Don't Leave the House like That!

Answered the Call

2010-03-12T02:32:00.001-08:00

I tried everything I could, on my own.

They said I couldn't do it...

The bank turned me down so many times, they see me passing and go:
Brandi, what do you want? Whatever it is… No! Not a chance! No!

I’d say, hey I was just trying to get to the trashcan. I had to pass your door.

I didn’t see what the problem was. It’s not like I was asking for a hand out, I was asking for a hand up.

I needed $1,800 to get started. I wanted buy more books, bookmarks, posters, among other little things. It's my career.

Most great businesses fail in their first year because lack of capitol.

Not this one. I refuse to fail. I knew what I needed and instead of giving up. I improvised. I picked up my cell phone and went down the list.

I got 18 friends who invested in me. (Well, it took only 10 to get to the amount I needed) And Within 3 days, I had pledges for all of the money! :-)

One of My friends joked that he should hurry and win the lottery so I don't have to ask so many "little" people for help.

Sure, some big shot millionaire can just give it to me. And I’ll be an instant success. All over the place. Quick.
But the gift is: can you get 18 people to believe in you, when you have nothing?

Thank you for believing in me.

My heart is full.

P.S. A lesson revised.
Do not ever ask rich people for money. Poor people will get together and help yo’ ass.

It’s more of them anyway.
B nice.

How Many Books?

2010-03-04T22:58:00.001-08:00

You ever played Spades? Good! Then you know how the game goes...
Wednesday, A lady asked me, why don’t you go on the Daily Buzz?
You’re doing pretty well, she said.

I appreciate her recognizing my hard work and the growth of my book, Crumb Snatchers.

Then she fired off a list of things I should be doing to further the growth.
She meant well. She wants to see me live nicely.

Before anyone else starts…

I’ve thought about these things. Even romanced the ideas.
I like the morning show the Daily Buzz. I like Kia Malone, the host.
I’m trying to accomplish goals. I need to better my infrastructure before I take that step.

It’s not fear. Or carelessness.
A lot of the things I’m doing, (which may seem like a hard, alternate route) I have to do.

I am playing my cards. I didn’t get any Spades or big face cards this hand.

Like, I would like to eat a tender, honey-glazed rack of ribs and buttered, cheese potatoes, but I had to microwave up two scrambled eggs last night. No rice. Drink water.

I don’t ride with the windows down all the time – wind batting me in the face – because I like it; the a/c in my car is broke.

I didn’t put that old shirt on because I liked it or it was my favorite, it was the best one I could salvage.

I don’t necessarily like going to the laundry mat with the drunk, smelly (sometimes bloodied) bums but I need clean clothes.

I liked the cable, I had.

I like champaign too. But this Kool-Aid will just have to do.

And Brandi does not turn down help.
If Brian Harris (owner of BMW) came to me with an offer, I will not turn him down.
You will not hear, No, thank you Sir. Let me go home and think about taking this fully-loaded, limited 2011. Peanut butter ostrich leather seats.

I’m being patient. Putting my funds behind my dreams.
Playing my hand the best way I know how.
I’m going to let my partner across the table, God pick up the books.
When we called the number of possible books I said none, He told me just play He had me.

When the time for the big show comes, I’ll be ready!

Easy Money...

2010-02-18T00:51:00.000-08:00

Adversity has the effect of eliciting talents, which in prosperous circumstances would have lain dormant. - Horace

An older lady walked up to me one day at Wal-Mart and told me to go back to school and be a writer.

That job’s not for you, she said. You’re talented, God gave you a gift.

I like my job. I’ll write. I replied in a nonchalant way.
I hadn’t picked up my ink pen since I graduated.

She lost all-of-her-mind. Period. Or that’s what I thought.
The people messed up and gave me a job where I made over 40k a year. Doing stuff that came easy to me. EASY. I’m 24, the world is finally in my hands.

No major bills. Completed school with a Master’s. No kids. No husband. Just me. And all my little heart desires. All I had to do was: wake up, arrive on time, and keep a low profile, do no hero work. Done.

An automatic check in the mail at the end of the month.
I can catch a flight to New York and pick up some shoes on the weekend and be back in time for work on Monday. Friends want to go out? The tab’s on me. Order whatever.

Someone has a birthday coming up? You can have whatever you like. The bill’s on me.
I feel like wearing new clothes. Something new every day this week. The cashiers at the mall know my first name.

Yup! This is the life. I’ll write when I get back from Disney World. I'll write when I come back from Vegas. I'll write when I come back from London. I'll write when I come back from Cabo.

Or that’s what I thought. After a few months I lost the job. Losing the job didn’t make me sad. Losing all the EASY money that came with it had me upset.

I had to keep moving. Can’t cry for long. OK! OK! I’ll write! I figured I’d finally start on my book. I needed to make money and no one else was hiring.

Long has the wishes from my mom gone up for me to be a writer.
I want you to be a writer, she requested.

Ma, I’ll write, I’d say. One day.

In undergrad, I said I would write a book.

Since I have no job, I might as well. I wrote my book and started off in a new path. Without the money and security. The benefits or guarantee of a meal every night.
Did I say, without security? Everything’s uncertain. The only thing I know, everyone says God gave me talent and I must use it. I was just going to use it later.

Everything I listed above was taken from me. The freedom to travel – my love. Shopping, dining; so much for a social life. Bye. Bye.
There have been times where I have gone weeks without a dime in my pocket.

Can't I get the easy money and write later?

Just with a bit of wonder, why did God take my job, my easy money from me…

My cousin had an answer for me.

God didn’t want you complacent baby, she said.

What do you mean, I asked.

If you still had that job, would you have created your book, she asked.

I pondered her question for a few seconds. With no real answer in my head to give her, I searched her eyes.

See, since you had no money, you had to figure out creative ways to make some, she said. God didn’t want you to be complacent he has something bigger for you to do.

It’s not like I was running from writing. OK, maybe I did. A little. Well, a lot. I just didn’t think it was me. Can I be an author? I didn’t even graduate at the top of my high school class. Most likely to be picked on, pass that award. Awkward. Really? Brandi, an author?
Stop. Kidding. Now.

There, I admit I ran away from writing.

I read. I read a lot. I can devour whole books in one night. I am a reader. I didn’t think it was special. I figured everyone else did the same thing too. I remember, when we were little my sister would read to us and while she was in the first paragraph, I completed the whole page.

You read too slow, Kell, I complained.

Well, OK, Brandi, tell me everything you just read, she’d say.

I’d spit it back out to her almost word for word.

Wow, you did read that, she’d say in amazement. I looked shocked because she’s the Brain. I’m just Pinky. She’s always been the Brain. Her and her report card full of A's.

I just never thought reading and writing dated each other.

My cousin hit me again. Yeah! When God gives you a gift he doesn’t want us to hide it. Sugar keep trusting God, she smiled.

He shook me up. I figured it out.

He put me on a new path. The path everybody’s been telling me to take from the start.

Everything’s Not Perfect, But It Is…

2010-02-11T00:30:00.001-08:00

A street kid once asked me, “Do you have any doubts?”

He looked me dead in my eyes. I looked back into his, and said, “No.”
He nodded his head. I gained approval and he stamped my ghetto pass.

We were inside a packed gym and I was presenting my book.

When I started my quest to be a best-selling author, I knew I didn’t have much. Actually, I didn’t have a lot of things. I refused to let that stop me.

I thought about things like this:

I don’t have the money to buy my own product and sell, but my Father does. He owns the bank. What if he doesn’t want me in his bank, yet? He’ll open up other people’s wallets for me. Then we just killed two birds with one stone. He’s not setting me up to go to the bank and get turned down, he’s setting me up to think outside the box, other ways of getting money.

I don’t have the advertisements, but my Father told me to focus on making great works and people won’t be able to hold that in. They’ll speak of it everywhere. Word-of-mouth.

I’ll feel inferior with my faded and dated clothes, but my Father owns the clothing store. And he created the world-renowned tailor, who will make my garments.

I don’t know where to go, but my Father knows the way. He will guide me.

I’ll need consultation because I don’t know everything I’m doing, but my Father has that too.

People will criticize me, but my Father has assured me I will not be pulled down. All before me, doing anything artistic has faced criticism and answered all of the best answers in the world. I will not even have to say a word.

A lot of people won’t follow their dreams because they say they don’t have certain things.

Now, that I think about it, that kid asked a great question. My heart doesn’t bear doubt.
That’s why my answer to him was flawless.

Breakfast for Champions

2010-02-05T15:10:00.000-08:00

Today, I spoke at Children’s Charter School. They invited me to be the guest speaker for their honors program. I felt delighted! I arrived an hour early and read a snippet of my book to the kids. Breakfast for all of the honor students in grades K-5 started at 10 a.m. Parents packed the place with cameras and gifts. And the energy was high. It was a cool experience for me.

Here is the transcript of my empowering speech:

First, I want to commend you all on a job well done.
As a matter of fact, I think this needs to be taped for 106 & Park because you don’t see this often. Brilliance is not celebrated often in this society.
But, let me tell you guys, around the world they celebrate their honor students.
Right now, it’s a 13-year-old boy at Morehouse College with three majors.
That’s three major subjects he’s studying and he’s making top grades.
I think that’s amazing!

The way you got here this morning, studying, doing extra homework; I want you to stay on that path. Whatever you did, keep doing it.

I also want to encourage you to find the smartest kid in your class and hang out with them. Because you’re good now, but hanging out with the smartest kid in your class will make you better.

And if you are the smartest kid, you hang out with some older kids who are smarter; some of the richest people in the world told me that advice.

We, but, well, everyone in this room; I don’t want us just to be rich, we need to be wealthy. There’s a difference. Rich is just financial. Wealthy is when you leave here and go find your friend who didn’t make the honor roll and you encourage them. Help them to get here too, for next semester. That way, the top is not so lonely.

That’s exactly what someone in this room did with me. And trust me, I am mightily grateful. I was doing everything but the right thing. And he (Mr. Williams) came, he didn’t just tell me, ‘I am wrong’, ‘I am wrong’, he spent time with me. He tutored me in math and science. Whatever I needed help in, he helped me. We even had fun. When he went to the movies or the skating ring with his friends, he took me too.

That showed me that you can make the honor roll and have fun. It became the blueprint for my work ethic. Work hard, you get to play hard. But, keep it on repeat.

And for that, I am eternally grateful. When I am sitting next to Oprah, he’s (Mr. Williams) going to be right there with me.

Last, Be nice to everyone because you never know who they will be.
Continue to work hard. Be blessed. And thank you.

[End transcript]

My very first honors speech. ;)
I didn't see that one coming...

Foot in the Door

2010-02-03T18:52:00.000-08:00

The FedEx man had less than 15 minutes to arrive.

I needed my books!! And I couldn't be late to the librarians meeting!

The delivery was just as important as my own presence for my meeting.

Books in my hand meant money.

FedEx always made it to the house at 9:30. My regular delivery guy even knew to load a few boxes in my car.
He knew my hustle and he loved to see when my orders were big!
My meeting started at 10:30. I had to make it with books. He made it in the nick of time. When my delivery came, I was ready to leave. We didn't talk much because of the rush. Business, you know.

Excitedly, I hopped in my car and made it up the highway.
It's official I told myself, I am an author, with my first book and I’m going meet the librarians.

My name was boldly printed on the agenda next to my book title. I was up for discussion! There were only two authors (including myself) and a handful of other important people there to present.

The audience was mostly women sitting wall to wall in the large room. The energy in the room was high.

The first author went up. I learned she worked a job a few years and had been in the game (literary world) a while so I sat back and played the rookie.
Yes, A rookie, but I planned to lead off my book presentation as if I was a top draft pick that made the starting line-up. I had to tuck my stage freight away.
As I walked to the podium I thought, I am now, the LeBron of writing. Franchise. No bench warmer. I have million dollar ink-pen endorsements.

Before I went up I prayed a silent prayer. Lord, please don’t let me trip, stutter or fall.

The first author was good. She was really good, and sometimes it's hard to go after good. I decided to feed off of her and the crowd energy.
My words came out of my mouth as I planned them in my head and several were eager to meet me afterwards.

One came up, grabbed my hand and said, "So nice to meet you. You know, we usually don't have authors over."

“Yes, I heard,” I replied with a smile.

"Let me buy a copy of your book."

“Why, sure!”

“I’ll read it first and see if it will be something our kids will be excited for,” she continued.

“I think you're going to like it,” I grinned.

She skimmed through the pages.

“I like it already,” she smiled back.

“When you are finished reading it can I come to your school? And do you order books?”

“You know what, you can because I think you will be great for our kids. Is your schedule be open? And, yes, we would order your book for the kids.”

“Yes, it is,” I beamed. My skin glowed even in the old recessed lighting and my heart did summersaults.

“I think that will be great.”

“Me too!!”

That day, I gained entry into three schools. I did well; most of the librarians worked at schools for younger kids and they were getting riddled with information packets, order forms with some companies even offering books for only a dollar.

[SIDEBAR]
My heart skipped another beat. I thought it was going to have me out of breath. I had to talk it into calming down. If I didn’t catch my breath we both were going to be in trouble.
OK! OK! Keep still, Heart!! We did great!
[END SIDEBAR]

On my way skipping out of the door a lady stopped me.

“Brandi, can you please sign your poster for my kids,” she asked. “You know, we usually don't have authors here.”

I take it as an honor, where do you want me to sign?

Change of Heart

2010-02-02T01:45:00.001-08:00

She said she wouldn’t do it. Absolutely not. No way. No how.

“I do not promote authors,” she said. “Once I promote one, they will all be coming knocking down the door.”

Listening intently to her, I tilted my head slightly to the side.

“I’ve been doing this for over 20 years, Brandi. And I treat everyone the same.”

I understand. Really, I did understand.

I traveled a long way to meet the head librarian. I needed to get information on how to continue to promote my own book. Being a dependent isn’t what I’m about. I’ll educate myself and keep moving.

Besides, it is MY project. It’s only going to work if I get behind it.
I held no qualms with this lady. She rose from her seat and told her secretary a few words. Looking down in my lap, rubbed my hands together and plucked at a button on my skirt.

She came back in and I looked up.

“Well, what’s your book about,” she asked with interest.

Figuring this was my window, I climbed through. She was only giving me a minute and I had to make the most of my time.

With wise words I told her about the story. She listened.

“You know what, I have a meeting tomorrow. All of my librarians from the entire district will be here to meet with me,” she told me.

Looking at her, I nodded my head for her to keep talking.

“I’ll talk to just a few about you and see what they say. Thanks for meeting me, and you have a nice day, but I just don’t promote authors. I don’t have the time.”

Politely, I thanked her. Before I left my seat I took a copy of my book and slid it closer to her on her desk.

“You can keep this copy,” I said.

“Well, thanks, I can show them this,” she said. “I’ll call you.”

I left my seat and walked out of the door. I did everything I could do, I told myself as I drove down the road. Networking here, networking there.
Confidently, I went after something I thought could help me.

This was just another lead that died. I’ll have to start fresh tomorrow and search for someone new. Try again, Brandi.

Just then when I pulled up to a red light, almost home my phone started ringing. I answered.

“Brandi, I want you to come to the meeting, you’ll be only one of two of my featured authors. And I really don’t do this, but I think there’s something different about you.”

Well, Thank You, I will be there.

Wait! Susan’s what?! Nope, I don’t think so…

2010-01-31T08:19:00.000-08:00

Oh, they have me mistaken!
I am Angela Davis. I am Nikki Giovanni. I am Kizzy Kinte.
I am Harriet Tubman. I am Afenni Shakur. I am Thug Life.

If something’s not going right, I will at least break a bottle in protest!
Maybe it’s my soft looks, voice, or demeanor but the people are confused.
I admit, my generation is soft. We don’t fight for anything.
The man can fire 45 professors and we would sit back and say, “I didn’t like him anyway.”
We want handouts. Well, I am not that person. I’ll take what I want.

All these thoughts went through my head as I sat in the Superintendent’s office.
I walked up there myself. No one held my hand.
I wore a pair of black slacks and a crisp white shirt.
I looked polished and elegant like a doll.
My freshly suntanned skin glistened like a California girl who just came off the beach.
My hair left sweet ribbons of fresh shampoo in the air.
I even dashed myself with a hint of Ralph Lauren, Romance.
I felt and looked great.

Despite all the odds, I was sitting in the head guy’s office and I’d bypassed a bunch of goon middlemen. I knew I was supposed to be here. He’s a busy man, and doesn’t spend much time on anything because he has so many things to do.
But here I was, sitting for the last 30 minutes right across from him, comfortable like we grew up together.

I had my book “Crumb Snatchers” in my hand, fresh off the press. I did everything to my book on my own, with no resources but my brain. No one like me was supposed to make it this far, not even past his secretary.
Only big named authors, with big money was supposed to be sitting back, relaxed with the Superintendent, who has the power and money to say weather he wants your book in his schools.

I’d already handed off my book to his head reading curriculum personnel to be read.
She brought back her report early. I was happy for that. I sat back and ran his expensive $100 ink pen I plucked from his memos through my bony fingers.
The Superintendent was making important calls. Important calls for me.

As I listened in, I could hear the delight in his voice when he spoke of me to his other important friends. Important people know important people.

Each time he made a new call, he’d be so excited and say he had a young girl in his office.

“She has a book, and she did this, this, this, this and I think she’s going to go far. This is just precious,” he said, admiring my pictures from my very first book signing, my poise and confidence. And he was so proud.

I really started to like him. Until he made one more call.

He started the call to the “Dr… I have this young girl in my office, and she is impressive, genuine, what can we do to help her get her more opportunities.”

I dropped the ink pen. I’m saying to myself, I am a gangster.
If you ask a gangster if I am a gangster; they will acknowledge me.
I’m A business-woman. And I take care of mine.
I have no fears, no doubts. I’m pretty but, nobody better not touch me.
I abide by the G-Code. 100. This is my creed.

And now the Superintendent is going awestruck like I’m the belle of the ball at a Sweet 16 debut. I did tell him I earned my M.A. That took me five years of hard, hard work at school!
For the most part, I passed 16!

On one hand, my mom passed down dimples to me, and cheeks that flush rose when I blush. And my aunt handed me a slender figure, the stuff you can see on runways ran by youngsters.

Yet, this is no kid stuff. I need to get this book deal. This is my life. I plan to live my dream.

The way I see it, I am not Lil’ Bran, Precious, Sweetie or Susan’s Lil’ girl anymore for that matter. I am Brandi. That’s B.R.A.N.D.I., and I am about to take over the world!
People can’t call me Susan’s lil’ girl anymore!
I remember a lady around 60, who hit her husband on his shoulder and identified me as Susan’s lil’ girl to get him to by a book, she can’t do that.

The world takes big dogs seriously. I just look like a lamb, but I am really a lioness.

He hung up the phone looked at me and smiled. Then he handed over a card that turned into another guy giving me a check.

“You have the book deal, and go to all of my other schools and they will support you too, sweetie. Tell them I sent you,” he said with pride as if I was one of his kids he helped raised.
I sat in amazement and forgot everything. All I heard was, "go to all of my schools."
“You’re young and you’re going to go far,” he told me.

He looked deep in my eyes and I knew he looked past my pupils, past their connecting veins to something further.

I looked at the digits for the check and changed my mind.
I figured my new best supporter could refer to me as Susan’s lil’ girl anytime.

Hey, you can’t knock the hustle.

Sweet Surprise

2010-01-30T01:05:00.000-08:00

I’m back now. My first blog of 2010. Hooray!

Thinking back, I remember the day well. It was my Godson’s birthday.
For at least an hour I went back and forth in my head about what I should get him.
I decided to send him a card and a copy of my new book, “Crumb Snatchers.”
Anytime I give someone something I love to give them the coolest gifts.
Give nice, receive nice, is my motto.
I didn’t think much of the gift. Well, I thought he would think the money was cooler.
I figured I’d just slide him the book.
I knew some kids wanted my book but I didn’t think he would read it with a little girl on the cover.
You know, he’s at that age, 10, and he’s a boy’s boy, a tough boy.
If a little girl’s on the cover, he may not read it, or at least I thought.
A few months passed and he sent a message to me over the Christmas holidays.
He told me his teacher wanted to meet me.
I thought nothing of it – my mood was down and after the first school picked up my book random people wanted to see me more all the time anyway. Following your dreams is sometimes tough. I felt a little down and out.
I was grateful, busy, sick and halfway wanted to go.
I figured I would put seeing her on my list of things to do.
After I slept on the idea the next day, my Godson sent me another message.
I put seeing his teacher a little higher up on my list.
I wanted to let him know he’s important and I would do the things he asks me to do.
The next free Monday morning I had, I went unannounced to my Godson’s school and met with his teacher. (I figured if she requested me, I was invited anyway.)
She had a copy of my book and told me she enjoyed reading my work. I thanked her for the compliment.
I was a bit shocked because I didn’t recall selling her a book.
She told me my Godson brought her his personal copy after seeing me on a newsletter at the school.
I instantly smiled because I remember giving him that book over the summer for his birthday.
Things were working in my favor. In our favor.
The teacher asked me to do a reading for the kids.
I hesitated a bit because I was just getting over bad congestion and hardly had a voice.
She told me my Godson was coming in the next class.
I figured it would be a nice surprise. I wanted to see him anyway.
I agreed to stay and talk. Besides I have learned, anything going great, don’t interfere, let it continue…
The teacher went to get the kids. I stayed behind and sat in a small corner.
A few minutes passed and the door opened wide. The first kid to walk through was my Godson. His little eyes lit up.
My eyes lit up. His look gave me instant energy. We hugged.
And everyone else filled the classroom in with little amazed looks on their faces.
I now had the floor. It’s show time. I introduced myself and caught the approving glance on my Godson’s face. That was the confidence I needed. I read a snippet of my book and fielded intelligent questions for the next 30 minutes.
The day really started to turn out fun! The kids wanted more.
I met with the librarian and the school placed an order for my books.
I left the school just amazed. I went from being in a bad state, lacking motivation and not wanting to go to another school to instantly being put back up on top of the world. All off the voice of one little kid and a birthday gift!
I think I’m more honored for him to pull me up out of the ashes at just 10, than he is honored for his Godmother to be a best-selling author.
I can’t decide. One thing I know for sure is that he helped me remember that this is my destiny.

In Love With Him

2009-06-25T17:15:00.000-07:00

Legend.

BOOK SIGNING

2009-05-17T20:10:00.000-07:00

www.brandiworley.com for more details.

Moving on Up! Que the Jeffersons

2009-04-21T18:31:00.000-07:00

Check out my new home. www.brandiworley.com

www.lulu.com/brandiworley

Cozy.

Unfortunate Events of Joon

2009-01-13T18:50:00.000-08:00

When the storm comes Momma gets excited. She runs around the house telling us kids to open up all the windows to “Let God air out the house.”
We do what she says. The breeze usually feels good. But we know its running from a monster. Like the birds did a week before. And the horses prance in circles around their pastures. Animals know when bad weather is coming. Even bees stop buzzing as if they know to hide.
Momma’s just different she looks at the glass half-full.
I sat on the front porch that day in my pajamas. My hair blew in the wind. I watched some neighbors board up their houses. Momma wouldn’t board up the house because neither of us could muscle the plywood nor wield a hammer properly. So we prayed God would keep us safe.
As I sat, I wondered what my old friend, Joon was up to. A few minutes later I saw him make his way down to my porch.
Just as we always do we made simple conversation. Well, I usually let him do most of the talking. I listen. I could tell someone put a few dollars in his pocket. He walked with an extra hip to his step. Someone probably paid him for hammering their plywood.
I liked when he had a little money. At the least he can buy himself a hot meal.

Unfortunate happenings always hit him. He drank. He walked the streets all day. He smelled like a drunk. In a few more years he would be eligible for senior citizen benefits. Which he would probably waste. His wife left him because she couldn’t take the poverty-stricken lifestyle anymore.

Momma gets on him from time to time.
“Joon go cut your grass.” “Treat Rena right, Joon. Do right by that woman.” “Stop drinking so much.” “Go pay your bill.” “Stop being so stubborn.” “Joon you need to stop letting people park their old cars in your yard.”

Joon hates it when Momma preaches to him. He befriends me, because at least I don’t talk back. I guess what she tells him goes in one ear and out the other.

Joon’s a boney man. Yet, he’s stronger than anyone I know.
One day he came under the porch wearing thermal underwear. In mid-August. I told him it was thermal. He insisted it wasn’t. I really was quite sure that it was thermal. Again, he insisted it wasn’t. Momma even came out on the porch and said, “Joon, go take that thermal off and put a t-shirt on.”
“No, ma’am, this ain’t no thermal,” he proclaimed in a defiant tone.
I didn’t want to be disrespectful, ridiculous or not, he’s still my elder.
Without looking, as I wiped sweat off my brow, I just mumbled under my breath, “That shit is thermal.” I sucked my teeth then I let it drop.
Had that would have been a normal person, they would have passed out from heat stroke. Not Joon. He can walk all day without an inkling of arthritis. I never hear him talk about pain. I know his house isn’t clean but he never has a cold or food poisoning.

But let me get back to my story. Well Joon’s unfortunate story. With the storm coming, everyone needed cover. We sat on the porch and Joon told me he was going to the shelter. I figured he would be. It’s just him and his old banged up trailer. I wanted him out of that trailer. It swayed in light wind. The newscaster said Gustav would be a category 4.
I figured the storm would come along and help some people. As Joon talked, I thought about people patching up their already patched up shacks. I figured they probably should at least hope to get it blown down instead of patching some more.
Saving that crap for what? I thought.
Momma would let the storm come through and rip up everything and she would say, “I’ll just go and get a new one.” There’s a blessing in the storm.
Momma had a point. Joon didn’t patch his trailer up because he couldn’t afford the plywood. The plywood probably valued more than his hut. I hoped for him that the storm would take it down. I knew he wouldn’t. I figured that in his state FEMA would help him. I had seen FEMA fix people up. Folks, whose homes were raggedy before the storm, but filed a claim on it and won the award. I liked them because at least they actually took the money and fixed the house up.

The storm came and ripped up everyone’s home. Even Momma’s house took on roof damage. FEMA came out in droves. Some people got help. Some people didn’t. Every day I sat on the porch. Each time in a new pair of pajamas. I watched people get their homes fixed up. Every other house had a roofer on top its structure.
As things started to die down, Joon came back to visit me. I jumped with excitement when I saw him. I figured he would tell me how much FEMA gave him. Then I would put it in his mind to go buy himself a new trailer. I had all kinds of things I wanted to tell him. I had to listen though.

Joon talked to Momma.
Joon said, Mr. FEMA man came for the home inspection.
The man walked in the un kept yard. He walked past the junk cars. He walked past the dead animals. He walked to the broken steps. He opened the rickety door. He followed Joon to the threshold of the door. He smelled the stench of human fecal rot. He backed up. Joon smiled a toothless grin at Mr. FEMA.
“Come on in man, this is my house.”
Mr. FEMA backed up some more.
“Oh, man, come on in,” Joon said.
“Oh, man, turn the lights on,” Mr. FEMA said.
“Ain’t no light,” Joon replied.
“Go ahead on in, my bedroom is in the back,” Joon pointed.
“Man, I’m not going in this house,” Mr. FEMA replied.
Joon stood confused.
Mr. FEMA pulled out his hand held computer and typed in a few things. Joon thought maybe he would get something. Mr. FEMA shook his head no.
Joon stared in utter disbelief.
“Now, Mr. Jarvis, you know and I know, that this is an abandoned house.”

I guess that’s the last thing he wanted to hear. But he really did live there.

Sheets

2008-12-12T11:56:00.001-08:00

I froze last night. The temperature dipped below 33 degrees. When I was little I learned in a science class that water freezes at 32 degrees and I always remembered that.
That’s how I know I froze.
I slept under two blankets, swath like a newborn, yet I shivered. Sad little shivers prickled off my body from under my pajamas.
The night before I stripped my bed of the sheet, fitted sheet, and pillowcases. I figured I could do without them just for the night. I didn’t feel like washing my only set. After a horrible bout with a cold I didn’t have the energy.
I’d have to take you back about three months ago to tell you how I ended up with one set of sheets.
It came from a difference with mother. She insisted that I get 500 count sheets and nothing less. I walked the aisles of the pricey department store for sheets and watched her as she stocked piled up on a cache of fresh sheets.
“What’s the point?” I asked.
“Ohhh baby, you’re going to see once you lay on these sheets. These are luxurious and not scratchy like the ones you buy,” she responded in somewhat of a slight snobbish air or one accustomed to finer things in life.
I sighed. On her salary she could afford the nice sheets and more. On the other hand I was content just to get a dollar to actually stay in my hands. If I wasn’t robbing Peter to pay Paul I tried to keep a dollar to eat.
She bought about three new sets of sheets. She did offer to buy me a nice set. I declined. I didn’t want any handouts, let alone expensive, soft, comfortable what I may fall in love with sheets. I asked her if she would bring me to the dollar store so I could get some new sheets. She scoffed at my choice of a plain, dusty colored set. I knew that I had a boring set of sheets but I was happy that they were clean.
When we got home she surprised me and gave me a set out of her three new sheets she just bought. I really didn’t want them but decided that I would try them out anyway. She made them sound so good.
I slept on the new 500 count sheets for a week. During that time I slid off the bed, had to adjust the sheets every morning, which I hated. Pulling and tugging on the corners every time I woke up to keep them neat and crisp. The final day on the sheets I washed them and gave them back to her with thanks. She said that I was missing out on great sleep without such splendid sheets. Now, if you know my mom, you know that she can sell anything and she almost had me thinking that I was missing out on something great.
I surveyed my friends and asked them what they sleep on. A lot of them, mainly recent college grads said that they buy “good” sheets. Then I began to think that I was alone with a knack for cheap sheets.
The next trip to the store I fell in with Momma and ended up splurging two high-end sets of sheets. I slept on them and hated them both. Again, I gave them away.
That brings me to now, the girl with one set of sheets. I kept a set that my aunt gave me from awhile back. They look like the sun and match my seafoam green colored walls. My room is decorated to give off an Asian inspired, calming effect and the colors help. That’s how I ended up with the soft banana sheets against the sea walls. I would take that one set sheets and wash and put them right back on the bed for the weeks.
Last week I caught a horrible cold and knew that I was dirty with cold germs and so were my lone, faithful banana sheets. Sense would tell you that as I battled a cold I couldn’t just quickly wash the sheets, dry them and have them back on the bed, considering I spent most of my time in the bed. I couldn’t do both. My proud sheets held me down as my temperature hovered around 100. They looked as if they shown more brightly as its master lay in a slumber. Until I woke up yesterday evening with enough strength, I didn’t say it but I knew I needed clean sheets in order to get better sooner. I had no spare. I dragged myself up and stripped my bed. I lied to myself and said I could get my favorite sheets into the washer and dryer. I lacked clear sense. My body said different. I hit the bed with a cotton mattress cover and three comforters. I knew I should be ashamed. My sheets lay in a crumpled pile in the clothes hamper looking at me like, “What have you done?”
I slept that night. In the coldest winter ever. I left my sheets, thinking that I could do without them. I woke with a goal to buy a new set of cheap sheets. I couldn’t figure out why I needed them. I made it to Wal-Mart and bought a clearance set of green plaid sheets to bounce off my green walls and figured I’d be much warmer tonight.
I then called up to ask one of my friends, “Friend, why is it that a sheet with three blankets can keep you warmer than just three blankets? When we all know that the sheet is thinner, more flimsier and lighter than the blankets.”
I wanted to know, I needed to know.
Friend responded, “It’s a tighter weave.”

HIStory

2008-11-05T06:30:00.001-08:00

My cousin called me last night and said that I must have written a book about Obama by now. I laughed. I didn’t have much to say to her. I couldn’t watch the election because I was so anxious. When I found out I sat for hours in awe and its still taking me awhile to believe it. I came up with a few things to write though.

Here are my thoughts:

I’m very disappointed in Louisiana. I think the numbers were like 60-40. At any rate La. had the most numbers for he-who-must-not-be-named.
Must we lead all 50 states in the worst of everything: education, health care, jobs, etc.
I just wish that once we can be on the same page as the rest of the country. Our streets were empty last night, while in cities like New York, Chicago (of course), Atlanta and L.A. there were celebrations in the streets.

My heart swelled with pride when Michelle was announced as the First Lady.
I also smiled at the thought of little Malia and Sasha running around the White House. I figured someone must have been backstage wiping their tears because it took them so long to come out on stage. Everyone looked fresh.

I wish Toot could have lived another day. But it was not in His will, therefore I understand.

I loved my girl Tillery’s note, “11/4/08”. She squeezed it in right at 11:50p.m. lol

Obama said he was going to build a basketball court in the basement of the White House. Cool. LOL

From my travels this summer I realize that the world supported Obama. People from different nations kept telling me to vote Obama.
I watched CNN to see people in other countries waving USA flags. WOW!

For the 1st time in my life I’m finally proud to be an American. An inspired American.

We Did it! Change!

Ok. Ok. I did it!

2008-10-22T16:54:00.000-07:00

This is part two of “Shopping for…. Gasp. Don’t Say It…”

I finally got my bookshelves and I’m so excited. I’ve been searching for a month. I wanted straight shelves to hang on the walls but that idea did not work out because my carpenter bailed out on me. But I won’t talk about him because he vowed to buy a copy of my book. I’ll talk about him later.
Here’s a sneak peak of Crumb… Oh no, you thought I was going to post a chapter or something? No. Wait. Here are the shelves or bookcase. Yeah, that's better.

Little Bit

2008-10-07T20:33:00.001-07:00

All I have are a few things to say:

It’s hard work trying to create a book.
I’m a hustler.
Ya’ll know it’s coming out December something.
Bear with me.
I’m going on a new adventure in New Orleans this weekend to bring you guys fresh blogs. (The people are going to take care of me 8~)
I’m still upset the Saints lost.

That’s all I got to say.

Yap, Yap, Yap, Talk It Up!

2008-09-30T19:22:00.000-07:00

B iz like a flower, growing.

In the past few hours I’ve learned a lot of important lessons.
Numeral Uno: Being poor makes you smarter.
Numeral Deuce: Talk for networking and saving everything.
I’ve been sitting in my p.j.s on the corner of my driveway learning.
I’ve figured out that when you are poor you have to be smart in order not to be poor.
It’s easy to get money but its hard work to keep money.
Like everyone else, I too sometimes wish that my parents were rich so I can be an airhead. I’d walk around just doing dumb things just because I can afford to do dumb things. Poor people can’t afford to do dumb things.
Yet, I did some dumb things.
For the past few months I’ve been paying over $190 on health insurance out of my own pocket. I had a real job that provided extra health insurance. Many people told me to drop the plan I had on my own. I refused because I knew my real job wasn’t stable for my future. I figured if I didn’t sign on for next year with the job, at least I can still have my health insurance. It was a half-way great idea.
Today, I have no job but I have health insurance. Yet, sitting on my corner in my p.j.s haven’t brought me a lot of money, so I had to figure out how to keep the health insurance. I just refused to sit in the charity line for health. I have been there. I have waited hours to see the free doctor. Only to be called thinking I’d see the doctor but I had to sit behind lonely walls to wait some more for the doctor to come see me. When you get free health care, I’ve learned that nothing’s free. You pay for that with your time. I’m tried. I don’t want to be common. Yet, without a job I still needed to find the extra 200 bucks to pay for my insurance. I took to using my iPhone. I figured that I could make million dollar deals from that phone. I just needed to be creative or listen.
After about an hour of conversation with my provider, I found an inexpensive plan, that gave me the same services, just written up differently.
I’m now paying half of what I paid. I feel better about the whole health insurance situation. This is what I learned.
I can pay a lesser amount, but just pay a little more when I go to the doctor. And that’s it!! No more, no bills no nothing.
When you’re rich you’re comfortable. I don’t want anyone to fall into the things I’ve did. I made a lot of money.
My friends will tell you, I’d buy any kind of exclusive shoes I wanted, clothes I wanted, go anywhere I wanted, whenever I wanted. It was like, hey Brandi you want to go here?
“Yeah, book me a plane ticket and I’m on the way. Book that five-star hotel too while you’re at it.”
I was on the road. I didn’t care about reading the fine lines. I paid that money for health insurance because I didn’t have time to hear what the providers had to tell me. I figured hey, what’s an extra 100. This is just something small but I’m glad I made it through.
Young, dumb, rich and stupid. In college things came to me and I made something. No matter how much money you have, always remember it’s not what you get, it’s how much you keep. Now, as I sit in my p.j.s on my corner I’ve learned how to hustle again.
I can take nothing and make something.
Its not what you know, it’s who you know.
With a little phone conversation, I became a few dollars richer, just like that. I also got a new writing job. That’s detailed below.

Oh you guys, I have a list of things I’m absolutely loving right now.
1. T.I.’s new CD “Paper Trail”
2. James Morrison’s new CD, “Songs for You, Truths for Me”
3. Robin Thicke’s new CD, “Something Else”
4. The fact that the sequel to the Coldest Winter Ever is coming out in November
5. Progress on my own book, Crumb Snatchers. It's coming along great!
6. PERCEPTION
7. Chattting with Karrine Steffans
8. Learning Sales and Advertising
9. Your Facebook Updates
10. Baby pictures and Albus Dumbledore

About that new job, I’m a writer for www.emediabr.com.
Fred let’s me write feature stories. So check them out, I’ll let you know when they post. I just wrote one on The Joan, owner of Mo Hair, a hair salon. She’s talking about owning a business and keeping it. It’s a great piece! Check It Out!

Don't Worry Be Happy

2008-09-29T17:53:00.001-07:00

I wrote a song.

La. La. La. Laaaaaa…..

We are broke,
And FEMA sucks,
We are broke,
And FEMA sucks,

The nation is falling,
And Bush will not bail us out,
While McCain is balling,
Obama will hear us out,

We are broke,
And FEMA sucks,
We are broke,
And FEMA sucks,

La. La. La. Laaaaa….

If anyone wants to co-write the song, feel free to add on. And don’t complain because I never said I was poetic.

But you know what, I once heard a guy say that money is the root of all evil. That may have been the Temptations. Then I heard a smart guy come along and say, “The lack of money is the root of all evil (Rich Dad, Poor Dad).”
I agree with the latter. Either way, I guess we will find out.

Lost

2008-09-27T21:59:00.001-07:00

Arthritis crippled her hands a few years back. It forced her to keep them in a permanent balled up, crooked position. When she said she had problems with the condition, I figured that she had to be in real bad pain. I felt for her. I’d want her to quickly take a Tylenol.
Her hands, dark and aged, they held a many of her babies and wiped a many of counters.
She’d look at you with her brown eyes and you could see a caring soul. At home she would feed anybody passing.
We would sit in church every Sunday, side by side. She would make a special spot for me to sit underneath her as if I were her own daughter. Matter of fact, I did move her own child to the pew in front of us. As if I knew how to love her just right too.
She had a warm heart and as kind. When the collection plate came around she would always reach her hands into her purse and give me money.
“Here Bran, some money for the collection plate and some money for you. God put it on my mind to give this to you,” she’d say in a low voice so others around us wouldn’t hear that she was extra sweet to me. Folk could get jealous, in church too, let me tell you.
“Thank you, kindly,” I would return in a whisper. The choir sang in the background and people got up to put money in the basket. I put my money up and walked back to my seat. I’d smile at her and she’d just nod her head. I knew to further hush because, like I said, we didn’t want anyone to know I had extra money.
I’d take my money and buy some much needed stuff for my room at school.
She came to church with treats like that for me all the time.
Now, you know a woman loves you when she wakes up with you on her mind. And church started early. That old lady loved me from a baby. I loved her too.
I did whatever she said to do, without ever a sass word. We sat in the same spot every Sunday, our meeting spot for worship and catching up on each other.
I’ll look out for her boy like I said I would.
Because she died yesterday. The news spread quickly around town. Everybody knew her. Tommorrow’s Sunday.
I’ll go to church and sit in our same spot. They say you never know what you got till it’s gone, but I knew what I had. Yes sir, I knew.
I had A…um…let me see, how can I say it? You know you read up top, That real love’s gone.

For Barbara.

B For Mankind

2008-09-26T21:48:00.000-07:00

Obama for Mankind
I watched the Presidential Debate. As I expected, Obama still proved he’s the best choice. Before I even watched the debate, I think comedian Chris Rock said it best: “Vote for the guy with one house.”
CR talked to Larry King. Rock made great key points. Let me give you a quick rundown.

ROCK: I introduced Obama at the Apollo Theater not too long ago. I think Obama would be great. I mean, just look the big thing right now is the economy. And people are going broke. And here: The choice isn't Republican or Democrat. The choice is you got a guy that's worth $150 million with 12 houses against a guy who's worth a million dollars with one house.
KING: Well --
ROCK: The guy with one house really cares about losing a house, because he is homeless. The other guy can lose five houses and still got a bunch of houses. Does this make any sense? Am I the only one that sees this?
KING: It's unique way of ...
ROCK: I'm just saying, John McCain could lose half his houses.
KING: You got a point.
ROCK: And sleep well.

(Source: CNN)
http://www.cnn.com/2008/SHOWBIZ/09/26/chris.rock.lkl/index.html

I do have a simple solution. Kids taught me this on the playground with their candy. Its how they made friends.
Maybe McCain should give 11 of his 12 houses to 11 homeless families.
I’m just saying…

(Side note: When did Alisha and Obama get so cool to where she can call him B!) :p

What They're Talking About

2008-09-25T21:19:00.003-07:00

Bush finally said what everyone knew. “The economy is in danger.” As if we needed a news flash. The little things gave us the signs. I thought that he’d figure something out when gas hit $4.50 a gallon. I paid $5.45 for a loaf of bread (Texas Toast). To my knowledge, that’s just wheat, flour and water. If I knew how to mash it together myself without making a mess, I would. Someone send me instructions.
I’ve tried to keep my complaints to a minimum. But now, like everyone else I’m looking for a new way of dealing with things. Bush out, Obama in, may save us.
A soothsayer told me so.
If things go rough though, I’m keeping a bag packed and going to Tokyo, or Italy.
I’ll write about the trip.
I usually don’t even do news posts like this one. But I felt like it today. I’m putting things into perspective.

There are things in this old world that’s bigger than me.

1. An Obama victory
2. Perception
3. Albus Dumbledore

Shopping for…. Gasp. Don’t Say It…..

2008-09-25T21:19:00.001-07:00

Three years ago on a trip to Houston I turned into a baby. I can remember sitting slouched in the backseat of Joe’s car pouting that he chose to go to Ikea, the boring, stupid furniture store over the Houston Galleria.
I was highly upset. For two weeks before the trip I had waited and anticipated going into the mall because I had never been in a mall so big and grand in my life. I heard stories of the luxury shops. I dreamed of the shoes I would find. I wondered about the shirts I would pick up. I even saved money.
We went to Houston a day early to cover a noon football game. We had the time to visit the mall. I really wanted to go to that mall. Joe, a decade or so my senior, could have cared less about the mall. He practically jumped up and down at the fact that we just made it to the parking lot of the furniture store. In the back of my mind, I thought of him as a dork. He dragged me into the store. I looked around, bored. We must have walked around for two hours. And all he picked up was a few small supplies for his kitchen, a noodle strainer, a salad bowl and something else. Joe left happy, I left upset. He even beamed at how proud his wife would be of him.
Now, fast forward today. Joe called me and asked me what I was doing. For the past week I had been looking for bookshelves. Sounds boring, right. Usually, I have an exciting tale to tell him about my day or adventures. This time, I told him that I had been looking for bookshelves and that I met with the carpenter. I spoke with excitement in my voice. I pictured my new shelves hanging in room 2A with my books neatly organized. A way better option than the deep plastic blue bin I bought from Wal-Mart and just stacked my books in as I got new ones. I get new books in every other day so they were starting to pile up. And I’ve always had bare walls, wondering what to put on them besides an old clock. Since my trip to Africa, I brought back some cool trinkets, like a wooden carved mask that I would love to hang, and I thought that they would go perfect on my bookshelves with the books.
I imagined that the shelves would really give my room that Barnes & Nobel look that I always wanted. I already have a dark green love seat in the corner against soft green walls, small fully stocked refrigerator in the other and queen-sized bed, equipped with comfy pillows. I fixed up the place better than B&N. And the thought of getting those shelves had me just as excited as buying new shoes.
As I told all of this to Joe, he chuckled on the other end of the phone. He left me with these words, “See, I told you that you’d grow up and find that buying furniture is the most exciting thing in your life.”
I sighed. I always thought that adults were overrated. I didn’t tell him but he was half-way right, furniture shopping was fun. Three years later.
I just couldn’t believe myself.

Creative Money

2008-09-18T18:32:00.001-07:00

For the past few weeks I’ve followed the same routine. Wake up early, get out of bed, take a chair out of the kitchen and drag it to the corner of the driveway.
From there, I’ll commence to sitting in my p.j.s and watch all the working people drive by. I wave insanely and smile. Some people wave back or honk their horns. Sometimes, I even get a visitor, Boon, a smelly, toothless drunk.
Boon’s practically homeless. He walks around aimlessly, begging for money. I don’t treat him to cash because then I’d be supporting his habit and I have my own vices. I do entertain him. He calls me Lil’ Bran’.
For some reason, though I’ve went to college, graduated, moved on to new things, he still calls me Lil’ Bran’, as if I’m still five. I let him get away with it.
He walked up to me one day and asked me if I was still looking for a job.
“No, I’ve stopped,” I said. I told him I was writing my book.
“Well Lil’ Bran’, I’m going to read anything you write,” he said. “You just write a paragraph and I’m going to read it. Oh, you’re a good writer.”
I smiled and nodded my head in appreciation of his encouragement.
He knows everybody’s business on the block. As I have come to find out information from my house sitting as well. I know when people leave, when they come back, when the delivery man comes by, what he drops off, who’s getting cable, who’s going to their dr.’s appointment. I know everything. I feel like the kid on the movie “Disturbia (2007)” except that, I’m not on house arrest. Unemployment keeps me at the house.
I find that its nothing wrong with sitting at home, though, it would be nice to have money coming in, while sitting at home.
Like every sane person, the first thought of unemployment put goose bumps on my arms and had me kind of down. At first, I wished that I had a job. But then I stopped wishing and got creative. Folk started asking me what I was doing. I told them, I’m working on my book. Everyone got the same answer.
“Bran, what are you doing?”
“I’m writing my book.”
“You’re not getting paid!!!”
Some in my family even came to me and badgered me about getting a job.
As if being a writer is not a good enough job, I thought.
One said, “Well you’ll need money.”
I didn’t answer. I figured she was half right and half wrong. I’ll need money for what? So I can shop? So I can look good? Eat well? That’s all I did with my money anyway.
I remember one day I sat in the bank (I was working a “real” job then). The lady told me I would need $9,000 for an old shaq I wanted. The notes on the home cost $200 a month. But if I had gone to them about a car, I would have had a 2009 fully loaded 40,000 whip off the show room floor, with no money down at $350 a month. Would you like rims with that Ms. Worley? The same cost of the house.
Now, my rationale was, I don’t need a car, nor do I pay a note so let me get the house. They say, no, we want nine grand.
The man will give me anything to keep you ignorant.
But that’s another story I have for you guys another day.
Boon and I sat on the corner and we watched cars go by. I actually liked getting up early. I had a point to my madness. I wanted to see my last boss pass me by on his way to work. Despite my great efforts on the job, he let me go. After that one, my little heart hurt.
As I sat outside, I thought about everything. The smell of Boon’s spoiled body brought me back. I had figured things out.
People always go after what they want and not what they need. I’ve seen people who know their kidneys are on dialysis, they need water but they want that liquor. By the end of the day they’ll be drinking a 40 oz.
Yet, in going after dreams or making it to the top, sometimes you have to let go the things you need to get what you want.
I had a dream - a dream to become a best-selling author. I put it aside for a job. Now, I’m sitting outside with Boon. That job put me aside. I guessed it might not be my time to get that well paying job, but I’ll finish my book.
They knew I could have used the extra cash.
To all the people who wouldn’t hire me, thanks. I don’t have a chance to be seduced by success in another field. (Rose, Golden Girls)
I may run into Struggle. I may face Rejection a couple of times. And Roadblocks. Heartache too. It’s risk I’m willing to manage. I got up from the stoop and told Boon bye.
He said, “Oh, you’re going to finish writing your book, hun?”
“Yup,” I replied. I once stressed about finding a job. With close to zero dollars in the bank I might as well become what I want to be.
I left him with a smile.
I figured that there are people who work all day, everyday and they still don’t have money.

So I guess we’re even, for now.

------Crumb Snatchers, Coming December 2008------

Farewell

2008-09-17T08:38:00.001-07:00

As I left to board my plane for home, I looked around the airport. People crammed inside the small terminal, waiting for their next flight. There were only three shops open, two Duty Free stores where you can buy electronics, candy and small gifts and a breakfast shop. The small menu at the breakfast shop served pizza and breakfast bites. I was really hungry but decided to eat my pre-purchased meal on the plane. Mauritian food started to get on my nerves.
I sat part relieved and part sad. I didn’t quite want to go home. Yet, I had experienced enough of the island and I was anxious to get off just to go to more places. I wanted to see our next destination, Johannesburg!
Most of the trip I had to hurry up and wait to see things. I rushed to see new people and places then I rushed to leave because I wanted to see more new people and new places. Everything was exciting. Plus, I heard tale that Johannesburg was really nice. My anticipation grew. I’d be in more modernization too. Plus, I could say that I touched Nelson Mandela’s country. Just because. That thought on its own made me feel cool.
Then I thought. You know, its one thing to be in your home in America, with running water, working lights and convenient food. Matter of fact, everything in America is convenient. There are entire aisles in supermarkets solely dedicated to just cereal or cheese. Even the pets have their own aisles. You can go anywhere and do anything, in legal means. You can buy anything.
You say to yourself as you read books on comfy pillows or watch a show about other cultures, “I want to go there one day. I want to see the people.”
All cool. But I do want to let you know that you have to be great in-shape and prepared.
Like it’s cool to see a woman skilled in washing clothes on a huge rock in a canal. She pulls the garments out of the water so clean.
Or watching a hunter accurately put a spear in a gazelle, while barefoot, after running two miles, at full speed to catch him.
Or be a little schoolgirl who fetches her family’s fresh water for the day.
You think its cool.
It’s just another thing when you’re living it.
None of my family or close friends could imagine me beating clothes against a rock to get them clean.
My clothes would come out of the same canal looking tie dyed and muddy. My hands bloodied and probably scarred from hitting the rock. While the lady’s fine hands and garments are the cleanest in the land.
Chasing that gazelle would have me out of breath and hungry a many of days. And I wore Nike Trainers.
The gazelle would just probably come around my hut, graze and stare just to taunt me. If I made a move to get up he wouldn’t run either.
My poor arm strength and aim wouldn’t hit him standing 20 feet away. I couldn’t wrestle him to the ground. He’d become my pet because even then I wouldn’t know how to slit his throat correctly. And I love eating meat.
I’m not accustomed to carrying a barrel of water on my head all the way back to the village. After I’ve spilled all the water, persons in my hut would be thirsty.

As I sat, waiting on my plane, Kell and I looked at each other and for some strange reason we both decided that Nigeria and Ethiopia were two places we didn’t want to stay. We could go and pass through. Take a ride through the countries, but no overnight stops.

When you live these things it becomes Experience.

I'm Coming Home Again

2008-09-15T07:33:00.000-07:00

I’m back after that little drama with Gustav!
And #1, Genese is writing and me too! :D

I’m Coming Home Again

Well I’ve brought you guys on my trip around the world. You watched me complain, laugh, cry, anticipate, climb mountains, meet new friends, try new food and run from monkeys.
What you all didn’t know was that I became a punk on the trip. What I didn’t know was that my little sister (who didn’t attend) took a bet with Kell, my older sister on who would get on whose nerves first!
The bet was that Kell would get on my nerves first. I denied she ever did.
Yet, had evidence. Three days into what was a planned two-week stay, I demanded our plane tickets be moved up. It sounds so mean.
Its like, Kell’s nice enough to bring me to Africa with her, I go, complain, then cut her vacation plans short. The conference was held the first week, Kell booked our stay for two weeks, one to work and the last to play.
She clearly told me before we left the States that I would get the most enjoyment out of the trip because I didn’t have to work. I figured I would too.
And I know it sounds mean, maybe a little selfish. But three days into the trip I wanted to leave after the first week. She became sad and slightly regretted bringing me along, because she really wanted that vacation.
But here’s my rationale.
1. On the third day was also the day I saw that second iguana in my room.
2. I had to move into hers. That decision came loved and hated. I loved to get away from the mini zoo that occupied my room, but I hated to have to share a room with Kell because I knew she’d snore in my ears and I’d never get rest.
3. I’d also met a great deal of people at the conference and figured out when everyone else planned their departures, which was at the end of the week. I figured if we had terrible service with people now, that without other people we would be treated worse.
4. To top things off, I felt comfortable with the two Americans, who also said they were leaving at the end of the week.
5. I figured that the island was so small, we could experience it in three days, I already had.
6. I wanted out too.

She consented to my pleas to leave early. We left the hotel that morning and flagged down a cab. The cab driver agreed to bring us on the hour long ride back to the airport to change our tickets for $80. We made it to the airport, thru security and to the desk. It took two hours for the ladies to find us an earlier flight. As they searched I paced the airport’s floor in nervousness. I wondered what I would do for another week on that island if we were denied. Then finally, the attendants found us some seats. For $211 apiece, we moved our leave date up. Kell looked at me with disgust. Relieved, I picked up my ticket and smiled to myself. If she had seen that she really would have been mad. We left the airport and headed back to the conference. She didn’t talk to me much during the ride. She really didn’t talk to me that much at all that day. It wasn’t until night fell and the “organizers” told her that she wouldn’t be able to get a refund on some of her money, or a receipt and in addition to her project she would have to take the day she set aside for touring to stand at a board for two hours. The fact that she still was washing out her underclothes and hanging them around the room that she turned to me and said, “Bran, you were right.”

Ice, Burgers

2008-09-08T20:52:00.001-07:00

There were two things I longed for while on the island. I didn’t miss home much. I didn’t even miss watching television. My wants were simple. I missed ice and hamburgers. Every time we walked into a restaurant my mouth watered at the thought that I may get them. All I wanted was a large cup of ice and a good old-fashioned hamburger.
It took me a few days to figure out that Mauritius wasn’t a beef-eating nation. I saw no cows grazing in anyone’s pasture. Though I saw skinny horses. That were so malnutrition that their ribs showed. And I only saw horses like that on cartoons.
No one on the island had beef burgers. I went to some of the fanciest restaurants around but had no chance of even getting an imported burger. Not even a beef patty. I would have settled for that.
They served grilled chicken burgers but no beef.
Then I thought ice would be easy to get but it wasn’t. I ordered some of the most expensive drinks, in the Euro, by the way, and the most I ever received in my glass were three to four cubes of ice. Of which you had to ration to keep your entire drink cooled. You didn’t want to stir your glass too much.
After I ate my three pellets of ice, I wanted more. I’m used to sitting at a table, eating a full meal, drinking my entire drink then sit back to crunch on the ice cubes.
I became let down every time I spent beaucoup monies on a drink with just a taste of ice.
Even behind the bars I didn’t see any tubs filled with ice where the waiters could just grab a bucket and pour endlessly. I didn’t even see them ice down meats in the market.
Can you imagine, getting a tall glass of lemonade and there’s no ice. You wish you had some ice just to enjoy the sound of it clinking against the glass.
Eventually, I got used to No ice. No beef.

(Sorry I’ve been out for a min. Gustav cut the power off.)

Mauritian Shopping

2008-08-31T22:39:00.001-07:00

Before I left the States a few of my friends and family made requests that I bring them gifts back. I packed two suitcases, one I filled with clothes and the other I left empty.
I had planned to stock it with souvenirs.
On my first shopping trip I visited the flea market. Two Cypress ladies accompanied me. It’s your average swap meet, where shoppers pack streets to bargain for food and goods on the best prices. I had a pocket full of Ruppees but I didn’t want to spend them all there.
I figured sellers were also scammers. While I looked for a great deal, I didn’t want to become prey. I knew the locals couldn’t quite figure out my native country but they were wise enough to know I did not come from those parts.
I wanted to be a savvy shopper. On the first shopping day I didn’t anything that would give away my home location. I kept my dress simple, with jeans, a blank tee and sneakers.
As I walked through the filthy, scum riddled streets I searched for little trinkets that my friends would like. This trip I planned to get them gifts, but I also planned to be really selfish. I wanted rainsticks. My main focus was to get rainsticks. The rainsticks were really, really cool. (A rainstick is a long, hollow tube which is filled with small baubles such as beads or beans and has small pins arranged helically on its inside surface. When the stick is upended, the beads fall to the other end of the tube, making a sound reminiscent of a rainstorm as they bounce off the pins. The rainstick is generally used to create atmospheric sound effects or as a percussion instrument.
The rainstick is generally considered to have been invented in South America's Chile, and was played in the belief that it could bring about rainstorms. (Thanks, Wikipedia)
The first guy I met seemed honest. His shop had quality materials. After some bargaining, I bought three rainsticks at 300 Ruppees a piece and a hand painted giraffe mask made out of wood carvings. I figured I got a good deal because the mask weighed heavy, I liked the paintings and the sound from my sticks were loud. My Cypress friends also agreed I bought good things. I felt great and carried around my gifts with pride. I beamed, that was until I met the crook. We walked further into the swap meet and the crook sold rainsticks at 100 Ruppees apiece. I picked up his rainsticks and I thought I got cheated. Until Lady Cypress told me that my sticks were louder and heavier. Then I felt better. We walked further in and we saw even more rainsticks, they ranged in prices from 200-400 Ruppees. They were good rainsticks. I wanted the best deal. I felt bad. After that I didn’t want to do anymore shopping because the Mauritians’ shopping played tricks on your mind.
I left the swap meet with three rainsticks and a mask. The Cypress ladies bought just a few things as well. I didn’t want to do much shopping after leaving the swap meet. Neither one of us did. Kell wanted to go, but I didn’t want to join her. She eventually talked me into going back.
I went back cocky and wore a Las Vegas t-shirt. I didn’t care anymore if they knew I came from America. Sure enough, just as I predicted some locals did try to sell me wooden spoons for a higher price. They told me I was a rich American and I could afford to fork over the extra dollars. That’s when shopping lost all of its appeal.

Le Garden Crew Travels

2008-08-31T20:31:00.000-07:00

The next morning I woke up sick. That was bitter/sweet news for Kell because this meant she had proof that the hotel was killing us. Her plan was to drag me in front of the organizers and show them the ill effects of Le Spice Garden since we figured our pleas fell on deaf ears.
My throat hurt badly and I ran a temperature. She asked me if I had been taking all of my medicine. I didn’t even lie, I told her no. She instructed me to take all of my medicine and to get ready for the next island tour. Neither of us felt safe leaving me in my state alone at the motel. After the chef/doorman/front desk man fed us our daily bread and water rations we went out side to wait for the bus.
I needed some medicine. As we waited, an Aussie gave me a salt/water mixture and advised me to gargle all day. I wondered why I didn’t think of that simple remedy. Aussie made everything simple though.
We waited outside Le Garden for the bus to pick us up. I felt weak.
No one was surprised when they sent a rickety, stinky bus to Le Garden to pick us up. Our bus looked like it would fall apart if we hit a bump. Other people from the nice hotels had nice buses and an English-speaking tour guide. Ours smelled of musk and had dirty leather seats.
It took Canadian to make light of our situation. He stepped on the bus and noticed that they gave us all the vegetarian sandwiches on our bus. ALL the vegetarian sandwiches, he stressed in the most sarcastic voice I’d heard anyone use. I would have laughed on the floor if I had the energy.
We had the worse driver and guide. I became mad that our guide was an old greasy Mauritian with a pot-bellied gut, who even took the liberty of dying his dark natural hair a bright red.
Mauritians are of India descent. Many have dark skin, and dark hair. The bright red clashed with his natural tones. I couldn’t stand to be sick and look at him all tour. To make our bus even stinker, he smoked.
An hour into the trip we got lost. The “Organizers” provided everyone with knowledgeable guide except for us.
I didn’t get mad. I didn’t even look at Kell. I just knew this was another situation where misery loved company. We ate the grilled vegetables.
After sitting four hours on the funky bus I figured the “Organizers” set the Garden crew up as a practical joke.
Tomorrow will be better, I said.
I took a long swig of my tonic, covered my head so it didn’t touch that nasty seat and went to sleep.

China Man

2008-08-30T13:50:00.000-07:00

Something just didn’t sit right. We had a mean chef. By the fourth day, I’d traveled all over the island. Every time I went somewhere new the natives offered me juice. I figured out that the island had a special juice. It had an orange tang, pineapple, mango and strawberry taste to it. The juice flowed smoothly and cured any thirst. I loved drinking that juice. I brought it to Kell’s attention that China man, our chef/door man/manager/head of security was now watering down our juice. They conserve on everything we figured. She laughed at my observations. If it wasn’t enough that we’d been bamboozled to stay in a shoddy room with vermin and mold, they didn’t even serve us the real food. On certain days they served powdered eggs. I had pet milk for my cereal. And there were always ants on our croissants. I don’t even want to know what that meat was.
We started watching China man closer. He was a fairly built man in about his late 50s. China man always walked around with a terrible hacking cough. He fussed at all three of the wait staff. He just kept a mean face everywhere he went. He was a real grouchy old man. Sometimes he would speak to us and hold a great conversation, asking us how we slept that night and what we planned to do for the day. Then other times he would wave us off as if to say don’t bother him today.
We’d walk up on him sometimes and catch him knocked out, cold sleeping with his feet up in a chair.
I started to beef with China man because he fussed about cooking for us one night. The thing was, Monday Kell and I asked him to cook. He cooked but we didn’t show up for dinner. He talked about us and said he wouldn’t cook anymore for us. We didn’t have a clue that he cooked exclusively for us. We thought other people were going to eat too. But, no, we had to make a special request. We reneged on our request. We apologized. He had been mad ever since.
From then, I didn’t want to mess with China man. He was a mean, grouchy old man.
I stopped holding conversations with him. I stopped eating his powdered eggs in the morning and switched to cereal. But Kell didn’t. She kept going to breakfast and smiling. As the days went on China man grew quieter. He just shooed the wait staff around a little more. But he leaned on tables a little more.
Until finally I asked Kell, why China man wasn’t his usual self. She told me that his kidneys were failing and he needed a transplant. We found him sleeping all the time because the dialysis made him tired. He was on the list for a kidney transplant. The treatments made him have short patience.
China man used to be a chef on a cruise line and in the military. He had seen many beautiful places by traveling all over the world. He’d met all kinds of different people. He was once a very well respected man.
But turns out, you never know what the other man’s dealing with. I knew he wanted to hold on to that last bit of respect. When I saw him leaning in the security booth,
I became a bit more understanding.

Everybody’s Watching

2008-08-29T13:15:00.001-07:00

Obama’s a big deal. He’s cute and makes headlines. I’m really glad he chose Biden as his VP pick because now he can let Biden talk while he sits back and look presidential.
It’s amazing the way the world is accepting him. When I say the world, I mean The Whole Wide World is cheering for Obama.
When I sat in the airport in Dubai I took notice. The minute other passengers learned I came from America, the first thing they said was “You have to Vote for Obama.”
The first time foreigners told me that I looked a bit shocked.
Usually those words came out of American’s mouths. I figured the presidential pick was just our concern and problem.
Turns out, they said that when Obama comes over here we just love him. “That Bush has to go. He doesn’t respect us when he comes,” they said. I laughed so hard.
They just didn’t know but we sit home in the States and think the same things.
The campaigning for Obama further escalated on the plane. As I sat back trying to adjust my seat, a guy noticed the shoes I was wearing. He said excuse me and I gave him my attention. He asked if I was from American and I said yes. I asked him how did he know. He said the shoes I wore were only offered in America. I respected his observations because I’m a shoe junkie myself.
I thought the conversation was going to carry on into shoes but tapped me on the shoulder and told me to Vote for Obama and left. I said, “Yes sir.”
I went to Africa and the same thing kept happening to me. The two Cypress ladies told me to “Vote for Obama.” Canadian said, “Vote for Obama.” Japan said, “Vote for Obama.” And so did Wales!
Then, when I met Rose (from the Netherlands), her and her mom grew excited and asked my thoughts on Obama. By then, I became accustomed to the way the people reacted when they found out I can choose the next president. I’d experienced the severity of the situation and impact the rock star candidate had made and could make. I learned that the American president not only affected America, but the world. I told them I supported the Chicago democrat. In unison they said, “We love Obama.” I laughed.
They were so happy. I think we celebrated in the car.
After the world kept telling me to Vote for Obama, I felt outnumbered on foreign soil. I agreed to Vote for Obama. Besides with the whole world on your back, if I thought any other way it would be best that I kept it to myself.
…That’s a lot of people.

Two sweet Americans

2008-08-27T22:40:00.001-07:00

I’d spent a wonderful day with Rose and her family. Things started to look up.
Three days after our arrival we met two Americans, who also attended the conference. They stayed in Le Meridien. Everything about Le Meridien screamed fancy, they had fresh floras in clear vases that they changed the color of the water to a different color every day. They had a wait staff, cleaning staff, maintenance staff, friendly staff, plus everything worked. At $500 USD a night, we would be living better.
The Le Meridien served as the main conference hotel. The cheery fellow from Welsh named Petey told me, “We stay at the Spice Garden but we LIVE at Le Meridien.”
Petey had taken his students all over the world. He once stayed in this hotel where they had to squat to use the bathroom in buckets and separate the toilet paper in another.
I took his word for whatever he said.
Kell and I met the Americans at the opening dinner. They asked how we were living and we took the time to spare no details.
We’d told the Americans of our harsh times at Le Spice Garden and they were willing and ready to help deliver us from the rat hole. Though I tried hiding desperation in my voice, my little eyes pleaded with them.
All through dinner, I had hoped the two sweet Americans would save us that night. I believed they would. They greeted us with a warm hug and kiss. They even smelled sweet. Both were respected doctors in their field. Surly, some heavy hitters would be able to have a bigger voice than us, mere students.
For fear that I’d spoil the getaway plan, I didn’t speak much at dinner or smile. Feelings lie in your voice. Besides I needed to set celebration aside, my focus lived on getting out of our motel. I picked at my food.
I didn’t want any hint of excitement to hinder my departure. I kept my bags packed. Not even lugging two heavy bags down the street filled with dogs would have stopped me. We didn’t need of a cab. My strong legs could carry me. I wanted desperately to leave when they left. I had to leave when they left.
When the thought of harsh living hit me, my hopes fluctuated.
Cold water from the faucet chilled my bones during my shower. I slept with one eye open. I couldn’t hide under the blankets much like I do at home because only God knows what lived there. Festering mildew grew on the sheets and walls that would keep me sick. I felt alone.
I can’t say fear surrounded me because I know my keeper. Though uncertainty found a way to taunt me.
Earlier our driver showed me the hospital. It too looked abandoned and I became quite sure that I didn’t want a trip there. I wanted the warmth and security that Le Meridien had to offer.
Everyone ate dinner, and I saw the two Americans working steadfast.
But they came with the news to us that we would have to stay another night. They looked really down. They really wanted to help. I tried to hide my feelings with a cracked smile. One American gently held my face in her hand.
To go back, one more long night. To count the hours go by. Count them very slow.
The clock says, 10p..… 11p..… midnight…..1a.m…2a.m… 3a.m… 4a.m… 5a.m… Get up. It’s annoying.
A sad, slow lump, thumped rhythmically in my chest.
She knew.
I took a deep breath and long look at her kind face.
Noticing, for the first time in a long time in a long time of my young life, someone had looked upon me with pity.

Rose

2008-08-27T11:40:00.000-07:00

One night at dinner I met a sweet girl named Roos (Rose, for you Westerners J).
Rose’s brilliant. She can tell you about the inside culture, history, people or politics going on in any land.
She spent months studying in Namibia. She’s traveled the world to Brazil, California, U.S.A., Australia, Malaysia, New Zealand, Switzerland, France, Spain, Thailand, Ireland; she’s been all over.
Roos and I met in the buffet line. A few minutes earlier Kell came to me with the exciting news that she found a girl around my age who came to the conference for her parents and visit the island. I sat at a back table resting my head in my arms but I perked up in seconds.
We figured sightseeing was on her agenda too. That meeting proved to be a blessing for me. I went over to talk to Roos and it just seemed like I’d already known her. She knew a lot and I didn’t have to explain stuff when I talked to her.
Coming from the Netherlands Roos had stories to tell me what its like about living there. Talking to her felt like I was talking to an American girl. I had to keep reminding myself that she hailed from the Netherlands. We chatted like we’d known each other for ages. She’d planned to do sightseeing the next day and I’d asked to tag along for the trip. She said yes, and I left dinner excited. I went to sleep happy that night.
I could finally hang out with some new friends, learn about their culture, see different parts of the island and get away from that desolate hotel.
The next morning Roos, her mom and Natalie picked me up from Le Spice Garden to go hiking/bird watching.
On the way to the park I captured beautiful pictures of the Mauritians. Roos drove while her mom read the map for directions. I was really able to play tourist in the backseat.
I’d seen things I’d never seen before. In the middle of this one town I saw a laundry service and unlike America’s laundry service, Keans the Cleaners with its big machines for all the work, there were two woman inside a hot looking building doing all the work. I even saw one with a hand iron, as she ironed sheets. They were cleaning sheets and fitted sheets for a hotel I guessed. I figured she would be all day, but they were accustomed to that type of work. They did everything by hand.
I saw a woman at her house sweeping her clay floors. Then she threw a bucket of water on it when she finished.
We passed a horse, that from the road I could see his ribs showing. I’d never seen a horse so skinny that most of his bones showed. He was really famished. We went over half of the island. I saw the people about their daily lives.
We made it to the bird sanctuary and took a four-mile hike. Along the hike Roos taught me things. She’s smarter than she know. I told her I saw poor people all over the island, she argued that they were not poor, just standards. (That will be another blog for another day. Poor versus Standards) I had an amazing time with my new friends that day. And just like Kell said before we left America, I would get to experience Mauritius more than anybody. Indeed with that trip with Roos, I gained more than National Geographic or Time can give me.

…and she wants Obama to win (I’ll tell you about that later, its crazier than you think).
-Adios

Monkeys Galore

2008-08-25T22:49:00.000-07:00

We went to La Gorge Noire Rivière. It’s a national park in Mauritius famous for its waterfalls and vistas. It’s a paradise for hikers. Other excited visitors take buses to the top and crowd the edge. Just beyond the cliff is a beautiful site of rolling hills of trees. Within the trees lie the waterfalls.
Then there are the packs of macaque monkeys. Not the cute, cuddly monkeys you see on TV. But aggressive, little thieve monkeys. Hunger lives in their eyes. Their fur stands roughly on their backs. Their claws are sharpened. Everything about the monkeys look tough.
To get to La Gorge we went up a mountain. No less than five minutes after our group piled out of the bus and walked thru the tree-lined path to get to the edge and a guy said he spotted a monkey. I competed amongst the others for position to see the cliff. We all grew excited and hoped he’d come back. Five minutes and the words weren’t cold from his mouth, a monkey jumped on the top of the concrete slab. He grabbed a woman’s purse and she pulled back. For a few seconds the woman and monkey had a tug-o-war battle for the bag. She moved away. He barred his teeth and took a swipe at the woman and everyone cleared that portion of the cliff like roaches.
In the mist of the commotion, Kell snapped a quick photo of the monkey. My concentration stayed on moving back with the crowd getting away from the monkey.
The monkey looked around and scratched himself. He seemed to calm.
Then someone in our group made the foolish mistake of feeding him a sandwich. The tour guide lady came running and screaming, “Do not feed the monkeys.”
There were signs posted warning people to not feed the monkeys.
At home, I had watched enough of “When Animals Attack.” I didn’t want that monkey jumping on me. Just imagine, when I get back home to America I have war wounds to show them from a monkey. Yeah, I pictured my family dying laughing at that one.
The one monkey incident that we saw with the woman scared me and I left back for the comfort of the tour bus. He showed his teeth.
I didn’t feel safe.
Plus, I figured he’d already been enticed with food and I knew that where there is one monkey there are many more.

I closely watched the tree lined pathway and covered my head as I walked out.

Fish & Dogs

2008-08-24T22:11:00.001-07:00

During the day I made myself busy on the rocks chasing small fish and sea urchins in the Indian Ocean. Several lovely hotels lined the coast.
Our hotel, Le Spice Garden sat on the end corner.
I played on the rocks because unlike the other hotels that moved the rocks from the beach and made little lagoons for their guests to swim freely on white sandy beaches, Le Garden didn’t even bother. The property line started where the rocks did.
I figured at least we had tide pools. At the same time I made sure to hold my footing on the algae, so I didn’t slip on the rocks.
I wasn’t alone. Closer to the hotel most of the locals fished on the rocks for a living. They would wake early in the morning and walk out from the coast, stand up and fish all day.
Kell gathered her stuff in the room for her conference. There were only two days left before she made her big speech. At this point she just wanted a good night’s rest and nice shower. She looked woolgathered. The airline still didn’t deliver her clothes.
While other conference participants walked around in fancy business clothes, she had to wear those old sweatpants she rode in on. I figured she was disgusted.
After an hour or so, Kell called for me to come off the rocks. We had to walk to Le Meriden, the conference hotel to handle business.
All the hotels sat on a little half mile strip, ours being the end and Le Meridian being the main focal point of the coast. The villages were in front of the hotels.
At night from our rooms at Le Garden the others and I could see Le Meridian’s lights, people dancing, smell the food and hear the music.
We felt like stepchildren. There was no life and laughter in our hotel lobby.
From time to time Canadian and Pete took us over for drinks.
I climbed off the rocks and met Kell in the sticker filled grasses. We picked the stickers off our pants legs and I instantly became glad I didn’t wear shorts, because they would have been in my skin.
As we made the walk along beach, several loose, mangy dogs followed us.
I hated those dogs. With their ribs showing they looked half dead. I figured they didn’t have a proper meal, causing them to lose energy but then they had the nerves to chase you. The locals were accustomed to the dogs. They were chased too. I found out that some of the dogs were just wandering pets. All of the dogs were loose, and looked uncared for mutts, unlike American dogs, which were fine breeds.
I took to walking with a stick. Because I was going to be damned if I would stay in a death trap hotel, be bitten rabies, and have to go to that makeshift hospital or go home for a tetanus shot. Then the ride home took two days, so I didn’t want to be leaking with flu like symptoms on the plane. I held on tightly to the stick.
“Bran, you look real stupid carrying that stick,” Kell said. She lugged her books in her arms. I sucked my teeth and didn’t even look up at her as I pulled my shoe out of the sand.
“But don’t get rid of it, OK?” she followed up. She was serious.
I heard how wild dogs bite tourists. The nurse issuing me my shots in America warned me. And those dogs were everywhere.
Later, I’ll tell you about my trip to the top of the mountain. So far up, your ears pop from the elevation. You could only get there by car. Yet, the dogs were there too.

Ship Jumpers

2008-08-23T23:42:00.001-07:00

Kell and I spent the night sitting Indian style on the bed, swapping pitiful stories of our rooms and that whole shindig of a place. We both giggled like sisters at a slumber party.
We laughed at about how could we be bamboozled. We thought it was nice. That hotel wasn’t our choice. The same monies we paid to the university to stay in Le Spice Garden we would have graciously spent $40 bucks more and stayed in a better hotel.
We made jokes about everything.
By the second night the room was littered with Kell’s damp, hanging under garments. Soggy socks lay on the table, panties in the closet and bras were laid out to dry on the straw sofa.
My packed bags were piled against the wall. Used water bottles were all over the night-stand. Potato chip bags were placed on the broken TV. Ragged bath towels hung in the bathroom.
The room looked and smelled a mess. Every so often we took to spraying perfume around the place as airfreshner.
We still didn’t go on that one side of the bed.
Later in my story, I mustered up enough courage to go back into my old room and swap blankets.
Kell still didn’t have her luggage, and she’d only packed a few pairs of fresh underwear in her lone carry-on. I didn’t think her luggage would ever come, considering it took us a two-day journey to make it there. We found out that her bags never left Atlanta.
Yet, the plot thickened.
That morning we went to breakfast. We met, Canadian, Welsh, Norway, two ladies from Cypress, lady Pakistan, Japan, Taiwan, Ethiopia and Nigeria. They were all staying in our hotel to attend the conference too. All of us were put in Le Garden by the conference “organizers”. But all the “organizers” stayed in the 5-star hotel.
We all sat at one big table then did the worldwide introductions.
Now, I sat in silence, looking in delight because I’d never been around so many different nationalities at one time before. Let alone breaking bread at the breakfast table together.
Besides my amazement, I really wanted to see if the people were thinking like us, or if our complaints were just an American thing.
We did a few minutes of cultural chatter.
Then Canadian finally broke the ice.
“Did anyone have hot water in their showers?” he asked.
I stopped chewing my bread and hushed. Kell dropped her spoon to her jam.
“I had hot water one day for a few minutes and I really enjoyed my bath,” Lady Cypress said with delight.
I hated her for that because I wanted hot water and she made it sound so good.
Canadian said he never had hot water. Neither did I.
Everyone at the table started talking at once.
Welsh looked up from his plate and said he woke up at 5 and got lukewarm water.
Even more stories came out.
Norway told his story of how he asked for a remote to the TV and the bellboy/waiter/janitor/tech support guy brought him a remote but it didn’t fit the TV.
“Well you asked for a remote and the bellboy did just that, he brought you a remote,” Lady Cypress joked.
We all laughed.
At least seven of us were surprised that Norway’s TV worked in the first place.
Welsh told his story of how his safe didn’t work and the same bellboy came and just took the safe.
In her thick Greek accent, Lady Cypress reminded us that safes are supposed to be mounted in the wall.
“I’m happy I didn’t store anything in the box,” Welsh quipped.
We all laughed some more.
“If you did store anything in the safe, we could just take the safe,” Lady Cypress picked.
Kell and I laughed until we cried.
At one point I almost chocked on my bread because I wondered what they did for face towels. Kell and I had some disposable face towels that we used for bathing. She picked up a pack of 48 towels from out of the old people’s section in the store. She said they use them in nursing homes. I figured that since we didn’t have hand towels, I thought it would be curious to ask the others what they used just to hear the funny responses.
Everything about the place became so funny. We were all thrown in it against the powers that may be.
We all had a lot more in common. Laughter. We grew close.
I started to have fun again. I met a lively bunch.
It felt even better to know that others were in my same position.
Come to find out, Lady Pakistan switched rooms in the hotel five times.
Kell and I found that hilarious too. As if she thought one room would be better than the other. They all were smelly and drab, if you asked me.
Everyone at the table had traveled all over the world so I was just delighted to hear their stories. And most everyone spoke no less than three languages. English was the language everyone knew.
We all had good laughs over croissants, jelly, powdered eggs, water and watered down juice that morning. Little did we know, that same food would be our same daily rations.
I thought my observations would seem spoil, selfish or just an American thing. It became a human thing.
As my country fought Pakistan and other countries probably fought each other. No one at that table bickered. For once, we formed a real United Nations.
All of the countries united against the enemies, poor service and the germ.
I loved those guys! And yet, I secretly plotted against them. Kell & I were going to be the first to run to the registration table and demand a new hotel. We needed to beat new friends from our hotel before vacancy signs went up. So what, we could still be friends from a different and nicer hotel. All is fair in love and war.
In the mist of laughter, I didn’t get too comfortable because I needed to make sure to not let slip that Kell & I planned to move out of Le Garden by tonight.

……they were probably thinking the same thing.

Company

2008-08-23T20:22:00.000-07:00

The next night I tried bargaining with sleep to come see me, again. Sitting on the edge of the bed fully clothed, I tilted my head and went into deep thought.
Earlier, I took all of my allergy medication correctly. I try to avoid them at home because of the drowsy side effects. In that room I needed them.
Under an hour my head and body got heavy. I laid my head lightly on the scratchy pillow, like I wanted to be comfortable and barley touch it at the same time.
The thin sheets were a stinky musk, which was probably more the old mattress.
I wondered what Kell was doing in her room. She’s probably real comfortable, I thought.
I laid in the fetal position then took with two finger tips like someone was forcing me to pick up something nasty and I pulled just enough of the blanket over me to cover my legs.
My breathing grew slower. Wearily. Wearily. I dozed off and on. I’d sleep some then wake to look around the room. Soft light illuminated 101 from the outside balcony. It allowed me to see around.
Even in my sleep I worried a little.
Around 4 a.m. in my dazed state I saw something creep out of the corner of my eyes.
I thought hallucinations from lack of sleep, a nine-hour time zone change, and the medications had me imagining things.
No. Listen, my heart said.
I crept slowly up on my elbows, keeping my back against the headboard until I sat upright. I stopped breathing and became still. Squinting my eyes, I stared at the wall for about two minutes.
Sure enough, there crept a new lizard. This one sized up with the other but looked dirt red to match the furniture like a chameleon. He darted in and out from the back of the mirror. While keeping my eyes on his position I quickly reach for my shoes, not to throw at him, but to put them on.
I kept them close to the bed because I didn’t want my feet to touch that floor. No telling what was on it.
The shoes were turned upside down near the bed so nothing can hide inside them and incase I needed a quick getaway.
With two little shakes of my Nikes to make sure nothing crawled in them, I threw my feet in. I didn’t even lace them up.
Doubt and concerns ran through my mind.
I didn’t want to go running to my sister again, but my stresses overwhelmed everything else. I couldn’t take it. Two different baby iguanas in two days.
I knew she was resting. But, surely she can help.
I ran out of the room again, this time with all of my bags. The move was easy because I never unpacked. In five steps, I made it to Kell’s door. I went knocking again on the glass door. This time my knocks had frustration behind them.
Once again, she too, was awake. She let me in.
Kell answered the door distraught and in a Vegas t-shirt I gave her.
She had to use it for a gown.
As I retold my new story, I muscled my bags against the wall. All the while, searching around for critters. We both decided that there were none and that two sets of eyes were better than one. We would stay together from now on. Later, I became accustomed to running in and out of my old room to take the amenities out, like two ragged towels and the thin two-ply toilet tissue they issued us.
For now, we needed rest.
We climbed into the bed. She went in first.
Kell left me a slither of a space. I went in after her still hanging off the bed.
I asked her to push over.
She said, ‘NO’.
I asked her again, “Just please, Kell, push over, its kind of hot and I could use the space.”
She didn’t turn her air on. Kell developed a silly phobia. The night before she told me, that the critters may live in the unit and turning it on may draw them to her. Her fear outweighed mine. I got hot from running room to room. I hated heat.
Nights neared in the low 70s/high 60s and cool air rush in so we were OK with no A/C on.
“Kell, push over, please,” I asked, slightly frowning.
She said, “No.” It sounded concrete.
I grumbled, ‘Why, it’s a big bed and I just want to sleep? I am sorry to complain but I can’t take living here anymore. Can we please get a new hotel?”
She replied slowly with a shaky laughter, “There’s a big stain on the other side of the bed.”
My eyes got wide in the dark and I said, “You have problems too!”
She finally confessed to me. I thought I was alone.
She told me how she had to take uncomfortable cold showers.
How her TV, phone, and lamps didn’t work, either. How she used her bottle water for brushing her teeth. Her luggage hadn’t come in. And how she especially grew tired of having to hand wash her underwear for the next day and hanging them to dry in the funky closet. Then having to put them back on, only for them to still be damp.
The climate wasn’t like ours back home. At home, when people hang stuff out to dry, they are dry in less than an hour or two.
I noticed that when we made it to the island, everyone had clothes hanging out all day. With her experience, we learned that it actually took all day and more for clothes to fully dry.
Though I learned that she had problems to top mine. I felt sorry. But, My heart grew light.
Misery loves company.

No Longer In America

2008-08-22T09:53:00.000-07:00

We finally arrived at Le Spice Garden. Everything looked so pretty.
The coral colored lobby, dinning area, rooms were all open and spacious. Everything was outside, yet inside. Cool ocean air flowed through the corridors while rays of sunlight peaked through the grand columns. You could catch a nice tan just sitting in the lobby. It could have been a great brochure picture.
In the lobby, Kell and I both half smiled at each other.
It wasn’t exactly the hotel we’d signed up for, but we figured it’ll do.
We could have almost broken out in praise worship if tiredness hadn’t rode in on our shoulders. We were the only people in the lobby, besides two hotel staff.
Without much paperwork, the young bell guy grabbed our keys out of two little cubbyholes and sent us to our rooms.
He assigned room 101 to me, and 102 to Kell.
As soon as I hit the corner, I opened the room and looked at the neatly made bed, day stand with a mirror and television stand. The room was just plain and neat. With tired arms, I lugged my bags behind me. I could no longer keep my guards up. All day, I played a cat and mouse game from fatigue and he found me. Jetlagged, I fell out on the bed. I didn’t toss or turn. I stayed in a deep slumber for about four, maybe five hours.
If Kell hadn’t knocked on my door, I wouldn’t have known I was hungry. I happily got up and went to the dining hall. We ate and went back.
At full energy, I took a good look at the hotel and started to listen. I heard nothing but the air blowing on the hollow walls. It smelled a bit like mildew and ocean water in the room.
Food and rest gave my mind and senses a jumpstart. Yet, I started to move with hesitation. I had to ask myself, We hit paradise, right? My instincts said otherwise.
I didn’t say anything to give away worry in my voice to my sweet sister. But upon further inspection I found that I sat on a bench with Trouble. I went back to gather my clothes and take a shower. I closed up my suitcase very tight. To me this just looked like a place with critters.
Once inside the bathroom, I saw what I smelled. Mildew lived on the corner of the tub. I figured I’d climb over it, since the basin looked clean. I turned on the water and waited for it to turn warm. I held onto my soap and the disposable wash towel that Kell gave me because I figured the cleaning staff forgot to leave me a wash towel. I had two ragged large bath towels, which I would use for drying. After running the water for a few minutes, I figured out that I’d have to take a cold shower. The water chilled me down to my bones. I wished I would have been able to get in and out quickly, but I hadn’t had a bath in two days and I really needed to feel clean.
I got out shivering. I threw my used wash towel in the empty wastebasket and it hit with a thud. There wasn’t any condensation on the mirrors, I didn’t have to dry those off. So I rushed out of the bathroom.
Though nightfall, I dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. I decided that that’s how I was going to bed, fully clothed.
Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, I looked around the room more and I discovered things. The appliances didn’t work, the room phone had no dial tone, the television came on with no picture, plugs were broken. Light bulbs were missing. I had a lamp on the lonely nightstand but when I went to turn it on I found two wires rolled up in the back and twisted. It stood for decoration, I guessed.
To top it off, my shower jetted cold water. After spending two days on an airplane and in airport terminals I expected a warm shower. Germs. How silly?
The owners could have almost taken the ‘h’ off ‘otel’ and added a ‘m’. It would have been better fitting.
I didn’t end up in paradise. I ended up in a Stephen King novel.
Once I opened my eyes I found that, Filth riddled our hotel.
The first night I didn’t say anything to sister because I just jumped for joy when she said she’d take me on her trip. I didn’t want her to know I made questionable observations. I kept my thoughts to myself. If you’ve got nothing nice to say, don’t say it at all.
Besides, after dinner, we bided each other goodnight. I didn’t need to run to her room. She was resting. I wasn’t.
I felt safe with the decision I made to sleep fully clothed. We left home at summertime for Africa’s winter. The shower put a chill on me. I’d rather wrap up in my own clean clothes than those sheets. They just smelled. Intuition always serves you right.
Against my will I coaxed myself to sleep, but barely slept. I kept one eye open. Paradise or not, I’m in another country. As every hour passed, I kept waking up.
All of a sudden, during the thick of the night I hopped up to use the bathroom. As soon as I opened the bathroom door I heard footsteps. I looked down and I saw the biggest, loose lizard hoping off the toilet. I jumped back in fear and closed the door. Back at my home, I see lizards, but they are small, grassy and run away at the sound of footsteps. In that bathroom that sucker was the size of a USA pet store iguana. He was huge and heavy. I heard his footsteps going thump, thump, thump. Plus he came running towards me, not away. Catching him would have probably brought me money.
I had a huge problem. It was early o’clock in the morning (4) when he scared me. I didn’t believe much in reptiles and me living together.
I paced the floor in the bedroom, wondering if I should wake dear sister. She needed her rest for the conference. But using the bathroom became more urgent. I hopped, jumped and did that dance like a child who’s holding their pee. I asked myself what to do.
Finally, when my bladder couldn’t take it anymore, I ran to Kell’s room and banged on her door.
The filth, I could have probably lived with, without complaints to sister, but animals, I mustered up the courage to say something.
I banged on her glass door like a crazy, scared person. To my surprise, she answered with a clear voice. She was up too! She’s usually a heavy sleeper. At home, Kell wouldn’t even wake at the sound of a loud train passing.
When she answered the door I just told her my lizard story and climbed into her bed.
She seemed happy to have me over. Usually she likes her own space. Kell’s the oldest by a couple of grades so she didn’t have to share much when she was growing up. Yet, we were together.
But something else just didn’t seem right, it was a king size bed but for some odd reason she didn’t want to push over much more.

…to be continued.

1st Sight

2008-08-21T10:40:00.001-07:00

My Nike trainers hit the Mauritius soil, forming two foreign footprints.
I looked around at the sparsely set palm trees. They swayed in the air. I took in deep breaths. Paradise awaited. Kell fumbled with her papers.
People rushed by us to get taxis from the airport. We took our time.
I rolled all of my bags behind me, one I kept empty for gifts. The other bag, I held onto like gold, because it contained all of my clothes.
I still wore a blue Southern University t-shirt, to rep where I came from, and the same sweater and jeans that I left America in two days ago. All comfortable but I needed a bath.
The airline didn’t deliver Kell’s luggage on time. She filed a report. They gave her about 1,550 Rupees or 50 USD. (Later, I wondered why one would need for a 1,000 bill, or even 3,000 when it only would equal to a mere 120 USD. All those big bills for nothing.) Kell wasn’t too outdone because she still had her carry on, which she filled with as much clothes as possible. She figured something like that would happen. I reassured her that her bags would come.
A cab driver came up ready for his next patrons. We were ready to see what other adventures awaited.
At first sight, I figured we downgraded a just bit because the airport had no food courts and everything was housed on the same floor, departures and arrivals. Then, we had to do so much paperwork. I didn’t see many computers or any televisions. America airports have televisions everywhere and plugs for computer stations. Maybe natives liked the simple life.
When we did get into a cab, I hopped in the front seat. Unlike in America, the driver drove on the right side and not the left. I thought I could get used to riding on the left. It just seemed funny that I didn’t have a wheel in front of me.
From the airport it took an hour’s drive to get to the hotel. I had no proper sleep for a while, but my adrenaline pumped and I didn’t want to miss a thing. Kell passed out on the backseat. I guess she grew tired of keeping watch.
We passed through the countryside. Everything looked as deserted as the airport looked. And there were sugarcane fields everywhere. A lot of the homes looked abandoned, only to me. No curtains hung in the windows, you could see straight through the dusty thin glass held up by brick pillars. No car parked in the driveway, sparse furniture sat in every other house on auburn clay floors, ragged clothes hung from lines, and rickety, crooked tin fences guarded the domain. No one painted their brick pillars, either.
I figured there mustn’t be a Martha Stewart on the island. It begged and cried for serious decoration. The little color came from the clay floors and different shades of dirt, leaving many things dull and gray.
Our driver didn’t play music, so we rolled quietly over hills covered with cane and with beautiful mountains as their backdrop.
I figured the higher ups must be in town. But even when we made it into town (Port Louis) there were some of the same things. Everyone hung clothes out to dry. And quietly passed each other, without much acknowledgement. Except Port Louis had busses and cars that emitted huge amounts of pollution. I immediately hated to get stuck close behind one of those raggedy things because the foul air choked me. It seemed to have no effect on the driver. I’d gone two days without a bath and didn’t feel dirty, but stayed 1 minute behind that bus and I felt grimy.
Even their bikes put out pollution. They drove refurbished mopeds everywhere, with the top speed probably only going up to 45-50 mph. But Mauritians would get on the interstate and putt-putt, putt-putt to get to where they going, no matter how long it would take. Or how fast a bus or car passed them up.
After my mini sightseeing tour, I just wanted to get to the hotel for a nice, warm bath. And maybe some rest.
During the journey, I needed to stay alert for predators, conartists, thieves and time the next flight. I needed to be mobile and coherent. I thought about rest. Humm… I thought. I won’t be on an airplane or airport. I’ll be away from baby noise, engine noise, PA noise. Nah, I’ll Get SOME Rest. I can stretch my long legs all.. the.. way… out.

Dubai

2008-08-20T15:07:00.000-07:00

Busying myself with a couple of good meals, conversation and a few more in-flight movies the time to Dubai passed by quickly.
I just couldn’t wait to get there. I heard tale of the palm tree city that you can see from the air and beautiful architecture. I wanted to see Dubai. But, because our plane arrived during the thick of the night at 2a.m. I missed the palm tree. All I saw was a city of lights.
That didn’t let me down. Just a taste of Dubai would have satisfied me.
It’s like, Lil’ me, in Dubai, kind of like Jay-Z. No complaints there.
We walked through a security checkpoint where we didn’t have to endure jailhouse pat downs or take off our shoes. That felt good.
Then we made it to the main part of the airport.
All within the few minutes of stepping off the plane I saw gold and riches.
Women passed us in fine silk dressings. Some women had every part of their body covered except for their eyes. If I were looking for facial expressions to read how they felt, I couldn’t tell. The dark silk hid everything. Men wore the cleanest of true, white robes. Not a speck or wrinkle showed. I wondered who did their laundry. Whoever did probably completed the chore by hand and not machine, I thought.
I even saw a child less than a year old with two gold ankle bracelets dangling from his little legs. Then to think, I once believed America had money.
During the walk we tried searching for a lounge. There we figured we could wash up in preparation for our next flight. I started to want for a bath. It had been a little over 24 hours since I left my own tub filled my own fresh scented bubbles.
We searched up and down the terminals. But it became near impossible for us, average 1st time travelers to find a nice resting place. I figured something like that would happen, so in preparation for my journey I packed my carry-on with little pre-moistened wipes. At least my face would be clean. The airport did house a hotel, for the rich of course.
So we sucked it up and knew we’d have to wait until our last destination to get a good bath.
I sat content with my clean face and teeth. Then the plan switched to hitting the airport’s shops. Dubai had American things like Cold Stone ice cream, McDonalds, sandwich shops and Duty Free shops.
People were shopping like it was Christmas. I didn’t want to join in just yet, because I had a problem figuring out the currency.
Later, I’d regret that I didn’t buy anything. (I’ll tell you about that) I should have known that anytime I see everybody walking around with store bags, it must be a sale.
I sat in front of Cold Stone for 30 minutes trying to figure out what 1400 (Arab Emirate) Dirhams meant. I’d already spent 800 at McDonalds.
To my joy, the Dirhams and USD factored out to the same amount. I gobbled up my Cold Stone ice cream then had to hurry and wait.
We had another flight, to another country to catch. Before the city’s morning sun peaked to greet us we were off.

Flight DL 0008

2008-08-19T07:44:00.000-07:00

I just couldn’t believe it! At my gate there were over 530 people, all waiting for my plane to Dubai. I thought, like really, is everyone going to fit on the plane?
The plane came late because of the weather, but when it did, it was a sight to see.
I had heard the planes overseas were huge and this by far was the biggest plane I’d ever been on in my life. I’ve also heard of planes the sizes of football fields, and this plane was just that, the size of a football field. We had our own zip code.
Just to be on a plane so large became an experience!
I stepped on the plane in awe. I didn’t have to duck down to avoid hitting my head like I usually have to do on most of my flights. It had more than enough room for me and even taller passengers to be comfortable. I would have had to jump to touch the ceiling with my hand.
Everything was sooo clean like new. And the flight attendants looked perfect, like they had just stepped out of soap operas. All were well-manicured, neat and pressed uniforms and tightly wrapped buns or crew cuts. Some of the younger ones could have been models with their perfectly aligned teeth and build.
The plane had luxury features. Everyone had their own TV. First class passengers had TVs the size of my home TV. It was at least 32 inch in the back of the leather seat, for real. Equipped with touch screen and remote for video games.
It smelled like lilac. Not like I passed someone and caught a whiff of their scent, the entire plane smelled like lilac.
My seat number on row 59 placed me to the back of the plane in the aisle, but I walked happily just excited to be there. With so much room, I didn’t bump a soul walking.
There were three rows of about four to five seats in each row and bathrooms on each corner.
The flight would take us 14-15 hours but I already knew we would be comfortable. I smiled at the thought that I’d wondered for weeks about what to do on a flight that long.
When I made it to my seat, my TV had all the new movies. Some hadn’t even hit the streets on DVD, yet, like “IronMan”. I’d cursed myself for renting “21” the day before. I could have watched it for the first time on the plane. I also saw “Kung Fu Panda”, “Narnia, Prince Caspian”, “The Spiderwick Chronicles”, there were HBO shows, comedy, a kids station, radio, CDs.
I became just giddy. Then to top it off, an attendant came around with a food menu on good colored printed card stock. And this wasn’t your ordinary plane food. It tasted good. For dinner we had choices of pizza and chicken, with two vegetables, dessert, whatever drink you wanted, and FREE liquor for drinkers.
While the attendants were making sure everyone sat comfortable, the pilots introduced themselves. They were four army pilots, all trained in flying cargo planes with 110 years of flying experience between them.
Thanks for making me feel comfortable with taking me trillions of gallons of water and nowhere to land.
We had the best of things. Cool pilots, good food, good smell good. They didn’t even make us turn off our headphones, music and movies while we took off. In my seat sat a clean pillow, blanket, headphones, eye mask. (One flight similar to this one they brought us warm towels)
We were living.
To top things off, I love to eat and within an hour after taking off they fed everyone, like all at the same time. Even though I sat at the back of the plane, my food choice of grilled chicken breast came to me piping hot, fresh and I ate every crumb.

Peace Up, A-Town Down

2008-08-18T09:48:00.000-07:00

Atlanta’s always hot!! Every time I hit the city I know I’m just going to get Southern loving. The people are just so warm. I touched down and searched for my next departure gate. I knew I wouldn’t have trouble finding the gate because the people are helpful. I found the international terminal without problems. I’d never been there before so I took in all the sights. The minute I hit the gates I saw some of the most beautiful children that I’d ever seen all in one place. Their features were so well defined. They were from all types of nationalities, Swedish, Australia, German, Asian, African, you name it and they were there. There were little children everywhere from babies fresh from the womb to those awkward teenage years. It wowed me because those kids looked like more experienced travelers than me. From my village the people usually don’t travel with small kids. But they were pros. One little auburn colored set of siblings, girl and boy, each lugged a small cartoon suitcase behind them and they kept up with their parents wherever they went, without the parents ever really have to look back. At my gate I sat alone near the wall with socket plugs and took in the scene. There were about ten people, each from different countries at the gate. A few minutes later I just wanted to stretch out and play computer games. Little did I know that later on the seating I choose would be valuable. There were not plugs everywhere. As time passed and the gate filled with hundreds of people, other passengers were searching hard for plugs to charge their gadgets. Though I needed the exercise, I stayed in my seat because I had brought three iPods, my Mac, iPhone, camera, and other little gadgets. I needed my plugs. I sat in my seat for hours too, adding layers as the temperature dropped. I didn’t even let hunger bother me. Or the rolling dark clouds in the windows. I made myself comfortable. My plane from Baton Rouge had just made it in by great timing because the clouds that I was watching grew darker. Then the rain came in and battered the windows and lightening danced in the skies. Officials closed the airport. It grew colder and my gate filled with more people. The rain turned off and on as the dark clouds switched positions with the light. As they did, several planes snuck in under the pillows and several were denied, left to fly around in the air. By then I’d been in the airport seven hours. I waited for Kell. We were supposed to leave at 9p. and time neared 7p. I’d called and called for Kell all day with no answer. We were meeting in Atlanta to travel to Dubai. Things were looking bleak but I didn’t worry. If she was stranded by the weather, then the plane to Dubai wasn’t getting up off the ground either. She probably couldn’t answer the phone. Sure enough, my heart always whispers the truth to me, she showed up with a huge grin on her face as she walked around the corner at 7:15. She told me she pleaded with the lady in Indiana to let her get on the last crowded plane before they grounded. She had to meet me. She made it! I wasn’t going to Dubai by myself. We sat and waited for 9. But the storms came again and delayed our Dubai plane, still no worry. For all I cared storms could have passed all night, my iPods were charged and we were going together.

Traveling to the Motherland!

2008-08-17T19:31:00.000-07:00

I finally got a chance to go to Africa! Yup! Yup! The Motherland.

Its my first trip to Africa. Thursday, July 31, my leave date. The first stop is in Atlanta, then Dubai (land of the rich as I say), then Mauritius, Africa. On the map, Mauritius is a small island right next to Madagascar.

Before I even take you on my journey, I have to say how I got there.
I followed my big sister, Kell. Right now she’s studying chemistry on the Ph.D. level at Purdue, Univ. in Indiana. And she wrote grants and conducted research to earn an invite to the International Conference on Chemical Education. The trip to Africa is for Kell to present her research in front of some important people.
At the thought of everything I’m talking about, I'm excited because this is WoRLDWiDe!! And our 1st trip overseas!
We found out about this news in March.
Kell called and said, "Hey, Bran, you want to go to Africa?"
I started making my list of things to pack right then.
From March I thought about the trip every day.
By April we had passports! We're ready to tour the world.

Literally.

Thoughts, er, Count.

2008-05-23T06:24:00.000-07:00

T. - Ms. Worley, why didn't you bring me any biscuits.
Me. - When I was at McDonalds, I didn't think about you.
T. - Awe, now that's mean Ms. Worley.
Me. - No, it's not. It's the truth.
T. - That's mean.
Me. - No. You're confusing mean with the truth. I understand because sometimes the truth hurts and that can be associated with being mean. But you should rather people give you the truth.
T. - So, you didn't bring me a biscuit.
Me. - Nope, I didn't think about you.

Maybe I should be a philosopher though.

I Wonder

2008-03-31T16:16:00.000-07:00

I wonder if the person who figured out that if u boil a crawfish, they'd b meat in the tail was the same person who figured out that you can eat pecans or any other type of nut in a shell for that matter!

Or was it just a hungry, creative person...

Sent from my iPhone

Faith in David

2008-03-30T16:25:00.000-07:00

16.5 seconds left, and Steph Curry had the ball. He dribbled up court, faked one Kansas defender who slipped and could have taken the other one. All we needed, a 3-point shot. I had belief in Davidson. I started to believe in dreams again.

Kansas over Davidson 57-59, there goes the road to the Final Four.

One day.

I wait for the little guys to win.

Mean Day

2008-03-25T14:40:00.000-07:00

:For 3rd hour, I Told a kid the real reason no one really showed up for her bday party (with the exception of her little cousins) was simple; she’s not popular.
People will go to Jameika’s Sweet 16 bday party is because she’s a cute cheerleader, and she has name recognition. As the new kid I knew hearsay of Jameika before I knew her. She just has that “IT” factor.
- I even grew excited when I received my party invitation.

:I Set my 5th hour class up.
I devised a great plan, but they didn’t follow through. Told them to sneak around the back of the lunchroom so they could eat early. They went around the front (their normal route). Sure enough, the asst. principal caught all 13 of them. And when she did I fixed my best stern face and scolded them, in front of her. …Not for the fact that they left early, because I wanted to eat too, but for the fact that they got caught.

:Fought a pregnant lady over an extra plate of food. It belonged to me. Jakira always gives me her extra plate!!!

: Around 6th hour I kicked a straggling kid out of my class, who wanted to work on a project. I had enough students already, that extra would have made six and more responsibility to my plate.

: Bumped Lupe Fiasco’s “The Cool” the entire 6th period and had the kids sing chorus while I rapped.

: Totally played hooky 7th hour.

Someday I’ll be brave.

Sellout!

2008-03-24T10:06:00.001-07:00

Them: "Photographer Annie Leibovitz's pure genius!"

Us: "WTF was LeBron thinking?"

…and I really liked LeBron. He said he wanted to be the first athlete billionaire. I just didn’t think he’d sell himself like that. Two thumbs DOWN on the Vogue cover.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year!

2008-03-15T13:35:00.000-07:00

2008-01-21T14:46:00.000-08:00

Moving On UP

2008-01-12T04:34:00.001-08:00

It’s official! After going back and forth with the powers that may be I have a new home. I live there. But, For you nerds at my doorstep I didn’t put Sudoku, Tetris or a Crossword up. Deal with it!
I did take the time to put a welcome note in there. It goes a little something like this, welcome to www.brandiworley.com ….
Ha! Got my own stuff! Yup! The children say, “Man, Ms. Worley is always fresh!”

Kids tell the truth.

Now, if I can just figure out a way to get my Book Release Party before my 25th Birthday Bash.

Let Go

2007-12-23T09:18:00.000-08:00

He had always been a man’s man. Tough. Strong. You can tell by looking at his hands. They were thick, rough and hardened from years of outside work. Those hands had seen hammer to nail, bullet to gun, and rod to child, feed to beast, years of struggle.
Even on his deathbed at 86, James’ hands told a story. They showed his personality, always independent. He cut grass to stay in shape, which helped him stay well oiled.
Out to his last days, James wanted no one to cry over him, or to look with pity. At 86, he’d seen a many of things. His mom and dad went to glory. Friends gone. He’d already accepted his fate. He would go out like a solider. No help wanted.
Once a proud service man, he used to tell the little ones tales of his battle days. During that time he’d traveled around the world.
“I flew out from New York and (a few months later) flew into California,” he said. “I traveled by boat, train and plane.”
He’d come back home to the deep bayous to raise a full house. Generations came and went. Though educated to a mere secondary level himself, he was a master in sending several to school to get degrees. He pulled baby teeth. He taught the children how to ride bikes. He taught them how to sit at the dinner table. He did everything a man was supposed to do. So he’d almost ran his course. The family was grateful.
One day his only son came to see about him. The son held his father’s hand. He recited a strong, short prayer. Then son just continued to hold his father’s hand. If just to feel his warmth. But dad’s grip weakened. He struggled. Dad called. “Reggie,” he mustered. “Yes Daddy,” Reggie answered. Son leaned in close. The man’s voice wouldn’t carry far. A minute passed. His hands falling limp in his son’s grip. Down on his bed, unable to move anymore the old man took heavy breaths. He needed his son close. Son still gripped his hand. Dad gathered all his strength, and yet still weakly led his son’s ear to his mouth. Dad voiced (to his only son).
“Let. …Go. …My. …Hand.”

…After all he’s still a man.

In memory of my Uncle James.

Sunday Blu's

2007-12-15T18:35:00.000-08:00

It started out innocently. It was a normal Sunday morning in church. Like everyone else I waited in the lobby while Rev said a prayer. When he finished, we walked in and just to be appropriate Brother Blu, an usher stretched out his hand to mine for a handshake. I politely returned gesture with a friendly, warm handshake. Quick. Then I leaned my head to the right and smiled. I hadn’t walked but five steps to get to my regular seat when a stench hit me. I prayed a prayer. Then sucked my teeth in disgust. After shaking Brother Blu’s hand, mine reeked of stale urine.
Now, I’d vowed before to never shake a man’s hand again. Or hug one, unless he’s my kinship or boyfriend for that matter. People sneeze. And don’t wash. People eat. And don’t wash. People use the restroom. And don’t wash. That’s about a million germs. Festering.
Brother Blu caught me off guard. I woke up feeling great and looked forward to service. I planned on being nice that day. Besides I figured that since I was in church it couldn’t have been that bad.
Yet, I sat upset in my nice, cream tailored suit. Not a string or button was out of place. The stitching was flawless. As the overhead fan spun my hair flowed in the breeze. I looked like I’d stepped straight out of the pages of Vogue. I wore a light perfume to bless anyone who came close enough to me for the scent to touch them. I woke up extra early to prepare for church. Did all of that for Brother Blu to come and put a blemish on my design. I frowned hard. I was almost Heaven until he came along. Normally, I am cool. But when I made it to my seat, my hands started to perspire. Rev started to preach again and it would have been rude for me to get up and wash my hands. I sat stuck and disgusted. I didn’t want to hear anything Rev had to say. From time to time I’d smell my hand to see if the funk died down. It didn’t.
Then I took to looking at Brother Blu out of the corner of my eye to see who had sat next to him on his bench. It stayed empty. He nodded to the sermon. And clapped when the choir sang songs. The whole time he’s totally oblivious to his offense. Up until the end of church, a woman sat next to him. She was trying to sneak in, hoping no one saw her late so I guessed she didn’t care if Brother Blu needed a bath (with about a capful of bleach). She looked to be in bad need of one too.
From then on I’m a mean girl.
If you see me don’t shake my hand. Don’t even try to give me a hug. I don’t deserve it. Pass me over. I will not be upset. Just think, B is snobbish. I’ve got funny ways, only speaking and smiling to certain people.
And the meeting of a guy I hadn’t seen in a long time in Blockbuster made me write this blog. He felt dissed that I didn’t shake his outstretched hand. He shouldn’t be.
I just had a bad case of Sunday Blues. I had an unfortunate contact with Brother Blu.

I Am the American Gangster

2007-11-03T12:26:00.000-07:00

Finally!

After waiting a full year of seeing the teaser previews I saw the movie, American Gangster. The events are based on (New York) drug-king pin Frank Lucas’ life.
Like everyone else, I wanted to see the action. I looked for entertainment. I am a movie buff and lately I hadn’t been satisfied with what Hollywood is doing.
While I was waiting, I read articles on Lucas. My anticipation grew as my eyes raced across the stories of him. I had to see what made Frank so potent. Frank’s haunting. He had a kill everyone and take never collect names attitude. I guess hard living made him that way.

When the movie came out I just couldn’t wait to drag my best friend along with me. Before the movie started I felt odd. I knew I probably was the only person in the theater (besides my bff) who was against Frank Lucas. I don’t care if he was played by Denzel.
Usually people cheer for the main character. For more than a year a lot of hype surrounded the movie. But, I think maybe people forgot what Lucas did. He masterminded the corruption of Harlem. That’s H.A.R.L.E.M. Ya'll They got flavor! I went once, and it will forever be in my heart. He killed a part of my city. …in the 70s, when everything was real. For once, I cheered for the white guy, who brought him down.
But this isn’t our fault. Hollywood is ‘the man’. And forgive me for being silly, but I forgot they do pick our Black heroes. Shout outs to Martin and Rosa, you know they were the only ones who saved us. Du Bois, Angelo, Langston and the gang never did anything for for the world. ...and I bet Denzel gets an Oscar for this one (any part currupt).
Now, You want an American Gangster. I am the real American Gangster. …getting up in the early in the morning to face my professors (who hold a key to my future), that’s gangster. …spending hours studying for that exam, then acing it (and I’ll never need the information again), that’s Gangster. Spending time in clogged traffic, without losing my mind, that’s Gangster. Respecting my elders, that’s Gangster. Paying my bills on time, legitimate, that’s Gangster. Going to the dentist and being cavity free, that’s Gangster. And I love candy. I’ve got a stash in my room, car, bags, everywhere. Having credit, that’s Gangster. Shopping for a piece of land and property at 24, that’s Gangster. Graduating as a Master of all Arts, that’s Gangster. Penning my own book, that’s Gangster! All of this is a small part of my Gangster!
Course though I ain’t gonna get my props. That would be too like right. They would give Frank’s idiotcrocy glory and more. While I’m the real Gangsta! Young, Black and Gifted. As for Frank, he needs to be under the jail.

Beggars

2007-10-22T17:53:00.001-07:00

Within the course of a week, two beggars approached me. Fast. Like I was a magnet. Or smelled like money. The first came by foot and asked for whatever change I had. I sighed. Out of all the people outside the gas station he selected me. I saw men and women, older than me and probably with considerably fatter pockets.
He looked dirty and desperate. I guess he picked by age.
“Hey, do you have any change? …Please. I just need gas,” he said.
His old dusty red truck blocked the gas pump. I felt for him. Then I dug into my pockets and unfolded $5.
“Awww, thanks. God Bless,” he said then hustled off into the store.
I figured that the five would get him a little more than a gallon.
The second fellow came by boat. Literally. I stood on the Ferry when he approached me. He looked the part of a pauper. He wore an ill-fitted business shirt; dusty khaki pants with a hole bore in the knee and 1980-styled high-top dark Reeboks with the straps across the ankle. Under that get-up he carried a toned and sculpted frame, not from working out but malnourished. His hair hadn’t been combed or cut in months, and curled then matted to his head. Like he prayed to God before approaching me, I did the same. But mine went a lot different from his.
Me:
Dear God,

Please. Don’t let this man come bother me.

Bum:
Dear Lawd,

I jus need some money.

In that instant, he thought the words of a thousand men.

Phunky Blu

2007-10-10T20:42:00.001-07:00

One thing though, you could walk into a crowded room and if its musty, its not necessarily everyone in the entire room. It’s really usually just one strong person. And it’s hot. So the funk from that gross individual has fermented under their hairy pits.
Under the pits, there are sweaty glands working overtime because it’s heated and the pubes hold in the funk, which festers in more germs. The cotton shirt on his back can’t retain sweat and funk too. That one person fouls up the entire room, making you think it’s everyone in the room moving. When in fact, it’s one culprit -- the guy having the most fun.

Book Slut

2007-08-14T08:50:00.001-07:00

Can you guys believe that I bought ANOTHER copy of Harry Potter (book # 7)?
It’s a special limited edition book. Its full color and have more drawings inserted in the back. I have planned on not opening this book. I want to save it. It will be a collector’s piece for when I open my own library.

I have also decided to start a book section. Like my own book club. I want to review the newest books that I read and love. My book club will be cooler than Oprah’s. Yes, I said it.

About two weeks ago I asked you guys for suggestions and they poured in. Thanks. I have a stack of books next to my nightstand. And I plan to stay up many hours of the night to complete them.

On my list of books to review:
- Time Taught Me to Fly by Russell Nichols (FAMU Graduate and my friend, so pick that one up at Amazon when you get a chance).
- Lessons From the Fall by D.L. Carpenter (another FAMU alumnae, very special lady. I had the privilege spending an entire summer with her and she is going to do more great things in the future. Very inspiring. Pick that one up too.)

… One of my main goals is to support other HBCU grads, students or anyone Black who is trying to do something positive. Whether you are a video game designer (Ivan) or trying to peddle your new perfume. I usually buy two copies of these books and things. One to keep and one to give as a gift. By the way I am ordering Black Sheep by Black Ivory Toldson, (Thanks for the look Enitra)

Back to the book list:
-The Art of Seduction by Robert Greene
-What Your Mama Never Told You (True Stories About Sex and Love), edited by Tara Roberts
- And the Walls Came Tumbling Down by Ralph David Abernathy

I will be posting reviews soon. Check back.

~b.

…I believe that I am going to change the entire world one day.

No Hyphen

2007-08-10T07:11:00.000-07:00

I was reading an e-mail from my cousin. It was about something funny. I can't remember because the thing that stood out to me was my cousin's name. She signed her name: Treva Mitchell.
And I just thought that was sooo AWESOME!
Plain and simple, this is a note for Black women.
I loved the way she wrote her name. Treva just got married a little over a year ago. I thought it was a great look the way she wrote her name. She did not write in her maiden name: Treva Green Mitchell or (the way I see a lot of Black women write) Treva Green-Mitchell.
Black women have this bad habit of using a hyphen in their new last name. That's not right, if you ask me. I told her Mitchell is a nice ring. I think Black women should drop their maiden name and acknowledge whoever they marry as the Head. We know Treva is independent. If we as Black women continue to do that we will continue to slow the progress of OUR Black males in this European society. Because little boys look at that and grow up thinking, well I will never get her to accept me for all that I am if she continues to bathe in this society's mentality of "Independence." But at the same time I understand that you gotta survive, and that's a way to do it. Its also wrong.
Now, while she was engaged she battled with the decision to use a hyphen or not. And she was also wise enough to know that she was going into a marriage to become ONE. If you are using the hyphen, you are probably planning on getting a divorce and not letting the marriage grow from the start, she said.
So, I asked.
"At your wedding, who gave you away," I said.
"My father," she responded.
OK!!! "Great your father gave you away, so it’s OK to drop the name because you are now apart of a new family."
Treva's family loves her. She will always be her mom and dad's child. At the same time, her father gave his blessings to start a new family.
At the end of the conversation we laughed a little just at the thought that great minds think a like.
Then she said, "If the guy was a ballplayer, who made millions of dollars Black women would be quick to drop their name and take his."

Probably.

just a thought,

~b.

New Respect

2007-08-01T07:00:00.000-07:00

Shaq has always been respected. He towers well over 7 feet and weighs more than 325 pounds. Whether off the basketball court or on the court, a guy of his size just commands respect. Everyone who runs across him, probably just part ways to give him room. He wears custom made clothes. I would hate to share a plane seat with him. I would feel like the entire time my side is lopsided or something.
It has always been easy to respect the physical aspect of a guy. But I really like what Shaq has done lately. He has his own show, Shaq’s Big Challenge. And it focuses on helping pre-teens lose weight.
Personally I think the program is Awesome! America has so many choices of food. Children have access to more food that’s unhealthy for them than in the past. Add in video games and television and it’s a path for self-destruction. We have all heard older people say “it was better back then.” Sure, they are right. They had exercise. Now, there were fattening foods, but they had exercise.
Times have changed. And which is why I think Shaq is great. He has had his own battles with weight on and off the court. Then the NBA provides him with experts to keep him healthy. So, Instead of him saying, “Oh, it was better back then,” or just “get out an exercise.” This guy took his own personal trainer and chef and hand picked the kids who he felt needed the most help then he helped them. He showed them. He worked out with them. He encouraged them. This mega SuperStar took his off-season and spent time with kids who really needed it. The kids looked so much better. They gained confidence.
I used to just think Shaq was just this talented basketball player who joked around a lot. Now, I have an entire new respect for him. I respected him, but it’s different. No. 32 has great personality. He’s not entirely perfect, but he took what he knew and made it work to make others feel better.

As a world class winner should. I guess that’s what this life is for. Now I’m motivated.

by example,

~b.

Project Line UP

2007-07-31T09:26:00.000-07:00

Happy Tuesday! (I am out of B-Day celebration mode)

And it’s back to work!

I hope you all have checked out my new article on R&B singer Crystal Dove for On Wax Magazine. Get On Wax! (www.onwaxmagazine.com). It’s a positive music magazine, created by, young, talented Black people! So support us!
I’m working on a couple of projects right now. First, I need to survive registration. Back to school baby! This is my last semester. Thanks …. (pray for me)
Then I’m crafting a couple of stories on Trill Entertainment. Headlined by rappers Lil Boosie, Webbie and Foxx, Trill Entertainment is one of the biggest talents in the South right now. And it was cool and professional to work with TE. These guys have made major hits as, “Wipe Me Down,” “Adios”, and “Do It Stick It.” This is going to be another one of my fun projects. Check back for my article in the September issue of On Wax Magazine’s one year anniversary issue! And for a little pop trivia: Fiend graced the debut cover. And I appreciate you.
Also on my list of projects is completing my long awaited BOOK! Thanks to all you guys for your kind words and support. I am still working. This is my FIRST book, so I am learning a lot. It’s not like I am at a newspaper or magazine where I actually, kind-of-sort-of know what I am doing. …and what I have been trained to do. Writing a book takes a lot of time and patience (which God is blessing me with). :o)
I am also reading a lot of new material. Thanks guys for the suggestions on new books.
I have a lot of projects lined up and, yes, I’ll always nag the same people to read my art! I like to keep the energy.

This is just all what’s new.

It’s got to be funky!

~b.

p.s. Check out that new Vibe with Obama. Its a good look.

Special Thanks

2007-07-27T09:34:00.000-07:00

To all my friends who made it out to my birthday dinner, to every Facebook message, to the Facebook monkey gift (Aliah), to the phone calls, cards, gifts, trips to Barnes N Nobel, shopping spree in the mall, to trying to be the first person to wish me a special day (Kyle, I see you baby!) to spending time with me, I most graciously thank you all!!

Of course I read and appreciate every kind word sent. I also posted pictures. There will be more, so check back soon!

Thursday (July 26) goes down as one of the best days ever!

You guys made my day awesome.

As sweet,

~brandi.

Book Worm

2007-07-24T10:37:00.001-07:00

This weekend I slowed down. I wanted to savor the last 759 pages of Harry Potter (Deathly Hallows, book 7). Every page was just as exciting as the next.
J.K. Rowling really put her heart into creating the series. Her efforts showed. And she left her foot in book 7. I completed the adventure. ..and I am thoroughly satisfied with the outcome. Plus, I’m still excited! This has been a great experience.
Three Cheers for J.K!!

Now, I have to find something new to read. Plus, I’m taking suggestions.

My list includes:
- Ralph David Abernathy (I’m just researching this guy)
- The Secret by Rhonda Byrne
- The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People by Stephen R. Covey
- Freakonomics [Revised and Expanded]: A Rogue Economist Explores the Hidden Side of Everything by Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner

An Amazing Journey

2007-07-20T07:11:00.001-07:00

It has been a long run. But I will finally get my hands on the seventh and final golden copy of Harry Potter. I feel excited. I bought a cute Harry Potter shirt to wear to the book party. For the last several years, I have been in love with a wizard and Hogwarts. I have laughed and shed tears. I stayed up until midnight to watch the new movies, on school nights. I feverishly flipped through the pages over and over again.
I remember the one year I foolishly ordered the book to come to my house (to beat the long lines). Then I had to wait for its arrival. The UPS man did not show up until 3p.m. and already other kids had their books since midnight. Lesson learned. I attend the book parties now!
I have made friends with the most unusual people. Little people, big people, black people, white people, hippies, rockers and Christians. I once waited for hours in line with a 70-year-old doctor, who you would have swore that we were friends all our lives. I have taken my time and really trained myself to be a great reader.
This truly has just been an awesome journey. As a writer I am indebted to all the great authors before me. Before I knew God made to be a writer, I was a reader. When Chi Fa Lu penned Double Luck, I cheered and cried for him. I felt sorrow when Alice Walker walked me through the rough passages of the Color Purple. I sat on the clouds with Tupac when I read his poetry. And I walked through the slums of the ghetto with Iceberg Slim. Hey Amber, I’m saying it. “…I’m a book slut.”
When I first met Harry, I was a weird and creative 16-year-old. One who was hardly ever in the grasp of peer pressure. I made my own little trouble here and there. Yet, I choose my own path. One day on my round to in-school suspension I picked up the book. There I sat. Harry and I. Since that day in my 6X8 wooden cubicle, once an alone kid, I have never been the same. Harry and all those before him changed the course of my wild thinking and decision making for the better.
In my book, my younger self once wrote a note to myself today. Here is an exclusive peek at my note:
“Books saved my life.”
Thanks J.K. Rowling, for sharing your brilliance.
I will miss Harry Potter.

My Credit Inform

2007-07-19T13:23:00.000-07:00

Money wise. Money matters.
I try to learn something new every day. It’s so many books in the world I have not read, yet, so I do not know everything.
But my latest venture is not necessarily more books or money, yet it’s about a name. {Money is not going to bring happiness. But I do know it’s a hell of a down payment. ;-) }
My current project is getting my brother’s credit right. Yup! You do not have to make a lot of money, but can have great credit. This is really important for him {and me}. First he’s young, Black, gifted, {holds a degree} and is in America. So all of that translates into; I have to look out for him. Plus he’s not a criminal. In this day he’s a rarity. He’s sweet too ladies. Hint. Hint. Plus, I’m getting his credit right.
I’m using big brother as an example for many others out there. Besides I’m tired of so many of my people unable to acquire wealth. {A great tool for your credit report: www.mycreditinform.com. They give you an update of everything you ever owed in your entire life, and a break down of how to get out of debt. You receive updates every three months. It costs like $6. A note to the wise, don’t pay over $10 for a report, most likely it’s a scam} Anyway. …The task is easy, it just requires consistency.
I did my research and this is what I came up with.

What is a credit score?
A credit score is based on variables in your credit file that help determine your creditworthiness. (Your name here) The number is based on various factors, including the number of trade lines you have open, the number of late payments, delinquencies.

In my research I also found:
6 Steps to Better Credit
1. Pay your bills on time. Creditors scrutinize your credit history. If you pay your bills on time, this reflects well on you. If you have a record of delinquent payments, you might want to consider credit counseling on how to better manage your finances.

2. Manage your debt. Your debt/income ratio — the percentage of your income that goes to paying off debt — is another gauge of your financial health. You can calculate this ratio by dividing your monthly minimum debt payments (excluding mortgage) by your monthly take-home income. If your debt payment absorbs:
• Less than 20% of your income, you are doing well
• Between 20% to 35%, consider reducing your overall debt
• More than 35% consider credit counseling or some type of aggressive debt-reduction strategy.

3. Don't over-apply for credit. Limit the number of loan applications you submit. Each bid shows up as an inquiry in your credit report. Even if you're just comparison-shopping for the best rate, too many inquiries can be viewed as a desperate bid to obtain credit to get out of financial trouble.

4. Shred your documents. Be sure to destroy any piece of paper with Social Security or credit card numbers. Thieves often go through garbage retrieving people's identification so they can use this information to commit fraud.

5. Don't give information away. Never include your Social Security Number on checks or driver's license. Be extremely cautious how you use your Social Security Number, it is your key personal identification number that is a gateway to your personal identity. If required to provide this information, always ask if there is another option.

6. Check your credit report on a regular basis. The only way to protect your name and credit is to be proactive. With the rise of identity theft cases, it is important to review your credit files, and to report any inaccuracies to the major credit reporting agencies.

…may this help us all into the quest of the “American Dream”.
Source: www.mycreditinform.com

Random Act of Kindness

2007-07-17T18:05:00.001-07:00

A lot of times we remember the bad things that happened to us.
Like, everyone can name the teacher who was mean to them. Or everyone remembers that most embarrassing moment. Or the school bully, who made it happen. No matter how minuscule or groundbreaking the incident was, people remember.
Well, in my case, I have a crazy memory. It’s very selective. I can remember great moments in my life. But, a lot of times I have trouble recalling names and faces of people. I would forget a person who I met last week. (Awful, you think? ...I know.)

To fix my little problem, in my blogs I’m creating a Random Acts of Kindness list. It’s going to include every kind act, which touched my heart for the day. Though I remember the teacher who was mean to me in the ninth grade, I also remember the very nice ones. And I want to keep remembering the nice decent people and moments. Just to make sure I do and for a bit of inspiration here’s my first entry to the Random Acts of Kindness.

(First Entry)
The rain poured heavy at work. I had no umbrella and wore a brand new outfit. I looked like a fresh breath of air. Yet, the drops fell down in horizontal sheets. I had been at work since 7:50a. And the day was long and a little tough. So much that I was more than prepared to get soaked if it meant I'd make it to my car and away from the building. The trade off sounded worth it. My spirits were already defeated, so the rain could do me nothing more. Plus the mood around the building was sour. People rarely spoke to one another or shared a smile. It was just a bad day.
I slowly lowered my head. I needed to catch a second wind. Then I heard footsteps behind me and decided to not even look back. Because the sight of another sad soul would break me. Just when my right heel toe was about to step from under the covered walkway to make the half-mile trek to my car, an angel walked around the corner with a magenta umbrella.
She asked, "Where's your car?"
To my surprise all I could do was point.
I pointed my bony index finger towards the road. (I always park closer to the sun, far East to freedom than to the building.)
"OK," she said softly. “Just wait here and let me let my windows up.”
I nodded. I couldn't gather words. Someone actually did something so kind for me that I would have normally had done for someone else. It's just nice that that came back to me true fold.
Now, by the way the rain was falling, I thought the lady was walking to a hoopty. That’s just the way I’ve known people to treat old cars without a/c, “to let it cool”, considering it was hot too.
The Angel walked to her brand new car and I noticed the sunroof open. Thick droplets fell on the fresh leather. She closed it and pulled up the windows. She returned to me within a minute and though I couldn't find words, I thought quickly. I thought of anything that would keep her from going out in the chilly rain again.
"Instead of you walking me, can I use your umbrella, get my car and bring it back to you," I asked.
"Sure," she said.
"Cool," I smiled politely.
I made it to my car, dry and still intact. When I pulled up to the curb, my first initial reaction was to run out and bring her the umbrella back. But she beat me to the punch. She ran out from the cover to my window and grabbed the umbrella.
“Thank you,” I yelled over the weather. I felt special.
It sure made my day bright.
Because she didn't have to.

Send me your Random Acts of Kindness. There are still nice people in the world.

Basketball MVP

2007-07-16T08:19:00.001-07:00

My moves were superb. I dribbled with ease from right to left. A crossover. Then through my legs and behind my back, just for a little extra show.
I’m great. I mean I could be the G.O.A.T. If I wouldn’t be doing this writing thing, I’d probably be a playmaker. My skills are so tight. So far one-on-one, I’m undefeated. And I’m playing against a boy. Just call me the Talent!
I only have a small advantage. I’m 5’11’’ and know how to use my strengths. I have championship tournament experience. I possess great court vision and shooting accuracy. Off the court, I know how to handle myself in an interview. Somebody give me the MVP trophy and some endorsements.
In the last game, some say I dismantled my opponent’s defense. Some say I owned the boards. Some say I’m underrated.
But then there are the critics. They say experience over youth. Speed over power. Skill over talent. Truth is, I really knew how to take my opponent out of his game.
Well, he’s going on 1 and stands 2’2’’. Now, some say it’s a mismatch. I don’t see what’s the problem. We might have a huge height difference. I’m thinking Devin will catch up. His muscles will get stronger. He really just stands, watching in awe of my moves. Or he’d throw his bottle on the court. (He’s going to start getting a technical foul call for that.)
Truly, I just think he needs to start being more of a hustler on defense. Or crash the boards for rebounds. Plus, instead of watching, giggling, and expecting me to pass while I’m preparing to drive or shoot over him, he should defend. So, for some jazz I add in an awesome dunk on the PlaySkool goal.
I know why he smiles and stares in awe though; it’s all because of my skills.

Final Goodbye

2007-07-14T08:02:00.001-07:00

Editor’s note: The author would like to thank everyone for their condolences, thoughts and prayers.

Saturday, July 14, 2007

Sadly, everything felt so real. From the lonely tears in my brother’s eyes, who sat on the pallbearers’ bench to my mother silently weeping, we all sat sadly. I would have paid anything for anyone to just make it a bad dream that can be erased. Every blue moon or so, everyone has bad dreams. This one I wanted to wake up and just go back to normal. But it wasn’t a bad dream. There will be no normal.
This morning, I woke up with headache but my head was not in any physical pain. It was probably more my heart. I don’t know right now. I just can’t believe that I had to say a final goodbye to my uncle. No one came to wake me. As, you’d expect to get saved from a bad dream. My family and everyone were there. I went around to hug everyone. So I know it was a sad reality.
I wrote a special piece for him. Then stood and recited it to the crowd. I didn’t stutter, stumble, say “ummm,” or croaked. I felt it was a huge honor bestowed upon little me. My family is big, and I’m quite sure they could have had easily picked a better person. But I wanted to speak for him. I wanted to let people know that we had a lot of great times. In my uncle’s 86 years he taught us about the importance of family. He gave us strength. He made us strive for an education. In the past year he saw four of us earn degrees and the little ones got their diplomas. He wasn’t rich, but he always gave something to everyone (in school) at Christmastime. I’m not mad at anyone that he’s gone. Actually I can’t complain. Because in his 86, I enjoyed 23 years of great time with him and I learned so much. It was a blessing to know him. Can’t complain at all. Thankfully. Gratefully. I’m just sad because I’ll miss him.

--Dedicated to James Elwood, 1920-2007

Long Time

2007-07-12T12:34:00.000-07:00

Lately, I have been working feverishly on my first book (HBCU, A Survival Guide).
Actually, I feel kind of shy writing this blog right now. I left you for a while. Excuse my absence. Charge it to my mind and not my heart.
Now, in my days off I have fresh material for you all. (All 10, who I know is out there watching me. I appreciate that!)
First off, make sure you check out my new article for On Wax Magazine (www.onwaxmagazine.com) about R&B singer Crystal Dove. It hits newsstands Monday, July 16. Pick up a copy for me. It’s some of my best work, so far. :-)
In other news, Hope is expecting her first (and last) litter. Devin stated walking and I’m really working on improving my financial knowledge about Keeping excellent credit and home ownership. (I plan to stay out of poverty.) I’ll write more on those topics later.
Also this month, my Uncle James passed. He was 86 and a great man. I am very glad I knew him.
In the music world, I got to see Beyonce’ live for the first time at Essence. That girl is a piece of art walking. More on her later.
And to round off my news briefs, I’ll be making an ant’s hop of victory. Friday, Dec. 7, I’ll be a Master of all Arts. (I’m jumping on the ant mound now). In the meantime I’m looking for a job to provide my bread and butter while I do what I love best, Read.

…well, & write too. :-)

May the Prince of Peace Bless You All.

Five Dollars

2007-06-02T09:12:00.000-07:00

Every week my aunt gives me a crumpled $5 bill.
I’m 23. She’s 72 years young, and has been doing this since I was a child. Over the years the amount of her givings has not changed. It’s always been the same, $5. No more, no less --unless it’s a holiday like Easter, Christmas or my birthday.
So far, she operates like clockwork. After I leave work, I make a trip to her house and her wrinkled hand would hold five dollars. Just five measly dollars.
I don’t know if she noticed the change in inflation. Today a $5 gift to someone is meager rations. A gallon of gas costs $3.23, milk is $3.67, and crawfish is the cheapest at $1.90 a pound.
When I was a child, my $5 would take me a long way. I would buy Cherry Heads, Lays Potato Chips at four for $1, Cherry Air Heads, Cherry Popsicles and a small cherry juice. Then I’d have change left over!
Now if I take one of my regular trips to Chill’s my tip is $5.
You just don’t give someone $5.
Unless, you’re teaching that person.
In a way, my aunt Mae is the greatest! She doesn’t hold shares or stock on NASDAQ. She doesn’t shop on Fifth Avenue. She gets by at Family Dollar for everything, especially now since they sell milk. Then she relies on Social Security and is in need of a new TV.
I don’t ask her for money unless I really, really need it. Most of the time, I don’t need money. I’m a shopaholic, who loves to buy a new pair of sneakers all the time. And I do feed my habit. I’m two generations her junior. She uses her money for church collection, whereas I’d get something frivolous, sometimes. She knows I have a glove box compartment full of sweet Cherry candy in my car. Still, if I waste the money or not, she always hands me $5.
Five sweet bucks for me!
Her gifts has taught me that no matter what the amount is that someone gives you, they thought about you. Something on their heart told them to give you a gift.
Now, a rich man may not give you a dime, but the poor man will. Appreciate him. Some people never knew their father or mother, even if they knew them, they probably never looked to say ‘here cat, dog, this is for you.” Or nothing.
It’s not about what I can get with the $5 today. Five dollars isn’t really measly. I know that when she gives me the $5, its 5 more than what I had. So, I’m grateful.
Because I can always say my aunt gave me $5.

Top 10

2007-05-15T17:08:00.001-07:00

Top 10 reasons St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital and Enitra Jones are cooler than me:

10. St. Jude is in the heart of Memphis, and the doctors always have the option of eating good, finger licking bar-b-que and Alisha Tillery lives there.
9. The hospital's daily operating costs are approximately $1,220,004, (to be exact) and they treat the kids at no cost (politically correct) to their families. In our terms, the kids are cared for FREE, despite not being covered by insurance!
8. St. Jude makes giving donations to the hospital easy (www.stjude.org/donations), or just drop a few dollars in the bucket at your local grocery store.
7. The hospital has been successfully operating for over 45 years, (February 4, 1962).
6. St. Jude has treated God’s Angels, kids from all over the country and world (70 countries).
5. Enitra won Ms. Southern and after that she always thought she could still try to make it to class “low-key.”
4. Enitra kicked off the Up ‘til Dawn (St. Jude for college campuses) campaign at Southern, built up a strong foundation where Ms. King and Ms. Sweazie gracefully pick up and carried the torch. Now, Jasmine (2007-2008) will do the same.
3. Even though it’s been three years since she wore the crown, and she has a tougher course load, she still finds time to follow up on the progress of St. Jude.
2. These guys are our peers, the children are our future and we can donate because we never know who we will need. We are capable of anything.
1. The Prince of Peace, hasn’t made a mistake, yet.

I am going to continue my writings and charitable contributions. Which are; St. Jude, Breast Cancer Research and my own scholarship program for Black kids I’m trying to build. Sometimes I struggle to find something to blog about every day. Then Ms. Jones helped me out and gave me a new story (St. Jude). First, I smiled because she felt that I, a nerd, can give it justice. Up top is my list that I came up with. This one was special, because I believe it’s always great to give to someone else.
We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give. -Winston Churchill

Last Round

2007-05-10T13:37:00.000-07:00

Editors note: This letter is a tribute to the 2007 graduates (Facebook Edition).

It’s truly a great accomplishment. You’re crossing over. When you go out in the “Real World”, try not to get caught into a complacent web . Always look directly at your dreams. Know that this may be the brokest time of your life. But don’t let it be the loneliest. Call your mom every day (tell her I said hello too). Last but not least I know everyone will be great. Just don’t forget from whence you came.

Pecans

2007-05-10T13:36:00.001-07:00

On Sundays my aunt, 75, catches a ride with me to the morning service. Along our weekly route we pass a pecan-shelling shack. People can buy or sell pecans. I read a homemade sign advertising that the owner was paying 85 cents a pound.
As a kid I’d pick pecans from my uncle’s tree for what seemed like hours in the cold. My bony fingers trembled as I picked each seed, and for my hard work he’d pay me between $10-15 --though I gathered no more than two pounds, he was a kind old man.
I brought my half-full bag in to him grinning like I’d had a corker sack full.
Everyone usually has their own tree in their own yard.
I can’t remember exactly what the going price was for pecans then but that day the owner paid up to 85 cents. It sounded like a great deal. Today, I wouldn’t mind picking, but as a college student trying to juggle several jobs I just don’t have that type of time to dedicate myself to pick a great haul. $10-15 isn’t even a full tank of gas!
As if she read my thoughts, my aunt told me that Boon, the neighborhood handyman/drunk/panhandler picked ‘tween $300-400 worth of pecans.’
“Wow! That’s great, I’m very proud of Boon,” I said with the knowledge of whence Boon came from.
Boon used to be a petty criminal and people in the hood kept him around to wash cars, windows, nail a few things together here and there, small outdoor tasks just to keep his mind busy. (An idle mind is the Devil’s workshop) As long as Boon was out of trouble he did meager jobs to get a little money for his beer on weekends. A simple man, with bad teeth he wore ill-fitted rags and smelled from time to time, but that came from his hours of walking the streets with a hammer in his back pocket. I could see Boon now, maybe with the money I figured he could get himself a fresh sweater instead of the holey one he sported. Then I thought about how hard Boon had to work to get that many pecans. As I thought, my aunt praised Boon and I agreed.
“Boon did a really great job. That’s hard work,” I said.
I’d even considered adopting his work ethic for a minute. Until my aunt added;
“Yeah, he made plenty money picking and don’t got ‘nah tree.”

A Hug for O

2007-05-09T14:55:00.000-07:00

The thing about hugs is; you give one and you’ll get one right back. I watched Oprah yesterday, like I’ve been doing for the past 20 plus years of my life and most of her guests give her hugs. Or some will shake her hand. She’s Oprah. Enough said. I just noticed the hugs. Hugs are the only things other than words and food that reach down and touch people souls. I know I’ve been lifted up a many of days by hugs. (And by the way I appreciate all the people who give me hugs.)
The people invited to her show, who usually give hugs, walk up smiling and kind of gently pats Oprah on the back. She’s Oprah. The last thing people could do is put a soft hand on her back. Besides Elmo and Susan, Oprah was like the third person in the world I knew. My daily schedule was to watch Sesame Street, Oprah, naptime then meet my mom at the door. That’s how I learned to tell time. I sometimes say I’m lil’ Oprah, because I respect her work ethic and accomplishments. She’s done great things for a lot of people. You don’t just half ass a smile or hug at Oprah, or anyone for that reason.
Now, I’m a hugger. When I see my family or friends I always give them hugs. I’ll give bear hugs to people and really mean the hug. Like, I just took all the strength in my heart and connecting veins and hugged you. Then I’ll remember to breath.
I love Oprah. And if you’re watching the show and I’m on it, I won’t give Oprah’s back a small tap. I’m going to actually hug Oprah. I’ll give the same bone-crushing hug I’ve been issuing. I’ll just be there a moment. I may lift her spirits. You may see military-like security in the background shooing me away. I won’t be crushing Oprah. It’ll just be a real hug.

Booty Bounce Music

2007-05-08T20:57:00.000-07:00

In this moment I’d like to take the time out and thank some Hip-Hop rappers. I’m not a huge rap fan, I’m a fan of music and country out sells everything anyway. So if you listen to rap and just rap you’re missing out. I listen to everything else because I get tired of hearing corner boy stories, booty, booty and shake that thang. But I do listen to rap and I love the hits, which these brothers are currently creating.
Shawn Carter, Mr. Jay-Z, the Ace of Spades lover rapped on “30 Something”, an ode to his aging gracefully off his album, “Kingdom Come”:
Young enough to know the right car to buy, yet grown enough not to put rims on it.
HOMERUN, Sir Jigga! Loved that line and the color Jay-Z Blue!
Then one of my all time favorites André Lauren Benjamin made an appearance and blessed Unk’s “Walk it Out” remix with such a grown up verse. Matter of fact, he was the only rapper on the track to actually say something. 3000 poetically went:
Your white tee, well to me, look like a nightgown
Make your momma proud, take that thing two sizes down
Then you'll, look like the man that you are, or what you could be.
HE HIT AGAIN! Damn, we keep this up we might become that race which starts a moment and stays ahead! Actually make MLK’s dreams come true, or become what we could be.
Now, when I first saw Rich Boy I said, “that dude is ugly.” He’s my last choice.
After listening to his album, self-titled Rich Boy I loved the song “Let’s Get This Paper.”
In young Marece Richards’ chorus a guy preaches:
“Yeah when you look at us just think about it, we don't own nothin'. If we get money, we got a lil' few dollars, but our whole family tore up ni**a, you gettin' money for the people in ya family that ain't got nothin'. When it's all said and done, what do you own? You don't own nothin', you don't own you... The ni**a playin' basketball, he don't own that jersey, he can't even be in a commercial wit' his name on the back, so when it's really all said and done, what did you do this for? What difference did you make?
OK. THAT was driving the point HOME.
These brothers rhyme intelligent lyrics and make it look easy. Then the world isn’t so small after all. I’m not knocking rap. This is my props to rap section. Just don’t make rap you’re only choice. There are more lyrics like stop, drop, roll and lock, bounce booty, booty. Booty. Booty. Booty. More Booty. Check out some other lyrics and genres.
Because if you don’t listen at all you’re missing a real important message.

Too Much Information

2007-05-07T13:42:00.000-07:00

I just need to know why the clerk in Wal-Mart felt the need to tell me all of his business. Or anyone I don’t know for that matter. On a recent trip to the wholesaler, I picked up at least 15 items. Ok. I lied, it was more like 20, but I didn’t count the little bottles of cat food. The clerk, a guy about 40-50 years old talked to the customer in front of me about how his line is a 10 items or less. And that explained the short length of the checkout counter. I didn’t count this time. The lines in Wal-Mart are brutal on your feet and patience, on any given day they always snake around through the aisles leaving you standing and waiting. Anyway, I didn’t move I just knew I’d be his next audience and prepared myself accordingly. He started by reading the writing on my t-shirt.
“You think you know but you have no idea,” he read.
I smiled politely.
“Yeah, you know that’s funny because it explains a lot. People think they know you but they have no idea. Like people would talk about you but they don’t really know you.”
“Um, hummm,” I responded, with another smile, halfway this time.
Really, I thought ‘dude if you really knew me, you’d just check out my groceries and let me go.’
“Ohhh yogurt,” he grinned with delight as he scanned my Yoplait. “You know what? You should try Breyers. That’s some good yogurt and it’s helping me loose weight. Go get you some Breyers,” he said.
“I. Don’t. Like. Breyers.” I said as my patience wore thin, with him scanning and reading every item in my basket and making a conversation about it. I was glad my shopping list held Just grocery items.”
If I wanted Breyers, I would have picked it up. I bought what I liked.
“That’ll be 49.52, cash or credit?” he said.
Buzzz….buzz…my cell phone went off.
“Hello,” I answered. “Mother?” … “Ok. I’ll get it for you.”
“Excuse me, sir can I just run and get something for a second?”
“Sure,” he said.
I ran to the next aisle. He worked at the counter behind tobacco, so the pharmacy stood on the next aisle over.
In no time flat I picked up a bottle of Imodium AD and kept my word and ran back to the counter, as to not hold up the line.
The man took the bottle then scanned it. Instantly, I figured what he was going to say so he didn’t catch me off guard.
“Everybody’s sick,” he said.
“I guess so,” I replied.
That dorky attempt at a conversation didn’t get me; it was what he said next that got me.
“Oh yeah, I just had an upset stomach, and my cousin had it for six weeks. He was real sick. Girl, let me tell ya’” he went on.

….Too Much Information

My Momma Did That!

2007-05-07T09:34:00.000-07:00

Tupac’s song “Dear Momma” is like the official soundtrack for Mother’s Day. I sing that song to my mom whenever it comes on the radio, though I can’t carry a tune. He put the song together like a genius. Susan is nothing like Afenia because she didn’t fight with the Black Panthers, my embryo wasn’t incarcerated and she didn’t use drugs. ‘Pac said he was hurt more than anything when he’d found out his mom used drugs. He still took the song and honored his mom for her great attributes. The descriptions he sings about her, I just change the words and make them fit for Susan. Like, I didn’t hug her from a jail cell, but I hugged her on my way going into in-school suspension. I hugged her bye. I landed into trouble from time to time and I know it hurt her. We fell on hard times too and she always managed to feed us. Susan didn’t exactly kick me out at 17, we go shopping together and I would be like her mini-shadow. I make my own words for her. Makaveli sang from his heart so I’ll play the song and sing my own version. My mom’s a flower child and deserves every bit of niceness that comes to her. So if you want to know what I’m getting her just know that it’s not going to be jewelry, any man can do that. Its not going to be candy. She’s sweet enough where sugar gets jealous. It’s not going to be flowers, because she planted four rose bushes by her house, representing my siblings and me. Just know that I will be conjuring up something from my heart. And that Tupac song. Every day is mother’s day for her from me.

‘cause it ain’t a woman alive that can take my momma’s place.’

Hope Saved Me!!

2007-05-04T08:32:00.001-07:00

After all the stare downs. After all the threats. After all the fights. After the all the chases of cat and mouse. Hope finally saved me! Then all in the same day she injured my ankle, but that’s a different story for a different day. Here is a story of her heroism. The afternoon sun had just made its crest and started to heat up the day. I walked into the kitchen to get a turkey sandwich on a fresh French loaf of bread and medium mayo. As soon as I saw it I stopped dead cold in my tracks. A huge grass and dirt colored lizard lay on the leg of the table trying to sun. I’m terrified of the reptilian creatures. I even lost part of my appetite. Now, on any other normal day I can’t stand Hope. And she feels the same way about me. So we’re even! About an hour earlier, I’d let Hope inside and fed her a nice crunchy meal of cat nibbles. Her favorite pastimes were going outside to pounce on innocent insects. I’d figured she’d help me out since I was nice to her. I called her name.
“HOPE.” …No response. “HOPE.” …No response. “HOPE.” ….Nothing. I didn’t even hear her heavy paws hitting the floor to run and see what I wanted. I walked around the corner to see her relaxing in Susan’s king size bed. She stretched out very comfortably and yawned. I looked and sighed, then pleaded with her to follow me. To my amazement she did! We went back into the kitchen and the poor, stupid lizard tried to stand his ground. He never matched up. As soon as Hope saw him cut across the open floor she snatched him up in her sharp teeth and toted him away.

My hero.

Night in the Hospital (Part III)

2007-04-22T20:06:00.000-07:00

Editor’s note: This is inspired by a true story. Names and places have been changed to protect the innocent. This is a three part series.

Upon entering the hospital we walked to the help desk. I had to fill out the paperwork. Shawn stood in no condition. Once the preliminary research was completed we looked for a place to rest away from the crowd sitting crunched in single seats. Runny snot nosed toddlers danced around their mother and one lady cradled her broken arm. I wanted to get away from the sick people. I didn’t need to add to my cold.
The first bench I sat on smelled bad and I knew it would stick to me, like a smoky club but I got to the point where I didn’t care. Fatigue took over my body and mind. Both were weary. I also saw three grease spots too and wondered how they got there. I told myself if I didn’t look hard, they weren’t there.
“You’re sleepy,” Shawn said.
“No, I’m not. I’m not sleepy,” I lied.
“Yes, you are. Go to sleep,” he insisted.
“I’m not going to sleep, I’ll be OK,” my weak protest.
He securely wrapped his arm around me and like my head instantly made a pillow out of him. To block out the strong lighting he threw his cap over my gleaming forehead and dreary eyes and I went out in dreamland.
Thirty minutes passed by.
“Shawn Fill!! Shawn Fill!!” the nurse yelled.
We both jumped up in unison and ran to the door with the nurse.
It was just too good to be true. We were getting HELP! I figured someone saw the desperation on our faces and wanted to help immediately.
We rushed to the window with the receptionist. Oh thank Jesus I was going to get to go to my lumpy old twin bed back in my room!
FALSE ALARM
She just wanted to check him in AGAIN. We saw another nurse, who took Shawn’s blood pressure. Which skyrocketed because he’d been through trauma. My strength kept tears from welling up in my eyes and once again we walked out into the lobby, defeated.
By then we’d seen the birth of a new day. Around 1a.m. I started calling random friends, for no reason at all and yet to keep my mind going. Shawn and I talked about everything under the moon. The day faded, said bye-bye suckers and didn’t come back. I felt like I’d been waiting out a storm at the airport.
“Are you mad?” he asked.
“I’m not mad,” I replied.
“Do you want to go,” he continued.
“No. We’re here, we’ve waited and you need to get help,” I said as a final answer.
We did have excitement. It came from walking around the hospital and we found a comfortable couch. You would have sworn we’d just won lottery the way we acted over the sight of pillows! And just when we found a cool spot the nurse came calling again.
Shawn went to the back and after a doctor and two nurses looked at him they took him for x-rays. Then a few minutes later the last nurse took out a little tube of Dura-bond, a medical adhesive and as if she was a manicurist she painted his nail with the glue and sent him off. After five hours of Shawn mashing his pinkie finger in the door and splitting the nail, we were finally leaving the hospital. It was just badly broken nail and blood everywhere, but he didn’t want it to grow back grosteque. I understood and waited with him by his side, as a friend. It’s only a way I would have wanted someone else to treat me.

…the end... and the start of a great friendship.

Night in the Hospital (Part II)

2007-04-22T09:40:00.000-07:00

Editor’s note: This is inspired by a true story. Names and places have been changed to protect the innocent. This is a three part series.

The clock hit around 10:30 when I figured out it became time to leave the zoo. Shawn’s bleeding started to slow to more of a constant drip. He could make the trip across the city to a better and safer hospital. The darkness started to envelope around the surroundings. The deep night made me want to leave even more. No, I take that back. The sight of the eight-month pregnant lady who suffered a bad asthma attack brought me back to saner thoughts. Well, it became a combination of things. The wait, my fatigue creating a loss of concentration and thought of me having to actually sit in the waiting room amongst thieves led me to go across the city to a better hospital.
“I have insurance we can go anywhere,” he insisted.
I shook my head as if the idea didn’t hit me sooner.
“The drive is about 15 minutes, but you’ll be OK,” I responded.
The new hospital was going to be much cleaner. During the drive the only sounds made came from the iPod. Fall Out Boy’s “This Ain’t a Scene, It’s an Arms Race” blared from the Civic’s speakers.
Maybe nothing was said because we both came to the same conclusion.
We were going to be in for a long night.

Night in the Hospital (Part I)

2007-04-21T17:02:00.001-07:00

Editor’s note: This is inspired by a true story. Names and places have been changed to protect the innocent. This is a three part series.

He started bleeding profusely. Blood splattered on me.
“Oh my Gawd! I can’t watch. HELP HIM!!!!! HELP HIM!!!!!!”
“Man, I can’t do it,” Em cried!
“Put pressure to stop the bleeding,” the poor victim said.
I can tell Shawn wanted to shed tears from the pain, but his pride wouldn’t let him show it. Yet, he found light of the situation and made a small joke.
“Hey, Brandi, you cannot be a nurse,” he said.
“I know,” I responded confidently with passion. “I’m a writer! I didn’t miss my calling.”
“We’re going to have to go to the hospital.”
Everything happened in less than five seconds.
Five seconds doesn’t seem like a lot. Until, you’re in pain.
Count them.
One… Two… Three… Four… Five…
In that time, my entire plans for the night changed.
One minute I was getting ready to go into Kimikos, a trendy bar and grill for young socialites. My outfit was ON, and I smelled like pure fun summertime with less on the floral. Because I wanted to attract people and not offend them. Then the next I was heading to the nearest medical facility, none other than the pissy-pew filled hallways of Earl B. Short Hospital, the charity hospital, or a.k.a. the city zoo. The exact opposite of where I wanted to be.
In route I guessed to myself how many inmates would be chained to gurneys along filthy walls.
Or a better guess would be have been how many bleeding, smelly drunks, and psych patients I would see in the dark alley. If I had to make a bet on 20, I probably would have hit on the mark. I hoped none would try to ‘holla’. I feared if I politely said ‘No’, it wouldn’t be understood and as disrespect and we’d be in a knife fight. Already nervous for my friend, I can’t think of fake numbers and excuses to give out on the fly of why I can’t go out with the fry boy from McDonalds, who has mental problems.
Sure enough, as if on cue, when we rolled up in the parking lot the flashlight cop sat in his car and we were off to fend for ourselves.

…to be continued.

Fast Food

2007-04-19T10:01:00.000-07:00

I made a deal with my aunt. I’m not eating out for an entire week. She says I spend too much money going out. Fact is, I have no culinary skills and an insult from my little sister kept me out of the kitchen for a long time. The troll said, “Bran, you burned the chili. Look, we can’t have you cooking food, it costs money and we don’t want to waste that!”
Since then cereal & milk and sandwiches have been my best options.
For excitement I’ll switch from turkey breast, roasted chicken, shrimp and a classic peanut butter & strawberry jelly.
So far, it’s Thursday. The last time I bought something from a fast food place was Monday. I’m doing well. I’ve probably saved about $30. For the past three days I just haven’t had late night romps to Chili’s for their piping hot shrimp alfredo thingy or Paradise Pie, a warm chewy brownie filled with nuts and topped with vanilla ice cream. At 73, my aunt knows a lot of things. She may be right. And I’m learning. I had a bad addiction to Taco Bell’s 99. cents zesty nachos, but it’s a bigger value and lesson I’m getting from not eating out and using the resources around me. I’ll be able to enjoy my check more, instead of putting all towards buying food. If it’s a success, I may just carry this on into next week.

Snoop Dogg said Hoes! I Can Too!

2007-04-17T09:05:00.000-07:00

Now, I’m not saying that everything Snoop Dogg said was right. But the man had a point about Don Imus when he said: "[Rappers] are not talking about no collegiate basketball girls who have made it to the next level in education and sports. ... 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 mutha----as say we in the same league as him."
I understand him. That’s why Tupac is so universal and still relevant. One day ‘Pac rapped about “Keep Ya Head Up,” then the next he said “F—k the world.”
There are different kinds of people. Some people may say “you can cook a pot of red beans”. But I know everyone can’t cook red beans. So I’m not going to eat it.
Like there are different types of college students. There’s the drama chick, nerd, book worm, homecoming queen, socialite, weed man, overachiever and slacker.
I know where Snoop is coming from. I’m not going to knock a college kid. Yet at the same time when you come from the ‘hood like Snoop, there are people with no conscious and who are out to get you. It may be for your money or happiness. Just because their not happy they don’t want anyone around them to be happy.
If I ever write about or call people hoes, they are. Hoes are not necessarily promiscuous women. Hoes are messy for no reason. They can be men or women.
I know from experience. From back in the day I knew a ‘loud mouth gal’. Matter of fact everyone knew her, because of her loud mouth. She’d do immature stuff, like loud cap someone in the grocery store for purchasing their groceries with a lot of change or food stamps. She’d get a kick out of sheer embarrassment of others. When her own hair wasn’t combed and that her face was dirty with cat shit in the corners of her eyes. Or it didn’t bother her at the fact that she was failing science and stayed in trouble. I saw no reasoning in that. I just saw a person buying food. She looked at the misfortune of others when she too had troubles. I’m not saying anyone’s perfect. Anyway no one liked that ho, she never had empathy.

Strive for More

2007-04-10T19:09:00.000-07:00

Instead of pulling each other down, we need to be pulling each other up.
The world is so much bigger than Imus and Michael Richards.
Don’t even fight, argue or blame them. Because there is so much we could do with our time. Over the years, I’ve seen a many of things. People are like super heroes. We send text messages to talk across the globe at the speed of light. I took a first class flight, like a bird to change the forecast. The president can go on live TV and everyone see the same message, at the same time. And, yet taking time to hate has always been a wasted emotion. I just never saw a second hand stop ticking for no man.

Graduation

2007-04-03T18:22:00.000-07:00

People always ask, “When are you graduating?” Is that really the first thing that comes to your mind when you see me? My graduation? It’s not even close to May!
I would take different routes just to avoid the inquiry. It’s not a bad question. It’s just pretty annoying. It’s a catch-22.
If you go to school, people want to know when are you getting out? (Can I take my time?) If you don’t go to school, people ask, “Why didn’t you go to school?”
What’s the world in a rush for? It’s probably nice to say you’re the first to do something, but what about the best?
With careful timing, it’s called building a foundation. And I’m not done.
There are those who watch for the wrong things—instead what I’m doing that’s right.
It’s not about when I’m getting out, but of the things I accomplish while I’m there. If you’re a student and doing great things, keep doing that and obviously you know when you want your run to end.

Quote of the Day:
Behind every successful person lies a pack of Haters. That’s on everything.

I Walked Away from Millions.

2007-04-02T16:49:00.000-07:00

LOL. No, I really didn’t walk away. Ha! I’d stop in the middle of a busy four-lane highway and pick up a quarter if I saw one. And anyone who knows me knows that I’m not that crazy. I may be a penny pinching miser, thieving, happy scallywag, but not crazy. The headline (Walked Away from Millions) was hilarious. I swiped it from one of Oprah’s topics. The show comes on tomorrow. I can’t wait to see the episode. Privilege people see a fascination in poverty. Whereas, some take nothing for granted.

Success

2007-03-28T08:33:00.000-07:00

We need a new window washer for the cafeteria. Someone hire a new man. Quick. The smudge from my finger on the door Wednesday met me there on Monday.
Reverend Green was right in his sermon.
“If you’re going to do something, be the best,” he said. “If you’re a doctor, be the best doctor. If you’re a teacher, be the best teacher. If you’re a janitor be the best janitor.”
Now, his janitor comment threw me for a second. It’s not a job that this society normally holds in high esteem. People are trifling and throw stuff on the ground as and say, “It’s not my job to pick it up.” Janitors have to clean public facilities including the overused toilets. It’s a discouraging job not even on the career aptitude tests.
Rev. went on. “Best janitor. …sweep the halls the best. Because when you’re gone they’ll miss you.”
I thought about his speech and then imagined my school. The hallways were always spic and span. The tile even shined every other day. I guess if Ms. Washington decided to take a month off and someone less concerned filled in for her, it’ll be noticed. I may see footprints, muck building up in the cracks of the tiles and dust on the mats.
But since she’s there taking care of our hallways, we have one of the cleanest buildings. It smells fresher and nerve calming. I sneeze less. It’s soothing to know you’re going back into a clean facility. A clean place can do a lot for you more than a filthy one. But nothings clean automatically. Somebody’s behind the scenes working. And I guess if it’s not the best, everything else falls apart.
Everyone doesn’t respect your job. Yet, folk gossip about a senile doctor. Keep working at your trade and people will file into your hospital. Pupils run from the bad teacher, yet acquire overrides to make it into the popular professor’s class. Because every young apprentice knows that under his watch they will come out of there as some one great. And well for the janitor, his job is different and if done correctly, could make an impact on everyone. A wise man once said, “Try not to become a man of success but rather try to become a man of value.” So, I know what Rev.s talking about.

Bully

2007-03-26T09:21:00.000-07:00

As far back as I can remember I had two bullies. People pick on the hapless. My bullies did the typical bully shit. Trip me. Steal my toys. Call me cruel names. And threatened me with physical violence. I don’t recall how long the bullying lasted, but I do know I hated them.
I wasn’t big stuff. My family was quiet. They were educated, held degrees and therefore lacked street credibility. It was cool to possess Master P’s “I’m Bout It” cassette tape before it hit the radio. It was cool to have a yard full of new cars too. (But the house can fall apart). I also wished my grandmother was ghetto so she could braid my hair on the front porch or put together a great combination of explicits to cuss someone out in a minute for me. Nope. I didn’t get that. She knew how to perfectly conjugate verbs and edit school papers. My mother was also a teacher so my words came out “proper”.
I sat up straight and wore neat little cartoon character clothes. I never had the latest fashions like a pullover Starter jacket or even a pair of Nikes, let alone Jordans. To have a pair of J’s or Filas was my pipe dream. All of this must have made me a target of bullying. To top it all off, I had no protection. The school I went to was an hour’s drive away from my hometown. So I had no big cousins to look after me. Not that I sought back up or even snitched on my tormentors. I wouldn’t have ever wanted to burden anyone else of my problems. It’s just that when anyone else was picked on I’d see cousins teaming up and knock the bully down. It just could have been nice to know you’re not alone.
One day I was with a group of four girls. We were supposed to be working on a class project. Other than that they would have never been seen with me. It just wasn’t popular to be my friend. Cold, yet I knew. The lead girl started a conversation about shoes. She had a pair of brand new Nikes. The paint on the Swoosh was still fresh. Two others wore Reebok. And the last girl, who I swore up and down wouldn’t tease me because she wore a dirty pair of L.A. Gear. Now, during that time, L.A. Gear was tired, played out! Yet, they accepted her on their side! I had a pair of dingy white shoes that my mom bought from Payless. No name, not even a tag on the tongue for decoration. As I looked around my shame could not be concealed.
They attacked in song:

“Bo, Bo’s, they cost a $1.99.”
“Bo, Bo’s, they come in every shape and size.”
“Bo, Bo’s, they cost a $1.99.”
“Bo, Bo’s, they come in every shape and size.”

Now, I wasn’t a cry baby. But they drew tears that day. They found it hilarious, that I cried.

Special Episode

2007-03-21T15:58:00.000-07:00

There are the episodes. Talk show TV drama at its peak would consist of two females arguing over one deadbeat boyfriend. Or the classic, four guys dodging the results from the test “Who’s the baby’s daddy”. The kids know Jerry Springer. Yet more than decade ago, old Richard Bay started it all.
I remember it well. After TV stopped turning itself off I’d stay up until 2 in the morning to watch people break out into fistfights. Guests on RB’s show would confess some wild story to their friend and they’d beat each other down until they drew blood. Like they didn’t know the focus of that show when they signed up to appear on it. They’d cuss each other out and look like uneducated hooligans. I really didn’t see why someone would air out their personal business on national television. The entire show accomplished nothing but deteriorate people’s self worth. What goes on in the house should stay in the house. Which is why all the while, I know well that Susan and ‘em better not, ever, ever, ever bring me on a show talking about ‘we need counseling’. Or worse, to confront me about something “Shocking!” I know what the show is about. They’re not going to bring me on there to seek help. Somebody always gets embarrassed during the thick of things.
For my show I’d act right. I’d be civil. Pepper my sentences with yes and no ma’am or sir. Pull out all the guests’ chairs to make them feel comfortable. Offer my bottle of water to break the thirst of whomsoever testifying on me in front of millions. Nod my head in understanding. Grin softly every so often. Even wear nice clothes and smell like the Dolce & Gabbana Light Blue. My episode probably wouldn’t even provide for good teaser clips in commercials. No fight, no arguing, nothing.
Those people on RB’s show had a right to be upset. Its just that my aunt used to tell me, there’s a time for everything. And she’s right. So when the camera stops rolling there may be an audience stampede, folk trampled losing shoes and bags, chairs flying and then they can just lock me up, after the show. :o)

Party Planner

2007-03-15T08:36:00.000-07:00

This is how its going down! Kell and I are supposed to throw our little annual crawfish boil. It falls sometime during spring break on a perfect day. I’m doing the grocery shopping for:
A large sack of crawfish, sweet corn on the cob, baby potatoes, Cajun spices, celery, onions, neck bones, turkey necks, ice for the liquor chest, my specialty bottled root beer, cookies & cream ice cream cake, chicken drummetts, strips of fish filets (both to be deep fried, lightly in fresh grease), napkins, plates, and utensils.
That’s our list and it’s hot. We’ve throw little parties before. People come from far and wide. The atmosphere is laid back; guests sit out under my uncle’s swing in the cool breeze and reminisce about old times. And catch up on the latest news about so and so. Kids run around the house playing tag. Plus people really show up with the attitude that they’re going to get something great. I guess it’s expected after all the other gatherings we’ve thrown. Just thinking about it, I can’t wait!
Kell is watching HotWire for a plane ticket now.
I just hope she can save enough money to come down in April. We always have fun. She’s my best bud. I’ll swim the seven seas for her. Afraid of heights, but I’ll climb the highest mountain. Give her my liver if she needs one. I do hope Kell can find a plane ticket. Because if she’s not fortunate. I’ll have to call to her tell her how sorry I am that I can’t use her part of the money to get the fish filets, chicken and neck bones. But I’ll make sure Uncle Reggie puts extra spices in the pot, break every head and wash down my crawfish.

The Hired Help

2007-03-14T20:26:00.000-07:00

So say. My sister’s on this trip. We’ve been poor. Dirt poor. For a while. So she really shouldn’t get mad when someone asked her if she’s a volunteer at the center.
Oh, she showed out!
“No, I ain’t no volunteer! You see this dingy outfit I got on? These shoes I got crooked over? My hair parted down. …On the nappy side.”
“I don’t volunteer,” she went on with all the attitude in the world and a slight head bob towards the end. “I’m tryna make a dime!”
Ok. Granted. The job is populated with undergrads for student work. And she is in her second go around in grad school. Therefore, she may look older than the other students, and with her coursework she looks disheveled.
That doesn’t mean she can’t hustle. Side jobs are the best. Besides, we’ve known our fair share of scuffling and trying to do better. Hoping for just once, we can be on top.
All we want to do is to go some where other than Payless and buy shoes.
Or get electronic equipment when it first comes out. She just got a DVD player!
The poor child figured my sister is there faithfully, on time, for six hours, every day, at a cold, empty desk for recreation.
Like we got leisure time.

Separate Shops for Big Girls

2007-03-12T08:53:00.000-07:00

I’m not a bias “lil” girl. I’m just wouldn’t tell any of my friends that something looks great on them and it really looks a mess. I tag along to Lane Bryant, sans the snobbery with any one of my big boned sistas. I’m just not going to sit there with a lady, who may be a size 20 and tell her a velour cat suit looks good on her, despite the roll or two that may be hanging out.
That’s where I have a problem. It started with Old Navy. Yeah, I got beef with Old Navy. It used to be my favorite stores. Now, I hate to go there, unless on a shopping trip with friends. ... Old Navy is a lie, and they truth ain’t in them. They are lying to some women!
The retailer used to cater to small and average sizes. All that’s great. But they threw me when I walked in there one day and saw a size 20 falling off the one of the hangers, in front a size 4. That’s when I walked OUT!
I have nothing against big girls. My two sisters are both voluptuous ladies and they wear it very beautifully. Yet, at the same time, what looks GREAT on my older and younger sister, like a nice peach tube top, paired with a cute denim skirt to accent her full calves may not flatter me. While I’m president of the “itty, bitty, titty” committee, I don’t have much to hold the tube up. At the same time, I may be able to pull of that halter to expose my tanned back with Capri’s to bring out my boney legs.
It’s not the consumers fault. Women just need to recognize their limitations. There are Big Girl boutiques, Lane Bryant, the Avenue and Lil Girl boutiques, the Limited and Express. They should stay separate. I should not see thick ankles in 5-7-9, when I’m looking for an empty dressing room. And other women tell the truth to your friends, stop saying something looks good and it doesn’t. That will not make you look better out of the group.
The way I look at it is that: If my friend looks great then me too! When I get a fresh outfit, I want her with one too. I’ll keep her looking great because she’s a reflection of my choices.

The Hope Saga...

2007-03-10T21:25:00.000-08:00

We fight all the time. She bites. I run and put up my fists like Ali!
She scratches me. I cry.
We cuddle and she purrs.
I like go home with a clean and shiny car. She leaves her tiny paw prints on the streak free windows. I tip over her food bowl.
She stalks my every move for a perrrfect attack. I hide.
She comes to my room looking for me. And I sigh deeply.
She tries to kiss me and I back away. Its not that I don’t love her, its just that she drinks freely out of the toilet.
Through it all, I still have Hope.

…one day I’d like to see someone other a senior citizen win the lottery.

He wears Tussy!

2007-03-09T06:52:00.001-08:00

My sister called me last night. She told me to turn the TV to “I Love New York.” I refused. I just didn’t want to indulge myself in such ignorance. The show is full of crazy antics. She knew I wouldn’t so she just asked, “Why is Taygo from the show still using Tussy.”
I fell out laughing. We both laughed. It actually brought up a great question.
With all the different choices of deodorant in stores today, why Tussy?
Not Axe. Not Degree. Not even Speed Stick.
Tussy.
She had to be kidding me!
A deodorant, which back in the day used to be a cream based paste. People used to dab a little on their fingers and rub it under their arms until it was, well pasted. Tussy is unisex and comes in a variety of scents.
After the thought, we laughed some more.
If you’ve ever touched deodorant it leaves a hard to get off residue on your fingers. Now, just imagine people back in the day having to rub it into their underarm. The mess it created for them had to be worse than getting it on your little black dress. And it used to be a wonder why my aunt, who’s 72 walks around today in 2007 telling us to “Take a little bit and Rub it in good, good, good,” and that’s her words to everything.

Thanks Amber for motivating me to write every day.

Hope Gotta Go!

2006-12-06T10:26:00.000-08:00

You’re probably going to think I’m wrong, or just flat out heartless.
Especially since the weather is cold.
But it’s a game that I’m sick of.
Every morning, it’s the same thing, for three weeks now.
I can hear her rapid heartbeat. Boom. Boom.
6:45 a.m., she times me perfectly. Waiting at my door, tiny paws outstretched. Claws in attack mode. She smiles. She smells my fear.
It’s a cat and mouse game and I’m the mouse.
It’s also five steps to my bathroom, a safe haven for me to wash my face and head to work. I can make it, she’s not that baaaAAAADDDDD!!!!!!!!
I didn’t even have a head start before her razor blade claws bear down on my ankle through soft skin. Oh Sweet Jesus. Prince of Peace. Ohhhh, that’s warm blood trickle down to my toes. My Dear Father. Bless the Kitten! Oh how I Love Thee. Smile. I just don’t care what my little sister thinks, but too the pound
…..HOPE GOTTA GO!

Not Another Minute

2006-12-02T10:22:00.000-08:00

“Relay Service, CA 1170, what’s the area code and number to dial please?
5…0…2…6…7…5…9….”

I can say those scripted lines with my eyes closed gracefully like an Academy Award winning actress.

My practice. I invest time in “Flop Ears”, “Thomas the Engine”, and “Lemony Snicket” with a little boy.

I can construct the world’s best influential speech…And put it into Flavor Flav hands and make him sound great.

……needs strong people skills. Got It! Looking for energetic people. Got It!

Humm…. a rest… Beep. Beep. Ha!

“Relay Service, CA 1170……. “Yes Sir, I’ll have that number for you.”

I can type 76 words per minute/no errors. My sound byte is better.

Beep. Beep. Well, its paying bills.

I can tell you about every stock and bond available to you like a renowned broker on Wall Street. Guess I could stay here.

This gray cube can’t be so bad. Steady check. Oh look they gave me a company water bottle when I completed training. Must be for to keep my voice after all the calls. Keep me fresh. It holds a full 20 ounces. Equipped with bendable straw. Hooray! I can get all the H2O I desire.

Beep. Beep. “CA 1170……”

Company policy. Thou shall not miss more than three days. We don’t care if you’re sick or the weathers bad. Don’t show up and you will be terminated! Thou shall work over 50 hours a week.

No overtime. Breaks are under five minutes and handed out sparsely. Do not use our emergency exits. Walk all the way to the back. Strap in this filthy seat.

I can…

(Manager) Ahh heem! CA 1170, your schedule for Saturday and Sunday is 1p.m. – midnight.

(Manager) Think you could swing it?

(Me) “CA here, one moment Sir”

(Manager) Wait! Wait! Where are you going? Your shift is not over CA 1170! Clock out! See you Saturday!

(Me) No.

(Manager) Sunday!?

(me) No.

This is for all the people working menial, mindless jobs.

Stop. Pass the doubters, haters and potholes. Head one mile up, make the right at the fork and follow your dream.

Our Conversations

2006-12-02T10:20:00.000-08:00

What’s up man! Hope you slept well. That’s not eye boogers; the Angels walked on your forehead and forgot to wash their feet.
Anyway Let’s play. Grip the ball. Get a great feel. Extend your arms. Go up strong. Follow through and snap your wrist. The shot should work every time. Look at Lebron. We just have to work on this jump shot. Your arms will catch up.
Say your prayers every morning and every night. Brush your teeth, when you get some. Make them both a routine.
Hold open doors. Keep smiling. Play games.
“Kind of Blue”, and “Ray”, are hands down some of the greatest music ever composed. And little man, we did not sleep in caves or beat each other over the head with clubs. If someone tells you that, they’re wrong…and Columbus was completely lost.
You are a king, said history.
What! Cool another smile. That’s on Channel 9. Yes, we do love the Yankees and Braves baseball.
The noon news you know its time for me to go to class.
Oh, and thank you so much for never complaining about our reading sessions. Thank for letting me read “Goodnight Moon” and I really enjoyed “The Very Hungry Caterpillar”, it reminded me of you.
Devin, need anything, you got my cell. Got a big day tomorrow, my little godson its one of my favorites “Cat In the Hat”. We’ve learned so much… Remember follow through. I better go to class. Work on that jump shot while I put you back in your crib.

Letter of a 6-year-old

2006-05-29T01:04:00.000-07:00

Are you sleeping? I had 2 ask! The thing is, my tiny sister and me used to share a room and in the dark, breaking the stale silence she used to always ask me if I was sleeping.
First, I'd say yes, (I quickly lied, she knew), then she'd go into making a full-blown conversation, and I was forced to participate.
She's bossy like that, and poor ol' shy n quiet me had to be under her rule.
I'm glad I'm outta that situation! I took a lot of abuse from her, had to get in the bath water after her ‘cause, momma said she was smaller, (don't act like u ain't have to 'save' bathwater).
Seriously now, I think, LIKE WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!!!
I look at Susan now like, damn momma were we THAT poor where I couldn't get no fresh hot bath water. With Mr. Bubble! I wasn't stepping into nothing but shallow grim anyway! By her being smaller and closer to the ground, she’s more polluted. Did I really have to get HER hand-me-downs and my brothers, dammit.
And I want more than four cookies. I want the whole bag!
Can I get NEW shoes more than ONCE a year!
Also, just 'cause Ms. Bea said I gave the finger while riding the school bus and put me in the corner for two hours, on my fragile knees doesn't mean I'm a troubled child. I was waving goodbye to my friends and smiling, who does that? I can’t help that I was born with a slightly crooked little finger. Hell, when I think about it that ol lady saw me from her kitchen window I was at the swing, that's damn near 50 yards away, the bifocal wearing hen used to drink too, and your going to believe her over me. One day, I’ll win! ‘Till then, I’m not a troubled child!

Riding Around

2006-05-28T23:25:00.000-07:00

Once again, I saw it. Classic picture.
I stopped at a red light next to a jalopy filled with kids in the backseat and at least three grown folks in the front. From looking outside of my tinted windows, everybody in the car looked agitated. I slowly sat back into my plush seats. The sight all too instantly brought me back to something.

I was back, sitting in that rear seat pilled up with my cousins. I was lanky, tall and a little older pre-teen so they always stuck me in the middle, on the hard hump.
If I were lucky I’d get the window seat and watch the scenery instead of the back of someone’s head.
Just my luck. Sigh. I’m wedged.
I wished I could have my own car and money. I would certainly get to the mall quicker and cooler. I wouldn’t be uncomfortable and get say on what’s on the radio.
Just something, because I grew tired of hearing they’re complaints and being picked on.
“It’s hot.”
“I’m hungry.”
“Sue, it’s too hot in here,” they’d repeat to my mom.
“When are you going to get the air-condition’ fixed?”
“Are we going to get something to eat?”
“Look at the dollar 2-piece special at Churches.”
“Awe man, there goes another red light, we’re going to be full of sweat”.
I threw my head back waiting on someone to save me, or at least finally come and tell me I’m adopted and I’ll be out of the situation!
“It’s just too hot up in here,” they echoed.
“Ohhhh, look at those people in that BMW, girl you know they riding clean. I bet they ain’t got no problems,” yelled, my older cousin with a drivers’ license.
“She prolly go home to the gated fence and tell the butler what she wants to eat,” she added.
“I wish I was in there,” my brother said.
“Ohh, that’s my car,” my little cousins calling shots on the cars.

It wasn’t nice sitting in the back of the old Buick on hot summer days just trying to make it to the mall to window shop. After days of sitting at home looking at each other, a trip outside, even if it meant to be canned like pickles it was worth it, sometimes.
On and on they would rag, as if we could do anything right then and there.

I didn’t complain because I already knew the situation I was going into. I felt like it would be a waste of my time and breath. I knew the Buick had no air. I knew it was going to be hot every day. I knew we would sweat and lose some of our fresh fully clean smell. I knew we were going to have to pile together to make the trip. I know I had only five dollars and a happy meal was $2.99. I knew we would look poor and meager to other people with nicer things. It’s not like we hadn’t made this trip before! I just wanted to get to the mall to see the fresh stuff coming out! We do this nearly every week. But, if I had to take another trip with them like this again, forget it, I’ll just stay at the house with the cat. Man! I surely wish for better days to come.
GREEN LIGHT! ALREADY!!!

I smiled compassionately. Who said it wasn’t cool to grow up? Time for me to go, I know what it’s like. I’m glad I envisioned something. Without any hesitation I zoomed off.