It's Official...I Have Moved!

I've been two-timing you guys for a couple of weeks now. I 've had a hard time saying goodbye to Blogger. But it's official. I've moved to Wordpress.

I'll keep this blog up, for old time's sake. But I am here, here and here. Please update your blogrolls.

See ya on the other side!!!

Lex

If I called this post what I want to, I'd have the Secret Service breathing in my farts...

If my single, most trusted, most intimate confidante were to pull me aside and ask me to confide in him/her my deepest darkest secret; that one thing I am most miserably ashamed of; that one choice that I regret for its having revealed how astoundingly low I’d sunken, how inconceivably far from sanity I’d traversed, it would be this. On November 7, 2000, I voted for George W. Bush.

I know. If you want to run away and delete me from your blogroll I completely understand. But, if there is an ounce of grace in your heart, forgive me and read on. I’m back on my meds.

I started drafting this post with the intention of espousing the notion that Black Christian voters are perhaps the most schizophrenic voting block in America, but I'll talk about that later. Today I'm just disgusted. He is an embarrassment to himself, to humankind. He's a renegade, gangster, corrupt, do-whatever-the-fuck-he-feels-like-doing outlaw.

I don't even have the energy to discuss the war. It breaks my heart. It's ridiculous. But this Libby shit?!?! Why doesn't he just drop his pants and moon the justice system?

Can January 2009 GET HERE ALEADY!!!

Real Quick...'cause I'm at work...

I'm flirting with the idea of moving to WordPress. Please go over and check out the place and let me know what you think. All 3 blogs are under construction, so bear with me if you're not in my blogroll yet.

Also, if you are already using WordPress, tell me why you love it. Why is it better. I've had a hard time navigating my way through, but I'm learning pretty quickly.

On Second Thought...
Fine Tuning
Unpacking Faith

Adjustment without Improvement

I have less than one year before my 35th birthday. I have promised myself that when I turn 35 I will be in the best shape of my life. This week I've given the phrase "the best shape of my life" a second thought.

There was time when I thought being in shape meant being able to fit into any size 4 on the rack. I quickly learned that, for me, that was really called being anorexic. Then, I decided that being in shape meant maintaining a size 6, and throwing up my french fries and double cheeseburger and shake if I happened to slip up to an 8. That was really called being bulimic, despite the benefits of gaining amazing control of my gag reflex. Being in shape was about a number: my weight, my jeans size, how many miles I could run in a week, how many times I could run the stairs in the stadium, how many laps I swam. I was/am no athlete. I was what Debbie calls skinny fat. I was a petite woman who ate like my heart was my worst enemy and I was duty bound to kill it with fast food, sugary sweets and the absence of all things that grow from the ground, except for when I'd go through one of my health nut cycles.

Over the years I have had periods of extreme conscientiousness about what I eat. Like most things with me, my enthusiasm about eating better has ebbed and flowed. I'm about to turn 35. I'm out of wiggle room. The choices I make about what I do to my body now will make or break how I grow old. I prefer to do so gracefully without preventable diseases. I have to make changes now.

I started reading Toni Morrison's, The Bluest Eye, this week. I was only a few pages in when I came upon this sentence.

I learned much later to worship her, just as I learned to delight in cleanliness, knowing, even as I learned, that the change was adjustment without improvement.

The context of that statement isn't as important as the italicized phrase. Those six words hit me like a ton of bricks. It struck me as antithetical to all I hope to be accomplishing along this journey of personal growth. I've made changes in my life. Many, many changes at many different times. I am smack in the middle of one of the most significant seasons of change I've ever experienced, even more significant than the time period that birthed this blog. I don't want to look back at this time as a period of adjustment without improvement. I want to be better. I want to be a better friend, a better daughter, a better sister, cousin, niece, aunt and granddaughter. I want to be a better employee, a better citizen, a better companion, student, coworker. I want to be a better stranger. I want to be a better me. Different is not good enough. I want to be better.

When it comes to living a healthy lifestyle, I've made adjustments many times. I will make many more. But I've begun to make improvements. It's time for me to start eating like an adult. I have a great independent organic market less than 2 miles from my house. I have no excuses. I walked up and down the aisles this evening amazed by how many choices their are for eating well. I've decided that my grocery list will be comprised of items from two lists. The SuperFoods list is the priority. The World's Healthiest Foods list will round out the rest. Now, since I'm about improvement and not just adjustment here, I've tried it out for over a week. I haven't starved to death. I've eaten foods I love. I've eaten often (seems like all day long) to boost my metabolism. I've felt better than I have in a long time. I've dropped 5 pounds, just like that. And I haven't worked out once. Yet. I even went to Happy Hour last night and ordered an avocado and tomato salad and quinoa tabbouleh (and 2 blood orange margaritas). I never missed a chip or buffalo wing. It was lovely, I tell you.

I was in Whole Foods with Katrice last week and, as you may have read on her blog (which I won't link because there are nut cases among us), and we ran into Dick Gregory. I was doing my first big shopping spree from the Super Foods list, and I took this as a prophetic endorsement that I am somehow on the right track (why? because I'm corny like that!) I was tickled to see him, and while I am not going raw foodist (yet), he still inspired me to do better than I've been doing.

I'll probably continue the discussion of how this whole change is going on Fine Tuning, my pathetic chronicle of my weight loss efforts. But it was important enough today, for me to mention it here. I'm done adjusting for the sake of adjusting. It's time to get better, healthier.

Today when I think of being in shape I think of the whole person. Not just what I eat or if I work out. There's so much more to fitness. The mind, body and spirit are connected and interdependent. And as much as I've chosen to rid my body of unnecessary hormones, preservatives and toxins, I'm diligently plugging away at those things that clutter and preoccupy my mind and weigh upon my spirit. You'll hear about more of it here. Even if it gets political and politically incorrect.

Stay tuned.

Wanna Hang Out?

You guys are cool! Jali's latest post has me thinking about how many interesting folks I've met since I've been blogging. Some of you blog as yourselves, others as a persona, but either way, I feel like I've gotten to know you other bloggers a little more post by post. I talk about you all the time. If you've written something that I think is interesting, it may come up in conversation in my real life. I feel like this forum has stretched me and put me in contact with people I wouldn't normally associate with, for whatever reason. That is amazing and invaluable to me. It's been a fascinating voyage through the market place of ideas. I've discovered tremendous diversity among those of you on my blogroll and those of you who comment here. I'm glad I "know" each of you.

With all the mushy stuff said, who's down for a Blogger Meet-Up? I would love to meet some of you guys who don't mind blowing your anonymity and hanging out with some other people with way too much time on their hands. What do you say? If you're interested, I'll organize it. Just email me at lex dot blogger at gmail dot com. I'm in the DC area, but that doesn't mean the Meet-up has to be here. I'll travel. Maybe we can find some cool spot central to the responders. Let me tell you now, if you've never commented here before, I don't know you. I will ignore your email, so don't bother. This isn't an invitation for crazy stalker shit. Got it?

Let's hang out and have drinks or something.

Holla!

Birthday Present

Here's my one and only birthday present. Parents ROCK!!



I'm so excited. It will take a whole year for me to learn all the features.

I'm SO Going Back!!

Hello there!! I am back and fully detoxed. Yeah. That was fun. You know, I never understood why folks chose to get wasted to the point of suffering the next day. I still don't, except that it's funny to read what you wrote the next day. My body is starting to love me again. I've been all organic and water and fresh produce to her for the last 2 days. I owe her. Big time.

Puerto Rico was great!! There was perpetual salsa in the air. There was so much sabor in everything: the way people walked, the cadence of their speech, the music (of course) and the food. I am completely enamored of Borinquen. There were brown people everywhere. Beautiful brown people. Thick brown people. I felt so at home not to be among folks who are afraid to eat. There was lots of enjoying of life going on on that little island paradise and I am so going back. I don't know why I'm so drawn to Latin America, but it's in my soul somehow. I felt so at home. Many of the sentiments were similar to my feelings in Argentina (though, not too many brown people there -- story soon to follow). I loved every moment I was there, even when I was working like a slave on my birthday and sh*tting my brains out 2 days later. (TMI? Meh, too late.)

The food was awesome. My first stab at mofongo was horrid, but I quickly learned that it was because I chose the first restaurant poorly. The rice and peas were off the CHAIN!! Yum, yum all the way around. I don't think I ever had room for dessert. I can't think of one sweet thing I ate...except for my birthday cake, which was delectable. And the fruit, dear God. I'll show pics later. (I'm sorry. I'm just lazy right now.)

The best part was the inter-generational social circle: the dance floor. I was so amazed to see 18 year olds and 65 year olds dancing salsa side by side. Each night there was a different salsa band at the hotel. The locals come to the hotels to dance, especially towards the end of the week and the weekend. Salsa crosses generational lines like nothing I've ever seen. Sure there was a viejo verde or two, but for the most part, it was just a love for the music. Everyone felt it. Everyone dances it. Everyone. I was in heaven.

I'm back to the real world now and longing to go back. I have a call in to a travel agent to schedule a group trip back there for the end of November. It would be so much fun with the folks I love. I hope we get a good group to go. Email me if you're interested. I think there's an email addy for me in the profile. If not make it all public in the comments.

I'm making lentils and sausage (chicken sausage) for dinner and I'm starving. I hope it's done, because I am certainly ready to eat.

Have a good night all and, if you haven't eaten yet, buen provecho!

Chau.

Ugh!!

It´s my party and I´ll ....

June 6th was the floor. No. June 6th was my birthday. It sucked monkey butt. I worked until 12:40 am, so it wasn't even my birthday anymore. But no matter. Bacardi 151 is the Shit. I'm sorry. disclaimer. don't let your kids read this. I might say bad things. Bacardi 151 has that effect.

I'm in Puerto Rico. My cousin came with me. She keeps buying me drinks for my 2 day old birthday that I can't resist. She keeps saying "Pito Mojado" as her demonstration of her Spanish. She means "Piso Mojado" which means wet floor. But she keeps saying wet dick. I am laughing my ass off every time the men try to correct her and you know what that means. yes. I've peed on myself. twice. I'ts ok though. the laundry is across the hall.

Did I mention Bacardi 151? I didn't know what the number meant. It means....the BOMB!!!

I am sofaKing drunk and so is my cousin. she's taking pictures of herself with her camera on an ipod. no. a tripod. She knows how to say dios mio and hace calor. She wants to know how to say I want to give you a ...wet dick. She's so drunk.

OMG. you should have seen these folks descend upon the food we served at this conference today. I have never seen anything like it in my life. folks took 2 bags of M&M's and Skittles and Hagen Daaz like it was contraband. They smuggled that shit like they were starving. I've never seen anything like it in my life ... and never laughed so hard in a professional setting. It was hilarious.

I lvoe Puerto Rico. I am sooooo coming back. I danced my ass off tonight, and I have pics, but my camera, UPS cable...no USB cable and camera are too far away from each other for me to show you.

Everybody who wished me a happy birthday yesterday...thank you!!!! I love you. If you don't read my blog, you don't know I thanked you. Too bad. So sad. Read my itshay!!

My mom called me today. June 7th. She pushed vagina and still missed it!!! She'd be morified that I told you that. She wants to be the perfect mom. Cuz lost a toenail dancing tonight.

I was surprised how many people called me. It was great. I'm loved. Yay!! And I got emails too. You know who you are. Thank you and SMOOCHES!!!!

She just said, "Food and TV are my sex". That's a real serious problem. I might need to leave the hotel room for a night or two. That's sad.

OK. I soo can't do this anymore.

I'll post pics when I'm less...um....f****D up!! It's my birthday and I'll be drunk if I want to. I have to work in the am at 6. Puerto Ricans can make the HELL out of a drink. Do you hear me??? They know how to do it down here. I'm having so much fun.

I danced my bootie off tonight. Did I tell you that already?

Hey, you know who, I lost count on my rum and Coke's tonight too. But I took a cab. Learn from the master. 151 Baby!!!

I'm going to bed. I have to work and act like a grown up tomorrow.

Let's not mention the fact that the man who signs my checks was sitting right next to me as I declared how fu**ed up I am. I love this job.

Bye now. Mañana.

Paz.

Dude!!! My Whole Blogger Thingy is in Español

¡Chévere! Bienvenidos a la primera edición de On Second Thought... de Puerto Rico.

OK. So that says welcome to the first edition of On Second Thought... from Puerto Rico. But I'm sure you figured that out. If you didn't, catch up. Or you'll be out of a job before too long.

I'm working way too hard in Borinquen, mis queridos. Have a look around the place:















Here's what I see right outside my patio door:















And here is evidence that I work WAY too hard:

My dad sent me a text message today asking if I get paid to vacation. Hey! This is no vacation. This is hard labor, I tell you. I'm sweating over here.

Hey! They were teaching a salsa lesson in the lobby. On 2!!! Sooo mambo and Soooo hot! I hope I don't keel over from all the work I'm doing.

Gotta run. Time to check out the nightlife! (um, then back to the grind?)

Oh, Marion!

1. Woman drives her car through a crowd at a street festival in DC.
2. Woman is held without bond pending Grand Jury hearing.
3. Woman said she had been smoking crack all day prior to the incident.
4. Woman is employed as a temporary receptionist in former DC mayor, Marion Barry's office.
5. Marion Barry will cancel contract with temp agency, accusing them of negligent screening.

I think the temp agency, at best, is adept at matching personnel with appropriate employers; at worst, has a great sense of humor.

Washcloths....and Argentina

Debbie posted a couple of days ago about proper cleansing of the nether regions. It made me think about one of my first experiences of culture shock when I lived in Argentina. I think I've mentioned here that I lived on exchange in Mendoza, Argentina during my senior year of high school, but I haven't talked about it much. I have lots of stories from that time that I'd love to share. Many things in the last couple of weeks have made me think about her (and long to go back for a visit.) Not the least of which was my friend Kwesi's birthday lunch at this place. A gaucho is a gaucho--Brazil, Argentina or Uruguay. And this food was the same as every asado I ever ate. I so miss that place.

But first, the nether regions. I thought everyone used washcloths. Everyone I knew growing up used them. They were in every house I ever spent the night. They were in every hotel room I ever visited. I thought it was universal thing. I'm not one of those travelers who carries everything but the kitchen sink when I'm away. I don't take my own towels and washcloths (or other things I think are ridiculous to pack, like Lysol). Anyway, in January 1991 I packed for a year in Argentina. I was 90lbs. over the Aerolinas Argentina's weight limit, but I still packed no washcloths.

It was long trip. I left around 4pm I think and I got to Mendoza the next afternoon. My first host family was strange (more stories to come) but I chalked most of the quirks up to cultural differences. We had dinner the first night. My host mom showed me my room. I started to put my things away and I was ready to shower. I went into the bathroom, took my clothes off, sat on the toilet and stared at the "other" toilet next to me, trying to figure out why it had a shower shooting up. I turned the knobs and sprayed water all over the bathroom and myself. I couldn't turn the water off so I jumped from the normal toilet and sat on the other one. Water shot up my butt. It was a bidet. Neat.

I was ready to take the rest of my shower and I noticed that my host mom had given me a towel and a huge monster sponge--like the ones you used at school to wash the chalkboards on the days you'd stay after school to volunteer to help out because the girls in the regular class were waiting to jump you outside because they didn't like you because you were in the gifted and talented class. Yeah, that sponge. I thought it was weird that everyone had their very own sponge to clean out the tub when they were done, but hey, some people have different standards of cleanliness. To each his own. It's not bad. It's not wrong. It's just DIIIIFERENT. Yaddah, yaddah. I still needed a washcloth.

I wrapped myself up in the towel and poked my head out of the door to ask for a washcloth. How the hell do you say washcloth in Spanish? I did the best I could to explain it and she looked at me like I was speaking Tigrinya. Then she came in the bathroom and picked up the chalkboard sponge and nodded. Did she expect me to wash my nether regions with that? Apparently she did. I learned to wash with my hands that night. And the first words I said to mom on my first $5 per minute phone call were: Send me washcloths!!!

So tell me people? Do you wash with a cloth, sponge, loofa, hands, the soap bar, exfoliating gloves, oven mitts or something more exotic? Was it always that way? What did your mom use when she bathed you? Are washcloths an American thing? An east coast thing? A black vs. white thing? What do you think?

Sooooooo Tired!

Hi! I miss you guys. I'm soooooo sleepy these days. No energy for blogging. This new job/schedule is kicking my butt. I've gone from sleeping until 9am to get to work at 10 to getting up at 6am to leave the house by 7 to get to work by 8:30. I still get home at almost 7...and that's on the days I leave on time.

When I'm on site, like now (in Utah), every day is about 12 hours. Yawwwwnnnn!!! I'm enjoying it, I just pass out before 10pm. Strange territory for a night owl.

I'm trying so hard to stay awake through the Idol Finale. I'm supposed to go have drinks to schmooze with my team in an hour or so. Did I mention Yawwwwwnnnnn!!!!?

Comfy bed is calling me.

Leeeeeexxxxiiii.

Hear it?

Blogging from the Library Sucks

I'm still laptopless. I'm trying to catch up on all of your blogs from the library in the evenings. It's not going too well. I should be getting a laptop to use for work, so that should make web access during travels much easier, but I still need my own deal-e-o so I can get back to downloading music to my Zune...and blogging...and compulsively checking my email. You know, the three things personal computers were designed for. Oh, and let's not forget the daily newspaper crossword puzzles. OK, my secret's out. I'm a dork. This is how I spend my free time. I should be doing laundry and the dishes from this weekend, but no, I need my fix.

None of this would have been a problem at my old job. I seemed to find limitless time in my schedule to catch up on things I didn't get done the previous night (during the 6 hours I was online from home). But now I've got all this work to do. What's up with that?!?!? Just kidding. I'm no slacker. I like the new job, even despite the Murphy's Law day I had today.

I've only driven to the office three times: interview, first day (one week ago) and today. I took the same route the first 2 times and had way more time than I needed. Commute took about 45 minutes, including finding parking (another post, but wait for that one!). This morning I took a new route. It was supposed to be shorter. It took 1 hour and 10 minutes after I found parking. So, I got to work about 10 minutes late (@ 8:40). As I went upstairs to my cubicle I noticed there was a meeting going on downstairs, but I paid it no attention. I got to my desk, tried to see if my new login was set up while I was on travel, put my lunch in the fridge, noticed that no one else was upstairs, checked my email and saw a meeting invitation from the PRESIDENT of the company for an all staff meeting (um, yeah--the one I walked right by and ignored) that he sent out on WEDNESDAY. I walked into the meeting at 8:53, just in time to hear the #2 boss remind the staff that work hours are from 8:30-5:30!! Yeah! Of all days to be the new kid who didn't know how to check email remotely (and didn't consider that I'd actually have emails after 1 day on the job). I was in Idaho all last week. I had no clue there was a meeting today. Even if I had, I didn't expect the "short cut" to 25 minutes longer than the regular route. I'm taking the train tomorrow.

I need to run so that I can read a few of your blogs before they start flashing the lights in the library.

Toodles!

I Have Issues...

So, I'm in Idaho. That's where my lovely new job has sent me on my first assignment. Everyone has made jokes about potatoes. I have given everyone who's mentioned them the confused puppy look. My thoughts went instantly to white supremacists, skinheads and underground nuclear warheads. That would have been a fun game of word association.

Well, with hate crimes on the brain, I sit next to an Arab gentleman on the airplane. He is reading the Koran. My first thoughts, honestly...ashamedly: "Oh f*cking-sh*t! For the love of God!" (I know those 2 sentiments don't exactly go together, but it's that kind of day.) I have never claimed to have lived 34 years in this racist society and gotten by unscathed. As embarrassed as I was, I was also scared beyond belief. Then, he kept staring at me. I was watching him in my peripheral vision. He would snap his head forward every time I would turn to see what the hell he wanted. This didn't make me any more at ease. I'd also start plotting the perfect position to curl into so that I'd feel the least amount of pain when we crashed to my death each time we hit pockets of unbelievable turbulence. My pessimism is on full blast today.

While I was waiting for the hotel shuttle at the airport, I thought about all of the horrible things I could be falsely accused of out here and how no one would believe me and then I'd have to call the Boise police, which was certain not to go well for the black girl, so I'd just keep quite and succumb to whatever injustice befell me just to avoid making waves. It doesn't help that all day I've been reading Toni Morrison's Song of Solomon which revisits life in America for blacks in the 1st half of the 20th century. Sigh.

From the plane I send the following text message: "Oh man! I'm the only person with bigot of color up on this plane. I feel like I'm going to a Klan Rally. Pray for me!" Freudian slip: bigot was supposed to be a bit. Who's the bigot, right?

It has been a very sobering day. Fear is powerful. Today I have experienced how easily it becomes a lens that distorts. I see how difficult it can be to convince someone looking through that lens that they aren't seeing what they think they are seeing. The truth is that everyone in Idaho has been as friendly as anyone anywhere else. (And much more friendly than what I encountered in Minnesota.)

I've only met one person from Idaho in my life. I was teamed up with him in a small group and I made the same assumption about him that I made about everyone else in this state, that he'd hate me. He was such a nice guy. We hung out that weekend I spent in Seattle a year and a half ago. We actually had a chance to talk about the assumptions we made about each other and how glad we were (and embarrassed) to find out that our assumptions were wrong. I realized that my assumption that he'd hate me only served to justify my prejudice towards him. I wish I'd remembered that earlier today. It would have been a much better flight.

OK, there you have it. I suck sometimes too. Prejudice is funky, from anybody. Even me.

Peace.

Moving On...

Today is my last day at my current job which means it's also my last day with a laptop until I buy my own. So, I may be gone for a week or two until I can get my own, or at least get my PC up and running.

Any suggestions on a new laptop purchase???

Have fun out there in cyberspace without me. I may have to camp out at the library.

Getting My Groove On

I've been bitten anew by the salsa bug. I haven't danced regularly in years, but I went out Friday night and now it's all I want to do with my weekends. I'm about to go spend 3.5 hours in classes and then dance the rest of the night away. I'm obsessed. I even bought proper dance shoes yesterday.

I'm finally going to bite the bullet and start taking salsa on2 classes, New York-style salsa. I mostly dance Cuban-style salsa, Rueda de Casino.

I'm so out of shape, but hey, a girl has to start somewhere. Today I'll be dancing at a dance studio as opposed to a club so, at least I won't reek of smoke afterwards. That was the gross part of Friday night. I can stand the smoke in isolation at times, but smoke on top of me being sweaty and contributing my own funk is more than I can handle.

OK. Here's a little demonstration for your viewing pleasure.

Samudaya

Buddhists believe that the key to ending suffering is letting go of all desire or craving. That's a sizable leap on my part from the 1st to the 3rd of the Four Nobel Truths, but an interesting idea to explore nonetheless.

In my lifetime I have experienced considerable fluctuation in my ability and willingness to want. I used to be terrified to want. I remember doing everything in my power to quench desire at every turn. I'd deny it. I'd distract myself. I'd accept pitiful substitutions for the true object of my passion. Either way, I avoided desire like the plague. Acknowledging my desires was tantamount to numerating my miseries. I was so unhappy in so many areas of my life that the exercise of thinking about what I wanted out of life produced more despair, as reality only made those desires seem less and less attainable. During this point in my life I would have agreed that desire was the source of my suffering.

Right now I am about to start a new job. I am about to be divorced. I about to be in a much better financial situation than I've been in my entire adult life. I am on the brink of realizing what I fantasized about during my despair, starting over. It's a very exciting place to be. I expect to meet new people, travel to new places, experience the things I ached to experience when I thought I never would. I am equipped with a much better understanding of who I am, what I like, what I despise, what I stand for and what I won't. I am happy. I am unmistakably, palpably happy. And yet, I'm still haunted by longing.

I feel like there's a difference between expectation and longing. The latter requires more vulnerability. Does that seem strange? Are those two words synonymous to anyone else? They aren't to me. I expect things to change for the better in my world. But I feel like naming my longings (or identifying them) reminds me of emptiness, reminds me of the voids. I guess the bitter reality is that the objects of all desire are transient or impermanent, no matter how we cut it. I can't hold on to pleasure. It will slip through my fingers eventually. I can't hold on to people or relationships. They change and die. I can't hold on to things or money. Stock markets crash. But there are things in this life that I want and I feel like sometimes my "enjoy it while it lasts" attitude is the same as trying to deny longing. It seems rooted somehow in despair. I'm trying to figure out how to turn that around. I'm trying to figure out how to want what I want, expect to have it at some point and acknowledge and accept that I may not always have it--all at the same time.

One of the things I've longed for most is the freedom to be my own person. I feel like I am living that freedom more and more everyday. I've found community among those who aren't threatened by or judgmental of my exercise of that freedom. Those probably seem like "givens" to most people, but remember I was a pastor's wife. I lived under palpable scrutiny. I was constantly reminded that every inhalation and fart of mine had life changing implications in the lives of others in my community. It's frightening to think about having had that much perceived power over other individuals. It's frightening to consider the ill effects it has had. It's amazing to be free of that kind of community. This kind of freedom is something I've longed for years. Is it too transient? Temporal? Impermanent? I sure hope not.

Anyway, this has been a long, convoluted way of saying that I am very, very happy with my life right now and I hope it just gets better from here. I want love, happiness, fulfillment, security, companionship and peace. And mind-blowing sex. Can't a girl have it all?

Loving this Song Right Now

Watch and Listen:



Read:

lyrics - Jennifer Lopez Lyrics

Summary in Translation:

Dude! You messed up and wrecked our home so bad, it's not even worth my time to hate you. Moving on!


By the way, yesterday was the second anniversary of me finally having enough and walking out of my marriage for good. I am so over the pain and the bitterness. I'm happier than ever and am so ready to get this divorce finalized so I can move on with my life.

¿Qué hiciste? Me perdiste para siempre.

Tagged...And I Stole the Formatting Too.

Alphabet Scoop Meme
~courtesy of Macarena

Available or single: Invoking the 5th Amendment on this one.
Best friend: I can't pick. I have great friends. I love them all.
Cake or pie: Cake! Pie crust is disgusting.
Drink of choice: Dry red wine.
Essential item: Baby oil gel.
Favorite color: Blue.
Gummi Bears or Worms: Bears
Hometown: Washington, DC.
Indulgence: DSW.
January or February: February has better sales.
Kids: Other people's.
Life is incomplete without: Intimacy.
Marriage date: Been there. Done that. Burnt the T-shirt. Cursed be November 2oth.
Number of siblings: One.
Oranges or apples: Oranges.
Phobias/fears: Miscarriage. Incarceration.
Quote, favorite: Temptation resisted is pleasure lost.
Reasons to smile: See B, spring is back, new job, chocolate
Season: Fall.
Tag three: Katrice, Let's Pretend, Black Jack Bauer.
Unknown fact about me: I've never seen The Godfather.
Vegetarian or oppressor of animals: Must you put it like that? Oppressor.
Worst habit: Walking out of my clothes and leaving them on the bathroom floor or sporadic flossing.
X-rays or ultrasounds: Ultrasounds...but the full bladder part sucks.
Your favorite foods: Free.
Zodiac: Gemini.

On Imus and Stuff I was Trying to Avoid

Once upon at time there was this guy named Don Imus. He said stupid racist and sexist things on the air about the Rutgers University women's basketball team. He is a dick head. He got fired for being a racist, sexist, dick head. End of story.

Wait, no, not the end of the story.

Suddenly, all of the black people in the land started turning on themselves and blaming themselves for Imus's comments. Now, these black people were a bit deluded. They thought they were talking about other black people. But somewhere along the line, after 1964, they forgot how to be one people. They forgot that pointing the finger at "them" was also pointing the finger at themselves. So sad. So very sad indeed.

You see, after Imus, the S.R.D.H., said what he said, black people across the land started emailing each other and going on tv and radio talk shows talking about how they really did Imus to themselves. They blamed their music, their ghettos, their Ebonics, their limited access to the best education in the country for people like Imus, the S.R.D.H. saying racist stuff like that. They discussed reasons why they shouldn't be outraged about Imus, when there are misogynistic messages in their own music. It's as though the powers that be sprinkled pixie dust among them and confused them and now they can't distinguish between the cause and the effect. It's a sad state for these people.

They have forgotten who controls the music industry, who controls the images they see of themselves on tv, in the media and on the silver screen. They have forgotten the role racism has historically played in the creation of their ghettos and how survival has caused many of them to forgo many of the luxuries and comforts others of them enjoy. It's as if the lot of them has been brainwashed. They no longer think like the generation before them who knew that their survival as a people required unity and fighting for the collective. Instead, it seems like something akin to Stockholm syndrome is running amok in the land.

Is there hope for the people? Will those in the fringes who see the dastardly scheme at work learn how to communicate the need to stop the self-hating infighting? Will the people stop spending so much time being disgusted with one another and take back the spirit that embodied King and those of his time? Will the Cosby's in the land offer solutions to the problems, instead of constant criticism? Or will they all turn completely individualistic and identify with "pull yourself up by your bootstraps, all by your damn self" ideology of ...well, you know who the villains in land are. No need to utter their name.

Stay tuned for the next event that causes black people to convince each other that they shouldn't express outrage about racism merely because there are problems at home.

Clothing Conundrum

I SO need a makeover. I need someone to ambush me on the street and say, "Hell NO!! This is not working."

I used to be such a cute dresser. Never mind that I was a cute little size 6 at the time, and mom was paying for my clothing habit. Fat and poverty has gotten in my way worse than you can imagine. I am not one of those people who can "get by" on bargain stuff. I have champagne taste and Pabst Blue Ribbon pockets. I'm not high maintence, I just don't look good in clothes that aren't quality clothes. Which means that I haven't looked good in a long, long time.

I am seeing the light at the end of the tunnel about this poverty issue. I have 2 job offers on the table...well, one and a half. Either job will make a significant impact on my financial situation. I wasn't looking for this. I didn't apply for either job, yet here they are. It's one of those things where life lets you know it's time to make a move. You know, when the pieces never would have come together had you forced them. I feel like a sigh of relief is just around the corner. But, I'm so used to being broke, I don't know how to think any other way.

I have a dinner for work Thursday night. I need to shop for something to wear. Now, granted I'm not in my new tax bracket just yet, but I'm conflicted about what I should buy. My head says: clearance rack, Marshall's, Sears (clearance rack). My splurger says: OK, Macy's clearance rack or Ann Taylor Loft clearance rack. My fat ass says: Buy a quality outfit that fits you well and looks nice! I don't speak that third language just yet. I need to buy a book.

So, here's my pitch. SIGN me up for What Not to Wear!! We can start with my black jeans. I will gladly throw away every stitch of clothing I own to start over and look like a professional. I wear jeans and flip flops to work everyday. I keep a suit on the door in case I need it. I own 2 suits that fit me. I need some serious wardrobe help. I need a stylist. I need a makeover.

I Really Need Dog in My Life

Heartinsanfrancisco has posted about animal totems. It is a fascinating post. It is particularly fascinating for me to read at a time in my life when I am contemplating how others understand the inter-relatedness of all life. I believe we are all connected in some way and that animals can't be simply dismissed as food and pets who don't get go to heaven when they die. I can tell you of many an animal that deserves a spot much more than I do.

I mentioned in my slightly manic previous post about wanting a dog. I have always had a pet, every moment of my life, except for the last 2 years. When we were children, if a dog died one night, we'd have a new puppy by the time we were home from school the next day. Either a stray would adopt us and we'd keep it, or we'd go to the pound for a new one. There were plenty of times when there were multiple dogs or a dog and a couple of cats. I'm not much of a cat person when it comes to having my very own. I'm just not drawn to them in that way, but I love them. I loved Spanky and Darla.

When I was born we had Frenchie. She was part Great Dane and part Boxer. She was the sweetest dog except for times I'd be playing in the yard and a stranger walked by. I was her pup. No one was allowed near me who she didn't know and trust. Frenchie was poisoned one afternoon. My next door neighbor's house was burglarized that night. We believe they were connected.

After Frenchie we got Fella. He was 1 or 2 years old when we adopted him. He was part Shepherd and part Collie. He was tan and white with long Collie hair. He was the dog of most of my childhood. He was with us from the time I was about 6 until 16. When we moved from the city to the suburbs my parents took him to the pound and had him put to sleep. I thought for the longest time that they were just evil and uppity and didn't want a dog in their new house. The truth is that Fella had cancer and was dying and my parents could bring themselves to tell me. I cried for years when I thought of him. I talked about him every time I'd see a dog. Everyone has heard about Fella. He appeared in my dreams for at least 10 years. The dreams would be so real I would wake up and expect him to be at the foot of my bed. I would be wide awake and swear I could hear his tags clinking on his collar. I fully expected to turn around and see him again one day. I never have.

We had Duchess, a long-haired chihuahua, Sheba, an sooner, Spanky, Champ, and 8 of Sheba's puppies as well as the others. There was one other black dog that followed me home, but he didn't stay very long. I don't remember his name.

When I graduated from college, my parents bought me Samson, my Yorkie baby. He went with me into my marriage and died 5 months (or a year and 5 months, I can't remember) before I left. I had to put him down because it was killing me to watch him suffer from an enlarged heart. If I could have chosen who in the house would get put down, it wouldn't have been Samson. We had another Yorkie too, Rudy. I lost him in the custody battle. He's still with his dad, as far as I know.

So, on April 23rd, I will officially reach my second anniversary of doglessness--oh, and of leaving my marriage. Yay! I ache for a dog. Ache. Isn't it funny that I don't ache for a man? I will adjust to life without I companion whose socks I may see on my floor, but I cannot adjust to life without a dog. I really don't want to move again, but I may have to since I can't have a dog in my current apartment. It is just that serious. This is worse than my fleeting hankering to have a child.

Anyway, Heart offered one view of animal presence in one's life. I found it fascinating and have taken the quiz below to see what my animal totem is. Check it:

What is your Inner Spirit Totem Animal?

The WolfYou are protected by the great spirit of the Wolf; a stalwart seeker of truth and justice and adament hunter of those who oppress and depress. You value truth and honor above all else, protector of the innocent and defender of the weak. Your quote: "All that is gold does not glitter; not all those that wander are lost"
Take this quiz!








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So, I did some more research to see the difference between a dog totem and a wolf totem (as Heart has so aptly instructed that these animals are not the same.)

Dog totem: Faithfulness and Protection

The Dog is a symbol of the small becoming the great. People with this totem have great spirit and a great ability to love. It takes a lot to break a dog spirit.People with a Dog totem are usually helping others or serving humanity in some way. Dog medicine embodies the loving gentleness of best friend and the fierce energy of protector.

You will have a deep understanding and compassion of human shortcomings. Study the quality of the breed of dog that has entered your life: is it a hunter, a protector, a companion, playful? Each of these qualities will give you insight into the qualities needed for your own life. A Dog totem is a great spirit booster.

Wolf totem: Intuition, Learning, Spirit

This totem brings faithfulness, inner strength and intuition when he enters our lives. But he also brings learning to live with one's self. The wolf teaches us to learn about our inner self and to find our inner power and strength. But to achieve this, we must take risks and face our deepest fears. A wolf totem demands sincerity. This totem demands a lot of us but gives us much in return; a spirit helper that is always there to help and gives us extraordinary powers of endurance.

He reminds us to listen to our inner thoughts and trust our insights. They remind us not to waste resources and to learn how to avoid trouble and confrontations. People with Wolf totems have the capacity to make quick and firm emotional attachments. Trust your insights about these attachments. Wolf will guide you. Take control of your life with Wolf’s help and do so with harmony and discipline.

I think it's so interesting how all of creation interacts with one another and how often we miss it. Wolf and Dog each say so much about who I am and what matters most to me. The timing is uncanny. I am contemplating a significant career shift. I am reminded today of what matters most to me.

The strangest things happen to me when I'm facing a major decision. I'll tell you more about this in a couple of days.

I'm In the Silliest Mood Ever - UPDATED

I am in the craziest mood today. I'm sitting in my office today wondering how to convince my boss to let the office go home early. I want to try, "Boss, they crucified my Lord today." I would enhance it by singing Were You There When they Crucified My Lord. But, she'd probably burst out laughing at me, as I wouldn't be able to do it with a straight face. I didn't even know it was Easter until a couple of days ago. I'm so out of the loop.

I have also decided that it's time for me to get a puppy. I need a dog in my life. At first I couldn't afford one, but things are a changin' in the "Lex is perpetually broke" department. Stay tuned for that one down the pike. I do want a doggie though, and my apartment doesn't allow them. I don't want to move again, so I'm thinking of telling the rental office he's my guide dog. Katrice doesn't think they'll buy a seeing-eye-yorkie. Stupid rental office people!

Katrice has an cubicle mate that talks to her incessantly and she can't bring herself to tell him to shut the fuck up. So I told him for her today. We were IMing and I typed: SHUT UP, "DUDE" over and over again in our IM window as large and red as possible (I used his name), so if he turned around his nosy ass would see it. Katrice tried to keep typing to make my messages scroll. I think I won. Too bad he didn't see it.

The subject matter of my work is rape. All day, everyday. Not a good combination with me in the mood I'm in. I have had some of the most politically incorrect laughs of all times in my office today. FemeNazi's everywhere would have my head. I even laughed uncontrollably when telling the story of the mentally retarded victim who said she tried to kill herself by putting her hands around her own neck and squeezing "really, really hard". F**k off and don't tell me how inappropriate that was. I already know and it was still funny as hell. It still is!!

Some client keeps faxing us the same documents she's already sent us 15 COPIES of. The damn fax machine won't stop ringing. Our intern is freaking out and all I can do is laugh at her. People are so pushy when they want to get an attorney.

I am so broke this week that I keep waiting for a merchant to confiscate my debit card. Like everything else today, I'll find that freaking hilarious too. I wonder if they'll shred it on the spot.

There goes the damn fax again!!! Hahahahahahahahaha!!!

The cleaning lady just came in and told us that we're the only ones left in the building. Everyone else is gone.

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

The office phone just rang. The paralegal yells, "Not it!!" I answer the phone and the person has the wrong number. They ask for "Mrs. Davis". I said there's no Davis here. She asked, "Is your mom or dad home?" WTF???? Do I sound FIVE????

My nephew and Katrice and Kwesi's kids tease me about being in one of these silly moods. They always say, "It's the wine." But, it's never when I've been drinking wine or anything else for that matter. It's just me being me. I promise you I did not avail myself of Austin Grill's happy hour that starts at 2pm. That was last Friday.

The paralegal is singing. She is so damn tone deaf she makes Sanjaya sound like Elton John. Can someone type SHUT THE F**K UP, TIFF in my IM window. Pretty, please.

I really need a pitch for getting us sprung. I have spring fever so bad. Never mind that it's snowing today. SNOW for Easter. What's that Al Gore was talking about??

I had dinner with my cousin last night. It was so much fun. One day we'll (me and you my blog buddy) have to chat about me and gay men. I'm a magnet for them and I can't figure out why.

Done now. Going to shop for Yorkie guide dog. Peace.

And Happy Easter!!! (If I'm still allowed to say that after all of my irreverence.)

UPDATE: So, paralegal just announced that she has to pee. Intern tells her that we do have bathrooms down the hall. I suggest that we think of alternatives. How many different places have you peed? I used to pee over the side of the bathtub if someone was using the one and only toilet we had in our house. Or I'd pee in the sink next to the washing machine. I called that the "downstairs bathroom" as our washroom was in the basement. Anybody ever peed outside and end up peeing in your shoe? Or on the back of your waistband? I have.

Where have you peed?

Dancing a Jig

Have you ever been to a pentecostal/holiness church? You know, the ones where there's singing and clapping and everyone plays an instrument, even if it's just slapping their thigh to the beat of the music. This is a glorious moment to behold. A song starts. The choir and congregation sing. Everyone's clapping and keeping time. Someone starts dancing a high-stepping dance with fanciful footwork. The clapping people start to move around the dancing person and clap more to encourage them. Others may join in and then the music starts getting faster and faster. The clapping and dancing adjusts to the tempo of the music. Some people are swaying their hands in the air. Some doing basic steps and others much more complicated syncopations. Some are shouting out things. Occasionally, a couple of people may lock arms and dance around in a circle. Sometimes a group of people will join hands and do their high-energy, high-stepping, fanciful footwork dance together. It's amazing to behold. They look like they're having such a good time.

Last night I went to an Irish bar, with my Irish co-worker. She does Irish dance. There was this great band playing Celtic rock music. When the music started people started to clap. One or two women started jumping up and down to the music. They were joined by others who were dancing while others clapped and did fanciful footwork. There were basic steps and the good ones added all of these creative syncopations. They'd dance in circles and pairs would lock arms and spin their jig around and around. Sometimes a group of people would join hand sand do their high-energy, high-stepping, fanciful footwork dance together. They start at one tempo and then get faster and faster. Everyone looked like they were having such a good time. They had consumed copious amounts of beer.

I used to go to a Pentecostal church a long time ago.

I like beer.

Where do you think this guy is?

PS. I must learn to clap on the beat. Pentecostals clap on the and.

Shameless Plug Update: This post is kind of related to my latest on Unpacking Faith. Just in case you're interested.

Better Late than Never

I am always amazed and humbled that any of you bother to read my ramblings. I started this blog because I had lost faith in the sacredness of my personal journals. I figured, if one person was so curious about what was running back and forth in my little brain, why not share it with the world (as if anyone would care). I sent an email to a few friends and family when I started and I half expected that 1 or 2 of them would read beyond my first post. It's unbelievable that I've actually met new people who have been amazing, kind, provocative and engaged in the conversations I've initiated here. Thank you to all of you who read, though I'm not always sure why you do.

One of my favorite bloggers of all time is Heartinsanfrancisco. She is an amazing storyteller. She's has a compelling story to tell and I wait with bated breath for the next installment that peels back yet another layer to reveal the beautiful soul she is and how she got to be that way. She's adorable and funny and quite honestly, one of the wisest women I "know". I so value her perspective on life's issues and my comments wouldn't be the same without her voice. She has bestowed among me the Thinking Blogger Award, and thereby tagged me with the following meme:

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).

Now, since I've waited so long to actually do this, all of the untagged bloggers I would have picked have been picked. I don't have 5 now, so don't follow my example should you choose to play.

Without further ado, my picks to be Thinking Blogger Award recipients:

1. Green Apple Martini - Her Love Thursdays always remind me of what really matters in this crazy life.

2. Greens 'n Cornbread - He's a new find for me, but oh so provocative.

Check them out, will ya?

List Guy vs. Heart and Soul Guy

I've been contemplating motherhood. I go in and out of really wanting to be a mother. I attribute much of my vacillation (in this and many other matters) to my being a Gemini. I may really feel like I want something one day, and be totally repulsed by the same thing the next day. It can be quite frustrating to the person trying to figure me out. I figure if I go in and out of wanting to be a mom right now, it might not bode very well if I really do have another person for whom I must be responsible 24-7-365. I've come to a compromise: I'd probably be a better step-mother than mother.

No. Seriously. Think about it. It's really a pretty good gig. I don't mean "baby mama drama" step-parenting, but responsible step-parenting where all the adults involved are normal and, at the very least, respect each other and want what's best for the children. I'd have no stretch marks (well, no additional stretch marks) or hemorrhoids, but snuggles and someone to cheer for at baseball games. I think it could be pretty nice. Contemplating step-parenting has helped me to realize that what I say I want "on paper" and what I really want in my soul are in conflict with one another. This is a red flag for me. It's a warning sign that I'm not being honest with myself about some things. Or that I'm afraid of something.

Life's circumstances have thrown me into this independent woman role. I don't think that's a bad thing. I had a lot of growing up to do in many, many ways. Being on my own, without a parent or husband to lean on, has forced me to be responsible in areas I got away with being a slacker before. I appreciate that. I feel like I've learned how to be an adult: to take the good with the bad, to be resourceful, to get on despite disappointment, to plan and to accomplish goals. I am finally at a place where I am certain that I will be OK in this world all by myself. I don't want to be alone forever, but I don't for a second feel like my life will somehow end if I find myself without someone to share forever with. There are some really amazing pluses to living alone and being unattached. I get to indulge selfishness. It really is all about me because, well, there is nobody else to consider. I like that most days. And then, there are the other days...

I have an idea of the kind of person I'd like to share my days and nights with, but he is two. There's the "List" guy and there's the "Heart and Soul" guy. List Guy is comprised of attributes, accomplishments, achievements, demographics. I think my List Guy is a big fat lie. There are things on my list that I say I want, yet, I don't find myself drawn to the guy of the list...or maybe he's not drawn to me. The ListGuy isn't really in my world. I don't run into him in my work. He's not the friend of my friends. He's not they one who catches my eye on the Metro. It may be that I've never met a List Guy. Maybe I'm not in the right circles to meet him. Who knows? But then there's Heart and Soul Guy. Heart and Soul Guy is rough around the edges. He's naughty in ways List Guy would never consider. He's honest and doesn't put on airs. His honesty reveals things that absolutely wouldn't make the list, but somehow I don't care. He is, after all, honest.

List Guy will make the parents happy. List Guy would make dad comfortable. List Guy would get nods of approval and thumbs up from the friends. List Guy would bore me to tears, I think, after a while. List Guy makes me wonder whether he's too good to be true. List Guy makes me feel skeptical, makes me always wonder if there's something beneath the surface that I'm missing. List Guy feels like an effort to avoid ending up with Ex again. I really think that's what the list boils down to. Somehow my little brain computes that if List Guy hits all these points on paper (that just happen to be everything Ex wasn't) all will be well with the world. I never wanted Ex to be perfect. Just honest.

Heart and Soul Guy is risky but fun. He follows his passions and is not conventional. Heart and Soul Guy lives outside the box and creates his own drum beat by which to walk. Heart and Soul Guy sees my vulnerabilities. He knows what he wants in the world and goes after it. Heart and Soul Guy knows what it means to be a man. Heart and Soul Guy appreciates that I am a woman. He knows there's a difference. Heart and Soul Guy doesn't take advantage of my giving, nurturing nature. He cherishes it and makes me feel safe as I give. Heart and Soul Guy sees beyond the tough, independent facade. He knows I don't need or want to be taken care of. He's OK not taking care of me. Heart and Soul Guy connects with me on level that can't easily be put into words. He gets me. I get him. I can't make Heart and Soul Guy make sense to everyone, but I feel no need to make excuses for him. He possesses a "rightness" that I will just know when I've found it.

List Guy ignites no fire in my heart (or loins) when I think of him. He's safe. He appeals to my need for security. He appeals to the ideas of normalcy I've internalized. He's really quite cookie-cutter to be honest. List Guy doesn't have kids (hence, no baby mama drama). Heart and Soul Guy's loving fatherhood captivates me and stirs my soul. Heart and Soul Guy is very little of what is on the list, maybe a few things, but he makes me laugh. We never run out of things to talk about.

It's really quite simple, you'd think. Fuck the list.

I'm not at a place where there's room for either guy in my life, but I really find myself wondering what I'm looking for when that time comes. I know too many people living miserable lives that look great on paper. I don't want that life. I want to be true to me, not to what looks good to anyone else. And I don't want to give in to my fears. List Guy answers all of the things I'm afraid of. There's no apparent risk with him. That is so unrealistic, but it's so hard to break away from the idea that if he is just these few things...I can avoid more pain and heartache.

As much as I know I can't build a life to protect me from pain, I struggle to recognize when I'm building a fortress. Sometimes I see it immediately. Other times it takes a bit longer to see.

In my heart and soul I want to love passionately and freely. I want to be completely vulnerable. I want to connect on a spiritual level. In my heart and soul I want to laugh until I pee. I want to admire beauty and character. I want to have the time of my life. I want to taste life and see it in his eyes. I want to feel alive. I want to know palpable goodness. I want to risk letting down my guard for these things. I want to be able to risk opening myself to experience all of this, even if it means it ends in disappointment. I will have risked. I will have lived. I will have loved. It will have been good.

More March Madness

The Sweet 16 has confirmed some things for me about watching basketball:

1. I don't need to watch the game. I just need to watch the score. I have gotten just as much of a thrill from watching CBS.com's live scoreboard as I have watching the actual games. I'm such a "bottom line" person. But I don't want to know just the final score, I want to know who's down or when the come back, etc.

2. The last 4 minutes of the game are the only one's that matter. Can I tell you how many of these games have been tied with less than 4 minutes to go. It's like it all starts over and the other 36 minutes didn't count.

I have probably just disqualified myself as a true fan. I enjoy the stakes more than the game, I think.

I am more than a little excited about the game Georgetown STOLE last night. But I'll take it!!

I'll Shut Up about AI One Day...

What is this foolishness?

That would explain it, huh?

Happy Birthday, Tricie

Today is Katrice's birthday!!! Happy Birthday, Sugar. Go over there and wish her goodness. Wait! Read the rest of what I have to say about her and then go. OK? OK!

Katrice and I are friends against all odds. She grew up with my Ex. I met her and her husband, Kwesi just before they got married and for the most part, they were Ex's friends who I just saw from time to time. We were both young couples in ministry, so church and related functions caused our paths to cross from time to time. We hung out as couples a handful of times. But for the most part we only really saw one either when one of us was preaching at the other's church.

Katrice isn't much of a socialite. She exists happily among a small circle of immediate family and very few close friends. She'd rather be with the teenagers in her life than with the huddle of soccer moms who make her want to scream. So, since I am the consummate extrovert, and she the consummate introvert, it would stand to reason that we wouldn't really hit it off of friends. But that wasn't really the case.

It's almost eerie, but there has always been a bond with us that we couldn't exactly put a finger on. When we would see each other, we knew we were kindred spirits and that there was something we were supposed to do together. We never talked on the phone or hung out just the two of us, but this inkling would be renewed whenever we were together. This went on for the better part of 10 years.

During the last couple of years of my marriage we started to see each other more and declared as couples that we really needed to spend more time together. I never could have imagined then how right we were about that. I never could have imagined the reason. Until one day at Fuddrucker's.

One of the reasons I felt that we needed to hang out more was that I was beginning to drown as a pastor's wife. I felt like I was expected to be there for the world, but then there was no one for me to talk to when I needed an ear. I knew I was nearing a breaking point that afternoon the 4 of us had lunch at Fuddrucker's. The guys were chatting at the table about a problematic minister on staff at our church. Kwesi couldn't understand Ex's rationale for not disciplining him. Katrice and I walked away from the table to get dessert and the dam that had been holding back the truth that was killing me burst open. I spilled my guts to Katrice right at the cookie counter at Fuddrucker's. I told her everything that was going on in my marriage and how miserable I was and how totally helpless I felt. She had the most comforting words of assurance for me, "I've been there. You need to talk to Kwesi. You're not alone."

That was the beginning of what has come to be one of the most precious friendships of a lifetime. I love this woman like she were my flesh and blood. She has been there for me as I agonized over detail after detail of past abuse and betrayal. She's listened to me cry, complain, curse and scream. She was patient through all 4 of my cycles of trying to leave my marriage. She has given me a place to sleep many, many nights. She's fed me, prayed for me and prayed with me. She's stood right beside me while I've considered if I still believe in God. She's been patient as I've walked through the process. She's listened to my rants. She knows all of my dirt. And if I can't say this of any other soul in this universe, I can say with confidence that she has never judged me. Not once. Even when she's disagreed with me. She has been the truest of friends.

She has no idea how powerful her strength of character has been for me. She's been my rock when she didn't even know I needed her to be. She's an absolute angel and I love her to pieces.

I admire the wife and mother she is. I'm telling you, this woman needs to write a book. She and Kwesi have survived in a marriage against all odds. And believe me, it's not just holding it together for the sake of holding it together. I can spot a fake a mile away. They have loved each other well in the face of every possible obstacle. I am so proud of them. Her relationship with her kids is something to behold. To have half her patience and firmness. She's mastered striking the balance between the two. Her kids are the wonderful products of the beauty and character of their parents.

And the girl can cook! I don't mean "yeah it's pretty good, I can tolerate it" cook. I mean "bitch slap yo' mama" cook. I am always good for a hot meal when I don't feel like making it myself.


Today's her 33rd birthday. I love her. Go show her some love too.

Happy Birthday, Sis!!

On Being Thirtysomething

Last week I was contemplating writing a post, “What Being Almost 34 and Childless Means to Me”. I was really emotional (guess why?) and feeling like life was passing me by, and that I’d wasted too much time in a stupid marriage, and that now I had to pay the childless-in-a-nursing-home-all-alone-with-no-one-to-visit price for it all. I’m feeling better today, so this post has taken shape differently, thankfully.

Today Katrice and I were IMing about the feelings of coming into our own that our thirties have brought us. We’re doing simultaneous posts about our experiences with 30+, so check her post out too.

I think the most refreshing sentiment of 30ness is finally feeling comfortable in my own skin. I think I felt like a 14 year old way longer than I should have. Because of my past, I have lived a life of shame, feeling like I wasn’t good enough and “shape-shifting” (as Katrice puts it) to be acceptable to other people. I turn 34 in June and now that I have walked around in these 30 year old shoes for a while, I can say with confidence and relief that I am so glad that shit is behind me.

In my teens and early twenties I struggled with an eating disorder. I married at 25 and realized very early on that I was miserable. I felt trapped because being married to a pastor meant that so many eyes were examining my life that wouldn’t have been if the circumstances were different. I felt like I needed to be a certain way to live up to the expectations people had of me, yet I tried so hard to maintain an air of confidence and aloofness with respect to others’ opinions of me. As my marriage worsened, I internalized his infidelity. It re-opened wounds that screamed that I wasn’t good enough. I felt that I’d lost control of my life’s direction, my identity, my sexuality, my sense of self.

Today, I’m heavier and happier than I’ve ever been. I look in the mirror and am stricken by beauty, though reminded that I’d be healthier if I lost some weight. I’m learning to dress for the size I am and to appreciate the beauty and appeal of the new curves. I’ve still got it and I don’t give a damn who thinks otherwise.

I peruse my bookshelf and once again it reflects my myriad interests and passions as opposed to the one dominating topic I felt I was allowed to read about during my marriage—the church. I feel free to explore other ways of thinking. Free to appreciate perspectives that are the polar opposite of mine. I feel comfortable existing with others that are very different from me. I feel comfortable wondering if we’re really that different at all.

I feel like I own my sexuality for the first time in my life. What happens to my body is no longer anyone else’s decision. It’s mine and mine alone and I love that I know I possess that freedom. I love the freedom to choose who is a part of my life. I love the freedom to walk away, the freedom to draw near. I love the freedom to long for more or to choose to be satisfied for now. I love that rules don’t govern my life as much as that which I’ve internalized as truth. I love that I am driven by a sense of what is right for me. I love that I don’t give a shit if someone calls that relativism. I love that I trust myself to make decisions about what I believe, about what is truth. I love that I value honesty above all else. I love that it is such a central element of me.

I love that my honesty has driven some out of my life. There is no other way for me to live. I am who I am, take me or leave me. I couldn’t have said that 5 years ago. I needed to be so much more, so much better, so much “other” than who I am. I love that my honesty means that I won’t lie to you to make you feel better. I won’t let you think you’re treating me just fine when you’re not. I won’t pretend everything is OK, even if I’m not ready to talk about it yet. I love that I’m not afraid to address problems. I love that I’m not afraid to decide when I’m ready to address them.

At work, my co-workers think I’m nuts for some of the things I say to my boss. She can fire me. I’m well aware of that. But I won’t sell my honesty, my truth-to-self for this job or any job. I am an open book and I hope to continue to live that way.

There are things which, while I’m not dishonest about, I just don’t mention on this blog because I can’t at the moment. That burns me to my core because it feels so contrary to where I want to be in this moment. I hope this time passes quickly. There’s so much more of me I want to write about.

And since I’m being honest, I am very concerned that my last ova will flow out of me one day soon, without a happy little sperm-daddy to turn it into a baby. My thirties are flying by and making my head spin. I am open to alternative parenting options, but I’m afraid to raise a child alone. I am conflicted because I so enjoy the freedom that many of my friends with kids envy. But I would hate to miss out on the joy of motherhood. I have quite a few male friends with children. I enjoy observing fatherhood. It would not be ideal for me to mother without having the shared experience of admiring loving fatherhood in action.

So, while there are still things I long for and hope to be, my thirties have ushered me into an appreciation of self that has made all the shit of the past well worth it.

Thirty rocks, Ladies. Don’t be afraid. Embrace.

It's March Madenss Time

The finest season of American sports is upon us--March Madness. I love the NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament better than any sporting event in the history of life. It takes me back to Cole Field House at the University of Maryland when the Terps well, sucked, but it didn't matter. They were my sucky Terps. And they still are. Fear the Turtle, I tell you . Fear. Him.

Before I was a Terp I was a Hoyas fan. I have 3 versions of my brackets. My fantasy version has Maryland and Georgetown in the finals with the Terps cutting down the nets. A girl can dream. Leave me alone. Besides, I secretly take pleasure, oddly, in those nut cases setting bonfires in the middle of Rt. 1 to the chagrin of the College Park police.

At the moment, Duke is struggling against Virginia Commonwealth (why can't they just be Virginia STATE like all the rest of the states, minus the other commonwealths?). Anyway, nothing will make me happier than a Duke upset. I despise Duke and North Carolina. I'm a Terp. This hatred is required. I won't even consider either school for law school for this very reason. Yes. It is that serious.

In other news, I went to the doctor for a follow up on my lump. He was pleased that it had gone down considerably and he assured me that it is nothing to worry about. He told me that he'd refer me to a surgeon if I wanted a second opinion. I told him I trust him. I am relieved. Thank you all for your concern and support. Those antibiotics made me sick the whole time I was on them. Yuk. My stomach still isn't completely right, but it's a small price to pay to save the tatas.

I've had a lot on my mind lately. Mainly stuff about what I'm going to do with myself when all the T's are crossed and I's dotted with respect to wrapping up my past life. I feel like I'm in a fog, but I'll write about that more in a separate post. I'll probably start with, "What Being Almost 34 and Childless Means to Me". Should be a hoot. I can't write it tonight because I already have a cold and I'm down to one roll of toilet paper. So, no crying for me tonight. I need the last roll for cold snot and potty, not cry snot and potty. Cry snot is SO much worse than cold snot. So that post will come later. After I buy the good facial tissue with lotion in it.

This Duke game is a nail biter. Tied at 70 with 3:40 left to go. DIE, Blue Devils. DIE. Even if you do screw up my brackets. It's worth it to see you go DOWN!!

Nite, all. Got basketball to watch.