Writing Progress... Sweet Heat Chapters 25-27

I happen to see some Golden Flake Barbeque "Sweet Heat" Potato Chips in a bootleg grocery store in my hood. I would go up there and get some more of those chips if it wasn't for them bustas scanning my debit card and telling me that it was rejected. (Ladylee keeps major bread in the bank, you see!) After straight going off on the cashier, she looked at my card... and noticed that it wasn't a food stamp EBT card...

"Oops, my bad, honey... thought that was a food stamp card! I'm sorry!"

I promised myself I would never go in that damn store again...

So I have that one bag of "Sweet Heat" chips as a souvenir. It is sitting on the bookcase in my bedroom.

Wow... I looked back and I see that I have not done a writing progress update since mid-January ("Writing Progress-Chapter 24 "The Perfect Ending")...

I am being a lazy oldgirl.

First of all, that blogger guru The "LBigga" a.k.a. "LBeezy" a.k.a. "Lil Bit" a.k.a. "Ms. Put some stank on it" has done me the HONOR of taking a look at my manuscript, and has barreled through 22 chapters, some 300 pages, in the last 3 days... She has been sending some interesting emails, and offering her expertise.... Asking a lot of questions that are making this oldgirl THINK. So that makes me happy, and has snatched me out of some of my laziness...

*Ladylee frantically searching her pockets for an Original Oldgirl-in-Training card for that gal*

Another funny note... My girl Gigi, a critiquer who was displaced by Hurricane 'Trina, sent an email... I hadn't heard from her in a minute...

"Hey girl, I'm alright... how's that book coming? You got some more chapters??"

Um, yeah, Gigi... emailed those to you, hon.

Now Chapter 24 could've been the end of the book. All the ladies in the place thought that was the perfect ending. But it was on some old Snow White/Cinderella tip. And you know I can't have that!

But, I've only banged out 3 chapters since mid-January. The Shame.

I am at one of those lull points, where I have to hook back into some action in the book that I've been trying to get into. Apparently I haven't developed the skill of saying what I say in 40 pages in only one page, so I have been running around in the wilderness for a minute. But I think I am back on track... A lot of what is going on in chapter 27 is going to be snatched out and turned into a short story or novella...

Now my critiuqers didn't like these chapters at all (save for one- Detroit Mec-Mec, who is my #1 fan), and I wasn't all that fond of them either... They are just some filler to get me to where I need to go, albeit they have information in them that will become important later on. I tried to explain this to my 2 bootleg "Work for free" editors "Sunshine" and "Old mean ass Cynthia", but they both just looked at me and walked away...

You bustas... that's why ya'll work for free.

Now the issha is that I needed to hand out chapters 25-29 or 30 together as a group so it would all make more sense and come together...

But Nooooooooooooo!!! Negroes were yanking on an oldgirl's shirt sleeve!!!

I got tired of walking down the hall at work, minding my own bizness, and having to hear...

Where are my Chapters??

I even got hemmed up in the bathroom once... Dang...

So there you have it... it was all a little dull. But hint, a couple of key things happened in that boriness that will be key later... LOL!!

Oh, and I have already written the ending. I am having to keep an eye on my laptop, because that editor name Sunshine likes to steal, from what I hear.

But peeps, beware... a whole lot of stuff is about to happen real fast in these upcoming chapters.

So hold on to your weaves...

Stay tuned!!

Thangs Crossing My Mind. The Case of the Stolen Truck, Part II.

click here for "The Case of the Stolen Truck, Part I"



So I’d gotten a tip.

My brother’s truck may be located down in “The Bottoms”.

Hen-Dog had given me instructions on how to get there and what street to turn on.

Simple enough.

Now my plan was simple: get up early in the morning, when all the prostitutes, crackheads, and thuggish-ruggish folks were still asleep, and go down have a look-see.

But you know me. I have a tendency to procrastinate.

Now the truck was stolen on a Wednesday, I believe.

I didn’t go to explore “The Bottoms” until that Saturday afternoon.

"But Ladylee, er'body's awake round that time, Ladylee!!!"

Yeah, I hear you. But shoot, I'd just went shopping and happen to be rolling hard near that area, trying to make it to my house.

I knew I was hood deep when I turned onto “G” street, the entrance into "The Bottoms" and there was a woman standing in the middle of a vacant on a cell phone giving someone a good cussin’ out. I mean she was straight going off on somebody HARD. My windows were down, and it sounded like she was going off on her man for cheating on her…

"N**** you better stop f***** that b**** or I'ma kill both ya'll, you bastard!!"

Oh My.

She was much better than a nice sign that said "Welcome to the Bottoms".

I decided to keep driving. I was going pretty slow, checking out some of the run-down houses, and I noticed that folks had fenced in backyards… Backyards with wooden fences that were at least 8 feet tall. I know one thing: if my brother’s truck was being chopped in one of those backyards, then no one would ever know.

Now, it did cross my mind to jump out of the car and look over some of these fences.

Yeah, it crossed my mind, from one side of my mind right on out the other. I am too scary for that.

But I decided to keep driving. I was going to stick to my basic plan: Look for the boy's truck, write down the house address and get the hell out of dodge. Wasn’t gonna be any of that confrontin’ people.

Just go scope out the place and dip, man!

I got to the back of the neighborhood and ran into a million afroed and dredlocked-up negroes wearing white t-shirts and baggy pants, all standing in the middle of the street, drinking, smoking, and laughing, and shooting basketball on a portable hoop and goal.

“Aww hell!” I exhaled.

I kept driving, hoping these dudes would just get out of the way. Now, if I had to mow the brothas down with my Mazda, it wouldn’t have bothered me one bit.

They eventually got out of the way of my car. They stared me down, obviously perturbed that I’d interrupted their basketball game and other activities.

It crossed my mind to pose a question…

“Yo playas, ya’ll seen a old red Silverado around here?”

But that was another one of those thoughts that simply crossed my mind. Again, I was much, much too scary for that.

I simply enjoyed the contact high from whatever wonderfully special herbs the brothas were smoking.

I kept driving. I remember looking back through my sideview and rearview mirrors at the brothas in their oversized white tees and saw some of them staring after me. Maybe I should have covered up my license plate? Oh well, too late for all that.

The entrance street to “The Bottoms” ran all the way through the small neighborhood, and was apparently the only real street in the neighborhood, as I soon realized that it curved all the way back around and led me back to the main street that I’d turned on. I turned back out onto the main road, and that very same chick was still standing off in the same vacant lot, cussing up a storm!

I didn’t see the truck. It crossed my mind to go back through again, but um… that would’ve been stupid. A bit more stupid then rolling down there by myself in the first place.

Oh well, I’d done my part.

Da’Kari came home the next week for Christmas break. He and Kay were sharing a rental car, and they both seem to be content with the arrangement. So, I decided to cut my little investigation short.

Well Christmas came around, and the family gathered at Grandma’s house for dinner. I remember standing around outside and joking with some of my cousins.

“Come here, Lee,” my Uncle Tweet beckoned.

“What’s up, Tweet?”

“A bunch of Chevy Truck parts came in last week.”

I was thoroughly confused. “What?”

“I said, a bunch of Chevy Truck parts, engines and transmission, stuff like that, came in at this house I know where they sell stolen parts.”

Now, Tweet is a lot like Snake, the Mayor of my hood: they are both, how should I say this… They are both a bit fond of partaking of and smoking certain substances.

Tweet continued talking to me about some little chop shop in that neighborhood, and he’d seen some parts, and thought I should go check it out.

“Lee, what you need to do is, get the VIN number from the truck, take it down to this shop and see if you can match that VIN number with the parts. That’s what you need to do. And if you see a match, go head on and call the police.”

Oh see, he was trippin’. I looked at him hard, and he appeared to be sober. I’d been talking to him all afternoon, and he wasn’t high. But I knew that he couldn’t be serious.

A crazy image crossed my mind: Me standing in some dope boy’s chop shop, with a slip of paper containing Kari’s truck VIN number, going from engine to engine, trying to match up the numbers, then upon finding a match, me pulling out my cell phone, and dialing 911…

followed by me getting straight up pistol whipped and shot…

“Nawl Tweet,” I said as calmly as possible, trying not to scream. “I think I will pass on that.”

“Well I’m just telling you. Them parts came in.”

“Yeah, Tweet.”

Later, when I was sitting at the dining room table, eating some of Grandma’s homemade sweet potato pie, another Uncle, my Uncle Dean, ran up on me.

“Lisa, Tweet told me about those parts that came in. You need to go check it out.”

What the hell was going on? Did they really want me to get shot or something?

Well my uncle Dean proceeded to give me this long, LONG drawn out lecture about how I needed to go check it all out, and how it was all a matter of principle.

“People should not steal, Lisa. It’s just wrong. It's a matter of principle.”

I just sat there and listened.

Wondered silently to myself if my uncles were really serious, or if they had both been smoking a little something, something. I turned around and looked at DaKari, who was sitting in the livingroom, watching a movie on my laptop… It was very obvious that he wasn’t sitting around distraught and upset about his missing truck. He'd been skinnin' and grinnin' all damn day. Shoot, all day long, he'd been in all the pictures I'd taken. Even Uncle Tweet was cheesing along with him in few pics.



I’d done my five minutes of detective work. That was all that they were going to get from me.

Well to make a long story short, the police found the stripped down truck, on a street near my Grandma’s hood.

So maybe my uncles were on to something. Far be if from me to find out.

The insurance company totaled the truck out, and Ma got the insurance money.

The boy went and bought a new car. He speaks fondly of his old truck, and he does miss it, but he seems to be happy about the new Grand Am he just purchased.

Hopefully this one won’t go missing…

If it does, hopefully it won’t cross my mind play the Wanna-be Investigator!!

The Case of the Stolen Truck, Part I

It was a typical sunny weekday morning, approximately a week before Christmas.

My sister Kay was frantically running around, getting ready to leave for her job at the bank. She usually leaves the house around a quarter after eight.

I was laying in bed, brooding because I had to get my ass up and get ready for work. The sound of the triple chime sounding when the front door opened was usually my signal to get up and get ready.

I heard the triple beeps when the door opened. Then I heard it close.

Next thing I know, Kay appears in the doorway of my bedroom.

“Lee, where’s the truck?”

I looked at her like she was crazy.

“Lee, I parked the truck on the street last night. It’s not there now.”

Now, it didn’t cross our minds that the truck had been stolen. So I got up, slipped my feet in my sneakers, and walked outside still clad in my pajamas. I have a pretty long driveway, so we both walked out on the front porch and looked back towards the garage.

No truck.

We looked at each other.

“Somebody stole it, Kay.”

Of course, Kay doesn’t ever know what to do in any dramatic situation. She just stood there and looked at me.

“Call Ma. I’m sure the insurance is in her name, and..”

(No need to explain all that… You know how the bootleg go. We needed my mother to come over so that she could call the police and make the police report.)

On her way over to my house, Ma’s van broke down somewhere. Kay used my car to go get her. Ma came over, and they waited for the police. We made small talk, but she hung out with Kay. I was more concerned with avoiding some weird argument with her, in my house where I pay mortgage. Let’s just get this police report done without any sh** going down…

But all went well. I took my sister and mother to get a rental car. Then I drove down to Cabbagetown and hung out with Carter-Anne, one of the Original Oldgirls, for a half and hour, before dragging myself to work.

My biggest concern about that stolen truck?

It was my brother DaKari’s truck, his pride and joy : a big candy apple red 1992 Chevrolet Silverado.


Ma had bought that truck for one of her idiot boyfriends, and when that relationship went sour, she’d promised DaKari that it would be his once he got his license.

DaKari had been driving it since he was 16. Kay went and snatched it when DaKari went into the military. It was kind of like that scene from coming to America, you know, when them African boys (played by Eddie and Arsenio) went to Queens, New York to find a queen, and they left their luggage outside.

You remember how the neighborhood folks snatched up that luggage when they left it out on the curb.

Well, that’s what Kay did with that truck. She snatched it with the quickness!

The problem becomes, what do you tell the boy about his truck? I mean, what do you tell a boy who’s truck has been stolen? What do you tell the boy who use to sleep with his car keys so that our mother’s alcoholic dope fiend husband wouldn’t take it? Just what do you say?

I didn’t know, and I was very concerned about that…

But there were a couple of things about that truck that were jacked up:

First of all, for the past couple of years, the latch on the back sliding glass window of the truck was broken, making it quite easy for anyone to just slide that glass door open and get on in there and take his truck. I’d been on his rusty tail to go ahead and get that window fixed. His reply was always the same.

“Don’t worry about it, Shawty. I’m gonna get that back window replaced with a full solid window.”

Did he do that? No!

Second, I hated that truck. It had well over 200,000 thousand miles on it. And it drove and sounded like the funky car in that old cartoon Hong Kong Phooey. It was an automatic, but it felt like you were driving a stick, and it felt like you forgot to let the parking brake up or something. It was quite unnerving. Kay was always giving me advice on how to drive it.

“Lee, you got to push that gas pedal just right.”

You’ve got be kidding me.

Anyway, the boy called from Army Basic training. I think he noticed that I was quiet while he yacked nonstop to me on the phone. Finally he said “Lee, I already know about the truck, so no need to be so quiet and try to keep it from me.”

I breathed a sigh of relief.

He said he was okay with it. He was going to get another car anyway when he finished up his reserves training.

So that was cool.

Meanwhile, I talked to my neighbor, the Infamous Hen-Dog about the stolen truck. We both realized that the Mayor of my ‘hood, Snake, was locked up. This usually meant that we have to watch our possessions a bit more carefully, since he’s not around to do any special investigations or snitch on perpetrators.

But Hen-Dog is friendly with other neighborhood crackheads, and one in particular, an older abuser Mr. Thomas, saw some odd people on our street that evening…

He said those strange folks were from a place in our hood know as “The Bottoms”, an extremely seedy part of the neighborhood that gentrification and revitalization would NEVER, EVER find.

Now, I don’t venture out too much around my hood. I take the occasional short-cut through some backstreets just in case there is a game down at the stadium. I ain’t like the white people that have moved to the hood, out speed walking and jogging, and all that craziness, just throwing caution completely to the wind. I tend to stay on my street, so if some mess jump off, I can break out and make a mad dash for my own house.

But Hen-Dog explained to me where “The Bottoms” were located. Turns out it was no more than a half mile down the cross street from my house.

“Just roll down there, LadyLee. Mr. Thomas said that them boys are probably so stupid, they might be still trying to remove the engine and the transmission from that truck.”

Yeah, they had to be stupid. They stole a truck that was pretty much on it’s last leg. How stupid could you get!

That didn’t seem like a bad plan. I mean it wasn’t like I was walking down to “The Bottoms”… I was driving. And if I had to run a fool over in the Mazda, then so be it.

So my plan was simple: I was going to make a trip down to “The Bottoms” to see if I could spot my brother’s truck anywhere.

Looking back on this notion?

This was quite stupid.

To be continued...

The high price of Gas!!

Yo... remember this?




Remember how HARD you were whining about gas being all high at $1.50 per gallon??

Remember that??

Now gas is close to $3.00 per gallon in the ATL...

Shoot, I wonder what cha'll gonna say once gas prices REALLY hit the roof...

GLORY!!!!

I've only filled up my tank 3 times this year, since I live close to work, and rarely drive. So I am not all that bothered by it (right now)... It just seems that this is the HOT topic whenever I watch the news...

So hate it for ya'll... Really, I do.

But seriously, SOMEBODY out there is making some serious bread off of this gas hike...

Somebody's pockets are getting Fat, Fat, PHAT!!! PHATTER BY THE MINUTE!!

Newsflash... It's not yours or mines.

Why, it's been reported that Exxon Mobil's former CEO Lee Raymond has received 700 million dollars in payouts over the last 13 years.

Dude has PHAT pockets... And I am sure there are many more CEO's with bulging pockets...

Bet they're not worried about these high gas prices...

Humph... wonder how long the oil companies are going to get away with this???

My 100th POST!!!!!

My 100th post... OH MY!!

Who woulda thought I would make it this far!!?!!

Okay... This was difficult...

I had about 250 things, but had to cull it down to around 100... So, I had to take out a few controversial things, and a few things that would get me cussed out, and a few things that would make you say...

"Oldgirl is STRANGE".

Shoot, you may say that anyway. LOL!

So without further adieu:

100 things about the Oldgirl.

I was born in 1970. I am 36 years old… (Yeah, I tell my age… I am happy to be alive, babes!)

I was born in Atlanta, Georgia. That makes me a true ATLien.

I am not a “Grady Baby”. I am a “SWATS” baby, i.e., born at Holy Family Hospital, which was later renamed Southwest Atlanta Community Hospital, on Fairburn road (ATLiens will know where that is!)

My parents divorced when I was 15 months old.

I started kindergarten at the age of 4.

I skipped the second grade.

When I began the third grade, I was six years old.

I attended private school until the fifth grade.

I moved to College Park at the age of 8, when my mother married my sister Kay’s father.

I began 6th grade in public school at the age of 9.



I was one of the smartest people in class, due to being slightly ahead because of my private school education.

I met LadyTee when I was 9 years old. She and I became best friends when I was 11.

I am the oldest of three siblings.

I have one sister named “Kay”. She was born when I was 11 years old. She is now 24 years old, and currently lives with me.

I could not stand her father. He was a functional alcoholic and dope fiend. My mother divorced him when I was 14. I was glad to see him go.

I have one brother name Dakari. He was born when I was 17. He is an 18 year old Army man, now.

My first crush was on a guy by the name of .Oli.vet.ti. I use to leave notes in his locker. Somehow he found out. He wasn’t interested. This was good, especially since I was only 12.

I lost my virginity to “TB” at the age of 15. I was in the eleventh grade, and I was determined to do the nasty before leaving high school (looking back, that was… stupid). LadyTee still bitches at me about this until this very day, some 21 years later. TB lived up the street from me. He’d been my best male friend for the past seven years prior to the “event”. I dumped him suddenly for a guy I’d been trying to talk to for a good year. That was the first time I’d broken a man’s (boy’s) heart. The shocked look on his face bothers me to this very day. “LadyLee I care about you, what about us?”

*Crickets*

Looking back, it was one of my nicest relationships… Too bad we weren’t older.

My favorite teacher in high school was Mr. Jaber. He taught physics but would set aside time each week to discuss some of his philosophical views of life (click here for a post on this). Some of the things he said… I still carry in my heart to this very day.

I graduated high school with honors at the age of 16.



My first job, making $3.35/hour, was at a T.CBY frozen yogurt shop the summer prior to starting college. My first paycheck was $95.00. You couldn’t tell me I wasn’t rich, rich, RICH.

I began college, majoring in pre-med, at a university in downtown Atlanta the following Fall. My mother would not let me go away to school. She thought I was too young.

I changed my major from pre-med to chemistry during my sophomore year of college. I hated the biology classes, and all the blood involved when dissecting frogs, etc.

My second job, at the age of 17, was working as an operator on a drug hotline. Here I met an Original Oldgirl, Carter-Anne. She was a 24 year old psych major, and had to be the strangest white girl I’d ever met, sort of a cross between a beatnik and a flower child. We are still friends to this very day.

I’ve only been in love twice.

I met my first love when I was 17. His name was Elij.ah. I went to high school with him. As a matter of fact, he was in my homeroom for a few years. I never paid him much attention then, just thought he was a nice guy.

He was an orphan, and was pretty much on his own. He had his own place at times, which made me completely wreckless.

We dated for three years. I was a little wreckless with other men, i.e., couldn’t be faithful. My silly behind told him about this, and he couldn’t get past it. He ended up seeing someone else, and getting married.

I was emotionally wrecked behind the breakup. It took me 2 years to get over him.
6 years later, he found out where I lived and told me that he still loved me. It felt good to stand on my doorstep and realize I had absolutely no feelings left for him.

I worked for the postal service for six months, when I was 18. It was one outright exercise in monotony. There I developed a firm understanding of why employees run up in a place with a gun and shoot people. I am continuously perplexed as to why management likes to mess with employees minds, money, and livelihood. You never know who is crazy or not.



I fooled around with a married man when I was 18 years old. I decided to leave him alone when he showed me the jagged wounds on his chest left after his wife attacked him with a pair of scissors. No need for me to be caught up in a bunch of craziness.

Someone said that I should disclose my number of sexual partners… Hmm… somewhere in the double digits… so that means anywhere between 10 and 99. I’ve either been leaning towards innocent or I've been a straight-up ho. Take your pick. (LOL)…

I obtained my first chemistry job, a co-op with Am.oco, when I was 19. My paycheck was $524.00 every two weeks. Again I was rich, rich, RICH.

I met one of my best male friends, Timmy-Tim (who is now Cowgirl Cre’s hubby), when I was 19. He was my number one mental and emotional support all throughout undergrad and grad school.



I left home suddenly in 1991. Mother had a live-in boyfriend, and she continuously got angry with me because I was not worshipping at his feet. She went off on me one day for not saying “thank you” to him in the proper manner. I left after that. Turns out old boy, who I thought was at least 40, was only 5 years older than me. (LadyTee is still screaming about that. She said “yes sir” to him a few times. We both can’t wait to catch that dude out on the street somewhere. We both have a few words for him.)

I slept on a friend’s couch for 5 months. I began grad school at a private uppity University in Atlanta in fall of 1991. I’d done summer research and had saved up a couple of thousand dollars. I got my own place that fall.

During my time at the uppity private school, I began to drank a lot. If I wasn’t an alcoholic, I was damn near close to being one.

I met the second love of my life while in grad school. “Old Boy” is what we will call him, during this time. I was 24 years old. I met him through a high school friend. I slept with him on the first date. (I was such a hussy!)

I was married for 4 years to “Oldboy”. We are now divorced.

I do not have a relationship with my mother, which deeply disturbs me.

I lived in the downtown community of Grant Park in the early 90's, the best place I’d ever lived, for about three years of grad school. It has always been the reason that I wanted to live downtown again.

I promised myself I would never shack up with a man, but I ended up shacking up with “Old Boy”. My financial situation went downhill after that… And we had an extremely rocky relationship.




My favorite color is black.

My favorite combination of colors: maroon, hunter green, beige, and dark blue.

My favorite food is chicken, whether it is fried, stewed, boiled, baked, broiled, grilled, sautéed… CHICKEN!

My favorite beverage: Boathouse Mango Lemonade. Hard to find, but when I do find it, I buy them all and throw them into the freezer in the garage.

My favorite time of day is morning, especially when I don’t have to go to work.

My favorite scents: peach and lemon.

I love expensive, custom-made candles.

I love expensive handmade and hand-dipped incenses.

My favorite season of the year: spring.

I read approximately 50 books a year.

My favorite genre of books are Black Sci-Fi and Black Horror.

My least favorite genres of books: Erotica and Urban.

My favorite female author is Tayari Jones.

My favorite male author is Brandon Massey.

My favorite genres of movies: sci-fi and action adventure.

My all time favorite movie: The Color Purple.

I love old school R&B and old school rap.

My favorite bloggers: Ladies of the SBS (you know who you are!) and them Platinum card carrying Original Oldgirls.



I cannot tolerate folks who are brownnosers. They are NOT to be trusted.

I am not popular on the job because I don't brownnose.

I stay FAR away from people whose ego must be constantly stroked. Ain’t my doggone fault you got low self-esteem.

I do not like my job right now, whereas I use to love it.

My most significant personal achievements to date: obtaining my Ph.D. in Organic Chemistry and purchasing a home on my own.

My life’s biggest failure: getting a divorce.

My biggest moment of hurt, angst, and pain: standing back and watching my brother go into the military during war time.

My favorite female relative: My Auntie J.; My favorite male relative: My Uncle Tweet.
(shown below. Shoot, am I allowed to have favorite relatives?)



I do not drink. I haven’t had a drink in 5 years.

I write for at least one hour per day.

I am 80% done with my untitled manuscript. Around the job, we call it Sweet Heat.

I am a member of the baddest book club in the world: Circle of Friends II, Atlanta Chapter.


I am not a compassionate person, but most of my friends are very compassionate people.

I am constantly working on being unselfish. I’ve come a long way, but I’ve got a very long way to go.

My biggest idiosyncrasy: once you burn me, I am pretty much through with you. Oh, I’m polite and all, as I don’t have a right to be unforgiving, but DO NOT, under any circumstances, come make small talk with me, or cheese in my face. You found it necessary to burn me, you have your reward. Enough said.

Another idiosyncrasy: I hate being inconvienced.

My worst idiosyncrasy: I have moderate anger management issues. Heck, that is better than severe. I am working on having mild anger management issues.

I am a loner, and I prefer not to be around too many people for long periods of time.

Being thought of as part of a “clique” completely unnerves me, seeing that I am grown and not in high school.

I love to crochet.

My nick names: Lee, Lisa, Lee-Lee, Lisa-Anne, Ms. Lee, LadyLee. My grandfather started calling me “Lee” when I was little. My entire family calls me Lisa. LadyTee’s Mama calls me “Lisa-Anne” (I have NO idea why). “Ms. Lee” and “LadyLee” are old high school nickname. It was my graffiti tagline. I use to grafitti up people’s blue jeans and shirts, and make banners for a small fee. I always signed my work “Ladylee”.




I am 5’7”.

The only place I have lived outside of metropolitan Atlanta is New Orleans, LA.

I do not have any children.

My favorite TV shows are any shows where there is a murder, and they backtrack through the whole backstory to figure out what happen, i.e., Law and Order, City Confidential, etc.

I do not drink sodas. I mostly drink water and watered down juice.

I believe in God.

I go to church every Sunday. I attend bible study on Wednesday nights.

I pray every day.

I read my bible everyday, but I have a tendency to get bogged down in researching backstories, root words, etc.

I am a Playstation 2 fiend. I can get caught up in it for hours, but I have curbed that bad habit sharply in the last 6 months. I have a 1 or 2 hour per week habit now.


I have one pet: an eight year old brown tabby name Oscar-Tyrone.

I love pedicures, even though I wear sneakers all the time.

I am a closet history buff.

I am a current events fanatic.

Unlike most women, I HATE to shop.

My favorite holidays are Memorial Day and 4th of July.

My least favorite holidays: Easter and Christmas.

I love old cartoons (Superfriends, the Flintstones, The Jetsons, etc.)

I take my laptop everywhere I go, just in case I have a thought that I need to quickly type out!!

Last, but not least… I AM the Original Oldgirl. Enough Said!!!!!