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.

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!

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

On Noise

My workplace is quiet. Too quiet. That’s not to say there isn’t a lot of talking going on. My coworkers and I talk constantly, from the minute we get in to the minute we leave. But this is the 21st century. Our communication is centered over email and the company’s i.m. system. When you’re in a silent environment, you don’t want to disrupt it with useless noise. So I’ll send Coworker A a note where I compliment her shoes; I’ll get a message from Coworker B that there are doughnuts in the back of the room and Coworker C will electronically ask me about my lunch plans.

There are times when the quiet gives me a headache. I have a lot of cds downloaded on my computer, so there are times when I put my headphones on and zone out. But sometimes this is problematic. My musical tastes go from gospel to gangsta, so catch me at the wrong moment and I’ll either pray for you or bust a cap in your ass.

This week, I tried to cut down on my musical tug of war. One day, I streamed NPR on my computer. It was cool, but the constant conversations had me so interested in what the hosts were saying, that I couldn’t concentrate on my work. Then I decided to stream NPR’s classical music station. Maybe listening to Mozart would not only motivate me, but it would simultaneously make me a genius. Well, I had the same problem as I did with my own musical selection. One song would have my heart beating out of my chest, and the very next one would depress me.

Today, it is quiet again. I’m going to talk to my plants. If that doesn’t work, I may just start talking aloud to my coworkers. We’ll see how they like that.

Here's a Personal Story: Bring Your Friends!

I mentioned before that I got a part-time job to help cope with the furloughs and other cutbacks my full-time gig had implemented. The second job is retail, so that means I would spend portions of my time going into this store and transforming myself into the bubbly aggressive salesperson that everyone ‘loves.’ Yes, this was very difficult for me.

I’d been leading the dual-job life for nearly three years now. We have secret shoppers who come in and evaluate us. It’s all very easy to get a 100 percent. And you’ll definitely get accolades if a customer complains that you were bothering them, because that just shows that we value customer service. So imagine my surprise when I got my secret shopper evaluation. My evaluator gave me a 91 percent. I didn’t get a perfect score because I didn’t tell her a personal story (i.e. “I love these pants because they make my butt look cute”) and I didn’t end our conversation with the company mantra: “Next time, bring your friends!” So here’s a personal story from me to her:

Dearest Secret Shopper:

Thank you so much for submitting your opinion about my customer service. Because we see hundreds (ok, dozens) of women a day, it is hard for me to remember exactly who you are. Could you be the shopper who came in pushing a stroller. I rushed over to give your child a sticker, only to realize you were not pushing a child, but a dog. Or could you be the shopper who came in wearing M-sized pants, but then only wanted to be fitted in XS? And after each pair of XS’s wouldn’t do, you’d look at yourself in the mirror and screech “MY LITTLE GIRL PARTS ARE SHOWING!”

So after struggles like that, you an imagine why I may have neglected to share a personal story with you. You don’t want to hear about the acrobatics I have to pull in my main job’s bathroom stall when it’s time to change into my job #2 uniform. Surely you don’t want to hear about those times I’ve hidden myself in the fitting room, closed the curtains and took a cat nap. Or maybe you’d like to know that working in a store full of women has made me ravenous for practically every man that walks by. (See UPS Man, water cooler man, light fixture man, shoppers’ husbands, etc etc etc)

See, I knew all of that would bore you. Never the less, you asked and I answered. And it is because of silly demands like that that today will be my last day at the store. I’m going to catch up on two things I value in life -- Sleep and Sanity. But don’t let that stop you from coming in the store. I’m sure my (former) coworkers would love to entertain you and your retail values. But as for me.... I’m gone.

Next time, bring your friends!

Best,

S/C/W

Dirty Dishes

I was running late for work yesterday morning when I was confronted with a severe case of D.D.G -- Dirty Dish Guilt. My sink was overflowing with used pots, bowls, silverware, plates and glasses. I was already running late … what could I do?

People judge you on your dirty dishes. Just like they judge you on your unmade bed. When I was a kid, Mom used to make a big fuss about my messy bedroom. I found that as long as I made my bed, she didn’t fuss as much. It’s the same with dirty dishes. Look at the media portrayal. You remember those movies where the police had to enter the home of a a drug addict/unfit mother/pedophile/hoarder/otherwise poor person? The first thing they do is zero in on the sink and the flies that swarm off of the tiny bits of crud that’s caked onto their dirty dishes. Think back to the 1980s and that movie, Lean On Me. Remember when Mista Clark had to visit Kaneesha’s home, because her mom didn’t want her anymore? When they went inside the apartment, the first thing they showed was the huge pile of dirty dishes in the mom’s sink. Ok, maybe not. But that’s how I remember it.

So the last thing I want is for some sort of a emergency arise, where maintenance has to get in and they see my dirty dishes. Or better yet, what if my apt is burglarized?? Criminals don’t need to know about the scrambled eggs, broccoli, cream of wheat, and turkey burgers that had been fortifying me. I am NOT Kaneesha’s Mother. I’m also not a drug addict/unfit mother/pedophile/hoarder/otherwise poor person.

I glanced at the clock, and I glanced at the dishes. I did what any sensible person would do. I stuffed my dishes inside my microwave, and my oven. I drove off to work with ‘Lean On Me’ theme song stuck in my head.

Photo from

http://tinyurl.com/3gtnf44

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!

Now I DO Wanna Play

One of the things I miss about being a kid is how easy it was to make friends, girlfriends in particular. You show up to algebra class and are assigned to work with the chick next to you. Friend. You’re late to school and have to slip into math class unnoticed, when someone discretely opens the door for you. Friend. Your senile English teacher keeps confusing you with the Italian -- not the other black girl -- in class, simply because you both get good grades. Friend, Amico.

But it gets harder to make those connections when you’re an adult. My post college years were spent in a state where I knew absolutely no one. Everyone in my satellite office was older, married and too uninteresting for me to want to hang out with. So I went on the prowl for some friends, and wound up with a series of one night stand friends. You know those friends, the ones you only hang out with because you don’t want to go to that movie/concert/art exhibit/restaurant by yourself? Well I had quite a few. There was the Insecure one, who often needed to be told that there was nothing wrong with her outfit; the Alcoholic one, who peed in my car after a night of drinking; the Cheap one, who could never do anything because she always “only had $5”; and the Hypochondriac, who had to bail on several outings because she didn’t have her back acne medication. It took me quite a while before I found some good friends who fill the void.

So that brings me to today. See, I’ve met someone. *blushes* Rosie and I have had casual conversations as we wait for the gym doors open at 6 a.m. I’ve learned we have a lot in common. She’s around my age and appreciates fine literature and cinema as much as I do. That’s right, she’s a Harry Potter/True Blood/Lord of the Rings/Game of Thrones kinda gal. So when Alcide (True Blood) disrobed shortly before transforming into a werewolf, we swooned together all throughout spin class. When she and her boyfriend got tickets to the Harry Potter Theme Park, we became screaming teenage girls. When she bought the Game of Thrones book series, she promised I could borrow it since I was HBO-less when the series aired. But those 15 minutes we chat before class just doesn’t seem enough, and after class we’re both running to work. I’d like to take things to the next step -- dinner, a movie maybe -- but I’m not sure how to go about it without seeming like a weirdo. Yet there is something about Rosie that whenever I see her, the theme song to ‘Girlfriends’ rings out in my head.


Rosie sent me an email recently, letting me know that a work project is interfering with her workouts, so she won’t be back to class until like mid August. Well, that sucks, and I told her so. Then we did our True Blood and Harry Potter gossip and that was that. But what now? Do I email her back with my opinions on last season’s True Blood (Can you believe what Bill did to Sookie? And OMG! That ALCIDE!!)? Do I ask if she’s finished Friday Night Lights yet, and how will we ever survive without Coach Taylor? Do I inquire about the Game of Thrones book? Or do I ....*sigh*.... wait till August? Anyway, it’s all under consideration. Thankfully, I do have a nice amount of good friends. It is rare that I want to open the circle for one more, but Rosie seems like she might have the qualifications.

And as a tribute to good Girlfriends everywhere, here’s a clip of the only web series I’m watching these days:

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.

I Don't Wanna Play

I’ve matured over the years. I’m a woman, ok? I’m no longer that bespectacled little girl who screamed “I don’t wanna play!” whenever I was forced to join my Lego's with the Boy Who Eats Paste, or asked to make room in my sandbox for the Girl With the Orthodontic Headgear. You see, when you’re already uncool, there is nothing that knocks you further down the popularity scale than being teamed with someone who is even less cool.

Those years are long behind me, but I’ve found myself in an adult version of this scenario in the workplace. As an adult, how do you tell someone that you don’t want to be their friend? How do you tell someone that their good intentions are coming across as stalkerish and insane? This is my problem.

Several weeks ago, I met Pat while washing my hands in the restroom.(Red flag #1) She introduced herself and noted that we were among the .5 percent of black folks in the building. We shared a few “No, I don’t eat watermelon” and “Yes, the president is very articulate” stories and went our separate ways. I was fine with that, I’m always open to seeing a friendly face in the building, especially one of color.

But, I began to see Pat everywhere. And everywhere I see Pat, she wants to TALK. If I’m entering the building while she’s outside smoking, Pat will put out her cigarette to ask me about the weather. If I’m reading and eating in the lunchroom, Pat will come in to ask me what I’m reading. If Pat is on her cell phone when I walk by, she’ll end her conversation to ask me about something on television. Or to gossip about another coworker. Or a popular song.

She leaves books on my desk, with promises of sending more. She interrupts my conversations with other people to ask if I’ve read said book. Once, I found Pat in the restroom and I swear she was waiting by the sink for me to finish up in the stall. I had to fake a bowel movement – lots of grunting, ya’ll – to get her to leave.

Pat is making me a prisoner at my own job. I have no desire to go to the vending machine, to my car, or even to the bathroom. I’m tired of being caught up in the web of her one-sided conversations that go nowhere. Yes, she may be a lonely person who is just hungry for a friend. But she needs to realize that I’m a loud, ticking time bomb of an introvert with raging bouts of pms and my dance card is full, thank you very much. So the next time she comes at me with some of her gibberish, I may just throw my hands up and shout: I DON'T WANNA PLAY!

Photo from http://witchnextdoor.files.wordpress.com/2011/04/sandbox_boy1.gif

The C.R.E.A.M. Update

I finally got my money, an issue I agonized about in a previous post. I had great plans of how I was going to use my hard earned cash. I was going to save, pay off some debts, and have some fun. But because I’m trying to explore my financial literacy, I’m going to do more saving than I originally planned.

Now that it’s getting warm, the No Goods are making their presence known in my neighborhood and that pushes me further and further toward my homeownership goal. But as much as I’ve been saving, I fear that have not saved enough. So I toss a chunk of the cash into my Dream Home Fund, lock it up and throw away the key.

My new car came about with a great deal of help from my parents. I don’t like to owe anybody anything, so I took another chunk of dough and hoped to pay them back the rest of the money I owed them. However, they threw me for a loop when they told me they didn’t want it, that I should use it to save for the Dream Home. So I took their chunk and placed it in a CD, money that I can’t touch until fall 2012 after it ears a good interest rate.

That leaves a little bit leftover for me. What shall I do? My early plan was to place some into my Sharebuilder stock account and then another chunk in my Vacation account (I’ll be in Martha’s Vineyard soon, there’s nothing cheap about that!) However, there are the Wants, like a new television, a new iPod, a new guitar. Hell, maybe even a new wardrobe. But I’ll tread lightly, because I know that my list of Wants could get pretty extensive.

(Photo from http://theshirtjunkie.com/files/Creambox.jpg

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.

Cash Rules Everything Around Me (CREAM)

Now, I'm not a blog jacker, let me say that up front. But if I see that one of my blog peeps is going through a tribulation similar to mine, well darnit, I'm gonna write about it. First, read here about how folks are trying to be shady with The L's money. Crazy scenario, right? Now allow me to piggy back on her plight.

I've been CRAZY busy. Good busy, but busy just the same. I learned in April that I won a creative writing award from my university. Awesome news. I play a little midday hooky to get down to the university where the grad and undergrad students were given certificates and checks. But my antenna was raised when I was given a certificate and a promise that I would get my check "soon." *side eye* (there will be an upcoming post about my years at this university)

I'm an optimistic person. When you tell me I'm going to win money, I make plans. I was going to repay my parents the money I owe, get a new camera, upgrade my guitar, and do my saving/investing hussle. Everyday I checked my mailbox, only to be greeted with nothing.

So I sent a polite email to my professor that if you read closely, spelled out WHY YOU TRYIN TO STICK ME FOR MY PAPERS? She told me that the university is now having "an issue" with the foundation that administers the awards. This foundation had wanted me to apply again (side eye/head roll/two snaps in a circle), but the university is trying to get it resolved on their own. I'm supposed to be given a check within the month. Let's hope I do. You can't imagine how violent I get when I think about the money that hasn't been sent my way. It's enough to make me wanna cut somebody's face off.

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

My Birthday!!

It's my birthday and I'm so happy to be 34 I could scream. The number 33 was so cruel to me. How cruel was it Strength? It was so cruel that if I'm walking down the street and I come across a 33-legged ant, I'm stepping on it and then urinating on its corpse. It was so cruel that if I'm watching Sesame Street and they do an ode to #33, I will throw my television out the window and hope it lands on the corpse of that mutilated 33-legged ant corpse. Once, a coworker was on the eve of this fair age, the so-called Jesus Year, and asked me how it was going. I promptly told him that it feels like you're spending 365 days nailed to the cross. But I'm getting off the cross today and celebrating. I took the day off (something I usually do, but didn't last year. perhaps that sealed my fate) and I'm getting a manicure and pedicure. Good friends will take me out to dinner where I will dine on cranberry pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausage, french fries, and birthday cake. My family is going to take me out for some hibachi food and even though I'm not a fan of red wine, I'm going to down my bottle of pinot noir like a champ and dare somebody to say something. I earned it. So I raise my glass to 34 and all the good things that I know will come with it. And I'll even raise a glass to you, 33, because you have only made me stronger.

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!

She's Baaaack

I mentioned before how I’d been avoiding my good friend “Sheila”, because all of our outings tend to revolve around me sitting in on various kid-friendly events. Yes it may sound cruel from the outside, but picture yourself as a single, 30 something eager to spend time with a friend who only invites you to Chuck E Cheese and kindergarten singalongs. This was not a good look for me in the 21st century.

While I didn’t let go of our friendship, but I scaled it back to ‘see as needed’ levels. I must admit, the last time we hung out, she made every attempt to make things adult. We decided to go to dinner, so she picked me up. Somehow, our plans evolved into going to a restaurant where her friend was having a “party.” It was in this restaurant’s tiny room where I endured 67 minutes of the most boring, foodless pyramid scheme I had ever endured. My stomach growled so loud that it sounded like a cell phone with a dying battery. When they finally unveiled the food, it was a bunch of teeny-tiny appetizers, not even enough to feed everyone who gathered there. I remember leaving there a bitter, hungry wretch, then racing home to eat everything in sight.

Sheila and I exchanged a few halfhearted emails and texts after that. I’ve been keeping up with her from a distance. Her older child – the attitudinal daughter – has gone off to college. Her younger son – my road dog, who has the best dimples I’ve ever seen – is in all sorts of activities and is often on the honor roll. And this week I had the pleasure of receiving a message from her, inviting me to her birthday party next month. I hope her definition of “party” has changed since the last time we hung out. **FINGERS CROSSED**

Photo from http://info.blogged.com.s3.amazonaws.com/info02545297a29d9fdf43e9763cda81dcd5.jpg

Catching Up 2011

Happy new year! I, for one, am happy to give 2010 a big ole kiss goodbye. The year started out wonderfully, then it got a little bad, then it got ugly, and then things started to turn around. So its onward and upward for 2011, and I’m looking forward to it. Here’s a few things that have been going on.

-Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner? My new uncle, that’s who. It’s never been a secret that my granddaddy got around (my grandparents’ marriage was null and void a loooong time ago), and there were rumors of other children circulating for YEARS. So some of us weren’t so surprised when my auntie got a call saying she had an adult brother living in another state who would like to meet the family and get to know us. Said uncle is about four years older than me. Gramps, you got some ‘splaining to do.

-Whip My Hair Back and Forth. In 2010, I decided I needed to make a few changes in my life. One of those changes was getting rid of my locs. I sat in my aunt/hairdresser/therapist’s chair and watched with dry eyes as she cut off my nearly butt length hair. I kept going back repeatedly as she combed and conditioned then press n curled me into someone I hadn’t seen in about five years. I was calm as I placed one of my locs in a plastic baggie and inserted it into my diary. My resolve started to break as I tried to get back in the routine of maintaining my own hair. I did NOT miss the burnt smell of curling irons and flat irons, constantly freaking out every time it rains and keeping a ponytail holder nearby in case of emergencies. Then there was a day I was sitting at my desk listening to Bob Marley’s ‘Buffalo Soldier’ and I ran to the bathroom in tears. Oh, how I miss my dreads.

-Hey, Young World. Because 2010 has been so challenging for me, I decided to relaign the universe by making it better for other people. Well, just my younger cousin. I mentioned before how I wanted to fix him up with a girl at my gym. I eventually told him about her, but I was worried about how he would react. I imagined a variety of responses: “Stay outta my business.” “Why should I trust you?” “Does she have a big booty?” But he gave me a simple, three word answer. “Hook it up.” I worked my magic, did a little Facebook picture exchange and now they are flirting in the social networking realm. I hope they name their first child after me.

-Goals. I don’t have any New Year’s traditions, but writer Tayari Jones gave me a cool idea. So I took a sheet of paper and listed 10 things from 2010 that I’m letting out of my life, and 10 things that I’m letting in for 2011. Some of the left behinds include self doubt, depressing people and negative thoughts. I’m trading those in for an effort to surround myself with positive people, running a 5K, re-commit to guitar, and completion of novel #2.

That’s about it. I wish you a well 2011. I hope to return to a more normal blogging schedule very soon.