Day Thirty - One Last Moment

This is the final Day of the Blog Challenge. Of course I should've posted this last night, but I fell asleep! Plus I spent a little time this morning condensing it. It was a bit rambly.

This challenge... it was difficult. My goodness, this wasn't, like, "post for 30 days straight".

This was a "post on a specific topic for 30 days straight" type of thang, which is HARD!

There's a new 30 day challenge going on. I'm sitting that one out, ya'll. Can't do it.

But on to today's post...

One Last Moment

Every once in a while, in addition to my usual church communion, I like to have simple communion at home. Just between me and God.

My reason for doing this is that I heard a very interesting sermon many years ago, with the minister saying something like:

"Sometimes, you just get by yourself and settle some things between yourself and God, and commemorate the moment. Don't take much- a piece of bread, some koolaid and a heart open to God."

The more I thought about this, the more sense it made. We all look great on the outside. Go to church dressed perfectly, perfect smiles, perfect make-up. (And for the fellows, your Brooks Brother suit fits just right. And those Stacy Adams wingtips have a fresh shine.)

But at the same time, we have things going on behind closed doors. We all have things going on within ourselves. Things we won't tell a sole. Self esteem issues, self-worth issues, depression, self-hate, addictions, personal confusions, bad habits, fears...

...areas of life that we are struggling so hard in. Sigh.

We're works in progress, ALWAYS under construction until the day we breathe our very last breaths. There are constant ebbs and flows, high peaks and low valleys all throughout our lives.

And there are so few people in our lives who we can admit things to, and they love us no matter what. And if you have a handful of these confidants in a lifetime, you're richer than the richest man in the world.

You can run, but you can't hide from yourself. You know what goes on with you. And God knows what's going on with you.

Might as well get it out in the open between you and God, over a small meal between you and Him.

Saying a prayer, over communion settles things in my heart.

To me, it's a sign of respect and of my faith to do such.

Thus making it one of my favorite personal moments. A moment between me and God.

This year I turned 40. I believe, a week or two before I turned 40, my life flashed before my eyes.

Well, let me rephrase that: the last 10 years of my life flashed before my eyes.

It's not a glamorous life. Probably not a life that people covet, nothing like that of the rich and famous. But it's mine. I have my lane in life, uniquely assigneed to me, and I wouldn't trade it for the world.

And I thought about allllll the answered prayer. All the triumphs, tribulations, stepping stones, bad days, good days, failures, successes, disappointment, joys...

Man, A LOT had gone on in the past 10 years.

I was really overwhelmed by it all... and I, like many, tend to have the little questions in the back of my mind of why a couple of major prayers weren't answered. To the point where I dare say, I've caught an attitude. Never mind that my motives may have been bad. Or that I want the answer that I want right now.

Never mind that the desired answer given at the wrong time in my life could be DISASTROUS.

I felt an overwhelming sense of thanks in the midst of it all.

God is on the hustle tip in the background of my life, even taking care of things I don't even know about. He sees around the corners of my life and arranges things accordingly. Even in the midst of me acting a JACK, He's focused on the end from the beginning.

So I will always remember, turning 40... and the first meal was there on my kitchen island, between me and God, giving thanks for his blessings, and remembering all that has gone on, and all He has done for me...

And thanking Him in advance for all that the future holds.

A simple moment, one taking place over wheat bread and a shot glass of cranberry juice.

But a wonderful, most memorable moment indeed.

One moment that I will never forget.

Day Twenty-Nine - Your Aspirations

Aspiration.

That's a big word. And I wasn't too sure what it meant.

So you know me, I had to go look it up.

An Aspiration is a strong desire, longing, or aim; a goal or objective desired.

There are plenty of interesting synonyms for the word aspiration: aim, ambition, ambitiousness, craving, desire, direction, dream, eagerness, endeavor, fire in the belly, hankering, inclination, longing, object, objective, passion, pursuit, push, right stuff, urge, vocation, wish, work, yearning.

The one phrase above that sparks my interest is "fire in the belly".

Is there anything that creates a "Fire in my belly"?

Well, I read the aspirations of others who have done this post already, and my lists are not like theres. Like, I've already did the school thing. Ain't no way in hell I'm going back to school, when I have a doctorate under my belt.

Like, I would LOVE to publish a piece of my creative writing. Pieces of my writing litter the floors of the House of LadyLee. I plan to pick up a little and submit it.

One of my favorite dreams that has come true was to meet my favorite author. Not only did I meet her, I got that broad phone number, and I can call her up and harrass her whenever I please. (Don't worry, she can call and harrass me too, LOL(

I'm a homeowner, 5 years counting. That dream is done.

I've been married. Not sure how I feel about going through that again.

I have aspirations, but they aren't as fire driven as those in the past.

I remember having a dollar figure in mind of how much I wanted to make a year, to feel alright. I've surpassed that amount by 20,000 bucks a year. That's a dream come true. But I must say that for years, I've been believing for making 15% past that amount.

But my aspirations right now, I'm beginning to see, as I get older are moving more towards the intangible... that is, more of the emotional and mental.

They are nonmaterial in nature.

And I've always felt: the tangible is born from the intangible.

1. One of my biggest aspirations is to be a very generous woman. Very generous.

I was telling my sister, it would be nice to drop 5, 10, 20 grand on someone, and REALLY change their lives. That is LIFE CHANGING right there.

But I can't do that. I try to do the small things these days. Small things like being able to help someone's dream or goal come true. I had a pastor say, many years ago- and I will always remember this:

If you got a dream, and you haven't reached it... go find someone with a similar dream and get busy helping to make their dream come true.

I thought that was profound. Very simple in it's meaning, yet deep at the same time, in what it breeds in you: it develops faithfulness, sincerity, maybe, even, dare say I, a little joy in seeing someone else accomplish their goal.

Being generous squeezes out selfishness. I grew up in a terribly selfish environment. I want to work towards being more selfless than selfish.

And to be that way out of the sincerety of my heart.

2. I aspire to be healthy, to be well. I was diagnosed with lupus some eight and a half years ago. I remember the doctor telling me what I had, and sitting there silently listening to him, and my asking the simple question, with no fear in my voice "Is it fatal?"

I remember walking out to my car, and calling my cubicle mate Cowgirl Cre, and asking her to look up anything she could find for me on this lupus.

I remember that same day, going to my local bookstore and sitting in one of the comfortable chairs and reading...

And reading... And reading.

I know what it is to get so very sick, and having to learn to walk again. And one of my greatest triumphs is being dressed when my baby bro came home in the afternoon from school, and holding on to his shirt tail as we walked to the stop sign up the street from my mother's house... and back to the house again.

It was a walk that should've taken only 2 or 3 minutes, but took us 1o. I just wanted my legs to get stronger. Just to be able to walk without thinking about it.

(You couldn't tell me nothing when me and the boy walked all the way around the block. NOTHING. You would've thought I'd ran a full marathon, lol).

Today, over 8 years later, one of my greatest joys is getting up and walking in the mornings, sometimes just 1.5 miles, or on a good day, 3 miles when I feel up to it. It's funny when the elderly bypass me, as I only walk about 2.25 miles an hour, but that's okay.

I'm walking.

Walking and watching the sun rise over the trees is one of my purest joys, the quiet and calm eye in the storm of the hustle and bustle of my life.

But I dream of being healthy. No lupus at all. The thing going into remission. A clean clean bill of health.

One of my coworker's niece has lupus and he said to me one day "Girl, Ya'll know ya'll take a lot of medicine. Ya'll line that medicine up."

I nodded. I line my medicine up, too. And there's nothing worse than my monthly trip to the pharmacy. I have to get 6 prescriptions filled each time. I know my pharmacist and I argued one time because of the cost of one of my subscriptions.

"Yo," I told the pharmacist. "I don't want a month's supply. Give me twenty dollars worth."
*Pharmacist raises eyebrow*
"Don't look at me like that. It's the principle. That medicine is as much as one of my utiltiy bills. I'll feel better if I don't get it all of that particular one at one time. I'll just come back and get it."

I'll feel better if I dont' get it all at one time. How about I will feel better if I don't get it AT ALL?

If I don't need it at all.

That is my dream. To not need the medicine.

I tell you, the vegetarian thing helps. I can't seem to get down past the 95% no meat mark, but hell, it helps. Killed out a bunch of symptoms. If I can get my head straight, I'd put a rush on that other 5%. But I think I'd have to be living out in the desert alone to do that.

Or on the planet of Mars.

Still a dream. An aspiration. One worth hoping for. One worth having faith for.

Those are my aspirations. What I desire. What puts a small fire in my belly.

And with my faith, the eye of my imagination, I'll always keep the fire burning.

Day Twenty-Six - Your Fears

Fears. That's not a subject I think much about.

Because it stands for

False Evidence Appearing Real.

It is basically me reacting to what I think is going to happen in a situaion. Specifically, it's me meditating on the negative outcome rather than the positive outcome.

I don't like to think about that.

But we all have fears. And it becomes a fight to overcome them.

Here's another definition of fear that sticks in my mind. (Especially since we've spent like 3 months at a time at church on it).

Fear is the opposite of faith. Fear is the reciprocal, the flip side of faith.

But here's the kicker. Fear and faith are connectors, placing me squarely on the path to either what I am afraid of or what I'm having hope for, respectively.

With that said, I'm not afraid of what you would think I would be afraid of. Like, I don't subscribe to the single black woman chatter that goes on out here. No fear of being alone, no fear of dire statistics, none of that.

I'm not afraid of this lupus thing. I have my problems, but I'm still breathing and the blood is running warm through my veins. I'm not going to let it have me sitting off in a corner having a pity party, and making everybody elses life miserable. If I'm having a bad time of it, only the people in my immediate presence on a daily basis know. I may or may not even mention it.

Although I felt a little fear creeping up on me when management started messing with a coworker at work. She's been in and out ill, and her boss called her Doctor (aint that illegal?). He follows her around and spies on her.

Now, as a chronically ill person, I take note of these things.

I started looking at all the "false evidence", i.e., my boss calling my doctor, etc.

She hasn't done that. Glad she hasn't. My doctor HATES HATES HATES my job, and I don't want my boss getting a Book of Indian cuss upside the head.

And employees on my job have gotten smart.

Around our job, it was figured out that you write your congressman a letter. That staves off management, and keeps them at bay.

For awhile anyway.

That has been a fear lately. I feel I have to keep my eye on my work, and keep an eye on the management. I really don't care for a target being placed on my back. This creates a little stress, just from me rolling over and over in my mind.

That is an immediate fear I have. There is another that is ongoing.

My biggest ongoing fear is not fulfilling the purpose God has for my life.

And it being due to my own stubborness, me holding up the process.

As I get older, I see my road smoothing out just a tad, and I can see how I fulfill my purpose in the lives of people around me. I am happy for that, and I acknowledge it. I am happy for people who pass through my life path, and they fulfill God's purpose in my life, if only for a season.

But we all search for that place... that place of personal power and passion, where provision is made in our lives and in the lives of others.

I want to be sure to fulfill the purpose for which I was born, for which I was created. That is where TRUE joy resides.

Patience has to have it's perfect work, in order for personal development to take place.

I think we all have purpose, but we need to allow time for that personal development to occur in order to handle and be trusted with that purpose.

And in all that, there is absolutely no room for fear.

None.

Day Twenty-Five - A First

These topics, I tell you... they are really making me think.

And I'm trying to fly in the direction of things I've never blogged about.

Serenity23 suggested something TOTALLY outlandish over on twitter.

Uh, no. My blog is rated PG! That is going off in a whole nother direction. lol

No, I'm not telling you what she suggested.

I'll just keep it... safe.

The first time I cheated in school.

Don't look at me like I just got off the bus. It is what it is.

It was around 1977, I believe. I was in the third grade.

And I forgot to do my spelling homework.

I told my best friend Tasha about this. She said, "That's alright. You can copy my homework."

And that's what I did. Copied her 10 spelling words.

So, we were in class, and the teacher was going over the words with the class.

I kept raising my hand, and spelling the words right. Thank goodness for Tasha letting me copy her homework!

So we got to the word "tomato". I spelled it correctly, loud as all get out.

Tomato! T-O-M-A-T-O. Tomato!!

The teacher smiled. I think her name was Mrs. Jones. She said "Lee, you are doing great! You are doing a great job!"

My friend Tasha raised her hand. "That's because she copied my homework, Mrs. Jones."

*crickets*blank stare*

Hard gasps and "Ooooooooooooohs" exploded from the class.

I was so embarrassed. I slumped in my seat.

"Is that true, Lee?" my teacher asked. Her voice had lost any sign of kindness. "Did you copy Tasha's homework?"

I couldn't speak. All I could do is nod my head yes.

I was screaming inside, though. Screaming "PLEASE DON'T CALL MY MAMA!"

I got an F that day. I think that was my first F ever.

And my mother got a call from the teacher.

My mama beat my tail over that one. Oh, it was awful.

I went back to school the next day. Me and Tasha stayed friends.

I was young then. Some mess like that goes down now, I'll leave you alone.

Really though.

LOL

That was a first for me. Definitely not the last, though.

Day Twenty-Four - Something that Makes You Cry

wOh man.

This is a difficult one.

Something that makes your Friendly Neighborhood Oldgirl Cry.

Cry from joy? Or cry from pain?

Joyful crying comes from sitting around joning on folks. DO NOT let me and LadyTee get ANYWHERE and there's some craziness going on. PLEASE. It is not pretty. She can almost keep a straight face. Me, I'm having a conniption fit on the inside, and I may shed a few tears.

Answered prayer makes me cry. I get A LOT of answered prayer. I'm not talking about routine prayers. No crying there, just thankful. I'm talking about big answers that kill 50 birds with one stone. A lot of that is, I dare say, unexpected, or at least manifests in ways my doctorate brain cannot figure out. I still got some traditionalism in me, i.e., I ain't perfect, with my consistently inconsistent self, so why the grace and mercy, Lord? Makes me cry when I work my faith and my faith works out.

But the major thing that makes me cry...

I mean, disturbs me down to the core of my being. . .

Almost to the point where I have to stretch to put it into words, because there are no words to describe how I feel inside concerning it.

Disturbs me down to the seat of my soul, down to the foundation of who I am, my very being. . .

It is when I turn on the evening news, and a woman's kids have been killed by her boyfriend.

DANG MAN THAT HURTS!

Messes me up for a couple of days.

Your man, that trifling joker you were dealing with, who's been giving you problems, has killed your children.

This bothers me because one of my mother's trifling men tried to kill us back in 1976 when I was six years old. I saw a dude pull a butcher knife out of nowhere and just start stabbing.

What. the. world.

You know. I wrote an excruciatingly long post on that. LONG detailed post. Even though it was 35 years ago, I remember it like it was yesterday.

I NEVER link that post. But here's the link -"October 25, 1976: The Accident" .

I ain't recanting that. I'm glad I wrote it, because my Auntie read a related post referring to it, and she called and we talked about it. Cleared up a few things in my mind some 30 years later.

But I tell you, I can be around here cleaning up, yacking on the phone, eating, yelling at that Oldcat Oscar-Tyrone about something, getting ready for work, doing what we all do during our day...

And turn on the news, and some mess like that goes down.

GEEZ! Makes me cry, makes me want to pull what little hair I have out.

Makes me want to punch a frickin hole in the wall! UGH.

You know, I wonder how the woman feels? You have to live with the fact that that fool you were dealing with killed your child.

As a woman, how do you live with such a thing? I don't think I could even sleep at night.

Don't look at me in that tone of voice for saying that.

Check it out: before that joker nutted up like that, there were signs and symptoms of him being crazy. There was mess going on leading up to that.

Well, any crazy jokers I've dealt with, I knew they were crazy long before I uttered the words. . .
"This fool here is crazy."

I've been caught up in some questionable ish. Dated questionable men. The things is, I don't have children.

But all bets are off when you do have children. I'm sorry. You need to watch who you bring around your children.

Me and my siblings. . . We've talked about this. My mother would move derelicts in the house. I mean, negroes with some real problems. We are all quite lucky that we weren't raped, molested, hurt, killed, none of that. Not sure why she didn't see it as important not to move jokers in the house. I wish I could ask her that question. She would cuss me if I did.

I would just like to know.

I think about all these things when a child is murdered, by the "disgruntled boyfriend". I can't stand it.

Of course, it's not always like that. Some mess jumps off, and people are like, "Gee, didn't know he was like that."

But more often than not, you hear on the news "Well, there were restraining orders. He'd been abusing her and the kids for awhile."

WHAT?

Sigh! Come ON!

Children did NOT ask to be born. They did NOT.

I myself have had to come to grips with the fact that I didn't ask to be born. So I won't apologize for such.

Took me awhile to get over seeing my mother being stabbed, and all that blood. Took years for my own stab wounds to disappear. To this day, I can know and understand the sound of a knife stabbing flesh. I don't do too well in movies where folks are wielding knives, man.

To this day my mother still bares the scar on her jaw, where it was sliced open. Her collar bone juts out, from where the dude ran over her with a car. I don't cross paths with her much if I can help it, but I see and think about these things when I see her and I see those reminders of what happen so long ago.

No child should have to go through that. Ever.

And I'm shaken up when a child goes through something like that and survives it. I'm forever emotionally and mentally scarred by that. Lord knows I don't want any child to go through that.
And I cry when I think of a child taking their last breath, their very last breath. . . at the hand of a parent's scorned lover.

Such things. . . they ought not ever happen.

Never. Ever.

Day Twenty-Three - Something That Makes You Feel Better

There are many things that make me feel better.

One of them is walking in the house after a long day's work, taking my bra off, and laying across the bed, and listening to the whiiiiiirrrrr of the ceiling fan.

LOL.

Ya'll know you take the bra off time you walk in the house. Don't trip.

Another is listening to old music. It always takes me back to a former time in place. I can listen to most songs and tell you where I was at and what I was doing at the height of the song's popularity. I especially like music that was out during a time when I was in love, or at a really happy place in my life, or in a place where I was pushing forward through a bad time, and came out a winner.

But I think what really makes me feel better is spending time with friends, especially after being a little down. And when I say friends, I mean people who know me, my idiosyncracies, etc.

I'm a little different than any homegirl you will have. You have to deal with me being nerdy, and being a loner. I look at people all day long. I prefer to spend most of my free time to myself. You may or may not know if I'm in a bad place or not. I have a tendency to try to work things out on my own. (This seems to be changing the older I get).

I'm an extremely hard nut to crack. I have a tendency to hide my feelings, my hurts, and my pains.

I have friends who know exactly how to have a little patience with me, not be judgmental, and talk to me and lift my spirits.

I love that. I need that in my life.

That's what truly makes me feel better.

Day Twenty-Two - Something that Upsets You

Wow...

This is a nonsmurfy topic.

For it's hard for me to come up with things that upset me.

Whereas it's easy for me to come up with things that piss me off.

But things that truly upset me... not so easy.

What comes to mind after much thought is when people have beef with me and they worry my friends or family to death over the situation.

The situation is between you and me. It doesn't involve other mutual people in our lives.

It really bothers me. Folks who know me know that I don't like to be a bother or burden on people.

And seeing someone upset over some situation in my life, conveniently stirred up by some messy third party, well, that bothers me deep down in the seat of my soul. Especially when they do it on purpose... just to get at me.

Sigh.

That's one thing that upsets me.

Really.

Day Twenty-One - Another Moment

More moments!

I have lots of moments, but two recent ones immediately come to mind, They put me in a happy place.

1. Meeting and holding my nephew for the first time. The occasion was his first birthday party. He stared up at me curiously and slowly reached out and grabbed my chin.

Not sure what that was about. I don't have the crazy Jay Leno chin.

I like to think that the boy was thinking, "That's an Oldgirl right there!" LOL

2. Riding shotgun in That Southern Black Gal's gangsta ride as she gave me a tour through the mad streets of Little Rock.

Man, that Oldgirl is alright with me. She took me to the hood, Lil' Mexico, the good side of town... all over the place. We listened to some of the current urban music, too. I had never heard this "Pretty Boy Swag" song (And I hope to never hear it again). I know who Drake is now, too.

But it all did something for my peace of mind. Been a long time since I've just rode shotgun and relaxed. (That was a CONSTANT when I was in my 20s. Gas was cheap back then too, lol).

Thanks a lot for that, Ma. You did an Oldgirl's heart good.

Those are my moments.

2 for the price of one! You can't beat that.

Day Nineteen - Something You Regret

Now this is a post I've been thinking about for a few days.

Something I regret.

Regret means to me that I made a decision, chose a direction at one of the many forks of the road in my life, and I figure out now through hindsight, that it was the wrong decision.

And I mourn making such a decision.

That decision, that one thing that I regretted is getting married.

Simple as that.

I got married in 1999. I got divorced in 2003.

It began. It ended.

Simple as that.

Or is it ever that simple?

Not really. My guy was a good guy. He had his problems. I had mine. My thought process was that "We've been together for 5 years, he's been my man for 5 years, and I don't plan on dealing with anyone else so we might as well make a go of it."

Yep. That was the reasoning of my 29-year-old mind. Never mind that we fought alot. Never mind that he was in the strip clubs. Never mind that his credit was in the toilet. Never mind that I had anger problems, was a consummate loner, and was focused full force on my own needs and career.

Never mind any of that.

"Me and him been together for 5 years, might as well get married."

And that's what we did. And it went to dust.

It is something I regretted. It did something for me, in some way. I can't say I've ever come out of something I've regretted, a bit emotionally beat up, but wiser from the experience.

I'm not bitter, just wiser.

I've gotten in trouble with men.

Because I love the 4 letter word:

TALK.

A guy told me "You like to talk. It's like I can't run game on you. You hypnotize me, got me telling you the deep dark things, things I have never told a woman."

That's because I need to know it ALL. My life is important. Your life is important. I listen very well. I listen to my inner-voice.

Can't have us mucking up each other's life path. Marriage is hard work, 24-7, with no time-outs, no vacation days. It's HARD work. I found it harder than all my schooling. HARD work. Not sure I'll go through that again. It'll have to be the right person, right place, right time... ALL that.

It bothers me, all these dire reports of the single black woman and how woeful life is.

Instead of that, what should be of concern is the following: "Do you have wholeness, in mind, heart, body, and spirt, even as a single black woman?"

A hard question indeed. More difficult to evaluate truthfully within ones own self, than some busted statistics, statistics that devalue our self-esteem and lower our self-worth.

Before I come to the next fork in the road, where I have to make the hard choices such as those concerning marriage...

I need to be cognizant, fully sober in my thinking, and make sure I'm operating from a place of inner peace.

I want to be a blessing, and not a curse to someone's life. And I know now to consider someone who would be the same for me. And who's well developed in that mindset, even in their single life. Anything short of that, well, in my opinion, is just me operating out of selfishness, bad motives, and bad agendas.

That's the only way to do the right thing. And to make the proper progress.

And to not do something that I will truly regret.

Day Seventeen - Your Favorite Memory

My favorite memory.

That's hard, as I have quite a few of them.

I think the one that immediately comes to mind is the day I got the title of "Dr." added to my name.

That was one of the biggest goals I've ever accomplished.

I'm not going to write about it. I wrote about it all, and I mean, I wrote about ALL of it on the 10 year anniversary of my Ph.D.

But the most interesting part of it, something we still laugh about, was the acknowledgements of my dissertaion:

I excerpted a little of the 3 pages of the, uh, "hood-like" shout outs here, from the above blog post:

My acknowledgments were a whole different story... My professor was reading it, would look up at me over his glasses in disdain, read, look up at me like I was crazy. I'd sit there and smile like Celie!

My acknowlegments were REAL hood and funny!

Funny points:

"I'd like to thank my girl Weenie for letting me stay with her when I was homeless!"

"I'd like to thank my girl Dr. K. Gal, you know we use to do our Bitch and Beer Tuesdays and bitch and moan and cry!"

"Thanks Auntie Joyce and Uncle Shawn for selling me that Nova. I love that car!!"

"My homegirl Lady T-double-EE, thanks for your support!!"

"I'd like to thank my man, Oldboy."

"I'd like to thank my cats, the ever so cosmopolitan Jeremy Girard, and the thuggish ruggish kitty Oscar-Tyrone- who'd attack my printer everytime it started up!"

Yeah, I thanked my cats. LOL.

3 LONG pages of shoutouts! And at the end I put Master P's words in BOLD text!

"Make em say UGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHH!!! Naw, naw, naw, naw, NAAAAAWWWWW!"


So if you like, you can go back and peruse that.

Are you ready for the weekend?

I know I am.

Ya'll have a great Friday!

Day Sixteen - Your First Kiss

Yeah...

Rolling right along on the blog meme.

Day 16- your first kiss.

Man, I would dream of my first kiss. It would be something wonderful and beautiful like on television and the movies.

And I had to make it happen.

My first kiss was when I was 14, during the summer of 1984.

That's a bit young. But I didn't think so at the time. I was going to the 11th grade that year. And in my young teenage mind, there were certain things I wanted to do before I graduated from high school.

And one of those things was to kiss.

And this boy was a good male friend. We were talking about this one day, and well, I told him I'd never kissed a dude, and if he wanted to. Just that simple. Of course, his hormonal tail said that he had kissed before, and we could do that.

It was summertime. I wanted it to be completely dark (There was no way I was doing this in broad daylight). My mother was at work. So we went upstairs to my bathroom, which had no windows, and did the deed.

And it was gross. I can still remember the feel of it all.

And I remember thinking... "This is what people are all excited about?"

And what was up with all that saliva? What the heck, man!??

Lasted a good 10 seconds. Once it was over, it was over. I think I enjoyed his arms around me, and the warmth of his body more than the kiss.

He asked if I was okay. I said yeah. I think we went back outside and picked back up where we had left off, talking about whatever.

I gave the same guy my virginity a few months later. I tell you, he was a real trooper, lol...

I can't say that I liked kissing until about 3 guys down the line. The third guy, well, he was the charm. I knew (or thought I knew) what I was doing by then, at the tender age of 17.

I'd give anything to remember the first kiss that meant something special. But I can't remember.

Hard sigh.

So that's my first kiss adventure!

One that I'll never forget.

Day 15 - Your Dreams

This is a hard one, because I am not much of a dreamer. And I'm in a jacked up mood.


I actually wrote this post before work (at a time when I should've been out on my walk-with my triflin' self). But I held it today. There's a question that came up in my heart concerning it. A question I'll add at the end, one you should answer quietly to yourself in your personal time).

My dreams are more tangible than not. And I don't know if tangible is a great word to describe my dreams. I just can't think of another word.

My dreams lean more towards solving current issues.

Like, I dream that I'll wake up and the lupus will be gone. And that my joints are strong, and I can jump, jog or even run a 5K like so many of you do. I dream of a day of not taking so many meds just to stay alive and feeling a'ight with nary a pill in sight.

I dream of paying my house off. I dream of having a family and not groaning deep inside when it comes to my own family gatherings, but attending them with much joy and eagerness.

Things like that. Not a day goes by that I don't think about those things. They are dreams, that are so real that I feel like I can reach out and touch them, but I wake up and realize they are what they are:

Dreams. Proverbial puffs of smoke.

But puffs of smokes are real. (I'm just saying).

But one of my biggest "dream" dreams invovles writing. One of my dreams is to get something I've written published. And I would love to write for a living.

Oh, I'm scientifically published. I know the joy of seeing my name a professional journal. I was 21 years old the first time I saw my name on a publication. It involved the Chem.lum.inesen.ce of 1,2-dio.xetanes. (Yeah, that messed your head up. That's similar to lightn.ing bugs you see in the summer, but with CHEMICALS. Yes, an Oldgirl has dabbled in elect.rochemistry).

I know how that feels. Kind of like being high, lol.

I dream of that same feeling when it comes to some of my creative writing.

And I'm not talking about writing the all time great American novel. I don't really care for long projects like that, even though I work on manuscripts of that length. (Got a 1000 page manuscript in a box in the closet as we speak. It is the "Great American Oldgirl Novel, lol).

No, I would love to do some freelance writing, nonfiction and fiction. I love writing short stories, and things of that nature. I would love to write magazine articles. Quick stuff like that. I think that's why I like blogging so much. Yes, I'm "prolific", as my big blog sista Chele says, but this is fast and and it satisfies my writing joneses.

I would love to make a living off of that. To be able to do this and make a living from it, enough so where I could walk away from my job.

What. a. dream.

Makes my frickin' eye twitch like crazy.

But such a dream is frowned upon.

I can't say that I frown at it. This is my PASSION. I love, love, LOVE to write.

There's nothing like writing, with a goal of writing for a half hour...

And then looking up and see that it's hours later. I love that.

What I don't like about writing is that it all has to be "readied" for submission and all this depending on someone else to publish it.

Somewhere in the quagmire, my love for writing gets quenched.

I know, I know... It's a necessary evil. Yes it is.

I love crafting my stories, thinking about them, improving them... and chiseling them more.

I've learned that from the greatest writer on the planet, Miss Celie, i.e., the Great Tayari Jones, at whose feet I worship endlessly, lol.

I have many stories that are ready to go, just a matter of finding places for them. But it's time consuming. As a matter of fact, I'm submitting a couple soon. Not all that expectant of anything from it, except the experience of learning to write my query letters, and getting in the habit of correctly formatting manuscripts, etc... Just figuring out the parts I HATE to fool with.

These things take time. My best friend and I were discussing this the other day. For some reason, I find that people think I'm such a good writer, and it's as easy as sending out your work and it automatically get published. But I'm learning from my author friends, it ain't that easy.

Seems to come down to not what you know, but who you know.

Like with anything else in life, looks like.

A big dream of mine is self-publishing. But that is frowned upon, as people don't take time to do it right, but I've met a few professional people who have self published, and man, their books look and read a whole lot better than books coming out of big publishing houses. I am in AWE of that.

And that's a thought. A thought that is a dream.

I heard once that we should spend time dreaming. Spend time viewing what we want life to be through the eyes of our imagination, the eyes of our faith.

As a result, our mind creates a roadmap to that thing.

And as you can see from this post... I have to step and jump over the roadblocks in my mind so I can use the roadmap my heart and mind has created and travel the road.

(That last line was good right there. You have to admit, that was a good friendly neighborhood Oldgirl moment).

And here's another Oldgirl moment, a question for you:

There were a few "buts" in the post above. i left them in on purpose.

"Buts" are interesting. They are big, draw a lot of attention, and they cancel out EVERYTHING that was said just prior.

Circumstances follow big "buts".

And our circumstances talk to us. They are loud, bold and brash... take up the whole dayum room, they do.

But how much time do we spend talking to our circumstances, these circumstances that keep us contained? Denying the power they have over us? Taking them by their proverbial necks and wringing the cheese out of them? Do we believe our circumstances, and get in agreement with them, or do we talk enough trash to our circumstances where we believe what we say more than what the busted circumstances say?

Just something for you... and me... to ponder.

That was good right there. So good that you need an Obama church fan.

You can borrow mine.





lol

Dreams. I have them.

Time to start living them.

Day Fourteen - What I Wore Today

Didn't we just have this topic?

Oh well... I think this topic is more for the diva type. That ain't me. Nothing fancy here.

But it makes for a quick post.

What I wore today:

Black underwear
Black t-shirt with my book club name on it
Black pants
White sneakers
White socks

Yeah! The Oldgirl is in all black today. Matches my mood, I suppose. Well, that and I just grabbed something from the folded laundry.

And I still have on my rubber band accessories, lol...

Have a great Monday!

Day Thirteen - This Week: "Better"

The topic of this post is This Week, whatever that means.

I will look at it from a point of view of this week ahead. In the light of weeks past.

This weekend has been a weekend where I took time to myself. This Sunday, I went to see a movie I really wanted to see (Salt), and I did my grocery shopping, and I just took time to drive slow and enjoy the day for what it was. I spent a little time out on the front porch, cleaning my my dirty white wooden slat rails with soap and water, and directing a local on the cutting of hedges. Last night I enjoyed finishing up a chapter of my current manuscript. I did my chores, well most of them. I'll finish up my chores, and get ready for my week sometime this evening. And I'll work on my story a little more.

If you haven't noticed, I've been having a time of it over the past couple of months or so. On the mental tip, that is. I've lost interest in a lot of things I like to do. There has been a lot of anger and belligerence on my part. There have been more tears than I care to admit. I hardly sleep. My lupus has been flaring up something awful, and that scares me a little.

Just been having a time of it, man. More stressed than I've been in awhile.

I admit these things to myself and critically examine it all.

I'm grown and unashamed. Ain't trying to impress nobody or gain approval.

I hate to admit those things, though. I don't even talk about such to anyone. It is rare for me to have a shoulder to cry on. I do a lot of praying. I get my answers. And that's how I manage to deal. I don't like my answers, because they're not easy answeres. But I will work it.

I think the biggest highlight of the past couple of months was my trip to Arkansas. I hate traveling for work, but I really needed to get away from the shenanigans of my job. The last couple of weeks have been a bit horrid at work. And a whole nother layer is added to the madness when I have to watch those around me going through horrible treatment. I tend to be way too empathetic for my own good.

I told a coworker on Friday evening, when we were preparing to leave work...

"Next week, I'm going to have a better week. I'm going to do better."

She had that *crickets* look on her face, as she knows I've been working terribly hard.

And you know? That's where the focus needs to be. To have an attitude of doing better. Not just at work, but at home. Doing better about setting not only weekly, but daily goals for myself, and meeting them. And being really careful to be thankful for all the good that happens. I worked on my attitude last week, and things got better.

This week, life will be better. I set my heart and will to do better. Period.

Not caring what goes on. And that is something that I've let slip lately. I've been too full of care, letting the circumstances wrap their tenacles around me and snare me.

I had things to be thankful for over the last week. Some extra money fell into my hands, unexpected money. That's always good, as I am trying to do better and be better about not only saving money, but somehow being a blessing to others. I also solved a couple of problems on this difficult project we are working on, and it gets me closer to somewhere, where ever that is. And I forced myself to get back to some of the things I enjoy, and it was therapeutic in its doing.

And this week, this upcoming week, I will work on being thankful. In the midst of whatever is going on. Looking back, I find that I do this anyway, out of habit, but I want to really search my heart, and be thankful for the little things.

One of the bright spots of my week, something that made me smile already took place.

For some BIZARRE reason, Miss Celie asked me about running. Now that Oldgirl know I don't run on these busted arthritic joints. My doctor would pimp slap me if she caught wind of me out running. I couldn't tell her about running, but I was able to hook her up with a fellow tweeter who runs. And she hooked her up with a site, and I think ol' Celie gonna get out there and get started.

I'm thankful I could think of a way to be helpful in someway, albeit indirectly. And to one of my favorite people, the best writing mentor on the planet in my eyes. That makes me smile.

I know this post may not make sense to you. Sometimes I like to wipe off a few of the dirty windows of my heart, so a little light can shine through.

I just needed to write about "This week"... and my focus for the upcoming week.

And I needed to write something that I can come back and read and that'll bring me back to the proper perspective if this week looks like it's going to get out of hand.

This week, I will do better. I will be faithful and sincere, keeping myself in check, and surrounding myself with people who will help me with that.

This week will be better. I know it will.

Day Nine - Your Beliefs

Wow... such a topic.

This topic could go on and on and on...

From mountain high to river deep - on and on.

Actually, it's pretty hard to think about. Hard to narrow down one thing to write about.

So I won't. I'll keep it... vague.

I do believe I can say one thing concerning my beliefs that will encompass every belief that I hold.

And that is:

My beliefs are my beliefs.

Period.

They belong to me. They are solely mine. They are very unique unto myself.

You will never ever have to worry about me pointing at you and hollering "I believe this so you should believe it too."

Are you serious? Really?

Not on your life.

Yet I see it all the time. People are like that. Constantly.

I make a mental post-it note of it. I don't judge the folk, but I can stay out of their periphery. Best to be the way, because they will end up hating me.

People who attempt to force their beliefs on others, sometimes to the point of being downright argumentative, are, in my opinion, seeking some type of validation. We might be even dealing with a self-esteem issha of some sort.

Don't use me to jack up your self-esteem. Humph.

I believe what I believe. If our beliefs are similar, then cool.

But if they are different, that's cool too.

Why?

Because.

Because I believe our beliefs are born out of... something.

They are born out of our experiences, our dreams, our trials, our triumphs, our failures, our hurts, our successes, our pains, and so much more.

All of those things come together to make us who we are.

All of those things shape and mold our beliefs.

I respect that. Really, I do.

So with that said...

What right do I have to criticize your beliefs, or you to criticize mine?

Why should I have a problem with what religious views you hold? Your sexual preference? The decisions you make?

We are all free moral agents. With a sole right to make any choices we choose.

And all of those choices are born out of our belief system.

Period.

I respect that. I truly do.

So that's your Friendly Neighborhood Oldgirl's treatise on beliefs.

A little vague...

But I think you get the point.

Day Seven - Your Best Friend

Man... ya'll know who my best friend is.

Tam,

aka

LADYTEE

LadyTee and LadyLee go THIRTY Years deep. Thirty Years. Since the age of 10. Thirty years.

Honey Chile, that's a long time.

What makes our friendship work?

There is absolutely no judgment and no expectations.

Period.

Our friendship is the measuring stick for all my other friendships.

If you want treatment that LadyTee herself don't get, guess what: You will not be getting.

You're just not that special.

LadyTee is beyond special.

For her 40th birthday, I posted 40 reasons why she's my BFF.

I think I will post the top 10 here

I can talk to her about anything.

She does not judge me.

She loves me with no strings attached.

She takes pride in knowing me better than I know my ownself.

I can be myself around her.

She has stood up to my mother when I wouldn't or couldn't.

She reminds me be thankful in all things.

She reminds me to work on putting God first.

When I need support, I think of God first, and then I think of LadyTee.

She prays for me.

She listens to the sound of my voice, and automatically knows that I'm upset... no matter how much I try to fake it.

She loves me when I feel that no one else does.

She loves me even when I am being STUPID.

She loves me more than I love myself.


Over the course of 30 years, she has proven herself to be an excellent friend.

That's my homegirl, my BFF... forever and always.

Day Four - What You Ate Today

Man, I tell ya... it's been some kind of day.

Thank goodness the meme has circled around to a LIGHTWEIGHT Topic. And you know I have to be "prolific". (That term was coined by my big blog sista Chele. I like it. It's positive. It feels good on me. Gives me the freedom to truly be me. It will be used from now on instead of the "l" word, lol).

What did I eat today?

As you know, I am transitioning to vegetarian. I don't talk much about it anymore. Why?

Because it's becoming a normal part of life. And that's what I want: for it to be a part of me.

At this stage, I prefer my fruits and veggies over meat. All bets are off if I'm on vacation or out of town on a trip (like on this last work trip, I had fish and shrimp at Red Lobster; some sausage and bacon from the breakfast buffet on purpose. Not a good look on the latter, because it made me feel some kind of way), and if I'm out to dinner with someone. If it wasn't for dwelling outside of my daily mundane routine, I would be able to get past a 95% reduction in meat intake. The 5% keeps hanging around, and hey... that's life, man.

So, you've caught me on a typical day. And here's a typical day of meals,

Breakfast:

Oatmeal with fruit. This is the oatmeal that has to cook for 30 minutes. NOT the instant mess. My fruit today was raspberries, strawberries, and blueberries and a few dried cranberries. I usually have chopped walnuts, but I am out of those. I also have a little brown rice vanilla milk over in there. (Poured that in after I took the picture).

Lunch:


A soy chicken salad sandwich, with lettuce and tomato. The bread is honey wheat, made by the Big Sky Company. (I haven't been able to buy the three seed bread since I blogged about it, lol). This bread is equally good, soft and sweet- great for a nice sandwich.

Along with that, I had fresh fruit.



I LOVE cutting up fresh fruit. LOVE it. Today's mix was watermelon, honydew, pineapple, red grapes, and bing cherries. That may seem like a lot of fruit, but I usually share it with my friend and cubicle mate Cowgirl Cre. If we don't eat lunch at the same time, I eat half of that above, and save the rest for later. I snack on it during my 15 minute drive home (like I did today).

I tell ya... there's nothing like rolling down Courtland street, listening to Ohio Players "I wanna be Free (Shoop, shoop), and killing watermelon chunks... and spitting seeds out the window. Peeps were looking at me like I was crazy, but it was a happy time at the end of a jacked up day, mayne!

During the day, I drink water:



That looks a little cloudy, don't it? That's because the juice of 2 lemons is in there. I try to drink a gallon a day, but I only hit that goal 25% of the time. I don't drink sodas, and may drink some lemonade or punch if I'm out to eat or at a gathering. But I try to drink a liter of water before work, one liter at work (above is 1.5 liters, drank most of that), and a couple of liters at night. That's the goal.

The nighttime is my strangest time. I would say that 75% of the time, I drink 3/4th of a gallon a day. Good enough for me!

Dinner:

Szechuan okra and sauteed squash (yellow summer squash/zuchinni). Made fresh (Yes, I chopped everything, no frozen or canned.)Very simple and quick. I made this while yacking on the phone with my baby sista. I ate around 8:30 pm. (This is okay, since I don't get home until well after 7:30 pm and don't go to bed til midnight).

And that is my typical day of meals. I'm typically very strict fruit and veggie wise on odd days, and a little lax on even days (dairy or dessert, etc).

I take more to work with me, like today, I also took an apple a peach, and some blood orange sorbet, but I didn't eat that. I left those there, and it's just in case I get snacky or hungry.

My meals are simple, yet highly nutritious and satisfying.

And I wouldn't have it any other way!

Day Three - Your Parents

Man...

You know I don't want to write about this.

No I don't have the common wonderful story of "My parents are the greatest. We're close, and life is wonderful."

No, I don't have that story. It's pretty much opposite. And it's always been that constant dark cloud over my head.

I don't have a relationship with my parents. It's not possible. It would be a total sham if I did. And I would be doing it, faking this "relationship", for the approval of others.

Doing things for the approval of others versus doing from my heart or doing what's best is one of my major filters for all decisions. Any sign of me doing things to be liked or to please others, well those things are sat on the curb until a change comes about that makes me decide otherwise.

And yes, this makes me an evil bad person. Yep, I accept that. Cool.

My parents began dating when I was in highschool. My father went off to Vietnam. They divorced when I was 15 months old. End of story of having a 2 parent household.

I want to keep this somewhat brief (this is difficult, as I am longwinded).


My mother. I don't have a relationship with my mother. IThe major reason has been overall trust issues. I saw a man stab her 100 times when I was six, and well, she never discussed it with me. I've looked at her sideways every since. As young as the age of 6, I know I didn't need to tell her anything personal, as I could count on it being used against me in some way. I remember her saying to me when I was five or six years old, that she wished that I could pack a suitcase and go away. That seared into my young innocent mind, not understanding that, when people get mad, well, they say bad things. So as a result, I've always felt like a burden. I've always felt the need to apologize for being born.

I've always felt like she took care of me because it was against the law to get rid of me. I can't look at her and say that she loves me. She says she does, but it is like a foreign language in my ears. She says she is proud of me, but again, I don't process it.

Because the mental and emotional abuse crowds any accolades that she may shout.

Me and my brother have laughed about this. When she says anything positive, it's like you're trying not to laugh. It sounds so funny. Like "Really?"

But it is not funny. I am an emotionally scarred Oldgirl.

Things are worse when she has a man. We're basically dirt on the ground. Me and my siblings FULLY understand this. And accept it.

I've understood that she has always liked my friends more than me. I was never the girly daughter she longed for, and all of my friends have always been girly-girls. She is the reason for my stealth nature. My friends understood this growing up, and acted accordingly. (If you know me, I'm very stealth and secretive. VERY. I can be in a crowd of one in the room, and you would never know that I was there).

I was a disappointment to her. I know that. I accept that. I go on with my life. I pray. I send gifts for Christmas, hoping the harsh criticism of the imperfection of my gifts don't circulate back to me. I expect her not to approve of anything I say or do, but it is very painful for my siblings and family to listen to such terrible things about me, and for them to have to deal with that.

I never told her I got divorced (she learned that from my siblings, waaaay after the fact). I didn't tell her I bought a house (when she found out, she cried and cried out of being upset jealousy. Sigh). I knew all my life if I needed a shoulder to cry on, I better go find someone else's shoulder to cry on, who wouldn't laugh about it or talk about me behind my back.

I learned from my mother to keep lists. And to study hard, and this very key rule: If I didn't understand my lessons, go back to the very first page and try to understand that. It's because of her that I love science (She worked at the phone company and she got me through my Physics Circuitry and Electricity college class by explaining her job, by drawing telephone poles and phone lines). She is one of the most creative women I know, and she's probably why I have a plethora of hobbies and willingness to try new things.

She did what she could. Rearing a child doesn't come with a manual.

She gave birth to me. I am here. That is all.


My father. My father has always been a mystery to me. That's because all growing up, my mother told me he was crazy from the agent orange spray in Vietnam, and thought she was a vietnamese and would try to shoot her. She dogged the man something terrible.

Who wouldn't be afraid of such a man?

Stressed me the hell out to have to go over to his house every Christmas. We would only be there for a couple of hours. I liked his parents - the old man who never came out of the bedroom, but laid across the bed staring out the window at the world, his rheumy eyes full of joy when I walked into the room. And the old woman who always gave me a roll of dimes as a Christmas gift. The roll never contained the correct amount. But I was under the age of 10 in the '70s. A roll of dimes was good for Now-or-Laters, Funyuns, and Fanta Orange dranks.

But the man who thought my mother was a Vietnamese and would chase and try to shoot her...

He scared me.

Would he try to shoot me too?

So damn much for a child to be thinking about. And you gotta understand, by the age of 9, I was in the 6th grade. Man, I would lay in bed at night and critically think about things.

At the age of 10, my mother told me that I didn't have to go back over there if I didn't want to. That was it for me. A piece of stress was gone from my life.

My Aunt- who pretty much takes the roll of the "mother" in my life- always spoke well of my father. "He's a good man, Lisa. A very good man."

That confused me. But I trust my aunt. I didn't have to watch her and weigh every word, like I did with my mother.

I promised myself at age 30 that I would request to meet him. Age 30 came and went. Blogger LBeezy and I were reading a book together with similar subject matter, and she suggested I mail him a card, which was a GREAT idea.

I didn't want anything from him: only to meet him. No strings or anything.

So he called, and we met. I was 38, going on 39. I detailed this in a couple of posts Crazy Convos with my Father and Face to Face with my Father. These are some of the most important pieces I've written on blog. I saw my father a month later at his brother's funeral, which produced some of the most HILARIOUS pieces I've written for blog (A Most...Humble Occasion Part I and Part II).(You know how black folks act up at funerals).

I know at that funeral I shook my father's hand. Don't remember ever touching the man in the past. He didn't even know I was there at the funeral, as I sat in the back of the church.

But I touched his hand. Never thought of how his hand felt. That meant much to me.

I don't know much about him. Over a few quick phone calls, and a mere 15 minute meeting, I learned that this was who I got my sense of humor from. My like for very low room lighting probably comes from him. My extremely quiet and reserved nature may come from him. There are so many similarities between us, that it's scary.

And he, like me, hates to be a burden. He's an alcoholic, trying to find his way, living with his sister, just doing his thing.

The most chilling thing I remember is being at his house, pictures of me spread across his coffee table, and him wailing "I look at these pictures every day and cry".

To which I wanted to say, "It ain't that serious. I turned out to be okay."

I learned at that moment to search my heart and clear up whatever, because I don't want to be his age and crying over my past. No way, buddy. If I screwed up, I need to get over it. I'm human. Whatever.

And in conclusion, that's what I feel about thees two people, whose DNA combined to make me, the wondrous Oldgirl. They are human. Much prayer has revealed they didn't know what they were doing. Don't blame them. Takes much to stand up to the plate and take care of a child in the midst of whatever. Can't hate on them. And I've heard from my sister that my mother has said such. She simply didn't know what she was doing.

(That pissed me off. The only time I've snapped. You would too if you felt for most of your life that you were... nothing and useless. Quickly got past that.)

I can only grow from it. Somehow.

They got together and conceived me.

A very successful black woman, who has a good heart, who is capable of being a blessing to others.

That trumps any negative things in the past, any confusion, all of that.

A woman of purpose.

A woman who is... here. Ultimately, that is all that matters.

This wasn't a bashing exercise. I don't bash these people.

It was an exercise in what immediately comes to mind. That is all.

Good or bad. Love me or hate me.

Truth from my heart is truth from my heart.

Period.

Day Two- Your First Love

*for my young readers- Magnolia Peach, Sasha... And the Infamous La (the best writer in the blog world, who endures my stalker stan twitter screechings and wailings when she tweets something, lol).

I wish I could go back some 15 years ago to my midtwenties, when I was ya'll's ages, that tender confusing place you all now reside. I hope this post let's you know that you go on, you be strong, and life will be alright.*

Man, what is up with ya'll? What's up with the whole population of Lurk City showing up on that last post?

I mean, ya'll negroes came out in a full Thriller dance routine. Shock the cheese outta me!

LOL!!!

Almost got me 'bout to censor myself!

No can do.

WARNING: This post is rated PG. Now, I done told ya'll, this ain't no spiritual blog. But in everything I write, you might be able to read between the lines. Wonder if you can do that here. Hmm.

'Tis my House. I'll scrawl high upon the walls with blood red crayons if I wanna.

Those of you without a past, feel free to cast the first stone or shoot the first bullet.

*Lee handing out sacks of rocks and fully loaded .38s*

*silence from the inhabitants of The House of LadyLee*

That's what I thought. Let's put the guns and rocks away, and continue.

So...

Glad ya'll enjoyed the intro. It was deeply personal. And some of ya'll like that personal ish.

This First Love topic, well, it's a bit personal too. I wrote about it some 700 posts ago (see "A Love Long Gone"). Been thinking about it all day. Even scribbled a few notes while waiting to get an echocardiogram done at my doctors office today.

First loves usher in a plethora of thoughts, feelings, memories, and emotions, you see.

It all had me thinking about a friend of mine, who, in the midst of backing up his truck of cuss on his child's mother concerning child support and custody issues, said to me, with a very heavy heart...

"You know, if I would have just kept walking past her in that club that night. If I would've looked the other way, danced with some other chick, got some other broad's number, I wouldn't be going through this shit right now."

Him saying that, at that moment, place and time... made me shake in my shoes.

If he had taken the right path, things would be different.

Or would they?

Because whatever we've gone through with our significant others- the cussing, the crying, the fighting, the beatdowns, and the breakups...

There was some point in time, long ago, that there was that key ingredient of being deep in love.

With all my men (that I was serious about), I remember when that love component was front and center.

But there's something to be said about that very first love.

That very first one.

No, he wasn't the one to provide the first kiss, the first lay, the first rides downtown...

(Okay, we don't need to go there.)

But there's something to be said about that very first love.

The one to remember.

Picture a 17-year-old me, LadyLee, sophmore in college, a little perplexed about life, pulling up to a Burger King drive-thru window, money in hand, hungry as hell, ready to pay for my Whopper with cheese (no pickles)...

And there he was. Eli. A dude I graduated from highschool with. Looking fly in his brown, gold and red Burger King uniform. As a matter of fact he was in my homeroom. I can't remember if I ever liked him or not. He sat next to me in homeroom at times, and I do remember him pulling me on the dancefloor to slow dance at one of our bootleg high school dances.

We spoke for a moment. He was glad to see me after all that time. He asked for my number. I wrote it on a napkin. I took his number, and shoved it in my purse.

Got my food. Kept it moving. Most likely, I was going over to LadyTee's house since she live over that way.

Eli called and we talked.

And we talked. And talked. And talked.

I'd always admired how well spoken he was.

There's something to be said about that first love. And how he influenced my penchant for well-spoken men, who can stimulate my mind with mere conversation.

There were dinners. There were movies.

There was that Salt-n-Pepa and Fat Boys concert down at the Omni arena.

And there was that one time we laid in bed at his friend's house, a house way back int he woods, behind the cemetary. Nothing happened. We lay there, and watched a movie, and simply talked.

I can't say that I remember the first time we kiss...

Or even the first time he hit...

But I remember him being the first man I spent an entire night with.

Correction: entire nights.

He's the first to make me...

You complete that sentence, because you've all been "there").

In other words, he was the first to make me:

Bump my head on headboards...

Bite my pillow...

Snatch fistfuls of sheets...

Scream for Jesus.

Let's just say that that first love helped me reach my full potential.

He was the first man I ever told late in the midnight hour, in the midst of thunder and lightning, raindrops hitting the roof, Keith Sweat asking "How Deep is Your Love" and "Make it Last Forever"...

"I love you."

He was the first to ever tell me, "I love you, too."

I'll never forget having sex 10 times in one day with my first love.

(Haven't done that since. And with my ratchety bones, ain't trying to, lol).

Or getting busy on the couch. The floor. The kitchen counter. The bathroom sink.

(Uh, you can tell where my mind was at that age, lol).

There's something about that first love... that when certain songs come on the radio, memories come back like a flash flood.

I remember our special song... Stephanie Mills "Something in the Way (You Make me Feel)"



There's something to said about that very first love, that brought me bliss I'd never forget... that would be the best lover I ever had, for years, and to whom every other lover will forever be compared.

There's also something to be said when that thing with that very first love...

Falls apart.

He didn't quite approve when I said I was going to apply to graduate school. I didn't know much at that age, but I knew if I was trying to accomplish something, and if someone in my sphere wasn't supporting that, well... that was bad news.

I know I cheated on him a couple of times, and confessed. He was alright with it, but he started seeing someone else. Hence, some of the most embarrasing times in my life when it comes to dealing with men.

Begging.

Pleading.

Crying.

Sitting in my '84 Cougar playing Miki Howard's "Come Home to Me", hoping it will help us get back together.

(I roll my eyes everytime that songs cue up on my ipod shuffle).

My first love dumped me, for another girl.

I was 20 years old and broken-hearted. Heart broken.

I remember coming home from work one day a year later, and he was there visiting my mother, with a baby carrier in hand. I said hey, didn't look at the newborn.

But I heard the baby cry as I went upstairs to my room....

And I lay across my bed and cried.

It took me two years to get over Eli. Two whole years.

Man, I was on some ol' Milira type crying in the rain craziness.



Had me, my young 20-year-old self, thinking, late in the midnight hour when I was alone with my thoughts and my tears.

"If I would've just taken my ass to McDonald's that night. If I would've just gone straight to LadyTee's house. If I would've just gone home and ate whatever Mama had cooked that night, I wouldn't be sitting here depressed and crying."

Has me thinking now...

Lawd thank you that I had enough sense to somehow go on with my life, to not let love and a man who couldn't think or dream beyond Burger King keep me from realizing my own dreams.

There's something to be said about that very first love...

The ebbs and flows in emotions that it brings.

It let's me know beyond a shadow of a doubt that everything happens for a reason, for a season....

That that love was wholly necessary.

And may even be responsible for who and where I am right now, good or bad.

So that's my tale of first love.

The longwinded version.

Day One- Introduce yourself

Okay, we're gonna dig around in the Blog Challenge. I'll be doing my blog posts at night. You can read them in the morning, man. I like writing in the mornings, but my mornings are booked to the tilt right now.

So let's DO this here thang:

Day one is "Introduce Yourself"

That's hard. Why? Because I can't come up with anything new. But we will try.

I am LadyLee.

That is all.

LOL. Just playing.

"LadyLee" was my street/tag grafitti name in highschool. It's the "id" part of my personality, mixed with the comical side of my personality. If you know me in real life, I am terribly quiet and not at all funny. The LadyLee part of me is a bit on the crazy side, to say the least. It is also the mentally "free" part of who I am.

I am the Oldgirl.

"Oldgirl" was a codename we used in grad school when we were talking about people on the sly. It somehow morphed into a greeting and a battlecry. If I call you "Oldgirl", these days it means you alright with me, lol.

I am Lisa.

That is what my family calls me. Don't come around asking for me by my gub'ment name. You may not get an answer.

I am Lee.

Another family name. A few people, especially bloggers, call me that. The name was given to me by my late Grandfather. He also called me "Sweet". I do miss all that.

I am Sugar Girl.

That is my Grandmother's name for me. This name is the good, honest and deepthinking side of my personality. It reminds me that I am not a bad person. I am sweet. I am good.

I am Dr. Parker.

I like having a title, even though I don't use it much. Somehow this has become a nickname for me. That is cool. I EARNED that title some 12 years ago. It is part of who I am. That's the mad scientist part of me.

And I am simply Alesia. That's my government name. It's the totality of all that above.

I can be your best friend. Or your worst nightmare.

You may not be able to handle or accept the loner that I am. Or you may appreciate it.

I won't purposely do anything to hurt you. But it is very easy for me to walk away if you're playing games or wrecking my steelo.

I am chronically ill. But I am happy to say that even with lupus, I get along just fine without assistance.

I like sowing seed into people's lives, very generous, usually in the most unexpectant of ways, but I never loan money, as I am all I got, and I can't afford to lose it (circle back up to the "worst nightmare" line above).

I am a tomboy who likes a good pedicure and some plum lipstick every once in awhile.

I am not a beautiful woman, but not a day goes by that I don't look in the mirror and tell myself how beautiful I am.

I am a divorced woman, and like any woman, I want the man of my dreams. But desperation is nowhere in my vocabulary. It is not an option,

I am a writer who bleeds ink on the pages. More than I should at times... with my long-winded tail.

I love God. God loves me... with my consistently inconsistent self.

But most of all, I am who I am.

Not enough words in the dictionary to describe who I be in entirety.

No one born before me or who will be born after me is like me.

I am an Original.

And I promise you, whatever you may think of me...

You will remember me.

And...

You will never meet another person like me.