Wanted: Asians -- For Good Times, Easy Conversation & to Settle 'Oriental' Debate

For the past couple of years, I’ve belonged to an online writing community. It’s pretty decent. It allows me to get my writing reviewed and I can also review the work of others. So it’s a mutually beneficial relationship.

Recently, I was annoyed when I read a woman’s short story where she described the people on the block: ‘Their faces were black, white, and Oriental.’ An alarm buzzed in my head. Isn’t the term, ‘Oriental,’ a no-no when referring to a human being? Isn’t it the equivalent of calling a black person ‘colored’ or ‘negro’? In my review, I told the writer that the word could be offensive: “All of my Asian friends prefer being called Asian, Asian American or identifying their country of origin,” I wrote.

That’s when I stopped. All my Asian friends? Hmmmm. In all honesty, I haven’t had an Asian friend since high school. That was my Cambodian buddy Seila, who hipped me to the Asian/Oriental issue. We drifted apart, as high school friends are prone to do. I’ve made many new friends since then – white, black, Middle Eastern, Latino, gay, straight, etc. But no Asians. I do have one Asian friend, but she’s Indian, so she doesn’t count. I’m looking for some southeast Asians. I'm on a hunt.

There is an Asian guy at my job – actually, there’s two (double the number of blacks, but that’s a different story). One of the men is pierced and tattooed. I see him outside smoking with the smokers all the time. Because I loathe the smell of smoke, I wasn’t able to introduce myself and tell him that I’m recruiting Asian friends. I didn't even display my t-shirt which is emblazoned with the image above.

The other Asian man is cool. His name is Dave. We had a nice long chat about a football game about a month ago. The problem is that Dave doesn’t work in my department. The few times I see him across the room, he’s gone as soon as I blink. I never see him in the break room, the conference room or with the other Asian guy (if I could catch two birds with one stone, that would be great!).

But I am determined to find this man again – this Dave Asian person. I’m going to introduce myself, turn on the charm and eventually ask him how he feels about that whole Asian – Oriental debate. If he doesn't cuss me out, I'll report his response to the writer who penned that sentence about the 'Orientals' in her neighborhood. For shame!

(Pix courtesy of http://i12.photobucket.com/albums/a242/magarmor/lucketees/loveasianpeoplesm.jpg)

Blogging While Paranoid

Someone is trying to take my baby.

I’ve been told that all new mothers feel this way – that the minute they look away, a stranger will whisk their precious bambinos into the wilderness. And ever since I got my iPod for Christmas, I’ve been a bit overprotective.

At first, I would leave *Sasha at home, because I didn’t think she was ready to face the elements of this cold, cruel world. But I missed her during the workday. Yeah, I had my headphones and I could listen to my songs on my computer anytime I wanted, but it’s hard to do that when I see everyone else with their babies hooked up to their ears, bobbing their heads away. And even though Sasha was safely hidden in the top of my dresser drawer, I feared that somebody could easily break in and take her away. Each time I came home, I would search for her and then be happy again when I found her securely positioned beside my Robin Thicke tickets (23 days to go!!).

Then I began bringing her to work. Wonderful. I could escape into the world that was filled with my podcast of This American Life, along with the music of John Legend, Corinne Bailey Rae, Common, etc, and leave everyone else behind. Initially, there was that dilemma of my going to the restroom. Was Sasha old enough to sit at my desk by herself? Or do I need to escort her? Then I saw Franklin, our shifty security guard, stroll by my desk and I knew that Sasha wouldn’t be safe alone. I packed her into my purse and took her with me to the bathroom.

Now that it’s been a few months, I’ve loosened the strings slightly. Somedays, I completely forget to take Sasha with me and she spends the day either in my drawer or hooked up to my computer at home. I don’t always take her to the bathroom with me now either. Often, I’ll just slip her in my bag and put it under the desk or slide her into purse and put that in a drawer. And lock it. Word must’ve gotten out about how beautiful my baby is. Aside from Franklin, now I’ve got Isabella and Geraldine, the office cleaning crew, hovering around my desk. I might have to get a restraining order.

But at this minute, Sasha and I are in our own world. We’re sitting in Barnes & Noble flipping between John Legend and Erykah Badu. We're trying not to get too annoyed with the person who just sat down behind us -- this guy smells like a medley of Windex, feces, and Lysol -- and mind our own business. She’s helping me decide if I want to buy "Love is a Mix Tape" or "Off the Record." They're both on sale … but dang it! ... books are running me out of house and home at this point. Yet I always feel like I need something new to read. Hmmm ... I'll figure something out**.


*Ok, I have a bad habit for naming all the important things in my life. And yes, all the names start with S. Maybe one day I'll mention the names I have for my guitar and statue in the living room.

**In the end, I bought Off the Record. This writer's got some juicy stuff in there. She's the one who penned that quote where Angela Bassett explained why she didn't accept the role in 'Monster's Ball': "I wasn't going to be a prostitute on film ..." I may have to get 'Mix Tape' from the library.

(Photo from: http://www.radtech.us/Images/Products/SleevziPod/Nano/btyProduct1.jpg)

My Hands Up, My Hands Up, They Want Me With My Hands Up

I was at work early this morning, tea in one hand, pen in the other, as I started writing the beginnings of ramblings that would have eventually become a blog post. Then my coworker said six words that shocked my system: “Robin Thicke’ll be here in February.” Maybe I’ve mentioned my love, obsession, if you will, for this man in the past. I’ve googled him repeatedly, trying my damndest to get those old episodes of ‘The Wonder Years’ that he appeared in on DVD. I’ve saved him as a myspace friend and put his picture next to mine on my computer at work. It was only a matter of time before my colleagues learned that I had thing for Thicke.

The coworker -- Nicole -- said, ‘do you want to go to the show?’ To which I responded, ‘Are African babies the latest trend in hollywood? Hell yeah I want to go!!’

Luckily, dearest Thicke is playing at a venue just down the street from the office, so we bought our tix in person. The cashier and I bonded in our love for him. She volunteered to work that night, just so she could serve him. I asked if they were looking for anyone else to assist him backstage, but sadly, they weren’t. I handed her my credit card and was amazed to learn that I could get FRONT ROW tickets to him for only $22. FRONT ROW. My hands shook as I signed the receipt. Speechless, I was.

I was able to burn both of Thicke’s cds for Nicole, who will be joining me at the concert. I can’t let her get up there and not know a thing about my music. But I have warned her that if anytime during the show Thicke either winks at me, points at me, or sings to me, I am quitting my job and spending the rest of my life as a groupie. Eric Benét pointed at me at a concert in Orlando in 2001 and I ain’t been the same sense. (Some have suggested I caused the breakup of his marriage to Halle Berry, but I'll keep that on the low).There are about three weeks to the concert and I’ll be playing the cd nonstop.

Check him out:

Music Video:SHOOTER (FT. ROBIN THICKE) (by Lil' Wayne)

Music Video Code provided by Video Code Zone

Not Funny

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of joining my buddy, Kay, in celebrating her 30th birthday. People who meet Kay for the first time usually think she is quiet and introspective, but she is actually the most social out of all my friends. Each year, she finds a new way to celebrate her birthday, be it a party, a ski trip or a night clubbing. But because she rarely invites me to her bashes until the last minute or because they typically fall on nights where I hate people, this was my first time joining her soiree. And not surprisingly, I had an excellent time.

The plan for Kay's 30th birthday was to gather at her house and eat, drink and be merry for a few hours. Then at 8 pm, a stretch limo would take us into the city to a comedy club. The white limo was fabulous, complete with satellite radio, champagne and a television set. It was a true treat, especially since I haven't been inside a limo since prom.

When we got to the comedy show, several of my partygoers began to get disappointed. We come from an era where we view Def Comedy Jam and Kings of Comedy as things that make us laugh, so we were a bit surprised when the program featured three white comedians. Nevertheless, we kept an open mind. And during the three hours we were there, I couldn't stop laughing. This was not because the comedians were funny, but it was because Kay kept talking about how terrible each one was and that she wanted her money back. (she treated us to the show) I kept telling her to calm down because we didn't want a KKKramer experience, but she wouldn't listen. After each man spouted a terrible joke, we all just shook our heads and laughed.

The overriding theme of the night was sex. Each comedian got up there and started talking about boobs this and boobs that and who was getting 'laid' tonight and how often they masturbated. One comedian even asked a guy in the audience if he shaved his balls. It was pretty pathetic. When we talked about the performances later, I wondered if the men simply weren't funny or because we're now too old for that kind of humor. I don't know if the ritual of creeping downstairs late at night and watching Def Comedy Jam in secret was what made those comedians appeal to me so much or if it was because they were truly funny. They all cussed nonstop and sex was a frequent subject. I wonder how I'd feel watching some of those performances now.

Lately, I've been disappointed with the popular comic scene. Call me crazy, but I'm one of the few people who doesn't think the Dave Chappelle Show is funny. Don't get me wrong, I've liked a few individual skits like most of the ones on Rick James, but overall, he doesn't do it for me. I can't think of any comedian that really makes me laugh nowadays, but in recent years I have been treated to a few funny people. When I visited a friend in Atlanta a few years ago, we saw an overweight comic who recounted a conversation he had with a little boy who was amazed at how large he was. Another lady talked about how she became so frustrated on her job that she now only performs tasks that are in her job description. For example, if she was hired to make copies, that's all she's doing. She's not stapling the papers, not refilling the copier, not distributing the papers either. Nothing. It was hilarious and much funnier to hear her perform it than to read my words.

Once the clock struck midnight and it marked the true date of Kay's birth, we stopped this conversation only to console Kay as she progressed to have a breakdown on being 30. She was only half kidding when she listed the things she didn't have, but desperately wanted -- kids, a hubby, or even a fiancee'. Then she went on about the obstacles she had to face as a black woman, while the men sat silent. We lifted her up as best we could and then it was time for me to go. I went home and listened to Jay-Z's "30s the new twenty" on repeat. Only nine weeks to go until my own crisis, er, birthday. Can't wait!

(Photo courtesy of http://img.tesco.com/pi/entertainment/DVD/LB/565442_DV_L_B.jpg)

Winter Memories

Today I put the flannel sheets on my bed, finally acknowledging the existence of the winter weather. It was hard to be seasonally correct before, since the weather has been so crazy. But now I can break out my winter wear and safely tuck my other clothes into storage.

We haven't had any real snow yet, but the winter weather always makes me remember a blizzard years ago when I was trapped inside with my young cousin, who was a toddler. Cuz was/is my heart. I remember seeing his 2-pound body stretching and straining in the incubator when he was born two months early, saw his first steps and heard his first words. When I went off to college, he was one of the folks I missed most.

When I returned for my Christmas break, I offered to babysit Cuz and he spent the night over my place. They called for snow, but I didn't think it was going to be that big of a deal. Cuz and I always had a good time together. He had me playing the hell outta some peek-a-boo and he joined me in singing Goodie Mob's "Who's That Peepin' In My Window."

Then we got a foot of snow and things changed. Our little games got old and Cuz could only watch the Cartoon Network so many times. The kid was demanding too. He had a cold, which sent him into a sneezing frenzy. The one thing he hated was having snot hanging from his nose. In the middle of the night he woke me his sneezes, then cries of "wunny nose! wunny nose!" After dealing with this madness a few times, I did the only thing a responsible teenager would do. I sent him to my Mom's room.

Cuz will be 14 in a few short weeks. I've been home from the Midwest for two years now, but it's still hard to look at this handsome teenager who towers over me and try to picture the baby that melted this cold heart. His voice is cracking, he's got acne and the girls are constantly calling the house or knocking on the door.

I'm very proud of him, but I'm scared for him too. Everytime I see him wear those baggie pants and plain black or white t-shirts, I picture an overzealous cop slamming him against a wall. Each time he checks out a girl that's more consistent with the European standard of beauty than the one in his own family, I worry that he'll grow into one of those men that sistahs typecast.

For now, I'm content with enjoying this goofy manchild and hoping that the future doesn't bring him too much pain. It hurts a little that he doesn't remember the blizzard of 96 or the Goodie Mob lyrics, but I'll get over it. I've got four more years to influence him before he's sent out into the world. This time, I hope to give him something more useful.

(Photo courtesy of http://www.noaanews.noaa.gov/stories/images/snow-030501.jpg)

"I just want to go home ... and listen to some Sade," -- A heartbroken Marcus in 'Boomerang'

I read about celebrity birthdays everyday, but few are worthy of a shotout on this blog. However, when I learned that today is the 48th birthday of Helen Folasade Adu, I knew I had to do something. For me, Sade is truly special. Her singing can truly put me in a mood and either make me feel really good or really bad, typically the latter.

There's nothing like Sade on a rainy day.
Or Sade after a breakup.
Or Sade when he doesn't act right.
Or Sade when you love him, but you know it will never be.

I mentioned previously how hard it is to find good music nowadays, so it's refreshing to have an outlet. Anyway, here's my girl. Check her out:

I Have a Dream

Let me say first that I love the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Without him, I don't know where our people would be today. I've read about his life more times than I care to remember, wrote school reports about him and had to memorize some of his famous speeches.

So please forgive me when I say: I HATE MLK DAY.

I'm glad I got that off my chest. Every time January rolls around, my stomach fills with dread. In my community, they do up the MLK holiday in style. On Friday, there's an MLK dinner where the local NAACP branch gives out some awards. The day of the actual holiday, that Monday, the community college has a breakfast and gives out even more awards.

My company is pretty active in the community, particularly with these organizations that do the dinner and the breakfast. Each year it's always the same. All the top supervisors get in a huddle and talk about who should represent the company at these events. They look around the room and since my face is the only brown one they see, they choose me. Sigh.

This year, my task was to go to the Friday dinner, which was yesterday. It was no big deal, since I also attended last year. I was excited this time because I actually had work to do, instead of sitting around and just be black, like I had to do last time. Yay!

When I get there, I have to join these two other women at their table. Our seat in the catering hall is near two tables filled with Little Bastards, but that was my only seating option. Naturally, once the program got started, we couldn't hear the speaker. All we heard was: "Stop!" "Give it back," "It's mine!" "Bitch, I'll kick your ass." Yeah, it was that kind of night. When the emcee held a moment of silence for the good Rev. King, a woman at my table turned to the Little Bastards and screamed "I WANT ALL YA'LL TO SHUT UP. DON'T MAKE ME COME BACK THERE!"

The highlight of the evening came when the woman sitting next to me started talking about her new diet. Apparently, it had been working for her and she lost 65 pounds. All she did was eat five small meals a day, walked a lot and drank nothing but water. Everyone congratulated her, until another woman (the one who shouted at the kids) said she had a better dieting option. "Ya'll remember when you saw me that time years ago and I was all skinny? Everybody was asking, 'what's your secret?' 'how'd you lose that weight?' You know what I said?"

We all looked at her. "What?"

"Crack." She started laughing. "But that was back when I was out there. Thank God I ain't like that no more."

Oy vey. The things I do for my job. I'm so overdue for a raise.

(Photo courtesy of http://www.newsroom.ucr.edu/images/releases/942_0.jpg)

Rut

My Kelis cd is skipping something awful, forcing me to listen to the radio while I'm in my car. That pisses me off to the high heavens because there are few things on the airwaves that I want to listen to these days. The dj will play a song I like and then either follow it up with songs about sex acts and/or drug dealing or those by artists that I refuse to let into my psyche, i.e. R. Kelly, Diddy. So I've been in a musical rut.

I did get an iPod so that has helped me escape alot of my musical issues. I don't have all the things that I need for my new little device, particularly the radio player. But I've been happily downloading ever since I got it. So far, I've added Ciara, John Legend, the Pussycat Dolls (I only got two songs, I can't help it), Beyonce and Common to my listening pleasure.

Unfortunately, Kelis is one of those cds I've kept in my car to get me through my day. Yeah, she talks about sex too, quite a bit. But the way she talks about it is more of an empowerment for women instead of degradation, if that makes any sense. There is no greater joy than to have "Blindfold Me," "Awww, S***t" or my personal favorite, "F*** them B*****s", to keep me pressing on. I'll have to stop being lazy and add her to the iPod so the radio can stop brainwashing me.

Bashful

Sorry that I've been so neglectful to the blog, but I've been feeling a bit lazy in the new year. I'd start posts and then save them for later. What a way to start 2007, eh? Anywho, now I'm back in business.

What I want to talk about today is buying feminine products. Although I'm a GAW (Grown-A** Woman), I have trouble buying these products when I have to deal with a male cashier. I know I'm not the first person to come up to them with such a purpose, but the whole experience makes me feel about five inches tall. It's like I can almost hear them saying, "Having a heavy day, huh?" or "Did you want Motrin with that?" Of course, they never say that, but I've had something similar happen in past experiences.

A few years ago, I used to go to a medical center in a nearby city to pick up my birth control pills. The experience was always the same. There was an older Italian man at the front whose face looked like he was either about to kill someone or fall asleep. I could never tell which one, maybe both. He was always a bit grumpy toward me until he realized I was buying the pills. Then his face would brighten and he'd say, "So how are you?" or "What's going on?" Now I know good and well that I couldn't be the only woman buying pills from him, but he acted like I was. I got so tired of the way his eyebrows used to dance when I gave him my money that I started going somewhere else.

One thing I have yet to buy and I don't think I ever will is condoms. My other experiences have been embarrassing enough that I just avoid this area altogether. Back when I was with The Ex, I waited in the car while he went into this store to buy some. The male cashier who was ringing him up, kept turning around and looking into the car right at me. I thought I was imagining things until The Ex got into the car and started laughing. Apparently, the cashier gave him a thumbs up sign and told him to "tear it up". Because this was my hometown, I had to go to this store several times. Whenever I got said cashier, he'd give me the same look that the Italian man did and make slight conversation, even if I was buying something as simple as toilet paper. Dealing with him was enough to make this brown girl turn red.

This week, I went to my 24-hour pharmacy to buy some feminine products. As soon as I got in the door, I realized that there were only male cashiers available. Bummer. I tried not to be ashamed and loaded up on pads and feminine wash. Then I also bought a pack of gum, just to throw things off a bit.

The man barely made eye contact as he rung me up. One of his male coworkers came up behind me and said something like "getting kind of chunky." Now, being that I will be 30 in a few weeks and have been dealing with all kinds of insecurities, particularly weight, I whipped my head around and asked him what he was talking about. He held up a section of the newspaper where it showed a picture of Cal Ripken Jr. being inducted into the baseball hall of fame. "I said Cal's getting kind of Chunky." Oh. Thank goodness.

Ordinary People of 2006

I've tried my hardest to make this an original blog, but damn it, there's just no escaping certain things that have been done over and over. So please forgive me for posting an end of the year list. This one be like all those other lists that you've seen on news and what not, this is the S/C/W version.

Each year, People Magazine likes to do it's 50 Most Beautiful People list. Well, I've decided to list some folks who I think are beautiful, either for their looks or other attributes, and have not gotten the recognition they deserve. It also contains folks I'd like to see more of in 2007. Check it out!

Guys:
1. Djimon Hounsou. I saw Blood Diamonds recently and had to wonder if this man has ever even been nominated for an Academy Award. There's something special about that man.

2. Keith Robinson III. I have mentioned that I'm obsessed with 'Dreamgirls,' but I haven't mentioned about the little crush I developed on the dude that played Cici, Effie's brother. Where'd he come from? When can I see him again?

3. Robin Thicke. Speaking of obsessions, I really don't need to go on about how I'm in love with this man again, do I? I watched an old episode of 'Growing Pains' recently and found myself thanking the loins of Dr. Seaver.

4. Jason Segel. This past year, my Monday nights have changed thanks to a show called 'How I Met Your Mother.' My devotion has nothing to do with the star, Josh Radnor, whose constant whining and whimpering is not good for my mental health. But I love his buddy Marshall, played by Jason Segel. He and I go back to 'Freaks and Geeks', which was unfairly canceled. I also love Neal Patrick Harris, but there's been enough said about his recent comeback and his coming out, so he didn't make the list.

5. Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje. I admit that I cried when they killed Mr. Eko off of 'Lost' a few months ago. I wasn't feeling this dude at all when he played Adebisi on 'Oz.' Back then, his acts sickened me and all I wanted to do was straighten that lopsided hat on his head. I changed my mind when he came to Lost and realized how sexy he looks in the flashbacks. I'm shocked at what a shower and shave will do for a man. Of course, now all the black folks have disappeared from this show. I'll have to reevaluate my commitment to 'Lost' after this season. Hmph.

Honorable mentions:
Carlos Bernard, actor -- 24
Percival Everett, writer -- Erasure, Glyph, Wounded
Daniel Sunjata, actor -- Sex and the City, The Devil Wears Prada
Adrian Grenier, actor -- Entourage, The Devil Wears Prada
Joey Harrington, football player -- Miami Dolphins


Women:
1. Lisa Gay Hamilton. This actress will forever be on my list, since she gets no recognition anywhere. Whenever I see a movie or TV show that features her, I always wonder why she never gets more roles. Back when she had a recurring role on 'The Practice', the writers treated her like an extra. I hope to see more of her in the future.

2. Reiko Aylesworth. The one way to get me to stop watching a TV show is by killing of a favorite character of mine. And last year, when the folks at 24 blew up the character Michelle in a car bomb, and then killed her husband, Tony (Carlos Bernard) a few episodes later, I was done. I've been watching her since she was on One Life to Live back in the day and have seen her suffer through several parts with barely even a speaking role. The word is that she's going to star in the new Alien vs. Predator movie. Under ordinary circumstances, I wouldn't see that flick. But since she's in it, I'll at least get it at netflix.

3. Meredith Vieira. She's hardly underrated, but I made an exception in this case. Am I the only one whose not surprised that she's doing such a good job on the Today show? After handling the bitch beat on the View, its good to see ol' Merdith doing something worthwhile for a change, even taking on The Donald. I even see Meredith as a better fit than Katie on this new prime time gig of hers. Make that money, MV!

4. Anika Noni Rose. This is another 'Dreamgirls' shoutout, but I can't help myself. This Broadway actress played the role of Lorell in the movie, but the movie didn't show much about her character outside of her relationship with singer James 'Thunder' Early, played by Eddie Murphy. She's slated to have a bunch of movies premiere in 2007, so we'll see where this takes her.

5. Whitney. It may be too soon to call, but I hope this year is her comeback year. Now that she's gotten rid of that baggage, I hope she'll focus on getting her life together and reviving that beautiful voice.

Honorable mentions:
Jaguar Wright, musician
Macy Gray, musician
Meshell Ndegeocello, musician

People I'd like to see less of in 2007:
Paris Hilton, Kevin Federline, Britney Spears.

Have a wonderful 2007!

"Baby, you'll always be 16 to me." -- Curtis

Sorry I’ve been neglecting my posting duties, even falling back on my promise of Monday/Wednesday postings. I wish I had a reason as to why things have been so delayed, but I don’t. I’ve just been lazy. And between the ongoing rush that is the holidays and the strange things that keep happening to me, trust, I have plenty to write about. I just haven’t been motivated to do so. But today that changes.

Because I haven’t been posting, I haven’t mentioned my ongoing obsession with the movie, “Dreamgirls.” When I was around four years old, Mom went to Broadway to catch this musical with her sisters. She was so excited about how great it was, that she came back and told me about the play word for word. I remember looking through the book at the gorgeous Sheryl Lee Ralph, Loretta Devine and Jennifer Holliday. Mom played the songs non stop, especially Jennifer Holliday’s “And I Am Telling You.” I loved this play without even seeing it. I was upset that I didn’t get a chance to go, but Mom said I was too young.

Fast forward to the present day. I heard that they were producing a movie and I didn’t have high hopes. But then I saw the previews with Beyoncé channeling Diva Diana in all her fabulousness, that I knew I must see it. To prepare, I whipped out my copy of “Mahogany” (yes, I do own it, no I ain’t ‘shamed) and got ready to watch. But my stupid VCR apparently wanted the tape more than I did and it got lodged inside. I’ve been trying to get that bad boy out for a week now.

Anyway, I saw the movie the day after Christmas. I LOVED it. I felt like I was at a concert. Jennifer Hudson was AMAZING… stole the show in my opinion. And I’ve never been a Beyoncé fan before, but the chick gets much respect. I mean, this heffa is downright gorgeous. Even in those old wigs and outfits, she shined.

I sang, I clapped and if it wasn’t for that annoying Little Bastard in our row, I would have cried during the critical Jennifer Hudson song or Jamie Foxx’s “When I First Saw You.” This kid did it all – needed to go to the bathroom during my favorite scene (Jamie’s previously mentioned song), sneezed annoyingly throughout the movie, loudly whispered to her mother at critical parts, among other things. I had to restrain my movie date, J.J., from screaming “Roe Vs. Wade” at her mother. That experience helped me realize that when I have kids, I’m never taking them to the movies. If I must, I’m doping them up on Benadryl beforehand.

Despite those challenges, I had an enjoyable time. I’ll probably see the movie again, because that’s how I get when I’m in obsessive mode. When it comes on DVD, I’ll probably buy it. Hopefully, by then I’ll have rescued “Mahogany” from my evil VCR and I’ll be able to view the flicks consecutively. Yes, I know I need help. Unfortunately, I can’t afford the help that I need.

(photo courtesy of http://img.timeinc.net/ew/dynamic/imgs/060810/173023__dreamgirls_l.jpg)

Like A Star & Put Your Records On

I have jumped on the Corinne Bailey Rae bandwagon. Heard this song on myspace, then ran and bought the cd. I haven't been stopped playing it yet!
Check it:



Also check my theme song:

Slowing Down

Well blog readers, things have been fun here, but I think it's time for me to scale back on my posts a little bit. Between the blog, work, school, and the occasional cruising the Internet and other miscellaneous distractions, I find that I have been neglecting my writing.

I need to get back on schedule with that, so I'm going to slow down the posts for a little while. I'm not disappearing, but I promise to have a new post here each Monday and Wednesday. Actually, maybe promise is too strong of a word. I'll try to have new posts waiting for you all on Mondays and Wednesdays.

In the meantime, it's back to my writing. Hopefully I'll get some short stories published and (gasp!!) even a novel. Please look out for a book by Strength/Courage/Wisdom coming soon!

The Strength Planet

Mom once told me that I live on my own planet where everyone speaks a strange language. Apparently, they have music there too.

Throughout my life, I have been known as the person who butchers music lyrics. I'll hear a song and recite back what I think I hear, and everyone nearby will look at me like I'm Boo Boo the Fool. It's alright though. After 29 years, I'm used to the stares and laughter. It comes part of being the only occupant on the Strength planet.

Here are a few of my famous screwups. Some of them, I only learned the true lyrics very recently:

-My version of Kanye West's 'Testify.': 'I gotta testify, come up in the spot lookin extra fly, for the day you die, you gonna testify.'
Reality: The song is called "Touch the Sky": 'I gotta testify, come up in the spot lookin extra fly, for the day you die , you gonna touch the sky.'

-My version of Whitney Houston's 'So Emotional': 'I get so emotional baby, everytime I think of youuuuu. I get so emotional baby, just show me what ... love can doooooo.'
Reality: 'I get so emotional baby, everytime I think of youuuuuu. I get so emotional baby. Ain't it shocking what ... love can dooooo.'

-My version of Guns 'n Roses 'Welcome to the Jungle' (I have a diverse group of friends, what can I say?): 'Welcome to the jungle, we got what it takes ..'
-Reality: 'Welcome to the jungle, we got fun 'n' games ...'

You get the picture.

My coworker, Nicole, and I were talking about music recently (today, actually). I told her how I often insert my name in songs, since its so hard to find a song with my name in it. When she said she felt the same way, I looked at her like she was crazy. I asked her if she heard that old song by Jimmy Cozier called "I Love Nicole." She hadn't. I even sang the chorus: 'Sometimes I love her/sometimes I love her not/I love Nicole cause she's all I got.' She still didn't know what I was talking about.

I googled and googled and I finally found the song. It's actually called "She's All I Got." I sent her the link to the video and she could barely get through it, she was laughing so hard. She proceeded to tell me that her name wasn't in the song. Jimmy was actually saying 'I ain't lettin her go.' I tried to explain that Jimmy was mumbling so much that it was an easy mistake, but she was laughing too hard.

Ah well. Not my fault folks aren't on my planet. Check the video below. Who knew?

Baby, Remember My Name

I mentioned previously that I was revisiting my childhood and right now I'm in the thick of it. I'm still in the '80s and I'm done with watching and re-watching my favorite movie, only to move on to one of my favorite TV shows. I put in for my netflix order and promplty received season one of Fame on dvd.

Say what you will, but when I was a girl, I thought this was the best show on TV. I sang along to the theme song, making up some words as I went along. I was always so perplexed that these people not only wanted to live forever, but they wanted to learn how to fly....high. Deep. Real deep. In my mind, I was Cocoa, who danced her butt off in a class run by Clair Huxtable's baby sister. My other favorite character was Leroy Johnson... but of course. Gene Anthony Ray was the best thing that happened to that show.

I spent a good hunk of Saturday morning and afternoon watching the show. It's not good by today's standards (and don't even get me started on the movie, which SUCKS. the best part was leroy's audition dance), but I couldn't walk away from my TV. There were a few cameos in there, including a non-speaking part from Michael DeLorenzo and a speaking part from the brotha who played the father on "Moesha."

I was so enthralled with Fame that Mom signed me up for ballet lessons. I decided I wanted something more exciting, so I switched to tap, then jazz. In the end, I decided I wanted to hang up my dancing shoes and watch Saturday morning cartoons with my cousins. That's probably why I have two left feet to this day. I had big dreams, I wanted fame. But fame costs and I didn't want to start paying ... in sweat.

Oh well, I'd better get back to my show. I only have one more episode to watch on disc 1 and I'll be done with that one. I can't wait till they release all the previous seasons on dvd, because I surely will add them to my collection. But then I'd never leave the house. It's a Catch 22. Sigh.

R.I. P. Bebe Moore Campbell, 1950-2006

I was saddened to read this earlier today. Ms. Campbell has been one of my favorite authors since I read "Your Blues Ain't Like Mine" some years ago. Her work never let me down and I tried to read everything she wrote, including the excellent "Brothers & Sisters," "What You Owe Me" and most recently, "72 Hour Hold."

For anyone who hasn't read her work, I advise you to go to your local bookstore and pick up one of her books. It is truly a sad day in literature.

I'm a fan, not a stalker. Really, I am!

I'm convinced that I'm getting younger everyday. I get my kicks out of watching cartoons and kid movies. And most recently I was reunited with my first love. Leroy Green.

For those of you who don't know me too well, I'll offer my confession now. "The Last Dragon" is my favorite movie. I was 9 years old when I first saw this movie, which is about a black kung fu master in Harlem named Leroy, aka Bruce Leroy. Vanity played his love interest and it featured cameos from William H. Macy, Cockroach from the Cosby Show and a few other folks.

It's a pretty cheesy flick, but you couldn't tell my 9-year-old eyes that. I fell madly in love with Taimak, the actor who played Bruce Leroy. I followed his career ever since then, even though there wasn't much to follow. My eyes would bug out of my head every time I caught him in one of his bit parts (He was a bartender in the Peach Pit After Dark on 90210, he was the guy that tried to rape Freddie in "A Different World" and he was in a few of those BET Arabesque movies). He's the reason I took karate lessons. I even signed the online petition for the filming of a sequel to The Last Dragon. Because I have great friends who feed into my obsessions, I own The Last Dragon on VHS, DVD and I have the soundtrack. Oh yes. I'm his number one fan. Some might call me a stalker, but whatever. They don't love the way I love.

I pretty much have the movie memorized, but I started watching it again this week. Then I found his website, plus saved him as a friend on MySpace. It doesn't matter to me that he's in his 40s now, never been married, and has no kids, which means people constantly question his sexuality. I still love that man. If he's gay ... we can work it out. I mean, look at Star Jones and Al. It can work!


These days, he is a trainer at a karate studio in New York. I devised a plan to visit him there once when I was in NYC with friends, but Juicy wouldn't let me do it. *sigh* Maybe I'll do it next year on my birthday, since it doesn't look like I'll be taking my dream trip to Egypt. I'll just so happen to be in the same area of Taimak's studio when I bump into him, with a pen, paper and digital camera ready. If I do meet him, I already have two options for my opening line. I'll either look him up and down and say "I would love to teach you some moves, Leroy", or I'll scream, "Could you teach me some moves?!!!" (Sorry, those are quotes from the movie. If you haven't seen it, I'm afraid you're left in the dark.)

Feels good

This is my 100th post. I'd been trying to think of something witty to write to mark this occasion like I did for the 50th, but I couldn't think of anything. Surprisingly, some things have changed in my life recently that gave me some material.

An elderly relative died recently and I had to go to my hometown for the funeral. It's always weird going there because I'm surrounded by a bunch of relatives who I either don't remember or they mistake me for my mother or one of my aunts. As expected, this happened several times at the funeral. And while I was there, I was able to see some relatives that I remembered very well, but for reasons that I won't go into here, I vowed never to speak to them again. True to my word, I hadn't had any contact with them in seven years.

It was very weird to spend half the day trying not to look at the side of the room where said relatives sat. I did what they did and didn't speak; I tried my best to get through the service without looking in their direction. When I did try to make eye contact, they didn't (or wouldn't) meet my eyes. I was so angry and hurt by the situation that I gave myself a fever and a pounding headache.

By the end of the post-service meal, I had enough. I went to their side of the room and greeted the people who were the source of my anger. We wound up hugging and crying, with them apologizing and me accepting their apologies. In the end, we looked like teenagers on the last day of school, scribbling our addresses down and programming phone numbers in our cell phones. I didn't realize how much I missed them until then. It didn't even occur to me that maybe they missed me as much as I missed them. Until that moment, I thought the concept of tears of joy was a myth. Now I tear up each time I replay that scene in my head. It's good to have my family back in one piece, even if I was the one who had to break the ice. My daddy would've been proud.

On my way out the door, one of my cousins grabbed me. "I saw what you did and you're a woman," she said. "You're a real strong woman, you hear me?" All I could do was nod. I knew that in a few minutes my self-inflicted fever would break and my headache would go away. Anger was tearing me up inside and it was time to let it go.

Yucky Yolk

I'm amazed at what my refrigerator can do when it's unattended.

The other day, I took the time to clean out the fridge, which was screaming for some attention. It contained practically every nasty thing you can think of -- sour milk, rotting lunch meat and swiss cheese that has turned a greenish blue.

The bad part was that I was hungry as I did all this. My tastebuds screamed for an egg sammich. Not a sandwich, a sammich -- with cheese, butter and strawberry jelly. Hells yes, jelly. Don't knock it till you try it.

I had two cartons of eggs and one carton only had one egg left. The carton with the single egg had an expiration of July, but the second one was more recent. But because I'm curious, I decided to see what an egg four months past its prime would look like. So I cracked it open with my fork and what did I see? A big ball of black yolk. Nasty!! I quickly ran it down my garbage disposal and hoped that that wasn't symbolic in any way.

Casanova

This week, I was terribly saddened by the death of Ed Bradley and then today of Gerald Levert. For me, Ed Bradley was the best part of the bland 60 Minutes. He stayed handsome throughout his life and I loved the way he rocked that earring. Gerald Levert was a big teddy bear with a beautiful voice. I remember being a little girl dancing to some of his hits with Levert, the group he formed with his brother and cousin back in the 80s.

But in my office this week, you'd think I was the only one who cared about these deaths. One of my friends emailed me Thursday and told me that Ed Bradley died from leukemia. I was shocked because I didn't even know he was sick and again, he was the best part of that boring CBS show. I had a moment of silence at my desk and pressed on, 'cause that's what I do. For whatever reason, I didn't tell my coworkers the news. I don't know why, maybe in the back of my mind I thought that they wouldn't care about the death of a black newsman.

It didn't take long for the news to spread and soon, everyone in our little department was coming up to me, asking if I knew that Ed Bradley died. They would come across the room and talk to me about it, as if the death of this black man didn't matter to anyone but me, the only black person in the office. "He was such a good man," one lady said to me. "And a good journalist. I trusted him. I really did." But later that night, this trusted man's death didn't even lead the 11 o'clock news. I mean, it's not like he was Britney Spears, ending a marriage via text message. Now that's news.

Another friend emailed me today about Gerald Levert and I was just as saddened. I needed to share this info with someone, but I knew none of my white colleagues listened to R&B. But then there's Anna. Anna is white, but she lives with her black boyfriend. She must've seen too many 'hood flicks because she uses them as fodder in her daily imitation of a stereotypical black woman. Yet her delivery makes her look more like Buckwild from Flavor of Love. Anna once told me that she loved my baby locks and asked me what I would think if she got her hair cornrowed. All I could think of was Bo Derek in "10", and told her that she should do what she wants.

Anyway, I sent Anna an i.m.:
Me: Do you remember Gerald Levert?
Anna: Hell yeah, girl
Me: He's dead! Had a heart attack.

Anna jumps up from her computer, eyes crazed. "Are you serious?? Can ya'll believe this? GERALD LEVERT IS DEAD!!" Everyone else looked around and gave a collective, "who?"

Anna looked around the room like she was staring at BooBoo the Fool. "Ya'll can't be serious up in this piece! Gerald Levert -- Eddie Levert's son!!"

Sean, another coworker, was perplexed. "I'm sorry. Were they friends of yours?"

"They're singers," I said. "Eddie sang with the O'Jays and Gerald was his son."

"Doesn't sound familiar," Sean said. "Can you sing a song?"

Against my better judgment, Anna and I did a duet of Levert's 1986 hit, "Casanova." We were off key and all we knew was the chorus. Sean later said he knew the song, but neither one of us believed him. Anna went back to her desk and made a series of calls where she screeched, "Gerald Levert is dead! Gerald Levert is dead!"

Later, I saw her outside smoking a cigarette and holding her cell phone, presumably telling someone else about Gerald's death. "Yo, I can't even believe these people," Anna said. "How can you not know who Gerald Levert is?!"

I shrugged.

"Damn shame," Anna said. "Damn shame."

Sure is.

Update: Upon checking my newspaper on Saturday, I see that Gerald's death is on page 6B, sans photo. There's no mention of it at all on the website.

"Taco night? I don't do taco night!"

It is now official. Until February, my Wednesdays are going to change. "Lost" has been placed on hiatus until then so ABC can run with that stupid Taye Diggs show that looks like "Groundhog Day" with guns.

I'm gong to miss "Lost" and all the unstability that it brings into my life. Every Thursday, just before lunch, my coworker and fellow Lost-aholic corners me by the vending machine and asks if I watched it. Then he'll tell me little things that I may have missed and what the writers are saying in the podcasts, message boards and secret websites. Yeah, he's a bit over the top. As a matter of fact, he scares me!

I feel a little guilty because so many "Lost" fans have theories about where the show is going and why these folks are stranded on the island. But I have no theories, no hypothesis. I am pissed off with the increased disappearance of all the black folks -- Michael, Walt, the woman with cancer, the woman with The Others who opened the hatch, and Mr. Eko. Words can not express how upset I was when the killed Mr. E. There are so many other people they could've murdered -- Hurley, Charlie and if Sayed wasn't so sexy, I'd want him gone too.

But last night, at least, the show had my attention. The moment I've been waiting for with Kate and Sawyer finally happened. Kate flashed back to a time when she was married and she basically went ballistic on her hubby. "Taco night? I don't do taco night!" Then she killed him. Actually, she just poisoned him. Man, I love her.

So for the next few months, my Wednesday evenings will be somewhat empty. At least I have one more episode of Dancing With the Stars to fill the void. I'm torn between Mario and Emmitt. They're both so good! It's the Dimples vs. The Bald Head. I can't wait to see who will pull it out in the end.

Can't Knock the Hustle

I'm a sucker for a cute kid selling Girl Scout Cookies. Heck, I'm a sucker for an ugly kid selling Girl Scout Cookies. So there was no way I could say no to the mass of hair that come marching toward me this evening.

The Girl Scouts had the perfect hustle going. They were set up in front of a school, which was my voting station. It was raining and they looked more than pitiful as they counted their money. The girl -- glasses, braces, hair going every which way -- was either too nervous, or too self conscious to give me the full sales pitch. All I heard was, "Um .... Miss? Would you like to ... ummmm.... uh...?" I was about to instruct her in the art of successful marketing, until I looked at the table and saw that they had Trefoils, my favorite. I happily handed over my $3.50 and grabbed a box. I was so excited that I drove away without voting.

Just kidding. I did cast my ballot and there was no drama. I hope everyone had a happy voting day!

To The Extremes

I once told my friend, Dee, that one of the reasons I'm single is because I've seen very few stable relationships in my life. Very few of my friends are married and some are in some seriously unstable situations filled with baby mama drama, cheating, and child support scandals, among others. So I thought it was only natural that I spent my life dealing with fellas like The Jerk, Mr. Too Sensitive, Mr. Not Sensitive Enough, The Amateur Rapper who only talked in rhyme and the Ambigiously Gay Ex Boyfriend.

Enter my homie Dee. We became friends back in the Midwest and I did my best to ruin her life. Well, not totally, but in my own way. Dee is one of those people who likes sweat – working out, rowing boats, riding bikes – that’s all pleasurable to her. Me? I’m a big fan of eating and sleeping. When she entered my life, I showed her how to do things my way. We spent a lot of time going to the movies, then IHOP, watching soap operas, then heading to Arby’s, watching music videos and then going out for ice cream. Not the healthiest situation.

Needless to say, I moved away and Dee lost 40+ pounds.But Dee didn’t lose this weight on her own. She fell in love with a Canadian. He had the same sickness she did; he was addicted to sweat. They spent their time rock climbing, skiing, weight lifting, playing tennis and then seductively rubbing each other down in Ben Gay. I began to call them The Extreme Couple. I liked the Canadian, but I was disgusted that he was ruining my influence on her. But I got over it.

Anyway, after they’d been dating for awhile, Dee and I patiently waited for what every woman waits for in these situations.

The Ring.

I may have been more anxious for a proposal than she was. Whenever she called me unexpectedly or on special occasions, I waited for the news. We started to talk in code:
(Christmas)
Dee: You’ll never believe this!
Me: Really? What’s going on? (You got the ring?)
Dee: I got these beautiful diamond earrings. (Nah girl, not even close.)
Me: Oh, that’s beautiful! (When’s it coming? Where’s the ring?)
Dee: Yeah, I really love them. (I wish I knew)

(Birthday)
Dee: You’ll never believe this!
Me: What’s going on? (Thank you Jesus!)
Dee: I got concert tickets! (Settle down, it’s not what you think)
Me: That’s fabulous! (Well damn. How long am I expected to wait?)
Dee: Yes, I can’t wait to go. (It’ll come soon. It better.)
Me: You guys have fun. (Don’t make me have to cut a Canadian)

(Random)
Dee: You’ll never believe this!
Me: What? (Oh, finally)
Dee: I got a new car!
Me: You know what? I tired of this *bleep* *bleeping* *bleep!* Where the *bleep* is the *bleeping* ring?
Dee: Girl, I wish I knew.
Me: I mean, what the *bleep?* I’ve invested too much in this *bleeping* relationship!
Dee: I know you have.
Me: Do I have to go out there to make him see the light? I mean, what’s wrong with you? Why won’t he propose?
Dee: Oh, he’s the one with the problem.

(And on Halloween)
Dee: You’ll never believe this!
Me: What’s up? (What the *bleep* do you want now? Didn’t I talk to you earlier today?)
Dee: I … I ….
Me: Yeah? (Spit it out. I’m eating my dinner)
Dee: I… got… engaged!!!
Me: Que?
Dee: I got engaged!!
Me: Oh Joy!! THE HILLS ARE ALIVE WTH THE SOUND OF MUSIC!!!

The Canadian dressed up as a trick or treater and surprised her with The Ring. He had been planning it for months, but things finally came together this week. They’re planning the wedding now and out of the three weddings that I’m going to in 2007, this is the only one I’m looking forward to attending.So, I give my sincere congratulations to Dee and the Canadian, the soon to be Mr. and Mrs. Extreme. I wish you nothing but the best. Thank you for being on my list of stable couples … you give the rest of us hope!

Signed, Sealed & Delivered

Well, I did it. I saw The Ex, just like I said I would. There was no cursing, no throwing things and no yelling, so I'd say it went pretty well.

We met up at Starbucks and I was late, as I tend to be no matter how hard I try. (Plus, I had to make sure I was wearing a pair of shoes that would make me tower over him) He looked good. He had just come from work and was all dressed up as he read the paper and waited for me. We gave each other compliments and chatted about the stuff that has happened to us over the years. He's single, but not happily so. He told me about how he wants to get married and have kids, but he can't find the right one. He said everyone he meets seems to have some kind of "agenda", whatever that means. It helped me realize that things are just as hard out here for the fellas as it is for us gals.

We were there for about two hours, just catching up. We didn't have the "I don't hate you anymore" conversation, but I think it's understood on both our ends. There are no hard feelings anymore.

So we ended the evening with a hug. Then he said, "Are you getting taller?" Heh heh. I guess I selected the right pair of boots.

Sunday Morning

Apparently, God is trying to tell me something. I haven't been to church in months and I've pretty much given up on looking for a church home. That means I either spend Sunday morning sleeping in or working out. Lately, it's been more of the former than the latter. Nowadays, even sleep has gone by the wayside because of my lovely neighbors. They are very different from the people I lived with in my previous apartment, but they have their own set of issues here.

I live on the second floor, sandwiched between 'Officer Jaheim' and Martin and Gina. Officer Jaheim got his monicker because he is a police officer and often plays Jaheim cd #1 constantly, particularly his song, "Anything." I once loved that song, until I heard it repeatedly come from his apartment. Martin and Gina are the young couple who live above me and I have the pleasure of listening to their trials and tribulations. The most interesting was when they had an argument about his cooking and he told her to "put some ketchup on it and shut the f*** up." There were shouts, slammed doors, and then the bed squeaking.

These days, the party gets started on Sundays... at 8 a.m. to be exact. Last week, I had a friend in town when Officer Jaheim and his entourage decided they wanted to blast their music at 7:45 a.m. I woke to a loud wordless song with a beat that sounded like 'boom diddity boom boom boom diddy boom.' was pissed, so I ripped off my red scarf and let my little locks flow. I knocked on their door looking my worse -- pj's, robe, glasses and morning breath. A boy answered the door and I politely asked him to turn the music down. You know what he said? "Oh, that's my mom. I'll tell her." His mom??!!!! Sheesh.

She turned it down and I went back to sleep, for a little while. An hour or so later, she decided she wanted to sing a lullaby to the baby. Do you know what lullaby she sang? "Lean wit it, Rock wit it." All I heard was a repeated chant of "lean wit it, rock wit it lean with it, rock wit it lean wit it rock wit it lean wit it rock wit it" over and over in her poor attempt at a whisper. This is going on at the same time that Martin and Gina decide they love each other and start making their own music on that broken down bed of theirs.

This morning it was more of the same, but I had to wake up early anyway. This time, Officer Jaheim's teenage daughter was playing what sounded like Kelis' new cd. I was torn between asking her to turn it down and asking her to burn me a copy. So I decided on nothing and went about my business.

Our walls are thin, so I can't easily escape the sounds of the neighbors. Since Sunday is such a happening day in our building, maybe I'll run to church next week. Then I need to run to a realtor and see about buying a house. This apartment living thing has run its course in my life.

Let it be said ....

... that I hate baseball.
... that I think it's the most boring sport on earth.
....that I've gone to several baseball games only for the hot dogs and atmosphere.
...that many have tried and failed to get me to love this sport.

But let it be said ....

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!GO TIGERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

New Year's Resolutions, Part Deux

Here I sit at work on a Friday night. (Oh yes, I'm blogging at work!) Basically, I volunteered to do the grunt shift because a coworker (that's the Plantation Wife, for those of you in the know) called in sick. I'll be here until 10, putting out fires, checking myspace, blogs and other reading material.

All this heavy work I have ahead of me caused me to do some deep thinking. In a few short months, 2006 will be history and 2007 will be present. A lot of stuff will happen in the upcoming year, with the changes to Daylight Savings Time, hopefully new representation in Congress and my 30th birthday. It made me think of my buddy, good ol' 2006, and all the promises I made to him in January.

My year was born pretty pitifully on my living room floor as I watched New Year's Rockin' Eve. I had to fight back tears everytime I heard Dick Clark's strained voice, trying to sound as excited as he did in all the previous celebrations. I realized I was getting old then, so I fell to my knees and .... made out my resolution list. Right then and there, I established a few goals for myself in 2006 -- get something published (short story or book), work out regularly and hopefully get Janet Jackson abs, and find a new church. I wrote these plans in my journal and couldn't wait to implement them.

In March, I had to tweak the list. I immediately eliminated the Janet Jackson abs, as I do every year. I mean, the chick has millions of dollars, she could've paid somebody to suck out her ribs and smooth out her belly. Plus, I hate sit ups. They make my neck hurt. Still working on getting published, new church and working out regularly.

Come June, I'm not moved by any of the churches I visited. None of them (there were only three, but still) were inspiring enough for me to want to join. That exercise thing has fallen by the way side a little bit. By this point, it's summer and it's time to show off the working out that was conducted in the winter months. I was lucky to go to the gym two days a week. Methinks I'll start running! Getting published was still my priority. I planned to wake up at 5 a.m. and write for an hour, then go to work and write on my lunch break. I'll write a short story a week and send them out, until someone picks up my stuff. (That grueling schedule went out the window the next day)

Now it's October and the slate is clear. I'm fishing for resolutions for 2007. Still trying to get published, although I'm getting sick of those friggin' rejection letters. Maybe I'll be better organized. I should probably put that at the top of my list. I should spend more time with my parents, apparently a once a month visit isn't good enough for Moms. I definitely should control my addictions, particularly one I have to that Egyptian game mentioned in a previous post. (More about that issue in a future post). That's all I can think of right now. Feel free to leave me some suggestions.

My wardrobe malfunction

I wasn't going to post anything today, because I was tired, irritable and had a raging case of PMS, mixed in with a twinge of my annual Seasonal Affective Disorder. But then I figured ... what better time to blog than when I'm feeling like dirt?

This morning, I overslept, which is pretty typical for me. But it was my own fault, since I was up until nearly 2 a.m. trying to save my little Egyptians from the Kushite invaders in this addicting computer game that I have. I was prepared for a late night because I had already laid out my clothes for the next day and packed my lunch. So things should go smoothly in the a.m., right? Right?

Naw, that would be too easy. I hop out of bed to slip into my skirt, only to find that I have no clean panty hose. Now I'm frantic because 80 percent of clothes are sitting in my hamper, waiting to be washed (I wasn't lying, Juicy!). So I start pulling things from my hanger until I find a top that doesn't need to be ironed. I slip it on and there's a hole in the center. Grrrr. I grab another shirt and I have to iron it five times until it's presentable. I hate what I'm wearing, but I'm late to work, so I have to go.

All day long, I sit at my computer screen hoping that no one will notice the inappropriateness of my outfit. I was dressed in practically all brown -- dark brown pants, light brown top and brown boots. I looked like a UPS worker or as some of my high school friends would say -- 'Earth Toned Ethel.' (This was a name we gave a female classmate who wore brown from head to toe every day). Plus, I needed to get my hair and eyebrows done, so I felt totally off kilter. Then I had this ongoing desire for chocolate. Yummy!

Well, somehow I got through it. Hopefully tomorrow will be better.

Operation 'Something New'

A high school friend of mine recently got married. They had a small ceremony outside of the state and are having a reception here, to which I am invited. So far, I'm dateless and I'm one of his few single friends. I imagine that there will be very few black women there since my friend 'Victor' is marrying a white woman and several of his friends also have white wives. That's fine for them, but it has helped me come up with a plan that I have devised as Operation: 'Something New.'

This move is based on a movie by the same name. My plan was simple. I was going to take one of my white male friends to the reception and have him pretend to be my man. I wanted to do this partly because I didn't want to go to the reception alone and also because I wanted to give the men there a taste of their own medicine. The black men I know who date white women would say they believe in a color blind society and all that nonsense, but as soon as they see a sista walk by with a white man, they get irate. Surely tongues would wag if I bought my own set of porcelain to the party. Hence, Operation: Something New.

I selected the perfect target -- Ezra. He was an easy choice, since he is the only single and good looking guy at my workplace. I thought he was cute when I first met him, but I was a bit turned off because his girlfriend was a slut. (Gosh, I hate that word. I'll just call her a 'woman of ill repute.' ) Anyway, we got to know each other and I let him into my minority wrecking crew at work, which consisted of myself, a Latino, Trevor (an ambigious looking white man) and Ezra, a Jew. Fun times.

Anywho, the date for this reception is frighteningly close and I've made no moves to implement my plan. Things are further complicated now because I think Ezra and a new female supervisor are embroiled in a secret romance, even though they both have denied the rumors. The way I see it, I have three choices: 1. Pull Ezra aside and say, "would you like to perform a social experiment with me? Maybe afterward we could conceive a little Halle Berry or Lenny Kravitz?"
2. Give my gay friend a straight makeover and have him accompany me to the wedding.
3. Go by myself and try to stay away from both the wine and Victor's freaky father. That could be a lethal combination.

Actually, any one of those options could make a humorous blog post sometime in the future. I'll get back later with my decision.

Mental Health Day

Somedays, other people will sum up my life much better than I can. I was leaving a social services building awhile back and two older black women got on the elevator with me. They worked in the building and were talking about work when they got on the elevator. I'm nosey, so I couldn't help but pick up bits of their conversation. "She had the nerve to ask me 'don't you get excited about your work and your assignments?'" One woman said. "I said, 'Hell no, I don't get excited. White people get excited about that shit." I couldn't help but crack up after I got off the elevator.

This scenario came to mind recently when a supervisor commented on my lack of enthusiasm for the job. Mind you, he just gave me an assignment that was the equivalent of counting the number of fire hydrants on our street. I told him I'd do it, 'cause Lord knows I love getting a paycheck every week, but I guess he expected some singing and dancing to go along with it. I don't know if its a cultural difference or what, but I do my work and take it for what it is .... WORK. I have a colleague (they're all white, except for me) who would've kissed my supervisor's feet if he was given the fire hydrant assignment. Loser.

Anyway, because of my on the job issues, I'm campaigning to get sent home for a Mental Health Day. I could easily call in sick, but I'd prefer that my colleagues see on their own what the working world has done to me. I've come up with a variety of ways to get me noticed and hopefully sent home:


1. The rape whistle. When the going gets rough at the office, I escape to my car and blow on my rape whistle as loud as I can. Now I’ve taken to blowing it in the office. Everytime someone does/says something to tick me off, I’ll blow the whistle in their face. When they ask what’s wrong, I’ll just blow again.

2. Music. Most days, I load my music on my computer and listen to it with headphones during lulls in the day. Now I’ve devised a series of songs with anger management themes and have bought them to work. I’m talking about Eminem, Jaguar Wright, NWA, Public Enemy. This time, I’ll let the music blast from my computer. “What are you listening to, Strength?” “'Dead N*** Boulevard,’ by Meshell Ndegeocello.” “Umm….okay.”

3. The Pound. Before I go to lunch, I will pound my head onto the computer five times quickly as I squeal ‘ow, ow, ow, ow.’ When anyone asks what’s wrong, I’ll look at them like they’re the crazy ones.

4. Talking in tongues. Every time I get off the phone with an agitated person, I’ll slam the phone down. Then I’ll jump to my feet and scream “King Kong Ain’t Got Nothin’ on Me” in a loud, booming voice. I’ll beat on my chest for a few seconds, then I’ll go back to work as if nothing happened.

5. Calling in sick. I will get to the office in the morning and check my email. Then I’ll pick up my phone and call my supervisor, who sits less than three feet away from me, and tell him that I’m sick and I won’t be able to make it into work today. He’ll think of it as a joke, but I will promptly log off my computer and walk out.

Hopefully, this will be enough to get me sent home on that special holiday. But with my luck, they'll view all of this as my newfound enthusiasm and give me a promotion. *Sigh*

(Photo courtesy of http://www.noise.net/featured-work.aspartist_id=3559&category_id=1&wid=14398)

Back in the Box

Sorry for the brief absence. I wish had an excuse for the hiatus, but I don't. I was just slacking. While I was 'away', I thought of a couple of things to blog about:
1. I'm campaigning to get sent home for a mental health day at work
2. Operation: Something New
3. I'm going out with coffee with The Ex next week.

I'll get back to the first two in later posts, but today I will focus on number 3. I've been communicating with said Ex and we've made temtative plans to hang out next week. There's no ulterior motives on my part; this is just my way of taking hold of my future. You see, I know there's going to be a day where I'm at the grocery store wearing curlers and pimple cream and who will I run into? Yep, the Ex. So I'm going to avoid that by seeing him on my terms, which means that I will look too good for words.

We did not have a good break up, if there is such a thing. And we only started talking amicably a few years ago. Now I realize I am completely over him. Previously, I was over him, but I didn't want anyone else to have him. Now I just want him to be happy. With someone else. Maybe I've matured.

So anywho, I'll see him, write about it and that'll be that. A good friend of mine once said that seeing an old boyfriend is like finding that old teddy bear in the garage. You're so happy to see it that you hug and squeeze it. Then you realize that it stinks and it just isn't you anymore. So you put it back in the box and keep on moving. That's what I'm going to do. Stay tuned.

Thicke

I'm so obsessed with this man. Come Tuesday, I'm running to get this cd!
(Okay, I can't get the stupid code to work. Go here and click on 'Lost Without You.' That's his wife in the video)

Music Video:LOST WITHOUT YOU (by Robin Thicke)

Music Video Code provided by VideoCodeZone.Com

Thanks

I'd like to send a firm thanks to the people at Dancing with the Stars for allowing my man, Mario Lopez, to dance again. I'd like to send an even further thanks to the people over at Nip Tuck for allowing him to appear on the show this season and showing his booty. As someone who has long loved A.C. Slater, I have to say thank you thank you thank you!!!!!

I'm in Love with a Stripper

This weekend I went to a workout class that I’ve been putting off for various reasons. Now that I went, I’ve gotta keep going back. See, this was strip aerobics. And thanks to our leader, Cinderella, I had a great workout.

It was a free intro class and I went with a friend. It started out with her leading us through a series of moves. She would ask us how we felt and we would yell out 'Sexy!' Then things started getting more serious with us repeating a series of moves to the beat of the music. We had to rotate our legs a certain way, but keep them together as if we were squeezing a hundred dollar bill. We also had to do a kitty cat pose which is an erotic version of yoga’s downward dog. And there was a whole lot of booty shaking going on. By the time it was over, I had the trademark Whitney Houston sweat on the top of my lip and my legs and abs felt tight. But the mission was accomplished, b/c I did feel sexy.

Later, Cinderella demonstrated her moves on the pole and I was seriously impressed. She climbed it, spun around it and hung upside down on it. And she was just an ordinary looking woman. Actually she wasn’t that cute at all. But by the time the class was over, I wanted her number! (that’s a joke… I’m not a lesbian, no I’m not)

Now I have newfound respect for strippers/exotic dancers. It’s not all take it off, grind, shake, take the money. There’s an art form to this. I’ve got to go back there and buy a bulk of classes so I can learn some moves. Then I want to go to strip club and see if I can pick up any new moves. I've got to buy some classes and a pair of trampy shoes soon. ‘Cause I’m bringing sexy back. Woo-hooooo!!

Flavor Flaaaaaav!!!!!

About a week ago, I was visiting my mother. We were sitting back, drinking lemonade and shooting the breeze. Suddenly, she told me that she had an important question for me. I cringed. Did she find out about the 10-year-old twins I put up for adoption? How I spent my senior year in college stripping to help pay for my portion of the tuition? My affair with my high school gym teacher?**

“What’s the point of ‘Flavor of Love?’”

Whew. A television question. That I can handle. Thanks to Juicy, I was able to catch a marathon of that show over the weekend. Here’s a quick recap. The show revolves around Flavor Flav, who was a member of conscious rap group Public Enemy. The group, led by Chuck D, was known for giving the finger to all things authority (hence one of their song titles, “Fight the Power”). Flavor Flav was more like the mascot of the group, chiming in every once in a while to say “Yeah, Boy”, bug out his eyes and twitch like an epileptic. He’s so famous that VH1 chose him for The Surreal Life (a show for Z-list celebrities) and it was there that he hooked up with Max-Headroom look alike Brigitte Nielsen. They broke up and he decided he wanted real love. Hence his show, Flavor of Love.

This is the second season of this trainwreck, er, I mean, show. The first season he chose a girl nicknamed Hoopz over another known as New York. Hoopz later broke up with him and they called for another season. New York came back to unleash her fury on the other contestants and keep them in line. By the end of the show, Flav decided he wanted her in the running again. When he gave her the gigantic clock (the show's version of giving the rose on The Bachelor) she bawled like a baby.

I don't know why any of these women want to be put through Flav's house of horrors for the world to see. But at least I can understand New York's motives. Up until now, she's known as the chick who was dissed by the unattractive Flavor Flav. Can't go out like that. Even if it means putting herself through an endless amount of booty-shaking contests. Poor girl.

Days like this make me glad I got rid of cable. Because I would surely be television watching.

(**All lies, btw. Or are they? Heh heh)

96

I reflected about the high school years the other day with one of my oldest friends, April. (that's the republican, for my regular readers) We spent alot of time together because we had similar circumstances -- only child, single mother and one of the few black students in a predominantly white classroom. We were also the girls with the answers. We were the students in class that teachers love, but students hate. We knew the answers, but it's not that we tried to draw attention to that fact. We weren't the kid in the front row who raised his hand for every question and pouted if the teacher picked someone else. We were undercover nerds. We tried to hide our brains, but the teachers would know better and call on us constantly to demonstrate that fact. Then they'd praise us and the other kids would roll their eyes.

April's talent is math, mine is English. Here is April's story, as told to me:
(My high school, 1993. Ms. Massaquoi's pre-calculus class)
Ms. M: Now who can look at this problem and apply the I Love Math Theorem?
April: (face buried behind textbook)
Ms. M: Anyone? Anyone?
April: (shrinks lower in her seat)
Ms. M: April! Do you know the answer?
April: Ummmm...not really.
Ms. M: Sure you do. Come up here and show everyone.
April: Ok.
(she writes a series of numbers and gibberish on the blackboard as slow as she can, so her classmates will assume she's working the problem out as she goes along) Is that it?
Ms M: Class, look at this!! Do you see the answer? The answer is e=mc2. And April is the only one who knew it. How do you all feel about that?
(A few yawns from the other students)
April: It really wasn't a big deal.
Ms. M: Oh yes it was. You all need to start studying, like April. Do you know why she knows the answers? Because she stays afteschool everyday to practice math! That's right. Everyday. Ask her if you need help.
(April walks slowly to her desk and contemplates slitting her wrists and bleeding over the blackboard. But since that would ruin her wonderful problem solving, she decides against it)

For the record, April stayed afterschool only a few times to tutor a friend. Ms. M. saw them together and jumped to her own conclusions.

Anyway, here's my story. I'm taking a writing class for graduate school. Our assignment was to write our autobiography.
(Present day, Strength Univ.)
Professor: I apologize to you all, but I've been sick this weekend. That means I did two things I never do. One, I marked up everything and two, I used a red pen. So my apologies in advance.
Male student: Oh great. You can keep mine then.
Professor: Some of you are very strong writers and I was impressed. I think the highest score in the class was a 96. Anyway, after you see your papers, you can leave.
(She passes them out and I get my paper. I got ... drumroll please ... a 96!! I could leave now, but everyone else is reviewing their papers. I fear that if I leave, everyone will know that I got the highest grade. So I sit back and try to look pensive)
Professor: (approaches my desk with a questioning look) Something wrong, Ms. Wisdom?
Me: No. Just looking over some of these errors I made.
Professor: Yes, only a few grammatical errors. (she points to my score) But you did very well. You write like a journalist.
Me: I think that's my problem (I chuckle with another student)
Professor: Oh no, you did very well. Very well. Again class, 96 was the highest score. So if you have a 96, I wouldn't even think about resubmitting. I mean, any score in the 90s isn't worth revising, but I'll leave it up to you. But you can't really improve from a 96.
(I stare at my paper for a little while longer, hoping that no one picked up on the fact that I earned the 96. Then I slip out quietly)

Don't get me wrong, I'm proud of my grade. It just made me feel like I was in high school again, trying to fit in with the cool kids. It's not easy having this beauty and brains too. =) In the words of Eva Perrone, or Madonna, "I'm only a simple woman!"

My Reality

I had just completed an episode of A Different World on dvd when I wondered which character I was most like in college. Then I wondered why that wasn’t a blog meme and who I could write to in order to get one established. Then the harsh reality hit me: I have no life.

Sure, I have this fabulous job that I love (yeah, right), I’m pursuing a master’s degree and I spend my free time either working out or hanging with a close-knit group of friends. Yet there are too many days when I come home from work, eat my dinner and count the number of times I blink. I can’t remember the last time I had a date. Actually, I can remember, but I’d rather not go into it here. I wonder how much my life would change if I had a boyfriend. So I started down a path I’ve treaded before – online dating.

The first site I tried was pretty extensive. I don’t want mention its real name, so I’ll just call it eNarmony. I saw the commercials of all the happy married couples and the guy with the glasses that claims to be an expert in love. The site seems easy enough. I’m required to answer a series of statements about my personal characteristics and rate them on a scale of 1 to 7, which translates into not at all, somewhat and very. I went through statements like – I’m ambitious, I like to look at people of the opposite sex, my beliefs make me a better person, etc. Whew! It was a lot of work. Finally, when I got done all that, the web site people told me I was only 15 percent through the questionnaire. Interesting. Was I willing to go any further with this? Hell no!

Then I stumbled on another site, Hatch. I’ve been there before. It’s so easy to keep my profile the same and grab my credit card. But some things have changed from my previous profile. For starters, my picture. I have short hair now and in the picture I have long hair. I have to find someone with a digital camera to take a new picture of me. That sounds a lot easier than it actually is. I can’t really go up to random people and ask them to take my picture and then email it to me. I have considered asking my coworker to do it, since she’s taken up photography as a hobby. But then she’ll wonder why I insist on looking perfect in the photo and I don’t have time for her endless questions. So I’m back to square one.

Things shouldn’t be this hard. Why can’t it just be easy to meet someone? I mean, Mom and Dad were childhood sweethearts. Mom met my stepdad through work. My aunt met my uncle at a club. My cousin met her man through rehab. Nice, simple scenarios! At this rate, I’ll tell my kids that I met their father after he left a comment on my myspace page or winked at me on Hatch. Sigh. It’s hard out here for a chick.

Friends -- How Many of Us Have Them?

Now that I've been roughin' it (that's what I call this period in my life where I've been surviving without cable), I've learned to discover the wonderful world of educational television. I watch PBS often, mainly because that's one of the few channels that doesn't turn all fuzzy on me. It's also enabled me to discover other television shows that I refused to watch in the past. There is this one show called "Friends". Ever heard of it?

Yeah, I know it was popular when it was on. But I refused to watch a bunch of idiotic white kids prance around New York as if they had never seen a minority before. It was the preppy version of 'Living Single' (which I loved) and I refused to support it. Yes, I've watched a few episodes in the past and I know how it ends (Ross and Rachel, blah), but I was never overly impressed.

Thursday nights used to be the best night for television. Back in college, we'd pile into the TV lounge and prepare for a night of New York Undercover, Living Single and whatever else that was black and on the air. We dared anyone to touch the channel:

(Freshman year, Urban U. Two white girls approach the TV)
Girl #1: I'm sooo loving Rachel's hair! I can't wait to see what she does next.
Girl #2: Me either! Let's change the channel.
(Alarm sounds and a group of black students crowd the TV set)
Black student #1: Halt! There will be no watching of the 'Friends' here.
Girl #1: Why not? Everybody watches Friends.
Black student #2: We're watching New York Undercover.
Girl #2: What's that?
Black student #3: It's a black-a** show for black-a** people. So get outta here before we start a revolution.
Crowd: REVOLUTION!!!!!!
Girl #1&2: (huddled close together) Er... let's get outta here.

Maybe I've mellowed a little sense then. Here, 'Friends' comes on at 7 and 7:30 on weeknights. At first, I just kept the show on for a little background noise, then I found myself cracking up. I hate Ross -- he's sooo friggin' pitiful -- but I love him just the same. Chandler gets on my nerves with all his antics, but he cracks me up. I'd say my favorite character is Monica, who is a much more neurotic version of myself. Joey's just dirty, but he makes me laugh. Good times.

So there you have it, my secret is out of the bag. I watch 'Friends' and <*gasp*> I like it. I'll have to keep this a secret from my revolutionary homies.

The Shingles Bond

I didn't do much for my day off. I spent it working out and then recovering from my workout. I watched a bit of tennis which enabled me to see James Blake, who is my kindred spirit. (He won, btw)

Much has been said about Blake's struggles in recent years -- a serious car accident, injuries in training, his father's death from stomach cancer and his own battle against shingles, which nearly paralyzed him. Somehow, he perservered and is back to winning tennis matches again.

Blake and I are the only two people I know of who are under the age of 60 and have dealt with shingles. I got it when I was 17 and I didn't know anything about this virus. All I knew was that I wanted these blisters to go away. The rash was on the side of my stomach and stretched around to the side of my back. It didn't itch, but it hurt. It hurt to the point that I often held my shirt away from my skin because the mere touch of the fabric ached. I was also cold all the time and spent much of the spring bundled under covers with my teeth chattering. I finally went to the doctor and I learned that this is a disease that usually affects the elderly. To this day, I have no clue how I got it. It left a few tiny scars.

My case wasn't as bad as Blake's. He had shingles so bad that it nearly paralyzed the left side of his face and almost caused permanent nerve damage. That virus is no joke. I still get goosebumps when I think about it. So if I ever happen to meet James Blake, maybe we can compare cases. Then I'll show him my scars and he can show me his. Then we'll ride off in the sunset together ... 'cause the man is foooine.
(Photo courtesy of http://newsimg.bbc.co.uk/media/images/41502000/jpg/_41502354_blake_getty_200x300.jpg)