Friday, November 30, 2007

On This Day. . .

On this day. . .

A cold day some 37 yares ago. . .

Mama Jones laid down and gave birth to Baby Girl Jones. . .

Mama Jones breathed a sigh of relief, and said… "Let’s name this here baby. . .CELIE"

Papa Jones frowned and adjusted his dashiki.

"No now, Mama Jones. Let’s name her. . ."

*Papa Jones frantically flipping through the pages of his book of Swahili names*

“Uh, Let’s name her. . ."

TAYARI meaning “I am prepared”

And he held her up to the sky, like Omoro Kinte held up Kunta Kinte in the Epic saga Roots, and. . .

A Nurse angrily taps on Papa Jones' shoulder. He turns around.

“Now Mr. Jones... You can’t have that baby out here on this hospital lawn like that in this cold air. And it’s against hospital regulations to take the baby out of the hospital without being properly checked out... Now if I have to keep telling you this, I'm calling the authorities..."


Ha, ha… Had to get funny one last time before the end of your birthday week, Tayari!”


Happy Bithday Tayari…

*Oldgirl does the Happy dance*

My oh my… This has been a most fascinating week at the House of LadyLee.

“Tayari shrines” up all over the house. Fascinating Poetry and Short Story readings.

Party people all over the house, crowded shoulder to shoulder, screaming...

"Ain't no party like a LadyLee party, cuz a LadyLee Party don't STOP!"

I am plum tuckered out!! It has been a party indeed...

But, I am her #1 fan.

Yes indeed. I am.

And a number #1 fan must give a “gift” fitting for the #1 Lurker on the LadyLee blog: "The Queen of Lurk City", a.k.a. "Racer X" a.k.a. "Miss Celie".

For Miss Celie scratches out my head when I was ailing has done much to help out LadyLee.

Racer X has done much to keep SpeedRacer on the right path.

For that, I am grateful.

So I thought about what kind of “gift” I could give her.

I am a strange Oldgirl. I don’t like to shop.

I am frugal. But it has to be something terribly expensive... on the sentimental tip.

Something fit for a Diva.

What does one give a writin’ Diva for her birthday?

I am not giving her a book. Nope. I can pretty much guarantee she and I DO NOT read the same books.

It has to be something a bit unique… ya know.

I have A LOT of hobbies and interests that people don’t know about. (My family is extremely artsy.) I have “mentors” in all of these areas. This summer, I discussed a little project with my friend/coworker/“mentor” Cowgirl Cre. She gave her guarded “approval”.

Cowgirl Cre raised her eyebrows and stared me down. . . not even pausing to blink. . .

And spoke her usual words of wisdom...

“Girl, I tried that a couple of times.”
“Ain’t trying to discourage you, but…”
“Hope you work that out LadyLee!”
“You better than me, hon!”

And my favorite word of wisdom:

“That there is MORE than a notion!”

No, teacher… I can do it. I KNOW I can,” I said defiantly in August. “And my deadline is November 15th. That gives me plenty of time to think and plan. I just have to track down the supplies."

*Cowgirl Cre shakes her head and walks away*

So I sat down, and began the journey. Sat on the front porch in a rocking chair to do it...

(N'awl... I don't even have a rocking chair. I did it while sitting on the sofa, watching my football games and Law and Order marathons.)

I missed my deadline by a week, but, uh…

I made the ultimate gift. (Well, ultimate according to me.)

An Original Oldgirl Production (with the help of a pattern of course).

Took me 130 hours. But I did it!!

*LadyLee throws the smokin’ crochet needle to the floor. It BURSTS into flames then explodes into a million pieces*

One thing about me: I like homemade gifts, period. Something I can put my time, effort, and heart into. I like to give a gift that someone will keep and cherish. When I can give something like that? Man oh man… I feel like I’ve accomplished something. I've given a good gift.

And this afghan, which I have named “The Tayari”, is just that.

So Miss Celie got it in the mail on Wednesday.

And she likes it. It matches everything in her crib. Go figure!

You look all comfy, girl!

There are some FUNNY incidents surrounding the creation of “The Tayari”… including my cat Oscar-Tyrone's bizarre guard and candle light vigil over the darn thing.

I will talk about that next week. I had about 8 posts for Tayari’s birthday week, but only made it through 5 (I have been a little busy this week, and I can't stand double posting). But the festivities will spill over into next week… gotta get those posts up AND get back to my normal posts.

I gotta talk about our purse convo and the whole fallout behind that.

And you KNOW I have to anoint Tayari with her Original Oldgirl status, too.

Stay tuned for “The After Party” festivities. This is cool because I can mix it all in with my regular posts...

“The Curse of the Purse”
“The Tale of the Afghan: “The Tayari”.
“Taya.ri Jones: The Original Oldgirl.”

But for now…

Miss Celie. Racer X. Queen of Lurk City. Tayari.

I wish you a very Happy Birthday.

Thanks for being an incredible mentor. And I've been pleasantly suprised to find you are a "normal" homegirl.

I will always be your #1 fan and your #1 self-appointed bootleg "work for free" PR chick.

May your 37th year be your best year yet…

Because we all know the best is yet to come.


~From the Oldgirl~

Grab a Plate, Ya'll !!

The people were partying down hard at the House of LadyLee!!!

"When we party? We Party Hardy!!!!!!"

LadyLee yells out over the crowd.

"Turn down the music!!"

DJ Diva keeps spinning on the wheels of steel, oblivious to LadyLee's request.

"YO DJ! Turn the music down for a second."

No one pays attention.

LadyLee pulls the plug for the DJ booth out of the wall.

"Why you do that, LadyLee!???" the crowd groans.

"Because it's time to eat!!!!"

*Party people RUSH the kitchen*

What's a party without food, man!!!

And we got it all here. You know I had to fire up the grill:

And you KNOW there's always someone hollerin' about they don't eat pork. GEEZ!! So for them, I grilled up some shrimp and crab!

I cooked up some gumbo...

And for you REAL country folk: My grandma brought over some chittlins!

The salmon and biscuits are almost ready!

And for the super health counscious folks, we have all the stir-fry you can eat!

Grab a plate, and Party ON!!!

Oh, and don't forget to leave room for dessert.

Tiny, grab that ice cream out the freezer!

Party People, make sure you have a few of LadyLee's Oatmeal Raisin walnut cookies and Chocalate Chip Pecan cookies.

Tayari was suppose to bake her world famous Red Velvet cake, but she came straight here after getting off the Greyhound bus. The chick was late for her own party, as she was trying to run down the Brand New Heavies...

You forgot about the cake, you GROUPIE!!!

That's alright, 'cuz we got the double chocolate cake!!

Yeah, you know I got it covered...

"Ain't no party like a LadyLee party,

'Cuz a Ladylee party don't... STOP!!!!!!!!!!!"


Thursday, November 29, 2007

Prelude to a Gift.

Special dedication to my book club sista, Shunda - You HATER! Stop sippin' on the haterade! Don't you know it's bad for the skin!? GEEZ.

Shunda is always talking a load of trash.

The scene: The book club sistas sitting down at the table, fellowshipping over dinner, laughing and having a real nice time... until Shunda starts hatin.

"Come to the sip and book event, Lee," Shunda says.
"Why? What are you doing instead?"
"None of your dang bizness."
"Bet if Tay.ari was there, you'd show up." Shunda squints, staring at LadyLee hard from across the table.
*Lee jumps up from table, like Celie did in the Easter Sunday dinner table scene and stabs table in front of Mister (Shunda) with a knife*
"Shut up, Shunda! You always hatin'! Stop it, I say."

(And uh, by the way... what time will Ta.yari be at the event, Shunda?)

Who am I?

The Original Oldgirl LadyLee.

What am I?

I am a Doctor.

(Yeah, I earned the title. I don't use it enough. Gotta throw it around from time to time. Gotta make a note to make sure management is reminded of that. Really though.)

I am a Chemist by profession... The baddest chemist on the planet, man!

But, I have been labeled a fan...

A groupie.

A stalker.


I think I need to go look up a few definitions.

*LadyLee slamming unabridged dictionary on dining room table, grabbing a flashlight, and flipping frantically through the thin pages*

Fan: an enthusiastic devotee, follower, admirer, of a sport, past time or a celebrity.

That sounds… sane. Yeah, that’s me. I can be that. I can be a fan.

Groupie: A fan, especially a young woman who follows a rock group on tour.

Nah, I ain’t a groupie. I’m not a young woman. And I don’t follow the rock groups around.

No, I think Tayar.i is holding that label down real tight like, with all this chasing of the Brand New Heavies band all over the planet...

Yeah, we will leave that to her. You do the darn thang, T !!!

Ya frickin' GROUPIE!

Stalker: One who follows or observes (a person) persistently, especially out of obsession or derangement.

“One who follows or observes persistently”- that MAY apply to me, but in a nonthreatening way.

For I am the Speedracer.

and Tayar.i is Racer X…

She is Teacher, and I am Grasshopper…

I silently stand by, pondering,watching, and taking notes on how she does things and put it into practice. I don’t know if that is stalking activity, but hell, it sure thrusts me to another level in my writing.

And Ta.yari's that type, when you say you stranded on the side of the road and need for her to bring a gallon of gas...

Here she comes showing up with a hijacked gas tanker truck.

(Goodness gracious alive).

I'm never obsessed. I have too much on my mind and too much going on.

Shoot, Tay.ari better let an Oldgirl know she in town, because I have the attention span of a flea and don’t pay much attention to what’s going on.

Nope. Not obsessed.

That “derangment” tag… You can keep that… It don’t apply here.

Nope, I’m not a stalker… or a groupie.

But I like that FAN title.

“An enthusiastic devotee, follower, admirer, of a sport, past time or a celebrity…”

I am a true blue fan of Tay.ari Jones, some four years running.

And a true blue fan gives the ultimate gift…

Something unique… something one of a kind.

Hmm… what on earth could THAT be?

Stay tuned.

A Birthday Story: "The Greyhound Blues"

Tay.ari knew she was looking good…

She had her Versa.ce pink fur coat on,
Her Jimmy Cho.o snakeskin boots with the clear Lucite wedge heels…
Her hair was done,
And her nails were fierce (fierce)…
And she was about to get on a Greyhou.nd bus…

(Don’t. you. want. to ride?)

Tay.ari hated buses.

Whoever came up with the idea of slapping wheels on an oversized bread box and packing people in sardine-tight needed to be shot.

But right now, it was a means to an end, for Tay.ari was attending the Brand New Hea.vies
concert tonight. Ta.yari had been following the band up and down the Eastern Seabord for the last five years, and the “Hound” was the most affordable mode of transportation. She’d promised herself that she would start taking Air Tra.ns, since the plane ticket prices from D.C. to New York had been cut in half, but the flights were always booked solid.

Last month, after one of the more frantic Brand New Hea.vies New York concerts, she ran into the band’s lead singer N’de.a at a diner on the east side of town. N’de.a recognized Taya.ri from the front row of several concerts, and she invited her to sing a song on stage with them at the next one, if she wanted to.

Of course T.ayari said she would.

And if that meant one more ride on "the Hound", then so be it.

The afternoon bus from D.C. to New York was already behind schedule, and once the driver gave the signal for everyone to load up, passengers rushed forward, jockeying for position.

Ta.yari leaned against a metal pole near the back of the bus and watched the restless crowd. She pulled her Fend.i lighter from her Doone.y and Burk.e giraffe print purse and lit her last Virginia slim cigarette. She threw the empty pack to the ground.

“You know,” a tall slender black dude with a short afro said. He walked towards her. “You should pick that up. Littering is against the law.”

Taya.ri reached down and picked up the crumpled pack and placed it in her coat pocket.

"I'm Aaron," he said. "Aaron Fletcher."

She peered at him over her sunglasses. He grinned and extended his hand. He had nice pearly white teeth and a nice body. And those thick eyebrows and mustache were to die for. But he wasn’t her type. She always thought twice about a man who took too much time to iron a crease as perfect in his jeans as this guy did.

“You know,” Taya.ri said, “you should mind your own business.”

His bright smile dissolved into a hard frown. Taya.ri turned away, and blew smoke into the air.
Just then, hot air from the bus exhaust blew the cigarette from her fingers. It landed in a puddle of rain water nearby. Tay.ari watched as it floated on top, then slowly sank under.

“That’s what you get,” the guy said. He laughed and walked towards the bus entrance.

That was her last cigarette, and she didn’t have time to go buy another pack.

She dug in her coat pocket for the crumpled pack, hoping that another cigarette would miraculously materialize. There was one there, but it was smashed and bent hard in three places.

It would have to do for now. The taste would be off, but she could get past that. She rolled it between her fingers to straighten it, lit it up, and took a long drag.

The last passenger stepped on the bus. The the bus driver pointed at Tay.ari, beckoning her to come along.

Tay.ari exhaled smoke. “I’ll be there soon as I finish this cigarette.”

The bus driver snapped his fingers and ran his hands over his large stomach. “No, no Miss Lady, we’re on a schedule. You need to come on right now. Right now.”

Tayar.i looked away and continued smoking.

“Alright gal, I see you think I’m playing with you.” He ran up the steps of the bus.

Tay.ari shook her head. All she needed was two or three more minutes and she’d be finished with her smoke. Three hours was a long time to be on the bus without a cigarette, much less having to track down a pack once she got off. She was going to lean against the pole until the ashes hit the filter.

The bus pulled off a few feet. Taya.ri ran up to the door and banged on the window. The bus driver snatched the door open.

“Yeah, I thought you’d get the message,” he said.

Taya.ri slowly ascended the stairs. She wanted to wipe that silly smirk off the bus driver’s face. She turned and headed down the aisle. The pearly toothed brotha was smiling hard at her. He hastily moved his jacket to the side and patted the empty seat beside him. There was no way she was sitting with him. He would bug her to no end, and that wasn’t happening tonight. She wanted to at least sit by herself so she could stretch out her legs, and even catch a little sleep.

And even dream a little about her time onstage with the Brand New Heav.ies.

Luckily there was an empty row of seats midway back, just behind a young boy playing some type of hand held game. He sat next to a frizzy-haired woman. His mother, Ta.yari presumed. The woman was hastily flipping through the pages of what appeared to be a romance novel.

Ta.yari wasn’t a fan of such books. Chewing gum for the brain, that’s what they were. She had paperback copies of her own novels, The Unte.lling and Leaving Atla.nta, in her purse and thought about offering them to the woman, but she decided to pass on that. She wasn’t in the mood to talk. She’d had a long day and just wanted to get to the concert.

T.ayari slid into the seat directly behind them. She settled in and threw her purse to the side. The boots she wore were fly, but they were beginning to hurt her feet. Shoulda worn her pink Timberlands. She always wore them with her pink fur coat. But she wanted to look hot for her singing debut with her favorite band. And pink Timberlands were out of the question.

She was feening unusually hard for the rest of the cigarette she’d hidden well enough in her hand.. Since no one was looking, she flicked out her lighter and quickly lit it again. She blew smoke out of the slightly cracked window.

“Who’s smoking back there?” the bus driver yelled after a couple of minutes..

No one said a word. Taya.ri stayed cool, blew more smoke out the window.

“Let me remind ya’ll that there’s no smoking on this bus." He pointed at the blinking no smoking sign. "Now whoever’s smoking better put it out or get off the damn bus.”

Tayar.i held the crimped cigarette up closer to the window and watched the gray flume of smoke unfurl into the cold night air. She leaned back in the lumpy seat and closed her eyes. The bus was already behind schedule, and it was just a matter of time before the bus driver got the notion to get moving.

In the meantime, she was going to continue smoking. Just a few more long draws, and she'd be finished.

“I’ma ask one last time. Who the hell smoking back there?”

Again, no one said a word. All was quiet, save for the hard hum of the engine. Tay.ari exhaled smoke slowly through her mouth and inhaled it through her nose.

“It’s the black lady. The black lady with the big sunglasses and the pink cat hair coat.”

Taya.ri sat up straight, opened her eyes. The boy, who’d been seated in front of her, was standing in his seat, staring hard and pointing at her, his stubby finger only a few inches from her face.

“The black lady right here, Mister,” he yelled. “She’s smoking.”

Tayar.i’s breath caught in her throat. There was a frantic commotion at the front of the bus, then the sound of heavy footfsteps getting closer and closer. Suddenly, the driver was standing over her, his hands on his hips, his plump face tight as a fist.

“Lady, I don’t know what your problem is, but you better put out that damn cigarette.”

The pearly tooth brother, that Aaron guy, was standing next to the bus driver, a hard look of concern on his face. "Everything alright back here?" he asked.

"I got this," the bus driver said. He pointed to the front of the bus, and got up in the brotha's face. "I got this. Go sit back down. I can take care of this."

Aaron hesitated. He cut his eyes at Tayar.i, then at the frizzy-haired woman in front of her. He backed away, and headed for his seat.

Ta.yari raised the cigarette to her lips, and took an extra long drag. She was caught, might as well work it. “This is my last cigarette, and I’m gonna smoke it.”

She blew smoke into the bus driver’s face.

The boy looked back and forth between Ta.yari and the bus driver. The boy’s mother pulled him down out of the seat.

“But Mom, the lady is smoking!”

“I know, Johnny, but let the nice bus driver handle it.”

Tayar.i took another long drag and blew smoke straight up into the air.

The bus driver cocked his head . “I’m going to have to ask you to get off this bus.”

“Uh, no. I paid for my ticket, and I make my singing debut tonight.” Ta.yari pointed towards the front of the bus. “What you need to do is get up there and do your job. Drive us to New York City.”

They stared at each other for what seemed like forever. Finally the bus driver marched back up to the front of the bus.

Aaron walked back and sat next to her. “Yo girl, just put out the cigarette so we can get moving," he whispered.

Tayar.i exhaled hard. Smoke floated all around her. She didn’t even bother to acknowledge him. Why were they bothering her? If they’d just left well enough alone, she would’ve finished her cigarette by now.

He tried to take the cigarette from her, but she jerked it out of his reach. He left and went back to his seat.

After a couple of minutes, the bus driver stood up, and asked for everyone's attention. “Listen up, ya’ll. I don’t have to put up with this shit. I been on this job thirty-five years. My retirement starts next Monday. It’s Friday night, and I could be at home right now instead of fooling with ya’ll. And that’s what I’m gonna do. You all have a good evening, and get to New York the best way you can.” He grabbed his belongings and stomped off the bus.

Tayar.i stood up and stared out the window after him, hoping he would turn around . Didn’t he know she was suppose to be on stage tonight with the Brand New Heavies?

“Come back,” she yelled. “I sing tonight!”

He continued to walk away.

Taya.ri noticed the bus was a bit too quiet. She turned around.

All eyes were on her.

“Well I’ll be,” the old woman sitting across from her said. She’d been crocheting. She threw the yarn and needle to the floor. “My family reunion starts tomorrow, and because of this heffa and her cigarette, I’m gonna miss it.”

Taya.ri stared at her. She stared into every cold angry face on the bus.

That lady was to spend time with her family the next morning. And no telling what little Johnny and his mother had planned. The pearly toothed brotha, this Aaron man, probably had things to take care of, too.

Taya.ri grabbed her purse, snatched her fur coat tightly around her, and stepped hard to the front of the bus.

“Oh, now you want to get off,” Aaron spat. “You should've thought about that earlier.”

Tayar.i glared at him. He held her stare.

He was starting to look good to her.

She’d have to get his number later.

“I’m not getting off the bus.” She grabbed the door handle and pulled the door shut. She slid into the driver’s seat. “We’re going to New York.”

“You can’t do that,”the old woman said. “You’ll kill us all.”

“Oh, we’re going to New York,” Taya.ri yelled. She finished the last of her cigarette and tossed the spent butt out the window. “And I’m going to get us there.”

She revved the engine, adjusted the seat and mirror…

…And headed out of the bus station.


This is a story that I derived from Tay.ari's love for chasing the Brand New Hea.vies all over the Northeast via the gr.eyhound bus. One day, she was on the bus and the bus driver started GOING OFF hard because someone was smoking on the bus. I joked with her about that, accusing her of smoking on the bus. ("Next time, put that cigarette out, Tay.ari")

Ta.yari doesn't smoke. (Do you, Ta.yari?). But when one is dressed to kill like that, a cigarette is just the thing needed to complete the scene, LOL.

She has a bizarre pink fur coat that she absolutely loves. (That is an actual picture up top, courtesy of her publicist's site, She gave a talk back in February, and she wore the boots with the lucite wedge heel. And she is feenin for the Doon.ey and giraffe print purse line right about now.

But I thought to myself... All of this- the bus, the coat, the band, the boots- is waaay funny.

I need to do something with that.

So "The Greyho.und Blues" was the result.

I thought it was odd that she chases the Hea.vies around. (Much like some of you think it is odd that I'm such a stalky fan of hers, LOL.) But the Brand New Hea.vies have a cult following of some sort, as a few other bloggers chase them around, too. But she loves the band, and even met the lead singer in a club or diner recently.

That first part of the story, the mini-prelude: you should recognize that as a bootleg rendition of Brenda Co.oper's monologue at the beginning of Klymaxx's "The Men All Pause". I wanted to work in the late monologue in the song (Slap me... no somebody slap me, because I know I'm looking good, attitude all over the room, people staring at me... I, I, I just look to good for these people!) but I could not figure that out. Now, what's really funny, yesterday, after a few of the Original Oldgirl elite critique team read the story, we were all in the lab prepping samples. Ol Mean Ass Cynthia and myself broke out into a very spirited AND on-key version of "The Men All Pause". OH JOY! I love that song! And we remembered all the words to it, which is a bit, uh disturbing.


Too many questions abound:

Someone asked "What happens next, Lee?"

Who knows? I'm going to switch out her name for some other swahili name, give the brotha a name, etc., and use this in my class (Ain't I industrious?). I would like to develop the character a bit, and see where it takes me.


Will Ta.yari get to NYC and make her debut with the group?

Can Tayari even drive a bus?

Is Tay.ari gonna give little Johnny's mother complimentary copies of her book?

And what's up with Aaron Fletcher, the "pearly tooth" brother?

And the more important question...We know she don't like the brothers with the hard crease in the blue jeans, but will Tayari get that brotha's phone number?

Hmmm... I don't know. We'll let Ta.yari figure all that out!!


Tuesday, November 27, 2007

For the Love of "Pink"

*LadyLee kicks off her Nikes, and steps up on rickety soap box. The inhabitants of "Lurk City" gather around.*

I, the Original Oldgirl, have written a commemorative poem in honor of our most honorable Diva and Lurk City Queen Ta.yari Jones birthday week celebrations.

*LadyLee unrolls fine gold leaf paper*

This poem is in honor of Tay.ari's favorite color and the official color of Lurk City... Pink.


I like pink
Cause pink don’t care
About the yellow of the sun
Shining bright upon my face
About the green of the grass

Tickling the bottom of my feet
About the black of my hair
Flowing fancy free in the wind,
Silky, all natural, and chemical-free.

I like pink
Cause pink knows exactly
From whence it came
From red like the fire that keeps me warm
From white like the clouds

Floating by
High above my head
In the bright blue sky.

I like pink
Cause pink is me.

*LadyLee drops the paper to the ground, and raises hands skyward. Lurk City townspeople are awestruck*



That’s that Pillitzer Prize winning poetry right there.


I got so excited about my little poem that I had to call somebody!

So I called my best friend LadyTee and read it to her!

"I like pink, cause pink don't care..."

Afterwards, she was silent. Probably awe stricken, I thought.

“Okay,” she finally said.
“That was hot right there, wasn’t it?”
“Okay,” she repeated.
What's the problem, Tee?"
“Who helped you with that?”
“Nobody,” I yelled. “I did that myself. That's that Pillitzer prize winning ish, chick.”
“Good, because I was gonna tell you, whoever helped you with that needs to be FIRED.”
*Lee frowns hard*

I didn't want to talk to her anymore after that.

So, my sister Kentucky came home. I was sitting on the sofa, and she was diddling around in the kitchen, fixing dinner.

“Kentucky! I want you to listen to this poem I wrote for Tay.ari!”
“Alright,” she said.

I recited it in all it’s eloquence.

"I like Pink, cause pink don’t care…"

“Whatcha think about that, Kentucky?”
She wiped her hands on a hand towel and turned on the oven. “It was good, Lee.”

Okay. Kentucky is being Kentucky. She is a PRO at saying exactly what one wants to hear.

“Stop playing, girl”.

“No, it was good.”


“Because you like pink, Lee.”

*big crickets*

“Unh-unh, no I don’t.”

Kentucky goes on to talk about how when, a few years ago, she and I were watching the movie 2 Fast 2 Furious , I was feenin’ for the pink car that the female racer drove in the movie. She talked about how hard I was screaming about getting my zoom-zoom (Mazda) painted pink with the pink fur interior.

She even went on to say that the poem could be about the singer Pink, Blah, blah, blah.

*LadyLee staring at her, blinking rapidly... perplexed that she was giving all these reasons of why the poem made sense and was indeed good.*

Naaah. I don’t like pink. It's too girly, and I'm a tomboy. I have NO pink items. NONE.

She’s just saying what she thought I wanted to hear.

But she had a slight smile on her face and that special look in her eye, like she actually liked it.


I left her alone. She needed to concentrate on finishing dinner.

Then I spoke with my friend and coworker, Cowgirl Cre, on Thanksgiving evening. Man, she was HOT because she had to work on Thanksgiving day. We had an insane b*tch fest about it. We were quite crunk about it, but calmed down later.

“Cre, listen to my poem,” I blurted.

I cleared my throat and began to read.

"I like pink, cause pink don’t care…"

I finished reading it. I asked her what she thought.

“What kind of crap is that?”
“That sound like somebody said, ‘Okay Lee, I need you to write a 20 word poem’, and you were like 'Okay, I like pink, cause...'”
I laughed. I told her what LadyTee said.
“Yeah, that sound like Oscar Tyrone helped you, girl.”

She had a point. My cat Oscar-Tyrone was milling around watching me that day, a little more than usual.

He had that look that said “Yeah, LadyLee, I like that. That whole pink thing... It sounds good, real good. But listen, LadyLee… I need you to, uh, freshen up my litter box and put out more food and water."


Cowgirl Cre continued ranting.

"You need to leave that literary sh** alone, and come on back home, man!"

I whined in disagreement.

"And what's up with that green grass?"
"The grass, Lee. That's some craziness."
"Why? What's wrong with feet in green grass?"
Cowgirl Cre groaned. "You know... Ta.yari likes her fly shoes!"

"So," I said. I didn't get the point she was trying to make.

"You know she ain't 'bout to let her feet touch no damn grass."

I thought about that for a moment. She did have a point. Ta.yari was a Diva for life.

I was silent for a moment. "Well, I don't see what's wrong with feet in grass. It's a good feeling."

Cowgirl Cre huffed. "You know, she gonna read that and be like, 'What is LadyLee talking about? She knows I like my fly shoes. My feet are not touching grass. This isn't the country! I'M NOT COUNTRY!'"


Cowgirl Cre had a point indeed.

No, Tay.ari... you're not "country". I know you gasp in horror at the very thought of wiggling freshly manicured toes in fresh green grass...

No, you're not country...

And you know what? I, the Oldgirl, am not a poetess!!

I will most definitely keep my chemistry job.

But it was fun to try and write a poem, nevertheless!!

Monday, November 26, 2007

I Have My Favorites...

Just like all the peoples of the world...

I have my favorites...

My Favorite female sanger, Miki Howard

My Favorite male sanger, Alexander O'Neal

My Favorite actress, Alfre Woodard

Favorite Actor, Jeffrey Wright

And you know I have my faaaavorite writers...

Brandon Massey, the Black Prince of Horror

I've met him a couple of times and have had email correspondence. He's very nice, very mannerable. I didn't expect this. I expected blood to be dripping from his mouth... I expected the brotha to jump up with an axe and kill everybody in the room, turn into a vampire or a ghost, or levitate the podium and hurl it across the room.

*LadyLee readying herself to make a MAD dash for the door just in case Brandon goes NUTS*
But he's done none of that so far. He's just an amazing writer who likes to write that type of craziness...

And you know? I also have a favorite writer of the female variety:

You know...



"Miss Celie" a.k.a. "RaCer X" a.k.a. "The Queen of Lurk City"

*LadyLee bows so hard that her lips kiss the ground*

Taya.ri Jones!!!

Tay.ari Jones!!!!!

*LadyLee tosses rose petals in the air, then lays prostrate on the floor*

The One and Only... Ta.yari Jones!!

*LadyLee passes out on the hard concrete*

(Yes, it's not your imagination playing tricks on you. I do jock her pretty hard.)

Now why am I so excited? Because her birthday's on Friday!!!

And it's excuse for me to add to my cadre of "Tay.ari shrine" posts!

I went back and counted... There are 15 shrines all around the House of LadyLee blog.

That's almost boderline obsession. Almost. This week, we'll kick it up to 20. Now, THAT'S boderline obsession. LOL!!

Because after this week?

Tay.ari's gonna keep her gun cocked, and her security team nearby...

LOL!!! LOL!!

Nawl, I ain't obsessed. I'm just thankful, because this chick does a WHOLE lot to help an Oldgirl out.

And she don't have to do that, man! But I surely appreciate it!!

Now, I have several posts planned for her birthday week. However, there is a sudden National crises in the lab, and for some reason, I feel like these fools management gonna jerk me into it. I mean, they know I throw MAJOR temper tantrums when they bother me, but uh, what can I do?

*Lee diving and hiding under desk whenever management walks by*

Yeah... uh, let's just say, I plan on making myself VERY scarce and extremely difficult to find.

If they leave me be, I plan on having the following posts up this week:

1. "Pink" ... a poem dedicated to Tay.ari and her favorite color. She'll most definitely dry heave when she reads it. A hard eyeroll and the gas face will soon follow. That's okay, because I'm gonna post it anyway!!

2. "Convo with the Queen, Part III": We had a phone convo last week... As usual, this freaks me out, but I am a maverick. I got through it. *Lee pumping fist in air*

3. "Convo with the Queen, Part IV: The Curse of the Purse": She called out of the blue. (Twice in one week... WTH?) This again freaked me out something terrible, but I held my cool...

4. "Greyhou.nd Blues"... You know I had to write a short story. I need to work a little more on it, but what the hell... I'm posting it anyway, doggonit.

5. And finally, "THE GIFT". Now, I, the Original Oldgirl, am a real fan, a TRUE fan... THE ULTIMATE FAN. You about to see what type of gift the ultimate fan gives!! LOL!! (Anyone out there who reads my blog who knows about it or has seen it, you BETTER not mention it in the comment section. Kick me an email instead. Or if you work with me, I have it today, and I'm shipping it when I get off work... Come by and see it!)

And, uh, is it time for me to hand out another **Original Oldgirl** Platinum Plus Card? Will she recieve her Original Oldgirl status this week??

Will SHE be given the priviledge of calling herself an Original Oldgirl???


Stay tuned to find out...