The Difference Between A Love Story And A Romantic Comedy

The sun set in my mind this evening. For someone who said they'd die for me sold some old pictures of all my memories. Chump change just to unravel the mystery. But life ain't no fun without fantasy. Some things are better left unsaid. And some people are better left untrusted. Maybe...maybe...it'll all make sense....when I'm dead. Old friends for sale. Get 'em while the gettin' is hot. Watch out, they'll kiss you to get what you got. And they'll show you the friends that they're not. Old friends...for sale.

-
Old Friends For Sale - Prince

My heart is a little sore so I'm afraid this isn't going to be good. Sorry.
Just trying to keep it honest.

This shit actually may just make you wanna blow your brains out, but I'm gonna try my damnest to brighten it up by the end OK? So if you stick in there, and make it past the hard candy shell...you may be treated with chewy chocolate goodness. Maybe.

I know it's been a while since I've posted. There's been a lot going on.

Holiday plans, Mom's 60th birthday coming around the corner, the monthly relationship arguement, and pretty much being an emotional rock with wobbly legs,...I've sorta been weary.... with a WICKED case of writers block. And oh yeah, I was supposed to be getting my driver's license, right?

Heavy sigh...I know. I know.

And do you ever get the feeling your life is just heading full speed ahead into a brick wall? (...not over a cliff...that's too romantic.) So, I'm kinda in that place where you're pumping the breaks rapidly, disbelieving they are out,... bracing.

Please ignore the fucking AFLAC duck in the passenger seat.

Not to say the crash will be bad.
I'm sure I'll come out just fine...it's just...knowing it's coming.

And that's where the title comes from. Because I have NO idea what in the hell is in store for the next year, but for the first time, I'm actually apprehensive about it.
Sorta like when you're trying to figure out if you're watching a romantic comedy or a love story. You want to know how it ends so bad because you have no idea WHICH one you might be watching.

What am I talking about?

What's the difference?

Well...let me learn ya.

In the romantic comedy... boy meets girl(or vice-versa)/ circumstance keeps them apart/somebody has an epiphany or the "oh fuck. I love him" moment/the boy/girl does an impossibly desperate and/or embarrassing act to prove that the love is real and love doesn't wait for pussies who won't take a shot/boy gets girl (or vice-versa).

Love conquers all.

The End.

In the love story....meets girl(or vice-versa)/ circumstance keeps them apart/somebody has an epiphany or the "oh fuck. I love him" moment/the boy/girl does an impossibly desperate and/or embarrassing act to prove that the love is real and love doesn't wait for pussies who won't take a shot/....but it's too late. Boy/girl is a)dead b)married c)not in love anymore.

True love denied.

The End.

And it doesn't matter how it starts off... doesn't even matter if it's funny.
It's the ENDING that defines the story.

The last time I had this feeling, I was in high school. We'd just returned from the Christmas break. I'd suddenly realized that life as I knew it, would end, for sure...on June 15th. Graduation day. Shit was gonna change dramatically...and,aside from the obvious things...moving to Delaware, starting college, I had no idea how it would change my perception of "Me". I just knew it would.

OK, fine. I shouldn't have worried so much because all things considered, things turned out pretty good. I skipped crack, jail, prostitution, and the parents are pretty proud. Which basically left me optimistic about...well...fucking everything. (Yes, the optimism gets annoying. Even to me.)

Which is why it's just... unsettling when I'm not. When I'm sure the storm cloud is heading my way and will stay fixed above my dome till it's good and ready.

Not good.

(You wanna bite though that candy and get to the chocolate now, don't you? OK. Fine. Go ahead.)


I have decided to take this permit test on Friday. Then immeditatly after, I'll be heading to driving school to take the five hour class. THEN I'm scheduling the road test. That's right. All in one day. Gangsta.

Oh. I'm also seriously looking into buying a condo. I'll be checking it out on Saturday. Though, there's something really unsettling about buying a peice of the rock and not having that "Honey...it's PERFECT!" hand clasping/hugging moment you SHOULD have when you both sign on the dotted line. It's a kind of independence that, I can't lie...I'm not sure I'm 100% OK with. The romance of buying is totally sucked out of the experience. (I blame this Disney-esque image that's seared into my brain on real estate commercials. Fuckin' Century 21.)

Yeah I'm stettin' (as Grandma would say) things that are beyond my control. I just wonder how my perception of "Me" will change...again. Because it has. Again...and more frequently than I'm comfortable with.

However, (as Grandma would say) "Ain't no use stettin' bout it." So I won't.

Because if nothing else I know this for sure....

The duck survives the crash...(with little duck-sized crutches).

And damn it, I'm psyched about that cuz that duck makes me laugh.

Hard.


See you after the test.

-Nye

Social Security

Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing at all. Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature.

-Helen Keller

I'm sure I've used this quote before, but after this week...I felt the need to revisit.

A hell of a week ladies and gents.

But let me start with the burning question you all have been asking via text, email, phone calls...

No. I did not take my permit test. I'll get into why in a second, and then maybe, by the end of the Pity-party violin quartet concerto, you won't even care.

(Baton up...and...)

I was going through a break up.

In retrospect, it was pretty much the worst argument we've ever had. And you know when you reach that "Tina Turner" moment where you're just kinda feeling like.."fuck it"! I won't take a raw fist punch from you and keep my gloves on just because I'm aware that you bruise easily. Punch me again and here's what you get..."

And so I let it rip. ...logically. It was sorta like...

You know how Cosby could (past tense) be funny without cursing?
Yeah...well I fully know I can be brutal without calling one single name, or using profanity.

I'm not proud of this, but it's a defense mechanism finely tuned over the years.

So things were...out of wack. So out of wack, that I could feel the water slowly creeping above that crack in the ice-pond. Nobody fell through and in the end...though I'm not sure if either of us feel it was the 100% right decision, we're still walking. Gingerly.

However....

THIS did not stop me. I had shit to do and a blog to write damn it!

I still geared up...but first, I'd need to shake off the uglies.

I met up with some good people Friday night (happy birthday Judes!) had too much to drink and decided that Beyonce's "Irreplaceable" would be my theme song for the moment.

Because fuck it. It's true.

I also decided that I'll need to reconnect with a few more good people, slap a perm in Shervons head and make some amends. Which I did....all with a big unsure pain in the center of my chest.

NOW...

Monday rolled around, and we're back in peaceful negoiations. And I begin thinking "Shouldn't I be doing something to make things...solid again?"
So I get busy trying to think of this new realtionship-solidifying tactic. Real busy.

On the other hand, I've got shit to do....with this nagging feeling that I shouldn't take the test...

Earlier that day, I'd gone online just to take a practice quiz one more time, and the DMV site was down.

So I figured I'd just...you know...refresh my skills by reading... fuck.

I'd left my book home.

Bad ju-ju...but I headed to 34th street anyway.

"The test costs $65. This includes two road test tries..." the woman with red and white George Clinton braids informed me.

WHAT? When in the hell did this test get so damn ....?

I mentally scanned my bank account balance and I could see Prince lighting a cigar with my test money. Shake that off Nye. It was well spent bonding time. (Yes, but what about the tambourine and the tank-top stupid?- SHUT UP!)

My bank account vision was soon replaced with one of my apartment, lit only by candles, because hey...lights are overrated. Yep. That got me.

OK. I guess today may not be the day...

Defeated? Sure. But being the Tenacious Ree I am, I vowed to return the following week...(dough permitting). Oh and while there, I got another book, just to leave in the office.

Then Tuesday came.

Earlier that day, I got smacked with a batch of some cold hard truth-cakes and this, my friends, had me contemplating a lot of things. Long story short, I was decieved and that shit never feels good. And what sucks is, I couldn't reason it, rationalize it, make it what it wasn't. It was exactly what it was... and hey Nye...deal.
So I did. Nothing more to it...it's just... life, right?

Right.

So now Wednesday, while catching up with Esso over dinner trying to talk each other off the ledge, my phone rings.

Fuck.

Emma Johnson was so much to so many. The last time I visited her in the nursing home, she was humming this tune that will forever stay seared in my brain...and in the minds of the entire nursing home staff. She'd sing it over and over. It made her happy...and hearing it made the staff happy. They all vowed to find this song. So did I.

A massive stroke left her speech sporatic. Full of stutters and incomplete thoughts and a huge lack of vocal control. She wanted to join the conversation. Tell you she was happy. Annoyed. Hungry. Loved you. She couldn't. And it angered her...so she'd just hum her tune...and tune out the pain...for three years.

Though one time, an employee sat outside with us on a warm fall day with a guitar and began strumming old R&B...and Emma, to our suprised, finished each and every song with such clarity...we knew, just KNEW...she was 100% with it, no matter what the doctor said. It was then we understood. She was just...tired of trying.

Emma suffered another stroke. Her breathing was labored.
At around 5AM yesterday, we'd get the news that Emma was gone.


The funeral director was NOTHING like David from Six Feet Under.

He wore a cheap suit, his empathy came across as an empty fake pain, and the whole experience was sorta like buying a car, except this deal MUST be made before you leave the office.

"Small chapel fits 75 or you can upgrade..."
"Will you be creamating or burying?"
"You can get this pressed wood casket in greyish-blue, white..."
"Will the family witness the cremation?" (Oh hell no.)
"How much will the insurance cover...?"

...a whopping grand. Which meant we only had to kick up four G's to get it all done.
Yikes.

The women at the nursing home were devestaed.

"We really loved Ms. Emma."
One even sang the song. The song I'd failed to find.

We dropped to our knees to open her boxed up belongings, which read, "Johnson, Emma. Expired 12/7/06". Getting back up was not easy.

At 6pm, Lito and Delores were in the air. Leaving from JFK airport on their way to Barcelona, Spain. I was supposed to be on that plane, but of course, I would have missed...everything.

Seriously beginning to wonder if everything happens for a reason or if shit is a HELL of a co-winkie-dink. I mean, I didn't go Christmas shopping yet...and I'm usually done by now. I just kinda felt like...I shouldn't. Just like I felt like I shouldn't go on that trip.

I don't know how to end this one guys, I'm sorry. I usually have a neat little bow at the end, but this really is about re-learning (again) that you can't be afraid to let things go. No matter what it is.

Maybe it's your metrocard.
Maybe it's your relationship.
Maybe it's your faith in another's word.
Maybe it's this wonderful woman who's life touched so many.

Whatever it is...sometimes, you gotta be fearless. Stare it striaght in the eye and say "goodbye."

What I'm looking forward to is saying "hello"...

To what? I have no idea. LOL...

So it's a do-over people. Save your pennies.

It's going down for sure next week.

Yo quiero Taco Bell...

-Nye

But I KNOW THIS already!

"Train him I cannot. He has no patience." - Yoda
The Empire Strikes Back


You know, I can't lie.

I'm not motivated at ALL to get this damn driver's license.

I just thought about this while I stared at this blank page for ten minutes thinking, "what should I write."

And the truth is, I had nothing.

Nothing.

Because at this point, the very beginning of this 8 week challenge, I feel I should have some sort of motivation.

And I'm having trouble finding it....so I'm hoping that somewhere along this challenge...it'll find me.


So I got the book...and the permit forms and as soon as I cracked it open, I could just feel my eyes glaze over.

I was reading the literary equivilant of "The Peanuts" teacher's voice...but with symbols.

And just like one of the Peanuts, I fully understood, but wasn't paying attention, because, though I'm sure all that information is crucial to my becoming the greatest female drivers since Danica (...see? My NASCAR hotel paid off...) I just don't think it's...I don't know...FAIR ....that most of the drivers I KNOW ignore a good 75% of the shit that's in the book.

I mean seriously. We know the basics. Stop. Go. Yeild. Hospital. Children Crossing. Hill Ahead. Sharp Curve. Amish. (In Delaware. I swear...this is really a sign.)

But aren't these basic symbols something you learned in ...oh, I don't know... the first grade? And yeah, I'm sure this is for new Americans who may not be familiar, but can they get another version with all that elementary stuff and just give me the book with the good parts?

Like the weight of a baby vs. the type of car seat you should use?
Or the maxium alcohol level I can get away with consuming before I get myself knee deep in some serious accident bullshit?
Or, when bad guys are chasing you, how to spin that bitch into a 180...put the car in reverse, drive backwards with your right hand steering... shooting with your left...hitting every target, then spin that bitch another 180...while putting the car back in drive then hauling ass... with a stick shift.

Yeah. What page is THAT on?

But still...I read on. Or try to, eventhough this book is making me want to make paper airplanes from the pages, because that's the ONLY way this is gonna be fun.

And I notice, by the time you get through the mundane stuff, shit gets complicated.

If you enter an intersection from the far left lane, what should you do? BUZZ! WRONG...you should NEVER be in your far left lane unless you are going straight ahead or are making a left turn. Oh. You were making a left? You CAN'T...it's a one way street! You didn't know this? Then I suggest you read this chapter again you simple bitch. DO NOT move on till you've mastered this quiz.


So I closed the book and just said...screw it. I'll wing the permit test. Worked the last time.

And then suddenly, I realized something very disturbing about my "jack of all trades...master of none" attitude.

I don't finish a damn thing...and that's exactly why.

Somewhere along the line, I get bored. REALLY bored. I end up with a bunch of "started..." and not a lot of "finished".
The goal list gets checked off every now and then...and it's usually because I made a revision that made the task less daunting. Actually, I'd adjust my goal to meet my level of effort. You know. Shoot for the stars...but if I only make it to the moon...not bad for a days work.

And I figure, unless this book is made into a full length feature starring Adrian Brody as "Guy trying to get his license" ...
I may not make it all the way through...which says a lot about my scholastic performance. But that's neither here nor there...as my Mom would say.


So now that I've owned up to my crap...it's time to do something about it.

I picked up the book, put it my bag and head to work...only to instead, pull out Dan Brown's book and continue on the journey to find out why in the hell the Illuminati want to destroy the Vatican.

Heavy sigh.

Well..it's do or die time kids because MONDAY...ready or not, I take the permit test. (Again.)

And seriously, nothing is more embarrassing than not passing the permit test. Nothing.

So if you're still with me...I'll send you the time and location.

Oh..and I hope your Thanksgiving was beautiful.

Mine? Yeah. It was.

-Nye

Freedom - Let The Challenge BEGIN!

"Close the shop, let's take a drive. Take a break from 9 -5. It's so great to be alive...oh yeah."
- "Strollin'" Prince & The New Power Generation

I've always wanted to pop in this song and just...drive. Preferably up North somewhere. The route has to be scenic and the company...more than willing to sing along.

However, at thirty-(cough cough) years old, I fully realize why I haven't accomplished this goal.

It's because I'm a pussy.

Sure. I can jump on a turbulant flight to Vegas at the last minute and let fate decide if I pay rent on time next month...

However. Put me in the drivers seat of any automobile and ask me to back it up a few feet...and something happens.

My palms begin to sweat.
Heart pounds.
I get visions of slamming on the gas, when I meant to hit the break.
...in reverse, when I meant to go forward.

The steering wheel slips and I run over a old lady with a shopping cart.

OR WORSE...

I bang up somebody's car and they will constantly point out the "ding"...and re-tell the story by saying, "Yeah. I was helping Nyree out. Teaching her to drive and she slammed on the gas insted of the break...."

OK. I'm not that bad.

I CAN operate an (automatic) car. I know this much...
(Check mirrors for animals, old ladies...)
+
1) Turn it on by turning the key in the ignition.
2) Foot on the break, take it out of neutral.
3) Put it into drive, foot off the break, on the gas.
4) Don't slam down... press gently on the gas..
5) Steer.

It's when other cars have to nerve to want to drive near me, I get nervous.

..VERY nervous.

Now, Dana (my older sister) has let me drive her cars for years...in parking lots.
And when I say years, I mean...YEARS. (I've had my permit renewed twice. Sad. I know.)
Ex's...friends...Dad...you name it. They've all tried to help me.
And in the end, Nyree still hails cabs and can tell you how to get ANYWHERE by Subway. ANYWHERE.

So one winter, after a break-up, I decided I was gonna get my freedom (damn it!).
I was gonna get a drivers license. (Finally.)

So I enrolled in driving school.
I took three lessons....instructed by a very nice old man with a very calm, soothing voice, who loved reading his newspaper.

"OK.", he'd say. "Now make a left here. Nice. Nice. Now make a right. Very good. Very good." Then he'd go back to his paper.

"Ummm...do you want me do anything? Park?"

"Nope. Just drive till you can't anymore and turn when you have to."

And so I did.

I mastered the "drive till you can't anymore and turn when you have to."

However, I did NOT master parallel parking.

OK. I did. Sorta.

I can get in a parking spot like nobody's business....it's getting out that's tricky.

The day of my road test, I truly believed I had this shit in the bag.

The very nice old man with the soothing calming voice suddenly turned into "Coach" from "Cheers".

"You have nothing to worry about. As a matter of fact, if you worry, you'll fail. So don't worry. Don't worry. Are you worried?"

"Yes."

"Good. You should be. Kidding! Kidding...don't worry kid. You'll be great."

And I was great...till the tester didn't watch his tone. God.
NOTHING urks me more than a prick in a position of power.

"Pull OFF Miss..."

"I can't. There's a car coming." (car passes.)

"There's no car coming NOW, is there? What are you waiting for?"

At this time, I could just see my drivers license spreading wings and flying away from me.

Despite this...I drove as instructed. Exaggerated my glances, so he could see I was looking...explained why I did everything. I was a model driver.

Time to parallel park and mind you..I'm two feet from the curb thanks to left-over hardened snow. And I STILL parked that bitch! WHAT!

...I pull out...way out. Too way out... and suddenly, the tester slams on the breaks.

"Head back to the testing site please."

"It's over?"

"Head back to the testing site please."

"But I didn't u-turn..."

"You lost control of the car."

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did."

"If I did, we'd be dead, wouldn't we? You didn't need to slam on the breaks. No need to overreact."

"Head back to the testing site Miss."

"Sure. Sir"

...Needless to say, I failed.


And I hate failing. Especially at the mercy of a prick in power.
ESPECIALLY at the mercy of a prick in power who's trying to deny me my freedom.

However, I fell back into my old habits.

Cabs. Subway. Other people driving.

But no more.

Now...I will get my freedom. (Please resist the urge to sing "We Shall Overcome". )

And here's the thing.

I know most of you...(born and raised in the City) don't have your license either.
And I'm not sure what your story is...but feel free to tell me.

However, no matter the story...things are about to change.

You've been there through my strive to finish a race, rid myself of toxins, improve my credit. Be a better Nyree.

Now... I urge you to join me in this 8 week task.

Get your freedom. And here's how.

For the next 8 weeks...we are going to embark in an epic quest. (Sounds dramatic...huh?)

THIS WEEKS MISSION:
Get the NYS Drivers Manual...and read it.

Where Nyree? Where do I get this magical book?
Start here.

http://www.nydmv.state.ny.us/index.htm

Don't get all crazy looking at forms and shit...all you need is your nearest DMV location.

AND if you work in Manhattan (and you probably do...) you can drop by the DMV-Xpress on 34th street and cop the book real quick.

Now. Once you get it... read it.

I mean, really dig in. Act like it's (women) porn (men) porn.

Take the quizzes at the end of each chapter. And next week...well...that's next week.

But don't worry...you won't be alone.


OK. So the challenge has begun.

Get the book. Start reading...and I'll see you next week.

(It's gonna be fun. You know if I promise fun...it's gonna happen.)

-Nye

The Lady Without Make Up (Vegas Re-Cap)

(We begin the license challenge this Thursday. Check back for the first entry.)

"Illusions are, of course, by their very nature sweet."
"I have no illusions. I lost them in my travels. "-Dangerous Liaisons


So. Shervon (who is henceforth to be known as the best "roll wit me" partner on Earth) and I were in a cab the next day,...the day AFTER...headed to the Rio Hotel and Casino again...but this time, for brunch.

And it's BRIGHT out.

Very bright.

Las Vegas in the daytime is a fucking comedian...and the joke is on you. It seems designed to catch you in the middle of "the walk of shame". Something you'd never know at night.

All of the buildings are light colored or covered in glass, thus reflecting light everywhere, so as to shine a spotlight on your sorry, hung over ass....I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST NIGHT! YOU CAN'T HIDE....now go find a buffet somewhere.

Our third cab driver of the trip is from Yugoslavia. Sorry...don't remember his name.

"You ladies win anything?"

"We don't gamble." I say.

"GOOD FOR YOU!" he replies. "Very smart."

These words of wisdom will be echoed by every cab driver that we employ...so we begin to think it may just be true.

"The city almost looks...innocent." I say.

"Yes, you never recognize her in day." he says. "She is like lady without make-up."

Shervon and I both laugh...thinking about what this place looked like last night. Actually, I couldn't give a shit about what this place looked like the nightbefore. I mean, I think I might have noticed it... or given it a sweeping glance, but I didn't really check it out from head to toe. I wasn't paying attention... too busy trying to catch up to my mind (...which was looking at it's watch...tappin' it's toe...standing in front of the stage wondering..where the fuck was my body...since my mind had been there since I clicked "buy tickets").

..............................

My body...clean and primped...was in a cab, on the way to the Rio.

"NO. I DON'T NEED A PEN THAT BAD SIR. DRIVE! DRIVE!"

He was a nice guy. Ethiopian. Our first cab driver in Vegas. Very patient (to be read as SLOW)...and a gentleman (to be read as...forced me to be a lady instead of allowing me to jump out and break into a frantic sprint). Insisted that he drive us to the front of the Rio Hotel and Casino... got out of the cab to open my door, and as I stepped out, I was instantly glad I'd worn the almost non-existent mini.

The girls (to be read as "3ft of leg") stepped out of the cab first. The outfit was titled "I'm gonna see Prince". Or better yet..."Prince is gonna see me." (Did I mention Shervon was doing the damn thing too? New hair-do...new dress...wearing the cha-cha heels. Doing it.)

Um... OK. Out of the cab.

Shit.

Where is it? WHERE IS...

"Excuse me...where is "3121"?" TELL ME! TELL ME NOW DAMNIT!!!

"Go straight ahead. You'll see all the people...you can't miss it."

"Thanks." ..don't run Nye. Don't run. Stay cool.

Shervon and I click and stride through the lobby...then it hits me. Knocks me upside the head, actually.

"Wow. I'm here."

"I was wondering when you were going to get excited..." she smirked.

"It just hit me...JUST hit me. Wow. I'm pretty fucking excited. Are you excited?"

"I'm excited."

"Yeah. Pretty fucking excited. Pretty damn...oh no. Will you look at that line..."

"Oh man..."
.................................................

My eggs are horrible. So's the coffee...but that's not what's bugging me. And now that the whole trip is almost over...I can settle in...be quiet and put my finger on it.

Oh...I get it. There are a lot of white people in this hotel.

And I know what you're thinking. 1) This sort of thing is not something I'd normally point out, notice or care about and/or 2)There are a lot of white people everywhere...blacks are called a "minority" for a reason. Yeah..yeah..boo-hoo.

But listen.

Vegas is pretty multi-cultural in terms of tourists. It's also pretty class-blind, where the poor mingle with the rich. The poor dreaming of becoming rich and the rich getting off on knowing no matter how much they blow here...they won't ever be poor.

So isn't it kinda...I don't know...ODD...that there's not an Asian or Latino in sight? We were the only two minorities...PERIOD. (Ok. There were two other black people. And we met them. They noticed it too. You'll see what I mean.)

Yeah so ...um...seriously. I'm thinking...wow. There are a LOT of white people here.

But here's the real issue... they are making me uncomfortable.
Here's why.

Mullets and buzz cuts. Frizzy perms with bad dye-jobs and bangs. Mom-jeans and suspenders...southern accents....and most importantly... "The Look".

But my mind wouldn't process this..actually, it straight up refused to accept this because I'm in VEGAS. I mean, you can't get "The Look" in Vegas. You get the "The Look" in Georgia. In that little rest-stop you walked in to get some Doritos...where, if it were still legal, they'd call you "Gal", tell "you people" come in through the colored entrance...and when you leave, talk about how "well spoken" you were.

OK. We didn't get this vibe from all...to be fair. But some. OK. Most. And when you get it from most...it's cause for alarm.

Now racism radiation I can handle...not a problem. Happens everyday. (Though in the North, it's masked.)
However, today, this is totally fucking up my buffet experience because I'm really hung over, and I could use all the hydration I can get, but I'll be DAMNED if I get some watermelon. And damn it...I REALLY wanted it. So, slightly defeated and just...aware...I head to the buffet and begin to dig into some peaches. Suddenly, I think...fuck that.

I double back to the watermelon and load up. LOAD up. And head back to the table.

Bad-dye-frizzy-bang-mullet-tee shirt-baseball hat-missing teeth stares and smirks.
I bite and fight the urge to say "dis sho am good." and grin...exposing all of my ORIGINAL teeth.
Too bad there wasn't any fried chicken.

Now...we're trying to figure out how in the hell did we end up in the middle of Burmingham, Alabama when, on our way back to our room, we get it.

The floor is checkered. Dale Earnheart Jr. is grinning from a signed autographed picture.

The signs... NASCAR Cafe/Bar/Arcade/Gift Shop.... wow.

Screens showing the races are everywhere. There's even a NASCAR test track in the hotel.

Great.I've booked us a room at the "Lynch 'Em Inn". Way to go Nye.

Again, to be fair...not ALL NASCAR lovin, mom-jean wearing, mullet sporting, teeth missing whites from the South are card carrying members of the K-Krew...but um. Why chance it? Fans were already at the bar, sucking back a few buds, watching the cars go round...and round...and round...and...

Avoiding eye contact, we break into a quiet brisk walking pace back to our room...now FULLY aware of radiation on our backs and most importantly, the knowledge that beer, riled up NASCAR fans and black people are not the greatest combination in the world.......and then suddenly, I stop. And lift my head...that I actually didn't realize I'd lowered.

Cuz fuck that.

"Hey. We're not going upstairs yet."

"Uh...OK."

"Cuz fuck that."

Shervon giggles. She knows me way too well.

..........................................................................

Vince Carter launches a 3pt'r at the buzzer...and mouths "Fuck you! WHAT!"...pushing the game into overtime....which is perfect, because it coincedes with the start of the Giants game....that gives me something to do.

Shervon is a big fan of the NBA, I've got the NFL locked down on my monitor, and I'm loudly representing for New York. However, when Chicago makes a field goal I fully understand that, at this Belliago sports bar, I'm clearly outnumbered.

Patrons clearly put their money on Chicago, and I can't lie...I would have too.

I check my watch. The Amazing Race should have just ended in New York. I call Petey for the recap...

"No cell phones." The snotty bartender could have said it nicer, but hey.

"Out of curiosity...why not?"

"Nevada State law says no cell phones are allowed at sports bookings. This is technically a sports booking."

"Wow. Learn something new everyday."

Shervon's drink is gone, and all screens are now tuned to the Giants game. She's lost interest.
The Giants scored, but are immediatly bitch slapped for bad sportmanship (idiots) and I realize something.

"I can't do Cirque Du Soliel". I say...giving in.

No matter how pretty "O" would have been...in this condition, it would have been a complete waste of money. I could barely form sentences. It then occurred to me that we'd been up for 24 hours, I hadn't rid myself of my amazing hangover, we'd gotten three hours of sleep and been sight-seeing the Las Vegas Strip for eight hours.

Enough Nye. Enough. (My body said that. Not me.)

"Cool." Shervon said. "I'm tired anyway."

Did I say ...the best roll-wit-me partner ...ever?

...........................................................................

"Remember when we got those free tickets to the puppet show when we were here?" I ask.

She does. And then she recognizes the theater/club. Even then, I thought it was too nice a space for just puppet show.

Apparently, Prince did too, which is why he bitch-slapped it with "3121" everywhere. Even the blackjack tables outside the club boasted the numbers. Wait. What's a J.W. doing associating his brand with blackjack tables??

The people on the never ending line were pissed. One girl mumbled about being there since 8:30.
I checked my watch. 10:10 on the dot. Great. We're never getting in. Not ever.

I found an official looking guy in black. "Excuse me...where's the will-call line?"

"Fan club"?

"Uh...yeah." I said, surprised.

"Go see that gentleman there." So we did. And that gentleman there whipped out two green bracelets.

"See that walkway?....Enter through there."

And so we did. And in less than two minutes flat...we were in. On the dance floor. In front of the stage.
You've got to love the way Prince treats his fans.

Monitors on the wall rocked retro video-mixes. Soul Train, Carmen Jones, Under TheCherry Moon, Graffiti Bridge... I found myself flanked by a professional poker player who gave me the re-cap of the night before and wanted to talk everything Prince, and a really large teddy-bear silent type, who uncomfortably reminded me of my ex-fiance.

The DJ spun songs I thought I'd never hear in a club in this decade. D.M.S.R. Sexuality. Erotic City (sigh). Cool. 17 Days.


After the second Red Bull and vodka (served in a large Solo cup with a REAL straw. Like...McDonalds kinda straw...)....I thought the wildly dancing guy with the top hat and homemade purple vinyl Prince coat seemed pretty normal.

A few tattoos on women who probably never married...and plenty of "what are you doing after the show" glances from men knowing most of the women were...well..Prince fans. God. It's so easy to get laid at a Prince concert. And when you add Vegas into the mix....

"I flew in from Tennessee..." a guy behind me boasted.

"They're from New York" the poker player retorted.

Everyone raised an eyebrow. That's right. Instant respect for the Prince-Fan gangsta. Or insanity... depends on how you look at it.

The DJ threw on "Adore"...and the Jamal look-alike suddenly grabbed me for a slow dance. (Actually...he hemmed me up without asking. )...he pulled me into his body tighter and something began to gro...

"Uh...you mind if we just do a nice two-step side-by-side?" I asked.

He was embarrassed. I felt kinda bad. Kinda. Suddenly, the song stopped.
The lights dimmed.

I screamed.

.............................................................................................

Zombies are coming at me at an alarming rate.

"House Of The Dead" is my therapy. I fucking hate zombies, so I try to play this game as much as possible to rid me of my fear. It's just different when you have a gun OK? It just is.

This new version is kicking my ass. There's a new grenade launcher and some genius thought it would be fun if the zombie "grabbed" you, while you shook em off. I almost ran away from the game when I discovered this little surprise, but instead, shook his ass off...and fed him a grenade. Yeah. How bout I eat YOUR fucking brain?

I've just dropped ten bucks in the NASCAR Arcade, which gives us enough tokens to stay and play for quite a while. We hit the air hockey table and our day camp skills kick in. (Well...Shervon's does....she whups my butt. X-borough style.)

After this...we hit "The Fast And The Furious"....then some motorcycle ride...and we both feel slight radiation...but this makes me wanna do nothing else but touch EVERYTHING. Let's see...what other wildly popular game can we take over....?

Oh yes. YES. YES!!!

Janet Jackson's "Doesn't Really Matter" is blasting through the Arcade...and we play it over...and over...while I whup Shervon's butt in"Dance Dance Revolution X".

Then we find some racing cars...and take pictures with them...as if it were our life long dreams to take pictures with these cars. Some guys stared and gave disgusted looks. Like the cars should be cleaned after we touched them. At that, I almost licked door handle. Cuz fuck that. Fuck that.

............................................................................................

Name one man who can open a show with "Jonny B. Good", sprinkle in some Led Zepplin and then some damn Teddy P.

I sang along..."So good ...loving somebody...and somebody loves you back..."

...and THAT'S when I caught eye contact with him...a nod and a smile. Then he said it. The one thing I've been waiting to hear all my life.

"I'm coming down there."

WHAT? NO !! HE'S COMING THIS WAY...This can't be happening....Don't...faint Nye. Don't...faint...don't...don't...Oh no. I'm gonna... hey.

Wait a minute.

He's really tiny. REALLY tiny. He barely can clear my breasts.What a big head. And a tiny body...He looks like a walking pez dispenser. Boy did THAT shatter the illusion. He should have stayed on stage. Damn it.

He got back up there...thankfully....

"Will ya'll go home! Get outta my house!!" he yelled.

The crowd collectively refused."Ok fine. Then stay for breakfast. You know I like pancakes."

Two hours and two encores later...he took his Twinz...and brokeout. His sax player came through the audience and spoke with everyone...while I found Shervon...(oh yeah. She left mid-concert to find a seat. The cha-cha's were killing her.) We took in the energy of the club...did some two-stepin' to the beautiful DJ's spinning...and partied till we couldn't...or rather....till I was convinced he wasn't coming back out.

Straight up giddy.

I found the Jamal look-alike (who kept staring from a far. That got creepy) thanked him for the dance. (Told ya...I felt bad.) Found the guy in the trench and top hat (Bob) and just thanked him for being alive ...thanked the DJ (she's in the "Black Sweat" video) and took one last sweeping glance.

Wow.

I hit up the boutique and just...took it all in. I need another Red-Bull and vodka.

You down?

"Sure."

The girl hangs like monkey with superglue on her hands I tell you.
............................................................................................

"Ma'am, did you know these were lighters?"

"Oh...are they"? I lied.

Don't ask me how or why I didn't think to put the souvenir lighters I'd bought back in my suitcase. Shervon did mention it...I shrugged. Shoulda listened. "The only way to get these is to mail them to yourself or check them..." "Nevermind. Keep them." Damn. They were cool lighters too.

"Where are you going where you need two jackets? Is it that cold?"

"New York. Yes. It is that cold." Bitch.

"That is..."

"A tambourine."

She saw the symbol...looked at me. (Touch my tambourine, and we're gonna have a serious fucking problem...)

She let me through.

Shervon and I barely said a word on the way back...sharing a content silence only sisters can be comfortable with. She listened to 3121, I got quiet and thought about things and people...and the lesson.

Because there's always a lesson people. Always.

I came to a few conclusions. (I thanked Vegas for them.)

The town is about illusion, and there's nothing wrong with illusion. It's entertaining.

But that's all it is. Entertainment. It's not real. However, ifyou believe it's real...you got a real problem.

Here's the thing about illusion. No one will tell you that it is one...because you look too happy living it.But you'll pay to maintain the illusion. And when you run out of money,time,energy, sense of self...whatever...your illusion will crumble. Right before your very eyes...and there will be nothing left....and you'll wonder. Why.

Why in the hell didn't you wake up sooner? ...Stop betting two hands ago. Just...go home.

Here's the trick to beating the house every time.

Respect and understand that what you're shown... it makes you feel great. But it's fake. It's entertainment.

And if you feel yourself change to fit into the illusion...it's pretty much the same as donning a Mickey Mouse outfit and saying...I live in Disney!

Respect that what is real...isn't hidden. It's right in front of you...but you won't see it unless you want to.

(Ever look into a dealers eyes...as they watch people lose fortunes? You can't. They never raise them from the cards.)

I'm not saying don't subscribe to entertainment. Hell. I'm a junkie. I'm not even saying don't gamble.

But make sure you're OK with what you lose...and the risk you'll take. Don't act like you didn't know. Fly out to see your icon. Sure. But be OK with spending a stupid amount of dough you don't have...and chance him getting off the stage and ruining the larger than life illusion when you realize he's kinda...bobbly-headish.

But you do hear stories of people who gamble and win unexpectantly. When they didn't even mean to gamble in the first place...they just happen to hit the jackpot. For instance, you may discover that bonding with your baby sis is possibly the coolest thing you did all year. And the money you spent wasn't actually on Prince...but on some splendid quality time....and you'd do it again in a fucking heartbeat. An unexpected win. Those are the best.


Our last cab driver was a talker. Really nice guy. Actually all the cabdrivers were. Soooo not New York like...

"Most people ask me for a tip. They say hey. You've been living here such along time, you've got to know an inside tip or something. They expect me to tell them how to win at Blackjack or better yet to tell them not to gamble. But I don't tell them not to gamble. You know what I tell them?"

"What's that?" I asked.

"The best advice I could give them is... don't leave on a Sunday."

"Well...we're leaving on a Monday. You don't need more than a few days here."

"Smart. Very smart. No. Nobody needs to be here longer than need be. Nobody."

Amen.

-Nye

Do It! Do it NOW!

It really is amazing that I'm not married right now. (I know..I could have been. Twice. Now hush up and let me explain...) Now I know that sounds egotistical, but I'm not saying this because I'm sooo worthy ...it's more like..

I'm really impulsive.

Really. Impulsive.

I just went back into a few old journals...reading my high school adventures and nothing...NOTHING has changed about me.

Except, perhaps my vocabulary. I used to say things like.."that felt mad good" with a DELICIOUSLY thick "Brwonkx" accent.

However, with age comes some wisdom...whereas, I know that impulses shouldn't be...denied, per se, but acknowledged..and then allowed to marinate.
Let the flavor penetrate...have a little patience Nye.

But even with the patience, you should just do the damn thing. Life is too damn short not to.

Too short to deal with the "what ifs". I'd rather say "Remember the time ..."
(And I got some news this week that REALLY brought that home.)

So, with that being said, I guarantee, if I lived closer to Vegas, I would have been divorced at least twice by now...or at the very least...annulled.
18 year old Nyree would have been saying "I Do" in some crazy impulsive ceremony performed by "James Brown"...just to do it. Just to blog about it when she's in her thirties.( Damn I wish I lived closer to Vegas.)

Anyhoo...

This past week, I was slightly emo and contemplating just...fucking EVERYTHING, so I did what I do best.

I whipped out my debit card. (I know..I know. Don't give me that look. I'm only human.)

Yep. I cleaned up the credit and whatever was left I dropped in a mall in Long Island.
Now, I don't feel too bad about this. I mean, I believe there are things you shouldn't skimp on.
Your living quarters, grooming, appearance and fun.

Oh...

And Prince.

He's opening 3121 in the Rio Hotel in Las Vegas next Saturday. (...said the fan club email...and lookie how considerate! They provided a link where you can buy tickets like fingersnap).

You know me by now...don't you? You've seen me go through Prince-induced asthma...haven't you?
If you haven't, don't. It's not fun to watch me get shaken to my very core and become an indecisive pile of groupie-mush.

I didn't think...I just... just...started to sweat. And suddenly, just as I was thinking..."This is crazy Nye. It's NEXT WEEKEND"

..like a sign from the cosmos... my iTunes began cranking...

"Though the gates...knock on the door.
Put your clothes in a pile...on the floor.
Take your pick from the Japanese robes and sandals
Drink champagne from a glass with chocolate handles...
Don't wanna come? 3121!
Gonna be so much fun! 3121!
That's where the party be! 3121!...
You can come if you want to ...but you can never leave..."

And then sheer panic settled it. HE WAS TALKING TO ME! AND WHAT IF THE TICKETS ARE GONE? YOU KNOW HOW PRINCE FANS ARE! THEY'LL BE GONE! ALL OF THEM! BUY THEM! BUY THEM!
So I fished out the debit card...typed in my password..the secret Prince fan club pre-sale code and ...

(don't breathe...just click...worry about hotel later...)

Click.

Oh shit.

(Blink. Blink.)

I'm going to Vegas.

(Blink. Blink.)

NEXT WEEKEND.

..and then it hits me. WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST DO?


My relationship overweight, stranded in the middle of a frozen lake...and the water is beginning to crack...

I don't have an HD TV so I can watch the fucking Star Wars marathon on Cinemax.

I have to cook Thanksgiving Dinner the following week and...

I'M JUST GONNA GET ON A PLANE AND GO SEE PRINCE IN VEGAS?

Sure am.

Because next week will be the end of my 8 week transformation.
Can you think of a better way to celebrate?!!!


And how did I do? Well... thinking back..pretty damn...great.

I have zero credit card debt.
I've gotten back into the gym.
Built relationships..got rid of the unhealthy ones.
I have fresh flowers...every damn week.
I'm back in touch with my family.
My home is actually ...organized.


And I've learned that shit happens when you just get up off your ass and do it.

And that you'll never lose when you do things out of love. Love of self, or someone else...doesn't matter.
You'll never lose.

Not sure if you guys know who Don Miguel Ruiz is...but he's the author of "The Four Agreements", "The Mastery Of Love" and "The Voice Of Knowledge". I call them my "happy soul" books...I love reading them. (Hey..what can I say, they center me. That..and a good "downward facing dog". ) They reaffirm that expressing love...of other people or of self ...is nothing to ever be ashamed of. And every action should come from that place. If it does...you'll never worry about being wrong. Ever.

And the underlying driving force in this whole journey was just...love.

I was scared to death to get in contact with a few people, and the love I put out, came right back.
I love myself, from my pms days to my "damn I look good" days. And the sad thing is...not everybody can say that.
So doing this was almost like a self-love orgy that lasted for eight weeks.

...that's a whole lot of love babies. Ha!

HOME:

Bout some flowers and FINALLY finalized my paint choices! I'll buy the paint...and slap it on in two weeks.

HEART:
I STILL didn't call my aunt, and there's no excuse for it. I got busy. It'll remain my weekly goal till I do it.
Oh...and I'm gonna invite a few people over to my cold-ass apartment and stop acting like I really do live in the Batcave.
Dinner maybe?

HEALTH:
Would u believe I didn't make the gym ONCE this damn week? Not ONCE. Told you guys, it's been a hell of a week.
AND I couldn't get through it without some nicotine. No to worry. I know it's a nasty dangerous habit. And all this self love is trading that habit for another. Won't beat myself up about it...I'm moving on.

FINANCE:
Aside from Prince in Vegas, shopping and my longing for a $1000 set, I've gotta say, I've been watching it like a hawk.
I didn't bring lunch at ALL this week..but I'm a realist. I'll do it when I can. I enjoy eating out...and I can afford it. I enjoy cooking at home, so when I have time, I will.

LAST WEEK PEOPLE!

For this week...more of the same. Reflection and love...and I'm serious about that driver license.
You've got ONE week to gear yourself up for it! Get ready!

The Nyree "GIRL YOU AIN'T GOT YO LICENSE YET?" Challenge is REAL and it begins in one week.

I promise you...we'll be hitting the West Side Highway by Christmas!

..blastin Prince, of course.

-Nye

Hey Janice!

I need this dude this week. Can't seem to concentrate...
CLASSIC.

I Ain't Stettin' Bout You!! ...A love story

Put your arms around me child, like when you bumped your shin. And you know I love you now...like I loved you then. Though you may be trying sometimes, and I need you, and you're not there. I may get mad, and turn you away, but Lord knows I still care.
But you can not ask for more, than can come from me. I am different than you are, but one day, you'll see. So, if I lose my patience with you, and suddenly I start to scream. It's only because, I just want you to be, everything I see in my dreams."
-The Feeling We Once Had from "The Wiz"

(Sorry. I'm a bit late. However, some of you that know me...and have been hanging out with me for the past few days...you understand. OK. Let's begin.)


Translate the following phrases:

"I ain't stettin' bout you."

"Goone from here. Goone nah."

"Gi-em some!"

"Greeeat day!"


These were Lorraine Fitzgerald's greatest hits. If you didn't have a Grandma that was the slave-dialect bridge like mine...here's what I just said.

"I ain't stettin' bout you."
Translation: You don't bother me at all. I could care less. I'm not paying attention.

"Goone from here wit dat foolishness. Goone nah."
Translation: Can be used TWO ways.
1) Serious: Get out of my sight. You're getting on my nerves with your behavior.
2)Humorous: Whatever you are saying is unbelievably funny and I almost don't believe you it's so incredulous.

"Gi-em some!"
Translation: SHARE!

"Greeeat day!"
Translation: Oh shit!


I'm all in Grandma mode because, after a long struggle with Alzheimers, she gave in around this time of year.

And every year, it sucks.

Even if I try not to let it suck...I get, quiet. And a quiet pain in my chest that won't let up and I can never figure out why....then, I'll remember.

Right. That's right.

And to alleviate this...I usually try to celebrate the memory to combat the pain...with humor. And you're welcome to join me...because Grandma did some strange & funny shit..and it was usually poverty driven, which, should never be funny. But it is.

Now I've told most of you the "Play the Ghosts Out The House" story, some of you got the "Big Jim and The Rat" story... and most of you have gotten the "Spider-Man Barbie Bride" story. (The funniest story in my arsenal to date.)


But this one is about the time Grandma broke her arm.

I was about 11, and looking forward to summer. REALLY looking forward to it.
I had been to day camp the years before, and, as far as I was concerned...THERE WAS NOTHING FUCKING BETTER. I was a super star at camp! I got cool with all the councilors and staff...Participated in everything...day camp was the shit.

So school lets out, and I've done damn well (made the honor roll...headed to 5-IGC...)and so, as Ma promised, PJ (spoiled cousin..same age) and I were headed to day camp!

Week one, I'd already made friends with this vegetarian girl who shared her oddly tasty sandwiches with me...joined the dance troupe (The "Seward-Action Dance Girls". I still remember the song we had to sing to go with the dance. I'll sing it for you on command.) ...life was good.

Over the weekend, Ma got a phonecall from uncle Buddy. Apparently, on the way to the Post Office mailbox, Grandma had tripped and broken her arm. (Grandma was always going to the Post Office for her mail. She didn't get her mail at home, because she expected gov't assistance checks and people would break into the mailbox and steal em. Yeah.)

So I heard this, and I'm REALLY upset. She's gonna be OK right?

She sure is...because you're going over there to spend the summer with her and help her out.

WHAT?

I tell you. Nothing hurts you more than to see your Grandma in a cast.
Helplessness and pride are kicking the shit out of each other for supremacy. She can't cook...( the microwave wasn't affordable yet), she can't sew, bake, clean, play piano, wash... you get the idea.

...which means young Nyree is thrown into "Home Domestics: Def Con Five". Because Grandma did EVERYTHING "the old fashion way", and it had to get done. Had to.

...and thus began my Jedi training.

This may shock some of you, but I am NOT TO BE FUCKED WITH in the following categories:
1) Cooking (love it) Including baking.
2) Cleaning (hate it)
3) Playing the piano with only my left hand (I was her supplement)
4) Sewing (needle and thread or machine. Gangsta.)
5) Crocheting (Yes. Hats. Booties.Blankets. Yes.)
6) Bidding on items up for bid on "The Price is Right". (One dollar is a gangsta bid. You basically are telling everyone ...you are WRONG.)

And yet, this is not the most important lesson I took away.

The most important lesson was how to put my grandmother's bra on.

There is nothing...NOTHING ...more disturbing than a girl who doesn't even have tits, than to put some tits that are
WAY BEYOND their prime in a bra.

So the following morning after my arrival, Grandma said...

"Come on baby. Help Grandma in her britches."

WHAT?!!

But you can't say no to your Grandma. EVER. It's a mortal sin.

So I took my grandmother's long...(let me say that again) LONG...soft, worn breast (the left one)...

But wait. Let me back up.

Do you even understand what it's like to see your grandmother's breast? No?

Good. I hope to God the answer is "No. No Nye. Hell no." ...and if that's the answer. I'm so happy for you.

Because a bitch was scarred.

Anyway...

So I see these breasts....LONG..

Used...

...old.

And yes, soft.

And it's my responsibility to get them in this bra...which, is at LEAST two cup sizes too small.

At least.

So I lift up the left one...and I place it inside the bra...which has the same feeling as placing a water balloon in a ziplock baggie that's too small.

I'm pushin and mushing it in....trying to get it to mold to the form of this bra.

Uncomfortable...ummm.... yes.

But by the time I got the left one in...I was a pro. The right one was cake.

I got that shit in like a professional...uh...bra stuffer.

Nobody should have to touch their grandmother's breast...much less shove them in a bra.

And it's old bra.

The kind of bra that had velcro, seven buttons and a zipper. Point is...shit was COMPLICATED.

But I got them in it.
After a few days, I was like a Jedi master when it came to getting an old lady bra on.

And as the summer went on...I was like "COME ON GRANDMA..IT'S TIME TO PUT YA BRA ON..."

And she'd sit there and let me handle her long ...LONG ...soft breasts and get them into those old ass bras.

Look. I'm not proud of this skill...but it's helped me.

I am now able to put on my own bra in less than three seconds...and I have Grandma to thank.

Because the longer mine get...I just don't worry. I just don't.


But you don't care about my Grandma's tits...you care about my goals. That's why you're here.

HOME:

Last week, I bought red flowers. This week...white roses. Lorraine Virgina Fitzerald deserves them.
I also cleaned out my bedroom closets. (I know. The goal was HALL...but seriously. If you saw the state of my bedroom, you'd overstand.) WOW...that shit was a job...but the Salvation Army thanks me.
Bought a lamp and a heater. IT'S COLD IN HERE...

HEART:

Went to see "Chicago" the week before with Shervon, as I mentioned. Usher had strep throat, but no matter. "Pop...Six...Squish...Uh-uh...Cicero...Liptshiz.."
Not nearly as good as the first time I saw it on B'dway, but it was worth it to spend some time. (And we did a tour through Grand Central. Granted, I learned most of the facts though a scavenger hunt conducted by my job...but knowledge is never a waste.)

This week, met up with my half-sister "Donnie" for lunch. She's so damn pretty...good heart. Makes me believe in the Emory bloodline again. We've got a nice email chat going on...so we're growing. I did NOT call my cousin PJ, or my aunt Claudie...or my brother. I'll explain why in a minute.

HEALTH:

Did I mention my boxing class is kicking my ass? Well..yes. Combined with yoga and my new Saturday morning step-class habit.... I'm feeling kinda fit. Now..if I can only rid myself of these damn N. Lights. I don't need the patch. I need a reason...you know. Aside from cancer.

FINANCE:

Eff debt! Consolidated all my card debt, cut them bitches up...bills paid ON TIME...and the cable is on for the winter. I'll be debt free in five years (barring any major financial eff-ups. Like a trip to Spain.) Doing the damn thing.


NEXT WEEK:

HOME:

Pick out colors for all of the rooms I want to paint over. Clean out the hall closets. (Yikes.)
And throw away all the crap I have in the dining area/office... that hurts. PAINFUL.

HEART:
OK. I didn't call my aunt. Strictly because I...I'll be honest. I didn't know what to say. This week...I won't fear that. And I'll be sure to quell that fear with my brother as well. Sure. And PJ.

HEALTH:
I'm adding on another class. Strip-Bar. Yeah. Yeah. I was supposed to do it last week...but I chickened out. Nothing says NOT SO SEXY than someone effin' up the Pussycat Dolls choreography.
Stay tuned. OK. Fine...I'll work towards ending the N-Lights. I'll even give you a date.


FINANCE:
Eating out ...LESS. I've been doing that a LOT. It's getting colder...so I'm gonna cook more. Would you like a hot meal? A really good hot meal?

OK...so next week everybody. Have a good one.

And all who can't drive...psyche yourself up. It's REALLY gonna happen.

-Nye

Cosmo, Hope and a Driver's License

Sorry about the delay.

In the immortal words of Slick Rick..."Here...we go..."

Yo booty might be bigga but I still can pull yo nigga..but I don't want em. You got suga on yo pita, but yo nigga think I'm sweeta..but I don't want em. You know the whole n'cyclo'pedja but yo nigga think I'm deeper...but I don't want em. Gotta whole lotta junk up in yo trunk but yo nigga think I'm live cuz I keeps it crunk..but I don't want em. ...I don't want em, because of what he's doing to you. And you don't need him. Cuz he ain't ready.

- Erykah Badu "Booty"

So...when was the last time you read Cosmopolitan magazine?

I picked it up in the beauty salon the other day...and laughed so hard at it, I had to buy it myself just to finish the articles. One article in particular targeted "Sneaky Women". Things women did to get what they wanted...from men. I mean...whatever they wanted.

One woman bought fake diamond studs, cried about losing one...and her boyfriend bought her a new pair...OF REAL ONES. Gangsta.

Another woman told her boyfriend she was pregnant...so he'd begin to think marriage.
He began to think future..and bingo...a ring. Yikes. (She never did say how she got out of the lie..)

Reminds me of that joke Chris Rock made.

"Men lie small...like..I was with Robert. Women lie big like..It's your baby!"

And I'm starting to believe this shit is true.

In an edit session one night...I had my crumpled up, well read edition of Cosmo...and to pass the time, I decide to read out loud a few articles to my editor.

Shock and awe.

"Women actually THINK this way?" he asked.

I could see the wheels turning. He was wondering if his live-in girlfriend read this crap and if she'd been gaming him into doing the things he does...or if he did things of his own free will. (I'm sure she's doing it of her own free will M.C. Don't trip.)

Oh..I didn't give you best part. NOT ONLY does Cosmo give you great ways to manipulate your sweetie...but it also gives you toe-curling sex tips, so if he doesn't do what you say, you get all "Vivid Video" on him...and eventually...he will. (Don't buy it. In a nutshell...more oral sex. Moving on...)

I won't promote it any more than I have, because it's the low-self-esteem-girl's guide to staying single. However...if you know who you are and give knob-slobs during half-time cuz you LOVE him, not cuz you want him to look at you like he looks at (insert chick he finds hot here)...read away. It's great entertainment.

So, after we had dinner (in the edit. See. That's how rumors get started), my editor confessed that he wished his girlfriend would "dress up" more. After they moved in together, he only sees her in sweatpants and ponytails. "Can't remember the last time she threw on some heels." he said.

Ouch. I kinda cringed on that one. Ponytails are a good friend of mine and the pair of sweats I like to rock around the house... uh. Yeah. Let's just say if the building burned down, I'd try my damnest to change before leaving my apartment.

Then it clicked.

Women are reading the wrong damn magazine. I mean, sure. There's a "Cosmo Men" section that takes the advice of 24 year olds as to what keeps them interested (anything)...but no where in there does it say "Do your damn hair and throw away those ratty ass sweatpants." If women really wanna know...I had a sneaking suspicion I should check...

Men's Health. Muscle and Fitness. Best Life and most importantly ...Maxim.

OK. Fine. You've got to get past the cover. It's cool cuz... you're never gonna look like whats-her-face on the cover. (Actually, what's-her-face on the cover will never look like herself on that cover without Photoshop.) But as I cracked open the magazine...I noticed something.

Not one woman rocked a ponytail. Or sweatpants that looked anywhere NEAR what I had at home.

Rocket science? I think not.

So "light bulb moment" for this week? Do ya damn hair.


Then I read the articles...

"How to deal with Attractive Chicks" (Basically...ignore her, since she's used to the attention. This one got me. While am I in no way staring in mirrors all day, I fully realize those moments when I'm the baddest beeyach in the room...and I WILL NOT BE IGNORED. )

"Be a Much Better Man" (Whoa.)

"Chicks Dig Men Who Cook" (Duh.)

"How To Get Her To Wear Heels To Bed" (Simple. Buy her a pair of Manolos. She'll wear em every damn night. I would.)

But no duh. (Duh is my new favorite "back in the day" phrase. Go with it.)

Just as I didn't get I should trash those sweatpants, there's some dude out there who doesn't know that saying some shit like, "You know, the secret to my salmon is the rosemary in the buttersauce."* Makes us swoon.

So this week..I made one unexpected improvement....

Which means getting up a little earlier (GROAN) to get the hair to fall right.
(Double Groan. It's too long damn it...)

And not because someone else finds it attractive...but because I walk with a little more 'tude when I know it's falling right. I've got a little more oomfh.

So.. let's re-cap. I had two weeks, so I should have gotten everything done...right? Err..

Home:
Things got real shakey this week when my laundry seemed to want to stay in the corner of my bedroom, instead of in drawers/closets. I realize that I need to FIX MY DRESSER... and this means getting my power-drill returned. Ahem. You're reading this. I know you are.
Yes. I bought flowers (a habit that is becoming my favorite.)
I started the hall closets...but ran out of time.
HOWEVER...I did start a "throw away" pile.
A defective hooded dryer.
Two bar stools
A scanner
A picture that no longer "fits".

Heart:
I went to see "Chicago" with Shervon. Blondie (and I say this with the love only an older sister can have) didn't realize the tickets were for 8pm...instead of 2pm. So after my step-class (in which I didn't mess up once, thanks to the music. Mike Jackson vs. Janet...Ms. Jackson if your nasty. And speaking of Janet...someone on a blog somewhere called Jermaine "Master Splinter"...and that's almost as funny as Mike Epps saying James Brown's mug shot picture looks like a Thundercat.)
Anyway...we bonded...for HOURS..(LOL...) but we had a great time. It's always great to connect.
I have dinner with D.E. (paternal sister) this Saturday, and possibly painting an elementary school.

(I've got nerve though. My bathroom is jealous now.)

Finance:

I misplaced my debit card on purpose. (Let that marinate for a minute. You'll understand me.) And I FREAKED out. However, I know when to use it, and when I'm just being lazy. That's huge. Everything else is on track...sorta.
I just paid bills ...all bills...on time. And wrote and apology to my landlord for being late.


Health:
I've been taking this boxing class...and I love it. The instructor asked me if I box for real....which is either a) a genuine compliment on my skillz or b) she wants to sleep with me because I appear all Million Dollar Baby in that peice. (No..guys. No. Just calm down. No. Keep your panting to a minimum please.)
Either way..I've been kicking ass and taking names, so I'm proud of that.

Yoga, Step..and my clothes need saftey pins. Good things people. Good things.



So ...switchin gears before I get into next week's goals.

The topic now is "hope".

This theme came up a few times this week with a few friends of mine.

I think we all hope for different things. Love. Wealth. Love. (Oh...did I say that twice?)

But here's the thing.

There will always be someone who loves you and hopes you remember this.

There will always be someone who you love, and you hope they know this.

You'll always owe someone. Always.

And you'll always hope you can pay them.

Hope is pretty powerful. Nothing more to it. Just wanted to leave you with that.

So ...next week...

HOME:

Actually THROW AWAY the things I've decide I don't need. (yikes)
Paint the bathroom. (Chocolate...I told you.)
And ignore Best Buy's sale on Plasma TV's. Sorry. Had to put that in there.

HEART:
Call my cousin PJ. We were REALLY tight as kids, but then he had some and ...well..you know.
Wanna reconnect with him. It's time.


Call my brother. Steven and I are 8 years apart and he's always had that "big brother" place in my heart,
but we've grown apart. A call to him is WAY overdue.

Buy a gift for a friend: This is important. I don't think you should just celebrate birthdays or weddings.
Sometimes, a little something...unexpected...goes a long...long way. And you never know. They may need it.

HEALTH:
Keep on doing what I'm doing. OK...without a bottle of really good wine (those guys in my favorite wine shop are like
crack dealers. "This new Cabernet came in and it's WONDERFUL"....

I'm gonna take a "stip tease" class next week too. That should be funny...I mean...fun.

FINANCE:
I'm doing well... pretty well. But let's see if I can stick to it. Went without bringing lunch a few times...but I forgive that.
Let's see if I can do better with it.

It's all about improvement people..and I've decided on my next 8 week task...it's to get...(drum roll please...)

MY DRIVERS LICENSE.

Yeah...yeah. All you in the south can't imagine. But a city chick never really needs one. My mom still doesn't have one. Or my step dad. Or my sisters. A few of them. After this is through...I'm gonna go on a journey to become a licensed driver.

Stay off the road. That's a warning.
And if by chance, you don't have one either, I encourage you to join me in my quest for freedom.

What the hell else better do you have to do?

-Nye




*Name that movie.

Groundhog Day/ Columbus Day...same difference.

Your comments exude charm dear lady, and the way you issue them is even more charming. You'd make a lovable dictator. As you know, this is the first time I've felt sorry I'm no longer your humble and obedient slave, and however much a monster I may be - your words - I always look back with pleasure on the time you bestowed less unfriendly names on me. Indeed, I often have the desire to earn them again, thus finally providing, with you, a level of consistency in love for all the world to see. But there are more important matters to gage our attention: we are fated to be conquerors and we must follow our destiny, perhaps at the end of our career we shall meet again, because, with all due respect lovely Marquis, you are following in my tracks at a pace least equal to mine...

- from Les Liaisons Dangereuses by Pierre Ambrois-Francois Choderlos de Laclos


God I love this fucking book. There's something about the honesty in the deception that gets me every single time.
Now I know...this sounds like an oxymoron.
Wait Nyree. how can you be honest...when you're deceitful?

Well...it's exactly at those times...when you ARE honest. It's a break from being whoever you "believe" you are...or whoever everyone else "believes" you are. It's about satisfying your very basic need. A hunger. Being selfish...which is only the will to love yourself, right? The need is simply.. to be yourself. To experience without judgment. And that's the temptation of deceit. It's a free pass to be selfish...without rules. Because, after all...how can you judge if you're wrong too?

Which is exactly the reason why my childhood friend called me to ask me to meet him in Atlantic City.

"Wait a minute. Aren't you bound in holy matrimony?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'm bound. So what?" he asked. Not even missing a beat.

Now, here's the odd part. I wasn't offended. I just wondered what exactly makes men feel so damn comfortable to offer this to me. No game, no sugar-coating. Just straight out...So, would you like to be my mistress Nye?

I'm pretty sure other women don't get this offer as much as I do.

Pretty fucking sure.

To answer this question, I immediately consulted a few trusted Friendmenships and asked what exactly makes me "Other woman..." material.

Here's what I got.

your other woman material .. because you present yourself as independent, hella cool, capable reliable, u talk shyt back and refused to give in ..etc.

if a dude is being smart about his cheatin.. he would want to partner with someone who isn't that sticky.
& your no glue.

Take it as a compliment Nyree... I'm sure he meant it as one.

Trust me .. he'da never called "_ _ _ _ _". And its not because she's more woman than you.. its because he's got less chance of gettin caught with you.

get it?

Yeah. I get it. I'm the kind of woman who retires...owning a beach bar on an island somewhere...and you KNOW...about 20 years ago, she used to be HOT. She's still sexy..in a an older woman way. She's either got a husband just as hella cool as she is, still pats her ass when he walks by. (You know. That couple that makes you wonder...HOW did they meet?) Or she's happily single...and will probably fuck your 18 year old son while he's on Spring Break. Great. Got it.

I'm sorry. I'm getting off-blog here. But I just thought that hella interesting.

You just tuned in because you wanted to know if I bought flowers for my apartment, right? (yes.) Weren't at all concerned about my epiphany...but what color did I choose for the bathroom damn it!!!??(... chocolate).

Ok, fine. Let's start at the very beginning (..if you sang in response.. "A very good place to start..." your kinda gay.)

And actually, well, it started before then but you're quick. You'll catch on.

I was given two very enticing invitations the week before.

One...a tres-chic wedding of a co-worker... the other, a visit with an old friend of mine. Ok. More than friend. What can I say, he was damn good at the more. ANYWAY...

Last week, I found myself with a bit of run-over from the previous weeks tasks...a whole new set of tasks...and no time to do what I needed to do to prepare for the wedding. (Namely...shop. I hate shopping for "a cause". If you know me..you know this. My dress was the same price as a new flatscreen...tube, not plasma.) ANYWAY....

..this is going somewhere. Promise.

So Wednesday, I hit Dr. B. at 10AM. She tells me my ovaries work...they are right where they are supposed to be...doing exactly what they should be doing and I'm in perfect reproductive health. YAY VAGINA!

But then the questions...

"Are you with the same partner...?"

Um...since when? Two years ago??..um...yes. No..I mean...Um.. sort of?

She frowned.

"Do you plan on having children Nyree...?"

Um...sure.

"When?"

In..uh...a couple of years or so...

"Nyree. You're thirty-three. A couple of years..."

What the fuck is THAT supposed to mean? (I didn't actually say this.)

"Don't wait till you're forty."

Look Doc. If I'm forty with no children, chances are, I made up my mind around age thirty-seven. You PRACTICE baby making in your twenties..you don't actually DO IT you frigid-ass cold-speculum-wielding Fallopian tube controlling bitchcake! Who the fuck appointed you high priestess of pro-creation? YO MOMMA TEETH SO YELLOW SHE SPIT BUTTER!!! (OK. I didn't say that either. But I thought it ...LOUDLY.)

I walked out the office...feeling a little like I wasted her time.
"AND STAY OUT TILL YOU GET KNOCKED UP...YOU WASTE OF OVUM..."

However, I stuck with the glass-half-full version. I've got great twat, tastes great, less filling, functional and clap-free...it's more than most college girls can say... which is comforting.

Thursday, I find myself in a class full of women, taught by a woman. Her name is Zuta. And she's going to put us through an hour of boxing hell..and she'll smile while you hate her. But you'll love her next week.

She's right. This week, I love her, and I'm going back for more...but last week...Zuta and my GYN could have taken a long walk off a short cliff. Hand in fucking hand.

Friday, I realize I still don't have a dress...so I find one. And I open my email to..."Hey. So are we gonna get a drink or what? I've got new music I know you'll love..." (Translation. Are you ever coming over so I can blow your back out?)

... shit. Haven't seen him in a LONG time. Wow.

Wow.

Maybe I can JUST have a drink. Maybe...just a drink? What's the harm?

I whip out the paper.

Pro: Fantastic "more". Con: That's all there is.
Pro: MIND BLOWING "more". Con: THAT'S ALL THERE IS.
Pro: He's divorced! Single even... Con: You're not.
Pro: ... Con: This would make you a cheater. Verb.
Pro:... Con:And you JUST got a squeaky clean twat report.
Pro:... Con:Being single in the winter AIN'T fun.

Now. Some truth-juice.

The fact that I had to write this list meant on some level..I'm just not happy where I am...so I whip out another piece of paper.

I title this: WHAT HAVEN'T I TRIED/TALKED ABOUT IN THIS RELATIONSHIP...

And I realize that I need all of these in one place...I head downstairs and get a black journal with "Write It Down" written simply on the cover.

..and I let it rip.EVERYTHING...even some things I won't share here. (I'm open..but not stupid..and believe me, Indiana Jones couldn't find it) And I came up with?...Ultimately...Boredom. If you don't share common interests with someone, eventually, you do nothing with them. NOTHING. Or...you just do what you want...alone. Or your DYING to do it with someone else who shares your interests... And THAT ...my friends,...leads to trouble. Though the temptation of being selfish...

I replied.

"This might sting a little, but I assure you, I mean this. I have to tell you, I think you're a wonderful (lay) person, ...but I will not have that drink with you. The nature of our relationship has changed on this end. One day we may be in the position to enjoy each other again. Maybe. Feel free to shout me out though... and maybe I'll see you around..."

My phone rang immediately with confessions of it's more than "more".

No it's not. Otherwise... it would have been.

Odd. Didn't expect the reaction. It sorta reminded me of the reaction my nieces had when we took their pacifiers away.
They went ape shit. But after a while...they forgot all about it. Because, simply, they never needed it...

..yes. It stings.


ANYWAY, the wedding was beautiful...makes me want one (until I remember the hell the bride went through on the planning...) My date, perfect. Dashing. A great dancer.

As for the hall closets...nope. Called my mom...didn't visit. (Turns out..she loved the call.) My twin nieces voices and songs make me not want to make that decision when I'm thirty-seven. Didn't get around to Claudie...but I will. These keep in touch thingies are getting easier. And finances... FORGET IT!

However, I did bring lunch everyday (and snack!) AND I didn't touch the debit.
Not even when I bought the dress. (And let me tell you... money means something when you are counting out twenties...) And that list I made in my new book? I talked it out, without all the distractions. Felt great to get it off my chest though. We'll see what happens...but hey. I'm a realist.

... There's a chance I just may end up doing your son on Spring Break.

However, I'm really gunning for the bootie-pat.


So in conclusion....


I'm afraid I have to do this week over again. Sorry. I half assed it.
Hey...it happens, right? I'm all over it this week though guys...

All over it.

-Nye

P.S.
No, I didn't take the childhood friend up on Atlantic City..duh. Even if I could...
I believe anything before the engagement ring is fair game. But husbands? No thanks.
He made his bed...

P.S.S.
My company's health plan is changing...and my GYN doesn't accept the new insurance. Good fucking riddance.

OUCH and FUCK !...when used as interjections, are direct results of "Verbs".

"I get my thing in action (Verb!)
To be, to sing, to feel, to live (Verb!
That's what's happenin!)I put my heart in action (Verb!)To run, to go, to get, to give (Verb! You're what's happenin')
That's where I find satisfaction, yeah! (Yeah!)
To search, to find, to have, to hold
(Verb! To be bold)
When I use my imagination (Verb!)
I think, I plot, I plan, I dream
Turning in towards creation (Verb!)
I make, I write, I dance, I sing
When I'm feeling really active (Verb!)
I run, I ride, I swim, I fly!
Other times when life is easy
(Oh!) I rest, I sleep, I sit, I lie."

- "Verb - That's What's Happening" - School House Rock


I downloaded this off of iTunes, along with "Rufus Xavier Sarsarilla."
(If you don't know what that is...you still don't know what a "Pro-noun" is.
I'm sooo sure of this. Unless you're gay/bi...and you've played the pronoun-game to try and keep your closet door shut. Like..." THEY called me today. Or I called "them".)

Anyway..I made you sit through "Verb", because that's the theme to this thing.

I mean, change is really just about DOING it. Right?

(VERB! THAT'S WHAT'S HAPPENING!)

And as painful as it was...and as MUCH as I tried to procrastinate on each thing...I did it...well. Most of it. Here's how last week panned out.

Home:
Clean Kitchen: Five hours later...top to bottom. Mix matched pieces GONE. Cabinets organized. Life...better.
Fix One Thing Myself: (Actually, I haven't done this yet. Bad start..huh? Tonight. Pinkie swear.)
Buy Fresh Flowers: Check!(Even talked the guy down in price. Way to go...)
Cook at Home: Check. But those of you who know me know...that's not hard for me. Not at all. It's the staying home to COOK thing that was tough. But I did it.

Heart:
Call One Of My Sisters: So I emailed DE. And surprisingly enough, she responded immediately. (Not sure why I was surprised, but I was.) We set up some time to have brunch on Sunday. Cool. Very cool.
Send Dad A Thank You Card: OK. I emailed him too. It was just...easier. But I have to say..I STRUGGLED with it. The email went something like.. "Thanks for everything...though you really should learn not to be a dick."
And then it was "Would Jehovah brag about his Cadillac and make his daughter sleep on the floor?" ...but I swallowed all that. Just said thanks...left it at that. Hey.
It was big for me. BIG.
Delete Names From Cellphone: Now THIS shit was crazy. I really do make friends with anyone or anything. In my phone, now gone are...
-A professional gambler
-Someone I used to date who now HATES me because I cheated. (I didn't. We weren't a couple. Someone was in denial.)
-A friend who had a baby, and I haven't seen since. (We weren't awfully tight from jump.)
-A guy I went on a date with that was on the D.L. (Yes. I knew for sure.)
-A bouncer I met in a comedy club who was gonna "make me his wife". His voice was silky..but laced with a hint of "I'll beat your ass" when he couldn't find me. No thanks Ike.
- A party promoter. Actually, two of them.
- An acquaintance's brother who wanted to get hired.
- An Italian from Brazil.
- A co-worker I used to be cool with.
- My ex-F.Buddy's Crush. (Don't ask how her number got in my phone or why he put it in there. It's ugly Just don't ask.)
- My old next door neighbor in Bloomfield, NJ. (Nice guy, but he knows too much.)
- Lito's old jumpoff. Actually...three of em. (His phone broke down, they needed to get to him through me. Long story...)
- Last but no least...R.I.

Short story. I met R.I. in a bar (oh..shut up.)
But what should shock you ( a bit) is that he's 48 (I guess 50 right now..) short, and Jewish.
I was on a date with some guy that reminded me of Satan one night, and he slipped me his card via his female client. Cool points.
What followed was the, hands down, best winter I ever had being single.
Because NOTHING says lonely like being single in the winter. He fixed that.

We went out to dinner the first night and hit it off... played music for each other,laughed at movies... countless witty emails...but there was no attraction. NONE. Not even after drinking gentleman Jack and smoking the BEST good pot in the world. ($100 1/4 ounce...good. Delivered by Billy Joel's personal dealer. Oh. Yeah..he was friends with Billy Joel.)

I'd begin to avoid R.I. He was in love with me and...it just wasn't fair.
He was offering me keys to his apartment to just "crash" whenever I didn't want to go home...and I hadn't even invited him over to my place.

As expected..R.I. began to resent my offer of friendship.(Right after I re-enforced it when he tried to kiss me.)Finally, one morning, after spending a snowstormy-night at his place, I peeked at his stash of porn with titles like "Black Bootie #17" and "Chocolate Ass #32". He kept mentioning how disappointed he was in the storm. Knew for sure we'd be snowed in for days. Yeah...that was my cue.

He's a damn good guy though...and has a girlfriend now. Yeah. She's black.
Anyway..where was I?

Pro And Con Relationships: This one. Ouch. OUCH. One of them is gone for sure. I'll just let it ride into the sunset. No need to get dramatic. It is what it is. The other two...ouch. The truth is a bitch. Sorry. That's all I can say at this time. I may be able to get into later...maybe not, but it's amazing what a simple list can shake up inside. I can tell you that I'm honest about love right now. And like everything else in life...it's beyond your control.


FINANCE:

Leave Debit Card Home: Not every day. I was scared to. That's the truth. And I used it. More than once. I'll take out cash today, leave it home the rest of the week. I'm over my fear and I now know...I have no choice.

Get C.C. rates reduced: They laugh. They laugh long and hard.
Need a plan B.

Set up Auto-Bill Payment: Yep. It starts this week. OUCH.

Bring Lunch: Almost every day this week! I forgot one day...but hey. This saved me $40 this week.

Create A Budget: In doing this, I realize I'm spending more than I'm making. Which is CRAZY. I'm also spending a lot of money in text messaging. Switching phone plans to the cheapest...(again). I'll be paying all my bills on time this month. All of them. OUCH.


HEALTH:
Work Out Plan: That's right, put in work! Move my ass..go bezerk. Got it. Found an 8-week plan I used before (this 8 week thing seems to fix everything, doesn't it?)

Work Out At ONE Gym: Crunch. I'm falling in love with it.

Give Away HBO Locker: Scared to do this. Don't want them thinking I won't come back. It's the first step to letting go. Crunch is WINNING.

WHEW!!!!

Was that enough VERB! For you?

Now. THIS WEEK.

Week Three. Here are the goals.

HOME: -Flowers
-Mop/vacuum everything (every other week)
-Create an "outbox" and toss everything I don't: need/love/want
-Determine each room's style
- Cook at home twice.

HEART:
-Visit Mom (Haven't in a while. I know.)
-Invite (maternal) sisters over for dinner in the future.
-Call one friend I normally email.
-Call one of my aunts. (Start with Claudie. Just to say hi.)
-Tell one person (I've never told before) I love them.
-Meditate for ten minutes.

FINANCE: -Leave that Debit card HOME.
-Call Credit Union and ask about consolidating my C.C. debt.
-Bring lunch and snack (that's killing my money too.)
-Stick to new "$50 spending money" budget rule.

HEALTH: - Try one class I don't think I can do. (Dance class, for sure.
I hate making a fool of myself, so this is perfect.)
- Schedule session with my trainer. Maybe he can find a better way to banish my "Beyonce".
- Keep 3x Cardio/ 3x Strength alternating schedule.

-Nye

You know...I didn't think anyone was following me on this one, but I'll be damned! You ARE!

I've got to say...I've gotten some great feedback from all of you and thanks...

Truth...is a Mutherfucka

"Good morning independence...or is it loneliness? I know I said I wanted this, but I have regrets. I prayed for God's will to be done...the very next day you were gone." -India.Arie "Good Mourning"

I'm a liar.

And I spin fantastic lies. I caught myself in a quite a few last week.
The greatest hits being...

1) I can afford to go to Ibeza, Spain.
2) I can have a genuine friendship with questionable acquaintances.
3) I can drink champagne on top of vodka and be perfectly fine.
4) The ATM hands out unlimited $20 bills.


This past week was a fucking EYE-OPENER.

Let's get started because... though I feel as if I'm one week behind, I realize, I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. After all, how can you clean up a mess if you don't take the time to look at it?

And here's what I noticed.

There's dirt you swept under a rug that accumulated. I just used to seeing that crud on the cabinet. After some time, becomes part of the background.

But when you take the time to see it. I mean, turn on some lights and get down to the floor...you know. Just KNOW...you'll breathe better when it's gone.

Let's get started:

HOME:
I bought a book. "Apartment Therapy". It actually is a 8 week plan to turn your apartment around, which is PERFECT. Goes right along with my 8-Week "Get Right" plan.
Week one:
Buy flowers. (Sure. Easy enough.)
Write a repair list. (Check. Thought I didn't realize how annoying that loose doorknob on my bathroom door was.)
Sit In One Corner of my home for ten minutes (OK. Didn't do this yet. Just felt..silly. I'll do it tonight. Pinkie swear.
Mop and vacuum all floors: Check. Discovering I REALLY hate my mop and bucket, I bought new ones. I had to crouch because the handle was too short and THEN..try to fit a rectangle (mop) into a circle (bucket). Um...didn't I learn this when I was two? With blocks??

Rectangles don't fit in circles.

Bed, Bath and Beyond to the rescue.

RESULT: My apartment looks...BETTER. MUCH better. Bring on Week 2.

HEART*:

*No animals will be harmed in the writing of this entry.

Friends, Family and Intimate relationships.

This was hard. HARD.
Because just because you love somebody, doesn't mean they are good for you.
And so I asked that very tough question. Is there a mutual respect?

Simply put...if I respect you, it's because I love you. I love you enough to say, "You know what's best for you, I dont' have to tell you."

I try to do this with everything and everyone.

Now, respecting myself can be tricky.

Sometimes, self-gratification gets in the way of respect.
EX: Chocolate Cake vs. Treadmill

So I made it a point to listen. Not to what people wanted to tell me, but to what they were trying to hide. Who respects me, as I respect them. And I came up with some interesting results.

Family:
Paternal Sisters: There's a true breakdown here. We want to get along...but can't.
I can't blame them...it takes two to tango. KE, KE2, IE & JE are all good people.
We just need to meet on a common ground. And try really hard not focus on silly sibling jealousy stemming from...

Dad:
He's pretty damn controlling. Bossy and arrogant. It's annoying. His lack of respect for anyone's opinions or feelings drive me bananas. And everyone else around him bananas. It keeps me from being closer to him and keeps me away. Far away. Far ..far..away. I'm going to try and find a happy medium.

Friends & Intimate relationships: The old saying holds true. The friends you have now are the friends you have later. Over the past week, I've observed the respect give and take. In some, it's one sided. In others, a two way street. A comfortable ebb and flow. Some constantly respect my time and life, others are selfish as hell. Nothing has been done yet. Just an observation. A painful one.



FINANCES:

Wholly SHIT I waste a lot of money!!

For the first time in ...God knows when... I took a good, hard look at my bank statement. I highlighted "NYCE" purchase with a green highlighter, "ATM" withdrawals got a check next to it. The "bill payments" and "transportation" expenses went untouched. MOST OF THE PAGE WAS NEON GREEN.
Which means, I spend all my money...on intangible, ..bullshit. I looked

Then I notice that I take the Metro North to work ...every day.

I buy single rides, thinking I'm going to take the subway one day to save money.
That doesn't happen. So I've been dickin' myself out of "weekly" or "monthly" savings.

Lunch: Bought that bitch every day. EVERY. DAY.
Ten bucks (at least) times five.
Times four.
$200 a month in lunch. FUCKING. LUNCH.
Not to mention the mid-day "pick me up" coffee/snackwell cookies.
$10 a week. Times four. $40 fucking dollars in snacks.

Credit Cards: My interest rates are BANANAS. They need to come down. I cut up two of them.

The Gym:
I belong to the HBO gym and Crunch.
One of them have to go.

Late Bill Payment: I pay everything late, so I get hit with fees and huge lump sum payments. I'm blowing a DUMB amount of money in late fees.

And my biggest problem...

My ATM card: $20 here. $40 here. Purchase here. It stays home. If I don't have cash, I have to go old school...to a teller. Between the hours of 9 and 5. Eliminate that $20 habit I've got.

HEALTH:
The last time I was a size 4, I caught food poisoning in Brazil.
I looked fantastic. Then I ate like I normally did.

Hello size 8.

I really believe my 33 year old body only takes two-half assed work outs to get back into the shape it was in three years ago.

I believe yoga and running for 20 minutes is enough.

I sit on my ass for 7 hours daily. Do you see the madness?

Also, somewhere along the line, I told myself that drinking so much you fall asleep in last night's clothes is still cute.

It's not...but I did it last week. Oh..and I smoked. Boy, did I.



Now.

This was just week one. (WHOA.)

Just a harsh, honest look at what's going on. Not a pretty picture.

Week Two begins tomorrow.

This is where shit gets real.


HOME: Fix one thing myself. Buy flowers. Clean kitchen, top to bottom. (empty old
food...the whole 9.) Find a new recipe, cook at home.

HEART: Call one of my sisters. Just one. I'll start with DE. She's the nicest one.
Send Dad a "Thank You" card.
Delete anyone I haven't spoken to in a year from my cellphone.
Pro and Con relationships.

FINANCE: Leave Debit Card home.
Set Up Auto Bill Payment
Get C.C. rates reduced.
Bring lunch
Create a budget

HEALTH: Set up a work out plan
Work out at ONE gym this week (3x cardio/ 3x strength)
Give Away my HBO Gym locker.

(Whew. What the hell did I get myself into?)

-Nye