Monday, October 31, 2005
Man, I try to dodge these little tags, but DJ Diva, the baddest female DJ this side of Jazzy Joyce and Spinderella, tagged me upside the head with a turntable, so I had to oblige...
7 things I plan to do before I die...
1. Write a book and have it published... (I have 3 books and 1 novella stuck in my brain... just a matter of gettin' em out!!)
2. Own my own business. (Doing what? I don't know...But I know that what I'm doing now is NOT my destiny...)
3. Drive cross country with my lil' brotha Da'Kari in an RV (we can't take my sister Kay... she's too much of a Diva... I've seen Da'Kari pimp a U-haul truck, so I would love to see him pimp an RV!)
4. Get an MFA. Shoot, I want to learn how to write, how to put together similes and metaphors and shit... (that is, if I can get over the whole traumatizing Ph.D. procees I went through seven years ago... I still get the freakin' shakes everytime I drive by a school.)
5. Get debt-free (so I can really ball out with my money!)
6. Spend an afternoon with my father. (I haven't seen him in fifteen years. And he lives 5-10 minutes from my new house. My goal had been to go talk to him when I turned thirty, but I,being a damn chicken, haven't done it. Auntie gave me his number, though... Maybe I'll call.)
7. Take a cruise around the world (It cost $65,000 for the deluxe suites and $15,000 for the economy rooms. ... Give me the $15, 000 ticket, man... I saw Titanic... I want to party with those peasent travelers.)
7 things I can do...
2. crochet (better than the average grandma)
3. Fix and repair several instruments.
4. If you dog me out, use me, or get me caught up in some mess, I will cut you off without a second thought. (Hey, why should I sit around and cheese in your face and kiss your triflin' ass,hunh?)
5. Watch T.V for 24 hours straight. (I do this at least once a year... My own personal way of "vegging out".)
6. Drive a U-haul truck. (I learned this while moving... I was quite proud of myself.)
7. Play a mean game of NBA 2K5. (This is me and my brother's thing. I know we horrify my sister with all our jumping around and shouting (LOL)...)
7 things I can't do...
2. Run with a "click". (I am the consumate loner. I love my own company!)
3. Tell lies without it seriously bothering my conscience.
4. Sit around plotting to get back at or hurt someone.
5. Kiss ass. (This makes me particurly hated by the evil management on the job... Do you manufacture the air I breathe? No?... Well don't expect me to kiss your ass!)
6. Hang with people who are ass kissers. (This has to be worse than me kissing ass...).
7. Say what people want to hear.(Closely tied to my hatred of ass kissing. Why fake the funk, hunh???)
7 things that attract me to the opposite sex...
1. Nice lips.
3. Thighs (I like men's thighs, for some reason. Don't ask me why or how, because I don't remember where this began, but it is what it is...)
4. Chest hair (and not that old nappy chest hair, man!)
5. A sense of humor.
6. Has an education.
7. Good Credit.
8. I'm cheating here... has some spirituality...(Do you pray, even in the midst of your triflement?)
9. Minimal family drama... everybody got something crazy going on in the family, but let's not get all crunk with it, okay???
7 things i say most often...
1. You busta!! (used when someone pisses me off. And I have to do the Celie two finger crooked point with that...)
2. Glory! (pronounced "glow-reee".)
3. Shawty (Something I picked up from my lil' brother. That's what he calls me. I swear,sometimes I don't know if my name is "Lee" or "Shawty"!)
4. Oldgirl/Oldboy: general term I use for people when I don't feel like using their names.
5. Twerk: term I use for getting your groove on. Especially useful at work, because a couple of the upper management folks are twerkin' it out...
6. "Ya'll betta have my paycheck in the bank on Friday!!!"... Used when management thinks I've done something wrong or I am feeling a bit harrassed.
7. "I'll Holla!" Used when I'm getting the heck out of dodge.
7 celebrity crushes...
1. Boris Kudjoe. (He's cute, but he's probably stuck up. He's on everybody list, too.)
2. Morris Chestnut (not when he was in Boyz in the Hood.... was too skinny back then!)
3. Benjamin Bratt (Damn, Julia Roberts, why did you break up with him, girl?)
4. Chris Klein (I've liked him since American Pie. Don't ask me why...)
5. Will Smith
6. David Banner (Nothing like a rapper that uses his real name and doesn't roll with a crew of
a hundred folks!!!)
7. And last but not least.... My fellow blogger...The roving poet...MARCUS HARRIS. (Dude,
how is it that you can make my toes curl with the mere written word?? And then you are so smart and politically astute. Oh my oh my oh my...Honey, I'm a tomboy, but you sure do know how to bring the "Lady" out of LadyLee...)
Alright doggonit, Marcus! Shorty, you got me all excited... I must move on...
And finally, 7 people I want to do this...
Usually I am the last person tagged, and heck, I don't know too many other bloggers... So I can come up with only a few people... And If you have done it already, just ignore me!
1. Cydney Rax
2. Khalli 88, the sneaker king.
3. Serenity 23
4. Stacey-Deanne, 80's love child
5. Sista K
6. Chubby Chocolate
Thanks DJ Diva... that was fun!!!
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
There's a soldier in the house...
There's a soldier in the house...
If you see him point him out...
If you see him point him out...
Thought I'd post the basic training military picture of my lil' brother Da'Kari.
I talked to him about this photo the other day. I don't understand why he had to be looking all hardcore. He could of at least smiled. He said "The girls smile, not the men!"
Whatever... I can't get down with the lack of facial hair either. I guess they taught him how to shave. I asked him for his Drill Seargent's phone number. Maybe I could talk him into letting him keep his mustache (yeah right!).
I haven't seen him since June 29, but he'll be home for Christmas. I'll see him at graduation. And he has a short layover in Atlanta before he ships off to Maryland in mid November so we should be able to see each other for an hour or two at the airport before he ships out...
He seems to be all excited about his basic training, though. So good for him!
So Da'Kari, your Playstation 2 controller is still waiting for you! And I'll see ya when I see ya...
And boy, when you take your picture in your formal uniform?
Don't forget to smile!!
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
A day I will always remember.
A day that is permanently burned into my memory.
The day of "The Accident". Or that's how my Mother has referred to it over the years... And I have no real idea why. I've come to think that it was a polite (or politically correct) way of referring to it...
"The Accident", the adults would say when talking about the situation.
It was a cool Autumn day, and my earliest memory of October 25, 1976 is of my mother picking me up from Sullivan Mitchell Academy off of Bankhead highway, the private school I attended. We went by McDonalds. There was no "Happy Meal" back then, so I got my usual order of a double cheeseburger, small fry, and small orange drink.
We went on home, as usual. I finished my food, and then I went to play in my room. About an hour later, she called me into the dining room and said that her friend Carlos was taking her to Red Lobster. She wanted to know if I wanted to go, or if I wanted to be dropped off at Grandmama's house.
Sure, I had just eaten and I was full. I knew I should've gone to Grandmama's house. But I was a sucker for Red Lobster's popcorn shrimp, so I told her that I wanted to go with her.
Well, Carlos came over around 8:00 p.m. that night. I liked Carlos. I wasn't sure if he was my mama's boyfriend or not, but I liked him. He always played with me. I remember just looking forward to seeing him when my mama said he was coming over...
We rode around for awhile in my Mama's orange 1972 Ford Pinto with the black vinyl interior. (I use to love that car!).
We never went to Red Lobster. I can't remember why we hadn't gone there. I mean, we lived in Adamsville, off of MLK. We didn't live far from the Red Lobster on Campbellton Road.
But we drove around for a long time. Looking back, it had to have been at least an hour.
Then we turned onto a dark road. There were no streetlights at all on this road.
Then Carlos pulled the Pinto over to the side of the road, then pulled out a huge butcher knife and began repeatedly stabbing my mother.
I don't remember saying anything. I don't remember screaming. Probably out of pure shock I didn't scream or speak. I remember getting on my knees in the back seat and leaning forward and watching as my mother pleaded with Carlos.
Then Carlos turned the knife on me and lunged at me twice, grazing my stomach area. I jumped back against the back seat out of his reach. He jumped into the back seat, straddled me and began choking me... I think my mother tried to open the passenger door, because he jumped back in the front seat and began stabbing her again. I tried to get out of the backseat through the driver's side door. He caught me doing this and jumped back in the backseat and began choking me some more. (I am unable to scream till this very day because of a damaged throat...)
My mother distracted him again. Somehow, while wrestling with him in the front seat, she was able to get the driver's door slipped open. I distinctly remember her left index finger hooking around the silver handle of the driver's side door and pushing it open. I slid out of the back and fell on the ground. I got up and started running as fast as I could. I didn't look back.
I ran into the entrance of some apartments on that road. I bang on someone's door. A white woman in a white gown and white housecoat opened the door. I yelled "A man trying to kill my Mama!" She pulled me inside and quickly closed the door. I told her what happened, and she called her brother, who happen to be a police officer.
A few minutes later, the police came over and we ended up going back down the street from which I had ran.
Our Pinto was nowhere in sight.
More police officers and an ambulance showed up. They ran up and down the streets, shining bright floodlights in the thick woods.
They found my mother in the woods.
The police told me they had found her, but said nothing else. They took me to a hospital emergency room, where I was treated for two small slashes on my stomach. I remember them rushing my mother in on a gurney right past me...
I talked more with a police officer and with a newspaper reporter. My grandparents picked me up from the hospital and took me to their house.
I don't remember anyone in the family talking to me about it. That's not to say no one did, but I just don't remember. They told me that my mother was alive. She wasn't dead.
I stayed out of school the next day, but returned the day after. My grandfather would pick me up and drop me off at school everyday.
The next time I saw my mother was maybe a couple of weeks later. I was sitting on the couch, just coming home from school, and watching cartoons with my grandparents.
Then she walked slowly into the room. "Hey, Lisa!" she said with a smile.
I was shocked. I hardly recognized her, with her swollen face and nappy hair. (My mama usually wore a wig or straightened her hair). She was barely walking and from what I could tell, she had a slight limp. I didn't say anything to her. Just stared at her in horror. I remember thinking "This can't be Mommie."
Turns out that Carlos had stabbed my mother 40 times (if I'm remembering correctly. Actually I think it was higher than that.) Her liver had been cut in half. She had a long cut on her jar that leaked saliva. Carlos had thrown her out the car, ran over her twice, breaking her collarbone, and left her in the woods to die.
I still can't believe she survived all of that. Hell, I can't understand how we are both still alive.
We stayed with my grandparents in the Hunter Hill Community of Atlanta for several months. We never went back to our old appartment on Cushman Circle in Adamsville. We moved to Ben Hill instead.
There was a court trial. I remember walking into the courtroom with my Mama and Carlos sitting there waving at me and saying hello. I didn't wave back. I just looked at the ground.
But what has been particularly hurtful, even some 29 years later, is that she never sat down and talked to me about what happen on that October night in 1976.
Oh I heard the adults sitting around talking about it. I was an only child, and an only grandchild for that matter, so I had perfected the art of sitting close by and eavesdropping on adult conversations. No one seem to know what to label what happened that horrible October night.
They always referred to it as "The Accident".
But she never talked about it with me. Not even as an adult.
And yeah it hurts. It hurts that it was never important enough to sit down and have a Mother- to-daughter discussion about what happened that night and what led up to it.
This is probably why me and my mother DO NOT get along to this very day. Her sorry sorry choices of men have reaked havoc for me and my younger brother and sister for so so many years. And I hate to say it, but I really resent her for that sometimes...
My mother is "Mother of the Year" when she doesn't have a man in her life. She's caring, thoughful, etc. A regular June Cleaver she is.
But when she has a man in her life, we (her kids) become shit on the ground. (Excuse my language, but there's no other way to put it.)
There have been many times over the years, when she has brought some derilect alcoholic or crackhead nonworking jerk off the street she just met to live in our home (mind you, she never tells us she is moving someone in, we just happen to notice that they live with us). I want to say "Damn woman, do you remember 'The Accident'? Why are you exposing us to possibly harmful men?"
My mother and I are in a little vicious cycle of ours again right now. She gets a man, she worships the man, expects me to worship this no good man (you've got to be kidding me), and she ends up not speaking to me because I don't worship the man, then runs my name into the ground with my brother and sister (trying to turn them against me, which will NEVER happen). She finally ends up getting rid of the deadbeat and then she runs back up on me, grinning at me...
...like nothing ever happen.
All I got to say is it hurts like hell. If that was her mission, I hope she's satisfied with that. I need a mother-daughter relationship. I yearn for a mother-daughter relationship. I'm blessed that my mother's sister, my Aunt, has filled in that gap all these years. Not just for me, but for my brother and sister as well.
Thanks, Auntie. I love you, Auntie.
Personally, I think my Mother wants her choices in men validated. Sorry, I'm not validating such obviuosly bad choices. She's cursed me out over it. She's called me everthing except a child of God over it. I'm always thinking about "The Accident". I've even had to go over to her house and threaten one of her men for taking my younger brother somewhere (he was 8 years old at the time) and then telling him "Don't tell your Mama where we went today." Mama didn't speak to me for two years after that. She's hated me for even longer stretches in the past because of her men.
It took a long time for my brother and sister to understand why I always question them when someone shady moved in with them (after I moved out and went to college, etc.) Questions like "Is anyone touching you?" "Are you scared?" "Is there ANYTHING going on that you're uncomfortable with? If so, call me IMMEDIATELY!" I told my brother and sister, who have openly discussed things with me (in all their confusion, no less), that I never want them to go through what I went through in October of 1976. I don't want anything to happen to them, or my mother, if there was something that I could've done to head it off...
Don't want them to be part of or be a witness to any "Accident".
Will my mother and I ever have a heart-to-heart discussion about "The Accident"?
Something strange happened, though. My sister told me a couple of months ago that Mama said something to the effect of "Gee, me and Lee never talked about what happened back in 1976. Maybe I should talk with her about it."
That was a bit shocking, causing me to smirk. But like I said, she probably won't. She just got rid of an alcoholic, threatening husband recently (supposedly). She's trying to step back in her "Mother of the Year" mode.
She doesn't have to play that part though...
I just want her to make better choices. If not for her own sake, at least for the sake of her kids, who have been deeply affected for so many years...
...So there will be no more of these "Accidents".
Saturday, October 22, 2005
Hong Kong Phooey...
#1 Super Guy!!!!!!!
If hydraulics were popular back then, you know he would have had them...
Friday, October 21, 2005
Ahhhh... The Cannabis...
The Cannabis Ativa.
I read the funniest post the other day by Chubby Chocolate entitled "They're magically delicious!" (Click on the title to read her post) which brought back memories of the day I stopped smoking weed.
And stopped smoking it rather abruptly.
It was a fall day back in 1996 I believe. I was a struggling graduate student, just trying to jump the required hoops to get through school. I was taking a Biostatistic class, an elective that had nothing to do with my Chemistry degree. It had to be one of the most boring classes I've ever taken, and I was not at all happy to be there. This is the class where I learned to make out my Wal-Mart or grocery list. I would even entertain myself by placing my index finger to my neck and counting how many times my heart would beat in a minute. Absolutely boring with a capital "B"...
Well, I think that we had two tests and a research paper to write for that class. Now with our graduate school program, anything below a "B" was considered failing. So I figured, I needed to get an "A" on the first test, then I could pretty much cruise through the rest of this stupid class and concentrate on my chemistry stuff. So I studied real hard. I mean REAL hard.
I didn't get an "A" on the first test... I got a "C".
Piss me off something terrible...
I remember leaving class that day, my mood shot, and standing in the hallway talking to my long time friend Timmy-Tim...
"I'm gonna go home and get real drunk and real high..." I declared.
I don't remember what he said of my comment. Timmy-Tim was a beer drinker. He didn't get blunted, from what I remember. I think we just parted ways. He went to his house, and I went on home to my duplex in Grant Park...
I rolled myself a joint, but I rolled it a little thicker than usual. I wasn't a heavy smoker at the time (a dime bag would last me a couple of months), but I only smoked when I was a little stressed. And I was stressed that cool October Friday night after basically failing a test.
Well, like I said, it was a Friday night, and I was laid out on my living room couch in the dark, watching X-Files, smoking a joint, and sipping on a quart of 8-ball (Old English 800 malt liquor).
I remember... I was feeling real good... I wasn't thinking about that test anymore, that's for sure. And I have to admit, I was feeling a lot better...
Until my kitten Jeremy jumped up on the Queen Anne style coffee table.
I hadn't had Jeremy for long. Maybe for just a few weeks at that time. My little brother Da'Kari, who was nine years old at the time, had found Jeremy under the shed in his backyard and had been taking care of him. I had a mice problem in my duplex, so Da'Kari gave me the cat to take home...
Well, like I said, Jeremy jumped up on the coffee table. I didn't think much of it. Just wished he would move. He was blocking the television...
Then he looked at me... And he said...
I just looked at the cat. He sat down on the coffee table, raised his front paw and licked it. Damn, I thought. I must be hearing things. "Get down, Jeremy." I kicked my foot out towards him. This was usually enough to scare him off. Instead, he stopped licking his paw and looked directly at me.
"You know you shouldn't be doing that, Lee!"
I sat straight up on the couch. "What the... Go on now, Jeremy!!!! Get the hell on, now!!!"
Damn cat just sat there and stared at me. Freaked me out something terrible. I immediately got up, ran into the bathroom, and flushed the half-smoked joint down the toilet...
I haven't smoked weed since that crazy day back in 1996...
It's amazing how something like a mere cat can cause such a turn of events. I'm sure it was floating in my conscience that I shouldn't be sitting there smoking weed, and somehow it all just came unglued...
Or maybe it was just that my weed was laced with a little something, something...
I stepped gingerly around Jeremy for a few days after that... I still look at him a little crazy, even now, nine years later. That cat has been with me a long time...
Oh, the stories he could tell...
Thank goodness animals can't write or talk.
Saturday, October 15, 2005
I've never been the biggest fan of Looney Tunes...
Every cartoon short had the same plot, whether it surrounded Bugs Bunny, Tweety-Bird, or the Roadrunner...
One character was hungry and trying to catch the other character, who was always on the run... If you really think about it, that was what it was all about...
Every single time.
Like I said, I wasn't the biggest fan of Looney Tunes. But the show use to come on every Saturday morning, and it would stay on for at least two hours...
But Looney Tunes was Mr. Dallas F. Starks, Sr., my late grandfather's favorite cartoon show. He was especially fond of the Wile E. Coyote and Roadrunner segments.
One of my fondest memeories was sitting in my grandparents living room on a Saturday morning watching Wile E. Coyote chase the Roadrunner. I would jump everytime an explosive went off or a boulder would fall. One day (I had to be around the age of six), I told Granddaddy how much I hated the show...
"It's so violent, Grandaddy!" I yelled, after seeing yet another large boulder crush Wile E. Coyote.
"It's just a cartoon, Lee!" he would respond through laughter...
I think that I didn't care much for the Wile E. Coyote/ Roadrunner segments because I thought about the show a little too hard. For example, where did Wile E. Coyote get all of the money to buy all the special gadgets and explosives from the the ACME Company? And if he had money, why didn't he just go somewhere and buy himself something to eat? And why didn't he die when he would blow his own face off, fall off a cliff, or get crushed by a boulder? And every once in a while, he'd hold up a sign. How did he learn to write?
You see what I mean? I thought about the show a little too hard, even at the age of six.
Granddaddy always answered every question with "It's just a cartoon, Lee!"
Maybe I should have been like my Granddaddy and enjoyed the show for what it was worth...
My grandfather, Dallas F. Starks, Sr., died four years ago this month. I sure do miss him a lot.
I'd give anything to sit down with him and watch an all day marathon of his favorite Wile E. Coyote and Roadrunner shows...
Lord knows I would...
Friday, October 14, 2005
Poor, poor Jeremy Girard...
Approximately one month ago, my nine-year-old, 21 pound orange tabby Jeremy Girard ("Jay" or "Lil' Head") became pretty ill.
First of all, I noticed that his hair was getting all matted and he wasn't grooming himself like he usually did.
Hmm... I thought quietly to myself. I wonder what his problem is... I hope he'll be okay...
He better walk it off...
Then he started making an awful noise. Not quite a cute kitty's meow, but a kitty in distress wail...
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, WHOAAA!....
Hmm... I thought quietly to myself again... What's his damn problem? I hope he'll be okay...
Jay, you betta walk it off, boy...
But that's not the worst of it... After he'd wail like that, he'd vomit up some type of phlegmy green mucousy liquid...
Was this the pet version of The Exoricist?? Disgusting. Especially after having to follow his big butt around with a spray bottle of Resolve pet carpet cleaner....
Walk it off, Jay...
After about two days of this nastiness, I decided to take Jay to the veternarian hospital...
But the problem is, I HATE vetenarians. Back in the early 90's I had a dog name Keesie Anne. She was half chihuahua and half poodle (looked like a cross between a rat and a racoon). We took her to the vetenarian because she was sickly and appeared to have allergies. They repeatedly said she was allergic to fleas.
We took her to another veternarian, my Auntie's favorite vetenarian. Turned out that Keesie Anne had advanced cancer.
I have looked at vetenarians sideways every since...
I started taking Jay to my Auntie's vet regularly, but that vetenarian retired...Jay (and my other cat Oscar Tyrone) had not been to the vetenarian since 1999. That was when I was living in New Orleans. They both had white worms oozing out of their butts (Disgusting!) and it cost me approximately $300.00 dollars to get them dewormed. I told that vetenarian that Jay had a regurgitation problem. If he ate too fast, he would hack all of his food right back up. (Disgusting! Have you ever seen a cat throw up??) The vetenarian said "Gee, it's gonna cost a lot of money to figure out why he does that."
No it's not, buddy, I thought quietly to myself... You're not ganking me for my bread!
So, it's been six years since my cats have been to the veternarian. Jay would throw up if he ate too fast on an irregular basis, but it was not enough to concern me, or him for that matter. They are inside cats, and besides... they are not employed...
Well, Jay was sitting around looking real "tow-up", and early that Saturday morning I decided to take the poor cat to the local 24 hour Veternarian hospital. I was happy to see that the vetenarian in charge was a Sister. Maybe she wouldn't try to stick me up for my cash.
She removed a growling Jay from his kennel and pressed him all over his huge body. Jay must have been really sick, because it usually takes about 3 folks, a good muzzle, and strong leather gloves to get him out of his kennel. I described his symptoms to her. She continued to feel his body. He continued to growl like a dog...
Then she said "This cat is overweight. I want to put him on a diet."
"What?!" I screamed to myself.
I remained professional. "Jay doesn't really eat," I said calmly.
She looked at me like I'd been smoking or something...
"Jay doesn't really eat," I repeated. "Maybe 1/4th to 1/2 cup of dry food per day. My other cat, who's real skinny, eats like a horse. But Jay doesn't eat much."
"I still want to put him on a diet," she repeated.
Whatever. You're talking about diets. My cat is hacking up green goo and looking real jacked up. Bump your diet, Sister. Get my cat better! We'll figure out a diet plan later...
She worked up an estimate for me.
$623.00. Yep, I was being financially raped by a vetenarian... My dislike of vetenarians was growing by the minute...
Jay stayed in the vetenarian hospital for 4 days, with an IV line in his leg.
But of course, they didn't know what was wrong with him. All blood and urine tests showed that he was healthy as a horse. I would go and sit and visit with him in the hospital and brush his hair. But he didn't seem too happy with me. He would turn away form me and face the back of the cage. Or, when he did look at me, he had the look of the Grinch on his face. He had that look that said...
"If I could talk, I would cuss you out, LadyLee... and if I had fists, I'd beat your ass!"
Let's just say, Jay was not a happy camper.
Well, of course, they couldn't tell me what was wrong with him. On that 4th day, I basically told them that I was picking up my cat in the morning.
I was prepared to run up in the place like Rambo. But instead of a gun in my hand, I would have Jeremy's kennel. I was prepared to go up in there and throw my "Dr." title around, the way I throw it around when I am in a store and being followed by security. But that wasn't necessary.
They released Jay to me. He was quite lethargic, but alive. I figured that I would take him home to die in peace. I didn't want him to die at the vet's office. I wanted him to die at home.
I paid the $691.00 and left with Jay. I bought him a huge cage, his own set of white towels and wash clothes, and some soft expensive cat food, and took him home. I took the following day off to watch him...
He slept quietly for several days. It kind of freaked my sister Kay out to come home from work and find him stretched out on his back asleep. (This was his usual sleep position... I don't know why she was so creeped out).
Of course, my best friend Lady Tee would call daily to check on Jay... "You better pray over my nephew. You better lay hands on my nephew..."
My usual response to her was...
"Jay betta walk it off..."
Jay would lie in his cage and sleep all day. He would not eat or drink at all...When he was awake, he became intensely interested in whatever happened to be on TV. The vetenarian prescribed a steroid and antibiotic for him, and it was a chore of placing a syringe in his mouth and quickly give him his medicine. But I tried to be the good pet owner and help the poor cat off.
I called my Auntie, who is a cat aficiado, and asked for her advice....
She said "Maybe he needs an enema."
This comment caused me to sit straight up on the couch. I looked over at Jay, who was laying in his cage watching television... '
I could not imagine lifting Jay's tail and taking a fleet enema and sticking it where the sun don't shine. That cat would do his best to kill me...
"Jay, you betta walk it off, boy."
"Maybe you can mash his food up and feed him by the spoonful," my Auntie continued.
I'm sure she was trying to be helpful. But, sorry, it wasn't going down. Nope. Jay would have to figure it out if he wanted to live. I spent 700 bucks of my house money on him. He'd better figure it out real quick. Lady Tee and I had already figured out where to bury him if he was to die, and I already had a box ready for his body.
Well, to make a long story short... Jay is doing okay now. He's back to eating his usual handful of food. I knew he was getting better when I would hear him shake his cage in the middle of night. He would also tare up all the newspaper lining his cage, turn over his water and food, and flip his litter box completely over. (Jay is kind of wild, and this is his usual normal behavior...) Yeah, he is still hacking, but it is more of a dry heave than anything, and it seems to be every couple of days or so. Oscar Tyrone wouldn't go near him when he was sick ("That's not good," my Auntie said. "Cats can smell death.") But Oscar and Jay are very playful right now, and seem to be getting accustomed to the new house.
I found a good cat clinic for my cats 4 months ago. But it is located out on the northside of Atlanta in Alpharetta, which is approximately 40 miles from my home. I promised myself that I would take them there for their yearly shots, etc. This is the least I can do...
So here's to you, Jeremy Girard. I thought this would be an obituary, but thank goodness it's not...
So glad you were able to walk it off, "Lil Head"!!
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Okay... I FINALLY closed on my house on October 4th...
But I didn't get the keys until October 5th...
Piss me off something terrible...
But anyhow, I am a happy camper now... I AM OFFICIALLY A HOMEOWNER!!
This was my first time going through this. I did not find the whole process enjoyable. No one should ever have to sign their names a gazillion times.
Thank goodness I sat out in my car and prayed for a couple of minutes beforehand, or you all would have seen me on the evening news. Headline: "Dr. Ladylee blows up Doe, Doe, and Doe PC Lawyer building. Film at eleven".
Now I was suppose to close last Friday, but some STUPID people (Lawyers) were messing up big time...
Lawyers... I need to stay away from them for the rest of the year. I wanted so much to throat-chop (Mr. Humanity Critic, I would like to use your throat-chop term SEVERAL times during this post if you don't mind) these evil and lazy dudes...
First of all, I showed up at the closing at 5 pm. That's the time that Nikki-J, my real-estate agent told me to be there. I got there at 4:30 pm, actually. I was just going to sit in the lobby and read for awhile.
When I walked in, the seller, Oldboy, was there...
"Ladylee, glad you decided to show up," Oldboy said.
"What?!" I questioned.
"We were suppose to close at 3:30 p.m."
"They told me 5:00 p.m."
Oldboy scowls at me like I just stole his lunch money...
I rolled my eyes and sat down. (I think he realized that he looked real ass-stupid when both his and my real-estate agents showed up after 5:15 pm. ) But these folks wanted to get started at 4:45 p.m. I kept looking at the door, hoping that Nikki J would make her presence known.
Then this gorgeous lawyer walks out. He was tall. His eyes blue as the deepest ocean. His eyes matched his wonderful blue button down shirt. And he had a goatee. (I love goatees!!). And his voice was so deep...
But he had that certain flair in his step. And the way he moved his hands... Hmm, I don't know...
Maybe he was a little more fond of men than women... Who am I to judge??
"Let's go ahead and get started, Ms. Ladylee."
Anyway...then I started signing papers. And I was trying to stall a little, by reading all the fine print, and gazing around the room. I kept looking at that lawyer, trying to memorize his features (for my manuscript critiquers, he looked like the Tony Scalini character in my manuscript).
But every cell in my body wanted to scream...
"Nikki J!!!!!!!!!! Where are you? Help!!!"
Nikki J finally showed up and sat down next to me... I wanted to grab her and cry on her shoulder... But I relaxed, nevertheless... I think I made everyone really mad when I grabbed a calculator and started calculating stuff up... It was after five, and everyone was ready to go home. But screw that, ya'll got me signing my name a million times. I was going to sit there until midnight if I needed to. Then they were sitting there talking, eating candy, and drinking water... I wanted to yell...
"Would you all shut the hell up? I'm trying to concentrate here!"
To make a long story short, the money didn't wire from my lender to the lawyer's account correctly, or something like that... Then they said something crazy...
Oh well, after that, I had major attitude. I mean, I didn't get it. How the heck were you going to take my closing costs check, and not give me my keys...
Ooooohhh, I was HOT!!
Nikki J was like, "Oh girl, it's alright, you'll just get your keys tomorrow when the wire clears."
That wasn't really enough to console me... I got in my car, sulked for a few minutes, then drove to my best friend Lady Tee's house. I needed to laugh and chill out for a minute. Anything to keep me from finding a bazooka and blowing up the lawyer's office. Lady Tee and I sat back and watched Lil' Jon videos and a Sweet Daddy episode of Good Times. I finally went home and ranted about my whole ordeal to my lil' sister Kay.
I called my mortgage broker, Big V, around 10:00 a.m...
"V, man, you got to tell me something, man..."
"What's wrong, shorty?" he said in his characteristic Phillie accent. Doggonit, I thought to myself as usual. He sounds just like an old boyfriend from back in the day who use to rock my world...
"These jokers talkin' about a wire hasn't cleared."
V goes on to explain exactly what a wire is, etc.
"Whatever dude," I said, "Ya'll need to give me my house keys. You need to call somebody."
"It's alright, sweetie," he said. "We'll figure it out."
"I mean, man, these dudes took my closing check. I want my house keys!"
Vaughn kept me on the line while he called the lender. They said everything was fine, and that the wire to the lawyer went through...
That really pissed me off. I was home alone. My cat Oscar was sitting at my feet looking lovingly up at me. Poor cat almost got throat-chopped...
I didn't want to talk to anyone then...
Just kept thinking about that bazooka I would use to blow up the lawyer's office.
Turns out the lawyers are stupid as hell. And they even realized they are stupid. So much so that they are cutting me a nice check because of the bad service they gave me. I'm gonna buy a deep freezer for my garage with that money. Thank you, you good-for-nothing, stupid lawyers. Everytime I open that freezer, I will think fondly of you and your ignorance.
Well, after a lot of attitude, (imagine me wailing about how I think they are trying to run a scam on me) I got my keys at 5:00 p.m. Lady Tee's cousin Tony, who's helping me pack and move for the next few days, was with me. Tony was especially ecstatic to see that I lived less than a mile from Turner Field. (Doesn't matter... I'm not the biggest Braves fan... but I like the occasional fireworks!) We took a nice little tour of the house. I felt a little better.
I went home. Kay was pulling up in my car. (We'd switched cars earlier... I had her truck... well, it's our brother's truck... Kay snatched it when he went into the military. Poor Da'Kari.). I took her down to the house. She was excited. I got a little bit excited... It was hilarious to see my sister Kay, the Diva Supreme, sit in the empty upstairs bathtub and the jacuzzi in her bank work attire...
Kay sold appliances at Sears a while ago. She proceeded to give me a wonderful explanation of the downdraft stove in my kitchen.
"You have a grill over here to the left, Lee."
"Yo girl, can I put a pot on that grill?" I asked excitedly.
Kay had a very un-diva-like look of horror on her face."What?"
"You know, can I put a regular pot on it? Or a skillet?"
She looked at me like I was a few sandwiches short of a picnic. "No it's a grill, Lee. You grill on it."
"Kay, I'm gonna put a pot on it. I bet it'll work."
Kay shook her head and decided not to fight with me over the idea of placing a pot on a grill.
"And it's a Sabbath oven, too!"
"What?" I was completely confused.
"The Jewish people don't cook on the Sabbath. You have a 'Keep warm' timer button here."
"I'm not Jewish, Kay," I said dismissively...
(You see what my sister has to deal with in dealing with me...)
My friend and co-worker Hen-Dog and his baby girl Chayse, who live four houses down came by to have a look. He was excited. (I saw you eyeing my garage and jacuzzi, man. Don't even think about it.)
I have a lot more to write about... Hen-Dog has been talking about how my next door neighbors, a homosexual couple, like to take showers. The problem is that their frosted window does not have a curtain...
Let's just say poor Kay got an eyeful, and is a bit traumatized right about now. I could care less. My bedroom is on the main floor and on the opposite side of the house.
Shower on, dudes!! (Close your eyes, Kay.)
I also had a run-in with the local crackhead, um, I mean, substance user, Mr. Snake. We argued as usual. Something to the effect of "Snake, I see you eyeing my light fixtures. You betta not break into my doggone house. You betta not steal my air-conditioner unit, either." He had been standing outside on the sidewalk watching us walk throughout the house. If I woulda had a stick or a bat, I would have chased him off. Instead, I just yelled at him. As usual, he accused me of insulting his character and integrity... Go figure... Anyway, he shook my hand and said...
So in the words of that great Diva Diana Ross...
"It's my house, and I live here..."
Monday, October 03, 2005
John Roberts was sworn in on Thursday as Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. I've posted my thoughts on this before. It was something that completely bewildered me.
And now, Harriet Miers, George Bush's White House Counsel, has been nominated for the Supreme Court as a replacement for retired Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O'Connor.
Talk about getting hooked up! I need to get hooked up like that!!
(I work for the government, and this "hook-up" thing happens on our job at times. The ass-kissers, who are the least qualified, get the good promotions. But I don't want to talk about that right now. I might throw my computer through the window if I keep thinking about it.)
It seems as if no one knows anything about Harriet Miers. But she is probably a shoo-in. If Clarence Thomas was confirmed after all that craziness involving Anita Hill, then Harriet Miers should have no problem getting confirmed. There was only one person who, from what I can remember, got nominated recently and then turned down by the senate. I don't remember his name, but I see his face in my mind. He was a creepy looking dude. I believe I would have voted to turn him down too...
I mean, come on, becoming a Supreme Court Justice is the ultimate job if you are a lawyer or a judge. You remember how little Michael Evans on the sitcom Good Times kept yelling about how he wanted to be a Supreme Court Justice. So, I realized, even way back then, that getting an appointment as a Supreme court Justice has to be a pretty big deal!
But the interview process is kind of... strange. That's the best way I can describe it. Yeah, I know this is a confirmation hearing, but when you're being asked questions, and you're hoping to get the job, as far as I'm concerned, it's a doggone interview...
It really got me to thinking. Have you ever been on an interview where you could decline to answer questions?
I haven't... I'm usually all stressed out. In fact, it's almost like a life and death situation for me.
I hate interviews.
Or have you been on an interview where you could talk so much gibberish that you said a lot of stuff, but really, you didn't answer the questions at all??
I would love to have an interview like that... No frills, no preparation, no nervous jitters...
Now I would have loved for the interview for my current job to go a little something like this...
(dedicated to my coworkers, who know how I am (LOL))...
I have an interview at ABC Chemical Company, a federal government operation, today at 1:00 p.m., but I don't arrive until 1:15 p.m. (I stopped by McDonalds on the way to my interview... they are slow as hell.) I walk into the conference room where the two interviewers are gathered, both clad in their business attire. I, on the other hand, am wearing a pair of old raggedy blue jeans, a colorful T-shirt, and a pair of sneakers. This is what I will be wearing to work if I get the job, so I figured, why not wear it on the interview?...
"Good afternoon, Ms. Lee," an older gray -haired man says with a smile. "I'm John Doe."
He looks at his watch. "Glad you could finally join us."
I sit down in a chair at the head of the table. "Yeah, uh, I had to stop and get something to eat. I was hungry."
He clears his throat and has a seat.
So, Ms. Lee, tell us a little about yourself.
"I'm a chemist." I take a bite of my chicken sandwich.
He looks at me peculiarly. "Anything else you'd like to tell us about yourself?"
I think for a moment while I finish chewing my food. "Yeah, I have a Ph.D., so I'd appreciate it if you call me Dr. Ladylee. Show a little respect, why don't you."
"Oh...", he mumbled, "I'm sorry, Dr. Ladylee."
"That's more like it," I said with a smile.
"Well, can you tell us about your past experiences in the chemistry profession, Dr. Ladylee?"
I take a sip of my soda. "I'm not answering that question. It's all right there in my resume, John. I'm not gonna repeat what's on paper, man!"
"Oh...," Mr. John Doe muttered. "Well, uh, can you tell us about some of your scientific publications?"
I sigh heavily. "John, there's a list of publications attached to my resume. Feel free to go look those up. I don't feel like I should have to answer questions about those."
"Alright then...," Mr. John Doe says nervously. "Well, Dr. Ladylee, what are some of your strengths?"
"Well, John, that's an easy one. I am a strong black woman. Enough said."
"Oh, okay then...," Mr. John Doe says nervously. He adjusts his tie. "Can you tell us some of your weaknesses?"
"I, Dr. Ladylee, have no weaknesses," I reply quickly.
Mr. John Doe wipes perspiration from his brow.
"John, you're looking a little pale. You want some of my fries?" I ask.
"No thank you, Dr. Ladylee." He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "And I don't have any further questions."
I nod my head and continue munching on my fries.
He looked over at the other interviewer. "Do you have any questions for Dr. Ladylee?"
The other interviewer, a short black woman, who by the way, had been glaring at me through narrowed eyes the whole time, spoke up. "I have no questions, but I do have a comment for Ladylee."
"Dr. Ladylee", I corrected. "Get it right."
She sat back in her chair and folded her arms tightly across her chest. "Whatever. You're a liar. Everyone has weaknesses."
I cocked my head to the side and glared at her. "Sister, I didn't catch your name."
"You didn't catch it because I didn't give it. I'm Sista T."
I leaned forward in my chair. "Well Sista T, look here. I'm gonna break it down just like Condoleeza Rice did. You can conduct this interview any which way you want, but you should refrain from impuning my integrity."
"Whatever. I still say you're lying."
I push my fries to the side. "John, you need to check this broad, before I do."
"No one needs to check me, Ladylee!" she snapped.
I stood up from my chair. "Oh," I yelled, "don't get it twisted, Sista T. 'Cause we can take this outside and do the darn thing!"
John jumped from his chair. "Okay, okay, nobody's going outside and doing anything."
Sista T just sat there and glared at me. All I heard was her heavy breathing.
"Trick, you just mad because I didn't offer you any fries," I snapped.
"Let's just all calm down," John Doe said through nervous laughter. "I think this interview is just about over. Do you have any questions for us, Dr. Ladylee?"
"Yeah, how high is my bread stacked?"
John Doe looked like a deer in the headlights. "Bread?"
"Oh, I mean, how much money will I be making?" I clarified.
"Whatever your salary requirements are, that's what you'll be making. We can discuss those details another time, Dr. Ladylee." John stood up on wobbly legs. "I think this interview is over."
I get up from my chair and he escorts me to the door. I hear Sista T suck her teeth.
I turn back around to face her. She is scowling like she wants to beat my ass or something. I point at her. (And I point at her with that two-finger crooked point, the way that Celie pointed at Mister in The Color Purple before leaving with Shug Avery for Memphis). "Do I, Ladylee, have to beat a sista down today? I mean, I come in here and try my best to be polite, but it looks like you just want to get snatched today!
Sista T slowly removed her gold hoop earrings and placed them on the table. She then opened up a jar of vaseline and rubbed it on her face...
Mr. John Doe wraps his arms around me to hold me back.
"Hey," I yell over his shoulder, "don't let me catch your tail out on the street, Sista T!"
A nervous John Doe pulls me through the door and escorts me from the building... He looks all too happy to get rid of me...
No, the interview for my current job went nothing like that. Could you imagine an interview like that, and you STILL get the job? Shoot, I would LOVE to have an interview like that! (LOL).
Heck, wouldn't you?
Saturday, October 01, 2005
LA, LAAAA, La La La La,
La, La, La, La, LAAAAAAAAAAA!!!
I sure do miss The Smurfs...
Papa Smurf with his white beard, his red stretch pants, and matching cap...
Hefty Smurf, with that crazy tattoo of a heart on his shoulder...
Handy Smurf, always working on some construction project or what-not...
Vanity Smurf... well, he was a little suspect...A Smurf on the down-low, perhaps...
I hated Brainy Smurf with a vengeance though. That Smurf talked a little too much!!
Hell, I even miss that evil dude Gargamel and his skanky cat Azreelle...
But what was up with Smurfette, with her flowing blond hair, and her pretty pair of white high heel shoes? Even though I was a kid at that time (when did The Smurfs come out, 1981?), I knew there was a little something fishy about a female living in a village with a bunch of males. But, I reasoned, the Smurfs were too busy trying to elude Gargamel, than trying to be romantic.
Yeah, that's it.
It could not have been me. Nope. Not in this age and time.
Not in a village full of "mens", where I am the only girl.
Shoot, talk about "twerking" something. (Excuse me, didn't mean to say that...)
What I meant to say is, talk about "smurfing" something.
I'd be all "smurfed" out, baby!!!
But I digress... it's not "smurfy" of me to have such thoughts...
Anyway, the Smurfs were one of my favorite cartoons...
And I wish that I could have my Smurfy Saturdays back!!