Manic Mondays

The next time I get the bright idea to register for a Monday night class, I'm going to look up this post and read it 1,000 times until I talk myself out of it. Seriously, this is what.... the eight week of the semester? ... and I'm already about to hurt someone.









My problem is that the class I need is only offered on Mondays, 4:30 p.m. to 7:15 p.m. And it's a research class, which is a code word for boring. My task in this class is to do a research paper on George Sand and give a 15-minute presentation on my work by the end of the semester. Writing the paper is no problem -- my thing is that I hate oral presentations. I'm glad we only have about 10 student sin our class, but I'd much rather turn in my paper, take an exam and roll outta there. But that's just me.







Anyway, I've learned that each semester there is one student in class that I want to assassinate. This time it's this girl, Trudy. (I have no idea what her real name is, but she looks like a Trudy to me). Trudy is an interesting character. Each day, she comes to class wearing a black scarf -- I'm pretty sure its the same scarf each week -- and lugging a 2-liter bottle of diet Pepsi. She spends each class either drinking her Pepsi straight out of the bottle or asking the professor questions that have nothing to do with the subject at hand. There have been several times that we could've left class early if it weren't for her endless comments about the state of British literature, followed up with her loud, caffienated burps. Luckily, I've been able to zone out during those times that she gets overly annoying. On those days, I imagine myself dancing on her face while wearing golf shoes. And for whatever reason, that fills me with extreme joy.







Well, I hope the Monday night stress explains a little bit as to why I've been MIA lately. I'll try to do better with the posts, as long as it doesn't interfere with my 'thrilling' research. So far, I'm still sane. Check with me again in December, which is when I may truly lose my mind or make that golf shoe fantasy a reality. I'm hoping for the best!

(Photo courtesy of http://www1.istockphoto.com/file_thumbview_approve/848625/2/istockphoto_848625_online_education.jpg)

Before You Ask .....

A new post is coming soon, I promise! If I could just get a minute to organize my thoughts, then throw them up here, things would be gravy. But at the moment, that's not happening. In the meantime, please sit tight. It's only a matter of time before we return to your regularly scheduled program.

The Last Temptation of Strength/Courage/Wisdom

The next person who suggests a TV show to me is going to get a swift kick in the stomach. I mean it. TV is stressing me out and it has got to stop.

Anyone who knows me well knows that I can be a bit on the obsessive side. When I like something, I REALLY REALLY like it and I want others to feel the same way. I also have this insane habit of wanting to be able to contribute to any conversation I stumble across. That combination does not bode well for the plans I made to watch less television.

For awhile, I was doing well. I had my must see viewing list and nothing else. If it wasn't "Lost", "24", "How I Met Your Mother", "Law & Order: Special Victims Unit," "Ugly Betty" or "Grey's Anatomy", it wasn't getting watched. Yeah, I stumbled a bit with "Dancing With the Stars" and "America's Next Top Model," but for the most part I stuck with the plan.

Things changed when a few of my coworkers started talking about their new favorite show, "Heroes." They said it was much better than "Lost," a show I love to hate, so I said I'd check it out. Sure enough, this show rubbed me in the right way and got added to the list.

A few of my must see shows got dropped -- 24 killed off my favorite characters, I kept forgetting about How I Met Your Mother and SVU. I was fine with that, until my friend, Dee, appealed to my inner teenage white girl and tossed "One Tree Hill" my way. I watched most of the old seasons on dvd and reluctantly added that to the list.

But now that the new fall viewing season has started, I'm torn. I stopped watching "Girlfriends" long before they got rid of Toni's character. Now they have the nerve to add one of my many crushes, Richard T. Jones, to the cast. Don't the writers know that he was one of my favorite parts of "The Wood"? Don't they know I watched "Judging Amy" every week just to see him?

Adding 'Girlfriends' to the list makes things even more complicated because 'The Game' comes on right after that and I know I'll end up watching that as well. An even bigger problem is the fact that 'Heroes' comes on at the same time as both of these shows. But the CW Network does reair the episodes that Sunday, making it way too convenient for me to watch everything.

Recently, my friend, JJ, told me about his undying love for "Brothers & Sisters." I thought the show looked cheesy, but I got the first season's DVDs just to check it out. And I was right, it is cheesy, uses every cliche imaginable, but ... dare I say it? ... I can't stop watching. Sally Field is such a great actress and seeing Calista Flockhart again takes me back to my Ally McBeal days. I haven't finished watching the first season yet, but when I do, I'll probably .... you know ... add it to the list. (Of course, this list doesn't even mention the cable shows that I watch on DVD -- "Battlestar Galactica," "Nip/Tuck," etc)

After "Brothers & Sisters", I'm putting my foot down. The list is under lock and key and I'm not putting another show on there. So what if 24 is resurrecting one of my favorite characters from the dead (Tony Almeidia played by Carlos Bernard) ... I'm not going back! So what if ER is adding my other favorite 24 character (Reiko Aylesworth) to the cast this fall ... I'm not watching!!! And no matter how loudly my inner teenage white girl may sing "Glamorous Life", I will not watch Gossip Girl!! Hmph.


(Photo courtesy of http://www.stormerbrooks.com/karen/comp.too_much_TV.gif

Say It Ain't So!

I haven't been this upset than Flo Jo's death. Sigh. Anywho, check it.

I'm pretty speechless right now, and that's a first for me.

Photo courtesy of http://www.belizeans.com/marionjones/marion1.jpg

Ask Naté

These days, I have a new BFF and her name is Naté. We enjoy similar music, gossip blogs and she supports my stalkerization of both Robin Thicke and Method Man. We’ve bonded with issues over being the only black person in the workplace, folks misspelling and mispronouncing our name and how our accent marks have become the bane of our existence.

The only thing is, Naté and I have never met.

See, Naté is the girlfriend of my coworker Matthew. He’s a quiet, ordinary white fella who sits near me. I didn’t think one way or the other of him when he started working with me, but my eyebrows went straight to the ceiling when I saw the picture of the beautiful sistah on his desk. I tried to keep my surprise on the inside as countless numbers of our colleagues went up to him, ogled his girlfriend’s picture and told him that he was way out of his league. Yeah, I don’t work with the most sensitive people.

Anyway, it’s no secret that I check ybf on a frequent basis for my gossip fix. But one day Matthew told me that his gf told him to tell me that the site had a mention of Robin Thicke that I needed to check out. And sure enough, there was a link to a story on my man, in all his glory. From then on, Naté has been golden with me.

Since then, Naté, via Matthew, has become my go-to person in the office. It’s not unusual for me to say something like, ‘Hey Matthew, I hate that new song by (insert famous R&B artist here), what does she think? (She agreed)’ ‘Hey Matthew, is Naté wearing her black to support the Jena 6? (She was and so did he)’ And he’ll say, ‘Hey Strength, Naté wants to know if you think Paula Patton is pregnant (I have noticed a belly bump).’

Maybe one day I’ll meet Naté. I do get a kick out of her, via Matthew. We keep telling him to bring her around, but they live too far away for socializing outside of the office. Or so he says. Truthfully, I wonder if there even is a Naté. Maybe Matthew is embracing that inner black woman that dwells in us all.

(Photo from http://www.empowerme.org/images/he2016.jpg)

The Stalker of My Mother is My Stalker (or, Down with Google)

To hear Mom tell it, Barry is just someone she felt sorry for in high school. He was a bit on the geeky side and everyone wanted to beat him up, so she befriended him. They went their separate ways -- she had me, got married moved away, got remarried, moved away again, and kept moving and moving and ... you get the picture. He got married, moved away, then returned to their hometown.

Of course, I knew nothing of this when my phone rang at work three years ago. At the time, I was living in the Midwest. Apparently, Barry googled my Mom and some kind of way stumbled upon my contact information. Yeah, this sounds a little fishy to me too. I do work in a field where an Internet search makes it easy to locate me, but only if you search my name, not my mother's. Anyway, here's the conversation:

Barry: Oh my goodness!! Is this Strength/Courage/Wisdom?? Pam's daughter?

Me: Ummm, yes. How can I help you?

Barry: You won't believe this, but I'm an old friend of your Mom's and blah blah blah (basically, he said everything I listed in graph #2)

Me: Really, that's interesting. (As I type a high priority email message to my mother)

Barry: So.... do you know how I can get in touch with her?

Me: Well, I can take your information and pass it on to her.

Barry: Perfect!

We chatted for a little while and I learned that he works in the same field that I do. Apparently, my Mom told him that I entered this field and I should chat with him for some career advice. I vaguely remember her mentioning this to him. Anyway, he calls her and life goes on.

I never heard from him again. Until yesterday. I'm no longer in the Midwest; I'm at the job that I've been at for the last two years, making me much closer to my friends and family.

Barry: Is this Strength/Courage/Wisdom?? Pam's daughter?

Me: Yesssssss

Barry: You may not remember me, but I'm your Mom's friend! Barry X!!

Me: Oh yeah, I remember you.

Barry: Great! You'll never believe this, but I lost your mother's phone number. I've been in the area for a few days and I'm trying to get in touch with her. Do you think you can help me out?

Me: Sure, here's her work number... (She has caller ID there and literally only answers the phone when she knows the #)

Barry: Thanks so much! Do you happen to have her cell?

Me: No, I don't. That's in my other phone that I left at home. (A bold-faced lie, but whatever)

Barry: Ok, that's fine! So what's it like to be back home? Do you get to see your Mom alot? I bet she's happy to have you home!

Me: Yeah, it's good. I just saw her yesterday, actually.

Barry: Really! Man, your Mom ...

Me: So how's your wife and kids?

Barry: Oh, the kids are good. My son just graduated college, daugher's in college and my youngest just started second grade. My wife's alright. So anyway, about your Mom ...

Me: And how long have ya'll been married now?

Barry: Oh, we've got a 25th anniversary party in a few months.

Me: How beautiful!!!

Barry: Yeah. Now about your Mom....

Me: Well, I have another call. Gotta go!!

We hang up and I immediately call my mother to tell her that Barry will call her soon. Just like I thought, she didn't answer her work phone when he called because she didn't recognize the number. I haven't followed up with her to see if she called him back. She didn't sound too enthused to hear that he was in town. Either that, or she didn't want me to know about their elicit affair. Hah!! I hope she deals with it, cuz I do not want to get another phone call from Barry. Sheesh. I swear, it's hard being the daughter of a MILF.

(Photo from http://imagecache2.allposters.com/images/pic/153/994066~The-Family-Guy-Got-MILF-Posters.jpg)

How (Not) to Approach Me

Honestly, I’m not making this stuff up. Here are some transcripts of conversations I’ve had with men that I’ve met over the past few weeks.

(The scene: Salsa club. The dance floor is crammed with folks and I am having a blast, even tho I’m still trying to get adjusted to this salsa thing. Dude asks me to dance and I comply. But before I go out there, I warn him as I do all my other dance partners, that I’m a beginner. So we go out there. )
Him: You’re sure you’re a beginner? You’re doing perfect!
Me: No, you’re just saying that.
Him: No, I mean it. You’re very beautiful. I love your hair.
Me: Thank you.
Him: Do you have a boyfriend?
Me: Kinda. (The correct answer is no, but that’s my way of saying I’m not interested)
Him: Ah. That’s okay. I’m kind of involved myself.
Me: YOU’RE MARRIED??!!!
Him: No, no, no. I’m not married. I’m just in love with someone and she’s not talking to me.
Me: Oh. What’d you do?
Him: Let’s just say I was just being a man.
Me: (rolling eyes) Oh, you’re one of those.
Him: I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried everything, but she just won’t give in.
Me: How long has it been since she stopped talking to you?
Him: About a year.
Me: A YEAR??? Okay, I think she’s moved on.
Him: Well, I know she’s not married. I can’t give up on her.
Me: Interesting.
Him: Anyway, if you give me your email address I can add you to my online network. (He was talking about LinkedIn)
Me: Sure. It’s you_r_a_stalker@getaclue.com

(Scene: The library. Many times, I spend my lunch break at the library just catching up on some reading. This dude was sitting in front of me. While I was immersed in a book, he was staring out the window with a bunch of bags at his feet. I wondered if he was homeless, but he looked too well kempt for that)
Him: Hey sis. What you reading?
Me: (startled) Oh, nothing.
Him: Seriously, what is it? Is it a good book?
Me: Yeah, but …
Him: What’s it called? I might want to read it.
Me: (I reluctantly hold up the cover of the book, which is titled ‘Why I’m Still Married’. It’s actually a good book)
Him: (a look of horror on his face) You married, sis?
Me: No. It’s just a good book. These real life authors are talking about their marriages and some of them are in some crazy situations.
Him: Interesting.

He continues to chat over some time and I learn that he has college age children. He won’t tell me what he does for a living, but tells me about jobs he has held in the past (pastor, head of an AIDS clinic), which typically means that he’s unemployed. He asks for my email address and I give it to him as I’m about to leave. I’m not interested, but whatever. An email address, esp one that doesn’t list my last name, is harmless. I get up to leave.

Him: So, sis …
Me: (Didn’t I just tell your ass my name is Strength?) What?
Him: Um…. What’s up with the dreads?
Me: Nothing. It’s just my hair. And they’re locs.
Him: Hmmm. Ever had a perm?
Me: Yes. Before I had these.
Him: Ever considering getting one again?
Me: Nope, I sure haven’t.
Him: Oh.

Suffice it to say, this dude never emailed me. Darn! I was so looking to having so many stimulating conversations with this brainwashed old man. Sigh. Anyway, 'Why I'm Still Married' is a great book, particularly the essay from the woman involved in an open marriage and then she later starts an affair with her husband's girlfriend's husband. Drama, drama!

Watching 'Heroes' Nekkid

This will come as a surprise to anyone who knows me, but every once in a while I struggle with my swagger. Even though 99.9 percent of the time I profess to be a queen and insert my name into damn near every song lyric I can find (Lately, it's Dream's 'Shawty You a 10'), I'm actually quite shy and insecure. Close your mouths, it's true.







One of my biggest issues has been naked phobia. Basically, I'm a bit uncomfortable being 'nekkid,' as well as having the folks around me in the buck. This was a nickname that some relatives gave my issue, but after googling it, I found out that it is actually a real problem. I wouldn't say I have a major dose of this phobia, after all, I have been able to get over it in certain situations. I have no clue where I developed it either. Maybe that whole thing in middle school where you have to undress in the locker room with all the other girls. Or maybe it's a general feeling of inadequacy with my own figure, which is something I still struggle with today. I wonder if I would have this problem if I had a bigger chest, flatter stomach and curves. Hmmm.







Anyway, I decided to cure myself. I didn't do any googling or call any 1-800 numbers for advice, I simply found my own way to make my body image better. For about a week, I slept in nothing more than my skin.







This wasn't the first time I slept with nothing on, but it was definitely the first time I did it for a continuous period. I heard people talk about how addicting it is to lie in bed and feel the sheets on your bare skin, how freeing the whole thing is. I wanted to join that club, so I shed my garmets.







For a while, I had a ritual going. I'd hop in the shower, oil down, stand in front of my mirror in the nude and chant 'I love myself, I love myself' a few times and then crawl into bed. At first, it felt a little strange, but then I got used to it. Of course, once my alarm clock came off, I reached for my robe with a quickness.







So far, I'm not addicted to sleeping in the nude, but I don't hate it either. I'm just going with the flow, seeing if I can heal myself. I don't have any answers yet. I do know that I did gain one thing from sleeping nekkid. A cold! It might be time to break out the jammies.

(Photo from http://www.thaicraftstore.com/images/e820_10.jpg)

Happiness Is

A hug from a certain 11-year-old boy who typically shuns affection ..... an easy day at work that gives me free time to blog ... tightening up my resume and realizing that I am pretty marketable ... saving hundreds of dollars by slowly printing the first draft of my book at the office (30 pages a day, baby) ... the one white girl at work who can join in when I start chanting "Broke, broke, broke, broke phi broke" .... getting an oil change and learning that there's nothing majorly wrong with my car ... a phone call from a friend I haven't heard from in a long time .... a box of my favorite cookies ... a flirtatious smile from a boy who's young enough to make it illegal in 14 states .... having my coworkers miss me when I'm on vacation ... strawberry kiwi tea ... managing not to cry when I realize both Macy Gray and the Brand New Heavies will be in town tonight and I can't go ... getting warm spirit's vetiver spray lotion for free ... returning to guitar lessons after a two-week break and making progress on The Beatles' "Blackbird" song ... feeling good that Kanye West beat 50 Cent in the sales war, but not caring enough to buy either one (tho, i'll probably burn kanye's) ... sushi lunches with the girls on fridays ... helping other folks recognize the value of Bat Star Gal ... text messages just to say hello ... discovering "heroes" .... seashells on the mexican and bahamian beaches ... fall season sales .... a raise, as paltry that it may be ... realizing that my company's recent takeover will result in a 401K match ... having my mama close enough that I can just run over there and either cry hysterically or laugh so hard that I cry. Good times!!

Alright, I just had to get that out. Stay tuned for the next installment, which could very well be things that piss me the hell off. Have a good day!

1,2,3 Push It, Babe!

Yet another reason why I should get cable is here, either that or camp out on my parents' couch once a week so I can watch. Hmmmm....everything's under consideration at this point, since I was such a big fan of there's back in the day and I have quite a few of their tapes (yes, tapes!). I even have their first release, which includes the original Spinderella.

And speaking of Spin .... where's she been? There's no mention of her on the site. The plot thickens.

(Photo from http://muzyka.kulichki.net/salt_n_pepa/salt_n_pepa1.jpg)

Appreciation

Anyone who knows me well, knows that I have many men, many imaginary men, that is. Countless celebrities that I refer to as boyfriends who don't know they're my boyfriends. So what if Access Hollywood says he's dating some new actress, that's just something we tell folks to keep the paparazzi off our trail. What, he got somebody pregnant? That's totally innocent -- we asked that chick to be the surrogate mother to our child! As you can see, my stories tend to be a bit on the elaborate side.





Today, I want to talk about the cuteness that is Coby Bell, pictured above. I remember the first time I saw young Coby. I was in the suite of my dorm watching ER with a few of my roommates. We were barely paying attention to the TV until Coby appeared. He played a patient who was an athlete with some kind of prostate problem. We decided he was cute and got a little closer to the screen as his character became embarassed over the erection he got when the female doctor prodded him. As we remained transfixed to the screen, we wondered whether he was a brotha, hermano or gringo. In the end, we decided that it didn't even matter -- he could get it.





Over the years, I followed him onto various TV shows -- "Third Watch" and now "The Game." I always thought he had this rare cute/innocent quality about him, until I caught a glimpse of him on CSI Miami this week. I only saw enough of it to grasp that Coby was the bad guy and that he had killed someone. He had this nice little soul patch just below his lip and he was admitting to the murder with such bravado. It made him seem so dangerous ... and appealing. Gotta love a man with determination. Yum.



Yeah, there are rumors that he's married with twin girls. That's just another one of our schemes to protect the anonymity of our love.











(Photo from http://images.tvnz.co.nz/tvnz_images/tv2/programmes/third_watch/Coby_Bell_d.jpg)

On Felix, Kay and Jamaica: Mission Impossible

I have returned from my week of the sea, the beach and now I'm back in reality. Sigh.

In short, I had a FABULOUS vacation, even though it started out on a sour note. My cruise -- which was expected to hit Grand Cayman and Ocho Rios, Jamaica -- had to be rerouted because of Hurricane Felix. The storm forced our fearless captain to change our route, so we went to Cozumel, Mexico and Freeport, Bahamas instead. I was a bit disappointed about the changes, since this is the second time my Travel Buddy and myself attempted to go to Jamaica. We tried to go there with a group in 2005, but the trip changed and we wound up going to Punta Cana, Dominican Republic. I had a great time on that trip as well, but I can't help but desiring Jamaica even more. Sigh. I'll have to add that to my dream trip list, right up there with Egypt.

Anyway, this was the first cruise for TB and I. Day one we both showed up on the boat with a combined total of four hours of sleep and empty bellies. But we couldn't eat until the captain did a demonstration on the emergency exits and we returned our life jackets to safe places. Once we finally ate, we planned to take a little nap before we explored the boat. Well, what was planned to be a small, 1-hour nap, turned into a 11 hour slumber and we didn't wake up until early the next morning. Because we missed a series of announcements that first day, we spent much of the time not knowing what time we were supposed to eat in the dining room, that there was some kind of competition going on and which team we were on for the competition. Eventually, we got things together.

TB and I had been to Mexico before, although it was Puerto Vallarta instead of Cozumel. Cozumel is a mostly undeveloped island in the Carribbean with nice, sandy beaches. Our guide, Cesar, took us through the town, which was pretty much abandoned in the daylight (methinks this place is more of a nighttime spot) and it was filled with tons of shops and aggressive salesmen who chase people down the street to sell just about anything. We ate at a nice restaurant called Tiki Tok where I had the quesadilla of life and the main drag was filled with the American bastardizations of McDonald's, Blockbuster, etc. Cesar also hipped us to the beauty of black coral and ways that it can become this without hurting the environment, which is now making me regret not buying that heart-shaped ring one of the aggressives tried to sell me.

I don't have my Mexico pix developed yet (they're on the disposable camera), but I do have several of the Bahamas. That up top is me making my descent into the water at the Freeport beach. This is very significant because neither myself, nor TB, can swim. (I know, I know ... I should learn). Here are some more Bahamas pix:

Here's us setting up and getting ready for the water:

Me digging my toes in the sand:

One of the things that I got a kick out of on this cruise was the towel animals. Each night, we'd return to our room with a different animal made out of our towels and washcloths. It cracked me up! By the end of the week, we had three animals -- a elephant, a snail/squid and a walrus..... I think. I tried to get the animals in an erotic pose on the last day, but that didn't work out too well. (Hey, I get my kicks wherever I can!) Anyway, here's the animal art. Please let me know if the animals aren't what I say they are.

Even though I enjoyed my cruise, I think it will be several years before I take another one. I'd really just rather visit the individual cities/towns/islands etc instead of being trapped on a boat much of the time. I didn't get seasick at all, but I often went to portions of the boat where I could feel more movement than others and that was uncomfortable.


One of the best parts of the trips was karaoke and our DJ, "Kay", who hosted it. Kay was incredibly bland (think Ben Stein), except when the music came on. Then she would bust out notes like I never heard and occasionally chimed in as other folks were singing. It was hilarious. I only wished she cut off the chick who got up there to sing Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On." I mean, really .... who sings a song from 'Titanic' when they're on a cruise ship?? Sheesh.


Well, that's enough for now. I hope you all had good weeks!

Caribbean Queen

As I dragged myself out of bed this morning and made that endless drive into work, I asked myself a serious philosophical question that I continue to ask now that I'm sitting at my desk. WHY AM I HERE????

Today is my last day at the office before my weeklong vacation in the Caribbean. I'm taking my first cruise to Jamaica and Grand Cayman. The only thing that sucks is that I have to leave my apt at 3:30 tomorrow morning to make my flight. (GRRR) But after that, I'll be footloose and fancy free.

Soon, I'll type up a sign and tape it on my computer monitor to remind my colleagues that I am out of town. It'll probably say -- 'GONE ON VACATION. DON'T CALL, DON'T EMAIL, DON'T TEXT. MOST IMPORTANTLY, DON'T THINK ABOUT ME, 'CUZ I AM NOT THINKING ABOUT YOU. ' I cannot wait to be aboard that boat, have the sand in my toes and see nothing but ocean all around.

Anywho, this is my way of alerting all of you that I will be gone for an entire week. When I return, I'm sure I'll have lots to share. But right now, I am in vacation mode (actually, I've been in that mode since June). I hope you all have a pleasurable Labor Day -- I know I will!!!

(Photo from http://www.cyberaffaire.com/images/billy%20ocean.jpg)

"Jesus be a restraining order and a True Love Waits accountability partner. The flesh is weak.'

There are people in my life who truly want to get me fired. I won't mention any names (Juicy), but there is a certain someone who sends me to the most hilarious websites during the workday that I fear my shoulder-shaking laughter will eventually get me fired.

Today, I was introduced to this site. And apparently I'm late because it looks like the creators, Tia and Toya, have been around since 2003. Like me, they are both in love with Common and have a fetish for Jeremy Piven, making this my favorite post. I've been laughing about that post all day, especially when she mentions Common's tux. It even sent me googling True Love Waits. Enjoy!

For Tha L, who's not trying to be 'ALL THE WAY UP' in my bizness

Well, I did go on the Not-Date with Crush (this would be the fourth Not-Date, to be exact), as I mentioned before. It was, how do you say ... uneventful. Yes, uneventful is the word of the night. This man has no pulse. Allow me to set the scene.








A friend of a friend was having a party that included dancing, salsa in particular. Crush and I agreed to meet up there. Let me just say that I was hot ... I was looking fierce in this strapless black and white dress. I put a little extra time into getting ready and I even smelled good too. Crush arrived before me and once I went to greet him, all he said was 'hello.' This dude had the absolute gall not to be affected by me in all my gorgeousness.









The night wore on and we danced and chatted, danced and chatted, sometimes with each other, sometimes with other people. I upped the flirting a notch, yet Crush did not take the bait. Grrr.









Anywho, I drove home feeling dejected and disappointed. I felt like Marcus Graham in that scene in Boomerang where he's trying to get Robin Givens' character to fall into his charms: "This is my mack daddy vibe I'm giving you, in all it splendor. Check it, it's like Jet Magazine (pose)." I mean really, the nerve of this fool to be immune to my feminine wiles.







When I got home, it was late, I turned on my computer for a minute just to check my email. Crush was online and we im'd for about an hour. That's the thing about this dude, we're rarely on the phone -- mostly i.m., text, email. Call me old school, but you've got to call me. Sheesh. Anyway, I've given myself a deadline (Sept. 11, to be exact) as to when I'll either tell him I like him or ask him if he likes me or something like that. Man, I feel like I'm back in high school again. Maybe I'll slip him a note that says, 'do you like me? check yes, no, or I don't know.'







PS I hope that's enough, L-Boogie. And this works both ways ... I mean, can I learn a little bit more about this special someon you've been so giddy about? I'm not trying to be 'ALL THE WAY UP in yo bizness' but, ya know .... =)

Photo from http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/dayart/20060116/flirting.gif

Picket Fences

There is nothing that has increased my need for a new house like my neighbors. I may have written about the people I've been forced to live around a time or twenty and while it mostly seemed like an exaggeration, trust, it was not.







My main annoyance these days has been the people who live below me. We have thin walls, very thin, and I can hear everything. EVERYTHING. The cast of characters beneath my feet include a middle-aged woman, her 20-something year old daughter, and the daughter's three young children.







Now, let me say first that the three kids -- two girls and a boy -- are adorable. The sweetest little things. But when I'm inside my apartment, all I hear is Grandma yelling at them. "PUT THAT DOWN!" "LET HER GO!" "DON'T MAKE ME GO OVER THERE!" The screams are followed by subsequent slaps and tears. I mean, I'm not saying the kid didn't deserve it, but honestly.... do I need to hear all that? The funny thing is, I never hear the daughter say anything to them kids. I guess she figures she's go it made with Mom watching over anything.







I figured out the daugther's thing when I made the mistake of calling in sick to work a few Mondays ago. I was resting comfortably in my bed, watching Regis & Kelly, when I hear loud moans and groans coming from beneath me. Obviously, this is sex. But it's not like it's the kind of sex that makes me jealous, it's the kind that sounds very painful and frightening. Honestly, I thought that chick was giving birth. That was the loudest five minutes of my life. And don't even get me started on how she plays Bobby Brown's "Tenderoni" nonstop.







All of that was fine, really -- I mean, I was able to cope with it. But I reached my breaking point the other day. It was around midnight and I was about to get into my bed when I was able to hear the television from below my feet. Again, this doesn't bother me so much, since I know how thin our walls/ceilings/floors are. The problem came when I realized what she was watching. 'MASH.' I've never watched this award-winning TV show and there's a reason why: The theme song makes me nauseous and immensely depressed. I mean really: duh duh duh duh duh dooo, duh duh duh duh duh doo, duh duh duh duh duh dooo....ARGH!!! I hate it. Gives me a migraine like you wouldn't believe.







I've talked to other people about this theme song and I learned that I'm not the only one who feels this way. After all, the song is called 'Suicide is Painless.' Yuck. I hate it. Anyway, I was already in the early phases of starting the homebuying process, but that situation right there lit a fire under my arse like you wouldn't believe. All I want is to be in a place where I can walk upstairs and downstairs and not look at anyone I don't know. I want a garden, a driveway, a fireplace and a laundry room that's just for me. And most importantly, I want the bigger tax refund that doesn't come to us renters. Sigh. I'll get there .... one day.

(Image from http://www.jjcafe.net/photography/weekends/House/frontpage.jpg)

Bubbles

I'm feeling a certain kind of way and I don't like to feel this way. Ever. The sweaty palms, the quickened heartbeat, the butterflies/bubbles in the stomach. Sigh. And they only seem to happen when I think of a certain someone.






I guess you could say I have a crush. He is someone who has become a friend, which makes the whole situation even better, or worse, depending on how you look at it.

See, I'm not used to this friend before dating thing. I'm used to "yo baby, can i get your number?", "yo baby, can i hit it?", "yo baby, goodbye." Obviously, I could use a change. My conversations with Crush are usually via modern technology, i.e. texting, i.m., emails. Afterward, I spend way too much time analyzing what was written to see if I missed some kinda clue that he was flirting with me. All I know is he's single and looking, I'm single and half-assly (is that a word?) looking and we hang out. I enjoy is company, but I've been trying not to get my hopes up too high and I've been scaling down my inner Joan Clayton.



We're going on a Not-Date this week. What is a Not-Date, you may ask? Well, it's not a date, that's for sure. It's just that we've discovered that we'll be attending the same party alone and we've made plans to go together. And this has actually caused major anticipation on my part, from trying to figure out what to wear in advance, to praying nonstop that it won't rain and cause me to Plan B the outfit.



Anyway, I'm happy to be doing the friend thing and taking things s l o w for a change. I'll tell him sometime in the future how I feel, if things work out. For now, I'm just going to enjoy the moment and pine from afar. Hopefully, he won't figure out that my new myspace song (Fantasia's "When I See U) is about him.

(Photo from http://www.hometownfavorites.com/images/orange-crush.jpg)

Deconstructing Lauryn

That magazine cover right there is how I choose to remember Lauryn Hill, aka L-Boogie. There are reports that she looks quite different these days, has lost her mind and is the sole reason a Fugees reunion may not ever happen.

Now, for those of you who don't know, I LOOOOOOVE Lauryn Hill. I admit that I didn't think she was all that big of a deal back when my cousins used to drool over her, but I did like the Fugees. She got me when she had that killer line in"Ready or Not": 'While you imitatin' Al Capone/I be Nina Simone and defecating on your microphone.'

When Lauryn went solo, things changed for me. I remember where I was the first time I heard "Lost Ones", the first single off of the Miseducation of Lauryn Hill. I was in my college newspaper office, working, when that song came on the radio. Somebody attempted to change the station when myself and this Indian boy (the only other minority at the paper) threatened to maim him/her. I promptly got the album and saw her on tour twice that summer. Oh yes, I'm a true fan.

To this day, I continue to defend L. Boogie against her naysayers, folks who want to crticize her relationship with Rohan, the children she's had out of wedlock and how she has nerve to call other people heathens. I even bought her MTV unplugged CD which was no 'Miseducation.' Let's just say my girl had way too many issues to get off her chest on those tracks and it got into the way of the music.

Call me selfish, but I'm really ready for Lauryn to get it together as best she can and start making music again. If I can't have a Fugees reunion, fine, I won't have one. But I could definitely use some L. Boogie in my life. Until then, I have the Miseducation CD on repeat, remembering the good ol days and hoping for the best.

(Photo from http://cdn.channel.aol.com/channels/0c/04/43a9a052-001c1-0085f-400cb8e1)

Out There, But In There

Well, I went 'out there' just like I said I would. And after a few weeks of being exposed to that world, I'm racing right back into my shell.

Actually, being out there wasn't that bad, even though I didn't do it to the fullest. I did learn that nowadays this meeting people thing takes quite a bit of discipline, confidence and LOTS of money.

I found this group that coordinates dinners between groups of professional men and women with the intention of hook ups. I thought that would be kind of fun to do once or twice. After all, a girl's gotta eat. I emailed the facilitator for more information about memerships. What did I learn? You can't just have dinners and pay as you go; you have to buy a membership package. And these packages cost $250 and up. Hah! Onto the next venture.

I'm still window shopping on Achoo! Personals and Hatch, with no real results. I did a brief trial of Achoo! and talked to one guy from there on the phone. That one conversation was enough to tell me he was a dud. There was a guy I was interested in on Hatch, so I sent him a wink, which is how you let someone know you're interested. He winked back, but I'm a punk and talked myself out of making the next move. I still haven't paid the fee, so I can't read any emails he may have sent me and this was quite a few weeks ago. It would really surprise me if he even still had a profile up there. Oh well.

In the online world, there are two types of fellas that I've been prone to attract: Mr. Separated and Mr. I'll Tell You Later. I think Mr. Separated speaks for himself. That's the guy who's separated from his wife, yet he'll express interest in me. Do me a favor, buddy -- get divorced, wait a year or two, then try to get at me. And then there's Mr. I'll Tell You Later. This is the kind of guy who'll avoid pertinent questions on his profile:

Age -- I'll tell you later.

Marital status -- I'll tell you later.

Do you have children? I'll tell you later.

I mean, really. If you're a married, 45 year old man with five kids. Just say so! I wouldn't be interested, but I'm sure there's someone out there who would. But that's an area so far from my expertise that I won't even go there.

The best part of this experience was the cookout I attended recently. I was there chatting with a male acquiantance when he suddenly said, "I like your profiles." I didn't know what he was talking about, I assumed it was myspace, since we are myspace friends. Then he proceeded to tell me that he'd seen me on Hatch and Achoo! and liked what I had to say.

This jarred me for a moment, but shoot, I'm not ashamed. If he's on there, he's probably having the same issues in the dating world as I am. We began comparing notes on what we've got from each site and we've both had similar experiences. It seems like there's no easy way to navigate this wonderful world of dating. It's just so darn frustrating. Sigh. But I'll keep at it for now and let ya'll know if there's any progress.

(Photo from http://www.darksungames.com/dsgallery/cupid_kills.jpg)

Sure, We Can Be Friends -- Just Ditch Your Kid

The phone rang the other day and that old familiar number popped up, but I didn’t answer it. This is the second time in two weeks that that number has rang my phone and I’m starting to feel a little guilty about avoiding “Sheila.” The thing is, the avoidance isn’t her fault. The problem is her kids. Well, one of her kids, that is.

Back in the day, Sheila and I were tight, despite her being quite a few years older. We lived in the same neighborhood and she doted on me like a mother hen. Whenever somebody wanted to fight me, they’d have to go through her first. I went with her when she got her first tattoo, she was with me when I got the second hole in my ear pierced. She encouraged me to be wild, I tried to get her to calm down. I'm not sure either one of us was successful in our attempts to influence the other. We moved away, but remained in touch over the years.

Recently, we got back in contact. The Sheila that I know is now a divorced mother of two – a son and a daughter. The few times we’ve hung out, they’ve always been to kid-friendly things. She’d call me up, wanting to hang out and I’d be all excited, thinking she wanted to go to the mall or to the club or something. Then I’d scratch my head in amazement as she invited me to Chuck E Cheese, birthday parties and other crap where I’d be wedged between screaming children.

Now, ordinarily this wouldn’t be so bad, if I was forced to be around kids who are enjoyable. Her 6-year-old son, love him to death, he’s my road dog, the cutest thing in the world. Her 12-year-old daughter, however, is a demon seed. She’s approaching those teen years and always seems like she has an attitude about something. I’ve seen the way she talks to her mother and grandmother and have wondered often why she's still breathing. Since I don’t have kids of my own, I keep my mouth shut.

So I’ve been dreading Sheila’s phone calls, knowing that she's just dying to invite me to the next birthday party. Maybe next time we get together I’ll suggest she leave the kids at home. Or at least, leave her daughter at home. Her son can roll. Hmmm... I guess that wouldn't go over too well. Oh well, I guess I'll have to find ways to flake out of some of her invitations.

(Photo from http://www1.istockphoto.com/file_thumbview_approve/2485105/2/istockphoto_2485105_tired_mom_screaming_baby_mchipster250.jpg)

Finished ... Finally

I hadn't planned to write another Harry Potter post, but I feel the need to let everyone know how grateful I am now that I have finished that massive book. I'm generally a fast reader, except when it comes to the HP series. During those times, I read at a snail's pace while my friends can digest it in one sitting. There was always this increasing pressure for me to finish the books within a reasonable time frame, just to keep up with my rep as a speedreader.

The pressure was even worse for this last book, since it is (allegedly) the final one in the series. It was nearly impossible to read without stumbling onto spoilers, like here, here and here , not to mention the Wikipedia summary of the book and those blasted interviews JK Rowling had been doing on the Today show. Top that off with all the people who wanted to bug me constantly and say, 'are u fininshed yet? what's taking so long? u of all people should be done by now!'

The last straw came when a coworker of mine, who was trailing behind me in the number of pages left to read (she had 500+, while I had about 100) came to work the next day and told me she was done. I politely told that heffa to go make love to herself and take her stinkin' book with her. Grrr. But then, I spent my lunch break reading. I read and I read until finally ... I FINISHED.

It took me a whole week to finish the book, but I'm done. Thank goodness. I loved the book, even though Prisoner of Azkaban was my favorite. There were constant deaths and some caused me to shed a tear. I still have my undying love for Fred and George and I don't care what anybody says, I hate Hagrid. And now it's all over. Sniff, sniff. Can't wait for the last two movies!!

Happy Birthday To Ya....

(For D.E.J. 7/29/57 to 6/26/99)

You are looking at a limited edition photo of a young Strength with Papa Strength, circa 1983. If he had lived, today would've been my dad's 50th birthday. I imagine he'd have a big party to celebrate the day and he'd get his turquoise corvette all washed and shined for the occasion. He'd call everyone -- family, friends, girlfriends -- and remind us all when and where we needed to be. And we'd get there, no matter what.

He'd arrange it so he made some kind of grand entrance where the dj played a special song just to celebrate his arrival. Dad would detest most of the stuff on the radio today, so the playlist would include his old favorites -- Phyllis Hyman, Three Times Dope, Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince, Salt 'N Pepa, etc. It would definitely be an old school jam. The one exception would e Beyonce', I'm sure he'd like her.

We'd stroll out onto the dance floor in full view of his insecure ex girlfriend, Susan. Dad always had a way with the ladies and the poor thing always got all a'flutter when she saw Dad around them. She once called over his place and got mad when I answered the phone, thinking I was someone he was cheating with. (Pobrecita -- I hope she got the help she needed.) His other exes would be there as well, including Debbie, who, along with her daughter, remind me of the main characters from 'The Parkers' ; and Joyce, who drove me crazy with all her pets but was with me at the hospital when he died in 1999.

The party would be packed with folks who knew Dad in one way or the other. Some smart aleck would find a way to put 50 candles on a birthday cake and he'd try his hardest to blow them all out. Mom probably wouldn't attend, but he'd ask me about her, like always. He'd tell me that I'm looking more and more like her everyday and then he'd clown me once he noticed that I'm getting the same gray hairs that I once teased him about. Then he'd ask me how long I'm planning to let my locks grow before I come to my senses and cut them off. He'd roll his eyes when I tell him that I'm letting them grow as long as possible, then I'd give him a big hug. Somebody would snap a picture and soon, the party would be over.

Anyway, that's how I wished things could've happened. Rest in peace, old man.

To My Footsies ....

Dear Feet,

First off, Mama loves you. Seriously. No part of my body has had my back the way you have. You get me through the longest days by adding a spring in my step and there is no greater joy than rubbing you after a long day's work. I know I've put you through some rough patches, like my karate phase where I slammed you into wooden boards, and let's not even talk about the blood clot. As I've gotten older, I've learned to appreciate you two much more. I've even come to appreciate the sluefootedness.

I know the summer months are hard on you, but I want to remind you that that's no excuse to just fall apart on a sister. Remember that both sides of my family are cursed with horrible feet (actually, some folks' look more like monkey paws), but we haven't had to deal with that. I can't even wear sandals around my family anymore because they get so jealous of your beauty!

I have been concerned about your behavior lately. I bought a new pair of sandals, which you seemed to like at the store. But once I wore them for a full day, you wanted to scream out in pain. And you kept me up half the night holding ice to the bumps that had developed near each heel. It wasn't later until I noticed some of your other issues, like the peeling on the right foot. Really, there's no reason for this! I lotion you two up daily and in the summer months, I douse you in vaseline and sleep wearing socks. You are the most lubricated pair of feet on the planet. There is no need for this behavior!

Ok, I'm done criticizing you. This is just a reminder that the summer is almost over and you are going on a cruise in September. No matter what issues you have now, you better be over them by the time I step onto that boat. If my feet look jacked up while I'm in the Carribbean, I'm liable to get rid of ya'll and find a new pair.

Smooches!

Strength

(Photo from http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/mummy/images/ikra-03-feet-l.jpg)

Pinochle & Gin Rummy

When I was 9, I learned that the only way to play a good hand of cards was to have a cigarrette in one hand and a beer close by.







I learned this all from my aunt BG, whom I spent a few summers with as a little girl. She's my Mom's oldest sister and she even has some kids that are older than my Mom. She's the first party animal I ever met. I used to think it was funny to watch her turn on the music loud and shout in the streets that she wanted to party. I thought it was fine that she didn't start her day until after 2 o'clock or that she sent me down the street often to buy her packs of Salem cigarettes.






The best part of my day was when she had a deck of cards in her hand. It was then that she taught me to play all the different forms of gin rummy and eventually pinochle. When she got tired of me always asking her for a game, she taught me solitare. She had a large book and movie collection that spanned the ages. After spending a few weeks with her, I read Hamlet and watched "The Graduate" "Jason and the Argonauts" and "Fatal Attraction" (they covered my eyes on the sex scenes, but I was able to see enough.)







It was years before I realized Aunt BG had a problem. She was always a tiny woman, but she got skinnier and skinnier. Mom wouldn't let me spend time with her anymore and my aunt distanced herself from family get togethers, stumbling into a heavy drug addiction. She was on the streets for several years and the last time I saw her was when I was 17.







We got word recently that Aunt BG had surfaced and she was in the hospital for kidney failure, among other ailments. So myself and a bunch of my relatives drove to my hometown to visit her in the hospital yesterday. I am not exaggerating when I say she looked horrible. She weighed 85 pounds and I could see the bones jutting out from her hospital gown. The whole top row of her teeth were gone and she was bald -- apparently, her hair had gotten so matted that she decided to shave it all off. There was a white film over her lips and her left jaw was swollen. It was frightening.








I already hate hospitals, so this was not an ideal situation for me to be in. It got worse when one of my relatives pointed me out to her and she wanted to hug me. I was too upset and disgusted to go anywhere near her, but I hugged her anyway. I stood wedged in between her hospital bed in the wall while everyone surrounded her and try to talk about old times. Aunt BG was still her same feisty self -- she didn't shed a single tear. She even swore a few times and jumped out of the bed often. At one point, I was trying to help her get situated in the bed when she half jokingly asked for a beer.


I'd say the worst part of the evening was when I realized that I was standing in the worst possible position in that hospital room. I was fine for some small talk and trying to persuade her to eat, but other than that I tried to make myself invisible. And I succeeded, up until the time Aunt BG asked me to hand her the bedpan, which was apparently to my right. I did as I was told and I had a clear view of her trying to wedge her miniature behind into the bedpan.




The doctors aren't really giving us any straight answers on her prognosis and auntie has made it clear that she doesn't want to be hospitalized much longer. I hope there is a solution somewhere out there for her. I hate for what I saw this weekend to be my last image of my aunt.

(Image from http://www.gambling-us.com/images/poker.jpg)

"You've got to admit, that Dumbledore's got style."

This will be a mini-post, just to announce that I will be on a blogging vacation for a bit. The thing is, the last Harry Potter book is coming out on Friday and not only will I get my hands on that bad boy at midnight, I won't stop reading until I learn the boy wizard's fate. Yes, I'm a 30-year-old Harry Potter head. Anybody got a problem with that? Good, I didn't think so.

I saw the movie this weekend (which is where the above quote came from) an it only made me even more excited for the upcoming release of the book. I liked the movie, but it's so hard to watch Harry Potter/Daniel Radcliffe grow up right before my eyes. I nearly cried in the scene when he had his first kiss with Cho and in another scene where they panned his current teenage face against the boyish one he had when the movies began years ago. Sniff, sniff. Then I have to remind myself that he's barely legal as I see photo after photo of him looking kinda good, with just the right mixture of facial hair and muscle. Surely anyone who looks like that can defeat Lord Voldemort!

Anywho, if you don't hear from me for a bit, blame it on Harry Potter. I'm a relatively fast reader, so my hiatus won't be too long. And I promise not to post any spoilers ... I don't want J.K. Rowling coming after me.

(Photo from http://a7.vox.com/6a00c2251ce3f4f21900d09e5fc07fbe2b-320pi)

Blogwatch

Every once in a while, I'll stumble across a website that sparks my interest and I'll mean to write a post about it. Then I'll forget all about it and move on with my life. But this time, Juicy sent me a link that is truly unforgettable. Basically, it's a blog about interracial marriages/relationships, specifically between black women and white men.

The best part is the list of celebrity names on the sides with links to pictures of them and their partners. In the few times I visited this site, I learned quite a bit. I didn't know Whoopi Goldberg and Chris Noth were once an item (not sure if that's still the case), nor did I know that Clint Eastwood was married to a sistah. I shared one tidbit with my Mom, which got some surprising results:

"Hey, Mom? Did you know Stone Phillips is married to a black woman?"

"WHAAAAAT??!!" She sits upright in bed, eyes wild. "He's with us??!!! That's my man!! I always knew there was a reason I liked him!"

Anyway, check it out if you're like me and enjoy filling your brain with useless knowledge.

This Is Why I'm Hot

It’s been a scorching summer. Couple that with the fact that the a/c in my car isn’t working and you’ve got one grumpy blogger.

I took my car, Mimi, in for some maintenance about a month ago and came out with a clean bill of health. It wasn’t until a couple of days later did I notice that when I switched on the switch for air conditioning, I felt hot air blow out. At first, I thought I was crazy. I just knew that I had the air on, so why was I sweating like crazy? Then, everytime I’d have someone in the car, I’d switch on the a/c and ask them if they felt hot air. They would immediately scream, “yes,” then roll down the window to gasp for air.

This week, I decided to get the problem straightened out, so I took it to the shop. They poked and they prodded and then they fixed all of Mimi’s troubles. I got into the car, flicked the switch and felt cool air blowing through my locs. Ahh…. What a feeling.

That lasted for a day. During my lunch break, I noticed the dreaded hot air again. Literally, I felt like I was stuffed inside a volcano. Once again, I took my car to the shop and told them that I don’t have hot flashes, so there must be still something wrong with the air conditioning. We’re so sorry, ma’am, the manager said to me, we’ll get to the bottom of this. I dropped the car off and went back to work.

I returned 3.5 hours later only to find my car still in one of the bays as two mechanics looked at it and scratched their heads. They didn’t know why the air wasn’t working. The manager said it must be some kind of wiring problem, because the doodad and the whatchacallit seemed to work fine, but when they put the thingie on the whatzit, the air wouldn’t work. They didn’t have the technology to fix it there, so they suggested I take it to the dealer.

So I’m going to spend my lovely Saturday at the dealer, hoping this problem won’t cost me an arm and a leg. Until then, I’ll be the one driving around with my windows down, even in the rain. I’ll be that person parking under a tree, risking an assault from bird poop missles and an extra hike to my destination. But for a couple of days, I’ll have to endure this discomfort. Hopefully, the heat, as well as the problem with my a/c, won’t be too excessive. Ugh.

(Photo from http://msnbcmedia2.msn.com/j/msnbc/Components/Photos/060731/060731_HEATWAVE_hmed_3p.hmedium.jpg)

I Walk The Line

One of the many special aspects of my job is the location of my seating area. My desk separates another department filled with older graying women from the young bucks in my department, whom are mostly in their early 20s. (The other 30 year old quit recently, making me the oldest person in my job). The geography of my seat means that I hear a variety of conversations from the older women on my left -- there's the flurry about hot flashes, new grandchildren and widowdom. And on my right side, there's talk about concerts, bridal showers and Britney Spears.

There are advantages and disadvantages to both groups -- the Baby Boomers and the Gen Y'ers. The lead Boomer, D, has her good qualities, but she's generally the most annoying woman on the face of this earth. If ever I'm talking to one of the Gen Y'ers about something that doesn't concern her, she'll but in with one of her tales of how things were when she was growing up in 19whatever. Everyone else will ignore her -- but because of where I sit and because I respect my elders -- I nod and give her my pity laugh. (My pity laugh is what I use as a repsonse to a story that's not as funny as the storyteller believes it is). But I'm not so polite that I'm unable to get a laugh or two at D's expense. One day, she turned to another Boomer and said, "LOL, Sandy! That's what all the kids are saying these days. LOL!" I couldn't resist turning to a Gen Yer and cracking up. D and I occasionaly do the same with the Gen Yers. "Did you hear that, D?" I once said to her. "Sally said her boyfriend is old. He's 26." And we both rolled our eyes.

The biggest problem with my position in the office is the gas. For all of you who have been exposed to the elderly, you know that there is nothing like those silent deadly farts that they release without abandon. Sometimes I'll be sitting at my desk and I'll be hit with an awful stench that smells like rotten eggs mixed with cow dung. It's so bad that my eyes water and my eyebrows practically jump off of my face. I'm the first one to smell it and often I'm the only one to smell it. The farts are so bad that I have to leave the room, just to get some air. And once I return, all the Boomers are diligently typing away on their computers, as if they've done nothing wrong. The jerks. If only there was something I could slip in their coffee to make that stench lest rank. Hmmmm. I'll have to work on that.

(Photo from http://www.cartoonstock.com/newscartoons/cartoonists/mfl/lowres/mfln166l.jpg)

Today Is A Good Day

I'm so glad for a day off today, even if it is smack dab in the middle of the week. I'm like a kid when I know I have a day off the next day. I stay awake late, watch a bunch of junk on TV and wake up whenever I darn well please. I did stay up fairly late last night, but it's such a struggle to get a good picture on my TV that eventually I just tossed the remote and climbed into bed. (I'm working on that cable thing, ya'll!)

I went and did an hour long walk around my apartment complex this morning, this afternoon if you want to get technical about it. It was overcast most of the time and the sun stayed out just enough for me to get both a nice tan and drenched in sweat. I didn't see any of the usual characters that I usually do on my trek, which was a shame. I would've liked to have seen the Singing Lady. This is the older woman who trudges around the sidewalks at top speeds loudly singing songs by Kool & The Gang and Earth, Wind & Fire. People often stare at her, but she keeps on going with her walk, not even caring. She's so focused that I've been unable to catch her eye on those times I've tried to speak to her. Ah well. Press on, Singing Woman.

Now I'm showered and fresh, trying to ignore the television. Some of my old friends -- All My Children, One Life to Live and General Hospital -- are trying to ease their ways back into my life. GH is especially trying hard by introducing me to a new black couple, one that actually has lines other than "yo, baby." Hmmm .... But I'm done with soap operas!! Must ... try .. harder to .... resist.

I don't know of anyone having a cookout or anything today, so things will be quiet on my end. I don't feel like fighting the crowds to see the fireworks and I don't want to use my gas to go over to Mom's to watch her tape of the BET Awards. I think the rest of the day I'll stay here, just as content as I can be. I'd like to do some housework, but who am I kidding? I'll probably do some writing, reading and maybe I'll have that big ol' bowl of Cap'n'Crunch that I've been craving. I'm going to do whatever I want because isn't that what Independence Day is about?

Happy Fourth of July everybody!

(Photo from http://www.robertprice.co.uk/robblog/images/eastbourne_fireworks_2005_2.jpg)

Mourning The Morning

Yes, I've been gone for far too long and I apologize. The truth is, I've been ex.haust.ed! Too tired to think, let alone do blog posts. But thanks to a reminder and gentle push from Tha L, I am putting my slacker ways behind me.

I've been so tired that I'm going to spend this post writing about the odd morning I had today. I'm the type of person who often has a dreamless sleep. The only time I do dream is when I'm severely tired. And on those nights when the dreams occur, they're pretty crazy. For example, I once dreamt that I saw a male coworker cough up a bunch of tampons. True story and dreams like that are some of the main reasons that I like to get my rest.

Last night, I went to bed much later than I wanted to. I had a busy, but fun weekend and I didn't have much time to rest. I planned to go to bed early, but that never happens. I jumped into bed around 11 o'clock, my normal time. But even though I was severely tired, I could not sleep. I tossed and turned, tossed and turned. Occasionally, I'd sit up in bed and see my cat on floor, staring at me like he was concerned.

After what seemed like several hours of this, my alarm clock went off. I shook myself awake and realized I'd been asleep the whole time. I was dreaming that I couldn't sleep! Weird, huh? I wonder if I was having one of those out of body experiences that people talk about. Hmmm ....

Anyway, I pushed the snooze button and went right back to sleep. This time, I dreamt that a colleagues mother (whom I've never met) called me up and gave me some money. Just when I was about to cash the check, the alarm clock went off again. This time I listened and started getting ready for work. I'm still tired this evening, so I wonder what dreamland holds in store for me tonight!

(Photo courtesy of http://www.moeyyo.com/MM/homepages/24/d88498392/htdocs/ourfamily/MM/insomnia.jpg

Parachute Pop

There was a time, years ago when I landed my first big internship in my line of work. It was out of state, so I lived with my aunt and took the train over to my job. I was so excited to be in this world of grownups, so filled with accomplishment. Everyday I’d look around at folks around me who actually wore real clothes to work instead of uniforms and hats and didn’t end their sentences with, "would you like fries with that?" I got a nice check every week and I had it made. During that time, a woman asked me if I liked my job and I, with no hesitation whatsoever, said “I LOVE IT” with such enthusiasm that I frightened her.

And my, how things have changed.

I don’t hate my job, but I don’t love it either and I'm having a general malaise toward the whole profession. I’m fed up with so much of the crap that goes into it. The internal politics, the nosey colleagues, watching everyone work in deference to the certain Powers That Be and lately, the constant worry about layoffs.

I won’t allow myself to be miserable with my working situation because a wise person once told me ‘positive thoughts lead to positive results.’ Still, I’m frustrated with my career choice. I wish I didn't have to wake up every morning and deal with The Man for 40 hours a week then come home and put whatever energy I have left into my own writing endeavors. On that end, I've reached the 50,000 word mark in the novel I'm writing. I celebrated for about five minutes, since I realize I have another 50,000 words and dozens of revisions to make before I can even imagine this as a published product. But I'll get there.

We have an intern who started and a few months ago and boy, is he eager. Not eager in the annoying sense, but eager in the ‘awww, isn’t he sweet’ kinda way. I made the mistake of taking Eager out for an Auntie Anne’s pretzel on his first day. I say it was a mistake because every day after that when he sees me rushing off, he wants to come with me and asks if I’m going to lunch. I make up some excuse about where I’m going because I want to be left alone. I’m very picky about my lunch break. I like to spend that hour in my secret hiding place (typically the library) reading a book or getting a new one. The last thing I need is someone tagging on my heels.

I'll probably take Eager to lunch again sometime before his internship is over. But I'll cut things short if he wants any career advice or asks me for any professional direction. That's when I will proceed to tell him that I am not a role model. I don't give career advice and if I did, I would advise him to get into another field altogether, one with more money and job security. I'd tell him to stay in school as long as he possibly can and to find the color of his parachute, before that bad boy pops.

(Photo from http://images.amazon.com/images/P/1580085415.01.LZZZZZZZ.jpg)

Upgrade U

"Hello, may I speak to Strength/Courage/Wisdom?"

"Yes, this is her."

"Hi, I'm calling from Sprint to alert you of a service upgrade. No need to worry, this call will not affect your minutes."

"That's great. But I'm in traffic right now. Is there any way you can call me back --"

"Are you happy with your current service plan?"

"I'd say so, yes."

"I see that currently you have 450 minutes a month and you pay $xxx. Is that right?"

"I think so, but again, I'm driving. If I could look at my paperwork and call you back ..."

"Well, to thank you for being such a good customer, we're going to give you additional minutes and an additional phone line for an extra $xx a month! How does that sound?"

"Fine. But --"

"This way, you could have another phone for anyone else in your family for an inexpensive rate. This is only available to our best customers, S/C/W. You've been with us for six years, right? This is to make sure that you won't ever leave us. Ever!"

"I wasn't planning to leave, but --"

"If I could just get your authorization, I could start the paperwork on your new account right now."

"Sorry, I'm not interested. I have no use for a second phone."

"Oh come on, S/C/W!! Surely your family members could use another phone to keep in touch with you during the day! If not your husband, then maybe your kids. I'm sure they could use a phone."

"That's just it. I'm single. I couldn't use the phone for anyone else."

*Silence*

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

"I'm here. Strength, surely you could use our phone. There's got to be someone, anyone ...!!"

"Nope. Sorry."

"Well, that changes everything. Thank you for being a Sprint customer."

"But wait! I did want to upgrade my phone. Do I still get the rebate for that?"

"(Sucking teeth) I guess. That's not my department. I'm strictly for our family rewards program."

"Oh. Then why are you calling me?"

"Good question, Strength. Anyway, thanks again for choosing Sprint. You have a nice day."

(Photo courtesy of http://static.howstuffworks.com/gif/cell-phone-exploded.jpg)

Healing

I woke up a few days ago with a scratchiness in my throat that indicated my worst fear. Ned is trying to make a comeback. I've been downing green tea non stop and eating more soup than I ever have in my life. I even down Nyquill before I go to bed. I have a four day weekend coming up and I do not want to be sick. The only thing worse than spending a day off being sick is having to spend a sick day actually being sick.

Hopefully, this will all go away soon. I'm reading this book, "Wild Seed," where one of the main characters, Anyanawu, can heal herself and others. She can look inside her body to see what's wrong and fix it, so to speak. How I wish I had that power. I would gladly blink away the stuffy nose, the sneezes and this persistent cough. Ah well. Time for some more tea.

(Photo from http://www.rsc.org/images/FEATURE-GREEN%20TEA-250_tcm18-38928.jpg)

Destination: Out There

I'm sure many single folks have heard this statement before. "What, you're not seeing anyone? You've got to get out there!' It would be easy if 'out there' was this place where you just slipped a quarter into a machine and the perfect man would fall out. Unfortuantely, in reality 'out there' is pretty much defined by clubs and bars -- places I typically stay away from.

But the other day I looked in the mirror and decided that I am waaaay too fine to be sitting around with no one to talk to but my cat. I'm going to get 'out there' and see what I can see. I won't be doing too much club and bar hopping, but just trying to go out more often instead of limiting my world to work and home.

I took the first step the other day by joining meetup.com. It's a social networking thing where you hang out with folks with similar interests. I joined a few groups -- sunday movie buffs, first time home buyers, salsa and fitness. None of my groups are having any events any time soon. Later this month, I'll check out a home buying seminar and next month I'm doing a movie with this Sunday matinee crew. Ehhh.... it's something to do.

And I don't say all this because I'm looking for a man. I guess you could say I'm blindly looking. I signed up for a couple of online dating sites -- I'll call them Hatch and Achoo! Personals -- but only for the free trials. I can look at the clientele and they can look at me, but I can't make any real contact until I pay a fee. And I won't pay a fee until I see someone worthy, but I won't stress about it. All I want is someone who is single, childless, gorgeous, fit, rich, humorous, and hygenic with no arrest record who has all his limbs and teeth. Ok, I'm exaggerating a bit, but you get the point.

But being online again has helped me face an awful truth -- the fellas don't seem to be that into me anymore. Juicy warned me that guys would treat me differently once I decided to wear my hair natural and it's so true. These days, men barely give me a second look. There was a bit more interest when my hair was short, but now that it's locked, they're thinking 'here comes one of them earthy chicks. watch out.' There's been a significant change in the number of winks I get on Hatch now compared to when I did before, when I had a picture of myself with relaxed hair. Does hair make that big of a difference? Apparently so. Locks may be considered the hip sexy thing for men to do, but for women it's a no-no.

Anyway, I didn't want to turn this post into a long ramble session. I just wanted to put it out there that I'm going to make a greater effort toward being more social, to getting 'out there.' I'll be sure to keep you all posted about my experiences.

(Photo from http://www.internationalreporter.com/images/lro_to_moon-1.jpg)

I'm Officially a Widow...

Back in the '90s, I was madly in love with Tony Thompson. So I was saddened to learn this. Oh, it hurts. Now I'm going to have to dig up my Hi Five tape. Yes, I said tape.

Apparently, the Internet doesn't like my grief and won't let me embed any of the videos. So go here and watch a video, preferably 'I Like.' He's the young lead singer. R.I.P. Tony, R.I.P.

(Photo from http://www.eurweb.com/images/tony_thompson(undated-cd-cover-med).JPG)