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?