Thursday, August 30, 2007

Stay Fly!!

I've been missing in action allllll week. And I had about 4 posts for the week, but they will have to be slid up to next week sometime... Some of ya'll know the type of work of do, i.e., I am SUPER DUPER busy!

But I had to holla at ya for the holiday... And I'd like to dedicate this post to THE GOOD NURSE... Thanks for your help the other day with the med questions:) And as always, thanks for your support!


I travel up and down ATL's famed Moreland Avenue quite often, to go to the White people's Kroger, my writing class, the health food store, and a few other places...

Down near the hood rich part of Moreland, near I-20, I pass this particular establishment:

And I laugh every time.

The ish is quite funny.

But maybe it's just me. So you mean to tell me I can get a nice outfit (like one of the ones hanging on the burglar bars outside the store) AND get a fly set of rims for my car at the same time?


The DJ Diva and I were riding past this spot, and I pointed it out to her.

"Yo DJ... look to the right, right over there."

She read the sign and bust out laughing.

I wondered aloud "What's the difference between clothing and apparel?"

Her hubby Scribe yelled from the back seat, "That means you gonna pay an extra 30 dollars for that shirt!"


(But for real... What IS the difference between clothing and apparel??)

Now what was REALLY funny was that I pulled up into the parking lot to take that picture on the sly. Some dude came out of the store trying to mean mug me. There was a 5 second stare down.

I think he thought I was trying to case the place.

I can understand the concern. I have a missing hubcap on the front of my car...

I think they thought the Oldgirl was trying to jack some rims.

The guy walked along the sidewalk, arms folded..."Excuse me, you need some help?"

"No man, just using my phone." **LadyLee flips open phone and puts it to her ear**

When he went back inside, I snapped the picture and quickly left!!!

LOL!! A quick getaway!!

I hope that brightened up your day...

Nothing like good creative entrepreneurship!

Really though.

And remember...

Don't just BE Fly...


Have a good weekend! See you next week:)

Friday, August 24, 2007

AFTERWORD for "Fancy That"

So... thank you Boys and Girls for stopping by my spot for Story Week.

These weren't actually stories. They were simply slight profiles of characters and snapshots of what is heavy on their minds right now. I plan on drawing a story out of it. This is just a part of my developing process. (Yeah, I am... strange, hunh?)

I have a word document on my computer containing story ideas. If I get an idea, I will write a title and a couple of sentences concerning where I would like it to go. "Fancy That" is an early idea that I had of a story surrounding the legend of a an old house down in what us city folks like to call "the country". The kids have made up all types of haunted house stories about it. One girl, who is from the city (in this case, Shuntae) decides to investigate the situation.

But I didn't have anything else much to go with that...

That was fine with me. It was simply an idea and I just wanted to write it down. I have a tendency to forget things. And ideas are not seeds to me. Nothing grows out of them. Ideas are like... the flour for the cake. The other stuff (milk, eggs, sugar, etc...) will show up later to complete the "cake"...

Approximately one month ago, I read Martha Southgate's Third Girl from the Left, and it filled in A LOT of missing links for me. So... I sat down one Saturday evening, and played around for a few hours and low and behold, came up with what you have been reading all week.

I passed it all out at work to my elite critique team, and it went over so well, generating much discussion, that I decided to post it up on my blog. I will do this from time to time, because I always get some really good thought provoking emails and comments, enough so that they too fill in some missing points that I'm trying to fill in in the story...

I love good discussion. I tend to have tunnel vision about things that I am trying to do, and it opens my mind and creativity up just a little more.

And this is a good way for me to prepare for writing class, which starts next Thursday. My teacher comes up with some old wild writing prompts for assignments, and I have learned that I BEST be having a few storylines/ideas laying around to get me off to a flying start! (She look at you real crazy like when you say "I couldn't really think of anything" or "I was too busy." HUMPH.)

My thoughts on the story:

One of the most bizarre points of conflict to me of this story is the blackmail of Paulette by Arthur that has been going on for forty years. That caused a BIG ruckus by my peeps who read it. No, none of us would have put up with such blackmail. I personally would've told Arthur "Hey, you do YOUR thing. Tell on me. No one's going to believe you." And that would have been the end of that.

Or I would have poisoned dude. (I'm a chemist. I think about such things, LOL.)

But it can't be that way, because... There would be no story.


Much of the storyline, which I won't put up here, has come from my fascination of watching people at church. The clothes, the talk, the look... everything is perfect. Therefore, their lives must be perfect. But what is it all covering? I mean, we all have problems. How deep do people's problems go? As you can see, your church leadership can have isshas. Just look at the Ju.anit.a issha in the news the past few days. This doesn't suprise me. Why?

Everyone is human. Everyone has problems.

Paulette and Arthur Reese are pillars of the community, leaders in their church, and have the appearance of the good life. All of a sudden, their granddaughter Shuntae is dropped off for the summer, and Paulette and Arthur have to adjust their home life to afford the appearance of everything being just fine.

How will that situation work out? Hmmm... Let's just say Shuntae picks up on things not being quite right and gets downright nosy about it.

Now Shuntae's mother, Portia, is not much of a factor in this story. She's off to Jamaica for the summer with her man Ross. I haven't really put much thought into what she is leaving behind... The worst thing, and what sticks out, is that she is leaving behind her daughter, which is terrible within itself. She is also leaving behind job, apartment... all of that. Is this a permanent get away or not? Hmm...

Then, as that Oldgirl Sharon mentioned in the comment section, the whole mother-daughter dynamic is another issha, and the family cycle continues. I like stories about such isshas, as I do have "mommy" isshas of my own. I think you can sit me and siblings down and pose the question: Who is more important, you kids or Mommie's men? We will easily answer Mommies men. Anything else would be, well, abnormal. But don't get me wrong, the story is NOT autobiographical, but I can draw from a few feelings here and there.

In class, my teacher has been stressing getting all up into someone's privacy, and that is where I plan to do with ol' Paulette and Arthur. That's what I plan on working on this next time around in class. I plan on slowing things down and getting all up into the character's private thoughts, etc. (I have a tendency to be more action driven in my stories for class.)

I have about 5 stories in progress, and hopefully I will be able to generate something good on this one.

Again, thanks for hanging out for Story Week. Might have another sometime this fall... There are 2 more stories for the Buttermilk Biscuit Blues Anthology coming up!

We now return to our regular Oldgirl Programming....


Thursday, August 23, 2007

Story Week: "Fancy That", Part IV

click here for Fancy That, Part I: Paulette Reese
click here for Fancy That, Part II: Arthur Reese
click here for Fancy That, Part III: Portia Reese

(final character sketches: Shuntae Reese, 13 year old daughter of Portia Reese.)

Shuntae Reese

My mama Portia is a trip. She is a straight up hater.

Got the nerve to put me on punishment. I’m thirteen years old. I’m too old to be on punishment.
“Shante, you bad. You bad for no reason.”

I don’t agree with that. I gotta be bad.

I can’t be soft on these ATL streets.

Fighting and stealing ain't nothing but a thang to me.

I do what I have to do to get mine.

So now, she somehow got the bright idea that I need to spend the summer down in the country with my grandparents. Said that I get into too much mess up here. Talking about how she tired of the school calling her and me getting suspended.

"With summer coming along, no telling what you'll get into.Let your grandparents deal with you this summer. I need a break,” she said when she broke the news.

She don't know what she's talking about. I've only seen my grandparents twice. I don't even know them. How are some strangers going to deal with me?

Me being bad wasn't the reason I was gonna be staying in the country this summer. My mama don’t know that I had my ear to the wall listening to her and her boyfriend Ross talk in the bedroom two nights ago. The walls are thin as toilet tissue, and I heard them talking about me. Ross was from Jamaica, and offered to take her there for the summer. The only thing was that she would have to find something to do with me.

“I can take you, Portia, but not that doggone Shuntae. Shuntae is crazy. She give you too much grief. Her ass don’t deserve no summer off in Jamaica.”

I thought my own Mama would stick up for me, but I guess she was blinded by the swaying palm trees, strong coconut drinks, and sandy white beaches Ross kept talking about.

Ross never could stand me, and the more Mama let him talk, the more I knew that she was going with him.

“Me and Ross, we going to Jamaica,” she said later while washing dishes. “You gonna go stay with your Grandma and Grandpa down in Fitzgerald. Good country air might do you some good.”

I wanted to tell her that fresh Jamaica breezes would do me better.

I couldn’t be mad about it. I knew I was in the way, especially since Ross had moved in. He always frowned up at me whenever he saw me. He had a right to look at me like that, because I stuck him up every time he laid his wallet down.

Mama loved him. I couldn't stand him.

To me, he was imposter. Just one more hater.

And now, he was taking my mama away from me.

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Story Week: "Fancy That" Part III

Good morning, Boys and Girls... story week continues!

click here for Fancy That, Part I: Paulette Reese
click here for Fancy That, Part II: Arthur Reese

(3rd of 4 character sketches: Portia Reese, 33 year old daughter of Paulette and Arthur Reese.)

Portia Reese

I've never understood my mother and father's relationship.

I've always assumed they stayed together because of me. I thought that once I turned 18 and went away to college, they would get a divorce and go there separate ways.

But I guess that wouldn't look right being from a small town. They seemed to be more concerned with putting on airs than going with their hearts.

They were one way in church, all lovey-dovey, and another way at home. They barely spoke to each other at home. We’d eat our meals together, albeit quietly, at the dining room table. Mama never said anything much to either of us. She'd go off to herself and do her things while Daddy sat in the den, watched television, or read his bible.

I wasn’t all that close to my mother. I knew to do what I was told and stay out of her way. It was as if, I don't know, she tolerated me, and was one thought from pulling over to the side of the road and abandoning like an unwanted puppy.

Daddy did his best to take up the slack. We went fishing and camping together. He'd take me with him when he ran errands. He helped with homework and attended PTA meetings. It was my Daddy that told me about the birds and the bees. It was my Daddy who I ran to when got my first period. It’s a shame that he had to hold my hand and walk me through the store and help me buy what I needed that day.

I cried on my Daddy’s shoulder when my heart was broken for the first time. He was the first one that I called when I popped up pregnant and didn’t know what to do.

My Daddy was my hero.

Mama just looked at me like I’d stole something.

Maybe she acted that way because I was the spitting image of Daddy and looked nothing like her.

At least that’s what I kept telling myself.

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Story Week: "Fancy that, Part II"

Click here for "Fancy That, Part I: Paulette Reese"

Story week continues, boys and girls, with the second of four character sketches!

Deacon Arthur Reese

I’m not sure where things went wrong between me and Paulette.

It may have been long time ago. It may have even been yesterday.

All I know, there’s no light in her eyes when she looks at me. It’s like she is staring straight through me at the wall... staring at a wall that she sees something crawling on.

And she’s working out in her mind how she’s gonna kill it.

Paulette and I attended the same high school. She was one of the popular girls, sitting at a table in the middle of the cafeteria with the jocks. She and her girlfriends dressed alike: high heel shoes, fancy skirts and sweaters, hair pulled back in tight ponytails. I was the peasy-headed smelly nerd that sat alone at a table in the back corner wearing polyester pants two sizes too small and clutching my greasy lunch bag. I watched her every single day, sitting at the good table, laughing with her friends, enjoying life as only popular people do.

Even better, I lived across the street and one house over from her. I’d stare out the window and watch as she sat in the swing on her front porch painting her nails or reading a magazine. I could even hear the music, all tinny and strained, eeking from the red transistor radio she liked to prop up on the porch railing.

I’d even taken to following her from time to time...

..Especially when I saw her pop out the screen on the window of her bedroom late one night. She quietly slid out of it and landed in the bushes. She would jump her backyard fence and sprint so fast that it took everything in me to run and catch up with her without making a bunch of noise.

She always wound up at the old abandoned house three blocks over on Maple Street, right at the very back of our neighborhood, up in the woods. She would come out always at the same time, an hour later, by herself, hair all wild and dishelved. I hid in the bushes when she walked by. She clutched her housecoat around her as she walked, as if it would protect her against more than just the wind.

I followed her one day when she caught the city bus to the edge of town. She got off at the next to last stop, and walked down to Old Man Jenkins farm. She walked through a gate marked no trespassing, careful to glance behind her to see that no one was looking. By that time, I’d become an expert at following and watching her.I was careful to keep my head low in the tall grass.

The woods opened up into a pond.

There I saw her meet someone…

...and do some things that I’d heard about, but had never seen in real life before…

After that, I got real sure of myself. Real sure.

I had a plan. And I was gonna work that plan.

From then on, every time I saw Paulette at school, I’d smile at her. She’d roll her eyes, roll her neck, and go back to talking and laughing with her friends.

I caught up with her as she was passing my house on her walk to school a few days later. I could see some of her friends on the corner waiting for her. I only dreamt of walking with her, carrying her schoolbooks, holding her hand, kissing her on her cheek. It was always a dream, though. I always made sure to stay at least a half a block behind her.

But one morning, the day after President Kennedy was shot, I got up the nerve to talk to her.

“Hey Paulette, wait for me.”

She glanced over her shoulder, but didn't stop. She just kept walking.

I caught up with her, trying to disguise my wheezing. I had an awful cold. I pulled out my handkerchief and blew my nose. “That’s terrible what happened, ain’t it? The president is dead. I liked President Kennedy. He was a good president. And now he dead, and―”

“What do you want, Edward?”

I coughed hard and wiped my nose again. “Arthur.”


"You said Edward. My name is Arthur."

She grabbed her books tighter against her side and turned to face me. “Arthur, Edward, whatever. What do you want?”

“Uh,” I said. I stared down at my shoe, scratched the back of my neck. I felt sweat forming on my nose. “Uh, I was just wanted to, uh . . .”

She turned and walked away when I didn't say anything else.

“I just wanted you to know that I seent you.”

She laughed. “'I seent you.' Learn some english. There’s no such word as ‘seent.’”

“Naw, My english is just fine." I coughed hard. "I seent you, Paulette."

She kept walking, her laughter floating on the breeze back toward me.

“I seent you down just outside of town, out there at Old man Jenkin’s farm.”

The click of her heels came to a slow halt on the street. She whipped around and stared at me.

“I seent you, down at Old man Jenkin’s farm, back there, way back there in the woods, on the other side of the pond with―”

Her mouth fell open. “Shut up,” she yelled. She dropped her books and walked up to me. She pushed me so hard that I fell to the ground. She kicked my books away, then kicked me in the side. “You shut the hell up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, yes I do,” I said, trying to be a man and not cry out from the sting in my ribs. “I saw you, and saw what you did.”

Her eyes grew wide with terror, but she quickly composed herself. She looked back over at her friends down at the far corner, then turned back to me. I flinched hard when she raised her hands to her face and rubbed her temples.

I slowly got up from the ground when I saw she wasn't going to do anything. “I seent you. I seent you out there with Fancy.”

She walked up on me, spoke real low. “Arthur, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes I do. I saw you out there behind the woods with Fancy Williams. You and her, out there by the pond, laid out on a blanket under a tree, kissing and hugging up on each other. Rubbing up against each other like only a man and a woman suppose to do.”

We stood there staring at each other for what seemed like forever. She nervously chewed a fingernail.

“Edward, you didn’t see anything.”

“Arthur. My name is Arthur,” I said. I was suprised at how loud my voice was. She was too.

She looked around from side to side, then walked up close on me. “Arthur, please―,” she whispered. “Please, whatever you saw. . . you didn’t see it.”

I took off my thick black glasses and rubbed the thick bottle lenses with my shirt tail. “Oh, I see just fine. These glasses here are brand new. My Daddy bought them for me last month, and―”

Paulette grabbed my shirt. She was standing so close that I could smell the toothpaste on her breath. The sunlight highlighted the brown of her eyes. I knew she was pretty, but I'd never been that close to her. She was something out of a dream.

“Please don’t say anything. You can’t tell a soul. I’d do anything for you, just don’t tell anybody. Please.”

“Oh, I ain't telling nobody nothing.” I thought about pushing her away, but I was enjoying being so close to her. I wanted to reach out and place my hands on her waist, but I didn't. “No Paulette. I’m ain't saying nothing.”

She sighed hard. “Thank you,” she said. I thought she was about to hug me or something. That would have been nice. But she simply smoothed my shirt at the place she had grabbed it. Even straightened out my collar. She picked up her books from the ground then started back on her walk to school.

“Oh no, I won’t say word," I called out. "Especially since you'll be going to the school dance with me. I won’t tell a soul. Nawl, won't tell a soul.”

That day, I heard the click of her heels against the street slow for a second time.

I’d been doing that to her for the past forty years, day in and day out: threatening to tell anyone and everyone I could think of. We were high school juniors then, on the fringes of wanting to be grown. I threatened to spill her secret if she wouldn’t be my girlfriend.

It’s how I got her to marry me.

It’s even how I coerced her into having our daughter Portia.

It got to the point that I didn’t have to threaten her anymore. One look from me, a hard squint of my eyes, and she knew I meant business. She just did what I said.

And I’d gotten use to having my way all the time, every time.

But I looked down at her one day, some ten years ago, as she lay under me, her arms criss-crossed stiffly over her chest to hide her nakedness, her eyes squeezed shut. I knew I couldn’t make her go through the sex anymore. She hated it. Would lose her mind if I tried to move her hands out of the way, wanting just to look at her body.

Paulette was a gorgeous woman, walking perfection she was. Didn't look a day over 40.

I just wanted to see her. Shouldn’t a man get to look at his own wife?

In our case, the answer was no.

So I left her alone. Moved out of our bedroom and into the spare room.

I just couldn’t stand it anymore. There were too many nights that I heard her moan in her sleep. Moan the name of the one she really loved.

“Fancy. . . Fancy. . .”

These days, I was only able to show my love and affection for her at church. A quick kiss on the cheek, my fingers intertwined with hers, a light hug from the side...

...My arm placed around her waist as we posed with the Pastor and his wife for a quick picture.

She played the loving wife role to a tee.

Sometimes I wished that we could bring the church family home with us.

Maybe she would play the role then. . .

Instead of being her true self.

Monday, August 20, 2007

Story Week: "Fancy That" Part I

Good Morning, Boys and Girls...

It's Story Week.

These aren't actually stories.

They are interesting character sketches, arising from a storyline that I've had on file for a couple of years. I have had a few "A-ha!" moments lately, and wrote up some character sketches, some "snapshots" if I must say, of what some of the characters are thinking about at this moment or time in their lives. (Does that make sense?)

Additionally, my writing class starts back up soon, on August 30th. This is my third time taking the six week course, which focuses on developing ideas and characters... I found that it is helpful to have some character sketches or short pieces lying around for use in class assignments, and I plan on utilizing some of these people for my assignments. I even, to my own suprise, have a pretty good storyline developed for them, and even a few scenes written out.

Yes, the Oldgirl thinks ahead!! Gotta do that when I work 40+ hours a week!!

Really though.

I passed these character sketches out at work to my elite critique team and my blog sistas, and uh... let's just say that they generated MUCH interesting conversation amongst us all. I had a lot of moments of "Yeah, right there... that's the missing link I'm looking for!"

So as a result, I am posting them. Thought they may make you... think.

This is essentially my way of thinking out loud. The last story week generated some nice comments, and gave me some great ideas... even clearing up some problem spots I'd run into. Much obliged to those who commented:)

So, a little background for you... This is the Reese family. Paulette and Deacon Arthur Reese are the parents of Portia Reese, who is 33 years old. I would suppose that Paulette and Arthur are in their mid-fifties. Portia Reese has one child, Shuntae Reese, who is 13 years old.

Paulette and Arthur Reese live a quiet life in Fitzgerald, a small town about 2 hours south of Atlanta. Their daughter and granddaughter live in Atlanta.

That's all I got to say about that. Yes, it is sparse information. I will post 1 character sketch a day, with an afterword sprinkled here and there. Read the character sketches to catch more information... 3 are pretty short, but one is long (Deacon Arthur Reese, which will be up tomorrow.) These are rough drafts, and they have been toned waaay down for the blog. (LOL!)

The name of the actual story is "Fancy THAT." But, I'm not using these in a story, although they would make up an interesting prologue. I am drawing the story from these, though.

Would be interested to know what you think.

So here we go...

Paulette Reese

Sex with the Deacon was not my favorite pastime.

It was sort of like sitting up on that cold hard metal table at the doctor's office, and watching him ease closer with a huge hyperdermic needle full of whatever was needed to get me well or keep me well for that matter. I wince, turn my head, and squint my eyes shut in anticipation of a pain like no other.

But then there’s only the momentary sting, and the hard sucking in of air.
And then it’s all over.

Much like sex with the Deacon.

If I would have been remotely interested, I would’ve known that he was what most women would call a good lover, a lover like no other. Any other woman would have been happy with his stamina and touch.

But not me.

I never thought of him as he lay there on top of me, thrusting back and forth. I braced myself, closed my eyes tight, and allowed my mind to slip far far away into thoughts and memories of another.

The Deacon had my body. Afterall, that is what the Lord commanded of a wife.

But another had my heart.

Eventually, the Deacon couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t blame him. I didn’t have it in my heart to fake or moan or move to his rhythm. It was all so foreign to me. One night, he just stopped in mid-motion. I opened one eye and spied him. A swatch of moonlight cut across his face. A drop of sweat clung just on the tip of his nose.

“Look, Paulette, we don’t have to do this no more,” he’d said. He slid out of me and sat back on his legs. “I’ll go on in the other room.”

I didn't speak. Only watched as he rose from the bed that cold winter night in 1997, found his robe and slowly walked out the door into the spare bedroom.

Some ten years later he has yet to return. And I didn’t ask him to.

We lead our separate lives in the house. He sleeps in the spare bedroom, has made it his own.

I sleep alone in my bed. It is my own.

We are pillars of the community, leaders in our church. Arthur is the head Deacon. I'm head of the Usher board, I read the announcements every Sunday. I am currently Church superintendent. Pastor is about to name a new church Elder since Elder Blanche Taylor died, and everybody’s been telling me that I’m next in line.

I can hardly contain my excitement.

It would be all the better if the one who has my heart was here to share it with me.

Friday, August 17, 2007


Today, August 17, 2007, is my lil' sista Kentucky (Kay) birthday.


Kentucky turns 26 today.

I was 11 years old when she was born. Don't even feel like it was that long ago.

You may wonder why I call her Kentucky. It's because she has a um, very unique first name, and I imagine that NO ONE on the planet has that name. One of my blog sistas came up with "Kentucky" and I ran with it. (I love good nicknames). And ya'll know how we like to google everybody and their mama. So we will just call her "Kentucky" here. Sounds similar, same number of syllables, etc...

She never had a nickname. We are all use to her regular gub'ment name. But on her jobs, she goes by "Kay". (She never told us this. Imagine the look on me and my brother's faces the first time we heard her introduce herself as "Kay". LOL!!)

I like the picture above. Our brother Milk and Cookies was on military leave, and Kentucky was on her way out the door, headed for work. I think me and Milk and Cookies were about to go get into something, like shopping or hitting up a movie somewhere. I made them take a picture together.

But even though I like that picture, it doesn't depict the way I see my brother and sister. This is the picture I love the most:

This is how I think of them, and always will.

I don't hang out with Kentucky much. I am 1% Diva, and she is 101% Diva. I don't like doing girly sh** like she do. She and my best friend LadyTee get are more compatible, as they have always liked to sit down and paint their nails together and do each other's hair.

*LadyLee frowning and kicking the HARD eyeroll while walking past LadyTee and Kentucky over the past 25 years*

I am a tomboy. I like to do dude type stuff. Hence, I tend to run with my brother. That's why there are so many frickin' stories about him on my blog.

I'm not going to talk about Kentucky's birth... I did so in a post 2 years ago. Go back and have a look-see...

But I do have a story about her... a recent one.

Something that made me see plenty of **crickets**.

One thing I know for sure: My brother and sister, for some bizarre reason, think I know EVERYTHING and can solve EVERY problem. Lately, I think they think that I am crazy, because I stare at them blankly when they tell me of some crisis, then I skip along merrily like a smurf while they're sitting around in dire straits.

Anyway, I have this bad habit of leaving everything on when I go to sleep - television, bedroom lamp, laptop... everything. My sister lives with me, and that makes my sister think that I am awake or something. (She should know better by now!)

She works a 3-midnight shift and gets home at 1:00 in the morning. I usually hear the chime of the door alarm, and this may or may not wake me up. Any which way, I usually go back to sleep.
But one night, she walked into my room, eyes wide.

"Lisa, down on the corner, down the street... It's a man! It's a man out there on the corner with a ski mask on!!!"

I just stared. I know her. She wanted me to spring from the bed, throw on my cape, and go do something about it.


I didn't say a word.

I imagined her turning onto the street very slowly, and making eye contact with a sinistered- eyed thief holding a crowbar, ready to jack someone for everything they had.

Not my problem. I was securely laid out in my bed.

"Lisa, I didn't know what to do," she continued when I didn't say anything. "I sat in the car for a moment. Then I came on in the house."

*LadyLee laying there, on the down pillows, under the down comforter, staring at her really HARD.*

I didn't say a word to her the entire time.

She eventually left my room. I silently wondered if she had locked the front door. I wasn't about to go and check.

You know what this girl did?

She came back downstairs and took out the trash. Gathered up all the trash in the house and took it outside.

At one o' clock in the morning. Right after she'd seen a masked man on the corner.

I heard her fumbling with the herbie curbie, which is just outside my bedroom window, near the back of the house. The back security light was out, and needed to be changed...

...which means she was doing all this in total darkness.

So much for the wide-eyed girl that walked into my room at one in the morning, afraid of the man with the ski mask on the corner...

It took everything in me NOT to get up and completely go off on her...

*LadyLee screaming "Kentucky! Is you crazy? Have you lost your damn mind? Get your ass BACK in this house!!"*

No, I let it go. I went back to sleep once I heard her come back in the house.

That's Kentucky for you... she do the weirdest things. I just shake my head and keep it moving.

You do some things sometimes that I just don't get... but I love ya anyways!!

Happy Birthday, girl!!!

And many more.

Love, Lisa.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Foot in Beans

Ya know... I was snapping beans one day, and was reminded of an old phrase that I'd heard alot growing up.

A phrase that was uttered VERY LOUDLY when a pot of vegetables, neck bones, or anything cooked all day on the stove tasted very good.

"These greens are good. You put your FOOT in those greens!"

I was always perplexed, not understanding how stirring the pot of greens with your foot really made them more tasty. Sometimes, the word "foot" was replaced with the words "hand" or "head". That really confused me. (Yes, I was an overly smart child and pondered such things a bit too much.)

But like I said, I was reminded of that phrase the other day... when I was snapping beans.

A "foot" was in the beans.

It's funny how when there are beans around, Oscar-Tyrone gets all excited.

You know, I can't get him to play with a real toy... He likes to play with luggage locks, milk caps... and beans.

As I watched him, it made me think of...

"Ladylee, those beans sho nuff were good!! Oscar-Tyrone put his foot in those beans!!


*LadyLee pushes shoebox of beans towards Oscar-Tyrone and snaps beans elsewhere*

Monday, August 13, 2007

That Original Oldgirl LadyLee's 2nd Bloggaversary

One word describes how I feel right now...



Yeah... I know I've just irritated you with all my giddiness!

I started this blog TWO year ago... Now it's a year later, 272 posts later, and um...

An Oldgirl is just a bit GIDDY, ya know???

I feel like rounding up some of my coworkers, getting down on my knees and playing a phat game of JACKS!!

I really don't have that much to say...
But I would like to just shout out my blogroll... for making an Oldgirl be all she can be..

Racer X, a.k.a. Miss Celie a.k.a., "Oh Great Queen", a.k.a. Tayari Jones... Yeah girl, hold up that glass of champagne for the Oldgirl, why don't cha?? Or is that one of your beloved tequila gimlets??

As ya'll know, I run around worshipping Ms. Jones like she black Jesus. I'm always laying prostrate upon the ground whenever she walketh by... The highlight of my year has been hanging out with her over lunch. Goodness. The chick drops so much knowledge... I almost look for an offering plate to pass my way, LOL! Thanks for answering my asinine and silly questions. You always give me good info, and I juice it for all it's worth!
If you don't know nothing... KNOW THIS:


And when I don't feel like doing no damn writing? I think about you, and I sit my butt down and WRITE some more!!

You are the man!! I falleth at your feet! Thanks for being so kind. I'm not worthy, I'm not worthy!!! You even hooked me up with the Good Nurse!! Oh my!!

Tayari's had to deal with my strange idol worship, and she does it with grace...

One day, she's gonna be like "Kid, I need you to chill out before I call the cops."

You know, I can't forget to mention the Origianl Oldgirls and Oldboys..

Sharon (who's not retired)- The Microphone Queen... No one is more longwinded than you! And no one can pick up the microphone, speak the truth, then slam the mike on the ground! It was GREAT talking to you last night! Keep on writing, "Ms. Just Write Now"!

Chele- Chele is one of my FAVORITE authors... Raymond's Daughters sits on my end table in the living room as we speak. Confessions of a Beautiful Woman made me cry. I want to meet her, but I would probably pass out at her feet... and that wouldn't be cool. She's a classy Original Oldgirl... REALLY THOUGH!!

Hassan - Dude, the degree of self assessment that you go to... I'm trying to get there. Glad you are a platinum card carrying Original Oldboy! And thanks for your support from the start!!

And then... there's my BLOG SISTAS... who seem to know ALL my bizness, who've had to build me up, listen to me cry, DISS ME, cuss me, Pimp slap me (is that a good or bad thing... hmm)!

Serenity 23- You Super Shoe Queen Blogger you!! You party girl you! I feel, I don't know... ODD and EMPTY (yeah... that's the word), if we're not communicating in some fashion many times a day... Thank's for being such an awesome blog sista... an Oldgirl NEEDS that!!

The LadyBug Mocha- I need for you to bring your behind out of retirement. One thing that you have taught me is humor... and you have taught me well. Thanks for teaching me some blog skills, i.e., for teaching me the art and proper placement of **crickets** and **LadyLee kicking rocks and shanking folks**. And girl, thank goodness for these good cell phone plans, because you and I would be in some SERIOUS debt right about now. You the man, LadyBug!!

Oracle a.k.a bossydiva, a.k.a. The DJ DIVA - Gal... I'm still tripping that you rolled up in MY house and sat down on MY sofa... I'm not worthy! I'm not worthy!! I could go on and on and ON about you (as you saw in the last post, the "DJ DIVA shine post". And I've somehow picked up your "..." habit. (But you will always be the Queen of the Ellipses, LOL). And now, you are a resident of MY city? WOW!!

Frank... a.k.a. Luke Cage...The thang about Luke Cage... The brother always put on some nice quiet storm music, slips into his silk robe, pours a little cognac, lays back on the silk sheets... THEN leaves a comment. THAT'S the way to do it, man! Dude, I love your blog... You been hanging hard with the Oldboy Hassan, i.e., you put your emotions out there... goodness... what more can I say! You're my favorite real life action figure...

Chosen... my online pastor. Goodness... Always down for giving the spiritual vitamins... you know I need them!!
So many others... The BballMama, Kayla, Chubby Choc, Atlien Nikki, That Southern gal, Rose, Rosemarie, Sista Toldja... the list goes on and on...

So what's coming up?

Story week is next week... The next one coming up contains four character sketches, from which I will form a story. I've basically picked up a weird habit of looking at what a character is thinking at this very moment. Not sure what's up with that, but I am sure there is some method to my madness. And be forewarned... this one will leave you a bit disturbed, and uh... let's just say, have you looking at peeps who you THINK got it together just a bit differently.

I plan on having more story weeks! I like those a lot:)

A few peeps have managed to earn their *Original Oldboy and Oldgirls* platinum plus cards. Definitely look out for that.

I am WAAAY behind on my book reviews. I've got some good ones, including a Martha Southgate week coming up... watch out for that one. Now THAT'S gonna be REAL good!

Now I've been using my blog as a writing tool... something to keep me a bit active on the writing tip... What you don't know is that I go back and look at a few posts, and pick them apart, edit them, etc., on my own time... Yeah, I know I'm not suppose to do that, but whatever. Just trying to learn, babes!

So watch out for me turning the juice up on the visualization and description aspects... I want to be a good storyteller. I want to draw you in, and make you feel like you're right there in the midst of it all with me and my blog characters...

I think I'm improving...

Hopefully, I will get better!

And hopefully, I will make it to my 3rd Bloggaversary...

With ALL of you in my corner :)

Thursday, August 09, 2007

LadyLee Meets the DJ... So UNBEWEAVABALE, baby!!

Man oh Man oh Man...

I FINALLY had a face-to-face meeting with one of my Blog Mentors. And she will be the third one that I've met. (The others: Queen Tayari and Serenity23)

Ya'll know I'm a straight up tomboy, but I am 1% Diva... and I, as a Diva, have my own personal DJ who takes care of all my Mixtapes, consults with me on music, all of that (Yeah right)...

The homechick I call My Personal DJ...
The Bossy Diva herself:

The one and only unbeweavable one:

!!!!THE DJ DIVA!!!!

***!!!!THE DJ DIVA!!!!***
!!!!THE DJ DIVA!!!!

Yes... the DJ DIVA was in the ATL last week...

And you know me... I gots to tell the story... the whole story. You know how longwinded I am, LOL.

I was sitting in my cubicle buried under a load of paperwork, when I got an email...

"Please call me as soon as you can! At this number 123-555-1234"

Uh... you know, I'm kind of weird. When certain peeps send me emails, I spend much time contemplating it. Like... "What does it mean?"

After a few minutes I picked up the phone and called her. She said she was moving to the ATL and would be up in early August to look around, and that she really wanted to hang out with me.

I leaned back in my chair. "That's cool, Shawty. You got my numbers, holla at me."

But inside my mind I was screaming... "WOOOOOOWWWWWWWW!!! AAAAAHHHH!!"

I get ta meet THE DJ DIVA!!!

Ya'll just don't understand, man... This is the only chick on the planet who likes music more than me. She know and got every song on the planet in her collection. THIS is who I get in touch with when I have questions about music, or if I need to find a song, or the name of a song...

And then she knows EVERYTHING. I have been known to call her "The Oracle". She's the one we go to when we have a question about current world affairs, world history, biblical history, etc. The chick knows EVERYTHING.

And you know me. I like smart people.

She's the one who organized all of our "batcave" blog activities... You know, where we talk about ish that we all can't talk about on our regular blogs... (We handled MUCH bizness under your watch, DJ.)

DJ is a LEGEND in my eyes.

And I was going to meet her. I, the Original Oldgirl, was going to meet "The Oracle".

So I get a call from her a few days after she arrived.

"Lee, we'll get together at your house. We're out looking for a place to live. I'll call you when I'm on my way."

**LadyLee heart stops midbeat as she falls completely out of cubicle**

I composed myself. I said "Yeah, just give me a call, man."

I sat stunned for a moment. The DJ was coming to my house? Are you serious?? It took a minute to sink in. Then I got my ass up and ran all over the cubicle area yelling...

"I'm gonna meet the DJ DIVA... And she coming to MY house! MY house!"

I was already cleaning up for a meeting I was hosting on Saturday. Let's just say an Oldgirl REALLY went home and cleaned up that day. Almost to the point of getting on my knees and scrubbing the corners out with a toothbrush! LOL

Anyway, she came over. I stood nervously on the front porch with my cellphone. I'd been talking to her, directing her through the back streets of my hood. (There was a Braves baseball game that evening, and since I am near the stadium, most of the easy way to my house is closed off.)

She drove over the hill, parked in the driveway, and who jumps out the car?

Her hubby... The Scribe.

Now, let me back up... back way the hell up... and explain a few thangs...

We have a huge detailed email thread going during the day at times, where me, Serenity23, The DJ Diva, and the LadyBug Mocha discuss much MUCH stuff in HEAVY detail, sometimes to the point where we straight up get into serious FIGHTS over the email (nothing in the world worse than an email brawl), especially over what one of us is doing, etc...

The discussions are heavy, yet cleansing, like a good enema, ya know!?

DJ met Scribe through the internet back in early 2006. We were all looking at her like she had lost her damn mind. We were running over to his Myspace page looking around, all kinds of stuff. My concern was basically making sure DJ checked in on email everyday. When I think of meeting dudes on the internet, I be thinking of some ol' shady ish...

Like that sucka is the serial killing axe-murderer that the police is out looking for.

So let's just say, we were keeping up with the DJ's every move. If we didn't hear from her for a long period of time (say, 2 or 3 days), she got a, uh, friendly courtesy phone call.

Well she started bragging on dude, which really had us scratching our heads. Then Scribe got a blog, and he was bragging on her.

I was like... "Who is this fool?"

I called him "Scribble" on my blog. Another blogger had called him that, and I ran with it. Dude had the NERVE to have an issha with that. "DJ Diva gave me the name Scribe, Blah, blah, blah!!!"


I was through with him after that. Only called him by his gub'ment name after that. And I can't STAND gub'ment names.

Then I started stomping over to his blog, blowing up his comment section, with stuff like...

"Dude, the DJ really likes you. That's cool. But, if you give her trouble, I will shank your ass!"
*Lee slowly pulling shank out of Nike sneaker*

There was much talk of shanktification. MUCH. I think he got the picture. DJ continued to be happy. I really think it was because of all the threats! LOL!

But I wasn't all that worried about DJ. She said, a couple of years ago, in a blog tag she did...

"I know how to use a knife in a fight."

Plus, she likes to fight in the streets... that type of fighting where you chasing down negros in your fur coat and high heels with various weapons. That type of fighting.

[Update: Yeah DJ, Serenity23 was over on the email thread hollering about your Easter fur coat... She found that picture above. Yeah, we bet you fought some GOOD fights in that fur coat. And still kept it looking nice for Easter Sunday service! Now THAT'S what I'm talking about! ROTFLMAO!!!]

In other words... If dude start acting a jack, she knew how to handle her business.

If dude was gonna bring the drama... she was gonna bring it right back at him.

Long story short... they got married on July 30th. DJ threw up a mini-slide show of the wedding!

Anyway, back to the present... Scribe jumped out the passenger side and shook my hand. He seemed mannerable enough. I saw no present need to beat his ass and shove him under the porch.

DJ jumped out of her ride and walked up on the porch. I almost fell prostrate on the front porch in utter worship of her. I thought I was gonna faint!!

It was kinda like that moment when Celie was standing on the front porch, watching out over the field and realized it was Nettie...

I thought we would break out with a little patty-cake and "You and me will never part"

Well, we hit it off. That ain't like me. Anyone who meets me knows that I am EXTREMELY quiet and observant. I have to watch you for awhile, then MAYBE I'll relax. But we have to be around each other a few more times before I lighten up.

But we hit it off like we'd been knowing each other all our lives. They came in, sat down and we chilled. Scribe called another blogger out in Texas and screamed. "Guess where I'm at!? I'm at LadyLee's house!!"

I am such a celebrity. (Yeah right.)

We went out to dinner. Of course you know we hit The Watershed. We had drinks at the bar (I don't drink, so my "drink" was water with a wedge of lemon). Then we had dinner.

J Diva is very particular about her food. She don't like stuff that she have to do too much work with ("I don't like to fight with my food."). She ordered catfish, which was on the bone. Then proceeded to try to eat it with a fork and knife. I laughed hard at that. It was quite a Diva thing to do, cutting food that should be ate with the hands. She did manage to pull it off. Then she got a bone stuck in her throat. She overcame that quickly. She proclaimed once again that she don't fight with her food.

DJ, you're in the south now, which means you gotta fight with your food!!

We headed back to my place. We played some of her Mixtapes in the car. (**LadyLee cheesing REAL hard like Celie!!**). On the way, we stopped by the liquor store, and Scribe went in to get some drinks. I got a chance to talk to DJ alone:

"You know, Scribe is a really nice guy. I'm glad you are happy. You did good."

Ya'll just don't understand. We gave her pure hell over this relationship. Me, of all people, with all my threatening and trash talking. We were all arguing with her, questioning her down, left and right. And this guy turned out to be MAD cool. (Don't think I didn't grill him. Especially when DJ was not around! Dude got questioned to death! LOL.)

That was my way of apologizing, DJ.

All and all, we hit it off well. I am GLAD she is moving to the ATL. She is too.

"I'm glad I like you, Leezie."

What an endorsement! (Because she impresses me as the type to be QUICK to tell you how stupid you are.)

I'm sure we will be hanging out. Well, I don't really hang out. A trip to the library or Wal-Mart is my idea of hanging out. But I know we'll see each other again. She'll be living less than a half hour away.

And you know what else? I was even helpful to her. Through one of my contacts, she was able to rent a PHAT house. I'm hearing that she is in love with the place! So I was glad to be helpful. This was a house-hunting run for her and Scribe, and she was able to leave a couple of days early so she could get home and pack.

So DJ!!!

Glad I got a chance to meet you in person.

You're so freakin' unbeweavable!!!

I was proud of myself. I wasn't all nervous like when I met Serenity23. I actually acted like I had some damn sense!


So DJ! I know you're moving today, so you may not see this post until next week!

You're officially ATLien, hon!! Welcome to my city!

I hope all goes well for you... and let's be sure to hook up again soon:)

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

HAPPY BIRTHDAY Milk and Cookies!

I was looking back through some old archives, and I realized that, in giving everybody and their Mama a birthday tribute, I've never given my little brother a birthday tribute.


He turned 20 years old on August 5th!!


20 years old. I barely rememeber being 20 years old.

Let's see... at 20 years old, I was in my 4th year of college, struggling to finish.

When Milk and Cookies was born, I was 17 years old, going into my second year of college. I was more caught up in my boyfriend than anything else.

Milk and Cookies was one of them babies that, well, how should I put it lightly...

...showed up out of the blue.

Interesting, interesting story. And you know me... I'm gonna tell it.

So, it was a May evening in 1987, I believe, and I had just gotten home from school. I remember walking upstairs to my room, and throwing my books on the bed. I was hungry, so I headed downstairs to go get myself something to eat. My Mama stopped me at her doorway.

"Come here."

I immediately thought about what kind of trouble I was in, or what I did for her to be bothering me. I was ready to concoct a lie if need be, because I was going to get the heck out of the house that night.

"Sit down, Lisa."
I knew she wasn't mad, because she always called me by my gub'ment name when she was pissed. She was laying across the bed, on top of her favorite mauve pink comforter, watching television.

I sat on the edge of the bed, still a bit leery of what she had to say.

"You know I've been going to the doctor about this tumor, right?"

I nodded my head. She had been going to the doctor. Something about fibroids, I think. I heard her talking on the phone to her friends about it.

"Well, they decided to do the ultrasound, to see where the tumor was, and what they needed to do."

I nodded again, wondering where she was going with this.

"Well, they turned on the ultrasound, and there was the tumor, but there was this heart beating real fast."

I am still looking at her. I remember thinking, okay, your heart was beating fast, you was nervous...

"Turns out that I'm pregnant."

I stared at her, not knowing what to say. I wanted to laugh, but thought better of it.

"And I am six months along, so I can't get an abortion. Well, I could, but they would have to drown the baby, and I'm not going to do that, so I'm going to have it."

She was going through this long drawn out explanation of the late term abortion procedure, but I was still stuck at "I'm pregnant." Now that right there was funny. And I really didn't believe her. Now, I noticed she had been eating a lot of fast food lately, but that was about it. But nothing to make me believe that she was pregnant.

She answered my next question before I could ask it:

"I've been having my period every month, right on time. I guess that didn't matter."
That kinda freaked me out for a second, because I knew that I was getting my freak on left and right, sometimes with and without protection, so I'm sitting there thinking Can such a thing actually happen?

I don't remember much of the convo after that. I remember going downstairs fixing a plate of food and bringing it back up to my room. I immediately called LadyTee.

"LadyTee, My Ma say she pregnant."
"For real, girl?"
"Yeah. Ain't that a trip?"

Then we got over into a big discussion of who's baby it was. I'm not EVEN going to get over into all that drama.

Anyway, I must say that I really didn't believe my Mama. She wasn't showing. So I was moreso wondering why she would lie like that. There was no baby shower or anything.

So three months later, she calls me up on the phone. I hadn't seen her since I left to work a 6-4:30 a.m. shift at Wor.ld warehouse in East Point, packing orders for the mall stores. They let us off early that day, around 2:30 p.m.

"Lee, I'm down at Crawf.ord Lon.g. I'm having this baby induced today."
I remember thinking... "Damn, so you REALLY are having a baby for REAL????!!!"


"You take care of yourself. Kentucky (my sister, who was 6 at the time) is over at grandma's house."


Ma had Milk and Cookies sometime that night. I hung out with LadyTee and watched the movie of the week, Beverly Hills Madam. Then I went home. I remember my Aunt Joyce calling and bitching at me about not being home and wondering where I was. That pissed me off, as I had my own car, and I was use to coming and going as I pleased. And with Ma away from home? Better be glad I came home at all...

Okay, end of mini-rant. But that is the only time in my life that my Aunt, who is pretty much my mom, pissed me off. I think I was more pissed about her actually being disappointed in me than anything...

So... Ma had the baby.

I talked to her, and she said it went fine. I told her I was coming down with my boyfriend Eli to see her. She said that was cool.

What I really wanted to do is have a look at the baby to see if I can tell who baby it was.
Yeah, I was being trifling. My man even thought I was being trifling."Lee, you wrong for that. You ought to be trying to see bout your Mama."

We went to the hospital, and down to the baby ward, and wrote my Mama's last name on the wall. They found the baby and moved him in front of the window.

I gasped. "That baby is WHITE!!"

My boyfriend peered closer, but didn't say a word...

I knocked frantically on the door to the baby nursery. The nurse ran out of the room, looking at me like she was ready to knock me down for being so loud..,"That's the wrong baby. That's a white baby."

She went back in and looked at his wrist band. She came back out. "No, that's the "R" baby."

We had a stare down for a moment. She went back in. "Look at his ears and genitals." she said. She turned him over and opened his diaper. "Look how dark they are. That's the complexion he's going to be!"

I was about to protest more. I'd seen way too many shows about switched up babies. But my man yanked me away. "Girl, you oughta be shame of yourself. You should be checking on your mama."

He didn't really understand the fact that me and my dear mother were not all that close. I was more interested in what the baby looked like.

We found my mother's room, and time I went in, she started pulling out pictures, trying to explain ish.

"See Lee, that's him, that's him. I know what you're thinking. I had them take pictures of him coming out, and he real light."

So once I saw the pictures, I kind of let it go.

Anyway ma came home with the baby. Poor thing. He was wearing some of my sisters old stuff, so the boy spent much time in pink clothes with little flowers on it.

I would just stare at him while he slept.

Couldn't believe such a thing would happen. And as much as my mama use to RIDE me about "You betta not show up pregnant. I'll put you out of my house. I ain't taking care of no baby... BLAH BLAH BLAAAAH."
I use to catch hell on a regular basis. I think she knew what I was up to. I was pretty active around that time. But dang... she shoulda been watching her own back, you know??

I think I resented that for years, being threatened like crazy. But as I got older, I realized that I can't be upset with her...

Life. Happens.

One thing I know about the Milk and Cookies, and I tell him all the time, especially when he acting a jack or gets all depressed.

You know we all meant to be here, we all have a reason for being... But for God to hide you out like that, all behind a tumor and stuff? Just so you could get here?

Man, you must be special... Got a purpose and all...
So Milk and Cookies, some 20 years after the fact... I want to wish you a happy Birthday.

I've never had children, but you have been like my own. (And you still piss me off when you call me "Mama" in public. Cut that out).

Our Ma has always said, "Talk to this boy! Talk some sense into him! He your child, Lee, not mine. He think of you as his mama, not me!!!You raised him."

Yeah, I did. I've had to chastise you, praise you, feed you, teach you how to write and count, teach you how to drive, help with homework, teach you how to wash your clothes, and lately, teach you how women are and listen while you wail on my shoulder about your trifling women (UGGH!&^#&%). And countless other things...

You might as well be mine. Every time I hear a friend talk about what their son is doing to drive them crazy, I can remember how I went through all that fooling around with you... Goodness.

But 20 years later... I must say... Through all the ups and downs:

You make your big sister, The Oldgirl, proud.


Happy Birthday, Little Boy!!

And many more.

Love, Lisa.