B'earthdays Were The Worst Days

Apparently most people take off work for their b'earthdays. I guess it's a special day that needs to be celebrated. Who knew?

I've been pretty ambivalent lately about my b'earthday. It drives other people crazy. They want to celebrate and wish me well. I try to avoid it. I even tried to cancel it this year to no avail.

I know I should just thank God for another year but it's hard. Why you say? Well let me give you the run down.

I have NEVER had a birthday party in my honor. Not a one. Not a balloon, a streamer, or a goody bag. Go 'head search the bday files. There's not one picture in my history of me face smeared in cake, wearing a silly cone hat...not one...doesn't exist.

I remember one cake in my younger years...but it was presented to me on July 4th...which happens to be my Dad's b'day & well...Independence Day. BBQs, fireworks, & red, white & blue everything does not a June 29th b'earthday make.

My 21st b'day with the ex was almost awesome. Except we ran into a high school friend who then commented on how fly I was that day...denim tube top, denim mini, hooker heels...I was HOT! My ex got all fire eyes on me & then bought a sweatshirt for me to wear the rest of the night...then I was really HOT!

Oh & then it was my 25th. I really wanted to get all my friends together and go clubbin'. Most of them bailed, or went somewhere else...I still don't know because I didn't speak to them for the rest of the summer. I ended up hanging out with my ex the Bartender Dude & a couple of his friends. I was too fly to stay home. We did have fun so I guess my day was kinda saved.

My hubby has since tried to make my b'earthdays a bit more memorable. There was that one year that we had just learned that we were pregnant. I worked that day & he had my mom make crab cakes and traveled far to Cold Stone Creamery for a Snickers ice cream cake. It would have been awesome except for 3 things. One, ice cream cake at the end of June in Bmore weather traveling a long way to get it is never a good idea. Two, I was newly pregnant and melted ice cream cake was not the business. Three, and this was the most important one. All I wanted was bday sex...that was it. With all the bday preparations guess what...the hubby was too tired. No Jeremih for moi.

There was also my 30th in Vegas. That was the best and not because we were in Vegas. It was awesome because there was a plan and that plan was beautifully executed. We dined at the Top Of The World at the Stratosphere and saw The Beetles Cirque Du Soleil Love Show at the Mirage. We drank, we gambled, we laughed, it was awesome! That was a good year.

Nothing however, will ever compete with my Super Sweet Sixteen. That year was the cat's crap. It started with pretty much no one saying Happy Anything to me, continued with me boxing up my room because my parents were splitting (yes on my bday), and ended with me at my friend's house with his crack head mother helping me look for the money she just stole from me. Yeah that b'earthday was friggin incredible!

So yes, thank you Facebook for reminding folks that it's my bday. Thank you hubby for trying so desperately to make up for the years of crappy bdays. Thank you Nish for not letting  me cancel it. Thank you Mom since it really is your birthday anyway.

And I'm sorry that I go to work & try to avoid the whole thing. And I'm sorry that I will continue to over do it on my kids bday to make up for the lack of my own. And I'm sorry if I'm not so lovely today...well it's my bday & I'll pout if I want to. And I'll try to accept your B'earthday wishes with a  smile.

But really it is just another day.

You Rock My World

Icons create styles. Icons create lasting images. There is no greater Icon than the late great Michael Jackson.

This time last year when the phone started ringing. I didn't want to answer it. I had already heard whispers and I was still in denial. No he's in a coma. He had a heart attack but he's fine.  My aunt called, then my brother. It was as if they were trying to convince me. I was shook. Twitter & Facebook were buzzing but it wasn't confirmed...well CNN hadn't reported it yet.

In that moment a flood a memories flashed before me. I thought of my MJ doll. I thought of the canceled concert I never got to attend. Of my Thriller record and playing it on my Fisher Price record player. I remembered how the album cover got stuck on top of  my white dresser after an incident with a blender, ice, milk, and orange juice. His eyes staring back at me every time I opened my dresser drawers...grab socks....Hey Mike...need a shirt...Hey Mike. He wasn't going anywhere.

But now he was gone...too...soon.

I thought about my ride home listening to Off The Wall, #4 in my CD changer. See, I've never stopped listening and loving. I started humming different songs and I turned on the radio and he voice was everywhere. The whole world was singing MJ.

But I had to see his face. Not the news clips of legal proceedings, and depositions. I had to see that picture. One picture. The one that hanged on my wall. The one with Michael in that yellow vest.

Don't we all know this picture? How many new artists create lasting images like this?

I googled Michael Jackson yellow vest...and there he was. And for a minute...just a minute...I felt relief.

In God & Six Dollars I Trust

Why is it so hard to start this post? There is no perfect sentence to begin this tale. So here goes:

I'm broke. Or as my mother would say, I have limited funds. Very limited. Not starving student limited. More like almost every dollar I receive needs to be released elsewhere limited. It sucks. Often.

This morning was no exception. I grab my remaining weekly stipend...5 singles and 4 quarters from the "Vacation Fund" jar and head down to a tasty breakfast made by my yummy hubby. He's awesome and cares for me so deeply I long to make him proud. I long to be self sufficient. I will not ask him for gas money.

Breakfast is yummy in my tummy...Toasted Italian bread, thick slice of juicy tomato, cheese, thick cut turkey bacon. Mmmm. This might be the best meal I'll have until I come back home. I pack a bag of chips. It's a salt thing. Then I down some chocolate soy milk hoping to curb my coffee craving and wonder out loud how much gas can $6 buy. "About 2 gallons", says the hubby. Cool. I'm off.


I already know I should have taken that frozen thing out of the freezer. Truthfully I don't buy them for myself. Except for the Stouffer's Mac n Chesse. It's a cheese thing. They're usually reserved as emergency rations for the hubby & the Fidget. Big mistake. Huge. Now I'm at a common crossroad. Do I buy lunch or get gas? No sooner than I pose this question, the stupid gas light comes on. There will be no coasting on fumes. My commute won't allow it.

I pull into the gas station and debate using my trusty debit card. I know Bank O' Sheisty will only authorize a buck as I fill 'er up but I just won an epic battle with them and don't want to press my luck. I also just read The Broke Diaries so I'm feeling empowered by my $6. Shiiiiiiiid I got $6 y'all...and what!!!!

I walk in the store. Lawd...can't remember the last time I paid cash for gas or the last time I actually said, "Can I get 6 on 11 please?"

"You want $6 dollars on pump 11 dear?" Grandma asks staring out to my car...twice!! I almost tell her that I'm topping off en route to summer in the Hamptons. But I'm clearly not and she knows it. Bytch just gimme my gas!

"Yes, please." The words follow me to the car. I start pumping gas and conditioning sets in. I get comfortable against the car with the pump handle on lock as if I'll be here a while. I do a quick inventory...oatmeal cream pie in desk...bag of...CLICK. The pump crawls to a stop. $5.97, $5.98, $5.99...this is so sad.

I ride off into the sunrise with my less than quarter tank of gas. Today's gonna be a hungry one peops. Damn I should have taken that frozen thing. 

An hour into work I hear the California stroll of my work hubby. Yes, I have a work hubby. He first swooned me with his quick overhaul of an overly complicated process. He's efficient y'all. Then he glamored me with his sweets. Chocolate cake, strawberry cake, cheese cake, ice cream. Delish.We swap "my kid is crazier than yours" stories. He even brings homemade liquor aka "daddy water" for my yummy hubby. He's awesome.

He lands this brick heavy baked confection on my desk and walks out to finish his call. It's huge and smells of butter, brown sugar, ginger, nutmeg, and cinnamon. It tickles my fancy and I name it Lunch!

He comes back and I quip about how he must have known I left my lunch home. He shrugs. We talk food. It's an occupational habit. I say I'm tired of all the food in the area. He suggests a local Chinese spot which I'm sure would challenge my Baltimore palate. Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out cash. I assume he's organizing his dead presidents. Then he rolls up a couple bills and hands them to me; offers it up to being too busy to have lunch.

Of course I hand it back. He gives me the "you better take this" look and I delete my pride. I accept the cash and stash it in my desk drawer. Conversation ends. He leaves my building for his building.

I open the drawer thankful for people like my work hubby, people who look out for me without even knowing it. Then I just start smiling.

It's exactly $6.

God I love how you work!

I'm Bodacious!

I'm super excited and honored to be recognized as one of for colored gurls Bodacious Bloggers!

for colored gurls is an all around empowering, uplifting site that recognizes women of color! If you haven't already checked it out please do.

My favs are Thankful Thursdays and Feel Good Fridays. Don't we all need to be stop and be thankful and feel good? I know I do!

Again thank you for colored gurls for the recognition!

Drake Stans & the Crying Butt Slappers

Let's time I checked we were ALL humans right? Well at least those of us that roam the sunlit earth (no True Blooders).

Women are free to show a full spectrum of emotion. We love, hate, cry rivers, praise, envy, slash tires, burn bridges, and nurture.

Meanwhile men are only publicly allowed to be cucumber cool or a wall punching fool.

Need an example: This week Hip Hop's Jewish Wonder Boy Drake finally released his much anticipated, God's greatest gift, let the heavens rain down on us all as we stand and rejoice his offering debut CD Thank Me Later. Fans including men were super excited to meet him at a CD signing. However, internet buzz was ablaze by some reactions from the men. So I had to see what all the crying and shaking was about. I half expected dudes to be fainting and carried out in stretchers MJ style but none of that happened.

After watching the clip from MTV News below this lovely girl thought the raw emotions were sweet not fruity, genuine not Stan-ish, pure not the typical male "I'm too cool to sweat someone's talents" unless it's Prince mentality. 

MTV Shows

When it comes to full on manly emotion I for one don't need nor care for someone who feels and emotes the  same way I do (be a man damnit) but why can't men show a little love for another man without all the homo rhetoric?

Better yet why is it only acceptable for men to cry when they're on a field, or court, or course, wearing jerseys, gear, and a number on their chests?

Hell, some even labeled our POTUS "soft" because he didn't cuss out BP fast enough. But if he held his Oval Office Address next to a box of Kleenex crying about the pelicans we'd impeach his azz.

Yet this is okay.

Why is this the only suitable attire men can wear when they cry? And while I'm on a roll (no Kaiser) what's with all the azz slapping? Who approved this?

And who authorized this butt dap?

I need answers people. The floor is open.

Who Removed My Training Wheels?

I love Creativity. She's been my dearest most diverse friend ever. She & I go back like plastic wrapped heart necklaces, like construction paper lanterns, and Casio keyboards. She pushed the pen on the first poem I scribed. She dressed my Cabbage Patch & made her shoe box bed. She's one talented chick.

We've had our mishaps too. She led me to believe that anything mixed with milk made...voila...milkshakes! Note: Orange juice & milk are a disgusting combo. She also blindly empowered me to think I could make EVERYTHING in my Childcraft Encyclopedia Vol. 11: Make and Do including a tree fort. She was hurtfully mistaken.

In recent years, we've been a bit out of touch. She stops by to conjure up quick three ingredient meals. And like Stevie Wonder can play any melody from one listen, she taught me to cook anything from one taste. She writes a mean love letter...and letters to friends...and Mom. She got me into scrap booking for a spell and made wall art when Money was acting funny. Oh and she can wrap a present or make a gift basket like nobody's business.

She's still THAT chick and I missed her so. I vowed this year I would make more time for her. Do lunch or something. Winter brought blizzards & she didn't show. Finally, once my front lawn defrosted, there was a knock at the door. "Hey girl, what's uuuuupppppp" **Big boobie embrace** There she was...my inner Kimora.

I haven't told her yet but I sold her house and gave away her car. She's living with me permanently. If I have to lock her up in my garage she's staying. Don't make me get my glue gun!!

Anyway it got me thinking about why I took so long to hold her hostage really connect with her. I came up with the following excuses reasons.

**taps mic...testing 1, 2**

1. Time:
There's just too much of it in a work week and not enough at home.  And now I'm somebody's mother...and wife...and sister...and daughter...and friend...and I love sleep, and Law & Order marathons & that ish is always on. It needs it's own network!! And dinner don't cook itself, and clothes don't wash themselves, and I've spent at least 13.5 hours this year fixing broke stuff. And somebody has to read the friggin mail...and speaking of mail...I got bills and they ain't Clinton & Cosby. Which bring me to...

2. Resources:
I go to this place and solve problems, be a team player, read emails, & taste test. Then at the end of each week they deposit money in my account. Sweet deal right? Hell no! Dat Dood's tuition gets a cut right off the top. And then there's those little luxuries like water and air conditioning. All of this takes away from building websites, licensing, marketing, and other endeavors that my resources say are LP (low priority) to filling the gas tank. Do I need a part time gig to finance my dreams? Does that have anything to do with Kevin Costner solving the oil clean up crisis? I need help. Which bring me to...

3. Support:
This one is tough. I love my family but they don't leave me be. I literally had to tell Dat Dood to get his butt off my shoulder this week. That Fidge starts her "what happened today" rant every time I open my net book. Oh and last week I decided I wouldn't go straight home. I drove pass mi casa en route to get an iced coffee, spotted my hubby in opposing traffic. I signaled the direction I was going and continued on my journey. Well who do I see park as I pull up to the drive thru window??? Yup, my yummy hubby with Dood in tow. Now he claims he misread my signal thinking that I wanted him to stalk me to the store. But none of that explains how Dood ended up in the back seat of my car while the hubby ran in another store.  I'm still smh-ing about that one. Now I know why people hide out write in bookstores and coffee shops. Maybe I should too...I'm not scared...which bring me to...

4. Fear:
Of failure. Of taking risks. Fear of success. Fear of actually being "'bout it" instead of talking about it. I'm 'bout to blow up son! Fear that no one cares, that no one will listen. That they won't get it. Or get me. Fear that it's too late. That I should have started sooner. Fear of the unknown. Of clowns. It. Fear that they'll see my freak flag. Fear that when I'm not looking someone will remove my training wheels and now I have to ride that ish...no Ciara.

Fear that my work/life balance will suffer again. I'm still unpacking from my mommy guilt trip of  '01-'03.  Not a place I'd visit again. The food was terrible.

Hopefully Creativity will have my back, show me love, erase all doubts, and pay off. And I hope she's patient with me because I'm just getting started.



What about you? What have you sacrificed? Are you realizing your dreams? What's holding you back?

The floor is open.

A Teachable Moment

I love love LOVE a teachable moment. I use everything as an opportunity to grow or share what I've learned with others. In fact that's what I truly believe is the purpose/meaning of life. Growth, in my humble opinion, gets you closer to God & that's where I aspire to be.

My life experiences and current events usually provide the substance for my words. Blogging provides the platform. So far I've blogged about lots of topics including my ex boyfriend and taking personal responsibility for the damage I caused in that relationship. I've blogged about how I let my last ex change me into someone I really wasn't. I blogged about a misunderstanding on Facebook between my bestie & I. I've blogged on how I'm learning to let my husband queen me without trying to compete with him. I even blogged about my hair issues. In due time, everything will become fair game in this blog.

My last ex was smart enough to know that these are my truths, written in my voice, from my perspective. He even learned a little something from my words and I learned how much I failed to communicate with him. Again, another teachable moment.

I've used the moniker Alovelydai for over a decade now. Sure it's a play on my name but it's also my reminder to keep things in proper perspective. This isn't always an easy task. Some days are not so lovely. However, I can chose to be a whoa-is-me miserable soul or I can chose to have a lovely Dai and to BE a lovely Dai.

I am a lovely Dai because I take personal responsibility for my words and actions. My blessings and growth opportunities (I don't believe in failures) are a direct result of the energy that I put into it.

I am a lovely Dai because I do not make anyone else responsible for my feelings or happiness. I chose happiness daily.

I am a lovely Dai because I am not a victim. I don't believe in victims or villains. No one has ever done anything bad to me that I didn't attract or need to use to grow.

I am a lovely Dai because the mommy & big sister in me will always find a way to use something I've learned, read, watched, or heard as a teachable moment to others as I see fit. Sometimes the light bulb moment is immediate, sometimes it's a Drake moment; you'll Thank Me Later. But my intent is always pure and sincere.

I will remain a lovely Dai because I accept that I am not always right even when my intent is pure and sincere. My recent attempt to pass my lessons on to a family member were met with a big Eff You! A great teachable moment for me. Actually one that I've already learned from my mother.

I can think I make all the logical sense in the world. I can tell you that making a right turn is wrong, that there are multiple accidents, that the traffic is at a stand still, that you may damage your car. I can tell you that the left turn is the best way; that there's a police escort & that you'll get there in record time. But I can't force you to follow my route. You may just decide to take the right turn just to see for yourself. Or you can take that right turn and discover a detour ahead. God willing.

I am a lovely Dai because that's the title of this blog. It's my blog. My truth. My point of view. If you don't care about my perspective then you shouldn't read my blog. If you don't like my words...don't read my blog. But if you're ever the direct recipient of one of my teachable moments please know this.

By the time I talk to you I have weighed the pros and cons...already. I have debated with myself about whether it's my place...already. I have thought over whether I'm being judgmental...already.  I made sure that my words are being delivered with love because you are in my love circle...already.

More importantly, I have accepted that my words may not be embraced with open arms...already. That's how grown I am.


So I pose the following questions you lovely readers you. Have you ever tried to teach someone something you know for sure? How were your words met? Did you give up? Did they give you the big ole Eff You?

The floor is open.

The Grown Aptitude Test

I had a disturbing conversation with my nephew's dad this past weekend. Apparently dude thinks it's cool to talk ish to my sister & in front of my Pookem Puff. Note: They're young & will eventually (hopefully) outgrow their distaste for each other, probably around the time they realize they were too young to have a kid in the first place. Since I'm a bit older than both of them, I thought I could talk to this youngin & save him from years of BS. Been there, done that you know. 

Well...all my rhetoric went in one ear and out his azz. In fact this dude was appalled that I chose to talk to him. Saying, "Yo, I'm a grown man, you can't be talking to me like this." I was waiting for him to bust a "I don't need nobody to tell my how to take care of my kid! I takes care of mine!" So I reminded him that he just picked my Pookem up in a hack (illegal cab for all you fortunate non-hooders)...right before he hung up on me. Harsh? Puh-lease...grown men should be able to take honesty right? Right? (Crickets)

Anyway, it took me back to that age...to being a young parent...to dealing with my ex. I was in college, he was a weed head...but at least we each had our own cars. And yes, like Pookem Puff's Daddy (lol that makes me giggle) I thought I was grown too. I had birthed a kid...a whole human...from inside me!! That's gotta be some grown stuff right? Right? (Swats cricket)

Since I hate repeating myself about as much as Jay Z hates waiting, I've developed The Grown Aptitude Test. A series of 15 questions designed to validate your level of growndom. You don't have to answer yes to every question. I still can't. But the next time someone tells you they're grown when clearly they can't spell the word, just have them take this:

THE GROWN APTITUDE TEST:

1. Are you over the age of 21?
2. Have you enrolled in and/or completed college, trade school, culinary school, etc.?
3. Have you maintained full time employment for more than 12 consecutive months?
4. Have you had a job interview that required multiple interviews over 1 or more days?
5. Do you own a suit?
6. Do you have reliable transportation? This includes a public transportation pass that is paid on a monthly basis.
7. Do you have your own valid car insurance separate from your parents?
8. Have you secured your own housing (apartment, house, room) and established your own utilities? 
9. Have you made a meal from food that you purchased?
10. Do you have debt outside of a credit card bill, i.e, personal, auto, home loans? 
11. Have you paid off anything? Including but not limited to; car, home, credit card, student loan, furniture or computer bill.
12. Have you received a tax refund other than an  Earned Income Credit rebate and/or owed taxes?
13. Have you ever given up on little luxuries in favor of paying a bill? Examples: $60 perfume, sneakers, XM radio, bi-weekly hair styling.
14. Have you ever planned and hosted an event (birthday, holiday, etc.) at your home that was not a pot luck or BYOB?
15. Can you sit in a quiet room without television, radio, ipods, computers, games, books, or any other distractions and be still for more than an hour?

Score: 

0-5 answered YES: You ain't grown enough to know that ain't ain't a word.You all wet behind the ears. Probably never been to traffic court.

5-10 answered YES: It's a different world from where you come from huh? You meal planning, bill paying you! Now go get some furniture that's not from Rent-a-Center!

10-15 answered YES: Whew! You probably got a few gray hairs and never get enough sleep.You keep it up with your grown azz self. Somebody has to pay those bills.



Are you grown enough to share your score?

Dirty Mouth? Stop Cursing & Sh*t

Remember when TV shows wouldn't even use the word pregnant? Well, neither do I. But I hear it was a magical time in television where every one drank and smoked and couples slept in twin beds. My kids will never know what that's like. They'll never know Must See TV Thursdays with The Cosby Show, After school Specials, or how nice it was to watch a commercial without hearing BLEEP & BLEEP you, you Bleeping Bleep.

Sadly, these bleeps are now a regular occurrence. In fact I think Webster & Oxford should just go ahead and add bleep to the dictionary as:

bleep: (noun, verb, adjective, or adverb)

• a short, relatively high pitched sound used to replace every other word spoken on such cable channels as Vh1, MTV, and BET during non-scripted but surprisingly scripted shows where the show wants to seem edgy by having the characters curse but then cover up said curse to avoid FCC fines.

It's really annoying. Watching this years MTV Movie Awards & Vh1's Hip Hop Honors was like understanding what a dog goes through when he hears those high octave whistles. I wanted to bark at the screen and howl at the moon. Then if that's not enough Jaden Smith, son of Jada & Will Smith, along with Jackie Chan present the award for Biggest Bada**. Yup and pint size Jaden announces, "And the winner of Biggest Bada** goes to..." **clutches pearls**

Wow, where I'm from that's still grounds for a pack of Orbit gum. In fact I'm a grown a** women but I will not say that in front of my mother or any one else I deem worthy of my potty mouth off switch. This includes my office Administrative Assistant, my mother in law, and even my younger brothers & sister. I also do not cuss in front of or at my kids no matter how effin much I want to.

And another thing. I can avoid HBO or certain CDs in the car when I'm driving with the offspring but I shouldn't have to avoid commercials for the movie Kick A** (on Nickelodeon!!) or the news because our President feels the need to kick some a** regarding the oil spill. While I'm at it, where's the Walmart edit for half the songs on the radio?

To be clear, I like a cleverly placed F bomb just like the next person. I'm even known to drop a few from time to time. Oh who am I kidding I love curse words. They're effing necessary. I'd like to string them around my neck like a big sh*t d*mn motha f*cking necklace. I'd wear that b*tch proudly. But alas I have a family and a son who's still learning to tell stories & who also is the "What the heck" police (sadly I can't even say heck in my house...what the f*ck). I'd just like to watch or listen to anything with my family and not have to mute every other word.

It seems that a** & b*tch are now as common place as idiots are to BP. At this rate f*ck, sh*t, & n*gger won't be far behind.

What do you think? Should I just shut the f*ck up? Or has this cursing sh*t just got out of hand?

The floor is open...I'm going to read some Dr. Seuss....

Silly Rappers

In this week in Silly Rappers...Slim Thug adds to the rhetoric that successful black women are the devil, DMX's wife proves crack isn't so wack, & Lil' Kim pits Generation Y2K against iGeneration.

Slim Thug:

The Twitterverse was on fire today with commentary relating to Slim Thug.

Brief Synopsis: Thug did a blog/interview/video (still debatable) for Vibe Magazine where he remarked about the state of black women. Here's a quick excerpt:

"Most single Black women feel like they don’t want to settle for less. Their standards are too high right now. They have to understand that successful Black men are kind of extinct. We’re important. It’s hard to find us so Black women have to bow down and let it be known that they gotta start working hard; they gotta start cooking and being down for they man more. They can’t just be running around with their head up in the air and passing all of us."

The Twitter backlash and subsequent foot in mouth defense of Slim Thug himself eventually caused him to lock his tweets from all non-followers. This of course was AFTER he tweeted about how he raps about money, cars, & of course thugging & shouldn't be considered an expert or role model for black woman seeking love.

Thug, I couldn't agree with you more. Your name says it all. You keep thugging with your not so Slim self.

Moving on...

DMX:

I always go into an episode of Vh1's Behind The Music hoping to learn something that I didn't already know about artists that I've followed....and boy did I ever!

I learned that X is a semi-functional crack head from way back. Like way back. But this really isn't about him. It's about his wife Tashera Simmons. Girlfriend should do the cover for Slim Thug's book, Ride or B*tch Die: How to Make & Keep Your B*tch Loyal Through Just About Anything. There's a saying that when people tell you about themselves you should believe them. Well Tashera didn't get that memo. Poor thing probably can't read anyway.

She first laid eyes on him as he was robbing someone in the neighborhood. They started dating AFTER this. While dating he couldn't hold a gig, gets locked up for various thug crimes, and then drops this hammer on her.

"Hey Boo Boo, I got a demon to tell you, it's dark & hell is hot & I do a lil' crack...okay maybe a lot."

To which Mrs. X says, "Oh that's all. I can live with that." They get pregnant & he goes back to jail. Eventually he becomes a famous rapper, praying, crying, & asthma attacking on stage. He goes on to make 5 mil a movie. But guess what. He's still a semi-functional crack head...with demons & money to blow...or snort, or inject, whatever you do with crack.

In fact this genius didn't feel the need to separate from this man until he got someone else pregnant. Moral of this hood tale. Robbing, thugging, & crack using your retirement & kid's financial future is cool. But adding another baby mother to the equation is a deal breaker.

And finally:

Lil' Kim:

I have a confession. I allowed myself to comment on the on going issue that is Lil' Kim vs Nicki Minaj: The Battle for Queen Barbie Supremacy. My instinct was to go in on all these Nicki Stans then I had a Windows 7 epiphany.

I am too old for this crap. I'll clarify. This "beef" over whether Nicki needs to bow down & pay daily homage to Kim is futile. Truth is she has. Truth is at one point Kim even crowned her with "next" status. Then somewhere between the Barbie movement & Kim's pre-comeback it all got covered in green, pink, & blue wigs.

I'm too old for this because this is a generational beef. This is like comparing Chaka Khan to Mary J Blige, Aerosmith to Green Day, or R Kelly to Trey Songz. Generations have been taking & reinventing the game since on your mark, get set, go. And alas some of us late 20's & 30 something grown folk are feeling the divide.

Lil' Kim & Nicki Minaj came out over 10 years apart from each other; 1995 and 2007 respectively. There is no way nor is there any one age where you can fully appreciate them both. Unlike rock or R&B music, rap is best served to the current culture that cooked it. If you can fully relate to Kim's Hard Core when Hard Core came out then Nicki Minaj is too young for you. Give up the debate. I'll go first.

What are your thoughts about these silly rapper issues? Did you avoid it all? Did you succumb to the commentary like I did? The floor is open.

An Ordinary Wednesday Night

A few peoples have brought it to my attention that I never write about my crazy Mommy adventures. I don't. Truth is I just don't want this space to become one of those blogs...there's plenty of them out there...one of my favs is http://shitmykidsruined.tumblr.com. While it doesn't really chronicle the life of a mommy it's funny & "the strongest visual birth control on the market". My Mommy life can be quite funny. The following chronicles just an ordinary Wednesday night. Enjoy.

So Lyric (a.k.a Fidget or Fidge) my soon to be high schooler is prepping for the 8th grade swim party on Friday. Problem is she only has 50% of her bathing suit...reason #5 no one under 18 should wear a 2 piece. She has her top but no bottoms and since this girl has a bottom it must be topped with something! So on my way to pick up Josh (a.k.a. Dood or Dat Dood) from preschool I figure I'd run in Old Navy & survey the options since it's on the way. The wall is full of itsy bitsy teeny weeny bikinis...not a good look. Ah the one pieces...I find a navy suit, cute cut, will flatter her perfectly...she'll hate it. I leave.

I pick up Dat Dood who had a great day & an "accident". He's now wearing his extra clothes; his school's promo t-shirt & last years shorts. LOL I guess that's why they call them shorts huh? I grab his wet clothes & nap time blanket, throw him in his car seat & head home. He starts with the "Mommy this not your car...this Daddy car" crap. "Well Dood until Nissan fixes Mommy's AC we're driving Sonny." Sonata aka Sonny. I name everything. We're home now safely pulled in the driveway behind the hot a** Max (Maxima of course).

I check on Banana, Dood's yellow beta fish...Yup he's dead. I unplug the filter. Mental note: flush Banana to the big ocean in the sky later. I plop on the sofa. 5 minutes into my plop the Fidget asks when we're leaving. "Fidge give me a minute to just sit here."

2 hrs later she comes back fully dressed. And I mean fully dressed. Long jeans, tank & jacket. Asking why she has on a jacket as hot as it is is futile. My logic can't penetrate her. And to her I stopped making sense years ago. Okay, "Lyric throw his clothes in the wash, Dood put your shoes on, let's go!"

I grab my wrist wallet, phone, shades, half bag o' M&Ms, keys, tell Dat Dood to throw his raggedy blankie on the steps & exit.

Fidge exits behind us. "Ma you got house keys." Me, "Hmm mmm." They're jiggling baby. She locks & closes the door.

I hit the unlock button on the key ring & Max's lights blink. I'm comfuzzled now. Why art thou blinking Max? Are you hot? Need some freon huh? Then it hits me. I grabbed the wrong keys & my house key is strategically placed on the key ring of the car I'm supposed to be driving. FUUDDDDGGGGEEEE!!!!!

"Come on Mommy, let's go bye bye!" "Wait Dood. And don't touch the door handle!" All I need is Sonny's alarm screaming & no way to stop it.

Okay okay what to do. You're trained Dai. Aha! That's it. The kitchen window is unlocked. It's always unlocked.

"Lyric call Kayla & ask her for a ladder." She just gives me the look. "I asked you if you had your key." I give her the look back. Now is not the time!

She decides to walk over...it's only 3 houses down. I watch her at the door for what seems like forever. Where's that friggin ladder? Let me call my hubby.

"Babe...I locked us out the house." He's all "how & what now"...& realizing that he car pooled to work. I note that he won't be home for another 2 hours. Sigh...I tell him I'll call back with an update. Lyric comes back. She tells me Kayla isn't home but her step dad Melvin is on the way over.

Melvin takes one look at me, shakes his head & mumbles something about "what I've done now." I ignore him. Just b&e the place will ya.

We head to the back yard. Melvin checks the basement windows & sliding kitchen door. Yup Fort Knox. He runs to his house grabs a lawn chair, places it below the kitchen window & begins his Cirque du Soleil screen prop. The chair sinks down into the earth & I now know 2 things for sure. One Melvin does not own a ladder & two the window screen is only made to open from the inside out. Damn secure home builders! He takes my Max key & attempts to the jimmy the screen just enough to push the window up. We'll throw Josh through the window if we have to. No luck. He asks if I'm sure the window is unlocked as he presses on it.

I grab my phone & call the hubby. "Babe, did you lock the window recently?" He replies, "No, I don't think so." Which pretty much means he probably did.

I thank Melvin for NOT breaking & entering. Send God a big "thanks for securing my home" shout out & move on to Plan B.

"Alright y'all. So I'm going to have to drive Max around Sonny over the grass & down Justin's driveway."

The light bulb above Melvin goes off. "Aww man. You got the keys to the car that's blocked in?"

"Yessir..."

We head back to the front of the house. I do a quick measurement and decide to go for it. The kids stand on the porch and Melvin pulls up the solar lights from the ground. Wouldn't want to hit them.

I turn the wheel hard over to the left, drive across my not yet perfect grass, over to my neighbor's driveway & brake. The kids hop in & we're on our way. To somewhere. To waste 2 hours. Easy. To the Walmart!

I start driving down the hill to the main road and feel the sweat bubble. This car has no friggin air conditioning! Ughhhhh!!!

No worries. I call mi madre...she'll get a kick out of this one. I tell her how "we" locked ourselves out the house & Fidge is all "no WE didn't YOU did!" Then in her effort to balance the universe she calls her boyfriend and tells him how I locked us out. I thank God that her friend lives on the west coast (which to her point is the safest sex possible) and find a nice parking spot at Wally World.

I call the hubby. Give him a quick update. I tell him that Banana is dead. Clothes are in the wash & need to be dried. He goes into Mr. Fix it mode, offers $50 to take the kids out to dinner (just grab him something) & waste time. This night is looking up. Okay so I'm lying. I'm taking my teenage daughter to the store to buy a half a swim suit with a blankie-less Dood. This will not end well.

We grab a few bottoms & I force her to try on 2 one piece suits. One of which is perfect. She hates it. She tries on all kind of 2 piece suits & I have no choice but to let her see that her choices are all wrong. Time is a wasting but Dat Dood is not having any fun. I pull out my trusty M&Ms and give him a few by color. Green is first. We leave empty handed.

"Mommy we go to Chuckee Cheese?" Huh, crap that friggin mouse is a cross the parking lot. I tell him no & give him more M&Ms. The color is yellow.

I discover Burlington Coat Factory in the parking lot after we're all hot & strapped in. We drive 35 feet and park again. The store is closing in 20 minutes. Plenty of time to argue about how Fidge doesn't like anything I do & all of her choices are inappropriate and overpriced. Plenty of time to yell at Dood while he bangs on the window watching the cashier take her last smoke break. Smoke break? Doesn't this place close soon? Plenty of time to cram into another dressing room as she hates everything. Plenty of time for the sugar to take over Josh sending him dangerously over edge. Arggghhh!! We leave empty handed.

I pull into Chipotles. Josh automatically starts crying. He has a 2 store limit. I leave them in the car, run in, & watch the burrito girl take an extra long time making the hubby's food. She must be locked out too. I ponder the sour cream for a spell. Sour cream? Hot car? Eff it. I hop back in the car just after the last streak of sun disappears with the sour creamed burrito. I reply to my hubby's text that he's on the way and breathe a small sigh of relief. I thank God for hubby, soap, and showers.

I could just go home & try this again tomorrow but I have an insane need to please my daughter. She's a great girl by all accounts. I'll lock myself out the house for her.

To the Target.

Josh has lost it. It's after 9pm. Dat Dood should be home already. Bathed already. In bed already. Not in a red lit store rummaging for swim suits.

I've worked retail before and the thing I hated most were the last minute customers. I'm sure the lady straightening the swim suits agrees with me. I try to put everything back the way she had it but I can't control Dat Dood. He's a gremlin now & it's not his fault.

We're now back to Mommy & Fidge Mission Swimsuit Impossible Part 3. She picks this moment to tell me that the swim suit top she has feels like she's going to plop out it. I question why we're concentrating on bottoms & cover ups if the top doesn't fit well. She shrugs. "I don't know." Then she spots a suit in her favorite color of the week...purple! She smiles. All I can see is the back it out & it's strapless. How in the God's creation...

"But Mommy it comes with straps & it's on clearance!" God be a purple swim suit on clearance.

To the dressing room. Dood & I wait on the bench outside the door. He snacks on the last of the M&Ms. The color is here take the whole bag.

I walk back to check on her. She hates everything including the magical purple swim suit. We hand the suits to the attendant & my phone buzzes.

"Hey babe. I'm in the house. I parked Sonny on the street so y'all can pull right in." You mean NOT over the lawn? "Thanks babe." God be a good hubby. "And I put the clothes in the dryer. Oh & Banana is um...flushed." Thanks babe! I tell him we're leaving Target & will be home shortly.

Empty handed again we hop in Max, & head home. Home it's nice when you have a key. Fidge is bummed. I rub her leg & muster up something from the Mommy file about how it's going to be okay. We'll try Old Navy tomorrow or the mall...whatever it takes. Lawd why did I say that? God be a rum & coke.

Then I go on about how bathing suits are the devil and how books, magazines, & Oprah have all spent years educating women on finding the perfect one. I tell her how even the itty bitty titty committies & no-a**-at-alls have a hard time too. It's not your fault. It's Lycra's fault. Let's sue them & Nissan's service center for not fixing a problem right the first time! I think she cracked a smile. Couldn't tell. It's dark & this car is hot.

Home sweet home. Derrick meets us out front still in his dress pants. "I thought you had bags or something." I shake my head no. Too hot to explain. Aww the cold feel of AC. Lyric goes up to show me her swim suit top. I give my hubby his burrito. It's still hot. Great for steak, bad for sour cream. He says he's only going to eat half. I try to laugh at his joke.

"Mommy?" I walk to the stairs. I'm trying to see and feel what Lyric is talking about. Looks secure to me. I tell her to jump up & down. She does. Bark like a dog. She gives me the look. Well okay then...jump off the steps. She does. The top passes my tests. I head for the shower thinking I swear ta beans if likes that navy suit at Old Navy I'm gonna hurt her!

    *************

This morning we're all done. Daddy kidnaps Dood from his bed still sleep. He's not ready yet. My mom calls to make sure I got in last night. I will never remember to call her when I get home. Derrick starts going through his pants pockets & pulls out a crumpled receipt.

"Ooh you stashing dollars huh?" I kid. "What? You got $50!" He makes sure to remind me. I offer it back to him. He declines like I knew he would & I remind him that he's off early on Friday. We'll have date night...on him. He eyes me up & says "Yeah...I'll bring the house keys."

Black Weblog Award

Hello Out There!!

Got your attention. Thank you so much!

Nominations are being accepted for the 2010 Black Weblog Awards.

So if you love this blog...or just love me...I'd love for you to take a moment go to Black Weblog Awards & nominate http://alovelydai.blogspot.com/ for an award.

After all, what better to extend my readership than by winning an award!

There are many categories and 4 that I would love to be recognized for:

Best New Blog
Best Personal Blog
Best Writing in a Blog
Blog to Watch

Thank you already!

~Alovelydai

Divorce is Bad for the Environment

I have this romantic theory about marriage and longevity. I call it the Rocking Chair Test. When pondering a relationship, marriage, or whether it's time to let go, I go to the front porch.

Follow me now. Close your eyes and imagine that you're 70 plus. It's a warm summer's morning. You've just finished breakfast and are now reading the news on your iEyes (voice operated virtual reading glasses that display everything from your fav e-books to live streams from CNN...thank me later Apple). A breeze prompts you to do a quick back & forth on your rocking chair, the wind chimes chime in, you sip your lemonade, and look to your right. Who's there? Is it the love of your life or a honey bee after your croissants and strawberries? For me, it's always my yummy hubby. If you can't see yourself with the person you're with now old, gray, rocking, sipping, reading, catching the morning summer wind decades ahead...then give it up. Life is a lot longer than you think.

Certainly I'm no expert on this. My nuptials haven't reached the diamond anniversary yet. But I do know a thing to two or three about when to call it quits. And I know you don't wait 40 years to do it.

Come on Al & Tipper Gore. You mean to tell in 40 years you two haven't developed some protocols or a secret handshake or something to stay together. In 40 years you have heard everything single thing each other has to say. In 40 years you know what each other takes in their coffee, bed time rituals, the song hummed when teeth are being brushed. You've heard every lame joke. You've tolerated every in law.

Your marriage has survived Vietnam deployment, 4 children, and the near death of one them.

Your marriage has survived hippies & free love. Disco & psychedelic drugs. It's surpassed excess and big hair and witnessed the birth of the crack war and AIDS.  From pen & paper to PC. From 8 tracks to iTunes you stayed married. Through 8 years by the Clintons side. Through Lewinskygate you endured.

It even survived this =======>









So it begs the question...why now?

Did you stay for the kids? Hogwash...your youngest turned 18 a decade ago. Nice try.

Did you stay together to keep up political appearances? Sorry Al but you lost the 2000 Presidential election to Dubya. These are facts and may I also remind you both again...that was a decade ago. Tipper did you just realize he would never be the POTUS?

Did you just realize you have little in common? We know, we know...Al was never the party starter (Nish stay out of this 1) but you knew that back in '70 right?  When everyone was doing a lil dance, making a lil love, & getting down tonight, Al was practicing his future acceptance speech to the U.S. House of Reps. In fact it took Tina Fey & a game of Operation to find this man's funny bone. So that can't be it.

Did someone just decide they wanted to be with someone else? Of course this rumor has been fiercely denied but after 40 years who will you bring to your grand kid's future weddings?

Did you just "grow apart"? Puh-lease. Grow apart? After 40 years the only things that should grow apart are mountains and silicon boobs.

Did you just realize you were living separate lives?  Really? When? During Vietnam? During congressional commitments? Perhaps it was in '88 when Tipper was busy raising 4 children and Al launched his first bid for President. Oh it must have been those days when Al flew to Hollywood to accept his Oscar & Grammy. No? That wasn't it huh? Well maybe it was the week Al spent abroad receiving his Nobel Prize. No didn't happen then either? Well then I just don't know when this could have happened because you've ALWAYS lived separate lives. That's what happens when you're a public servant or a concerned mom championing for parental advisory stickers on CDs.You go off and perform your civic duties and then you come back to your family.

Allow me to retort with the best answer to stay together yet. Divorce is bad for the environment. Yeah add that to your flow charts and spread sheets Mr.Gore. Divorce splits households, which builds more consumption, which adds to additional waste. It takes a lot more energy to run two homes instead of one. That's more wires, more electricity, more heat, more water, more air conditioning. Think of all the light bulbs you'll need to replace in a separate home. For goodness sake Gores think of the dolphins...or whales or whatever tickles your fancy. 

Alas carbon billionaire...me thinks you both should have consulted the front porch before you made this announcement. I assure you that when you're rocking on that rocking chair later in life & you look to your side to find your love gone & a honey bee after your sweet tea that will be the most inconvenient truth of them all.

1 My bestie Nish & I were out enjoying drinks at a hotel bar. She obviously lead me in drinks because after her brazen hotel lobby piano performance she starts going on a spiel with some Russian dudes about how Al Gore is the coolest dude ever! This was many moons ago & Al had not yet donned his cape on 30 Rock. We have never returned to this hotel as I'm sure each doorman now has a picture of us.