Crazy on Paper : A Type-A Cosmo Girl’s Mix of Commentary, Creativity, Culture and Cosmetics.

Tough Love- Whateva

2011-10-03T19:07:00.000-07:00

Just as I was about to go on blogging hiatus, my favorite love to hate show Tough Love is back on. You might know the show where an alleged successful match maker (Steve) tells women how horrible they are in their dating life (you know, the "hopelessly single"). Yes, some of the women are in need of some wake up calls (the superficial, low self esteem, angry) but half the women on the show are what I deemed normal. And to make matters worse the butt wipe match maker puts women in the worse scenarios and bashes them because they didn't handle it well. It's not like every day I enter a room with 30 or more dudes checking me out and taking notes simply on what I'm wearing, my figure, and how I walk across a room. And lets not forget that in episode two the kind hearted turd has men follow each woman he is interested in, into an elevator where she is supposed to pick the guy she wants to date based on unsuperficial reasons in the matter of seconds it takes for them to get to the roof top deck (rolls eyes).

Oh yeah, did mention this is set in Miami, where if you are over a size 4 you aren't even looked twice at. So yes, the size 0 woman in a dress the length of a shirt gets over 9 guys following her into the elevator and the probably size 8 former beauty queen with body issues only gets 1 guy, who actually says he just came up to her because he felt bad for her. And this is her fault? How is she supposed to feel good about herself if she is surrounded by that kind of superficiality?

When I first watched this show in season one, as a single gal I thought I could learn a few things but all I get out of it now is pure entertainment (and a bit of high blood pressure). Look, I'm all for being the best I can be and showing that best side of me to a potential partner but I don't like the idea of changing who you are to get a man. If you are quirky, stay that way. If you, like me, have a sarcastic sense of humor, keep it. If you aren' a size two, so what, as long as you're healthy. It takes a lot of work to keep up a facade to make someone want to date you and even more to keep it going into a relationship. It's much more fun to be yourself and the right person will think so too.

Get More: Tough Love (Season 3), TV Shows, Full Episode Video, Reality TV Shows

Random Music That Won't Leave My Head

2011-09-17T17:31:00.000-07:00

Yep, another music entry. Can't help it, I'm a writer and music inspires me profoundly. These are my most recent downloads that get me to creating, exercising, day dreaming or dancing around my room like I'm on So You Think You Can Dance.

Lykke Li- Follow Rivers- This artist was played a few times on So You Think You Can Dance and although I didn't see the movie Columbiana, the song for it kept getting in my head every time I saw the commercial and I don't mind at all! I also like her song Little Bit which the rapper Drake has also used in one of his songs.

The Black Kids- I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance- So this group is not all black in case you were wondering, just the brother and sister. I love this song because it has an 80s vibe that I adore. When I hear it I want to dance around my room doing the Carlton Dance from the Fresh Prince in Bel air. And they are from my family's hometown of Jacksonville, Florida!

Chonique Sneed- Pop Drop and Roll- I heard this song on So You Think You Can Dance. Maybe it was the all girl routine that got me to like it but I rushed to down load it and when I hear it, it gets me shaking.

Otis Redding- Try A Little Tenderness- Yes, this song is as old as Moses but it's just great. So great that Jay-Z and Kanye made a remix of it. But that's not what got me to like it. Nope. It was the classic Pretty in Pink movie in which the character of Ducky (played by Jon Cryer whom I loved at the time simply for this role) lip sang this song to Molly Ringwold's character when she was feeling down. When I hear this song, it is this scene that I remember. For that reason that is the video I choose to put up.

Any songs, old or new, that just won't leave your head?

My Top Five...

2011-09-05T09:03:00.000-07:00

I am a makeup/beauty/magazine junkie. Every now and then I will put up a post that will turn off any male readers and this is one of them, sorry. If you are into fashion/make up then you know September is one of the biggest month's for all things glam and just about every magazine is packed with information to feed my addiction. As such I was inspired to bring up my own mini post on some of my own favorite products. Choosing just five is difficult but in order to keep myself in check I must limit myself. So here are my tried and true beauty products that I will invest in time again!

Miss Jessies Curly Buttercreme: I have naturally curly hair and therefore it is as dry as a dessert. This stuff will make my hair less tumbleweed and more luscious. It's not cheap (surprising since Targets sells it) but its worth my dime every time!
Benefits They're Real: When the Sephora lady told me that this mascara was the best thing out, I had my doubts but I put it on and my lashes looked awesome. Way better than my current Maybeline Falsies. It's pricey (around $21) but worth the investment if you love that false lash look.
Dr. Brandt Pores No More: anything in this line really. I did some major research and every review/advice pointed to this line. I have VERY oily skin and I can't stand it! I put this on and no oily skin messing up my make up or making my skin feel iky. Another pricey affair (about $45) but if you have extremely oily skin sometimes you gotta make that investment.
Bare Escentuals: Again for an oily skined gal, mineral is the way to go. It's not heavy but fully covers and it last a LONG time because the ingridents are more natural so I don't have to toss it as quickly.
Chi Ion flat iorn- I've had mine forever (and I want it to last forever since I dropped a pretty penny for mine well before it got the hype it rightly deserves and other lines started making them for way less). As I stated before, since I have natural, unrelaxed hair, having a chi is literally the best thing since sliced bread for me. When I blow out my hair I looke like Rudi Huxtable but this tames my hair so it looks relaxed and blows in the breeze. Love it!

Any favorite products that are a must for you?

Awkward Interracial Dating?

2011-08-22T20:01:00.000-07:00

Just caught the latest episode of my new favorite online show Awkward Black Girl. In this month's episode, our main character goes on her first interracial date and it is indeed awkward. Her friend, an Indian girl, prepares her for the date, including the outfit (a t-shirt and shorts because, per her friend, white guys are more casual). The white guy takes her to a soul food restaurant and spoken word, neither sit right with our girl. The mini episode was cute and humorous but did make me reflect on my own interracial experiences. I am an equal opportunity dater so I've dated just about every race and mix in between. And I have to say...there isn't a great difference. By my late twenties I find that all guys dress pretty well (well, nice for their abilities) for dates (the older the more spiffy!).

Although my first time eating fried chicken and waffles was to a place a white guy took me, it was an upscale joint and diverse place, so no music stopping when we entered the place like on this show (even the black men with white women made faces and her ex said if he'd known she'd date white he wouldn't have broken up with her- I found that sad but not a totally unrealistic occurrence). And although we went to Busboys and Poets after, it wasn't spoken word night but... you know what, maybe this show was right! No, DC, is pretty diverse and we just went there for coffee because it was down the street.

Anyway, I've also done casual outdoor dates with black guys. There simply is no stereotype across the racial lines. Guys are guys, wear some heels and your hair out in some manner (curly or straight) and you're good! As the episode showed, if the pair had just been themselves and taken race out of the equation, they would have had a better time.

Here's the episode if you care to watch...

Watch What You Eat- A Short Story

2011-08-22T19:05:00.000-07:00

Been a while since I posted a short story, poem, or snippet. Here's something I'm entering for a submission! Enjoy!

Watch What You Eat

Hunger makes you do dumb things.

I headed to my kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. Nothing. I closed the door in disgust. I frowned and opened my cupboard. It was equally bare. My stomach growled angrily but my eyes suddenly widened as I spotted a can of tuna fish. I grabbed it, opened the lid and dug in with a fork.

I chomped away at the salty fish. It might give me high blood pressure but I quickly gobbled it anyway.

Naturally I choked.

I dropped the tuna can to the floor and coughed repeatedly. I caught a glimpse of a cat trotting into the kitchen. Since when did I have a cat?

Who cares I was dying?!

I laced my hands together and rammed them into my stomach then chest but still no success. Why didn’t I study the Heimlich maneuver?

I dropped to my knees, grabbing at my neck as I saw the cat come closer to me, this time followed by two cats. I fell back to the floor, withering in horror as I choked on the food in my air passage.

I glanced in horror at the cats- five now- descending upon me and then looked over at the offending food. My last thought was that I hadn’t actually eaten tuna fish, at least not the one made for humans, for the image on the can was of a cat’s head; its tongue licking its whiskers.

As the cats walked closer to me, meowing in unison, eyes glowing with hunger; I closed my eyes and died.

Denise held her fork midway to her mouth, a frozen look on her face. “Wow; that’s a seriously sad story, Shiela. Ooh, say that three times fast!”

“Ha-ha. You are not a friend.”“Hey, maybe those dreams mean you need a cat.”

“So she can chow down on my body because I died eating all her cat food?! I hate cats.”

“Maybe the dream was about you feeling unsafe living by yourself. Get a roommate who can account for you so your dead body isn’t stinking up the apartment building.”

“Thanks, Denise, that’s what was bothering me so much. I’ll be dead, screw my neighbors breathing comfort!” I cut into my salmon and realized it smelled like tuna. I put my fork down. “Maybe it means I should stop watching that Animal Hoarders show before bed.”

“Or that.”

Real Love?

2011-08-03T19:29:00.000-07:00

I'm a big fan of Millionare Matchmaker and it always gets my head spinning about relationships and the foolishness that these wealthy clients have about love, I assume simply because they are rich and no one (except Patty) dared question them before.

I wonder:

What does real romance/loving relationship look like and if we had to put it in a movie would we still watch it? And if we wouldn't, how do we manage our expectations about what a good relationship is? And if we were able to manage them would divorce rates go down? Do we, men and women, make poor choices based on a fairy tale notion that no longer exist?

If you are rich or "ridiculously good looking" is the likelihood that you have an unrealistic look on love stronger? Meaning, you often get away with foolishness that leads you to have expectations when entering relationships that the "common" folk just don't have. Does this mean they'll have a harder time finding a lasting relationship or would you think these people will easily find someone hung up on looks or money who will do whatever they want?

I'm often told that as a woman of the new age, especially a black woman, I have to compromise more to get a relationship. However, if we women have to compromise so much will there still be love there? At what point do we compromise too much (on looks, job/goals/education, number of kids the guy already has, whether he has a car/house, is cultured)? Would lowered expectations lead to lowered interest/dependence/standards/lifestyle/treatment?

Just thinking....

If He's Crazy He Will Come

2011-07-26T19:05:00.000-07:00

Been a while, sorry folks, I just moved, been working on editing some writing of mine (excerpts to come) and getting ready for a big conference. However I had to come back and get on my soap box. What’s grinding my gears now? Apparently my new name is “Likes to Get Stalked By Crazy People”. I’ve had this affliction since I was in college. If there is a crazy person around, usually an indigent, I would attract him. It didn’t matter what I had on. I’ve been in a suit carrying a briefcase and had a dude off the street approach me to flirt. I’ve been out jogging, fully covered except my arms, and was half way home when I realized I was being followed by a homeless man. When I turned around and gave him my best Bmore girl glare, he turned around and walked away. I’ve had crazy men look at me on the subway and not look away just sit there and look at me the whole time.

Lessons I learned: when jogging, periodically always look behind you and keep your music down in your headsets. Always be aware of your surroundings so I am rarely one of those people on the train who is engrossed in my iphone or ereader (not that I have either). I need to know who is around me. It’s not paranoia, its learned behavior from past experiences.

At one point my dad gave me not one but two cans of pepper spray. However I never needed to use them when I moved outside DC in the suburbs. Unfortunately, pepper spray expires after a year so you have to keep getting new ones. I need a defense tool that doesn’t expire, like a baton!

Anywho, I thought my days of attracting the crazies and the ignorant were far behind me but atlas, God must have thought I was getting too lazy in my vigilance because in the past 7 days I have been followed by not one but two crazy people!

The first time, I was heading to a little shop down the street from where I live. I was at a light waiting to cross the street and a scary looking homeless man walked up near me. There was a man in between us and he saw the scary dude checking me out and decides to MOVE out the way! He will get his in the future. Anywho, I quickly cross the street as the scary dude starts walking near me and I go into the shop thinking I lost scary dude. NOPE, he pops up RIGHT BESIDE me asking me what the time was. I tell him the time, he tells me I’m beautiful, I thank him then quickly jet away as the store owner calls out for him to leave me alone (thanks, man).

Second time, I’m on the metro and another crazy dude gets on the car at the far end. He’s making a lot of noise and I start thinking of my exit strategy to another car so I can have a nice peaceful ride. Dude starts walking my way and I think, he couldn’t possibly be aiming for me. Just to make sure, at the next stop, I get off. AND CRAZY DUDE FOLLOWS ME, CLOSELY, ONTO THE NEXT CAR! Seriously! He sits down near me and wants to know why I switched cars. I place my Bmore glare back on and said “because I wanted to” and turn my back on him even though he is still mumbling to me. People are looking at me with pity. He eventually gets off.

My nerves are getting bad now, if I get my baton, I’m thinking the only thing that’s going to happen is I end up in jail for assaulting some innocent dude who was probably running up behind me to hand me some money that fell out my purse but better safe than sorry, so friends, start saving up some bail money!

Music of My Generation

2011-07-05T18:53:00.000-07:00

So I was listening to internet radio at work and got caught up in some of my generations "oldies but goodies" and it got me to thinking:

Why is it that music from your teen years is the most defining? Did we listen to more music then? This would explain why shows like TRL, geared towards teens, was so successful. Once we hit our twenties does our influence in pop culture die because we focus our money and time on other things?

Whatever the reason, I just find that any music that is played from the time I was 11 through 21 years of age is the music that stirs me the most in ways that music after that or before that time hasn’t been able to do. Not that I don’t have artist now that I love; it’s just different. I get put in a real place in my life when I hear Crystal Water's Gypsy Woman (and In Living Color's parody of it) or Jade’s Don’t Walk Away Boy (don’t act like you don’t remember them) and me getting braids. I get excited and start doing the running man when I hear CL Smooth and Pete Rock "They Reminisce Over You" and I know exactly where I was when I first heard Coldplay's Yellow and the dance my sister and I did to Lost Boyz Jeeps Lex Coups Bimaz and Benz. And let's not forget how we played out the Goo Dolls Iris song and The Spice Girls Wannabe (heck, that's still a karaoke pick of mine, I wanted to be like Scary Spice- well she was the only black girl and she inspired me to grow my curls out and stop getting a relaxer).

However, I will quickly turn the station now when Lil’ Wayne comes on (his voice just makes my ears bleed or is that the old “fuddy duddy” starting to emerge in me, if so, www.i’mgettingold.com ) and Rhianna and Lady Gaga music won't get me pumped.

I don't know, maybe it’s simply that when we are kids and teens we need soundtracks for our lives more than any other time period. When I hear these songs I don’t just remember the artist and the videos, I remember me.

Read Between the Lines

2011-06-30T19:40:00.000-07:00

So I posted this article I found on facebook but also wanted to do some commenting here. In summary, a mother sends her soon to be daughter in law a rude email about her etiquette and the daughter in law, in shock, forwards it to her friends who, in turn, forward it all. Now the world has seen this email and call the mother in law "momzilla". But, playing the devil's advocate, I'm not so sure I'm totally angry with this woman. First, here is an excert from the email:
from: Carolyn Bourne
to: heidi withers
subject: your lack of manners

Here are a few examples of your lack of manners:

When you are a guest in another's house, you do not declare what you will and will not eat - unless you are positively allergic to something.

You do not remark that you do not have enough food.

You do not start before everyone else.

You do not take additional helpings without being invited to by your host.

When a guest in another's house, you do not lie in bed until late morning in households that rise early - you fall in line with house norms.

You should never ever insult the family you are about to join at any time and most definitely not in public. I gather you passed this off as a joke but the reaction in the pub was one of shock, not laughter.

You regularly draw attention to yourself. Perhaps you should ask yourself why. No one gets married in a castle unless they own it. It is brash, celebrity style behaviour.

I understand your parents are unable to contribute very much towards the cost of your wedding. (There is nothing wrong with that except that convention is such that one might presume they would have saved over the years for their daughters' marriages.)

If this is the case, it would be most ladylike and gracious to lower your sights and have a modest wedding as befits both your incomes.

One could be accused of thinking that Heidi Withers must be patting herself on the back for having caught a most eligible young man. I pity Freddie.

Now, granted some of this stuff was way harsh and she could have told the woman in person instead of via email but as I read some of the points I'm begining to wonder if the mother in law was really mad about everything up here. Would she have let the daughter in law's late rising in the morning slide if she hadn't demanded a wedding in a castle out of everyone's, including her own family's budget? Would the mother in law not care so much that the daughter in law got seconds without being offered if the daughter hadn't bad mouthed her in public?

Looks like some gray lines here and I'm not so inclined to believe this mother in law is a woman from hell. Seems like her new daughter in law might also be a rude one. Really, I pity the groom.

Romance is Dead ...and It's Our Fault

2011-06-26T19:07:00.000-07:00

I remember coming across this Dear Abby question and saved it for later to discuss because the situation the writer presented and Abby's response really struck me. In quick summary (see the full letter and response here), the writer is from another country and is having a hard time dating. The gestures he makes towards the women he dates are seen as too much and they break things off with him. By gestures I'm talking sending flowers to their jobs, buying a book in an area they mention being interested in and telling them he was in love with them after four months of dating. Dear Abby said he needs to slow things down.
Now this kind of bothered me because I find everything he did to be quite appealing in moderation and the only circumstance it wouldn't be is if I wasn't into him. But Abby didn't suggest that, instead she thought he was moving to fast. This just seems odd to me. Moving too fast is getting me a ring after a month of dating or confessing your love after our first date. If a man takes the time to think of things that I would love based on my interest then I'm for it. And I'm still waiting for a guy to send flowers to my job, I don't think it's unprofessional. But is that just me? Or was this guy just going after the wrong girls?

If we think that romance or chivalry is dead, how much do we, women, have a role in that? If you demand a certain treatment, the hope is that you'll get it. But if you don't appriciate something eventually people will stop doing it- kind of like supply and demand.

Make it Last Forever

2011-06-19T18:33:00.000-07:00

Had to repost this because the system lost the original post and didn't save, grrr.

I’m a make up gal through and through and the one product I have been searching for forever is long lasting lipstick. Many brands claim to have them but they always wear off as soon as you take a sip of a drink or make your lips dry and peely (I had one unfortunate experience where I was out with a group of friends and then went to the bathroom to try to exfoliate my lips which were covered in spotty pieces of lipstick that was allegedly long wearing, this was a long process and no one believed me when I told them and instead believed I was doing a number two! Grrr). So as you can see I am seriously searching for a solution because I hate reapplying lipstick. But, alas, I have found some brands that I find suitable, although none have lasted the 8-24 hours they claim, these brands do last a very long time and still leave a lip stain color. It’s really all in how you apply it.

1) Maybelline 24 Hour Super Stay- This is my favorite. It doesn’t last 24 hours but color in some degree will remain on your lips. Here’s the key, put on the color side first and then wait until it dries then put on the balm side. You can reapply the balm side as much as you want which helps keep the color strong and keep lips moisturized. But even if you don’t lips aren’t crackly dry and you still keep some color.

2) Clinique Longwear- simple long wearing lipstick, looks more like a stain by the end of the day

3) Loreal Infallible- same as Clinique but cheaper. The colors are creamy and not drying or peeling and last most of the day to some degree.

4) MAC Pro Longwear- same as Maybelline but comes in more "glammy colors"

I am not Wonder Woman

2011-06-15T18:37:00.000-07:00

And she is the only person who needs to be in an invisible plane.

http://www.crazyengineers.com/future-by-airbus-transparent-concept-cabin-for-transport-in-2050-489/

This plane is supposed to be out in the year 2050. Now I'm not a proponent of drug use but that's pretty

much what I'd be on if you find me riding this thing 40 years from now.

If you want to get back at someone afraid to fly take them on this.

I could maybe be talked into a quick 1.5 hour flight but if you are talking overseas forget it. I don't like to think I'm on a plane as it is, there's no escaping it on this thing.

Let's file this under things to do when you're high, blackmailed, bribed, kidnapped, or near death.

White Teeth- My review

2011-06-15T10:51:00.000-07:00

I am an avid reader so sometimes I'll post a book review from time to time. Here's one I posted on Goodreads that I'd like to share.

White Teeth by Zadie Smith

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Finally finished reading this. It was tough for me. Smith is a good wordsmith and I believe she created some original and most importantly real characters (not everyone is gorgeous or thin and the drama they encounter is not foriegn to the average person). Perhaps this is what actually was a turnoff to me. I just found the characters so boringly real. And this is a personal thing, afterall I love scifi, fantasy and chick lit so I like to get away from how the real world goes. After all, why read about it when you can live it?

I suppose I'd have appriciated this novel more when I was in college and reading heavily writers from around the globe, especially in my classes dealing race relations. However, although this novel would fall into a culture/race type realm, it doesn't present itself like that on purpose, which I liked.

I think for me, it just was a bit longer than it needed to be. There were some pages that were so randomly unnecessary. Dialouge and background information that I just didn't see as helping the movement of the novel and I found myself skimming over it.

I like to be swept away from a novel and I just found myself counting down the pages until I was done.

I felt bad because this book has won so many awards and therefore, I should love it too but this just didn't do it for me and I can't fake it.

Update: upon reading over reader reviews I am glad to know I'm not alone. I would like to see the movie version though, just out of curiousity. Netflix!

View all my reviews

I Want to Be a Billionaire

2011-06-12T16:15:00.000-07:00

So freakin bad! I just had to put my car in the shop for a minor finder bender. This is the second time my car has gone to the auto repair this year. My driving skills, particularly parking, are less than desirable (no worries folks, you are safe on the road with me but if you park your car be afraid, be very afraid). And it’s not just me, other people gravitate towards doing damage to my car. I’ve had my windows smashed two or three times. I’ve had my driver’s side mirror destroyed. I’ve been rear ended. I’ve had branches scrape up my car and let’s not get into what I did to it trying to remove snow (lesson learned: do not use a shovel!).

So all that got me to thinking, I need to be rich so I can hire a driver because I’m pretty much over the whole experience.

This in turn got me to also thinking, hmm, what else would I do if I was rich? Here are some thoughts:

· Pay off every piece of debt I have. I’m talking to you law degree. I refuse to have gray in my hair by the time I’m done paying you off!

· Hire a chef. I cook because I have to but could take a pass on it altogether and since I should be eating healthy a good chef could make those veggies taste good.

· A personal trainer. I should add in also the time to see this trainer. When I have kids one day, I want my body to bounce back like Halle Berry’s so I need someone to help me out and the time to do those two hour workouts every day.

· Start a charter school. Particularly I want middle class kids to have access to a good education. The middle class is the forgotten group. They make too much to qualify for the charter schools for the underprivileged but too little to afford the education costs of good private schools.

· Travel to every continent (except Antarctica) in style. I want to do safaris, shop in high end places, stay at luxury hotels and fly first class!

· Keep regular high end salon and spa appointments- because the rich should look fabulous!

· Give to every charity that tugs at my heart, even those darn ones with the sad looking dogs in their commercials.

· Produce and write quality programming/movies that stars people of color in a positive light.

What would you do?

Misadventures in Italy: The Final Chapter

2011-06-07T19:21:00.000-07:00

Day Six: Chonk Chong

Was a busy day, we went to the picturesque and medieval San Gimignano in the Tuscan countryside. If you go, check out the gelato and the Museum of Torture (wicked). We then headed over to a Tuscan winery for a tour and wine and olive oil tasting. Not the best but still an experience. We went out again our last night but didn’t have as much fun. We are the dancing type of girls, not the sit and be seen kind. I want to sip a drink and do a two step or engage in conversation preferably with the opposite sex. We were out on a Wednesday but the places we hit up (Lockness Lounge, Moyo) were all packed. I did encounter the cutie from the previous night but he didn’t stick around too long with me (maybe he was a bit peeved I didn’t call him like he asked?).

Day Seven: Chonk (getting tired)

Was the longest day ever. We were on and off the coach all day. In Italy bus drivers can only drive for 2 ½ hours and then they must get a mandatory break. We hit Pisa and tried to take some creative shots in front of the tower but failed miserably (okay it was hot and we were tired). Then we went to Verona where the real Romeo and Juliet inspiration supposedly came to Shakespeare. Whatever, I could have taken a pass. By the time we got to Venice it was 10 at night. And wouldn’t you know Contiki had the nerve to put us in the suburbs of Venice with no access to nightlife. You had to take a pilgrimage to get to the main islands like San Marco. I mean seriously, I could get to D.C. from Baltimore (assuming no traffic) in less time. Where’s the fun in that? The hotels were a bit better, although no TV stations were in English. You just don’t do young people like that.

Day Eight: Chonk

We traveled to San Marco island in Venice which I loved. We shopped (I bought some Italian leather sandals, so cute! And several Murano glass pieces, what Venice is known for). We also took a gondola ride which was really nice and involved several boats of Asian tourist taking pictures of us. I’d like to believe it was because they thought we were an up and coming girl group but I really suspect it was because they had never seen black people in “real life” and wanted to capture the moment. They were very friendly about it, smiled and waved. We posed for our paparazzi and waved back, what can ya do?

All in all it was a long and tiring day which involved us telling African vendors selling crap to leave us alone. It was incessant. I even saw some of them block the path or grab some tourists by the arm who obviously hadn’t rocked the New York/Baltimore “mean mug” so they wouldn’t bother them. My sister went off on one of them. I was really praying it wasn’t going to be some international black on black crime but he walked away after he dropped the F bomb on her.

Day Nine: Chonk

Back to Rome with the second longest trek ever (and with Contiki kindly NOT booking our extra night like it did ALL the rest of the travelers who had a post stay, we had to book our own hotel and get our own transport to the hotel – i.e. drag our luggage SEVERAL blocks to the taxi stand in which my taxi group paid 10 euros more than others did to get to the same place- seriously think a storm cloud is over my head sometimes). We attempted to grab an early dinner/late lunch but apparently the Italians do not believe in the senior citizen meal time because none of them served dinner until around 630/7pm. So we passed time by going window shopping around Via del Corso. We had our last meal at a lovely outdoor lounge. I still remember that meal *thoughts trailing off*

Okay so we couldn’t leave Rome without trying the night life. But only three of the six had the energy to get out so we got dolled up and hit the town. We caught a cab to a place called La Masion which we heard was good. First thing we noticed, it was down an alley off of another (yet busier) alley. Now most of the cities in Italy seem to have alleys with lots of shops and they will stick a shop in any space they can find (we saw one store literally the size of a bathroom stall) so that didn’t deter us. What did was the swastika spray painted on a wall of the alley. Another sign you aren’t in the U.S. If someone spray painted a sign of hate near your establishment you’d rush to get it off but in a city where diversity isn’t as prevalent and you were actually allied with Nazi Germany, well maybe that just isn’t number one on your mind.

So the place did not look busy and we decided it’d be best to move on. We had drinks at a cute bar called Anima and then headed over to another equally as cute spot called Fluid. We met some more cute Italians and engaged in meaningless conversation the rest of the night. They wanted to take us dancing afterwards but alas, we only had enough euros for a cab ride home. No problem, they said they could drive us. Again, not trying to end up on the strobe doped up on heroine so we declined and parted ways. Still had fun.

But the fun was over. On day ten we flew back to BWI airport. The flight was ridiculously long and to top it off my luggage decided it did not want to come back with me and it was another 12 hours after landing before I saw it again- again US Airways, you suck as per usual.

But I made it back to tell the tale and I hope it inspires you to check out that fabulous place called Italy…just go with another airline… and another tour group.

Misadventures in Italy Part Three

2011-06-05T17:34:00.000-07:00

Days Three and Four: Clonk Clong

Note to all considering taking a tour group: Sleep will be little. Each day began with me waking up around 630am in order to make the tour/bus for the day’s activity. Having to drag a huge suitcase several blocks to a tour bus every other day, not so much fun. I had to take a vacation from my vacation!

So we went to see the Roman Colosseum which was cool but we decided at this point not to roll with Contiki anymore unless we had to so we left the tour group after that and then shopped at the Porta Portese flea market. Now if you are a shopper like me then this is a must to hit up. Great place to buy purses, scarves, jewelry, shoes and clothes. Remember to bargain! I am still angry that I bought a purse for 18 euros then walked a little further and found a similar purse for 7 euros. Lesson learned: good things come to those who wait!

That evening we went for pizza (yes again, don’t judge) courtesy of the Contiki package and I got serenaded by the wonderful Italian singer working there (Okay, I’m not special, some of my friends were serenaded too).

The next day we hit the Vatican City, it was just okay for me. I’m not Catholic or a history buff and after a two and a half hour tour, seeing the Sistine Chapel just didn’t hit me as profound. I just wanted to sit down somewhere.

We then traveled on to Florence where we were met with the same less than pleasant accommodations, however at least we didn’t have to hold the shower nozzle! We went for dinner where I had spaghetti with marinara sauce (not a red meat eater) which was still rather tasty. Then we went for karaoke which I love to do in DC so of course I had to try it out in another country at the Red Garter. Had a great time! Then we hit up a bar and some girls in the Contiki group wanted to go dancing so the tour guide took us to a club he heard would be good. My friends took a look around at the crowd and said, no thanks. Looked a little Jersey Shoreish (who incidentally were also filming while we were there). And no we did not see the Jersey Shore cast although some in our tour group did party with them (I’m not hatin though, okay I was bummed. Instead of taking us to a cool bar like he did these other tour group members, our guide sent us to a seedy club!)

Day Five: Chonk Chong (yes I will keep doing this)

We bought ourselves some real Italian leather. I got a nice tan purse which was stained by the blue US Airways blanket I sat it on. Did I tell you how I hate US Airways? I’m still trying to get those stains out but it’s a losing battle. Sigh.

We meant to do some real sightseeing (we did see some buildings) but the famous art galleries were booked. Booked! Who heard of that? Oh well, just a good reason to hit up Florence again (although, side note, you’d think Contiki would have booked one of the galleries for us like they did the Vatican Museum…). Oh and by the way, I guess someone spoke to the guide because this time he did wait for folks and no one got left behind after the first day.

So we did more shopping in the markets, and departments (like Coin and OVS industry) and checked out Ponte Vecchio (great place to by gold), then we were off to a dressy Tuscan dinner. I had the cutest one shoulder strapped dress and got called Shakira by a guy on the street. See profile picture, granted I straightened my hair and got blondish highlights but I look nothing like her (although she’s cute). Did folks just draw a blank on cute brown skinned women?

Anywho, after dinner we kept the party going and headed to a spot called Zoe where we encountered a group of Italian cuties who we engaged in delightful conversation with the rest of the night. Now this is what I came for, haha! One of the cuties gave me his card and wanted to meet up again the next night but I didn’t call him. I didn’t see the point, not a long distance kind of girl and like the Kelly Clarkson song, I Do Not Hook Up.

On a different note, with six women, I suggested we use the buddy method so no one ends up alone. That didn’t always work. My sister who was supposed to be my buddy kindly (kindly because she did say “excuse me”) shoved me out of the way at the end of the night to get into the first taxi that came for us. Did she get out when she found that I could not get in the first taxi? No, she went on her way! Grumble Grumble.

Luckily one of the cuties was a cab driver and drove me and the other two ladies left behind (for free) to our hotel in his taxi. It was a licensed cab and he had his taxi license information. Seriously I cannot afford to get Got, my father, unlike Liam Neeson’s character in Taken, does not have a special set of skills to get me back!

Next up, the conclusion of my trip.

Misadventures in Italy Part Two

2011-06-03T06:55:00.000-07:00

Day Two: Chonk Chong (as you will recall that is my Law and Order sound)

I make it in Rome in one piece and without further aggravation. This was actually the first time I was not pulled to the side and given extra questioning or pat downs due to my traveling while being black. Don’t be surprised folks, before 9/11 black women were the number one group to be profiled in airports (because apparently we don’t travel for pleasure or business but to be drug mules for our boyfriends).

So we stayed at a 2 star hotel (American translation means 1 star hotel). Yes, I understand in other countries with more history a lot of the hotels in the city areas are really old and therefore lose space when they try to update their facilities with things like bathrooms and more than one full sized bed in a room but it was still a bit of a shock and a learning lesson. We also had to turn in the key (not card) with a key chain the weight of a boulder to the front desk every time we left the building. Type A Cosmo girl will do no less than a 3, and preferably 4, star hotel for the future. Having to hold the shower nozzle was a bit of a challenge and made me yearn for the days of college dorm bathrooms. And three women to a hotel room is not desirable. Gotta like the gals you’re with and don’t mind getting flashed a few times!

Anywho, friends and I walked a bit of the Roman streets and were greeted with confidence boosting catcalls. My favorite was a guy who called out the window to us “Spettacolare!” (aka Spectacular) (four black women, take that Psych Today!). Our hotel was in the more diverse area because I passed by two! Black hair salons and a black beauty shop.

Now quick backdrop on my limited knowledge of race relations in Italy. It’s not yet a melting pot but it’s getting there, whether folks are happy with it or not. I encountered loads of Africans and Asians (mostly Chinese and Indian/Middle Eastern). Many aren’t too happy with the Africans there due to the constant and pushy nature of vendors selling goods on the street. Get this: it’s not illegal to sell knockoffs on the street but it is illegal (huge fine) to buy them. Translation: we just want to fine the unknowledgeable tourist so we can get some money for our government. Anywho, the diversity was a welcomed surprise yet Italians could tell the difference between the local African Immigrants and tourists of the African diaspora.

Oddly, but often enough, whenever I travel overseas locals never assume I am African American. I (and my friends) have been considered everything from Puerto Rican, Panamanian, Canadian, British and African but never American. Even the cleaning lady for our hotel in Florence who was African herself thought my friend and I were Brazilian. What’s the deal? Who spread the false rumor that Black American women don’t travel? I’ll just put the blame on BET.

Okay, so next we did our TWO hour orientation/check in with Contiki (so unnecessary as we did the check ins on line and if they gave out itineraries, like professionals, things would be so much more smooth and time efficient). Our first stop with Contiki (who I will never recommend even to my worse enemy, well perhaps them, but just them) was a walking tour of some of Italy to see the Pantheon, Trevei Fountain, Spanish Steps. Sure wish I got to see them cause I got left behind. The tour guide did not explain that following him would be like an episode of the Amazing Race. By the end of the tour only 10 people (out of 55) were still with him. Note to Contiki, you have failed if you lose over 75% of your tour group!

But my loyal sister stayed behind with me and we had a fabulous time on our own. I began my two pound weight gain with pizza (the yummy memories still haunt me), pistachio gelato and wine of course. Always wine…(up next, shopping and Florence and boys, oh my)

Black Women Are Ugly?

2011-05-31T09:32:00.000-07:00

(my misadventures in Italy will be continued but I had to comment on this first)

We were enslaved, raped, had families ripped apart, struggled for success, have a low chance of getting married, now we’re ugly? Well that’s the case according to my new arch enemy Psychology Today and their pseudo study regarding why black women are less attractive than women of other races.

I am angered by the audacity of the piece and the magazine for validating it by publishing it (seriously I am breaking a sweat trying to find a publisher but you can print this crap?). I have to ask myself why the writer felt the need to even study this topic but the question doesn’t remain unanswered long.

Somewhere the Black is Beautiful idea fell to the way side when it came to women (note: the alleged study says black men are the most attractive race of males but uses stereotypes to support this). Our media (movies, music videos, TV, magazines, modeling industry) kicked us to the background in support of a repeated pattern of light (mixed, Latina, white), long, straight haired women.

Lucky for me I grew up right before this movement took hold but by the time I graduated college, if you were a hippy, dark skinned girl with kinky hair you were hard pressed to find anyone shouting your beauty besides other women trying to uplift each other.

And the swarm of black male actors dressing as black women didn’t help that image either. Especially when these women were all obese, ghetto and unattractive. I mean when men dressed as white women in the movies at least their characters tried to look cute (from Some Like it Hot to White Chicks).

And when you see a swarm of black men, especially those with money/fame/success, go for white women and then learn the rate of black women getting married is only 40% no wonder some idiot decided to take notice and comment about it. With such negative images of black women about of course there must be something to it!

It’s not really about our looks but the way we are looked at! America, not just black women, has a problem with obesity (and Hispanics rank as the number one obese group). So it’s not just the weight. It’s the battle we have with trying to fit an image that is not intended for us to fit. And yes, I could encourage black women to take off the weaves, and in other countries stop bleaching their skin but that won’t solve the problem.

Black Girls Rock, yes but we have got to get some buy in from others. On a purely superficial stance how can you say that we are less attractive? We have some great beauties of color from Naomi Campbell to Lela Kibede, Gabrielle Union, Kerry Washington, Tyra Banks, Nia Long, Sanna Latham, Keri Hilson, Beyonce, Iman, Dianne Carroll, Stacey Dash, Megan Goode (heck even those reality show women are cute). Seriously?

I’ve had men of other races (at least three times I can remember) literally tell me that they usually aren’t attracted to black women but that I’m an exception. Are you kidding me? The reality is you are attracted to black women but you just haven’t encountered many in your day to day that you find attractive. I’ve seen a cute guy of every race so I never rule out a group no matter how rare it is that I see them. The fact that men feel comfortable even saying that to me is the problem I have with this article all together.

When did it become okay to dehumanize black women? Who said our feelings don’t get hurt and why doesn’t anyone care but us?

If you’d like to sign the petition against Psychology Today to issue an apology please click this link. http://act.colorofchange.org/sign/psychtoday

The Misadventures of a Globetrotting Type A Cosmo Girl Part One

2011-05-26T17:37:00.000-07:00

So I’ve been gone for a minute but I’ve got good reason, I was in Italy and far away from internet. Okay, Italy has internet but, sorry folks, I had to be out and about rather than in some café clacking away at a keyboard. I didn’t use internet or phone while gone and you know what, I didn’t miss it. Not even my TV (although you can bet I spent about two days catching up on my DVR’d programs when I got back, I wasn’t missing the Smallville or Oprah series finales for no one!).

Anywho, here’s the breakdown of my trip: I went to Italy via US Airways on a Contiki tour to see Rome, Vatican City, Florence, San Gimingnano, Pisa, Verona and Venice (and back to Rome) in that order.

Day One (Clonk Clong… that’s the Law and Order sound, trust me it’s needed):

Departure (also titled Why I Will NEVER Fly US Airways Again, tell your mother, tell your sister, tell your brother, father… because all I really know is that they don’t really care about us (song in the key of the Michael Jackson song).

Why? Well there’s a reason why US Airways was ranked DEAD LAST by customers as far as airlines.
So we get to the airport and are told that our flight to Charlotte, NC is delayed and we may miss the flight there that will take us to Rome. Instead the US airways agent tells us to take a cab (on their dime of course) to Philadelphia to catch a similar flight straight to Rome. Now we are about an hour and a ½ from Philly and the flight is in a little over 3 hours but we figure if they are telling us to go we should listen. They’ll look out for us because why would an airline lie?

We call US Airways while in route and let them know of the situation so they can have things ready for us (ie a new ticket, maybe an escort to skip lines since we’re running late). We get there, nothing done and no one knew to expect us. Thanks, BWI airport! The lady at check in has a nasty attitude and complains that “they do this all the time” but she is not getting us on this flight. If I wasn’t afraid of jail I would have set it off in there! The agents were less than sympathetic with one bamma stating that we have to make a decision whether we are going to accept another flight that will get us there half a day later but it doesn’t really matter to him because he gets off in half an hour. (Seriously I’ve seen OZ and Locked Up, I cannot choke the ignorance out of this man no matter how tempting).

But luckily we were with another flight goer who happened to work in an airport and after much arguing and loud talking got us on our intended flight, which boys and girls, took off two hours late! So I sweated out my straightened hair (no relaxer) running like a track star through security for no good reason. And wouldn’t you know that I was unable to get my chi iron to work the whole time I was in Italy so the roots were real shakey!

Anywho we made it on the plane in whatever left over seats we could get. Mine was next to a very pleasant older Italian lady who, let’s say spilled over into my seat so comfort would not be in store for me on this eight hour flight. But you know what, after all we went through, I wouldn’t care if they put me in cargo (okay, no that’s not true, I’d have raised some hell and a half). I practiced some Italian with her and watched in avid curiosity as she ate not only her whole in-flight dinner but her husband’s (who we dubbed the Feeder). I thought perhaps she had a problem and needed to eat that much and was wondering if I should offer her my food.

However, I was on my way to Italy. Excitement awaits! First stop, Rome! To be continued!

I Gotta Go...

2011-05-09T19:17:00.000-07:00

May 9, 2011

I am always moving. This is one reason, of many, I can’t buy property just yet. I get irked by something and have to jet. I’ve yet to find that place that I want to stay for a couple of years. I liked a high rise I lived in Baltimore in their arts district a few years back but then my former roommate (Grr, you know who you are) had to move out and silly me thought I couldn’t afford it on my own (which I later discovered I could especially after getting a raise at work). Anywho I’ve jumped from place to place in the last 3 or 4 years and I am tired! But atlas, my journey is not over and I must bounce yet again.
Now my reasons are good, namely, because I live below a person with a dog and I firmly believe that unless the apartment walls and floors are made of concrete no one should have to live under a dog. Every time I see that dog I want to kick it (and someone will have to watch me because I just might when I’m moving out). I used to kind of like dogs until I moved here.

I’m also moving because the commute to work is long. I got a new job and my old commute which was okay has now become annoying. A 1 hour or more each way commute is just not for me. I can do 40-45 minutes tops. Call it psychological but that 15 minutes makes a difference to me.
My final reason is my neighborhood. I want to be within walking distance to nice shops and restaurants and I like a sense of class in my surroundings. I like to take long walks in my neighborhood and not be honked at by cars (including buses!), have men pull up to me in their cars like I’m a street prostitute (okay, come on women can walk the streets without being street walkers especially b/c I’m wearing workout gear!), be glared at by unfriendly faces for reasons unknown (exercising while black, haters, whatever) or see the following odd sights:

Man with kid in shopping cart with no groceries, going away from the grocery store

Man in overalls with no shirt and a top hat taking pictures

Mexican food truck (it’s too hot for all that , where is the ice cream man?)

Cat’s everywhere. I see them on the roof of the apartments, coming out from under cars and gutters, jumping out of bushes. Whose cats are these, why are they roaming free? Unless they are going to kill the impending stink bug invasion, somebody needs to round these felines up and take them somewhere!

So, yes I’ve got to move, I will be notifying my leasing office that I won’t renew. Sorry but I’m heading to new places and hopefully, I can stay put there for a couple of years until I buy. Here’s to hoping I find a place that’s not noisy, is bug free, not ghetto, near shops, and won’t make me apartment poor! A gal can dream can't she

P.S. I'm going to be offline for a couple of weeks but when I get back I'll have lots to share and will tell you all about it.

picture from http://www.centennialmoving.ca/

Music I Catch In Commercials

2011-05-04T18:01:00.000-07:00

May 5, 2011

As a writer music always inspires me as I've posted before. I get scenes in my head for my novels just by hearing a song or it puts me in a mellow mood to focus on my writing.

Here are a few songs I've caught in commercials that I really like out right now.

Rock Mafia (The Big Bang) (heard in Mob Wives intro)

Aloe Blacc- (I Need Dollars) (heard in Boost Mobile Commercials)

Florence and The Machines (heard in the Water for Elephants movie promo)

Any commerical/TV show songs that you like? Look out for an all time favorites posting!

We Look Too

2011-05-01T10:59:00.000-07:00

May 1, 2011

A friend recently sent an email out taking an informal survey regarding whether women could determine if someone is attractive simply by looking at them. I’ve heard time and again (and may have said this myself) that women can’t determine whether a man is attractive just by looking. That we need to know them a bit first. This is not totally true. See , I think women can clearly look at a picture of a Flava Flav and say, hmm, not for me. Or a picture of a Laz Alonso or a Bradley Cooper and say- that there is a hot man. What we can’t say (well not all of us) is “I want to get with that man”.

For most women we need to get a sense of their personality (even if fictional) or see them in action to get an idea of whether we are attracted to them. This is why so many “okay” looking musicians, comedians, athletes and politicians get a lot more attention from women than their physical attributes would predict. Women place looks in contexts. Hardly anybody was saying Robert Pattison was hot when he was in Harry Potter but all of sudden he’s hot because of Twilight? I’m not into him at all but I thought he looked more attractive in the Potter movie and even his new movie Water for Elephants (and he wasn’t pale and sparkly, seriously a sparkly man is hot?) The thing is, vampires are apparently hot and therefore, Robert Pattison as a vampire is hot.

Context, get it?

Teen girls hang pictures of the Jonas Brothers or Justin Bieber on their walls because the boys are allegedly cute celebrities whom they have seen in action (say in an MTV music video). Teen boys might hang a picture of a video vixen or play mate they just saw in a male magazine simply on the hotness factor alone. Not to say it’s impossible for a girl to put up a picture of a hot unknown guy on their bedroom wall but if she’s daydreaming about a guy, it’s someone she knows or has seen in action (acting, singing, playing a sport) not Mr. February in last month’s issue of Cosmo magazine.

I suspect that a man can look at a woman and say “I’m attracted to her, I want to get with that” and not know a darn thing about her (it’s the basis of how many movies?). This is why I've heard guys say women who are stuck up or mean can get a lot of guys to put up with their drama even at the early stages of dating if they are hot enough. Whereas a woman won’t put up with that crap even if he’s hot (but she might if she was desperate for a man or wanted his status/money).

Now I know many a guy just wants us to admit that looks matter to us just like it does to men and it does, but not to the same degree. Our make-up isn’t programmed like that and it makes sense. Historically, men wanted a pretty face to help take their minds off the world’s troubles and women wanted a provider to make them comfortable so that they had time to keep themselves looking good to help said men take their minds off the world’s troubles. Now as the gender roles are changing, I think looks are becoming more of a focus with women but still not as much as men think because the desire for marriage and love overpowers the pettiness of wanting a man with a chiseled body. But the key remains that women still want someone they are physically attracted to. I just think women have different standards of what’s attractive based on other influences than what the eye sees alone.

Hairstyles I Wish Would Go Away Never To Return

2011-04-26T18:18:00.000-07:00

April 26, 2011

Admittedly this list is short but the fact I have to even post it is enough! I shouldn't still be seeing these hairstyles but atlas they keep rearing their ugly heads! Grr

Gelled Fingerwaves- this was a popular hairstyle in the early to mid 90s (and before then in the 20s but in a much less gelled fashion) but almost twenty years later I am still seeing women rock this do. No, I refuse to believe it is making a comeback until I start seeing Rhianna, Beyonce or MJB sporting it. Till then stop it! Soft waves-yes, hard gelled waves- NO!

Jeri curl- this should never have been popular in the first place. It’s a chemical so it wasn’t healthy for the hair and you got jeri curl juice everywhere (who doesn’t remember the scene in Coming to America). I seriously can’t imagine anyone still rocking this do but the fact that the products are still sold in stores leads me to believe otherwise…

Bowl cuts- an unfortunate cut from the 70s (if you were a child). Unless you are playing the serial killer in No Country for Old Men, I don’t want to see it. I know some models were bringing it back but it’s not cute! R.I.P. darnet!

Braids with beads in them- especially if you are an adult. Knock it off. Let it stay in the 70s and 80s where it was tragically popular. And while you’re at it take bantu knots and those old school Janet Jackson braids with you. I’ve seen too many folks today wearing them. Not cure.

Fade- Why, am i seeing young guys with this hairstyle? Leave it in the 90s where it was acceptable. It’s just not flattering, spread the word! Even Steve Harvey dropped the fade (finally!) I need more time before I see this style again!

Asymmetrical cuts– lets stop this. Having a gorgeous cut on one side and some foolishness on the other side is not attractive. You do realize Pepa of Salt and Pepa who started this trend only did it after getting her hair burned off so it’s not a hair style of choice…

Old man Afro- unless you are a Fredrick Douglas impersonator I am really confused about why you think this is nice looking. And this goes to you too women! Looking like Florida Evans from Goodtimes should not be your goal. Just stop it!

Okay that’s all my blood pressure will allow me to write. Any other hairstyles that should be dropped kicked back to the past?

Make Me Over

2011-04-24T07:33:00.000-07:00

April 24, 2011

Every once and awhile I will ostracize the male readers and focus on the girlie side of life. I am a make up gal to the heart. I’ve been wearing make-up since I was 13 and while I didn’t go all cover girl immediately, I’ve learned a thing or two in the time since. So thought I’d share on some of my findings. This way you can avoid my mistakes and save some dough! Each one teach one and all that!

This month's focus: mascara.

If there is only one makeup product I could take with me on a deserted island it would be mascara. It’s an instant eye opener with or without eye shadow and liner. Anytime I see a new mascara advertised I rush to buy it. I think I may have a problem… Here are my takes on few out now

$7.99

• Cover Girl Lash Fusion- A mascara that volumizes and lengthens?! I’m all over it! And I have to say I like it, I like it alot. I can wear it to work or add a few more coats and go out on the town in it at night.

• Loreal Voluminous Million Lashes – It’s advertised as a mascara that will make your eye lashes thick and pretty. And it does, except with that volume comes flaking and this girl hates a flake! No one wants to step out thinking they are glamorous and then look in the bathroom mirror and find a bunch of black crap under their eyes. For that reason, I can’t recommend this.

$5.94

• Maybelline Falsies- This is supposed to give your lashes the look of eye popping false lashes without actually having to go through the pain of getting false lashes. And while I think that the claim is exaggerated, this is my all time favorite night time mascara so far. I particularly love the Black Drama version. My eyes instantly pop and the lashes do look glam. I’ve also been complimented with it on. Sold!

• Maybelline Great Lash - This classic always works for me. Great for work or night life. It’s always ranked highly in magazine reader’s polls and sometimes, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

• Cover Girl Eyelights- This is supposed to make your eyes look brighter. I don’t know how but it didn’t work for this brown eyed girl. On to the next one!

$7.49

• Rimmel Max Volume Flash- This brand from London is pretty good. The Cosmo girl that I am loves the one in Black. Brings a pop to the eyes!

• Maybelline Stilettos- if you can’t tell, I’m a Maybelline gal. Of all the drugstore makeup brands this is my favorite. Stilettos is great for night or day and the volumizer one is as good as the Covergirl Fusion.

• Maybelline One by One- Now I’ll praise Maybelline but I’m not a blind follower. I actually don’t like this one. It’s supposed to really coat each lash for volume. But I was underwhelmed by the outcome. I kept putting more and more on for an effect but that was just a sign that this is not the one for me.

$14.50

• Clinique Lash Doubling Mascara- You thought I hated on department store brands? Nope. I actually love Clinique skin care line (to discuss in another post) and tried this mascara as a free gift. This is a good day to night one as well and doesn’t clump or flake.

• Mascara with glitter(sometimes called diamonds) or color- I don’t like them of any brand. It gets messy and just looks like you have a crumb in your eyelashes. I find it annoying…

If there are any mascara brands you want to share. Be an enabler and fill me in!

This is a Man's World...When it Comes to Dating

2011-04-21T21:32:00.000-07:00

April 22, 2011

I’ve come to the conclusion that when it comes to relationships it is much easier to find a woman who wants to be in a relationship/marriage than it is to find a man who wants the same. Except in shows like How I Met Your Mother, you rarely find a fairly attractive, successful guy running desperately around the city trying to find the love of his life. However women have had books, plays and TV shows around this notion since at least the time of Jane Austin. I firmly believe that if a guy woke up one morning and decided that he was ready to be in a committed relationship it would not take him as long to encounter Ms. Right (or at least Ms. Seemingly Right) as it would for a woman.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying a man thinks it and so shall it be done. Monday if he says “Gee, I’d like to be in a loving relationship” it’s probably not going to happen by the end of the week. Maybe not in a few months but it’ll happen before big time frustration hits him. And he doesn’t have to change who he is, like society suggest women should, to make a relationship happen either. If a guy meets a girl, and he desperately wants to settle down, he will start from first date to do what he has to do to make it a relationship leading to marriage. If a guy wants it, it will come.

For women, the big lottery hope is that if you are a woman bent on being in a relationship, the easiest and best scenario is to meet a guy who is really wanting that too. A woman can cook, keep in shape and do all she needs to “secure” a relationship, but if she’s not with the guy mentioned in the previous paragraph she may have a battle on her hands to reach monogomy. Since most men don't grow up playing pretend wedding the odds are against women that they are going to reach marriage at the time they thought they would and have to "manage expectations".

And since society puts it on the man to make the decision when or if the two get married or become monogamous (via the proposal or the talk about the status of the relationship), we are left with even less control unless we buck tradition but that's a strong hit or miss and for me not perferable, I want the whole on the knees ring please!

Now the reasons for this current state of affairs are many (urbanization, media, Playboy) and can be discussed at another time. But I will say this, we women should not have to bend over backwards in hopes that a guy will choose us if he is not doing the same for us (life is not a full time episode of The Bachelor). Men may hold more power but if they want a quality woman that doesn’t mean they can be lazy either because women still have the power to say no.

art: http://www.cliparttoday.com/ , http://www.toonpool.com/

The Pimp Slap Awards

2011-04-17T17:12:00.000-07:00

April 17, 2011

Okay, Type A Cosmo girl does not condone unprovoked violence of any kind (unless it’s to a bug; I have no sympathy for them, since to me they are disease spreading trespassers). However, in comedic theory, if I were the aggressive type who had no fear of incarceration or building bad karma, I believe these people would be well deserving of an old school ,70’s blaxplotation, pimp slap…

1. People who talk too loud on the subway, movie theater, office. Really any public place, especially early in the morning. Why must you talk loud? No one needs to know that someone is kind enough to respond back to the words coming out of your mouth! Raises my hand…

2. People who are aggressive drivers or drive in such a way that makes me look like I am an aggressive driver (because of course I’m not!), especially those who don’t signal before jumping in front of me or jump in front with hardly any space for them causing me to veer off the lane or road. A pimp slap awaits you.

3. Verizon tech support service. Seriously you close after 9 (earlier on Saturdays) and aren’t open on Sundays? What kind of hillbilly foolishness is that? So if my service stops working Saturday after 5pm I’m out of luck until Monday morning? Even Comcast has around the clock service. Everyone over there, stand up in a single file line so it’s easier for me to slap you all.

4. To the woman who has my same name and almost the exact same social security number but horrendously bad credit- you got one coming. It took me several months to clear my credit when the lazy credit reporting companies just assumed you were me (even though the information is not the exact same and there were judgments against you before I was even born).

5. Lazy people. It’s a recession and you act like you don’t have to worry about keeping your job. Trust me; there are a lot of unemployed people out there willing to work hard to get the job done. And a pimp slap wake up call for you!

6. Teenagers.

7. Men who cat-call very inappropriate things especially when I’m on my way to work or with colleagues or on a date. It’s embarrassing. A pimp slap to you good sir!

8. Loud neighbors. I shouldn’t have to feel that I live below a minotaur. If you can’t walk like a regular human and not at obscene hours of the night, then stay on the first floor! Knock, knock, opens door, *pimp slap*

9. People who walk slow in front of you, particularly when you are getting off the subway or trying to get on or up the escalator to catch your train. I actually don’t want to pimp slap these people. I just want to pick them up Incredible Hulk style and toss them aside. Is that wrong?

10. Doctors and Hairdressers who make you wait a long time even though you have an appointment. If I wasn’t civilized and didn’t want to get seen at a particular time I wouldn’t have made an appointment. Otherwise I would have shown up whenever I wanted and headbutted anyone who was in front of me. But nooo, I follow the rules and end up waiting an extra hour to be seen. If only I could enlist the aid of my trusty pimp slap…

Who would be on your pimp slap list?

I Love the Night Life

2011-04-15T17:06:00.000-07:00

April 15, 2011

And the day time. So I’m that elusive mix of early bird and night owl (I enjoy naps in the middle of the day, thank you). Especially in the warm weather. I love to get out in the early weekend morning with the cool breeze, bright sun and quiet before the hustle and bustle. The best is going to an outdoor market or for a long walk (well not too long, walked so far once I was contemplating taking a cab back). And in summer evenings I love getting dolled up and hitting the town all Sex and the City like with my pals and sipping girlie drinks and eating light bites in the outdoor section of the restaurant (the bugs have usually gone away so I’m not having to swat them away and ruining my appetite).

So if you’ve read my previous post where does a cosmo girl with a type-A personality like to roll at night in the relatively big city? Well, I can’t do crowds so thick my hair changes textures and I start to sweat (if I wanted a workout I’d have worn my gym clothes). I have to sit, afford the drinks, like the crowd (no disrespect, violence or skankery) and like the music (I have a limit on the amount of Little Wayne and crew that I can hear). The theme for me is bar/lounge not mega club. Here are just some of my stamped with approval spots in no particular order.

Marvins – (U St corridor)- first you have to like a place named after and with a focus on the late great Marvin Gaye. I like the music - on the first floor marvin classics of course, and on the second floor in the outdoor heated rooftop and indoor lounge is 70s-90s R&B and hip-hop (any place that plays Groove Theory gets an A in my book!) The food is yummy (first time trying chicken and waffles with collard greens and it agrees with me, haha!) and the crowd is diverse (age and race) which suits me fine. I’ll go back.

Lounge of Three –(U St. Corridor)- yes, another U street spot, I just like the vibe. The drinks are potent, the bartender is cool (Jeremy’s the best) and on Sundays (my favorite day to go) they have something called Living Room Sundays. You play board games, eat suitable bar grub, rock your body to some rhythms and meet cool folk who like to hang out on a Sunday afternoon.

Science Club (Dupont Circle)– I LOVE the veggie burgers here and the DJ is pretty good (I’ve only been on a Thursday night). In general the mellow vibe is my thing. This is not a dance spot but a fun chill spot for pre-gaming or post gaming.

Millie and Als (Adams Morgan)- generally not a fan of Adams Morgan because parking is a pain and the metro is not really (in my humble heel wearing opinion) in walking distance but on a Thursday I find that this place is just plain fun for karaoke (I sing a mean Love is a Battlefield), the crowd is great, and the drinks are really reasonable. Can’t beat that.

Wonderland Ballroom- (Columbia Heights)- yes this is in a “transitional neighborhood” but I actually like residential areas in the city, not as congested (in theory) but still near all the action. Wonderland is a cool, eclectic spot with all types of folk who want to chill, dance, have a reasonably priced drink and not have to wear heels out (some days I want to really dance but I can’t move like Beyonce in heels so I needs my flats).

More to come in future postings so stay tuned! I’m always searching, so if you have suggestions please do share. Preferably in the DC metro area but I’m always traveling so knowing spots in your neck of the woods is great too!

Black Movies You Might Want To Check Out

2011-04-12T17:32:00.000-07:00

April 12, 2011

Since lately we can only get a trickling of black movies in between Tyler Perry’s Madea Domination (what happened to the Jumping the Broom advertisements after the Madea’s Big Happy Family ones started to show, what there can’t be two black movies advertised on TV at once?), I thought it only appropriate to highlight under the radar black movies that do not involve a man dressed as a large unattractive smart mouthed black woman and that didn’t get much play or any play in the theaters or BET/TV ONE (sorry Three Can Play That Game won’t be listed). Here are some of my favorites:

1) Love Sex and Eating the Bones: It has Hill Harper in it. Nuff said. Okay, a little more. It’s a romantic comedy which usually isn’t my thing but I gave it a shot this time around and liked it and its original plot line.

2) I’m Through With White Girls – now the title kind of put me off but I took a chance and I found the movie so adorable. It diffinetly went against the stereotypical roles of blacks in film. The main character is a black comic book nerdish guy who only dated white women because they were what he encountered in his world. Then he meets a black woman (biracial really) from the valley and well, you’ll have to check it out. But I’ve seen it twice and would watch it again. And that’s saying a lot for a girl that hates rom-coms.

3) Cadillac Records - not sure how many folks got to see this movie about the company but I can say I didn’t mind Beyonce’s performance in this as Etta James.

4) Daughters of the Dust- I remember seeing this movie ions ago as a child. It was on PBS I believe and I thought it was so beautiful and I was fascinated with the Gullah http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gullah people since then. I actually can’t recall what it was about but the images of the island are still with me so if you are into arts cinema, I would recommend.

5) Miracle at St. Anna- A spike Lee joint. He can be hit or miss but if you are into war movies and looking at cute guys (hehe) I’d recommend this one. It actually made me cry.

6) Sparkle - before Dreamgirls there was this 1970s classic and if you are an Envoge fan you will know two of the songs that were originally performed by Aretha Franklin for the soundtrack of this album. "Given him something he can feeel, to let him knoooow this love is reaaal"!

7) Claudine- this is one of the first non blaxpotation movies of the seventies and stars James Earl Jones and Diahann Carol. Worth a look!

8) Cornbread, Earl and Me – just to see Lawrence Fishburne as a kid was enough for me, haha. But I really liked when they made good black books into movies. That’s a rarity now (other than Push) and quite sad because there are plenty of quality authors out there who could have great movies made of their books instead of all these recycled stage plays.

9) Colley High - I swear I was not a child of the 70s but they had some entertaining films then. This was even ranked in Entertainment Weekly’s 50 best High school movies (better have beat High School Musical!)

10) Sarafina!-actually saw this in school and it resonated with me. It’s a musical as well and tells the story of a student protest and apartied South Africa.

Then there are some mainstream ones I implore you to see again: Lean on Me, The Wiz, Higher Learning, Mahogany, Lady Sings the Blues, The Best Man, Posse. Got any to recommend to me?

What's In A Name?

2011-04-10T17:05:00.000-07:00

April 10, 2011

Just finished reading this article I spotted on Yahoo and it got me to thinking- does a name determine your future? We know that there are a lot of cultures that hold special meaning to names because they want their children to be as great as the name they are given.

I’m not convinced that if you are given a certain type of name it will influence the path you take in life. Carlton the Fourth, may sound like a guy who will reach much success on wall street and Shaniqua may sound like your hair stylist from around the way but that doesn’t mean that that is what they are. A guy who is “the fourth” can easily become some loser living in his mama’s basement at the age of 40. And a Shaniqua can become a successful lawyer.

No, I don’t think your name can affect your own personal choices but I do believe it effects what others think of you and that can affect the options that are open to you in the future. For instance I have an older first name and often, to my shock and horror, I find myself receiving newsletters and sign up forms from the AARP. One day soon I’m going to sign up. It’s a recession; I could use the discounts.

Also, my last name is a Jewish last name so I’ve received mailings from Jewish social groups. This was more common when I lived in a large Jewish community so I’m sure it was a combination of the two.

These things are actually harmless and I’m pretty lucky I have a name that’s "ethnically generic". A woman I met shared a story that when she applied for college she did not put in her race. However, when she came to the college she found that they had put in her ethnicity as Latin. This woman was African American; however, she has a first and last name that appears Spanish. It bothered her because she didn’t place in her race because she did not deem it relevant and instead of the school letting her remain undefined, they made a decision based on her name.

I know that if I get a job, no one is assuming my race if they did not interview me prior. As an aspiring writer, I try my darndest to write diverse characters because I don’t want to be pigeon-holed as a writer of color and having a name like mine helps in that goal.

I’m hoping with a unique name like Barack Obama not being a hindrance to his success (although it was much discussed), we can get past any obstacles to help us reach our goals. And one day these names won’t even be worthy of discussion. We give power to our names, not the other way around. And if you don’t believe that, ask Oprah.

We Can Dance If We Want To

2011-04-08T06:45:00.000-07:00

It’s Friday, I’m a single, outgoing, self appointed cosmopolitan girl (who is a bit trapped in the suburbs but that’s a tale for another day). I’m not a 21 year old but slightly older (and if anyone who knows me tells just how slightly older prepare to fear for your safety) but still likes to be out and about. And in the age of Diddy dancing, J. Lo’s legs, Halle’s hotness and Brad’s buffness, well getting older isn’t what it used to be.

And with the new “grown and sexy” crowd comes a lifestyle that wasn’t shown in your old 70s and 80s TV shows. You don’t hit a certain age and all of a sudden sport elastic waist band jeans, white tennis and turtle necks (no, you get those when you’re 3! I’m still bitter about this style insult- thanks Dad). I hated turtlenecks then and I hate them now!

Age is a state of mind and hotness comes along with it. It’s not about acting immature or wearing inappropriate clothing to seem youthful; it’s about personifying the best of you and making it look good. If you need a hint on what growing older with grace and sex appeal looks like check out my inspiration Helen Mirrin. If I look that in shape in my 60s then hit me over the head if I start complaining (okay, don't hit me I will sue).

So you’re hot, you’re feeling energetic, what are you doing on a Friday or Saturday night, staying home and watching repeats of Sex and the City? Sometimes, yes but other times you want to get out and live like the gals in Sex and the City! If you’re in bed by 9pm on a Saturday night, one of several things has occurred: illness/injury, depression, a really good movie, a storm, some company. Otherwise you have the right to party. And if you live in a city like Washington DC, nightlife promoters are starting to see the growing need to supply a sophisticated night life to the late twenties through early 40s crowd.

Now it’s a delicate balance. You don’t want a crowd full of scantily dressed gals and baggy pants wearing boys waiting in line in the cold for 30 minutes. The grown and sexy crowd doesn’t like to wait or be surrounded by kiddies. You don’t want a place with no seats unless you pay hundreds of dollars for reservations. This isn’t Vegas and the grown and sexy crowd needs a break in between songs. You also don’t want mash-ups of 70s tunes or line/hand dancing. The grown and sexy crowd isn’t that grown; we don’t want to party with our parents! We want to see and be seen in our trendy frocks, not wait, sit down, drink martinis (or beer), eat a light bite, listen to Tribe Called Quest and Kanye West and dance to 3am (or just 11pm) if we want to! Generation Xers and Yers, this is still your time!

…Now where are these places? Stay tuned…

There's small then there's this...

2011-04-07T18:25:00.000-07:00

Okay, this woman has a 90 square foot apartment. I know she's in New York but they really don't go this small do they? But I realize that when you only spend $700 in rent in Manhattan where rent can be like $3000 that you get what you pay for but just watching this made me nausuas. I think I'd rather do a longer commute where I could afford the space (like I'm doing now) than live where all the fun is but in an affordable closet!

Furlough...What Would You Do?

2011-04-06T19:03:00.000-07:00

Second Post of the Day!

So this gal works for the federal government and I am batting off worries of the "impending shutdown" with the hope that things will work out. Not that I wouldn't enjoy a few days off but I'd rather they be paid, I mean I have enough leave. And living in the DC metro area is not cheap (someone lied and told this area that we have hype like New York and therefore should charge accordingly...someone heard wrong). Anywho, I wish I just knew already so I can decide if I can do important things this weekend, like go out with the gals for drinks and brunch with mom or in the alternative, walk everywhere and eat some PB&J. Although I could use the exercise and I likes my sandwiches... but only for a short time.

Body Parts: Chapter Five

2011-04-06T17:05:00.000-07:00

comments welcome!

Chapter Five

(excerpt)
Baltimore wasn’t much of a lounge or club town. It had a relatively small number of bars of all levels to choose from and people seemed content with that. However, when a new two floor lounge opened in Federal Hill a few months ago called Bite, people actually stood in line the night of the grand opening and every weekend since. People were not just drawn in because of the drinks with clever paranormal references in their names like Bloody Kiss, Faetini or the Full Moon Cosmo. Nor was it the dark and seductive ambiance of deep red almost brown walls, dark wood floors, suedes, satins and leathers. No, people came because of the vampire owner, Gabriel or Gabe as his friends called him.

He opened several variations of the lounge in other cities which competed with, and usually won against, other paranormally owned night life. However, this was new to Baltimore . Although the city ranked in the top five largest paranormal communities in the country, the paranormal residents usually liked to remain inconspicuous. Gabe didn’t mind being noticed.

For all those who hated and feared the paranormal, there were just as many who were curious and even in awe of them. Some who wanted to join what they believed to be the seductive world of the vampire and have everlasting life. Others who wanted to rub elbows in hopes of an interview or photo op for the newspapers or simply even a subject for a thesis paper.

Marley was only in Baltimore for a little over a week and hadn’t had the opportunity to visit Bite. She was hoping that on a Thursday night it wouldn’t be too busy. However, Bite was located in one of the busiest nightlife sections in Baltimore and on a Thursday night at only 9:30 the place was getting busy.

There was no line yet, only a massive looking bouncer dressed in a tight black suit at the front door which was covered by dark red velvet curtains. She hoped she was dressed appropriately in a closed neck blue halter and dark gray zipped leg skinny jeans. She paired it off with peep toed black heels, a black clutch and hair pulled back loosely in a messy ponytail.

Carlos stood beside her in a simple blue button down shirt, jeans, and black loafers. Marley had to admit he looked pretty hot but she would never tell him that.

She stopped him before they walked up to the doorman. “Okay, you’re going to be good, right?”

Carlos crossed his arms and looked at her sideways. “No.”

Marley sighed. “Oh come on, you told Tyson you wouldn’t cause any trouble. How are we going to talk Gabe into joining us if you sit there scowling at him?”

“Tyson should have done this.”

“Tyson and Cassie were unsuccessful and Gabe and I go way back. He’s like family. And he’d be encouraged to join if he knew your alpha trusted you enough to join. Plus you’re my partner and we have to do these things together. He’s harmless really.”

Carlos gave her a disgusted look. “He’s a master vampire and he’s rogue. He’s trouble.”

Marley shook her head and took him by the arm. “Come on McGruff, slap on a smile and do your job. No one said it’d be easy.”

They walked to the bouncer who glared down at them from his over 6 foot 5 frame. “Hi, I’m Marley and this is my guest. Gabe should have my name on your list,” she said sweetly.

He gave her a look of disinterest. “ID,” he stated.

They showed him their driver’s license and he parted the velvet curtains apart.

“Should you tell him we’re here?”

“Tell someone inside,” he said in a deep dull voice.

“Thanks for nothing,” Marley muttered as they stepped into the dimly lit club.

“How can any humans see each other in here?” Carlos complained, looking around.

“I don’t think their supposed to.”

“You think humans and vampires meet up here for ‘donation’ purposes?” he asked, making quotation marks with his fingers.

Marley nodded. “Probably. It’s a safe environment and Gabe has some V.I.P. rooms for that. He also makes sure the humans have their vampire blood donation cards.”

Marley grabbed Carlos by the left wrist and guided him to a bar on her right around a small crowd of people dancing to the blaring house music playing. She waited patiently for the male bartender’s attention. “Is Gabe here? He’s expecting us. My name’s Marley,” she said.

“He’s around here somewhere. Can I get you a drink?” the bartender replied with a blank look.

Marley sighed and shook her head. She turned to Carlos who was busy looking around at the crowd. “I see some wolves in here,” he said.

“Great,” she stated as she took out her cell phone and began to text Gabe her location.

"I also see fairies and other lycans here. He must be making a killing. It’s like neutral ground here. Everyone comes in and doesn’t hide who they are. Just here to have a good time,” he stated, awe in his voice.

“That’s Gabe’s thing. That’s why I don’t get why he would say no to this group,” she said, closing her cell phone. “It’s like he’s broken the high school barrier in the supernatural community.”

Carlos frowned and looked at her. “The what?”

Marley raised her eyebrows and leaned against the glass bar top. “You never heard that before?”

Carlos shook his head. “Enlighten me.”

“All the major groups fall into your typical high school cliques. Vamps are the rich snobs, wolves are the jocks, fairies are the emo types, panthers are your artsy types, witches are the hippies, leopards are the outsiders, lions and tigers and bears; oh my; are the bullies, birds are the goody two shoes, the rats are the thugs, the hunters are the hall monitors or the principals,” she explained matter-of-factly.

Carlos frowned again. “Who has time to think of things like that?”

Marley quickly shook her head. “Hello, don’t you watch OH?”

Carlos sighed in frustration. “What?”

Marley spread out her arms. “Otherwordly High!” she yelled. “It’s the number one show on Fox.”

Carlos scratched his head. “If I don’t need to watch it for work then it doesn’t get seen by me.”

“Tragic,” Marley replied, giving him a sad face.

“It’s just all so different,” Carlos said, straining his neck as he looked around the lounge with burgundy painted walls that held pictures of popular vampires and mahogany floors.

Marley chuckled. “You don’t get out much do you? This club is no big thing in bigger cities like L.A. , New York or Chicago. You should see the night life in Vegas!”

“Yeah, my nightlife is pretty tame. I usually stay in and watch a movie with my girlfriend, Dorothy if I‘m not on the nightshift at work.”

“Her name’s Dorothy? Really?” Marley nodded slowly. “What is she like 70?”

Carlos frowned at her. “Yes. She’s a werewolf too.”

“Figures,” Marley replied, snorting.

“Are you seeing anyone?”
“No.”
Carlos turned his head from her. “Figures.”

Marley huffed and turned from him. “Ass.”

Carlos grinned and tapped his foot to the beat of the now hip hop music blaring through the speakers. A DJ located in a small booth hanging from the ceiling in the center of the club caught his eye. There were no steps or ladder to get him up there. He probably flew.

“What do you think he is?” he asked.

Marley turned, face annoyed, and looked up to where Carlos was looking. “Well not many beings can fly or jump that high, so some simple deduction might say an older vampire. Or maybe some type of flying lycan like a were bird although those are very, very rare. Fairy maybe. Do some detective work.”

“Well, I can’t pick up his scent from this far down and with this many people around. Just too many scents.”

“Slipping already?” Marley stated as her phone vibrated.

Carlos shrugged. “You could feel free to try or are you just not that skillful?”

Marley glared at him as she grabbed her phone from her pocket. “You know, I don’t like you.”

Carlos grinned. “I can’t help but not care.”

She flipped her phone open to see a text from Gabe stating that he was on the second floor near the pool table. “Come on,” she said.

Yes, I Do Exercise

2011-04-03T18:16:00.000-07:00

I know, I’m a black woman, who exercises, how did that happen? More importantly why is it that some folk are so surprised or encouraged to hear about it? Now, as you hopefully know by now, I am not a big proponent of stereotyping but the reality in most areas of our fair country is that there are far less black women getting our Jane Fonda on than are.

And it’s not because we are inhumanely healthy or are born with fast metabolisms (that’s a rare diamond deal). We just aren’t doing it. At least not enough.

Now I live in a little area where black women and Latinas are showing up at the gym in full force and most of my instructors happen to be black women. However, outside my little world I know there are far too many of us using the same excuses to avoid the gym.

You don’t want to pay the fee for a gym.

You don’t want to ruin your hair.

You’ve got too much to do.

It’s boring to workout.

Here’s my response:

Don’t pay the fee for a gym, workout at home. In an age of Netflix, Comcast on demand, fit tv, PX whatever, you can do this at home while watching Grey’s Anatomy if you like.

Hair, okay, I’d rather go around with my Rudy Huxtible hair for a few days a week and look toned than have a fabulous do’ supporting my many chins.

Like jello, there is always room for working out. I’ve seen people at the gym on bikes/treadmills/ellipticals, reading school work as they go. Cook for the week on the weekends so you don’t have to rush home to make dinner, workout in the mornings before your day gets away from you. Walk your dog, walk your kids, walk your husbands, just get out there! Where there is a will, there is a way!

As for boring, boo, there are so many types of workouts that there’s something for you. I was able to still workout when I had a broken toe and was in a walking cast for three months (I just did Pilates).

No excuses. Now go out there and prove them wrong. Sistas know how to work it and work out!

I Wish This Was An April Fool's Day Joke

2011-03-31T19:43:00.000-07:00

So my friend put me on to this article that truly appalled me.

The main take away of the article is that there are more black men in prison today than there were enslaved in 1850.

Now let’s be clear, there are some circumstances that make this fact more realistic. One mainly being that the population of African Americans is higher than it was over 150 years ago. But black males make up about 40% of the prison system, while I don’t believe we even make up 15% of the population in this country.

The author behind this information suggest much of this imprisonment is the result of the War on Drugs and its clear to those who have done the research that there is a bias in certain punishment for crimes usually perpetrated by blacks as opposed to whites (ex. The great crack v. cocaine debate and their differing prison sentences). Now I could go deeper and write a dissertation on why I believe more black men are incarcerated than ever before (the effects of slavery, one parent homes, economic injustice, slave mentality- take your pick) but I just want to focus in on the effects of this statistic.

1) Prison has the same effects as slavery; most importantly one becomes disenfranchised. With so many behind bars and the fact that we have lesser numbers, it is more important than ever that the few of us who can, vote. The 2012 Presidential election isn’t so far away…

2) Continued rise in low numbers of black women reaching the alter and kids having a biological father in their lives. (That’s assuming you are only interested in dating within your race, if so, the outlook can be cloudy with a chance of rain). How encouraging is it to say that you’re dad is in prison?

3) Continued overall lower education of a group which naturally leads to less socio-economic power and, for many, crime/prison.

4) Growing pattern of stereotyping and racism. Because as we all should know, if something is done enough times by a person or a group, the expectation will become that many members of this group are similar.

I work in an aspect of civil rights and matters regarding discrimination often plague my brain. I watch the news and hear about how two black men murdered another pizza delivery guy for $13 and I ask myself why? Our ancestors fought and died for our freedom yet it seems many are voluntarily, for no righteous reason, putting themselves back into that same type of system.

image from http://www.theformofmoney.blogharbor.com/

The Posterior Problem

2011-03-29T19:27:00.000-07:00

As we close out Women’s History Month, I thought this rant would be befitting as it has plagued me for at least the last ten years of my life. Something technically illegal yet so socially accepted that people are taken by surprise if you are angered by it. No, I’m not talking about jaywalking or speeding, I’m talking about the disrespectful act of slapping a woman on her butt.

The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines assault as the act of committing an unwanted or offensive physical or verbal attack. Altoug the laws vary from state to state on sexual assault unwanted touching of a sexual nature is usually involved. Most women (I won’t generalize) do not welcome getting slapped on the butt, particularly by a stranger, and the act of slapping is by definition an attack, therefore what we have here boys and girls is a common place sexual assault (at the very least harassment) happening to women on a regular basis. We accept it because, as in many situations of assault, we fear repercussion or ridicule.

And let’s be honest, it’s not really happening as we women walk down the local grocery store aisle or head to a work meeting (well not in this decade, although, wait, there are some EEO cases…), we encounter it most often at social gatherings and night life. Therefore, maybe, in that environment, we are welcoming the possibility of such contact, at least that was what I was told by some very understanding males (please note the sarcasm!). Or perhaps we shouldn’t wear such tight fitting clothes or the short skirts that are in right now (hey J.Lo has a body guard, we don’t). Whatever, as if clothes were always the reason for attacking a woman.

And let’s be real, in an age where some men find it okay to grab a woman he doesn’t know by the hand or arm while she’s walking or ask her for a hug (please tell me I am not the only one this happens to) like it’s common place, there isn’t a big leap to sexual assault. Yet, who talks about it? I’m not a mother but if I ever have kids and have a boy it wasn’t at the top of my list to remind them along with opening doors for women that you shouldn’t grab them or smack them on the butt. But maybe we should say it. And maybe we should also tell our daughters (and ourselves) that it’s not acceptable. And while I won’t promote violence like slapping them back…we should report it if it happens at work or at the bar.

We live in a world where women’s bodies are too commercialized and, as a result, not made our own. However, in the great words of Detective Murtaugh from Lethal Weapon “I’m getting too old for this "s*&^”.

And in other words from the Dancehall reggae singer Patra “my property is my property”, so don’t touch!

Images from jonkstuff.blogspot.com and picturesof.net

How To Find Mr. Right...In Three Monts

2011-03-27T15:57:00.000-07:00

Random chapter from my finished novel. Comments are welcome!

Chapter Three

Rule #2: Blind dates are safe ways to meet guys because you have a mutual friend that can vouch for you both.

Let me start by saying Sheila does not do set-ups of any kind. Don’t frame me. I don’t want to be your fall guy or the butt of your joke. And I really don’t want to be hooked up with one of your friends you claim is a great catch but who you really want to pair me up with because of one or all of the following: he is male, he is also black, he is also an attorney, he too wants to get married, you want a couple friend to hang out with and/or he has a car. My answer to that is, boo, I’m not going.

But atlas, the darn rules say give it a shot and this gal was single and sort of ready to mingle so when Greg said he actually had someone for me, well, I said sure. I figure, birds of a feather flock together so surely this guy would be at least cute and successful like Greg.

So here it was Friday night and I was getting gorgeous in my Bethesda, Maryland condo for my blind date with Kevin. We were going out to dinner and a movie. The usual first date activity. I played casual but sexy in my tight dark Seven jeans with black Stuart Weitzman sling back heels I picked up on a business trip to Las Vegas and a silk black collared wrap blouse from Bebe’s. My hair was in a low bun and long dangling gold earrings accentuated my face. I applied shimmer gold eye shadow, mascara, pressed powder, and M.A.C. red lip-gloss expertly. I sprayed on my favorite floral perfume and then examined myself in the mirror. Watch out, Kevin!

I primped some more but then stopped when I heard the doorbell to my apartment ring. I glanced over at my clock. 7pm on the dot. If that was Kevin, I was liking him already.

I sauntered to the door and swung it open. A smile touched my face as I saw an ebony vision stand before me. This had to be Kevin. He was tall. About 6’3. Slender. Dark brown eyes and short black hair. Clean cut with a mahogany complexion. He wore a pair of jeans with a blue collared shirt that fit him right. A dark fitted jacket hugged his upper body. He had to be no older than 30. And I … was… in … love.

“Hi, I’m Kevin, Greg’s friend,” he said extending a hand.

I went to shake it. “I’m Sheila,” I whispered.

“Greg was right. You are beautiful,” he replied and then turned my hand to kiss it lightly.

Well all right. Greg so far would be getting my praises from now on.

“Shall we?” he asked, extending his elbow for me to hook on to.

I had my purse in hand, hooked my arm to his, and left.

This was going to be a wonderful night.

*

Kevin took me to a movie. Some adventure/comedy. I spent half the time sneaking looks at him. I was in heaven sitting next to every woman’s dream, inhaling his masculine cologne.

He then took me to a restaurant in Georgetown where we ate outside gazing at the surprisingly starring night.

We talked some. I found out he was a computer engineer, originally from New York. Had two siblings, parents still together. Had his own house. Loved the Lord. Was world traveled. I was practically salivating and it was not for the delicious looking food put in front of us. This man had it all. And I wanted it. I wondered if he would mind being called James for one evening.

“What’s your take on relationships and love?” I asked, cutting into my steak. I wanted to know everything about him, down to boxers or briefs.

Kevin took a sip of his wine and looked above my head. He was going to answer this like a true politician. I could wait.

“Well,” he began. He put a bite of food in his mouth and chewed. Damn, was my question that hard to answer? I eyed him patiently. He finished chewing. “I think love is a good thing.”

It took him all that long just to say that? Oh, no, there had to be more. I continued to stare at him quietly.

He sensed that that answer would not suffice and then sighed. “I guess Greg didn’t tell you.”

I raised an eyebrow, getting nervous.

“I recently got a divorce. We went through a lot of drama and well, I guess I’m just a little jaded about the whole relationship thing.”

“You can’t give up on love,” I smiled.

Kevin shook his head. “You say that now but wait until you fall in love and have your heart ripped out and stepped on. Let’s see how you feel then,” he replied angrily cutting into his food.

I raised both my eyebrows this time and spoke carefully. “I’m sorry about your divorce. I know it must have been painful. But it takes time to heal from a broken heart and-“

“Heal?” he eyed me with serious hurt in his eyes. “How can I heal something I don’t even have?”

This woman did some serious damage. I secretly cursed Greg in my head. Where had things gone so wrong? Ah, yes, my need to know all about him so soon. Lesson learned.

Kevin continued to talk. “You know why we got a divorce? She cheated on me. Cheated on me?” he said in amazement. “I loved her since we were in high school and she just decides after seven years of marriage that she didn’t love me anymore. Said I didn’t give her enough time. I was always at work. Well, how else was I supposed to keep her in new clothes, jewelry, a big house and an expensive car?”

I shook my head, pissed. She had lived my dream life and foolishly squandered it.

“I’m really sorry that happened,” I said with pity in my eyes.

Kevin was lost in his own world now, looking away from me. “I found her with him you know.”

No, I didn’t know but I didn’t think I wanted to get into it either.

“You know I can see this is still really fresh for you so we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

He turned his head to me, his eyes angry, almost wild with hurt. I was not ready for this. I just wanted a damn escort and possibly a future husband, preferably with the name James. All this drama was unnecessary.

“Women, they don’t care about a man’s feelings. They just want to gut us out for all we’re worth and when we’re left hollow with nothing left to give, they split,” he muttered.

I frowned. “You know Kevin,” I began cautiously. “Not all women are like your ex-wife. What she did was wrong. But we aren’t all like her. Me for instance, I’d never do that.”

“Yeah, you all start off sweet and innocent. Act like you want to do anything for us. Then, bam [he slammed the table with his fist] just like that you turn into she-devils.”

I deepened my frown. Did he know who he was talking to? Now he was getting on my nerves. “Alright now, you need to settle down. I can see you’re on edge but taking your anger out on me, someone you just met, is not going to make things any better. So drink some water and calm yourself.”

He stared at me hard and then his eyes suddenly softened. He looked down at his lap for a long moment. I was unnerved. I clutched my purse tightly, wondering if I should get up and jet while he wasn’t looking. I thought better of it when I remembered he was driving. Damn that, I’d just take a cab.

Kevin’s shoulders began to shake and I heard soft cries coming from him. Was this man crying? In public? Over some tired woman? I didn’t know how I felt about that. In one sense it was not cool, showing a weak, less masculine side of him. On the other hand, it was strangely pulling. He had been so in love with this woman that he was crying for her and in public. I sighed, to have a man love me that much was my dream.

Unfortunately this man, as beautiful as he was, was not in love with me and I doubted he could find love with anyone else anytime soon. At least not in three months. Further, his instability made him someone I wasn’t so sure I could risk taking to the entertainment banquet with me.

I moved my chair next to his and rubbed his back attempting to comfort him while he cried over another woman. If this man could look me in the eyes again after this, I’d still consider having him as an escort if nothing better came along. Who knows, he could be better in three months.

But he barely spoke to me after the check came. We drove home in silence.

He walked me to my door, apologized again for his behavior, and then left, hands stuffed in his pocket like a sad little boy.

I closed the door softly. A bit numb. I wanted to hate him for not being the one and, therefore, wasting my time. But I was sorry for him as well. I had been in love before and I knew how it could hurt. This man had not been ready to date again. So why had he? Greg would tell me, or he would face my wrath.

Short Comment of the Day

2011-03-25T16:38:00.000-07:00

New tool in the battle to lose weight, the proposed 9% tax on alcohol. I'll take a water please, free and no calories!
grumble, grumble

Quick Comment of the Day

2011-03-24T02:56:00.001-07:00

Guy sat down next to me on the metro with a cheap cologne so strong it burned my nose hairs, wish I could drive to work...

Why?

2011-03-22T19:05:00.000-07:00

Is what went through my head when I found out the alleged killer of the young woman slain in the Bethesda clothing store a couple of weeks ago was a black female coworker. Now don’t get me wrong, I am saddened a young woman was killed and a bit relieved that this was not a random act of violence in an area thought to be safe. However, as a black woman, every time I hear about another black person doing something negative, I still cringe. Yes, I know what this person did doesn’t or shouldn’t affect me but lets be honest; even today, many people still judge us by the color of our skin and not the content of our character. Before I open my mouth, there are many people out there who think they know all there is to know about me simply because I am a black woman. I can’t begin to count the many times I’ve had to tell someone not to treat me a certain way based on stereotypes of women or black people or the combination of the two.

Really sir, you’re surprised I’m not an unwed mother?
Yes, I actually dig U2 and many other rock groups, past and present.
Surprising, I know, but I’m actually not after your money.
Yes, it is shocking that I don’t have an unprovoked bad attitude.

The last one really “grinds my gears” because there are so many people (and by people, I mean folks of all races) who fall prey to the idea that black women are mean. And there are many out there ready to exploit that thought to the fullest.

Especially in the media. Shall I count the many reality shows featuring angry, mean spirited black women. There’s Basketball Wives, Housewives of Atlanta, Bad Girls Club, The Apprentice (have you seen Star Jones and Nene Leaks go at it?) random VH1 celebrity dating show. And even shows that focus on black women as alleged friends fall into the “black women gotta hate on each other” routine. Although Girlfriends was what I dubbed the black Sex and the City, rival gangs had closer ties than these women and the series ended with one of the characters never mending her friendship with one of the other ladies (granted she left the series but still… and the show never got an official finale- I don’t want to see it as a stage play like they did for the Jeffersons so they could have some closure to their canceled series. Okay back to the program recently in progress). And don’t get me started on the Game; is anyone friends on that show?

Oh and other shows that feature a black female character (hard to find but there are some) sometimes fall into the routine. For the first few seasons of Grey’s Anatomy, the only black female on the show was called “the Nazi”. Regina King’s character in Southland and Jada Pinkett's character in Hawthorne are both tough but in a good way as one is a good detective and the other is a nurse fighting for her patients and fellow nurses. Still the underlying message is black women can have a tough edge.

And that’s fine if used in a positive light or at the very least shown in as much light as the negative images. Now that Oprah is going off the air, where is the balance? These images affect who wants to date us, hire us, befriend us, and provide customer service to us. And yes, I know that what this girl did in Bethesda wasn't fiction and there are many women who embody the sterotypes we are fighting against just please don't lump me in those same groups.

So how about for every Precious movie we have to applaud let’s send some spotlight to For Colored Girls (I’m sorry, Loretta Divine or Kimberly Elise should have got at least an Oscar nod but I guess they weren’t angry enough) and for every act of violence by a black woman that is televised can we show some positive actions by black women? Hey, if I need to volunteer in Japan to help where I can I would (just someone give me some money to get there and explain to my manager at my new job!). That may be asking too much, I'm well aware but let’s just show some other sides to us, because, like all people, we are not one dimensional!

*steps off soap box...until another day*

Body Parts: A Paranormal Unit Novel

2011-03-21T16:02:00.000-07:00

Okay, here is what I hope is the last big edit in this novel. Here's the prologue, hope you enjoy, comments are welcome!

Prologue
Zombies did not die pretty. Once you successfully killed one, the reanimated monster simultaneously vomited up green bile and released its bowels in one massive revolting mess. Cassie found herself gagging before quickly turning her head and covering her nose from the sight and smell of the dying, rather re-dying, zombie. They are the grossest things, she thought as she quickly walked away, gun pointed, alert and ready for another attack.

Cassie and her fellow paranormal hunters were surrounded by massive revolting messes, which would also be a test in gag reflexes for the supernatural hazardous matter crew coming to clean up the high school later. She didn’t have time to wonder what reanimator or necromancer had determined it was a good idea to wake up the dead at a nearby cemetery and have them attack students at their senior prom. Cassie did know one thing; nothing says goodbye childhood memories like a zombie massacre. Luckily only a few teenagers were hurt and, unlike in the movies, that did not mean that they were infected with some form of zombie making virus. They were infected with other things but that could be cured with a stay at the hospital. In the real world zombies were only formed when they were risen by magic from their graves and if the zombie killed you, you weren’t coming back to join in the undead fun.

“I hate, hate, hate zombies!” Cassie’s teammate Ana, shouted as she sliced through the neck of an oncoming zombie who looked a lot like a back up dancer from The Thriller video. The cut was not clean and she had to chop again, this time severing the head completely. Luckily for Ana, she avoided the green vomit, however, the brown liquid bowel seeping down the zombie’s tattered pants hit the bottom of her black boot and she jumped back in disgust. “When I find whoever set this up, I am punching them directly in their eyes. Several times. With knuckle rings on.” Ana’s eyes suddenly widened. “Duck, Cass!”

Cassie quickly bent down as Ana shot her military grade rifle at the zombie threatening to bite down on Cassie’s neck. Ana hit the female reanimated corpse in the center of her forehead and it went down while at the same time spraying a thick coating of green vomit all over Cassie’s hair and back. Ana cringed and said sorry.
However sorry wasn’t going to help the fact that Cassie was now wearing the cold chunky slime of a corpse's insides. It was at that moment that full clarity hit her. “I quit,” she said in a low voice as she slowly stood up, trying to shake the gunk off her. It was pointless; the stuff was like paste and smelled worse than a skunk. She would need to bathe several times tonight.

“What?” Ana asked leaning in before quickly taking a step back as she inhaled Cassie’s putrid covering.

“I am taking an early damn retirement!” Cassie felt gross and all she wanted was a shower and a burger and of course her mother.

“We got ‘em all,” Tyson stated. He was joined by Marley as he walked over to the pair standing in the center of the gymnasium. He took one look at Cassie and frowned. “You need a towel.”

“I need to leave,” Cassie replied evenly.

“She’s quitting,” Ana said leaning over to Tyson who stood beside her.

Marley raised an eyebrow. “What happened? Besides getting vomited on?”

“What hasn’t happened!” Cassie yelled throwing up her hands, hand gun in the air. The pair ducked out of instinct and she brought her hands down, gun pointed to the ground. “I am still in my twenties. I should be partying, shopping and vacationing in Cancun. Instead I am getting beat up and thrown up on. My mother is dead…”

Tyson softened his face. “Cass, I know it’s hard but you can’t let this break you. You are a gifted hunter. We’ve all faced pain in this line of work but we use it to make us stronger.”

Ana nodded in agreement. “Your life doesn’t suck Cassie. You are protecting the world. Making it a better place to live.”

Cassie scrunched her face. “I’m cleaning up the mess of evil assholes!”

“You have a loving boyfriend,” Ana added.

Marley scoffed and Ana cut her eyes at her which the blond successfully ignored.

Cassie shrugged. “If you say so.”

“Something happen between you and Derek?” Tyson asked.

Cassie rolled her eyes. “He wants me to quit because this work is too dangerous. He said because my mom was killed because of some freak seeking revenge on my father for hunting bad guys, I could put someone I love in danger too.”

Ana shook her head. A voice came over her communicator in her ear saying the rest of the school was clear and they were ready to head out. “Let’s get out of here,” she said and the group turned to leave the gym heading through the back double doors near the bleachers. “You know Cass, you’re dating an alpha werewolf; I don’t think you have to worry about him being vulnerable but I understand where you’re coming from.”

Cassie stopped frowning and looked to Ana as they walked. “I didn’t mean to sound insensitive. I know you’ve been though a lot too.”

Ana nodded. “And I’m still in this business. Running away doesn’t help. Fighting back does.”

“Besides, what else are you going to do?” Marley asked. “You were made for this.”

“And I have some big plans that I need you guys for,” Tyson joined in.

“Well I am in law-“ Cassie suddenly stopped next to the bleachers and tilted her head. “You hear that?”

The others stopped as well and shook their heads. “What’s it sound like?” Marley asked.

Cassie stood back and pointed her gun at the bleachers. “Like the little shit that caused this fuss. Get out from under there!” she ordered.

Seconds passed as the group waited for the teenager to appear but instead of a scrawny kid appearing a drooling, decayed Rottweiler crawled from under the bleachers. Its dark hair was matted with blood and dirt and pieces of its fur and skin were missing in places, exposing raw muscle and bone. Its eyes, like that of most zombies, were clouded in white with greenish crust at the corners.

“Who took him out of the Pet Cemetery?” Ana whispered.

“Not me,” Cassie replied before shooting the creature in the head. Cassie missed its usual song and dance of death as she dove under the bleachers in time to see a body move from under the other side. “He’s out!” she cried, backing up.

They ran from the side of the bleachers in time to see what appeared to be a tall teenage boy run to the other exit doors leading to the interior of the school. “Let me handle this,” Marley shouted.

“No, hon, I got this,” Cassie called running past them in full racer form.
“Don’t kill him!” Tyson yelled to her. “That’s an order!”

“Stop or I will shoot!” she said to the back of the running boy’s head.

He did not slow down as she chased him. Something was not right. She sniffed the air. Something was definitely not right. The boy was almost at the doors. She didn’t feel like running all through the three level high school chasing him down. She pulled another small handgun from her hip holster and fired. The magic laced bullet entered the boys back and he fell to the floor just as his hand hit the exit doors.
“Cassie!” Tyson yelled as they reached her side.

Cassie shrugged. “I didn’t kill him.” She walked over to the boy who appeared unmoving and nudged him with her boot, turning him over. “He’s already dead.”

The group looked down at the familiar gray zombie face, except the eyes were not clouded and he had not reached much decay yet. He was only recently dead. The boy looked up at the group with fearful eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “I’m so sorry.
I just wanted to get them back. They were so mean. I just wanted some revenge.”

“He’s a talking zombie, kay, I’ve seen everything. I really think it’s only appropriate for me to retire now,” Cassie commented, gun still aimed at the undead boy.

“He’s a necromancer who reanimated himself,” Marley surmised. “Probably did a reanimation spell right before he died. Probably by suicide.”

“That’s new. You couldn’t just haunt them? You had to bring friends?” Ana asked the zombie boy.

Marley shook her head. “Duh, Ana, it was obviously a group of people he was seeking revenge against and he had to bring a posse so he wouldn’t be outnumbered.”

Ana opened her mouth with an angry comeback but the boy nodded his head slowly in agreement.

Marley tilted her head. “See?”

Cassie looked to Tyson. “Under the circumstances I don’t think I really need to give two week's notice, right?” She turned and walked around the boy and opened the exit doors. “It’s been real guys but me and the paranormal are officially parting ways!”

“We’ll see you again!” Tyson called. He looked to Ana and Marley. “We’ll see her again.”

“No you won’t!” Cassie shouted back.

Songs that put me in a writing frame of mind...

2011-03-20T15:40:00.000-07:00

If you're the creative type then you know the power of music. It invites emotion and creativity. It can give us energy (if I hear Prodigy's Breathe when I'm driving, I have to be careful my foot doesn't go to0 far down on the gas pedal) or wind us down (if you've ever heard the acid jazz remix of Nina Simone's Feeling Good, that is the perfect summer evening chilling with a mojita song)

Therefore, it's no surprise that music can put me in the best writing frame of mind. I tend to go for slow songs that put me in pensive mood. Nothing I can dance to really, just reflect. Here are some of favorites and why...

1) Sia- Breathe Me and I'm In Here
Sia has a very soothing voice and the instramentals are haunting

Breathe Me

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hSH7fblcGWM

I'm In Here

2) Adele
I love this gal. She is only like 21 yet her voice sounds like she's been around a while. It was hard narrowing it down but I'll go for a song off of her first album.

3)Amel Larrieux
I've been loving her voice since she was in Groove Theory (I was going to audition with her song Tell Me for honor's choir but chose The Wiz Home instead).
This song is so mellow but if you haven't heard of her, I encourage you to check out her other songs as well.

4)Zero 7- Destiny

I love the relaxing theme of Zero 7 songs. This is one of my favorites...

5)Nikka Costa- Push and Pull
I got her first album years ago and loved it. This is one of my favorites but her album is full of upbeat songs as well. Like A Feather is probably her most noticable one but if you've ever seen the Johnny Depp movie, Blow, then you know this song as well...

I have so many more songs, I'll share some more another time but I hope you enjoy the songs above as much as I still do!

How To Meet Mr. Right… In Three Months

2011-03-20T15:24:00.000-07:00

Sheila
Chapter One
Denise looked at me with wide eyes, hands over her mouth as I told her the sad, sad tale of what I like to call The Day I Lost My Damn Mind.
We were having dinner that Thursday evening and taking advantage of the $5 martini special at Mist, a trendy jazz lounge in downtown Washington D.C. After we placed our orders with the waiter, Denise began chatting away about her students; she was a Pre-law professor at one of the state colleges in Maryland; before she broke into a pretty innocent question. “So, I haven’t spoken to you in over a week, what’s been going on?” she asked.
I sighed. “Well I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in several weeks. I mean look at these Louis Vuittons under my eyes,” I answered and then pointed to my offending baggage.
Denise nodded slowly. “I’m gonna take a guess that by Louis Vuittons you mean the dark circles and slight puffiness under your eyes,” she said before muttering, “I don’t know why you didn’t just say that, crazy girl.”
I nodded my head vigorously in anger. “You can see the bags too? My secretary is a liar.”
“So you’re still having problems with sleep, eh? You know, therapist say if you have a problem on your mind it’ll haunt you in your dreams. So have you figured out what’s bothering you?”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Oh yes,” I replied before telling her about how my nightmares finally led to the loss of my senses

It's been a Long Time, I Shouldn'ta Left Ya...

2011-03-20T15:09:00.000-07:00

But I had to pefect my craft (or at least try) before I started to repost. Now I've completed two stories and am aiming to market them. I am also revamping this site to discuss writing and my attempts at getting published, my take on current events, life and love. Enjoy!

Second Chapter

2009-07-01T18:16:00.001-07:00

Method #1: Speed dating can be a fun and quick way to meet guys.
I, Denise Miller, had been suckered into spending a perfectly good Saturday helping my childhood friend Mia Crosby look for bridesmaids dresses. I’d much rather be home stretched out on the couch watching the TV Land Channel. Oh, and by the way, I don’t like TV Land.
I wasn‘t big on spending my whole day shopping. When I went to the mall, I was in and out. Not the diva of shopping, I circled once, maybe twice, around a store and if I didn’t see the “it” that I was looking for, I was gone. But nooo, not Mia, she had to circle ten, twelve times, like we were taking laps around a track, before she could make up her mind. Having all but given up the search, I retired to a chair in the corner of the fourth and, I begged to the heavenly Father above, final bridal shop visit of the day.
Surrounded by racks of poofy gowns, I quickly surmised that I’d have to be either over sixty or under sixteen to look good in any of the dresses. Visions of Molly Ringwold circa Pretty in Pink and Bea Authur as Dorothy in the Golden Girls made me shudder in disgust. I was no slave to fashion but there was a limit.
“What do you think of this dress?” Mia asked as she held up a peach monstrosity.
Blinking my eyes twice trying to shift away the glaze of boredom that had formed over my brown eyes, I studied the dress. It was a long empire cut gown with a square neckline and bell shaped sleeves that stopped at the elbow.
Why didn’t she just give us painted trash bags if she wanted us to look like Cinderella’s wicked stepsisters? At least it’d be cheaper.
I swear if she was still my friend when by some awesome miracle I actually got married, she, and nobody else, was wearing an orange muumuu as my bridesmaid. “If you’re going with the Gone With The Wind look I suppose it’d be fitting.”
“That’s ugly, put that back,” said Juanita Guerra in a disgusted tone, as she walked past Mia looking the dress up and down before plopping down in a seat near me. I thanked her with my eyes and she smiled knowingly. Juanita could say stuff like that to Mia because they were like sisters and if you couldn’t be rude to your sister; who could you be rude to, at least without getting pimp-slapped or cursed out?
“Well, it’s the only thing peach I could find?” Mia whined flinging her shoulder length brown hair.
Whatever. The bridal shop told us that they could dye the gowns on display so she didn’t have to go by color when she picked out the crap she would force us to wear. The heifer just wanted us to look like bad ‘before’ pictures before she strolled down the aisle looking like Miss USA. She couldn’t risk a bridesmaid upstaging her. I couldn’t wait to see the hairstyles she wanted for us. Images of tight French rolls and Shirley temple curls stormed through my mind, forcing me to shake my head and shudder yet again. I swear if she did that to me I was bowing out. Friendship be damned!
Mia finally settled on a dress with a cowl neck front and low back and it clung to every curve and bulge we had. Sigh, guess it was time to actually utilize my gym membership.
Not wanting to argue, I just shelled out the $150 dollars for the dress. I guess I should be happy that she finally even picked out our gowns. She was definitely pushing it on the wedding time clock.
After leaving the dress shop Mia was kind enough to treat her five bridesmaids to lunch at a nice Italian bistro in Baltimore’s Inner Harbor and we ate outside overlooking the water since it was such a beautifully warm April afternoon.
I began to look around, people watching was my favorite pastime, as the five other ladies began to chitchat about love. A natural topic when a wedding was drawing near. I kept my mouth shut. I’ve been single since God said ‘Let there be light’ what could I add?
Yeah, I know, you’re probably saying don’t give up hope. Stay positive. I just keep thinking my chances for love get lower and lower the older I get. Especially because I’m a black, well educated female. I have a higher chance of getting hit by a car while sitting in my living room watching the Sci-Fi network than finding love. Those of us who had found some concoction of love felt as though we had won the lottery and not the scratch off kind either. The big ones. The national news making ones.
Anyway, they wouldn’t ask me anything about my life because they thought I was just uninteresting. When you get in a relationship you get in this whole “it’s all about me and my luva” and you only ask other people about their lives as polite conversation. I mean no one wanted to hear about your job (I was a college Pre-Law professor), or your hobby (writing), or your travel or diet plans. No one cared. They just wanted to know about your love life and if you had one people wanted to talk to you. All of a sudden you were wise now. You could give love advice. They could tell you their dirty secrets. They could double date with you. You were fun!
“So, Denny,” Mia began.
I tore my gaze from a small group of people stepping onto a water taxi and reluctantly turned back to the table.
“Tell us all about the horrors of single dating life,” she inquired, leaning on the table. Everyone looked at me, eyes wide with curiosity. Only Juanita rolled her eyes at Mia, obviously knowing how rude the question was. I guess I should be happy they decided to include me in the conversation but come on!
“I know it must be hard, what with AIDS, STD’s, down low brothers, cheating men and all the other things out there,” said one of the bridesmaids who was married.
Yeah you wench, like none of that can happen to you when you’re married, I thought.
I sighed, looking around at the hobgoblins surrounding me, minus Juanita. “It’s all good. Got nothing horrifying to say.” And that was the honest truth. Wasn’t dating at all for there to be any so-called horror. Picking up my glass of water, I shrugged as I took a sip.
“Well, we’re going to make sure you get a date to the wedding,” Maya said, patting me on the back. “Maybe you’ll connect with one of my Eric’s single bachelor friends.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. It was one thing for me to pity my nonexistent love life but I certainly didn’t want anyone else to. What was it that inhibited my love life? I was on the kinder side of the visual department. I had a caramel complexion, dark brown eyes, curly brown red streaked hair that fell to my shoulders and was 5’4. I weighed more than I cared to mention but my curves were in control. So what was the deal? Maybe Sheila’s little plan would give me an answer. Yeah, right.
*
“This is really good, mom,” Bryant said, while chewing on the crab cakes our mother had made that Wednesday night at her house.
I put a hand to my mouth and made a face, signaling to him that I didn’t enjoy seeing the chewed up contents of food swirl around the inside of his mouth.
He grinned and closed his mouth. Bryant was the closest person to me. Even closer than Sheila. And it wasn’t just because he was my brother.
My brother and I tried to get together at our mom’s once a week for dinner. Which wasn’t hard. I would be hungry and only lived in Baltimore City in a small apartment in Mt. Vernon, not too far away from Mom’s Laurel, Maryland home. Bryant lived in downtown Baltimore as well in the Patterson Park area, working as a graphic designer.
At 27, my brother looked just like a lighter version of my father and I looked like my mother who was absolutely beautiful if I don’t say so myself. At 55, my mother looked at least 10 years younger. She stayed in shape by going to an over 40’s exercise group three times a week, got her weekly pampering (she was the partner of a black accounting firm so she could afford it) at her favorite naturalist day spa and was stylish to boot.
Yes, Ms. Camille was someone to admirer. You put her in the right dress and she looked like a movie star with her well-kept shoulder length bronze colored dreadlocks and perfectly put on makeup.
You put her in the kitchen and she could throw down on the ingredients better than anybody’s mama. You put her in the boardroom and she could capture the attention of all in her presence. She was a very sophisticated Afro-centric earthy woman interested in recycling, burning incense and community service. In fact she used to be a civil rights activist before she married my dad. I thought she was pretty cool.
I glanced over at Bryant chomping merrily away. He was single too but he had a different burden to bear in the dating world. He was gay and although there was a large community in the city, it still didn’t mean he had a wide pool of people he liked to choose from.
My mother was accepting of his sexual orientation, of course, she loved us unconditionally. Another cool point for Mom. Now my father was different. Long story short, my brother “came out” when he was 21. He hasn’t talked to my father since or should I say my father hasn’t talked to him since. Pretty easy to do since my parents were divorced.
“Have either of you ever heard of Speed dating? I’m doing it this Friday,” I informed them.
Bryant nodded. “I did one once. No luck. But I’ll meet up with you after it to find out how you liked it.”
“What is speed dating?” mom asked with a curious frown.
I explained it to her and she raised an eyebrow.
“And why would we want to do that?” she asked as if it were the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard.
“Because we need a date to Mia’s wedding.”
“Uhhh, that wedding. I can’t believe she’s getting married to a man she’s only known for a year and that’s including since they’ve been engaged,” she huffed.
“Guess her wedding clock was ticking.”
“Wedding clock? Her divorce clock gonna be ticking soon after that.”
“It’s good that you have faith in the negative, Mom.”
“Trust me, I know. You have to take time when it comes to love. Don’t want to go and make the wrong decisions,” she said looking away.
Bryant and I eyed each other. We knew who she was thinking about, the one we did not speak of: Dad.
“You and your brother are still single because you want the best and the best takes time.”
“Well my friends seem to think they got the best and it didn’t take them much time,” I commented as I stabbed at my broccoli.
“Well their best isn’t as unique as yours. Would you want any of their men?” she asked before sipping her red wine.
I made a face, then shook my head.
“That’s because you are picky. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. It’s like this children,” she began, putting her wine down. “Your attached friends like ham sandwiches. It’s filling and it doesn’t take that long to make. But you, my dears, like a good steak. And while that is filling too, it takes a little longer to make than a ham sandwich.”
“So you’re saying our friends are happy with losers otherwise known as ham sandwiches?” Bryant asked, leaning into the table.
“No dear, I’m saying that it’s all a matter of taste. And your type is taking a little longer for God to make.”
“Well, let’s just hope that good things come to those who wait,” I stated.
“Well, then speed dating won’t get you good things.” she smiled before sipping her wine.
*
Staring across at the man in front of me that Friday night, I wondered if mom was right about speed dating. Looking past him, I could only pray that time was going fast and that my friend ,Tina Wienburg, was having just as lousy a time.
The trendy Charles street lounge was more popular for their Asian cuisine and local celebrity DJs than meeting guys. I took another sip of what was deemed the best Mai Tai ever and reapplied the smile I’d forced myself to wear.
Just as I thought, there were way too many women and the pickings were way too slim among the men.
The man across from me, named Aaron, was not among those slim pickings. He was black with a mini Afro, had a beer gut, and had to be about 35, at least. When he smiled at me, I realized he didn’t need a dating service; he needed a dental service! Holding a frown back from my face, I not so discreetly stared into his unappealing mouth. A front tooth, yellowish in color, was hanging on for dear life. And certainly if he sneezed too hard it would pop out smacking me in the center of my forehead.
So far, loser after loser had come my way. Some tolerable, some not, but all not my type. Didn’t they screen the guys? To Aaron the Tooth Decayed, I nodded and gave simple answers.
When the bell rang, I caught Tina’s eye and gave her an angry look. The short haired red head smiled and shrugged. She would pay dearly for talking me into this. I stared at the painted red walls which of course did nothing to calm me down.
The next Mr. Wrong plopped down in front of me and I wondered if poisonous gas had been let loose as I wrongfully inhaled what he must have considered cologne but what surely was instead toxic fumes. It seemed he had poured it all over him.
“Good Lord,” I whispered, giving a light cough to prevent from gagging on the stench.
We introduced ourselves. His name was Sam. As we chatted, I kept rubbing my nose trying to inhale the peach fragrance of the lotion still on my hands. He probably thought I was a drug addict because of that but I thought he stunk so we were even.
The bell rang and Sam Needs a Bath left. I was losing hope as I gasped for fresh air. But suddenly a light appeared, the heavens opened, and Mr. GQ stood before me. I tried never to let looks be my guiding light but things were getting rough tonight and a little eye candy would be a much-needed boost.
His name was Oscar, I think. He was from some country in Southern Europe (I really didn’t know, I was too into his accent to pay attention to what he was actually saying) and had just moved here for graduate school. The tanned, dark eyed, tall stack of goodness eyed me wantonly and I thought, jackpot, if ever there was one. He reached his hand over to touch mine, gently caressing it. Then he parted his lips to speak again.
“I was thinking maybe you would want to go out with me. I would take you to an elegant restaurant, maybe the theater and then maybe later we could make sweet passionate….,” he winked instead of finishing the sentence, smiling seductively at me.
We could what? This time I did not bother to hide my frown. I know he didn’t think I was going to just up and have sex with him just because he was good looking and would get me something to eat. I just wasn’t that hungry.
I snatched my hand back and looked around the room with heated anger. The man across from me had only one hope: that the bell rang before I reached across the table and bitch-slapped him.
Lucky for him the bell did ring and he quickly got up. I tried to breathe deeply like they taught me in the one yoga class I attended at the suggestion of my mother (there were just some ways humans were not meant to bend) but it wasn’t working.
Resting my head in my left hand, it seemed that I had wasted one of my few dressy outfits tonight (a cute sleeved turquoise dress with tall tan wedged boots).
This time a nice looking white guy with loose curly black hair and green eyes so intense they were shocking even behind his black framed glasses, sat down in front of me. I sat up in my seat and offered my hand. As soon as my hand was extended to shake his, he began to sneeze. I quickly pulled my hand back. No I would not waste a perfectly good Friday, a cute outfit, and my health all at once.
He sneezed again.
“You alright?” I asked, leaning back in my chair.
He nodded. “Sorry, my allergies have come on and I forgot to take my allergy pills,” he explained in an adorable British accent. But after Oscar The ‘Bout to Get Bitch Slapped, I would not fall for another accent.
“Here, I have some tissues,” I said bringing a pack out of my purse.
He gratefully took one and turned to blow his nose. I actually felt bad for him as he turned his Rudolph the Red Nose reindeer face back to me. That couldn’t be helping his game tonight. Not with only eight minutes to impress someone.
“My name is Denise,” I waved, keeping my hands to myself.
“I’m [sneeze] Terrance [sneeze] but people call me [sneeze] Terry,” he smiled apologetically.
I couldn’t help but laugh at him. He held the pack of tissues out to give back to me but I shook my head. “I think you’ll get a lot of use out of them. No worries.”
Finally his sneezing died down, for the moment. “I feel bloody awful. I should really just give up and go home. The women here look like they think I’ve contaminated them.”
I smiled at him. His accent was too cute.
“Hey, it’s only allergies, I understand. But I know this pollen can’t be helping it. You know there’s a Rite Aide on the other block, make sure you pick up some allergy meds or something. That‘s just too much to suffer with.”
He smiled back and nodded as he blew his nose again, quickly turning.
“You know, I know the impression I’m making. You’ll be calling me Terrance of the Red Nose when I leave,” he said.
“Of course not.” Yes I would.
We made some light conversation about ourselves and I wanted to continue talking to him and it looked like he wanted to talk more to me but the bell rang and he had to get up because a scary looking Mr. Clean look-alike stared down at us ready to take Terrance’s place. Terrance grabbed my hand and kissed it before he walked away and left.
How sweet.
Remind self to wash hand.
Germs from his cold and all.
Maybe he’d sign up under my name so that I could call him. I would sign up for him. If we both signed up for each other then the match making company would provide email addresses to both parties.
It turned out that even though the night had gotten a little better by meeting Terrance there were no other goodies in the batch.
By the end of the night, I signed up only to speak to Terrance, looked under my name and found only two names. Neither of which were Terrance’s. Only two damn names and then no Terrance! What the hell? The rejection resonated strongly in my system, feeling like a punch to the stomach.
I voiced my concern to Bryant, who met up with us at the lounge, and Tina when we had a couple of drinks afterwards. Tina faired only slightly better than me.
“Denise, you were not a happy looking camper, maybe you scared the guys off,” Tina suggested, pushing her trendy black framed classes up the bridge of her nose.
“That’s what I wanted to do for the ones I had no interest in but what about Terrance the Pretty Green Eyed? I thought he would be interested.” I pouted, leaning on the bar counter.
“You said you didn’t get to talk much.”
“But he looked like he wanted to get to know me some more.”
“Do you think he just wasn’t interested in black chicks? He may have just been polite,” Bryant offered.
The little asshole was probably right.
“Doubtful. A lot of European guys are really open-minded about interracial dating,” Tina stated, nodding.
My eyebrows knitted together in thought as I sipped my drink. “Tell me guys, I trust you two to be totally honest, am I ugly? Should I be cowering in dark tunnels instead of walking in the sunlight?” I asked yelling over the bass of the house music playing.
Tina said no and Bryant said yes.
I quickly thanked Tina with a smile and Bryant with a middle finger.
“Hey, if you have to ask us that question then you deserve to be told yes. You know you aren’t ugly so why ask?” Bryant said.
“And if you were a little on the scary side why should that ban you to dark tunnels?” Tina asked.
I shrugged. “It’s what they do in the movies. Or they make you the loveable but slightly dumb sidekick. Never the star. But ok, so I’m not ugly. What could it be then?”
“You know, why is it when something doesn’t work out women are always blaming themselves? Do guys do that? We have shows and books dedicated to showing what a woman does wrong when she dates with no care that maybe, just maybe, things don’t work out because the guy she’s dating is an asshole. Guys get to run free with no checks and balances on their bullshit while we’ve got to learn to be Stepford wives,” Tina wondered before taking a swig of her beer.
“Denise, I think we hit Tina’s soap box topic,” Bryant replied grinning. “Seriously, Denise, men are just odd creatures. We aren’t as simple as we’d like women to believe. Trust me, I know. We do one thing but say another just because we think that’s what you want to hear.”
“So in the meantime what do I do?”
“Nothing. Just keep doing you.”
“Well, thank you for those words of wisdom,” I replied, this time rolling my eyes.
What kind of answer was that? I couldn’t get a date with that in three months. How had Sheila got me to think I could? And more importantly why was I so bummed about a guy I barely even knew?

I am

2009-05-31T18:49:00.000-07:00

I am
On the verge of a breakdown
Smoke out the ears, fire out the mouth, hot like fire
Self reflection leads me in a misdirection
Of where I'm supposed to be
I am
Lost
Because the older I get the less certain I am
Of where I am
This is not the way I planned it
Preparation got me ready for
Nothing
I am
stuck
Immobile
Trying to decipher the puzzle
Not liking the picture
Dissatisfaction gripping me tight around the throat
I am
Unable to breathe
Left gasping for air
Still struggling to survive
And I am
Done

The Paranormal Unit: Chapter One

2009-05-26T17:33:00.000-07:00

Second post

Three months earlier

Almost five years ago a group of rogue vampires, those not binding themselves to the vampire counsel, decided that they were tired of living in the dark, fugitively speaking. They wanted fame, power, and most importantly to finally be able to live without fear.

They wanted the humans to be in fear.

So those vampires went public on national television and exposed all vampire kind. Governments tried to counter this display as a hoax but when the very public attacks on humans began there was no denying the truth.

The vampire counsel, the ultimate vampire authority, tried to do strong public relations by showing to the world that their kind was not all evil. Whether this was true or not was not the point. Having humans openly fearful of them was bad for the vampire way of life. However, no matter how many good works the vampires committed; community service, saving lives; the humans simply were not convinced.

Instead the police, the military and the vigilantes were all seeking out vampires and killing them. They would leave suspected vampires out in the sun to burn or burst into flames if they were really young, and sprinkle holy water or shine crosses on them.

In addition to killing the captured vampires, open experiments were conducted. Those in the government that already knew of their existence had already completed vampire testing but now they could do so without secrecy.

The vampires, seeing that their efforts to put forward a good face were futile, decided that if they were going to suffer they weren’t going to do it alone. So, as the head of the supernatural food chain, they exposed all supernatural beings such as ghosts and preternatural creatures. Just about anything formed to scare audiences and children came to the forefront.

And so a war began between the Paranormals and humans. Although the humans outnumbered these super entities, the creatures of the night had more strength. Crime took on a whole new form for the police. A whole new type of training had to be done.

However the humans weren’t left to fight alone. While the vampires were exposed so were the hunters: super humans from across the globe that chose to fight against paranormal bad guys. They always existed and were, in recent years, financially backed by governments as they protected the world against the evil of the night.

They had a hunter union composed of some of the top paranormal hunters from all over the world. It was the hunters that were left in charge of training the police forces and military when it came to fighting the superbeings.

There were those in the hunter union who supported the mission of joining both “good” paranormals and hunters, which was why Tyson Rollins and Nona Weinstein found themselves at the home of Alex Chan.

The handsome man looked at Alex with calm dark eyes. He was muscular and wide with a well trimmed goatee framing his lips and chin. He wore a tailored dark navy blue suit and looked no older than thirty five but Alex was sure he was much much older than that. He was a superhuman and they tended to age incredibly slowly, with an average life span of three hundred years, the same lifespan of most vampires. Only a small percentage of vampires could preserve or protect themselves well enough to live beyond a few hundred years.

“Do you know why we’re here Mr. Chan?” Tyson asked, sitting forward on the tan suede couch.

Alex shrugged. “Dude, I have no idea why you‘re here. But when someone from the hunter union gives you a ring, you don’t ignore it either.”

“Your kind isn’t exactly jumping at our calls, Alex,” said the smiling brunette with thick, frizzy curls. She had on a tan skirt suit and matching kitten heeled loafers. She was in her late twenties and pretty, in a girl-next-door kind of way. She wore no make up and only a small gold locket around her neck. Her light brown eyes were neutral but the way she chewed the corner of her bottom lip showed him she was uncomfortable or simply nervous. His kind was rare after all.

“Well I was curious, what can I say?” Alex replied, placing his arms behind his head as he leaned against the back of his brown leather arm chair. His lean physique was covered in a green t-shirt with a white long sleeved shirt underneath and jeans. His almost shoulder length black hair was back in a ponytail.

“Well then let’s get right to it,” Tyson stated. “A section of the hunter union has decided to begin a new type of paranormal hunting unit. They are opening a testing team here in Baltimore. The team’s goal is to look into any cases that are supernatural or paranormal related. The Baltimore/D.C./Northern Virginia area has one of the highest rates for these forms of crimes, even higher than New York, Las Vegas and New Orleans, and having a team that focuses solely on supernatural crime would be ideal.”

Alex straightened up in his seat. “I don’t get it. You already have trained police to take care of that stuff.”

Nona leaned in. “They aren’t fully equipped for this fight. Not to mention all the regular crime they have on their hands.”

“What about the hunter team already in place here? Don’t you have hunter teams in every section of the world and like a billion in the states?”

Tyson smiled and shook his head. “There are 10 hunter forces in the United States. The closest team is located in D.C. and this unit would be an extension of that hunter team as well as the police force. Both could use the extra help and expertise.”

Alex frowned. “What are saying? You want me to join a hunter team?”

“In a nutshell, yes.”

“And in a larger shell?”

Tyson raised an eyebrow. “There are those of us who believe that this war on paranormal evil would be better fought if we had a team that encompassed many types of hunters. Was more diverse.”

“Another take on equal employment opportunity. Very nice but I thought to you hunters, all paranormal guys were bad, why would you want me on the team?” Alex smiled back.

“We know that’s not true. And it’s unfortunate that some of us and many humans seem to believe otherwise. Having a diverse team would be a good PR move. It would show to the world that not every superbeing is to be feared. That some are our friends.”

“And what’s in it for you?” Alex smirked.

Tyson sighed as he sat back, crossing an ankle over his knee. “Your power, expertise. Simply fighting fire with fire.”

Alex lost his grin. “You want me to fight my own kind?”

Nona quickly shook her head. “No, we want you to fight the bad guys. The ones who are giving us a bad reputation.”

Alex looked at her and frowned. “Us?”

Nona nodded. “I’m a cognitive.”

“Oh, yeah? How much do you charge an hour?”

She frowned, then got it and giggled. “No. Seriously, I can see the past by touching an object, communicate with ghost, get a certain feeling for things, like if someone‘s good or bad. “

“Never failed an exam, huh? You’re like a psychic to the 10^th degree. “

Nona shrugged modestly. “Yeah, and people are scared of me because of it. By joining a group like this we can also make it a focus not to just protect humans from super bad guys but the innocent paranormal community as well.”

“We’d investigate paranormal on paranormal crime as well,” Tyson responded. “If we build allies here we have a better shot at this fight and the paranormal community might get a better shot at getting more governmental protection and rights.”

Alex nodded slowly. “So this group is a game of politics.”

“We’d have a lot to prove here,” Nona nodded and folded her hands. “But it makes good sense. It would help those in congress and those in power all around the world who are trying to push for our acceptance and ability to be judged individually.”

“We already got people like us doing good work all over already and it hasn’t done any good. What’s this going to do?” Alex asked, looking unmoved.

Nona leaned towards him. “This is just a test group. If we fail we disband, but if we do good work who knows how the world could change.”

Alex shrugged. “So,” Alex looked to both of them, “Morpheus, Trinity, I guess the real question then is, why am I the one?”

Nona stifled a laugh.

Tyson tilted his head. “You come from an amazing family.”

“That’s my family, not me. They hate me enough as it is without me joining this group. Really, The Matrix, references aside, why do the box tops in hunter world think that I am a good candidate for this test group? My assumption is that they want the best of the best and in all honesty, you‘ve picked the wrong sibling in my family.” Alex leaned back in his chair, folding his hands.

“You’re smart, you can’t have lived almost 200 years and not be, you come from a strong dragon family, the reds are the best dragon fighters, and I know they’ve trained you. You blend with humanity well. I mean, you’ve made a living as a technology expert with a respectable IT firm and seem comfortable in human form. Not much of your family would be eager to work with humans. And although there are some red dragons who are suspect, your immediate family has never done anything to raise our attention and in fact has a great history in China of being supreme warriors and supporters of the empire.”

Alex nodded slowly. “Okay, I guess it makes sense. But why do you need a dragon?”

Tyson sighed. “This could go on all night.”

Alex looked away and nodded. “Yes, that’s possible. But what you’re asking me to do is big. I might be the enemy of all dragons with this.”

“They could either hate you more or love you for changing the world’s attitude of dragons,” Nona stated.

“Fine, we need members of the paranormal community that represent the four major groups, “Tyson began. “The magic society, which includes wiccas, witches, wizards, mages, guardians. The lycanthropes and skin walkers. The undead, such as the vampires, zombies, ghouls, goblins, incubus, ghosts and so forth. Needless to say that group is very limited on who we can pick from. And the mythics, such as the dragons, fairies, trolls, hobbits. You get the picture.”

Alex scrunched his face and scratched his neck. “Yeah, yeah, not too sure I agree with how you guys lump these groups together but I’ll let it slide for now.”

“Good, so are you in?”

“I don’t know, man.”

“The pay is great and so are the benefits and the vacation package,” Tyson added in a monotone voice.

Alex looked unmoved.

Tyson took out a card from his pocket and a pen and wrote down the starting salary. “And this doesn’t include bonuses.”

Alex looked down at the card.

“Let me finish up some assignments and I’m all yours,” Alex replied with a straight face.

The Paranormal Unit- Prologue

2009-05-13T05:40:00.000-07:00

Copy Right April 13, 2009

Almost five years ago a group of rogue vampires decided that they were tired of living in the dark and wanted fame, power, and most importantly to finally be able to live without fear. So they went public and “outed” themselves and all other supernatural and preternatural creatures. As a response to the world wide panic, the world’s governments brought to light their own secret; the existence of superhuman hunters. Soon a war between humans and “others” began. A few forces were able to see the futility in the fighting and obtained permission to create a paranormal crime fighting unit that would pull all forms of beings together to fight all supernatural evil. However, there are forces on all sides seeking to see the test group fail. Torn between loyalty to their respective groups and maintaining safety and justice, the crime fighting team, along with one of the city’s ADA of Supernatural Violent Crimes, fights a new enemy that may threaten to end the team before they had a chance to start.

Prologue

“Nice,” Alex Chan stated with a grimace.
Carlos Rodriguez hunched down and took pictures of the body part from different angles with his camera.
“That’s an arm right?” Alex asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I mean there’s no freakin hand attached, let alone the rest of the body, but I’m pretty sure that hairy, shriveled up piece of a person is a man’s arm.”
“Yeah,” Carlos answered somberly, taking another picture. “But where’s the rest of him?”
“Nowhere around here,” Ana Santos replied as she walked closer to the pair. They stood in a large darkened grassy field enclosed by several streets filled with cookie cutter town homes. It was close to midnight and the body part was found in the open backyard of an unlit home. The owners so far were not present. “This isn’t the type of neighborhood where attacks usually happen. Half of these houses don’t even have any magic wards. What’s going on here?”
“Police are on their way,” Gabe stated in his slight Irish accent, coming from the nearby lit street. “They want to do a thorough search for a possible body,” he said with quotation marks. “I told them we found nothing but who am I.” He shrugged casually, hands stuffed in his pocket.
“Gabe, is this what we were supposed to find?” Ana asked.
“Nooo, we were supposed to prevent a possible attack I was told might happen around here. Happening upon a body part is a coincidence.”
“Alex, can you hold this?” Carlos asked handing him the camera. He then put on his plastic gloves he retrieved from his pocket.
“Dude, you going to touch it?” Alex asked.
Carlos gave him a questioning look as he pulled the gloves on. “How else can I properly inspect it?”
“The cops won’t like that.”
Carlos turned to Ana. “I’m sorry, aren’t we like the cops? What are our badges for then? I’m tired of waiting for them to jack up the evidence before giving us a shot at it. We aren’t just the exterminators. We can actually analyze things. I’m a damn CSI!”
Ana threw her hands up. “I agree. I’ve talked to Tyson about that several times. Look, we can’t bag it, the police need to check it out, but go ahead and inspect it. You already took pictures of the original layout.”
Carlos gave a nod. “Thank you.” He balanced on his toes and touched the arm. “It looks like the man was bled dry, maybe even before they tore the arm off.”
Gabe shook his head. “No. He would have died before he totally bled out.”
“Think its vampires?” Alex asked.
Gabe crossed his arms. “Vampires don’t drink the blood of the dead.”
“Is it that vampires don’t drink the blood of the dead or vampires don’t usually drink the blood of the dead?” Ana asked turning to Gabe.
Gabe sighed. “If a vampire drinks the blood of the dead it’s like drinking a very strong poison. They would die. Usually. But even if they were powerful enough to survive, it’d still be very unpleasant. They would suffer greatly.”
“Maybe he was very hungry.” Alex shrugged. “Got a little greedy and careless.”
“The only vampire that would get that careless would be a young vampire and then we’d be seeing a pile of vampire dust around here.”
“Well then maybe it was an older vampire that got a little careless. Maybe even a crazy rogue vampire.”
Gabe shook his head looking down at the arm. “An older vampire wouldn’t have drunk that much. Even if he was starved and mad, he would have regained some senses long before he drained the body to the point of death. And he wouldn’t have left behind any traces of this attack. Older vampires like to keep their existence a secret.”
“What about this being a group attack?” Ana asked, surveying their surroundings with her eyes.
Gabe shook his head. “Vampires don’t hunt in packs like that, usually. And they still would need to be pretty powerful to avoid death. Maybe it’s something else. Maybe a meat-eating lycan like a werewolf or werepanther. They could have caused enough damage that would bleed a person out.”
“A succubus could also have drained someone dry with one powerful kiss,” Ana nodded slowly.
“I’m still betting on vampires. They’re the only ones arrogant enough to do this,” Carlos said raising his right hand, eyes still on the arm, “Alex, can I get my camera back?”
Alex passed him the camera. “You found it again?”
Ana shined her flashlight on the arm to display the word cibatus etched into the underside of the arm. “That word again.”
Carlos flashed his camera. "The Latin word for food. What is that supposed to mean? And why Latin?”
“Looks like someone scratched it in with a sharp finger nail.” Alex leaned in. “So what, they tore the arm off and label it like some sort of chicken leg you get in the grocery store?”
Carlos took a couple more pictures of different sides of the arm. “I think that’s exactly what they’re trying to say. Except humans are the chickens.”
“Outstanding, I’m assuming you already touched the body!” cried a voice from behind them.
Ana rolled her eyes and turned around to look at Captain Jeffery Simons. “How’s it going captain? You do realize that we’re an extension of the police and hunter forces so we aren’t some Scooby Doo gang doing teenage sleuthing. We’re actually investigating a crime scene.”
The tall, balding man, frowned and placed his hands on his waist. To be in his early fifties he was in pretty good shape. Ana assumed fighting the latest crop of scary baddies gave a little extra push on the police force to stay in shape. “I thought we asked you to call us in when you find anything suspicious.”
“Which is what we did,” Gabe stated, giving him a tired glare.
Captain Simons ignored him and kept his eyes on Ana, his 6’4 frame towering over her. “If I hear that your team tampers with anymore crime scenes I will bring this up to the Mayor’s office.”
Ana, unaffected by his posturing, shook her head. “Oh please, our tampering, as you call it, only helps,” Ana cried. “It wasn’t us who jacked up that last crime scene by stepping on the victim’s blood and tramping bloody footprints through the house!”
Simons leaned back and huffed.
“Now we’ll share the pictures that we took. But this crime is not a human crime, it has supernatural literally written all over it,” Ana began. “That’s our field. So give us a little respect and let us actually do our jobs like the professionals we are. I’ve been in this game a hell of a lot longer than you have, sir. We know what we’re doing.”
She looked around at the rest of her team. “Come on, let’s get out of their way.” She turned back to Simons. “I trust you’ll share any information you get with Tyson.” She didn’t wait for an answer and walked away.
The group followed her in silence as they headed back to their jeep.
When they got to their black jeep Alex broke the silence. “So I gotta say it, Ana, you’re a sufficient bad ass,” he acknowledged before opening the driver’s side door.
She turned and winked at him before getting in the front passenger seat.
“So what we have here is the possible start of a serial killer,” Carlos said from the back seat, reviewing the photos in his digital camera.
“We can’t make that guess with just three incidents,” Ana replied, turning her head towards the back.
“Where else is this going to lead?” Gabe asked from the back seat, as Alex backed out of his parking space and began to slowly patrol the neighborhoods. “This is a message and a typical serial killer usually gives more than one message. Trust us, this is a start and how many messages this guy, girl or group gives us will depend on how quickly we catch them. Two is enough for me.”
“We haven’t dealt with serial killers yet,” Alex stated, turning down a street lit with street lights.
“I have, “Ana said looking out the window in thought. “Before I joined this group. A paranormal serial killer can be quite different from other types. Not always, but the motives aren’t always the same. For instance, a typical human serial killer doesn’t go on a killing spree for sacrifices to raise a powerful demon from the underworld.”
Alex nodded slowly. “Heard about that one. That witch killed ten people before your team found her.”
“It was eight but it just goes to show how much tougher this is when you’re dealing with the supernatural. So, I don’t know about you guys but I’m hoping this is not a serial-“
“Guys! “ Carlos cried, throwing a hand out against the back of Ana’s seat.
Everyone went still.
“Did you hear something?” Alex asked, slowly pushing down on the break.
Carlos slowly shook his head. “Feel it.” He couldn’t explain it. The feeling of a vampire presence or that of any supernatural being was stifling. If a particularly strong vampire was using his powers it became difficult to breathe. The air would feel thick similar to the feeling of being in a heated car with the windows rolled up. Carlos was sure the presence was that of lower level vampires. It was uncomfortable but he was not consumed by their power.
“How many?” Alex asked.
Gabe, sitting upright, spoke first, “Four, I think. They’re in a house nearby. Keep straight on the road you’re on.”
Alex drove down two more blocks scouring the area.
“Make a left!” Carlos called with urgency.
Alex made a quick left down a suburban residential street.
Identical, three level homes with garages lined the street of the clean and quiet neighborhood. The thought that some vampire was in one of those homes terrorizing a family sickened Carlos. “House at the end of the street on the right,” he stated tensely.
Alex stopped the car and turned the engine off a few houses away. “Should we call the police for back up?”
“We can take them. They aren’t powerful; newbies,” Carlos replied, taking hold of his weapons. They were all fully loaded. Sheaths with knifes or daggers inserted around their wrists and ankles. Flame throwers, machetes, or stake guns strapped to their backs. Exploding silver bullet guns or holy water pistols in their right or left hip holster. Most hunters added the protection of a cross around their necks and a belief and faithfulness to God in their hearts. They were ready.
Gabe opened the jeep door and was the first to get near the house. He was the only one in the group who could get close enough to access the situation without raising any awareness from the vampires.
He ran across the street and crept to the house. The blinds were closed so he was unable to see anything but he could still hear and feel with his sixth sense. He knew that three vampires and four humans were in the room closest to the front door, possibly the living room. Upstairs there was one vampire and one human but he couldn’t tell what room. He relayed this to the other teammates through the mics they all wore to stay connected if separated.
After Gabe circled the house completely, he headed back to the others in the jeep. “It’s pretty simple; kitchen, great room and possibly a bathroom on the ground level; living area on the bottom level; three bedrooms and two bathrooms on the top. I’m going to knock on the door. Maybe someone will answer it; once they do we’ll bust through and shut these vamps down. I’m not concerned,” he stated with a nonchalant shrug. “Ana, follow me and then Alex and Carlos run up after we get inside. I think Ana’s smell will throw them off.”
The group nodded and followed closely, waiting and watching as Gabe walked up the steps and rang the doorbell. He waited patiently. No one answered. He rang the doorbell a few more times. “Hey, I know someone’s in there, the lights are on. I just need to use a phone. My car broke down across the street and my cell has died. If you could just let me get some help I’d appreciate it!” he shouted. “I’m not going anywhere, so please help!”

Finally after a minute, the door creaked open and a woman with tousled hair and a smile appeared.

Gabe gave her one of his Hollywood grins. “Hi, Miss. Thank you for helping me.” His voice seemed to say more than those words. Seemed to say he would help her. Her raised shoulders relaxed with relief. Gabe mouthed the words “Get back” and she obeyed as he shoved the door open, slamming the vampire behind it against the wall.

Ana came in quickly behind him, surveying the room, weapon pointed out. Gabe kept the vampire behind the door pinned to the wall, although it struggled to be freed.
Carlos and Alex quickly followed, racing to the living room, weapons rotating to opposite corners. Once they reached the living room they found a little boy of about 6 years old and a girl of about 12 years of age huddled together in a corner of the room crying. A man lay on the floor bleeding from the neck, his hand covering the wound as if trying to keep the blood from pouring out.

Ana quickly turned her attention to a vampire hissing in a corner on her left side. It moved, much faster than her eyes were able to catch up with but she knew where it was going. She didn’t even turn around as she grabbed the silver stake in her pocket and shoved it behind her making contact with the now howling vampire. She quickly spun around and with her other hand held the cross around her neck out and pressed it against the vampire’s fore head. She said a short prayer and asked for forgiveness for the lost soul while ignoring the screams of the vampire as the cross burned into its forehead like acid. She removed the stake then re-shoved it into him, this time connecting with his heart.

She stood back as the vampire arched its back, head moving from side to side at an inhuman speed, crying out in agony as it died the familiar vampire death. Silver stakes would keep them down, anything else and one would usually need to decapitate the vampire to make sure he stayed down. Flesh melted with the clothes from the muscle, things unknown to her oozed from his body, muscle, fat, and organs, dropped from the bone. Soon the bloodied skeletal frame dropped to the floor and then even the skeleton began to disintegrate until there was only a pile of dust that remained. She coughed, covering her nose as she turned away from the gruesome scene, the smell of decay filling her nostrils, making her nose hairs burn. She retrieved the stake with black gloved hand and moved on.

She eyed Carlos and Gabe finishing off their attacks of the other two vampires, leaving three piles of dust total for that floor.

“Nothing a good vacuum can’t clean up,” Gabe stated, pleased with himself.

Carlos raced back to the man on the ground once satisfied that he killed his vampire. “An ambulance is on its way, sir,” Carlos said to the injured man. “He’s losing a lot of blood. They weren’t kind to his neck. I just have to try to stop the blood from spilling.” He removed the gun holster on his back and quickly took his shirt off. Then he pressed it tightly against the gushing wound on the man’s neck.

“Everything’s going to be all right miss,” Gabe stated to the scared woman, who was sitting in the corner holding tight to what he assumed were her children.

“Who are you people?” she asked, sobbing.

Before Gabe could respond they heard a cry from upstairs. “Get back here you fanged faced fiend!” Alex shouted from above.

“Oh, no! Shelly!” the woman cried, getting up.

“Right. Stay here!” Gabe ordered, pointing to the family.

Gabe raced up the steps and found a teenage girl with a ripped shirt holding a large lamp in both her hands. She brought it down on top of the intruding vampire’s head but it did not faze him. He backed slapped her and she was sent flying towards Gabe, who caught her around the waist while maintaining his balance on the top step so that they both would not fall down the steps.

He quickly released her. “You ok?”

She nodded, her face streaked with tears.

“Good, your family’s safe downstairs, go join them,” he instructed her. She did as she was told and quickly ran down the steps.

Alex got up from the floor at the farther end of the hallway and took out the machete he had strapped to his back. “This will hurt you more than it hurts me.”
“You can do whatever you want to me but you can’t win this!” the vampire cried proudly, chin jutted out as he crouched in a pre-attack stance. “You’ll see, we rule this earth! Vampires will control this planet. He will show you to fear us like it used to be. The world will know and respect us! Humans will be our cattle. He will allow us to-“

Alex sliced into the neck of the vampire with his machete, removing the head from the neck in a clean and swift motion, splattering the wall with blood and gore artwork. “Yeah, yeah, tell it the devil,” he stated as the head dropped to the ground. He looked up at Gabe. “You all right there, partner?”

“Yeah, man.” Gabe looked over as the headless body fell and pointed at it. “That there was one crazy vampire.”

Alex bent down and staked the vampire in the heart for extra safety precautions.

“True. I’ve never met a vampire that talked so much while in an attack. Wonder what or who he was talking about.”

Gabe shrugged. “The man was talking in riddles. But he said “he”, so we can narrow our search to a man at least.”

Alex, standing up, looked down at the now pile of vampire dust. “The police clean up crew is going to be so pleased.”

Gabe turned his head to the stairs as he heard the sirens approach. He looked to Alex. “Cassie’s going to be pissed we didn’t leave anyone alive for her to prosecute.”

Alex shrugged. “Eh, sweet talk her,” he replied as they headed down the steps.
Ana stood beside the front door next to the mother and children as she watched Gabe and Alex walk down the steps. Carlos was already outside talking to the police as the ambulance pulled into the drive way.

“Ma’m, I would look into getting a magic alarm system. Depending on your home owner insurance the police can do a sweep of the house for free to see what areas you’re vulnerable to the supernatural. Here’s our card if you need us,” Ana told the mother, handing her their card and then turned to leave.

Alex looked back at the family. The mother gave a small smile. “Thank you,” she stated.

Alex nodded. “Just doing my duty.”

“You aren’t the police. Who are you?” she asked a confused look on her face.

He gave her an all too serious look. “I’m Batman,” he replied then broke off in a light laugh that no one else joined in on. “And this is Robin.” he said gesturing to Gabe.

“The hell I am,” Gabe replied exiting the house.

The family still held a confused look at Alex who was backing away to the door. “I’m sorry; I’ve just always wanted to say that. But seriously, we’re the Paranormal Unit. Look us up in the yellow pages!” he cried, running out of the door.

Maya Doesn't Care

2008-03-31T17:03:00.000-07:00

Chapter One- Part Two
“I’m thinking of taking the job, Mya,” he says softly, leaning in to search my eyes. His eyes are beautiful, big and deep brown. I want to lean in and kiss him.
I turn my head. “I know,” I whisper.
He touches my chin and turns me back to him. “It’s the same job I’m doing now but you know how I’ve been dying to get out of this city. And Chicago is an awesome place.” He moves his hand from my chin and back to my hands.
“I’m really happy for you, Darrin. It’s what you’ve been wanting.” I am honest in my response but still sad. I stare down at my shoes again.
“You think I should go?”
I hate this question. Does he really care what I think? He already knows this is a great opportunity. If I said no would he really change his mind? Would I only end up looking like a fool for telling him to stay?
I look at him and smile. “You should do what you think is right.”
He chuckles lightly and lets go of my hands. “I knew you would say that. Do you care that this might affect us? Because I do. I don’t want to leave you but if I stay here I don’t want to…”
He trails off and I pick it up. “You don’t want to feel you’ve made a big mistake. You want to know that I’m worth giving up this big chance. That you won’t feel some sort of resentment towards me for making that decision.” I stand up. “I can’t give you an answer. I can’t make your decision.”
There is a long silence, each of us in our own minds. I stare out of the sliding glass door leading to his patio. He has an amazing view of the city. The buildings, the lights, cars passing by, music from the nearby park and their summer concert series. I love his area. When my lease ends in a month I told him I was going to move from my uptown apartment closer to his downtown condo. But I won't be so close after all.
I slide open the patio door and then the screen and step out onto the patio letting the cool breeze run through me, easing the tension I’m feeling. I look at the people below walking about enjoying the warm summer night air. Cars pass by, windows were down emitting music tunes from their stereos. We were supposed to be out there too until he popped this news on me. I’m suddenly angry. Our perfect little world, one I thought I deserved, is coming apart. I had a sneaking suspicion it would come to an end one day but I still behaved as though it wouldn’t. Dared to think that we’d get married, have kids.
I hear Darrin step out onto the patio behind me and I lean on the rail. “Why don’t you come to Chicago too? Apply to a job in the government there. You could transfer. You’re qualified for just about everything. And you hate your job anyway.”
I nod absentmindely. He wants me to move to Chicago but not stay with him. We’ve been together for over a year now and he still won’t make that kind of change in his life even though almost half my wardrobe is at his house.
He expects me to find a job and set up shop there. Do the same thing we’re doing now but in a different city.
And I know I’m qualified for many jobs. My resume and educational background is admirable. And yes, I think I’m being taken for granted at my job but I know it well and have a shot at reaching an awesome position and salary. I’m not upset with the money I’m making now, but it wouldn’t be enough to live well in a big city like Chicago. I tell this to Darrin.
“The government accounts for cost of living.”
He’s right. I could find a position there, transfer my current job and get a salary adjustment.
“Apply for something.”
I did but I just got my rejection notice yesterday. I was qualified but when I called the human resources office this morning they told me there were simply too many qualified veterans who had applied and they get a preference. She apologized and said they’d keep my resume on file.
I’m tired because the situation seems hopeless. My reality is that he is going and I am staying and I don’t know how to make it better.

Mya Doesn't Care

2008-03-21T12:36:00.000-07:00

Scene from a novel I'm kind of sort of thinking about writing fully

Chapter One - Gone
Part One

Why won’t you fight for me? His eyes ask.
I can’t. The thought of doing so makes me almost nauseas.
The vulnerability.
He wants more from me.
A declaration of love that I can’t give. I can’t be that open to him. It’s terrifying.
His eyes look sad and it hurts me but I can’t give him what he wants.
Yet, I expect his affirmations. When he tells me he misses me, calls me pet names, kisses the palm of my hand, hugs me tightly. I hold on to those moments like precious jewels. Heart tightens at remembrances of those moments.

And there are times for me too when I want to give them back to him. The words wet the tip of my tongue like a sweet wine but I can’t let them loose. I panic. I can’t even text or email him a cute message. It should be easier that way but it feels foreign to me physically and yet emotionally right.

I can’t reconcile it all.

And now, when he tells me he may leave for the job offer almost half way across the country, I simply sit and look down at my feet. I’m overwhelmed with a sense of loss but I can’t tell him that. Instead I inspect my gray pointy toed heels. There is a scuff mark on the tip of the left shoe and I want to lean down and wipe it off but I’m afraid I’d look too indifferent by doing so. I want him to see in my behavior what I can’t say aloud. I want to look as pitiful as possible.

I bite my lower lip, then sigh. I don’t want to lose him but I can’t admit how I feel. I don’t want him to have power over me. To know that his actions affect me so strongly.

Yes, he put himself out there by saying how much he cared about me. That he loved me. But as much as I loved to hear them, past experience taught me that those were just words. They did not necessarily mean he’d always be there. I could never rely on them.

He sits beside me on the couch and grabs my hands and I stare at them. I love holding his hands. That connection felt wonderful. I felt part of something special.

But I hated to touch him in public. I secretly laughed at those people who walked around hand in hand. It seemed pretentious. Even corny. I hated when he tried to hold my hand. Especially in front of friends. I didn’t want them to see how close we were. Didn’t want them to have evidence of how much I cared when he broke my heart. It would be humiliating.

But in private that was different. I could hardly be near him without touching him. He kisses both of my hands slowly and I sigh again.

Mother

2008-03-13T12:34:00.000-07:00

From past to present you are there for me
I your xeroxed copy from your womb
Young and in awe of you
No greater role model
The stories of your past
Served as guidance for my future
Reminders of shared dreams left to achieve
Ambition gleamed from you
Like a reflection from the suns rays
And I wanted to bask
In the being of you
Tiny feet in too large heels
Posing
Waiting until I was big
I had plans
Hair light brown
My first color of choice
I still am influenced by your trends
With hopes to be just like you
Who moves effortlessly from young diva
to wise sage and back again
No one can capture you
Giving beyond yourself
Knowing that our successes
are the realizations of your dreams
Which will entwine themselves back
Into your own reality
You are fierce
Knowing that we are you
You identify with our struggles
As if they were your own
We were never alone
You are a presence
surrounding us like warmth on a summer afternoon
Taken for granted to remain always
Like water your role in our life changes shape
Caregiver
Authority
Story teller
Advisor
Confidant
Shoulder
Thank you.

Safety

2008-03-11T07:01:00.000-07:00

My safety is a wall
An impenetrable force standing wide and tall
It is an invisible but protective structure
That will mislead another
into thinking that I am open to be used
and willing to be abused
I have you fooled because I smile and am quiet
into thinking you've got it
Until you hit my own version of safety
Body hurt, Left perplexed because you could not see
Now it stands there
imposingly tall
You try to climb it only to fall,
hurting your pride as you slam into the ground
You push against it uncertain if its sound
but you fail because this wall was built long ago
with bricks made of disrespect, abuse, lies, a pain I didn't know
Stuck together with thoughtlessness, ignorance and empathy
I used those materials to construct a wall so high and so wide for me
that i too became a part of it
a hardened force not to be broken, cracked, damaged and split
I am safe

Untitiled

2008-03-08T13:16:00.000-08:00

An old poem I found while cleaning out my desk at home....

Whirling, twirling, masses of emotion masked in steel
Splashing out at illusions, never were they real
Feelings of betrayal so hot they start a fire
Wishing from this pursuit one could retire
Kindness taken for weakness, using it as a tool
Playing loyalty, trust and honesty for a fool
Values are tested, played, rearranged
By others whose ideals are costly, hearts deranged
Destruction of compassion, no good can come of it
No souls pure can win when crushing a spirit
Righteous indignation from others who observed
Feelings of confusion left wondering, left disturbed
Tired, unfocused, left looking for the light
Given solutions but still not feeling right
Wish I never knew...

Hopeless(ness)

2008-03-07T06:03:00.000-08:00

Copyright October 5, 2007
Hopeless
Time goes fast but I move slow
To a destination of nowhere
Pointless
A circular motion of sameness
Exhaustion of movement but no finish
Relentless
A constant repetition of the undesirable
A battery of pain that never subsides
Thoughtlessness
All hopes and dreams dissipate like smoke into nothingness
A long forgotten moment
Aimless
Crushed dreams, last finger slipping form the ledge of a hope-filled reality
Battered heart, body and soul leading to darkness
Hopelessness

How To Meet Mr. Right....In Three Months- Chapter One

2008-03-06T15:21:00.000-08:00

So Sheila told a silly lie to a coworker that somehow got out of hand and now she has to make it come true or look like a fool. But how can she make an “imaginary friend” come to life? She's determined to actually find him by following a list of “proven” love rules to finding Mr. Right. She enlists her gal pal Denise who also follows what she deems the archaic rules of love. Now bogged down by the many rules and their own misguided views on love, the pair encounters many a misadventure with Maryland’s datable, and not so dateable, pool of men. However, when they meet the men who may change their ideas of love, the women find that the rules didn’t prepare them as well as they thought.

Sheila

I woke up in a cold sweat then blinked several times as my eyes adjusted to the lack of light. Finally I rested my eyes on my digital clock, which glowed an angry red with 3:58am. Damn! I had to be up in two and half more hours! Yet, recently I kept waking up late at night, many times with bad dreams.
I’ve heard therapists say if you go to sleep with a problem on your mind it’ll haunt you in your dreams or maybe even force you to wake up at night. So what was I, Sheila Jackson, a pretty successful 29 year old attorney at law, fearful of?
Well, it couldn’t be the mega lie I told to a coworker that would make me look like a pathetic cow if it didn’t miraculously come true. Why had I let her just wheel me right in to such foolishness as if I was some wannabe and she the popular cheerleader? If I didn’t figure out what to do I would be the laughing stock at work because there was no doubt that she had spread the word of my tall tale.
Why had I let her get to me yet again? I had a great life why was I so insecure? I lived in a fabulous two bedroom condo in Columbia, Maryland not too far from the local upscale mall, nice car, and had a pretty nice figure for someone who was “allergic” to working out. It was a question I’d asked myself for way too long without receiving an answer and it looked as though tonight would not be any different.
I tossed and turned, struggling to get back to sleep for another thirty minutes and finally drifted back to dreamland. When the alarm screamed at me at 6:30am I opened my eyes in horror at it. Was it really time to get up? Surely this was some sort of nightmare! The cold breeze from my air conditioner touched my skin (didn’t want to sweat my hair out at night into a frizzy mess) and forced me to pull my beige satin comforter tighter to me and I knew that I was truly in the harsh reality of early morning. I got up ten minutes later, after thoughtlessly watching the morning news, for work and was still pissed at the break in my sleep. But I had to breathe deeply and let it go. I had clients to talk to today and I didn’t need a bad attitude.
I huffed as I got ready for the day. My usually flawless nutmeg complexion was experiencing a minor breakout and my make up seemed to only highlight that. Despite my efforts to the contrary, my black medium length bob was frizzy so I had to pull it back into a bun. Since I had not gone to the cleaners or washed clothes in a minute, I had to wear one of my least favorite suits that fitted ill to my size four, 5’7 ½ frame. I’d gotten it as a birthday present from my sister who “mistakenly” got the wrong size for me on a trip to Paris.
I walked to my office waving hellos to my coworkers with a bright smile and searched for my secretary (well, I shared her with two others) but remembered, in disappointment, that she didn’t get into the office until 9am. Sometimes I used her as my sounding board.
I closed the door to my office behind me and flopped into my large brown leather swivel chair yawning and wondering if I would make it through my 10 hour day. The bright sun from the floor to ceiling window behind me, showcasing a part of downtown Washington D.C., did not serve as the mood motivator it usually did.
I loved my job. I worked at Washington and Morrison, a well-respected mid-sized sports and entertainment law firm that represented artist and actors among others, a hard field to get in to. Lucky for me I started working in the firm as a law clerk while I was in law school. I put in a lot of hours and kicked in my creativity to beat out a lot of competition to get a permanent position.
I turned on my computer and then opened my Outlook calendar to shift through a host of emails and scan my daily calendar to focus on what I needed to get accomplish before I left the office. However, my attention couldn’t stay on work for long. I thought back to the events a few days ago and how I ended up needing to find a fix for a stupid lie.
Greg was there. He was always there but this time as an aid to my self destruction. He had come into my office as nonchalant as always. Gregory “Greg” Walters was something out of a GQ magazine at 6’2 with a muscular body, shaved head, was the color of peanut butter and had sparkling hazel eyes. Damn that man was fine. But, nope, Greg was a pit bull in Armani and I would not go down the road of so many sad sisters who fell into those big, bright eyes. I knew him all too well for that.
All right so I’m lying. I had fallen for those eyes a while back but he wasn’t a one woman type of guy and I wasn’t a share a guy type of gal.
“So, you going?” he asked me sitting in one of the two chairs in front of my desk.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked. For a guy he could talk and I had to admit sometimes I just tuned some parts out.
Greg shook his head smiling. “Are you going to the entertainment and sports conference? The dinners, the parties, and the discussions,” he repeated, purposely over enunciating his words enough to make me want to slap him.
“The one three months away? Who knows? I’ll figure it out when the time draws near.” I shrugged.
“What’s this I hear about you not going to the banquet?” said a shrill voice that stabbed at my spine. It belonged to Jamie Martin who leaned against my doorway. Jamie was tall, thin, brown eyed, and blond with fake boobs and I‘m sure Botoxed. She was wearing a bright red skirt suit, which made her look like the she-devil she was. I wish I could have booby-trapped the doorway for her. But there was no button to push to get the wench out of my doorway.
“I didn’t say I wasn’t going, don’t get your hopes up,” I replied sweetly.
“Well, you know that it will have the parties of the summer. People in the entertainment business will be there, including actors, athletes, and musicians for the parties. It’ll be like Hollywood!” she cried, giddy.
This year the Entertainment and Sports Conference would be held in D.C. so I had to go. And look my best of course.
“I’ve already picked out my gown. It’s a designer but it was worth every penny. Ted will love it,” she bragged. Ted was her investment banker new boyfriend, who happened to look like Brad Pitt and spoiled her rotten. Yeah, I hated her.
“Are you going Greg?” she asked batting her eyelids. Although, she now had a man, she couldn’t stop flirting with him. It was as if she couldn’t have even one man not show interest in her. But Greg did not have a fever for her flava.
“Yeah. You know me, never one to miss a networking opportunity,” Greg replied, sitting back in my chair, hands crossed behind his head casually.
“Who will you take, Sheila again?” Jamie asked, a smile on her lips. “Or Sheila, are you actually seeing someone now?”
Greg shrugged.
“You know, Jamie, it’s still early yet. We’ll have dates for the banquet. Don’t you worry,” I stated.
“Well you know Sheila, if you’re still single, it’s okay to bring Greg as a friend,” Jamie replied
I steamed. “I’ll find someone to go with, Jamie.”
“Well I’m sure you will find someone to escort you. But Greg’s a good time too so no worries,” she shrugged then turned to leave. “And going alone is no problem either. I‘m sure you‘re used to that anyway.”
I was seeing red and it was not just her suit. “You know Jamie, I actually have been seeing someone and if things go well he’ll be my date to the event,” I replied confidently.
Greg turned his head to me and raised an eyebrow. I hadn’t dated anyone in three months what was I talking about?
Jamie spun around, eyes wide with curiosity. “Oh, really. What’s his name? What does he do?” she asked, leaning against my doorframe again.
I thought fast, of course she would want details. “His name is…. James.” Yeah, James. That was nice and respectable sounding. Greg looked at me with amusement and I tried to ignore his eyes as I thought up a job for “James” that would top investment banker Ted.
So what did he do? Maybe he could be a doctor. I’ve dated doctors before, I could again. Maybe even a plastic surgeon. Then I thought she probably knew all the ones in the area. Another lawyer? No, she’d look him up on a legal search engine. I looked down at the cover of my latest copy of Essence peeking out of my large handbag by my feet. Sean “Diddy” Combs was on the front and I knew who James was.
“He’s a music exec,” I replied seriously.
Greg tried to control his laughter. He probably thought it was a sad day when a grown woman had to make up an imaginary friend but I simply couldn’t let Jamie get the best of me.
Jamie’s eyes glowed with surprise. “What label?”
Label? What the hell? “Uh- Um. He told me. I can’t remember the label….”
“It’s the one Jill Scott’s on, right? I remember you told me that.” Greg smiled.
I tried to cover the look of gratitude and nodded my head in agreement. Jill Scott was neo soul, right up my alley in my musical database. “Yeah, that one. I’ll have to ask him again. He works a lot with neo soul music. He’s a VP and lives in New York.”
“Neo-soul, huh? That’s not really my area.” I was still wondering what was. “Lives in New York? Must be hard, so far away,” she stated, searching my eyes as if looking for a lie.
I shrugged. “Not really. It’s just a three and a half hour drive with no traffic. And he makes enough money where filling up his Mercedes with gas on a regular basis is no problem. Or he flies me to him. I prefer to go see him because I like the access he has. I meet some of his artists and get VIP treatment wherever we go. Next weekend we’re going to New York City for a celebrity party but I can’t remember whose it is. Jay-Z or Diddy, Kanye West? Who knows?” I smiled. It was like I was plugged into a lying machine.
The right corner of Jamie’s upper lip twitched and I knew she was pissed. I was starting to feel a little better.
“Damn, can I go with ya’ll?” Greg asked, giving me a playful wide-eyed look.
“Well, Sheila, sounds like you’re doing well for yourself. I suggest you hold on to him. Hopefully he’s still around when we have the banquet. I would love to meet him,” she smiled falsely.
I sighed as I stared blankly at my computer, clearing my mind from the Monday of Lies. I had dug myself a major hole all because I was insure about being single at 29 and even more insure about the prospect that my single status might continue well into my thirties.
The guys just weren’t as plentiful as they used to be. I worked long hours and in an environment where the only eligible guy was one who didn’t want to be tied down and any clients were not to be touched. The bar scene was tired. Men just weren’t around my life anymore. Well there was the cable guy, my mechanic, the maintenance and movers in the building, the security guards but it wasn’t as if any of them were studs in blue collar uniforms, not that I would date a blue collar guy anyway. Times weren’t that hard…yet. I sighed again, God please don’t let times get that hard!

*

Denise Miller, my closest friend in the whole world, waved her hand wildly when she saw me enter Mist, a lounge in Baltimore City, that Thursday evening. I walked past the front bar in the rectangular shaped club. The floors were dark wood throughout and there were four distinct areas consisting of front and back bar areas, a VIP section near the back bar area and a main dance floor area with tables to the side and a stage on the other side located in the middle of the lounge. The walls were a warm golden color with maroon drapes placed strategically around the room, along with soft lighting and dark purple, maroon and turquoise pillows on the chairs to add to the Mediterranean feeling that the lounge tried to project. I actually could take a pass on the place myself, there was just too many granola types running around for my comfort. You know the type, guys with scruffy faces and long hair, loose shirts and dirty tennis. However, Denise appeared to love the vibe and the feel.
Since it was still early the dance floor was crowded with tables and chairs for the dinner people. Denise got a table close to the stage and looked like she had been holding on to her hunger longer than she planned with a scowl on her face and thrumming of her fingers on the table. I smiled and shook my head as she pointed to her stomach with one hand and made a Pac Man eating shape with her other hand, accompanied by her angry look. I shook my head laughing.
I met Denise our first year of law school. Both quickly disgruntled with our selection of law schools but deciding to stick it out since it was a first tier school. If I were a better friend I would have encouraged her to quit since she quickly ascertained after her first year that she hated law school but I wanted some company down there in hell. She recently gave up practicing to teach full time at a college in Baltimore, Maryland and I knew she loved it.
By the time I sat down at the square white clothed table for two, Denise was already calling over a waiter.
“Thanks sweetie,” I said to her, eyeing the apple martini she got for me.
“No problem,” she replied and then looked up at a waiter who had suddenly appeared. I quickly flipped through my menu as she ordered.
After we made our selections, Denise took a sip of her raspberry martini (they were having a martini drink special). “So, I haven’t spoken to you since the weekend, what’s been going on? ” she asked.
I rolled my eyes and told her about my deceitful week. I wanted to keep that lie to myself (well myself and everyone at work) but she was my friend and maybe she could help me find a way out of this mess.
Denise held her hand over her mouth in shock as the waiter came back with our second round of drinks. “What the hell are you going to do, girl?” she cried.
I shrugged. “Find myself a James I suppose.”
“You got three months. More than enough time. You usually can always find a good-looking guy. Just tell him to act the part for the night,” she said, running a hand through her mass of curly brown hair that hit her shoulders.
“Well I’ve been on a dry spell so it might be a bit difficult.”
Denise humphed. “Dry spell? Yeah right. I’ve been on a dry spell you’ve just been a little thirsty. You’ll find someone I’m sure of it.”
“What about you? Got any options for escorts to Mia’s wedding?”
“The only option I have is what shoes I’m wearing with the dress she’s gonna make us wear,” Denise replied rolling her eyes.
“You have got to get a date!” I cried in horror, hand to my chest.
“For what? It’s not like I’m entering a dance competition. I don’t need a partner.”
“My God, woman, if you go alone all those bitches at the wedding will think you’re pathetic. Besides, you’ll need someone to dance with.”
“I can do the two step by myself,” she replied, bobbing her head to the beat of the jazz rhythms emanating from the band on stage.
I shook my head slowly. “You’re going to end up feeling bad and calling me on the phone to complain. Those girls expect you to be alone. Don’t give them the right.”
Denise frowned and stopped moving to the music. “Why does being alone have to sound so sad? Do you know Mia forwarded me an email with some sorry ass poem about keeping my head up even though I was single? Whoever wrote that poem should be pushed off a cliff. Like I was depressed to be alone. Does she travel, shop, and party like I do? Does she even have time for hobbies? And if she does she won’t for long, getting married and then having kids. I am in no rush,” Denise said angrily.
I shook my head. “Denise, if you hate her so much why are you in her wedding? I mean, that’s a lot of money to shell out for someone you could care less about.”
“Oh, she’s still my girl from way back, but she’s so delusional. Marriage is not the be all end all. People exist before or without getting married. And then just because you get married doesn’t mean instant happiness. Hell, the statistics on marriage don’t show that. I have no desire to rush to get a divorce.”
“You should still bring an escort. You’ve been to enough weddings alone,” I pushed. “Just think, if you had a gorgeous man on your arms, all those bitches would see that you’re doing just fine on your own. Since nothing else seems to get through to them other than man language.”
Denise raised an eyebrow. “Problem is where can I find a man like that in three months? Can we share James?” she teased.
The waiter appeared with our food and, just like the hungry gals we were, we ate in silence for a good 3 minutes.
Finally I broke the quiet. “Girl, you have no idea how bad the situation is getting. I had another nightmare last night,” I said, slicing my salmon.
“Another one? What was this one about?“ she asked in between chewing her food.
“I choked on a piece of tuna I was eating out of a can, don’t ask me how and why I would dare ever eat tuna or any other type of food out of a can. Anyway, since I was alone no one was there to help me and I died. My last vision was of my cat eating the rest of the tuna, which during my last breath I realized was actually cat food.”
Denise held her fork with a piece of roasted chicken midway to her mouth, a look of extreme pity on her face.
“And Denise, I don’t know whose cat that was. I didn’t own a cat. So I’m dying with a random cat running up through my house! Who knows maybe there were more hidden in the shadows waiting for my pathetic ass to die!”
“Wow, that is some seriously sad shit, Shiela. Ooh, say that three times fast!” she cried, laughing hard.
“Thank you, thank you for the sympathy. A true friend you are.“
“Oh, girl, I’m sorry. Here’s my sympathy face,“ she answered with a pout on her face.
I cut into my salmon and realized it smelled like tuna . I put my fork and knife down. “I just can’t have this anymore. What we need to do is be proactive and find ourselves some descent men.”
“I could care less,” Denise said, covering her mouth as she chewed and moved to the beat of the new song the band was playing.
“We need to get out there,” I stated, ignoring her. “We got a mission and we have work to do. We must find dates to our events. And we only have three months to do it!”
“How, pray tell, do you do that?” Denise asked, taking a sip of her drink.
“I printed this on-line advice list on how to meet your Mr. Right. My secretary recommended it to me. She seems to think I’m having problems sleeping because this steady case of the singles is starting to wear me down. Shake my confidence in my hope that I‘ll get married. I do wear her ear down talking about it,” I said and took out an unfolded sheet of paper from my purse for her to look at. “I’ll forward an email copy to you.”
Denise took the paper and looked it over. “How to Meet Mr. Right.” She raised her head and gave me a cynical look with a raised eyebrow. She lowered her head back down again and quickly scanned the article. “These rules are stupid.”
I took the paper back from her, chin jutted out unashamed. “Hey, we have to start some where. And my secretary said it worked for her cousin, Sharonda.”
“I don’t know Sharonda or the man she’s with. And most of those rules there would only be relevant if this was fifty years ago.”
“This isn’t a game, girl! We just should try it out. The people in the 1950s had it right. There weren’t all these single women running around back then.“
Denise put her hands up in objection. “And God forbid we be allowed to run amok.“
I rolled my eyes. “We have to work this like we’re looking for a job. We have to hit every available form of hook up venue and people we know. I think I have some friends who can hook me up.”
Denise nodded in disinterest and went back to cutting her chicken.
So, our mission would begin. I lifted my water glass (we’d finished our drinks) in a toast. “To mission: Get A Man. Other wise known as G.A.M. We have to have a code operative!”
Denise made a face then raised her glass. “That’s mad corny and I’ll toast to never hearing it again,” she replied, clinking my glass with hers
Maybe Denise pretended she didn’t care but I knew she loved a challenge and she’d participate in my little plan if for nothing more than pure curiosity. But she’d see the light. Love wasn’t bad. It was as necessary as air and I refused to suffocate.

Group Therapy- Part One

2008-03-06T15:03:00.000-08:00

“Billy, nobody here hates you,” Tara assured him.
“Yes they do,” said the sad looking young red head.
“Not true. We’re all friends in this group here.” Tara replied in a calm voice. “Who here doesn’t like Billy?” she asked the small team.
A soft murmur was heard. “I don’t.”
“See!” Billy said, sitting up in his seat in excitement. “Someone doesn’t like me!”
“Who said they didn’t like Billy?” Tara asked searching blank, disinterested faces.
“I don’t like that we’re talking about this,” Craig, light blond haired man in his early thirties, muttered with cross arms, leaning down in his seat.
“I think Danielle said it!” Billy cried.
“Who’s Danielle?” Tara asked.
He pointed to an attractive woman in her early 30’s with a pixie cut. She stared back at him in disgust. “My name is Candace. Danielle is the other black woman from accounting, which I’ve told you several times before!” she replied, shaking her head. “Tara, she’s out today.”
“Candace did you say you didn’t like Billy,” Tara said with a smile.
She shrugged. “I don’t recall.”
“Yes you did!” Billy cried. “Just yesterday.” He shifted in his seat and turned to Tara. “See I was minding my own business…”
(Cut to scene)
Candace stands in break room next to the microwave and opens her frozen dinner.
Billy comes into the room and opens the microwave, placing last nights cold dinner into the machine.
Candace glares at him as he crosses his arms waiting for his food to heat. “You know I don’t like you,” she says, before putting her frozen meal on top of the microwave and storming out.
(Back to first scene)
“He cut in front of me!” Candace cries.
“I didn’t know you were about to use the microwave!” Billy replied.
“What in the world did you think I was going to do with a frozen meal but heat it up? Knaw threw it like a popsicle? Tara, he does this all the time! Jumps in front of me in the buffet line at lunch, getting on the elevator, going through security and I swear it was his Prius that cut me off on the way to work the other day!” She turns to him, face suspicious. “You didn’t hear a red Mazda honking at you a few days ago?”
Billy shrugs with a confused look on his face.
Tara nods slowly and then turns to Billy. “Billy, how do you feel about what Candace just said?”
He looks down at his feet. “I didn’t realize. I apologize. Sometimes I get lost in my own world and I just don’t think.” He looks up at the woman. “I had no idea, Candace. I’ll pay better attention.”
Candace relaxes a bit, her face softening. “Well, okay. That’s alright.”
Tara claps. “Yes, this is good. See we are working out some of the tension in this office already. I’m really glad your boss called me here.”
Candace looks at her with a tired face. “But I wasn’t the one who just said I didn’t like him.”

Stupid Girl

2008-03-06T15:02:00.000-08:00

Doubt ripples through me like cold waves on a beach shore line.
I am indecisive and I huff in frustration,
Elbows perched carelessly on my knees.
I wish someone would just tell me what to do
So that if I make the wrong choice I can blame them instead of myself.
The phone rings and vibrates on my bed side table.
I quickly turn and lean to grab it.
It’s a friend of mine.
I glance at it in disgust.
I’m too depressed to talk to anyone right now.
Can’t focus on what their saying.
But staring at my blank wall is proving exhausting.
I still don’t answer.
Instead I lean back on the bed to stare at the popcorn textured ceiling.
Angry tears fall down my face to my pillow.
Choices.
Choices I’ve made to make others happy.
Not my own.
I’d rather have them pleased with me than please myself.
The consequences are devastating.
The consequences have me staring at my phone, checking emails, hating myself.
Because no matter what choice I make, for myself or for others,
Someone will be unhappy.
I’d rather it be me.
I know I can forgive myself.
But my faith in others isn’t so high.
I wonder if they make choices based on how I’ll feel.
I don’t think they do.
It never seems that way.
I turn to my side in anger, sighing heavily, head shaking in discontent.
I cared too much what other’s thought.
I let them rule how I lived my life.
Now I am left here,
Unsure of myself
While he is
Gone.

Blind date

2008-03-06T14:59:00.000-08:00

Part One- the Situation
“Help!”
My roommate comes rushing into the cramped stark white bathroom and then quickly burst out laughing as soon as she sees my face.
I frowned at her in my mirror which turns into a grimace when I am hit yet again with my face. I spin around and stare at her. “Stop laughing at me! This is serious!”
She straightens up from her bent over laughing position and looks at me seriously, hand on her chin in thought. “What the hell happened?”
I sigh. “I was trying to groom my eyebrows with my facial Nair.”
She stopped me with a hand. “Hold up, who Nairs their eyebrows!?”
“Lazy bamas who don’t have time to get to the salon. I look like Whoppi Goldberg. Less judgment more solution!”
She shakes her head, lips tight to avoid another burst of laughter.
I huffed and turned back to my dismal image. Hair still wound up tight in my jumbo curlers, covered in a hot pick terry cloth robe, with no make up. “I’m going to scare him off.”
She nods. “With a missing eyebrow, that’s a real possibility,” my roommate and soon to be ex friend states.
I glare at her again but I’m not sure how effective it is with only one eyebrow as emphasis.
“Okay, do a side part and were your hair over that eye!”
I respond with a blank stare in the mirror.
“Right, that probably won’t work with it being windy and all.” She places a hand over her left eye. “He’d be like 'hey, its’ windy', surprise [she lifts her hand then puts her hand down again]. And then he jumps back, not sure he saw what he though he saw, or didn’t see. But too late for him to inspect because the hair comes down again. Then nope, here comes the wind again and [hand lift from eye again] surprise!”
I cry out and shake. “I’m not going. Forget it.”
“Girl whatever, you can’t prolong this anymore. You have to meet this guy. We’ll simply use some pencil and powder and you’ll be as right as rain.”
I shake my head. “What does that saying even mean?”
She points to my covered toilet seat. “Sit. Let’s make a miracle.”
Several minutes later I stare back at a perfectly arched, yet artificial eyebrow. She touches up my remaining brow and I’m good to go.
Once dressed and made up, I feel I am Top Model ready.
“Look at you Ms. Tyra!” my roommate says, snapping her fingers.
I strike a model worthy pose.
“Is too sexy, too sexy!” she cries, coping the SNL Antonio Banderas skit as she shields her eyes.
“Then I’m ready to go.” I smile as I cat walk it to the front door of our apartment.
She follows me. “Good luck. Hope he doesn’t look like an Ewok!”
My hand pauses on the door knob and I turn to her in horror. “But I saw pictures! He’s cute.”
She puts her hands on her hips. “Or the person whose pictures he used is cute.”
Scary thoughts run through my head and I slowly back away from the door as if a fire was burning away on the other side.
“You know, maybe I won’t go.”