Snuggie...

We did Secret Santa @ work yesterday, and I got Callie a dog snuggie.

...When I got home, I saw this exact Snuggie commericial & thought "WTF!" Granted, the one I'm posting is much funnier than the real one... but the images behind the voice are actually real... I saw it for myself!

After having seen this on TV, I thought----
1) why are all the white people celebrating Snuggies?? wearing them to the movies?? football games?? raising the roof? NO ONE (white ppl included) has raised ANY roof since 1990.

2) ...there's a reason there ain't blacks & latinos in Snuggie commercials. That ain't new to us! We been wearing blankets as clothes for decades! Daishakis & panchos...... thems blankets!

Be that as it may, Cheers to Snuggies!... some retard is making a whole bunch of other retards.

how to drink water...

where there's a will; there's a way... be encouraged!
(...obviously, you don't have to watch the entire video; but it's really funny--- even if you don't too much care for cats.)

the best Christmas gift...

When my younger sister, Krystal and I were in junior high, we were OBSESSED w/the NBA.

Krystal’s favorite player was Grant Hill and mine was Reggie Miller. Aside from being cute; they were really great ball players.

Wait, a few points to clarify---- 3 to be exact.

1. Back in the day- Reggie Miller was seriously on it; any time he TOUCHED a ball, he’d shoot it from the 3 point line and it was golden. He could look at the ball and it’d go in the net. One year, in the Eastern Conference Semifinals he scored 17 points in the 4th quarter. His reputation was that of a clutch shooter in the playoffs, especially against the Knicks. Among his more impressive playoff performances against the New York squad was scoring 25 points in the 4th quarter of Game 5 of the Eastern Conference Finals in 1994, tallying nine points in under nine seconds. He holds the record for most 3-pointers made in NBA history.

2. I know he’s skinny.

3. I know his teeth are busted.

I don’t care now- and I didn’t care then. He was cute and he was a good ball player---Reggie Miller was (and still is) “THE MAN.”

My sister broke the glass in the coffee table b/c in the above mentioned playoff game; Krystal was sitting on the edge of the table. Reggie shot a 3 and Krystal jumped up, praying it wouldn’t go in.

…but like we all know- it went in.

And when it did, Krystal plopped herself back down; which would have been fine on the couch- but on the coffee table---- not so much. The glass shattered underneath her.

The following Christmas, my parents started the gift opening off w/a bang---- A GRANT HILL jersey for my sister, and a REGGIE MILLER jersey for myself.

I opened the box, and literally started crying---- right then and there. Full blown tears! I couldn’t believe that I had my very own Reggie Miller jersey! I was elated… I jumped up and down; I screamed--- I didn’t want to open any more presents; I was perfectly content.

Man---- that was about 15 years ago and by far- the best Christmas gift I’ve ever received. I’ve opened lots of presents since then, but have yet to re-live the Reggie Miller jersey Christmas.

All I Want For Christmas....

Kelley Caleb Hunt is a ridiculous mess.... and I really miss him--- COME HOME, FRIEND!

Get Lit 2009

This past Friday; Kathryn, Amanda and I hosted our 2nd Annual Holiday Party and here are a few highlights!

I’ll be the first to admit that it was truly a reason to celebrate!

Kathryn & I

Joe's favorite linesister, Reisha

Okay... Amanda! You are fabulous!

Joe & his favorite LS

Me & my ♥

Kat & Sandra

...these boys wouldn't have graduated if it weren't for me! ;)

Angie.... gosh, I miss thee!

Omari & Kevin

Amanda & Twilight

The Daniels

Baby Mos & BFF

Good Times...

...a lil creepy....

THE HOSTESSES!

i ♥ these folks!

SUPER FLY

Kat & Omari

(this looks so serene & peaceful! fa la la la la la!)

CHEERS 2 FABULOUS PARTIES!

....is there really a better way to end an eventful night!?

We were truly blessed to be in the best company all evening long. It was our closest friends, the perfect way to spend the holidays.... and a kick @$$ moving out party!

Santa Claus

I always think it’s weird when kids know Santa’s not real. I awkwardly tense up and don’t know how to respond.

Example #1- We were all sitting in the living room at Jimmy’s house (Joe’s brother) and Joe said something about Santa Claus to Avery (his niece- age 4).

Avery responded with, “Santa’s not real, Joe.” She said it like, “duh- dummy.”…like Joe was supposed to already know that Santa didn’t exist.

Neither one of us said anything, we both just sat there- frozen solid. I for one, didn’t want to ruin her childhood fantasy that Santa was alive and well in the North Pole. We looked over to Jimmy and Ursula, and they seemed to be fine w/her statement that Santa wasn’t real.

You know how kids test your boundaries… I thought that’s what this was so I surely didn’t want to say anything.

“Who’s Santa?” Jimmy asked.

“Mommy and Daddy.” She responded.

… and even though she’d just said Santa wasn’t real, she’d confirmed it w/her parents- Joe and I still refrained from saying anything about it.

Example #2- Trey (my nephew- age 11) and I were upstairs in the game room at my parent’s house. We were laying on the floor packing up his Xbox 360.

“What are you asking Santa to bring you for Christmas?” I said.

“Tutu- I know.” he said.

And once again- I sat there frozen solid.

I’m learning that as Trey gets older- we have to watch what we say around him b/c he’s always listening… always learning.

About a month ago I went to my parents’ house and when I walked in, I sat down on the stairs with Trey. Do you know the FIRST thing Trey said to me when I sat down, “Tutu- today we had ‘the talk’ at school.”

“What talk?” I asked.

“About girls.” He said.

“Oh….. (LOOOONG SILENCE) oh… um, okay- where’s Nana?”

I had no idea how to respond to that--- but he didn’t care; he kept talking.

“Well, we talked about the reproductive system, and we mainly learned about boys. You don’t really get to learn about girls until the 6th grade.” He said.

I still didn’t know what to say so I patted him on his head and left- immediately.

…. Santa is like the sex talk for kids of all ages---- should I really be having this conversation w/you?

So…..

“What are you asking Santa to bring you for Christmas?” I said.

“Tutu- I know.” he said.

And once again- I sat there frozen solid.

“You know what?”

“Tutu- I know about Santa.” He said.

“Oh… okay.” I said.

I left it at that. I’m not stupid, I assume I know what he meant, but you never can be too sure. The thing is, I don’t remember my sister or brother-in-law having told me they’ve told Trey about Santa… I feel like that’s something I’d remember.

When Trey was little, my Dad and I used to take his belief in Santa to the MAX.

One year, when I was on my way to Katy from Huntsville I called my sister’s house and asked to speak to Trey--- he was probably 4 or 5 at the time.

“Guess what, Trey!?” I said---- ALL EXCITED.

“What?”

“I picked up Santa on I-45 and he’s in the car w/me!” I lied.

“What?! Really?!?” he questioned w/excitement.

“Yeah! Can you believe it?” I continued in my fallacy. “Do you want to talk to him?”

Shit! I thought--- I have just taken this too far.

“Yes! Put Santa on the phone!!!!” he yelled w/excitement!!!

….And there I sat- on I-45; in Christmas traffic; talking in a deep voice- having a FULL blown conversation and conning my 5 year old nephew into thinking I was Santa.

That very same year, on Christmas Eve, my entire family was at my Sister’s house and my Dad said “good night” and left. A few minutes later there’s a loud rustling in the backyard, a constant ringing of bells, and a big “HO! HO! HO!”

…that’s right- my Dad was in the backyard pretending to be Santa Claus. And since it’s my Dad, we can only let Trey ‘hear’ that Santa is outside vs. ‘seeing’ that he’s out there.

My Dad comes back in the house…

“Papa!” Trey says, “you just missed Santa Claus and his reindeer! They were here--- in my backyard!”

“You don’t say!” Papa said.

…..You know; for a very long time- I actually believed in Santa--- and a small part of me still does.

In this picture…………………………………………………

If you look very closely- in the bottom left hand corner- there’s a Pound Puppy on the ground.

That was the first time I’d ever seen one and I knew in my heart that Santa had to bring me one for Christmas.

I sat on his lap, he asked what I wanted, and I leaned over in his ear and whispered…

“What kind of dog is that one the ground?”

“It’s a Pound Puppy” he said- “would you like Santa to bring you one of those for Christmas?”

“Yes, please.”

And that was it… Please note, that it was only Santa and I--- my Mom looked on from a distance, w/the photographer and an elf.

On Christmas morning I woke up, and Petey, my brand new Pound Puppy was waiting for me under the Christmas tree at Granny’s house.

I have replayed that very moment over and over again in my head so many times, and it just doesn’t make any sense. Maybe he was wearing a microphone and they could hear our conversation---- but I literally whispered it into his ear. (And back in the 80’s, they didn’t have the high tech mics we have now.)

I’ll be 28 in 20 days, I still have Petey--- and a small part of me still believes in Santa Claus. So yes, I believe in magic.

Merry Christmas,
Tiffany & Petey

Massage Envy

I got a coupon in the mail a few days ago from Massage Envy and I almost threw up all over myself.

Granted, I’m DESPERATE for a massage but just thinking about the last one I had still gives me nightmares. I have to admit it didn’t start out on a bad note, but it surely ended on one.

For starters, I’m rather particular about the man that gives me a massage. Yes, I said man. I only want a man. Why, you ask? b/c I’ve learned from experience that (1) women don’t apply the type of pressure that I like (2) women talk too much. I don’t care about your day, I don’t care about the reasons you’re a masseuse- shut your trap and rub my back.

That being said, when I called to schedule my appointment, I told the receptionist, “I’d like a quiet male that can work firm pressure.”…. that’s not asking too much is it?

(Actually- I’d like to go on record having said- NO! that’s not a lot at all!!!!! It’s 2 freaking things!)

When I arrived for my appointment, I learned that “Paul” would be taking care of me that afternoon. I checked into my room, took off my clothes and laid down.

If you’ve never had a massage, let me set the scene.

Dim lighting…candles…
Shadae playing in the back ground…
Massage oil…
Naked me…
Fat Paul on a stool….
Like I said, everything started out fine. It was actually very relaxing. I never to go sleep b/c getting a massage is the perfect time for thinking- hence my desire to not want to talk… I just want to lay there and think. Quietly.

Paul did the entire back side of my body and asked me to flip over. I flipped over, but began to notice that every few seconds or so, the amount of pressure would be less and less. He’d gotten down to my feet and the pressure had gone from firm--- to gently rubbing….. it eventually stopped.

Completely.

I raised my head up and looked down at Paul…. and there he was-----sitting on his stool, head down---- fast asleep with my right foot in his hand. I laid my head back down, and shook my right foot a little bit.

The gentle rubbing resumed again, but for about 2 minutes or so,…. and it stopped again.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I said out loud. “Seriously??”

I lifted my head up…. Paul was asleep yet again. This time, not only did I shake my foot, I shook just about my entire damn leg.

…he didn’t move a muscle.

So……………………. I laid there; on the table--- naked…soaked in massage oil…. as Paul enjoyed a full cycle of REM. About 30 seconds in, I realized just how awkward the entire situation was, and I started crying.

Was I supposed to get up? I’d already shaken my whole damn leg…. what else was I supposed to do??? …..my conclusion was to do noting---- so I laid there, and cried.

It was literally the LONGEST 15 minutes of my entire life. I did manage to slip my foot out of Paul’s hands, but his hands stayed fully erect, clasped as though my foot should have still been there.

After his nap, he popped up---- “Hm, that went faster than I thought it would,” he chuckled.

“I bet.” I said w/an attitude.

While I was getting dressed, and even when I went to the lobby to pay, a million thoughts ran through my head… I had no idea what I was going to do about it. Obviously--- I had to tell the manager, right?

“How was your massage, Ms. Flenoy?”

I handed her my credit card. “Um, can I speak w/a manager, please?”

Everyone in the lobby stopped to stare at me… I understood their curiosity though. How many people really ask to see a manager after a massage- what on Earth could have gone wrong?

She pulled me into an office w/glass walls; everyone stared in.

I cleared my through. “Ahem….”
(long silence)

With genuine and sincere concern, she says “Ms. Flenoy? Is everything okay??”

“Um. Paul….” (I swallow) “Paul fell asleep during my massage.”

“Huh? What do you mean he fell asleep?” She did air quotes around asleep.

“Paul fell asleep- with my right foot in his hand--- he took a full blown nap…. one in which he couldn’t be awakened from.”

“Are you kidding me?” she said.

“I know right!”

She apologized profusely, assured that it’s never happened before and that it would never happen again.

And that’s exactly what I was afraid of; “it will never happen again”…. I didn’t want Paul to lose his job- I just wanted him to maybe have a solid talking to, maybe a reprimand or a write up or something…. but when you tell someone “it’ll never happen again” it makes me feel like Paul’s about to be looking for a new job---- which was not my intent at all.

She escorted me out of the office, as everyone continued to look on. As compensation, she offered a free one hour massage w/the masseuse of my choice….

...it’s been almost 2 years and that massage is still waiting. If it’s any consolation though- I’d rather not.

bff

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

ipluara...p2gp2gngp.

Tiger's Holiday Card

...SMH...

Offender Information Detail...

Name: MY MOTHER'S NAME GOES HERE
SID Number: xxxxxxxx
TDCJ Number: xxxxxxxx
Race: B
Sex: F
Age: 52
Maximum Sentence Date: 2013-03-21
Current Facility: HILLTOP

Projected Release Date: 2010-11-26
Parole Eligibility Date: 2009-09-05

Offense Date
2007-08-09

Case No. Sentence (Y-MM-DD)
4-00-00

Offense Sentence Date
2009-04-01

Offense History:
POSS CONT SUB W/INT

County:
MATAGORDA

........my Mom's in prison (for being a drug dealer.) Technically, she was sentenced to 5 years however--- today I looked on the TDCJ website and her projected release date is around this time next year. I haven't talked to her in a really long time. I used to feel a void, I used to cry about it. I used to pray about it..... now- I hardly even care. Sucks, don't it?

I used to think that if she only knew who I was, that she'd love me. Like, if she could see my resume, and see all that I've accomplished--- maybe she'd love me. I used to think that I was the problem.... I used to think that if I could just talk to her that she'd change. I used to love her w/out rhyme or reason.

....that's not the case anymore.

The most important person in her life is her. I love her out of obedience. I've forgiven her out of obedience.

She's missed the last 15 years of my life and as she sits in prision for most of 2010- make that 16 years. I'll have attended my 10 year class reunion from High School by the time she's out. My "mother" doesn't even know me.... it's crazy to think that the only person that has carried me inside her womb, could care less about who I am or what I'm doing.

I'm pretty great, damn it---- that crazy nut is missing out on all that I am!

...The Fox's...

Joe and I spent the Thanksgiving holiday w/his family. We stayed w/Joe’s older brother Jimmy & his family.
Dad: Jimmy Fox
Mom: Ursula Fox
Little Fox’s: Ezra (7) Avery (3) and Ian (almost 2.)

Let me start by saying that after having observed The Fox’s in their natural habitat; Joe and I need to visit more often so that Jimmy and Ursula can vacation without their kids! Truth be told; I don’t know how they do it!

Having 1 child, let alone 3- and all under the age of 10 is a FULL TIME JOB! I have so much respect for Mama & Daddy Fox for not having killed their kids already! I don’t know how it’s possible--- but Jimmy & Ursula have EVERY REASON to be insane!... and yet somehow, they daily manage to keep it all together.

Day 1: 7:00 a.m.- Joe and I are asleep on an air mattress in the living room. I hear what sounds like a faint clicking noise in my ear, but ignore it. I awake again about 2 minutes later to the same noise. I know it’s a Little Fox, so I only crack one eye.

Avery is standing over me banging 2 race cars together in my ear.

I rollover, but does Little Fox abort her mission? No.

Cut to 4 minutes later- Avery is sitting on the couch with both of her feet on my pillow (by my head) bouncing her feet up and down in unison whispering my name.

“tiffffanny”

…I don’t answer.

“tiffffannnny…”
“tiffffannnny…”
“tiffffannnny…”

I guess Joe got aggravated b/c about 30 seconds later he yells, “TIFFANY! WILL YOU PLEASE ANSWER HER!?”

Me: “Yes, Avery.”
Avery: “Are you sleeping?”
Me: “nope… not anymore.”

…she woke me up to ask me if I was sleeping.

Day 2: Mama Fox says Joe and I should move the mattress into Avery’s room (i.e. a room w/a door). What happened when 7:00 am rolled around? There were little knocks on the door about every 20 minutes or so… but those were a little easier to ignore.

#1- why are the Little Fox’s awake so early?
#2- don’t they know this is a day I’m supposed to be sleeping late?

... Little Fox happenings…(mostly Avery)

1. Every time I got ready to take a shower; Avery would ask if she could watch me get dressed.

2. Avery and Ezra boxed for like four days straight, both wearing the opposing glove. Both wanted to fight FULL FORCE, until one of them got hurt--- then they’d scream bloody murder and tattle on the other one.

3. We had to watch Baby Einstein “Water” two times b/c Avery wanted to “dance.” (dancing = jumping up and down until you’re tired… when you tired of that, you just shake 1 leg at a time until you’ve fully recovered)… we had to watch it twice b/c Joe couldn’t stand it any longer so he turned it off- it’d only been 7 minutes. Avery cried.

4. B/C Avery got to watch something, Ezra got TV time also… meaning- I had to watch Ezra play Bolt on Wii…(most confusing game I’ve ever seen in my life. Isn’t Bolt a dog? I didn’t see 1 single dog the entire time.)

5. Little Fox’s don’t like to go to sleep when other people are still awake. Ezra and/or Avery would peep their head around the corner but when they got caught, they’d say “I have to go to the bathroom.”

6. On a 20 minute road trip, we had to pull over b/c Avery had to use the restroom. (I was kind of glad though b/c apparently- the place we were going only had a restroom outside---- LOW AND BEHOLD; IT WASN’T EVEN OPEN!... that’s another story-blame that on Daddy Fox).

7. Avery wanted to sit by me during EVERY meal… only to make a mess. Not only did she not eat, but most of her food ended up on the side of her plate, aka: beside me. She picked through MY food, and only wanted to eat something b/c it was on my plate (i.e- lettuce from under my sour cream & guacamole.)

But you know what?? All in all; the Little Fox’s are very well behaved kids and REALLY, REALLY smart. I truly enjoy being with the precious little ones and appreciate that they know how to keep a smile on my face. Kids are resilient, vibrant and have a thirst for life and learning; although I can only take it in small doses.

Mama & Daddy Fox have raised a family of value and morals; there’s a lot to be learned from a family of Fox’s.

…I need a friend-makeover.

Of course, I’m not talking about all of them- but I am talking about some of the ones that consider themselves “close friends” however; severely lack loyalty.

I’ll be honest and admit that some of my friendships derive from a competitive nature. Meaning- “I wish you well; just don’t do better than me.” It’s actually a very sad situation… which is probably why I’ve gradually spent less and less time w/said individuals.

I feel trapped in non-beneficial friendships---- like it’s “politically correct” to maintain those relationships b/c of the adverse effect they may/may not have on other relationships.

As a (sad) matter of fact; last week I said to Joe, “When I get married, I don’t think I’d ask Frick or Frack to be bridesmaids.”

…he laughed really hard….. “how are you going to get around doing that?”

In reality, it stemmed from me not thinking that Frick and Frack would genuinely be able to celebrate with me w/out judging the entire situation or flat out being condescending…

it's as if nothing is ever good enough.

…it leaves me to wonder are there any decent people in the world fully capable of being a respectable friend?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friendship is the cooperative and supportive relationship between two or more people. In this sense, the term connotes a relationship which involves mutual knowledge, esteem, affection, and respect along with a degree of rendering service to friends in times of need or crisis.

Friends will welcome each other's company and exhibit loyalty towards each other, often to the point of altruism. Their tastes will usually be similar and may converge, and they will share enjoyable activities. They will also engage in mutually helping behavior, such as the exchange of advice and the sharing of hardship.

A friend is someone who may often demonstrate reciprocating and reflective behaviors. Yet for some, the practical execution of friendship is little more than the trust that someone will not harm them.

Value that is found in friendships is often the result of a friend demonstrating the following on a consistent basis:
- the tendency to desire what is best for the other
- sympathy and empathy
- honesty, perhaps in situations where it may be difficult for others to speak the truth, especially in terms of pointing out the perceived faults of one's counterpart
- mutual understanding

In a comparison of personal relationships, friendship is considered to be closer than association, although there is a range of degrees of intimacy in both friendships and associations. Friendship and association can be thought of as spanning across the same continuum.

Friendship is considered one of the main human experiences, and has been sanctified by most major religions.

my Christmas list

Blender
Iron & Ironing board
Grey's Anatomy.... from Season 1 on...
Egg beaters
Flat Iron
Laptop
Blow Dryer
Toaster
DVD player (for the bedroom- have 1 in the living room)
12 bottles of Sangria (yes--- this is wine)
A good inspirational read
Anything apartment savvy (Joe and I are moving in 22 days)
CA$H money to pay my bills...


....the older I get, the lamer my requests. the DVD player is more than likely at the top of my list at this point (other than the wine). I'd say the flat iron is extremely important, but if I get the DVD player and my wine, I'm surely not going to care the least bit about my hair.

Avery J. Fox (age 3)

"When I get 18, I'm going to get a boyfriend and kiss him in the mouth."

"When are you and Unlce Joe havin' kids?"

"Can I watch you get dressed? We're both girls, we have the same parts, right?"

"Can you stay here 'til Christmas?"

Avery: "I'm going camping w/Grandpa tomorrow- wanna come?"
Me: (to Avery's mom) "Avery's going camping tomorrow?"
Ursula: "What? No.... she means next summer. Tomorrow, next summer- same thing."

Me: "Uh-oh! I think Unlce Joe went home w/out me!"
Avery: "Oh no!! We'll have to find a bed for you to sleep in. You can sleep with me til Daddy buys you one."

Me: "What are you gonna get me for Christmas?"
Avery: "A new eye for your teddy bear."

Avery Josephine Fox, age 3

Top 10 things I'm thankful for (in no particular order)

10. I’m thankful that God always meets my needs. Granted--- I am definitely a worry wart… the Lord has yet to fail me--- he always provides.

9. I’m thankful for my family. The history of my family and how we all came together is very unique. I’m truly blessed. I couldn’t have asked for anything better. My parents—super supportive- completely amazing. My parents have taught me how to forgive those that hurt you… but they’ve also taught me how to love. My sisters have taught me the meaning of friendship. My nephews…. they’re my heart. Before they were born, I didn’t know the meaning of loving someone else’s kids as your own. My brother in laws---- truly love my sisters, and I admire them for their love. They have set unbelievably high expectations of how men are supposed to love the women in their lives…. I’m thankful for their examples of love and friendship to my sisters.

8. I’m thankful for therapy. Over the past year, I’ve learned a great deal about myself. I’ve learned to process… I’ve learned to love my Mom from a distance.

7. I’m thankful for Joe…… I have THE greatest boyfriend ever. Never in a million years would I have thought that he’d be the one for me--- but low and behold; he’s the only one for me. He tells me multiple times a day that he loves me. He’s sincere and compassionate; he genuinely adores me.

6. I’m thankful for the Keuring coffee machine at work. I get free coffee 5 days a week. (It’s a bad habit, but I look forward to going to work b/c I know I have access to great coffee!)

5. I’m thankful for Joe’s family…. they've opened their hearts and their homes.

4. I’m thankful that God has a plan for my life. I don’t have to sit back and worry about what’s in store for me b/c God is working behind the scenes on my behalf. I’m thankful that all things work for the good of those that love the Lord.

3. I’m thankful for fresh movie popcorn with butter- it’s one of my all time favorite snacks.

2. I’m thankful that I’m able to express myself with my words….. I’m thankful for my sense of humor and the beloved gift of gab!

1. I’m thankful for BFF. I’ve had a lot of “best friends” over the years, but BFF is truly here to stay. He gets me…. he really, really gets me and I platonically love him a ridiculous amount.

love

"do you love me?"
"i wouldn't have called you if i didn't."

Home Owner’s Association….

Any adult currently living in house knows just how bothersome the Home Owner’s Association (HOA) can be.

A few weeks ago my Dad called. Although I talk to my Mom every few days or so, my Dad only calls when something’s wrong. My heart automatically started racing when I saw his name on my caller ID.

Dad: “Hey babe…. did you stop having the grass mowed?”
Me: “No sir…. why do you ask?
Dad: “I got a letter from the HOA saying that you’d stop mowing the grass.”

For starters- I don’t mow the grass; Luis Reyes does. And secondly, he does so every other Wednesday and I pay him $30 each time he does. Thirdly- if you think I’ve stopped mowing the grass, why don’t you tell ME and not MY DAD!

…so yes- the grass is still being mowed.

I’m going to need the HOA to get off my back. I PAY THEM to tell me to mow my grass? That’s stupid. Why is it any of your business whether or not my lawn is being kept up?

This past summer I had to call them and inquire about my pool tags.

Me: “Hi, I’m calling b/c I wanted to see if I could get new pool tags?”

HOA: “What happened to your old ones?”

Me: “I have no idea.”

HOA: “Well, our records indicate that we’ve already sent them to you? If we send new ones it’ll cost $25 to do so.”

Me: “oh, okay—I apologize. Can you tell me when you sent them?”

HOA: “Sure. They were sent in August of 2004.”

Me: “What?! Are you kidding me? This is 2009! That was 5 years ago!”

HOA: “Are you telling me that you don’t have them?”

Me: “Yes sir. That is exactly what I’m telling you. Does anyone have anything from 5 years ago?”

HOA: “Well, I won’t charge you THIS time to replace them; but you’ll have to come to the office to pick them up.”

Me: “I’m on my way.”

(1) It is a flaming hot mess that the HOA expects ANY of its residents to have pool tags issued from 2004.
(2) I’d report MYSELF a flaming mess if I still had pool tags from 2004.

Luckily for them, my New Year’s Resolution is to not pay my $340 HOA fees.

What’s going to happen? Are they going to kick me out of my house?! Are they going to “deactivate” my pool tag?! I say as long as Luis is keeping up my yard we call it fair game.

christmas lights

Jimbo (the homeless man I've blogged about) is now wearing a string of Christmas lights around his neck... and not really just at night time- all hours of the day. He still doesn't have any shoes on.

...where does a homeless man get Christmas lights from? and how are they staying lit?

my friend, Harold.

I have a friend at work named Harold. He and I are actually very good friends and when I have down time; I always stop in his office.

We’ve been friends for a little over a year now. He and his girlfriend Endia (now fiancé) came to a Christmas party at my house last year and that solidified our friendship. I’ve even gone to dinner the two of them and have done some consulting for their wedding.

Of course I share Harold stories w/Joe. About two weeks ago Joe came to visit me at work, so I took him downstairs to meet Harold.

We walked out of his office…

Joe: “Well, I didn’t know Harold was a strapping young man!!”
Me: “Whoa- I didn’t either!”…. “what the heck are you talking about?”
Joe: “I didn’t know Harold was black….. and young…… I’ve always thought he was an old white dude.”

The entire time that Joe and I have been together- he’s been under the impression that not only is Harold white, but that he’s old!

A few days later I told Harold about my conversation w/Joe, and he was a little offended.

Harold: “Um…. what kind of stories are you telling about me that make me sound like an old white dude?! You have got to get better stories!”

Fact of the matter is; I just automatically assumed that Joe knew Harold was black.

….Race has never been an issue and I hardly every think about it. When I want to hang out w/friends; I hang out w/friends- regardless of their race. Same w/dating - I date people for who they are on the inside and never think twice about the color of their skin.

However; all that is about to change.

In an effort to avoid future racial misconceptions; I’m going to tell stories about people and preface their name w/their race.

i.e.; my Puerto Rican friend, Kathryn.

I mean…. C’mon, it only makes sense. If I’m talking about someone you’ve never met before, how else are you going to draw your conclusions about what they look like?

I was talking to my white friend, Amanda about this a few days ago and she welcomed my conclusion w/a question of her own…

“I wonder if my other friends think you’re white?”

…Do you automatically assume that the race of the person talking, is the race of the person they’re talking about?

Or in Harold’s case; do you make your racial assumptions based on a name? Tiffany surely sounds like a white girl, does it not?... but I’m far from white.

Here’s a preview of how all of my stories about the people in my life shall begin…

-My Puerto Rican friend, Kathryn
-My Mulatto boyfriend, Joe (mulatto- denotes a person with one white parent and one black parent)
-My African friend, Onaome
-My White friend, Amanda
-Joe’s white brother, Jimmy
-My Mexican brother-in-law, Robert
-My Black brother-in- law, Clayton
-My Black Mama & Daddy

…. There; I think that about sums it up.

I’m only doing this b/c I’m trying to make my stories “user friendly” and w/out prior knowledge of their race; apparently you’ll just be confused.

...my black friend, Harold (a strapping youg man) and his black fiancé, Endia.

...trying to catch me a flight like this

Conversations w/the boyfriend...

TJF: "you want to eat Chick Fil A for lunch?"
JWD: "No, I don't feel like eating chicken."
TJF: "you're dumb- who said anything about eating chicken?"

TJF: “I am so hot.”
JWD: “uh huh!!”
TJF: “do u think it'll get cooler once it cools down...”

TJF: "shut up, my legs are not hairy."
JWD: "okay... call it what you want Bubba Sparxxx."

TJF: "want to stop & go 2 the restroom?"
JWD: "no, it's okay....we finna get on a water ride."

TJF: "Ugh- but why are we doing this?!"
JWD: "Cuz I want to have an All-American girlfriend- now shut up and snap me the ball."

TJF: "your girlfriend is kind of pretty w/out make-up"
JWD: "huh? What? who's my girlfriend?"
TJF: "um... me- stupid... or at least I thought I was..."

TJF (waking up JWD): "Hey, I made you breakfast."
JWD: (w/his sleep face on- very startled) "oh...wow, are you okay??"
TJF: "yeah, I'm fine."
JWD: (now fully awake) "WELL WHERE THE HELL IS IT?!!!"

TJF: "look at this big mosquitoe bite on my leg."
JWD: "nope, that's a pimple."
TJF: "OUCH!!!!! STOP DOING THAT!"
JWD: "Oh... I guess it is a mosquitoe bite."

If I win the lottery...

My wedding…
1. My wedding will be at Reliant Stadium.
2. My reception will be at Toyota Center (catered by Martha Stewart of course)
3. My wedding dress will be personally designed by Vera Wang.
4. Tyra Banks will teach me how to be fierce down the runway… I mean the aisle.
5. Queen Latifah (w/the help of Cover Girl) will do my make-up.
6. Getty Images will take all the photos.
7. TMZ will do the red carpet commentary.
8. Etta James (not Beyonce) will sing “At Last”
9. DJ AM will… oh wait, my bad.

My job…
What job?

My friends…
Will all be taken on the vacation of their lifetime. It’ll be like when Oprah rents out Disney World for the entire Harpo staff.

My family…
1. All houses will be paid off.
2. All cars will be paid off.
3. All loans and credit cards will be paid off.
4. They will be paid off.
(j/k)

My blog…
My last post will be “Piss off, I’m rich.”

….but first- I gotta find a dollar to buy a lottery ticket.

...I hit a homeless man w/my car...

1. I hit a homeless man today w/my car.
2. I don’t feel bad about it AT ALL!
3. Correction to statement #1- he HIT ME.
4. I’ve had “issues” w/this same homeless man a few times before.
5. We shall refer to him as Jimbo.

Jimbo is homeless. (I think.)

Well, he’s either homeless or shoe-less. I just assume that since he’s not wearing shoes that he doesn’t have a home in which to put them on.

He’s also car-less. How do I know this?.... b/c he always rides a bike.

Everywhere.

With no shoes on.

Even in the rain.

Jimbo always has on a short sleeved- white button up shirt (tucked in) and a pair of blue jean shorts.

….the previous statements rendering my conclusion that he is indeed, homeless.

To clarify point #4- I’ll refrain from all of my run in stories about Jimbo and just speak of the most recent one; about 3 weeks ago.

Joe and I were standing in line at CVS. There was one register open, and a line of people BEHIND us. A new register opens up, and the “lady” behind me DASHES to the register. EVEN THO, Joe and I are CLEARLY the next people in line.

…Out of nowhere; I become “angry black woman (ABW).” {Joe hates her, by the way.}

Well ABW takes over completely and very LOUDLY, and with a neck roll- and a “no no, finger shake”, she says; “Nu-uh… not today laaady… not in this line! Not in this CVS; you better get back in line… we were here first.” And GENTLY- ESCORTS the other lady out of the way.

The other lady turns around and says, “Hey! I’m a man!”…… and it was Jimbo- with no shoes on.

Joe’s completely embarrassed, and so am I…. not only have I insulted a man by calling him a lady in front of God and all of CVS, I have thus insulted a homeless man.

Now… to clarify points 1-3.

On my way home from work, I was basking in this beautiful weather. (And by basking, I mean- driving in the car w/the windows cracked, Whataburger chicken strips as my driving companion.)

There’s a street on the way to my house with MASSIVE construction- busted up concrete everywhere.

The speed limit is only 30, but when you hit someone w/your car; 30 all of a sudden feels like 60.

Jimbo (shoeless and in his white shirt) is riding his bike against the flow of traffic. The street is getting narrower, and narrower…. but I swear to you; Jimbo’s going at least 30 himself! There’s huge chunks of concrete on the street, but he rides through them like he’s gliding on paper…(coming towards my car)….

………………….right as he passes me, his tire slips----- AND HE SWERVES AWAY FROM THE CURB---- BUT UP AGAINST MY CAR!

BOOOOMMMMM!

“Ah!!” I shriek!!!!!

He hits my rear view mirror on the passenger side, and slides alongside my car….

The lady behind me slams on her brakes as Jimbo swerves back and forth to catch his balance.

I pull over at the gas station,….. but he keeps riding. He gets about 50 yards down the street and turns around to look at me.

He throws his hand up to wave…. but he keeps on riding.

And since he didn’t seem to care about it; I don’t either. Don’t get me wrong, I was truly shaken up for a minute; but the minute’s passed.

Look, he ain’t dead- so I don’t care.

cyanide...

A nice, calm and respectable lady went into the pharmacy, walked up to the pharmacist, looked straight into his eyes, and said, "I would like to buy some cyanide."

The pharmacist asked, "Why in the world do you need cyanide?"

The lady replied, "I need it to poison my husband."

The pharmacist's eyes got big and he exclaimed, "Lord have mercy! I can't give you cyanide to kill your husband. That's against the law! I'll lose my license! They'll throw both of us in jail! All kinds of bad things will happen. Absolutely not! You CANNOT have any cyanide!"

The lady reached into her purse and pulled out a picture of her husband in bed with the pharmacist's wife.

The pharmacist looked at the picture and replied, "Well now, that's different... You didn't tell me you had a prescription."

pee habits...

Sometimes… and even when the need to go is fairly urgent---- I hold it.

If using the restroom isn’t convenient, I don’t do it. If I’m in the middle of work, watching TV, sleeping, reading, eating, breathing- whatever---- if it’s not 100% convenient- I’ll refrain.

At one of Joe’s motocross ride days, I held it for over seven hours b/c I didn't want to use a portal potty. I had minor cramps here and there--- but not a big deal. Because we were outside, I never stopped drinking b/c I had to stay hydrated.

Today- I left work knowing good and well that I needed to use the restroom, but I left anyway.

I sat in traffic for a full hour, no complaints… but still knowing that I needed to pee.

This happens all the time; when I finally make the decision to stop and use the restroom, my bladder is already miles ahead of me.

Today when I got home, it’s like it knew that I was within 5 feet of a restroom b/c by the time I walked into the garage, the pee was practically flowing down my leg, I could feel it moving...! Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t pee on myself- but I was pretty damn close to it… my legs were crossed holding the pee in- that’s how bad it was. (As if pee can't flow down the twists and curves of my legs.)

....what makes it worse??? ---- it's like this every single time I use the restroom. I am forever having to cross my legs to keep the pee from falling out b/c I ALWAYS wait until the last minute.

I'm 27 years old- I have GOT to get better control of my pee habits.

a quick scam

http://www.wimp.com/goodsamaritan

A video worth watching...

HATER BY MAYA ANGELOU

Someone emialed this to me this morning, and it really spoke to my heart....

A hater is someone who is jealous and envious and spends all their time trying to make you look small so they can look tall.

They are very negative people to say the least. Nothing is ever good enough!

When you make your mark, you will always attract some haters...

That's why you have to be careful with whom you share your blessings and your dreams, because some folk can't handle seeing you blessed...

It's dangerous to be like somebody else... If God wanted you to be like somebody else, He would have given you what He gave them! Right?

You never know what people have gone through to get what they have...

The problem I have with haters is that they see my glory, but they don't know my story...

If the grass looks greener on the other side of the fence, you can rest assured that the water bill is higher there too!

We've all got some haters among us!

Some people envy you because you can:
a) Have a relationship with God
b) Light up a room when you walk in
c) Start your own business
d) Tell a man / woman to hit the curb (if he / she isn't about the right thing)
e) Raise your children without both parent being in the home

Haters can't stand to see you happy.

Haters will never want to see you succeed.

Most of our haters are people who are supposed to be on our side.

How do you handle your undercover haters?

You can handle these haters by:
1. Knowing who you are & who your true friends are (VERY IMPORTANT!!)
2. Having a purpose to your life:
Purpose does not mean having a job. You can have a job and still be unfulfilled. A purpose is having a clear sense of what God has called you to be. Your purpose is not defined by what others think about you.
3. By remembering what you have is by divine prerogative and not human manipulation.

Fulfill your dreams! You only have one life to live...when its your time to leave this earth, you 'want' to be able to say, 'I've lived my life and fulfilled 'my' dreams,... Now I'm ready to go HOME!
When God gives you favor, you can tell your haters,

'Don't look at me...Look at Who is in charge of me...'

my dirty little obsession...

I have a nasty obsession.

A dirty obsession….

…a filthy obsession.

I think I’m ashamed to admit this in public. (Okay, whoa! I totally almost just said “pubic.”)

Okay, here goes…. (deep breath)….

I.

LOVE.

….. WAFFLE HOUSE

(aka: the House.)

I’m so ashamed of myself b/c the House is actually THE nastiest restaurant on the face of the planet! (but secretly God’s greatest gift to man.)

Check it- EVERY time I go to the House, there’s a piece of bacon on the floor under my table. It doesn’t matter which House I visit or which table I sit at, there is guaranteed to be bacon on the floor.

#1- how does bacon just fall off your plate?
#2- when said bacon has fallen off, do you not pick it up?
#3- after you’ve left and said bacon is STILL on the floor; why hasn’t the waitress bent over to pick it up?!

Have you ever been at the House when they “mop?” I call it mopping and I use the term loosely b/c I don’t really know what else to call it. But, they take a big bucket of brown water w/soapy soads… and dump it all across the floor. Then the bucket dumper walks by dragging a white towel across the floor w/their shoe, ushering the water into a big drain hole in the center of the restaurant. That’s got to be a direct violation of somebody’s health code, right?

Washing the dishes?! HECK NO. They dump all the silverware in one big crate, run hot water over it, and slide it through a steam machine. Same thing w/the plates and the cups.

All that said and done, the House is probably one of the only places where I’d intentionally yearn for someone w/dirty fingernails and tattoos to make my meal. My conclusion is that the dirtier you appear, the better my bacon wrap is going to taste.

I get the same thing every. single. time- bacon, egg, and cheese wrap, a waffle and a Mr. Pibb. Well, my drink varies- if’s it’s genuinely breakfast time, I get OJ (w/my meal and not a second before.) I’ve tried other things, but nothing comes close to that bacon wrap! Okay, okay… the sausage wrap is pretty damn good too.

I’ll have you know that the House is exclusive. If you’re under 12, the House does not cater to your liking. I took Trey (my nephew- age 11) to the House one time- and to my surprise- they do NOT have a kids menu! ....I appreciate their honesty though- “we’re dirty and we don’t like kids.”

There are over 150 Houses from Atlanta to Houston? How do I know this? B/C on the way back from a 15 hour car ride w/some friends- we counted them.

We’d gone less than 90 miles and had already passed about 5. (Do the math, that’s a House every 18 miles or so.) With the frequency of Houses, one would think that this facility is of superb conditions w/immaculate wait staff.

Wrong.

A few years ago I was eating my traditional wrap w/younger sister and my brother-in-law. Our waitress happened to be a girl my sister and I went to high school with. Let me clarify- we went to the same high school. We were not friends- we just attended the same school for 4 years and knew some of the same people.

I guess “Kay” (the waitress) decided that while serving us breakfast she’s catch us up to date w/what she’d been doing the past year… which included- being pregnant by a man that wasn’t her husband and trying to use her husband’s insurance to make sure the baby was healthy… all the while her husband was upset about the circumstances; and she was upset that her husband was being “careless” about her taking care of a baby that wasn’t his.

What the hell?! Kay was so involved in conversation with us that she was neglecting her other tables. I was sure the manager would rip her a new one, when I saw her walk towards Kay.

Kay casually turned to the manager as she passed by and said, “Hey Mom.”

…..no luck…. we had to listen to the rest of her story and even though I’m burned and scarred for all eternity- my love for the House hasn’t changed.

However, in an effort to avoid having to be entertained by my waitress, I’ve been known to call in an order or two. Also, if I can’t find anyone to go the House w/me, I’ll go alone. If it’s late at night and I’m in the mood for the House and no one else is- I’ll either go solo and dine in or call for pick up.

Well, that used to be the way it was- I don’t dine in alone anymore.

Earlier this summer I’d stopped by for a late night snack. I can’t remember if I was dining in or just waiting for my order…

Either way, a black guy (with wads of cash) walked in w/2 homeless guys and told the waitress he’d like to pay for their food.

“don’t do it,” she says, “they gots more money than uin’me.”

It’s obvious that they’re homeless; (although they could pass for dirty House employees) they’re definitely homeless. The two men take a seat in the smoking section and the black guy lays $50 on the counter and leaves.

When I’m alone at low-down dirty places at night; I’m suspicious of everybody- everywhere. (sidenote: Waffle House is the only low-down dirty place I ever go, so don’t get the wrong idea.) … that being said, I’m really checking these guys out.

There’s a family sitting at the table behind them. The 2 kids are no more than 7 or 8…. I live in Katy so the very idea of 2 homeless guys walking around is rather unnerving to all 12 people in the House that night- dirty nail, tattooed wait staff included.

Okay… this story is about to get real ridiculous- but it’s the truth.

Homeless Guy A goes to the “juke box” and puts money in and starts playing his favorite song. Homeless Guy B pulls out a 59 ounce bottle of Crown Royal and plops it on the table. He yells across the restaurant to the waitress, “Hey! can we git sum Coke?!”

Cut back to Homeless Guy A, now singing very loudly- Aretha Franklin “R-E-S-P-E-C-T” while walking back to his table.

At this point, the family has frantically packed their children, paid their bill and is heading out the door.

“Sir, I’ll get chall a coke,” she says “but you caiin’t drank that Crown in’here.”

“well what ‘bout dis bottle of “Va-ka”?!” says Homeless Guy A, as he pulls out and twists open a bottle Grey Goose.

‘A’ & ‘B’ laugh; but so do myself, the waitress and the remaining people in the House.

The commotion finally settles down and both ‘A’ & ‘B’ have ordered their food. They’re singing loudly, but not really bothering anyone.

I say “not really” b/c ‘A’ is playing the guitar… but it’s fine- it’d kind of peaceful…

The song changes and ‘A’ & ‘B’ get REAL EXCITED and jump up! ‘A’ has handed the guitar to ‘B’, and he begins to both sing and play along w/the song on the juke box.

“wait til you guys see this!” ‘A’ says as he reaches into his backpack.

“Shit!” I think …. “my black ass is about to get shot in Waffle House.”

‘A’ reaches into his backpack and pulls out a recorder. Yep, a good old fashioned- 3rd grade music class, recorder.

#1- this has gone too far.
#2- where the hell does a homeless guy get a recorder?
#3- I didn’t stick around long enough so I have no idea how that story ends…. it was too much- I had to leave.

You know what?.... ALL THIS- and I’d still do anything to eat at Waffle House; including lie and cheat--- my own boyfriend.

I BEGGED Joe to take me to Waffle House. He refused so I challenged him to a game of Uno. “You win,” I said, “we go to bed. I win, we go Waffle House.”

I forgot to mention it’s 3 am, but tired and all- he won….

“Okay, wait… let’s play again.” I said, “…best 3 out of 5.”

Look, Joe is actually really, really good at Uno. He plays all the time on Facebook and wins Championships against people all over the world. He’s serious w/his Uno so the only way I could guarantee myself a victory was to cheat. Wanna eat? Gotta cheat.

I had to.

I was forced to.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Baby, can you get me a glass of water?” I slyly say….

He gets up and I pull all the “good cards” out his deck, and replace them w/shitty ones.

I win.

“Here, I’m done w/my glass” I hand it to him… “can you put it in the kitchen?”

This time, I replace ALL my cards with “Draw 4, Draw 2, and Wild Cards”…. I have no regular cards.

I win again.

The last game was easy to win w/out cheating; Joe felt defeated and barely put up a fight so I won again and shortly after we left for the House---- at around 3:30 in the morning.

Look- I’m a bad girlfriend and I cheated my beloved boyfriend in two games of Uno so that I could eat at the dirtiest restaurant on the planet.

See what dirty things make you do?! They make you lie to and cheat the ones you love!!

Waffle House is a bad habit that I’ve got to get out of my system. At 11:30 pm on my birthday eve, my friends and I loaded the car and headed to the Fry Road Waffle House. Why? b/c my dumb ass wanted to turn 27 in there.

Oh God! I’m so ashamed! What have I become?! Am I a product of my environment?! Am I too, a dirty finger-nailed, tattooed human being?! AHHHHHHHH, Lord- help me!!!!!!

You know what… maybe I should try to kick my habit….????......

….Nope- can’t do it. The wraps are good, the orange juice tastes freshly squeezed and the waffles are remarkable.

I don’t care if the dishes never see soap.

I don’t care if there’s always bacon on the floor.

And I don’t care if 2 Homeless guys tried to ruin my experience.

No matter what- Waffle House will be catering my wedding reception; dirty fingernails and all. Love it or leave it.

SHUT UP

I work with a lady that is SO freaking loud, I wish I could punch her in the face! I think she just talks loud so that other people know she's in a conversation. I ALWAYS hear her before I see her and most of the time, if I'm visiting someone else downstairs, she talks so loud I can't even hear myself think.

Lady... you know who you are; I have one request------spare us all- shut the hell up.

Horsey Ride

...this always makes me laugh...

FREEDOM!!!

The months of July, August and September have been ridicoulously busy and I've had very little personal time. I'm happy to report that things at work seem to be slowing down so I should have some more free time on my hands toooooo---- (drum roll please)
WRITE A REALLY GREAT BLOG!

Serioulsy tho- I'm keeping Tut for two weeks b/c Joe has an out of state bowling tournament next weekend so I have the dog. I've never kept Tut by myself for longer than a few hours, so I'm sure something funny will arise.... so far so good, but it's been less than 12 hours.

It feels so good to finally have some free time.... LET FREEDOM RING!

~tjf

Reisha B

I miss you and our hussy wars.

(there, you happy?!)

I shall shame black women everywhere...

I shall shame black women everywhere w/the following 2 statements.

1. I have no rhythm.
2. I cannot cook.

Well, let me clarify.

RHYTHM: I have rhythm. (It just doesn’t match anyone else’s.) This shameful mock to black women everywhere, is most evident and apparent in a Delta Sigma Theta strut line.

For YEARS, I “lied” (let’s call it a cover up)… I covered up my reason for not strutting so long; I damn near started to believe what I was telling everyone else.

The cover up: As NPHC advisor, I needed to be neutral and show no favoritism. Obviously, jumping in the middle of a DST strut line is not neutral by any means. So for the sake of being fair, I shouldn’t be in a strut line.

The real story: During my intake process, my linesisters and prophytes were all enlightened to my non-strutting capabilities. In the beginning, Ashlee Marshall, Carla Tate and myself were the President, Vice-President and CEO of the SHC (Strut Hatter Clique)…b/c none of us had rhythm.

But let it be known----loud and clear---- that ASHLEE MARSHALL IS A TRAITOR! Somewhere b/w 2004 and 2009, she picked up some rhythm on the street and is now in every strut line known to man.

As a matter of fact, if you were to review the tape from our probate, I was a shameful mess. In all honesty though, I just look like I’m not putting any effort into what I’m doing- but the sad truth is, I’M ACTUALLY TRYING, VERY HARD!

A five year running joke is that one day I’ll lead our DST strut line. But, every time I ask to do so, Delta’s from across the land, both young and old, literally laugh out loud- and most of the time- in my face. I’m holding tight until my wedding day, when I can finally lead the strut line.

…that’s the thing- I seriously think that if I was in front and everyone did what I was doing… it’d be majestic. Is it not logical to think that since my rhythm doesn’t match anyone else’s, that the “rhythm having people” should make theirs match mine?

Is that an unreasonable request? No, it is not.

Okay look, my rhythm is solo…not synchronized. Why the hell are we dancing in a line anyway?!

As far as my solo rhythm goes? Not too shabby (if I do say so myself). At this point, I’m the only one that can truly verify that statement b/c even if my linesisters weren’t so damn busy dancing in a freaking line; I wouldn’t DARE dance anywhere in the vicinity of them “booty shaking, drop it like it’s hot, show offs.”

Seriously, my conclusion is this- While I was busy growing up, the only black kid in the state of Arizona; all of my linesisters were taking lessons in Sharpstown at a Hip Hop Dance Studio. That’s the only rational explanation, right?

Don’t get me wrong… I dance pretty damn well… (but maybe only for a white girl?) Dang it! If I were white, you’d be standing there- drink in one hand, other hand in the air cheering, “Go, white girl! Go, white girl! Go! Go! Go, white girl!”

….but I’m black.

I’m supposed to have rhythm.

And apparently; it’s supposed to be synchronized with that of other black people.

Well rest assured- I have rhythm; it just doesn’t translate into dancing and walking at the same time.

I curse the day sorority strutting began…I curse the day…

COOKING: Rather than make a list of all the things I CAN’T cook, I’ll make one of the things that I CAN… (the list is much, much shorter.)

Okay… let me think….

….Hm, okay- this is not really working out the way I anticipated. I can’t think of one single thing that I can make from scratch.

But, let me say this: I eat to live, I don’t live to eat.

I hear people say all the time how much they LOVE food, they are food connoisseurs. I hear people say how much they love to try new things… well, that ain’t me.

I eat because I have to. For example, rather than spend my last $50 on groceries, I’ll spend $40 on getting my hair washed and the last $10 on Ramen Noodles and Tostino’s Frozen Pizzas.

I could care less about what I eat from day to day as long as my hair is done; I’m good.

Everyone in my family has a specialty however; I do not. My older sister, Kathy, makes an amazing breakfast pizza. Mama can really throw down on some Chicken & Dumplings. My younger sister, Krystal, makes really good cheesecake. My Dad’s BBQ is out of this world… and then there’s me.

The last time I was asked to make something for a family dinner, I burned half a roll of paper towels and the cornbread.

I hardly every buy fresh fruit or vegetables and I eat a lot of frozen food in a bag. My Dad is the cook of the family, but I guess I never really ventured into the kitchen to learn anything new.

OKAY, WAIT!!! This just came to me! I make really, really good eggs! and bacon, and waffles…

Side note: Joe just taught me how to make bacon about a month ago. Before then, I’d always bought sausage b/c I didn’t know how to make bacon.

In the grocery store:
JWD: “You should get some bacon.”
Me (with a disgusted and offended look on my face): “Why? We don’t eat bacon.”
JWD (very slowly): “We don’t eat bacon, b/c you don’t buy bacon.”
Me (quite perplexed): “oh… so if I bought bacon, you’d eat it?”

...he later taught me how to burn- I mean COOK- bacon and I’ve been impressed w/how easy it is, to actually make it.

The waffles- I owe to Bisquick. You literally add water and shake. The waffle iron does all the work, while I stand there and watch the batter overflow out the back.

I think I could follow a recipe, but I’m not really sure. Like I said, I eat to live so I could really care less about finding something that I like, and then cooking it. The thing I hate most about cooking is buying ingredients from the grocery store. It pisses me off that everything I need is not in one aisle.

A few months ago,I actually Googled a Mexican casserole, bought all the ingredients and cooked it. Although, I don’t consider putting a casserole in the oven “cooking.” That being said, my new specialty- will be casseroles.

You’d be surprised to know that every day I get a new recipe from Recipes.com into my email inbox. You’d also be surprised to know that; I open it- look at the picture, and then delete it. I haven’t made one single thing they’ve sent me, and I’ve been getting their emails every day for over a year.

I’ve also made the assumption that it’s hard to “cook” for one person. Baking a casserole is really easy, and I could eat it for DAYS. Lunch and dinner, lunch and dinner-I don’t care…I’ll eat the same thing 2 times a day, six days in a row. Like I said, I eat to live.

Even when Joe’s in town, I’d be “cooking” for two people-but only one meal b/c Joe refuses to eat leftovers. So even if I were to cook something for lunch, I’d probably have to cook again for dinner b/c Joe won’t eat what’s leftover from lunch…..but since I don’t cook- this isn’t even an issue.

I make breakfast- the same thing, every Saturday morning- bacon, eggs, and waffles. We normally eat separate lunches (mainly fast food) and then Joe will cook dinner (or we’re back at another restaurant). Thank God, Joe not only knows how to… but loves to cook. If it weren’t for him- I’d still be eating pizza and Ramen.

I take so much pride in my Mexican Casserole dish that I’m actually going to post the recipe and ask you to try it! It’s the ONLY thing I “cook”… and I’ve mastered it, so if you need help; let me know. (not really, I’m just saying that b/c I felt it was the right thing to say.)

(Attention, attention: I am no longer the only Master of Mexican Casserole; Joe just sent me a picture message of the one he’s making right now… his looks better than mine ever has.)

I close with this; if someone has a recipe that can teach me how to dance and walk at the same time; please attach a picture and email it to me. Depending on how I feel that day, I may actually read it. There’s also a high probability that I do you, like I do Recipe.com- OPEN IT- LOOK @ THE PICTURE- DELETE IT.

~tjf

~~~~~~~~~~~
The BEST Mexican Casserole EVER…

A packet of taco seasoning
A pound of beef
A can of corn
A can of black beans
A can of tomato paste
A box of Jiffy cornbread mix
1 egg (for cornbread)
3/4 cups of milk (for cornbread)
A packet of shredded cheese

You can use generic everything except cornbread; buy Jiffy.

Brown the meat w/taco seasoning.

Drain all of the corn, and some of the beans.

Cook together in the same pot...

When meat is done and bean/corn mix is hot; mix beans, corn and meat w/tomato paste.

Poor in baking pan.

Layer w/cheese.

Mix cornbread.

Dump corn bread batter on top of mix, cook on 400 for 25 minutes.

(TIP!!! Spread the cornbread mix thoroughly over the top, as you're pouring. Try to do so evenly over cheese,b/c it's easier to distribute while you pour vs. trying to spread cornbread mix over shredded cheese. Also, for a little extra "umpf" it's amazing w/sour cream and/or an avacado!)

Why I support SEX before marriage...

a little Tiffany's humor...

A lady walks into Tiffany's.

She browses around, spots a beautiful diamond bracelet and walks over to inspect it. As she bends over to look more closely she inadvertently breaks wind.

Very embarrassed, she looks around nervously to see if anyone has noticed her little accident and prays that a sales person doesn't pop up right now.

As she turns around, her worst nightmare materializes in the form of a salesman standing right behind her.

Cool as a cucumber and displaying complete professionalism, the salesman greets the lady with, 'Good day, Madam, How may we help you today?'

Very uncomfortably, but hoping that the salesman may not have been there at the time of her little 'accident! ', she asks, 'Sir, what is the price of this lovely bracelet?'

He answers, 'Madam, if you farted just looking at it, you're going to shit when I tell you the price.”

...on a serious note ♪ ♫

I struggle with my adulthood. I think my greatest fear is disappointing my parents. As you mature, it’s natural inclination to make self righteous decisions that are for your overall happiness. Growing up, that’s all you wish for- to make your own decisions…

…but decision making isn’t easy.

When do you get past the point where you “ask” your parents for permission vs. being an adult, making the decision and letting your parents know what you’ve decided; whether they like it or not?

When do you have to decide that you’ll risk the possibility of disappointing someone else, to make yourself happy?

Are you willing to sacrifice your own happiness for that of others?... and I guess the bigger question being; would they do the same for you?

snot rocket

I haven't done a snot rocket since the 3rd grade. The last time I did it, I was in a restroom stall- rocketed- and couldn't find it. I went back to choir and right during a musical interlude of "Beauty and the Beast" the girl next to me SCREAMS, "EWW! TIFFANY HAS A BIG GREEN BOOGER ON HER NECK!! EVERYBODY LOOK!!! EWWW!!"

Stupid heifer.

18 bucks...

Tonight over dinner, Joe told me that he'd gone to Bikini Beach the night before our 1st breakfast date. He normally runs a tab, but had to stop b/c he wanted to make sure he had enough money to take me out for breakfast.

Joe: "...I only had $18, so I was praying that you didn't want to go somewhere nice b/c I would have had to lie to you about why I couldn't go."

Me: "how much was our final bill?"

Joe: "$15... I was broke the rest of the week."

Me: "Aw babe... can I have a kiss?"

Joe: "No, your breath smells like lemon pepper wings."

He hesitates and then pecks me on the lips quickly; making sure that our lips barely touch.

....he proceeds to finish his story.

Joe: "It was so important to me, that I called around to borrow money, but no one had any money for me to borrow.... I really wanted to take you out. I even called females that I dated before you!"

Me: (a little teary eyed at his thoughtfulness and consideration) "Joe, I love you. Now, kiss me for real!"

Joe: "Nope. Can't do it. Plus- I just kissed you, stupid."

Pit Expectations

I've always grown up around dogs. Duchess and Kizzee were my first; black Doberman Pinchers. I don’t really remember much about them but I had to have been only about 3 or 4 years old.

Next came Money and Penny; red Irish Setters… they were BEAUTIFUL. My Dad bought Money first and although he was in an inside dog, when Mama came to visit (before they were married) Money stayed outside. (I think Mama said one time she was chased down by a large dog so she hasn’t liked them since. I’m just going to draw the conclusion that she was pregnant w/my sister, Kathy when this happened b/c Kathy hates dogs too. A few weeks ago my nephew asked Mama if she wanted to go to the dog park w/us and her response was, “How dare he have the audacity to ask me that!”)

Money was a fairly large dog (compared to me anyway) but he loved and protected me. When He & Penny had 14 puppies, it was days before Money actually let my Dad even see them. One time my Dad came outside in the backyard looking for me, and I was in the dog house w/Penny and the puppies. When my Dad would even come close, Money would growl and Dad had to back off. The only thing he could do was get the video camera. Trust me, if my Dad ever finds those videos, I’ll be sure to post them. Money and Penny were the last dogs we had, and I was extremely sad to see them go. I didn’t even get to say good-bye.

That being said, I love dogs. Well… let me be honest- I love CUTE dogs. If your dog is ugly as sin, I won’t even make eye contact w/that disgusting thing. As a matter of fact, if your dog is ugly; I’m going to act like I’m afraid of dogs and you’ll be forced to keep it away from me b/c you think I’m afraid. But what can I say- ugly dogs are gross. (I just threw up in my mouth a little thinking about one of my friends that has an ugly dog. Shoot, up until now; she thought I was afraid of dogs. Friend, if you’re reading this- THE TRUTH HURTS, BUT I HATE YOUR DOG!!)

So, I haven’t had a dog since I was in elementary school, but when Joe and I started dating- I got a new dog; King Tut.

Tut is a Pit Bull and I almost hate telling people his breed b/c they think he eats small children and looks like this.

…. or this…

…b/c Tut is a Pit, when we stay w/Joe’s brother; Jimmy and his wife, Ursula- Ursula makes Tut stay outside- THE ENTIRE TIME. Maybe she’s one of the people that thinks Tut is going to eat her kids. Although he’s a little bigger now, does this look like the face of a child-eating dog?

(Joe just came in w/two dress socks in his hand that Tut pulled out of the dirty clothes hamper to eat. See, Tut eats socks- not people.)

Tut was born in January of 09, so he’s less than a year old and still considered a “puppy.” He weighs 65 pounds, but doesn’t know he does. According to him, he’s still the size he was in the 1st picture. Because he thinks he weighs 10 pounds, he doesn’t know it hurts to jump on my face.

At all times; I’m always fully aware of where he is in the house b/c I don’t want to be caught off guard and have my face jumped on. He’s also not aware that I only have a queen sized bed. For some reason, he sleeps on the floor; on my side of the bed. One of my pillows has officially been deemed Tut’s and even when my room is clean, the pillow remains on the floor. He loves to cuddle with it, but it only lasts about an hour b/c right when I’m into my second cycle of REM- he jumps on the bed and I have to scoot over and make room. Regardless of whether or not anyone else is in the bed, he sleeps w/all four legs fully extended…

My pushing him off the bed and him jumping back on, lasts almost all night long; all the while Joe sleeps peacefully and uninterrupted. I don’t know why Tut knows the bed is for sleeping and I don’t know why he has the nerve to think that he too is allowed to sleep in the bed- but as far as he’s concerned; he’s entitled to do so therefore- I should make room. (He’s in the bed now, and as usual- I’m uncomfortable.) I guess now is a good time to mention Tut’s foot fetish. Joe’s feet are being chewed on at this very moment.

Much like Money, Tut is an inside dog. Any time he’s outside for longer than an hour, I genuinely worry about him. That being said, he’s too mischievous to be left inside alone for any longer than an hour. It’s not even alone, it’s unsupervised. One of my friends brought me a red wooden recorder from Mexico, um… Tut ate that and Joe and I had no idea until hours later- he was left unsupervised. We rotate b/w leaving him in/outside, but trust that extensive conversation always comes into play. “Well, what are we about to do and how long are we going to be gone?”

The first time we left for more than an hour, we left him in the backyard. We went bowling and were gone for about 3 hours. It rained the entire time we were gone and Joe was pissed that he was going to have to bathe Tut when we got home.

Tut was FILTHY and the water was completely brown. That day, I realized that both Joe and Tut despise doggie baths. And I despise using $10 Pantene Pro-V Shampoo & Conditioner for Women of Color.

The second time we left Tut in the backyard, we were gone for 5 hours. We left for a comedy show about 9:30 pm and didn’t get home until well after 2 am. Tut was sitting in the driveway when we pulled up… meaning- some kind of way; he’d broken through the Post-Hurricane Ike brand new fence. Joe’s eyes got really big but neither of us said anything.

A few days later, we went to PetsMart to buy a few toys that would hopefully keep him occupied for longer than a few hours if we needed to leave him inside again.

Last weekend we went to San Antonio for 4 days and my brother-in-law, Clayton agreed to feed and care for Tut while we were out of town. We left on Thursday night and were awakened with a phone call early Friday morning.

RING!!!!RIIIINNG!!!

BANG! BANG! BANG! “HOUSEKEEEEPINNN!!!”

The phone was ringing and housekeeping was banging on the door simultaneously.

I answer the phone… scurrying in the dark trying to get to the door at the same time.

Me: “Um… hello?”
BANG! BANG! BANG! “HOUSEKEEEEPINNN!!!”

Man: “Hi. Are you guys missing a dog?”

BANG! BANG! BANG! “HOUSEKEEEEPINNN!!!”

Me: “Joe! You have got to wake up and do something!! Help me! PLEASE!!”

Man: “Hello?? Are you guys missing a dog??!”

Me: “No… I’m in San Antonio- I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Man: “Oh, okay… well, I have a dog here at my house w/your phone number on his tag… King Tut? Is that your dog?”

I immediately wake up and focus…

Me: “Oh! Yes sir! I’m sorry, I was confused for a second!”

Man: “blah, blah, blah… my wife and a friend went for a walk this morning at 6 am, and Tut followed them all the way back to my house, he’s in the backyard w/my Golden Retriever, but when can you come get him? It’s already 9 am...”

John (the man on the other line) had been watching Tut for almost three hours now and wanted one of us to come and get him immediately.

I called Clayton and he made arrangements to get Tut. Tut’s a good dog, but he possesses a very curious and mischievous nature. I wonder how long he’d been roaming Rain Tree Village? I wonder when he finally got fed up w/being outside alone and said, “F%$# this, I’m busting out this joint!”

Needless to say, Clayton went and got him. When we came home a few days later; I was nervous that Tut might have forgotten us while we were gone; but it was the exact opposite. He was ecstatic that we’d finally returned and we were just as happy to see him as well... it was a happy reunion to say the least.

There are so many things I love about Tut, I don’t even know where to begin, but I’ll start with one of my favorites;

I love that Tut eats Gobstoppers.

I love that he’s afraid of the ironing board, the vacuum and Joe’s bowling bag. I love that eats feet (even if you’re a stranger…if your feet are out, fair game.) I love that he’s anxiously excited to welcome us home.

Even though I “complain” about it; l love that he feels entitled to sleep in the bed. I love that he comes running when we yell his name, and I love that he pretends he can’t hear me when I ask him to do something he doesn’t want to do.

I love that he tries to eat my hair, and I love that he’s sitting on me right now (w/his nasty un-neutered genitaila on my back.) Okay wait- that I could do without.

I love that he’s so predictable. Every morning we (Tut and I) wake up at 7 am and I left him in the backyard to go to the restroom. He scratches at the door when he’s ready to come in. He trots to the bedroom door and waits for me to follow him out. We walk to the kitchen and I fill his food and water bowls. I put them on the floor, he eats and I go get back in the bed. When he’s finished, he comes and jumps in the bed too… Every. Single. Morning.

I can’t exactly remember when this routine began but apparently, it’s a behavior that I have to maintain. The two times I filled his bowls while he was outside, not only did I have to walk w/him into the kitchen, I had to go through the motions of filling up the pre-filled bowls.

Although I was trying to make the best use of my time, it turned out to be a waste of time.

Tut doesn’t know he’s a Pit and as a matter of fact, I’m not really even sure he knows he’s a dog and not a person. He’s not aware there are Pit-Expectations he should be living up to. He has no idea that by breed, he should be a killing machine!

I pray that over the next few years, he remains the fun-loving dog that Joe and I both love.



Either way though; I’ll keep you posted.

~tjf