Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Ain't nothing Like a man who can COOK!

One thing I will always love:

One thing I know for sure...

T'ain't nothing like a man that can COOK!!

A few weeks ago, my work computer crashed.

(I know this may seem like a hard left turn in topic, but just bare with me...)

The IT chick showed up and said she didn't have time to get to it. She and I walked down to the IT room and she assigned me a bootleg laptop computer. I joked with the other IT chick, asking, as I have done for years and years, if my new fancy computer with television capabilities had come in yet. I clutched my mini-laptop in my arms and headed back upstairs to my desk.

I was not happy with this. I wanted my computer. So, I locked up the laptop and went and sat at the empty computer next to Hen-Dog. His cubicle mate was out of town for the week on training.

It was peaceful, sitting next to that dude. Made me realize that me and my cubicle Cowgirl Cre are typical womens (we yack, yack, YACK.) Hen-Dog was pretty quiet. (Maybe he wasn't, since I usually have my earphones on while I do paperwork).

There was no tapping on the shoulder, shaking of chairs to get one's attention, none of that... Although Cowgirl Cre did clock me in the head a couple of time with expertly hurled pieces of peppermint candy to get my attention. (I'ma get you back for that, Cre).

But one day, while tirelessly crunching data, I noticed MUCH commotion all about me in my peripheral vision. I wouldn't have really noticed this from my normal cubicle. I was in the middle of the cubicle spaces instead of at the back (where I like to be).

People were getting up, rushing to the cabinet where we keep our spare plastic dinnerware and plates.

Then I smelled cinnamon...

I turned around, and one of my favorite chemists, "T-Luv", was standing in the midst of us with a loaf of fresh cinnamon raisin bread.

"What's that, boy?" I asked.
"Some bread I made!"

I thought he was lying. I thought his wife had made it. But that probably wasn't the case. He had it in one of those resealable plastic bags. A woman would've placed it on a beautiful plate and included a real butter knife for cutting. LOL

He and Hen-Dog exchanged a few words. Turns out Hen had had some before, and requested a loaf.

Now, even though it smelled good, I was still suspect. I grabbed the bag containing the loaf (after people had cut off their peices) and held it in my hand.

It was heavy. It was REAL bread.

Now, I was not hungry, as I had just eaten lunch, but I decided to cut a sliver and test the product. It melted in my mouth. It was the best cinnamon raisin nut bread I'd ever tasted.

"That is good, T-Luv. I can taste the ginger and the nutneg all up in that, boy."

Dr. Sunshine, one of my fellow docs, had come out from around the corner with her plate. "I heated mines up, girl!"

"I don't need no heat," I said.

I squinted hard at T-Luv. I took another bite. "You sure you made this? Or did your wife make it?"

"Yeah, I made this." He frowned. He stomped the ground hard with his Air Jordan clad feet. "I put my feet into it."

He made a move with his elbow like he had an imaginary person in a headlock, and stomped the floor a couple more times. "I put my elbow in that bread, Sweetie!"

*LadyLee steps back and braces herself, as she recognizes T-Luv is getting a bit too excited*

I decided to believe him. He was passionate about that bread.

And, he's always the man in control of the Egg station during the holiday brunches we have downstairs in the conference room every Christmas. He does scramble eggs PERFECTLY.


Made me appreciate him more...

Cuz t'ain't nothing like a man that can cook.

Made me reminescene on my men in the past who could cook. Most could barely cook something remotely basic, and they even needed work on those things. The ex-hubby could cook very well, but it took him a LONG time. Dinner would be ready at 10 or 11 o'clock at night. That was much too late to eat, but I ate (didn't want to offend him, you know.)

Anyway, the loaf of bread stayed in our cubicle area all day, in the middle section between me and Hen-Dog. No, I didn't have any more. But I would hear the plastic rustled every once in a while.

(Hen was not as quiet as I thought he was. LOL.)

Now, if I could only locate a man who can crochet.

Cuz t'ain't nothing like a man who can crochet.

*Lee cheesing REALLY REALLY hard*

To be continued sometime soon.

Monday, July 28, 2008

*HaPPy BiRthDay SoUTheRn BLaCk Gal!*

One of my favorite bloggers is having a birthday today!!!

Happy Birthday Southern Black Gal!!!

(Now girl, I'ma call you what I call you on the regular: Southern Black Gal. I've seen your real name used on your blog, but we will just leave it at that, a'ight?)

Southern Black Gal has one of the funniest blogs out there, the beloved blog Thoughts of a Black Southern Gal.

And I LOVE the quote in the heading:

"One good reason for doing the right thing today is tomorrow."

Really though.

Check it out... I like to throw virtual parties, so let's get this party started EARLY on a Monday morning!

Now, I've been reading her thoughts for a couple of years now. Most have made me laugh out loud, some have made me all weepy... Goodness girl, I'm thankful that you tend to keep it smurfy!!

Anyway, this is a special birthday for Southern Black Gal.


She turns...


And ya'll know how I feel about "30"

"You don't know NOTHING 'til you turn 30!"

To quote my ownself from some former post concerning the phenomena of turning 30:

"Well, it’s weird… It’s like, somewhere between the ages of 27 and 30, some metamorphical (is that a word?) thing takes place. It’s like the thick cloud of smoke engulfing your peanut head starts to clear out. You start figuring out what you need to do, and get to doing it, and lo and behold, it’s is actually the RIGHT thing to do, and it produces good fruit (results). You may even go through some things spiritually. At any rate, things start to fall into place, because you’re making better decisions and what not."

Well, that's my observation of myself and most women turning 30...

Southern Black Gal... thatl cloud of smoke has lifted. It's your time! Do the darn thing!!!

With that said, I want to officially welcome you to the Dirty 30's - your good years.

And as of late, you've been picking at me and 2nd 68, joning out our 70s and 80s music on the sly.

Yeah... she's a self proclaimed child of the 90's. That's her idea of "Old School"


Now, you rolling up in our age bracket...

And I have a few videos, for YOU. You are 30 now. You should enjoy these, hon.

Kill the sidebar playlist for a sec, i.e., press pause...

Here's the first... How old were you when this came out? I believe you were about 5 or 6. Yet it describes your uh, "sassiness" to a tee. LOL!!!

Here's the next one... I think you'll like this one.

**Southern Black Gal walks into her virtual party, looks around hard... sees the older bloggers dancing hard... She rolls her eyes, turns and heads back out the door**

*LadyLee grabs her arm*

"Where are you going, Southern Black Gal?? The party's just starting!!"

2nd 68 put on the extra "special" record... You know, that REAL special one.

The one where square dancing and break dancing clash up...

Yeah, THAT one!!

*Southern Black gal gives us the *gas face* as we all sing "Southern Black Gal go 'round the outside and dosey-do your partner!!!*

It's something else partying with the old people, ain't it?


You're NOT in your 20's anymore!!!

Alright, somebody play something that that Southern Black Gal likes. GEEZ!

*Southern Black Gal cheeses real hard*

You happy now Gal?


Okay, let's eat...

Southern Black Gal seems to be a bit finnicky, but I know she likes chicken.

And we just can't have chicken. Black folk might get all rowdy if that's all we have. We have ribs, steak and sausage, too!

Now, THAT'S how we set a party OFF... LadyLee style.

Now we all got that "itis"!!! lol

Southern Black Gal- I once again want to wish you a VERY VERY Happy 30th Birthday.

It's that time, gal!!! Your time to shine!

GO FORWARD and do great things!

(And look out for my gift in the mail. If you didn't get it on Saturday, you'll get it today:)


Friday, July 25, 2008

Pink Pony Dreams

Right now, I have this very strange thing for sending out highly decorated greeting cards in the mail to my friends. Here are a few recent ones.

I keep a LARGE bag of stickers at work, and when I need a little stress relief, I will sit down and play with glitter and stickers. (Yeah, it's silly, but uh... it works for me, alright?). I haven't done this as much as I like lately, as we are preparing for a major audit on the job right now, but when I get a chance, I sit down and work on a card or two.

One that was really funny was a card I made back in April. It was for my book club sista Tracey. Tracey is a REALLY funny chick, and she always refers to herself as the "Best Dancer down at the Pink Pony". The Pink Pony is a popular Atlanta strip club.

Tracey's praise and rantings about the Pink Pony use to amaze and confuse me to no end. I mean, I could tell that she was a professional woman. But she danced at the strip club at night after work and was proud of it??

You know me. I am always learning from people and their situations. I figured that, if this woman could be so proud of being a stripper, well, I could be proud of myself too, in anything I do.

I thought of it as "Pink Pony Pride".

One day, I mentioned this to one of my other book club sistas.

"That Tracey know she love the Pink Pony lounge."

"Girl, don't pay Tracey no mind. She's just joking!"

I was embarrassed that I believed the rantings. It was all a big joke!

But a funny one, no less.

I've wanted to start something new. It has been an interesting idea of sorts. I've wanted to include a short story, some 300-500 words or so, with my cards. This idea is a bit grandiose, but I tried it (once), lol. It looks as if I have to know something really quirky about the person for it to work. (You've seen a bit of this around my blog). Alas, I don't write these much, even though I would love to. I don't pay THAT much attention to people's quirks!

But here's the story I included in Tracey's card. She gave me permission to post it.

It is called Pink Pony Dreams.

Enjoy, and have a great weekend!

Pink Pony Dreams

By LadyLee 4/22/08

The moment had finally come.

Everything Tracey had hoped and dreamed for in life was about to come true.

She was about to get her turn on the shiny silver pole.

She was making her debut at The Pink Pony.

“A dancer,” she whispered to herself while she stood behind the velvet black curtain leading up to the stage. “I’m a Pink Pony Dancer.”

She smiled. She adjusted the bright purple tassels swinging from her nipples and straightened her g-string.

She first saw the advertisement for Pink Pony Dancers on a billboard on I-285, the freeway she took to and from work. Normally, she paid the billboards no mind, but there had been a bad traffic accident, and traffic had come to a stand still. She looked up and saw a picture of a tall leggy blonde dancer pointing straight at her, as if to say. . .

Tracey, we want you. We want YOU to be a Pink Pony Dancer.

Tracey made her way to the median and got off at the next exit. She sped all the way home, running red lights and stop signs as she went. It was a wonder she didn't have a wreck! She parked all crooked up in the driveway of her home, not even bothering to pull the key out of the ignition. Her man Ray-Ray ran outside to see what all the commotion was all about.

"Tracey," he yelled.

She jumped out of the car and ran to him. He caught her in his arms.

“Baby," she said as she backed away from him. She held her hand to her chest, trying her best to catch her breath. "They lookin’ for dancers down at the Pony!”

He smiled, his gold tooth twinkling in the afternoon sun. “Yeah Tracey, you know what's up with that. You gotta go audition. You know you can do it!"

Yes, Tracey already knew she could do it. After all, she’d danced for Ray-Ray at home… often.

But she went to bed that night, a bit disturbed and troubled by it all. She had no idea how she could audition and become a dancer. She had no pole experience. There was more to exotic dancing than bending over in front of some strange man’s face and shaking your behind.

She woke up the next morning and Ray-Ray had done the unbelievable: he’d set up a pole in the living room and anchored it in a large slab of wood. He said he’d bought the pole, but Tracey knew better. She saw a green“Martin Luther King, Jr. Blvd” sign in the closet when she went to retrieve her jacket from the hall closet. A bullet riddled stop sign lay behind a large poster board she'd used last year in a presentation at work. She didn’t say anything to him about that, though. Just got her jacket and headed for work.

He and she both knew she needed that pole.

So Tracey practiced. She practiced so much and so many times that she’d burned her thighs on that pole, sliding down the wrong way on it. She even bumped her head n the floorquite a few times when doing the difficult upside-down maneuvers.

But with practice comes perfection.

After working hard on her dance moves every night, her confidence was on fire. She went down to the Pony and auditioned.

The owner clapped his hands slowly when she finished. He hired her on the spot.

And now.

And now… she was about to make her debut. She could hear the DJ cue up a little Uncle Luke…

“Work it out, work it out, work it out now. Work, work…it… out now…”

The music embraced her body. The bass vibrated her teeth and bones. It was that old school club music, something the younger dancers knew nothing about, and it suited her well.

She ran up on the stage, got low a few times for the cheering crowd. (She’d perfected that “scrub the ground” move with her ass long, long ago, you see.)

Then she jumped on the pole, grabbing it higher than any dancer ever had…

And she danced.

Danced like she never danced before.

The end.

I ended the story with:

Happy Birthday Tracey. May all your “Pink Pony Dreams” come true.

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

State of the Garden, Part II


I haven't talked about the garden since I posted about it back on May 2nd, when it looked like this:

Why is that? Because I haven't been all that excited about the garden.

1. It is hot outside.

2. The mosquitos smile big and wide when they see me coming. I think I have what the ol' folks call "Sweet Blood". Mosquitoes like that. HUMPH.

3. I work 10, sometimes 12 hours a day. When I get home, I ain't thinking about going outside doing ANYTHING! I'm trying to get in the house, in the cool, cool air, and RELAX.

4. It is HOT outside!!!

But, one of the neighborhood crackheads locals, Mr. Thomas (seen in the photo, threatening me with a rake,*crickets*), knocked on my door one Saturday afternoon. Usually I don't open the door, and they know this. But I think he caught me coming into the house or something.

"What you want man?"
"Gimme 2 dollars, girl."
"Man, what did I tell you? I don't have cash on me." I have TRIED to explain the whole debit card phenomena to him numerous time, but he just gives me the *blank stare*. He don't seem to understand.
"I know you got some money around here somewhere!"

We argue back and forth.
Then he says...

"I was in your backyard. I see you got some good ol' beans out there!"
"No I don't."
"Yes you do."
"No I don't."
Yes you do, ol silly girl!!"
"I was just out there a couple of days ago. There were a bunch of flowers, but that's it."
"Well, you got beans, girl!!"

We walk around to the backyard, and lo and behold, I did have beans!

So, that next day, I picked them. Along with some random peppers.

This is my first harvest. HOOORAAAY. (Naw, I ain't that excited).

There were not many beans. That's alright. I HATE SNAPPING BEANS. So I washed them and snapped them.

Now, I usually cook my beans with smoked chicken and potatoes, but I was too lazy to run out to Decatur and get my smoked chicken. So, I know my baby blog sista Serenity 3-0 is a bean fiend, and cooks them with sausage and potatoes.

We had a convo about it over our daily email thread.

"S, how do you do your beans with the sausage and potatoes?"
"I just cut up my potatoes and sausage and cook them with the beans."
"What kind of sausage?"
"What kind of potatoes?"
"Regular potatoes."
"I know, but do you use the red small potatoes, the Idaho, the russet?"
"I don't know LadyLee, they are white."
"Well, what are the amounts that you use?"

She snapped on me after that, and I didn't ask anymore questions. She should know by now that I am inquisitive and I ask a BUNCH of questions. Baby sisters can be real bitches mean girls at times. After that, I wrote back, questioning if it was her time of the month or something. HUMPH.

I decided to bootleg it, and hope it worked out.

But here's the result:

It look good, don't it?

It WAS good!

Get a little closer!!

Yeah... that's what's hot right there. I got a little to crazy with the black pepper, but it was alllll good.

Bootleg recipe for "Serenity Beans":

3 cups of beans, snapped
1.5 cups of potatoes (use more or less if you like)
1 cup of cut of sausage
1 small onion, sliced.
3 cups of water
salt and pepper to taste

Boil the sausage and onion in water for a little while. Add the beans and potatoes and boil a little while. Add more water if necessary. Stir it up. Watch it so it will not burn!!

Yeah, I'm vague. And you know what? YOU are grown. Work it out from there.


Now, all of this went down last week... Time to harvest MORE beans and peppers.

Yesterday, my coworker, ol' Mean Ass Cynthia asked if her baby Chayse could come pick some beans. Chayse planted peppers in the garden back on Memorial Day. She was a great little worker!

*LadyLee smiling real hard*

I said "Sure, of course she can come over. Anytime!!"

You know, there ain't nothing in the world like a little slave child labor.

Nothing like it.


Tuesday, July 22, 2008

I got beans, Man!!!!

Guess what?

I got beans, Man!!!

Beans, beans, and more beans!!!!

Stay tuned...

Sunday, July 20, 2008

Blanket Watch

Alright, so I've completely another blanket. My first "adult" blanket of the year.

*Lee throws the smoking crochet needle to the ground. It explodes into a million pieces.*

Another one for the books!!

I'd always wanted to work with a yarn in the "heathers" family. It's a yarn slightly heavier than regular yarn, and has the look of denim (comes in gray, blue denim, and purple denim). It's a little more expensive than I care for, but it was well worth it. I worked on it for about 3 months, I believe, and it took around about 115 hours to complete. (I am getting FASTER, LOL)

I made this one for one of my book club sistas, Viv. She mentioned wanting one back in December. Her birthday was on Friday, which gave me more than enough time to get it done.


Happy Birthday Viv :)

I hope you enjoyed your birthday week! And I hope you enjoy the blanket!

Saturday, July 19, 2008

Holla at Ya Boy!!!!!

Dedicated to 2nd 68. . . betcha didn't know I could do a short post, did you boy?.

I was rolling down ATL's Metropolitan Parkway, heading for the "Black People's Kroger" on the corner of Clevland and Metropolitan, when I saw this used car lot sign:

There were two brothers standing out front, clad in white t-shirts and baggy jeans, staring at me.

I wanted to ask them. . .

"Good Evening, young men! Do you have any Lexuses? If so, is it possible for me to get one at 0% interest?"


If I would've said that, I would've gotten my feelings smashed!

Nope! I just snapped the photo and kept it moving.

But any of you ATLiens out there....

If you find yourself in need of transportation?

Go head on and Holla at Ya Boy!!!


Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Those Crazy Cougars Part IV (Final): "She Put the 'Cou' in Cougar"

for part one of this story, click here.


I tell you.

Having a 75-year-old woman with a 25 year old "Boy Toy" living next door was a conversation piece for quite some time. Especially since they were quite "active". Let's just say that I slept in the living room on my couch sometimes. Our bedrooms shared a wall. Their lovemaking would wake me up at night, and gross me out at the same time.

Something else occurred that really disturbed me:

They fought A LOT.

I mean argued down!

I could hear all that, too. It was moreso the dude defending himself, yelling "I ain't cheating on you!!". Ms. Mary would throw stuff at him. I could hear pots and pans clanking against the wall.

They were getting on my nerve. Big time. I couldn't call the cops, because they would know who called. As long as they stayed on their side of the duplex, whatever.

I couldn't worry about it. I was in school, had a hectic schedule, and even teaching a lab class one evening a week. I had talks to prepare, research to do, amongst other things.

I was not going to concern myself with their mess.

Until. . .

One day I was heading out the door to school. I wasn't going to walk to school that day because I had a 5 hour lab class to teach that night, and wouldn't be in until 11 o' clock that evening. So I decided to drive my beloved 73' Nova, and pay the three dollar parking fee. As usual, I would walk to the parking deck with some of my students from the lab class. (Gotta be safe, ya'll!)

The dude was outside, tidying up the yard as usual. He spent MUCH time doing this. I thought he should go get a dayum job, but like I said, ain't none of my business.

I said hello. He said hello.

He watched me walk to my car. (That in itself bothered me a bit).

"Good," he said. "You're driving. I think I'll go head on and cut this grass."

"Sounds good," I said. I was hoping that wasn't some sly remark for me to move my car. They didn't have a car, and they never had visitors, i.e., the driveway was MINE!

Okay. That was the extent of the conversation.

I got in the car, and the dude went to the screen door on the side of their place, that led into the kitchen. He opened the door and jumped back, a look of fright clouding his face.

"Idiot," I said to myself. "Musta saw a bug or bee. Got the nerve to jump. Idiot."

(I was in a FOUL mood that day, lol. Can't remember why, just knew I was).

Anyway, the next day, I'm out on the porch, talking on my cordless phone, and dude comes out the house. I got off the phone, and was about to go into my place.

"Hey," he said.

I said hello.

He looked back and forth up and down the street. "She real mad at me."

I didn't say anything. I was tripping that this dude was even talking to me.

"Yesterday, when she saw me out here talking to you, she got all mad. I tried to walk in the kitchen through the screen door. She had this big butcher knife in her hand." He raised his hands to show me how big it was. "She threatened to kill me."

I just stared at him. I was part tripping because this dude was talking to me and part suprised because he stuck around after that old broad threatened him like that."

"She thank me and you got something going on."

"What the f*** are you talking about?!" I yelled before I could even think about it.

He was stunned. "Oh, I know we ain't fooling around. I told her that, but she don't believe me!"

He had the nerve to looked scared.

"Man, you better talk to that old lady. Because if she say anything to me, she getting her a** kicked."

"Naw'l, I don't think she will say anything to you."

I looked around. "Where she at right now?"

"Oh, she gone shopping. She won't be back for awhile."

I'm still thinking, Why is this dude talking to me?

"Let me tell you something," I said. I pointed at my car. "If I come out here and my car windows are busted, or my tires are slashed, that b*tch going to jail. You better get some control over her. I don't care how old she is, she getting locked up tonight!"

He nodded.

I meant what I said, too. My Nova - it might as well have been a benz. That's how much I loved my car. And she seemed like the type to want to try to slash tires in the middle of the night.

I went in the house.

There was more fighting over there. Pissed me off because I needed to study.

Ms. Mary never said anything out of the way to me. When I'd walk up to my front door, which was right next to hers, she'd get up and walk to the screen door and stare.

One day I was like... "You got a damn problem or something?" I gripped my book bag in my hand. It was heavy and full of books. If she came outside, I was prepared to knock her upside the head.

She wouldn't say anything. She'd retreat back and slam the door.

Good. Because, like I said, I respect the elderly, but she would've caught a servere beatdown just for thinking I was messing with her "boy toy". The Horror!!

That dude didn't say much to me after that. And when he did, I would remind him to check his woman. And I was loud enough so she could hear me. Between myself and my best friend LadyTee, we were going run up on her if we had to.

I'm not sure what happened with that cougar Ms. Mary and that young man. I moved away abuot 6 months later. (Moved in with my man, waaaay out in Smyrna, which was stupid!).

But it made me wonder...

What would cause her to be THAT paranoid?

And what would cause him to stick around and be abused like that? I mean, I'd go live under a bridge before I allowed someone to pull knives on me, and throw stuff at me... Who could be that desperate?


Makes me not even want to consider that ol' cougar lifestyle.


Monday, July 14, 2008

Those Crazy Cougars, Part III:"She Put the 'Cou' in Cougar"

I know a little sumthin' sumthin' about COUGARS.

Shoot, I knew about COUGARS before the term was coined, before it became chic and fabulous.

My Mama is a cougar. That's her thing, she can do her thing, but I wish she would get younger guys who don't ruin her credit. A young man ain't worth THAT much sacrifice.

But she's not the ultimate cougar. Not in the least.

So let me tell you about a COUGAR that was down for hers.

Let me tell you about an Oldgirl that put the "Cou" in "Cougar".

Many years ago, when I was in graduate school working on my doctorate degree, I lived in a nice little duplex. The neighborhood was very quiet, and mostly occupied by elderly citizens. I was the young kid on the block, only 24 years old. And you know how old people watch out like a hawk. So, even though I heard gunshots off in the distance at night (yeah, it's considered a shady part of town), I could leave the house all day, and leave the door unlocked, windows open, all that. The old folks were spys always looking out. I think that had to be the BEST place I'd ever lived. It was a one bedroom place with no central heating and air (I had the tall wall heaters in the living room and bedroom), and I was paying $390 a month for rent. My school stipend was about $1040 a month. After bills and all, I had about $300 dollars left over for the month.

Man, you couldn't tell me I wasn't RICH. $300 dollars strethed far and wide back in 1994.

(If I tried to live off that stipend now, I'd be in hella trouble.)

Anyway, a couple lived in the aparment on the left hand side of the duplex. They were an interracial couple (white man/black woman). They were elderly. I believe the white man was about 80 years old, and the black woman was in her early to mid-seventies.

Now, the old white man was nice. His name was Mr. James. I met him when I moved in. My boyfriend at the time talked to him a lot. Mr. James saw me sitting on the front steps of the porch smoking a cigarette (well, it was really a joint), and drinking a quart of malt liquor. He didn't say anything to me (I know that weed had to be smelling REAL good.) But he started giving me money to buy his liquor when I bought my own. He was fond of the Southern Comfort and Christian Brothers brands of liquor, you see.

I never saw the old black woman much. When I did, I would say hello, and she would look at me like I was crazy. And forget about speaking. She NEVER did that. Oh well, whatever. And anyone who knows me, if you act like that, I don't speak to you anymore.

Don't bother me none. For all I know, she could've been retarded.

Well, in those days, my life was pretty routine. Walk to school, go to class, work in the lab for about 10-12 hours, then walk home. I had a boyfriend (and a man on the side, who stopped by, uh... when I needed him to stop by. We'll leave it at that).

Well, one day, I came home, and there was an ambulance and policeman in front of my duplex.
I walked up on the front porch, where my landlord's brother Lance was standing and asked him what happened.

He said that Mr. James had died.

I looked past Lance through the open screen door. Mr. James was lying on the floor, in the area between the kitchen and the living room, face down and not moving. I dropped my bookbag on the porch and walked into their place. The old woman was sitting on the couch. I don't remember her name, but I'll call her Ms. Mary.

I asked Ms. Mary if she needed any help, or needed me to call someone for her. She just sat there on the couch. I think she was drunk, I'm not sure. Or she was just lost and in shock over the death of Mr. James. Lance told me to leave her alone, and he'd take care of it, since she was out of it.

I'm not sure what happened after that. I met some of Mr. James' kids, who basically came to collect his stuff. There was no funeral procession, no announcement or anything. I don't know if this family got along with his wife or not. I think they got his stuff and took him back to Alabama and buried him.

I didn't see the old woman much after that. Mind you, this woman NEVER spoke to me. She'd just look at me like I was crazy. I didn't give a flip.

Didn't think much about it after that. I was sweating through grad school, man!

Then some craziness started happening.

She started speaking to my man.

"I think she's flirting with me, Lee," he said one day.

We both looked at each other, and just bust out laughing.

"Boy, you better watch your back," I'd say. "That Old lady'll put a hurting on you."

It became a running joke between the two of us.

So, over time, Ms. Mary figured out my man's schedule. He worked at night, and had a key to my place and would come over and sleep during the day, waiting for me to get home so that we could go out or whatever.

My man "Harvey" said she would be outside sweeping the porch. I had a screen door, and I'd leave the front door open so that we could have some air (no central air conditioning). Apparently he did this during the day also. She started peering through the front screen door and speaking to him.

After that, Harvey would leave the front door closed. He said he'd just have to be hot.

Things got worse. Harvey would sit on the couch at night and watch television while I slept (remember, he worked at night, so when he was off, he'd be up most of the night.)

This old bitch woman would knock on the door, and call his name. I remember him coming back into the bedroom and jumping under the covers with me one night. His eyes were all wide, like something had scared the crap out of him. He was even shaking.

"Move over, Lee," I remembered him saying.

I didn't understand why. I had a king size water bed and there was plenty of room. But I moved over, and he climbed into bed, and held me tight.

"What's your problem." I asked.

"That old woman from next door," he said, "that old lady was trying to get in the house."

I remembered looking at the clock, and it was like, three o'clock in the morning.

"You lying," I said.

"I aint' lying, girl. She was standing outside, knocking on the door. I looked through the blinds to see who was knocking. She had on a skimpy nightgown and a house coat and makeup. Her wig was crooked on her head. She was saying, 'Open up, it's meeeee! Harvey, it's meeee! I know you're there. Open the dooooorr!"

Why did he tell me that?

I joned my man for a looooong time behind that one. Anytime he talked trash to me (jokingly), I'd come back with. . .

"Boy, you better shut up or I'll send you on over to that old lady."


That shut him up REAL quick.

Needless to say, after that, Harvey convinced me to spend more time out at his place, waaaay the hell out in Vinings, a suburb on the Atlanta's West side, some 20 miles away. This was the "good" seditty side of town, mostly inhabitated by upper middle class white folks. I HATED THAT. Harvey was "Thug love"- a braided up, earringed brothat, but he didn't like living around black people. I always thought he had a little "klan" running through his blood.

"I don't like having to watch my sh**. You know how n***** is, Lee," he always said.

So, I spent more time out at his nice apartment deep in the suburbs. He wouldn't admit it, but he was afraid. I understood. I would've been shaking too if some old person was trying to run on me like that.

And anyway, I would've hated to have had to bust that old broad in the head for forcing herself on MY man. I was taught to respect my elders, but sometimes you might have to beat a broad down for the sake of principle.

So I would make the long 20 mile drive out to his home and spend time with him. He would come my way, only during daylight hours or if I was there or if we were going out. THAT'S IT.

Needless to say, the old woman would see me, and not speak. Would even get up and slam her door.

I didn't give her no trouble. I had a "man on the side", who creeped in and out from time to time. She caught us sitting out on the steps, holding hands and drinking one evening. I was SO afraid she was going to tell Harvey. But she gave me that look that said...

"I was a young girl once. I ain't saying a doggone thing."

And she never did. For that, she got a pass.


About 6 months later, I started seeing this young black dude around. He'd be outside sweeping the driveway or walkway. He would sit out on the front porch. Sometimes he would cut the grass and trim up bushes. (I was perturbed by this, because I liked to sit on the porch and smoke and drank or work on my chemistry homework. He was messing with my routines.)

He was about my height, about 5'7", pencil thin, and dark-skinned. He had hollow cheeks, and eyes that weren't too clear. The most we'd say was hello and talk about the weather. He had a southern accent like myself. His lips were crusty and black.

My best friend LadyTee came over one day and saw him and talked to him. I told her that I believed that dude was a "J" (that's what we called folk who were on the crack pipe). LadyTee agreed with me.

"Yeah," LadyTee said. "He probably is a geek monster [another one of our junkie terms]."

But it's good that she got someone around here helping her. He probably her grandson or something like that," I said. "Maybe she can get him off that pipe."

I told Harvey that the old woman's grandson was staying with her. We both thought that was good.

Didn't think much about it after that.

Then there was some craziness...

Me and my man were in bed, laying there talking. We'd just gotten finished doing the dirty deed. I was smoking a joint and drinking some Boone's Farm, straight from the bottle. (Shut UP! I TOLD ya'll I use to drank and smoke. NOW you see why I don't anymore. I had to shut that all down, man!!).

Our bedroom and the old woman's bedroom shared a wall. A cement wall to be exact. I never heard much commotion from over there. I use to play my music real loud, and I asked the "grandson" if it was a problem. He said no, that he couldn't even hear it. That was cool.

So, we were laying in bed, me and my man, talking. I'm very talkative and vunerable after good sex, so I suspect I was talking up a storm, lol.


We heard. . . sounds.

You know those. . . sounds.

You know.


*LadyLee raising an eyebrow at YOU, you coy and innocent reader*

The sounds you make when the loving is GOOOOOOOD.


I sat straight up in bed. "What the f*** is that?"

My man quickly put his hand over my mouth. We sat there and listened for a few seconds. There was the sound of crickets chirping away in the back yard. . . and those love sounds.

"Awwww Daaaayum," my man whispered. His chin was on my shoulder. I can still feel his breath on my ear.

I looked down at the joint in my hand. It was some good stuff I'd bought off the street from some young boy. "I must be high as hell," I whispered, "because I KNOW I don't hear what I think I hear."

Those sounds... they got louder and louder and LOUDER.

Uh, somebody was about to uh. . . reach some type of point, I suppose.

My man climbed over me, and went over to the wall and cupped his ear to the wall.

"Cut that out," I whispered loudly.

"Lee, they screwing!!!"

We were still as possible. We heard her screaming. We heard the dude making grunt noises.

We were STUNNED. We looked at each other, then scrambled out of bed and ran into the living room in the front of the duplex, where we laughed a bit TOO hard. I think I even dialed up LadyTee and told her about it. That made our day.

That dude wasn't her grandson...

He was her


Now THAT'S what I call a COUGAR!

In the truest sense of the word.


Me and my man had this running joke after that day, saying...

She put the "Original" in "Original Player!"


If that wasn't bad enough.

The old lady had the nerve to get territorial.

Mind you, she was already not speaking to me.

But she got some jacked up idea in her head that I was looking at her man.

What the world?

*LadyLee dry heaving and passing out*

Look here, let me tell you something: I respect the elderly... but it got to the point where I thought I was gonna have to pick up a brick and bust her upside the head!

And I was VERY verbal about that.


To be continued.

Sunday, July 13, 2008

Those Crazy Cougars, Part II: Personal Ponderings

Back to our regular programming...

I'm not sure how to write this post. It ain't all smurfy like I like, and I share more of myself than I care to.

Or maybe I don't. I'll try to keep it. . . spare.

I mentioned in my last related post that I was exhibiting COUGAR symptoms.


Well not quite, in the sense of the word.

I'm not going out on the prowl, looking for virile young men. NO WAY, MAN!

But, something is going on that bothers me pretty bad.

These days, when I meet someone that I am mildly interested in, one thing seems to be pretty common:

They are 8 to 10 years younger than me.

Now, I'm 38 years old. So, I meet men that range from about 27 to 30 years old.

That deeply disturbs me.

There's always that question posed...

"So, girl, how old are you?"
I reply, "How old do you think I am?"
"29 or 30."
"Man, you are waaay off."

I guess I should take that as a compliment. I thought it was just the kicking of game, until my writing teacher told me that she thought that I was in my late 20's. And I know she ain't kicking no game.


Another bit of weirdness that takes place with these "youngsters":

"I didn't go to college, but thinking about going back. Did you finish school, Lee?"


My reply of choice has become: "I've had a little bit of schooling."

Man, ain't no way I'm telling a dude that I have a Ph.D. NO WAY. That may be a bit intimidating, maybe it's not. I ain't trying to find out.

Then we get into these looooong discussions, most notably concerning why I'm the way that I am.

"Why you don't like to club?"
"Because I clubbed all throughout my twenties. Once you've heard the same song, danced the same dance, screwed the same type of men, well... the thrill is gone."

"You don't drink?"
"Because I drank all through college. Smoked too much dope and drank too much. I think I may have been an alcoholic."


I find myself having to do a whole lot of explaining. A WHOLE LOT.

Explaining why I am not like everyone else. Why I was like the crowd, but now I'm not. I'm older, I've grown up.

I always say that "You don't know nothing 'til you turn 30."

A guy friend told me for men, that number is higher. Around age 32.

I spend time conversating with these guys, and the more I talk to them, the more that I find that they are still growing, still trying to "find themselves". I have found myself, am comfortable with who I am, yet I'm still growing. I believe we are all under construction, a work in progress, until the day we die, really.

One of the biggest compliments from a couple of guys I've ever heard about myself:

"Lee, I've told you more than I should have about myself, yet I know very little about you. You have this weird way of getting folks to open up to you. It's like you hypnotized me."

LOL! I wish I could do such! Would make life a whole lot easier.

People who know me know this: I ask a WHOLE bunch of questions. I have my opinion, and don't give it much, because I can't tell the difference between if I'm judging you or not. My opinion is my opinion. But I will ask a TON of questions, and get you to talking. A TON. I'm a hell of a good listener. In all that talking you doing, you're gonna probably talk up your own solution, etc.

Not my fault you tell all your bizness in the process. I just asked a few questions. You the one telling it ALL. Not me. I ain't telling you jack! LOL!!

So the conversation finally turns to:

"Why aren't you interested? Let's get up and see what happens."

My reply:
"The only reason I would deal with you is for sexual puposes."

His reply:
"That'll work."

Of course it'll work.

That's what this was all about in the first place, right?


I want something deeper than that.

Don't trip. I'm not saying that all guys that age are like that. Not in the least.

But what happened to people developing friendships before they hop in the bed. Why I gotta get busy with you, then we see if things work out? I mean, for all you know, I could be a serial killer. You don't know me. Hmmm.

I just remember how I was around that age. Still finding my way. I remember how the men I dealt with were at tht age. I'm not interested in helping a man find his way. Unless he's in the process of doing that for himself, and that for him is more important than a quick piece of ass.

I can tell the difference. I was that age once, you know.

I'm very much in touch what I want out of a man. I've been around the block a few times, been married, been divorced. . . all of that. From all of that, I've learned that relationships are not to be taken lightly. Not at all. I'm more adamant than ever about checking my motives and agendas when it comes to whoever I deal with. If the motive or agenda is shaky, I gotta leave it alone.

Our relationships change and alter the courses of our lives, for better or worse.

I'm looking for the better.

And for me, being a COUGAR is not where my head is at right now. Society has coined this new term, and they are pumping into our systems. Society is selling that this is the "cool" thing to do now.

I'm not buying "cool".

I'm not a COUGAR... Especially in the sense of the definition:

An older woman who seeks out the "companionship" of young virile men.

Not me. Not this Oldgirl.

Someone that age can come along and knock me off my feet. (I must admit that a couple of them had an Oldgirl feeling "foggy", can't think straight, lol). Could be the one for me. That would be fine and dandy. But I better be sure I know the difference between what's real and what's some ol' B.S.

Now, I'm familiar with Cougars. I even know a couple of happily married Cougars. More power to them, but I wouldn't refer to them as cougars, though. They found someone who they love and loved them in the way they needed to be love. I'm for that- all day, everyday. In that respect the lines of age blur. And rightfully so.

My Mama has had cougar tendencies. I could tell you some stories about that, but I won't. Her mode of operandi is to get with men she can control. This is easier with younger men, especially if they don't have anything or no ambition. I've watched it all go wrong, and her lot in life is much worser than it was at the start. It all goes back to motive and agenda, agenda and motive. I think this has jaded me a bit. I think more of the consequences of getting caught up with the virile young man, than the fun I'd be having with the virile young man.

Now when I was in grad school, I lived next door to a COUGAR. (Of course we didn't call her this. We called her an Original Playa!) We lived in a duplex, she on one side, me on the other. This was some 14 or 15 years ago, back around 1994. I believe I was 25 or 26 at the time.

She was a 75 year old black woman. . .

And she had 25 year old boyfriend.

If that ain't a COUGAR, I don't know what is.

Oh yeah, she was down for what was hers!!

To the point of pulling butcher knives on folks. . .

*LadyLee dry heaving.*

Stay tuned for:

"She put the 'Cou' in 'Cougar'".

Ya'll enjoy the rest of your weekend!!

Friday, July 11, 2008

Enlighten Me!

*LadyLee angrily presses the pause button on her regular programming*

Can someone please explain to me what the heck is going on?

Can someone please enlighten me?

Can we all just get along?


I am SO doggone embarrassed by this!

It don't help that I have NEVER been a big fan of Jesse Jackson.

Reverend Jackson!! I'm more embarrassed by this than when I saw that picture of your MISTRESS walking down her driveway with your 2 year old love child!


*Lee hurling herself off the roof*

Is he drinking a big tall glass of haterade? Is he jealous? Is he mad about something?

What the. . .???

Man, I tell you, President Obama... Ain't NOTHING like finding out what people REALLY think of you, is it? I'm glad you accepted that apology. That was the right thing to do. That was real "presidential"of you!

But don't deal with that dude!!!! PLEASE!

WOW!! Someone help me understand this. Maybe I missed something. Help me to feel... better about this!

(Okay, we will go back to our regular Original Oldgirl programming.)

Wednesday, July 09, 2008

Those Crazy COUGARS: "Whistle on the Play!!"

(Okay, this may look like some ol' gossipy stuff here, but ya'll know me. *Lee gives the sideways peace sign* I'm your friendly neighborhood Oldgirl! So work with me here, okay? Just read. Stick with me 'til the end.)

Hand me that sm-, sm-, smoking platinum encrusted diamond microphone, Microphone Queen Sharon!


This is NOT an episode of Animal Planet.

I am not blogging about our beautiful American cougars.

They are loving though, frolicking through the snow, searching for sustenance.

No, I'm talking about COUGARS!!!!

Older women who seek out the companionship of young virile men!

Well, lately there's been a particular story about a particular COUGAR in the media. If you haven't heard, read, or seen anything about this, you must be taking residence up under a big rock on some undiscovered planet somewhere.

A-Rod and that COUGAR Madonna.

That COUGAR Madonna is at the center of some mess.

Goodness. It hasn't all sunk in. Too many reports. And I have a tendency to turn the channel to Law and Order, the Lifetime channel, or... white noise. Anything to get away from it.

They say ARod been leaving her apartment at 2 in the morning. He's texting her back and forth, calling her his "Soul mate". She has introduced him to the Ka.bala faith. She's showing up at games and what-not.

And they are both hollering "We're just friends!!"

Yeah. A male "friend" leaves my house at 2 in the morning, there's a bit more than friendship going on. Matter of fact, I'm standing at the door, hair dishelved, in a silk robe making sure to lock the deadbolt as said "friend" scurries out the door.


Now there's a big mess. All I know, A-Rod's wife is raising a slight raucus, but she ain't a sista. A sista would be putting the verbal foot stomp on dude's head in the media right now.

A sista would be holding a pot of HOT grits while talking trash right about now.

I couldn't be married to a STAR who has the nerve to run around on me. WOW. I would line up all ten of our kids (yeah, I plan for some bull... I would've popped out a baby every 8.5 months, and a set a triplets somewhere due to all those fertility drugs I'd been wolfing down on the low-low) right in front of their rich and famous father...

"Come on, little children, line up now, from oldest to youngest."

*Children scurry to line up. Even the baby, baby Ladylee crawls into position*
*LadyLee waves hand in the air over her beautiful smiling children*

"Count em off, children!"

10 million.
20 million.
30 million.
40 million.
80 million.

*LadyLee frowns. Little 8 year old Ray-ray can't count well. That's alright because that just means more money for them all when they break camp and get the "bleep" out of dodge .*

The count goes on. My non-counting kids get up to 200 million.

"Yes dear," I say lovingly to my rich and famous husband. . .

"That's how much I'm sticking you up for for messing with that COUGAR."


A-Rod's wife is gonna CLEAN UP!!! And she just has 2 childrens!!

Dude got the nerve to be messing with Madonna.

I like Madonna. Especially that early stuff, from 25 years ago. I remember LadyTee and myself running around the house singing "Borderline", "Papa don't Preach", all those songs! Her Erotica CD is one of my all time favorite CDs. Madonna is the Man!!!

However, Madonna has been around the block ya'll! You hear me? She's slept with mens, womens, and even. . .

If I were A-rod's wife, I would really be talking trash. I would be talking so much trash that spit would be flying out of my mouth.

As That Original Oldgirl LBeezy would say:

*Whistle on the Play!*

*Lee blowing on silver whistle so hard that she pops a blood vessel.*

A blood vessel would bust in my eye. That's just how pissed I would be the moment I think-

"That broad slept with Dennis Rodm.an!!!"

Someone would have to give me an STD test REAL QUICK if I found out MY man had been sleeping with Madonna. REAL QUICK. I mean, I want the FULL battery of tests available.

And Guy Richie is looking like a straight up sucka right about now.

I wonder what's running through his mind? He sure did hop on a plane from England and get over to New York real fast, didn't he?


What was THAT all about?

Man, I could not be all in the media. My bizness out in the street, all THIS type of mess. My life is pretty quiet and straight-laced these days (to some degree), but just thinking about the suckas I slept with in the past...

Let's just say...I could not run for the office of President of these United States of America. No. Sir.


I don't know what to make of it. I know what's central here is that I've been watching too much bubble gum media lately. Thank goodness my vacation is over. I can get back to my 10-12 hour workdays. (Never thought I'd hear myself say THAT)

It all made me think. Madonna is worth an estimated 600 million. A-Rod has signed the most lucrative contracts in baseball, some 150 million dollars worth, I think. I'm not sure what their respective spouses are worth, but we are talking at least 750 million dollars in cold hard cash. Pure wealth. Enough money to have or buy absolutely anything your mind could think up.

Just goes to show you:

All the money in the world can't buy you happiness or those intangible things which you so earnestly desire in your heart of hearts.



Despite incredible riches and wealth, people are out there:

Wanting for something that they

**We pause here for a moment of silence so you can let that marinate**

(A little "Food for thought", Original Oldgirl style, slipped in there for you. Chew your "food" real good so you won't. . .choke.)

But all of this has me pontificating further. . .

I was watching something on television, and they said that a woman isn't considered a COUGAR until she's hit her late 30's, early 40s.

And I'm at the young COUGAR age. I'm 38ish...

Prime cougar age, ya'll.

And I seem to be displaying a few symptoms that would make me a...


To be continued...

(Shoot man. Ya'll know how I do. Amen, Holler, Goodnight.)

Tuesday, July 08, 2008

Pretend No More

I use to pretend that I was okay, that I could do it all alone.
I was Super Woman, you see, and didn’t need anyone.

But that all changed when you came into my life.

At first you were only a friend.
Someone to laugh with.
Someone who wanted to know how I was doing.
Someone concerned about how was I feeling.
But it became something deeper, something richer.

It took form of something that I couldn’t for the life of me quite put my finger on.

All I know, I lay in bed at night and I think of you. . .
Something you said,
Something you did.
You hit a nerve in me that made me think or see things in a whole new light.

I use to pretend that I didn’t care, that I could do it all alone.

But when I don’t see you or don’t hear from you,
I feel like something is missing.
Something’s not right.
Something’s wrong in the universe.

I ache.
I hurt.
I cry.
I pray.

One touch from you, albeit innocent, sends fire through me.

It straightens the hairs on my head.
It raises the hair on the back of my neck.
I get all excited in places that I won’t even mention.

So I know right now, at this very moment,
You’re what I want.
You’re what I need.

I cannot pretend.

Because we’re so close, our bond so strong.
I know you already know-

How I feel.
How much I need you.
How it’s time that I stop pretending,

And let you know. . .

That I can clearly understand what's real

And pretend no more.

But you already see it in my eyes. . .
And I hear from your lips right now,

The very words that I've wanted to whisper to you all along:

I love you.

Monday, July 07, 2008

7 Songs!!

Still on vacation, baby... And it feels GOOD. But I guess I better post, right?


I think I'll do a tag that's been floating around. Luckily, no one has gotten the notion to tag me. For that I am glad!!

The actual rules for those interested are:

"List seven songs that you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they're not any good, but they must be songs you're really enjoying now, shaping your spring and summer. Post these instructions in your blog along with your seven songs. Then tag seven other people to see what they're listening to."

1. "Sweet Sticky Thing" by the Ohio Players.

I like this song for the simple fact that the music is performed by REAL musicians. No doggone sampling. Those were the days. Can we take it back to the glory days?!!

2. "Playing Your Game Baby" by Barry White.

This song is very, very smooth. I like smooth! This is my cruising song right here. I play this when I'm rolling down the highway with the windows down. That's good stuff right there!

3. "Love Hangover" by Diana Ross.

I love songs that start out slow then kick it up a notch. LOVED-ED IT!! With that said, you know I'm down for some Donna Summer, too.

4. "Portugese Love" by Teena Marie.

This is one of my all time favorites. I like the 7 minute version, where it goes all salsa in the middle and slows back down... LOVE IT. And it's one of the songs I play in the cubicle waaay too much, to the point where my cubicle mate Cowgirl Cre calmly says, "I'ma need you to play something else, Lee." LOL!!

5. "Maybe" by the 3 Degrees.

I've ran this song into the ground for at least the past 2 years. I even blogged about it. This is another song that drives my cubicle mate crazy. It is a sad waily song. The singer talks for a good 80% of the song, gets drunk, then proceeds to beg some fool to come back to her. It is something that I imagine sounds much better if you are in the back of a dark club, tore up drunk, and have just broken up with some dude. So, I have no idea why I love it so much. Bizarre.

I left a bootleg CD containing the song in Kentucky's car CD player. The perplexed look on her face was priceless. LOL!!!

6. We've been all giggly at work over this particular song. You have to be between the ages of 35 and 45 to get a kick out of this song.

Hen-Dog has a knack for finding Old school videos. We gather around his computer and watch with glee. We even do some of the complex dance moves, lol.

Check out 2nd 68 on the Casio synthesizer! You the man, 2nd 68!!!

"Inspector Gadget" by Bad Boys featuring K-Love.

Yo, 2nd 68! You're hot on the mini Casio synthesizer. That was HOT! LOL!!!

7. Last but not least:

This right here?

I say, this right here?

This is my all time favorite song. My #1 song.

This has been my FAVORITE song since 1986, when I was a young girl of 16.

This is the best song EVER made (according to me, that is).

"You Make Me Want To (Love again)" by Vesta Williams.


*Lee passes out on the hard concrete as song plays*

This is strange, me liking this song. I can't relate to it or anything. I ain't running up on an old flame reliving and remembering a DAYUM thang. NEVER. I won't be begging that joker for more loving either... Hells no. It almost sound like a disguised up on the sly booty call or something.

I'm particlarly vexed by that last line where after begging, she croons "I want you to know nothing else will do!" that sound a bit, I don't know. . . stalky-stalky. I imagine her with a gun in her hand and her having dude backed up in a corner. That is disturbing.

But I love it nevertheless. I think I like the complexity of the music, and the emotion in Vesta's voice. That Vesta know she can SANG, man!!!!!!

But that has been my favorite song for the past 22 years. I busted my cassette tape some 15 years ago and haven't been able to get the CD. Oh yeah, I can find it, but Vesta William's first CD is a collector's item, and I keep getting sniped like crazy on eBay when I bid on it. The CD goes for between 100 and 200 bucks when it comes up on ebay.

I like the song, but it's not worth me skipping out on paying my light bill. LOL!!

I'll find it soon... someday.

Those are my faves for the summer right there!

Well, I'm not tagging anyone, ya'll. NOPE.

If you wanna do this one, work it out, man!!!!

Friday, July 04, 2008

Have a Happy 4th of July. . . On Purpose!

Yeah... you have a good one, because I'm going to have a good one. As my book club sister says,"Have a good day on purpose". Yeah, I like that "on purpose" part. I'm going to have a good day "on purpose".

I am at the beginning of a 4 to 5 day weekend (yeah, I may call in on Tuesday).

I am going to Auntie Joyce's house. She's suppose to be grilling. I don't feel like grilling today.

She wants me to bring: Strawberries and ice. That sounds like she mixing up a few drinks, don't it?

She wants me to rent some movies. So I'll be hitting up Blockbuster soon.

Woke up this morning, and my satellite was off. They said I didn't pay my bill. I told them I've been paying my bill. I decided they were some busters. They were messing up the "on purpose" part of my good day. Humph. So I paid, and they turned it back on. (They still some busters.)

I lost my work credentials. Not exactly lost them, but they are packed up in a box in the garage somewhere (I suppose). Well, for those who know what I do for a living, we are (for some bizarre reason) considered law enforcement, and that is akin to a policeman losing his badge and identification. They are saying I have to file police reports, send out emails, all kinds of crazy stuff. I don't feel like doing that, so I will be out in the garage looking through frickin' boxes. So, uh, I purpose to spend one hour a day out there over my holiday weekend. SIGH!!

With all that said, it felt real good to wake up naturally, without the 4 am blaring of the alarm clock! GLORY!

Ya'll have a great holiday weekend... on purpose!!

Wednesday, July 02, 2008

Silly Cat!

I tell you, ain't nothing like a houseguest that gets all comfortable, knowing he's gonna stay for a good long while, free of charge. They get real lazy, and then even get the notion to get a little crazy.

The houseguest I'm speaking of is my permanent houseguest, Kramer.

Just look at him. That boy LOOKS lazy.

Laying all over the place, especially in places where he don't have any business laying.

Laying up in every crook and cranny. . .

Just getting in where he fits in...

Now, when his Mama Chayse came over for Memorial Day to spend some time with him, she saw a nice ball of yarn on the floor. "There's a ball of yarn," she yelled with a bit too much glee. She ran over to it. "Kramer, let's play with the yarn."

She was puzzled when Kramer tucked his tail, and slowly walked away.

"He don't play with the yarn, baby. Put that back down on the floor."

She was confused and I wasn't going to explain it to her. She placed the yarn back on the floor, and came and sat next to me.

No, Kramer don't fool with the yarn.

I caught his butt playing with my yarn a few months ago. I was erasing pics from my camera and I happened to walk up on him. I told him plainly, when he took up residence at my house, to not even think about playing with my yarn.

But I caught him having a GOOD time with it.

I mean, he was REALLY enjoying himself.

!Silly Cat!

And what made it so bad, Oscar-Tyrone was sitting there watching him. It was like "Yeah, I'ma sit here and watch what's gonna happen when Lee see you messing with her yarn, dude."

I snapped a couple of pictures, then I proceeded to. . .

Uh, Never mind. I don't need the animal rights folks picketing my house.

Let's just say. . . Kramer don't fool with my yarn anymore!