Eenie Meanie Minie Moe

When you grow up there are some decisions that you have to make. Decisions that you were oblivious to as a child. Decisions that make you wish that you were once again an oblivious child. Making said decisions bring you closer to the reality of your circumstances than you'd like to be. Here it is. Should I pay my car insurance or pay my phone bill?

I generally don't have a hard time making decisions, and after weighing my options I made the choice.

Here's the thing. This shit screams "You are poor!". Even though you have a safe and warm place to sleep, food to eat, and are tremendously blessed - You are poor. You are choosing between car insurance and phone services, not Prada shoes or a piece of jewelry from Tiffany's.

Here's why this is a bitch. I don't think I should be poor. I fancy myself a resourceful strong woman. A woman for all seasons. One of my friends referred to me as a 'renaissance woman" the other day, and I think she is right. I can cook my ass off, I can sew, crochet, garden, and bake. I love a good riesling and a good cigar. You can find an eclectic mix of music on rotation in my cd player, from jazz to hip hop. I like to travel and I'm open to a host of new experiences. I'm a Christian single mother who works full time and attends college. Goddamn it, I am not supposed to be poor!

I'm supposed to be living in a house in the country with a fruit and vegetable garden in the back yard. I'm supposed to drink lemonade under my favorite shade tree and contemplate world affairs. I should be journaling at my favorite coffee shop before going home to cook dinner for my husband. I should be taking guitar lessons and planning trips abroad. I'm supposed to be planning seasonal dinner parties for eight. I should be shopping, and smiling. I should be going for long walks donning big straw hats and sunglasses.

That is the life I should have.

Instead, I chose to pay the car insurance so that I can drive to and from work and school legally.....so that I can continue to be a Christian single mother who works full time and attends school.


I don't need to talk to anyone on the phone, unless they can give me the life I should have.

Why Am I so Interested In Interracial Dating ?

In The Beginning

For as long as I can remember I have been intrigued by interracial relationships. When I was younger it was more common to see a black man with a white woman than the reverse. The only black female/white man couple I saw was on the Jeffersons, and Roxie Roker was the female component. Of course that was T.V., but it interested me. It caused me to wonder about the possibility of real life interracial relationships. I grew up in Marrero, Louisiana (acoss the river from New Orleans), and my family did not hold a positive view on interracial relationships. This was not so much a spoken rule, it was moreso implied.

My maternal grandmother was very fair and had wavy black hair. Her nose was long and straight. And I suppose as a young woman she could have "passed". However, she embraced her Black heritage fully. In a "Well, if I have to be Black, thank goodness I'm light skinned" kind of way. It was at her home that I first saw the possibility of interracial romance/relationship. I was taken by an old photograph that she kept among many on her dresser. This photo was not like the others. The person in this photo was not brown like the faces in the other frames. He was a handsome white man. I didn't understand why my grandmother would have this picture of a young white man mixed in with the others. When I questioned her about his identity she told me he was her father. "That's papa Joseph", she said. What!!!!! Your daddy was white? She said, he was half white, but his mother was light skinned too, so he looked completely white. This was unbelievable to me. My grandmother went on to explain that Papa Joseph hated the fact that his father was white, and he tried to marry the darkest woman he could find so his children would be dark. (His plan didn't work out so well, his kids were pretty light too.)

Later on my grandmother explained that Papa Joseph did not grow up with his white father, and the story was that his mother was raped by a white plantation owners son. However, the son saw that Papa Joseph and his mother were well taken care of. I always wanted to know more about their relationship. I wondered if my great-great grandfather was the product of a love affair or rape. Of course there were many instances of the latter, but that does not negate the possibility that these two people could have been in love. It was not uncommon for white men to have white families on one side of town and black families on the other side of town at that time in New Orleans. (Which is where Papa Joseph was born and raised.)


A Little Later

In high school one of my white classmates and I had a mutual crush on each other. We flirted around a bit, but we were afraid. Afraid of what our families reactions would be. Afraid of how hard it would be to go against out families wishes, and we had good reason. When I told my mother about him, she became very upset, and I remember her using a word I had never heard her use before. Despicable. I remember thinking that was funny because there was a cartoon characters who used to say, "That's despicable!" My mother was not the type of person to describe something as "despicable". Which leads me to believe that she was repeating what my grandmother may have said to her when describing what she thought were inappropriate relationships (her daughters with a white man or dark black man, but that's another story for another time). So, I didn't pursue the relationship with my white friend. But, I wondered what could have been. I remember liking him a lot more than some of the Black guys I went out with in high school. Any way, moving on.


Much Later

Moving away from New Orleans, to Columbus Ohio was at first culture shock. I seemed to be the only Black person at work, in class, at the movies.....just every damned where. But, I adjusted. I made a few close white friends at work and began to examine some of my own prejudices. I was really curious about interracial dating, and went out with the first white guy that asked me on a date. It was horrible. Not because he was white......but because he was a selfish doo-doo head. But I did take something valuable away from that date. I had a new appreciation for men as individuals, white, black and otherwise.


Today

I still have some weird fascination with interracial couples, and I'm not completely sure why. I'm in a loving and committed relationship with a Black man, and I wouldn't trade him for anyone (no matter the color). But, when I see a White mand looking lovingly into a Black woman's eyes I still wonder if Papa Joseph's daddy was in love with his mamma."

I Repeat, We Are Not Gay.............

In the August edition of the Oprah magazine there is an in depth article on Oprah and her relationship with her friend Gayle. They talk about there friendship and things they've been through through out their 30 years of friendship. Oprah and Gail firmly dispel the myth that they are lovers. They add, if they were gay they would not keep it a secret because nothing is wrong with being gay, they simply are not gay.

The notion that two people of the same sex could be so close and not have a sexual relationship is hard for some to fathom. The same notion is not so hard for those of us who have been blessed with such friendships to believe.

I have been best friends with three people for most of my teenage and adult years. Tipsy, Industrious, and Urban Red.

I met Tipsy in high school. She was the drum major and I was on the dance team. We became closer in college and roomed together for a couple of years in Baton Rouge. We have been largely inseparable since our second year at LSU. We talk everyday, usually more calls than one. We can and have talked about everything underneath the sun. We know each other inside out, quirks and all. She's a neat freak, and I'm nuts. (I'm sure she has a longer list of quirks for me, but let's just go with "nuts" for now.) Now we're taking the "have a baby when you're 100 years old" ride together. Tipsy balances me off so to speak. Our personalities compliment each other and we get along like an old married couple, sans the old married couple sex.

Industrious and I met at dance team tryouts when I was 16. It was her second year on the team and she was very sure of herself and cocky. I, on the other hand was unsure of myself and very nervous. I don't remember how we hooked up with each other that day, but she has told me she remembers I was "whining". That kind of comment is what I expect of Industrious, because she is a get-up-and-get-it-done sister. She does not waste time complaining or feeling sorry for herself. She is a supportive cheerleader and a gentle chider when she doesn't think I'm moving ahead fast enough. I think some of her has rubbed off on me, I'm a lot more confident than that 16 year old girl, in part because of her friendship and support. I hope to be more like her when I grow up. She works as many jobs as necessary, takes care of her husband, kids and home, and make it look easy. Industrious has mellowed a bit in her older age (40). I think the kids did to her. I'd also like to think my mushy ways have rubbed off on her a little bit too.

Urban Red ! I met Urban Red my senior year in high school. This girl came into my life like a whirlwind. We became fast friends in spite of our differences. She was urban and I was rural. She was flashy and I was subdued. Her life was fast paced and action packed, compared to my unexciting teenage existence. But we clicked, and I learned. Urban Red was the friend I went "missions" with. [For those of you who think going on a mission includes winning over new heathen souls to Christ in some distant place, let me hip you. If you have ever dropped of your cheating girlfriend at a guys house, been picked up by a friend when you were cheating, took a trip with a guy who wanted to have sex with you and you brought your friend along to cock-block, or if you were the cock-blocking friend, you too have been on a "mission". ] I had a lot of fun with Urban, I regret some of it, but it was fun at the time. She and I talked on the phone several times a day, mostly about nothing........sometimes just keeping each other company. We were two peas in a pod. Until. Until we went into business together. I will spare you the long, sad story. I'm sorry to say I haven't talked to UR in over two years, and sometimes I miss her.

I think most women feel free to have and keep very close girlfriends. Men, for whatever reason do not have the same luxury. If two men talked to each other on the phone several times a day, and hung out together constantly they would be looked at suspiciously. It's just our culture.

I'm thankful for the opportunity to be Gayle to my Oprahs.

Angie's Life - The Soundtrack Part 1

The Ojays - Ship Ahoy
Santana - Abraxas
War- The World Is A Ghetto, Cisco Kid

I was listening to a song while riding in the car the other day and it brought me back. I mean way back. I was maybe five or six years old. I remember it like it was yesterday.

I'm sitting in an orange bean bag chair. The room is furnished with bean bags carpet and string art all over the wall. There was a "psychedelic" light that made the string glow in the dark. In the corner of the room on the carpeted floor sat the 8 track stereo and record player. (I'm dating myself here.) The window panes were painted dark blue. Yes I did say painted. There were several burn marks on the carpet as this was my daddy's uhm let's see how to say this, his "Reflection Room". There was also a Rolling Stones album cover that was made like a pair of jeans on the front. There was a zipper and everything! I can not tell you how many times I unzipped it to see the bulging white briefs inside. The amount of weed smoked in this room was surpassed only by the amount of good music played in it.

My daddy appreciated good weed and good music. He always managed to have an abundance of both. He planted the seed for my appreciation for good music.

I can remember sitting in that bean bag with my head back, just listening. Ship Ahoy is some deep shit when you are six years old, and probably experiencing a contact high. The sounds from within the slave ships, the pounding of the ocean, whips and chains.......and the deep bass voices and the melancholy of the chorus....."ship ahoy, ship ahoy, ship ahoy............." It was overwhelming. It was sad and it was beautiful all at the same time.

I think that was the moment I learned that music could do anything. It could evoke a plethora of emotions. Make you see images, smell scents, dance, sing, cry, hate, laugh and love. Santana, War, Teddy Pendergrass and so many more stick in my head today because of that time and because of that room.

Just Kill Me And Get It Over With!!

I want to quit my job, quit school, drop out of society and live in a cave. That's how I'm feeling this morning. I'm so sleepy I could puke. The power went out last night which means the C-Pap was out of commission, which means my brain will be out of commission for the ENTIRE day. The alarm clock did not go off because of the power outage contributing to my already pathological tardiness to work. I'm forced to park in a lot a few miles from work, and rely upon an unreliable shuttle bus to pick me up. After I wait twenty minutes to be picked up, and dropped off at work, I go over to the security office to turn in my old parking hangtag and get a new one. (I received an email informing me we must come into the security office and exchange our tags.) So, I walk across the street, through the "not slowing down, we don't give a damn if this is a hospital and we see you crossing at the cross walk" traffic and to the "Security Office". There are two people busy eating donuts and drinking coffee and they can't be bothered with helping me because their conversation is very important. A sale at Kohls department store no less! Okay, here's a fresh faced young man who appears to be 14 years old dressed in a security officers uniform. I explain my need for a new hangtag so that I can continue to park in Egypt, and wait for a shuttle until I'm completely late and want to kill the driver, the passengers and myself. He asks, "Do you know your license plate number?" The question in and of itself is harmless, except that if he asked this I must need same to get tag - and I do not know it. Yes I should know it but I do not. So that was the last straw.

At every turn lately I have been bombarded with just the most vile fuckery other shit to break my spirit. The list is to extensive to burden you with . So I will just say this. I'm looking for a cave to dwell in. A cave only big enough for me. Not too cold and not to hot. One in which I can live naked in. I have not figured out what I will do for food yet.

If you know of such a cave let me know, but please hurry, I can't take much more.

Can I Put My Eyes Down Yet?

July 6, 2006

Lift up your eyes. Your heavenly father waits to bless you- in inconceivable ways to make your life what you never dreamed it could be. Janette Oke


I have this flip over calendar on my desk. It has little sayings and words of wisdom on it for each day of the year. This is not something I purchased - Those who know me know I would not purchase such a thing. A close friend of mine at work gave it to me after retrieving it from her newly deceased mothers home. Yep, isn't that morbid. Anywhoo, she see's this calendar and thinks I would be best served by it's daily messages. What could I say? No thanks, I don't want your dead mom's stuff. Might I add the calendar has a picture for every day. The same picture. A picture of half dead flowers taken in bad light, at a bad angle. Okay......are you starting to see this?

I try to keep the date current and check out what the up-beat word for the day is. I'm sorely disappointed on most days. They are mostly sappy blah-blah-blah crap pooh. They do not make me feel better and I have never heard of most of the people listed as authors of the quotes. Google was no help here either - maybe their names are made up. In fact they make me feel worse. I ask myself, why don't you have that kind of faith. Why aren't you looking up for a blessing instead of thinking of a way to stay home from work and sleep. Okay, so I'm lifting my eyes. Lift, lift, lift. It's not working yet. Still nothing.......my contacts are drying out.

I wonder if my friends mother was reading these damned things and waiting for her "unconceivable blessings from her heavenly father" when she died.

Slowly lowering my eyes and fantasizing about a nap again.

I'm Rich Bitch!

The level of broke frustration I'm feeling right now is too intense to describe. So what do broke people do after they've done all they could do? i.e made various payment arrangements, figured out late fees and said, "well, my credit can't get much worse." We fantasize about having shit loads of money. I mean Oprah-Bill Gates-Trump kind of money. So I think about winning the lottery.

The funny thing about my money fantasies is how my family and the people around me would be effected. I'm easy, I'd just like to travel and have a few nice things. For the most part to be able to live how and where I want to would be enough for me. But here's the thing. While I'm planning an elaborate laundry room with a flat screen t.v., cable, table for folding, and refrigerator, my family and friends will have other plans. Namely, Baby Girl, My Kiddo and Spunky. They are on some serious ghetto craziness. Here are a few things they would want.

Baby Girl (said with her own mouth in response to my offer to travel the world with me) wants a "grill", yep a grill for her teeth. In fact she said she wanted a few in different colors. She said she will be unable to travel with me because she will be driving down Ames Boulevard at 10 miles per hour. When asked what she wanted to drive she said, a bad car with spinning rims, pulling a boat and jet skis. In rural Louisiana this girl wants jet skis. She cannot swim but she wants to pull around jet skis. She also want to hollow out two 60 carat diamonds and make sunglasses out of them. Imagine that sight in a car next to you at the stop light.

My Kiddo would have diamond studded head scarfs, diamond studded Bootsy Collins glasses. She too would like a grill. Designer clothes and shoes were her next request.....along with a private jet.

Spunky is a "closet ghetto girl", and agrees with Baby Girl on the purchase of grills for all. She too would like designer clothes, jewelry, shoes and her favorite a nice ride, a Mercedes SL 500 drop top , midnight blue with cream interior to be exact. Yes, she had thought about that one for a minute.

Tipsy, would travel with me extensively, but would leave when we begin to get fitted for our platinum rainbow grills. She is too prissy for that.

I would like to say I too am to prissy, but I would pose for one picture with a grill on because Baby Girl would force me (she bosses me around). Yes she would boss me with my money as well.