to Mom for mother's day. Yet I am still on the verge of signing up for the Ancestry.com membership. It takes some special dna to make up all of this **jazz hands**

Deadbeat

So here I am, a deadbeat blogger, simply writing a post because I need to get it done. I can freely admit that this will be a half-ass blog post. You may wonder why I'm bothering to write anything at all, if I'm going to be so cavalier about it. Well, I'll explain. I looked at my calendar the other day, and realized my sixth blogday is quickly approaching. I usually use that time to reflect on things I've written about over the last year or so. But now, as I take inventory of the past few months, I haven't written a whole hell of a lot. And for that I apologize. In short -- things have been good with me. There's been some bad, but thankfully, the good has outweighed the bad. And that's about all I can ask for. You'll hear from me again very soon, I promise!!!

They're trying to tell me something

Recently, my crutty but charming gym got bought out by a larger franchise. My spinning buddies and I mourned, until we realized nothing would change with our 6 a.m. workouts, they're still on the schedule under M, W and F. There were some benefits too. Our new memberships allowed us to visit larger, nicer gyms. I'm talking about stationary bikes that are equipped with fans. A room with boxing gloves and punching bags. A locker room that came with dressing rooms, vanities and suitable showers. It was heaven.

And then there was the downside this week. As we returned to the crutty gym, things were cruttier than we'd imagined. There are no paper towels in the ladies room, and barely any toilet paper. Our regular instructor is traveling for his job, and they can't find anyone to sub his classes. "No one wants to come out here," I heard an instructor say. So when I complained about the lack of paper towels, I also learned that the entire crutty gym was lacking supplies. The front desk attendant told me this, but what I heard was "they're going to be closing this gym soon. So be prepared." Bummer.

At work, the building is so cold, we never take our coats off. My method of warmth has been to bundle up in my American Red Cross blanket and warm my hands on a mug of hot water. I also have a space heater beside my desk, which has succeeded in keeping the right half of my body warm. But my space heater trend has caught on, and others are following suit, causing us to blow a fuse at the worse possible time. But I can't work when I'm locked in a meat locker, so something is going to have to change. The big boss told us that the system is antiquated and they've been having heat problems, plus it wasn't built to accommodate space heaters. What I really heard was "the company is broke as hell and heat is the last thing on our mind. furloughs are coming again, and we're struggling to stay afloat. Best be sending out those resumes, cause we're not going to be around much longer either." Double bummer, but point taken.

I'm finally writing a blog post, like to read it? Here it go...

Happy Holidays, Happy New Year and all that jazz.... I can't believe it's been two months since I've written a blog post... I had so many thoughts that I started and just didn't post.... Like I planned to write about Heavy D's death went down in my workplace, and it was pretty much similar to how my coworkers have responded to other black deaths.... But I didn't write it up, and now it's old news, shame on me .... I'm having a good Christmas this year, and it'll be fantastic if I could get through this family meal that I'm sort of dreading at the moment .... I'm desperate to see Girl With the Dragon Tattoo and The Artist, but something tells me I'll have to wait for one of those bad boys to come out on dvd .... Aside from a few tragedies, I'd say 2011 has turned out better for me than 2010..... And even though the world is supposed to end, I'm looking forward to 2012

Where Ya Been?

Sorry I've been gone so long. Believe me, it wasn't intentional. I have just been so friggin busy that I began lacking the two things I value most: sleep and sanity. So I decided to quit my part time job in order to catch up on sleep. And the loss of that extra cash has given me a bit of a struggle with sanity, but I'll manage. It just means I'll have to adapt to a biweekly pay cycle once again. In the last two months, I survived an earthquake, endured Hurricane Irene, dodged Katia and soaked up remnants of Lee. In that same time frame, my family was hit with one wedding and three funerals. Two deaths were expected; one was not. I visited my hometown, where relatives filled me up with goodies that I can only get from that area. It was there that I met cousins who previously only existed as Facebook friends, listened to stories about my great grandmother and dethroned my favorite cousin after he displayed my tragic childhood pictures to strangers. I saw the house I was born in and resisted the urge to burst in and scream 'GET OUT' to the new owners. I assembled the critique team for my latest novel and am slowly moving toward the finish line of draft #7. I laughed more than I cried. I made new friends. Traveled to new places. Relaunched with my Sunday Beauty Ritual. Shared french fries with a 3 year old. Stole french fries from a 3 year old. Got a compliment that still has me grinning from ear to ear. with a few glitches, it was a pretty good summer. As usual, it was too short and I'm sad to see it go. I promise to have a more substantial post sometime soon.

The Things I Carry

I decided to undertake a few reorganization projects this year. It's not that I'm terribly unorganized, but we all have some baggage that we need to get rid of from time to time. So I'm thanking Eminem and the TV show "Hoarders" for giving me the inpsiration to start Cleaning out My Closet.

I've gotten rid of quite a few things, but there are some objects that I'm going to hold onto:

My favorite tshirt:



Yes, that does say class of 2000. Yes, that shirt is that old. And yes, if you look closely, you can see holes dotting along the collar and the 'Class of 2000' section. And if you lift up the right arm, you'll see a giant hole right by my ribcage area. But I'm not letting it go. It's comfy. I only wear it on laundry day, and even then, I don't leave the house in it. And it's fun to look down and think back to those lazy college weekends.


Correspondence:

I've received lots of cards and letters over the years. I don't keep all of them, but there are some that hold special places in my heart. This pile mostly contains greeting cards from relatives and friends. There are also a few touching letters in there, like the one my mom sent me during my first year of college, or one another friend sent with the plea "TAKE YOUR BUTT BACK TO CHURCH" and a revamped Teletubbies birthday card from my college roomie, Bianca.



More tshirts:

Ok, it's true. I have a lot of tshirts. Most vacations and concerts, I pick up one. Sue me. Yes, that is a New Edition Reunion Tour shirt you see, along with a Lauryn Hill concert shirt, circa 1999. Hey, I'm keeping them. I found a new use for my N.E. shirt when I went to an '80s party this year and wore it with leggings and a scrunchy on my wrist. And as a die hard Lauryn Hill fan, I reserve the right to wear that shirt whenever I please. The other photo is of a shirt that I still have, never wear, but won't throw away. The last time I wore it was when my dad died.


Weapons of mass destruction:

It's been several years since I've taken karate lessons, but I do still have my uniform and my belts. (Yes, my black belt is in there) Somewhere along the way, my sparring equipment, nunchucks and sai were lost in the shuffle. However, my uniform and/or belts comes in handy around Halloween time. Or when I want to stress to the mailman the importance of putting my mail in the right slot. Ahh, memories.

Anyway, these are just a few things that I'm holding on to. I did get rid of a lot more. I'm not a hoarder, I'm not!

Soc(k)rates Saved My Life

A sock puppet saved my life

I’m sitting at work with a sock puppet on my neck and I am NOT ashamed. I have named the puppet Soc(k)rates, and it has saved my life.

Previously, I mentioned that I was out of town, on vacation. I mentioned the beautiful beaches, the wedding and the scenery. But I did not mention The Pain. You see, I am not as young as I once was. That means I can still hold a drank while dropping it like it’s hot, but I can’t do it as easily as I once did. So after a weekend of electric slidin’, wave ridin’, and old man hidin’, I was in PAIN. The left side of my neck felt like somebody had been beating it with a hammer. The only way I could get relief was by popping pills, applying hot compresses and cocking my head to the side in a not so sophisticated gangsta lean. I just hope I don't have this.

So I did what most people do. Go to the doctor? Nope. I googled my symptoms and whined about my pain until someone gave me a solution. A trusted friend suggested I take a sock, fill it with uncooked rice, warm it up in the microwave, and place it on my pained neck. I did it and by golly it worked. But then I’d go to sleep, and wake up in pain again. So I had to start breakfast with my new sock puppet on my neck, get dressed and drive to work that way. Heck, once I arrived at work, I warmed Socrates up again and placed him back on my neck. Most folks looked at me and just shook their heads. Of course, one person asked me about it and when I explained Socrates’ function, she said ‘don’t you know they sell real heating pads nowadays?’ Point taken, but I enjoy the level of comfort Socrates and I have reached.

In my crazier thoughts -- and my ongoing efforts to get sent home for Mental Health Day -- I’ve drawn eyes and a mouth on Soc(k)rates. I’ve propped him up right beside my morning cup of tea and asked him about his goals and aspirations. I’d gossip with him about coworkers, all within earshot. I’d dance with him in the middle of the day. But no, I didn’t do any of those things. I do keep Socrates perched on my neck. And I do warm him up in the microwave a few times a day. Whenever anyone inquires about him, I say “This is Soc(k)rates. And he makes me feel good.” Then they march away quietly.

On Tears

It surprises many people to know that I am a big crier. Beyond this wise cracking facade, I can be, as my mother likes to put it, an Emotional Wreck. While I cry at movies quite often, The Passion of Christ, Joy Luck Club, and Marley & Me, are a trifecta that brings about The Ugly Cry. Throughout my life, I’ve shed tears when I’m about to get punished and when I’ve gotten away with murder, when some boy told me he didn’t love me and when another told me he did, at my grandmother’s funeral and pretty much whenever anyone talks about her, when the goddaughter runs toward me with a hug, and when she’s not in the mood. I cry when I’m happy, sad, mad, glad, etc.

So yes,I have a bad case of the waterworks. It is my handicap, and I hate it. Growing up, my mom always said, “Don’t ever get a boyfriend. Because you will be crying for the rest of your life.” No one else in my immediate family has this issue. I only saw my Dad cry once, and with Mom, it is a rare occasion. Just the other day, she watched ‘The Notebook’ for the first time and didn’t shed a single tear. The only movie that gets to her is the funeral scene in ‘Imitation of Life.’

Recently, we learned that my grandpa is dealing with a terminal lung disease. There is not much doctors can do, other than keep him comfortable. He doesn’t have the best of relationships with his children, since he abandoned the family years ago and recent news of other children hasn’t helped much, but we grandkids check in from time to time. He’s in good spirits, despite everything.

Somebody thought it would be a good idea to ask him why he bailed out on grandma all those years ago. Somebody also thought it would be a good idea to have a person ask him a series of questions and record the response. Guess who was nominated? I was never asked directly, but I heard through the grapevine that my aunt wants me to do it. “I’d do it myself, but I’d get too emotional.” My mom outed me as the Emotional Wreck that I am, and volunteered to do the task. She offered to get straight Barbara Walters with it: “The day you left your family, and we had no food to eat, and barely any clothes on our backs, how did you feel?” Sigh. Nothing good can come from this.

4 o’clock in the morning, where you gonna be?

I know where I’ll be.

Awake, but still in my pj’s, scarf and glasses, with my eyes glued to the screen. Yep, I’m going to watch THAT WEDDNG, a portion of it anyway. My first alarm clock is usually set for 4:30 a.m. for the gym, so I figured there was nothing wrong with getting up a half hour earlier so I can watch Billy and Kate walk down the aisle. But since I have to be at my spin class by 6:15 (coverage starts at 4, wedding starts at 6), I’ll likely only see images of Matt, Meredith, Al and Ann prancing around London in their weddng finery.

Why would I subject myself to this, you may ask? Why am I attending a wedding with bleary eyes and morning breath? One reason is simple. THE DRESS. I.want.to.see.the.dress!!!! And the other is because I’m intrigued by the drama of it all. Diana’s first born is marrying a commoner, and that means the royals are going to have to endure a variety of things, like Kate’s sister who wants to hang disco balls at the ceremony, her drug dealing uncle who is going to the wedding and her exotic dancing second cousin who is not. How will The Queen hande this madness?

Like Her Majesty, I’ve been subjected to joinings of Royals and Commoners. When Cousin Tina married Tyrone From Down Da Street, I was front and center. I wish I had popcorn for a variety of scenes, like when the caterer (his sister) got drunk and peed herself, or when his dad demonstrated how he could carry on long conversations with a mouth full of chicken. When Second Cousin Annettte married Yo, Yo, Yo, James In The House!, I was there. How was I to know that the dance floor would become a battleground for his sisters who wanted to do the electric slide vs his cousins who wanted to do the booty call, all while Frankie Beverly sang ‘Before I Let You Go’? But I was grateful to be there, with my camera in tow. If these heffas ever make me mad, I shall post this evidence right on Facebook and I will tag EVERYBODY.

So as you can see, this royal wedding has potential to be a royal mess. Unfortunately, us viewers won’t be able to see how the blue bloods handle it when Kate’s crew starts droppin it like it’s hot. But we can only imagine. And boy, will I imagine.

Photo from

http://www.royalweddinglive.com/wp-content/uploads/prince-william-and-kate-middleton-pic-reuters-134052115.jpg

Don't Ask My Neighbor

I was going to the gym in the cover of darkness when I hear this whisper, “Strength, can I talk to you for a minute?” It was my buddy Jen, my exercise partner in crime. We talk all the time, but this time I was concerned about the cryptic nature of our conversation. Did she want to sell me drugs? If so, was she giving me a good deal? But then she pulled me aside and asked me if I was seeing anyone. Then she told me that someone at the gym is interested in me.



And this where I get into what is becoming a pet peeve of mine. If you are interested in me, could you let me know? Don’t leave notes on my desk and don’t send a third party. That was good and fine in high school, but that is a time I put behind me long ago. When I’m approached this way it makes me uncomfortable for a number of reasons, including the fact that I now have this third party involved in aspects of my life that I’d rather not put him/her.



At first, I thought Jen was sent just to test the waters, to see if I was in a relationship, and then this guy would approach me himself. But no. Jen identifed the guy to me, then asked for my number to pass it to him. Odd. And the guy in question is someone I’ve seen quite often at the gym and we’ve had several face to face conversations, so he is not a complete stranger. But no, I’m not interested. So now I have to find a polite way to tell Jen that I’m in a deep sleep having my little dreams, this guy's face is not the one that hovers above me even in my most absurd fantasies. And trust, dude is MUCH too old to be playing the he say/she say phone number game. The fact that he reminds me of my uncle doesn't help, especially since there's a possibility that he could even be a distant relative. I hemmed and I hawed, then I just told Jen something about how I'm just taking a break from men and therefore I'm not going to give him my phone number.

She said she understood and planned to pass that message on to him. And who do I see as I'm leaving the gym? Dude. We spoke and that was it. I told some folks about the situation and they said dude did that because I'm intimidating. Seriously? Interesting. Anyway, it made me think of this old school song. I hope you enjoy it!

Pretty Girl Swag

I’m slowly but surely getting out of the funk that has plagued me for quite sometime. One of the things that has helped me get through it is just thinking about things that make me laugh or smile.

Whenever my mind turns to the dreaded subject of XXXX, I fight it with all might. I whip out my Happy Arsenal, which contains the lyrics to Willow Smith’s ‘Whip My Hair’, the screams of a relative who was prancing around her home naked when a maintenance man walked in, and images of my friend’s 2-year-old daughter placing a maxi pad in her diaper. ( True story, the child does everything her mama does. Thankfully there were no tampons around)

I’m always looking for new things to put in my Happy Arsenal. I think I found the perfect addition recently when I was flipping through the newspaper. This ran as a letter to the editor:

‘You’re pretty’
Recently I was assured that there are beautiful people in our world.
I was at Trader Joe’s, sitting near the exit door waiting for my daughter to complete her shopping. Many people passed by – some smiling, some deep in thought or talking to friends and family members.
A young woman with her three children approached the exit. One was a little girl about 8 or 9 years of age. I smiled at her and asked how she was. She smiled back and then commented, “You’re pretty.”
Those two words were so precious to this 90-year-old grandma. Not the fact that she gave me a lovely compliment, but that she had the love in her heart to make someone feel good. I will never forget that moment and that little girl. She has lovely parents. May God bless her and her family.

- H.S.

We all could use a Happy Arsenal from time to time. Feel free to take anything of mine, until you can create your own.

(Photo from http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTICEPqMviHIQqSTLQSPVfh-m5J0MfHufQmVcwjYO4GEzKilso&t=1&h=158&w=236&usg=__0usf_nJuzvZHLahy1fqlJRZjTbY= )

Chaka Khan & Cleaning Out My Closet

I mentioned before that when times geet tough, I get in my bed. Well, the Sleep Olympics have launched in my bedroom again and I’m well in the midst of getting a gold medal. Lately, when my mind is heavy, and I’m stressed out about something I can’t control, I just hop into bed and hope that things will be better in the morning. It had worked in the past. I was able to get up early, get some writing done and get to work early, or right on time, which is quite a feat for me.

But things aren’t that way anymore. Yeah, I’ve been stressed, yeah I’ve had some stuff on my mind, and yeah I’ve been escaping it with my bed. All this sleep I’m getting, is just making me want to sleep more, not less, and there is no refreshment in sight. It is always my goal twice a week to wake up just before 5 a.m., work on my novel for about an hour or so, then start getting ready for work. (I spend the rest of the week at my 6 am spin class) Last night, I went to bed at 10 and still struggled to wake up at 7:30. Mind you, I’m supposed to be at work at 8. Sigh.

So I’ve been finding other ways to channel my energy, or lack thereof. Cleaning is a good counterpart to sleep. For the first time in my life, I have a vacuum cleaner that is actually worth something. It gives me so much joy that I have given it a name – Chaka Khan. Whenever I’m stressed, or my mind goes into the dark place, I just chant “Chaka Khan! Chaka Khan!” and I start vacuuming my woes away. It’s not just vacuuming that’s been keeping me sane. I recently dusted and rearranged my bookshelves. (If you knew how many books I had, you’d understand that this was quite a feat) I’ve also made a list of other cleaning projects to take on. Look out bedroom closet! I’m coming your way, bathroom cabinet! Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, computer desk!

With all of these tasks, my place should be SPOTLESS by the end of the year. That should keep me out of the bed for awhile. That’s what I hope anyway. If anyone has any other suggestions, please let me know. And hey, I might even be willing to load up Chaka Khan and clean your house.

Photo from http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:gtwsEnShXlaFOM:http://funkyou.squarespace.com/storage/CHAKA%20KHAN%20same%20LP.jpg?__SQUARESPACE_CACHEVERSION=1245726123364&t=1