Thursday, April 30, 2009
I've blogged much about the cruise portion of the vacation, but I also hung around in New Orleans for a few days after the cruise.
I rented a car ($250 for 2 days! YIIIIKKKEES!!!), and got a chance to drive around to some of my old haunts.
It was great to go back to my old job and see some of my friends and coworkers. That was a big victory for me, overcoming the fear of going back to that place. (I promised myself once I left that I was NEVER coming back. EVER.)
I even drove past my old church on Lake Forest.
The UBC!!! Upperoom Bible Church was the place to be, babes! This place really got my faith back on track, on the road back to where I'm trying to get.
I swung by We Never Close on Chef Hwy.
"We Never Close" was exactly what the name says. It was a fast food joint that NEVER closed. We would leave the ATL to go back to New Orleans at 9 in the evening, and roll into New Orleans around 2 or 3 a.m.
And there was always a crowd at We Never Close around that time of the morning.
They had the best shrimp po-boys!
I couldn't even eat all of that. I put it on ice for the flight back to ATL.
I swung by Rodney's, the best Snowball Stand in New Orleans East.
Got myself a lemon-lime snowball.
(My brother use to like half-in-half watermelon and peach; I used to get half-in-half blackberry and lemon, both which have been retired for the spring. So I had to settle for lemon-lime. Sigh.)
All of my old hangouts were pretty much the same. Some were still getting back to normal after the storm, but nevertheless, they were as I remembered them.
Save for one place...
The place where I use to live in New Orleans East... Frenchman Wharfs Apartments off Crowder Road.
The apartments were completely gone, wiped out by the storm. The 20 acre lake was still there.
Now, I'd first heard about this some two months after the storm. Yeah, you hear about stuff on television, but to hear a first hand account is a whole nother story.
I came across some dispaced New Orleanians in a local College Park U-haul Truck Rental center. They were returning their truck. They's said how they'd packed their things and drove 12 hours back to ATL.
"Everythang gone, baby," they said to me, in their classic New Orleans accent.
I leaned against the counter, rattled off a few places in New Orleans East, like my old hangouts I talked about above. Even asked about some of the familiar neighborhoods in the 7th and 9th wards.
"Alllll gone, baby!" the ladies kept repeating. "We drove over that way, where you talking about and it's allll gone. Looks like a bomb hit the place."
"Even Frenchman's Wharf?" I asked. "I lived there for a couple of years!"
"Gone!!" one of the young lady said. "Baby, it is GONE."
She stretched her hands out wide. "We drove around over there, and all I could do was cry!"
And she was right. All gone.
I couldn't believe the place I once lived was now just trees and debris. I could still see the path I walked to get to my apartment. It was the same path I took when I would get off the public bus from work everyday.
The 5 minute walk down that path to my apartment was always my time to get myself together, to gather my thoughts before I got home. Hopefully no one was there, but either my husband or brother-in-law was.
Let's just say, the apartment was a place that I just didn't want to be. Walking that path was my own little piece of "alone time" for the entire day. It was on this very path that I prayed a prayer from my heart that was the turning point for my whole life.
It was the beginning of that "something" that would take me from a place of depression to a place of victory...
We all have those moments in our life, where we KNOW the exact moment when things changed. That was this place.
This place which was now a desolate wasteland.
I would've stepped out of my rental car and at least walked up to this fenced off path that once led to my New Orleans home. But I didn't think it was a good idea, since I was alone.
But I sat in the car, shed a tear, and remembered...
How even though sometimes things feel the same...
Sometimes life can turn out so different.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
We've always been on a decent basis, but we actually TALK talk.
Now this is odd. Kentucky and I are 11 years apart. She and our brother are 6 years apart.
So, as expected, they are much closer, and talk to one another a bit more freely about things.
I, on the other hand, have been viewed a little differently.
"You're their mother, girl!" LadyTee always jokes.
It has been a running "joke" for years (if that's what you want to call it). I am the only one of my crew over the years that has no children.
If people ask if I have children, I say no.
But if LadyTee is around, she hollers "Oh yes she do! It's a loooonnnng story!"
"You the Mama, Lee, and ya'll's mama is like a cousin or something like that."
Oh, we have laughed HARD about this over the years.
So, as a result, even though my brother, sister and I get along, they have had a certain, I don't know what to call it, amount of respect that they have for me. I don't know if I am saying that correctly, but for some reason, they can't STAND to disappoint me.
(I find this odd. I am not your parent).
Anyway... this is a good thing, but it can also be a bad thing. Over the years, I will hear about what Kentucky is up to from my brother. Likewise, I would hear what my brother is up to from Kentucky. It has been a stretch, unless we are all together, to really have serious discussions.
But they have always known that they can trust me. That is what's key.
Then you have me, who's a loner, and that can be a problem. I rarely give my opinion about anything, just keep it to myself. I don't know how you all can be so forthright and open, but still, to this day, when I talk to folk and give my opinion, some mess jumps off.
My sister and I have had those times. She didn't like something I've said, and an argument ensued.
I don't like that. I remember standing in the kitchen on the phone, telling LadyTee "I had to go off on that girl!"
I think it was at one time, when we talked, for some reason she thought that I was trying to run her life or something.
This pissed me off, as it says that I don't have enough of a life of my own, so I gotta be all up in yours.
This is NEVER the case.
It's just that uh, when I see you going through something SIMILAR to what I am going through, I would be remiss if I don't wave my hands all around like the Robot in Lost in Space and yell "Warning! Warning!"
My sister and brother don't like that too much.
So there came a time, when she worried about some stuff, or worried about my brother, I would be like "Yo, hope ya'll work that out! I really do. I'm not worried about it. I wash my hands of ya'll."
This was particularly funny when my sister was ranting about my brother, and I remember her standing on the steps just staring blankly at me. She'd never heard that response from me.
I think she knew I was serious. There was much going on around that time, and I was going about my daily bizness, enjoying life.
My whole outlook related to this has been the following:
"One of two things is going to happen. You will learn from your own mistakes or you will learn from the mistakes of others. You will save yourself much heartache and time if you learn from other's people crap. Either which way it goes, though... YOU WILL LEARN!"
My sister said, "I want to learn from my own mistakes, blah, blah, blah."
Whatever. Do your thing.
But lately... she's been running up on me, not even saying that she needed to talk. She'd just come in my room and start a converstaion.
And we would talk for a good 2 or 3 hours.
"Lisa, what do you think about this?"
*Lee looking around the room*
"You talking to ME?"
She likes to ask lots of questions about my thoughts on my past relationships, what went wrong, what my part in the break-ups were, and what I learned from it... all kinds of stuff. We'll talk about family isshas also (if she can keep me from getting irate. This is quite rare, lol).
I realize she was going through that period that all of us go through when we were in our early 20s: We think we know EVERYTHING about life.
It's not until one hits about 26 or 27 that one thinks "I may need to start seeking advice."
But I must admit, I really DO enjoy talking to my sister.
She is a very smart chick, and has experienced some things recently, some "learning from her mistakes" issues. She is going through a reflective period of sorts, like we all do when we have relationships that end or if we are trying to find the best way to reach our goals.
Like we all do when we're trying to find ourselves.
When it gets like that, we get to a point where we know it's a time to talk.
And she has admitted that I have been helpful to her.
And that's all I can hope for.
Afterall, that's what I am here for.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
When I think back over the first quarter of this year, January through April, the most important event during that time was meeting my father Milton. I posted about it two or three times over the past couple of months.
I'd set a goal when I was in my mid-twenties to have a face to face talk with him by the time I was 30.
This didn't occur until I was a couple weeks shy of turning 39. I guess I was just afraid to go see him.
My Auntie Joyce had much to do with my decision to reach out to him, as she has always, in contrast to my Mother, spoke well of him. And baby blog sista LBeezy made some formidable suggestions and set specific deadlines for me. This was all very healthful.
So, I came away from the meeting with Milton proud of myself for attaining a major life goal, albeit 9 years late.
Now my Auntie Joyce reads my blog. And from time to time, she will call to talk about something she's read. And she's called to politely chin-check me also on some things, which I greatly appreciate. Let's me know that things are genuine between us.
I like the fact that Auntie Joyce hears my heart through my posts, my quiet whispering in my heart of "I need to talk about my feelings."
Without me having to scream at the top of my lungs,
"I NEED TO TALK ABOUT MY FEELINGS!"
Of course, I don't write anything on here to get her to call me. She just seems to instinctively know we need to talk. Oh God, I do so much appreciate that.
She called, of course, after my meeting with Milton.
"Lisa, I read your blog," she says, her voice quiet. "I see you got together with Milton. I really enjoyed reading that."
"Yeah," I said. "I was only there for about 15 minutes or so. And I can't believe he had all those pictures of me!"
"Yes, I sent them to him. He would call wailing, talking about 'Please Joyce, Please! Please send me some pictures of her. I won't bother you no more! Just please, send them, before I-, before I-'"
"Croak!" I said, completing her sentence.
"Yes, that's what he wanted to say, but he never said it."
"Oh, he just go ahead on and say it to me. 'Come see me, 'Lesia, before I croak!!"
I found the whole "croak" rebel yell to be quite unnerving. I wanted to say, uh Yo, can I get you to speak some positive confessions concerning yourself?
"How the house look?" Auntie asked.
I described it to her. The olive green carpet, the Queen Anne furniture, all of it looking like it's out of the 60s or 70s. I told her how neat it was.
And I told her of the very low lighting. And how very quiet it was there.
"Yes, Lisa. That's how I remember it."
"Yes. When me and your Mama were teenagers, we would go over there. And it was so quiet."
"Yeah," I said. "They a quiet bunch. That Uncle Willie appeared out of nowhere, real quiet like. So did Aunt Evelyn. They're not very loud people, you can tell that."
"That's the way they've always been. When me and your Mama would go over there, it would be so quiet. I mean, you could smell the good homecooking, the collard greens and the cornbread cooking. "
I could imagine my Auntie walking in the house, wide-eyed and shoulder-to-shoulder with my Mama, going to see my Mama's boyfriend Milton.
"Lisa, you smelled all that good home cooking, and I knew a good ten people lived in the house, but you never really saw them. I used to think 'Where are they? Are they in the wallpaper or something?' Are they in the walls?'"
She went on and on about this.
It was very quiet over there indeed. There was a low hum of a television from some room in the house. I think it was the kitchen. But that was about it. All I could do was sit there in the Queen Anne chair, facing my father who was sitting on the sofa, clutching cheaply framed pictures of me for dear life, and look around the very neat living room.
The people didn't like light. Well, except for that porch light. I swear there had to be a 200 watt naked bulb lighting that porch. It was quite glaring.
You were a serious professional thief if you snuck up on them.
I thought much about all of this. Wrote a bit about it over in my personal journals.
I talked to my sister Kentucky about it waaaay after the fact. There was no way I was going to talk to her about it before I went over there. Kentucky can't hold a secret to save her life, and she tends to hang out with my Mama.
Let's just say if my Mother would have found out my desire to meet my father, she would have gotten over there first to run me into the ground.
I don't blame her for that attitude. It's just the way she is.
I was lying across the bed watching televison when I told Kentucky about it.
"I went to see Milton, girl."
"You did? How did it go?" she asked.
"It was cool. They were nice." I gave her the rundown of my visit.
"Don't tell Ma," I said. "I know it's after the fact, but don't say nothing to her. It'll just be a bunch of drama."
I didn't want to have to deal with a bunch of madness.
But something came to me as Kentucky and I were talking. I got a little heated.
"Kentucky, I got a good mind to call Ma up and give her a piece of my mind!!!"
I sat up in bed, knocking all kinds of stuff off onto the floor.
"All my life, she done said something is wrong with me!!"
"Lisa, you too quiet."
"Lisa, you got psychological problems."
"Lisa, what's wrong with you."
"Lisa, you got problems."
"Lisa, you got psychological problems!"
I mean, you don't tell a kid that!! You just don't.
And I've had to hear this over and over and over and over and over and over...
Over and over and over.
It has been pumped into my spirit, taking root deep in my thoughts.
I've really had to FIGHT bad thoughts about myself all of my life. That stuff tends to show up in your life if you don't.
You know, it's to the point, as old as I am, anytime my Mother has said "Lisa, I am proud of you,"... it just don't compute. It's like she's speaking a foreign language, some pig latin or something. I have to keep myself from snickering.
Well, I FINALLY realized something that evening while talking to my sister:
That there is nothing wrong with me. I am perfectly fine.
We all got our idiosyncracies. That is okay.
Let whoever DON'T have idiosyncracies, raise your hand. And hold it up high.
(When you raised your hand, we just pinpointed YOUR idiosyncracy: You're a frickin' liar).
But doggonit, I DO NOT have psychological problems.
I was a GOOD child. Good grades, not a trouble-maker, none of that.
Man, I was a GREAT kid.
But these CONSTANT criticisms from my mother- constant unwarranted criticisms- have been like a dark cloud swirling over my head for as long as I can remember.
A small dark cloud, but a dark cloud nevertheless.
I don't pay much attention to that. I don't have a relationship with my mother. Let's face it, if I can't do nothing right, if I'm stupid... then there's no need for you and I to be dealing with each other.
It is a hurt that I have swept off into a vacant dark corner of my mind.
No child should hear such things.
I don't care if you gave birth to me. Respect is respect. Period.
I think Serenity and Beezy be looking at me crazy because I REALLY try to reinforce one thing: Speak well over your boys. Make sure you think highly of them. Tell them good things about themselves. It is life to their spirit.
I hope you chicks (you too, Southern Black Gal) understand what I am saying.
But there is this undeniable rage that rises up in me when someone has the nerve to call me abnormal, or have a problem with my "quietness", my need to keep to myself. Anyone who reads this blog knows I like very quiet things. There are people who turn their noses up at such.
Please know that there is a difference between you saying such things about me, and you trying to correct me in someway. If I respect your opinions, I will go try to make whatever adjustments. I get a bit frustrated if I can't see your point of view, but I will try to change.
It's that weird unnecessary mess that gets to me. Yes, I have had problems with people because I'm not doing what they THINK I should be doing, etc. I usually casually disappear and don't deal with these people.
But I don't like the rage I sometimes have. It scares me.
For I am cognizant of the fact that I've inherited my mother's violent temper. Let's just say if you keep messing with me, you have a verbal fight on your hand. I blow up like a nuclear bomb, baby. And a couple of past boyfriends will tell you "Oh, Lee will swing on you if you piss her off. She will run up on you if you push her too far."
That is something that scares me...
But in one evening, I sat in my father's living room, just taking in the place.
My father and I have the same sense of humor. I found that creepy at first, but soon found it comforting.
They seem to like very low lighting.
I like very low lighting. I can't STAND ceiling lights. I like lots of small lamps.
They are not boisterous people. They are quiet. You can't even tell they are around.
I am quiet. I don't like noise AT ALL. I can't stand to be around a bunch of noise or noisy folk for too long. (LadyTee has a noisy family. I can take them for only so long, then I gots to GO).
And I have had the following argument with the "locals" of my hood:
"LadyLee, why you got that loud ass porch light? You tryna blind us?"
"No, I ain't tryna to blind nobody! I'm just trying to see you if you decide run up in here and rob me!"
I too have the very loud spotlight of a porch light.
Coincidences? Maybe. Maybe not.
But me and my sister discussed this. Kentucky let me snap for a moment. Kentucky is a very calm chick. I know she was screaming inside, thinking "Oh no, please don't let Lisa call Mama."
Man, I had a GOOD mind to call my Mama and give her a piece of my mind.
But I would never do that.
That is my Mama. Respect is respect. Period.
I leave her be.
My convo with Kentucky wound down. She let me snap, and we went on to talk of other things. But I thought much about my thoughts, wrote much also, over the next few days.
"It's a good thing to know who your people are," my friend and workplace cubicle mate Cowgirl Cre said one day when we were discussing whether I should go to my father's brother's funeral. "You need to know who your people are, Lee."
In more ways than one.
Yeah, If you some kin to me, I need to be able to pick you out on the street if I see you.
But it has also been an important key to blasting the funk out of a dank area of my mind.
A key to a dark cloud clearing away.
A dark cloud that, even though it has been closed off in the back closet of my mind, it has also continuously lingered just beneath my skin. It has engulfed my head at times, nearly suffocating me, rising up strong without notice, causing the most terrible mental storms.
I am happy to know that that dark cloud is clearing.
I've addressed it here, and I take the proverbial broom and sweep it out the way.
A new day is dawning.
I know who my people are, that's for sure. Their blood runs warm through my veins.
I know who I am. I am sure of that.
I am a wonderful human being with a quiet spirit.
And I will never feel an ounce of shame for being who I am.
Never ever again.
Monday, April 27, 2009
My baby blog sista, that Chicken Original Oldgirl LBeezy, said she's going to start biting my blog style.
She sent in an email last week, an example of such:
Today, it's 56 degrees in the VA…I’m heading to the black people’s Kroger to get some head-on shrimp…this is the card that I made for my coworker that’s having a toenail removed…I’m sending some of my infamous oatmeal raisin cookies out to my favorite blog sisters…and have a good day on purpose…and mean mug any way that you can!”
You're real funy, Beezy. Real funny. And you read my blog a bit too much.
I think she's calling me Smurfy.
I take that as a compliment!
"You make the mundane funny, Leezie!" she says.
I sure do, girl. I can look at an ant walking on the ground minding his bizness... and get a good laugh out of it.
Feel free to bite, since I bit your blog style years ago! I've been wondering when you're going whip out your souljah girl rag and get back at me for shamelessly being a copycat.
But sometimes, life ain't the smurfiest. I have things going on, things that I'm trying to work on, just like the next female.
I rarely talk about my thoughts and feelings to people. I am to myself like that. I pray alot about things. I do MUCH writing. What usually goes on with me is answers occur all around me, keys to solving whatever is bothering me...
Blogger Aretha, who writes the most fabulous blog, According to Aretha, has gotten me to thinking about a few things.
One thing she does is make monthly goals for herself.
And it blows my mind.
You know, we are stuck on this BOOTLEG making of yearly goals, resolutions they're called.
She takes the bull by the horns and sets monthly goals.
I don't do that. Why, you ask?
Because honestly? I am afraid that I won't fulfill them.
Don't look at me like I just stepped off the bus.
I am being honest with myself.
But Aretha sets these monthly goals. Does she fulfill them all? Sometimes yes, sometimes no.
But the courage and faith to at least set them, write them down, and attempt to reach them is what's key here.
That's the principle thing.
Oh, I have fantasitical goals (is that a word?) swirling in my head, but honestly, unless they are written down on paper and on purpose with a reasonable timeframe attached, then said goals might as well be leaves blowing in the wind.
I reach goals all the time. They are long-term deals, though. Some written, some not. It's my inconsitency that bothers me. And setting monthly goals creeps me out for some reason.
Ms. Aretha has given me the courage to do that. So, I have started my monthly goals, writing them down on paper on purpose...
*LadyLee throws cash money in Aretha's offering plate*
You better watch out, girl. You might be running up on some Original Oldgirl status. Really though.
My short term goals are sparse, seemingly insignificant. This is okay, because they are mine and I have had some good results.
But you know what?
This post isn't really about that. Very indirectly, but not quite.
At the beginning of the year, I decided to look at what happens in my life on a quarterly basis. This may or may not include meeting my goals.
More importantly, it may consist of epiphanies, things on my mind, or simply things that cleared up that I've been praying about for a minute.
Let's get specific here - it could be about things that have been bothering me that I had repressed or don't even know about.
Hmm... that may be too deep for you to understand.
Let's see if I can explain it.
If you are like me, when you're expecting guests into your home, you know, people who aren't your road dawgs, BFF, etc... you make sure that house is clean. Spotless.
If you're like me, you have a room, closet, or drawer where you hide things. Just shove the stuff in that place so the guests won't see it. You will deal with it later.
So, as a result, the house looks spiffy. But it really isn't. Because you have hidden things in that closet, drawer or even under the bed. I hide things out in the garage, shove them under the bed or the sofa.
Well, we do the same things with our lives. Our hearts are like this.
My pastor said something very interesting a couple of years ago, which has stuck with me. I think of what he says often.
We have places in our hearts where we hide things. We won't deal with them, won't pray about them... nothing. Just hide things in the "closets" of our hearts. Way back in the back of the closet, under a box, under a rug, under the floorboards, een.
Away from God, and away from ourselves.
This goes for my folks who don't even believe in prayer, God, or nothing at all.
You hide things from yourself. Won't deal with them. Won't talk to a friend about them. Won't take some sort of action concerning them. Won't do a doggone thing about them.
Just shove stuff off into your proverbial closets.
(Okay if I'm the only one who does that, then so be it.)
That is what this week is about for LadyLee. And no, I won't do this monthly. Only quarterly. It will be a potpourri of things that have been bothering me, things that have been solved, goals met, whatever "nonsmurfy" things I want to talk about...
... All of which goes towards cleaning out my "closets".
So I plan to post quarterly concerning such. And I am a bit late doing that, since this is the end of April. But I have to do it because there are ALREADY things happening in the second quarter of this year. I don't want to get it all confused and include those.
There have been a couple of dark clouds in my life that have been lifted. I'm talking about crap that has been bothering me for the past couple of decades.
My prayer for 2008 (ongoing): to see myself completely, to see what's in my heart. (This is painful as some of the things revealed, I do not like. That's okay, because the goal is to deal with them.)
My prayer for 2009: To be free in my mind. For the exposure of mess that has been bothering me for years. Whatever's in my "mental closets", that which I have forgotten about, repressed, chosen to ignore, and what-not, to be exposed... and for me to have the courage to deal with it.
My best friend LadyTee always says, "Don't pray about stuff unless you are absolutely sure about making decisions about it when it shows up. You better be ready to deal with it."
Sho' you right, LadyTee. Really though.
I know this may be hard to understand. Some of the stuff that I say regarding my life may seem insignificant. That is okay. These are things that I am trying to deal with.
Just roll with me like you been doing, babes.
Now, I'm gonna do something different here, something I don't do in the House of LadyLee, but have been gearing up for.
Now I'm (hopefully) bringing these lurkers out. (I have a lot of them).
I'm giving away a book, a book that has heavily influenced the way I think about myself and my life in general...
Blogger Chele's collection of poems and essays, Confessions of a Beautiful Woman.
This book got Chele her much coveted Original Oldgirl status, lol.
When I think of books on my personal list that I will never forget, books that influence me and change my way of thinking of and about myself as a woman, this book is on that list.
I was talking to my sister Kentucky about it. I gave her one of my copies yesterday and told her that the book is crucially important. I told her to go upstairs and read through it and tell me what she thinks.
Kentucky is that type that says what you want to hear... and keeps it moving. I expected her not to really read it, and to say "It's nice". I thought I would have to go up in that jungle of a room of hers and rescue my book (You should have heard me yelling at her. "Are your hands clean, gal? Don't get NOTHING on that book!!!")
Let's just say Kentucky read it...
And she scanned a couple of poems to tack up on her bathroom mirror. I think she said something about typing one into her computer so she can keep and look at it on a regular basis. We actually had a mini-book club type discussion.
But I want to sow this book into someone out there. It is a book of essays and poems that cover the entire scope of a woman's emotion- hurt, pain, ecstasy, loss, happiness, sadness, bitterness...EVERYTHING.
I love this book.
All you gotta do is leave a comment this week. That goes for my normal readers and you lurkers hanging out in my spot.
I don't have a problem with lurking at all. And I am not a comment whore. But if you want a chance at this book, then you need to leave a comment.
You might say something I need to hear. One of my favorite lurkers, Ms.Blackliterature.com, will psychoanalyze the hell out of me, and throw me in the right direction (over email, lol). So you never know what you say might be useful to me.
If you leave a comment relevant to what I've posted that day, you get something extra. I am not telling you what that is, but you see what I give to people all the time... that's what you'll be getting.
So welcome to my quarterly "Food for thought" week.
Serenity3-0 is smiling hard about all of this. This means I don't have to worry about her doing any weird drive-by shootings in my comment section, as is her habit when I get a bit "too" smurfy.
Southern Black Gal is cheesing hard, showing all 32 teeth. For some bizarre reason, that Chicken likes to quote me. You'll have MUCH to think about this week, honey chile.
Terry is waving his Cheap Seat 'round and 'round in the air like he just don't care. I ran the idea by him, and he's given his approval.
The baddest writin' Diva in the solar syster, Tayari, is working on teaching a writing class EVERYWHERE except Atlanta Georgia. (You know I had to get at you, Queen of Lurk City! That's alright, Oldgirl. You'll be teaching at the North Pole one day, and look and see me, kicking the crooked 2-fanger point and cheesing hard like Celie!). She'll lurk her way through this week.
Oh yeah... I forgot to tell you...
Someone gets their Original Oldgirl *Platinum Plus* Card this week.
Uh, that means I will christen a new Original Oldgirl on Saturday, May 1st... which happens to be her birthday.
That's one HECKUVA birthday present, don't cha think??!!
Been awhile since I've done that.
(I wonder who that can be?... Hmmm.)
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Earlier this week, I was watching the news while I was getting ready for work, as I would do any morning...
And it was reported that the Crai.glist Killer had been caught.
Now, if you haven't heard anything about this case, you have been living under a rock. In a nutshell, there was a guy going around to hotels attacking and robbing women. He found them on Crai.gslist. He even murdered one of them.
These women, it seems, from what I understand (correct me if I am wrong), were advertising erotic services on Craigslist.
Hmmm... Selling a$$ on Craigslist. Someone needs to explain that to me.
But that's a whole nother story.
Anyway, some savvy detective work pinpointed a fella who seem to be at those hotels at the time of the incidents. Match that up with the online Crai.gslist contacts that the women had and bingo... you have a computer ISP, i.e, you have the killer.
End of story.
What really really disturbed me about this whole thing were the news reports concerning the killer's capture.
And each report, at least on the four differnt channels I watch, started out the exact same way. Something to the effect of...
Breaking news... the police have a suspect in custody for the Craigli.sts murder and attacks. He is 22 year-old Philli.p Mark.off, of Boston.
Okay. That is cool. All your information there. I know they are breathing a sigh of relief. Whewww!!
Now, I can sell a$$ on Craigs.list without worrying about some fool trying to rob or kill me.
Can someone please enlighten me on that whole concept? And additionally, why there were 600 additional lists for these precarious "erotic services" DURING the time that this dude was running around attacking, killing, and robbing chicks?)
Anyway... that's not what deeply disturbed me. It was the pained and shocked looks on the newscasters faces when discussing this further.
"He's such a handsome young man! An All-American boy, a pre-med student, engaged to his beautiful fiance. Just a great guy, strapping good looks."
Oh my goodness. They went on and on. On and on and on about how "perfect" this dude was.
I lifted my hands towards my bedroom ceiling and exclaimed "Perfect White People!!!"
I sighed heavily. Then I went back to tugging on my socks, getting ready for work.
Perfect White People.
I once thought white people were perfect. That was before I got into my twenties and started forming friendships with them. I have a few who've known me since I was oh, I guess about 19 or 20. I look at them and think "That's my sista right there!" or "That's my brother!" I mean, we tight like that. They verbally chin-check an Oldgirl when she needs to be chin-checked. They also love me just as I am.
And I've always told them something that has left me in awe: Hell, they got more problems than I got! Cry like I cry. Tare up stuff like I do. They got bad habits. They fail at stuff just like me!
And how is that so? Their life is suppose to be perfect!
So when I see the "clutch the pearls" moanings of a newcaster decreeing how some gorgeous white boy who seems to have it all, doing something illegal, or God forbid, MURDERING people...
I hate to say it, but it just rubs this Oldgirl the WRONG way.
Now, uh, if it was one of "us" *Lee rubbing her brown skin on the back of her hand*who got caught, then it would've been different.
Don't look at me in that tone of voice.
Don't cuss me in the comment section. You KNOW I am right.
Stereotypes rule the world!!!
But, let me tell you something: there is ONE thing that trumps stereotypes.
And that is Heart Condition.
Me and my baby blog sista, that chicken[head] Serenity3-0 were scarfing HARD through the biblical Book of Proverbs back in March. We'd read a chapter a day and we'd discuss back and forth online all the stuff that really stuck with us. Those were some intense convos we had, hard examination of ourselves in light of what we were reading. (Ya'll know how talkative that doggone Serenity is, lol).
I like this type of thing. Grandmama has a degree in bible psychology. I've learned much in convos from her. I think looking at the bible from a psychological and human nature standpoint runs rampant in my genes, lol.
One of the major themes Serenity and I noticed woven tightly all throughout Proverbs was that of really taking personal stock and being intensely and critically aware of what is going on deep within your heart.
Hmm... there were a TON of scrips on that very issha. A couple of verses that I remembered while watching the newscasters moan and wail about how "perfect" this killer wers:
Proverbs 23:7 As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he...
Whatever you think about yourself, that's what you are, babes. You can't even fake the funk on that one, Boo. It's gonna ALL come out sooner or later. And it don't matter what other people think about you, it's what you think of yourself that is key.
Proverbs 4:23 Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life.
I ain't a fan of King James English. Nope. LadyLee is ebonically inclined, for the most part. I read about 6 different versions of the bible. So here are some translations of the prior verse that cleared things up from me.
Proverbs 4:23 Above everything else, guard your heart. It is where your life comes from.
Proverbs 4:23 Keep vigilant watch over your heart; that's where life starts.
Oh, and here's a translation that will make you see where I'm going with this!
Proverbs 4:23 Be careful what you think, because your thoughts run your life.
Strong wording there like "be careful"... "keep vigilant watch", "above everything else, guard"...
Goodness. MUST be important, eh?
Your thoughts run your life.
You know, I don't see any caveats included there. Like, this doesn't apply if you's white. This is the case if you's black, though. Now, if you are Chinese, well, this don't apply.
Nope. None of that. This goes for EVERYONE breathing. Atheist, Christian, WHATEVER.
Heart Condition TRUMPS Stereotype
All day. Er'day. From the beginning of time. Until the end of time.
Yes, I perused this deliciously good looking white boy, all smiles standing there posing with his beautiful blonde fiance. She caught herself a future doctor! Good for her. Becky's life is SET.
Yet and still, there was stuff going on in this man's thought life, his heart.
Because, you see, you just don't up and go out and start robbing and killing folk. You been thinking about that ish for a minute. No, that's not possible. (Feel free to prove me wrong).
And get this: the pretty fiance is hollering along with everyone else how perfect and great this fella is.
(Girlfriend let me tell you something: it's a blessing that you found out your dude had isshas before you walked down the aisle. I suggest you go on with your life. You'll understand that when you get my age in 20 years).
No. Whether you are black, white, asian, indian, alien or martian. Whatever you are... whatever religiuos beliefs you hold (or not)...
You eventually end up bringing to past whatever you are meditating on in your heart.
I think this is why I get upset when I see weird newscasts like this. And we see it over and over ALL the time. (I know some of ya'll watch my favorite show Snapped. Let's not even talk about all the other shows, fiction or reality.)
No such thing as perfect people. Red, yellow, black, white, alien, Martian, whatever you are.
We are all under construction 'til the day we die.
Be careful what you are thinking about, what you are meditating on.
It will eventually come to past if you nuture that thing long enough
You WILL give birth to that thing.
Let all the peoples in the House of LadyLee grab their church fans and say "Amen".
And ladies... I'ma need ya'll not to even THINK about selling that a$$ on Crai.gslist.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Ya'll negroes SHUT IT UP!!
I've been a little busy. We got visitors in the lab from Southern Black Gals beloved state of Arkansas!
So, we will return to our regularly scheduled broadcast on Thursday.
So for now, I entertainest you with a few pictures of my good friend and workplace cubicle mate The Cowgirl Cre in action!
Why do we call her The Cowgirl Cre? It's because she owns a horse!
Hen-Dog and I were looking at her like she'd been smoking crack when she said she named her horse "Chemistry".
Yes, we are all nerds, but COME ON, NOW. Naming your horse frickin' chemistry? Girl STOP!!
She corrected us. He is named after her deceased sister Kem. So we understood. That should be his name, and rightfully so.
Anyhow, Cowgirl Cre and Felix are a feature at some of the local equestrian shows...
Go, Go, Go, Go... Go Cowgirl Cre!!
Me, I've sat on her previous horse, the Macho Man, only once.
That was enough for me.If I go to the stables for a visit, I bring a bag of apples and feed the horsies. That is IT.
This Oldgirl would rather drive a car, ride a bike... or simply walk.I don't know how they used horses for transportation back in the old days!
Cowgirl Cre! I ain't mad at you homie!Do your thang, gal!!!
I'll just, uh-rah, sit over here and crochet or something.
Friday, April 17, 2009
(Southern Black Gal, I don't have my prom pics. They are buried deep somewhere at my mothers house.)
My brother Milk and Cookies attended 3 proms. I happened to find most of the pictures last weekend, tucked deep in the pages of an Asian cookbook of all places.
But here are a few of the pictures!
I had a huge rose bush in front of my condo. We thought it would be a good idea for him to strike a few poses in front of it. I've been in my house since 2005, so I believe this picture was taken the year before I moved,in 2004.
I told him to look off in the distance, up in the sky, as if he was pondering this thing called... life.
We had another picture in this group. He was pointing up in the sky at whatever he was staring at circa 1983's Grandmaster Flash "The Message" rap video. (Ya'll remember the guy leaning against the pole and pointing at something, lol.)
Those are hilarious... Me and my sister had a good laugh.
I do believe that was from his junior prom.
I think he attended two proms his senior year: his own prom, and then a prom out on Atlanta's west side. (He escorted 2 girls to that one. I wish I could've followed him over there and taken more pictures).
Here's a few pictures from his own senior prom.
Our Mama rented him a Camry and he took a couple of pictures with it.
This next picture: he's not even looking at the camera. He's looking at the ground.
Another pontification moment concerning life, I suppose. I am not digging the sunglasses, though. He whined about taking them off.
So, for his senior prom, I decided to follow him over to his date's house and take more pictures. I did not do this for the junior prom. I should have, because he showed up at the girl's house and there was a "prom dinner", i.e., everybody dressed up in their formal gear and having a formal dinner.
My brother walked up on that and was like "What the...?"
We never did anything like that. Ever.
For his senior prom, that didn't happen. I followed him waay the hell out to Peachtree City to his dates house. She was there with all of her friends getting dressed.
Again, I took plenty of pictures of them. He even posed with her friends.
I only included 3 here.
Now, this chick that he went to the prom with... I think she was 14 or 15 years old.
Good grief, she look like she in her doggone 20s.
There was MUCH discussion about this girl beforehand, as I ask plenty of questions just in case I have run up on a chick and bust her upside her head, lol. (Now you know I wouldn't do that-- but you gotta watch these young broads).
The first question is always "Is she black?"
I don't know what this chick was. From what he told me, she was Puerto Rican and German and Black. He went into this long story that had me seeing plenty *crickets*.
We've had LONG convos about what I would do if he ended up with some white woman. I don't care about those things, as long as it is all out of love. But doggonit, you know I had to threaten him. He can show up around me if he want to, thinking he all "that" because he got himself a white girl. He can act a jack like that if he want to... he and his woman will end up head first in the fireplace.
(Yeah, I'm bad with the threats. Better be in love, man!)
Okay, back to the pics... only a couple more.
This young lady was a friend. She was someone he liked but I don't think she was interested.
Anyway, I joked with him about it later, concerning the "poses". It was like they had been practicing posing for pictures or something.
I told them... "Ya'll posing like ya'll trying to pose for a magazine or something."
One last picture of him making sure she was situated in the car.
I know one thing: he was black as night in that white suit. The boy was sho nuff clean!
Prom time is a special time, one of those coming-of-age type occasions.
I had a great time at mines. I am glad I got a chance to help Milk and Cookies ready for his...
I can't wait for the time when Serenity, Southern Black Gal, LBeezy, Ali, and the rest of ya'll with boys get ready for the proms!
Thursday, April 16, 2009
There were young girls in fancy dresses and guys in tuxedos going into the restaurant.
You know what that means... It's Prom Time!!
Yes, the Prom. You remember the prom-- getting your hair done, picking out that fancy dress, riding in a fancy rented car, having the hot prom date!
It made me think of my prom.
My prom was some 23 years ago. I went with my mother's friend's son Reggie.
("Ma, I want to go with HIM. You think if I ask him, he'll take me?")
And this "HIM" was what I considered GROWN.
And he was cute. Thin as a rail. He was a taller redbone version of Prince... with an afro and a nice mustache. He walked real slow-like, like he didn't have a care in the world.
Like I said, he was my mother's friend's son. He was a quiet dude, quieter than myself. And he was a Morehouse man! I made it a point to speak to him when he came to my house with his Mom, or when I went over to his.
"Hey Lisa," he'd reply... Then go back to whatever he was doing.
*Lee goes off to self and basks in her own giddiness*
Somehow I worked up the nerve to ask him to my prom.
And he said he'd take me.
Cool. I was going to the prom with a grown ass Morehouse man!!
My mother made my dress. It was a knee-length white satin get-up with a lace jacket. My mother's friend lent me her 1 carat diamond earrings. I even bought some satin white pumps with a rhinestone paisley imprint (hush Serenity 3-0).
I was looking good, ya'll.
Reggie showed up looking all dapper in his black tuxedo, afro freshly picked out and a little flat on one side, lol.
We had a good time. There was a lot of "Who is LadyLee with????" when I walked in the door holding this grown man's hand.
We sat at a table with my friends and we all talk. He even went and got us some punch. Reggie was a little more talkative than usual. But about as talkative as Prince would be. (So that ain't saying much).
We even got out there on the dance floor!
He was a good slow dancer, lol.
We were there for a couple of hours. He took me to Red Lobster after the prom. I had the popcorn shrimp and he had the shark.
When he ordered the shark, I thought "This Reggie is a bit dangerous!"
He even ordered a drank.
A real drank with liquor in it!
(Yeah, a bunch of folk were there from school. They even saw him order a drink, which was scandalous enough. They were saying all kinds of things after I told them that he ordered the shark.)
I have to admit, that was one of the best dates I've ever had. Something I will always remember indeed.
He took me home, and we talked at the door for awhile. I was thinking "Please don't let this man try to kiss me. I don't like him like that!"
Let's just say I was the talk of the class the following week, lol.
His mother said "Lisa, he sure is talking about you. Reggie had a good time."
(Yeah. LadyLee had skills even as a 16- year-old. Yes.)
I will ALWAYS remember my senior prom.
I didn't get to help my sister with her prom. I was living in New Orleans at the time, and I commissioned LadyTee to get her together. (You did a great job LadyTee!)
But what has tripped me out when it comes to proms is my brother Kari, aka "Milk and Cookies", and his proms.
And Milk and Cookies was born when I was 17 years old. In other words, it was the same as me having my own baby to deal with. He's the "baby" I never gave birth to, but still my "baby".
Now, I ALWAYS laugh at the LBeezy, Serenity 3-0, and That Southern Black Gal when they talk about the things their little boys get into. I always think to myself:
Just wait 'til ya'll gotta teach them boys how to drive.
Just wait 'til ya'll have to have the "birds and the bees" talk with them.
Just wait 'til ya'll have to console them as they wail about some young
These chicks got A LOT to look forward to.
What I didn't expect was how much it takes to get a young man ready for his prom.
Goodness. Not as bad as getting that dress together for a chick and what-not.
But there is more to it than the mere slipping on of a simple tuxedo... HARD SIGH.
Milk and Cookies went to 3 proms. Oh, the convos we had about him getting his ride together, getting his clothes together, going to get the haircut, were quite stressful. GEEEE-ZUSSSS!!!
And... he christened me his "Official Photographer".
Me, the Oldgirl... And my BOOTLEG disposable cameras.
This weekend, my sister Kentucky and I were talking about recipes for curry chicken. I ran out to the garage and retrieved a few Asian cookbooks.
We opened one and lo and behold, there were a SLEW of Milk and Cookies prom pictures.
(Tayari, these are the ones I was looking for to send to you for that project you were working on a while back. Next time, come through and just copy away!)
So, I thought I would post them. I know he lurks over here, so he will get a kick out of these.
Milk and Cookies is always good for a good story and a good laugh.
To be continued...
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
This is the MONSTROSITY I'm forced to lay my eyes upon everytime I go to LadyTee's house.
They are clippings from her yard... Her 5 acres of yard.
And for some reason, they've been trying to set it afire and it just won't burn!
"Girl, we've poured cans of gasoline on it, kerosene, everythang," she yells whenever I walk in the house talking trash about it. "It won't burn. We can't get it to burn."
"Well, once ya'll do, ya'll better just straight up leave because once it gets going, it's burning down the house, the yard, EVERYTHING!"
(They don't like to hear that. I'll just make sure me and my ride are FAR away once they get it going.)
Another photo: A card I made for my coworker T. She is getting married on the 25th!
Cowgirl Cre and I (we usually go half in half on workplace gifts) gave her a greeting card, a Target gift card, and a dozen of my special made oatmeal raisin cookies.
Congrats on the forthcoming nuptials, T!!! Go girl.
That's all for today... Hope your Wednesday is going well:)
And be sure to pay your taxes!!
Monday, April 13, 2009
Look at me, posting all LATE on a Monday night.
Blog fam yells "It's almost midnight, Oldgirl!"
Happy frickin' Midnight!!!!!
(You will be alright. You are reading this on Tuesday anyway. SUE ME).
Anyway, how was your Easter? Or should I say-
How was your Resurrection Day?
Mine was cool.
No, I didn't go to Chuuuuch. I never go to church on a holiday. That's when peeps who don't go actually go. They can have my seat.
I stayed in the house.
Now, LadyTee had been on me all week about proofreading her History class research paper. I heard about this all week.
"I'ma come over on Sunday, Lee."
I didn't know this broad meant she was coming over on Sunday morning.
She called me up. I was snoozing.
She was talking LOUD. I thought she was yelling at me. I soon realized that her phone is just loud. She was right around the corner at school, and was on her way.
She was ringing the doorbell 10 minutes later.
I was still sleepy, looking crazy. And irritable as hell.
She knows me, so she ignores me. I got myself up, got dressed and walked around a bit.
(I tend to get in my right mind after some 2 hours, lol.)
But I read her paper, and she made the corrections. My sister Kentucky printed it up...
And we were all HAPPY!!
We watched the movie Lakeview Terrace. Great movie. Really good.
(Not a feel good Easter movie. You'll have to go rent The Ten Commandments with Carlton Heston if you want that.
LadyTee and her daughter left around 1:00 in the afternoon.
Kentucky was lurking in the kitchen, while I lounged on the sofa. I asked about the Easter ham and turkey and fixings.
She looked at me like I was half crazy.
(I guess that meant she wasn't going to cook. HUMPH).
So, I, LadyLee, cooked.
Not the traditional fare, though.
I fried up some FISH, babes!!!
Some fish, oysters, and hush puppies.
The oysters, on the left side of the picture, were big as fish planks. I have to remember to get the small oysters next time. They were big, and they were good, though.
Those hush puppies were OFF THE CHAIN.
They were some brand I'd never seen before: Savannah Classics.
I bought those at the Black People's Kroger over on Cleveland Road. (I have no idea why I was all up in there, because every negro in ATL was up in there in Saturday. Even white folk were all up in there! *crickets*) They don't have those at the White people's Kroger on Moreland. Those were some GOOD hushpuppies!
This one goes out to those bloggin' New Orleans natives - the LBeezy, Ali, and Cycere Sister.
I hooked up the Barbeque Shrimp!!
I've found only one place in the city where I can get head-on shrimp. (You find them all over the place in New Orleans). I've been working on that recipe off and on, but it'll never be as good as any original New Orleans version. It was good, and it was spicy!! (Couldn't make it too spicy because Kentucky be looking at me like I'm crazy if I do, lol).
We even had some french bread.
Now that's what's HOT.
But I got my eat on. I like to eat what I want on the weekends.
Back to my fruits, veggies, salads and grains on the weekdays. (HARD SIGH).
It was a great day over all. We had some serious 'itis.
The kitties were even content.
That crazy cat Kramer was happy because the house was bustling with activity. I had to yell at him to calm down a whole lot.
Oscar-Tyrone, on the other hand...
Is it me, or does he look a bit, I don't know... annoyed?
He sat in the living room window most of the day, enjoying the birds and squirrels, catching the nice Easter breezes...
I don't like the way he was glaring at me.
Maybe he was thinking of how he could steal and hide my camera?
Hope you all had a great Easter...
I know I did.
Friday, April 10, 2009
You thought I wasn't gonna post today, did you?
Well I am!
I have satisfied my quota for post all week!
It is "Good Friday", and I am at WORK.
LadyTee called me early this morning while I was getting ready for work, hollering "Girl, I know you glad you're off from work today!!"
"Uh, no girl, I ain't off. I am on my way out the door right now."
Gub'ment employees don't get Good Friday off. HUMPH.
Sigh. Yep, have to work. And this is a good day to work because NO ONE is here.
Well, Hen-Dog, my workgroup superhero, was here. And I was joking with him because he didn't get a special Easter haircut like he did a couple of years ago...
I am here until 6:30 p.m.
I am quite the worker bee, baby!
I want to leave you with a story I posted a couple of years ago about my favorite House of LadyLee mascot, Chayse. She was barely able to talk well way back then, at only 2 years old, but Easter with her (and her crazy Mama Ol' Mean Ass Cynthia and Daddy Hen-Dog) was fun, fun fun...
I enjoyed reading this story about her. It is an interesting tale of where she came from. She is a "workplace baby." This is funny to me, but over the years, it has been nice when the lil' girl has birthdays and what-not. We at work always do much for her...
And that was the case during Easter 2006...
AN EASTER STORY.
So, last year, April 2006 (was Easter in April?), I didn't have any plans. I usually don't go to church on Holidays, because er'body and there mamas are up in that place. So I celebrate at home.
But last Easter I didn't have plans either, until Ol' Mean Ass Cynthia, my coworker and bootleg "Work-for-Free" manuscript editor, quietly eased up behind me in my cubicle and threw an Ebony Magazine on my desk. The magazine was open to a recipe for Sweet Potato Cheesecake.
"Lee... make this," she ordered, pointing to the recipe.
*LadyLee has COMPLETE conniption fit*
"Dang, Man! Dang Man! Back up off me! Back up off me!! I ain't makin' jack! Leave me alone!!!!"
She rolled her eyes in the usual manner and glided away.
Negroes LOVE to run up on me about a recipe. They know that I'm going to GO OFF... but I will probably end up doing it, especially if it is interesting.
Anyway, after I finished tripping out, and Ol' Mean Ass Cynthia had long gone, I picked up the magazine and perused the recipe. It looked easy enough. So I yelled over the cubicles for her to "Come here!". I told her that I would make the sweet potato cheesecake, but the only stipulation was that I wanted a piece of it. She was cool with that. She was going to come over for Easter and get it. I decided that I might as well make a day out of it and throw some meat on the grill, etc.
We had a plan...
As she was walking away from my cubicle area, she yelled over her shoulder...
"And make my baby some Easter Eggs!"
This caused another small temper tantrum. I think I may have even swiped a few papers from my desk and turned a quite a few things over. Yep, pissed me off. (I have anger management isshas, you see.)
But I agreed to do it, even though I hadn't dipped hard-boiled eggs into colored water since my brother was a child.
This whole thing about the baby...
But what is a trip is that my coworker
and personal chauffeurThe Infamous Hen-Dog is Ol' Mean Ass Cynthia's "baby Daddy".
I remember when Ol' Mean Ass Cynthia, who I didn't know very well, and who is also an UNUSUALLY quiet AND mean person (way moreso than myself), said she was pregnant. She got bigger and bigger and bigger.
I never wondered who the baby's father was. I don't get caught up in work politics. They better get my paycheck together and keep it moving. That's really all I care about, you see.
One of my coworkers and Hen-Dog made me sit down in a chair one sunny day, and they told me that... Hen-Dog was Ol' Mean Ass Cynthia baby's daddy. Of course, I thought it was a joke. It took me a few hours to believe them. I believed it more when I saw Hen running around to doctors appointments, etc...
They were creeping around. And what's funny, I ran into them at a Sprint store one day, and didn't even put 2 and 2 together. Just talked to them for a minute, and kept it moving. (Yes, I am dense).
All I know... Ol' Mean Ass Cynthia, I salute you, gal! You are one stealth undercover broad!!! That's all I gots to say about THAT!! LOL!!
Anyway, you have the history of the baby...
And for that Easter, I was to make some Easter Eggs for the baby. That was cool.
Easter 2006 arrives. I'd barbecued it up, man! We had chicken wings and steak!
And I'd made that doggone Sweet Potato Cheesecake.
It looks good, don't it? And it WAS good! Check out the side view:
I was like... you know, this recipe wasn't all that bad. (I had to do the bootleg, and throw some chopped pecans on top of it. Recipe didn't call for that!) Took me about an hour to prep everything. I was thinking... "I can make this for family get-togethers, book club functions..."
(Sidenote: Haven't made that cheesecake since then. Don't even know where the recipe is. I still have my springform pan, though!)
Moving right along.
I made the easter eggs. That was weird, because like I said, I haven't made them in awhile. I managed to crank out a dozen colorful eggs... I even wrote Chayse's name on them with that funky wax crayon that's included in the Paas kit.
Well, Hen-Dog, Ol Mean Ass Cynthia, and Chayse came over. We had dinner -chicken, steak, string beans, salad, baked potatoes, and sweet tea- and then decided to do an Easter egg hunt for Chayse out in my front yard.
"Hen-Dog, go hide the eggs," I said.
"I'm not hiding eggs. Chayse don't care. She don't know what to do. She's too young to remember something like that."
Now, both me and Cynthia looked at Hen like he'd been smoking crack or something. We argued back and forth about this. Hen was determined not to hide eggs. He was being a busta.
So I decided to hide the eggs myself.
"Cynthia... where is Chayse's Easter basket?"
Cynthia gave me a deer-in-the-headlights look. "Uh, I didn't bring it."
Meanwhile, Chayse is looking at all of us. She is eager to get things started.
"Cynthia, how you not gonna have a doggone Easter basket for her? What is wrong with you?"
Cynthia shrugged. "She has some baskets at home. I just forgot to bring one!"
Man, I wanted to pimp slap the both of them. They better be GLAD I didn't call DFACS.
I looked around my kitchen for something that Chayse could use to hold the eggs that she would find on her easter egg hunt. All I could came up with was an aluminum pan. Chayse didn't care. She grabbed it out of my hand, and was ready to go.
Meanwhile, Hen was still whining. "I don't know why ya'll wanna hide eggs for her. She too young to remember anything."
"Shut up, Hen!"
I went outside and hid the eggs. I didn't hide them, but laid them out in plain view around the porch and in potted plant that was next to the front door.
Hen-Dog was still whining.
We ignored him. Chayse went outside and started looking around.
"Miss LadyLee!! Miss LadyLee!!"
Of course this all shocked the Infamous Hen-Dog. He stood in my doorway, and watched the 5 minute easter egg hunt. He stopped his whining. He didn't realize that Chayse would be so excited.
Gee, I'm sure that he felt pretty stupid right about then. Really though.
Dude even had the nerve to say... "Hey LadyLee, let me hold some of them eggs so I can hide some for her tomorrow."
I went off. "I ain't giving you NOTHING, man. You shoulda got out here and hid that baby's eggs!!!"
We eventually went back into the house. Chayse was still excited. She walked around my kitchen holding that pan of eggs like it was a pot of gold, still screaming "I have eggs!"
She even counted them for her Daddy.
"1, 2, 3, 4, 18, 13".
(Yeah, she still had to work on her counting. It's been a year, and she is much better now.)
Well we had cheesecake, and they all headed back down the street to Hen's house.
Not bad for an Easter, hunh!! (Except for the aluminum pan.)
So that is my Easter Story... A bit away from the norm, but hope you enjoyed it...
And I hope you had a HAPPY EASTER:) !!!