Coming-of-age stories and moments are supposed to be for teenagers and boys whose testicles have barely dropped. Not for formerlies like myself. But, I keep having these coming of age moments since my Mom passed and I meet hard moments head on. Maybe they should be called coming-of-old-age stories.

Last week, I finally went to clear some of my Mom's stuff. Three floors and a cellar full of memories, moments and enough papers to fill at least four Got Junk trucks. Only managed to get to two rooms--kitchen and a bathroom. Made a minor dent in another room. Collected pictures. Found my daughter's artwork, her Big Foot award from when she learned to tie her shoes, and even my own paintings. A portrait of a lady done when I was six. Pretty detailed for a child. Can even remember when I did it, in Paris, while my mother typed her first novel.

Wondered down Memory Lane. Rolled through Nostalgia Alley. Ate the food that made me feel comfortable and remember moments with my Mom. Felt at peace, even comfortable in that house and its mound of students' papers, and copious notes for those next novels buried deep in the soul of an incredible spirit. And as I dug through and tossed my Mom's things away, it hit me-- I realized what it is I'm supposed to do with the rest of my life. Guess it's my calling to unearth hidden talent found in the souls of the creatives that darken my doorstep. Maybe that's always been my talent to be that fairy that waves a wand and poof--your dreams come true. Hell, I was the fairy in the first-grade play. Maybe that's the pit in my stomach I've been feeling since I got back from clearing my Mom's house. My house. My daughter's house. The house I left but never left me.

Fall's here. Time to get the wand and get to wavin'.

High Anxiety

I'm having some moments--work, life and the cousins. My life for the most part is simple and beautiful. Nice home. Nice dog. Wonderful daughter. Great step-father. Cool extended family, friends and awesome siblings. What more could there be? Work is work--a crazy and chaotic group of misfits with the intellectual capacity to perform less menial tasks, but hey, it's a job! Life--again, the friends, the dog, the daughter, the father, the family. Enough said. So why am I feeling anxious and uptight? Am I sleepy? Yes. Am I hungry? No. Am I so pissed off at the bathroom contractors who've left me shower less mirror less and in 2 inches of white dust everywhere complaining about the work they know they were to do and the extras they've created by their own doing who have been no shows for the past three days and sent me a jacked up email at 1am which I am still fuming over? Yes--that's it. And the fact that I went out on a limb to help my own and they fucked me. Now I have to hire a new crew to finish what they should have done, the extra they could have been paid to do and wonder why it's so hard to get folks to give you the same respect you give them. Oy. Just wanted to spruce up my bathroom so I can chill in it as I enjoy my somple life. Not much to ask. I guess some folks just need to make things difficult. I'll be happy when classes start.

Not much of a deep rant this week. Just a rant.

Spring Has Sprung

It was a Sunday morning, in March. First day of Spring and my daughter was born. It was very early and I remember going into my mother's room and telling her it was time. "Time for what?" she mumbled. "Time for the baby to come". Time for my life to forever change is what I should have replied. Time for good things to always come to me in March. Time for laughter and lessons and growth. Never would have imagined that the time would come when my Mom would not be there or calling on "our" girl's birthday. But yesterday that time came to pass. The day was just as beautiful as that day in Spring 27 years ago, though. My Mom would have liked that we spent it in the park and that my daughter looked resplendent and happy.
There are many more first days of Spring to come. Many more happy moments to be had. Many more walks in the park and many more great things to happen in March.
It's time to spring forward.

Write Something

Gosh, been forever and a day since I've written anything worth sharing. Have a ton to share but not in the mood to. Lost my Mom. That loss made me lose it and lose my love of writing for a minute. But I promise to write again. And write that book. And write this and other blogs. And give voice to others who must and can write. My Mom would have loved that. She always said I could write and I believe her.

Back in the Saddle

OMG! Fall already and before you know it--2010!

This summer pretty much sucked wenis. Cold and long. No real fun to speak of and loads of unsolicited drama. Folks came without warning and took without asking. Left a ring in my tub and DNA on my toilet (where's Clarence Thomas when you need him?). I'm done. Folks moved in without warning with pancake mix in tow. Had to fight some battles and feed the greedy. Stayed clear of stores and missed visiting the shore, and the bond between mother and daughter grew even deeper.

Going to be doing some big things this fall with folks I've been searching for for a lifetime. Like-types. Going to have a new perspective and and a new sanctuary. New platforms from which to spring and revamping some old ones. Promise to care about how I dress even if I am stuck to the chair and computer all day (never know whom you might meet!) Not going to let folks and their hidden agendas derail me (again). I trusted my gut and it feels good. I had faith and all worked out for the best. And I think I may have found the vest. Bananas.

Summer of Love

This has been one funky summer. No heat to speak of. June was all wet. Michael Jackson crossed over to the other side, and I've yet to wear all my cool sandals and outfits meant for a trip to Cali.

Back to the grind and back to being my old amped up self. Gotta get that fire in the belly back or risk being one step short of those dreams and goals I set for myself years ago. Been a cool little journey thus far, with some bumps and turns, with the road always seeming to get smoother before it gets longer. Been lucky that way, or maybe smarter than I give myself credit for. Gotta make some changes and manage expectations. Get folks to get on the good foot or get to steppin'. I have to high-tail it back to the front of the pack-- where I belong.

Second half is going to be awesome, I will it to be so.

Back to life. Back to reality.

I've been thinking about the entertainment industry and the music I've grown up on, and how I've made my living. Not what it used to be. And never again will it be like it was. Had been thinking about where my love of music and this biz came from, and when and where I somewhat lost my passion for it. I'm disgusted by the wannabes and the trifling and the talentless. There is no effort and no respect for music lovers and fans, and that saddens me. Michael's gone and never will anyone come close to replacing him. I've got mad love for Prince. Seal rocks my soul. I still love House. And my own weird playlist of sounds and tunes. That's it. It's over. I'm done.
This biz has been good to me and I've made of it what I wanted it to be for me. Beyond that, it sucks. Look what it does to people, what folks become and that is so not the intent of making music and film. Folks get power hungry, become addicted to the fame and fortune, often lose their way and all sense of reality. Poor Michael, with his self-loathing and pain. Fragile creature, too frail to take the ugliness of the world. Never that. I am sad for you Michael and I cry for me and my loss of the love of music. Back to my new life and reality.

Is it summer yet?

This was one hell of a week. So much happened,I forget it happened this week. The weekend was funky. Tried to be nice to some folks who in turn, simply forgot to thank me. Got bent out of shape and the whole thing escalated for the world to see. Not cute. Then I had to remember (because I forget), that men and women communicate differently, and emotionally challenged men even more so. So Monday started off beyond funky and blue. Was blue, had a major blowup, a boo hoo and then had to use blue language with someone well on the verge of turning blue (his face was a beet red when I left in a fit of rage).
Tuesday was awkward but got off on a good foot, had me come to terms and make peace, and then the evening ended on another sour note. Hump day had me humping. Thursday had me helping and the week ended on such a high note, I can't believe what just happened. I do know that when folks piss me off again, I can just think about the good stuff and all the other stuff will mean nothing in my grand scheme of things.

This week's lesson: Talk is cheap. Loud talking can get you heard, if not some reaction. Communication solves mostly anything and in the end, I'm always right!

Crush Groove

Should have learned my lesson last time I let folks not old enough to know who Kunta Kinte is in my house, this time for what I thought would be a celebration of the creative spirit, graduation, birthdays, academic accomplishment and the gathering of good folks, regardless of age.
Should know better than to try and make folks have class, finesse, good intentions and the like when they've been programmed and hard wired in ways I will never truly comprehend. I can have all the empathy in the world, but I will never know. And so I had a party, that turned more into my being less Martha Stewart domestic diva and more Aunt Jemima/ Flo Evans hostess- with-the -mostess type undeserving diva. Smashed cake on my floors and didn't pick it up, spilled drinks, ate up all the food, had a good time, came empty handed and then left without even a thanks for allowing us-to-come-into-your-home-again-showing-us-a-good-time-caring-about-us-more-than-our-own-mothers-do goodbye! Wow! Smack in the face. Whack upside the head. I'm done. Now the elitist that I so was not brought up to be has to rear her little let's- not-love-everyone- because-we're- not-cut-from-the-same-cloth head and stick to my own kind--folks who are smart, sensitive, funny and appreciate someone doing anything for them no matter how small the gesture--kind. No point getting even more upset than I was. Cry it out. Holler it out. Cuss it out. Vent it out. And know that this too shall pass. I tried.

How could I forget

Memorial Day is all about remembering those that fought for us, died for us, and a time all but forgotten for many. It's also the unofficial kickoff of summer and all that jazz. End of the winter blues, spring flings, April showers.
Didn't spend this day remembering much other than the good times I used to have or once had and thinking I need to create some new memories before I can't remember what I don't want to forget or I become part of what time forgot.
Read this article in ELLE this week, about a woman much like myself, who felt like she was hanging on a cliff by the tips of her well manicured fingers, one foot dangling while the other tried to get a grip and hoist herself back up the mountain-side. "Hang on girl"-- remember you don't like heights. Soaring to new ones, yes. Slippin', no. I still have some fight in me. Some Kung Fu grip. Some soul. Many reasons for folks to want to connect with the me that I am now. And not the memory of me, that old me that once was, but the new and better me. Boy, do I remember the times that I once had.

Oh well, carry on. Time to get some ground-gripping shoes and keep it moving. Next year, I'll be in the Hamptons with folks who will not have forgotten about me and with whom I will have made new memories.

Black Cat Blues

So, if I learned anything about myself this week, it's that I am resilient, resourceful, rambunctious, resolute and radiant in yellow!

The week started off with unresolved issues related to business. I don't know if the other party is retarded (pardon the un-PC like reference), or honestly suffering from dementia (in which case you need to get some help), but the whole repartee was ridiculous! By the way, I love it when I just let it go and flow wit it. And divine intervention is good, because I was near ready for some ghetto like intervention. Which brings me to this point: do men just think women are dumb and can be treated any ole kind of way, disrespected and devalued particularly when they know or assume you have no man in your business or personal life to physically or subconsciously keep them in check? If I came with Big Willy to my meetings or Jim-Bob answered my business line, or I came around with a 6'4 boo, then you'd respect me. WTF??? Say, I was Oprah they'd not fuck with me, but I'm a mini Oprah sans the money and Steadman or burly bodyguard--and you want to get stupid? Test me? Make me go there.? When all the while, you're just pissed because my doin'-for-myself -ass has more going on than you do, is paying your bills and I don't need you to make things happen?! I digress. But I'm pissed, and single women entrepreneurs or hell, women period will know what I'm dealing with and talking about. Like I'm some emotionally driven wretch of a wench... Long story short--cat wanted to hold my stuff hostage because he had no other way to save face with his dilettante crew and wanted to force me to work with him. You cost me time, energy and money and you think I will move forward long term with you? You must be smoking some Cuban crack, or the male pattern baldness topical treatment has seeped into your somewhat less that sharp brain!

But, I let go. I simply let go. Took a deep breath and simply let go, and poof, the tide turned and all will be right once again. I reverted back to what got me to where I am in the first place: resolve, perseverance and that carpet bag of tricks Felix the Cat used to dig into whenever he was in a fix. When folks throw a wrench in the game, don't let "no monkey stop yo' show". So a little prayer, some diary entries and poof--problem fixed--and some well placed phone calls to secure my own resources helped too.

In the end, I have to have faith in myself, trust my first voice and know that it will work out. It always does and I always do.

Mother Dear

Mother's Day should be everyday. I love my Mom, she's the best. Not a typical Mom in the sense that she baked cookies and made dinner every night, wore an apron and cleaned in her heels and pearls. No, she was the modern Mom--cool, independent, worldly, understanding, confident, ambitious, bold, creative, funny, stylish, intelligent, well read, sophisticated, the original MILF (sorry...)--just the kind of Mom you could only make up, and she was that Mom. My Mom. Is my Mom. And she's still all those things and some. She supported my dreams and encouraged me to be whatever I wanted to be. If only I could be half the mother she is.

Yesterday, I realized, on the eve of yet another Mother's Day, I am in many ways like my Mom--the one all my daughter's friends think is cool, until they forget I am someone's mother and say something perhaps reserved for someone half my age. Like they did yesterday. I guess I've lived long enough to understand that they don't know any better, or maybe they just forget. But I am a Mom and in many ways, I am half the mother my Mom is. So I made stoup (that's stew that thinks it's soup) for my daughter and listened to her rave about having found her passion. I'm proud to be her Mom. Happy Mother's Day to me.

Unstoppable

EIF Run Walk for Cancer was this Saturday and I participated. 40,000 strong and I was part of it. Alone and determined, I laced up and headed up 7Th Ave to Central Park. Half trot, half power walk and a full sprint through the finish line, I did it. For me. For my Mom who didn't sign up for cancer, last I checked. For my niece, Coki Tai who was booted from the race too soon. For my daughter, who'll one day be a doctor and find a cure for her own disease, MS. Moving. Empowering. Invigorating. Next year, I run all the way. For now, I'm doing my part and going to find a way to make real contributions.
What a week.

Living the right life

Jeez, been a cool minute since I sat down and pumped something out. Not that I don't think about writing or updating, just get sidetracked, or better yet, I allow myself to be sidetracked. And here I swore to never let that happen again. There goes that resolution. Could be, because it has been the same resolution since 1998. See, there I go again, off track.

And like I declared in 1998, I was going to find the truth, my truth, live the life I imagined. I rolled out of bed and set out to do just that. But somehow, I got relegated to being a basement boo (more on that later), and making someone with no vision's dream real. Spent the better part of 2 years back in the bed, eyes wide shut, dreaming once more of what I could be. Maybe I needed a stronger pair of glasses. So the kindred spirit that I have been declared to be, once again has spread her energy thin, and once again has needed to shut her eyes and dream again about what I can be.

So after some nearly 4015 sometimes fitful, sometimes fruitful, sometimes frigid, sometimes fearful and sometimes fantastic nights, I'm finally doing my thing. And when I say my thing, I mean my thing, my way, regardless of what others may think my thing is or should be. It's my dream. Get your own.

The Old Rules

In life, love, business--the old rules no longer apply. At least not for me. Who set the rules in the first place? Parents? Teachers? Preachers? Politicians? Some old biddy down the street who needed to get a life? Who decided how you should do things and what was the proper way to do them? I don't know. I guess I really have nothing to write about this week. so I guess I'm breaking my own rule of having to publish something once a week or I won't be on point with the rest of my new-to-this-interactive-thing peers. I've been on the computer tapping out prose and press releases since the early 80s. Hated it then and kinda like it now. But I still like a pen and some paper to think about my ideas first, then it all comes rushing out through my weary and worn fingertips like a faucet.

Oh well, I'll write in my ole handy trusty notebook today, and maybe become inspired to jott something meaningful down. Old habits die hard.

Old School Fiesta

My daughter has a way with hamburger meat--meat loaf, gourmet and smothered burgers and tacos. Just delicious. We had them yesterday, as an end-of-week celebration and part of Saturday us-time.

This was an odd week. I had some ups and downs and dealt with what I thought to be some slights, remarkably well. When just two weeks ago, I was dealing with the launch of two significant projects, this week was some--I don't know that I'd call it fall out-- but some weirdness around those projects. And in Hip Soul Chic fashion, I handled them well. I think.

This is what went down. We rushed and rushed, and pushed and didn't sleep to deliver one project for the start of gridiron season only to have the site not even up and running. No fault of ours, they insisted on us posting the modules to their server. Then in some typical-- folks will ask for more than they should, as they pay you far below what any normal human being even a desperate for a project one would accept--way, pulled that "I'm the client and I'm doing you a favor" bullshit and started being more than nit picky and asking for changes instead of tweaks and claiming we weren't doing the work when it was her tech guy who was the cog in the wheel. Aarrghhh. Then the client (and I use the title through tightly clinched teeth) had the nerve to go behind my back and ask my folks to do the work she knew I would not approve. Frickin' ingrate. Was 250+ additional hours on a project not enough for you? Was the fact that we delivered something that not only surpasses what you could have imagined or even asked us to design, not enough? Was this not delivered on time, beyond expectation and going to guarantee another decade worth of relationship with your high profile partner (who views you as the the bench- warmer that they have to amuse because he's the owner's kid) ? Folks are a mess. No doubt, she'll ask for more and try to squeeze all she can out of us, when what was delivered is more, and I do mean more, than what anyone will expect.

So if that wasn't enough, I couldn't get a read on my other team on the other project and almost felt like ideas I had shared were being --dare I say: stolen? and emails and requests not being answered, and my excitement and dream having to be reworked yet again. But alas, things got back on track and I'm once gain excited by the prospect of what is going to be something way cool and meaningful (in a capricious sorta of way, not a Doritos empowering kinda way).
I got inspired and I'm convinced that folks don't get it and build sites without the users in mind. Are they not users? All the hype and buildup kills me, when you get to the site and there is nothing, you can't find the much talked about exclusives and video (let alone how to find it if it did exist) and the site fails to engage, or be relevant to anyone other than the pre-pubescent woman-child the developer was fantasizing would one day bed him after he built the over-hyped, underwhelming site he overcharged some poser marketing folks for. Not that I piss where I sleep, but you know to whom I am referring.

So in the midst of this madness that frankly had me depressed and ready to get a real job, I accompanied my daughter to Columbia for a meet and greet/ tour/ informational session thing. She plans to go there next year, as she inches closer to being a doctor. (I'm going to need that lobotomy sooner than later foolin' with these idiots I call clients). And it brought back some feelings and stirred up some stuff, I wasn't equipped to deal with this week in the midst of my tech crisis.

I love school. I loved being in school and think of those school days as the best times of my life. If only I were a practicing attorney vs. the entrepreneur of many hats I find myself being these days, perhaps I'd get some quicker responses to emails, calls and I'd be taken a bit more seriously? That's a rhetorical question I ask myself daily. So being on that campus and imagining my father walking around and philosophizing (he studied there), and my cousin accepting an esteemed award (she taught there), and now my daughter about to make a mark on these grounds made me a bit weepy, if not filled with pride of her seemingly endless abilities that go far beyond her ability to render me nearly comatose, if not euphoric, which her cooking seems to do.

Wow, seeing her all grown up and about to embark on a journey which has had its share of false starts and detours, is quite emotional. I know she's going to make it and do more than well. That's not the problem; it was the feelings of missed opportunities that I had that filled me with regret, at a time when I should only be thinking about her and what she must be feeling. But I guess that's just me the over-achiever who gave birth to an over-achiever who is achieving things that I could only dream of. I guess I made a way for her in some small way, so I should have no regrets.

As her incredible journey begins and we celebrate all that awaits, I guess my new journey begins too and opportunities still are available to me. I just have to make my own and have no regrets.

Party on...

My Fashion Week

Two weeks ago, two key things happened: Football season started and Fashion Week kicked off. I'm in heaven and a bit of hell. As the daughter, mother, sister, niece, granddaughter of fashionistas (and some sharp brothas)--fashion fuels me. Not just shopping and imprinting my own style, but the colors, fabrics, energy and creative energy involved. It's a way of life. It is life. And right now, life is good.

And then we have sports. My other passion (I have many, and that's...okay). Favre came to NY. Phelps reigns supreme (I was a swimmer and lifeguard). Brady got injured (sniff) and Michigan will always be numero uno to all (!) So, that part of my spirit is in a good place too.

But what to do when both worlds call, and I need to answer professionally and personally to both? So just when this could have been the best week EVER, I was too busy to truly grasp what it meant to me and for me. And in many ways for my being Black in America. I've had opportunity to do some cool things in my days; And for all my fussin' and cussin' and stressing over getting things just right and getting my due--I worked on two significant releases this week: the site redesign of the NFL/United Way Agency's partnership microsite, and the launch of a fashion and shopping online digest http://www.insidethetents.net/.

Next week, after all the pieces have been tested and all the modules function like a well coached team, one of the coolest sites on the web will hit the virtual field. When folks log on and see the moving timeline, players profiles that jump of the page, trading cards that flip and all the other bells and whistles, I'll be quietly on the sidelines saying: "Not bad for a little girl of color who wanted to be in the Olympics and be a sports agent, but the timing wasn't right". Uhn...

And then when Italian Vogue published an all Black model edition of their magazine this year, and the catwalk at Bryant Park is bright, but light on the usage of sistas and brothas, I pulled a coup that those in their Ivory-fashion-mag-Towers would never suspect: I go inside the tents to capture the moments and bring access before others do and will. And it won't stop there--London, Milan and Paris are next and there's Tokyo too. For all their money and seeming power, I relied on good ole fashion Black girl-get it done ingenuity (and years of business know how and relationships), and did my thing. From behind the scenes: I walked the walk. Uhn...

So my head is still pounding (no real sleep in weeks), and my fingers numb. My still heart torn between two loves (alas, there is TV, film and music too and those projects to deliver), I still have tweaks so that the work is perfect, but in the end, I realize I did good this week and made a mark on America in my own small, but significant way. What was all the fuss?

Carry on and pass the remote...

Fight the power

Where do I start? Is it me, or have people simply lost their mind? Have they been teaching empowerment classes in college, or are we victims of too much Dr. Phil and Oprah? I'm all for having a good sense of self, but must we think that the world owes us something 'cause were here? that we don't have to pay dues or be glad someone is taking the time to help us? WTF?

Helped someone out who wants to be a power-broker, dream-weaver, deal-maker. Doesn't have the first clue that she's being pimped. OK. So I'm leery, but put my faith in my friend who introduces me to her friend. Can I help her out? She has a great relationship with an outlet that you may want to get in bed with. Cool. All I need to do is coach her a little. OK. Maybe she'll be a quick study, and end of the day I have to seal the deal. Heffer never calls. Too busy having late dinners and runnin' around like she's arrived. Like she can cram last minute and ace the test. You ain't that bright. I haven't been impressed by anything you've said yet. Meanwhile she pressures me to get stuff to her so she can get her shine on. So finally we have a talk, I'm feeling like she hasn't even bothered to do any homework. Thinks because she has the hook up that she can just waltz in and seal the deal. Not happenin'. I'm already knowin'. Finally, I snap. Too old and too tired to be disrespected by some whipper snapper, and have my hard work disrespected and my soul misrepresented. Clearly she's offended. I semi apologize and wait on her follow up. No call. My friend hits me and asks if I was too hard on her. Maybe a little, but I am not going to apologize for being on top of my shit and expecting you to be too. Especially when you are going to profit from my work. Wow. I apologize. She calls me. I hit her back. She insinuates that I did owe her an apology and that she was doing me a favor. Only wants to work with people who are friends of friends and who like her!!! WTF??? I will only continue to be frustrated by her and frankly she's just not going to have anyone talk over her or raise their voice, question what she's doing. Wow. I chuckle. No worries I say. Then the phone goes dead. She calls me back. I refuse to answer. End of story. Then I was sad. Another fake busy person in the making. Another wannabe important person. Another time waster I had fallen prey to. And so young. HA! Then I thought long and hard. Maybe its me. I am not allowed to stand up for myself. I always have to be nice. Roll over and play dead. That's just wrong.


And what's with folks thinking because they have money they have a premium on brains? Buy a clue and get some sense! Folks for the most part are telling you what you want to hear, not what you need to. And me, stuck in the middle, getting it from all ends. Just trying to do what I was asked to do and some. Fell victim to some bitchassness. Where's Sir Diddy Puff when you need him? I don't even know where to end, let alone begin with this one! We feel threatened by you. You say what we wish we could but are too scared to be honest. You have too much energy and gumption, so we'll just try to kill that spirit a little for you. Throw you under the bus. Leave you out. Ignore you. Pretend you aren't in the room or conversation. In fact, we'll simply try our best to humiliate you at ever turn. WTF did I do to you? I'm not trying to be boss lady's best buddy, I just want to do what's best and move on. Not going to get in a pissin' match with a person who looks like she's two shakes in the wind (drunk for you young folks). I'll back off. Clearly you didn't think enough of my time and effort to call me and tell me that I wouldn't be making a trip I rescheduled my week for and made arrangements for a production crew to show up last minute only to have little ole two shakes in the wind tell me they could not accommodate the cameraman and I needed to plan these things out with her first before I made such plans because after all only she knows how to run things. Jeez Louise. Again. No worries. I got beat down and made to apologize for standing up for myself last time, so back off. Be humiliated. Let the woman think she got you. Damn, am I not watching enough Oprah and Dr. Phil? Do I need to go back to class and learn to speak up? Am I so stressed about getting paid that I'll put up with crap just to get paid for a crap load of great stuff you couldn't get this cheap? What have I become?

Maybe I did let them kill my spirit a little.

Like bees to honey

So bummed out, had to write two entries today.

So the cousins come to me this week with proposition number five thousand eight hundred and fifty two: "Girl, we gonna make some money". I have to be careful where I do my shameless self- promoting. Cast not thy pearls before swine. Some folks resent the fact that you know what you're doing and try to steal your thunder; Others, just want to steal from you. I'm an equal opportunity thief magnet!

I pride myself on being on top of my game. And while I still have much to learn and am always reading and exploring, I believe that I am miles ahead of many when it comes to my line of business. And while parts of me want to believe that people are drawn to my energy and good spirit, deep down inside, I know they are drawn to what they believe I can do for them. Still difficult for me to understand at times what they see or what they are drawn to, but I think folks just plain ole have schemes and scams on their mind and I must have "Boo Boo the Fool" written on my forehead. 'Guess I'm going to have to pull the old bullshit detector out the closet and strap that puppy to my head, pull on the hip boots and step on out. The cousins are at it again.

Now mind you, I was born in The Village to highly intellectual and cultured parents, with Eastern spiritual views. My name is Sanskrit and my uncle likened me to a little Buddha when I was born. So while I am not religious, I am spiritual and I have been taught to respect every one's beliefs. All that said, I am leery of folks. as I have said before, who tell me to have a "blessed" day, that God sent me their way and that recite Bible versus to me to cover up for the devil's spawn like garbage that they really have in their hearts and intend to spew at me. And because I come from literate folks who put a book and dictionary in my hand before I could walk, I tend to look things up, have a ton of knowledge about a bunch of subjects (and useless things), and I research the web like crazy. Plus I frickin' study those that wear the brown pants and have been navigating the virtual lane for a cool minute. Don't try to tell me about some wack ass web site you built, or some jacked up wannabe third-dimension, slower than hell piece o' crap you frickin' bullied some folks into paying you to build for their wannabe-be-cool-and-down-with-the peeps-asses. Run on sentence I know and I don't care! Thunk. Pop up blocker. Or in this case: poo poo blocker. Are you serious? Your boy built what??? And you want me to help you do what? I can make us rich ? I can have a piece of the profits you build off of me? They have got to be joking. Like I don't know when I'm being stroked and you have that big fish hook dangling? Like I'm not going to drill down and trust my instincts and not get too excited by some snake-oil salesman talk? Like I don't read between the lines, the fine print or hear what you're really saying to me? Do I look so mild mannered and innocent that you think I will be an easy target? Wow. What folks fail to realize is that I have heard it all and seen it all and I can smell you coming with your cheap eau de toilette (translation: toilet water!) wearin' behind. So stay away from me. Not interested in your get rich quick schemes, your plans to make me rich while I bring all the opportunities to the table and do all the work, but only get a fraction of the profits and you borrow money from me because you just had your Benz stolen, or better still I need to pay you a retainer fee for hooking you up with an idea. WTF??? I'm not on my grind, hustle or any of that. I have a legit business (in fact 2), and a host of initiatives which I plan to actuate and see come to fruition on my terms and at my own pace. How about that language, you forked-tongue speakin' fools? And I don't need you to help me help you.

Tomorrow, I'm back to me.

It's a family affair

Last week, Spring had sprung, my daughter celebrated another birthday, life was groovy and then, like the birds to Capistrano, the cousins came a flockin'!

Cousins come in all shapes and sizes, gender and socio-economic level. Some are smart and some are just smart asses. And some are just dumb as a bag o' rocks. And sometimes, like roaches, they just won't die no matter what kind of industrial strength repellent you use, those suckers just keep comin'. And boy do I try to keep them out of my life. I just want to go about my business, be creative, do my work and be the easy going laid back person that I am. Oh no. The cousins bring their madness and disturb the peace like it's a right of passage. Cousins have the game so twisted they'll have you apologizing to them for crap they started. I haven't had to eat crow in years. And I hate birds. Deathly afraid of them. But the cousins had me go there this week. And when I was making my forced-amends, you could almost hear the cackle and crow of the vultures in the hush of the moment as if I were a fresh piece of meat they couldn't wait to get their claws into. Frickin' harpies. I digress. Ping. Damn there they go again, frickin' email alert. But I'm determined to find some solace in this blog. Not going to let them take this away from me too. Tried to rob me of my dignity, ignore my comments and input, using me as the sacrificial lamb, forcing me to want to give up on the cousins for good. Wouldn't let them. So I'll get back to this blog and ignore them for now. Damn old birds.

So, not a good week for TV watching. Maybe Best Week EVER or The Soup will have found some foolishness for me to get a kick out of. Haven't even taken pleasure in trying to spot some brown pants. Cousins got me rattled. Just make me want to put on my roach stompers and destroy. Maybe some House music and a little Spring cleaning. Time to clear out the closet and make way for some fierce new clothes and shoes. Although I can only drool over some of the shoes. Had two back to back major foot surgeries, haven't been right since. Not good for a person who loves to get on the "good foot". That's it. I need to blast some James Brown and get my groove back.
Try this thing later when I'm feeling less anxious. Less tuned into the madness of the cousins and their fakery and dishonesty, laziness and nerve. Love my family. Hate the cousins.