Pinochle & Gin Rummy

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







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






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







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







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








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


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




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blogwatch

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

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

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

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

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

This Is Why I'm Hot

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Walk The Line

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

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

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

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

Today Is A Good Day

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

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

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

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

Happy Fourth of July everybody!

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

Mourning The Morning

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

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

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

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

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

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

Parachute Pop

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

And my, how things have changed.

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

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

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

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

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

Upgrade U

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

"Yes, this is her."

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

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

"Are you happy with your current service plan?"

"I'd say so, yes."

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

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

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

"Fine. But --"

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

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

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

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

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

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

*Silence*

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

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

"Nope. Sorry."

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

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

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

"Oh. Then why are you calling me?"

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

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

Healing

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

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

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

Destination: Out There

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm Officially a Widow...

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

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

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

The Relative Conversation

I'm told that everyone has one. That family member that you'd rather keep hidden; the one you don't want anyone to meet. Ever. The one with whom you'd deny any familial connection to if you could get away with it.

I am blessed to have several of these such relatives. Today I'll talk about only two.

First there's Cousin Bicardi, so named because of his love for all things bubbly. He's a relative by marriage, but he and my cousin have been married for so long that I often forget that something as simple as a divorce would mean that I'd never have to see him again. (Not that I'd wish for that to happen).

Anyway, it was Thanksgiving in the 1990s. I was on break from college and bought the boyfriend over to dinner. I was alarmed to see Cousin Bicardi there, but I didn't think he'd do much harm. I was in the kitchen when the boyfriend was in the living room with him watching the news. The reporter started talking about a woman who was raped and Cousin Bicardi shook his head in shame. He turned to the boyfriend and said this: "I never understood why a man would rape a woman. They close their shit up all tight if they don't want you. If you keep on going, your stuff will be hurting too. It ain't worth it. You might as well just wait for them to open the gate."

Recently, we had a family gathering where Uncle E attended. We rarely see Uncle E because the circumstances of his life took him down several wrong paths. Let's just say he and his ex wife are the original Bobby and Whitney. He also has seven kids by six different women. I hear Uncle E was fine in his day. I believe that because his sons are gorgeous. (I have their names and ages written down somewhere, just so that I don't ever accidentaly commit incest.) But now he's 50, overweight, with rotting teeth and he bugs everyone for money.

An attractive woman who was a friend of a relative attended the gathering and Uncle E thought this was the time to return to his heyday. He tried to rap to ol' girl and she actually looked like she was falling for him. Then several of us crowded around her and warned her away. She doesn't have any kids and we told her that he gets every woman he dates pregnant. She doesn't have any kids, so she backed away then.

At the end of the night, he cornered her again and they began talking. When it was time to go, he kissed her hand and winked. Then he said, "I'll see you in nine months." She cringed and ran away. I doubt we'll ever see her again. Unless he did manage to impregnate her with his touch.

(Photo courtesy of http://officespam.chattablogs.com/archives/A-Very-Sesame-Thanksgiving.jpg)

The Desk (At Work)

I finally got my digital camera to work, so I figured I'd be lazy today and just write about some illustrations. What you see above is my desk at work. I'm going through the 'lived in' stage, where papers, pens and books are pretty much tossed around willy nilly. It is a tad bit messy and I do need to clean it up. But trust, this desk is nothing compared to that of some of my coworkers. You'll notice on the top cubicle wall a series of items that I share with my neighbor, Nicole. We're both figurine freaks. Recently, an older woman bought in her child's old toys that she planned to give away and we added them to our stash. Here's some quick views.



What you see here are some of the items we share. From the left, you'll see our two bottles of Ibuprofen. Oh yes, it gets like that sometimes. Especially since we are apparently on the same cycle. Next to the drugs, you'll see a snow globe with Mickey Mouse inside, then Peter Pan in a face off with Captain Hook. Then there's my trusty Justin Timberlake bobblehead doll (it was a gag gift), Orko from She-Ra Princess of power and a bobblehead of Jesus. The Jesus figure is Nicole's not mine. She's the blasphemous one.


And now it's time for my favorite figurine of all:

Yep. That right there is the Avenging Unicorn. It comes with three figurines -- a mime, hippie and a boss that you can impale with the various unicorn horns. My unicorn is stabbing the hippie and I've given the impaled boss and mime to some other coworkers who share my anger management issues. Fun times!!

Here's the front of my desk:

As you can see, I have a royalty complex. And yes, that's Robin Thicke as the background to my computer. Ya'll know I love him. I also have a picture of my cat and a picture of Method Man taped ot my screen, but you can't see it here.

Here's me looking at my favorite website:

That's '>this one, in case you didn't know. I also have a picture of a comic strip that I like, F Minus.


That's about it for now; it's time to head out into the sunshine. Have a fun Memorial Day weekend!

Top Reasons on Why I'm Losing Lost

I watched the season finale of "Lost" recently and I feel, well, tired. I've been watching this show from the beginning, intrigued by the way they told the story of plane crash survivors crashing on a desserted island. Unlike 'Castaway', each episode is intertwined with the backstory of one of the island's inhabitants. Each season is supposed to account for a month of their time. So even though they've just ended the third season of the show, those folks have been stranded on the island for three months, there time. The network announced that they would end the show in 2010 and then the audience would finally be able to put all the puzzle pieces together. But, three more years on a friggin' island? I don't think I can hang on that long. Here's why:



1. Lost Losers.

I'll admit that I like the show, but I'll never let myself go 'Lost' crazy. The most I'll do is check Pop Candy each week to see what other viewers are saying about the show. But I'll never be like my friend, Larry. Love him to death, but he's a Lost geek. He subscribes to the podcasts, googles screenshots, watches each episode two or three times a night. I humor him when he tries to share his knowledge with me, but really, I don't care that much. People like Larry are very protective of their theories. I've witnessed a fight almost break out when he told someone else his idea was "retarded." Get a grip, people.



2. I hate Jack.

I guess it's wrong that whenever I watch the show, I find myself rooting for someone to kill the show's star, Dr. Jack Shepard, aka Matthew Fox. He's got this real hero complex and he's so self righteous that it makes me ill. He tells everyone else on the island what to do and most of them follow him blindly. Then he's in this wack love triangle with Kate (Evangeline Lilly), yet another character that's been dancing on my one good nerve.



3. Where are my people?

Yeah, they've done a good job with diversity and all, adding a Korean couple and a Middle Easterner in the mix. And even though Sun and Jin are my favorite characters on the show, I can't help but be annoyed by the genocide of the black characters. The Others let Walt and Michael off the island, then the monster kills Mr. Eko, which was a horror upon horrors. Rose, who was an important character in the earlier story, was barely shown this season. Ms. Kleu seemed to be on the top tier with the Others and the second time they showed her, they shot her in the chest. What's up with that?



4. TV Shouldn't Hurt.

And really, my brain is hurting. I think the concept of Lost is really interesting, but it would be better as a movie or a miniseries instead of a series of episodes spread out over six seasons. And since I'm in what I like to call 'Lost Special Ed', I don't have the time or energy to freeze frame certain scenes to see if I can recognize the Dharma agent from season one. Really, it's not that serious.

I'm off my soapbox now. Thanks for giving me the chance to vent. Although, it's highly likely that I'll toss all this out the window in January 2008 when the show starts again.

(Photo courtesy of http://z.about.com/d/gohawaii/1/0/Y/0/1/lost_01.jpg)

Lt. Mayonnaise

About a year ago, I was forced to sit behind a guy I couldn't stand at work. For the most part, he was quiet. But when he did open his mouth, he was loud and obnoxious, often saying offensive things to the people who sat around us. He was also a big flirt. I'll never forget the day he asked an old woman in our department if she'd ever been spanked. I assumed she'd get offended, but she blushed and giggled as she walked away. That was the effect Dice had on everyone. He was the guy that you either loved to hate or hated to love.

Eventually, Dice (nicknamed after Andrew "Dice" Clay) became my sidekick. He was the only other person of color in our office so we became each other's 'go-to' person. He showed me around the city I worked in the way no one else did. Dice hipped me to Simmy's, a spot where I could get everything from chitterlings to moo goo gai pan. We made frequent runs to the dollar store and I allowed him to hide his goodies in the bottom drawer of my desk. He told me the true meaning of the word "skank" ('a skank is a broad who hooks up with all your friends, but won't give you the time of day') and I helped him clean up his language when referring from women. I got him to go from skank to broad and finally to chick. Unfortunately, that was as far as I could get him to go.

Dice lived a mysterious life so we were all caught by surprise when he quit and said he needed to go "find himself." He said his goodbyes, piled into his truck and drove off to some distant land. A woman was hired to take his place. Although she was very nice, I missed having someone who understood what CP Time meant and could accompany me to Simmy's.

Eventually, Dice returned to tell us of his adventures. He had been in Officer Candidates School and was now a lieutenant. Everyone congratulated him and then the 'An Officer & a Gentleman' jokes started. Someone even nicknamed him Lt. Mayonnaise after Richard Gere's character.

I talked to Dice about a week ago when he gave me the news: He's going to Iraq. He's set to leave sometime in June and he wasn't sure how long he would be over there. He sounded upbeat, about as upbeat as you can sound about a war. I told him I'd keep him in my prayers and made him promise to send me his information once he got settled. (Already at work, plans are underway to send him care packages). I also made him make an even more important promise. When Dice returns, he'll have to come to our office in full uniform. When he finds me, he'll pick me up and we'll march outside like Debra Winger and Richard Gere. Unlike the movie, I'll have to go back inside to work. And he'll have to run around town chasing "skanks."

(Photo courtesy of http://www.topfoto.co.uk/gallery/LoveisintheAir/images/thumbs/0552127.jpg)

Twins

Growing up, I was always the girl with a twin. No matter where I went, there was always another skinny black girl with thick glasses. Whether I knew this girl or not, folks would always ask me if we were twins, sisters, cousins or whatever. Usually, my doppleganger and I would exchange frowns and say in unison, "I don't look like her!"

In sixth grade, my twin was "Penny". We were both in class H27, which meant we were part of a group that took all classes together. The first few days of school everyone made comparisons to us. Teachers would say Strength when they meant Penny and vice versa. We would both roll our eyes. I guess, like me, she had had her share of twins and was sick of it.

Unlike the others, Penny and I actually became friends. She was probably my best friend in school at that time, since I had another best friend in the neighborhood. The twins thing was still something everyone used to tease us about. One of our teachers -- drama, I think -- took it further and labeled us the Good Twin and the Bad Twin. Guess which one I was? I was very expressive (read: talkative, goofy) back then and the teachers just didn't understand me. Yet Penny was quiet and disciplined, always getting her work done perfectly. It was sickening.

For whatever reason, Penny and I had a falling out at the end of the year. I can't remember specifically what the problem was. I think she did something to piss me off, so I phased her out of my life. In true passive, aggressive fashion, we didn't speak for the rest of the school year. I got new friends and so did she. I went to another school the following year and we never spoke again.

Until the advent of Myspace.

I was fooling around on the site one day when I stumbled upon her name. I wondered if she remembered me, so I sent her an email. Turns out, she did remember me and added me to her friends list. She lives in another state, where she is studying for a phd so she can do cancer research. It was weird because she briefly lived in the same Midwestern state that I did, but moved away once I got there.

It was cool reminiscing about old times with her. The online relationship with Penny led me into subsequent conversations with my Sixth Grade Crush, who doesn't live that far from me. From what I've learned, he has everything that I'm looking for in a man -- long locks, single status, NO KIDS, and a love of Harry Potter.

It's been weird looking at these adult photos of people I'll eternally remember as kids. No matter how long Crush's hair grows, I'll still remember him with a high top fade and a rat tail. No matter how many degrees Penny gets, I'll still remember the day she came running down the hall all excited because two boys tried to get her in a sandwich. I guess I'm still a 12-year-old girl at heart.

(Photo courtesy of http://images.inmagine.com/168nwm/digitalvision/dv530/dv530023.jpg)

Congratulations?

Recently I learned that the Creepy Guy in the Office is engaged. The top boss sent an email to us all about it and asked us all to wish Creepy Guy, who sits in his messy office behind piles and piles of yellowed newspapers, congratulations. We managed to do it, but it was very uncomfortable.

Picture it, a short, balding man approaching 50. He scurries around the office, never speaking to anyone. If you happen to be trapped in the small, printer room with him he will either bolt past you like a cockroach after the lights have been turned on or stay curled up in the corner, waiting for you to finish. Obviously, his behavior has led to some discussion. Is he painfully shy? Or does he have a decapitated head in his freezer? Hmmm .....

It's his job to take the Big Boss's memos to us underlings and have us gloss over it to see if there are any errors. An ordinary person would approach the desk, say good morning or something like that, and proceed with their day. Here's what happened with me on the first day I met CG:

CG (carrying a memo, head down): Strength, I don't believe we've met. I'm _. Me: (extending my hand and smiling): Oh. Nice to meet you.
CG: (puts memo in my hand instead of shaking it): This is for Big Boss. Please read it over.

Then he scurried off. To make matters worse, there was a sticky note attached to the memo that basically said everything that he just said. I guess he was counting on me not being at my desk. That was two years ago and that is the only conversation I've ever had with him. Somedays I'll return to my desk and find the memo labeled with the sticky note. Somedays I'll be sitting at my desk and he'll drop the memo and sticky note without uttering a word. It's not just me; he does this to everybody.

Everyone chipped in and bought CG a gift certificate to Bed, Bath & Beyond. There was also a card circulated for everyone to sign. It was obvious no one knew what to say. Everyone wrote one of two clichéd phrases: 'Congratulations' or 'Best Wishes.' I wanted to send a wise message to his new bride, something along the lines of 'hide all sharp objects.' Naturally, I didn't do that. I wrote congratulations and signed my name. Let's hope this new chapter in his life will help him get over some of his issues.

(photo courtesy of: http://www.cartoonstock.com/lowres/mba0077l.jpg)

The Shoe

I was reunited with an old friend this weekend. I wouldn't call her a friend actually, just someone from my childhood. She moved into my apartment building not too long ago and although she reminded me of someone, it didn't occur to me until today who she is.

My neighbor is the Woman Who Lives in a Shoe. You know her? She had so many children she didn't know what to do? Yeah, try having her as a neighbor.

Ever since she moved in, I've been greeted with the pleasant sounds of her screaming at a child or a child screaming at her. It's not unusual for me to hear a succession of smacks prior to the screams, followed by the mother shouting various threats. "I told you to stop!!" "Give her the phone!" "I don't want to hear it!"

I often wondered how many children she had. I do know that there is a Jayla, because every morning someone is either shouting her name or singing it. There is also a Deja; I know this for the same reason. But today I looked out my window and saw that her children are finally where they belong -- outside. (But I can still hear them as if they're inside my apartment). I counted four kids -- three young girls, a boy and a teenage girl. I'm sure there's still an infant or two around.

Oh, the youth. How I love them. And pretty soon I'll be even closer to this brood when I go outside to take out my trash. Can't wait!

(Photo courtesy of http://images.wikia.com/muppet/images/c/cb/Rheaperlman.jpg)

The Naming of the Vaginas

The problem with being enrolled in a creative writing program is that you always have that one chick who wants to write about her vagina. In my class, this person is Darlene.

Throughout the semester, we've listened as Darlene detailed various stories with her vagina being one of the main characters. Already, her vagina has been tired, happy, energized, depressed and overworked. Luckily, this is an all-female class with the exception of the professor, who squirms in his seat everytime Darlene gets up to the mic. Believe me, there's nothing harder than trying to keep a straight face when you're listening to a story rooted in genitalia. Somehow, we've managed.

Another classmate, Becky, took issue with Darlene's subject matter. The two women are friends, so she confronted her in a light hearted manner:
B: "Darlene, I'm so sick of your vagina I don't know what to do!"
D: "Hey, I'm just being artistic."
B: "Whatever. Does your vagina have a name? 'Cuz if not, I'm gonna name it."
D: "And what would you call it?"
B: "Becky."

And that's when I stopped listening. It's one thing to name your own vagina, but it's a whole 'nother thing to name someone else's after yourself. Oh heavy sigh. Now I can't figure out who's more disturbed. Becky or Darlene.

Two Concerts in Two Weeks; Maybe Even Three

I had the pleasure recently of checking out both Corinne Bailey Rae and John Legend when they performed in my area. My friends and I had lawn seats, which made us bundle up and whip out our umbrellas on a moment's notice. Luckily, it didn't do much raining, just a little drizzle here and there.

Anyway, we were late to the concert because a girl's gotta eat. And who knew the friggin' thing would start on time? In all my life, this is the only concert I've attended that actually started at the time mentioned on the ticket stub. I assume that because Corinne isn't American, she doesn't know about our custom of being a tad bit late. Because of this, I only saw her do three songs. But I was happy when John Legend pulled her on stage for his set to sing Roberta Flack's "Where is the Love?" Overall, great show.

But it seems that drunken foolery and concerts go hand in hand, not that I was complaining. All the beer-toting spectators gave me plenty of laughs. There was the girl who tripped over her feet and tumbled down a hill, which caused her to knock another girl off her boyfriend's lap. The second girl pulled herself together and then yelled at her boyfriend for not catching her. A heavyset woman stood so close to her girlfriend that I was afraid she would slip her tongue in her ear. Then she yelled, "what do I want with him? he's only 18 years old!" Then there were the group of people in front of us who had serious come to Jesus moments when John Legend sang 'So High.' I like the song and all, but it never made me want to join hands with strangers and shriek. Apparently, that's just me.

The best part of the night was before the show. We went to eat at a pizzeria when four girls came in decked out in prom dresses. Yes, prom dresses. At a pizza joint. When they learned there would be a half hour wait, they tried to think of other elegant establishments where they could eat dinner. "Oh no," one girl screamed. "We are not going to Chick- fil-a!" I'm glad somebody had some standards. They decided to stay at the pizza joint. Come to think of it, they were seated before us. Grrrr ...

Later this week, I'm off to see Meshell Ndegeocello. I can't wait. I no longer have to work this weekend, which I originally thought. So that means I would be able to go see Idris Elba -- aka DJ Driis -- when he comes to town. I'm madly in love with that man, but I don't know if I'm willing to risk my hard earned money on music I haven't heard before. Hmmm. I'll have to think about that one.

A little bit country, a little bit rock 'n roll

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Giving In

I have a confession to make. Well, it's not really a confession, since many of you have heard me mention this several dozen times. But I'm going to make another confession here, so deal with it.

For the past year and a half, I've been surviving without cable.

Yes, it sounds shocking that in 2007 there is someone on the face of this earth without cable. It all started when I realized that I was paying money for all these channels that I didn't watch. Sure, I got to see movies occasionally, but I had a netflix membership for that. There were also music videos and some cable shows that I watched, but I could easily wait and get it on DVD. Plus, I was trying to cut down on the amount of TV I watched.

I knew it would be a struggle since I once dated a guy who didn't have cable. At the time, I thought, amazing! How avant garde! Of course, I never took into the account that he was always at my place, mesmerized by the clear picture on my television.

At first, it was easy. I got some rabbit ears from Wal-Mart and put them on my TV. I found myself watching channels I wouldn't ordinarily watch because of my limited channel selection. I watched lots of educational stuff on public television instead of letting my brain rot by watching MTV, BET or my personal favorite, the Style network. I could almost feel my brain growing each time I tuned in for quality program.

But one day recently, I had enough. It was a Wednesday night -- I'll never forget because 'Lost' was on. Now 'Lost' is a show where you really have to pay attention, you have to see everything in order to know what the hell is going on. Well, that was the day both my TVs turned completely to snow. I raced from room to room raising the rabbit ears above my head, moving them from side to side, but nothing worked. In the end, I was a sweaty, frustrated mess. My annoyance continued the next day when I got to work and my colleagues wanted to discuss the show, along with their hypthosesis. I had to tune them out and wait till I could watch the show online.

I say all this to say that I've decided to give in to the pressures of society and am getting cable. Basic cable, that is. That'll be enough to give me my fix of Battlestar Galactica (Don't hate, Tha L -- it's the best show on TV!), Nip Tuck, The Look for Less, How Do I Look and Nigella Bites. Of course, I'll still have to wait for DVD for shows like The Wire, but I think I can handle that, even though it's taking them forever to put the most recent season on DVD.

Anyway, as soon as I can find a good date for the cable man, I'll will join normal society again. I think once I get it installed, I'll just stay on my couch for a full 24 hours just to see what I've missed in the last year and a half. Can't wait!

(Photo courtesy of http://www.cinemablend.com/images/sections/3963/3963.jpg)

Back at It

I'd apologize for my absence, but I know ya'll are about as tired of hearing my excuses as I am about writing them. The truth is, I couldn't get inspired to write about anything lately. I was going to write about the nuptials of The Extremes, which I attended a week ago, but then I had a death in the family. Plus, the drama at Virginia Tech also saddened me. But I've dusted myself off and I'm back at the blog.

It occurred to me the other day that since November, I've been to three funerals and one wedding. It sounds like an awful twist on a Hugh Grant movie, but it's true. Most recently, my grandmother -- my stepfather's mother -- passed away. The doctors told us to prepare ourselves for her death months ago, but we were all hoping for the best. And even though we talked to her about death and dying several times, all of us were shocked when we learned about her passing.

I don't want to get too emotional here -- cuz Lord knows I've cried too much in the last couple of weeks -- but Mrs C was the last grandmother I'll ever have. When my Mom first met her son 14 years ago, she welcomed us both into the family with open arms. Being the stubborn teenager that I was, I tried my best to keep her, my stepdad, and the rest of his family at arm's length. But she wouldn't give up on me and always called just to see how I was doing, sending me money whether I needed it or not and feeding me until I was ready to explode.

In my top drawer, I still have a letter that she sent me in 2000 when I moved away from home and started my first job. "I have so much love in my heart for you. I feel you are also a part of me," she wrote. "... As you start out (in life) be careful whom you choose and trust no one." And as usual, there was a check inside.

Anyway, she's gone now and we traveled down south for the funeral, which was over the weekend. Because I am who I am, I needed to find something to laugh about to get me through this marathon of funerals that I've experienced in the last few months. In two of them -- Mrs. C's included -- they had choirs where all the singers were 80 or older. Not that there's anything wrong with having an elderly choir -- if they can sing. On both occasions, the choirs sounded eerily similar to the way I do when I'm singing "The Sound of Music" in the shower. Note: It ain't pretty. Mom agreed with me and together we devised a list of people who would be banned from singing at our own funerals. It was a bit of a morbid conversation, but it got us through.

(Photo courtesy of http://the-office.com/bedtime-story/ragdoll16.jpg)

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"I'm So In Love with my Music"

I'm back!

My AC Adapter arrived sooner than I expected, so my computer is up and running again. Yay!! It was hard going there for a bit. Somehow I survived without cable, the Internet, or my iPod. It was scary -- I don't want to go down that road again. Luckily, my coworker loaned me her iPod charger so I wasn't totally in the dark. I don't know how I survived before modern technology.

Anyway, my iPod is turning me into more of a music fiend than I was before. There is so much new stuff coming out that I had to write all the music I want to get from iTunes on a little sticky note and the note is filling very quickly. Amel's coming out with something new in May, so I have to get that, and I also have to get the new Macy Gray, K-OS and some others. I'm also going to go a bit old school and get the greatest hits of Tony! Toni! Tone! and an old Terence Trent D'arby cd. While I was in NYC, I practically lost my mind with the new music I bought. I added Amy Winehouse, Joss Stone and Stephen Marley to my collection. (This headline was taken from a new Joss song)

For old time's sake, I had to buy 'Beat Street' on dvd. I can't remember much about that flick, other than crying when the Puerto Rican kid fought with Spit and got killed. And of course the dancing.

I've got a few concerts coming up that I'm pretty excited about. I'm going to see John Legend and Corinne Bailey Rae later this month and Meshell Ndegeocello in May. Whenever I tell people I'm going to see Meshell, who is a lesbian, I always get the same confused expression. "Whoa! Is there something you're trying to tell us, Strength?" "First you cut your hair and now this!" And my favorite response: "Be careful! I watch 'The L Word.' Those chicks are pretty aggressive." Folks are crazy. Good thing I'm over my issue.

I also found out that one of my future husbands, Idris Elba (in the pic), will be in town soon as well. He played Stringer Bell on The Wire and is now in a bunch of movies, most recently "Daddy's Little Girls." He's also a DJ in his spare time, so that's why he'll be coming to town. His upcoming performance hasn't been publicized much, so I hope I'll be able to get tickets. Oh Idris....if he only knew how much I loved him. Sigh.

Hiatus

My beloved computer is acting up on me. And that leaves me with two options. I can either blog from work (which I’m doing now) or wait to get this nonsense straightened out before I blog again.

After careful deliberation, I chose the latter option. Until I’m able to take my laptop to the doctor, I’ll be a bit quiet. Please bear with me! I promise to have more exciting stuff to share, now that I’ve reached Dirty Flirty Thirty.

Until next time ….

The Big 3-0

I made it! Happy birthday to me .....

I'm on my way to New York to celebrate the third chapter in my life. And surprisingly, I haven't had a nervous breakdown (yet). It doesn't hurt that I just won some cash in a creative writing contest or that Jay-Z wrote "30 Something" just for me. Anyway, I'm off to see the Color Purple. Details when I return!

Spring Break Follies with Oprah & Gayle

I'm crying, but in a good way.

I'm a part time graduate student, so each Tuesday I leave work a tad bit early so I can go to my weekly class. This week, the university is closed because of spring break. Naturally, I didn't tell my supervisors that. I strolled out of the office at around 3:30 and got the chance to feel the 60 degree weather for a change. It was great!

By the time I got home, Oprah was just coming on. I have an interesting relationship with Lady O. I was raised in a household where the holy trinity was Oprah, Jesse Jackson and Vanessa Williams. My mother loved and still loves these three people; she would defend them till the end. (She doesn't defend Jesse as much anymore, but that's a different story). Because I was the rebellious kid I was, I had to have a different opinion. I'd make fun of her when she watched her tapes of the show and get annoyed when she made me leave the room because friggin' Oprah was on. It hurt my little heart and turned me into the Anti-Oprah. Although, I did squeal like a big baby that one time I met her.

These days, I've learned to appreciate Lady O, but I'm sure not telling Mom that. I turned on the show today and I laughed so hard I cried. They did a rebroadcast of Oprah and Gayle adventure show. The way I understand it, the two BFFs are taking a road trip across the globe and putting it on film. I didn't watch the entire thing, but what I saw cracked me up. At one point, they were at this hotel and this old lady had no clue who Oprah was at first glance. She simply asked them where they were from and would've simply gave them a room at the motel if Gayle didn't spill the beans on Oprah's identity.

For awhile, my girls and I have been talking about taking a road trip. The plan is for the three of us (Myself, B. and Juicy) to travel someplace west and record our adventures on voice recorder. It won't be on an Oprah and Gayle level, but I'm sure it'll be really fun, depending on how long the trip is. The three of us took a four-hour drive to a wedding a few years ago and it was quite comical. B is my happy-go-lucky friend who has a serious case of road rage, while Juicy is .... well, just Juicy. =) Most of the time, B is forced to play referee when Juicy and I have slight disagreements. I would hope we wouldn't kill each other on a road trip.

Four more days 'till 30. Outlook? So-so.

Happy spring!

Nothing's certain except death, St. Patrick's Day and taxes

I'll start with the back story first, since that's where this issue began:

Fall, 1995. Somewhere on the East Coast ...
I began my freshman year at a large urban university. I was two hours away from home, but I was just a subway ride away from my dad's place and much of my extended family. That made it convenient for emergency money situations. Aside from missing my friends back home, I enjoyed this university. It was my first taste of true independence and I loved every minute of it. Other than the homeless problem in the city, there was only one other thing I could complain about.

The color green.

It seems that lime green became the latest fashion in that city around the time that I arrived. The first time I saw a pair of green Reebocks at the mall, I thought it was a cruel joke. Who in the world would wear green sneakers? Then a light bulb went off in my head. Everywhere I went, folks (mainly girls) were decked out in the latest lime green fashions. There was the sista with the bright green blouse, matching bag and headwrap. There was a girl on the subway wearing the green Reebocks, a green Polo top and a green bookbag. The biggest standout was the brotha in my math class. I thought he was cute until he strolled into class wearing a green hat, green cardigan and he carried a green notebook and pen. I wanted to scream.

All those images of green was enough to give me a headache. Actually, it did give me headaches. I could no longer eat green M&M's or the green clover in my Lucky Charms. Whenever I saw the color green, particularly lime green, I was taken back to my math class -- trying to ignore the Leprechaun sitting next to me. I began to eliminate all things green from my wardrobe.

St. Patrick's Day, 2007

Obviously, this is my least favorite time of the year. I dread it when it falls during the week, because I will be the one person in my office not wearing green. I'll wear some rebellious color -- like red, my favorite -- until some happy go lucky person will tell me how wrong I am. "Where's your green? Everyone's Irish today!" Then he or she will give me a tiny little pinch on my arm. Cute.

Luckily, the holiday fell on a Saturday this year. I slept in and rolled out of bed to go to the bank. I didn't think about St. Patrick's Day and simply threw on a black shirt and some jeans. When I get to the bank, the only available teller belonged to a women wearing a bright green "Kiss me, I'm Irish" shirt. Great. After I handed her my paperwork, she asked me if I was wearing any green. When I said no, she tsk tsked me. "Come on, hon! Everyone's Irish today!" Then she handed me a green lollipop and sent me on my way. I smiled with her, but waited until I got outside to toss the lollipop in the trash. Green, yuck! That color is my kryptonite.

I decided to spend the next couple of hours doing something where I wouldn't be persecuted for my color choices -- my taxes. After staring at IRS forms for hours, I've made a few other conclusions for the next tax season. I need to buy a house, have a baby or take someone else's so I can claim a dependent, since the IRS won't allow me to deduct for my cat. Heavy sigh.

In other news, I've got 7 days until the big 3-0. Current outlook: blah.

(Photo courtesy of http://images.allrecipes.com/global/features/1766.gif)

Dark and Twisty?

I visited the blog of the lovely and fascinating Motown Runner Girl the other day and was pleased to stumble across a quiz. The subject was "Which Grey's Anatomy character would you be?" Now I watch the show, but I'm not as enthralled with it as other people are, like Motown and my mother. Most days, I just watch it so I can communicate with my coworkers at the water cooler Friday morning. Without even taking the quiz, I knew that I would score as either tough Callie or maybe Addison, McDreamy's ex wife.

Imagine my surprise when the quiz said I'm most like Meredith. Meredith??!! The dizzy chick who gets drunk and brings home guys from the bar? The broad who not only had an affair with a married man (McDreamy), but begged him to stay with her? Naw, that's nothing like me. But then I watched the show this week and Meredith actually said a phrase that I've been known to say a time or twenty: "I hate people." Meredith might not be so bad after all.

My results say that "for being so 'dark and twisty' (I) have a surprisingly sunny outlook on life. (I'm) quick to jump into new relationships, but just as quick to jump out." Interesting. Too bad Meredith is probably my least favorite character on the show. Her voice grains on my nerves and she whines about every friggin single thing. Most Thursdays, I want to smack her. But that's probably my dark and twisty side getting out. Tee hee.

Anywho, the quiz is available at http://abc.go.com/primetime/greysanatomy/quiz/greysdiagnosis/index

Taking it Easy

When my alarm clock went off this morning, I was physically unable to respond. All I could think of was the long workday that loomed in front of me -- the assignments I would be forced to do, the bosses I would be forced to smile at and the headache that wold greet me by the end of the day. Just the thought of it gave me a headache, which made me realize that I needed to call in sick.

It's early afternoon now and I'm sitting around in a pajama top and jeans, trying to figure out who the hell all these new people are on All My Children and Young & the Restless. Then I watched a bit of Regis & Kelly earlier, only for them to say Robin Thicke will be on there tomorrow. Grrrr.

There are some responsible things that I want to do -- my homework, my taxes, and going to the gym. But there are also some irresponsible things I want to do as well -- go shopping, sleep, and watch mindless TV all day. I probably won't go to the gym or go shopping though. Whenever I call in sick (yes, I've done it before -- everyone needs a mental health day), I try not to go out in public. I have this fear that the mall or my gym would be subject to some kind of armed robbery and I'd be on the news as one of the victims, making it so obvious that I wasn't sick. Maybe I'm overreacting, but I can't have that happen.

Anyway, I did have a decent weekend. I went to a 3-hour intro to bellydancing class, which really wore my behind out. Trust, it ain't as easy as it looks. I went to see Pan's Labyrinth (two thumbs up, but pretty violent), bought my tix to see the Color Purple on Broadway for my b-day and caught up with my season 2 dvds of Battlestar Galactica. The last couple of episodes of have sucked, so my obsession with that show may be over sometime soon. It's doubtable, but possible.

Oh well, it's back to trying to find something to do. Have a good one!

Paper Towel Passion

Back in the day, Mom told me to keep all the love letters I received so I could have fond memories of the guys who sent them. When she told me this, I was a skinny bespectacled kid who never got valentines, let alone love letters.

Fast forward through the years and I did get a decent amount of correspondence from guys. The first one I remember came in fourth grade from my best friend, Franklin. He wore glasses too and the boys in our class called him a "fag" because of his mannerisms. One day in class, he slipped me a note that said: "Do you think we're falling in love? Check yes, no or I don't know." At 11 years old, love was a word I reserved for Mom, Dad, and my poster of Taimak. For whatever the reason, I checked yes.

That was Franklin. We had the typical, childish ‘I-go-with-you/I-quit-you’ kind of relationship. I didn't keep his note, even though, like Mom said, it would have been nice to revisit. I did keep a few letters that I received later in life -- one from a guy I met at the beach the summer I turned 17 and another from an inmate in prison writing workshop that I helped facilitate. (I didn't intend to keep these letters, I just found them piled in with some paperwork.) I never expected to receive another letter, but I was wrong.

A few weeks ago, I arrived at my desk and saw a strategically folded paper towel with the words 'Open Up' on the outside. Keep in mind, it's 8 a.m., I haven't had my tea and my brain isn't functioning properly. I stared at the words a few minutes, contemplating the meaning of 'open up.' I concluded that one of my colleagues left that there to remind me not to be so reserved, to let my hair down a little. Point taken, I thought, and I tossed it in the trash.

The next day, there was another paper towel. This time it had ‘For You’ on the front and I opened it. "This is someone that sees you all the time but really never had a chance to talk to you because sweetheart u move fast when u are in the hallways but at least I get to see that pretty smile. If you are ok with it I would like to get to know you if that's cool. Have a nice day. Are you taken?" The note was signed '_ _ _ Y.'

Now, I can play hangman with the best of them, but I had no idea who _ _ _ Y was. Could it be the quiet maintenance man for whom I've been harboring a secret crush? Or was it the other maintenance man who is always mopping the front area when I arrive? Maybe it's that married, older bigwig in another department who always stares at my ass.

Anyway, I grabbed my own paper towel and addressed my own note to Mr. _ _ _ Y. I basically said that I was flattered and I apologized for throwing out the first note, but I had no clue that it was a note. I also said that he could get to know me, but I wasn't interested in dating anyone these days, but I also wanted to know who he was. When I came to work the next day, the blanks were filled in as TONY. There was no note, nothing. I guess he felt like I played him, but I hope not. I thought the gesture was really sweet, but I just have a deep disdain for all things male at the moment.

To this day, I am not positive who Tony, a.k.a. the Paper Towel Bandit, is. I suspect it is the fella that's mopping the hallways when I arrive (he's the one of the few people I see everyday), but I'm not positive. And if it is him, what do I say? "Hey, are you the guy that's been hovering around my desk at all hours?" With my luck, it's probably the cute maintenance man (even though his nametag lists a name that's nowhere near Tony) and I've scared him away. Sigh. I can't win.

No matter who it is, I folded my little paper towel note up and placed it in my top drawer, right next to my Robin Thicke ticket stub. This might be one of the few notes that I keep.

**Update: I found out who Tony is. It is the dude that's always mopping the front areas when I arrive. I introduced myself to him the other day. Nice guy, but I'm not interested.***

It's Spring Again...

But not quite.

The weather was so beautiful on Friday that I wanted to hop and sing in a meadow like they used to do on those old Summer's Eve commercials. Instead, I did the next best thing. I took a long lunch break where I got sushi, then pranced to my local CVS and got the new Vogue with Jennifer Hudson on the cover. I wasn't going to buy it, since the magazine has such a poor record of putting women of color on the front, but I love J Hud and I wanted to support. It was the least I could do, since I missed her Oscar win because I was at a concert. (Quick recap: Loved the show! Our seats were so close we could have performed fellatio if we were so inclined, but we left our groupie hats at home. He touched me and sang to me on two songs. Ahhhhh!) Now all I have to do is read the article.

It was beautiful outside yesterday as well, but things took an ugly turn today. I was outside for a minute to take out my trash and the wind just whipped me around. Sigh. This is not good for my seasonal allergies. But at least daylight savings time ends next week. Pretty soon, I'll be able to leave my Seasonal Affective Disorder behind and just be downright depressed. Hah, just kidding. And 20 days till I turn to the big 3-0. Still trying to coordinate b-day plans, since I wasn't fiscally responsible enough to save for my dream trip to Egypt. Any suggestions?

Happy spring!

(Photo courtesy of http://www.echotrips.com/tuolumne/images/spring-lupen-full.jpg)

"Life Goes On"

I apologize for my absence, but it couldn't be helped. A good friend of mine had a death in the family, so I had to go out of town to attend the funeral. It was one of those tragic stories where her uncle was standing outside making a phone call when he became the victim of a drive-by shooting. I'll never know what causes a person to grab a gun and shoot a complete stranger multiple times. Maybe complete insanity.

Anyway, in the years that I've known my friend, I never met her uncle. He was someone I knew about in passing, since she would often mention him. She and I always lived about a four-hour drive away from each other, so most of the time we talked over the phone. Usually, she would tell me some hilarious story about her favorite uncle. Even though our paths never crossed, her uncle often told her to tell me, his 'girl,' hello.

Visiting my friend's hometown again helped me realize that it's been 12 years since we first met. We became friends after living on the same floor freshman year and became so tight that we went to each other's hometown each summer. The first time I went to her place, it was the summer before 2pac and Biggie were assassinated (yeah, I said assassinated). Her uncle loaned her his car and the only cd he had was 2pac's All Eyez on Me. There was one song we played repeatedly, "Life Goes On." The chorus was: 'how many brothas fell victim to the street/rest in peace, young nigga there's a heaven for a G/be a lie if a I told you I ain't never thought of death/my niggas we the last ones left.' I had the pleasure of meeting some of her friends who nicknamed me PochaButtus, because of my growing booty. She even earned the moniker 2Plop Shitmore for her miraculous ability to eat and then disappear into the bathroom five minutes later. Good times.

We had our fair share of issues over the years. Family drama, school woes and man trouble usually kept us on the phone all hours of the night. These days we probably talk once a month about nothing in particular, but it always feels like not much time has passed. It's cool to see this woman -- who once wanted nothing less than Shemar Moore -- gush over her boyfriend. I even helped her drop some hints about how she envisioned her future wedding. I'm not sure if he was took the bait though. We'll see.

Both her uncle's wake and funeral were standing room only. Once it was over, we drove back to her place in silence. Leave it to me to break it by starting off with 'how many brothas fell victim to the street.' She tearfully joined in. After all, life does goes on.

Love Style

Your Love Type: INFP

The Idealist In love, you crave a long term, harmonious relationship.For you, sex doesn't come quickly - it takes time for you to open up. Overall, you are supportive, nurturing, and expressive.However, you tend to be shy and protective of your personal space. Best matches: ENFJ and ESFJ

What's" Your Love Type?

Swingers

Occasionally, I like to stray away from the pack -- do something on my own without hooking up with my friends. Sometimes I just have to get away from doing the stuff that everyone else wants to do and do what I want to do. Maybe that makes me selfish or a loner, I don't know.

Anyway, last night the task was swing dancing lessons. A few weeks ago, I heard this club was hosting the lessons/party, so I bought a ticket. I figured it was something to do on V-Day other than sitting at home and twiddling my thumbs. And it's not like it was February 2004, when I celebrated 'Single Awareness Day' with a bunch of girlfriends getting massages and watching Sex and the City. (Remember that, Motown Runner Girl?)

Initially, I thought the lessons were a bad idea. The crowd was kind of sketchy. The male and female teachers seemed pretty nice, but everyone else was coupled off. I was the only person who arrived alone and I feared being paired off with the teacher the entire night. I was standing at the bar when I noticed a man -- whom I thought had special needs -- plop down on my coat as he searched through his pockets. I immediately wished I stayed home to watch Lost.

But things picked up. They arranged us so everyone had a partner and everyone danced with everyone. I learned a few moves with a couple of guys who seemed to be learning this for the first time, much like myself. I got the hang of it alright, but it got a little confusing when it came to the spins. I've been told before that my biggest problem with dancing is that I don't trust the man to lead. Hmmmm. That says alot, doesn't it? One guy, Bill, seemed to struggle to learn the initial steps, but he got them.

Then they broke out the band and it was a free for all. Bill asked me to dance and I accepted. I didn't expect much, especially since he seemed to be screwing up in the practice session. Well, Bill's a liar. To say he knew the moves is an understatement. He shook and swung and spun me into a dizzying frenzy. Then Special Ed -- dude that sat on my coat -- asked me to dance and the same thing happened. Special Ed was not special and was actually the best male dancer in the room. These dudes were perpetrating a fraud! They were undercover swingers. Pretending that they couldn't dance and then they raised the roof.

Overall, I had a great time. I checked out the flier for the swing dance teachers and I'm considering taking some additional classes. But we'll see.

(photo courtesy of http://salsadanza.tripod.com/sitebuildercontent/sitebuilderpictures/swingoutphoto.gif)

I'm Working Today

All schools, buildings and government offices are closed. The roads are barely salted. A combination of snow and freezing rain is coming down. Anyone with any sense is in their bed, eating cocoa puffs and watching reruns of the Smurfs.

Today I'm not one of the smart ones. I was awoken by a combination of my cat and two alarm clocks. I groggily get dressed when I realize I'm ill prepared for the weather. The snow boots I bought from Payless for $3 don't help me much, especially when I realize that both shoes are for the right foot. My long johns are dirty, so I pull out some of my spandex/workout wear to do the job that the thermals can't do today. Why didn't I just call out, you may ask? Because I'm dedicated. And because I have no problem with going to work and doing nothing, yet I feel slightly guilty for calling out. Go figure.

I slip and slide my way down the empty roadways and stumble into our building. The lights are flickering on and off, a pipe burst near the sink and a water spot on the ceiling looks like the roof is going to explode. Lots of folks called out, including a guy who was hired six weeks ago and has called in sick for four of those weeks. My brave colleagues and I spend the morning plotting their demise.

Then the clock starts to tick. I make a few phone calls that I know will not be returned, listen to my iPod and watch a disgruntled delivery man hand over a bunch of bouquets to a female coworker who previously told her boyfriend she "didn't do Valentine's Day," wink wink.

I list all my canceled appointments and look forward to spending the evening inside and watching Lost. Yet the one thing that will not go away are the swing dancing lessons I signed up for previously. I email the organizers and call the club, but the bash is still on. These lessons will require me to travel 45 minutes up the road in an attempt to drop it like its hot. But I bought the $15 ticket in advance, so I will be there.

By the afternoon, the faucet is fixed and we have water. The maintenance crew has cracked out much of the ceiling and calls it progress. The snow stops and the sick workers are calling constantly asking for some way, anyway for an extra assignment to make up for their neglect.

Nevertheless, I am at work today.

Oh yeah. Happy Valentine's Day.

Happy Blogday to Me!!

Today marks the one year anniversary of the day this blog was born. I used to think the idea of having a blog was silly, so I deleted the previous one I had. Yet my buddy, Juicy, convinced me that I should try again.

So on February 9, 2006, I wrote this. Then I continued to write about various issues: my hair woes, troubles with Ned, and other issues. I even started my own club. What a productive year it's been!!

Anyway, I just wanted to take this time to celebrate my first blogday. I want to send a few shout outs to some of my readers -- Mlle. Smith, Tha L, Motown Runner Girl, Reese, and the aforementioned Juicy. Please check out their blogs -- they're really good!

Again, thanks for sticking with me for a year. I'm looking forward to another year of blogging and meeting new bloggers!

Grown Folks Music

For some reason, this song has been on my mind alot lately. This, and a Jody Watley song. I couldn't track down the Jody video (still trying!!) but I did find this. This song was the truth back in the day ....