I'm Rambling.... Sorry!

First, Happy Birthday to my beloved grandmother who celebrates another year of life today. Cheers to Dr. Gladys Hope Franklin White... hopefully we'll have many more!

Second, thanks to all the people who offered encouragement and input on the essay from the last blog. I won the award, so all's well that ends well.

Third, I found out today that I am not as fabulous as I tend to think that I am. Now that might not come as a shock to some of you who know me (and some of you who don't!), but it was a BLOWER for me. Today was "Match Day," the day where pharmacy and medical students find out which residency program they matched with. Some of you may remember that I have been interviewing for the last few months, and I finally decided that my first choice was Johns Hopkins University. Well.... I didn't get it. I got my second choice (Beth Israel Hospital in Manhattan, New York) which isn't anything to sneeze at, but.... DAMMIT!!! I feel so ungrateful for saying this, but I really expected to match at Hopkins, and I don't quite know what to do with myself now that I haven't. Some people didn't match at all, and I realize the significance of actually having a job to go to in one of the biggest cities in the world. BUT I WANTED HOPKINS!!!!!! (that was me throwing a tantrum, in case you couldn't figure that one out) I'm trying to understand that maybe this is where I am meant to be and not question the reasons behind not getting selected to go to Baltimore. It's just so hard because I thought I was long overdue for some good news.

And as if my professional life being in shambles isn't enough to keep me busy, I have managed to screw up my personal life as well.... GREAT! There was a guy (we'll keep the PYT label for now) I was seeing for a few months, and I really started to like him. It was funny, though, because it was never supposed to turn out that way. We met through a mututal acquaintance and went out for dinner one night. He seemed to be really interested in me and I was pleasantly surprised to feel the same way. But as fate would have it (and per my usual pattern), I found a way to screw the whole thing up. I knew that I was starting to have feelings for him, and I made the age old mistake of introducing the "where are we going? What are we doing?" conversation. Well, you can imagine how that turned out. He made it pretty clear that he only sees me as a friend (GASP IN HORROR!!!) with whom he shares occasional benefits, and he left it up to me as to whether I wanted to continue that way or scrap the whole thing. Now I'm a pretty strong girl. I figured that even though I really liked him (and yes, I REALLY did like him), I could manage to maintain a platonic friendship and learn to get past my one-sided desires. I was wrong. Every time I see him, I remember what it was like to have him hug me. Every time I get near him, I want him to kiss me. IT SUCKS. And it sucks even more because he isn't the kind of guy that I normally fall for. PYT is the most casual, nonchalant, "whatever, whenever" man I have ever met in my life. While we were dating, I spent all my time trying to figure out if he really didn't give a damn, or if he was just really good at masking his feelings. I thought if I could just crack through that shell, then we might have a shot at something beyond friendship. But I was wrong. Girl likes boy, boy doesn't like girl. What do I do guys? I know, I know... HE'S JUST NOT THAT INTO ME. But my question then becomes: why not? Did he ever really like me the way that I liked him or was it just something I cooked up because I was looking for a boyfriend and not a friend with benefits? I wasn't honest with myself and I wasn't honest with him. I've never really been the girl who could be okay with "playing it day by day" or just "spending time together," and so the minute I realized that I felt something, I should have said so and given him the chance to get out. That way, I could've spared myself the grief of sitting at home crying over some man who isn't giving me the time of day. But I didn't, and now here we are. Sex complicates even the strongest of friendships, and if I wasn't sure of that before, I am now. I'm afraid that I made a bad choice today, and that I might have ruined the very friendship that I was trying to protect. I don't want to walk away, but I don't see how I can stay and not keep hurting myself. PYT is a really good guy, and I know that he doesn't want to intentionally hurt me. I just feel like I am creating the type of situation where he is only sticking around because he feels guilty.

These are my issues of the week... feel free to chime in as you see fit. I know that the chances of the subject of this blog reading my words is pretty strong, so if you're out there, know this: when I met you, I thought that you were cute. When we went out to dinner, I thought that you were funny. When we kissed, I thought that I was attracted to you. When it went beyond that, I thought that we had good chemistry. When I woke up four months later and realized that I really liked you, I knew that I was in trouble. And now I don't know what to do. Our chemistry never went away, but you want me to pretend that my feelings have. You said that we made a "mistake," and then you called it a "mutual decision." I call it inevitable. So what do you want to do?

The Voice of Why Not

OK, guys.... I am going out on a limb today, so please bear with me. I had to apply for an award at school, and the only criteria were that the written form not exceed two pages, and that the theme was "The Power of Why Not." So now you know what I knew - very vague, and very open to interpretation. I have already submitted my essay, but I really want to know what people who don't know me think of the final product. So please read this and offer your criticism. The things I am most interested in are: does it fit the theme? Does it speak to you? Would you vote for it? Anything else you have to say would be great as well. Thanks!!!! Deep breath.... here we go.

I hear the voice every morning when I get out of bed. “You really should hurry along! Time waits for no one!” Sometimes I even have to take a look around because the voice is so clear and so strong. I hear the voice when I am driving to school. “Watch where you’re going now! You can’t be so close to that man’s bumper!” Sometimes I glance at the passenger’s side and barely suppress a curt response. I hear the voice when I am sitting in class. “Make sure you get all of that! You never know what’s going to be on the test!” Sometimes I roll my eyes in my mind, because to do so outwardly would NOT yield a positive result. I hear the voice when I turn the last light off at night. “Don’t forget to say your prayers. You have to stay on your knees if you ever want to get anywhere in life.” I hear the voice in my dreams. “Don’t doubt yourself. You don’t need me - stand strong and know that I will always be with you.” That is when I have no response. No quick glance to the side, no rolling of the eyes… that is the voice I listen to. That is the voice that guides me. That is the voice of childhood authority and adulthood guidance. That is the voice of my mother. She was the light that showed me the way, she is the reason I can even be considered for such a prestigious award. Dr. Sharon White-Williams lived the power of why not, and today so do I.

I never realized how extraordinarily lucky I was to have found myself in a home filled with such love and happiness. Mine was an upbringing filled with knowledge and learning, laughter and jokes, teaching and support, God and inspiration. Understanding the power in “why not” was a life lesson in our home where self doubt was not allowed and “can’t” was not a word. When others doubted the wisdom of her choice and bureaucracy threatened to steal her dream, my mother asked herself “Why not adopt her? I can give her a life filled with all the things she would ever need to become a woman, and I am the one God has chosen to lead her journey. So here I stand on the foundation of why not.

I was always the youngest child in my class because my mother insisted on beginning my learning in our home. The refrigerator was cluttered with magnetic letters and the bookshelves sagged under the weight of Where The Wild Things Are and Amelia Bedelia. Why not teach her? Why not show her that the future of an intelligent and well-educated Black child in America shone brighter than the August sun? Why not turn to a book before a television or write a story before a love letter? There was power in why not, and my mother was stronger in that power than any woman I knew. When the road to understanding and knowledge seemed closed even to me, hers was the voice of reason and calm. When I tasted the bitterness of failure and couldn’t figure out how to keep going in the right direction, hers was the idea that brought me back to the path. “Why not try pharmacy school, Monique? You could come home to Hampton and we could be together again!” She saw what I couldn’t see. She knew what I didn’t know. She possessed what I was too afraid to embrace. She believed in me. So here I am, poised on the edge of academic success and buttressed by the power of why not.

I speak often of her voice. The calming, reassuring, authoritative, commanding, beautiful voice that I hear everywhere I go. It never occurred to me that one day I might not be able to hear that voice anymore. The summer of 2002 brought a pain and sadness to my life that I hoped to never know, but as always, it was survived with the power of why not. “I have cancer. The doctors say that there is nothing they can do. But I have to make it. I have to make it for you.” That is the voice I remember the most. The voice that carried the worst news of my life, and the voice that convinced me to keep living. Why not hope? Doctors operate on science, but we operate on God. Why not live? No man was meant to be here forever, so why not take each day to celebrate our pasts and plan our futures. Why not pray? He has never given us more than we can bear, and He will continue to keep us in His will long after our arms have grown tired and weak. Why not trust? Why not love? Why not grow? These were the questions that brought me here, and unfortunately they have brought me here alone. My mother made it as far as she could, and along the way, the child that she loved became a woman that she admired. The living voice became silent on September 18, 2003, but the power and legacy of the message live on. So why not? There is power in those words, there is power in their history. My future is a blessed one, an ordained one, a predetermined one. Even I am not aware of the potential curves and obstacles that might lie in my way, but I know that the voice will never let me stop moving forward. Dr. Sharon White-Williams knew the power of why not, and today because of her voice, so do I.

Who Actually Lives in the Boondocks?

Okay... now I know I can be a little late on the pickup sometimes. For example (no comments from the peanut gallery, please), I still haven't seen The Five Heartbeats. I know, I know... you are expecting me to submit my Black card IMMEDIATELY, do not pass go, do not collect SHIT!! But this time, I have to hang my head in shame, because I honestly feel like I've been missing something. THE BOONDOCKS. Yo... that little cartoon is one of the funniest shows I have ever seen! I saw last night's episode, "Let's Nab Oprah," and I really thought that I was going to pee on myself. Here are a couple of golden quotes from that funny ass cartoon:

• I sent the bitch a smiley face! Bitches LOVE smiley faces!
• I be texting my ass off! Bitches love texts!
• Anything you do with your thumbs CAN'T be positive!
• Two ways are just some nigga ass shit! They don't do nothin' but let dumb ass niggas talk to another dumb aass nigga about some ignorant ass nigga shit!
• BODYSNATCHER NO. 2: That ain't Oprah!
• Yall niggas is gay!

For almost a full minute, I laughed until my eyes filled up with tears, but then I had to stop for a second. Was that Samuel L. Jackson lending his voice to a thug ass white man with cornrows? And was that Charlie Murphy lending his voice to another thug ass white man with a penchant for typing with his thumbs? And best of all, was that REGINA KING lending her voice to a thug ass little BOY who was the mastermind of the whole dumbass scheme to kindnap Oprah Winfrey? After I got over the feeling that that one 30-minute cartoon set our people (or half of our people, as PYT would remind me) back 500 years, I couldn't help but smile. Anything involving mistaking Maya Angelou for Oprah Winfrey and a white guy robbing every establishment in town owned by his grandfather has to make you laugh. So, kudos to the developers of The Boondocks, cause that thing was HILARIOUS!!!!!!

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?

Green Eyes Really Aren't All That Sexy

No one really reads this, so I guess I don't have to apologize for being away for so long, but hey... sorry, anyway!!!
Topic of the day is jealousy. What is so special about another person that they can inspire a feeling as intense and destructive as jealousy? Jealousy has brought down empires; jealousy has destroyed communites; hell, jealousy has even brought about the total annhilation of health and happiness. So knowing all of this, why would any self-respecting women succumb to the warmth and comfort of a good old-fashioned jealous fit? I used to think that it was immaturity, and that the little green-eyed monster of jealousy would cease to exist as soon as I got the proverbial "old enough." But, alas! How incredibly wrong I turned out to be. After all the 007 days and "Mission Impossible" nights, I honestly thought that I was past any need to participate in the self destruction of jealousy. But just when you think nothing can send you back to that place, BAM!!! It all comes back with a vengeance. As women, any little thing can inspire jealousy. She's prettier than me, he knew her before he met me, she's more successful than me, she knows him better than I do, they spend more time together, blah, blah, blah, BLAH!!! I am as much a victim as any woman out there - just this evening I found myself in the grip of a baby fit of jealousy, but then I rethought my position. Why be jealous? There must be something special about me, or we wouldn't even be here. So just a little note to all of you women out there who might find themselves in the same position: do you. Don't let the past get your blood pressure up. Homegirls are homegirls, and lady friends are lady friends. Know your role, and remember: green eyes really aren't all that sexy.

Gobble, Gobble

So its Thanksgiving Day - well, technically its the day after Thanksgiving. This year was a different one for me... I didn't spend it with my family at all, but instead enjoyed the hospitality of some family friends. Its so weird... kinda makes you feel guilty for intruding on what tradition dictates as a "family holiday." But nevertheless, I am extremely thankful that they thought enough of me to invite me into their home and share their Thanksgiving with me.
For me, family has always been my mom. Sure, I had other family members, but she was the one constant, the one that I always thought of first. So on this third Thanksgiving without her, I have to take a minute and think of some other things for which I am thankful. I am thankful for my life - the life that was given to me by two faceless, nameless people, but more importantly the life that was created for me by my REAL MOTHER. I am thankful for love - the love that she shared with me for so many years and the love that I continue to be able to share with others because of her example. I am thankful for success - the example of hers and the continuing evolution of my own. I am thankful for failure - mommy always said that it built character, and she was right. But beyond that, it showed me that there would be better times in the future. I am thankful for my friends, both old and new. Friendship is essential to the soul, and the relationships that I have built have sustained my soul and shaped my life. And finally, I am thankful for things yet to come. Lately I've been expanding my horizons and trying to step outside of the stuffy, 28-year-old bore I was becoming. So thank you to the person who has shown (and continues to show) me that life can be about more than traditional relationships and conventional boundaries... your hype man was right, and I couldn't be more thankful!
HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!!!!!

Girlfriends, Part 2

As I thought some more about the whole girlfriends question, I realized that I didn't give you a visual. So here are some of the girls at my 28th birthday party... recognize me? 

This is me... canary diamonds not included. 

Girlfriends

What is it about your girlfriends? As women, we look for girlfriends to share our life with - women who can identify with our situations and share our pain. Women who will stay up all night with you when your man is caught cheating and women who will curse your ass out when they find out that you are cheating on a good man. But there is always a line that you just don't want to cross... why is it that women will only share so much with their girlfriends? For every insignificant piece of information that my girlfriends know about me, there are fifty others that they don't. So why is it that women don't share details about their man with their girlfriends? Do we simply not trust the very people that we claim to trust the most? Ladies out there: can you ever be completely honest with your girlfriends about the innermost secrets of your relationship with your man? Or do you keep the juiciest parts to yourself? Just curious...