Skin, Nails, and Rubber Band Tales

So...

I was walking down the hall in the building adjacent to my own (as I must do to get to my own building when I first come to work). I ran into my fellow Doc, Dr. Hazel Eyes.

I chuckle to myself when I see her. I always think of my brother as a teenage boy. Whenever he would come down to my job to hang out with me, he would always whisper "Hey Shawty... take me over to see that girl with them light eyes. Oooooh weeee, I just like her. Take me to see her!"

And for him to go over there and see her and get his hug in, and for her to ask little questions about himself REALLY made his day. He'd be grinning the rest of the day. (This disturbed me. I could not relate. I would just... listen).

Anyway, I saw her last month.

And she looked different.

She is a bright skinned-ed girl (I would say "high yella", but that wouldn't be politically correct).

But she was darker that day I saw her... much darker.

"Whoa!" I said. "Where have you been?"

"I've been vacationing in Florida!" she beamed.

Yes she had. And she'd been laying out in the sun... from sunrise to sunset. So much so that her complexion was a few shades darker than usual.

"You 'bout dark as me, girl!" I hollered.

I really wanted to holler "You sho' is black!!!!"

Not quite, but close enough. Close enough to notice.

I went back over to her building a few days later and documented this.

She is dark, but not as dark as me.

Notice our accessories. She has a gold link bracelet. I have rubber band. (Serenity_23 is having a conniption fit right now. I asked her a couple of years ago if rubber bands counted as accessories. She said "NO". Sigh)

She even has a thumb ring.

Maybe I can find a rubber band that size and put it on my thumb. (Serenity_23 throws bricks).

I am intrigued by the french manicure.

Now I am such a tomboy. But the girly side of me has always been intrigued by the french manicures. I don't understand what they about. Do they paint the tips of your nails? Or is that an acrylic nail glued to your own nail.

Someone please break it down for me.

I don't ask the Asians who do my pedicures. I can't really understand their explanations, and they just want their money.

But I like them when I see them. I only get pedicures, but I may go get a manicure. It would be nice to have a french manicure. It is quite elegant, it is.

I may even get some precious metal for my wrist. That would be a nice change from the rubber bands, right?

And I might take a vacation. The light in Dr. Hazel Eyes eyes makes me want to find a nice beach... some blue ocean water... and a comfy towel to cover myself as I sleep in my lounge chair.

Yes indeed.

An Oldgirl can only dream!

A Random Act of Kindness

You’ve been caught.

And at the time, you wanted to burst out in laughter because this never happens.

You’ve never been caught.

But now you’re staring down the barrel of a big gun is pointed at the span of space between your eyebrows, just above the bridge of your nose. And you know if you make one false move, it will be the last move you ever make.

“Don’t you dare move,” the female voice behind the gun says. She cocks the gun and secures her grip. “If you move, you’re a dead man.”

And you believe her too because you can see the truth in her eyes, even in the sparse moonlight shining through the kitchen window.

You stand there dressed in black from head to toe, just mere steps away from the kitchen back door, with a 15” tube television held securely under your arm, wondering why you ever felt so sorry for this woman in the first place.

You first saw her yesterday in the electronics department of the local Wal-Mart staring at the big flat screen televisions, going on and on with the salesman, telling him that she would give anything to have one of those big screen TVs.

You walked past her. She was pretty and she smelled so good. You watched as she points a slender finger at the 46” Toshiba flat screen television hanging high on the wall, and you nodded in unison with the salesman when she announced for all to hear that it was the television of her dreams.

It is a nice choice indeed. You know because you’ve stolen two or three in the past. And you just so happen to have one in your garage. It is standing on its side in the far back corner, next to the deep freezer, loosely wrapped in the quilt your Grandmother gave to you as a child.

You listen as the woman gives the salesman her address for the credit card application. Your shoulders slump the same as hers when she is told that her application has been denied. You watch as she walks away, leaving her fondest dream behind.

As you repeat the woman’s address over and over in your mind, you get the bright idea to break into her house and trade out her television for the television in your garage. You would never think of doing this, but the last time you talked with your beloved grandmother she made you promise her one thing:

“You make sure you take the time to be kind to someone this week. A little kindness goes a long way.”

You’re pretty sure your idea wasn’t what Grandma had in mind, but a promise is a promise.

Just when you’re about to open your mouth to explain yourself to the lovely lady with the gun, a large dog comes around the corner at full speed and charges at the two of you. The gun is dropped and it fires, shooting her in the chest. She falls to the floor, dead at your feet.

At the same time, sirens whir and squeal. Police break down the door and find you holding the gun in your hand. The lovely lady is cradled in your arms.

And now you’re on trial for armed robbery and attempted murder.

You are glad that the woman is not dead. And at the same time you are wishing you never answered the phone that day your grandmother called, even as you hear the lovely lady sitting there in the gallery saying to someone "You should go with that Toshiba brand. It's a dream."

“How do you plead?” the judge asks.

“Guilty,” you reply solemnly.

You are telling the truth.

For you are guilty.

Guilty of an attempted random act of kindness.

Monday Morning Rambles.

Good Monday Morning.

The weekend was TOO short. My goodness. I don't understand.

I didn't leave the house on Saturday. I lounged around, did a ton of chores, and lots of writing. It was just a time to go and decompress.

These days, you have to do things early, because I don't know where you live... but in the ATL? Late afternoons bring monsoon rains. It rains cats, rats, and dogs. EVERY day. Bizarre. But let's just say there's no semblance of drought or rules for when to water your grass. This would've been a great year for a garden!

I need some time off. I remember that time I took a whole month off for my birthday! Wow! I need THAT type of time off. I need some time off where I can fast and pray and read and journal and that type of thang. I need that type of time off where I can work some things out in my head. Really.

Alas, I don't see that happening too soon. I haven't been feeling the best, but I am feeling better. And I have been more focused and productive the past week. That's what I truly want: to have productive days at work, where the time goes by pretty fast. I don't mind working when it is like that. Not at all.

My Weekend. Now what has made me happiest of all this weekend is that I have been working on a rewrite of Sweet Heat. I gave Josephine, my writing class classmate and someone who's work I'm a stalker stan fan of, the first rewritten chapter and she loved it. That had me a bit O_O because her writing is so refined and eloquent and Sweet Heat is a little off-the-cuff. So that gave me confidence to go ahead and work on condensing the 950 page manuscript down.

My writing class teacher thinks that it can be broken down into two or three books. I think I've learned the skills to go forward and do that. Class has gotten deeply psychological, going off in the realm of why we write what we write, and where we see ourselves going. For some odd reason, that has lit a fire under my tail to make decisions. I have so much stuff laying around, and now I am pretty definite on the route I want to take. And that's a good thing.

So I finished a second chapter this weekend, and I am currently working on a third. It seems to be coming along nicely. I am not as upset as I thought I would be about culling out huge pieces of unnecessary material. The story is tighter, and it seems to be moving along faster. And that's a good thing.

President's speech. Did you see the President's off-the-cuff speech on Friday afternoon? If not, here you go:



I was wondering if he was going to say something. You know how political he is. I expected him to be quite tightlipped. But I'm glad he added his perspective and put all of this in context. No, as usual, he can't please everybody. I don't expect him too.  But between the President and the Attorney General, two black men, they could at least make some statements. Both have done that.

Essentially the President has had to explain to white people why the black folk are so upset. He tried to do that. I am glad he talked about what it felt like to be his old self in this world, the old "Barry".

So I think he did the best job he could. At least he said something.

I still maintain that George Zimmerman didn't get off scot free.

You see, you and I can go into a store and pick up some cold medicine if we are sick.  We can go in the store and get skittles and tea.

Georgie can't do that.

Ever again.

It's gonna be a heck of a life always having to look over your shoulder and not even being able to enjoy the simple things of life that we all take for granted.

Yes indeed.

Great post on this subject by my blog bruh:  Don over at Minus the Bars with "Like George Zimmerman, I walk away from the "Trayvon Martin Trial" with a Peculiar Look on my Face"

Picture of the week.  My girl, my girl, my girl... Baby blog sista, that chicken Serenity_23, cut all that long natural hair off.



She text me that picture, and i thought it was one from 3 years ago.

I asked if she at least kept a lock of her hair. She said "For what?"

I told her that I think she should twist it. If she can twist that little bit of hair, she's a bad sista!! HA HA!

Chicken!! You always trying to be like me. Stop that!

LOL

She texted some pictures my way. I'm glad. I need to get a hair cut and I'm taking her pictures to the barber with me. Shouldn't be hard. I'm going a lot lower than that. I want to get up in the morning and not even have to comb my hair, man. My hair has grown only an inch, and in some places 2 inches, in the last 2 years. They should be done with me in a jiffy.

S23... you need to stop trying to be like me! LOL

Song of the Week.  You know I'm a Miki Howard stalker stan. Here is one of my favorite songs by her: "But I Love You"


Man. That's a sitting-in-the-back-booth-in-the-club songs. You got your sunglasses on and you on your third glass of brown liquor. And you crying and mouthing the words of that song.

And I'm sitting next to you. Sanging the chorus pretty hard.

I think every sister been in that situation. I know I have.

Expect a full battery of posts this week. I even have a couple of stories for you :)

Have a good week.

By design.

And on purpose. 

Friday Freestyles... The Jerk Edition

Good Friday Afternoon.

The weekend is nigh. I can almost reach out and touch it.

If only it was that simple.

My weekend starts in about 5 hours. And I can't wait.

Not that I have much of anything to do. I'm just looking forward to sleeping in. I've been going to bed around 1 or 2 in the morning. I'm not sure what's up with that. Poor Oscar-Tyrone can't even hang with those type of hours. I get a little jealous looking over to see him wound into a tight curl in his little bed, fast asleep. That should be me.

Sometimes I feel like a child: fighting sleep, because I'm so scared I'm going to miss something.

I'm not sure what I'm missing at 2 in the morning, though.

I know one thing: I'm feeling much better. I'm not sure why I was all nauseous. It could come down to me eating or drinking something crazy. I know I have a problem with pomegranet juice lately. Or it could come down to my meds. I'm not taking one right now because it is delaying my surgical wound from healing. I may be having a reaction to all that. I don't know. I just feel a little better. Now, I'm not out eating a plate of chittlins. (You know you feeling good if you can hold that down). For some reason, I eat a bunch of fruit during the day. The thought of anything much heavier than that scares me. This is bing cherry season right now, and for now, I'm a cherry eatin' chicken!

Kentucky. My sister Kentucky... sigh. She had a car accident a couple of weeks ago. Everything is fine, but she JUST paid her car off, so she was antsy about that. Anyway, this chick rear-ended her. And the chick had some bootleg insurance. It's legal and all, but the people are hard to work with. They're giving her the runaround. I'm glad her car runs, but the bumper is slightly out of place. I just don't want it to be totaled.

She needed some help the other day, and I was a bit beside myself because she didn't call me. She called her best friend, and it all worked out.

But she said some other words... "I thought about calling Mama..."

Ugh. I was driving down I-85, heading to work at the time. And this brought about one of our ongoing discussions. "Man, why you wanna call Mama, and she tripping still?"

This is my thing: They are still on the outs after this whole Grandma thing. Now, they have some quick general convos. Not sure what that's about. But they rarely talk. Why call her?

Kentucky has always had this thing about "keeping her options open."  If she's in need of help, she needs to be able to call folk. Now I understand that. Being the jerk that I tend to be, I don't have much of anyone to lean on when I need a helping hand. Luckily for me, a helping hand is rarely needed.

When I say "being the jerk I tend to be", I mean this: I don't consider myself a nice person. To some extent I am. I ain't gonna use you or throw you under the bus or nothing like that. I won't steal from you or hurt you in anyway. I won't be gossiping and backbiting. I don't manipulate or play silly mind games. That's just not me.

But here is what would make me nice, in my opinion: having the patience to deal with people, no matter how they treat me.

And I just can't do it. I'm really a jerk on that tip. I'll stop talking to janky folk. You treat me like trash, that's MY fault for letting you do it. That's on me. And I don't do well AT ALL with people who treat everybody around them all crazy. You treat your friends like trash, having them all exasperated and what-not... you're not gonna treat me any different.

My sister and I talk about this. She gets along with everybody, I don't. At least she tries. I don't.

I like my relationships genuine. Build me up. I build you up. Be a blessing to my life. I'm a blessing to your life. Don't bring unnecessary drama. And I don't bring the drama either.

Over a span of time can we each mutually answer the following question: have we been a physical, emotional, spiritual and mental asset to each other? Or have we been a hindrance to each other?

If the answer to that question goes in a negative direction, well... you know.

Did your life go downhill when I came on the scene? Did my life become a living hell when you showed up on the scene?

And my sister and I talked about this. Personally, I need to find some balance. I need to learn how to deal with folks I don't like. I can, and have. But I don't do well when it's ongoing, like on a permanent basis. I don't do well AT ALL. I am an expert at disappearing on folk. A well-seasoned expert. And that is something I don't particularly like about myself.

I like substance. The older I get, the more I want substance. My heart sings when we... me and you... interface well. When we can walk away from our interactions built up and not all dejected and exasperated.

Lord knows I know some exasperated folks. Goodness. People sho' nuff know how to put the people around through an emotional wringer. It is sad to see.

Oh well... just one of those ongoing conversations, I suppose. A complicated yet delicate one at that. My sister and I will continue to pontificate.

I don't know why she didn't think to call me with this car issue. I am itching to get away from work for any doggone reason. I could've rented a car for her and come on back to work. No big deal.

But I know she has to work things out for herself.  And I must do the same. I love that we each give each other the room to do so.

Oh well...just a little freestyle look into my heart of hearts on this Freestyle Friday.

That's what on my mind right now. That, and getting to a point of feeling a little better.

Song of the Day. I know I play this song at least once a day, either during my drive to work or my drive home. Michael Jackson "Heaven Can Wait".



Teddy Riley produced that song. I like when pop stars go back to their R&B roots.

That's all for today. I am tired. I want to get through this day and go home and enjoy my weekend. I don't plan on doing much. I may go to the library and do some writing. As long as it is QUIET. I don't do well with noise at all these days.

I hope you have a good weekend!

By design... and on purpose.

Your Friendly Neighborhood IRON Girl

Yes it's me...

Your Friendly Neighborhood Oldgirl...

But these days, you can just call me your Friendly Neighborhood IRON girl.

Ugh.

My hematologist showed me my numbers. No, I am still considered "anemic". I beg to differ with this, as I range a half a point to a point below normal. I am not all tired. I know the difference from "anemia tired" and just regular old I-ain't-getting-enough-sleep tired.

"How do you feel after your iron infusions?" my hematologist asks.

"I feel perfectly fine. The same way I feel before I get them," is my quick response.

I been all nauseated and jacked up for the past week and a half, but that don't have a thing to do with iron.

We were working on my iron storage in my bones and that has gone up considerably. That is a good thing. My hematologist said let's go another round and see what happens.

Here's the problem. One session is 2000 dollars. I pay 250 dollars after insurance.

Not a lot, but it adds up. So I will have had 8 infusions by the time this group is done. Doing the math, that's 2000 dollars out of my pocket.

Sigh.

I can pay that. No problem.

But doggonit. I should be able to do a Wonder Woman spin and fly like Superman by the time this is all over.

It is driving my storage up, which is regulating other things going on in my blood. I find that quite interesting.

But not enough for this to go on infinitely. Nerp.

But for now, I will just do what I'm told and go through these last couple of infusions.

It's just me and the iron bag.

Then I will return to being your friendly Neighborhood Oldgirl...

And I will be Wonder Woman in my dreams.