My Southern Vacation

This weekend was a weekend of discovery.

The first thing I learned this weekend is that white folks in the South weren't afraid to steal land. My mother's family, as well as other African Americans owned land that was taken from them and turned into a spillway. You can find the story behind this here. (Stanley Riley is, in fact, a distant relative of mine.) My family is among the many that have yet to collect. This is a story that I knew about. What I did not know is that my great-great-grandfather, a Frenchman by the name of Ducongeaux, owned a large plot of land that spanned from Dauphine St. to the Mississippi River. The Ritz Carlton New Orleans marks the start of the property. Upon his death, the deeds were "lost" and his black wife and family driven from their home. Gotta love the US.

"Foxy" aka Grandma is doing much better than she was. She was so excited to see me. I know this is shocking, but I'm the spicy grandchild. She also digs the fact that I call her Foxy. It's well deserved though. Prior to her illness, I wouldn't have put her past 60-65. On top of that, Foxy's wardrobe ain't no joke. I discovered that she's turning 78 soon. Go Granny! I'm so glad that I saw her this weekend and I will call and visit her more.

The second thing I learned is that the time I can spend with my sisters before having to crush the desire to suffocate each and every one of them in their sleep is very, very small. I wanted to smack each of them with a back of "shutdafuckup". I love them dearly and if anyone else were to say such things about them, they would be handily pummelled on site. But to say that absence makes the heart grow fonder is an understatement.

My dad is recovering quite nicely from his cancer treatment and he's going to be starting school in the near future. My step-mother will also be graduating soon with a degree in, uh, something or another. I just know that it was important for her to finish so, go Step-mom!

No trip home is complete without some ignance. Evidently, the wife of the ex is bothered by my existence. There was some hullaballou abou tme being "at her house." This consists of me being parked in front of her house while my 4 year old retrieved a jacket that she should NEVER have been allowed to leave the house without in the first place. When my kids walked out the house, she slammed the door like somebody crazy? What the hell? Simply because I try to do something about my appearance and she looks like a fat man rode her to glory face first, is that my fault? That's DNA. Get mad at ya mama.

I had the opportunity to visit the best spa in the world. Belladonna is, colloquially, what we refer to as "The Shit". I literally fell asleep during my facial. And I don't mean polite sleep either. I mean borderline drool sleep. I mean the drool was "peeking at the door". But a sister is SPARKLING right about now. A sister is "no makeup" sparkling. I'll try not to hurt anybody...but I offer no promises.

I also visited a bonafide hole-in-the-wall juke joint. That shit is hilarious. Little Milton and Koko Taylor all night long. If you go to a juke joint, you can get "right" off $10...$20 will get you straight twisted. However, the men of these places are used to seeing "women" as opposed to "ladies". Therefore, me and my girls were looking like movie stars when compared to the sister whose back looked like a busted pack of store brand biscuits. The open face gold teeth and jheri curls were in full effect. Then they had a bunch of brothers that looked like they had just bought all of their outfits off the back of a truck that very evening. The entire night was a study in comedy, however, when the man walked in looking like a pimp Uncle Ben, we knew it was time to bounce.

I considered driving past my old home to see what things looked like, but I really had no stomach for it. Though the city is not desolate, there is still ample evidence of what Katrina did. Traffic signs are turned around, stop signs are completely gone, there's pile after pile of bricks from buildings that crumbled, and this is what I saw in populated areas. I couldn't bring myself to see what my hood looked like.

I guess it can be said that I feel like Maryland is my "home" now. By Monday, I was ready to be in my own bed with my, ahem, electronic device. I'm starting to feel like this move was a great idea.

Revisiting an issue

I enjoy surfing my own blog. I like to make fun of my typos or just generally see where my mind was at that point in time. Of course, I also like to check out my comments as well. Therefore, I don't know how in the world I missed he following comment related to my August 15, 2005 blog post about the Willie Lynch letter:

Breez you should know and understand the comment you made about the "Willie Lynch" letter is exactly what the European-American male want to here. If you read further on in your life, you find that it is the women of color that possess your like minded opinion.

For the most part, more African men were torchered and murdered than African women. The slave owners needed the women to releave them of their sexual desires when their women were pregnant, on their cycles, were waiting to be wed or simply did not want to perform their wifely duties. Or is this something you don't care to read about, remember or even discuss, because either you choose to deny the event or you are one of those women of color who choose and perfer the European man anyway.

Which one is it? Being from New Orleans, it is a known fact the most of those African-Americans are mixed with a little of everything. Am I correct?

Huh? Because I don't believe in a document that no one has ever seen, I'm buck dancing for Mr. Cholly? Stop.

In slavery, was the splintering of the African family, and ultimately the African sense of community, through some of the most heinous means imaginable a tactic used by slave masters? Definitely. But I never once disputed that. What I disputed was the authenticity of this document. I believe that we, as black people, rather than regurgitating everything that comes across us via email, should stop and deal with FACTS. Since the European American man wants me to believe that Willie Lynch is fake, why hasn't the African American man not put it in his museums? Since its "discovery", the document has not been displayed anywhere. I wonder why that is? I will state for the record that if ANYONE can tell me where I can go to actually see the document, I will happily admit that I'm wrong.

However, rather than focusing on the actual issue, Yvonne (who is seemingly lacking a blog of her own) felt obligated to insult me because she doesn't agree. Okay...we can go there. If you want to believe in the letter, fine. For me, there are far too many verified and documented accounts of slavery to refer to. I maintain that putting so much weight into a fictitious document is not even remotely productive.

As far as your disparaging remarks regarding the racial heritage of many New Orleanians, that merely highlighted how small minded you are. Yes. My grandmother is a Creole woman. My grandfather was a Creole man. My grandmother on my other side identified both with her African and her Native American heritage. So? We are beautiful black people. I can speak for myself and my family in saying that we have ALWAYS identified ourselves as black people. News flash. In this day and age, African-Americans EVERYWHERE are usually mixed with a little bit of everything. Remember that slavery thing you were talking about? Yeah, that's a result of that. Stupidity really isn't a good look for the season.

Chitter chatter

For those of you that find my blog addictive, think that I'm cute, or maybe just too looney to ignore, you can OD on me here. Even though I think 360 is kinda gay, I'm a motormouth and I love to be heard. Ah well.

Yesterday on my 360 blog, I griped about people being increasingly one-dimensional. However, after doing some surfing I believe some people should just stick with what they know. Good grief.

I need to keep a pen and paper in the bathroom. I get some of my best blog ideas in the shower. Unfortunately, by the time I get to work, I either forget about them or the fragments that I do remember aren't nearly as amusing as when I was brain storming. One might argue that indicates the idea wasn't that amusing to begin with. . .Nah, that couldn't be it.

I'm going home this weekend. For the first time actually. First I have to stop in Shreveport to see my grandmother. She's been in the hospital for two weeks and I just found out about it the other day. I'm also going to visit my babies that I haven't seen since October 1!! I miss those bobble-headed creatures.

I'm sure I'm not the only person that thought Richard Pryor was just always going to be around. From what I understand though, MS is excruciatingly painful, so if there's any joy to this, it's that he's not suffering anymore.

What's up with people saying "thongs". As in, "I'm wearing thongs." Okay, here's my thing, if you're broadcasting your underwear, cool. It's whatever. However, if you're wearing more than one, that's a little weird. It's a THONG. If you have that much ass that you require two, well, frankly that's another blog topic altogether. One thong people...one thong.

Remember the days of yore? The good old days when, if you wanted to be a spokesperson, you had to know how to speak? What is this new crack that Proactiv is smoking? Diddy or whatever the hell his ambiguously gay ass is named these days? I'm sitting there like, "Did this muthfucka say 'moisturize my situation', 'preserve my sexy' and, my favorite, 'I jus' ain't want no bumps in my face'??" Wow...heavy. This begs the question, what sexy is he preserving? Ew. If 50 starts pushing Invisalign, cremate me on the spot.

I knew that I was going to miss the drive thru daiquiri spot (wimpy ass Maryland), but I didn't know how much. Not only do they not sell liquor after 2:00 a.m. on Sunday, but in Montgomery county, you need to follow the fucking North Star to find a liquor store. What is this madness? I'm used to stores that say "Beer, Wine & Liquor", not just "Beer & Wine". What's the point of that?

Isn't kissing great? And I don't mean the tongue fucking grope fests that people call kissing these days. I'm talking about real honest to goodness kissing. Where you're vibing with someone and you just sort of fall into them and get that "yeah, this is what it's about" feeling. There are a lot of things in this world that you can fake (or attempt to fake), but a good kiss is not one of them.

Why do people say that they've made a 360 degree turn? Wouldn't that indicate you've gone back to past behavior?

The terms "haters" and "grown and sexy" have officially become overused. Let it go.

I embrace my inner punk. In high school when the other brawds were changing into miniskirts and midriffs, I was changing into ripped jeans and Sex Pistols t-shirts. Piercing my lip and having pink hair was my sole mission in life. (I did the hair, but not the lip. I decided my luscious soup coolers could stand on their own.)

Can I state for the record that I miss New Orleans po'boys...BUT HOT DAMN if Potbelly's don't make a mean sammich.

Blues for a Tropical Negro

This week has been something else. It started out with me going to Ikea (AKA Satan's Furniture Emporium). Everyone told me how inexpensive Ikea is. Nobody told me that it's because they work the fuck out of their customers. Though I'd rather chew my foot off than buy one of their ugly ass sofas, their kids' bedroom furniture is pretty cute, so I got the munchkins' bedroom needs out the way. HOWEVER, I'm a 5'5 woman, therefore, picking up a bedframe is NOT happening in this camp. So I asked one of the guys to help me. Am I the only person that gets annoyed when, after asking a store rep for help, they look at you like you asked them to fuck their mother?

After finally getting my stuff then had to lug it over to home delivery. This, ladies and gentlemen, is an EXTREMELY painful procedure. See, they've already gotten your money, so they KNOW you're not going anywhere. Therefore, they make sure that you wait on them, just a fraction of a second prior to your commiting homicide. In any event, my experience there only compunded the other anger/emotional issues that I've got going on right now, so I went to bed almost as soon as I got home.

I woke up Monday morning to discover that we would be getting snow, not Monday night, but Monday afternoon. Okay. I can do this. And I made out fine. However, when I got home last night there was a message from Ikea telling me that my delivery would take place Tuesday morning between 8-12. After I was told that I could get evening delivery. Bitches. So I called them to let them know that I was able to purchase that shit because I have a job and therefore needed to reschedule. I was told that since it was so late, they could not reschedule? Uh, this is 12 hours before your supposed delivery. You're not coming on the Pony Express. Tell those hoes not to come. This situation is still simmering, so we'll see how it turns out.

This morning I woke up to everything blanketed in white. My neighborhood looked positively picturesque. And that's ALL that shit is good for. A fucking picture. I busted my ass this morning. Twice. While listening to my iPod. Essentially, I busted my ass to a soundtrack. Not sexy. After I fell the second time, I was like a traumatized kid. I was ready to stay my ass on the ground and not move until the snow melted.

I'm just gonna keep telling myself that it's going to get better. Coming from the Souf, Timbs are for fashion. I didn't realize that they were actually functional. Go figure.

It's like that?

"I know somebody payin' child support for one of his kids
His baby mama car and crib is bigger than his."
- Kanye West "Golddigger"

Okay, this song is cool for entertainment purposes. However, I read a man's opinion of child support and it was somewhat unsettling. Among his gripes were the following:

There is no ceiling on child support

The mother’s baby has the full support of the Child Support Enforcement Agency, attorneys, agents and supporting cast and they have one mission: Drill him! Beat him down! Make him pay! Scare the hell out of him!

A warrant for his arrest can be issued against him at the drop of a dime, without any proof or legal standing. All the mother has to do is call the OCSE Office Of Child Support Agent and say these magic words, “He didn’t send me my money!”

Let me state for the record that I find he-bitch fits intensely unsexy. I find men that use exaggerations, panic tactics and lies to be complete idiots.

Let me say this. I am not so naive as to think that there are not people that get enjoy nothing better than busting a guy's balls because shit didn't work out. HOWEVER, to say that there is a mass conspiracy is pathetic. For every father that is bitching about child support payments, I'm willing to wager that there is a father that is straight up handling his damned BUSINESS.

There IS a ceiling on child support. A certain percentage of your income is taken. However, consider that if you are married with eight children, your disposable income will not be the same as when you were married with one. Therefore, if you decide to start downloading babies, the same principle applies. Your disposable income decreases.

It takes more than Sapphire-ish behavior to have a warrant issued and a driver's license suspended. It must be proven that a person is in arrears in the amount and/or time period deemed excessive by the state.

Now, one thing that was mentioned that concerned me, and that was the "playing Daddy" scenario. There ARE women that have babies for other men and for one reason or another, allow another man to raise that child as his own. One sub-scenario is that she's a skank and went with the "prime choice" (i.e., brother least likely to leave, with the heavier pockets, etc.) without his knowledge. The other sub-scenario is that the guy does in fact know that he is not the father, but makes a conscious decision to be the father in that child's life.

For obvious reasons, I won't even address the first situation. Personally, in this day and age, I'm not against DNA testing being standard for all pregnancies. There are some brothers that have gotten caught up in some bullshit behind a bad decision.

In the event that two consenting adults embark upon parenthood knowing that Daddy ain't Daddy, that can get a little tricky. The adults involved have to realize that this decision affects an innocent third party. The mother is precluded from pulling the "This is MY child" card, as is the father from pulling the "This is NOT my child" card when it comes to any decision making. This would also include custody if, for some reason, the relationship does not work out. I'm still on the fence as to how I feel about people doing this. I don't think it's a choice I would make, but I can only speak for myself.

On top of the initial comment, other men went on to comment on the gentleman's opinion as follows (I include my commentary on said comments in red):

THIS ONE IS THE KICKER -- A man needs to work overtime to be
able to live a decent livestyle after paying child support. He has
to pay HIGHER child support for his overtime hours, therefore, he
actually can easily take home less for working an extra 10-15 hours
a week than if he worked 40 hours.

The kicker? To quote the great animated philosopher Eric Cartman "What's the big fuckin' deal bitch?" My parents were together and BOTH of them worked overtime and grabbed side gigs when ish got tight. When I had to make ends, I held down a full time gig, slung Avon (used to run the bomb ass foot care specials) and scrubbed toilets to handle my business. It's not even a matter of manning up. Grow the fuck up. When you have kids, whether you like the other parent or not, playtime is over and you do what the hell you have to do.

I want to know what about the women who have these bastard babies just to bust some man's face and his bill fold. Who don't take good care of them and abuse the children....who just see it as a means of financial gain???? Many black women I know want to make all of these bastard/prison fodder babies who are usually born messed up due to alcohol and drug addictions, plot and plan to get a SSI check and usually end up as the umpteenth generation of ghetto trash. . .Black women seem to think it is their right to have these bastard money makers ad infinitum.

An interesting side factoid is that this dude is a pastor. Some Christians can really be something else. Point blank, there are some trifling hoes in this world. Of that, there is no dispute. There is also no disputing that coming from a single parent home can often stigmatize youth development. But that makes me ask this: why leave your kids with such a person. Let's say your child's mother is an abusive crackhead. What do you do? Drop them off after the visit with you and say "Good luck dodging blows and stepping over crack pipes. Holla back next Wednesday, aight?" I maintain that just as a woman knows she's dealing with a grimy dude, a dude knows that he's dealing with a grimy chick.

Let's be wild for a moment. If you meet someone and you can't see yourself being tied to this person for the rest of your days, DON'T FUCK THEM. You can wrap it up, pop pills, take the shot and use the rhythm method. However there is ALWAYS a chance that a kid can come from that situation. It's disturbing that folks care more about where they park their car than their genitals.

I think the flaw with my idea though is this: people meet, go out MAYBE twice, and the next thing you know, somebody is ass up in the back of an El Camino. You know...because they were "vibing". Yes, I know...we've all bought into that once or twice...or maybe every other Saturday, but I digress. Seeing the end result of such behavior should be a wake up call.

If a person finds themselves in a situation where the other parent is not holding their weight, then yes, being annoyed and even angry is appropriate. The fact that the two of you couldn't work out a relationship also makes the inability to see eye to eye at all times also understandable. However, to decide that forces beyond your control have conspired against you to either get you pregnant or make you pay for all these kids that you didn't want is stepping outside of reality and sanity.

I have seen more than a few examples of men and women that hold it down. I know women that receive enforced child support, but I also know women who never had to go through the system to receive it. I know men that go above and beyond what they are required to do. I know men that have kept the African village mentality and not only provide emotional support for their own child, but look out for their other siblings as well. I'm not saying that's a requirement, but that definitely shows there are some good brothers out there.

I'm the first to admit that child support can be a hot button issue for so many reasons, however, the main idea is to support the child. People can argue about what amount is fair and who is getting got ad nauseum, however, when it's detracting from time you can and should be spending with the CHILD, you need to rethink your position. How productive is constantly harping on how trife your ex-whatever is (and let me say off top that such behavior in front of your children, whether they are also that person's child or not is deplorable)?

We'll all have good days and bad days when we are tied to an ex through a child or children, but allowing the negatives to consume you is toxic. Let that shit go. Not only will that be damaging to you, but it impacts what you should be most concerned about: your children.

No turkey for me...thanks

I wasn't really in the mood for celebrating this Thanksgiving. Coincidentally, it was also my 29th birthday, and I wasn't much for celebrating that either. I was in NYC last weekend and I had a great time, so that fun just sort of carried over. I think the last time I had a revelrous birthday celebration, I was 26. My last 3 birthdays have been spent in quiet reflection. Of course I talk to some friends, but other than that, it's me and my thoughts.

Like most other people, my life at 29 is not what I expected it to be, but I'm sure I could have done worse. I did expect to be published by now. I was sure I'd have a degree. I thought I'd own my own home and I figured I'd only be on kid number one. I didn't expect to be divorced by 26. But I also didn't expect to be happy (usually) with being single, i.e., comfortable in my own skin.

As someone else brought out, the older I get, I realize more and more how many stupid people there are in the world. I had a conversation with my ex-husband the other day about the kids and I realize that his conversation has the same content as when we were 22 and 23. That was more than a little disturbing. (Sometimes I swear I know how Mary J. feels when she looks at K Ci.)

I can say that this has been a year for me to conclude old business. There are no skeletons or blasts from the past that I have to worry about. I guess my gift to myself this year is peace in my thoughts.

*Snore*

"Cornbread...ain't nuttin' wrong with dat."
-Chris Rock "No Sex in the Champagne Room"

I'm tired as a mofo. I know as progressive black folks, we're not supposed to give in to stereotypes, but hell with it. I'VE GOT THE 'ITIS. For those of you that don't know (more likely than not, white folks) "'itis" is a deriviative of the term "negroitis" which describes the condition of black folks following a delicious meal. One might argue that white folks experience this as well, but...well...who cares?

No joke, despite my ladylike appearance, I had to stop myself from pulling an Al Bundy at my desk. Who knew chicken, collard greens (even without the pork) and work just DON'T mix? Despite the fact that I'm going home early, I have a billion things to take care of so that I can relax and enjoy my vacation.

The Maverick

They can't stop me, naw they can't stop me
They keep playin', keep sayin' I'm cocky
They keep tryin' but too tired to top me,
Their best bet is to fall back and watch me
-"Watch Me" Little Brother

By the time I was two years old, I'd had two surgical procedures which required me to spend prime toddler moments in a body cast that spanned from my rib cage down my entire left leg. Folks worried about how that would impact me. How would I function as a child that couldn't play. In true Breez fashion, I said to hell with the dumb shit and lived my life. I worked the hell outta that cast. There is a picture somewhere of me tumbling in it. According to my parents, I was trying to do headstands in traction. There was no breaking Toddler Mav.

So now what's the fucking deal with me? A little rain fell this month and my ass was SHOOK. Of all the things I made it through, now I shut down? My crib is looking like 20 years of oppression. (Well, maybe just three.) Damn. What's funny is that I went through the same shit last year. I refuse to spend my time huddled under a blanket watching fucking "Girlfriends" reruns snotting, "I can't wait for this year to be over."

This year has been a fucking BLAST. I had a flyy ass living room for about 8 months. (DAMN YOU KATRINA!!) I got a chance to hang with my Soul Twin on a few occasions this year. My son received an award for reading at the 3rd grade level in kindergarten (and currently has an A-PLUS average). My little sister matured exponentially (I really had to cut the cord). I discovered that there are still some good brothers out there. My shoe selection is tight, my crib is hot (well, it'll be hotter when I get furniture) and I've almost doubled my salary. I discovered books that nourished my mind and soul. I conquered the anger that I had against my ex-husband. I have learned that Oprah is to be feared and avoided at all costs. I've made new friends, found new fam and even though I still don't know what the hell I wanna be when I grow up, I'm closer "now" than I was "then".

Even the negative things were turned into blessings and I can do nothing but be eternally grateful to my Creator for that. Nothing was more beautiful than the outpouring of love and support I received following Katrina. To all of you who did ANYTHING, whether it was a kind word, clothes, money, a prayer, whatever, THANK YOU. Thank you for letting God work through you and bless me and my family.

I can't let the rough spots shake me. I can't lose myself. Seeing how far I've come let's me know how far I have to go. But I'm not scared. I can do this. Watch.

Universal imbalance

"Sometimes I think there's no point at all and that's the point."
Mozelle Batiste Delacroix - Eve's Bayou

My karma is fucked up. Maybe I should start doing good deeds like that "My Name Is Earl" dude. (Does anybody watch that show?) I don't want to seem like a whiner, because there are good things that happen to me. But they usually follow some earth shattering tragedy. (I'm not complaining about blessings. Just frustrated.)

I'll be real: I'm cute, young, hard working, got all my teeth, and chronically single. The only reason I'm NOT completely flipping out is that Halle Berry can't seem to keep a man around either. Pitiful, yes. But it gets me through the day (and night) and that's what counts.

I make decent money, but since I type 88 wpm, I thought I'd be more than the print beyotch. Again, this is whining. I complained about working like a dog at my last job, but being this idle is sort of scary. Like one day they're going to wake up and say, "We're paying this bitch HOW much to click the "print" icon?" and the party will be over.

This month has been a study in, "Thanks but no thanks" or "Sorry, we don't carry that color in your size" or some such nonsense. I think I'm overdue for a "Breez day." A day where the only words I hear are "Oh yes Ms. Breez, right this way," "This has a very slimming effect" and "That's a spectacular idea."

I'm tired. I'm tired of unrealistic ideals. I'm tired of waging these ferocious battles only to realize that I'm in the EXACT same place that I started. For all of my progression and growth, it still just feels like all i'm doing is making wider circles. Is that the point of it all?

What I believe

"I believe in the sweat of love and in the fire of truth."
- Assata Shakur

A wise man told me that when you can put your cards on the table and not be afraid of the results, that's when you're ready for a relationship. I guess is a telling sign of whether or not your feelings for a person are genuine. A wise woman said that fear is what prevents us from sharing God's most precious gift to us - love. Out of all my flaws, I can say that is NOT one that I have. I have every reason to be fearful, petrified even, of love and all that comes with it, but I can't afford to let it scare me.

Loving a person is worth the sweat it takes to make the impossible attainable. There's nothing stupid about love. People make love seem so unnecessarily complex that it hardly seems worth the effort. However, I refuse to believe that it's not worth it. I refuse to believe that I'M not worth the effort.

Truth's fire comes in when you've taken that leap, but the other person is still on the ledge. They are not only holding on for dear life, but possibly scrambling to get back to the point of origin. It burns to hear someone say that they can't take that chance with you. It would be so easy to criticize that person, and be angry, no PISSED, because you've stuck yourself out there. But the fact is, not taking the leap doesn't make them bad, or less special, or even wrong. It just means that temporary things have to come to an end to make room for what is real and lasting. It means that you can take a special person and put them in the wrong role and that has to be corrected for the sakes of both persons involved.

Why I don't think that Yahoo 360 is real blogging

I guess there's no logical reason for me to feel that way. I just do. I admittedly blog on 360 to amuse myself as well as my friends, but I get no real satisfaction from it. Probably because I have a very low opinion of Yahoo as a whole. In my opinion, it is but a hair's breadth away from Sodom and Gomorrah. You can barely hold a civilized conversation for 3 minutes without some unnecessarily personal sexual inquiry popping up. Then when the person is checked on it, some weak shit like, "My bad shawty, I was jus' trynna get to know you better" is regurgitated onto the screen. No you're not Filthy McNasty...you're trying to get some ass. Some EMAILED ass. They're doing it, because it's worked for them before. Unfortunately for them, I have SERIOUS reservations about dudes that are attracted to women that are willing to email their coochies.

It has also come to my attention that telling a woman that she is smart has the same effect as shiny objects had on that crow from "The Secret of NIMH." This is viewed as the ultimate panty dropper. Unfortunately, my parents and friends have done a GREAT job of encouraging me to educate myself, so mentioning my intelligence is not an automatic "win". As a matter of fact, I'm INTELLIGENT enough to peep the technique and recognize that you're on some bull and keep stepping.

I know all of this sounds bitter and arrogant, but fuck it...color me disillusioned. Have men and women become so disrespectful of each other and themselves that THIS is what dating and the like has come to? I have seen more women justifying doggish behavior because "a man is gonna be a man." Whose man? I've seen more women throwing themselves at men simply because they are able to string a seven word sentence together. I've seen more men fall "in love" with woman after woman that they barely even know. I've seen more men publicly humiliate women that gave them far more time than they were worth, only to sing their "woe is me" blogs on Yahoo. What IS that shit about? Maybe I'm just surly and contentious, but it seems like some bull to me.

**WARNING: The above was an unstructured impromptu rant, meant only to allow the writer to get something off her chest.

Got my swagger back

I was REALLY feeling some kinda way on Friday. As mannish as my behavior can be at times, it's surprising what a trip to VS, the salon and some new boots can do for one's attitude. I plan on renting a car this week because I'm tired of being dependent on other folks. It's not that they make me feel bad, but I like being able to do things without having to ask for permission.

My blog imagination has been somewhat tapped out lately so I present you with the "Vault of Orphaned Blogs."

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, "The Vault of Orphaned Blogs."

"It's a train...not the coming of Jesus" Why the f*** are you knocking down old/infirm people to get on the train? Look at the sign, there's going to be another train dufus. All I'm saying is that I've got something special for the person that pushes me to get on the damn train.

"That's horse manure and you know it" Have you ever met someone whose conversation is a study in foolishness. I am convinced that no one person can be that silly and they merely talk stupid out of boredom. I want to believe that in their secret life, they are forumulating a cure for cancer or AIDS or Ben Affleck fans, and they craftily use nonsensical chatter to amuse us peons.

"I cuss too damn much!" I really do. I'm working on it.

"Don't live out your life story on the net." Everybody that reads your s*** ain't your friend. Even if they're not necessarily your enemy, they may be like me: LAUGHING THEIR ASSES OFF! I really try not too, but laughing is a gut reaction for me. It's more or less: "No he/she didn't put ALLLLLLL the business up there." I've seen folks call people out in Yahoo groups about things that only those two people and the Lord up above knew (AND SHOULD HAVE KNOWN) about. Just pick up your face, handle your business in private and keep it moving.

"Am I imagining this?" People that use their cell phones on the bus/train bother me. However, people that use their cell phones on the bus/train and speak in a different language generally seem to speak louder than folks that do the same in English. Recently a lady next to me on the train called someone from her cell and said "Hi, this is mom, I'll be at XYZ station in 20 minutes." Completely normal tone of voice. THEN she called someone else in another language and evidently entered a "I wonder if my loud ass can break the sound barrier if this angry brawd next to me doesn't stab me first" contest. This is not the first time I've noticed this. Stop it.

"Am I the only one on earth that doesn't give a flying fart about Terrel Owens?" Dude always looks constipated, plus he took pictures in a tight azz nipple shirt. That's enough to completely remove him from my radar. However, folks are getting really involved in this beef he's got going on. Maybe I should clarify something for some folks. *steps up to the mic* Ahem...YALL AIN'T GON' GET NO DAMN MONEY FROM HIM!!! *spikes mic on stage*

"Old men are gross" I don't mean regular old men that live their lives and go about their business. I'm talking about these nasty bastards that are on the loose trying to recapture their youth through young (often dumb) women. Realize this the next time you "mack" - you smell like Adidas cologne, liniment and corn chips.

"I am living in an animated world" Quite a few of my favorite shows are animated: South Park, The Family Guy, The Simpsons, most recently The Boondocks if it keeps up the good work. However, throughout the day, little snippets of these shows pop up in my head and sometime almost escape with Tourette's-esque fervor. I swear on election day I had to stop myself from saying "Shake them titties when you vote bytch!" at least four times. (South Park fans know what I'm talking about.) Something is wrong with me. I need help. Or at least I need to find something else to do with my spare time.

Why I'm not married

. . .to an asshole. Last night while (not quite) minding my business* and waiting for a ride at the train station, I saw this lady picking up who I would assume is her husband. I should first note that he had "First Class Undisputed Douchebag" written all over him. Don't ask me to explain, just something about his face and demeanor annoyed me as the two of us waited. Well, his wife pulled up to the Kiss & Ride area and stopped the car. SHOULD be end of story right. Wrong. Since the car door was not perfectly aligned with where he was standing, he tapped the car, snapped his fingers and pointed to the exact spot that he wanted the car to be so that he would not have to walk the extra two steps. I was staring in amazement. What part of the game is THAT? *sigh*

Protecting Our Children

We live in an age of a million and one distractions, and that can make it hard to keep tabs on our kids. However, it is literally a matter of life and death. Parents, PLEASE talk to your children about the danger of meeting people on the internet. Please see the importance in knowing who your children are speaking to and befriending, on the internet and off. It's really important that you build up a rapport of communication with them as early as possible. This sets a foundation for when they become older and more likely to "close up."

It is surprising and disturbing how many parents don't know their children's moods. "I don't know" is NOT an acceptable answer when it is related to what your child is thinking and/or feeling. As a parent, it is your job to find out. If you don't, believe me, there are thousands of filthy perverts that will take your place.

It is NEVER to early to educate your children sexually (i.e., teaching them what is and is not appropriate). It is NEVER too early to school them on the importance of being aware of their surroundings. Stress the importance of not wandering off. Teach your kids their addresses, telephone numbers, their ENTIRE NAME, your ENTIRE name, the name of your parents and the name of your workplace. Teach them how to get out of the house in case of an emergency. Establish a code word in the event that someone else has to pick them up from school and TEST them. All of these things seem like no brainers, but there are a lot of children that do not have this information. If they can recite the drivel that is on the radio, then they can recite something useful.

Teach them the value of hard work so that the pull of easy money is not as strong. Tell your daughters that they are beautiful, that way, when they hear it on the street, it's not surprising. Instill in them a sense of morality. Let them know that there is a higher power (beyond us as parents) that they are accountable to.

Though doing this may not be easy, it is WELL worth the effort.

Grown Woman Sheeee-at!!

I am exactly three weeks from my 29th birthday. Damn, I'm old as a mug. I remember being thinking that 30 was old. Now I'm talking shit like, "The party's just beginning." In my mind I'm telling myself, "Sit your old ass down somewhere before you break something." Don't get me wrong, I don't think that I'm nursing home old. However, there are some things in the past couple of years that I have just let go.

No more boy-toys. From my teenage years until my mid-20s, there was always a guy in my life. So once I ended my marriage, I started getting a little figety. I didn't want another relationship, but I didn't want to be "alone". So I primarily dated younger cuties because they were far less likely to go the serious route. (Yes, I was a psuedo-Mrs. Robinson.) For a while it was fun, but it ultimately became boring. Dating JUST to say I was dating rather than spending time with someone that I enjoyed is really just not the moved. It also propelled me into a nun-like existence for a while.

Stuff just isn't all that serious to me anymore. I don't have beef with anyone because, if I find you annoying, you get no shine. When people do things to piss me off, I dust it off and keep moving. A couple of weeks ago my kids' dad cussed me out royally on the phone and all I did was laugh and hang up. I'm not walking around like a zombie, but if I spend my entire life addressing every perceived slight and/or affront. There's a lot of important stuff that I'll be missing out on. What's the purpose of carrying out an argument with someone that I think is stupid anyway? *shrug*

I've become comfortable in admitting that I'd like to get married again...one day. It had better happen quick though. Once I'm convinced that I'm not jaunting down the aisle again and I buy my first pair of granny panties, there's no turning back. However, that aside, after my divorce, I admittedly felt obligated to hold up my fist, burn my bra and proclaim that I didn't need a man in my life. And I guess when you think of "need" in terms of "I'll die if I don't have one" - I don't need one. However, in terms of wanting a partner that I value, that values me as a person and will love, repect and help guide my children, yeah, I need that. I deserve that. Nothing wrong with that.

I am becoming more like my mother. She had this way of saying precisely what was on her mind without crushing a person's spirit. I won't say that I've mastered the art yet, but I'm getting there.

I'm becoming more of a doer. Once upon a time all I would do is talk big dreams and never take action. One day I started realizing, "I'm not trying to walk on the moon. I can do this." So I went back to school (not finished yet, but it's GONNA happen), started working on my book, moved to the mid-Atlantic and gained about a million tiny victories that only I and the Almighty know about.

I'm a responsible parent. At 22, I was nowhere near prepared for motherhood. My finances were a mess, my house was a mess and my emotions were a mess. This too is a work in progress, but for the last few months, I was able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. It required me to make some very difficult decisions, but I am confident that the things I have done have been for the betterment of my family.

I have become beautiful. I always thought of myself as a funny looking kid. In pictures taken of me, from age 6 to 16, I look awkward and goofy. I let the males in my life dictate whether or not I was attractive. (Five minutes without a boyfriend MUST mean that I'm ugly.) Now, I won't say I don't care, but...well, I don't. I mean, I care, but I don't CARE care, lol. I'm beautiful dammit. I have learned to focus on the people that make me feel good as opposed to those who make me feel bad. It works.

I recognize that tomorrow is not promised. It's a sobering thought and so I try to make every day count. I know I'm a work in progress and I look forward to the mental evolution that comes with age.

Sometimes it's best to find a corner and sit there...very quietly

And 50 Cent is one who would do well to heed this advice. Regarding Kanye West's comments during the Hurricane Katrina telethon, a recent news article quoted 50 as saying, "I think people responded to it the best way they can," 50 told ContactMusic.com. "What Kanye West was saying, I don't know where that came from." 50 Cent doesn't know something...color me unsurprised. Not only is he a shitty "artist," but he can now add "political moron" to his resume.

He then went on to say, "I feel like Kanye West is successful because of me. After 50 Cent, (hip-hop fans) was looking for something non-confrontational, and they went after first thing that came along. That was Kanye West, and his record took off." No Mr. Jackson. After 50 Cent, hip hop fans were gasping for someone that didn't suck elephant ass. Don't confuse the two. I guess he's talking shit to ensure that the children of the good white folks of the world go to see his semi-mediocre movie.

"Excuse me ma'am. . . may I please roll on your booty?" (REPOST)

My club experience this past weekend, has prompted me to repost (and slightly amend) an old favorite of mine. (Well, that and I'm having blog block.)

I love the occasional jaunts to the club. Some weeks, you just need to watch cuties, have a few drinks and dance your cares away. It's an opportunity to forget that you are overworked, underpaid and occasionally under appreciated. You can be as fun, glitzy or 'hood as you want, and feel secure that at least half of the people won't remember your alter ego because they were probably as drunk as you possibly were, or like you, just looking to let their hair down. However, drunk or sober, the club does not excuse barnyard behavior. Let's explore some recurring club scenarios, where the parties went wrong, and what the polite course of action should be.

1. The Free Drink Scenario s/k/a "Uh uh...I bought that bitch a drink!"

It's not at all uncommon for a man to purchase a drink for a woman, and sometimes her friends (I LOVE that type of guy), to catch her attention. A harmless, good-natured gesture. However, this can be tricky. In Bad Situation #1, the man feels that the woman is now indebted to him and should focus all of her attention on him FOR THE REST OF THE EVENING. In Bad Situation #2, the woman feels that the man who purchased her beverage is somehow beneath her and, though accepting the free drink, is rude and dismissive. This can lead to the occasional Bad Situation #3, which is a combination of the aforementioned situations and all hell subsequently breaks loose. However, the Free Drink scenario does not have to be chaotic.

Men - Once you have purchased the drink, I would definitely recommend that you introduce yourself to the lady. (The guy that buys and lurks is a little creepy.) Be friendly, but not imposing. Don't overstay your welcome. If for some reason, there is no chemistry, or the conversation seems forced, then wish her a nice evening, take your leave and continue to have a good time. YOU CLUBBIN' MAN!! Enjoy yo'self! However, if the two of you are enjoying one another's company, then go with that feeling. Have a good time. However, as a caveat, if after a polite conversation, the woman mentions that she has to catch up with her girlfriends, etc., she's probably not interested. But that is an indication that she appreciated your gesture (and evidently was raised with some manners). It would be unfair of me to not mention that there are times where a brother will buy a drink for a woman and discover that she is ignant or dumb as a box of rocks. Keep hope alive. Don't feel the need to be nasty or combative just because she isn't what you expected. You're more than entitled to use the, "I've gotta check on my people" maneuver and keep it moving.

Ladies - If a man purchases a drink and introduces himself, even if he does not meet your "standards", please be polite. Seriously - who are you eyeballing? All of the rest of the men in the club that did NOT buy you a drink? It won't hurt to have a conversation with a potentially nice guy. If you're not feeling him, after a five to ten minute conversation, excuse yourself. Luckily with all of the extra baggage we are saddled with as women, we have one all encompassing savior - THE LADIES ROOM. Excuse yourself, bid him a good evening and once you leave the ladies room, pick a new spot. You may also use the old "let me check on my girlfriend(s)" routine if you came out with a group. One of those two should derail even the most ardent pursuers, without necessarily making him feel slighted.

Fact to business, as women, we are not entitled to drinks. It is a nice gesture, but using that as some measure of manhood is flawed in my opinion. (Plus my mama always taught me that you don't accept drinks from strange folks all willy nilly.) He also is not obligated to buy drinks for your guzzling ass friends either. I don't know what part of the game that is, but yall need to chill out with that. Again, it's a nice gesture, but not a requirement...and making it a requirement ain't cute. Nothing wrong with being easy going without being easy.

2. The Club Date Scenario s/k/a "Oh HELL NAW! I know she ain't all up on my man like that!"

Simply put, serious couples typically don't go on dates to the entity know as "The Club". I'm sure it's done occasionally, like for birthday parties or other celebrations, but as a rule, a "date" for involved couples, usually doesn't involve the club. That being said, more often than not, if you're on a date at the club, you're not with your man/woman. This is an issue, primarily among women. If the man that you are with begins to dance with another woman, sista, LET IT GO. In a worst case scenario, you have the option of leaving the club. The most baffling aspect of this scenario is that the woman, almost invariably, becomes upset, not with her date, but with the other woman. As though that little succubus had nothing more on her agenda than seducing your man with her mind powers.
This situation can also come about if you happen to see an old flame in the club. Maybe you are sharing a moment, but that will not stop him from sharing his moments with other people as well. This is definitely when confronting the other woman is over the top because, who's to say that YOU are not the other woman? Just a little mental grub for ya.

In either case, take it on the chin. That the situation is not necessarily as serious as you thought, or would have liked it to be. As I mentioned before, you always have the option of leaving. However, there is a saying pertaining to what one monkey can stop - NOTHING! You're already dressed and looking good. Get on the floor and do your "fuck 'em" dance girl! By the way, if the dude brings you out, only to pay attention to everyone else, that's usually an indication that he's probably not what's best for you anyway. Just be glad you found it out sooner rather than later. For those of you who may experience this in a committed relationship, girl, go home and get your shit. If he's rolling on asses while he's in your presence, then please believe he's diving in them when you aren't around.

And while we're on the subject of asses in the club. . .

3. The Stop and Roll a/k/a "Excuse me ma'am. . . may I please roll on your booty?"

I love dancing at the club. Just feeling the music can make me high. However, sometimes, dancing at the club can bring out the animal in folks. Now, I will not speak out against dirty dancing. I've done it myself when the music and company has been right. However, there is a behavior that is becoming more and more common, which I call the "Stop and Roll". This is when the man basically admires a booty so much, he MUST roll on it. . .usually this is not preceded by an introduction. Fellas, THIS IS NOT SEXY. It's creepy and rude and any woman that would allow such a thing is quite possibly not a stranger to the free clinic.

There is nothing wrong with asking a lady to dance. There is nothing wrong with dancing closely. However, there is something wrong with impregnating a woman from behind on the dance floor. If after you've danced with the woman, you think that some close contact would be okay, fabulous. Just, please, go through some type of motion to gain permission.

4. You are not on the pole

For the sisters, close dancing and a little grinding is one thing. Acting as though you're waiting for someone to cram dollar bills up your ass is something totally different. You don't look cute, you don't look sexy - you look like a ho. This is not just my own personal opinion. Whenever I see a woman dry humping some dude while he is standing behind her smacking her on the ass, someone invariably exclaims, not, "Do you see what that lady is doing?" but, "Damn, look at that ho!" If you're cool with that, do you I guess. But do the rest of us a favor and take that shit to Magic City or the Roxbury or something like that.

5. You Only Need One Bath

By this I mean, once you have bathed or showered, please do not "redo" the job by baptizing yourself in cologne/perfume. If I can smell you before I see you, what's going through my mind is not "Wow, who smells so great?" I'm thinking, "Holy crap! Somebody open a damn window PLEASE!" Do the community a favor, hit only a couple of your pulse points, and you're good. If, for some reason, you are not aware of what your pulse points are, then you should be at home reading rather than going to the club.

6. Dumb Bar Conversation - The Scourge of Humanity

We live in the age of information. Therefore, inane conversation about how great you are is really blah. I would rather watch a Brady Bunch marathon than listen to vodka induced dialogue regarding how there are no good men/women left. Conversations about how many men/women you've sexed after meeting them at the club should also be excluded. You're just nasty. (And considering that every bus in the area has the ad stating that the DC area has one of the highest HIV/AIDS rates of any major US city, that makes you stupid as well.)

*This has been a public service announcement courtesy of the "Make America's Club Experience Beautiful" campaign.

THE POWER IS YOURS!

Thank you for your support.

This could be home

Last week was tough. I mean really tough. I mean had to let go of some serious tears tough. I was still sort of on a high my first week here, but reality set in that second week. Everything that I shed a tear or two for since August 28, I outright bawled about last week. I still miss everyone, and I still can't wait to get my wonderful babies up here. But I can see myself living here.

I'm just beginning to make contact with the other people that I know in the area. I know I really feel at home because I took an actually sit down and relax bath rather than just a shower. (It's a "thing" I have. If I don't feel comfy, it's all showers.) I'm in the process of picking out a sofa and I'm planning on cooking a big dinner this weekend.

I can live here. Even though it's cold, I look forward to huddling in my house and whipping up a batch of homemade soup. I'm sort of wound up about seeing my kids play in the snow. I look forward to my family coming to visit me.

Yesterday my very good friend told me that she was proud of me and that means so much to me. I'm sure I'm going to make it.

Mind ya bizness

That's what I consistently tell myself. "Breez, I doesn't involve you, so let it go." This is particularly hard to do when blog surfing. I make it a point to ignore blogs that bother me. If someone says something that I find dumb, short-sighted or bitter, rather post a ranting comment, I let it go. That's their space and place to voice whatever they want. However, this is mine.

Today I read a blog where someone spoke of others flaunting and boasting about their happiness. Huh? WTF? If the only thing another person's happiness does is aggravate my own shortcomings, I've got an issue.

Things you should know before coming to my door

People of earth: Don't send ya bad ass kids to my house for Halloween. I'll be damned if I'm buying candy for a bunch of random kids I don't know. You may also want to warn them that there is a crazy ass brawd in Glenmont that will not hesitate to fuck a kid up for trying any shit on my castle, then call the police on their monkey asses. It baffles me that we spend all this time telling our kids not to accept things from strangers, then we send them to the strangers' houses? Buy your own damn kids candy and then get them to read a book. Halloween falls on a school night if you haven't heard.

DirecTV, Comcast and anyone else that sends representatives to my home: Tell your people not to come to my house looking like thug life. Two of your folks almost got straight stabbed Saturday afternoon. I'm not going to pretend like I'm a toughie and dudes wouldn't have "got" me. But CSI would have had a field day collecing the massive amounts of DNA that they would have left behind. These dudes looked like they were going on a drug run. Then, the bastards couldn't even provide me with servies because of a big ass tree that's in front of my place. Technology, schmecnology. So now I've got to wait yet ANOTHER week before I get real TV in my house. Can anybody recommend some good books?

Is this what the news has come to?

Cam'ron was shot this weekend. Does anybody really give a shit? Now, I value human life as much as the next man, but I'm really hoping that this will not be another episode of a sub-par rapper using this to boost his so-called street credibility. Coincidentally, he was shot near one of the clubs I considered visiting. (I nursed a sinus headache the greater part of this weekend.) To be frank...I just don't like dude. I don't mean the person, because I don't know him, but rather his persona. So when he swaggered to his press conference like ghetto Superman, I couldn't stop my self from screaming, "YOU GOT SHOT IN THE ARMS DRIVING AWAY BITCH!" Dude was lucky, plain and simple. Just like he got popped on the arms, it could have been through the skull. And behind what? A Lamborghini that he probably doesn't fully own yet. I'm thinking the police should look at his grandmother first. I mean, she's got to be tired of him wearing her church earrings. (WTF are those things? Clip-ons?!)

Janet Jackson's secret daughter has been revealed. I remember back in the day asking folks, "Whatever happened to Janet's daughter," only to receive the WTF look. So, her older sister Rebbie has been raising her. I'm thinking the kid got a good deal. Don't get me wrong, I like Janet as an entertainer. No, she doesn't have the most spectacular voice (or even a good one), but I think she puts on a great show and looks DAMN good for 40. But she's always come off to me as the type of person that needs help tying her shoes. Letting gay ass Justin Timberlake flash her boob during family time didn't say much for her judgment either. A lot of folks are saying "How could she deny her own kid?" However, I'm visualizing the kid at age 9 holding the Jackson clan at gunpoint saying, "Don't you tell anybody that crazy bitch is my mama." She's a Jackson AND a DeBarge. That's just fucked up.

Both of these stories get the big WHO CARES?? I heard about Grandma Earrings and Daughter of Rain Woman no less than four times since yesterday. Sheesh...give it a rest already.

One day at a time

I've gotten past my first week of homesickness. I've gotten past the fact that Maryland is ridiculously expensive. I've also gotten it in my head that I'm going to utilize the gym downstairs. What I don't have is patience.

I've been sort of snappy lately. I should go out this weekend because it's homecoming, but I don't want to take up space with the "mean mug" if I'm not feeling it. Pinot and a movie is sounding pretty good right now. I just might go out tomorrow and have fun. I'm so used to not hitting the streets, I don't know what to do with my free time.

No news is...no news

I haven't had any great misadventures to speak of since I've been here, and that's a great thing. I'm not in the mood to borrow trouble. However, I've got the homesick blues. I was talking to my dad the other night and I had to fight the urge to break into tears during the entire conversation.

I really have nothing to complain about. My job is nice, my apartment is beautiful and I've got good friends here that are looking out for me. But I miss my family and I miss my friends. I was talking to one of my best homegirls last night about how both of us would love to just go out and have a drink and an appetizer at Outback or somewhere like that. The ironic twist is that I can walk to an Outback. There's also a restaurant called "The Magic of New Orleans" in the same area, but I haven't had the heart to go.

I turn 29 in a little over a month. I'm admittedly slightly weirded out by being a stone's throw from 30, but overall I'm okay with it. It definitely beats the alternative. I've been told that I look younger than 28 and for the last couple of months, my younger sister (26) has been mistaken for the older. I'm not sure why because she looks like a baby herself.

I mentioned this on my other blog, but I don't think it can be overstated: Combat multiple seasonal fashion personality disorder!!! Donning a large bulky sweatshirt automatically precludes you from even briefly entertaining the idea of wearing cut off shorts. Any person that does not see the folly in stepping outside, saying, "Ooh, it's a little nippy - I'd better put on my cap, sweater and flip flops," should be immediately sedated, institutionalized and studied extensively. If you want to wear spring clothes in the fall, or hell even winter, be my guest. All I ask is that you be consistent.

This weekend, DirecTV is coming and not a moment too soon. Regular TV is the pits. Evidently, it's been decided that broke ass people don't deserve to watch television, so if you are unable to afford cable, you're fresh out of luck. My interim sans cable has been more than a little annoying, but what's more annoying is how they're basically forcing people to get cable if they want to watch TV at all. Greedy bastards.

Fortunately though, my "issues" don't extend too far beyond that, so I can't complain. So far, Jae is doing well in school and Ty is pulling in all A's. I miss them so much. I can't wait until they come home with me. That might help the homesickness a little bit.

"Symptomatic" by Danzy Senna

Senna's sophmore novel, Symptomatic, again addresses the plight of the post-modern tragic mulatto. Though I did not find it as complex as her debut novel, Caucasia (evidently also released as From Caucasia, With Love), it was gripping in its own right.

While the unnamed protagonist does not actively deny her black heritage, she does pass for white by omission of fact. When her undeclared race causes relationship problems with her live in lover, and older co-worker, Greta Hicks comes to her aid. As an act of gratitude, she develops a superficial alliance with the biracial and emotionally unstable Greta. Greta sees "she-who-must-not-be-named" as the soul mate that she's longed for, though the devotion is obviously not mutual. The only thing more unnerving than Greta's preoccupation with "her", is "her" developing preoccupation with Vera, the mystery woman whose apartment she is subletting.

Senna does a superb job of making the main character perceivable. I was well into the book before I realized that I didn't know her name. She also succeeded in making Greta realistically crazy.

I must say that I enjoyed the novel. If you're looking for a breakthrough novel, this ain't it. But if you're just in search of a basic study in human emotions, Symptomatic is as good a book as any...probably better than most.

Un-freakin-believable

To have a personal belief that someone is a dog is one thing. To have documented proof is a horse of a completely different color. Have you ever known someone to commit an act so deplorable, that you are embarrassed for them? I thought that I was really at a point in my life where this person couldn't shock me. I was wrong. Right now, all I can feel is disappointment and disbelief. The action that I am required to take is most undeniably going to place me in the roll of the bad guy, but I can't even worry about that right now.

I guess I'm growing up because at one point, I would have been a raving lunatic, shooting off at the mouth to anyone that would listen. But right now, I'm just seething at the nerve some folks seem to have. I'd had suspicions about this person's actions, but I kept my feelings under wraps until I had proof. Beneath the surface, I'm mad as Orrin Hatch at a Farrakhan speech.

What pisses me off more than anything is that I'm not the one that was stabbed in the back: my children were. So the gloves are officially off ladies and gentlemen.

Ramblings

First and foremost, I love my new apartment. It's newly renovated and everyone will have their own space. Things are coming together.

I have noticed that recently, a lot of folks have posts on their various blogs related to love, soul mates and the like. I truly believe that we can spend so much time talking about it, that it prevents us from being about it. We spend so much crafting this "soul mate" that before we know it, we've created this mythical being with psychic, sexual and emotional super powers. Both men and women are guilty of this. Not only can it prevent folks from happiness in dating and relationships, but it can also cause them to feel pain because they have not come across this person. That's bananas to me.

Today we were having a discussion about the "roles" of men and women. A friend of mine was once told by a man that doing something in the way of home maintenance was not a woman's "place." WTF? I must admit that my father handled home repairs, maintenance, assembling ish and whatnot. I don't remember my mother ever having, or expressing the desire, to do any of that. However, I always wanted to know how to do for myself. So, for as long as I can remember, when he was fixing things around the house, putting together furniture, etc., I was right there. The same goes for my car. When I was married, I was right over my ex's shoulder trying to find out what was going on. As a result of that, I've never had to sit around and wait for a guy to do that type of thing for me. It's no slight against brothers, but I rest a little easier knowing that if need be, I can step in and handle business. When I got my enormously cumbersome computer desk, I put it together with some help from my little sister. I've done some of my own minor car repairs and have, on more than one occasion looked a mechanic dead in the eye and said, "Dude, seriously, don't try to dick me over" and all he could do was laugh. So far, the men in my life haven't seen that as an affront to their manhood. I also think that my dad is sort of proud that he gets the call AFTER I've already taken care of the issue.

I think I'm starting to grow up. I've stopped apologizing for myself so much. You're going to love me, hate me or feel indifferent about me, but I am who I am. I'm still willing to improve and change, but some things are undeniably Breez and I'm not going to try and convince folks to be with it. I was getting a little restless recently but I'm getting even more comfortable in my own skin. I've still got a ways to go, but I'm getting there. As human beings, we're all works of evolution in progress.

I missed my baby girl's first day of school since she's living with her father's parents for the moment, but from what I understand, it went EXACTLY the way I thought it would have. She lives about 10 minutes away from her school and it starts for 9:00 a.m. She was at the door with her backpack at 7:50. Ty is also doing well in school and I think that my new discipline tact is working. I do know that having a man (my brother in law in Shreveport, his grandfather in Algiers) in the home has had an impact on my kids, but all I can do is play the hand that I'm dealt and be thankful that I have family that looks out for the well being of my kids.

Things I'll miss

My sister said I'm not acting like a person that's moving roughly a thousand miles away from home. She said that because I leave Saturday and I have packed exactly two things: Jack and Shit. There are a lot of things that I'm bringing with me. But there are some things that will forever be left behind (save for the occasional visit). So, ladies and gentlemen, I present you with the things I'll miss about home.

1. We Never Close - If you have EVER lived in New Orleans, visited New Orleans, or passed through New Orleans on your way to ANYWHERE and did not get a po'boy from them, you should immediately stop what you are doing and slap the life out of whoever cheated you out of the little slice of ghetto heaven known as We Never Close. When they say never, they mean never. Not for MLK Day, Yom Kippur, Christmas, Kwanzaa. You can get your seafood jones worked out any time of the day or night. Plus the food is the bomb. Yeah sometimes it smelled like grease and mop water, but you know what? Don't be such a pussy. The food is delicious.

2. New Orleans Original/Chef Daiquiri - Getting a daiquiri from a drive thru? Please believe me! That is the shit! Gone are the days of having to look presentable to go out and get a drink. Hop your ass in your car at 2:00 a.m., grab your drink and drive your ass home. Screw that "don't drink and drive" mumbo jumbo. What could be better?

3. Canal Place Theater - Strict parents, a bunch of indie films that no one would go to see and raging teenage hormones turned this place into a haven of filth for me and my S/O at the time. As a grown up, I parked my car at the upstairs lot and I would still get a "twitch" when I would pass the third floor.

4. Vincent's City Club - I'm not adverse to getting dolled up and going to a club to cutie watch on occasion. However, sometimes, I just want to get my dance/sweat on and not have to worry about looking cute. This is the place for that. I swear that there's a sign there that says "Boogabats Get In Free". A friend of mine called it "Ugly Folks' Paradise" because it's big, dark and the drinks can make Jon Heder look like Djimon Honsou. But whatever the case, if you're in the mood to hear some serious throwback jams, that's the spot.

5. True Brew on Fridays - Pozazz Entertainment would host open mic night every Friday. Of course, there were a lot of posers, wanna bes and the like, but that didn't overshadow the talented poets that would get up on the mic and do their thing either. And if you ain't know, Dynamite Dave Soul ain't to be fucked with while he's spinning. Dude is the TRUF!

6. NOMA - I personally feel that the New Orleans Museum of Art could have improved on showcasing African Americans. However, that does not mean that they were the total pits. Actually, I've seen some of the most beautiful exhibits there. Plus it sat in the middle of City Park - a stately building in the midst of oak trees that were hundreds of years old. It was a nice date spot, but it was also a great place to go when you wanted to be alone and get your mind right.

7. The Aquarium of the Americas - I was mesmerized the first time I visited the Aquarium. As soon as you walk in, you're in a tunnel surrounded by some of the most exotic sea creatures you could ever imagine. My joy of my first visit was only surpassed by observing my son (then 2) during his first visit. He was so excited, petting the baby nurse shark, being virtually hypnotized by the sea horses and saying that the jelly fish looked "na-ty".

8. Belladonna Day Spa - When I began going to spas, everyone steered me away from Belladonna because they were less expensive, blah, blah. I could slap them. They have the best staff and give the best facials and massages ever. The ambiance is to die for. It's actually one of the top rated spas in the country and has received rave reviews by Cosmo. It's worth the extra 10 or 20 bucks. Live a little.

9. The Praline Connection - Any place that can provide you with some of the best pork chops, cabbage, rice and cornbread on the face of the planet for $7.95 should go into life's hall of fame. It'll make you tell ya mama "Yeah, that whole Christmas dinner thing...uh, I'll get back to you aiight?" Well, maybe I'm exaggerating a little, but it's the shit.

10. Speckled Trout - (Yeah, I eat alot, so what sucka!) Once you leave the southeast, you don't really find this fish too much. It's delicious (even though I'm a catfish girl myself), but more important than the taste is what it represents to me. Friday nights, Blockbuster and Monopoly. Until I was almost 18, my family was together on any given Friday night, eating fish and just being silly. Speckled trout means family to me. Corny, yes, but so what?

11. Crawfish - If you don't know, you'd BETTER ask somebody. Crawfish is to friendship what speckled trout is to family. We would send whoever was of drinking age to get us ton MD 20/20, Boones, Corona and daiquiris, and head to Lake Pontchartrain. Then, once we were all tow up, we would try and guess whose parents were already asleep so that we could sneak our drunk asses in without getting in trouble. I'm still tight with the Crawfish Crew.

12. Thursday Nights at the House of Blues - Though this spot admittedly catered to a younger crowd (it was on a Thursday, duh), if you're feening for a true party vibe, this was the place to be. Every Thursday, you could count on it being packed with wall to wall bodies that wanted nothing more than to have a good time to some blazin hip hop. Most definitely a spot to satisfy the need for eye candy. The yummy college guys were in full effect. Prior to being a mom, I was a Thursday night staple. My homeboy from work would always be there as well and we would both look like shit on Friday morning. It was well worth it though. On top of that, I can't recall one fight breaking out.

13. Bounce music - Okay, here's my dirty little secret: I'm an undercover hood rat. I love good hip hop, preferable underground. HOWEVER, there is this seedy part of me that can not resist the occasional New Orleans bounce song. Just about every rapper that came out of New Orleans started by doing bounce. It's admittedly ghetto and cheesy, but hell, nobody's perfect.

I could go on and on, and I won't promise that I'll have a whole new set of things that I miss "the most" in another month or two. It's just weird that I keep thinking about a place that, at one point in my life, I didn't think I could leave fast enough.

To boldly go where no Williams has gone before...

Stuff has been off the meter lately. My life went from being in the proverbial dumps to being uplifted at breakneck speed. Besides the outpouring of help I've received from some beautiful strangers, I managed to land a great job in Washington, DC on the first interview. Let me not front, I was BLESSED with that job. If that weren't enough, I found a place exactly where I wanted to live and it's gorgeous. The school district is quite nice and I'm beginning to realize that I know more people in the area than I thought.

I've shamefully neglected my blog, but I think I get a pass on that. On a funny note, my kids' father asked for full custody. My response was the colloquial "NIGGA WHAT?!?!" Let's review:

My kids have seen him a total of three times in the past year;
He's only called them about six times since July of '04;
As far as his kids are concerned, he has been about as generous with his dime as he has with his time; and,
I can't remember the last time he exhibited any characteristics that are remotely related to stability.

His ass should consider even getting visitation a gift. He placed my kids, on more than one occasion, in a position where they could have been turned over to CPS because he decided not to pick them up on his weekend and not call me to tell me of his sudden change in plans. Right when I was about to click out and get angry, I remembered who I was talking to and was not about to show out and give him a reaction. My children will be in a stable home with their grandparents while I get our home ready for them and he has been told that he may visit the kids there. Afterward, he'll see them during Thanksgiving break if he makes the arrangements.

BUT besides all of that, everything's coming up roses. I'm so thankful for all of the blessings I have received. My kids are excited, my family has come around and they are supportive. Who could ask for more?

The first in my fam to leave the South. Whodda thunk it?

The Next Level

So it's time to start again. I'm here in Maryland, scared out of my wits. Scared that I'm not making the right decision. Scared that if I don't make this decision, then the decision that I actually make will be equally flawed, if not moreso. I've got about seven interviews scheduled this week, three tomorrow alone. When my plane landed at 12:05 p.m. and the flight attendant said, "Welcome to the City of Baltimore," my stomach dropped. I felt this sickening mixture of excitement and fear and I sort of had to fight the urge to cry. I think the fact that I will be so far from everyone and everything that I've always known is sinking in. My family has become quite supportive, so it's not that pressure.

I know that there is nothing for me in the South. This morning, in the course of bringing me to the airport, my sister was stopped for not signaling a turn and we were basically accused of being prostitutes. My 20 year old sister and I were asked to get out of our car and questioned at 4:15 a.m. by three white police officers. A third car sat and waited while the other officers questioned us. An older policeman spoke with my sister privately and told her that he received a complaint that she was soliciting. What pisses me of the most about this is that my sister is a very spiritual young lady and, in fact, still a virgin. What's silly is the fact that my sister was wearing her dress for her job as a teller at AmSouth. I'm guessing that the wardrobe of a whore varies greatly from that of a bank teller. The youngest officer was left with me and attempted to make conversation with me, I suppose to feel like the good guy. He got no such absolution from me. I did not make any eye contact with him and as much as I wanted to cry, I refused to give any of them the satisfaction. I'm in the process of drafting a letter to the police department in that area. Bitches. That being said, I'm officially done with the South. I'm not saying that white police are much better in other areas, but it is so ridiculously blatant in the South, it's beyond comprehension.

I'm praying that what I'm doing is the right thing. I have faith that things will work out for the best.

Untitled

I'm in this purgatory between sadness and elation and I'm not sure which way I should go. New Orleans is the platonic friend that you would never commit to, but when they're taken away all you can do is think, "Maybe I should have..." I always looked at relocating from the perspective of one that could always return home if this didn't work out. Now the question will become, where is home? My father isn't going back, my grandmother isn't going back, my friends aren't going back.

I'm really excited about the potential that a new city holds. I have some very solid job leads in the Maryland/DC area and that has me psyched, but there's this homesick part of me that doesn't want to be anywhere but at my home. I had a dream that my cousin and I were at The Loft just vibing and having a blast and this morning I woke up jonesed out for an overstuffed shrimp po'boy from We Never Close.

I'm hoping that at some point, wherever I am feels like home, a real home, to me. For right now though, I just feel sort of torn.

It Starts...

So begins the drama. I am going to smother at least two of my sisters in their sleep...I promise. On the one hand, my youngest sister is living by this odd code of diva-dom. However, she is the most flatulent diva I have ever encountered and she never stops talking. I love her to death, but she's campaigning for a few days in traction.

On the other hand, my second oldest sister is a mother hen who has decided that I should not leave this one horse town ASAP. Her thoughts are that I should establish things here, THEN move to my desired destination. This means that I will have roots here that I will have to pull up, as well as the unfinished business in New Orleans.

The thing is, my family sees me as this incompetent moron that can't function without my family peeping over my shoulder 24/7. I understand the concern, but it makes me wonder if they think I'm at home putting pennies in light sockets or what, but I'm more than a little annoyed by it. I've never been of the cut off my nose to spite my face sort, but situations like this make me see why an irrational person would.

The problem with staying with family so that they can "help" is this: help quickly turns into them running your life. I won't say that my life has been a bowl of cherries, but it hasn't been the pits either.

Oh well, blah for that. On with the job search. The Mayberry life is NOT for me.

In true Plantation Tradition

"Tell Marse Linkum fo to take his freedom back." That's pretty much what I'm waiting for the next boot licking, Bush loving negro to say. It's good to know that there are some folks in this world that still love them some massa! I'll bet at this very moment there's some Uncle Tom ass cat reading a Thomas Nelson Page poem and saying, "Nah dats how iss s'pose ta bes." I'm a firm believer in everyone being allowed to have their opinion, but I am also allowed to think that said believer is ill informed and possibly mentally deficient.

I'm not so unreasonable to say that this is all Bush's fault, but to not see that this is this administration's most blatant display of a lack of regard for black folks is utterly ridiculous.

Kanye West's Comments

[Kanye West]Appearing two-thirds through the program, he claimed “George Bush doesn’t care about black people” and said America is set up “to help the poor, the black people, the less well-off as slow as possible.”

“I hate the way they portray us in the media. If you see a black family, it says they’re looting. See a white family, it says they’re looking for food.”

Click here for full article

These were snippets from comments made by West at last night's fundraising event for Hurricane Katrina victims. There are those who could argue that West was unwise in choosing his forum for voicing this opinion. Honestly, it was nothing but the truth and it needed to be said. If they had issued the response that they'd given to the tsunami victims, the victims of EVERY other hurricane that hit Florida, 9/11, the earthquake victims in California, etc. (I could go on forever) there wouldn't have been a need for him to say that at ANY event. Poor folks (mostly black) have been living amongst the dead for going on a week now. They've been living amongst their own sewerage for going on a week now. People that need insulin, oxygen, dialysis, etc. have been without their medication and treatments for going on a week now. My stepbrother, as a cop, is still there. He said that the death toll, not from the storm or the flooding, but the waiting is in the HUNDREDS. They didn't get food or water. If any of you have ever been in New Orleans in August, you will know that the heat is no punk. From what I understand, the temps were up to 94, which probably made the heat index rise to 100+.

The only reason they received ANYTHING yesterday, was because Ted Koppel totally EMBARRASSED Michael Brown (I believe a FEMA representative) on Nightline Thursday night. Michael Brown actually said that he did not know that there were people without food and water. That is what they were crying out on EVERY news station. They said that help needed to be requested. Did the tsunami victims request help? Or folks from 9/11? Don't get me wrong, I am in NO way undermining those tragedies, but they are hallmarks of what CAN be done when the government wants to give a damn. If the government wanted to invade New Orleans, they could do it in two days TOPS.

The fact is, the government does NOT give a damn about what happens to a bunch of niggers. I have friends that are STILL missing. My son and daughter's family, I realized the other day, are still unaccounted for. On Yahoo's news site, there are two pictures: one of a young white couple that "finds" food in a local grocery store in New Orleans, the other of a young black man who "loots" food from a local grocery store in New Orleans. This man wasn't taking Nikes, computers or anything else. He was taking food because NOBODY saw the need to provide for almost 100,000 people stranded in one of America's most popular and culturally rich places. Because nothing was left but a bunch of niggers. It's not a pretty thing to say, it's not a nice thing to say, but it's the truth. In Mississippi and Alabama, the people were allowed to walk around the city. The people were allowed to take...scratch that, were GIVEN food, by the people of those states. In New Orleans, they were caged in like a bunch of animals. The National Guard that WAS there stood outside of the Convention Center with shotguns and would not allow the people to get out. What does that sound like a recipe for? Creating a bunch of "wild ass niggas" to parade in front of America so that the federal government can show their lack of action as justified.

There were reports of shots being "heard" and it was assumed that they were being fired at the rescue vehicles. No one gave thought to the possibility that the shots were being fired to get attention because it was someone who was desperate or, in fact, dying. And THAT, my friends, is how the media and the government twists things and in turn, it twists our minds because it is in our nature (mine too) to take what we hear and see and never give thought to the fact that the facts could be twisted. If you really think about what you see, yes, there are a bunch of wild, ignorant muthafuckas that are looting. But they're looping the same tape over and over and over again. There were two white boys looting too. I only saw each of them ONCE. There are THOUSANDS of people at the Dome and the Convention Center, and they're just sitting there. Not fighting, not doing anything but wanting help and dying in the process and it sickens me that the government is letting it happen.

So, could West have chosen a "better" forum for voicing his opinion? Maybe. But tell me when there is EVER the proper forum for saying the harsh things that need to be said.

Adventures in Shreveport

Now that I've become resigned to the fact that my home is a wasteland, I live in a place that REALLY makes me appreciate home. First of all I ain't NEVER lived in a place where the white folks wasn't in check. By that I mean, white folks don't NEEEEEEEEEVAH wreckless eyeball us around my block. In the mall, it was WWEE (white wreckless eyeball extravaganza). Nawwwwwwww cuzzin. Evidently, one gentleman of the flaming homosexual persuasion decided that I amused him so he went back and forth whispering to his friends and staring at me. So I asked him, "Are you from New Orleans?" and he responded that he wasn't. I responded, "I see. Because you're looking at me like you know me." Then gave him a look indicating that he obviously didn't. He's watched the news. He knows what a 9th Warder is capable of. That brought an end to the Breez Comedy Minute. Another brawd was eyeballing my sister. She's become accustomed to it. Not me cuzzin. So I stopped where I was and eyeballed her. I just want to know what the hell they are looking at? All I can say is that there are about 1,000 New Orleanians up here, so somebody is bound to get hurt with that foolishness. So I'll release this public service announcement: WHITE PEOPLE OF SHREVEPORT, KEEP YOUR EYES TO YOURSELF.

New Orleanians...Shreveport is not ready for you. Yall are coming out strong, but yall are coming out wrong. This is a time of need...a time of crisis. So, to the brother that I saw in the food stamp office wearing the pink hat, striped pink shirt, pink pants and pink gators, I appeal to the deepest regions of your soul - just stop it. You and your sister wearing the ten mile high hairdo with rhinestones in her hair and finished off with metallic Daniel Greene slippers and gold teeth. Please, just stop.

I live amongst wildlife. Not the squirrels, nutrias and occasional racoons tha tI'm accustomed to seeing. There are deer and wildcats around up in this piece. There is an animal that the locals have dubbed a "cacoon." It's some sort of wildcat witha big ass tail like a racoon. My sister said she saw a bobcat out here. All I know is that if I get accosted by one of those things, all HELL is gonna break loose as far as my scary ass is concerned.

Next to every interstate exit in Shreveport, there exists what I have dubbed "the valley of death." There is just this tremendous crater next to the interstate and oddly enough, there are no guard rails. Usually this is not a problem, but my sister (whom I love dearly and has been as sweet as can be throughout this entire situation) is more than a little spastic, so the fact that she rounds the curve next to the valley of death going 40 is more than a little disturbing.

My hair looks like Louisiana Goddamn! My hairdresser of course is no longer at my disposal. She's lasted longer than any of my relationships and NO ONE else was allowed to cut my hair. I'm praying that I can find someone that recognizes the difference between a request for a trim and a cut.

I'm saying all of that to say this...A SISTER NEEDS A JOB! I'm about to start combing the Agriculture and Forestry section of monster to get some income man. I don't see how the welfare queens do it. I have been home for a week and I'm about to lose my ever loving mind. I am accustomed to working, and as much as a job can be a pain in the ass, ain't nothing like having your own. I am looking at this as the opportunity to basically point at a map and decide, "I wanna go there." I can go wherever I want and start a new life. Soooooo, I'm taking all relocation suggestions. Holla at a sister. I am looking to get out of the south, so any input and job leads are appreciated. I'm an experienced legal secretary and my resume is at the ready. HOLLA AT ME! (That wasn't very professional was it?)

With all of that being said, the people hosting my family have been stellar. They've all pulled together to make sure that we're comfortable and well fed. My sister's sister-in-law makes a sweet potato pie that I'm pretty sure has crack in it, and she's making me one this weekend. My dad and I have decided that it's a plot for us to stay. We won't leave because we won't be able to move. She can keep playing - in a little bit we're gonna be snatching chains and standing outside of her door scratching asking when she's gonna make another pie. For that, I can forgive the wreckless white folks and the cacoon. Last week there was a fish fry sunday and a bbq monday. This weekend they've also got something planned. It's just beautiful man.

Displaced

I've never been one to focus on material, tangible things. As a mother, I've come to appreciate pictures a little more, but not much. I've always felt that as long as I carried people in my heart, I would never really feel the sting of loss. Nothing prepared me for this. Nothing prepared me for the fact that in a matter of hours, I would be without everything. Nothing prepared me for the fact that a ghetto trick named Katrina would run through three states like she caught somebody with her man and her money.

This wouldn't be the first time I've rebuilt my life. It wouldn't be the second. Actually, it would be the fourth time. I don't know if the difference is that all of those other times, I was still able to rebuild in my hometown, among my family and friends; or if it's because each of those times, I walked away with the distinct knowledge that I would have to rebuild, but something inside of me broke this time. To watch every single one of my memories be buried was overwhelming. My home is gone. My father's home is gone. Our home where we grew up is gone. My grandmother's home is gone. The hospitals where I had my children are damaged. My entire city is in ruins. Everytime I watched the news I cried. Then cried even more when I would turn it off.

The thing is, NOBODY took this seriously. Last year we were threated with Hurricane Ivan, so we packed up everything but the kitchen sink and evacuated. The city didn't even lose power. This time, since we were threatened with such a powerful storm, we thought that it would be unwise not to evacuate, but didn't see the need in packing nearly as much stuff. I packed a few clothes, some family pictures, vital documents and that was it. I don't think I would have minded losing the things as much if I could start over at home. As much as I complain about New Orleans, it's my home. It's like the dysfunctional family member. You know he's going to screw you over, but good times are had in between that, so you've gotta love him. Now I don't know when I can go home...or if I ever will in that way again.

I told my son last night about what the storm meant and how our home was affected, and though he was upset, he took it in stride. Of course, once he got the preliminary stuff out of the way, he asked the all important question: "So are we gonna go to Toys R Us?" All I could do was laugh and explain to him that it would be a while before any of that is going down. He just shrugged his shoulders and went back to terrorize the rest of my family. That night he got in the bed with me and said, "Tonight, I'm gonna sleep next to you, okay mom? That way, you won't be scared and I won't be scared." I'm thankful for my family. All of the immediate members are accounted for.

When I talked to my dad this morning, I thought of the man who was about the same age as him who was on the news because he had literally lost his wife. The waters split his home and he could not hold on to her. She told him that he had to let go to take care of the children and the grandchildren. Everytime I replay that in my mind, I get a chill. It breaks my heart because this man really lost everything that really mattered: his family. Eventually, I'm going to find a new home and my family and I will build new memories. I'm thankful to God that we can still build them.

Today is a good day because I haven't cried as much. Sometimes I cry for my home. Sometimes I cry because I know, if it weren't for my children, I probably wouldn't have evacuated. Sometimes I cry because out of all the things that I've lost, there are people that have lost WAY more and it makes me feel a little selfish and superficial. But since yesterday, I've cried most because there are so many people who are willing to help ME and my children. Not just the general cause, but to have so many people who feel that I have touched their lives in some way, or allowed God to move their heart in some way, that my family and I were first on their minds is overwhelming.

It's beautiful and it's humbling and to anyone sending anything, prayers, kind words, money or even clothing, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.