He Did It, We Did It

Well, the moment I’ve been waiting for is here. Barack Obama is the first black president of the United States of America. The significance of that continues to get to me. The new first lady is the descendant of slaves. The first daughters get their hair cornrowed. The president elect has a mean jump shot and used his basketball prowress to win over his future wife.

I’ll tell my grandchildren about how I didn’t think much of the Obama name at first. I was even more turned off once I read his snoozer of a book. When folks started the buzz about him being the next president, I thought they were putting too much pressure on him. But I became fascinated with his life, his family, particularly his wife Michelle, who is a baaaad chick. I believed all the campaign promises he made, but in the end, a politician is a politician. In the beginning, I was a Hillary supporter. That didn’t last long.

I’ll tell the kiddies about how I collected each and every article that mentioned the Obamas. I’ll tell them their love story, cause I know it verbatim. I hope to take them to Chicago and tell them about the places where Barack wined and dined Michelle, until he ultimately proposed. They’ll often hear me mention the beauty of Malia and Sasha, and my enthusiasm for terrorist fist jabs.

They’ll know that I pulled myself out of bed early election day morning, only to stand in a long line that snaked outside the building. Hungry, tired and late for work, I would not leave that line until my vote was in. Once I hit ‘cast my ballot’ on the election screen, I felt my ancestors looking down on me and got a little weepy.

My election night story won’t be as exciting as that of those who were in the trenches, at various Obama offices or election parties. I was at home, watching CNN and carefully preparing for a Richard Wright presentation that I needed to do for class the very next day. But when they announced that he won – and one of my homegirls called me to confirm it – it all felt so surreal. I watched the live broadcasts from Grant Park and I saw thousands upon thousands of people laughing, crying, hugging, kissing. I saw Oprah and Steadman all in the mix, like they were regular people. Then I saw Jesse Jackson cry, and I cried too.

I’ll try to explain the significance of the 2008 election, even though there (hopefully) will be about a dozen presidents of color by the time they’re born. I’ll tell them all about the significant events that impacted our community in my lifetime. Rodney King. O.J. Simpson. Barack Obama.

But for now, I’m savoring the day. I’m at work, watching a beautiful black man become the leader of the free world. With his wife – educated and elegant, both making her the type of sistah that Ebony, Essence and CNN predict would never marry – at his side.

It is truly a new day. I am ready for the new America.

(Photo from http://www.nation.co.ke/image/view/-/487422/highRes/49522/-/maxw/600/-/ujhwlb/-/CHI0320_USA-ELECTION-_1105_.jpg)

First Comes Voting, Then Comes Waiting

Well, I did my part. I set my alarm clock for its usual 5:15 a.m., but I didn't roll out of bed until about an hour later. And I didn't get to the polls until around 7:30. Hey, I'm not a morning person and I'm slow as pond water, what can I say?

But I got to the elementary school that served as my polling place, I was amazed by the line of cars that filled the parking lot. People were calling the radio stations bragging about how they went to their stations at 4 a.m., just to be the first ones in line. I got even closer and I saw a line that extended outside. I immediately balked. I turned my car around and opted to vote after work.

I turned my car around and began to drive away. It was then that I started to think about all the people who came before me, who would've loved to see this day. I thought about our ancestors and how they waited in long lines, marched in the excessive heat and were sprayed with hoses just so they'd have the rights we take for granted. I thought about how I needed to represent the deceased -- Grandma, Dad, cousin Damon, friend Keya -- and do my part. So I turned around. Luckily, I found a parking space and I got in line.

Everyone braced for their turn in their own way. Some read books, papers, blasted iPods, smiled or just stared straight ahead. I left my book in my car, so I had plenty of time for observation. Folks in line ranged from old to young, pale faces to dark faces. One woman managed to get through the ordeal on crutches. An older black man proudly wore his Obama hat, easily putting an end to all those email warnings I'd been receiving. I wanted to take pictures, but I was too scared. I had this fear that that would be the one excuse to toss me out of line and keep me from voting. So I promised myself I'd snap a few pix once my vote was cast.

When it was my turn, my hands were shaking. I had to go over the ballot a few times to make sure I picked the right candidates, the right issues. Then I thought about Grandma again and how active she'd been in elections and I got a little teary. Nevertheless, I submitted my ballot, then got an 'I Voted' sticker. I was late for work, but I didn't care.

One of the election volunteers thanked us for our patience. She said they had 198 voters by 8 a.m., which was more than they had during the entire primary election day. Crazy! The line had dissipated by the time I was done, but I did snap a few pictures of the jam packed parking lot and the voting signs.

Now I'll be up all night, doing homework (presentation on Richard Wright is tomorrow!) and watching CNN. Hopefully, I'll be able to hear the acceptance speech of the first black president of the United States of America. Whew! I get chills just thinking about it.

Get Your Voting Game Right

It’s all about the strategy.

I’m at work, stooped in my chair, fingers a’typing in the keyboard. It’s all the appearance of hard work, but actually, I’m PLOTTING. See, I’ve got to get my plan together for tomorrow. I’m going to vote, but it’s all about the WHEN, as lines are supposed to be stretched to epic proportions.

Now, since my workday starts at 8, I plan to start my day by voting. I will wake at 6 a.m., then go to my polling station, where I’ll promptly stand in line. I’ll bundle up in my coat, chomp on my granola bar, blast my iPod (Kanye’s ‘Love Lockdown’ is on constant repeat!) and patiently wait my turn. I’ll make small talk with the people in line. I’ll chat with them about the constantly changing weather, how long the line is, how I can’t wait to get my turn, etc.

Someone will mention who they’re voting for and I’ll smile politely. I’ll keep my politics (BARACK, BABY!) personal, cause I know how ugly those conversations can turn. I’ll simply make eye contact with a few brothas and sistas in line and nod knowingly. Then I’ll spot the hordes of older black people in line and wax poetic about the days when Grandma would take me with her when she voted. I learned later that she was a fierce Republican, but that doesn’t matter. I know she would’ve loved to see history taking place.

I’ll take pictures and I’ll post them here. And when they make the announcement – that Barack Obama is indeed the first black president – I’ll run to the tv to see his speech. Then I’ll cry. Then I’ll call my grandpop to make sure he’s watching history. If I’m really feeling up, I’ll call my estranged grandmother and make sure she’s watching as well. (Who am I kidding? I’ll never be that up.)

But you know what they say about best laid plans. There’s also another scenario:

I could oversleep, leaving me only enough time to get to work and get through the day. Then I’ll race home, grab my camera and head to my voting station. This line will also be filled with grumpy voters, who will frown as I try to take pictures of history in the making. Then they’ll snicker when my cameraH doesn’t cooperate (which has happened many times before). I’ll keep my eyes glued to the news reports all evening, waiting for any news about who the next president will be. Then, when the announcement comes that Americans have chosen John McCain as the next president, I’ll take it in stride. I’ll put on my frozen smile, tune in for Barack’s speech, then call Grandpa and say that 2012 is definitely our year. Then I’ll get on my computer and check this site again.

Happy voting day, ya’ll!

(Photo from http://www.auburn.edu/academic/liberal_arts/poli_sci/journal_public_deliberation/images/e-voting.jpg)

Baby, I Need Your Lovin

Most kids got bedtime stories, but I was treated to Four Tops songs. Actually, it was one song in particular.

Whenever it was bedtime and Mom gave me my story, she’d talk about how much she loved me and break into her rendition of “Baby I Need Your Lovin’” by the Four Tops. It became our song and we used to sing it together most nights. We only knew the chorus and to this day, neither one of us knows any of the verses. But, no matter where I am, when this song comes on, I think of my Mama. And she thinks of me.

So we were both upset to learn about Levi Stubbs’ death. So here’s a blast from the past.

And the Walls Came Tumbling Down: Life Lessons from The Sims

I’m not afraid to admit that I never got over my love of video games.

Even now, as a grown 31-year-old woman, I still have a few PC games that I break out when times get rough. What sets me apart from the general public is that I’m very particular about mine. No Madden or Grand Theft Auto for moi. It’s all about Pharaoh, Genghis Khan, Sim City and *sigh* The Sims. I’ve been told that the first three games show my desire for world domination. The last one … Well, that just means I’m learning how to control people.

I justify my love of the Sims by saying it’s just like playing with Barbie Dolls…via the computer. You’re given all these simulated people and you’re responsible for keeping them happy. As long as you make sure they’re eating, sleeping and having a fair amount of fun, you’ll get bonus points as they advance in their professional lives. Ignore these factors and your Sims will wind up peeing themselves, having temper tantrums and punching random people in the face (true story, see photo).

Anyway, I’m trying to relate my past with the Sims to my own life. Years ago, when I played it on a frequent, obsessive level, I had this one Sim named Michael. I did everything I could to keep Michael in the green, the game's indication of a Sim whose needs are met. He was getting promotions at his job, enjoying his fancy apartment and swimming in his backyard pool whenever he could. Yet every day, Michael would come home and cry. The problem? Michael was lonely.

These days, I’m feeling a bit like Michael. I’m lonely. Not the kind of lonely where I need a man. Eff all that nonsense. Just the kind of lonely where I think I’ve gradually pushed folks out of my life, and it has got to change.

I’ve worked at the same place for the last three and a half years. From day one, I’ve put up this wall around myself that separates me from my colleagues. Sure, I participate in friendly banter and occasionally go to group lunches with them, but for the most part, I keep them all at arm’s length. I’ve limited most of my friends to an email or two here and there, but few phone calls. And when they do try to get together, if it falls out of my regular world of work, school, the gym, writing – I find a way to decline.

So I’m going to get rid of my internal Michael. I’m taking a hammer and slowly knocking down the brick wall that I’ve been building. I’m not saying that I’m going to run out and be buddy buddy to everyone. But I am going to stop letting ‘no’ be my first response to invitations. It’s time to let my inner Sim go.

(Photo from http://pnmedia.gamespy.com/planetthesims.gamespy.com/gamefiles/thesims/general/overview-screen.jpg)

It's YOU Again

It took me awhile, but I’ve decided not to get played. Ever again.

See, I have this friend, who I’ve mentioned before. Loves her, we go way back, back to a time when I was nine and in pigtails. I’ve always looked up to her and admired her (she’s seven years older than me)

But, boy have things changed.

For starters, there’s that bad a$$ child of hers, but I’ve already written about that, so I won’t beat a dead issue. I’ll just talk about the odd things that seem to occur whenever we hangout.

When we got in contact again a few years ago, the events were always as follows – meeting her at Headstart so I can watch her kids do their cheers, going to a Chucky Cheese birthday party, etc. Most recently, she called me up and asked me to go to dinner with her, just me and her. I jumped at the chance.

After we couldn’t figure out a place to meet, she suggested the bright idea of joining her friend’s party she was throwing at a seafood restaurant. Now, I wasn’t too keen of just up and joining a catered party that I wasn’t invited to, but she assured me everything would be okay. Cool beans. We get there and what do I see? Pyramid scheme!

That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. Homegirl had a powerpoint presentation and was discussing the joys of her newfound business and how we should join up with her. But the kicker was that there was NO FOOD during this entire time and I was HUNGRY. Homegirl talked nonstop for a full 90 minutes. I know the time because my friend and I continued to text each other about how bored we were and how we hoped it would be over soon.

Yet, when it ended, they bought out the food…and it was FINGER FOOD! A row of little chicken drumettes …. (at a seafood restaurant!) …. And very little else! But because I was hungry, I chomped on that chicken as if I hadn’t eaten in 30 years.

Fast forward a few months. She sends me a text about this party that her friend and her hubby are giving soon. It’s a black & white affair and tickets cost $15. One part of my mind wonders if this is a black-tie, get dressed up shindig. Then another part of my mind wonders if this is the same friend with the pyramid scheme from hell. As someone else pointed out to me, she may have me dressed up in some black and white waitress uniform the way her track record has been going.

So I made up an excuse and politely declined. But I don’t want to avoid her forever. There must be common ground somewhere.

(Photo from http://wwwdelivery.superstock.com/WI/223/1049/PreviewComp/SuperStock_1049-15002.jpg)

What's Going On Pt II

· So, I think I have The Blues · Not the kind where everyone is like, ‘what’s wrong with you, what’s wrong with you?’ · No, more like the kind where everyone is like, ‘boy, you’ve been in such a good mood lately’ ‘you seem so upbeat’ · Well, folks, it’s all an act · I call this faking my way to a good day · If anyone could look inside my head, best believe they wouldn’t see the sunshine & cotton candy that they expect to find · No sir, they’ll find big, dark cumulus clouds, thunder, lightning and the bad witch from the Wizard of Oz · Ok, that’s quite an exaggeration, but I’m for real when I say I have The Blues ·

Clearly, the obvious question is, ‘why do you have The Blues, Strength?’ · Without putting all my business out there, I’ll just say that sometimes the obvious decisions are often the most difficult to make · I mean, I always knew 2 + 2 = 4 · But sometimes, I get it in my head that it could easily equal 5 or 6, or maybe even 11 · You’ll have to forgive me if this makes no sense · After all, I did tell you I have The Blues · I’m getting good at this swimming thing, btw · The class is mainly adults, with the exception of about three kids · One of the kids includes a mentally challenged boy who has been running around and wreaking havoc, but that’s another story · My swim teacher – ‘Charles’ -- has one leg, not that that has anything to do with anything · The fact that Charles is missing a limb doesn’t bother me in the slightest, but it’s all I can think about · Whenever people ask me how my lessons are going, I’ll say the same thing · ‘My teacher has one leg’ · Does that make me prejudiced? · Scratches head ·


I have this raging desire to do a bunch of art projects as an outlet for The Blues · Lately, collages have been my vice · Yet suddenly, I have a deep, intense, HUNGER to do some fingerpainting · I want to dip my hands deep into some paint, then flail them wildly across a white wall until I’m out of breath · Does that make me strange? · I must be sure to call my mother more often · Whenever I do call, she’s like ‘what’s wrong? what happened?’ · Apparently, I don’t call ‘just to say hi’ often enough · I’m obsessed with TLC, particularly What Not To Wear · For years, I’ve been fighting the fact that a friend needs a What Not To Wear intervention · Obviously, I wouldn’t embarrass her on TV in front of millions · But I’m not above holding her down while my hairstylist does her hair · Or shredding some of her clothes · Or applying some lipstick · Or oiling up the ashy spots · Sigh · I can be quite cruel when I want to be ·


I want to see Maxwell in the WORSE way · Tickets are sold out here, but I’m considering traveling to Idaho to see him perform · Seven has become my favorite number lately · What I mean, is that lately I’ve been grooving off of the seventh songs from my favorite CDs for The Blues · Mary J. Blige’s Real Love got me this · Heather Headley’s first CD gave me this · And the Waiting to Exhale soundtrack gave me this · Hey, I didn’t say they were happy songs · Each gave me what I wanted/needed at a given time ·


What I need right now is to stop reconsidering my decisions · Stand firm, woman · If That Man is elected, I’m moving to Canada · I’m rambling like an idiot · But I think that was the point of this post · I’ve become obsessed with Twitter · Which is yet another way of Big Brother to monitor us · Yet I can’t stop · Ok, signing off now · The Blues will be cured in no time · Out ·

White Men Can't Jump, Black Women Can't Swim

I can't swim.

Some of you are surprised. Your mouths are agape, eyes popping out of their sockets. What adult can't swim?? It's soooo easy! I know your thoughts. Believe me, I've heard it all before.

But there are those of you who understand what I'm going through. I'm a black woman. And that means I do NOT want to get my hair wet under any circumstances. (It's somewhat easier with natural hair, but it's still a challenge) Then I have this general discomfort of being in a bathing suit and exposing myself to a bunch of strangers. Plus, I wear contact lenses. If I were to get in the water -- dunk my head underneath and everything -- I'd either have to take my contacts out, or where goggles.

This summer, I went on a vacation to the Caribbean that made me want to change my ways. I spent five glorious days in St. Martin, where I spent alot of time in my bathing suit, on the beach or in the pool or the ocean. Because I can't swim, my exposure to the water was limited to jumping over the waves, drinking champagne in the kiddie section of the pool, and having a gentle splash fight, that managed to keep my hair mostly dry.

I returned to the states wondering what it would be like to actually learn how to swim. So I signed up for beginner swim classes at the new 'Aquatic Center' near my home. They start soon, and I already have a pair of goggles to protect my lenses. (I hope they work!) I haven't been able to find a swim cap yet, but I may have to go for drastic levels. If I can't get a swim cap in time, I'll braid my locs up and shroud them up with a scarf and no less than two shower caps. Think I'm playin'. This was enough to save me when I got baptized.

But let me not forget to add the most worrisome part of this upcoming swim class. The adult/beginner lessons are open to people aged 13 and up. I can't wait to be surrounded by teeny boppers!

Photo from : http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/e/eb/Swimming_pictogram.svg/300px-Swimming_pictogram.svg.png

Doing It, Doing It & Doing It .... Well (?)

Recently, I decided to be a man.

No, I didn’t start to pee standing up. I didn’t scratch myself in unsightly places, or make obnoxious bodily noises. But I did do the infamous Fade Away that they are so famous for.

Anyone familiar with the Fade Away? I’m sure you are. It refers to that period when a guy loses interest in the woman he’s seeing. Instead of calling things off with her, he does the Fade Away – stops calling, stops making plans, etc. His goal is to fade away from the females mind until she reaches the point where she wonders if he was ever there in the first place. I have yet to see this work, but you never know.

I instituted my own version of the Fade Away not too long ago. It caused me to delete a certain telephone number from my cell log and I’d avoid the phone altogether when that number appeared on my incoming call list. I ignored the emails and declined the facebook friend requests. This Fade Away thing was easy.

But then I got his email with the tragic news. A mutual friend had been killed in a motorcycle accident, so that was, in part what some of the phone calls were about. Of course, I called him and shared my condolences. The conversation eventually turned into things I wished I’d forgotten – how we once went on a double date with the accident victim & his wife, my sucky bowling scores, how much his mother likes me.

He ended our chat with a somber ‘keep in touch’, but he must’ve known that I wouldn’t. I hung up and tried my damndest not to remember the good ole days, not to get emotional. I failed. Sighness. I guess being a man is just as tough as being a woman. Perhaps this Fade Away thing isn’t such a good idea after all.

On Being Content

I’m not ashamed to admit it, but I google people. Sometimes quite often.

There will be times when I’ll have a lull in the day where I’ll think about someone, wonder what they’re doing, google their name and mystery solved. Sometimes the mystery isn’t solved, but it’s just as well. These are people who are usually friends/acquiantances/coworkers that I’ve lost touch with. They are people that I wouldn’t necessarily call, but I’m still curious about them.

The other day I wondered about Holly. Holly and I interned for the same company in the summer of 1999. Actually, we worked for two different companies but they shared a building. Weird, huh? We were both working in Philly and were excited about our times in the big city.

Our bosses would send ous out for various tasks, some exciting, some not. Often, I would see her there doing the same thing. We’d smile and chat briefly, but it was clear that she was the competition. In our own polite way, we went for each other’s jugular for three months.

The other day I randomly thought of her and googled her name. I learned that she’s doing pretty well, living in another country and working – something that I dreamed of doing years ago. I read her bio and a strange feeling came over for me. It wasn’t jealousy or animosity. I actually felt happy for her.

I no longer have the desire to do some of the things I once intended to do. The dreams I had as a girl changed once I got into college, changed again when I got into the Real World and at this stage, are being chiseled and refined. I am content.

So go fight the good fight, Holly. I’m back here, cheering you on!

Photo from http://www.3d-screensaver-downloads.com/images/cute-animal-babies/big2.jpg

The Lunch Crunch

In recent months, I decided to switch up my lunch routine a little bit. In the past, I would always bring my lunch, eat it at my desk, then run to the library for the duration of my break to get away from the office and escape my colleauges.

But that has changed. I don’t know why I started this, but all of a sudden, I’m bringing my book (in some cases books) and eating in the office cafeteria. This area is usually pretty quiet. The only person I see in there is a grumpy old man who enters every day at 12:05 p.m. to read the newspaper, cover to cover. He gets annoyed whenever people make noise, and plugs his ears as a sign of protest. Of course, that only makes people (namely me) make more noise as they move chairs around, or hit the vending machine’s brows button.

Recently, people have come to join me in the office cafeteria. The first person, Bunny, had to grow on me. She reads while she eats too, but she also likes to talk. Not talk, complain, about the job, our coworkers, etc. I’m all for a tad bit of office griping, but she takes it to another level. Eventually, she took the hint as I’ve limited our convos to our books and our meals.

Then there is Candy, the caffeine addict. She comes in the cafeteria every afternoon because she desperately needs a Diet Coke. We chat for a minute, then she runs back to work. Recently, she looked upset and I made the mistake of asking her what was wrong. She nearly burst into tears as she described a huge project that had been thrust upon her at the last minute. Honestly, I didn’t think the task was that huge and I thought she was overreacting, but I didn’t say as much. I just gave her some advice, a little pep talk and sent her on her way. But that did eat up 20 minutes out of my lunch break. Twenty minutes that I may never get back!

The other day, the weather was so nice I decided to eat at our outdoor patio. Big mistake. For one, the tables are all positioned (and bolted down) in the shaded areas, where it is freezing. I tried to maneuver so I can be more in the sunshine. That worked for a little while, until I noticed the huge pack of bees --- no, no, they were WASPS – swarming toward me and my meal. Lovely. I bolted up and went to a table in the shade and sat down, only to realize much to late that the chair was wet. So I had an unfortunate wet stain on the back of my slacks. I wanted to weep.

So sometime soon, I think I’m going to have to start going to the library again. No chatty, crying colleagues or wasps there!

(photo from http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2007/02/11/realestate/11sqft.1.600.jpg)

Riding on the MO Train

I'm not sure when it happened, exactly. It was just one of those random things that crept up on me and before I knew it, I wanted, needed more. The thing is, when I like someone, I really really like them. If it's a celebrity or public figure, I read every story pertaining to him/her, defend them to the ends of the other and do my fair share of googling of them. Yes, I know. I'm quite intense.

Lately, I added a new person to my list of google faves. And that person is Michelle Obama.

The thing that I like about Michelle (or MO, as I like to call her) is that she clearly doesn't take any crap from anyone. I had my doubts about her initially, but that was only because her highly arched eyebrows scared the crap out of me. Yet that was before I knew that her eyebrows were a weapon. She can play nice and smile for the media, but there have been quite a few times when I've seen her raise them eyebrows in a way that clearly says, 'Back up -- I'm not the one.' And seriously, everyone knows to back up, even Barack (or The Rock, as I like to call him).

So when the New Yorker did a very long article on her, I had to read it, cover to cover. I'm a Today Show person myself, but I couldn't help but chuckle at the interview GMA did on the Obamas where they talked about getting a dog for their girls. In short, The Rock was hesitant, but MO shut that mess down by looking at the camera and telling the kids (eyebrows raised, mind you), "We're getting a dog." And naturally, I loved how The Rock told the GOP to back off MO.

Anyway, I was reading the newspaper the other day and learned that Michelle will be a guest host of The View on June 18. They called her up and initially asked her to be a guest. However, she did the eyebrow trick again before pointing out to the producers that Cindy McCain was on there not as a guest, but as a guest host, and MO was entitled the same. The producers agreed and are giving her what she wants.

As much as I loathe The View, I will have my VCR (no tivo or dvr folks, i'm old fashioned) set to record this one show. I can't wait to see MO interact with Elisabeth Hasselbeck. It'll be a joy to watch her get shut down.

"I Stole Your Girl While You Were In Prison" (Or, Old School Moment)

Like everyone, I love Fridays. I'm particularly a fan of Friday mornings because I can start my day with the Russ Parr Morning Show. Each Friday, he plays a mix of 'the wrong songs,' which are basically old school tracks. And each week, I enjoy them.





But today, he played one of the songs that always makes me lose my ever lovin' mind. I mean seriously. I know all the words and am not afraid to sing them. Loudly.





Like this morning. I hop in my ride, roll the windows down (still no a/c ya'll. sigh.), check the mirror and turn on the radio. To my surprise, my jam was playing. So I start screaming the lyrics and bobbing my head like I've ... well ... lost my ever lovin' mind. I turn to my left and who do I see? One of my neighbors who was staring at me with interest. She smiled, but she had a look on her face like, "clearly, the child has lost it." I was embarrassed for like two seconds, but I'm over it. Clearly, we have separate mindsets on how to prepare mentally for the work day.





Anyway, here's the video is linked here. Also, I was able to find a recent article with MC Milk Dee. You can find it here.

Image from http://image.listen.com/img/356x237/7/4/1/6/686147_356x237.jpg

'Twins run in our family'

I haven’t been getting enough sleep lately. There’s no reason for it, actually. I just can’t get my tail to bed on time. But the problem with that is my sleep deprivation typically causes me to have some crazy dreams when I do get to sleep. On an ordinary night, I don’t remember my dreams at all.

So the other night I had the craziest two part dream that I must share. In the first part, I was in the hospital, in labor I guess, when someone hands me two blankets with babies wrapped up in them. Apparently, I had given birth. To twins! I did not feel happy about this. All I felt was stressed and scared. And the worse part was, there was no one in the hospital room with me. Where was my support system?? I’m not meant to raise two children alone!! And all I could hear in the background was my aunt’s voice saying, ‘twins run in our family,’ which is something she actually said weeks ago.

I’m really wondering what that dream meant. I am absolutely NOT pregnant, so that theory is out the window. I’ve had recurring dreams where I am pregnant, but all in different scenarios. In each of those dreams, there’s no baby, just me filled with the constant fear of having a kid. Never have twins entered the picture. Never. And I wouldn’t say twins run in our family. We have two sets of twins -- nothing near epidemic proportions. But whatever. I’m just scratching my head as to what that dream was about.

In the second part of my dream, one of my friends was pushing me to travel to some place that she thought would be fun and exciting. Delaware. I told her repeatedly that I had been to Delaware hundreds of times and never found anything particularly fun or exciting about it, but she wouldn’t listen to me, she wanted to go. So we go there and I as I predicted, have a pretty boring time. And that’s all I remember about that part of the dream. I think I woke up laughing on that one.

Anyway, it just shows that my mind has been a jumbled mess as of late. I’ll have to go to bed earlier until I can find which bedtime works best for me.

(Photo from http://tbn0.google.com/images?q=tbn:ONN2-CktSTAvNM:http://bp2.blogger.com/_X_d6JjJ00I4/)

May Day

I promised myself long ago that today would be My Day. The Day where I wiped the slate clean and started fresh. The day where I reviewed everything that I accomplished this year and think about what I wanted to accomplish with the remainder of the year. I guess it's like a New Year's Part 2, if you will.

So I took the to-do list on my refrigerator, wiped it off and started updating it in a way that's more beneficial. I placed three categories on top -- education, writing, and other -- on the left hand side I placed the time period I expected to finish each -- week, weekend and month. For example, one of my writing tasks is placed in the month of May category, which for me, means that I must reach the 80,000 word mark in the fourth draft of my novel by the end of this month. For education, I wrote about a bunch of projects I have due by the end of the semester and when I'll finish them and the other category mainly lists household chores, i.e. coupons, vacuuming, cleaning fridge, etc.

Aside from my written goals for the month, I also have an idea of how things will be for the rest of the year. I will be better organized. I will stop spending money like it's going out of style. I will go back to church. I will exercise more. I will master the art of ALIGAF* at work. I will use a bit more of my head, less of my heart when making decisions. I will .... have fun!! Or at least, act like I am.

From today until December 31, 2008, I will make no more mistakes. Sighness. We shall see about that!

*Acting Like I Give A F***

(Photo from http://nowsourcing.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2007/12/spring-cleaning.jpg)

Prom Night

I have this strange habit of recognizing dates that are seemingly meaningless. Most people think it's weird that I acknowledge the day the anniversary of my womanhood, but hey, if I remember the date, I'm going to give it its moment of praise. Today I looked at the calendar and noticed that it is the anniversary of my senior prom.



It'd be a cliche if I started calling my high school years the good ole days, but they were. Back then, all I wanted to do was graduate and get as far away as possible. But then I got this taste of puppy love that made me rethink going away so far for my college years.



I remember that I waited till the last minute to get my prom dress (Hey, I still procrastinate. I can't help it) and a group of us arranged to be in a limo together. There were about four couples and when we showed up to take pictures, I realized that one of the other girls was wearing the same dress as me. Horror upon horrors! But whatever, we got through it.

We went to this fancy restaurant beforehand, where everyone smiled and stared at us. One of my friends reached out to say hello to me and had a wardrobe malfunction that would make the Janet Jackson thing look innocent. Afterward, we stood in this long line to get pictures, when this girl I couldn't stand came up to me and snidely mentioned that everyone inside was wearing my dress. Oh, what a bitch. If I had been less of a lady, I would've told her that people who come to prom alone because they discovered their 20-something fiance' was already engaged to someone else need not talk. But I smiled and swallowed my evil words.

I remember that my date got sick and couldn't dance that much, which was kind of annoying. I remember drinking champagne in the limo when another girl got sick and vomitted in the champagne container. I remember going to the hotel afterward, with my date thinking this would be the night and me knowing it wouldn't.

As much fun as I had in high school, I am truly glad to put those days behind me. It's only fitting that my Mom called me recently to tell me that she discovered my prom dress as she was cleaning out the closets. She was sweet enough to mention that the dress is a 3/4 and did I think I could still fit it? Funny lady.

Whoopi

Looking back, it’s probably my fault. I started this mess.

For those of you who don’t know, The Color Purple is one of my favorite movies. I’ve seen it 85745850375347547405040 times. I know most of the lines and I’m prone to bursting out with an occasional, “You told Harpo to beat me”, “Ceeeeeelieeeee!!!”, or “You sho is ugly” phrase from the movie. It keeps things interesting.

(For those of you who aren’t as obsessed with me (or you live under a rock), The Color Purple is a movie about Celie (played by Whoopi Goldberg) , an abused black woman growing up in the 1900s. She goes from victim to victor in the 30 year span of her life that’s shown on screen.)

A few years ago, my beloved Uncle Charles got his hair loced. They looked good, but he always had this little piece of hair at the center of his forehead that I thought made him look like Celie, a la’ Color Purple (see photo). So I started to tease him and spout lines from the movie. Our conversations often went like this:

(Thanksgiving dinner)
Uncle Charles: Strength, can you pass the gravy?
Strength (rocking back and forth in my chair): Oh, don’t do it, Miss Celie! Don’t trade places with me Miss Celie!

( random greeting )
Uncle Charles: Hey Strength, how’s it going?
Strength: Oh, I see Mister bought his maid to the juke joint.
Uncle Charles: You know, this game is getting kinda old. Could we end it, please?
Strength: Hell, no! I said, hellllllll noooooo.
Uncle Charles: You ain’t right.
Strength: (hands raised in the air) Until you do right by me, everything you even think about is gonna crumble.

So yeah, that about sums up our relationship for those few years. Interesting enough, he cut off his locs around the time I was growing mine. Now he calls me Miss Celie, but it’s not the same, since he doesn’t know any lines from the movie.

Anyhow, here’s what’s happening to me lately:
(at the airport two yeas ago, meeting friend who hadn’t seen my locs, which are very short at this time)
Strength: Hey, good to see you.
Friend: What’s happenin’, Whoopi?!!!!!


(Getting a manicure a month ago, chatting with the white woman next to me about a book she was reading)
Woman: You have your hair like Whoopi Goldberg.
Strength: (no response, just give her a glare that I hope is menacing)
Woman: Are you a big fan of Whoopi Goldberg’s? Did you get your hair done like that so you can look like her?
Strength: (still silent, as I mentally hum Negro spirituals that keep me from punching her in the throat)

Woman: Well? Do you even watch The View?

Strength: Swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home........

(Going to dinner at a new restaurant with a friend who is black)
Friend: Wow! Your hair has really grown since I last saw you. I like it.
Strength: Thanks.
Friend: Yeah. You’ve got that whole Whoopi Goldberg thing going on.

Strength: Die, okay?? Just DIE!!!


So yes, apparently, Whoopi G is my new alter ego. I'm sure Whoopi is a lovely person in real life, but no, I don't think I look like her. I'd feel flattered, if folks were comparing me to, say, a sexy Whoopi G who looks like this, instead of the asexual way she typically looks. Now I just need the general public to understand that my name is not Whoopi!

(Photo from http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b73/Deirdre64/Celie200px.jpg)

Enough is Enough (Or: My Name Is Not Whoopi)

Blogger: Um, excuse me, but what are you doing here? I know you don’t think you can fall back into my good graces after being gone so long.

Strength: Sorry, B, baby, it’s just that some things have been happening, things out of my control.

Blogger: Psfh! We all have things that happen. That’s why I’m here! You’re supposed to use me to vent. Were you cheating on me?? Was it Typepad? Or Wordpress? I swear, I’ll kill them futhermuckas!

Strength: No, there’s nobody else but you.

Blogger: For real? Well dang…. Where have you been?

Strength: It’s just so hard. I’ve been really busy. Must I remind you that I’m a graduate student? I have classes on Tuesdays and Thursday nights. Plus, I take guitar on Monday evenings. Not to mention my full time job and all the other work I have to do throughout the week.

Blogger: Blah, blah, blah. Don’t beat me in the head with bullshit.

Strength: I’m going to do better now. I promise.

Blogger: Hmph. I feel like I’ve heard it all before. It’s like you don’t even love me in 2008. This year, you celebrate our anniversary, your birthday and poof! You vanished. Into thin air!

Strength: I know, I know. But I’m back now. I’ll try not to go away that long ever again. I’m trying to get it together. Can you bear with me?

Blogger (sniffs): I thought you loved me.

Strength: I do. It’s just that life has a way of getting in the way of things. Will you give me another chance?

Blogger: Maybe. What do you have for me now?

Strength: Well, I wanted to discuss my feelings on being 31.

Blogger (sarcastically): Oh, how exciting. Next!

Strength: I can write about how I’ve been compared to Whoopi Goldberg on three separate occasions since I’ve gotten my hair loc’ed.

Blogger: Ohh!!! Go on.

Strength: And I can write about how each day, I’m forced to tame my inner Hood Chick from giving folks a beatdown.

Blogger: Well, now you’ve got me.

Strength: I live to make you happy.

Blogger: You better.

Strength: I love you, Bloggerlicious.

Blogger: Don’t call me that in public! You know how I feel about PDA.

Strength: Sorry.

(Photo from http://www.davidskul.com/images/blogger-logo.jpg)

It's My Birthday!

Today is my birthday. (Actually, it’s not, since I’m writing this post in the future). To celebrate, I’m off to the Midwest to visit Dee and her now husband, The Canadian. I also have all of next week off to relax, run errands and contemplate the meaning of life. Can’t wait!

One highlight of next week is that I’ll be getting a facial and a manicure. A friend bought me a gift certificate for these services for my bday last year, but I hadn’t gotten around to using them until now. Can’t wait to go to The Spa where I predict (keep in mind, I’m writing this in the future) that the facial (my first) will be an AMAZING experience, excluding the extraction. Everyone warned me about that part of the procedure. I don’t think it will be that bad, something I ‘imagine’ will be akin to having a hot knife stabbed into my face repeatedly until every single blackhead is wiped clean. Then I’ll get a manicure where the woman next to me will make a rude comment that makes me want to pummel her, wet nails and all. But this is just what I’m predicting …

I’ll plan to spend my week off relaxing, but that may not happen. I'll probably run alot of errands, get some exercise in and get the last few repairs on my car taken care of. But, that's just what I predict. Happy birthday to me!

Stank & Sexy

It annoys me when someone coins a phrase that I didn’t think of first. But since I love Anika Noni Rose, I can’t be too mad. She did an interview recently where she used a term that I’m going to take and use to my own devices. In talking about Terrence Howard in ‘The Best Man:’ “You know he had something dirty," she said. "He had the stank and the sexy at the same time.’ I couldn't have said it better myself.

Here’s my translation:

Sexynstank: (adj). A person bringing a certain virile swagger, while displaying other vile attributes. Can also be used as a noun, i.e. Terrence Howard bought the sexynstank or sexynstank Terrence Howard. Can also be abbreviated, like the S-n-S.

Here are a few folks that I think rock the S-n-S, in no particular order:

·50 Cent: Whenever I hear this man’s name, I get annoyed because it is tied into him hating on somebody. I’ll think he’s stupid and immature … until he takes his shirt off. My goodness gracious. It’s so hard to stay mad at a man with a bulletproof body. Whew! Sexynstank, indeed.

·Nicholas Cage: Dude just does it for me. Castor Troy in Face Off was the truth.

·Kiefer Sutherland: I’ve seen practically every movie of his and I never found him attractive. I thought he was a decent actor who got some so so parts, but I wasn’t a crazy fan. But then I started watching 24. It is amazing to watch his alter ego Jack Bauer fight the good fight for CTU. One minute, he is the devoted Dad who teaches his daughter how to shoot her first victim and the next minute, he tortures a suspect by shooting out the kneecaps of the man’s wife. He does all this with a smooth, velvety voice to match. Nice! (Too bad I stopped watching the show back when they killed off two of my favorite characters).

·Eddie Cibrian: He caught my attention when he played a bad boy on the soaps and then he played a womanizer on ‘Third Watch.’ His ex wife on Third Watch went nutso when he did her wrong and looking at those dimples, I understand.

·Tyrese: I thought he was corny until I saw ‘Baby Boy.’ Talk about the S-n-S effect. Once I saw that he had some thug in him, it upped him a notch in my book.


These are just a few that crossed my mind. I'd like to put Don Cheadle up there, but I can't think of any examples of him being stank. Hmmmm. Got anybody on your Sexynstank list?