Archive for September, 2005

Sleepiness Begets This…

September 30, 2005 | Filed under: La Madre

So much for being “prolific”. This is all you’re gettin’ today…

A middle-aged woman had a heart attack and was taken to the hospital.
While on the operating table, she had a near death experience.
Seeing God, she asked, “Is my time up?”
God said, “No, you have another 43 years, two months and eight days
to
live.”
Upon recovery, the woman decided to stay in the hospital and have a
face-lift, liposuction and a tummy tuck. Since she had so much more
time to live, she figured she might as well look nicer.
After her last operation, she was released from the hospital. While
crossing the street on her way home, she was hit and killed by an
ambulance.
Arriving in front of God, she demanded, “I thought you said I had
another 40 years? Why didn’t you pull me out of the path of that
ambulance?”
God replied: “GirrLLLLLL…, I didn’t even recognize you.

Oh wait, and this…cause babies are cool. And tonight Drinx with some really hot boys. Oh and lots of Bethesda-ness tomorrow…as in Taste of Bethesda and Trader Joe’s and maybe Dunkin’ Donuts.

My Butterfly

September 29, 2005 | Filed under: La Madre

“Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.” ~Jack London

For some reason around the age of 12 I was an avid Real World watcher, hell, I still am. And maybe because of my Real World obsession I made a point to a) be on the Real World (got three years and 1 month until the cut off) and b) to get my tongue pierced. Whenever I mentioned either, Peg would give me the disgusted, why the hell would you do that? Look. To this day, I am unable to point to a specific reason for why I would want my tongue pierced, since that was the one I knew would be more easily attainable. I’m one determined chick, so please don’t try to stop me.

Upon my acceptance into American, I was placed (forced is the word I use though) into a program for minority students, so that they could become more easily adjusted to a new environment. What-the fuck-ever. I sulked and moved to DC the day after graduation, at the tender age of 17. My first foray into adult life. I had new friends and my New York State ID, which I ‘chalked’ with red, white, and black colored pencil. I was the only one in my summer program able to drink at clubs. I was a freaking rock star!

So I’m 17 with an ID that says that I’m 20 (almost 21) and I’m away from my parents. One day my roommate Denise decides that she wants a tattoo. At the same time, my friend Kenya decides that she wants her tongue pierced. Perfect timing, I’m getting’ my tongue pierced (I also had $200 burning a hole in my pocket). One weekend, we head to Adam’s Morgan, I’ve got my ID, although it had been smudging a little and Denise was ready to get her tattoo. We go in, I’m in the chair, I stick out my tongue, put my tongue to the roof of my mouth….Wouldn’t you know, I have a honking huge bright blue vein in the middle of my tongue. My piercer (is that a word?) tells me that if he nicks the vein, I will bleed to death, no if ands or buts about it. He knew a guy though, who could attempt it. Ummm Fuck no. I went home teary eyed and pissed. Now what?

Two weeks later, five of us head to Georgetown, I’ve found my “now what?”; a tattoo. Not sure what yet, I don’t think it really mattered, I just wanted someway to deface my body. I told you, I’m determined. I pace the parlor looking at the different designs. The tattoo artist accompanies me, to tell me how feasible the stuff I want is. Because I’m black, a lot of colors won’t show up very well. Ok fine. So what do I chose? A butterfly. A fucking butterfly. On the inside of my right ankle (so that no one in my future can see it. Also so that my parents can’t kill me right away). Bad ass. I know.

The next week, with my new and awesome tattoo (which wasn’t painful at all, except when the needle neared my shin bone), I phoned Peg.
“I have something to tell you and you won’t be happy”
“What’s wrong?”
“Just something”
“Are you sick? Are you pregnant?”
“Yeah mom, I’m pregnant. It’s immaculate conception”
“Then what is it??”
“I got a tattoo”
“Oh My God! Don’t scare me like that”

For a woman that said she’d be disappointed if I got a tattoo she didn’t sound too upset. Just happy that I hadn’t gotten pregnant. For months I was pretty freaking proud of that thing, I could hide it then flash it when I wanted to.

It’s been a little over four years since I got my butterfly. 1) Who gets a freaking butterfly? 2) Who gets a freaking butterfly on their ankle, when they refuse to wear stockings, like ever?
3) What kind of mother permits her child to get a tattoo and then not put the fear of Jesus in her child, to prevent her from doing stupid things like getting tattoos?

Eh, at least she’s not disappointed in me. Let’s just keep her from finding out that I’ve done much worse. Wouldn’t you like to know.

Awake

September 29, 2005 | Filed under: La Madre

“I have a “carpe diem” mug and, truthfully, at six in the morning the words do not make me want to seize the day. They make me want to slap a dead poet.” ~Joanne Sherman

*It’s morning (10 AM to be exact) and as of late, they haven’t been my best times. I’ve done my routine, have my Awake tea in front of me. But fuck, as of late, no time has been my best time, but I put on my happy face and act like everything is wonderful. How’s work? Great! How’s the living situation? Great! How have you been? Fucking fantastic!

Lies, all lies.

In all honesty, everything is fine really. Nothing is actually wrong, nothing bad has happened. It’s all normal same shit different day. Day in and day out. I had my weekend high, which was fabulous, but still, I’m stuck in a rut. It blows and leaves me feeling so incredibly uncreative and having a most difficult time getting up in the morning. You’d be shocked to learn though that I’ve been awaking at 6:15 AM to run and I’ve been on the “program” (which means that French fries, except for the five I had yesterday, have not been a part of my diet. Great, I know. But still, I’m just so blah.

Part of me finds that it has something to do with every other year, for the past 17 years, September comes and a new year starts with new shit happening everyday. That was the beauty of it all, so much happened in one day, that you can’t keep your head straight. There were vacations and midterms and finals and parties to look forward to. Shit, even the thought of my birthday was more exciting in years past than it has been this year. Every other year I’ve been that much closer to driving, or being able to vote or drinking, and now there’s not a damn thing to look forward to, oh wait, I can rent a car in a year. Woo Hoo!

I guess I could say ‘no pasa nada’ to it all and let it roll off my back. This too shall pass. But seriously a change needs to come, and soon. Like say if I were to meet everyone on Wisteria Lane, I’d be one happy happy girl.

*Addendum: Then coworkers crack my shit up (seriously I need a video camera) and all is right with the world. Same shit, but I should be thankful it’s a nice calm same shit I feel.

Ellen

September 28, 2005 | Filed under: La Madre

“The trouble with unemployment is that the minute you wake up in the morning you’re on the job. ” ~Slappy White

Between returning from Spain/Graduation and finding an actual job, I had six neurotic – anxiety ridden weeks. Sans cable, I might add. But that was just fine, I had company in Kimber and my day time TV. friends. I also developed an affinity for baking cookies and muffins and the inevitable babysitting. Friends were worried about the baking and I was worried that I would never find a job.

9 AM Regis & Kelly
10 AM Gym time
11 AM Ellen
12 AM Starting Over
1 PM Days of Our Lives
2 PM Bullshit around with Kimber/Subway
3 PM Babysit Peter
6 PM Babysit Sammy

Riveting, I know, but that was my day. Everyday. For six fucking weeks. By June 1st, I was contemplating my suicide. June 27th, I started working. I think that six weeks may have been the longest lapse between graduation and starting a job (dripping in sarcasm). I was so neurotic and upset about how I wasn’t going to find a job that I stopped talking to friends and to Peg, who had become exasperated by my worry.

My extreme neurosis is a factor in everything that I do. Sad, but true. If I hadn’t had a set schedule and Ellen to look forward to everyday, and my dear Kimber, I would have made myself even crazier. I didn’t want or need, people telling me to stop worrying and that I would find a job, I needed someone or ‘people’ around to make me happy and let me indulge a little in my unemployment. To be truthful, I was a little sad during my last day of stay at home mom-dom.

Now with the discovery of TV on my computer, I’ve taken to adding Ellen to my day again. Her dancing is a little something to have in the background at the mid morning hour, to make lunch get here faster and to cure whatever stupid shit is annoying me at the time, now that my worried-neurotic-annoyed-passive aggressive behavior has a new source.

It just makes me happy. And as we know, it’s the little things that do it for me.

CBC Weekend

September 27, 2005 | Filed under: La Madre

“Let our rejoicing rise, high as the listening skies,
Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.”- James W. Johnson

I think the weekend took “see and be seen” to a whole ‘nother level. Like an ‘I hate crowds, kinda want to shoot myself’ kind of level. I wrote a briefing in which I wasn’t sure to italicize “the” and capitalize everyone, as in; this is the event. EVERYONE will be there.

It’s a yearly event, every September that the Congressional Black Caucus Foundation has its Annual Legislative Caucus. Last year’s was big, because it was a Presidential election year. This year was actually scaled back due to Hurricane Katrina, and it’s affects on the African American community in New Orleans. I will admit, it’s one of those events that I’ve always wanted to go to, (seeing and being seen isn’t necessarily a bad thing) kind of like convention. But people kept telling me, that going once will be more than enough. I’m starting to believe that.

Ladies and Gentleman, my weekend synopsis:

Friday Night

Is where this post came from. I’m thinking I should elaborate on it a bit. Let’s go back to this conversation prior to an event at work:

HB: “I think I want some real food, not just M & Ms and oreos”
Coworker: “Why don’t you go downstairs and have food?
HB: “Ooh food and alcohol. Good idea”
Coworker: “Yes, you like both. But necessarily in that order”
HB: “OK you’re right, I like alcohol and then food”
Coworker: “Glad we’re on the same page on this”

Everywhere as part of the CBCF ALC weekend, the CBC spouses put on a fashion show which is equated to hot people wearing hot clothes-Hot. But prior to the start of the fashion show, I mixed and mingled and started on the free wine on our tables. Decided to go chat with a work colleague and there sitting next to her was Ms. Alfre Woodard. The picture above does her no justice.

I was introduced to her to which she replied “Look how cute you are, you don’t look old enough to be working anywhere” (heh, I’m cute in my pearls and pink cashmere. Word)
“I’m 21”
“Exactly not old enough” Alrighty then.

I then diverted all attention to why she and her very cute “son” have moved onto Wisteria Lane. I think my exact words were “So what’s going to happen Sunday?”. Who cares about the four Emmy’s and Miss Ever’s Boys? I want to know about why she has a man locked up in her basement. Priorities people.

Also seated at the table was Omarosa (the [inseart your own adjective here] woman from the Apprentice who cost Kwame the win. Also star of the Surreal Life). Ok, moving on now, because seated at my table, was Kwame. I told him that I wish had won, that was the extent of the conversation.

Like I said HOT people in the fashion show. Like Kim Porter whose freaking BOYFRIEND, whom we all know and love showed up. Diddy, man, Diddy. I think I may have peed on myself. And also the lovely Vivica Fox.

(Ok the end with Friday night because everyone else went to Love and I went home and made pizzas on pita bread. You would have thought I discovered uranium.)

Saturday Night:

Mmmmm mani and a pedi. Love it. Must look hot, because someone who has been lucky in the love department seems to think that I will find the love of my life this weekend. For the record, I didn’t.

CBC Gala/Awards dinner. The Cast of Characters: Omarosa, James Avery (Uncle Phil from Fresh Prince), Alfre Woodard, Wyclef Jean, Minister Farrakhan, John Kerry, Howard Dean, Reverend Sharpton and Jackson, Lynne Whitfield, 43 Members of Congress-including the Senator from Illinois and everyone and their freaking brother. Say it with me now, Crowd Control. There’s nothing like being pushed out of the way so that people could get their picture taken with my boss. I’ve also realized that I’m claustrophobic, and was thisclose to freaking out. Oh but I couldn’t, because I was in public with every upper echelon member of the black community. It was a test of wills and silently saying to myself “Holy shit, don’t freak out”. It was great.

After dinner it was “try to get an invite to the best parties”. Apparently getting invites to Zanzibar and to Love for the New York party make you cool or something. Again, see and be seen. I got invites, so I suppose I’m cool. Whatever. Although I was VIP at Zanzibar it was crowded and a lot of the 40+ crowd, but hey! Open Bar. Also Wyclef was there as was Lynne Whitfield sipping on the vino. Afterwards went to Love (well damn, looks just like Dream, what a change-but we won’t go there) where I got to be with my favorites. I love being with people and seeing people that I haven’t hung out with since last fall. It makes me kind of nostalgic. I want last fall back, minus the devastating loss. Again, won’t go there.

Oh and note to self: just because vodka tonics taste like water, doesn’t mean that you can drink them like water. Which is how I go through about five in a sitting then end up drunk and passing out.

Sunday

Holy hangover batman. I actually went to a babysitting interview looking a lot like hell (thankfully the mom reads my blog, Hey Kelly!).
Then dropped $150 at GAP (there’s a sale. Run, don’t walk). Noticed my chubbiness and went to potbelly. Yum. Walked around Farragut with my 18 bags and I kind of resembled a bag lady. Albeit a bag lady with a fresh mani and pedi that shops at gap and carries a Coach Bag.

Fast forward to Sunday night where roommate and I freaked the fuck out during Desperate Housewives every time Alfre Woodard came on screen. There were screams of “OH MY GOD, I CAN’T BELIEVE I JUST MET HER!”

Conclusion:
Tiring, yet successful weekend. There’s really nothing like being surrounded by beautiful black people all weekend long. There’s also nothing like hearing ‘Lift Every Voice and Sing’ and not being the only person to know the words (if you didn’t know we have our own national anthem as well). Thank God it’s only once a year though as I doubt I could handle more.