The Sleep Deprived Post

There comes a time of night where it's so late that you completely lose your mind, all sense of focus. You know you should shower and get ready for bed, because you have a long workday ahead of you tomorrow. You avoid looking at the clock because that would only make it painfully clear that you have five hours, no four hours, hell maybe even three hours, before you need to get up and go to work. Your cat stares at you like your crazy before going off to bed and leaving you alone. That's when it hits you: You're well on your way to staying up all night.

Well, that's my situation this evening/morning. It is currently 3:40 a.m. and I am wide awake. The obvious question is why, so let me tell you. I am writing a paper that is due by 5 p.m. tomorrow. It needs to be 15-20 pages long and contain all the glowing research and analysis I've compiled on 'Sula' and 'The Street'. The problem? The paper is currently only 12 pages long, and that includes the bibliography.

Before you ask, the answer is NO! I did not procrastinate on this assignment. I've been working on it for quite a while give or take a few ... okay, several ... distractions. The problem with this paper is that I have absolutely NOTHING LEFT TO SAY, so I'm a bit on the stressed side. This stress part is very amusing, cuz ordinarily I'm not a stress filled type person. I mean, I can be sooooo cavalier with my "I don't give an eff" attitude that it scares people. But that's the daytime Strength. Apparently, this 3 a.m. version of me will do whatever she can to squeeze another three pages out of this paper.

Am I tired? Not at all, but that's probably because my eyes are numb from staring at this screen. I will say that I am hungry. And thirsty. And I'd like nothing more than a long, hot shower right now so that I can lather up in my new favorite body scrub. I'd list the name here, but I can't remember and if I go into the bathroom to grab it, I may just take that shower and never return.

Have I mentioned that in addition to this research paper I also have a final exam to do? That's probably because I'm still in denial. See, my highly organized professor promised to email us the final during our regular class time, which is between 4:30 and 7, so we could turn it in the next day. So I leave work early, all ready to abuse my brain cells. I check my email and she hasn't sent a final. I check it 54875485488 times and there's no test, despite several other students asking where it is. Finally, the professor sends the test at what time?? Go ahead, ask what time! She sent it ... at 10 pm!!!!!!! Luckily, she gave us an additional day to do the test, but still.... I'm annoyed!

I say all this to say that I'm calling out sick tomorrow. I'd certainly be a sight to see if I hauled my sleepy carcass into the office in the next four hours. I'd literally have to douse myself with coffee.

Oh, what's that I feel? I think my eyes are getting heavy. Maybe I'll finally go to sleep now. It's a good time cuz my cat looks like he's about to attack me and I don't have the energy to defend myself. My biggest struggle is going to be waking up early enough in the morning to tell the bosses I won't be in. Wish me luck!

Music Makes My World Go Round

I had computer problems a few months ago, that caused me to reformat my hard drive. That was a big pain, but an even larger problem was that I lost most of the music on my iPod and I had to add it again. I'm still missing some tracks that I've burned from folks, but I'm slowly managing to get it back.

In the few years that I've had the iPod, it's become quite important to me. I use my Workout Mix to help me get motivated for my workout sessions, or even the drive to work. I have my Slow Jamz playlist for days when I want to feel melancholy. Anyway, I thought I'd share a few of these track listings, just in case anyone was looking for some selections in either category.

WORKOUT MIX
Real People -- Common
30 Something -- Jay-Z
Anything -- Jay-Z & Usher (CONSTANT REPEAT)
A Milli -- Lil Wayne
Mrs. Officer -- Lil Wayne
Hope it felt Good -- Nikka Costa (CR)
Duffle Bag Boy -- Lil Wayne (CR)
Don't Cha -- Pussycat Dolls
Buttons -- Pussycat Dolls
Feels Good -- Tony, Toni, Tone'
Just Fine -- Mary J. Blige (CR)
Work That -- Mary J. Blige (CR)

SLOW JAMZ!
This Year's Love -- David Gray
Love Lockdown -- Kanye West (CR)
Poetry Man -- Phoebe Snow (CR)
Is It A Crime -- Sade
You're Not the Man -- Sade (CR)
Dreaming with a Broken Heart -- John Mayer (not for the weak)
Violet Hill -- Coldplay
When I See U -- Fantasia
Whatever You Want -- Tony Toni Tone'
Hurt Again -- Mary J. Blige (CR)
Save The Best for Last -- Vanessa Williams (CR)


Lately, Kanye West's 808s & Heartbreak release has taken the place of the Slow Jamz list. Good stuff, but you have to be in the mood for it.

Beginnings, Endings

I'm trying to figure out which part is more difficult, the beginning, or the end.

I'm slowly approaching the completion in writing the novel I've been writing for quite sometime. In fact, once I finish going over these last 20 pages, I'll have completed draft #5 of this project. Whew! That even feels like an accomplishment.

But it is also scary. I think I've done a good job overall, but I can't help but think about some areas that I may want to review, tweak and refine, meaning going into draft #6. I fear that I'll feel the same way after that draft is finished, taking me on into drafts 7, 8, 9, 10, etc. etc. etc.


The main thing that makes this project so hard to complete is that it's also part of my thesis. So, it's one thing to take all of my creative, left brained energy and tuck it into a neat 90,000 word package. It's quite another thing to think over those 90,000 words and draw on research that applies to some of the themes I'm trying to get across in said book. Aye!!! I'm banging my head against the wall!

When I finish this draft, I think I'll do the same thing I did when I finished draft #4, except I'll do it quicker. I'll write myself a letter about my likes/dislikes (very few dislikes, i may add!) and areas I need to make clearer. Then I'll go through the pages for one final, quick edit. After that, it's time to start printing and going on the hunt for an agent.

And that's the really scary part. But even more frightening is the prospect of taking a blank page and turning it into another 90,000-word novel. Whew! It's hard work, but I gotta do it.


Photo from http://kellsmurthwaite.files.wordpress.com/2007/09/writing-reviews.jpg

Restless

So, I mentioned before that I’ve turned to art therapy to cure the occasional blahs. I even bought this book, since I was getting the itch to expand my mind beyond collage and finger painting. I know that makes me sound like an expert, but in all honesty, I’ve done exactly one collage and one finger painting project, which I wrote about here.

I flipped through the book the other day and I’m torn on a new project. Some of them just weren’t for me and some were a bit too involved. I mean, my interest wanes quite easily. That means I’m not entirely psyched about taking a bunch of silverware and creating a lamp. Creating 3-dimensional images of my pictures freaks me out, though not as much as the idea of making paper doll cutouts of my pictures does.

Anyway, I’m going to start light for the next project. The author, Mark Montano, has a bunch of suggestions for making crafty coasters, so I’m going to give that a try. I don’t have any coasters in my apartment; I just let guests set their drinks on a magazine and call it a day. But soon, that will change. Hopefully, I don’t ruin this!

Photo from http://z.about.com/d/healing/1/5/k/P/gc_art.jpg

(Book) Pimpin' Ain't Easy

Anyone who knows me, knows that I love to read. There is nothing I love more than a good book and a room filled with silence. I get my reading gene from my mother, who feels the same way. There were times we would bond just by sitting across from each other and reading our own books without a care in the world.

However, there is a huge difference in the way I read and the way my Mom reads. I'm always open to suggestions when she approaches me with a new book or a new author. But whenever I suggest the same to her, she brushes me off. When I was in college and had to read 'Things Fall Apart' for a class, I raved about it to her. She found out what the book was about and figured it would be 'too deep' for her, so she decided not to read it. Fast forward a few years and she was in the A section of a book store and another customer started raving to her about the works of Chinua Achebe, particularly 'Things Fall Apart.' So at this stranger's suggestion, she bought the book and offered it as a selection for her book club. They loved it, and I was annoyed. That wasn't the first time she has turned down one of my suggestions only to go with a stranger's.

When I finally decided to delve into some Toni Morrison books, I asked Mom to do the same, but she had no interest in doing so. Even though practically all of Toni's books are in her library, she hasn't read a single one. She just has them there for show. Once I got through 'Song of Solomon', then 'Tar Baby' and finally 'Sula', I encouraged Mom to do the same. She had no interest, because Toni was 'too deep' for her. Again, I was frustrated.

Recently, I told Mom how much I thought she would like 'Tar Baby' if she'd just give it a try. I also told her about those countless times where she'd reject one of my book suggestions only to jump on it when a stranger offered. And most of the times she loved these books anyway, so I argued it would be easier for her to jump on my suggestions first. She saw my point and agreed to spend the month of December reading 'Tar Baby.' I agreed to read along and offer help where ever I could.

On December 1, I called her:
Me: How are Son and Jadine?
Her: Who?
Me: I guess that means you haven't started Tar Baby yet.
Her: Well ... errr ..... uhh ...

I called again the next day:
Me: What's up with Valerian?
Her: Who?
Me: Another Tar Baby reference.
Her: Oh. Well ....

I called another day and she didn't answer the phone. She thinks she's slick. I'm not above stalking.

Appreciation: Phoebe Snow (Or, Great Finds by the Coffee)

One good thing I can say about my job is that it comes with perks. The best perks are back by the coffeepot. That is where people display their yummy leftovers, the top dawg leaves bottles of wine and occasionally, you can find a good coupon here or there. Things that are placed near the coffeepot go very quickly, so I learned any food item that has sat there for more than a half hour must be pretty nasty and to stay far away from it.

But the best perks are the music and the dvds. In recent months, I’ve been able to walk away with free dvds of several Bravo reality programs, including Paula Abdul’s show and the Real Housewives of Atlanta. I didn’t have a pressing desire to watch any of them, but I had to grab it because of the free factor. There has never been something by the coffeepot that I just HAD TO HAVE. Until now.

The other day, I went to the coffeepot to fix some more tea, when I saw a cd. It was !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!PHOEBE SNOW LIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I grabbed it with my hot little hands and tucked it into my bag. No one would be able to understand my excitement, so I grabbed an astonished coworker and told her the story that I’m about to write about now. *Ahem*

Years ago, I read this great book called ‘Butterscotch Blues’. It was a love story, but not your typical boy-meets-girl kind of tale. Let’s just say I laughed, cried and had a whole lot of other reactions that would give away the plot, so I’ll keep ‘em to myself. Anywho, the story revolves around Sandy, a dark-skinned Black woman, who falls in love with Adrian, a light-skinned man from the Caribbean. As their relationship progresses, he introduces her to new foods and new music. ‘Harpo’s Blues’ by Phoebe Snow was their favorite song.

After I finished the book, I wondered if Phoebe Snow was a real person and what this song sounded like. I learned that she was this awesome singer in the ‘70s who pretty much gave up her career to focus on her daughter, who was born severely brain damaged. (Her daughter, Valerie, died last year) Over the years, I grabbed what music of hers that I could – ‘Poetry Man’ (song is the truth!), ‘Two Fisted Love’ and ‘Harpo’s Blues.’

“So I was REALLY happy when I found this,’ I explained as I waved the cd in my astonished coworker’s face. She smiled at me politely but I know she was probably thinking that I was a nut. Ahh well.

Anyway, I’ve played the cd several times since then and I have some new Phoebe favorites: ‘Something Real,’ ‘The Other Girlfriend’ and ‘Rockin Pneumonia and the Boogie Woogie Flu.' Good stuff!

Photo from http://www.allaboutjazz.com/photos/profile/PhoebeSnow.jpg

Shopping While Selfish

A few months ago, I was at an event where I saw an item that would make the perfect gift for a relative of mine. So, I bought it. I was eager to give this gift to the relative, but then it occurred to me: Why not save it and make it a Christmas gift? So that's what I did.

In the months that followed, I went on an intense hunt for Christmas presents. This was the first year that I actual thought about what I'd buy in advance, then went to the stores long before they started offering their holiday sales. But there is a method to my madness. For each gift I buy, I buy a little somethin' somethin' for myself.

For example, I was at the bookstore the other day a few weeks ago and I saw the perfect gift for Mom. That meant that I was justified to go to H&M and buy that shirt that I'd been eyeing. I saw the perfect gift for my stepfather on Amazon. But, in order to get that super saver shipping, I just had to buy something for moi. So I took a look at my Wish List and bought Self Editing for Fiction Writers. Then I went on and got a few gifts for more relatives and friends. I was on a roll.

I have a few odds and ends to fill in with the gifts, but I have a majority of it done. I have a ton of shopping plastic bags sitting in my bedroom, just waiting to be wrapped. Of course, I also have another pile that is filled with stuff for me. But what can I say? This is the time of giving. And I can't think of a better person to gift than myself. After all, I was a good girl this year!


Photo from: http://djspeak.blogspot.com/2007/12/dear-santa-claus.html

Letters from the Darker Populace (#2 Address Our Needs)

Dear Mr. President,

I drink water all day long at work. Every once in awhile, I'll grab some juice, but my main drink of choice is water, since it's good for me and quenches my thirst. But there are some days that want nothng more than my favorite soft drink. Sprite.

This is where the problem comes in, Mr. President. There are four vending machines in our building. They contain Coke, Diet Coke, Mountain Dew, Sunkist, Ginger Ale, and A&W Root Beer. I didn't mention Sprite, because the vending machines don't have it. That means that I have to get into my car and drive to the local convenience store just to fulfill a need that my employer won't.

Clearly, this is blatant racism. Several surveys (ok, just me talking to a few friends) have shown that the Darker Populace opts for the clear, white-colored drinks, while the Paler Populace prefers sodas that are dark in color. By keeping nothing but dark sodas in the vending machine, my employer is telling me that it does not care about the needs of my people.

I tried to take matters into my own hands. I told my supervisor about my desires and he looked at me like I was crazy, until I gave him a power point presentation on how the Darker Populace was being wronged. Clearly, the Sprite executives know their target audience has a darker hue. That's why we get commercials like this, this, this, and my personal favorite, this. He agreed that I had a point, but made no effort to address my needs. My four Darker Populace coworkers gave up after that.

You'll be proud to know that I didn't stop there, Mr. President. Oh, no. I could hear the ancestors calling out to me -- the same ancestors who did bus boycotts, sit ins and historic marches to address injustices. It was then that I decided to stage my own acts of civil disobedience. When my supervisor asked me why I was late to work, I said it was because I couldn't get going in the morning without my Sprite. When I was asked to help a coworker with an assignment, I refused to do so because this was a person who liked to antagonize me by drinking Coke all day long. And when the workers came to refill the vending machine, I plastered myself against it and sang a loud rendition of 'We Shall Overcome.'

Things got a little ugly after that. Let's just say I was sent home and my future with my company is dependent on weekly visits with a psychiatrist. Whatever, they can keep that job. But here's where I need your help. Do you think you can hook a sista up with one of those cabinet positions you've been filling on the regular? Surely I can get a Sprite at the White House! Can't I?

Peace and love,


Strength/Courage/Wisdom



Photo from http://www.globalgiants.com/archives/media/SpriteCan.jpg

On Godmotherhood

A few years ago, I walked in on a coworker who was in the midst of a very heated telephone conversation. She was obviously annoyed and ended the conversation with, "Congratulations on the new baby. But I will NOT be a godmother to any of your kids again." Then she slammed down the phone.

I was going to pretend I hadn't heard a thing, but "Denise" started to complain to me about how all of her friends kept having babies, then making her the godmother, presumably, because she had a good job and was making good money. She mentioned how she only heard from certain friends until the kids' birthday, Christmas, Easter, or other holidays. Then, the friend never called to chat, they only wanted to know what gifts Denise would be buying for the kid. Some friends didn't even officially ask Denise to be the godmother. They'd wait until something big came up -- like the kid got the honor roll -- then ask Denise why she hadn't sent the kid any money. "I tell all my friends, 'please do NOT make me a godmother ever again,'" Denise had said. "It's too stressful."

But I couldn't relate to any of the things Denise was saying. Very few of my friends had children at the time and the ones who did didn't approach me about being a godmother. Unlike Denise, I wanted that title. I thought it would be kind of cool to be the hip person in the kids' life, the one that would let s/he eat candy, take the kid shopping or get its ears pierced. I could have a ton of fun with said kid and then send it right on back to its parents. Good stuff.

One of my friends had a baby a few months ago. I went to the baby shower, sent a gift and even saw her new daughter when she came home from the hospital. Cute baby. Mom seemed happy and I thought my work was done. But shortly after that the Mom surprised me a bit by asking me to be the godmother. I was taken aback, because even though the Mom and I have known each other for years, we've had our moments and we even struggle to keep in touch these days. All the drama is in the past now, but I wasn't sure if we had moved forward enough for me to be the godmother. But I guess we had.

So, I told her I'd be honored to take the title. Now I'm waiting for information about the christening and I have added the baby to my Christmas shopping list. I can't wait until the kid is old enough that I can take her out with me, and I can use her as an excuse to do kid stuff (i.e. see "High School Musical 3", "Wall-E", etc). So far, so good.

Appreciation: Toni Morrison

All my life, I’ve been a big time reader. But there were two writers who always scared me – Alice Walker and Toni Morrison. Perhaps it was the subject matter in Walker’s “Possessing the Secret of Joy”, the creepy cover of “Beloved” or the graphic nature of “The Bluest Eye”, but for a long time, I did whatever I could to avoid their books. They were heavy.

But then, things changed. I’m not sure how or why, maybe it was my ongoing obsession with The Color Purple (I have every line memorized), that made me want to give ol’ Alice a try. I still haven’t read the book version of The Color Purple in its entirety, but I know how it differs from the movie. I think the first book of hers that I read was ‘Temple of My Familiar’. I thought it was engrossing at times, weird at others and had one part that I struggled to wrap my mind around. Still, I became a fan and started reading every Walker thing in sight. (I still haven't read 'Possessing the Secret of Joy' though)

So then I took the big step with Toni Morrison. I started with ‘Song of Solomon’ and read eagerly about Milkman Dead. Then I moved on to ‘Tar Baby’, the love story of Son and Jadine. I remember it having a very ‘heavy’ opening, but I got through the rest fairly easily. The book literally had some lines I had to read aloud, just to make sure they were as good as they sounded in my head. They were. I finished ‘Tar Baby’ only a few years ago and it was easily my favorite book. Yet when I flip through ‘Song of Solomon’ again, I’m torn between the two.

I say all of this to mention I am now reading my third Toni Morrison book, ‘Sula.’ I’m ahead of the reading schedule for my class this semester. So, while everyone is fretting over finishing Ann Petry’s ‘The Street’ (I already read it), I’m getting a head start on next week’s reading.

There are about 70 pages or so left before I finish ‘Sula,’ but it is having the same effect on me that ‘Tar Baby’ did. The cast of characters are truly memorable – I’m partial to Sula’s one legged grandmother, Eva – and her one liners are amazing. There’s one part where Eva is criticizing Sula for not having children. Sula says: “I don’t want to make somebody else. I only want to make myself.” Don’t even get me started on the part where she describes black men as “the envy of the world” because “white men spend so much time worrying about (black men’s) privates that they forget their own” and “white women think rape as soon as they see you.”

I have a feeling that this book will be on my list of favorites. When I reach the last page, I may embrace my inner Clay Davis and simply say ‘SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT.’ (That’s from The Wire, for those that didn't know)

(Photo from http://www.cob.montevallo.edu/hatchercl/Sulacover.gif)

"Keep In Mind I'm an Artist, and I'm Sensitive About My Shit"

A few months ago a friend introduced me to art therapy. It wasn't really therapy, it was just a bunch of us sitting around making a bunch of collages. She mentioned that art projects help her feel sane and I couldn't help but feel the same way as I put my collage together.

Anyway, I finally did my own art project. I mentioned before that I had a raging desire to revert
into my childhood and finger paint. Well, I finally did it.

I got some fingerpaint paper from my new favorite store, A.C. Moore, as well as some paints. It took me several weeks to get the motivation for my painting project, but I finally got the courage to do it after going here.

So, I grabbed my old newspapers and spread them out on my living room table. I wet the paper and dipped my fingers deep into the green, fuschia, brown and blue paints. I swirled my fingers all over the paper and came up with a colorful, convoluted mess.

But at second glance, the picture is really saying something, at least I think so. To me, it looks like a big flower emerging out of a cloud of confusion and chaos. Of course, that's my interpretation. Anyway, here's another glimpse of my workstation:

Basically, I made a bit of a mess. But that was my intention. It was kinda fun, actually. It didn't take very long and I was sad when it was over. Now, my picture is sitting on top of my television so it can dry. You'll notice that I haven't included any pictures of my work. That was intentional. Maybe I'll share next time. Because there will be a next time.

Priorities

Another month has come and gone, that means it's time for another list in my kitchen.

I've tried to become a more organized person over these last few months and it's been a struggle. But the one thing that has kept me somewhat sane is The List. Each month, I break out the dry erase board and list my priorities for that month. I have them arranged in different categories, like writing, school and housework. I enjoy checking off the things I've accomplished, but I haven't gotten to the point where I've fulfilled every task on the list. It's all about the baby steps, ya'll!

This evening, I scratched off everything that was important to me in October, including the books I was reading, the writing projects I planned to revise or begin and the various cleaning chores I gave myself. In the month of November, I'm pledging to clean out my refrigerator (that was on the list last month, but I didn't get around to it), give my cat a bath (same situation) and finish the latest draft of my novel (ditto).

This month, the biggest task is getting my Christmas shopping finished. I know that sounds impossible, considering how I've managed The List so far, but I'm making progress. There are 10 people that I need to shop for and I've already gotten two people out of the way. I got part one of the two gifts that I'm getting my young cousins and I have an idea of what I'm going to get my new goddaughter. I'm drawing a blank on some folks, like the parentals, but I'll think of something. Yet in classic Strength fashion, there will still be some gifts I need to get by Christmas Eve. Sigh.

Also in November, I need to revise a portion of my thesis abstract (my prof said my opening sentence was 'fraught with danger'. that made me think of that mystical song and i cracked up!), finish 'sula' and get my finances in order. Wish me luck!

Letters from the Darker Populace (#1: Diversify)

Dear Mr. President –

Technically, you’re president elect at this point, but because I’d like to pretend the last eight years didn’t happen, I’m going to call you Mr. President. In past entries, I’ve referred to you as The Rock, but now that you’re actually making your way into the office, I’ll refer to you as Mr. President or President Obama. Who am I kidding? I’ll probably still call you The Rock, but only behind your back!

You’ve got a lot on your mind right now, but I wanted to bring you further greetings from my world, as a member of the Darker Populace (DP). I work at a place where the staffing of Blacks makes up less than 1 percent and Asians is even lower than that. Latinos? Middle Easterners? Non existent. Those of us in the DP stick out like tiny dots on a big white page.

The situation has made for several interesting situations. Just the other day, I was at the Xerox machine, making copies of some materials I needed on Richard Wright. A coworker – of the Paler Populace (PP) – saw my documents (complete with a photo of Wright on the cover) and said, “who’s Richard Wright?” I looked at her like she was Boo Boo the Fool and clutched my heart, so I wouldn’t keel over. I quickly rattled off Wright’s accomplishments, ‘Black Boy’, ‘Native Son’ and his influence on the Harlem Renaissance.

She seemed impressed, then mentioned that although she wasn’t familiar with Wright, she did know Ralph Ellison. Interesting. So I asked her about Ellison’s most famous work, ‘Invisible Man’ and she was unfamiliar with it. She’d only read part of ‘Juneteenth’ (a book that was condensed and completed after his death), but thought he was a great writer.

I returned to my desk, still giddy from the announcement of your presidency just the night before. It made me think about all the times the Paler Populace wants to discuss Shakespeare, Joyce and Austen, but then are limited on their knowledge of writers from the Darker Populace. Now that we have you – a man of African descent, with connections to many other nationalities – in the White House, shouldn’t things change?

All I’m asking for is for folks in the PP to diversify a bit. It’s 2008, time to stop pretending that there’s only one crayon in the Crayola box. Do you think you could spread that message around a bit, Mr. Prez?

Peace and love,

Strength/Courage/Wisdom

(Photo from: http://mradomski.files.wordpress.com/2007/08/pile_of_mail.jpg)

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 ·