Do Something

The speaking sabbatical has been partially disengaged. I'm still only talking to a select few and using my words fairly sparingly, but I have turned my phone back on. I still am steering clear of instant messenger. I don't need to be that attached to the world just yet. I'm getting a lot of thinking done and I really like it.

Right now I'm reading Radical Equations: Civil Rights from Mississippi to the Algebra Project by Bob Moses. I'm only about halfway through and already I'm thinking about basing my master's thesis on it when I go to grad school. It's about the connection between the voters' rights struggles and math literacy. Essentially Moses believes math, algebra in particular, holds the key to tangible progress for poor children of any color. By tracking children and taking them away from college prepatory math, we are handicapping them, making them ill-equipped to cope in an increasingly technological world. While explaining the connection, he goes into a bit of history which I'm mildly obsessed with as well, particularly concerning black people, and the Civil Rights Movement. It's amazing to me how recent this all was and that there is still work left to be done.

(This is actually one of the books I found floating around at work. That's one of my favorite things about work. All the interesting things to read. Y'all already know I'm obsessed with the AP wires.)

I had a disturbing conversation last week that's really stuck with me. A guy told me how he believes "one person, one vote" is a bunch of b.s. and he doesn't really participate in the political process. I can understand the disenfranchisement, particularly with this generation, of the voter. However, I can't seem to get an answer to this question from anyone who doesn't believe in voting. If voting truly lacks importance, why did white people fight and KILL (Medgar Evers, James Chaney, Michael Schwerner, Andrew Goodman ring a bell? There are many more.) to keep us from doing so for so long? Why was voting a part of the process of keeping black people subservient if your vote truly does not count? Why not just let the "nigras" vote if it keeps them quiet and doesn't mean anything anyway? Why institute poll taxes and require literacy tests? Why was a Voting Rights Act necessary to ensure equal access and a more fair political process?

Today I contributed to my first political campaign. I feel so proud and like I actually accomplished something. Go Barack. I like John Edwards, too, but I can't lie, the $400 haircuts really threw me off. I know he's embarassed about them, but you still got them. Can you imagine how much Hillary spends on her hair? I'm sure its an equally assinine amount. Barack? He's not spending my money on hair. What black barber do you know who charges more than $10 or $20 for a haircut? PLUS he's Barack. The probably give them to him for free and brag about how they cut his hair and they'll do anything to support him.

That was an unnecessary tangent but you know how I get. The point is, I'm very excited about "Decision 2008" and am looking forward to narrowing down the field. If you are a Democrat and your name is not Barack, Hillary or John, kindly sit down. You do not have a chance. If you are a Republican and your name is not Rudy (Guiliani, one of the most Democratic Republicans when it comes to abortion and gay rights. Southern Repubs will HATE that), John (McCain, used to like him, he's now starting to rub me the wrong way, plus he's old as dirt and still supports the Iraq war WITHOUT A PLAN FOR WITHDRAWAL), or Mitt (Romney, former Massachusetts governor). I can't wait for DP to add his two cents on this. Rock the vote, people. Get your vote on, whatever. Do something.


Speaking Sabbatical

Every once in a while I get pensive. This is not tied to moodiness. It's not tied to any whims or anything other than my need to think without interference from other people's words. Anyone who knows me in life finds this preposterous. While at times I have a propensity for verbosity, I am also a thinker. And sometimes my mind is working so quickly and in so many directions that I need silence and time for reflection with only myself.

At least two years ago was the first time I enacted the speaking sabbatical. I was still in Charlotte. I'd moved back after graduation. I was working at Express and sending out resumes and cover letters like mad. I don't remember if this was the first summer after graduation or the second summer after graduation but I was feeling trapped and confused about my life.

It must have been the second summer. The first summer I was free and living off of my graduation money. So summer 2005. My mother was getting increasingly annoyed with me and she wasn't exactly my favorite person, either. I imagine it was hard seeing her progeny, her firstborn, in that state. I was working at a film company but for experience only. It's a fledgling business and I just wanted to do anything I could to get some experience so when I finally got an interview, the interviewees wouldn't ask what have you been doing for the last year only to hear me hem and haw. It turned out to be an excellent experience. But at some point, you have to make some money.

My sister came home that summer. She's only 19 months younger than me. That means there were 3 women under one roof, two of them still growing into themselves. The weariness that was that household. I stopped speaking to get some peace. I left a note on the kitchen table announcing my speaking sabbatical. I spoke at work minimally (I worked in the stock room) and only when I had to. Once I got home, silence. I've always been a talker and a writer. I would get in trouble for talking at school. I would talk, talk, talk during recess. My kindergarten teacher told my mom I was the only student she'd ever seen who could convince other students to PLAY school during recess. Then I would come home and talk and talk and talk more. On the phone to my friends to hours, to my mother's chagrin. To my parents when they got home from work. They never had to worry about me hiding anything or what was going on in my life because I was always willing to talk about it. I would perch on the edge of my mom's bed and chatter away.

But the summer of 2005, I finally had enough. It was freeing. For the first time in my life, I was silent. No talking, no television, just books, writing and my mind. It lasted for 3 days. I loved it. Once I started talking again, I wished I could enact the sabbatical again.

Now I don't proclaim sabbatical, I'll just retreat to my room. My schedule is so bizarre that whenever I'm in my room my father leaves me alone in case I'm sleeping. I think if I declared sabbatical on him he would be quite upset. My mother was overjoyed. Maybe that's extreme but she thought it was a good idea. She's borne the brunt of my talkative nature. My dad is a talker, too, so he loves it.

Now is one of those times, though. I've turned off my phone. I went on a walk around the neighborhood while listening to "Mama's Gun" on my ipod. I didn't go to the gym because I didn't want to risk being bothered. I needed some peace. My mind was still going a million miles a minute and I probably need to just put pen to paper and let it out but I write so infrequently now that typing is the best way to do it. I will get this figured out. I want to welcome 25 with open arms. Lucky you, the sabbatical does not extend to writing but if you call I may not answer and I likely won't be on instant messenger. Last time I think Kyle was exempt from the sabbatical, this time I think he's included.


"She Wants Her Own Day"

The doctor pronounced my mom's due date as August 5, 1982. My mom said the 15th was more like it. If I'd been born on the 17th, it would've been my Uncle Jake's (dad's side, on my mom's side its Uncle Jacob). My dad said, "No, she'll be born on my birthday, the 21st." When I skipped that day, he said, "Ok, our anniversary. She'll be born on the 22nd." If I'd been born on the 26th, I would've shared a birthday with my older sister. But I took my own damn day: August 23rd. Fitting, right?

My middle school crew included A, whose birthday is August 3rd, M is on the 21st, same as D (dad), S is the 27th, T is the 30th. August babies unite! I don't really talk to A anymore. Not because we fell out or anything but we just kind of grew apart and we were never that close. She's getting married next month (allegedly) so I'll probably send her a gift. Just because I'm sweet like that.

I've done a myriad of things for my past birthdays. I finally got the surprise party I've always wanted on my 24th birthday. This year, me, M and T are all going to Beverly Hills for the big 2-5. We're staying at the Tower. I want to go see Ellen, too. I love Ellen. She cracks me up.

Love her! Stacey taught me how to embed video. I'm so excited. I also love Issac Mizrahi!!

Do yourself a favor and scroll through some of those quotes on that page. A few classics, "Gay equals lavender," "Style is 75 percent confidence and 25 percent... I don't know." What??? So funny.

I also love Nia Long. I will be her in my next life. I was trying to find a clip of her on Isaac because that was one of my fave episodes. She's so cute and fantastic and funny. I love her. Black people should really get on youtube more doing something other than shakin it. I could only find one clip that wasn't a trailer.

On a side note, shout out to my Hampton homie who just got his first published article on espn.com!! Wheeeee!!

Back to the bday. I'm always excited about my birthday. Not this year. This year I'm apprehensive. And it's not just because I'm older. My aunt turned 60 this year and LOVES her birthday. She celebrates for the entire month of February. It's great.

How depressing that I'm not looking forward to this one. Especially since I have plans. AND with people who actually come through when they make plans. We say we're going to do something, we're going to do it. We had a great time hanging out almost every day I was at home. (I really will finish that post b/c I have more pics to share). But I just want something else. I definitely need some black friends in this city. I don't have a single one. Isn't that horrendous? I've been here a year and a half and I don't know any black people. I know some but we're not friends. I don't call them up for lunch or just to chat or anything. It's pretty sad. Something's gotta give. I've always been the girl of a million acquaintances and a core group of friends. I know, I know. You pare those down to the basics. I know this but STILL! Sometimes it's just annoying.


Empty Womb, Please

Going home made me realize something. I am not ready to be a mother. I mean I already knew that because every time someone tells me she's pregnant, I get this deer in the headlights look and ask, "Are you scared?" It's really quite pathetic. I mean I'm just four months shy of my 25th birthday and the thought of carrying a child, eventually having it leave my body and being responsible for him or her for the next 21 years (they will be going to college and who is really self-sufficient in college? They are few and far between)... Frankly, the thought makes me a bit ill.

One of my friends from middle school had a baby in December. I was so excited when I found out she was pregnant that I wanted to immediately rush home. But I couldn't (no vacation), so I was forced to wait until after she had the baby. Finally in March, I was able to go home. I got home Wednesday night and made plans to get together with M, spend the day together on Thursday and finally meet Tristan. Kyle asked me, "Is this going to make you want a baby?" I said, "Of course!" What else will I say when you ask me such an insane question? He said, "I knew it." Hahahaha. I mean truly, I don't know.

I've been around babies before, of course, but not a lot. On both sides my cousins are around my age, no babies really. My sister and I are in the youngest bunch on my dad's side. I have some second cousins my age and older. On my mom's side, most of my cousins live in Mississippi and are about my age, but even if they weren't we wouldn't see them enough for me to spend a significant amount of time around babies. I don't have any friends who had babies as teenagers. Of course babies were in and out of my periphery, but I've never even changed a diaper. I hold them for a few minutes, then hand them back, especially if they start crying, and go gossip.

Thursday, M pulls Tristan out of the car seat and my first reaction was joy. He is a beautiful baby. All 3-month-old fat, chubby cheeks, sweet little cherub. He held onto me, let me hold him and just looked up into my face, blinking in the warm March southern sun (shout out to the sun, light winds, 75+ degree days, flowers, green grass, I hope to see you again soon). So adorable! I felt flooded with love, then instantly confused because I mean, this isn't even my child. But he's the child of one of my closest friends and our first baby in the group I've known since I was 13. I love his mom so I guess the love just transferred. I take a closer look at M and she's glowing. Motherhood really suits her.

We spend the day at the mall shopping and talking after our pedicures. This is one of the best babies. He doesn't cry or fuss, if the car moves, he's knocked out. I'm not crazy. I know babies sleep a lot and have good days but I really like this one!

Then it starts.

The strangers. I am not at this point in my life equipped to deal with dozens of people a day peering into my stroller to comment on the appearance of my child. "Oh he's so cute!" Of course he is, you see his mother. I mean come on! Is it not obvious? How could he be anything but? The best, though? The grown black man who walks up, bends slightly at the waist, and bellows, "Look at that juicy baby!" Juicy? Juicy?!! Huh uh. I had to walk away. Once we reunited, I said, "Tristan, how do you feel about being called juicy?" M says, "What do I look like lettin another man call me juicy?" LMAO!!!! That's why this is my girl.

I asked her, "How do you deal with all the strangers?" She says her pregnancy helped because people like to say and ask some normal, but mostly bizarre and probing questions. Things like, "Is the father still around?" "Will you breast feed?" "Are you having twins? You're huge!" (Have you seen that commercial? It cracks me up). But I've still determined I am not anywhere near ready to be with child. For now, I'll take "Empty Womb, Please, Alex for 2000." Thanks.


The 'Ville :)

So... the long-awaited Kyle and Jameil trip.

He was flying back from Cleveland for the women's Final Four. He had a layover in D.C. First his flight from Cleveland was delayed for hours. I was worried he'd miss his connecting flight. He was scheduled to get back to Hartford at 3:30, wash some clothes, get on the road by 7:30 or so, arrive in the middle (Danville, PA) by 11. But you know how things work with us.

He gets to Dulles and its straight. He's on time for his connecting flight! Score! But its cancelled. The next flight won't get him to Hartford until around midnight. Curses! Son of a! He calls the travel agent who tells them to go to Reagan. That flight is delayed too!!! I'm bout to throw stuff now. I ask him if we're still gonna meet. He says yes. So I say, fine, I'll leave now. He wants me to wait until he gets back to Hartford to leave. Why drive at night for no reason?

He finally gets back to Hartford at the same time I get to Danville. He gets pissed because he wanted me to wait and I guess I kind of implied that I would BUT HE DOESN'T SAY ANY OF THIS, just gets an attitude. Sigh. I really started to call him back and tell him not to come if he's going to have an attitude when he gets here. I drove 4 hours there, I don't mind driving 4 hours back. I do, but if it's gonna be unpleasant once he's there after I was already in kind of a bad mood, and feeling the need to evaluate my life? Stay where you are.

He finally gets on the road at 11:30. 4 HOURS LATER THAN ORIGINALLY PLANNED!! He calls at 2 a.m. to say he's stopping at a gas station to take a nap that will be at most 2 hours. I'm sleeping on and off anyway so I'm like ok... (still sensing the stank attitude). He calls at 4 and says "Where are you?" I'm like, at the hotel (half asleep). He's like, "I mean what room?" "Oh." So I tell him the room number. He knocks on the door, I open it, let him in and quickly shut the door, IT'S COLD!!!! 20s and 30s in April is not cute. (BTW, today, Apr. 18th, 45 degrees. COME. ON!!! Is this really what passes for spring in Pittsburgh? GTFOHWTBS. Now).

He reaches out his arms for a hug. I give him one. I'm still feelin him out. I know how he can get when he's cranky. We hug some more and he says, "All the traveling is already worth it." I died. DIED! Damn I love this man. It was a 20-hour work in progress to get to me and after 10 minutes he was already happy. That's love. We went to Applebee's. I had this ridiculous bruschetta burger with fantastic parmesan garlic fries. OMG burger love on my fave bread. Focaccia is the TRUTH!!

We also went to see Blades of Glory. Of course it was so silly. Worse? The two girls I saw that night with open-toed shoes. One of them also had on a bubble coat. Fool. Stop. It. Now. HATE when people don't dress for the weather. We mostly slept while we were there. Then the next day we got up, went to breakfast and left.

Know my least favorite question? "When are you going to see Kyle again." I rarely know the answer and it reminds me how far we are apart. The last thing I need is a reminder that we are 8 hours apart. Way to depress me, kiddos! Thanks.


Give Her Room


It's for your own good.

My moods are cyclical. And a bit violent. I try to suppress them, just a little. Because they kind of scare me. I didn't 2 years ago, but now i understand what my aunt meant when she said there was no way in hell she would do her 20s over again. At the time, it was kind of depressing like "damn! but i'm living those!" But at the same time encouraging because she loved her 30s. And if she could stay one age forever (like in the book we were discussing at the time, The 5 People You Meet in Heaven. No, I don't really recommend it. I wasn't that impressed), she would choose her 30s. I said well, that's still a little piece away and what fun to look forward to!

Now I just really, really understand. This age sucks. There are too many emotions and not enough ways to express them. How do I get it all out?

But somethings help. Vacation is a temporary respite, though I'm thinking perhaps I don't need to go home, because I get depressed before I even leave (right at the end). But I get the same way when I leave Kyle. It's loser week times 8. So depressing. But isn't life in general? Sometimes I just want to throw things. A lot of times. I have so much energy and rage and joy and sadness and guilt and, and, and. Everything is magnified and overfelt. Not bipolar because its not for long periods of time but still quite intense and at times a bit scary. Sometimes blogging helps. Especially the comments. It's nice to connect and eventually no one feels like a stranger. Today I was frustrated because I decided I wanted to visit a church and I wanted to call V to ask what her home church is and I realized 1) I don't really know her and 2) I don't have her number! Bah!

I'm re-reading Sex and Sensibility. It was $1 at Borders. I like their sales because I end up buying things I would've left on the shelves, even though I choose books by their covers because I just never would've found it anywhere. It has 28 romances from the lives of single women but it's not all like you think it would be. My favorite story is "Do You Take This Woman" by Em and Lo. Ride or die friends through all men.

That's Stace (though we don't intend on going through any more men). When I'm at my most insane, I call her and she calms me down. Kyle can do that, but in a different way. Sometimes as a woman, you just need another woman, and only another woman will do, because no matter how great anyone is, he or she can't be everything for you. And when I need it, she'll give me room.


State of Black America Part VIII: Nappy-headed Hos

By now, you've heard over and over about (irrelevant) radio shock jock Don Imus calling the Rutgers' women's team "nappy-headed hos" and others on his show referring to the team as "rough hos" and "hardcore hos," even going so far as to compare the team to the Tennessee women's team calling it the jigaboos vs. the wannabees. Spike Lee doesn't like being dragged into it, but calls for an immediate boycott of all advertisers. Rutgers is not happy. The coach is not happy. Tennessee's Women's Coach is not happy. (Please don't make Pat mad. She really looks like she could harm you.) The NCAA is not happy. The Washington Post had a very interesting live online chat.

As with anything, I get a little less pissed, but a little more contemplative with each passing day. I'm absorbing a lot of information and the changes keep coming. It started with the boycotts and protests, then CBS and MSNBC suspend him for 2 weeks. Then advertisers, including Staples, Bigelow Tea and Proctor and Gamble pulled their support. Now MSNBC has pulled its simulcast after taking "into account many conversations with our own employees. What matters to us most is that the men and women of NBC Universal have confidence in the values we have set for this company."

And yet the questions continue. Is Imus so relevant that it hurts for him to call any educated Black woman a nappy-headed ho? No, he's not that relevant, or even relevant at all to me. I only knew who he was prior to the incident because there is a giant bank of televisions covering every news station at work. Every morning I look up and he's on. Yes, he's a shock jock. But at what point do we say enough is enough? Where do we draw the line? Not knowing the sexual proclivities of the women in question, can you really call them hos? Or does that border on slander? Nappy-headed is also in question considering 2 of the people on the team are white. At the very least, he's inaccurate and NOT FUNNY.

I was amazed when I first heard it, then shocked, then really, really pissed off. I have, and love my, natural hair, and I don't like when my own father calls me nappy-headed. It just doesn't sit right with me. It's the implication. Nappy as in unclean or undesirable. Some would disagree. But that's what you meant right? Or what did you mean? Let us know. Then the "they say it so I can" argument is foolish. It's okay to just go along with everything everyone says? Come on. There has to be something that is not okay to you. What is it? Where is the line?

This is not the first time he's made questionable comments. According to wikipedia, Imus may be familiar with the word nigger. He previously pledged not to engage in further racist talk. He has repeatedly apologized, but is it enough? Now the shock jock is upset that the most recent incident is clouding his record of community service. This is true. In many articles, if mentioned at all, his service record is relegated to the final paragraph, which in media terms means first to be cut if there is a space or time issue. Here's a tip. When you make incendiary comments, that is precisely what happens. Any positive impact you have becomes clouded by controversy.

The context also matters. When Imus, a 66-year-old white male, used the airwaves, television and radio, national television, a nationally syndicated radio program to denigrate a group of black women and say they looked like men (didn't hear that part? He and members of his radio program said the women looked like the Toronto Raptors. One took it further and said the Memphis Grizzlies), there is a problem. Take heed. I wouldn't like it if some black people said it either, since so many have chosen to bring rappers into the mix. I'll get to that in a minute.

I'm not clear, however, on how Al Sharpton can say, I will complain to the FCC. On what grounds? FCC indecency standards are somewhat convoluted. I think the better complaint would go to the stations themselves and the advertisers. Imus makes a lot of money for these stations. Do I think he should be fired? I don't know. What does Imus think should happen?

If you've been watching any of the coverage of this issue, I'm sure more than once you've heard the question, but what about the rappers? Black people have got to stop saying it themselves. We're back to this again? Like with nigg(a)(er), right? Trust and believe, there are many black and white people calling rappers to the table on a regular basis for their community-destroying lyrics. Search music on many of my regular bloggers' pages and you'll find great disdain not only for the music and their "artists," but also the media outlets that play them. At some point, you get tired of being nigga-ed, bitched and hoed, not to mention encouraged to sell drugs and smack asses. We've covered that. But since you want to ask, let's go to the source.

On Hollywood.com, Rapper Snoop Dogg refused any comparison to Imus. Snoop went so far as to say "(Rappers) are not talking about no collegiate basketball girls who have made it to the next level in education and sports. We're talking about hos that's in the 'hood that ain't doing s**t, that's trying to get a n**ga for his money. These are two separate things."

It's a bit clearer now, but do go on. "We are rappers that have these songs coming from our minds and our souls that are relevant to what we feel. I will not let them muthaf**kas say we are in the same league as him. Kick him off the air forever."

I kind of hate you right now Snoop. Maybe even more than I did when you brought those women to the MTV Awards on a leash. You have a wife and I'm pretty sure, a daughter. So, though you are not referring to them when talking about hos, surely you see the problem with leading a WOMAN around on a LEASH. I suppose at this point, you are still saying it's not your wife or daughter, but what message are you sending? Can you really get mad if your daughter shows up on someone's leash one day?

But let's get back to the point at hand, an elderly, white, male radio personality referred to a group of young, educated black women as hos. This is not just a black issue. He made it racial by adding the nappy-headed part, but not only black people are up in arms over this. True, some people are weighing in for their own personal gain, but that's neither here nor there.

Barack Obama called the comments "divisive, hurtful, and offensive to Americans of all backgrounds." Kind of pat, but a response nonetheless. Hillary Clinton dedicated space on her website for people to send their support. The National Organization of Women jumped on the bandwagon, too. Though a bit late to the party, the Journalism and Women Symposium also added their two cents.

I think the bottom line is for you not to come out of your mouth against a group of women who did nothing to deserve it. The team captain is a straight-A student who plays the piano, bass guitar, drums and saxophone. The team includes All-Americans, a future attorney, a psychology major a player of the year. And this is how they are rewarded.Talk about kicking someone while they're down. They'd just lost the national championship. You are talking about someone's sister, someone's daughter. Do you know how I would react if someone attacked my sister or child like this?

Black people have a tendency to group identify. When you attack one black person, many feel like you're attacking all black people. This particular incident also has a sense of no matter what you accomplish, to some people you are still nothing but a nappy-headed ho. So maybe there is a lesson in this after all.

For Previous State of Black America posts, go here.



May I eat for a living? Because I really could do that. I love food. Like love it. You know the query, "do you live to eat or eat to live?" THE FORMER! It's insane. Thank God for high metabolism. And for actually liking some of the things that are good for you. Like wheat bread (hate white bread, it's so bland. bastion of flavorlessness). Did you know when you eat wheat bread, it should have no less than 2 grams of fiber PER SLICE? Otherwise it's just white bread with grain in it and then what's the point? You've still got the bleached flour and it's not even that good for you. Don't even get me started on taste again. I also prefer baked chicken over fried chicken nine times out of 10. This is partially because my mom makes some ridiculously good baked chicken. So delicious. But I love chicken fingers with honey mustard sauce. That is joy on a plate.

Salad? SUCH a fan. I also like spinach (yes, you can eat spinach again)... though I prefer baby spinach leaves... partially because they sound so hilarious, but because the taste is much less harsh. I definitely had to get used to eating what really looks like large leaves out of your yard.

Before you get all whiny with me and say something like, "that's not fair she only eats healthy anyway," let me say my greatest vice is french fries!! Love them!! Love them!!!!! People eat sweet potato fries which I guess is okay but I really want the savory (see: salty) flavor without getting sideswiped by the sweetness. I'm definitely a savory girl. I also like frozen french fries and tater tots. When I choose what fast food restaurant I'm eating at, I usually just figure out which fries I'm in the mood for. I like all of their fries on different days. (Side note: Paula Deen drives me insane. Batter-dipped fries? For what? Everything she makes is dripping, rolling, roasting, baking, frying or marinating in fat. It gets disgusting after a while).

Part of the basis of this post were two particularly outstanding fry cases of late. One at Zink American Kitchen in Charlotte, flavored with oregano, and these fries that came with my homie Tyler Florence's bruschetta burger at Applebee's (I won't start on how much I love siddity burgers and sandwiches or we'll be here all day). Oh. My. Gah. Crispy garlic fries topped with shaved parmesan cheese... WHAT????!!?! Forget healthy. That meal was one of the best in a while. Also today's Panera Bread sandwich, the turkey and artichoke panini? Never fails to satisfy. Also the catalyst for this drool-worthy blog.

I do have one thing though. Soup. Please don't try to feed me your gourmet soup. Your strawberry soup? Sweet potato cumin soup? Stop. Cream of broccoli, mushroom, or chicken or chicken noodle. Potato soup, black bean soup. Things that make sense. I cannot wrap my mind around your fruit soup...


*I also saw Kyle on my off days. Recap of that and the rest of the Charlotte trip are forthcoming. What? You know I get lazy. It's loser week AGAIN so close to the last one. How sad.


My Body Is Pissed

All these changes. So I told you how when I left Pittsburgh and got to Charlotte, there was about a 25 degree temperature difference right? Not reallllly a problem because, who complains about 72 degree weather? Not me! Spend the week in Charlotte, its in the 70s and 80s the entire week and rain free! Fantastic!

I get on the plane from Charlotte at 625am and its about 60 degrees, 8 am, we get to Cleveland on the layover, I had loafers on and jeans, ankles exposed, blazer but no coat (packed it away) and do you know I shivered when I stepped off the plane? 40! BRRRR! Not like back in February. 40 is no longer fun. Someone getting off the plane behind me said, "I forgot it was still winter here." I'll say. Once I got to Pittsburgh it was about 50, I had to pull out my coat b/c the wind was so extravagant. STOP THE MADNESS!!

It's been in the 50s and 60s since I've been back. Today 68, cool, I can get with it. Tomorrow, 75, HOORAY!! Wednesday night, drops to 29!! IT'S APRIL!!! This shan't be allowed. It shan't! I haven't reached the best part. Thursday, it's supposed to snow, we could have a white Easter (who ever even HEARD of such a thing) AND with a high of 45, Easter will be colder than Christmas.

*drops mic, then picks it back up and throws it against a wall, shattering it into only 3 or 4 pieces, they don't break down to much so its unsatisfactory. picks up 50 inch mirror, throws it into the street as a tractor trailer barrels by at 70 mph. there. much better. turns around, glides back into house with stunner shades (i'm so mad this website exists) on like nothing happened.*