Bushwick Bill ('member him?)

That's right, ladies and gentlemen.... you heard it here first: Bushwick Bill is back on the scene, and I saw him FIRSTHAND at the Olive Garden on Mercury Boulevard in Hampton, Virginia. Yeah, yeah, I know. Bushwick Bill and the other members of the SUPERHOT (not!) Geto Boys bit the dust in the year 1993, but I'm telling you: I saw him KILLING some dry ass breadsticks and some Olive Garden salad with one olive (yall know I'm right!). Here's how it went...
My girlfriend and I were having lunch this afternoon following yet another wonderful Founder's Day celebration (you HU heads can probably feel me on that). We were just shooting the breeze, laughing it up, when we she saw this guy and his homeboy come in and sit at the table next to us. Now ol' boy #2 (or Bushwick Bill, as he will become affectionately known from now on) was in a wheelchair. Now before I go any further, I feel that I have to speak in my defense. I am an equal opportunity dater. Big or small, tall or not so tall, dark skinned, light skinned, blue collar or white.... I TRY to approach every encounter with an open mind. So the fact that this guy just happened to be in a wheelchair is NOT the issue - HONESTLY. But I will say that it did not really help his cause at all. Okay, now back to the story.
My girlfriend Ihuoma is a joker. I'm talking about the funniest person I know besides my PYT - but he's in a league all his own. She will turn something as mundane as a walk in the park into the funniest thing you've heard since "The Wayne Brady" skit on Chappelle Show (thanks for putting me on to that!). So when she saw Bushwick, she said, "Does he have on LOUIS VUITTON LOAFERS??????" Now that was enough to make me stop what I was doing and turn around. This brother had on quite possibly the fakest Louis Vuitton shoes either of us had ever seen. I'm talking about the kind of "Flouis Buitton" you can only get at Ming Na's House of Beauty and Hair Weave. But it's cool - everybody has their own thing, so we chuckled about it and kept it moving.
About twenty minutes later we were laughing about something else ridiculous (probably one of our classmates' dry ass lips or the latest response to that Cam'rom bull...), when I saw her go stiff. I mean she stopped taling in the middle of her sentence and just froze. Before I could ask her what was wrong, I caught movement in my periphery. Bushwick Bill was coming - I mean ROLLING - up on us at about 30 mph, and then he coasted the rest of the way until he came to a complete stop right next to my chair. Before he even opened his mouth, I knew we were in trouble because he smelled like every bottle of cologne on sale at Nordstron plus a little armpit funk mixed in for good measure. Ihuoma and I looked at each other, and she just put her head down a little. I looked at him, and he said, "Hey ladies. My name is Damon. I looked over and saw you, and I just wanted to know if I could have your phone number?" I was so busy praying that he was talking to my girlfriend and not me, that I almost missed what he said. So I said, "MY phone number?" and he said, "Yes." I made the very serious mistake of looking at Ihuoma again, and she was staring at her plate so hard that I thought she was trying to figure out a way to jump inside. I was so stunned that I murmured some foolishness about being married and my husband not appreciating me giving OUR number out to some random man (yes, I at least had some sort of ring on my left hand to back this up). So Billy (or Damon, as HE would like to be called) said "Well, thank you for your time, and it was a pleasure meeting you" at which point he took off (again at 30 mph) back to his table. All we could do was look at each other, Ihuoma and I...... neither of us wanted to laugh because we knew he would be looking at us, but we were so stunned by the encounter that we didn't know what else to do. So I did the only thing I could think of: I called my PYT. "Uh, babe....... I ummm...... uhhhh....... you won't believe..... I...... uhhh..." and then I just handed the phone to Ihuoma. Only she could tell the story the way that it needed to be told, and unless he heard it from her first, he would just think that I was making the whole thing up. By the time he finished laughing (and offering to come up there to be my ignorant, not-so-understanding husband), he said, "Well - at least men think you're hot."
And that, my friends, is the crux (yes, I said CRUX in every day conversation!) of the problem. A REALLY unattractive guy with terrible cologne and a wheelchair rolled up on me (literally!) in a restaurant and asked me for my phone number. No pleasantries, no small talk, just a straight request: CAN I HAVE YOUR PHONE NUMBER? Now I think I'm a pretty good looking chick, and I've been told that I can hold my own on the block. So why is it that of ALL the men in Olive Garden today I had to get Bushwick Bill??????? I wasn't even looking for a pickup - I'm quite content with being the Old School fantasy of my PYT - but is it too much to ask that someone even REMOTELY attractive would find me desirable? Someone.. ANYONE???????
So this is how I spent a perfectly good Sunday afternoon: I am now the laughingstock of my very small circle of friends. I attracted the attention of a very odd little man, I caused my friend to have one less piece of furniture in his house (separate story all together), but for all you Geto Boys fans out there: at least you now know that Bushwick Bill is alive and well and KICKIN' it - well, sort of - in the Commonwealth. If only I could say that my mind was playin tricks on me.....

Que Serra, Serra

I am staring down the barrel of a particularly scary gun.... Friday I have a big interview for a residency program at a hospital in Brooklyn, and for the first time, they are asking me to give a brief presentation. Now ordinarily that wouldn't be a problem: I like to think that I'm a natural at standing in front of people and presentating myself and my information well. The problem here is that for the first time I will be presenting to PROFESSIONALS.... real live experts on the subject matter in question, and I am TERRIFIED. What if I'm not really as smart as I look on paper? What if I missed an important point when I was developing my presentation? What if I sound like I don't know what I'm talking about? What if they ask me questions that I don't know the answer to? What if, what if, what if????????
Wooooo sahhhhhhh..... OK, after taking a cleansing breath, I feel a little better (I just had a mini meltdown!). I still feel the residuals of anxiety, but I think I might make it. It's just that I REALLY want this position, and this is a one shot deal. I justkeep telling myself that they must have thought something of me when they read my application materials, or else I wouldn't even be going in for an interview. But, damn!!!!! Nothing can work you up into a self-doubting frenzy like the thought of standing in front of a gang of white people who are looking at you and expecting gretaness. Oh Lord, I think I made the anxiety come back!
Well - que serra, serra - whatever will be, will be. I have faith that God didn't bring me this far to let me fall flat on my face, but just in case, I'm keeping my fingers AND toes crossed!!!!

A Different Perspective (from the old school)

Never thought I'd be "it" since hardly anyone posts on my blog, but here we are. So thank you very much for bringing me into your little clique, PYT. And as for the age joke..... we'll just see about that.

Four jobs I've had:
United States Department of Defense, Pentagon (high school gig - big bucks, NO RESPONSIBILITY - the best kind of job!)
Health Careers Opportunity Program, UNC-CH (coordinated a program for high school kids interested in medical school. My best advice: pick another career!!)
D5Medical Transcription (listened to the intimate details of peoples' visits to the doctor and turned them into a written record)
Carrboro Elementary School (I was the science specialist. What is that, you ask? I was a very well-paid babysitter for kindergarten through fifth graders; a sort of "Mrs. Wizard," if you will)

Four movies I could watch over and over:
The Color Purple ("You told Harpo to beat me!" Now that was some funny @&%!)
Ray (any man who can get that much booty just by feeling up on a woman's wrist deserves my respect!)
Boyz n the Hood ("Rickeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Man, 1991 was the jump off - no comments from the peanut gallery, please!)
What's Love Got To Do With It (the back of the limo... need I say more?)

Four places I have lived:
Newport News, VA (that's where it all began)
Richmond, VA (lived there during my senior year at VCU)
Chapel Hill, NC (medical school - two years of hell on Earth plus two years of teaching)
Newport News, VA (back again, folks! When I left, I said never again, but pharmacy school and some personal stuff brought me home again)

Four TV shows I love:
Girlfriends (I think I have a little bit of all four of them, but that damn Toni Childs Garrett is HILARIOUS!!)
The L Word (love, lesbian, life, luck... who knows, but it's some good drama)
The West Wing (how much does it suck that they are canceling that after this season?)
The Office (by the far, the BEST sitcom I have seen since Martin - Michael has me IN THE FLOOR!)

Four places I've been on vacation:
Bermuda (my grandparents took me when I was 13... I just remember how beautiful the water was)
San Diego, CA (started out as a vacation, ended up re-defining my life)
New Orleans, LA (spur of the moment trip with a girlfriend and had the time of my life three days before Katrina hit... it was amazing)
Aruba (brought in 2006 on the beach watching the waves and the fireworks)

Four favorite foods:
Macaroni and cheese (nobody makes it like Mom did, but I sure try!)
Seafood (shrimp, lobster, scallops, fish... I LOVE SEAFOOD!!)
Ice cream (if I weren't so weight conscious, I would be at Coldstone every day!)
Coke (yeah, I know it's odd, but I had a two soda a day habit, and it has been 15 days since my last one, so...)

Four places I'd rather be right now:
The beach
At Oprah's house (yall know it's true: Gayle has got it made!)
New York, NY (I love the city)
With my mommy

Four Web sites I visit daily:
Hampton University (why does it always take so long for them to post my damn money to my account?!)
Gmail (gotta stay connected)
Bank of America (have to make sure that last pair of shoes didn'tput me over the limit)
cbs.com (gotta keep up with my Y&R)

Four bloggers who are now IT!
This is really sad because the only person I know really well with a blog has already done this, so it looks like the end of the road :( Sorry, guys!!

It's Not Them... It's YOU!!!!

I was listening to the Russ Parr morning show today on my way to yet another boring day of health care professionalism, when something caught my attention. They were discussing a letter from a listener (gender indeterminate) that brought up whether there really are a select few quality Black men or whether it's really something else. The direct quote was, "It's not there are only a few good Black men out there, it's YOU." Wow. The profound nature of that comment almost made me pull of the road! What if there really are plenty of wonderful Black men out there, and the problem is actually me? Their conversation went on to mention all of the stereotypes of Black womanhood: the bitter Black woman, the negative Black woman, the Black woman with baggage... but throughout it all, the moral of the story was that it's not the man, it's YOU. One female caller asked the question, "What is your romantic love market?" What are you bringing to the table that would warrant a second glance from a handsome, successful, Black man? And that is when I experienced an epiphany: until I can honestly say that I am the most presentable Monique I can be, I can't be mad when all I attract is the same old guys - the liars, the cheats, the dregs at the bottom of the cup of strong, rich, flavorful Black coffee. I can't allow the baggage from the past to weigh me down, and I certainly cannot expect any new man in my life to carry that baggage for me. Even the gentleman with whom I am currently spending my time - he is what he is, and I shouldn't try to make him into something that he's not. My biggest problem has always been trying to shape someone to fit the mold that I have already made for them and trying to relate instead of date.
SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.... the moral of the story? It's not them, it's me - and I am working on that.

Go with What You Know

So I changed my hair over the weekend. Now those of you who know me realize that this in itself is not a particularly life-altering event. However, this time I went a little overboard. I'm all about different hair colors and styles; frequently, I'll switch it up just to re-invent myself for the month. But this month I let my stylist convince me that blonde over brown was "hot." HOT? Yeah, it's hot alright. A HOT MESS. I look like a bootleg Keyshia Coles, except in my defense, the contrast between the colors isn't THAT stark. What was I thinking? What looks good on others doesn't always look good on us, right? Well, here I sit with two-toned hair and a slightly subdued attitude: my self esteem took a blow Saturday, but I am slowly bouncing back. I would show yall a picture, but I haven't made it quite that far just yet - still a little ashamed! But rest assured........ a change is gonna come. Saturday morning at 6:15 boys and girls: the old Mo is making a comrback!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A Million Little Pains in the &%$!@

So I was watching Larry King Live last night (yes, boys and girls... my TV world is not just confined to Desperate Housewives and Lost!), and I saw James Frey discussing the so-called discrepancies in his book, A Million Little Pieces. For those of you who have not heard of the book or maybe haven't gotten around to reading it, it is an autobiographical account of Mr. Frey's addiction to drugs and alcohol and the story of how he got clean. The book was featured as an Oprah Book of the Month (instant bestseller), and it later became the number one selling book of 2005. The key to this book was its realism - as someone who has never suffered from an addiction, it was incredible how much I could feel his story. The book has emerged as somewhat of an inspiration to the millions of people who have been or continue to be suffering from substance abuse, and James Frey has become somewhat of a posterchild for perseverance and the ability to overcome obstacles. However, in the last few weeks, people have begun to say that the book is not accurate, and that the author embellished and maybe even downright lied about the events and people in his story. So my question is this: who cares? If the majority of the story took place while the author was drunk, high, or going through withdrawal, then who really remembers what exactly happened? And if it's HIS story (and not ours), then who are we to tell him that his story is not entirely factual? And beyond all of that, my question still remains: WHO REALLY CARES? If the story has touched people (and apparently it has), then let him tell his story the way that he wants it to be told. We as a people are always trying to tell someone how to do something. What do a few embelishments matter if the moral of the story is "I kicked my habit and you can too."
Sorry... I get a little annoyed sometimes by people whose sole purpose in life is to criticize other peoples' efforts. Was just wondering how anyone else felt about this.....

If You Were an Orchestral Instrument, Which One Would You Be? (and other inane questions that people ask)

So here I am again - almost a month has passed since my last blog, and every time I realize that, I promise to do better. I made the same promise today, so we'll just see how that turns out.

Not so long ago, I went on a job interview for my residency next year, and all in all, I thought it went pretty well.... until the end. The residency director looked at me and said (in his most serious voice), "Now I am going to ask you the really hard questoin that we always save until the end of the interview. Are you ready?" What do you say to that? "Uh, no thanks. I need a cigarette first?" So I took a deep breath, looked him straight in the eye, and with my most "bring it on" voice, I said, "Absolutely." I'm anticipating a question like, "what are the side effects of some obscure new drug?," "describe for me how to dose gentamicin," or maybe even "describe for me your most challenging clinical intervention and how it was resolved." But no... this man asked me, "If you were an orchestral instrument, which one would you be and why?" Are you serious? (that should have been MY question!). I went on to come up with some stunningly profound and intellectually-stimulating answer that left him clamoring for my full name to write on his "to hire" form, but it left me thinking: why do people ask such inane questions? The more I thought about it, the more stupid questions/comments that people ask/say came to mind, so I figured I'd be generous and share some of them with you guys....

• "You have such an interesting complexion... what breed are you?"
• "Your hair is so long - is it all yours?"
• (standing in line at the everything's a dollar store) "How much is this?"
• (underneath the exit sign) "Can I go out through this door?"

Four short questions... there could be so many more, but the simple act of reviewing them in my mind gives me a headache. Why do people ask such dumb questions and then look so shocked when they get an equally dumb answer in response?