"A" has been discreetly watching certain parts of my anatomy.
I'd normally be pleased to know that the dude of my dreams has kept such a close eye on his chick, but the moment of revelation wasn't all that I had hoped for.
When we first got together, I was thrilled that we matched so well physically. He's just a little taller than me, so holding hands and other stuff is pretty comfortable.
Since we're close in size, our body parts are also individually close in size. I didn't give this much though but apparantly "A" did. (possibly inspired by the Nappy incident)
We were doing our Saturday relaxation thing, we were on the couch, and my feet were on his lap.
"You have grown man sized feet."
Never have six words shocked me more. (I have.... excuse me? Grow man sized feet? Wha...?)
To illustrate his point "A" snatched off his slippers, leaned back and started this foot to foot size comparison.
Just so you know, it's not possible to decrease one's foot size at a moment's notice. (people talk about the power of prayer - yada-yada)
I also lost the foot fight.
Grrrr.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Language Stuff
Ad infinitum. Que pasa. Soupe du jour.
These phrases originated as Latin, Spanish and French. They are part of the average Joe's normal everyday vocabulary. Yanno - the average Joe speaking English. The language that "everyone" here should speak according to some.
hint: We don't actually speak English here in the USA - we speak a patois - a bastardized version of the language of the country we fought and defeated in the Revolutionary War.
Los Angeles. ("the angels" in Spanish)
New Mexico. (named after... you know that really large country south of us - we just don't want actual Mexicans living there )
Des Moines. ("monks" in French)
Those 'English only' proponants need to consider the renaming of many quite large and highly populated metro areas since they wish to abolish the use of other languages in "America" (the misnomer they call the US when sounding extra patriotic [cue background music] although North America includes other countries that we don't count when normally saying 'America' because we're overly U.S.-centric and basically ignorant as a people).
If the "English only" proponants are serious then there's a lot of work ahead of them. We need to correct our spelling in dictionaries and encyclopedias. Colour, for example is the English way to spell the word we spell as color. Better get rid of the foreign phrases we use everyday and we'd better rename all the states and capitals of non-British origin. California can become Cornwall. Arizona can become Ascot.
Makes as much sense to me as an "English only" does to be served in a cheesesteak restaurant in Philadelphia.
These phrases originated as Latin, Spanish and French. They are part of the average Joe's normal everyday vocabulary. Yanno - the average Joe speaking English. The language that "everyone" here should speak according to some.
hint: We don't actually speak English here in the USA - we speak a patois - a bastardized version of the language of the country we fought and defeated in the Revolutionary War.
Los Angeles. ("the angels" in Spanish)
New Mexico. (named after... you know that really large country south of us - we just don't want actual Mexicans living there )
Des Moines. ("monks" in French)
Those 'English only' proponants need to consider the renaming of many quite large and highly populated metro areas since they wish to abolish the use of other languages in "America" (the misnomer they call the US when sounding extra patriotic [cue background music] although North America includes other countries that we don't count when normally saying 'America' because we're overly U.S.-centric and basically ignorant as a people).
If the "English only" proponants are serious then there's a lot of work ahead of them. We need to correct our spelling in dictionaries and encyclopedias. Colour, for example is the English way to spell the word we spell as color. Better get rid of the foreign phrases we use everyday and we'd better rename all the states and capitals of non-British origin. California can become Cornwall. Arizona can become Ascot.
Makes as much sense to me as an "English only" does to be served in a cheesesteak restaurant in Philadelphia.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Lime Green Gear Stuff
The cutie pie that I'm dating can rest assured that I truly care about him. The reason that he can feel totally confident in my genuine feeling is that I spent the entire morning with him in the Atlanta area one Saturday despite his outfit.
You may wonder, "what in the world could the man have worn to make Jali say all this on the internet." Well I'll share: He wore a lime green "Nappy" track suit... with emerald green and black racing stripes... with the name "Nappy" in bold white letters on the back. (I made a serious effort to research the "Nappy" apparel company, but was unable to find an active link.
I really wanted to share the look with you guys so that you'd really understand how much I care for this man. Remember, it was lime green. With emerald green and black racing stripes. Nappy.) Based on the one example of the design of the "Nappy" people that I've seen, I assume that the company is out of business. They really need to be.
The plan in the morning was to run out briefly to make it to an early morning doctor's appointment. "A" didn't really care what the doctor thought about his outfit. "A" should have cared.
When he got in the car, I sort of shielded my eyes from the glare of the lime green. He gave me that look and I didn't say a word. Not one word until we were on the road.
Now let me explain, "A" is a beautiful man. Just beautiful... but remember the saying, 'beauty is as beauty does'? Well "A" decided to do the Nappy lime green track suit that morning.
I offered to play a road game to make things fun. "Let's name all the green things we see while we're traveling." My suggestion wasn't even given a response.
"Oooh... there's your car!" Yup, a guy was driving a shiny lime green convertable so I sped up a bit to get a good look. "A" refused to acknowledge the car at all.
"Green trees, green grass, green trash can..." I was on a roll playing my game. "A" wasn't amused, but I find my entertainment where I can.
We pulled into the parking garage of the medical complex, and I decided to wait outside and read for a while. "Don't worry baby, I'll see you as soon as you come out of the building." "A" didn't get the joke.
After the appointment the original plan was to fly back home, change into more groovy gear and find some fun or trouble to get into. My stomach wasn't having it.
I went into whiney mode. "I'm hungry, I'm hot... I have a headache." I accompanied this much repeated refrain with my patented 'pitiful Jali' look. After about my 12th or 13th sigh and his obvious annoyance at my whining, "A" finally relented and agreed to feed me.
Did we stop at the closest fast food spot where we could whizz through the drive-thru?
Ha-Ha.
I sped onto the highway with a goal in mind: The Famouse Pancake House in Stone Mountain.
The restaurant was crowded (as always). TFPH is my favorite breakfast spot in the Metro area and I was excited to share the experience with the dude of my dreams.
The dude of my dreams still wore the lime green Nappy suit with emerald and black racing stripes. He remembered his outfit as we walked past the people sitting outside the restaurant. (see, this is why I need a camera phone - the look on his face when the realization set in was amazing).
I grabbed his hand to show solidarity, but turned away so that he wouldn't see me giggling.
The hostess sat us near the middle of the room. "A" was cool - well I suppose as cool as one can be while wearing a lime green Nappy track suit with emerald and black racing stripes and with every eye in the restaurant watching his every move.
We ordered, the food was delicious, the conversation great and the time had come to make our grand exit.
"When I get home, I'm going to put this suit in a bag and pee on it". (Yeah, yeah, but you still have it on now.)
I proudly held his hand again as we weaved through the crowded room of staring people. "He's MY man!" (yeah, that was a paraphrased quote by "Squeek" from The Color Purple).
As we drove home I notice the engine temp gauge was slowly edging towards dangerous. "A" wisely suggested that we stop at the auto parts store for fluids. (Ooh goodie, another adventure.)
I make the most of each and every shopping opportunity and was cruising the aisles for things I might need, and I suppose that "A" got tired of waiting in the hot car. I looked up and he was standing next to me, sweating like crazy in his lime green track suit with emerald and black racing stripes.
I put down the thing-a-ma-bob that I had been examining and followed "A" to the register. The guy that helped us happened to mention that it was his B-day and that he couldn't wait until he got off.
"Um sir.. may I ask you a serious question?"
"Sure", he was a polite young man.
"If someone gave you a lime green Nappy track suit with emerald and black racing stripes as a gift for your birthday, would you wear it?"
Post script - "A" is finally speaking to me again. Would I do it all over knowing what I know now? Hells yeah! That was the best laugh I'd had for days and the other customers and clerks enjoyed it too.
If anyone can find a photo of a "Nappy" track suit, please send me a link!!
You may wonder, "what in the world could the man have worn to make Jali say all this on the internet." Well I'll share: He wore a lime green "Nappy" track suit... with emerald green and black racing stripes... with the name "Nappy" in bold white letters on the back. (I made a serious effort to research the "Nappy" apparel company, but was unable to find an active link.
I really wanted to share the look with you guys so that you'd really understand how much I care for this man. Remember, it was lime green. With emerald green and black racing stripes. Nappy.) Based on the one example of the design of the "Nappy" people that I've seen, I assume that the company is out of business. They really need to be.
The plan in the morning was to run out briefly to make it to an early morning doctor's appointment. "A" didn't really care what the doctor thought about his outfit. "A" should have cared.
When he got in the car, I sort of shielded my eyes from the glare of the lime green. He gave me that look and I didn't say a word. Not one word until we were on the road.
Now let me explain, "A" is a beautiful man. Just beautiful... but remember the saying, 'beauty is as beauty does'? Well "A" decided to do the Nappy lime green track suit that morning.
I offered to play a road game to make things fun. "Let's name all the green things we see while we're traveling." My suggestion wasn't even given a response.
"Oooh... there's your car!" Yup, a guy was driving a shiny lime green convertable so I sped up a bit to get a good look. "A" refused to acknowledge the car at all.
"Green trees, green grass, green trash can..." I was on a roll playing my game. "A" wasn't amused, but I find my entertainment where I can.
We pulled into the parking garage of the medical complex, and I decided to wait outside and read for a while. "Don't worry baby, I'll see you as soon as you come out of the building." "A" didn't get the joke.
After the appointment the original plan was to fly back home, change into more groovy gear and find some fun or trouble to get into. My stomach wasn't having it.
I went into whiney mode. "I'm hungry, I'm hot... I have a headache." I accompanied this much repeated refrain with my patented 'pitiful Jali' look. After about my 12th or 13th sigh and his obvious annoyance at my whining, "A" finally relented and agreed to feed me.
Did we stop at the closest fast food spot where we could whizz through the drive-thru?
Ha-Ha.
I sped onto the highway with a goal in mind: The Famouse Pancake House in Stone Mountain.
The restaurant was crowded (as always). TFPH is my favorite breakfast spot in the Metro area and I was excited to share the experience with the dude of my dreams.
The dude of my dreams still wore the lime green Nappy suit with emerald and black racing stripes. He remembered his outfit as we walked past the people sitting outside the restaurant. (see, this is why I need a camera phone - the look on his face when the realization set in was amazing).
I grabbed his hand to show solidarity, but turned away so that he wouldn't see me giggling.
The hostess sat us near the middle of the room. "A" was cool - well I suppose as cool as one can be while wearing a lime green Nappy track suit with emerald and black racing stripes and with every eye in the restaurant watching his every move.
We ordered, the food was delicious, the conversation great and the time had come to make our grand exit.
"When I get home, I'm going to put this suit in a bag and pee on it". (Yeah, yeah, but you still have it on now.)
I proudly held his hand again as we weaved through the crowded room of staring people. "He's MY man!" (yeah, that was a paraphrased quote by "Squeek" from The Color Purple).
As we drove home I notice the engine temp gauge was slowly edging towards dangerous. "A" wisely suggested that we stop at the auto parts store for fluids. (Ooh goodie, another adventure.)
I make the most of each and every shopping opportunity and was cruising the aisles for things I might need, and I suppose that "A" got tired of waiting in the hot car. I looked up and he was standing next to me, sweating like crazy in his lime green track suit with emerald and black racing stripes.
I put down the thing-a-ma-bob that I had been examining and followed "A" to the register. The guy that helped us happened to mention that it was his B-day and that he couldn't wait until he got off.
"Um sir.. may I ask you a serious question?"
"Sure", he was a polite young man.
"If someone gave you a lime green Nappy track suit with emerald and black racing stripes as a gift for your birthday, would you wear it?"
Post script - "A" is finally speaking to me again. Would I do it all over knowing what I know now? Hells yeah! That was the best laugh I'd had for days and the other customers and clerks enjoyed it too.
If anyone can find a photo of a "Nappy" track suit, please send me a link!!
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Sports Stuff (heartbreak and happiness)
My immaturity level has reached a new high (or low) due to professional sports. Basketball is the culprit and I'm whining.
I spent a good part of my day yesterday sulking. - I was pissed that I lost sleep staying up past my worknight bedtime to watch that Duane Wade dude (hmmmph) mess up my Mavs in the last seconds (more than freakin' once - I'm including OT) of the game. I'm a bad winner (as I've discussed) but I'm a horrible loser. I really get angry. Really.
When the Mavericks were leading the series 2-0 I talked much smack here at work - all the delivery guys, the messengers, our caterers, the staff here, our vendors - even our clients - everybody within hearing range got to hear me talk about the sweep. Yeah... the sweep.
Many of those people stopped in yesterday to laugh at me. (how rude!) I tried my best to maintain a professional demeanor while listening to amateur (boring!) recaps of the final plays in regulation and the overtime moves Miami made. I saw the game. I remember what happened and didn't need the Jr. Aspiring Sportscaster League to recap anything, but recap they did. All. Day. Long.
My daughter, the comedienne Brooke, sends me text messages of the score - as though she feels as though I'm unable to comprehend what I actually saw, the ESPN recaps, the internet ad infinitum articles, or the sports pages in the local newspapers. (advice - don't bet with your children - if they win they will harrass you to death)
Let's see what Avery and the boys do tonight.
My only consolation right now (BRAGGING SECTION) is that I have tickets to the opening pre- season game, The Falcons vs The Patriots. The game is on August 11th and I'll start my therapy soon to learn to cope with the nosebleeds I'm anticipating from sitting thousands of feet above sea level in the only seats my slim budget would allow right now. I don't care - I'LL BE AT THE OPENING GAME!!!!!
I bought the tickets online a couple of weeks ago for $24 each - c'mon, not bad at all. Of course there's a slight service charge, but I'm going to a pro game with a beautiful man for under 100 bucks. Maybe I need to stop sulking.
I spent a good part of my day yesterday sulking. - I was pissed that I lost sleep staying up past my worknight bedtime to watch that Duane Wade dude (hmmmph) mess up my Mavs in the last seconds (more than freakin' once - I'm including OT) of the game. I'm a bad winner (as I've discussed) but I'm a horrible loser. I really get angry. Really.
When the Mavericks were leading the series 2-0 I talked much smack here at work - all the delivery guys, the messengers, our caterers, the staff here, our vendors - even our clients - everybody within hearing range got to hear me talk about the sweep. Yeah... the sweep.
Many of those people stopped in yesterday to laugh at me. (how rude!) I tried my best to maintain a professional demeanor while listening to amateur (boring!) recaps of the final plays in regulation and the overtime moves Miami made. I saw the game. I remember what happened and didn't need the Jr. Aspiring Sportscaster League to recap anything, but recap they did. All. Day. Long.
My daughter, the comedienne Brooke, sends me text messages of the score - as though she feels as though I'm unable to comprehend what I actually saw, the ESPN recaps, the internet ad infinitum articles, or the sports pages in the local newspapers. (advice - don't bet with your children - if they win they will harrass you to death)
Let's see what Avery and the boys do tonight.
My only consolation right now (BRAGGING SECTION) is that I have tickets to the opening pre- season game, The Falcons vs The Patriots. The game is on August 11th and I'll start my therapy soon to learn to cope with the nosebleeds I'm anticipating from sitting thousands of feet above sea level in the only seats my slim budget would allow right now. I don't care - I'LL BE AT THE OPENING GAME!!!!!
I bought the tickets online a couple of weeks ago for $24 each - c'mon, not bad at all. Of course there's a slight service charge, but I'm going to a pro game with a beautiful man for under 100 bucks. Maybe I need to stop sulking.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Random Stuff
Buzzwords. The rampant use is annoying as hell.
Have you ever listen to a speaker drone on for 20 minutes and wondered, "what the hell is he talking about?" Some folks are unable to speak without using certain popular phrases or words. Some people feel that the insertion of these words make the speaker seem more informed.
The words in parenthesis are what I think when I hear these overused lines.
Synergy. (I can't really express what I need to say...hmmmm "synergy" sounds good. I'll say it.)
Leverage. (When does this concept fit into a staff meeting?)
Issues. (my serious pet peeve - almost everything can be termed an issue - just sounds stupid to me)
Thinking outside the box. (C'mon - we're operating inside the corporate box - it's just something that people say but don't really mean.)
X Factor. (Duh)
Win-Win. (Oh, please...)
Please stop the madness! Let's have meetings and conversations without using ANY OF THESE WORDS OR PHRASES. Please.
Have you ever listen to a speaker drone on for 20 minutes and wondered, "what the hell is he talking about?" Some folks are unable to speak without using certain popular phrases or words. Some people feel that the insertion of these words make the speaker seem more informed.
The words in parenthesis are what I think when I hear these overused lines.
Synergy. (I can't really express what I need to say...hmmmm "synergy" sounds good. I'll say it.)
Leverage. (When does this concept fit into a staff meeting?)
Issues. (my serious pet peeve - almost everything can be termed an issue - just sounds stupid to me)
Thinking outside the box. (C'mon - we're operating inside the corporate box - it's just something that people say but don't really mean.)
X Factor. (Duh)
Win-Win. (Oh, please...)
Please stop the madness! Let's have meetings and conversations without using ANY OF THESE WORDS OR PHRASES. Please.
Science Stuff
I listen to 107.9, The A Team radio show in Atlanta every morning during my drive to work. This morning the audience poll had to do with childhood science experiments and callers shared their stories. Todays topic was a direct result of the video experiment using diet soda and menthos candy. http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=4077724936497803978.
One guy called to say that during a particularly boring summer day, despite the many warnings from his mom, he decided to mix bleach and ammonia in a jar, covered it for a while, then removed the top. He said he lost the sense of taste for a couple of months and his eyes were streaked with red. I'll bet his butt was streaked with red too once his mother found out.
Another caller used ketchup on pennies to clean them - she said that it takes 2 minutes to get the job done. (I just might try this myself today if I can fit it into my busy and oh so interesting schedule - no smart remarks please). I wanted to hear more stories and sat in the car for a few minutes after I parked, but my time was short so up to my floor I rode still thinking about the show.
Did any of you watch "Mr. Wizard" or "Bill Nye, The Science Guy" on TV?
My memory isn't the best so I did a little research (code for googled "Mr. Wizard') and found a page where a few of the experiments are listed:
Lykopodium powder was sprinkled on water to break the surface tension and a kid reach his hand into the tank. Amazingly, the kid pulled his hand out and it was completely dry.
Mr. Wizard had a kid press his arms against a doorway for about 30 seconds and then after the kid relaxed, his arms flew right back up.
A girl learned that her hands could not tell the difference between hot and cold after being exposed to the opposite temperature.
Tie a piece of wet string to a faucet and make the water flow sideways by moving the string.
I did further research (googled Bill Nye) and his website http://www.billnye.com/ is pretty interesting.
A little taste of my childhood curiosity has come back. Experiments were fun to me at one time and I'll do the ketchup-penny test today to see how it feels.
Anybody want to play? Do an easy experiment and let me know the result. I double dog dare you.
One guy called to say that during a particularly boring summer day, despite the many warnings from his mom, he decided to mix bleach and ammonia in a jar, covered it for a while, then removed the top. He said he lost the sense of taste for a couple of months and his eyes were streaked with red. I'll bet his butt was streaked with red too once his mother found out.
Another caller used ketchup on pennies to clean them - she said that it takes 2 minutes to get the job done. (I just might try this myself today if I can fit it into my busy and oh so interesting schedule - no smart remarks please). I wanted to hear more stories and sat in the car for a few minutes after I parked, but my time was short so up to my floor I rode still thinking about the show.
Did any of you watch "Mr. Wizard" or "Bill Nye, The Science Guy" on TV?
My memory isn't the best so I did a little research (code for googled "Mr. Wizard') and found a page where a few of the experiments are listed:
Lykopodium powder was sprinkled on water to break the surface tension and a kid reach his hand into the tank. Amazingly, the kid pulled his hand out and it was completely dry.
Mr. Wizard had a kid press his arms against a doorway for about 30 seconds and then after the kid relaxed, his arms flew right back up.
A girl learned that her hands could not tell the difference between hot and cold after being exposed to the opposite temperature.
Tie a piece of wet string to a faucet and make the water flow sideways by moving the string.
I did further research (googled Bill Nye) and his website http://www.billnye.com/ is pretty interesting.
A little taste of my childhood curiosity has come back. Experiments were fun to me at one time and I'll do the ketchup-penny test today to see how it feels.
Anybody want to play? Do an easy experiment and let me know the result. I double dog dare you.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Move Stuff
Just learned that the apartment I've been waiting for is available and I will be able to move on Saturday. Yup, this Saturday! I'm sure that you all know how lazy I am - so you'll understand my reluctant joy.
The joy: I want to move. I need to move. The police have been driving through my complex with an alarming regularity lately, and it's not at all comfortable for me (no I'm not a criminal on the run - I just don't like it). The new place will cost a lot less than my current spot and offers much more. There's an added bonus that I'll discuss another day since it deserves it's own post.
The reluctant part: The lazy part of me doesn't feel like packing up crap, hauling same crap to truck, unloading crap at new spot and unpacking and putting away crap. I almost want to abandon what I have and just have new crap delivered. (a fantasy since I can't afford the crap I already have and it'll be a long time before my budget allows for new)
Now some of you may not realize just how hot it can get in Georgia. Asking friends to help is asking a lot. A whole lot. Of course the sweetness in my life will help, but he's just one man, so that still leaves half of the work to me.
("scheme-scheme-plot - plot" - ever since Luda used the line, I've been itching to copy him)
How can I make the offer of helping me to move in the relentless Georgia sun sound like fun so that I only need to move the girlie stuff and the big strong men I know can do their big strong thing?
One word. Brew.
Something about the offer of an icy cold foamy beverage makes the average guy I know willing to do almost anything if that beverage is the prize. My buddies can afford (fill in expensive beverage name - I'm not that hip - what the hell is Grey Goose?) if they're in the mood, but the offer of free beer is irresistable for some reason. Possible conditioning from childhood? Beer - good. Beer - good. Beer - good.
Whatever works.
I'll be back with an update.
The joy: I want to move. I need to move. The police have been driving through my complex with an alarming regularity lately, and it's not at all comfortable for me (no I'm not a criminal on the run - I just don't like it). The new place will cost a lot less than my current spot and offers much more. There's an added bonus that I'll discuss another day since it deserves it's own post.
The reluctant part: The lazy part of me doesn't feel like packing up crap, hauling same crap to truck, unloading crap at new spot and unpacking and putting away crap. I almost want to abandon what I have and just have new crap delivered. (a fantasy since I can't afford the crap I already have and it'll be a long time before my budget allows for new)
Now some of you may not realize just how hot it can get in Georgia. Asking friends to help is asking a lot. A whole lot. Of course the sweetness in my life will help, but he's just one man, so that still leaves half of the work to me.
("scheme-scheme-plot - plot" - ever since Luda used the line, I've been itching to copy him)
How can I make the offer of helping me to move in the relentless Georgia sun sound like fun so that I only need to move the girlie stuff and the big strong men I know can do their big strong thing?
One word. Brew.
Something about the offer of an icy cold foamy beverage makes the average guy I know willing to do almost anything if that beverage is the prize. My buddies can afford (fill in expensive beverage name - I'm not that hip - what the hell is Grey Goose?) if they're in the mood, but the offer of free beer is irresistable for some reason. Possible conditioning from childhood? Beer - good. Beer - good. Beer - good.
Whatever works.
I'll be back with an update.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Link Stuff
Since I can't get my links to show up on my page, I've decided to do this the Jali way. I'm not renting my blog. (I really don't understand the concept)
Blog of the Week: http://steveskalish.blogspot.com/ - title: My Big Fat F'kin Head. The name of the blog is what made me look the first time. His writing is what made me keep coming back.
C'mon, do yourself a big favor and check out Smokin' Steve. Take some time and read through the archives. For a guy from Pennsylvania (I do not love that state) he's pretty cool. N0 - he's very cool.
Blog of the Week: http://steveskalish.blogspot.com/ - title: My Big Fat F'kin Head. The name of the blog is what made me look the first time. His writing is what made me keep coming back.
C'mon, do yourself a big favor and check out Smokin' Steve. Take some time and read through the archives. For a guy from Pennsylvania (I do not love that state) he's pretty cool. N0 - he's very cool.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Life Stuff
An old saying has always irked me: "The early bird gets the worm."
I do understand the point, but I've always wondered, what about the poor early worm? If the worm had chilled another hour or two, he may not have been the high protein breakfast treat for Mr. Robin Redbreast. He might even be still hanging out today, worming (heh-heh-heh) his way through the garden.
Because it's an old saying, I think I was expected to accept the wisdom without question, but since little Jali was just as stubborn as the adult (in her own special way) Jali, I questioned it.
Old = Wise?
Nope! Well... not necessarily.
What is wisdom to my eye may have no bearing on your reality. I can learn from anyone and anyone can learn from me.
There are certain reflexive truths that are undisputable to most people - Fire is hot. Kicking a brick will hurt a toe. Ex husband #1 is a goofball. We all live and learn to find truths such as these. My mom may have said, "No Jali..hot!" or "Jali, don't kick that!" or "He's not the one, you idiot!", but until I burnt my finger, stubbed my toe, and married "the one who shall not be named since evil minions may be listening and darkness may return to the earth", I didn't quite grasp the concepts my mom was trying to share.
It's a positive thing to try to share the painful life lessons with our next generation so that they can avoid the scars and the pain. It's also a positive thing when they ignore our warnings and learn these lessons for themselves.
I'm annoyed by those who feel it part of their duty to "enlighten me". (especially those armed with the magical elixer of knowledge - malt liquor) Because someone was born 10 or 15 years before the glorious day of my birth doesn't automatically make them any better than me in coping with my issues. Some of y'all really need to think about this - some of you know exactly what I'm talking about.
I'm annoyed at my contemporaries who dismiss the music, the dress, the opinions, and the dreams of our younger generation.
Remember the 70's? The 80's? Who the hell are we to criticize the way folks dress today? C'mon, I wore Afro Puffs, hot pants, neon tights, Mahogany- the lipstick, platform sparkly shoes that I could barely walk in, bubble shirt and a rawhide headband (and this is just one outfit) to hang out with my friends. I think to my parents and their friends I resembled a strange visitor to this planet.
Our music wasn't as innocent as we claim either. Grace Jones single was all over the radio:"Pull up to my bumper baybay...with your long black limousine." Were you allowed to play "Pillow Talk" by Sylvia at home? That record taught me how to fake it. How about the Funkadelic lyric, "You be my dog, I'll be your tree and you can pee on me."
I'm also annoyed at some youth who feel that I have nothing valid to say since I'm no longer hip - although I'm not conceding that point, I'm just sharing certain young peoples' attitudes regarding my personal hipness quotient.
What I write here isn't meant to be taken as the wisdom of the ages. These are my opinions (while always correct of course, look who's talking) I hope to just make you think about these things. All this talking has to do with someone else's site (sorry no link), where the question was raised, what is the point of a blog?
I'm not going to answer the question. Do I ever really answer the question? You two regular readers (sad stat since I have a big extended family who just happen to ignore me online) know that I'm not gonna answer the question.
But then, didn't I just answer it?
I do understand the point, but I've always wondered, what about the poor early worm? If the worm had chilled another hour or two, he may not have been the high protein breakfast treat for Mr. Robin Redbreast. He might even be still hanging out today, worming (heh-heh-heh) his way through the garden.
Because it's an old saying, I think I was expected to accept the wisdom without question, but since little Jali was just as stubborn as the adult (in her own special way) Jali, I questioned it.
Old = Wise?
Nope! Well... not necessarily.
What is wisdom to my eye may have no bearing on your reality. I can learn from anyone and anyone can learn from me.
There are certain reflexive truths that are undisputable to most people - Fire is hot. Kicking a brick will hurt a toe. Ex husband #1 is a goofball. We all live and learn to find truths such as these. My mom may have said, "No Jali..hot!" or "Jali, don't kick that!" or "He's not the one, you idiot!", but until I burnt my finger, stubbed my toe, and married "the one who shall not be named since evil minions may be listening and darkness may return to the earth", I didn't quite grasp the concepts my mom was trying to share.
It's a positive thing to try to share the painful life lessons with our next generation so that they can avoid the scars and the pain. It's also a positive thing when they ignore our warnings and learn these lessons for themselves.
I'm annoyed by those who feel it part of their duty to "enlighten me". (especially those armed with the magical elixer of knowledge - malt liquor) Because someone was born 10 or 15 years before the glorious day of my birth doesn't automatically make them any better than me in coping with my issues. Some of y'all really need to think about this - some of you know exactly what I'm talking about.
I'm annoyed at my contemporaries who dismiss the music, the dress, the opinions, and the dreams of our younger generation.
Remember the 70's? The 80's? Who the hell are we to criticize the way folks dress today? C'mon, I wore Afro Puffs, hot pants, neon tights, Mahogany- the lipstick, platform sparkly shoes that I could barely walk in, bubble shirt and a rawhide headband (and this is just one outfit) to hang out with my friends. I think to my parents and their friends I resembled a strange visitor to this planet.
Our music wasn't as innocent as we claim either. Grace Jones single was all over the radio:"Pull up to my bumper baybay...with your long black limousine." Were you allowed to play "Pillow Talk" by Sylvia at home? That record taught me how to fake it. How about the Funkadelic lyric, "You be my dog, I'll be your tree and you can pee on me."
I'm also annoyed at some youth who feel that I have nothing valid to say since I'm no longer hip - although I'm not conceding that point, I'm just sharing certain young peoples' attitudes regarding my personal hipness quotient.
What I write here isn't meant to be taken as the wisdom of the ages. These are my opinions (while always correct of course, look who's talking) I hope to just make you think about these things. All this talking has to do with someone else's site (sorry no link), where the question was raised, what is the point of a blog?
I'm not going to answer the question. Do I ever really answer the question? You two regular readers (sad stat since I have a big extended family who just happen to ignore me online) know that I'm not gonna answer the question.
But then, didn't I just answer it?
Monday, June 05, 2006
Karma Stuff
I finally went to see the movie I starred in (well, that's how it felt to me) (with hundreds of other extras) here in Atlanta last fall. We went to the dollar theater and "ATL" was showing at 10:20. The movie was pretty good despite the fact the EVERY SCENE I REMEMBER BEING IN WAS CUT. (Okay Jali, calm down and stop shouting at these nice people.)
My daughter, the famous comedienne Brooke sent me a text message since I wouldn't answer the phone during the showing. "Goodnight ugly". The child made me laugh out loud and look like an idiot since there was nothing funny going on on the screen at that moment. I didn't tell her my plans for the evening so one of her agents must have fed her the information so that she could send the message at the optimum moment for mother embarrassment.
Mother embarrassment is payback for the teenager embarrassment I unintentionally inflicted on the child years ago. I didn't realize that picking her up from a meeting wearing acid-washed no-name jeans was something that would make her the object of laughter. I now understand that yelling, "that's MY child" while child is trying to lead the cheer at a ball game might have been a little over the top. Showing her friends the dances from my teens wasn't really a good idea now that I think about it, so I suppose whatever payback she dishes out is probably what I deserve.
My daughter, the famous comedienne Brooke sent me a text message since I wouldn't answer the phone during the showing. "Goodnight ugly". The child made me laugh out loud and look like an idiot since there was nothing funny going on on the screen at that moment. I didn't tell her my plans for the evening so one of her agents must have fed her the information so that she could send the message at the optimum moment for mother embarrassment.
Mother embarrassment is payback for the teenager embarrassment I unintentionally inflicted on the child years ago. I didn't realize that picking her up from a meeting wearing acid-washed no-name jeans was something that would make her the object of laughter. I now understand that yelling, "that's MY child" while child is trying to lead the cheer at a ball game might have been a little over the top. Showing her friends the dances from my teens wasn't really a good idea now that I think about it, so I suppose whatever payback she dishes out is probably what I deserve.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Me Stuff
Back in the day (what an annoying phrase - as though I were as old as the hills or...oh never mind) when I lived knee deep in laundry, stuck with homework to check, dishes to do and all the other working mom type chores that automatically came with my title, I longed for the day when my time would be my own. I imagined many weekends in the Caribbean, intimate dinners at wonderful restaurants nightly, club and bar hopping just because. Reality is a mo-fo.
Yesterday at work I decided that I would forgo my regular weeknight routine of: go home, eat, read, then sleep with the TV on (the monster can't get me if the TV is on - it worked when I was little and I'm proof that it still works today) to keep me company.
I live in a major metropolitan center. There are literally hundreds of things to do in Atlanta on a Thursday night and as I fought my way through snail-hour traffic I considered a few of my choices. The radio station I listen to mentioned an "adult" club atmosphere of networking and socializing then announced "18 to get in, 21 to drink" - okay, well that's one off my list. I could go skating, but the chances of running into the Ex were pretty likely and I really wasn't in that kind of mood. Skating saved for Friday night in Decatur. Dinner at an Atlanta hotspot? Not really even hungry so why spend a bankroll and finance someone else's children's dreams? Pepper's bar? Nope, I really don't want to be known as a "regular". (those of you thinking "too late". forget you!)
An hour later, finally at home and still undecided I asked a thirty-ish neighbor of mine where he liked to hang out. So wrong of me - neighbor thought it was a personal invitation and gave me the look and a smile. You know the look: "Hmmmm, never really thought about it, but I don't have a booty lined up for this evening, and maybe she'll do."
We'd hung out in the past as part of a group but never done a one on one and I wasn't feeling his vibe at all. My new dude and I haven't made a general announcement to the party circle yet so neighbor didn't know that I'm again involved.
Claiming an urgent call of nature I went back inside to get away from a truly goofy situation. (why oh why to I constantly find myself in goofy situations?) I pulled out the email notices and flyers for different happenings this week and turned on the TV for background sound. Nothing really caught me eye. I wasn't willing to be a particpant in an "Apple Bottom" contest (shut up!) and I really didn't want to see a Video Vixens contest either.
I grabbed my beat up copy of The Divinci Code (not a bad read), finished it, then glanced up at the television to see the SYTYCD tryouts on. I suppose now is the time to admit that I'm still suffering from withdrawal pangs from American Idol and that a new contest is probably the 'methadone" I need to sooth the pains of my addiction.
The show isn't good - the show isn't bad. Meh. I stayed the course and the 10 o'clock news on Fox came on, but Fox's version of news is something that I'm just unable to tolerate, so I went back outside to smoke a ciggie and continue the thought process regarding the rest of my evening of fun.
Yesterday at work I decided that I would forgo my regular weeknight routine of: go home, eat, read, then sleep with the TV on (the monster can't get me if the TV is on - it worked when I was little and I'm proof that it still works today) to keep me company.
I live in a major metropolitan center. There are literally hundreds of things to do in Atlanta on a Thursday night and as I fought my way through snail-hour traffic I considered a few of my choices. The radio station I listen to mentioned an "adult" club atmosphere of networking and socializing then announced "18 to get in, 21 to drink" - okay, well that's one off my list. I could go skating, but the chances of running into the Ex were pretty likely and I really wasn't in that kind of mood. Skating saved for Friday night in Decatur. Dinner at an Atlanta hotspot? Not really even hungry so why spend a bankroll and finance someone else's children's dreams? Pepper's bar? Nope, I really don't want to be known as a "regular". (those of you thinking "too late". forget you!)
An hour later, finally at home and still undecided I asked a thirty-ish neighbor of mine where he liked to hang out. So wrong of me - neighbor thought it was a personal invitation and gave me the look and a smile. You know the look: "Hmmmm, never really thought about it, but I don't have a booty lined up for this evening, and maybe she'll do."
We'd hung out in the past as part of a group but never done a one on one and I wasn't feeling his vibe at all. My new dude and I haven't made a general announcement to the party circle yet so neighbor didn't know that I'm again involved.
Claiming an urgent call of nature I went back inside to get away from a truly goofy situation. (why oh why to I constantly find myself in goofy situations?) I pulled out the email notices and flyers for different happenings this week and turned on the TV for background sound. Nothing really caught me eye. I wasn't willing to be a particpant in an "Apple Bottom" contest (shut up!) and I really didn't want to see a Video Vixens contest either.
I grabbed my beat up copy of The Divinci Code (not a bad read), finished it, then glanced up at the television to see the SYTYCD tryouts on. I suppose now is the time to admit that I'm still suffering from withdrawal pangs from American Idol and that a new contest is probably the 'methadone" I need to sooth the pains of my addiction.
The show isn't good - the show isn't bad. Meh. I stayed the course and the 10 o'clock news on Fox came on, but Fox's version of news is something that I'm just unable to tolerate, so I went back outside to smoke a ciggie and continue the thought process regarding the rest of my evening of fun.
Can't watch the game - I don't want to bring the Mavs bad luck. They do better when I'm doing something else. Cold in my bedroom - if I shower now, I'll freeze so going out just isn't in the cards for me tonight.
Hell - another one bites the dust. (just a little tidbit - I will be working Queen references into these posts for the month of June just to amuse myself.)
Anyone enjoy the long, drawn out story that went nowhere?
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Best Stuff
5/30/06
Dude... last night was the best.
Literally.
Hooked up with my best friend and I've been smiling all day.
(Edit 5/31 based on further scientific study.)
- Have you ever laughed hard at anything and everything while making love and still found it sexy?
- Have you ever been in someone's arms and felt that "just right" feeling?
- Damn! Two nights, no sleep and I'm a happy chick.
p.s. to friends and family - 30 is NOT too young! I'm broke as hell so it's not for the money, so shut up Bonita.
Dude... last night was the best.
Literally.
Hooked up with my best friend and I've been smiling all day.
(Edit 5/31 based on further scientific study.)
- Have you ever laughed hard at anything and everything while making love and still found it sexy?
- Have you ever been in someone's arms and felt that "just right" feeling?
- Damn! Two nights, no sleep and I'm a happy chick.
p.s. to friends and family - 30 is NOT too young! I'm broke as hell so it's not for the money, so shut up Bonita.
Pinky Bet Stuff
(5/30/06)
Yeah, I'm posting today just to say "nyah-nyah" to the cutie pie who bet me breakfast at Waffle House on Sunday night that the Mavs would lose. I'm a really bad winner - I couldn't wait to get online to do this. To all you losers who rooted against the Mavericks - hah!
Dude and I did the official pinky bet so there's no getting out of this committment to feed me. For those unfamiliar, the pinky bet is stronger than a handshake and it's an unbreakable committment to perform. I could go on the Judge Mathis show and the pinky bet defense would win my case.
The interlocking of pinky fingers and the thumb touch/push thing are the ritual motions necessary to insure that the pinky bet is actually valid. The ages of those entering into the agreement is of no consequence. If a three year old makes a pinky bet deal with me, the young 'un had better pay.
I've heard of a case where one of the pinky bettors didn't pay up, but it may be just urban legend lore - I mean, how could you walk with your head held high in the 'hood, if everybody knew that you welshed out on a pinky bet? Reputation is everything.
Yeah, I'm posting today just to say "nyah-nyah" to the cutie pie who bet me breakfast at Waffle House on Sunday night that the Mavs would lose. I'm a really bad winner - I couldn't wait to get online to do this. To all you losers who rooted against the Mavericks - hah!
Dude and I did the official pinky bet so there's no getting out of this committment to feed me. For those unfamiliar, the pinky bet is stronger than a handshake and it's an unbreakable committment to perform. I could go on the Judge Mathis show and the pinky bet defense would win my case.
The interlocking of pinky fingers and the thumb touch/push thing are the ritual motions necessary to insure that the pinky bet is actually valid. The ages of those entering into the agreement is of no consequence. If a three year old makes a pinky bet deal with me, the young 'un had better pay.
I've heard of a case where one of the pinky bettors didn't pay up, but it may be just urban legend lore - I mean, how could you walk with your head held high in the 'hood, if everybody knew that you welshed out on a pinky bet? Reputation is everything.
Me Stuff
May 25, 2006
Been thinking about a lot of things these last couple of days. I'm sure I over analyze the trivial and skip over much of what should be important to me. Oh well.
I'm just not ready to live as it seems to be expected of me. I already know I'm old as hell - I don't mind being old, that's what happens to we the lucky ones. It's going to happen to you too, sympathetic reader.
I just hate to be assigned a role based on my age. "You're going to the club?" "You can skate?" "You're going to wear that?"
"Hells yeah to all three!"
I look good, I smell good, I'm sexy. (I already know what you're thinking and it's funny, so go ahead and laugh: The old broad in the club with the too tight clothes in red or burgandy, showing waaay too much low-hanging cleavage, wearing inches of Fashion Fair makeup, hair freshly dyed jet-black to match the weave ponytail she's been rocking for the last 10 years, reeking of "Poison" or "Opium", feet shrieking in the black suede spikes she's told herself are back in style, and drinking Johnny Black with a Bud chaser. Nope that ain't me.)
Let's do that again: I look good, I smell good, I'm sexy. I would date your brother who's only 30. I would date your uncle who's 53. Both of them want to date me. I'll hang out with anyone who's fun to be with, at least for part of an evening (one of my ex's called me his "ADD wife" based on what he called my short attention span, which we will discuss at a later date.) and will do whatever it is I wish to do at any point during a date.
In conclusion (acting as though there's a real point to this) I'll leave you with this: don't judge me.
Been thinking about a lot of things these last couple of days. I'm sure I over analyze the trivial and skip over much of what should be important to me. Oh well.
I'm just not ready to live as it seems to be expected of me. I already know I'm old as hell - I don't mind being old, that's what happens to we the lucky ones. It's going to happen to you too, sympathetic reader.
I just hate to be assigned a role based on my age. "You're going to the club?" "You can skate?" "You're going to wear that?"
"Hells yeah to all three!"
I look good, I smell good, I'm sexy. (I already know what you're thinking and it's funny, so go ahead and laugh: The old broad in the club with the too tight clothes in red or burgandy, showing waaay too much low-hanging cleavage, wearing inches of Fashion Fair makeup, hair freshly dyed jet-black to match the weave ponytail she's been rocking for the last 10 years, reeking of "Poison" or "Opium", feet shrieking in the black suede spikes she's told herself are back in style, and drinking Johnny Black with a Bud chaser. Nope that ain't me.)
Let's do that again: I look good, I smell good, I'm sexy. I would date your brother who's only 30. I would date your uncle who's 53. Both of them want to date me. I'll hang out with anyone who's fun to be with, at least for part of an evening (one of my ex's called me his "ADD wife" based on what he called my short attention span, which we will discuss at a later date.) and will do whatever it is I wish to do at any point during a date.
In conclusion (acting as though there's a real point to this) I'll leave you with this: don't judge me.
Part 2 Stuff
May 19, 2006
It's Friday and I haven't finished my long tale from Tuesday night. Since I mentioned I'd be back with the ending, I'll continue:
I walked to the front of the room, smiled at M.L. and started singing. Had to stop and start again since I was singing (well to be kind you might call it that) over the intro. Way to go Jali.
I won't print all the lyrics, but I've gotta share just a portion.
"It was the third of June, another sleepy dusty Delta day. I was out chopping cotton and my brother was bailing hay."
As I sang this first line for the second time, I glanced up to see a thirty-something professional give me the gas face. Was the chopping cotton line a little to hard to take? "Damn," I thought, don't misinterpret and judge me that way.
I looked around the room to gauge my reception - one or two people were singing along with me - The "Buppies" in their 30's seemed to take offense. How dare I sing a country song that mentions cotton?
My history with this song was of a 45 RPM record being played repeatedly on a Saturday morning. My father, a fan of Jazz, the blues and Ole' Blue Eyes was the house DJ. He heard this song on the radio while changing stations and had to have it. Once he had it, he had to play it.
I was a kid and didn't realize how sad the song is. The music is moving - the lyrics and rhymes are simple but enhance the mood of the song. Bobbie Gentry's ( the singer) voice was strong, clear and compelling. The song has stayed with me for 40 years and I'm glad to have sung it one more time.
I had the opportunity to speak to the thirty-something professional, my gas face giver and I asked if the lyrics of my song offended her.
"No. You just can't sing for shit!"
info for Ode to Billy Joe can be found: http://www.songfacts.com/detail.php?id=1623
It's Friday and I haven't finished my long tale from Tuesday night. Since I mentioned I'd be back with the ending, I'll continue:
I walked to the front of the room, smiled at M.L. and started singing. Had to stop and start again since I was singing (well to be kind you might call it that) over the intro. Way to go Jali.
I won't print all the lyrics, but I've gotta share just a portion.
"It was the third of June, another sleepy dusty Delta day. I was out chopping cotton and my brother was bailing hay."
As I sang this first line for the second time, I glanced up to see a thirty-something professional give me the gas face. Was the chopping cotton line a little to hard to take? "Damn," I thought, don't misinterpret and judge me that way.
I looked around the room to gauge my reception - one or two people were singing along with me - The "Buppies" in their 30's seemed to take offense. How dare I sing a country song that mentions cotton?
My history with this song was of a 45 RPM record being played repeatedly on a Saturday morning. My father, a fan of Jazz, the blues and Ole' Blue Eyes was the house DJ. He heard this song on the radio while changing stations and had to have it. Once he had it, he had to play it.
I was a kid and didn't realize how sad the song is. The music is moving - the lyrics and rhymes are simple but enhance the mood of the song. Bobbie Gentry's ( the singer) voice was strong, clear and compelling. The song has stayed with me for 40 years and I'm glad to have sung it one more time.
I had the opportunity to speak to the thirty-something professional, my gas face giver and I asked if the lyrics of my song offended her.
"No. You just can't sing for shit!"
info for Ode to Billy Joe can be found: http://www.songfacts.com/detail.php?id=1623
Good Times Stuff
May 17, 2006
I missed "House" last night. Man. I won't even check the "House" thread on The Straight Dope message boards since I'm sure to read that I missed a masterpiece. Why in the world would I miss the best show on TV?
I forgot it was on last night...
Instead of going straight home after work as I know I should, I decided to stop by my neighborhood spot to meet a friend at Peppers.
6791 Highway 85, Riverdale, GA30274, US
Directions From Downtown Atlanta:
Take I-75/85 South
When I-75/85 separates, Bear Left and take I-75 South to Exit #237A ("Riverdale, Hwy 85")
Stay on Hwy 85 straight approx. 5 miles (You will pass Krispy Kreme and McDonalds on right)
Look for Peppers on your right . Address 6791 on Hwy 85 - Turn RIGHT into the Peppers parking lot.
Additional Parking with Shuttle Service available.
The website doesn't advertise the fact, but Tuesday night is an additional Karaoke night for the Pepper's family. There is also a drink special on Tuesdays; a 27 ounce Margarita for $6.50 until about 9pm or so. Being a bargain hunter (and a greedy ass), I ordered a special the moment that Handsome "G" (one of the great bartenders in the Metro area) came to take my order.
I nodded to a couple of people I'd seen before and settled myself in my corner spot at the bar. A jazzy CD was playing and I was comfortable in the place I consider my "Cheers." My friend arrived and we started a pretty good conversation.
I glanced away from my companion for a moment and noticed that M.L. the serious DJ and Karaoke master of the joint had arrived and was actively recruiting singers for the evening.
$75.00 was to be given away in a drawing of all participants to the lucky 3 that were chosen. Being highly skilled at math I realized the potential prize total immediately and decided that $25.00 was positively worth an adventure.
I took my time checking first the artists, then song titles available and decided to do a song as a joke. I filled out my slip and M.L. had a good long laugh when he read my song choice, "Ode to Billy Joe". Maybe the song plays well in certain venues - a primarily African American club isn't one of them.
Part Deux a little later...
I missed "House" last night. Man. I won't even check the "House" thread on The Straight Dope message boards since I'm sure to read that I missed a masterpiece. Why in the world would I miss the best show on TV?
I forgot it was on last night...
Instead of going straight home after work as I know I should, I decided to stop by my neighborhood spot to meet a friend at Peppers.
6791 Highway 85, Riverdale, GA30274, US
Directions From Downtown Atlanta:
Take I-75/85 South
When I-75/85 separates, Bear Left and take I-75 South to Exit #237A ("Riverdale, Hwy 85")
Stay on Hwy 85 straight approx. 5 miles (You will pass Krispy Kreme and McDonalds on right)
Look for Peppers on your right . Address 6791 on Hwy 85 - Turn RIGHT into the Peppers parking lot.
Additional Parking with Shuttle Service available.
The website doesn't advertise the fact, but Tuesday night is an additional Karaoke night for the Pepper's family. There is also a drink special on Tuesdays; a 27 ounce Margarita for $6.50 until about 9pm or so. Being a bargain hunter (and a greedy ass), I ordered a special the moment that Handsome "G" (one of the great bartenders in the Metro area) came to take my order.
I nodded to a couple of people I'd seen before and settled myself in my corner spot at the bar. A jazzy CD was playing and I was comfortable in the place I consider my "Cheers." My friend arrived and we started a pretty good conversation.
I glanced away from my companion for a moment and noticed that M.L. the serious DJ and Karaoke master of the joint had arrived and was actively recruiting singers for the evening.
$75.00 was to be given away in a drawing of all participants to the lucky 3 that were chosen. Being highly skilled at math I realized the potential prize total immediately and decided that $25.00 was positively worth an adventure.
I took my time checking first the artists, then song titles available and decided to do a song as a joke. I filled out my slip and M.L. had a good long laugh when he read my song choice, "Ode to Billy Joe". Maybe the song plays well in certain venues - a primarily African American club isn't one of them.
Part Deux a little later...
Good Stuff
(May 15, 2006)
(I never studied Spanish in school so please forgive my spelling and grammar)
I was parked in my car yesterday afternoon reading. I'd finished a nice lunch at a Mexican Restaurant in my neighborhood and was enjoying the sunshine and the breeze. Parked next to me was a work van and I watched (nosy as hell) two guys in their 40's get into the van. They were speaking in Spanish and although I could hear every word clearly, I couldn't understand a thing. (Yes, I'm the one who thinks I'm learning the language by watching the HBO in Spanish)
I decided to interrupt these two innocent men; "Por favore Senors, en Anglais - me no comprende Espanol."
They were friendly guys and laughed. "No Anglais senorita." (they even gave me a 'senorita' instead of the 'senora' my age obviously calls for - cool dudes!)
Other guys piled into the van and one of the gentlemen smiled at me, stepped back out and introduced himself. He shook my hand and said, "Me nombre es Luis." He seemed to be the eldest of the group and I was charmed by his courtly manner. He may have been in his 60's or so and his smiling face was beautiful.
I didn't understand much of what he said to me - I'm pretty sure he didn't understand much of what I said to him, but I'll never forget my new friend Luis.
Moments like those few with a van load of strangers are what keep me going on the bad days.
(I never studied Spanish in school so please forgive my spelling and grammar)
I was parked in my car yesterday afternoon reading. I'd finished a nice lunch at a Mexican Restaurant in my neighborhood and was enjoying the sunshine and the breeze. Parked next to me was a work van and I watched (nosy as hell) two guys in their 40's get into the van. They were speaking in Spanish and although I could hear every word clearly, I couldn't understand a thing. (Yes, I'm the one who thinks I'm learning the language by watching the HBO in Spanish)
I decided to interrupt these two innocent men; "Por favore Senors, en Anglais - me no comprende Espanol."
They were friendly guys and laughed. "No Anglais senorita." (they even gave me a 'senorita' instead of the 'senora' my age obviously calls for - cool dudes!)
Other guys piled into the van and one of the gentlemen smiled at me, stepped back out and introduced himself. He shook my hand and said, "Me nombre es Luis." He seemed to be the eldest of the group and I was charmed by his courtly manner. He may have been in his 60's or so and his smiling face was beautiful.
I didn't understand much of what he said to me - I'm pretty sure he didn't understand much of what I said to him, but I'll never forget my new friend Luis.
Moments like those few with a van load of strangers are what keep me going on the bad days.
Me Stuff
(Originally published 5/8/06 on MSN)
It's a Me Thing - Duh
I kept checking my cell phone yesterday, expecting calls from my children and grands. NO ONE CALLED! What kind of people had I raised? What was going on?
I finally broke down and called my eldest at work. "Happy Mothers Day", I said with a deliberate smile in my voice. No reason to make the child feel guilty for missing my special day although the true reason for the call was to make the child feel guilty for missing my special day - subtle, huh?
"Ma - it's next week". I could hear her in the background telling a co-worker that her mom was all expectant of gifts and flowers on the wrong day. She was trying not to laugh too hard.
"Oh - well, never mind." I was embarrassed as hell.
No point in asking her not to tell her sister and brothers. Another reason for them to laugh at mommy. Damn!
It's a Me Thing - Duh
I kept checking my cell phone yesterday, expecting calls from my children and grands. NO ONE CALLED! What kind of people had I raised? What was going on?
I finally broke down and called my eldest at work. "Happy Mothers Day", I said with a deliberate smile in my voice. No reason to make the child feel guilty for missing my special day although the true reason for the call was to make the child feel guilty for missing my special day - subtle, huh?
"Ma - it's next week". I could hear her in the background telling a co-worker that her mom was all expectant of gifts and flowers on the wrong day. She was trying not to laugh too hard.
"Oh - well, never mind." I was embarrassed as hell.
No point in asking her not to tell her sister and brothers. Another reason for them to laugh at mommy. Damn!
Life Stuff
(Originally published 5/8/06 on MSN)
My daughter, Brooke tells this story, (probably a big fat lie) about me in Pathmark back in 1994 or so. My children have claimed that grocery shopping with me was an embarrassment because I bought so many no frills items at the time. They would hate to run into any of their friends at the store who would laugh at the "If you like 'Cheetos', try me" labels on the bag of corn chips that I chose for economy.
I supposedly asked my child to go get me a bag of onions and then took my place in the check out line. Child took a long time to make it back to me with the produce, and I asked her what happened. Her deadpan reply, "I couldn't find the 'no frills' onions." She and her sister, the beautiful Dalerie thought this was hilarious.
She's back in school now working on her graduate degree in business and she's doing well. Brooke is the mom of the Amazing 4 year old grandson Hassan who has finally agreed to "play" with his basketball team and stop spinning in circles at halfcourt while singing rap songs he shouldn't know the words to. A 4 year old should not be on that Kryptonite. Hassan is playing (well, appearing) with his team for the second year. Last year every time he snatched the ball from another player (didn't matter which team) he would run in circles, laughing until another kid would snatch the ball back. Taking the ball from any 3 year old on the court generally results in a quick run to Mommy and a good long cry. There were ususally more children on the sidelines being comforted than on the basketball court during gametime. Scoring wasn't really important to any of the players. Taking the ball from another kid seemed to be the point of the game. The one period that guaranteed the full attention and cooperation of the whole team: snack time. The kids would line up quietly and politely, then carefully spill the contents of their juiceboxes all over their uniforms. The snack parents never seemed to figure this one out in time to avoid the messes and the stains seemed to be badges of honor to the players (similar to football player's dirty uniforms) proving that the child had seen a little action that day. My younger daughter Dalerie has two sons - Kavon and Jared, ages 12 and 7. On a recent visit to their home in Florida, I learned that all African American pre-teens can not dance to the beat. Kavon gets excited and the beat gets away from him. This does not stop him from continuing to dance to his exciting collection of BowWow downloads. Kavon also considers himself a rapper and shouts the words out over the music. Once the beat is lost, the lyrics get lost too. Kavon's solution was to drown out the original so his concert was a step or two ahead of the track. Grandma tried to nod with the beat, but there were 2 beats going on so I got a little dizzy. Not to be outdone, Jared decided to show me all the karate moves he knows as well as his skill as a dancer. At seven, his exposure to dance has been limited to the videos his parent allow him to watch so his style is a little Michael Jacksonesque combined with a little Chuck Norris Mini-Me.
My daughter, Brooke tells this story, (probably a big fat lie) about me in Pathmark back in 1994 or so. My children have claimed that grocery shopping with me was an embarrassment because I bought so many no frills items at the time. They would hate to run into any of their friends at the store who would laugh at the "If you like 'Cheetos', try me" labels on the bag of corn chips that I chose for economy.
I supposedly asked my child to go get me a bag of onions and then took my place in the check out line. Child took a long time to make it back to me with the produce, and I asked her what happened. Her deadpan reply, "I couldn't find the 'no frills' onions." She and her sister, the beautiful Dalerie thought this was hilarious.
She's back in school now working on her graduate degree in business and she's doing well. Brooke is the mom of the Amazing 4 year old grandson Hassan who has finally agreed to "play" with his basketball team and stop spinning in circles at halfcourt while singing rap songs he shouldn't know the words to. A 4 year old should not be on that Kryptonite. Hassan is playing (well, appearing) with his team for the second year. Last year every time he snatched the ball from another player (didn't matter which team) he would run in circles, laughing until another kid would snatch the ball back. Taking the ball from any 3 year old on the court generally results in a quick run to Mommy and a good long cry. There were ususally more children on the sidelines being comforted than on the basketball court during gametime. Scoring wasn't really important to any of the players. Taking the ball from another kid seemed to be the point of the game. The one period that guaranteed the full attention and cooperation of the whole team: snack time. The kids would line up quietly and politely, then carefully spill the contents of their juiceboxes all over their uniforms. The snack parents never seemed to figure this one out in time to avoid the messes and the stains seemed to be badges of honor to the players (similar to football player's dirty uniforms) proving that the child had seen a little action that day. My younger daughter Dalerie has two sons - Kavon and Jared, ages 12 and 7. On a recent visit to their home in Florida, I learned that all African American pre-teens can not dance to the beat. Kavon gets excited and the beat gets away from him. This does not stop him from continuing to dance to his exciting collection of BowWow downloads. Kavon also considers himself a rapper and shouts the words out over the music. Once the beat is lost, the lyrics get lost too. Kavon's solution was to drown out the original so his concert was a step or two ahead of the track. Grandma tried to nod with the beat, but there were 2 beats going on so I got a little dizzy. Not to be outdone, Jared decided to show me all the karate moves he knows as well as his skill as a dancer. At seven, his exposure to dance has been limited to the videos his parent allow him to watch so his style is a little Michael Jacksonesque combined with a little Chuck Norris Mini-Me.
Random Stuff
(originally posted 5/4/06 on MSN)
One of those...
It's annoying when someone seems surprised at what I'm reading. I suppose a Black chick of a certain age is expected to like certain things. (I copped the phrase from Wendy Williams back when I was a listener.)
My favorite genres are Sci-fi and Mystery. It seems I'm expected to read AA Lit. or Romances (ewwwww) and I have some pretty interesting conversations regarding my choices.
Borders - Buckhead, about a week ago.
Me - happily checking titles in the SciFi aisle.
He - happily interrupting me.
He: "So, you like to read?" (really sharp observation since were standing in a store full of books)
Me: "A-huh." (a bit annoyed that I'm being interupted - searching for titles is part of the fun)
He: "A girl like you likes Science Fiction and aliens and all that?" (implyed shock)
Me: "A-huh." (since my grays are showing the "girl" is acceptable on this day - lucky dude)
He: "What's the best book you've ever read?" (very deep, my Brother - how f'ing creative)
Me: "I don't really want to talk right now. I'm looking for the best book as we speak."
He: "Oh." (don't think homeboy understood me) Have you read ______? ( flavor of the week on AA booklists). It's pretty good."
Me: "No."
He: "Oh, you're one of those..."
Me: "Yup."
He: '...knee-grows I keep running into. I guess you don't like books written by Black people."
Me: (amused by idiot) "I like Octavia Butler."
He: "Who?"
Me: Never mind. (Walks away)
One of those...
It's annoying when someone seems surprised at what I'm reading. I suppose a Black chick of a certain age is expected to like certain things. (I copped the phrase from Wendy Williams back when I was a listener.)
My favorite genres are Sci-fi and Mystery. It seems I'm expected to read AA Lit. or Romances (ewwwww) and I have some pretty interesting conversations regarding my choices.
Borders - Buckhead, about a week ago.
Me - happily checking titles in the SciFi aisle.
He - happily interrupting me.
He: "So, you like to read?" (really sharp observation since were standing in a store full of books)
Me: "A-huh." (a bit annoyed that I'm being interupted - searching for titles is part of the fun)
He: "A girl like you likes Science Fiction and aliens and all that?" (implyed shock)
Me: "A-huh." (since my grays are showing the "girl" is acceptable on this day - lucky dude)
He: "What's the best book you've ever read?" (very deep, my Brother - how f'ing creative)
Me: "I don't really want to talk right now. I'm looking for the best book as we speak."
He: "Oh." (don't think homeboy understood me) Have you read ______? ( flavor of the week on AA booklists). It's pretty good."
Me: "No."
He: "Oh, you're one of those..."
Me: "Yup."
He: '...knee-grows I keep running into. I guess you don't like books written by Black people."
Me: (amused by idiot) "I like Octavia Butler."
He: "Who?"
Me: Never mind. (Walks away)
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