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