Apropos of nothing...

I forget where I heard it was bad form to post more than once in a day, but since you're all friends of mine, you know how tacky I am.

Anyway. I've been apartment hunting, and let me tell you, downtown apartments are expensive. But as long as it's cheaper than what I'm paying now, I will not complain. And since homelessness is not an option, I'm wrapping this mess up as of this week. No joke. Then and only then will I finally get around to phoning you all so that I can exploit you as movers. Heh.
Um, but it's not pure exploitation: I pay in lots of greasy, salty junk food! Or healthy food, if you prefer.

Anyway, I promise to have a housewarming party soon so that you can all compliment me on my lovely apartment and remark to yourselves how badly I've been ripped off.

But oh, to live alone! How fabulous! To finally be able to run around the apartment in my underwear! (well, I already do that, but now it won't be offensive to anybody!)

The Cross-Country Tour...

was a trip. Wow. Started on Thursday morning after a whopping three hours of sleep (but you know how those gigs mash up my sleep cycle, so that was inevitable) and we hit the road.

And promptly missed our exit. Took the 10 instead of the 15. But rather than go back, we bought a map and continued on until we crossed the border through Vermont.

Ah, Vermont. Lots of hills. It was all very green. And pretty. There were old white men in every passing car. I ate my first turkey sandwich and granola bar. Not long after, it was, "Bye Vermont! What's up, Massachusetts!"
(Incidentally, I said goodbye to every state we left and what's up t every new one we entered. If I got on Stephanie's nerves, she kindly didn't let on.)

Then Massachussetts. Ah, Massachusetts. What can I say about Massachusetts? Actually, nothing, now that I think of it. It was nice, and it was over quickly. I saw one elderly black man at our bathroom break, which I thought was cool. First one! I also saw this skinny dude come rolling up in the diner wearing black PVC chaps over his blue jeans. Ugh. Actually, I'll go back to my first statement: Massachusetts, nothing much to see.

Then we rolled up in Connecticut. We stopped in New Haven to get gas (but only for the car, sadly, as Stephanie wanted to forgo a pit stop at Taco Bell or at Popeye's Fried Chicken) and I saw Yale University. Which was cool. I also saw many more black people, which I thought was a-ok. Of course, I also saw a huge economic disparity between the races, which was decidedly not. Hmph. But since I became friends with Stephanie, I've stopped wantonly abusing Americans at large, so I'll hold to that. Anyway, it's not like we're any better up here. Brown-skinned folks get the short end just as much. If you're Black or Native, you know exactly what I'm talking about. And I'm thinking about my Filipina friend who's a nanny, as well. She's got a rough deal too.

Driving through New York and New Jersey took forever, because that's where we got connected with the I-95 and had to cross through the Bronx and then the New Jersey Turnpike. At rush hour. I will not attempt to conceal the fact that after two hours crawling through traffic and really needing to use the bathroom, that some profanity snuck out from time to time. The three hours we'd slept weighed very heavily on us as we crawled through that traffic. It also meant that there was no way we'd be able to crash in Richmond, Virginia that night, which really sucked. As for New York state and Jersey, just...ew. I have just four words for you: Oil and Petrochemical refineries.

Moving on: Next was Pennsylvania. We drove by Philadelphia, and Popeye's chicken was calling out to me strongly (you may remember from a previous post that it was in Philly where I first discovered the glories of Popeye's.) Lots of hills. It was green. It was over quickly. We listened to parliament and tore the roof off the sucka.

Boistered by a promise from Stephanie that we would get some Popeye's and beers once we made it to Baltimore, we continued driving to Maryland. We were really, really, tired. The sun had gone down on a 14-hour driving day.

I'll give you the next part of the saga tomorrow for two reasons: one, I should get back to work, and two, maybe it'll seem funnier to me by then. The more that time goes by, the more I can see the humour in things.

On the road again...

Yes indeedy, I'm back for two days from Atlantic City and a killer heatwave. My cocoa-caramel tan is beginning to fade as are all the wicked bug bites I sustained while there.

And guess what else? I still have to move! Crap. My landlords are not amenable to having me stay at my present apartment without a roommate, so now I've got to pull off a miraculous move in a matter of weeks. Like, two of them.

I'm going to trust to hope and serendipity and any other benevolent force in the universe to hook me up with a decent situation. Please send all of your good and positive vibes my way, and to those of you who pray, could you make out a few of those to the Big Guy on my behalf? Much appreciated.

Well, next stop, Hotlanta...

Lots of maniacal laughing

and not a lot of work done yet.
But I have reasons! Just not good ones.

(There also happens to be absolutely no one else in the office yet today. I'm sure I'll eventually exert myself, probably for the sake of appearances and living up to my lovely job title in public when/if someone comes in today. There you go. I'm a horrible person. Or just dangerously close to my vacation time, whatever.)

Check this out:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QeTuQDJDqdM&feature=Views&page=4&t=m&f=b

I was telling Lianne about this one and you know, maybe if there had been hijinks like this at PSL, I might have stayed in the corporate world. Maybe I can bring a little of this dementia into Black Theatre Workshop. Hm. Who should I pick on first?
Probably not my boss (although, to quote Dave Chappelle: That would be the ballinest sh*t EVA!) and probably not the Marketing Director, because she works out.
The General Manager is thin and cute and sweet, and although she looks like I could break her in two by sitting on her, I bet she's secretly a ninja--you've got to watch out for the wiry ones.
I can't pick on my Program Coordinator because she's the one who makes me look professional and competent and I need her on my side. (She's also wiry and cute and probably a ninja.)
I guess that leaves the temp from the the local university. Yeah... Tyranny without fear of reprisal. Kicking little puppies and pigeons. That sounds about my speed.

And getting back to Lianne, she was telling me about these TBS commercials promoting Lord of the Rings when she came to town for Gigi's wedding. Darlings, I've got tears in my eyes and a tummy cramp from laughing. The first two are my favourite, but the third deserves an honorable mention, I think.

White Horse:

http://tbs.com/broadband/videoplayer/0,,70640,00.html

Secret Lovers:

http://tbs.com/broadband/videoplayer/0,,70636,00.html

It Sucks to be Frodo:

http://tbs.com/broadband/videoplayer/0,,70621,00.html

I'm going to show this to EVERYBODY over the next two weeks for sure. This will be worse than Nunchaku Man.

The truth of the matter is..

that there are so many worries pressing on my mind that I can't even begin to let one of them out. I'm afraid that if I do, the rest will pour out and I'll get swamped. I feel as though if I can only keep the lid on them, it'll buy me time to find a way to manage them singly. So sadly, in the meantime, you get silly stories about cute dancer boys.

God, I wish I could still afford therapy. I feel as though I'm living on credit. And if you know anything about my credit card, you know that's not good.

Aloha!

I'm back in town for a few days, desperately trying to cudgel my brain into some kind of activity for the sake of work. And not being entirely successful about it.

I'm completely knackered, I just never can sleep well away from home, and combined with the late nights of gigging, I'm in a fog. But anyway, all's well with me.
What's up with you?

I met the cast of Aladdin: The Musical over the weekend in Niagara Falls. Lovely people who by chance caught our show on Saturday. Most of the band went to see their show the next day (I was wiped out and not feeling altogether well, more's the pity) and later that night the cast came back to see us perform again. Loads of fun. Great people, so fun to hang around with. I'm almost always anti-social between sets, but I made an exception for them. And let me tell you, you never saw a more good-looking group of people congregated in one place. And Lord have mercy, could they ever dance! When I was singing Disco Inferno, they spontaneously erupted into this killer choreography together on the dance floor, and I felt like a movie star. You know, like in Goldmember when Beyoncé's workin' it on the dance floor and somehow the whole club is moving harmoniously together? Yeah, that was me, sadly, minus the afro and fabulous gold dress, but with the big legs and booty intact. It was all good.

I tell you, one lovely young man in particular busted a move on the dance floor that made me forget my lyrics in the middle of my song. Yes, it was embarrassing, but on the other hand, I defy any red-blooded woman to keep her wits about her in such circumstances.

Well, I guess that will be all for now, next week I'll be in Atlantic City again, with more tales to regale you with.
Love and kisses, baybees!

I'm not dead yet...

Just busy.

Work's been good, although I could be more productive. I've been braiding my hair and Stephanie's hair, for the past two weeks. First I unbraided and rebraided my hair, and then I did hers. Let me tell you, my biceps have been aching since then. And now I'm in Niagara Falls singing at the casino again. (Although not this very second.) Good clean fun. More details to come later.

Loving you!

Today was a scary day.

Can I tell you? So much drama.
I'm actually having a bit of trouble typing because my hands are starting to shake again.

As you may already know, we're four days into the summer intensive theatre program over here at Youthworks. Today, during the lunch break, as I was returning to the building from the nearby food court, four of my students (all girls aged 10-15) were walking about thirty feet ahead of me. They passed by a man, who started calling out after them, and then proceeded to follow them. The girls were so great, they didn't freeze up, or dawdle or engage him in conversation, they kept their heads--they took one look at him and bolted together towards the building. They outstripped him, and so he began to shout obscenities after them and proceeded to hump the nearest tree and shout the things he'd like to do to them.

I felt this burst of adrenaline: fear and more predominantly anger. It was as though there was a five second delay between my reason and my reactions. All I felt was: Protect! Stop him! Fight! I know I wasn't reasonable because the man was huge, he had a good sixty pounds and a half foot over me. It was just this sense that he was a coward or mean spirited to try to pick on little kids. There was just something about the image that enraged me, to see this big white man harassing little black girls.

I ran up to him and started hollering at him: You shut up! Stay away from my kids! What's the matter with you? Don't you ever come anywhere near here again! You're not a human being! Go away right now!
That's when I realised that he was mentally disturbed or intoxicated, because he wasn't making any sense at all in what he was saying to me. Suffice to say, most of it doesn't bear repeating, and I've already begun to block it out of my memory. I can't handle it.

But he backed down, and so I ran after my students and accompanied them up the elevator to the office. They told me then that they recognized him, because security guards at the food court had already ejected him from the building. (I'm not sure if that happened that same day, or earlier in the week, they weren't clear about that.) And the youngest girl told me that something similar had happened to her this year as she was going home from school. It breaks my heart, the poor thing. But they were safe, unhurt, and didn't seem to be in any way traumatised; basically, they were no more fazed by the situation than it warranted. They laughed it off, and stored it upfor their annals as an anecdote to tell their friends.

Five minutes later, he came back upstairs into the office looking for them. All of the students were there having lunch, so they called out that he had come back and was headed for the emergency exit. All I could think was that if I didn't do something right then, they'd never feel safe, and I ran for my cell phone and chased him down the stairs, dialling 911 at the same time. I was telling the operator the situation when halfway down the stairs, he heard me speaking, turned back and came at me. Just as he pushed me, two of my colleagues were already running downstairs and caught up with us. Luckily, one of my colleagues is a big burly black guy, and the other is a little wiry girl with the spirit of a pit bull when she's roused. So while I'm talking to 911 and the police, telling them what's happening, he's shouting at us, and keeps making lunges at me. We herded him down the stairs and out into the street. Again, none of his talk bears repeating, and in any case, he was hardly making much sense.

Once outside, he threatened to come back to the building and cut off my foot and set the building on fire. Since the police were so slow in coming, I stayed on the cell with the operator and we kept watch over him. It was really unsettling because he wasn't going away, he kept weaving back and coming towards us, but it was a two steps forward, one step back kind of thing. He meandered around the neighbourhood, and even tried to break into peoples' homes. Not to get away I think, because he always remained in view.

But more than that, I just couldn't let him out of my sight. What if the police couldn't find him? What if he came back? Finally, the police came, we identified him, they apprehended him, and they promised to come back and to take our statements in ten to fifteen minutes.

As they were loading the guy into the back of the cruiser, he started shouting again and looking back over at me. Once he was safely inside the cruiser, I started thinking: What am I going to tell all the parents? How could I tell them what happened? How could I have let this happen? Why did I confront him? It was my fault that he came back after us and followed us to the building. What if something had happened to the kids? Are they even safe with me as a teacher? Maybe if I'd have left him alone, he would have just gone away.

When the police left, we started walking back to the building, and for the first time, it registered: I felt his hands pushing me in the chest again, and I cracked. All of the fear rolled over me, washing down my face and into my stomach and back up to the top of my head and then my feet and hands got so cold. That was so scary. What if I had shown even a little bit of weakness? What if Bruno and Naima hadn't come down the stairs at exactly that moment? Maybe things would have been worse. It started to get loud in my ears, and I had to push it out, push it away.

Thank God for coping mechanisms, and that mine tends towards activity, to productivity. I still had kids and colleagues to look after. (Well, not so much the latter, but I needed some purpose to cling to.) Everything became all about keeping the workshop going, sheltering the kids from the incident, keeping things going as normally as possible. Thankfully another one of my colleagues had remained upstairs with the students, and so I sent Bruno to go upstairs to them, reassure the students and start up the classes right away.

There was no way I was going back into the classroom until I had gotten myself sufficiently calmed down. There was absolutely no need to be a hero or to prideful, as though the workshop couldn't go on without me. I just didn't want to scare the kids, I didn't want it to become all about me, you know? I went upstairs, got some photo I.D. and planned the course of action to take for the next three hours with my boss.

Then I went back downstairs to wait for the police and give my statement to them. It was weird, all of a sudden, it seemed like every man that passed by weighed 250 pounds and was wearing a green shirt. No, seriously, you'd think there was convention or something, like there was a homing signal beckoning every man fitting that description in the city of Montreal to come and pass by the building where I was waiting.

Another police officer pulled up to take my statement. He invited me into the cruiser to write down all the information while he waited for another officer to come and bring him more forms. And it crossed my mind that for the first time, I was going to step into a police cruiser. And I was for some reason embarassed and ashamed to have to do so, even though I hadn't done anything wrong. All I could think was: how does this look, a black woman stepping into a police car? (I sat in the front seat.)

Thank God he had air conditioniting, because I kept having hot flashes. Anyway, we all gave our statements, I went upstairs to call the girls' parents and make sure they got picked up from the workshop. It's amazing what you can do when you have to, to be calm and reassuring because someone else needs you to be, when all you want to do is go curl up in a ball, bawl, and throw up (in no particular order). I mean, the girls were fine, very calm and unfazed at the moment, but what if it hit them later on tonight, or tomorrow? So they needed to be prepared to talk it through with the kids. I felt horrible: all of their parents were worried about their kids, and of course I felt guilty about the whole thing. And then we had to call all of the parents and let them know what happened.

Not a fun thing for a gal who hates and avoids confrontations and such. I'm the proverbial ostrich, normally. But I learned today that that's only the case it it concerns just me. I don't know how you parents do it. That terror, that protective instinct...it's just so overwhelming and overpowering. And you live with that latent current running thorugh your veins 24/7. I'm more convinced than ever that I could never have kids of my own, because I'll always have that running inside of me now. I never want to have to feel that burst again--agh, I don't know what I feel. I'm grateful for that instinct to have kicked in, but that power is a scary thing, that feeling that you would charge like a bull and destroy someone. I want it out of my body.

Anyway, although the experience was highly unpleasant, there are so many providential things to consider. First of all, I had a great staff on hand to hold down the fort. I was done teaching my sections for the day and had other workshop leaders who could take over for me while I was dealing with all the legal, administrative, and emotional stuff, and neither the kids nor the schedule were disrupted.

Second of all, that man was obviously sick and in need of help--crying out for it, I think, otherwise, why didn't he just run away as fast as he could? And because he assaulted me and issued death threats, the police had sufficient grounds to book him, and I had sufficient grounds to press criminal charges and request a restraining order so that the kids can be safe. Because of the criminal charges, they were able to pick him up and legally procure for him a psychiatric evaluation to see if he was competent to stand trial. One way or another, he'll get the help he needs. The policeman called me back and told me that the man is in custody and is going to appear in court tomorrow morning.

Third, I'm grateful that the situation kicked in protective instincts and the adrenaline to see things through to the end, and fairly quickly. There's something to experience in facing down an aggressor that is liberating--no, restorative. When you face down a threat and challenge it, push through your fear to push back, at least you feel as though you've at least done something, if not your best. I feel as though I've had a personal victory, that I will not be a victim of fear and intimidation. I'm not helpless. I didn't just let someone run roughshod over me, I didn't roll over, curl up, and cower. The survival instinct tells you that you have the right to be here, to be alive, that you have worth.

When I think about all the ways things could have gone so badly, I'm grateful that things happened the way that they did. Everything was contained. Everyone is safe. We did do the right thing. I have enough work on my plate today and over the next couple of weeks to keep me busy and functioning so that I don't collapse, until I have time to properly process it. I'm not hurt. Well, nothing that won't heal.
I think a sleeping pill is in order tonight. And junk food. Don't you?

Just wondering...

What's your favourite website nowadays?

I wish for one hundred...

• Voice coaching sessions with Patsy Rodenburg.
• Witty comebacks in my arsenal to choose from whenever someone is rude to me.
• Kisses on the forehead from Viggo Mortensen whenever I'm feeling bad.
• Free months of rent.
• Prince songs on CD. (that's a big cd!)
• "Do Overs" redeemable for the past, present and future.
• Students in the YouthWorks program this year.
• DVDs in my home collection (or movie certificates, or theatre tickets-s'all good).
• Schools fighting over me to offer me a scholarship to do my Masters in Theatre Performance.
• Gift certificates for Popeye's Fried Chicken (spicy, of course!).
• Plane tickets to fly anywhere in the world.
• Honest men and women in the government (I know, don't hold my breath, right?).
• Visits from the Take Home Chef. (Have you seen this guy? He really can cook.)
• Posts on this blog.
• Lottery tickets.
• Sessions with a personal trainer. (To counteract the fried chicken consumption of course.)
• Solid gold toilets.
• Stage and film acting credits on my résumé.
• Days of paid vacation.

One down, eighteen more to go...


(c'mon, you didn't think I'd list one hundred wishes, did you? that would just be greedy.)

Those were the days my friend...

There are not many things that I enjoy reminiscing about when I think back to the days of my adolescence. Being a bit overweight, a little geeky at times, not running with the popular crowd (I ran with the artsy kids) and basically mediocre at all sports...Never quite as snazzy on the fashion tip as my peers, it was irksome to be sure. I'm of mixed race and never could get the black swagger thing down pat, I seemed too "white" for black people to really want to claim me as one of their own. Mind you, I was dark skinned enough to get trailed by store security personnel and to be told, "Nigger, why don't you go back on your boat to Africa?" As my friend Quincy says, how can I go back to somewhere I've never been? Anyway.

Would that I had grown up in Montreal. When I finally managed to get popular enough to be elected to student council, I realized that it stopped being a badge of acceptance. Being different in Montreal, on the other hand, would have been a fine place to live, and the pursuit of popularity would not have been so important, I think. But then again, maybe not. Teenagers are notoriously stupid about stuff like that.

However, I did manage to make some awesome friends in Toronto during my teen years. I had a blast doing theatre and chilling with my friends. I had found early on in life the one thing I did better than anything else (although I wasn't aware of it at the time). I had really cool acting gigs that gave me the opportunity to travel to neat places. I had great grades without having to try very hard. But there was something that stands apart in the singularly wonderful things of my adolescence. One something that takes me back and makes that whole hellish period all alright.

Video games.

How many fabulous hours of hosing around did I spend in front of the Nintendo, playing all the Mario Bros. Games that were available, Metroid, Mike Tyson's Punch Out, Donkey Kong, Tetris (which would brand itself on my brain for hours after I stopped playing)...Whether playing alone or with friends, it was always all good. I never got mad at the Nintendo. Not even when my sister threw it at me during a particularly nasty altercation and it gave me a bruise did my love for the Nintendo ever abate.

And so, I spent hours playing Nintendo with Eileen yesterday and this morning, and I felt young again. But the good kind of Young. Not the young and socially stupid kind of Young, not even the tireless and physically sound kind of Young (I am suffering some backache and tension from pressing on the controller buttons with all my might), but the kind of Young when you really could forget all your pressing problems in the face of a brightly coloured virtual world and all of your mistakes are do-overs, even when you die you get to come back to life, and winning is the best thing in the world (but not the only thing in the world) but not so much that you ever tire of finding new challenges to beat. (Incidentally, Eileen's Korean name is Ye-Young. Coincidence? I think not.)

I feel good. I feel young. But I've hosed around long enough. It's time to get back to work.
It's time to grow up.

For now.

Back in the Saddle Again

Howdy pardners!

Back at work, attempting to write my first grant application. So far, so good. I wish I was making speedier progress, but oh well. It's exciting to have this job, I've got to tell you. I feel like I'm actually doing somethng meaningful and worthwhile. It's a cool thing to bring theatre training to those who couldn't normally afford it. Now if I can only convince the people with money to pay for it and help them chilluns out, it shall be golden.

But I've got to tell you, I feel pretty optimistic. Sure I don't make a lot of money yet, but who was it that said: "Do what you love and the money will come"?

Come on, money!

Also, I'm presently enjoying the amazing benefits of vegan eating. Whoa! I forgot how good it was. I love the summer for that. Lots of rain this summer so far (in fact, it's looking ominously gray outside this minute) but there's been lots of sunshine too. (Ooh! Spot the metaphor for my life!)

Summertime...and the produce is tasty,
Veggies are crunchy, and the fruit is so ripe...
Well I may not be rich,
But I'm still damn good lookin'

---Okay, enough of that. I'm getting back to work.
Big bisous for all of you,
T.

Anyway

But then again...

I may have been suffering from the heat so much because of the mass quantities of food I consumed over the weekend. I watched silly movies like Dodgeball and Galaxy Quest and 13 Going on 30 with Bill and it was jokes. I had every intention of eating healthy food with her you know. And if Baileys, Pepsi, pizza, chicken wings and ice cream did happen to pass my lips, I have a little comfort in recalling that there were also some carrot and celery sticks that got in there somehow. And wowee! the barbecued jerk chicken and potato salad at Dad's the next day! I also made Great Big Pitchers of Mojitos.*mmm...drool...*

However, I am perfectly willing to own that my discomfort may have been the result of some indigestion. You can't eat as cleanly as I did all week and then blast your body with that kind of salt, fat, wheat, alcohol, and dairy and expect to get away scot free. But what a way to go!

(By the way Bill, I mentioned Steve the Pirate to Solonor who affectionatly sends the usual "Hello Butthead" greeting.)

And little Jasmine slept over at our place last night. Stephanie is looking after her for Jenny to give the poor woman a badly needed night out. It's pretty hilarious. Jazzy has taken over the whole entire apartment. She's EVERYWHERE, man. She's like a puppy, running all over the apartment. But she's so sweet natured and affectionate and clever. It's so funny: Stephanie will say something to Jasmine, who will look back at her in puzzlement, and and then turn to me for the translation in French. Because Jenny always speaks to Jazzy in French and Jasmine's dad speaks English, but she doesn't see him that often so her understanding of English has not kept apace.

Man, looking at Jasmine this morning, I recalled a time when I was actually that small.
I was a fetus.

It's too darn hot!

I love the warm weather of summer! Nor, really. I seldom complain about the heat.

For instance I'll be more likely to say "It's so hot," rather than "It's too hot," but last night was one of those nights. I couldn't bloody well sleep even with the fan on me full blast. It was blazing, Baby.

I confess to harbouring some resentment to wards my landlords for being so slow to re-install the blinking air-conditioner. I think I resent more the fact that to get anything done you have to play the helpless female act:

"It's just so hot that I can't sleep and the air conditioner is so big and heavy!"

Then come the magic words to seal the deal:

"...And I just don't know what to do!"

*grumblestupidboyheadedsnotfairgrumblegrowlsnarl!*

(Mind you, you've got to play it cool; you've got to not lay it on too thick. Cocking your head to one side, twirling a lock of hair around your finger with the requisite knock-kneed stance that points one foot inward is okay, or puppy-dog eyes barely brimming over with just a hint of a pout is okay, but you can't work them all together at once. That's just overkill.)

It's not the heat that gets you, but the humidity which, as any black woman will tell you, is murder for the hair. (The avoidance of a humidity-induced hair casualty is one of the benefits of braids, I gotta tell ya.)

Oh! And...

when you stop being mad at me: Abe, talk to me, Baby!

Wakey, Wakey!

Aloha Darlings.

I figuratively only woke up about three hours ago. I've been in a bit of a haze for the last little while, deeply unmotivated to work and in general kind of fuzzy-headed about my responsibilities. I looked at the mountain of work and preparation ahead for all of the work-related projects I have initiated and then combined with some unresolved personal business concerns and felt those compelling stirrings of "ostrich-itis." You know that feeling when you get overwhelmed and want to run away and hide? Yeah. Had that going on in a big way. But dammit all, when you're a grown-up, you just can't do that. Crap. (Unless it's to your Mommy's house after you sign divorce papers.)

Anyhoo, the good news is, I'm all industrious again! Granted, I've got lots to do, and it's a wee bit daunting, but it won't go away until I attack it, so here I go. (except for this brief interlude to tell you all about it instead of actually working, but anyway)

I think that it comes of making a few resolutions that have relieved the weight off of my mind somewhat. Some weights I've exchanged for others, but those other ones are more bearable, if you know what I mean.

For example, realizing that there is a way to repair some of the relationship damage between me and some of my estranged friends that I incurred during the course of the icky past two years and to decide upon a manageable course by which I can tackle it.

It also comes of deciding that come hell or high water, I'm just going to stay right where I am in my present apartment and wait until I can get a decent roommate or until I can get a second job. Whichever comes first. I can't afford to move, pay a first and last month's rent somewhere and furnish an apartment (X got all the furniture). Sure, my landlords are a wee bit OCD, but they sure do take good care of the property. And they'll force me to be really responsible. No late payment of rent or else they'll toss my black booty out to the curb. And it's amazing how frugal and disciplined I can be when it's that or disaster.

Of course this means that I will be stupid poor instead of the broke fool that I am at present, but as long as I can pay for a roof over my head, metropass, electricity, the gym, and food (which I can, although the food thing won't be plentiful or varied for awhile), I'm good to go. This means that my hair will be crazy. I'm talking about nothing but braids. No pretty perm. The beauty regimen will simplify a lot. Like basically be all about me being clean and not having flaky skin.

So if you're feeling like you'd like to invite me over for dinners and whatnot, let me tell you right now I'm prepared to swallow my pride and your food with equal alacrity.
Social life that consists of me actually "going out" will come when aforementioned roommate or second job comes along. And really, how long could that be? (I know, I know, famous last words, blah blah blah) I'm young, talented, and cute. I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and gosh darn it, people like me! (Does anyone remember where that quote comes from? 'Cause I don't.)

I'm disappointed that I can't afford the therapy anymore at present, because it was so good for me, but since I was not in any danger of going postal, just of repeating my disastrous dating patterns--okay, okay, I know there are other disastrous patterns too, but first thing's first, and that thing is survival. The goodies will come later.

It's all a relief to just make that decision and commit to it because quite frankly, it's a loverly apartment, and I don't know that I'll never find a better one at such short notice. And I'll be able to have sleepovers again! (But not for you, fellas.) And for the first time in my life, I'm going to live alone! Which is pretty darn exciting, I've got to say.

Sadly, I'll have to take some gigs out of town with the casino band, to make ends meet. I've got two of them scheduled this summer. A weekend in July and a week in August. It's easy work, although at times demoralizing, but I really need the money. (Wow, why did I feel like I whore when I said that?)

And of course, I've been able to catch up with some friends that I haven't spent time with in awhile. And I'm going to spend some time with more of them soon. (Bill, I'm talking 'bout you, baby!) AND Father's Day is coming up, and 'though I don't say it nearly often enough, I deeply dig my Daddy, yo. He is where it's at. He's the Champion. He's my Champion. Yeah! So I can hardly wait to go over and hang out with him. One of the beauties of Father's Day with my Dad is that he too understands the inextricable link of the good times, the beloved people and the sweet, sweet goodness of FOOD. I have three words for you:

Bar. Bee. Cue.

Spending time with the people I love really soothes my soul, you know? Missing the people I love is a weight, let me tell ya. And seeing them lifts the load.

So let's get lifted, Baby! (heh heh) You know who you are. Call me and let's chill.
Okay, I'm getting back to work.

I knew it couldn't last long...

*grumble!wail!snif!choke!sob!grr!*

It's one of those days. The particulars are not necessary (I'm actually too embarassed to relate them), but suffice to say that I'm feeling lower than "the pus that infects the crud that feeds on pond scum." (remember that movie?)

I'm living up to my profile description "jerky but well-meaning friend" in a deep way right about now.

I don't really have the heart to write anything more today. Maybe when the fits of the cringes and deep mortification pass I'll be able to say more.

Till then..

Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy....

I have been told of late by one of my dear readers that my tone in these blogs has been somewhat dark. That it sounds like I'm practically suicidal. That I've been whinging, in short.

Well, Darlings, I certainly don't want to be a downer, but neither do I want to be fake and superficial. I'd like y'all to have the straight dope from me, but I don't want to scare you off from hanging out with me for fear that I'll slit my wrists at the dinner table.

So allow me to share a few happy tidbits from my life:

Stephanie and I have commenced a 7-day detox to cleanse the system. The first two days are lemon water, herbal tea, and vegetable broth, but the following five days are all about lots of fruits, veggies, and rice. Yummy! It's so funny; what seemed a hardship at first (that of it being such a restrained diet) we now eagerly anticipate, and the diet seems above all reproach. It also helps that we hit the Jean-Talon Market on the weekend and that in my weakened and fatigued state, I have nevertheless been inspired to cook as I haven't been in a long time. There is tasty food aplenty awaiting us tomorrow when we get off the liquid part of the fast. A sumptuous vegetable curry, a hearty, savoury mung bean soup, fresh chilled gazpacho, homemade baba ghanoush and hummus with crudites, fress fruit salad, rice fusilli puttanesca! All fresh ingredients, herbs and whatnot. Yummm.....

You'd think the sight of all that food would discourage me while I've been drinking nothing but lemon water and veggie broth, but no! It's been nothing but pleasurable industry serving to take my mind off of being hungry. And a source of immense pride because I can say without conceit that I am a Dyno-mite cook.

I will be having a happy (healthy) binge-fest with with my beloved Bill on Saturday. I couldn't resist. Lord knows, there's something about her diabolical little smirk that just warms my heart to no end.

And off I go to band bractice, gotta show tomorrow evening for the Festival Rhythmes Du Monde. Somehow we ended up as the headliners for two years in a row. God bless Eva, she is a super champion of my talent and a much appreciated butt-kicker.

Ciao for now! I can't promise to keep the cheery thing going for long, because you know how hormones can be! (Actually, I guess you fellas would only know by proxy: sisters, girlfriends or whateva. Anyway.)

S'up, yo.

First of all, I'd like to welcome all the new visitors to the blog! As long as you don't need me to be diligent about phoning and hanging out with you to feel the friendly love vibe I'm sending y'all, we'll get along fine! Huzzah!

Anyhoo.
It's the first time I've been the office all week, and I'm not particularly proud of that. I am a lousy (awesome?) boss this week. Sure, I had work-related obligations on Monday that kept me out of the office, but what have I done since then?
Well, I'll tell you.
A whole lot of nothing.
Yeah, I said it.

Well truth be told, I ate a lot and watched videos too. That's something.
But not on the Sofa of Doom.
Oh no, not this time. It was on the Armchair of Disaster!
It's a little less comfortable for sleeping, you know, 'cause your legs dangle over the arms and it cuts off your circulation and you get a crick in the neck. So, although it's a nice place to visit at first, it's nowhere you wanna live.
But all in all, it's a good choice if you only want to take a short trip on the Debauchery Train.
Actually, to do myself justice, I did manage some light cooking and housework too, so I wouldn't be such a total slug and freeloader.
Sigh.

How did I fall off of the Wagon of Productivity, you ask? It's all about me and Steph being in mourning over her imminent departure. Instead of crying and getting depressed, we ate baba ghanouj, crackers, old-fasioned donuts and drank white wine while watching Def Poetry Jam. She provided all of the edible and drinkable goodies, I provided the entertainment. It was all about taking some time out for the kind of therapy that does a body good and doesn't cost $120 an hour. (Well, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.)

When you're waiting on a paycheck, there are not a lot of fun times to be had. Yeah, okay! I have no equity and live from paycheck to paycheck. I also haven't filed my taxes yet. What's more, I also can belch like a trucker on command. I do have immature and flaky dimensions to me. It's all part of my charm. Yeah, that's it! And on top of it, those people who look at me and feel superior because of it, well, shoot, I've just boosted their self-esteem, so that's sort of like a good deed, isn't it? Maybe I'm storing up brownie points in heaven!

The living situation is nowhere near resolution, I really wish I could just do the ostrich thing and hope the problem goes away. But of course, if I do that, I'll have gone beyond crazy black lady to crazy homeless black lady, and how does that uplift the race, I ask you? Sigh. Gotta make some more phone calls and start praying for a miracle, because deep down, I do believe that things have a way of working themselves out.

Wellllllp...
I've run out of things to say. Except this. I saw the latest version of The Producers yesterday, and although it was entertaining and I liked the new songs, nothing touches the original Mel Blanks movie. That may be because it's Zero Mostel and Gene-frickin-Wilder, it may be because I watched it with Bill and because we ate lots of Bar-B-Barn ribs and chicken (Okay, I ate lots of ribs and chicken, most of them, in fact. I'm surprised poor Bill didn't pull back a stump. You know, I'm occasionally shocked and appalled at the mass quantities of food I am capable of consuming in one sitting, but I'm getting off the point.) and drank champagne.

But then again, all of our movie fests took place during my year of post-surgery convalescence. That's when I learned to love the lazy, Baby. Lots of molasses cookies and vanilla soy milk, video games, movies, trips to the Jean-Talon market and other such fun have melted into a stream of con-fun-ness.

Okay, now I'm really finished talking. For now.

La Da Dee Dowdy Dow, La Da Dee Dowdy Dow...

She's just like you and me-eeee...

But she's homeless, she's homeless!

And she stands there, singin' for monayyyy...

Can you believe this mess? Yes indeedy, I too am about to be like the homeless lady in the Crystal Waters song.
Sigh.

I've got two months to work out a new living situation.
Y'all know I'm a starving artist, albeit with a bitchin' job title, so I can't afford stupid crazy rent. Help a sister out, start spreading the word see if anyone you know is looking for a roommate. My American friends need not partake in the roommate hunt, thanks anyway.

If you haven't spoken to my beloved roommate yet, then I'm sorry to be the one breaking the news, if she hasn't told you yet. But don't worry, she'll be getting around to you soon. I guess you can play dumb until she tells you, I dunno.

Can you believe it? Stephanie has to move back to Chicago!
Crap!
Who will be my pally for late-night laughfests and bacon pizza binges! Who else understands my love of the Isley Brothers and the fabulousness of Prince? What will I do without her crazy infectious laugh? There are so many reasons that I'm miserable about this move that I don't have the heart to get into it all, although I'm trying to be unselfish and be happy for her and keep a positive spin on the whole situation.
Truth be told, I'd rather stay at home and sulk about it for a couple of days.

Instead, I'll make the most of these remaining two months (because I don't think I can afford the rent of that apartment by myself) and make some good memories with her.

So we'll be taking Salsa classes together! I went out last weekend with her and another girlfriend and we had a blast! What a nice vibe! I like the kind of crowd that just wants to dance. There is infinitely less slimyness afoot than in the typical club scene. And it's good exercise to boot. But first I have to learn how to do it well. Hence the classes. I've always wanted to be able to salsa.

Anyways, I should stop hosing around and get back to work.