Monday, January 30, 2006

Spill the beans

Today I have no serious commentary (or gripes, surprise!) , so I want to get in other people's heads today. On a first date, what is a surefire thing a person can do to pull you into them? On the flip side, what is it that would make you run screaming for the hills? Since it's my bright idea, I'll start it off:

I love a true conversationalist. Someone that can really express himself and at the same time, genuinely pay attention to the things I say will really grab my attention. Particularly if it is a topic that one, or both of us, feel strongly about.

The yakkity yak about how sexually gifted he is or the ex-girlfriends that are still strung out on him (or that he is still obviously strung out on) is soooo 80's. Tales of good dick and broken hearts are not examples of putting the best foot forward.

So what are you deal breakers/makers?

Friday, January 27, 2006

Shut up Oprah.

"I feel duped," she said Thursday on her syndicated talk show. "But more importantly, I feel that you betrayed millions of readers."

Those were her words to author James Frey regarding his embellished "memoir" A Million Little Pieces. As an individual, Oprah has done admirable things. I applaud her accomplishments as an individual of humble beginnings, as a child abuse survivor and as a black woman. However, it's no secret that I find the deification of Oprah to be out of hand. For quite some time, I felt somewhat guilty about holding her accountable for the way others treated her, but the whole "Oprah Christ" tone never sat right with me. Recent events have convinced me that Ms. Winfrey has bought into her own overrated hype.

Nearly two weeks ago, at the onset of the embellishment debacle, Oprah got on the horn with Larry King to defend Frey's actions and reputation. She opined that the book held an "emotional truth" and the fact that he overcame his addiction was as important as any facts. So why the flip flop? Because of the scathing criticism by the Church of Oprah. They became infuriated that their god had led them astray. They were pissed that she decreed that they spend $24.95 (or whatever the hell folks are spending on books these days) on a book that she gave her stamp of approval.

So what was her reaction? She did what any god would do: swooped down on the offender with great vengeance. To her credit, she admitted that she made a mistake, however, there was still a prevailing air of buck passing. Her first defense was to arrogantly stand behind HER book. When that backfired, then she went with Plan B. I find confronting the author understandable. However, she also condemed his publisher. I'm not even in "the industry" and I know that they don't fact check memoirs any more than Oprah did. Just as she expected them to research it so they could "categorize" it properly, SHE should have damn well done the same because she played a key figure in the book being bought by millions. Mama always told me to make DOUBLE sure before you put your name on something.

Let's use a degree of common sense. A memoir is nothing more than a final draft of a "big fish" story. Since it's on print, the fish can't get any bigger, but the author made it as big as possible without making it unbelieveable. And this is expected. It's so expected that, when an author is candid regarding his or her flaws, critics and readers alike are usually amazed by the "honesty." Because everyone knows that there are some lying mofos in this world.

The fact is, Oprah's issue has NOTHING to do with the factuality, or lack thereof, if Frey's book. It has to do with someone causing a rift between her and her followers. A little side factoid listed in the article mentioned that Oprah pulled an invite to a particular author because he wasn't sucking her dick in gratitude for her endorsement. Are you kidding me? I applaud the author that writes a book from their heart and soul rather than out of some desire to be Oprah's bitch of the moment.

To you Oprah-ites: let this be a lesson in what happens when you let other humans think FOR you. Familiarize yourself with the library. They still make those things, you know. You can read as many books as you want and all it will cost is your time. Not too much duping and betrayal in a free book homie.

Monday, January 23, 2006

Makes Me Wanna Holla Some Mo'

I know this surprises my dear readers (all three of you), but I've got some stuff to get off my chest.

Before I start, please let me know when
this ignant shit became romantic? I think this ranks as the "What the Fuck" moment of the week, and it's only Monday. I think I too will be moving to Canada.

I find the public's reaction to adultery appalling. The ooey-gooey reaction people are giving to Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie really makes me sick to my stomach. I won't begrudge anyone their happiness, but the way that whole situation took place was beyond tacky. I'm by no means jumping on the Anniston bandwagon, because she's just tired to me, but that had to be somewhat embarrassing. Going on a tangent, I would still give the "Ho That Will Steal Your Man" award to Jennifer Lopez. Angelina Jolie snatching Brad Pitt from vanilla flavored Jennifer Anniston is no biggie in my opinion. But Lopez, she grabbed Marc Antony's Nightmare Before Christmas looking ass from Miss Universe. If that's not some ballsy shit. . .

Fat women and hypersexuality. . .What CAN'T I say about this? Okay. . .you're fat. Okay. . .you can fuck. . .you can fuck well...and? Now I know fat chicks aren't the only people guilty of this, but this is where you see it the most often. I'm so tired of big brawds parading their nekkit asses and sexual prowess all over the net just for the sake of attention. If you're in the sex business, this does not apply to you. I'm not about to question how you're legally making your dough. However, if you are NOT turning a dollar for exposing your rolls, hills, valleys and snake pits, STOP. This is by no means a way to prove your confidence within yourself. If nothing else, you are showing your desperation in throwing what you should hold most dear to anyone with $9.95 for an internet connection. Try this, for every comment you could make about how you have no gag reflex, talk about what makes you a worthwhile individual.

Men suffering from the ADIDAS (All Day I Dream About Sex...yeah, I took it back with that one) complex, must realize that their behavior is also anti-sexy. We all know that kid in the 6th to 8th grade that punctuated every phallically ambiguous statement with "IN MAH PAAAAANTS". Ground breaking in middle school, annoying at 30+. I enjoy a strategically placed dirty joke as much as anyone. However, I'm referring to a person that, no matter what the discussion, you can count on them to add an unrelated, unprompted sexual comment. I truly believe that this person has self-esteem issues as well. So try this, when you hear of an issue that bewilders you, set aside ten minutes of your customary internet porn jerk time to read about it.

Last week, in a combination of bad judgment and poor planning (for not having CDs in the car), I listened to the radio. You know, the "your station for hip hop/R&B" radio. I discovered that a couple of things that I didn't care about: Cam'ron and Jay-Z had beef and Cam recorded a couple of Jay-Z disses. I'm not what you would call a Jay-Z fan and I normally don't have the "stop to watch the train wreck" mentality, but my curiosity got the better of me. I'm well aware that Cam is substandard at best, but this was below anything I expected of him. Though I do agree that Jay-Z is a notorious line biter and, yes, that negro does look like the bastard son of Joe Camel, to say this song was wack would be an insult to all things wack.

In a somewhat related radio gripe, are there only about five CDs out? I ask because, while I was getting my Black Rapunzel on in the braid spot, I discovered that the radio recycles the same five songs over and over ad nauseum. The radio was on for the last 2.5 hours of my transformation and I heard the same Kanye West, Mary J., Jamie Fox and Nelly songs 4 times each. I'm so thankful for my iPod.

When I moved up here, I bought an adorable blue peacoat because, most importantly, it fit and I figured, I would look a little different from everyone else in their usual black/brown/camel coats. I have since come to the conclusion that they were throwing this coat off the back of trucks because I see MY coat all over the place. Ah well, it's cute and it keeps me warm. That's what matters the most anyway.

As much as I wanted 2 boys, I love, and I mean ABSOLUTELY ADORE, shopping for my daughter. I had fun with Ty when he was a little one, and even now, his gear is tight, but it's regular little boy gear. You can't get too creative and imaginative with boys without setting your kid up to regularly get his ass whipped. However, with girls...oh my goodness!! Shopping for Jae is my favorite activity next to shoe shopping. Putting together her little outfits together and thinking up cute hairstyles for her is really something I can do all day.

Single mothers: stop moving in with men that aren't even worthy to split a cab with. Though this is something that could be said for single women in general, I think there's more at stake in the case I've mentioned. How many times have we heard of a kid getting the crap shaken out of him/her by their stepfather? Or how about raped (statutorily or otherwise)? Some dude ardently putting the naughty on you every Friday for a month does not absolve you of your responsibility as a parent. . .You selfish, thoughtles mother so-and-so.

I've said this elsewhere, but this can't be overstated: The purchase of the sidewalk designer "Goacci" (don't front like you don't know what I'm talking about) bags must stop. First of all, whenever I see a bag with the designers name printed on it a trillion times, I think of Peaches in A Low Down Dirty Shame (I was bored and it was on Starz...don't judge me). But being a billboard for a fictitious designer is even farther beyond something I can relate to.

For the last year or so I had been battling the idea of getting the relaxer monkey off my back. Since I planned on braiding my hair in the interim, my biggest holdup was finances. Braids that are not done by Pookie'nem are a big financial commitment. (As an aside, I know some kitchen beauticians are holding it down, but that's a big gamble and you have no real recourse if they screw up your dome.) However, now that I have a little more disposable income (and have discovered that a retouch costs about $100 a pop around these parts) I have decided to let go of the lye. I discovered that there are many women that have some of the most beautiful natural hair imaginable, hair that I would kill for, but I wouldn't have known because it's braided down under a pound of silky weave. Words couldn't express my disappointment.

Really, I don't mean any disrespect to anybody, but if I receive that "watch the Jaimie Foxx special instead of American Idol" one more time, someone is getting stabbed.

Sunday, January 15, 2006

Beware the monologuing vagina

In a time where we are overrun by buzz words, catch phrases and "must see TV", nothing bothered me more than "The Vagina Monologues". Don't misunderstand, I harbor no vaginal phobias, though my speaking against TVM might prompt some hardcore feminists to disagree. I just find the title dumb. It bugs me, and so I'll blog about it.

I suppose if I were to define myself, it could be as a feminist of sorts. I think that Eve Ensler's "VDay" crusade is very admirable. History is littered with stories of a culture or community being violated and disregarded: Hebrews (and She-brews, LMFAO!!! Sorry folks, Family Guy fans know what I'm talking about), African/Black or gay/lesbian. However, nothing has been more constant and cross-cultured than violence against women. Her taking action and raising awareness is spectacular.

That being said, I'm not vibing with "The Vagina Monologues." Now, I grew up in a home where sexuality was by no means a taboo subject, and I'm quite grateful to my parents for that. Sure, I found saying "vagina" to be a liberating experience - when I was three and thought it was a cool word. By the time I got a little older, it was no big deal.

It's not that I am so naive as to believe that there are not women who are in need of self-empowerment in all aspects of life, including - and sometimes especially - related to their sexuality. Yet while the "enlightened" are purchasing tickets, or better still, on stage, the woman in need of liberation is stuck in her one room crap apartment in Podunk, USA nodding her head in agreement with her husband as he scoffs about "that cooter show." That is, IF they've heard of the show at all.

Those gifted with the term "vagina warriors" are extra special to me. I'm sorry, what? What kind of bored, upper-class housewife shit is that? (I wonder what those people would think of a man that labeled himself a "penis pugilist"? Hmmm...) Things like this cause me to opine that people use this cause, this awareness, more as a forum for posturing than anything else. TVM is just another rung in the ladder of the Oprahfication of feminism and femininity.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006


Today would have been my parents' 30th wedding anniversary. When my mother passed away, they had been married for 18 years. I remember when The Cosby Show aired, a lot of my parents' friends laughed at the similarities between the show and my family. Of course, there were differences: my brother didn't live with us, my parents weren't college grads and my dad was actually pretty damn good at home repair. However, the blaring difference wasn't known to the outside world: my parents were not in love with one another.

My dad was newly divorced and a minister and my mother was a traveling free spirit. Their best friends happened to be married and my parents ultimately met. At first glance, my mother thought my dad was a clown. At that same first glance my father decided that he was going to marry her, which is pretty much how he handles everything. Persistence paid off and my mother agreed to go out with him. Evidently she agreed to go out with him a lot, because after a few months, he told her that she should probably rent a hall and buy a dress. I'm not saying those were the exact words used, but knowing my father, I'm not too far off the mark. There was no getting down on one knee, etc. Despite that, my mother was there, looking quite lovely, and so were their friends and family.

Then the babies started coming: me that November, my sister two years later, a miscarriage two years after that, another sister two years after that, then finally, the baby, you guessed it, after another two years. (I also remember being 15 and seeing a discarded pregnancy test box. I thought I'd die on the spot.) Kids complicate marriage exponentially even in the most "normal" relationship. In a struggling relationship, kids make marriage damned near impossible.

Their relationship was sterile. (Ironic term for a couple that reproduced like jackrabbits in June.) They spoke to one another, kissed each other good-bye every morning, would entertain guests and go to parties together. But their demeanor at home seemed to indicate that they would rather be watching paint dry. I remember there being days on end when my parents would not spend a waking moment in the same room. If they weren't ignoring one another's existence, they were arguing. Things never became physical, but I learned the art of words as weapons from my parents. I can't say I've ever heard my parents cuss at each other or call each other names, but their words were just cutting.

It was so hard to get a gauge on them. Whatever issues they had, I can say that they did admire one another. I remember more than one occasion my mother telling me, "The men of today don't have a work ethic like your father. We've always had a good roof over our head, all of our necessities and many of our wants. You should be thankful." Then a mere five minutes later when he walked into the room, without saying a word she grabbed the keys and walked out the door. Didn't cast so much as a glance in his direction. My father's actions weren't much different. They admired one another, but would have burst into flames before they told each other.

After 17 years of marriage, my mother's health severely deteriorated and our family situation worsened. My mother, being used to her independence, was a difficult patient, my father's bedside manner was nothing short of deplorable. For their 18th anniversary, their friends threw them a surprise party because of all that had gone on that year, the last they would celebrate together. That was the first time I had seen my parents on friendly terms in months. My mother telling me that she was going to leave my father (though I had NO idea how she planned to do that) was routine. I later discovered my father harbored similar feelings.

We almost lost her that July and everything changed. It was one thing when they thought they would be able to ignore each other into old age, but this was something different. My mother softened up and so did my father. They were joking, laughing, talking. They had a second chance to make up for the previous 18 years. Just when they seemed to be getting it right, she was gone.

My parents' relationship has always made me fear a relationship of my own. They were stellar from a child-rearing team perspective. But since they weren't fortifying each other, they were being depleted. I spent all my years wondering why they stayed together, and assumed that they were biding their time because they had small children. There was a part of me that wished that I could have seen my parents happy, even if it wasn't with each other. I didn't discover the reason until about 2 months ago on the phone with my father. He said:

When you decide that you're going to marry a person, of course you look for love, attraction and the like. But more than anything, you look at a person's qualities. Lord knows your mother and I had a boatload of problems, but your mother had the qualities of a person that would make it through. I trusted her with my well being and with my children. I would have trusted your mom in a room full of millionaires and walked away with the confidence that she would not do anything to disrespect me as a man or jeopardize our marriage. I'm not saying that romance isn't a good thing, but any clown can be romantic. I can say I was married to a good woman. Not everybody can.

After I hung up and stopped crying, I really thought about their relationship. No, I didn't have two parents that were all over each other IN love, but somehow, they still loved each other. They were big enough to see beyond themselves, into the good of the other and work it for all it was worth. Maybe that was not the best way to do it, but I know they did it the best way they could.

Friday, January 06, 2006

Unashamed Fan

Music has always been a major part of my existence. One good thing that came from having parents with precious little in common is that I developed an eclectic musical palate. So I not only knew Gladys Knight, Aretha Franklin and Marvin Gaye, but also Little Feat, Derek and the Dominos and Yes. As a result, there's hardly anything that comes on the radio that I don't know. Though hip-hop most definitely has my heart and soul, good music is good music, so I present some of my favorite artists/bands to you.

Guns N Roses: Though Metallica (also to appear on this list) is arguably a better band, something about the combination of Axl and Slash just does it for me. I preferred them (like a couple of others on this list) before they became MTV whores, but I must say, "Use Your Illusion I" had some gems on it. Eventually, Axl Rose started smelling himself and the shit hit the fan. I still haven't forgiven him for "The Spaghetti Incident?" I don't know what was going on there.

Green Day: A chorus about masturbation propelled them into the mainstream. However, this is sadly a case of yet another great band that went doctors' office rock. "Dookie" was a great CD and I don't blame people for loving it, but they began to cater to "the crowd." I guess I can't knock anyone for wanting to make money, and I won't say that they became sucky. They just lost some of the edge that I loved so much.

Metallica: THEY FUCKING ROCK. No explanation required. It would be easy to claim that being a Metallica fan is cliche if they weren't such a good damn band. Well, in my opinion anyway...which is the only thing that counts around these parts.

L7: These white brawds are pissed. I don't mean regular pissed. I mean Pat Robertson getting dropped off in the middle of a boy-boy teabagging contest pissed. They also have some of the best fight riffs I've ever heard. Let me state that I do not expect straight men to like, or understand this band, but that does not detract from it's greatness. There's a line in "Fast & Frightening" that says "got so much clit, she don't need no balls." Brilliant!

Alanis Morrissette: Yes, she was on Nickelodeon. Yes, she is very VH1 friendly. but I don't care. "Jagged Little Pill" was a great album. Her lyrics cover the spectrum of female emotion whether it's affectionate ("don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are"), introspective ("how about not equating death with stopping") or the ever popular anger ("everytime I scratch my nails down someone else's back I hope you feel it"). Everybody needs something that is different, yet they can still relate to it. Yeah, I guess I sounded a little corny and groupie-ish. Cut me some slack...I'm not made of wood man.

NOFX: Great punk band...GREAT! I loved "Punk in Drublic", but "White Trash, Two Heebs and a Bean" is my absolute favorite. They are irreverent about everything...including themselves. Gotta love that. Well, at least I do.

Rage Against the Machine: This band does nothing to help my agression issues, but damned if their music isn't the shit. I have to battle the urge to just punch somebody when I'm listening to them. Listen to "Guerrilla Radio" and you'll see what I'm talking about. "TURN THAT SHIT UP!!"

Honorable Mention:
The Ramones
Pearl Jam
Porno for Pyros
The Exploited

If you feel that there is a glaring omission, please feel free to share your opinion.

Thursday, January 05, 2006

Crackheads and Coffee

Yesterday my cousin related a story that was just TOO good not to share. As both buddies and fam, we trade our triumphs and woes. It goes without saying that sex, relationships and the lack thereof are among the topics discussed. Just when we thought we had it figured out, my cuz witnessed something that can only be described as a "what the fuck" moment:

I'm sitting on the train minding my own damned business when the doors open and in jumps this crusty crackhead looking extra fidgety. He stops and examines a seat, dusts it off and assists his girlfriend in sitting down. Once she sits down, she lays her head in his crusty lap where she begins to fall asleep while he's picking lint out of her hair. I thought I had seen it all, but interracial crackhead love is just more than I'm ready to handle right now. I can't even get a brother to Supersize my Happy Meal.

Okay, I know this sounds petty, but I am a lil' salty about a crackhead having a "better" love life than I. I mean, yeah, I don't have to worry about various communicable diseases and missing electronics, but still...

One of my good friends was regaling me with one of his infamous "Tales from the Titty Bar." Usually I can tolerate them, but once he started talking about the one eyed bouncer, I sort of lost it. Not funny? Eh, I guess you had to be there.

So my sister and I had a bit of a falling out. I swear on a stack of Prince CDs that I was NOT the asshole in this situation. But nobody in my family is speaking to me. Not my other sisters, my dad, the family dog...well, there is no dog, but you get the picture. My phone hasn't rung once. In any event, I called my sister to see how everyone was doing blah blah blah. She then proceeds to tell me about this big party that she and her husband have been planning for this weekend. That was my first time hearing about it and even then there wasn't even a hint of an invite. *shrug*

I take my coffee very seriously. Most New Orleanians do. If you were born before 1980, you were drinking the stuff while you were still on the bottle. (By the time you are five, you've also had your first taste of beer, but that's another topic entirely.) Therefore, you can imagine my disgust when, Tuesday, I was given a foamless latte. But in an effort to be a kinder, gentler Breez, I shook it off. After all, it's just foam. Maybe they were in a rush. So yesterday I gave them another chance. Again, no foam. TOTALLY unacceptable. Part of my day includes letting a little of my turbinado sugar get caught up in the foam, the subsequently enjoying the small taste explosion. Bastards! This morning I went to Starfucks. Sure enough, they gave me foam, but I paid almost a dollar extra. Can we say Pyrrhic victory?

Am I the only one that notices that white people are ALWAYS running? And I don't mean jogging to stay in shape. I mean just running EVERYWHERE. In the grocery store, in the middle of the street even when there's no traffic and the sign says "walk", from their driveways into their houses, on the subway platform even when there's no train in site, on Sundays in the mall parking lot. Where in the hell are they going? I think I'm going to just stop one of them and ask them one day. This has baffled me for years. If anyone has the answer, please, enlighten a sista.

Is it me, are do people get way too deep into sports and whatnot? Don't get me wrong, I get hype watching games my damn self and love nothing better than a nailbiting competition, but I'm not getting paid. I've seen folks come to blows at games. Or what's even more special, I've seen folks come to blows over MADDEN. What is THAT shit about? It always tickles me when guys talk about that game then refer to "their defense". What the hell? I'll never understand that. But then again, they don't understand my fascination with shoes so I guess that makes us even.

Wednesday, January 04, 2006


"And even though the birds ain't singin'
And the sun ain't shinin'
It looks like a beautiful mornin'!"
- Little Brother

I play this track every morning. I play it because it's something that I want to believe. I want to believe that though I feel more alone than I've ever felt in my life, there is beauty in the fact that I can get up every day and try again. I started and stopped five blog posts because I want my words to affirm this belief. Yes, I'm taking the Jesse Jackson approach ("If I can believe it, I can acheive it") with this one. No, I'm not going soft. I just feel like my occasionally caustic nature was becoming a little too predominate. I'm sure that in a day or two, the tongue will be blazing again. It's just that for now, I felt the need to calm the sea a bit.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Help out my homie

Please go here to vote for my friend Michelle "Danja" Watson-soon-to-be-Taylor. She's vying for a $500.00 cash prize and needs all the votes she can get. She's nominee #14, but she's very close to winning the internet vote, which I believe counts for 50% of the judging. She's in the process of planning a wedding at the end of this year and can really use the money. Thanks for your support.


I've already begun counting down to my 30th birthday. I know. I just turned 29, but still, I know 30 is there. . .just laying in wait for me. I'm not afraid of turning older and it sure as hell beats the alternative, but I just always saw 30 as this monster. I have been going through the motions of saying all the shit that people say - you know "I'm only getting better", "I'm like a fine wine", blah, blah, blah. William Shakespeare would say "The lady doth protest too much, methinks." I however, say, "Yeah, whatever geezer." Yeah, I know, the 20s and 30s aren't old. Therefore, I'm not sure why I've been feeling the need to validate my youth with cheesy slogans.

I think that part of my age issue stems from the fact that I have yet to engage in a healthy male-female relationship. It's not that I see a relationship as a tool of self validation or anything like that. I just think that after 29 years, I would like to have engaged with someone that afterward, I didn't want to kick squarely in the chest. Part of it is my own fault. My fear of intimacy borders the paranormal. I don't take compliments well and I've been known to have odd reactions to displays of affection. I have actually purposely dated people that I don't like because I knew that the shit would inevitably hit the fan. Once it's done, there's really no love lost because I wasn't that into them anyway. I have also purposely avoided dating people that I do like in an effort to continue to like them. On the rare occasion that I have dated individuals that I liked, admired or otherwise enjoyed, things always seemed to go south for one reason or another. I won't say that I'm blameless, because I know that I'm not; but I also know I'm not the entire problem. Weird? Yeah, I guess.

I mentioned before that I believe that something positive is on the horizon for me, and that thought hasn't changed. I just find myself becoming increasingly cynical of the things people say and disgusted by the things they do. I'm having a case of Holden Caulfield syndrome in the worst way. I believe that more often than not, the world would be better off if people would think before they speak - or for that matter, if people would just think and not speak at all. I won't even touch in thinking before acting because people (present company included) often seem to think that thought and action are mutually exclusive entities rather than facets of life that should work in tandem.

I think part of my issue is that I've flooded my life with "extra". Therefore, my life is in desperate need of cleansing and purging. I don't plan on being one of those stupid people that sends out a broadcast email, or what have you threatening people with being "removed from the circle." (Yes, I think folks like that are stupid. Who in the fuck do they think they are? More times than not, if you feel that a person should be removed from your "circle", they also think you should be removed from theirs. Just do what the fuck you have to do and keep it moving. Sorry for digressing.) I just mean that we can allow our lives to become cluttered with people and issues that aren't necessarily for us. It doesn't mean those people or issues are bad, just not in their proper place. Whose fault is it really if we've allowed unnecessary things to take over our life? Give me a break!

Despite all this, I'm a really nice person. *cheese* Just moody. You know you like it. Otherwise you wouldn't be reading.

Monday, January 02, 2006

New Year's Eve

So I spent the weekend in the Big Apple. I enjoyed myself, met some new people, hung out with old friends and, yes my friends, I danced on a table. That was pretty fun...not anything I plan on doing regularly though. However, with all of the fun that I had, I miss my children desperately. They were supposed to be here December 27 and they STILL have not come. I'm in the process of coming up with a Plan B for getting them up here. If I haven't said it before, procreating with inept morons is really not the new black. I know they'll be here soon. It's just the waiting that's getting to me.

There is so much that has changed for me in such a little time. Many of the changes were for the better. My children are going to love their new home, I've got a great job and even though the place I live in seems a little sterile, it's not half bad. I haven't completely committed to staying here forever, but I'm starting to get use to it. I think once I do more exploring and meet more people, I'll enjoy it a little better.

This year has been a doozy for me on a lot of levels. There is the most obvious doozy named Katrina. There is something to be said about losing everything you own in the blink of an eye to make you realize that none of those things matter. There are so many people who will NEVER be able to account for family members. So many people who will blame themselves for not forceing a family member to leave the city with them. It makes me thankful that I was able to kiss my kids goodnight, argue with my family and speak to my father. Possessions can be easily replaced. I'm eternally grateful that I was able to retain everything that matters in my world. My heart and prayers truly go out to the people that can't say the same.

There is something good around the corner for me. I can feel it. I can't say for sure what it is, however, I know it's there. Maybe it's a mind over matter thing just to make me feel more positive. But something inside of me tells me it's more than that. I hate to put my cynical nature on hold, but I think this might be worth it.