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...