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Saturday, March 31, 2007
This is my hood now...
I swear on my life that since I moved to the DC Urrea, I've encountered more ghetto mess and things that leave me scratching my head in one year than in my whole life in NY.

First of all, I just don't get the "Curry Out". Back home we had the take out Chinese or chicken spot, but nothing on the order of the establishments here. Truth be told, I had to have a DC native translate "Curry Out" into English for me...Ohhh, you mean CARRY OUT!? You shoulda just said so, playa. Get your chicken, egg foo young, fries w/mumbo sauce (wtf is that stuff anyway??), black 'n milds, pineapple soda, and Newports all in the same place.

While I'm on the Newports thing, please explain to me how these got to be the 'hood cigarette? I know a lot of black smokers, and nan' one of em smokes Marlboro or Camel. I go in 7-11 or Wawa ANYWHERE in PG County (or any predominately non-white area in the country for that matter) and the Marlboros and Camels and Winstons are always at full stock, but there's like only 5 packs of Newports left. And if all the Newports are gone, then it's the Kools. Are Kools like substitute Newports or something?? I've even asked a few friends what the deal is, and they just say something to the effect of "Newports are black people cigs". What? Does Phillip Morris stamp on the side next to the surgeon general's warning, "For black people smokage only. Not to be consumed by white folk unless they have hood tendencies or grew up in the ghetto"? Seriously, I think I've seen maybe 3 white chicks in my life smoke Newports, and they were all either dating a black dude or grew up around a gang of black folk. Why in the hell...

And yes, I said pineapple soda at the Curry Out. Like Aloha, give me a Mai Tai type of pineapple. I am hood tested and ghetto approved, so I grew up around a lot of pineapple and strawberry soda drinkers. What the hell is that mess? I can go in any corner store in any hood in America and I'm bound to find at least one of these sodas: Nehi Orange, Pineapple, Strawberry, Banana (da fukk??), Tamarind (I'm Jamerican, so I see this mostly in the Caribbean spots), and Champagne Kola (In the Hispanic and Caribbean parts of town mostly. I've tried it, and liked it, but I don't know what's in it and I sho nuff don't wanna know. For real though, Kola??). I mean damn, can I get a Diet Cherry Coke please?

Mumbo Fawkin Sauce. I still don't understand. I see people smackin the hell out of some fries and chicken slathered in this stuff. It tastes like what my mind would put together as Oxblood, BBQ sauce, ketchup, sugar, and salt all rolled into one. I know it's a DC thing, but since I live here now, I figured I'd tried to blend in with the locals and give that shit a try a few times. NO MORE. I messed around and went to Howard China on Georgia Ave, at the kinda suggestion of Sister Toldja (I'm too lazy to dig up the actual post), tried the Mumbo Sauce there and I thought my stomach was trying to come out of my abdomen to scream at me, "Tasha, you know I'm not used to this. We ain't from 'round here. Don't be tryin stuff cuz you hear it's good for the locals!!"

Metro. I love being able to get on a train and go from Maryland, into DC, into Virginia. No other subway type system lets you go through two states and a District. But Metro is on some other plane of ghetto. Countraaay even. First of all, I grew up with the NYC Subway system. Numbers, letters, local, express. Great. But I get here and it's the gotdamned Rainbow Coalition. Blue, Orange, Green, Red, Yellow. I was lost like a mugg trying to get through DC alone the first time. But that's not my issue here. The NYC Subway is ghetto for no other reason than it can be. Back in the day, before they cleaned the trains, getting on the 6 train at 138th st in the Bronx where I lived, I'd see graffiti-covered trains with crackheads galore selling their wares. Whatever. No problem. "HEY, my Nubian Sista...lemme sell you some coconut musk insent (not insence mind you) and some natural oils" type shit. Just nod no and keep it moving. When I got on the train here though, I see carpeted trains with peanut shells and chicken boxes and the occasional dirty diaper strewn about. Yeah, it was the green line, but work with me ok. Peanut shells? Chicken Boxes? That's country ghetto to another power. But at least no one tries to sell me bootleg DVDs of movies that haven't even come out yet. "5 for 25 for you, Sista..."

But I'm so done now with the club shootings here. I know PG's trying to shut down a bunch of nightclubs. I dunno about all that, but why shoot in the damn club? "Nicca, you stepped on my brand new Nike Boot". Is it really that damn serious? You got a bunch of funky-ass people, chicks sweating out weaves, broads trying to dance on some hurtin feet which shouldn't be in heels, and you gon' shoot somebody? I'm scratching my head so hard with that, I might end up pulling out one of my braids.

"Yo, I went to Largo" "Well I went to Bowie, AND WHAT!?" Fight ensues. Blood shed. And no, not between some teenage D.I.Ts (delinquent in training), either. Grown-ass people. Why are you still fighting over your high school? You are 38 friggin years old. Both of you work at T.G.I. Friday's, so why you mad, son?

And about Friday's... Greenbelt. Happy Hour there is unlike anything I have ever seen. Some people act like that place is the Holy Land itself. If I'm gonna take myself to happy hour, you best believe it's not gonna be some place where I can get Jack Daniels on the rocks and on my steak.

Ahhh, I love my hood...

Thursday, March 29, 2007
Baby x Baby = Baby Squared
Hey yall, I know I haven't posted much this week, but I've been in thought a lot. This week, I'm questioning the order of the world and how a lot of things work. Thanks for your suggestions on how to deal with my friend who's trying to cope with making her own decisions in this life. I talked to her tonight, and she's agreed to come with me to talk to a counselor. I think that's the right decision for her.

Tonight I also had a looooong conversation with La Bella Mama, and I'm once again at a loss. She's a nurse that spent 28 years working in Labor and Delivery, and she currently works at a women's clinic, so she knows a thing or two about babies, pregnant women, and motherhood, and she has seen her fair share of strange shat in her day. She told me tonight about a case she was presented with and I was surprised to hear that it's not the first time she's dealt with this situation.

She told me that in her exam room, she met with a young woman who was pregnant and confused. I've heard these stories many times before, so I expected to hear something about a triflin baby daddy or whatever have you, but that wasn't the case.

Bella Mama: "She was too young to be in there"

Me: "You see teenage mothers all the time, mom. How young was she"

Mama: "She's not a teenager yet. She's EIGHT years old."

Me: "You mean 18 or 28 right??? RIGHT!?"

Mama: "No. She's 8. Like still plays with Barbie and Ken 8. Like you should still be thinking boys have cooties 8. Playing double dutch in the park 8"

Me: "......No. Mom. No...."

Mama: "Yeah, and her mother was in the room telling her that she needed to go through with this pregnancy and raise this child. Adoption or abortion were out of the question"


Me: "Madre. How old is the dad?"

Mama: "You don't want to know"

Me: "How bad? 13? 15?"

Mama: "No sweetie. Older than you."

Me: "The fuck? Sorry for my language, but just how old?"

Mama: "27. Yeah. I'm sick over this, but it's not the first time I've seen it. I delivered the baby of a 9 year old just before I left the hospital. And no, the mother doesn't want to press charges on him. She's okay with it. The poor girl doesn't really understand what's happening to her body right now"

I was speechless for a good 2 minutes. My mind went all over the map when I finally was able to regroup and think again. That poor girl is a baby. With a baby. Not the Tupac version of "Brenda's Got A Baby" either. She probably still smells like breast milk and baby dolls and Easy Bake Ovens. Her world is still scented with Johnson and Johnson baby lotion and No More Tears Shampoo. That's no place for another human life to grow.

My first thoughts were how sad it is that an eight year old is dealing with periods and tampons. I don't know what we're feeding our youngins, but their becoming adults in the biological sense all too early. I see girls walking around with womens' bodies, and they don't know how to deal with that. I'm an entire generation older than some of these girls, and there are days when I'm frustrated with my own body, so I can't imagine being in third or fourth grade trying to deal with my womanhood.

Of course my thoughts went straight to the dad. What kind of man does this to a child? And more importantly, what mother lets this happen to her baby and sits there like it's okay? The clinic has to respect the wishes of the family, they are not in a position of "duty to report" to law enforcement, because they haven't seen the father so they don't know if he's truly that age. I don't know if this is a case of incest, rape, or what else. But I'm so sick. Just fuckin sick.

What the hell are we teaching our baby girls? BET and everything else on TV and radio has some influence, but a parent's guidance means more. We're setting our little girls up for failure with no hope of redemption in many cases. Too many girls learn that their body is a dick dumping ground instead of learning that their body is to be cherished and shared only with a special person. I've spent sooo much time with the girls I teach dance to and the girls I mentor, and I've learned that many of them think that sex equals love because their mothers, aunts, and other women in their lives don't know any better. I try to teach them to recognize when they are ready for the emotional responsibility that comes with being sexually active, and to recognize when a man wants sex or when he wants more.

I have so much hope for our young people, especially our girls. But I hate seeing the span between generations going from 30 years to 8 years. The world is making our babies into adults too soon. I wish I could teach them all that motherhood is no joke. Babies are real people, not a doll that can be put in the toybox at the end of the day. UGGGG, I'm so sick, I'm in tears.

Hunny and I have been talking a lot about babies, and how we plan to raise ours (NO, I am NOT expecting, so get that out ya mind!), and frankly I'm terrified of what the world will be like when we do have kids.

To the little girl in my mom's exam room (even though I know she'll probably never read this): You are a precious human being. It's scary what's going on right now, but trust in your heart that you have people praying for you.

Get at me in the comments.


Monday, March 26, 2007
Intervention Time
Hope everyone had a great weekend. I was still dealing with a migraine, so Hunny and I stayed in all weekend and caught up on some movie watching (well he did, I was under the covers hiding from the light and trying to catch a few ZZZ's).


In my everyday life, I run across all kinds of BS from people, but some people are on some other stuff and I worry about their well being. There are some people I see on the almost everyday that don't seem to have a clue about how jacked up their lives really are and I'm really about to break out my psychiatrist couch, sit them down, and stage an intervention.

Some people might say that I worry too much about other people, but I really don't give a damn. I'm one of those people who wants to see everyone living their very best life in the best way. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not about to be knocking at your door every Saturday morning with the Bible pushers and preaching about how you need to change your ways, cuz #1-I'm still asleep at that time and #2-I know I've got some work to do on myself as well.

My childhood friend is in desperate need of some help in her life. She's a beautiful, talented young woman with a quick wit and charisma to boot. Her career is going great, is a brand new homeowner, and is not lacking for events to fill her social calendar. She's way ahead of a lot of sistas twice her age. It seems like she's got everything in the world going for her, but the puzzle pieces are just not fitting together.

"Maybe if I get a chin lift and butt implants I'll look better and someone will want me. Then I'll be able to get married"

I've heard this refrain more times than I can count, and each time it sounds more and more desperate. This poor girl has seen more knives than Ginsu--a tummy tuck, two rounds of liposuction, lip implants, breast augmentation, and now she's preparing for a chin lift to get rid of the non-existent double chin that she has.

I understand perfectionism can go to far, and I also understand body dysmorphic disorder. This girl is also aware of these things, and from what I can tell she's not suffering from either issue. Part of me is disgusted with her because she's already got the looks and body that many women would sell their soul to have.

Her parents have put a lot of pressure on her to be married and have at least one baby by the time she's 30, and she doesn't know how to handle it. I'm dumbfounded that they aren't more proud of the fact that she's done so much by her mid-twenties. She feels the need to compete with all the girls out there, and she takes attention from wherever she can get it. She will date just about anything that gives her the time of day because she knows her parents will basically disown her if she doesn't live up to their expectations. She wants a good man, but feels that the only way to get him is to alter her exterior to match what the other women in the game are doing.

Every time I hear her mention plastic surgery, I just want to scoop her up, hug her, and tell her how naturally beautiful she is. My brothers tried to tell her that all the surgery is scaring people, and she's scaring good men away when she mentions that she has to be married by 30 during the first date. She's gotten pregnant by two different guys (no she doesn't have kids, assume what you want) to try and keep them around, all in an effort to get that ever-elusive ring. She's let herself be essentially gang-raped, had trains run on her...because "they like me, they just show it in a different way than most". I know she's not ignorant, and I know she hates what she's doing to herself.

I so badly want to pull her aside and tell her that her worth doesn't lie in being married by 30, nor does she have anything to prove to anyone and she most certainly doesnt have to adhere to her parents wishes for her love life. I need her to know just how special she is to me, the rest of our friends, her family, and everyone in between. I want to intervene in her life before she ends up in a situation she can't get out of, but I just don't know how.

Get at me in the comments.

Thinking Blogger Award

Ohmydamn, A Thinking Blogger Award!

I was nominated for this award by The Thinking Black Man, and I'm so proud. Thank You to everyone who takes the time to read my thoughts. I started this as just an outlet to post the randomness in my mind, and I'm proud of what it's evolved into. I know I don't always write about thought provoking topics, but I'm glad my posts can inspire some good thought and discussion.

The rules of winning a THINKING BLOGGER AWARD are as follows:

1. If, and ONLY IF, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think,

2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme,

3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote (here is an alternative silver version if gold doesn't fit your blog).

Here are my five


Golden Silence

The Think

Sister Toldja

Field Negro

Thanks again for the award!!

Friday, March 23, 2007
Music Meme
I was tagged by Gunfighter for another meme. This one requires that I:

List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what they are. They must be songs you are presently enjoying. Then tag seven other people to see what they’re listening to.

I'm not much for tagging other people, so if you wanna play...cool. But here's what's on repeat in my ipod:

1)Betterman by Musiq Soulchild. This is off of is new CD, Luvanmusiq. The beat reminds me of the happy church songs we'd sing when I was in the kids choir, but the song is so nice. Guess he's in luv?

2)Get it Shawty by Lloyd. I'm stuck on this youngin for some reason. I was stuck on "You" for a while, and it still makes its way onto repeat now and then.

3)Let's Straighten It Out by Monica and Usher. I've loved this song since I saw the movie "Panther" a while back. I know it's bitten off of Lattimore, but I still love it.

4)Can't Get Enough of You by Tamia. I can't get enough of this song. Nuff said. Some people are gonna mess around and create some babies because of this song.

5)Endless Love by Lionel Richie and Diana Ross. Hunny sings this to me every day. *sigh*

6)BUDDYby Musiq Soulchild. I guess I really like the new CD.

7)I'm a Flirt by R. Kelly. Yes, the man needs Jesus and a hug, but I'm feeling a lot of the songs he's been on lately.

There you have it. Like I said, I don't really tag other people, so if you want to participate, feel free!

Fake the Funk Friday
I'm at work right now, pretending to look busy. I was home Wednesday and Thursday with the worst migraine I've ever had. I tried to look at the computer screen long enough to write something, but it just wasn't happening. So today, since I'm still sort of out of it, there's no Friday Flashback video cuz Youtube makes my head hurt right now. But I will share some more of the randomness that's going on in my headache-riddled brain (warning, this might be long, it might not)...

-I don't think I'm a good pet parent. I adopted two kittens from the Humane Society two months ago and I'm ready to ship them to Abu Dhabi or something. They're cute, but they've chewed damn near every wire in my home. The vet says they'll be done teething soon so the chewing will stop. If they don't, they will become kitty refugees cuz they won't be at my house.

-My head still hurts so bad that my teeth hurt, but at least I can see straight today

-I must have made the heavens angry cuz I'm trying to work with cramps and a migraine. What the damn hell? One at a time please.

-Being a female is overrated for about 4 days a month.

-I know we were just playing around, but hearing Hunny say "Will you marry me" the other day still sent my heart pounding and me smiling

-The crackhead outside of the gas station this morning had a better pedicure and manicure than me. Something's really wrong with that

-The I.RS needs to stop playing and deposit my damn refund in the bank

-I finally got my final job offer. My last day on the plantation is next Friday! Thanks for all the well wishes and support, blogfam!

-After the long background check, Hunny got offered the deputy sheriff position, so we're both moving on to better pastures

-I actually want to be a wife and a mommy. Go figure. Those words have never exited my mouth. EVER

-I'm not-so-secretly jealous of suburban stay at home wives/mothers, especially the sistas who manage to run the household, kids, hubby, and still manage to stay fly. But I can't see myself staying at home. I have to work at least part time. I think I've got issues with too much freedom. Damn slave syndrome, lol

-I'm so proud of being a survivor, but I don't feel the need to broadcast it every day

-Shhh, but I had the most SERIOUS crush on Rick Schroeder when I was younger (you know him from Silver Spoons and now 24)

-I don't volunteer as a suicide crisis hotline worker to be a hero like someone asked me, I do it because I've been on the other side

-I'm finally learning that happy is not a four letter word

-I may not have a supermodel's body or face, but I'm glad that at least one person finds all of me beautiful. Hearing him say that sent me to tears.

-I'm not rich, but I have everything I'll ever need

-Sometimes your weakness is pretending to be strong. Being vulnerable makes you human.

-I wish I could hear my gramma's voice just one more time. I know it's been almost four years, but I still miss her and cry when I look at her pictures.

-I wish I could have been more sad when my father's mom died a year ago. Some days I feel bad because she knew she wasn't my favorite grandmother.

-I finally told my mom that I love Hunny. He told his mom he loves me, then we switched and he told my mom he loves me, etc

-I'm scared to death that once I'm done with grad school, I won't want to work in this industry anymore

-I'm contemplating going to Dental Hygeine school after grad school is done in December. I've always enjoyed going to the dentist...no I'm not crazy!

-I think I might owe my soul to Sal.lie.Ma.e at this point, especially if I'm talking about going to more school after this

-My nephew needs the taste slapped out of his mouth for kicking his pregnant girlfriend. I don't care if he meant it as a joke

-My best friend is getting married!! I'm so happy for you Natalie!! You've got a good man, girl

Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Walking Away
Today, I did something I’ve never done before—I abruptly walked away from a friendship, broke promises, and severed ties without looking back. And honestly, it felt good. The responsibility of maintaining this connection was more difficult than it should have been, and more strenuous than beneficial. I simply couldn’t take anymore.

So to that person…

I’m sorry it had to come to this, but we’re both better off. I don’t feel bad for breaking those last promises to you, because everything else was already broken. I will never accept you trying to make me feel guilty for loving my Hunny. Friendships don’t come with stipulations like that. I don’t know how you could have ever expected us to be in a relationship when in your eyes I wasn’t a person, but a smartfunnybeautifultalented robot woman. Maintaining a friendship with you became damn near impossible because when I got involved with someone romantically, you acted like I was cheating on you. I couldn’t cheat if we weren’t together, let alone in a barely functioning co-dependent friendship. It’s never fair to ask someone to put their heart on reserve for someone in hopes that things maybe will work out. I refused to close myself off to the world like that, and I’m sorry if you did that to yourself.

You will be fine in your life without me. You will succeed without my help. God blessed you with everything you already need. You don’t need a woman to define you. Please work on defining yourself and being the best you that you can be. Love is a compromise, it is not all flowers and sunshine. Don’t give people the power to hurt you so easily. I don’t need you to give Hunny and I your blessing. I don’t need you to forgive me for abandoning our battle-scarred friendship. I don’t need you to be my knight in shining armor. I don’t need you to apologize for how you hurt me when you said you wish that my boyfriend would do another tour in Afghanistan and get killed. What I need for you to do is make your life the very best it can be, get yourself right mentally and spiritually, get your grown man on, and adopt a healthy dose of self-confidence.

Mrs. You is out there, but she isn’t me. As much as I tried to push logic aside, I can’t be your friend. We are too similar and too different. You were a great friend when I needed you, and I hope I was just as good to you. Please understand that even if I wasn’t in a relationship, I’d still have to walk away. People are put into our lives for reasons, seasons, or lifetimes. It’s become apparent that our season is long over. It is rather ironic that I write this on the last day of winter. I will always care about you from a distance, but that is the best I can do. There was no way to do that gently. Goodbye.

OK, now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, have any of you ever had to just up and walk away from either a romantic relationship, a friendship, or otherwise without warning or had to do so harshly? I believe the other party usually knows it’s coming or can sense when something isn’t right.

Get at me in the comments.

Monday, March 19, 2007
Color Me Brown
Brown. Sepia. Mahogany. Raw Umber. Tan. I remember looking in my big box of Crayolas as a little girl, amazed at all the beautiful shades of brown in the box. When I drew pictures of my friends and family, I could use a crayon that was the same color as their skin. I loved that all of us were a slightly different color, but we were all some shade of brown so somehow that made us special together.

I didn’t understand then why my brown hue was different than that of my best friends’ or my cousins’, but neither did it matter. Years later, I learned why, but it still didn’t matter to me. By that time however, it did matter to some of them. The mother of one of my best friends would instruct her every summer to stay out of the sun, because there was nothing good about having extra brown, extra tan skin. God forbid she be mistaken for a real negro.

My mother, and I assumed, the rest of my family was unaffected by the skin color politics of quadroons, octoroons, dark-skinned, and light-skinned. Come as you are, whatever shade of brown (or ivory, or whatever) you may be. When I started dating, I was never pressured by my family to bring home someone of a particular shade. After all, it wasn’t like I could bring a paint swatch with me and if the guy didn’t match one of those shades, he would be disqualified. Some of my friends were told to keep ‘em dark because real men are dark men, some told to only date a “high yella” man because the babies would be pretty. My teenage years saw many conflicted girls, feeling guilty for dating who she wanted to date rather than who she was asked to date. I was lucky to make it to this point in my life without so much as a comment about my dating choices’ brown-ness or lack thereof.

I have a great aunt in Baltimore who just had a birthday, so Hunny and I went to see her over the weekend. While we were there, she kept looking at him with a disgusted face and wouldn’t really direct any conversation toward him even though he was very polite and respectful. Just before we left, she asked me to speak with her in the kitchen.

She was hostile in her questioning:

Auntie: “Why him? He got a lot of white people in his family? He’s redbone. Girl you know he don’t want no girl darker than him. He just gonna hol’ to you till somethin’ better comes along”

Me: “It’s not like that Auntie. He’s really good to me and we don’t have a problem about his being redbone or whatever. He isn’t that much lighter than me anyway”

Auntie: “Chile!! You say what you want. You know how ‘em lightskins be doing. They think they better than us. His babies ain’t gon get no lighter wit’ you. You better look for you a nice dark man who will take care of you.”

Me: “We’re doing just fine thank you. But it’s time for us to go”

Auntie: “Wait. Lemme ask him. I wanna get it from his mouth…(goes back in livingroom)…It was nice meeting you PoliceBoy, but I need to know this before yall leave. What you tryin to do with her? We all know lightskin men like you don’t want no brown girls.”

Me: “We’re leaving. Now. Bye Auntie. Bye Cecilia (her nurse)”

I’m not sure if I should feel bad about how that all went down. Hunny told me not to worry too much about it, because older people can be stuck in their ways and that our babies will be beautiful no matter what color they may be (when we get to that point). My mom and another aunt both told me the same thing about older people. I know they’re right, but it still hurt to hear those questions, especially because she’s never made a big deal about black, brown, or indifferent. Honestly, I believe my great aunt is beginning to develop some Alzheimer’s or dementia—after all she is 95 now, so that may be why she acted like that, but I don’t doubt that those were her true feelings.

I’m not ignorant—obviously I know people still have that mentality, but I really wasn’t ready for that. I’m lucky that Hunny wasn’t offended, because if I were in his shoes I probably would have been. I hear things like that, and wonder how long this attitude will fester in our community and continue to divide our race. It's so hard to unite and succeed as a race when we tear ourselves apart like that.

I could go on right now, but there’s no need. I'm frustrated with my thoughts.


Thursday, March 15, 2007
Friday Flashback
This week it's "The Humpty Dance" at the suggestion of my buddy JJ:

Happy Friday!

I loves the kids...
Ohmydamn goodness. Parents, I know you have a hard job trying to raise your kids right and you can't force them to act like they have some sense, but some of you aren't doing your job right at all. I also recognize that teenagers have hormones, but seriously, a little home training never hurt anyone.

I was out with my girl Sasha (yeah I know--Sasha and Tasha...lol or whatever) at Coldstone this evening when some teenage skeez in training tried to holla at us. Maybe it's BET, maybe it's a lack of whoop ass at home, but just damn...

Boy: "Mmmm mmm mmm, I'd love to put yall in my ice cream cone"

Me: "Say what now?"

Boy: "Ma, don't act like you didn't hear me. Yall two is lookin tasty"

Sasha: "Tasty like the Similac you just got off of apparently. Boy you are too young to be talkin to people like that"

Boy: "I might got a baby face, but I'm ALL man"

Me: "Where is your mama? I know you're out past your curfew"

Boy: "Nah miss. I ain't gotta worry about that. So you gotta man?"

Me: "Yes. See, I have a MAN. Not a chicken chested little boy. Ohmygoodness, Saaash I can't believe I'm having this conversation. This chick needs to hurry up with our ice cream"

Boy: "I'm sayin tho'. You look real right in those jeans. I could show you some things your man can't do."

Sasha: "Yep, like arrest your lil ass."

Boy: "Oh it's like that? Well how bout you lil miss?"

Sasha: "Boy, I might be short, but I'm older than you. Please show some respect"

Boy: "You gotta earn respect before I show it"

Me: "Well earn this...a view of our backsides. Have a nice day lil man"

Seriously, I don't know where the youngins are getting the idea that they can talk to grown people like that. It's bad enough that grown azz men do it, but you'd think they'd at least tell their sons and nephews that oil slick game don't work so well. I'm just as disappointed in the girls that actually respond positively to this game. What the hell are their mamas teaching them.

If my brother had tried some stuff like that or walked with some crazy pimp swagger at age 16, he would have only made it to GED--Good Enough Dead. She would have ensured that the orange extension cord left some marks on his behind. There is no way he'd remotely think about speaking like that to a female because she taught him the real value of a woman.

This isn't isolated either, I see so many kids--some middle school aged--walking around acting like they're older than grown. Is it that hard to teach the kids to be kids and act like they have some damn sense? Maybe I'm just getting old. Maybe I'm just overreacting, but damn... I can deal with getting game spat at me by greezy ass old men in Members Only jackets, but lil youngins with Enfamil still on their breath? Hell to the naw!!

Get at me in the comments.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Questions I've Got, Vol. 3
-Why were there people in the self checkout line at the grocery store who don’t speak speak a lick of English? The machine doesn’t speak your language, so how are you faking the funk and managing to get your purchase done?

-Why are there homeless people who are creative enough to come up with signs like this:

but no employer is willing to use that creativity for their benefit and give them a chance?

-Speaking of homeless people, why are there so many black and white homeless people, but so few minorities? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Latino or Asian obviously homeless person—at least on the east coast

-Why do people insist on carrying blatantly fake azz Louis Vuitton bags? If from far away the logos on your bag look like LV, but up close they look like spades and clubs from a deck of cards, you’re not fooling anyone. Instead of trying to front, just go buy the best quality bag you can for your money.

-Why when a baby is over 1 or 2 years old, a parent will still say some mess like “Ohh, he’s 33 months old” when asked their child’s age? I can’t do long division like that in my head. Just tell me how many years old he is please

-How are you going to be the office gossip and tell everybody’s business with no problem but get all bent out of shape and ready to shank someone when your name is mentioned?

-How can you be offended when the grocery store manager asks you to pay for the 12 boxes of cookies that your bad ass kids opened? You’re the one who let them fools run amok.

-Who the hell told Maxim and Stuff to send me their magazines? Hunny’s got his own subscription, so I know it wasn’t him. I’m a straight female and I live alone, so there is no reason for that crap to show up in my mailbox every three weeks. Well, at least I make money off of it—I never paid for these subscriptions, and I sell them to one of my co-workers for more than the cover price when they arrive in my mail.

-What is the point of struggling like hell to lose 5 or 10 lbs for a high school reunion or a vacation? At the reunion, everybody aged, not just you so I’m sure there were some lbs added to most people’s frames. On vacation, you usually throw down on the food and chill anyway.

-Why are there six year olds who can pop, lock, and drop better than strippers? Did they go to career day at school and say, “I wanna be a skrippa too, jus’ like my mommy and auntie” then sign up for lessons?

-Why at every party hosted by black folk is there someone who has to take three plates of food with them? “Lemme get one for Pookie and RayRay and one for Neesy too” Are things really that rough? Damn, here’s $40…go get some groceries and keep your nasty hands out of the food.

-Why do so many black hair products have “GRO” somewhere in the name, but so many black women who use these products have hair that won’t grow?? Just ponder on that a minute

-Can someone who’s only 2 months pregnant use the special parking spaces at the mall and grocery store reserved for “Expectant mothers and parents with small children”?

-Why oh why do you claim to be a church going person, but the only scripture you know is “Jesus Wept.”?

-Why do I know more about exercise physiology than the personal trainer at the gym?

-Why the week after pay day do you eat lunch out every day, but then 2 days before you’re due to be paid again are you asking if you can borrow $40 from me for gas?

-Why don’t any service people speak English anymore? Gotdammit, I’m in America, I’m American, I speak English by default…I shouldn’t have to order my sammich or my coffee in Spanish, Portuguese, Hindi or whatever language. I actually had to place an entire order at Subway (for me and 3 co-workers) all in Spanish. What if I didn’t have that basic language knowledge?

-Why are there always commercials for some special coin created by the US Mint? There is no need for a dollar coin that has a corvette on it. And I sure as hell don’t wanna pay $19.95 for something that’s legally only worth $1

Monday, March 12, 2007
Get to know me some...
Because I'm being lazy and because I'm sure you're just aching to get to know more about me, here's a survey that answers every question about me that you didn't have...

No, but hopefully around the end of this year…

6 years

A beautiful photo album of cards that my gramma gave me over the years

I do that like once a day

Probably about three months ago

Hair/beauty, dance supplies, shoes, gas (why can’t the prices just stay the same for a month??)

Chocolate chip muffin

Smile and if they have all their teeth

Too many to list

DC burb, Maryland

Albany Academy for Girls


New York & Company, Nordstrom

*sigh*, yes

Not anymore

Mom Dukes, then Hunny or Natalie. They’re the only ones who wouldn’t be trying to ask to “hold a lil sumthin”, so I’d share with them from jump

Last Wednesday at my b-day party

Subway…does that count as fast food?

My father: “I’ll always be there for you”

Friday’s or my mom’s house—I miss her cooking!

Yes. Well lemme rephrase...no one's died from eating my cooking, so I guess I can

What the….?

My Hunny!

This morning

Beets and avocados. Beets taste and look like bloody turnips to me. Avocados will kill me since I’m allergic to them

My smile and my personality

My Mr. Magoo-ish eyesight. I'm nearsighted as a mugg. No glasses or contacts = I run into stuff

I can carry a tune pretty ok. I was in the kids choir and held my own

This morning.



St. Lucia


Richard Pryor


Hunny. If he’s at work, then my Pound Puppy (yeah I still have mine from waaay back) is on his pillow

Yeah, but it’s usually more work than it’s worth unless you’re definitely headed toward marriage. In college…let it go!


I’m attached to a coffee IV on Monday mornings.

Scrambled with cheese

Slightly, but not to the point that I will sever ties with someone because our signs don’t vibe. I definitely take it with a grain of salt…for entertainment purposes dammit!

My mommy

Malcolm (my brother from another mother)

"I love you, my civilian"


Black pantsuit with a red blouse

It’s like that yall—Mariah Carey

Smucker’s grape

Online, yes. But in person hell naw!

Sho nuff. I'm a certified lifeguard

Choc. Chip cookie dough

What kinda damn question?? I can read them, does that count?

I was on Sesa.me Street twice
My eyes are two different shades of brown
The guy on the Quaker Oats box gives me the heebie jeebies

Spring…you can wear cute stuff during the day, but night time is cool and just right for snuggling

Yesterday. My stepsister emailed me a picture of her son acting a damn fool

Early as hell o’ clock AM

Snow!! I love watching snow fall and playing in it

I guess. (are you reading this Tiki Barber??)

You can read right? See above

It’s cool unless you get some bad dick. Then it’s way overrated.

Celebrating St. Patty’s day and going to a Wizards Game I think

March 7, 19xx




Yeah. I miss my mommy

Tokyo, Japan

Far from


Red and black

College, yeah

Busted my ass chasing Hunny’s neice yesterday

Six step sisters

Sistagirl on the 7th flo’ (so what I stole that from ‘Martin’)



My cross pendant and a tennis bracelet

Go eat lunch, then do some work

Weekend Rewind
Spent the weekend with Hunny as usual. We don’t get to see each other too much during the week since we have opposing schedules—he works midnights and I work the usual office slave schedule so we get a half hour a day if we’re lucky. Me and the girls usually hang out during the week, so don’t get to thinking that I’m neglecting the rest of my life in favor for PoliceBoy/Soldier/Hunny/Dat Dude (or whatever I feel like calling him that day)

Friday night we took it down memory lane and went to Toys R Us. We bought a big huge box of Legos and played for a while. It was nice to feel like a little kid for even just a few hours. We ended up at a Spades tournament and hustled the hell out of his friends. We were like, “Uhhh, it’s been a while since we played Spades, but sure we’ll give it a shot”. Had the other teams screwing up books, underbidding and what not. Yeah, we left there with pockets a little heavier. Watch us turn into the Bonnie and Clyde of the Spades Tournament circuit or something, lol.

Saturday we chilled and ran errands, did all the grocery shopping for his place and such. It was the first time we’d really done all of that together, and it felt natural doing so. He mentioned it first and I couldn’t help but agree that we should just consolidate our grocery shopping and stuff since I’m always at his house. I told him I’d have to think about it, but 5 minutes later I said ok. I have no idea what that means, but I guess I’ll find out when I go grocery shopping for my place this week. I normally fight my instincts and over analyze my interactions with guys, but with him I’m just letting things go the way they go and so far things seem to be falling into place. He gave me the spare key to his place and his car. I told him he’d get my spare keys in due time…probably sooner rather than later.

We planned on going bowling, but we went to 4 different bowling alleys and they all told us that we’d have to wait like 2 hours for a lane. It was not that important for us to be in rented shoes, so we went to Fridays and got our serious eat on. That man can EAT!! I don’t know where he keeps it all, cuz he’s not a huge dude. 2 racks of ribs and half of my steak later, he was done. I was dumbfounded. No cow is safe from him!!

Sunday we pretty much stayed in bed till about 3. I haven’t gotten that much quality bum time in forever. We played video games and watched cartoons, ate breakfast in bed. Beautiful! *sigh* We headed to his sister’s house later on for her birthday party and to see his new niece. She’s soooo adorable! His dad’s side of the family was there along with everyone I’d met already, and I see now why no one really likes his dad’s people. They had some of the stankest attitudes, and gave me the 3rd degree about where I’m from, what I do, etc etc. His sister basically told them to leave so the rest of us could enjoy her party. DAMN, she just kicked gramma and ‘nem out! But once they left, it was cool. Just the family I’d already met and some friends. I’m surprised at how they’ve just welcomed me into the family the way they have. I’m definitely happy.

Now I’m back in the office trying to look busy, and trying to act like losing an hour of sleep over the weekend hasn’t messed with my soul. I really miss that hour, it was a good hour…

Friday, March 09, 2007
Stuff you just don't do
Some stuff you should just know better than to do. I swear some people really just suck at life and need remedial help.

-Washing your curling iron with dishwater: My cousin did this yesterday. Then she plugged the damn thing up, got shocked, and is wondering why it won’t work today. She said she needed to get the hair oil build up off of it.

-Apply for a credit card in yo’ mama’s name without her permission: My nephew: “But Tasha, I had her SSN, and funds was tight, so I applied for a Visa card. I really meant to pay it all back on time. Yo, can I borrow $400 to pay that off? I can’t believe she checked her credit report and saw it. How she know it was me tho? Just cuz the card was sent to this address…Well at least she aint pressin charges or nuffin”

-Catch a case screamin at your boo about them cheatin on you when you got 4 or 5 negroes on the side: Co worker. On the phone screaming at her man WHILE she’s emailing that side dude

-Buy a $800 set of rims for your 1989 CRX that cost $500, and you still owe $300 on LAST month’s rent, are about to get your lights turned off, and the Comcast guy is about to come and get your box and remote: My friend’s sister: “Tasha, (my friend, her sister) won’t give me any money and all my shit’s about to get cut off. You think you could help me out??”

-Get your stuff repo’ed by Rent-A-Center: My ex. Dammit man, just return the stuff if you know you can’t make next week’s payment. Thank goodnesss we ain’t together no more. And HELL NAW you can’t borrow enough to pay the week’s payment that you owe.

-Get your boo’s prison # tattooed on your neck: An old friend from back home. What the fawk, broad? You actually called me to tell me this dumb shit?

-Complain about how your rent is too high when you make much more money than me, and you live in a rent subsidized or Section 8 or whatever apartment: Co worker. This chick pays like $200 a month and lives in a brand new apt complex. The apt has 2 levels, is nice as all get out…but the rent’s too high?? OMG woman, you make damn near 6 figures. What the hell is wrong with your life? Can we trade?

-Tell a war veteran that stuff over in battle isn’t that bad when you haven’t done a lick of time in the military: Former co worker/associate. Told Hunny that the war in Iraq and Afghanistan isn’t shit, that it’s not as bad as the media makes it out to be. Hunny’s a veteran--did a tour in Afghanistan and tried to explain how jacked up it was to have rocket attacks and all the other bad shit they had to deal with. Just how much worse it was than the media makes it out to be. This dude had the nerve to challenge Hunny and say that he was lying. Apparently dude’s friend was in the military, and got out shortly before he would have been deployed—so neither of them knew what the hell they were talking about.

-Tell your child they are the worst mistake you ever made: Co worker. Said this mess on the phone to her 12 year old daughter. The girl had called to tell her mama that she’d started her period. Mama was mad that she’d have to go to the store after work and spend her money on extra pads and tampons instead of buying liquor.

-Cuss out the girl behind the counter because she couldn’t give you your change in only $1 bills: Friend from the grave. Broad, what you need all them $1’s for?

I’m looking for a nice way to tell these people they need to find a clue and hold on tight.

Friday Flashback
This week it's Public Enemy, "Fight The Power" (long version):

Happy Friday!

Thursday, March 08, 2007
My uncle in the blogosphere, Gunfighter, wrote a great post about our struggles with hair and I felt the need to keep the topic going.

Being a black woman, hair is a bigger part of my life than it is for a lot of other women. I remember when I was a little La Bella and my mom would braid my hair all up and put cute little barrettes in it. I thought I was untouchable with my cornrows and beads or my cornrows and ribbons. Like many other little girls who look like me, I had a "barette box" filled to the brim with cute little accessories for my hair. She never mentioned "bad" hair, but every Sunday it was a battle with my hair and a comb. I figured every little girl went through the same struggle that I did, so I really thought nothing of it.

It wasn't until I started first grade at a predominately white all girls private school that I noticed something different. All the girls in my class, except me and three other black girls had long hair that they could take out of their perfect little ponytails at will and shake all around. I not so secretly wished that could be me. I tried once to take out my braids at school and feel my hair on my back, but instead felt a nappy bush on top of my head. I was completely devastated. I went home that night and asked my mother why I had bad hair, why I had to have my hair in braids or ponytails that I couldn't just take out.

I'll never forget the look on my mother's face when I asked her that question. In hindsight, she looked as if someone had taken my innoncence away from me. She did her best to explain to me that because of our ancestry, we had different hair. I protested her answer with all the six year old ferver I could muster. I told her that I wanted my hair to be straight like everyone elses and I wanted to be pretty like them. All she could do was give me a defeated look and motion for me to sit in the chair so she could braid my hair.

This protest continued for several years, until I discovered what I thought was the perfect solution to my dilemma--the relaxer. I begged and pleaded with my mom to let me get one so I could feel grown up. Just for Me it was. I was so pleased with my straight hair, I shook and stunted with the best of them. You couldn't tell me that I wasn't doing something. Until the newgrowth came in that is. Suddenly it seemed, my beautifully straight hair didn't move the same and was kind of lackluster. Slap on a retouch relaxer, and I was back in business. I was greased, doobied, flat ironed, and laid to the side for many years to come. I got braids here and there, but only to give my precious straight tresses some time to breathe in between chemical applications.

I continued the mess until college, when I began to notice women with locs and natural styles walking around just as proud of their hair as I was of mine. I don't know why it clicked so late for me, but it finally hit me that my beauty wasn't dependent on a no-lye relaxer kit and I didn't have to compete with the "other" standard of beauty. I learned that no matter what I did with what was on my head, it was what was in it that mattered more. I learned to love my hair on my own terms.

Now I wear my hair whatever way my mood tells me too. Relaxed, natural, weaved up, or wigged out. No matter how it's done, I still think the same, love the same, and act the same. Nope, my hair doesn't define who I am, where I've been, or where I'm going in this life. It’s taken me a long time for me to be unapologetic about my hair. For the people who think I can’t be conscious with a perm: Don’t worry; the chemicals haven’t fried my ability to think. I don’t need my hair to be the champion of my blackness--my words do that just fine. For the women who think that when I wear my hair natural I’m abandoning all sense of beauty or vanity: My teeny tiny fro was just as cute as the super straight bob I rocked.

From the salon to the street, I’ve learned that buckshots and bee dee bees are some of the worst demoralizers known to man. Nappy = coal miner black and bad as sin, straight = light, bright, and right. I wish we could free ourselves from this divisive way of thinking once and for all. Any hair on your head is good hair no matter what, simply because it grows.

I could go on and on, but I want to hear your feelings about your hair. Are you still struggling to accept it? Do you let it define who you are?

Birthday Rewind
Thanks everyone for the birthday wishes! Yesterday was pretty good, despite the stupid little snow we got that managed to snarl up traffic yet again.

After lunch and some interesting conversation (which I’ll be posting about soon) with my 4 bestest girls, one of whom came all the way 3 hrs from NYC to join us, I went on my marathon job interviewing. All of them went really well, but I got what essentially came down to a conditional offer from one large hospital. I just have to go through the background check and drug screens and I’ll get a firm offer. I’ve been trying to get into that hospital for 2 years, so it seems like it will work out. Much more money, better benefits, etc. I’ll basically be in mid level administration management. Yay!!

After the interviews, I went back to Hunny’s place. He was sweet and took the day off so we could hang out. We went to Love Café on U Street, which is a branch of Cake Love—I adore their cakes!! So he got me a huge vanilla raspberry cupcake, and put a candle in it, sang to me, and we split the cupcake. It was too cute, and the servers at the counter were all like, “awwww”. I was a blushing mess (dammit, black people blush too!), but still managed to tear up that cupcake :-)

I asked him what was up with him making sure I had tennis shoes with me, and he told me that surprise would be coming later. I was kinda suspicious, and had a sinking feeling that we would be playing Dance Dance Revolution or something equally as crazy. I let it go, and we metro-ed it back to Greenbelt then headed down toward Largo. He refused to tell me where we were going, but assured me that it would be alright. We pulled up in his parents’ driveway, and I got a little ticked.

“Umm, you got me all excited to come to see your mom and dad? I like them, but ummm…”

“Tasha, I just need to stop in and pick up my mail—you know not everything is being forwarded to my new address. It’ll only be a few minutes, and we’ll be on our way!”

“Ok. That’s cool”

He opened the door and it was dark, which isn’t uncommon for his parents’ house. I just figured they were out at bowling like usual, but as soon as we stepped into the kitchen, all the lights came on and


Hunny, his mom, and younger sister organized a great surprise party for me. The girls I went to lunch with earlier, my brother and his girl, a bunch of my other friends, a few of my cousins and aunts, my stepsister, her husband, her kids, a bunch of me and hunny’s mutual friends, and a bunch of hunny’s family were there. They even had my parents in on it—they’d sent a card and gifts over to their house.

I was so excited, since I’ve never had a surprise party before. And I haven’t had a proper birthday party since I was about 18—my birthdays now tend to be “pre St. Patty’s day get drunk fests”.

I don’t know how he manages to organize surprises like this, but I’m seeing that most of his family is the same way. I guess I’m going to have to get used to being caught off guard all the time.

When the party died down a little bit, I asked him again about the tennis shoes. He told me he’d made all that up just to throw me off, but that he did have something for me. He gave me a special photo album that had in it all of the birthday cards and notes my grandmother gave me before she passed away. He, my mom, my stepdad, and his mom put that one together because they know I miss my grandmother terribly. When I spoke to my mom, she said it took her and daddy about 2 weeks to find all of those cards—my mom never throws out greeting cards. I think that might be one of the best gifts I’ve ever received.

The rest of the night was great, a little bit of a blur, so I’m paying for it now! I need an Excedrin and a nap.

Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Happy Birthday...
Yay, it's my birthday and I'm one year closer to being able to apply for Medicare. Seriously though, so far it's been a good morning. My mom called me at 3AM and sang the most horrendous version of Happy Birthday ever, but it was sweet.

At 7AM, some chick dressed in a pig costume came to my door and gave me breakfast and sang me happy birthday again. I think it's called a "sing a gram". The card says she was dressed like that since I was born in the year of the pig/boar according to Chinese astrology. Kinda nice, I guess my mom and Hunny put that one together.

Me and the girls are meeting up for lunch, then I'll be on my way to my three back-to-back job interviews. Thank goodness they're all in the same area! I'm hoping someone will realize it's my birthday and just offer me a job on the spot--now that would be a nice gift.

After that, hunny's taking me somewhere but he won't say what we're doing. All he told me is to make sure I bring a pair of tennis shoes. Him and his surprises, mygoodness! I'm hoping he hasn't forgotten that I'm not military nor am I a cop, so having me run through obstacle courses is not cute and would be considered a very bad gift, lol.

Thank you Lord for letting me see another year!

Monday, March 05, 2007
The song goes... "Life is filled with swift transitions", I can't say I don't understand that. I'm on a mission to get myself out of this miserable location I call a job. On top of the drama that's already going on, my boss decided to get postal and gangsta on me and lose his mind in his way of speaking. I've checked him on it previously in a professional way, and I've even tried coming out the side of my neck "ghetto bird style", and each time he'd calm down for a few days then act like he had some home training.

Today was the straw that broke the camel's back for me. It takes a lot for me to get angry. Sure I'll get irritated, but angry is different. Anyway, I'm officially convinced this man is missing some life lessons. I'm not going to go into our arguement, but it came down to him calling me a little girl and essentially insulting my mother, all because I caught an error of his and brought it to his attention. I can take whatever professional insult you've got for me, but when you make shit personal...yeah we've got issues.

I checked him in the best way I could without leaning over his desk to choke him, walked back to my office and let out a few tears in frustration, then marched myself right on down to human resources and put in a formal complaint. This is the man's 7th formal complaint, but they won't get rid of him, because during his tenure, revenue has gone up. Never mind that he's seen the WORST turnover in the company's history. Most people under him barely last 6 months. If they last a year, that's saying something.

I'm investigating other opportunities in the company, but I don't want this commute anymore. I'm off on Wednesday to chill on my b-day, but instead I'll be hitting up 3 interviews. Pray for me yall...

Weekend Recap
Really didn't do much this weekend. Friday I was supposed to go to a baby shower, but it got postponed because the girl went into labor early. She delivered that night and had a healthy baby girl. Good for her! Her mom said she’ll reschedule for sometime next month. So since that got cancelled, Hunny and I went to dinner and stopped by his parents’ house for a while. This was the first time I met his dad and his grandmother, but it was nice. I heard his gramma say, “She’s a keeper”, and according to him she doesn’t like anyone, so I felt all special. She kept holding my hands and saying “welcome”. It was kind of strange, but I know that grandmothers sometimes do that kind of thing to show their acceptance.

Saturday, we woke up and went to breakfast and had yet another deep conversation. These conversations are becoming a weekly ritual, and I kinda like it. Now we’re talking about me moving in with him around June or July, after he transfers to his new agency and I transfer out of my current job. We both threw out the “L” word, and it was just right. We’ve been talking since November 3 (even though “us” is pretty new), but neither of us realized that it was March 3 until after we both put the “I love you” out there. I can’t believe it’s been four months already!

He went out with his people, and I went shopping and to the movies with my crew. We ended up seeing “Zodiac”. It was kinda creepy, but I guess worth my way-too-damn-expensive movie ticket. Me and the girls went to LOVE, and for some reason it seemed like we had the sketchy stalker-wannabe men trying to hook up with us. All of us have boyfriends, but none of these dudes were trying to hear that. I felt like we were in that “I Gotta Man” song from back in the day…

Me or one of the other girls: “No thanks, I gotta man”

Sketchy Man: “What’s ya man gotta do wit me?”

Me or girls: “I gotta man. Sorry.”

Sketchy Man: “I’m not tryina hear dat see”

It was nice to spend some time with the girls, since we don’t usually get together for more than brunch. It was also nice to spend some time away from the boys. Went back to Hunny’s place after the club.

We woke up Sunday, went to church then went to breakfast. We had the WORST service ever at the place we went to. The waitor was new, so he didn’t know that he didn’t have to reach over our food and pick up dirty napkins. I had to smack the poor child’s hand when he crossed over my food the second time to pick up a straw wrapper. I had to tell him that busboys do that after we get done eating. But of course, Hunny told the waitstaff that we were celebrating my birthday so I got free cake--yumm!

After breakfast, stopped by my place and fed the animals, then went back home (I call his place home, lol). We played Madden most of the afternoon, then I cooked dinner—I was feeling adventurous, so I decided to go on the patio and break out the grill. I thought it might have been too cold outside for all of that, but it was actually just right (either that or I was feenin for fresh air and didn’t notice).

I had the beginnings of a migraine last night, so he ran to the pharmacy and got some extra meds and stayed up with me until 3AM when I finally was able to fall asleep. Today I’m luckily avoiding a serious migraine (they usually knock me down completely for about 3 days), but my head still hurts and I’m fighting sleep like a summamabitch. I might go home early today and work on this headache and try and catch a nice nap.

I hope yall had a good weekend!

**Birthday countdown: 2 days**

Friday, March 02, 2007
Friday Flashback
This week it's "Oh Sheila" by Ready for the World:

Happy Friday!!!

Thursday, March 01, 2007
I Be Jammin
I be jammin, and not with Bob Marley either. I be traffic jammin, baby! Every day this week, I've been met with some outrageous traffic, so I thought I'd start taking pictures of the ish that I deal with so I can show my bosses, and make a case for letting me work from home. Here's what I've come up with so far:

(Tuesday Morning--I-95 S near the I-495 split near College Park)

(This Morning--American Legion Bridge I-495 S **30 minute delay for what??, there was no accident, no nothing!!**)

(Tuesday Evening--merging onto I-495 N near Tyson's Corner)

(Yesterday Evening I-495 N just north of Tyson's Corner)

Now I know that might not look all that bad, but it took me almost an hour to go five miles on the way home from work yesterday. I live 30 miles away from my job. Still, that might not sound bad...hour and 45 to get home. But when you know the road is 'sposed to look like this:

(Even with NO snow, the road is usually clear) then you know something's got to give. I've missed out on lots of events with my crew because I'm stuck in traffic. Sure, I do take Metro often, but even then, I still have to drive to the train station and from there drive to wherever the event is.

I'm thisclose to putting in my resignation because the commute is kicking my ass worse than a soccer player wearing metal garden spikes for cleats. Commute + job drama= time for me to find something else. Maybe I just need an extended vacation

Guess I'll be digging around mon.ster and all that.

B-day countdown: 6 days