Caribbean Queen

As I dragged myself out of bed this morning and made that endless drive into work, I asked myself a serious philosophical question that I continue to ask now that I'm sitting at my desk. WHY AM I HERE????

Today is my last day at the office before my weeklong vacation in the Caribbean. I'm taking my first cruise to Jamaica and Grand Cayman. The only thing that sucks is that I have to leave my apt at 3:30 tomorrow morning to make my flight. (GRRR) But after that, I'll be footloose and fancy free.

Soon, I'll type up a sign and tape it on my computer monitor to remind my colleagues that I am out of town. It'll probably say -- 'GONE ON VACATION. DON'T CALL, DON'T EMAIL, DON'T TEXT. MOST IMPORTANTLY, DON'T THINK ABOUT ME, 'CUZ I AM NOT THINKING ABOUT YOU. ' I cannot wait to be aboard that boat, have the sand in my toes and see nothing but ocean all around.

Anywho, this is my way of alerting all of you that I will be gone for an entire week. When I return, I'm sure I'll have lots to share. But right now, I am in vacation mode (actually, I've been in that mode since June). I hope you all have a pleasurable Labor Day -- I know I will!!!

(Photo from http://www.cyberaffaire.com/images/billy%20ocean.jpg)

"Jesus be a restraining order and a True Love Waits accountability partner. The flesh is weak.'

There are people in my life who truly want to get me fired. I won't mention any names (Juicy), but there is a certain someone who sends me to the most hilarious websites during the workday that I fear my shoulder-shaking laughter will eventually get me fired.

Today, I was introduced to this site. And apparently I'm late because it looks like the creators, Tia and Toya, have been around since 2003. Like me, they are both in love with Common and have a fetish for Jeremy Piven, making this my favorite post. I've been laughing about that post all day, especially when she mentions Common's tux. It even sent me googling True Love Waits. Enjoy!

For Tha L, who's not trying to be 'ALL THE WAY UP' in my bizness

Well, I did go on the Not-Date with Crush (this would be the fourth Not-Date, to be exact), as I mentioned before. It was, how do you say ... uneventful. Yes, uneventful is the word of the night. This man has no pulse. Allow me to set the scene.








A friend of a friend was having a party that included dancing, salsa in particular. Crush and I agreed to meet up there. Let me just say that I was hot ... I was looking fierce in this strapless black and white dress. I put a little extra time into getting ready and I even smelled good too. Crush arrived before me and once I went to greet him, all he said was 'hello.' This dude had the absolute gall not to be affected by me in all my gorgeousness.









The night wore on and we danced and chatted, danced and chatted, sometimes with each other, sometimes with other people. I upped the flirting a notch, yet Crush did not take the bait. Grrr.









Anywho, I drove home feeling dejected and disappointed. I felt like Marcus Graham in that scene in Boomerang where he's trying to get Robin Givens' character to fall into his charms: "This is my mack daddy vibe I'm giving you, in all it splendor. Check it, it's like Jet Magazine (pose)." I mean really, the nerve of this fool to be immune to my feminine wiles.







When I got home, it was late, I turned on my computer for a minute just to check my email. Crush was online and we im'd for about an hour. That's the thing about this dude, we're rarely on the phone -- mostly i.m., text, email. Call me old school, but you've got to call me. Sheesh. Anyway, I've given myself a deadline (Sept. 11, to be exact) as to when I'll either tell him I like him or ask him if he likes me or something like that. Man, I feel like I'm back in high school again. Maybe I'll slip him a note that says, 'do you like me? check yes, no, or I don't know.'







PS I hope that's enough, L-Boogie. And this works both ways ... I mean, can I learn a little bit more about this special someon you've been so giddy about? I'm not trying to be 'ALL THE WAY UP in yo bizness' but, ya know .... =)

Photo from http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/dayart/20060116/flirting.gif

Picket Fences

There is nothing that has increased my need for a new house like my neighbors. I may have written about the people I've been forced to live around a time or twenty and while it mostly seemed like an exaggeration, trust, it was not.







My main annoyance these days has been the people who live below me. We have thin walls, very thin, and I can hear everything. EVERYTHING. The cast of characters beneath my feet include a middle-aged woman, her 20-something year old daughter, and the daughter's three young children.







Now, let me say first that the three kids -- two girls and a boy -- are adorable. The sweetest little things. But when I'm inside my apartment, all I hear is Grandma yelling at them. "PUT THAT DOWN!" "LET HER GO!" "DON'T MAKE ME GO OVER THERE!" The screams are followed by subsequent slaps and tears. I mean, I'm not saying the kid didn't deserve it, but honestly.... do I need to hear all that? The funny thing is, I never hear the daughter say anything to them kids. I guess she figures she's go it made with Mom watching over anything.







I figured out the daugther's thing when I made the mistake of calling in sick to work a few Mondays ago. I was resting comfortably in my bed, watching Regis & Kelly, when I hear loud moans and groans coming from beneath me. Obviously, this is sex. But it's not like it's the kind of sex that makes me jealous, it's the kind that sounds very painful and frightening. Honestly, I thought that chick was giving birth. That was the loudest five minutes of my life. And don't even get me started on how she plays Bobby Brown's "Tenderoni" nonstop.







All of that was fine, really -- I mean, I was able to cope with it. But I reached my breaking point the other day. It was around midnight and I was about to get into my bed when I was able to hear the television from below my feet. Again, this doesn't bother me so much, since I know how thin our walls/ceilings/floors are. The problem came when I realized what she was watching. 'MASH.' I've never watched this award-winning TV show and there's a reason why: The theme song makes me nauseous and immensely depressed. I mean really: duh duh duh duh duh dooo, duh duh duh duh duh doo, duh duh duh duh duh dooo....ARGH!!! I hate it. Gives me a migraine like you wouldn't believe.







I've talked to other people about this theme song and I learned that I'm not the only one who feels this way. After all, the song is called 'Suicide is Painless.' Yuck. I hate it. Anyway, I was already in the early phases of starting the homebuying process, but that situation right there lit a fire under my arse like you wouldn't believe. All I want is to be in a place where I can walk upstairs and downstairs and not look at anyone I don't know. I want a garden, a driveway, a fireplace and a laundry room that's just for me. And most importantly, I want the bigger tax refund that doesn't come to us renters. Sigh. I'll get there .... one day.

(Image from http://www.jjcafe.net/photography/weekends/House/frontpage.jpg)

Bubbles

I'm feeling a certain kind of way and I don't like to feel this way. Ever. The sweaty palms, the quickened heartbeat, the butterflies/bubbles in the stomach. Sigh. And they only seem to happen when I think of a certain someone.






I guess you could say I have a crush. He is someone who has become a friend, which makes the whole situation even better, or worse, depending on how you look at it.

See, I'm not used to this friend before dating thing. I'm used to "yo baby, can i get your number?", "yo baby, can i hit it?", "yo baby, goodbye." Obviously, I could use a change. My conversations with Crush are usually via modern technology, i.e. texting, i.m., emails. Afterward, I spend way too much time analyzing what was written to see if I missed some kinda clue that he was flirting with me. All I know is he's single and looking, I'm single and half-assly (is that a word?) looking and we hang out. I enjoy is company, but I've been trying not to get my hopes up too high and I've been scaling down my inner Joan Clayton.



We're going on a Not-Date this week. What is a Not-Date, you may ask? Well, it's not a date, that's for sure. It's just that we've discovered that we'll be attending the same party alone and we've made plans to go together. And this has actually caused major anticipation on my part, from trying to figure out what to wear in advance, to praying nonstop that it won't rain and cause me to Plan B the outfit.



Anyway, I'm happy to be doing the friend thing and taking things s l o w for a change. I'll tell him sometime in the future how I feel, if things work out. For now, I'm just going to enjoy the moment and pine from afar. Hopefully, he won't figure out that my new myspace song (Fantasia's "When I See U) is about him.

(Photo from http://www.hometownfavorites.com/images/orange-crush.jpg)

Deconstructing Lauryn

That magazine cover right there is how I choose to remember Lauryn Hill, aka L-Boogie. There are reports that she looks quite different these days, has lost her mind and is the sole reason a Fugees reunion may not ever happen.

Now, for those of you who don't know, I LOOOOOOVE Lauryn Hill. I admit that I didn't think she was all that big of a deal back when my cousins used to drool over her, but I did like the Fugees. She got me when she had that killer line in"Ready or Not": 'While you imitatin' Al Capone/I be Nina Simone and defecating on your microphone.'

When Lauryn went solo, things changed for me. I remember where I was the first time I heard "Lost Ones", the first single off of the Miseducation of Lauryn Hill. I was in my college newspaper office, working, when that song came on the radio. Somebody attempted to change the station when myself and this Indian boy (the only other minority at the paper) threatened to maim him/her. I promptly got the album and saw her on tour twice that summer. Oh yes, I'm a true fan.

To this day, I continue to defend L. Boogie against her naysayers, folks who want to crticize her relationship with Rohan, the children she's had out of wedlock and how she has nerve to call other people heathens. I even bought her MTV unplugged CD which was no 'Miseducation.' Let's just say my girl had way too many issues to get off her chest on those tracks and it got into the way of the music.

Call me selfish, but I'm really ready for Lauryn to get it together as best she can and start making music again. If I can't have a Fugees reunion, fine, I won't have one. But I could definitely use some L. Boogie in my life. Until then, I have the Miseducation CD on repeat, remembering the good ol days and hoping for the best.

(Photo from http://cdn.channel.aol.com/channels/0c/04/43a9a052-001c1-0085f-400cb8e1)

Out There, But In There

Well, I went 'out there' just like I said I would. And after a few weeks of being exposed to that world, I'm racing right back into my shell.

Actually, being out there wasn't that bad, even though I didn't do it to the fullest. I did learn that nowadays this meeting people thing takes quite a bit of discipline, confidence and LOTS of money.

I found this group that coordinates dinners between groups of professional men and women with the intention of hook ups. I thought that would be kind of fun to do once or twice. After all, a girl's gotta eat. I emailed the facilitator for more information about memerships. What did I learn? You can't just have dinners and pay as you go; you have to buy a membership package. And these packages cost $250 and up. Hah! Onto the next venture.

I'm still window shopping on Achoo! Personals and Hatch, with no real results. I did a brief trial of Achoo! and talked to one guy from there on the phone. That one conversation was enough to tell me he was a dud. There was a guy I was interested in on Hatch, so I sent him a wink, which is how you let someone know you're interested. He winked back, but I'm a punk and talked myself out of making the next move. I still haven't paid the fee, so I can't read any emails he may have sent me and this was quite a few weeks ago. It would really surprise me if he even still had a profile up there. Oh well.

In the online world, there are two types of fellas that I've been prone to attract: Mr. Separated and Mr. I'll Tell You Later. I think Mr. Separated speaks for himself. That's the guy who's separated from his wife, yet he'll express interest in me. Do me a favor, buddy -- get divorced, wait a year or two, then try to get at me. And then there's Mr. I'll Tell You Later. This is the kind of guy who'll avoid pertinent questions on his profile:

Age -- I'll tell you later.

Marital status -- I'll tell you later.

Do you have children? I'll tell you later.

I mean, really. If you're a married, 45 year old man with five kids. Just say so! I wouldn't be interested, but I'm sure there's someone out there who would. But that's an area so far from my expertise that I won't even go there.

The best part of this experience was the cookout I attended recently. I was there chatting with a male acquiantance when he suddenly said, "I like your profiles." I didn't know what he was talking about, I assumed it was myspace, since we are myspace friends. Then he proceeded to tell me that he'd seen me on Hatch and Achoo! and liked what I had to say.

This jarred me for a moment, but shoot, I'm not ashamed. If he's on there, he's probably having the same issues in the dating world as I am. We began comparing notes on what we've got from each site and we've both had similar experiences. It seems like there's no easy way to navigate this wonderful world of dating. It's just so darn frustrating. Sigh. But I'll keep at it for now and let ya'll know if there's any progress.

(Photo from http://www.darksungames.com/dsgallery/cupid_kills.jpg)

Sure, We Can Be Friends -- Just Ditch Your Kid

The phone rang the other day and that old familiar number popped up, but I didn’t answer it. This is the second time in two weeks that that number has rang my phone and I’m starting to feel a little guilty about avoiding “Sheila.” The thing is, the avoidance isn’t her fault. The problem is her kids. Well, one of her kids, that is.

Back in the day, Sheila and I were tight, despite her being quite a few years older. We lived in the same neighborhood and she doted on me like a mother hen. Whenever somebody wanted to fight me, they’d have to go through her first. I went with her when she got her first tattoo, she was with me when I got the second hole in my ear pierced. She encouraged me to be wild, I tried to get her to calm down. I'm not sure either one of us was successful in our attempts to influence the other. We moved away, but remained in touch over the years.

Recently, we got back in contact. The Sheila that I know is now a divorced mother of two – a son and a daughter. The few times we’ve hung out, they’ve always been to kid-friendly things. She’d call me up, wanting to hang out and I’d be all excited, thinking she wanted to go to the mall or to the club or something. Then I’d scratch my head in amazement as she invited me to Chuck E Cheese, birthday parties and other crap where I’d be wedged between screaming children.

Now, ordinarily this wouldn’t be so bad, if I was forced to be around kids who are enjoyable. Her 6-year-old son, love him to death, he’s my road dog, the cutest thing in the world. Her 12-year-old daughter, however, is a demon seed. She’s approaching those teen years and always seems like she has an attitude about something. I’ve seen the way she talks to her mother and grandmother and have wondered often why she's still breathing. Since I don’t have kids of my own, I keep my mouth shut.

So I’ve been dreading Sheila’s phone calls, knowing that she's just dying to invite me to the next birthday party. Maybe next time we get together I’ll suggest she leave the kids at home. Or at least, leave her daughter at home. Her son can roll. Hmmm... I guess that wouldn't go over too well. Oh well, I guess I'll have to find ways to flake out of some of her invitations.

(Photo from http://www1.istockphoto.com/file_thumbview_approve/2485105/2/istockphoto_2485105_tired_mom_screaming_baby_mchipster250.jpg)

Finished ... Finally

I hadn't planned to write another Harry Potter post, but I feel the need to let everyone know how grateful I am now that I have finished that massive book. I'm generally a fast reader, except when it comes to the HP series. During those times, I read at a snail's pace while my friends can digest it in one sitting. There was always this increasing pressure for me to finish the books within a reasonable time frame, just to keep up with my rep as a speedreader.

The pressure was even worse for this last book, since it is (allegedly) the final one in the series. It was nearly impossible to read without stumbling onto spoilers, like here, here and here , not to mention the Wikipedia summary of the book and those blasted interviews JK Rowling had been doing on the Today show. Top that off with all the people who wanted to bug me constantly and say, 'are u fininshed yet? what's taking so long? u of all people should be done by now!'

The last straw came when a coworker of mine, who was trailing behind me in the number of pages left to read (she had 500+, while I had about 100) came to work the next day and told me she was done. I politely told that heffa to go make love to herself and take her stinkin' book with her. Grrr. But then, I spent my lunch break reading. I read and I read until finally ... I FINISHED.

It took me a whole week to finish the book, but I'm done. Thank goodness. I loved the book, even though Prisoner of Azkaban was my favorite. There were constant deaths and some caused me to shed a tear. I still have my undying love for Fred and George and I don't care what anybody says, I hate Hagrid. And now it's all over. Sniff, sniff. Can't wait for the last two movies!!

Happy Birthday To Ya....

(For D.E.J. 7/29/57 to 6/26/99)

You are looking at a limited edition photo of a young Strength with Papa Strength, circa 1983. If he had lived, today would've been my dad's 50th birthday. I imagine he'd have a big party to celebrate the day and he'd get his turquoise corvette all washed and shined for the occasion. He'd call everyone -- family, friends, girlfriends -- and remind us all when and where we needed to be. And we'd get there, no matter what.

He'd arrange it so he made some kind of grand entrance where the dj played a special song just to celebrate his arrival. Dad would detest most of the stuff on the radio today, so the playlist would include his old favorites -- Phyllis Hyman, Three Times Dope, Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince, Salt 'N Pepa, etc. It would definitely be an old school jam. The one exception would e Beyonce', I'm sure he'd like her.

We'd stroll out onto the dance floor in full view of his insecure ex girlfriend, Susan. Dad always had a way with the ladies and the poor thing always got all a'flutter when she saw Dad around them. She once called over his place and got mad when I answered the phone, thinking I was someone he was cheating with. (Pobrecita -- I hope she got the help she needed.) His other exes would be there as well, including Debbie, who, along with her daughter, remind me of the main characters from 'The Parkers' ; and Joyce, who drove me crazy with all her pets but was with me at the hospital when he died in 1999.

The party would be packed with folks who knew Dad in one way or the other. Some smart aleck would find a way to put 50 candles on a birthday cake and he'd try his hardest to blow them all out. Mom probably wouldn't attend, but he'd ask me about her, like always. He'd tell me that I'm looking more and more like her everyday and then he'd clown me once he noticed that I'm getting the same gray hairs that I once teased him about. Then he'd ask me how long I'm planning to let my locks grow before I come to my senses and cut them off. He'd roll his eyes when I tell him that I'm letting them grow as long as possible, then I'd give him a big hug. Somebody would snap a picture and soon, the party would be over.

Anyway, that's how I wished things could've happened. Rest in peace, old man.

To My Footsies ....

Dear Feet,

First off, Mama loves you. Seriously. No part of my body has had my back the way you have. You get me through the longest days by adding a spring in my step and there is no greater joy than rubbing you after a long day's work. I know I've put you through some rough patches, like my karate phase where I slammed you into wooden boards, and let's not even talk about the blood clot. As I've gotten older, I've learned to appreciate you two much more. I've even come to appreciate the sluefootedness.

I know the summer months are hard on you, but I want to remind you that that's no excuse to just fall apart on a sister. Remember that both sides of my family are cursed with horrible feet (actually, some folks' look more like monkey paws), but we haven't had to deal with that. I can't even wear sandals around my family anymore because they get so jealous of your beauty!

I have been concerned about your behavior lately. I bought a new pair of sandals, which you seemed to like at the store. But once I wore them for a full day, you wanted to scream out in pain. And you kept me up half the night holding ice to the bumps that had developed near each heel. It wasn't later until I noticed some of your other issues, like the peeling on the right foot. Really, there's no reason for this! I lotion you two up daily and in the summer months, I douse you in vaseline and sleep wearing socks. You are the most lubricated pair of feet on the planet. There is no need for this behavior!

Ok, I'm done criticizing you. This is just a reminder that the summer is almost over and you are going on a cruise in September. No matter what issues you have now, you better be over them by the time I step onto that boat. If my feet look jacked up while I'm in the Carribbean, I'm liable to get rid of ya'll and find a new pair.

Smooches!

Strength

(Photo from http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/mummy/images/ikra-03-feet-l.jpg)

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)