A Quarter Life Crisis

This was the first Thanksgiving since Wander’s split from The Man Wander Married. I guess I should call him my dad but that would provide a level of respect for him that I no longer hold. Such as life! Initially we were going to spend the holiday with Granny SJ but hella typical of my mom’s family that plan changed. Granny SJ decided she didn’t want everyone at her house for the holiday and opted, as normal, to spend the day with Grannie Frannie and her clan. I don’t let my grandmother’s shows of favoritism hurt my feelings. I’ve chalked it up to the way things are, at least for my family anyway. I can’t say the same for Wander. Even though she says she doesn’t care, I’m not sure I believe that.

Side note can I still use hella sort of like can I still wear my Ugg Boots…not 100% sure about this. I’d appreciate if someone shed some light. Thanks in advance.

Since Granny SJ kicked us out of her festivities I opened my home for the holiday. I didn’t invite the Spaniard, (there’s no hidden relationship angst there but as noted he is devotedly Muslim and doesn’t celebrate any other holidays and at this point does he really need invites…yeah there’s hidden relationship angst there who am I kidding) but the Little Brother invited his piece of the moment. I shouldn’t disrespect his chick but I’ve yet to meet this strumpet so I can call her all types of off color adjectives until I put face to name. Honestly I doubt that she’s a slore, my brother is out of that phase…I think. Honestly I am the least of my brother’s worries. I’m the nice sister. It’s the little one that’s a handful. She’s super protective…as am I but in a different way. I allow everyone to make his own mistakes and then say I told you so…I kid…only slightly!

Sometimes I wonder how my brother feels being trapped betwixt two crazy sisters?

Of course I was on deck to pick The Little Sister up from the train station upon her return home for the holiday. I mean why wouldn’t I, considering my position within the family as the resident chauffeur and problem solver. As a result I pushed aside plans with The Spaniard. He rode the crimson wave about this all weekend with a little bleeding into the Thanksgiving week. In casual conversation I had to listen to how my sister/friends always ruin our plans. My rebuttal to this was simple, grow up! Clearly he missed the memo disclosing that he is not the sun so my revolutions aren’t always around him.

In my defense, not that I should have to defend myself, I did make it plain that my weekend and holiday week was zip-lock tight. Maybe he should consider compromise, rip his arse off his shoulders, and partake in the holiday season especially ones that aren’t religious in nature. Technically Thanksgiving is an American holiday. He’s an American the last time I checked, dual citizenship and hashish. Although some celebrate it with Christian overtones it is not technically religious. If he embraced his American-ness a little he wouldn’t have been the odd man out for the past few weeks…I mean it makes sense to me. Hell he doesn’t hear me complain about his inability to give me a hug during Ramadan or the fact that most Fridays he’s conveniently unavailable. Of course the line is drawn in the sand at the mosque. I’d give major o_0 (stank eye) if he ever asked me to attend then I’d politely decline. My compromising extent stops there.

But anywho, Pudding Pop invited us over to her place for Thanksgiving dessert. We never showed but I did let her know it was just a maybe, nothing definite. Wander was pretty exhausted after late night practice and rising early to sing in the Philadelphia Thanksgiving Day Parade. I rode her exhaustion to the bank. I just wasn’t in the mood to cram into my cousin’s apartment and play board games. Hey I’d been running around carting people here and there on top of cooking, cleaning and stroking The Spaniard’s ego. Like any normal human, I was tired.

In any event Thanksgiving dinner was fantabulous. It was very intimate just my immediate family. The Little Brother’s floozy made other arrangements. It felt like old times in that we laughed it up all night and I was happy. I spent the following day with The Spaniard toy shopping for his niece and nephew and my Godson. Toys r Us had relatively decent sales. We joked about going broke for kids that aren’t even ours…I held back a mini panic attack under the guise of an awkward silence and kept it moving.

The infamous apartment conversation reared its ugly head again. I don’t know another way to communicate No other than No. I’m not interested in moving in with him right now! Note the time reference, I’m not saying ever, just not now. I know I’m hurting his feelings, men are so fragile, but I’m not ready for co-habitation without real commitment. And if you read real commitment as engagement ring you’d be 100% right, not that I’m close to being ready for that either. Besides the Little Brother hasn’t been feeling well lately and well he needs me. And as sad as it sounds my brother needing me is more important to me than playing house with The Spaniard. My brother has never let me down…clearly I haven’t let go of the past completely. I’m a bottler so lump it.

On Saturday I planned on spending time with The Best Friend searching for updates to my Godson’s room. Can you believe he’s six? I can’t. Anywho we scooped up some good finds, posters and other little odds and ends. Pudding Pop was still insisting on spending some time so I cut out early on my bestie and headed back to the city to play board games with the familia. Added bonus, my cousin from Tampa was here celebrating my ex-aunt’s birthday and had left her kids with Pudding Pop. This was my first time seeing her two daughters and the last time I’d seen her son he was so shy it was like not seeing him.

Y’all know I’m allergic to children under age ten except my Godson, but the kids were cute and I actually had a pretty decent time. Awkwardly holding the smallest one wasn’t horrible and she had that scumptilicious new baby smell with pudgy cheeks, that’s how they sucker folks…not I! By 10:30PM I was beyond tired and had to call it a night even though the rug rats were wide awake. I have no clue what manufacturers put in those juice packs…probably coke of the snort-snort variety. Granted I’d been up since 4:00AM carting the Little Sister to the train station; yeah an older sister’s duties are never done.

It didn’t even seem like the Little Sister was home…could be because I didn’t let her stay at my apartment. Such as life!

In other news, The Man Wander Married ended up being rushed to the hospital. It seems his lungs collapsed and they needed to remove a bubble or something like that. Sounds eerily like cancer to me. Instead of calling my mom or having someone call one of us he opted to call his sister who in-turn had her daughter send me a FB message. Yeah you read that right, a FB message. Of all the random arse backward stupid hashish!

Mind you I’ve had the same cell phone number since 1999…WTF!

I feel torn about his recent health development. I mean when I was rushed to the hospital The Man Wander Married (TMWM) wasn’t even notified and even if he was he wouldn’t have shown, of this I’m certain. My brother’s been in the hospital several times this year and TMWM was ghost. When Wander called, because I didn’t see the FB message until much later in the day which is why FB is not a reasonable way to notify someone of an emergency, I thought she wanted me to drive her to the hospital. Luckily that wasn’t the reason for her call. She was just informing me, and had taken the stance since he didn’t call her there was no reason for her to show her face. I tend to agree. Of course there is a history here that’s not baked into this blogpost, but it’s already too long. Bottom line, I have daddy issues…not of the screw older men nature but daddy issues all the same.

And as much as I wanted to be fazed by him being rushed to the hospital I wasn’t. I felt worse when my best friend told me her grandmother’s husband’s back in the hospital battling cancer again. This probably makes me a bad person. I should care that my dad is in a hospital bed with an injury that kills people. I do care, don’t get me wrong. I’ve said a prayer for him every day since finding out but I don’t feel like I need to sit at his bedside faking tears, ruining mascara pretending we have a relationship. We don’t! And we haven’t for years. But he’s still my dad and has much as I dislike him, I once gave him a birthday card that read you’ve taught me how to love a person I don’t like, there will always be a part of me that smiles for him…albeit a very small part. Hell we share DNA, and that has to count for something, right?

The Spaniard almost got karate chopped in the throat for sideways insinuating my wrongness for not visiting TMWM in the hospital. Don’t worry I give out cyber chops too…I kid a little!

Anywho, say a prayer for The Man Wander Married that he gets better so he can continue to be the a-hole that he is….yeah I know I’m wrong #dontjudgeme!

Over the weekend I went to see For Colored Girls, not a Tyler Perry original, thank God but directed, produced and adapted by him. My first mind told me to avoid the debil that is TP aka Tyler Perry but all my chicitas were going and I didn’t want to spoil the party, especially my semi celebration. Last week I escaped the pits of hell. And when I say pits of hell I mean consulting. Anyone who’s ever been a consultant with one of the top firms will understand that analogy.

But I digress, For Colored Girls, was actually not horrible. Considering my distaste for the debil, that is TP, not horrible is a compliment. While TP rakes in tons of money running around as a 6ft gun toting Grandmother, who’s Grannie actually packs heat, I turn my nose up in utter boughie (second definition) disgust. I owns my boughie and I wears it well, it feels like velvet! His writing ability, quite pitiful and let’s not even talk about his total lack of film making skills. That hasn’t stopped him from sucking up tons of cash and getting who I consider to be A-B list actors to star in his productions. It is baffling but we are/were in a recession. I’m not gonna knock his hustle because he’s doing the damn thing, so much so the mofo lives in a castle in HotLanta. Yeah I said a castle; it’s like Buckingham effn Palace over there. TP has done well for himself proving talent means almost nothing.

But seriously the movie was not horrible. And here are the few reasons why it wasn’t horrible. Ntozake Shange is the hashish and potatoes. Please pick up the choreopoem and get ready to be impressed. It’s tough to get through because it’s raw and deep and most folk don’t like that. I lump myself in that category, so don’t take offense. I like my entertainment with heavy doses of hair gel, rachet low class slores (combination of sluts and whores) and orange tans, most days. That is a direct byproduct of the pits of hell I escaped from, there was but so much brain power I had left to digest the real.

Another reason the movie was not horrible, Kimberly Mudda-Effin Elise. That chile can act her hindparts off. Chops, she has it! During one of her monologues (using words penned by Ntozake not Perry thank God) she had me ready to cry…and I don’t cry, at least not in the public. She deserves an Oscar but she probably won’t get one because well like I said it wasn’t horrible and that’s a far cry from a good film. I was equally impressed with Anika Noni Rose and my OG Claire Huxtable slays these young bishes to pieces. I’m way partial to Claire; she’s a shero in my head! I heart these women for their performances. And to be honest, the wackness that is Janet J. pulled out an honorable mention. Janet snatched back to Penny on Good Times and actually was dare I say…believable. I know I shocked myself with that last one.

I won’t tell you how Janet J’s performance in Why Did I Get Married Too made Beyonce in anything look like an Academy Award winning actress. And the real question; why I even wasted my hard earned dollars on that rubbish…peer pressure.

Unfortunately having great actors perform amazing in a badly adapted play is not getting it. I likes me some Ms. Celie, a lot, but Failure her name is Whoopie. I’m quitting her so much right now because I expected and deserved more. Note to the Whoop-ster, keep your day job. Not to hashish all over her parade, she did have one decent scene but I’m not sure if it was decent because she was doing well, or if she was just the better of two bad actresses. I mean Thandie Newton is my girl, y’all saw Crash! She and I, friends in my head! But casting Thandie as a gutter-butt slore was in a word, horrible. Rumor has it that Mariah Carey was supposed to play the role but thank God for pregnancy small miracles because it might have been worse. We all know the Glitter mishap, I’m just saying.

But alas it was a Tyler Perry production and what is normally wrong with TP went wrong in this movie. Honestly I want him to take a screen writing class for dummies or at the absolute least learn how to make a three dimensional character. In reality people are more than a one trick pony. People, most anyway, are intricately complex which is the reason why I’m not throwing the rubbish I’m calling a screenplay out to folk just yet. If you love an art form, perfect it before letting it lose for mass consumption. Well maybe not perfect it but damn get a good grasp on it. Although I will say this movie is Tyler’s best work to date.

Damn it TP in the name of all things Perry-esque, learn the meaning of plot. For all it’s worth, the movie had none. The characters were just there and things were happening to them for no rhyme or reason. Or maybe that is the plot also known as life…I am digressing. By the first 30 minutes I could have told you how the movie was going to end, minus the kids getting thrown from the window by their alcoholic father, sorry I might have just spoiled it for someone. But otherwise I knew how it was going to end within the first half hour or so which makes me want my money back, just a little.

Not surprising and regular scheduled programming for Mr. Perry, men ain’t grits n’ hotcakes. Yeah that pretty much sums up the whole male cast minus boo in my head, Hill Harper…he is soooo smart it makes me cry a little on the inside sort of like that Native American who cries when we litter. Am I dating myself right now? Anywho it would stand to reason that if TP considers himself a closet homosexual good man than he can’t be the last. Regardless of the examples of ain’t grits n’ hotcakes men I’ve run across in my life I refuse to think that Tyler Perry, Hill Harper and The Little Brother are the only ones left floating around on the third rock from the sun. iRefuse (think I stole that language from Luuvie) to believe that. There’s some diamonds in the rough out there we just need to put in the elbow grease to shine them up.

What is equally frustrating maybe even more so than the ain’t grits n’ hotcakes men are the emasculated wimps. For the love of Yahweh! Most of the men I know aren’t missing testicles. Granted I haven’t done manual inspections on all of them but I’m sure the lacking of junk would have come up in random conversation. That aside I don’t think this truly represents the population at large. If anything some men would benefit from two drops of estrogen every once in awhile, I’m just saying guys being hard all the time ain’t always sezy.

And on another unrelated but related note, what’s the deal with in the basement abortion...there’s a Planned Parenthood-like shop in almost every urban neighborhood I can think of, I’m just saying. But I hearts Macy Gray like uck me pumps on a first date so I’m not gonna lose sleep over it.

Besides that abortion plot mishap down janky civil rights legacy lane, the themes of the movie ring true. The struggles of women, not just those of color, were spotlighted and I could appreciate the film for that. Tyler Perry much like Janet J receives an A for effort and an honorable mention for the film in its entirety. I mean not even an amazing writer/director could have pulled off For Colored Girls When the Rainbow is not Enuf without a hitch.

My new inspiration!!

This is what it actually looked like on Sunday, I wasn't being completely vain!

By end of business on Friday I was more than ready to call it quits. After working with Texas on a few of my more recent assignments I ended up shackled to him again for a portion of the work on my current project. Clearly the work gods are not friends with me on Facebook. If they handed out degrees for jumping on my last nerve Texas would graduate summa cum laude! And that might actually be an understatement.

Earlier in the day the Realtor sent me the list of three properties we’d scope out after I was finished working. It was a toss up whether I was going to walk or catch a cab. I’ve decided that close proximity to my office and downtown Philadelphia is one of my more important must haves for my new place in addition to ample closet space. When I stepped outside Humidity damn near stole my will to live, cab it was. In better weather the trek to Northern Liberties or in this case slightly below Northern Liberties on the outskirts of not the greatest neighborhood wouldn’t be half bad and good exercise. But in the butt blazing heat I just wasn’t making it happen. In any event we looked at the three places, none keepers and parted ways in front of my office. The Realtor was nice enough to drop me off, must be the commission!

By the time I made it home from condo searching it was 7:15. I’d agreed to have Pretty Skin pick me up around 8ish but that would be cutting it too close. Besides the fact that I wasn’t too keen on the idea of him knowing where I live. Shoot I didn’t really know why he was in the in bing, this is slang for jail carry on. I made a quick call and told PS since it was getting later than anticipated I would meet him wherever he decided we were having dinner.

We met at Johnny Manana’s on Ridge Avenue in East Falls. Even though I live a hop, skip and a jump away from there I’d never been. And he gets a gold star because I heart American Mexican food. Yes that’s ridonkulous I know but authentic Mexican food is prepared with corn meal, which I don’t particularly care for but American Mexican is made with flour and I likes me some flour. Digressing a bit I know right!

Anywho, the date was alright, to scale it, probably a 6.5. The conversation with PS was easy but I needed to get the 411 on this whole jailhouse experience. For a minute I thought he was trying to avoid the pink elephant but he says, could be a cap up one never knows, he doesn’t like to talk about his past self because that’s not who he is anymore. I can dig it; especially since his past self distributed street pharmaceuticals. He said he deserved his five-year punishment and he would never do anything to find himself in that situation again.

What the deuces do you know how much has changed in the past five years – shoot that’s a lifetime in cell phone technology?

He seemed genuine but uh I’ve seen half an episode of Oz and I can’t get down with the get down if you know what I’m saying! Oh and then the other two bombshells of the night, he has a 9 year old daughter from a jump off…not even a relationship and that architectural firm, he was the equivalent of Mailroom Boy’s supervisor, it figures! But the icing on the cake, no job right now but I guess this is to be expected. He is a barber, unlicensed, so that’s his current hustle until he gets a legitimate tax-paying job. At least he’s actively searching, that’s a lot more than I can say for some folks I know who will remain nameless…Little Brother!

After all those details my head was spinning and I asked if we could end the night a bit early. PS seemed slightly disappointed but whatevs, in actuality I was all types of tired and I had some serious thinking to do. Besides siddity Faith started rearing her ugly mug and I didn’t want to go there with this gent just yet. Despite his checkered past, which he was very honest about, we had a relatively decent mini date. He was easy to talk to, could hold a decent conversation and he laughed at my oddball jokes. I’m a nerd at heart folks!

When I got home I de-clothed, sent a text message to PS letting him know I got home safe and thanked him for dinner, washed the slight make-up off my face and said, DAMN! No literally that’s what happened. Nothing a good night’s sleep and a small prayer wouldn’t help, right! I woke the next morning and said, I’m going to see how things play out, cautiously with Pretty Skin. I mean he didn’t directly kill anyone right?

Saturday plans grab a quasi-expensive gift for Male Nurse Friend (MNF) and make it to his birthday BBQ. By mid day this plan was all but a memory. I had no motivation. For whatever reason, maybe the hellish workweek or the exhaustion that sprouts from maintaining too many gentleman callers was catching up with me. Believe it or not I’m not as young as I used to be!

In any event I opted for a card and a gift certificate to Dave N Busters for MNF. When I drove to his apartment there was no parking, after looping three times I called it quits and drove back home. I know that probably was wrong (it ain’t like his non showing butt hasn’t stood me up on a number of occasions) but I really wasn’t in the mood for the queens he invited anyway.

Earlier that day I’d texted Jon B to see if we were still on for True Blood. By 11PM I had no response so I figured that was the end. Damn I really read that man’s intentions wrong. My dating wheels need some oil I guess.

On Sunday I rose early and cleaned the apartment. Since I’m not traveling I’m back to my normal weekend scrub the home routine, me likes. I sparked up a random conversation with Italian Stallion around 3ish and in the middle Jon B called, now what woodwork did he crawl out of? I ended up calling him back around 6:30, you know just to see what excuse he’d give for doing a no call no show.

Apparently his ex called to let him know he can no longer be involved in her daughter’s life. He was devastated and needed some time to himself to decompress. Hmmm…pretty janky on her part and all types of effed up for her daughter considering Jon B is the only father the girl’s ever known. He seemed to be taking it quite hard. I thought I heard him choking back some tears. I offered him some words, I mean what else was there to do and told him to get back to me when he felt he was up for company. I don’t feel like I need to make any effort here. Red flags are busting out of the seams on this one!

We called it a night around 2ish. I ignored the bouncer’s attempts to woo and walked back to the car unscathed by his advances with my girls. We’d decided to crash at The Best Friend’s house, alls yeah an impromptu sleepover.

Clearly we, me and The Best Friend that is, were not up for the challenge of the sleepover because as soon as I had hair in scarf my eyes closed. I was down for the count. And I do mean the count since I didn’t wake up until well after 12 in the afternoon. Now that’s not something I typically do, y’all know my battle with that biotch, Insomnia.

Anywho, Nurse Friend met the Best Friend and I at our favorite diner in North Wales. Since we’d canceled our trip to Ocean City due to inclement weather we needed to replace that with some equally fun thing for Saturday night. Ended on gambling in Chester. Not exactly the best replacement but we were working with limited options. And I really wasn’t in the market for hanging out in the city again. Don’t get me wrong there’s nothing wrong with the city, I mean I hearts the city in a major way but I’d played the city ticket all week and wanted to spice it up a bit.

Harrahs in Chester was just going to have to do. We parted ways for a few hours, so I could catch up on some e-mail from work and Nurse Friend needed to meet her family for her mom’s birthday celebration. By 9ish Nurse Friend was on her way to scoop me up so we could meet the Best Friend. My bestie was on point for driving since I’d played designated the night before.

Needless to say I didn’t win any money. Well let me not tell a lie. I won about $120 dollars but I ended up giving it all back to the casino. Nurse Friend did tell me to cash out once I was up but I just didn’t listen...hindsight is 20/20. Not counting the $120 that I gave back I only really lost about thirty bucks of my hard earned cash so I’m not gonna complain. Did you know they still have penny machines? It was a bunch of blue haired ladies with ciggies (cigarettes) and drinks pulling slots anxiously watching pennies (yes I said pennies) fluctuate.

Some troll at the bar kept making impromptu eye contact and I wasn’t feeling any of that. No cuties that night, but considering the growing roster that might not be a bad thing. My thought, summer o’ men should include a man for every day of the week. Is that being greedy?

Casino security harassed us for taking pictures, ugh what janky rules. I was actually told I needed to delete any photos, me thinks not! Oh did I forget to mention the drink The Best Friend spilled on me, and she wasn’t even drunk.

During our stint in the casino I could have sworn I saw Jon B saunter by with a less than attractive chic-let, competition. I like competition. Part of me wanted to swing by him so he’d see my hotness in comparison to the dud he had on his arm…jealousy maybe. Of course it might not have been him, or was it!

Once we’d gambled away our hard earned thirty bucks apiece we made our way to the car. I switched into some flip-flops for the ride home but not before we got our Ciara on in the parking lot dancing for no one but ourselves and laughing all the way. This is what I love about my friends always up for acting 12!

Overall the weekend was great! I hadn’t decided if I was ready to deal with Pretty Skin’s issue, if I would see Argyle Freak on Tuesday or when I’d catch up with Jon B. Of course there was Mr. Late Night in the background. Clearly this is going to be a productive summer!

Side note I had a very very interesting Sunday night text, cell phone and webcam conversation with Jon B. Spank him kindly for the oh so tasty pictures. Maybe he won’t stay in the friendzone. Only time will tell!

I was feeling slightly tipsy when I left the bar, way irresponsible I know. Since I hate waking up with alcohol on the tummy I decided to stop at the Wawa on Germantown Avenue in Mt. Airy to grab something quick to coat my stomach. Believe me the Wawa is a regular meat market after last call, not my intentions for going but eye candy is nice at any time of day or night.

There were a couple of cuties I saw giving me the eye when I was ordering my food but I didn’t pay it any mind. I quickly grabbed my slip from the counter and went to pay for my items. Mr. Late Nite was in front of me in the line. He turned around, nice shoulders, and said, “Damn you smell good. What is that you have on?” Never one to disappoint a fan I responded that I was wearing Chanel Chance. He said something like he was going to add it to his personal memory because it smelled amazing! Spank him kindly.

When I went to the counter to retrieve my sandwich Mr. Late Nite was still standing there. He started asking the usual questions one ask when he wants to secure another’s phone number. I began tabulating in my mind whether he could be added to the roster of summer potentials. My decision, yes for those shoulders alone he could gain admittance on the island.

Mr. Late Nite walked me to my car so we could exchange numbers. For whatever reason I’d left my cell in the car. Once at the car, I could see Jon B was calling. Probably checking to make sure I’d made it home, so sweet. Anywho I picked up the phone because I didn’t want Jon B to think I’d careened off the side of the road. Mr. Late Nite was quiet while I chit chatted and asked Jon if I could give him a buzz once I was settled and in the house.

After I hung up, Mr. Late Nite asked who I was talking to, to which I responded, some dude. I’m not into lies people and I don’t owe either one of these gents anything. Mr. Late Nite said he liked how smooth I handled the situation and respected me for not lying. Why lie? Either way we exchanged numbers and I made my way home. By the time I got settled it was around 2:30ish. I called Jon B back, promises must be kept, and we talked until about 4. By that time my eyelids were heavy and I had to get some sleep to prepare for ladies weekend.

Friday was packed with an ish load of errands. I woke up and cleaned the kitchen and bathroom while I waited for The Little Brother to come home with my car. I finished reorganizing my room, you know de-Spaniardizing. Once The Little Brother was home I made my way to the hair salon to get my do tossed. Side note my hair is on a growth spurt and I like it. I was slightly annoyed that my stylist was overbooked and I ended up waiting for several hours, the usual but for whatever reason I was irked.

After leaving the shop I headed down to the Urban Outfitters on 36th and Chestnut to see if I could pick up something cute for the night. Originally the Best and Nurse friend decided on Cuba Libre in Olde City but to be honest I wasn’t feeling salsa all night long, papichulos yes salsa no! In any event I was able to convince the girls that a nice low-key night out was far better. We agreed to go to Copacabana on 40th & Spruce. Side not I didn’t even wear the outfit I picked up out that night instead I opted for an oldie but goodie from my closet.

At first Copa was looking dead. I almost regretted my not so subtle suggestion of forgoing Cuba Libre. Once we got to the door we realized it was in deed in rare form inside, great! The doorman was giving me the eye but I wasn’t returning the favor. Sorry friend just not my type but he was nice and he carded us so my still looking under 21 card is still in effect, fantabulous!

The music was knocking; this is slang for good, carry on. The DJ spun a good mix of oldies and new school hip-hop and r&b. The vibe in Copa was nice. I ordered my signature and my friends ordered there’s. We were partying with our best friends, Vodka and Rum. Sometimes that’s all you need. Mid way through the evening Pretty Skin (PS) asked if he could join our trio.

My initial reaction was to blow him off because this was in fact girls night out but I had to remind myself, quickly, that it is also the summer of men. I didn’t want to be a cock blocker. Not to mention the man is easy on the eyes. He’s not what I would call a charmer but he did make me laugh a bit especially when Nurse Friend refused to shake his hand. He asked her if she was protecting herself from H1N1. Y’all know I have issues with shaking as well however I was fully prepared to anti-bacterial my hands once he left.

For whatever reason Nurse Friend was being a bit of a ball buster, not typically her lane. We reserve the busting of balls especially for The Best Friend. But I guess everyone has her night. At some point during the conversation that ice wall Nurse Friend was building came tumbling down. Could it have been the Vodka, one never knows. She was most definitely feeling a little nice because when PS asked her the best part of her former relationship she said the SEX. I almost spit out my drink for laughing so hard. No shocker to me being her friend and all but I was real horriprised sort of like seeing your grandparents knocking knees that she even said something like that to him.

Eventually PS asked if he could get my number. Before he revealed his little secret I was all ready to pony up, if he was in fact interested in me. There were three of us at the table all equally attractive; I can’t be that vain chick to think every guy wants me. In my mind they do but that is beside the point.

Anywho the man’s skin was glowing. I mean his skin was so smooth and so medium chocolate-esque I considered touching his face but I thought it might be rude. The Best Friend just came out and said something like you know your skin is gorgeous. She ain’t never told a lie! In any event I took his number to mull over if I can deal with his issue before he left us to return to his friend.

My highpoint of the night was when Nurse Friend stormed back to the table from the bathroom. As it turns out some sloppy whores where screwing some dude in the ladies room. Side note they could have been doing lines but me doubts it from the way they walked out, no eye contact after The Best Friend knocked on the door po-po style. Pretty Skin offered to watch the door while Nurse Friend used the men’s room. Now wasn’t that nice of him, trying to earn brownie points!

This will be the summer of men no doubt. If you speak these things into the universe sometimes the universe will give you what you want in return. Someone up there is smiling down on me….and I likes it!

So I had a double booking on Thursday night. An early test the waters with Argyle Freak and a late night chit chat with Jon B. I was looking forward to both for different reasons. To get up to speed read the prior post.

As luck or fate may have it, Argyle was way late getting back to me about what time we should meet up so I cancelled our plans in my mind. By 9PM it was entirely too late to squeeze him in before Jon B. Jon B and I were tentatively scheduled to meet for drinks at 11PM. Around 9:40ish Argyle sent a text message about just joining him at his house…hmm late night with Shemar Moore look-a-like probably not the best first date experience. Wander didn’t raise no hussies round these parts.

Immediately texted Argyle back and let him know I made other plans because he’d gotten back to me too late in the day. Clearly he was on his period because he threw a small tantrum. Men with women’s mood swings aren’t attractive however did I tell you how a-freaking-mazing Argyle’s body is…concessions can be made. After his b*tch-fit subsided we agreed to meet up Tuesday. Side note I am strongly considering kicking this one off the island though. I mean there is but so much concession in me and well, this is the summer of men. He is one amongst.

Jon B got stuck at work later than anticipated, I truly dislike waiting for people, and we didn’t end up meeting until 12:30. Did I forget to mention that Benson (my cat) destroyed the orange sweater I was going to wear? Part of me wanted to kick the cat but I decided against it.

Anywho we met at the Tavern on the Hill in Chestnut Hill. I ordered my usual, vodka and cranberry with a splash of pineapple. It is my signature drink. Jon B ordered Absolut on the rocks no chaser, a man’s drink. Granted I hadn’t had much food, when it’s hot outside I tend to eat less food it makes me hot or something, but my damn was that drink strong. After a few sips I was feeling a little too nice. I decided to nurse it for the rest of the evening as to not sound borderline retarded while holding conversation with the man.

We conversed about a number of things in particular legalizing drugs, great date convo I know. We debated the pros and cons and came to a general consensus that if alcohol is legal, also a drug, then why not open the lid on controlled substances. One of the early benefits of legalizing drugs would be a swift decline in the crime rates, mainly because trafficking won’t be considered a punishable offense. Two, there is already a market of highly intelligent salesmen and women to continue distribution. Three, and this is the one that should have wayward politicians skeeting in their seats, we could solve a lot of the social ills with the taxes collected from the sale and distribution of said controlled substances. I’m just saying, please don’t hate me for my politics. Consider this, you can never solve a supply and demand problem by attacking the supply.

Slightly before 2ish the barkeep yelled for last call. I was still nursing that extra strong drink and Jon B was yawning something vicious, not because of me but he’d worked a 13hr shift. We parted ways with a hug and his casual we should do this again soon. Hmm I’m feeling friendzone at this point, what do y’all think?

So I’m jumping back into the dating game feet first. Feet rather than head because head implies over thinking things and I’ve already been there and done that.

The first summer prospect is Jon B. Jon B is all types of scrumptilicious for a number of reasons but the first is because when I see him I think of Jon B. Yes I had a thing for Jon B’s buttery voice back in the day. Maybe it was the way he sang those ballads all Babyface-like that made me melt. Maybe it was a his undeniable good looks, whatever it was I was way into Jon B back in the day. Not that my Jon B is the Jon B, although he used to be a hip-hop group some time ago.

Second Jon B also has the best phone voice this side of the Philly! When he called to let me know he’d be 15 minutes late for our Starbucks meet and greet I nearly crashed Juan The 2nd. Prior to this our convo had been completely e-mail, Yahoo messager, text chat Yuppers it’s a sezy phone voice…could come in handy on those travel away from home trips.

We had our official first date at the Starbucks in Chestnut Hill. As first dates go, on a scale from 1-10 I’d rate it a 6.5, outside of the Ex Future Husband I’ve never had a 10 first date. There was something all types of special about that boy. The convo flowed, Jon B didn’t seem in any way socially awkward and he’s a smart ass, which is right up my alley. I can see myself chillaxing with him again in the near future.

Since life rarely hands you a dozen roses without thorns there were a couple Debbie Downers. Now they weren’t earth shattering but time will tell if I can deal. The man, 34, lives with his father. Hmmm, I listened to the “reasons” and found them totally logical however it doesn’t change the fact that Jon B lives with his daddy and he’s a grown a$$ man.

Who am I to complain, The Little Brother cohabitates so this might be the pot calling the kettle.

I’m sensing the possibility of male patterned baldness. He was wearing a cute Kangol, not the grand pappy one but the fitted kind that all the hip-hop heads wear, side note it was way cute. Y’all know I loves me some hair to run my fingers through. I’ve never dated a bald guy before my system might go into shock. Yes this is way superficial but come on now I’m a work in progress OK.

Jon B is still paying some bills for his ex. Red flag, I think yes! As he tells it, he is the only father figure his ex’s daughter has and he doesn’t want her to go without even though he is not with her mother. Awl that sounds all helping elderly people across the street sheltering stray kittens-esque but in the my mind it also signifies deep unresolved emotional ties to his ex, whether Jon B’s willing to admit it or not.

At the end of the day I’m not looking for a relationship so these few items aren’t gonna stop me from going out with him again. Oh did I mention we dig on the same type of music. He’s way into olde skool hip hop and r&b. This is right up my alley. I sense a live music partner in the making. Of course it doesn’t hurt that he’s sort of a Baldwin (ha ha I was watching Clueless the other day and will be bringing this back to my linguisticals for hot guy).

It’s odd because I’ve always touted my love of the single life. Don’t get me wrong I’m not saying that single life is bad but it’s definitely for the birds. Dare I say I enjoyed the laziness of being in a relationship….not so much the work that it took but definitely enjoyed the benefits.

Oh God, who am I turning into these days?

Jumping back into the single’s game is not as easy as I would have hoped. Damn, I settled into that whole relationship thing too quickly. Oh side note: Did I mention that I gave it the ole college try for the second time around with The Spaniard. I won’t subject you to the boring deets (stole that from Lotusb), just know it ended in a fall out similar to this.

Did I mention my single and ready to mingle skills are a bit rusty. I’m sure they will come running back shortly bike riding skills style. One never forgets how to ride a bike she’s simply out of practice. Granted I was out this past weekend and didn’t feel the least bit fierce…although my shoes were screaming fierceness from the bottom of their souls!

Yes, shoes have soles and souls in my book!

It was good to be out and about, that I will admit. I enjoyed people watching especially when this sloppy hooker almost broke her ankle trying to cross the cobblestone in Olde City. Side note I must have missed the romper memo because I’m not all over this fashion trend. Needless to say Nurse Friend is way up to speed. Although some of the one-piece cat suit-esque numbers I saw on passersby left little to the imagination and kept me wondering if people have mirrors and where the ef are their friends.

In situations when outfits go ape shit, I don’t totally blame the wearer. Remember peeps everyone has that moment where you throw something on and you’re deluded by sheer ignorance or that imagine in your mind that you look like Dorothy Dandridge. Whatever the case may be you’re not in the right mind to make sound dressing decisions. This is when friends should step in and say, “Faith what the ef are you smoking? Take that hashish off before I smack the taste out of your mouth!” If that doesn’t happen your friends are scandalous whores who delight in other’s misfortune.

Anywho back to my single-ness, this summer should be fun. I anticipate a lot of late nights with the chicas and some date nights with some boys. Don’t worry I won’t rush to get boo-ed up too quickly even though the delights of couple-dome gave me a new perspective on relationships. The bennies (aka benefits) are amazing, like sleeping in my headscarf because the boy already knows my sezy! That hashish isn’t going down with new boys off the bat. Men have to be broken into the headscarvf cause ba-bey that thang ain’t the least bit cute.
The next few months should be interesting!!!

So it seems no one wants to hear the romanticals of all things Faith for the past 8 weeks, sheesh I’m crying a bit on the inside. I kid I kid! It would seem, not surprising really, that Crazy Balls has taken the stage. And since I write this blog for both myself and the lovelies that stop by and leave me comments from time to time I feel obligated to give you more details, not that there’s much else there.

Without further digression,

After getting through the 8 trillion security check lines in the airport in Sao Paulo, Fellow Traveler and I patiently waited to board the plane home. The dreaded Brazilian work excursion was over and we were finally going back to civilization as we know it. No more black bean Wednesdays or feijãda as the locals so nicely named it. Yes you didn’t read that wrong on Wednesday for lunch every place serves black beans…they come with a variety of meat options (mostly pork including snout – the locals said it’s something about paying homage to the slaves…hmmm I could think of a better way to show respect but I am going off on a tangent).

I won’t lie though I really miss suco de abacaxi, fresh pineapple juice, it’s literally the best thing since sliced bread!

Anywho we’re in the airport waiting for yet another airplane when I notice this older gentleman, I’d peg him in the 60-65 ballpark but I could be wrong, standing slightly in front of us. I noticed him because he was wearing the tightest cargo pants I’d ever seen on a straight man and he had an obnoxious orange tan which lent it’s services to the 14 strands of hair on his head. They (the hair strands) were congregating on the top of his head in sort of a comb over motion not doing a great job of hiding his ginormous bald spot. Side note if you’re going bald men just do the Mr. Clean it looks way better than rocking the Terry Bradshaw or Sherman Hemsley cul-da-sac. I’m just saying.

Of course I’m fantabulously hair vain so I’d probably hang on to anything I had left as well.

Digressing…Fellow Traveler and I chuckle a bit before we’re split and board the plane to our separate seats. Once inside the jet I begin getting settled for the long ride home. About three or four minutes into the boarding process two ladies stop in front of me and begin speaking broken Portuglish (Portuguese & English), you know the none tan must have made them think I was Brazilian. After convincing them that I was in fact American and spoke English they asked if I could switch seats so they could sit together. Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t have given up my seat but they were sisters and I would have preferred to sit next to my sister instead of some random passenger.

Little did I know that taking the seat up just a few rows would put me right beside, you guessed it, Crazy Cargo Hair. See Crazy Cargo Hair was his initial name before the overnight peep show.

As I mentioned before Fellow Traveler and I had to fly through Toronto on the way back to Philadelphia. After experiencing the prison fare they offered on the ride over to Brazil I decided the best use of my 10 hour flight would be to get some much needed sleep, if possible. It had been our experience that the air over the Amazon was pretty choppy but I was fully prepared to Xanax, courtesy of Fellow Traveler’s mom-bot, myself to sleep at the first sign of turbulence.

Even before the flight attendants did their in flight emergency dance I was fast asleep. Sometime during the night, as all flights to USA from Brazil depart between 10PM-12AM, Crazy Cargo Hair stripped from the waist down. I’d like to think he stripped in the wee hours of the morning when the flight crew had dozed off in their little cubby holes but there is no way to know for sure because I was fast asleep. Not to mention its pitch black on those overnight flights so he could have been going to town on himself and I would have been none the wiser.

In any event I woke to the annoying early morning announcements from the flight crew you know the drill, turn off all electrical devices, last chance to hit the john yada yada yada. Just as I opened my eyes I was accosted by shriveled old man testes. I’m not sure about you but this sure ain’t the best part of waking up! Not to mention he was doing the whole don’t mind me I’m just adjusting my junk thing that guys do in an attempt to put his doodads back into those tight arse cargo pants. Now I can’t say for sure what type of undies Crazy Balls, note the name change, was wearing because I wasn’t positive I was in fact seeing what I was seeing.

After blinking about seven or eight times I was sure I was in fact seeing the old man peep show…and I didn’t even ask for it! I began asking myself all these questions…when did he let them loose, did he free ball the whole flight home, why didn’t he go into the bathroom and put himself back in his pants, did his testes kinda have a tan, did I really just see 65yr old balls? You know the normal morning questions!

The show only lasted about a minute or two as Crazy Balls is clearly skilled in the art of putting peas in a pod. For a split second I thought to complain but since we were getting off the plane shortly I didn’t see the benefit.

Side note whenever you say Crazy Balls you have to put up the jazz hands, like a Broadway musical…I can’t tell you why but it just seems appropriate.

So I’m not even sure where to start with what’s been going on in the World O’ Faith. Ok well let’s be serious work has monopolized most of my time. But in between that monopoly life’s been storming. And when I say storming, I really mean storms people, but luckily it’s quieting down a bit.

There’s no better place to start besides my last entry. In my previous post I was still stationed in Sao Paolo. Question: Is it possible to age a year in 8 weeks time, probably not but I feel 30 and I haven’t even reached 29 yet! Don’t worry I’m planning on throwing a great big ole bash to bring in 30 and all of my readers (the 2 that are left) are invited. Anywho being so far from family and friends I started to feel like my life at home was just a dream. I know this requires some explanation.

All the characters normally so front in center in my life were puttering around still doing the things they do and living their lives with no involvement from lil ole me…vain much? Not that I thought their lives would automatically cease as I mounted a jumbo jet to Brazil but it was deflating to know that as important as I think I am people were getting along without me. That was a growing moment! The Little Brother was responsible enough to take care of home without my 1001 reminders or nagging. Maybe he didn’t do it just like I would but it got done, the absolute definition of having more than one way to skin a cat. The Best Friend navigated single-dome with the advice and shoulder of Nurse Friend. Male Nurse Friend went on his vakay and took pictures without my angles. My life was going on without me, a movie playing with my cast of characters but I wasn’t in any scenes.

It started to get a little depressing listening to my life instead of living it. I was an outsider amongst family. Faith was not a happy camper, although it was nice to hear from everyone sporadically it only helped to remind me that I was not there in the thick of things. My real life was a dream and the only thing to fall back on was work, not really a thrilling alternative.

Work equaled hell! There is no other way to explain it. For 8 weeks straight I worked 16+ hour days. We know I am career minded; however, at home I balance my scales. I work and play hard, point blank period! In Sao Paolo I worked hard and played not at all. It’s just that simple. And it didn’t help that we had a language barrier that stalled our project for close to two weeks. Given our overly aggressive schedule a two week delay only added to everyone’s stress levels. Not to mention that half the Brazilian team was green, freshly hired consultants with little to no experience. In addition all the deliverables (final documents prepared for the clients) had to be completed by Fellow Traveler and I. All I have to say is pressure busts pipes.

Leaving Sao Paolo was the happiest moment of my adult life to date, how sad is that? Unfortunately arriving in Toronto (for financial reasons we had to fly through Canada) brought the trip home way down. Most of that was due in large part to being detained by Canadian immigration and having my bag searched like a common terrorist. After that fantabulous ordeal I missed my flight back to Philadelphia to which the Air Canada staff replied, “Well it could be a lot worse at least there’s a flight leaving in a few hours.” Thanks, I felt a helluva lot better considering I’d been flying for the last 10 hours hadn’t had a shower, woke to an elderly man swinging his man parts in my face (for whatever reason Crazy Balls, as he was so nicely named, decided during the flight to unhitch his pants and free ball the flight back to Toronto. I didn’t notice any of this from my world o slumber until right before the plane landed waking to see wrinkled testes getting tucked into cargo pants….not a pleasant sight folks nope not at all) and still had 16 or so hours of work to complete that day. Sorry Air Canada you get the forever stank eye (o_O) even more so because the food on the flight to Toronto was a rat’s hair above prison fare.

Remember Canadians are known for hockey and that is all…this is me being a bit snide but Air Canada left a narsty taste in my mouth toward our neighbors to the North.

If it were hygienically safe to kiss the streets in Philly I would have. Considering the potential diseases one might catch I decided against it not to mention the streets were piled high with about 4ft of snow…but believe me I wanted to. Instead I relished that enthusiasm on the Spaniard who escorted me home…he comes in handy sometimes.

It was nice to take a shower in my bathroom and sleep in my bed (my being the key word here). Those single moments of peace were quickly interrupted by more work for the project and that thing we call life. Fellow Traveler and I picked up the slack (a recurring theme over the life of this project) while the Brazilians celebrated Carnival. It must be nice to enjoy a weeklong festival of hedonism right smack in the middle of a project…I wouldn’t know!

Snow jailed me to my apartment. The Little Brother watched as I took conference call after conference call with occasional bathroom breaks; notice I didn’t mention food or sleep. For at least a week I survived off of water and air. This is not the life I signed up for. My weekends were no better. Even when I did get away for Nurse Friend’s half a birthday celebration I was so overburdened with work I could barely enjoy myself. Things were nearing the breaking point.

In the middle of that storm, The Man Wander Married went off the deep end. Honestly that isn’t all that shocking considering he is a functioning lunatic (he’s my daddy and I love him but the truth is the truth). It’s a long story that I will sum up like this, Wander is relocating to an apartment until the papers are signed. Knife in the heart of my moving plans (did I mention that I want to move to San Diego)….yet again I take a backseat to all things family. At this point I can’t even say I mind because I’m so used to it, it just feels normal. And honestly it would be selfish of me to think of me first, right? At this time it’s best to deal with the uncomfortable-ness of parenting my parent until she is back on her feet. What will come of this situation; will be a happier, healthier Wander, of that I am sure!

To add to my confusion because clearly working like a slave and the walls collapsing on my parents already rocky marriage wasn’t enough my body decided to quit on me. Yup right in the middle of it all Fellow Traveler had to rush me to the ER! This will be the second time in 8 weeks time that Fellow Traveler sat in an emergency room with me. The first time I had to have my ear drained by a doctor who barely spoke English. Although he knew enough English to slide me his personal business card wink wink and tell me to call him any time day or night…ugh ugh ugh! If he hadn’t actually cleared the gook (technical term) out of my ear making it possible to hear again I might have reported his narsty a$$. Oh clearly I failed to mention that I got some kind of ear infection on the first flight to Sao Paolo causing me to lose my hearing for 10 days…not pleasant folks not pleasant at all. With the help of Inappropriate Doc I was back to myself relatively quickly. And outside of his behavior that ER trip was quick and painless.

In any event the recent trip to the ER wasn’t nearly as pleasant. Waves of pain ranging from 8-9 on a scale of 10 were hitting me every few minutes. Unfortunately I had to hop on a conference call with Texas before I could be escorted out of the office. Did I forget to mention how he ranted for about five minutes about not letting the stress of the job get to me before allowing Fellow Traveler to take me hobbling in pain to the cab, such a major queef! Yes I called him a queef!

Once at the hospital the pain was pretty much unbearable and threw me into fits of violent vomiting. Side note I never knew that pain could cause nausea, it appears you learn something new every day. Anywho in between spitting up bile all I could think about was the fact that this was the final day of the project and I needed to get the staffing model done before 5PM Brazilian time, clearly my priorities were in the wrong place. In addition to that thought I didn’t want to alarm my mother with my medical condition until I knew for sure what my medical condition was.

Finally, after an hour or so I was wheeled to the back. By that time my temperature was see sawing, one minute I was hot and the next minute I was getting chills. A technician came in to inform me that I wasn’t pregnant. Fantabulous, now figure out why it feels like a gremlin is crawling out the left side of my stomach. After about a half hour my temperature and blood pressure returned to normal….probably a direct result of the pain meds. Now the gremlin was down to a 2-3 out of 10 and the highlight of this day would be a pelvic exam, and I hadn’t even prepped!

And by prep I really mean got myself emotionally ready to have someone stick a duck’s beak somewhere it ain’t supposed to go.

Ms Pelvic went off without a hitch and all was good. I told Adolescent Doc, so named because she looked all of 12, that there was nothing wrong with my woman parts. She advised that since my pain was localized slightly above my uterus, a pelvic was a must along with a CT scan. After the violation of my downtown bonanza I was escorted to the scanning area. In between all of this fun I down played my pain with The Spaniard, Wander and the Little Brother. I mean there was no sense in getting everyone riled up if I wasn’t even 100 on what was wrong with me.

In the end it was just a kidney stone. It passed while I was in the hospital and I was allowed to go home with special instruction to follow up with my PCP just to make sure nothing else was wrong. That appointment is yet to be scheduled.

There’s more of course but this post is already too long so I guess this will be part 1 of a 2 part series. I must catch you up on the happenings of all things romanticals in my life…

When everyone heard that I would be traveling to Brazil for about a month they were all overjoyed. I however only saw trouble. Trouble in the sense that it would be yet another project with Texas, yes infamous Texas from Vancouver would be heading up the work in Brazil (mostly from the US, how I don’t even know). But not because he wanted to head the work but because the manager who was originally staffed and helped sell the project decided to move to greener pastures….lucky him!!!! If you remember anything about Texas, he’s not the best manager but I’m quickly learning that my company talks a lot about being the best however our people and actions pale in comparison. Ah the life of a consultant. Not to mention Texas is super anal retentive, with the most ginormous chip on his shoulder it’s hard to ride in compact cars with him…I mean I’m not complaining I’m just making a friendly observation (maybe not so friendly but you smell what I’m cooking).

Did I forget to mention that I don’t speak a lick, iota, not a word of Portuguese. Guess that didn’t matter to the all mighty powers that be…moving right along!

In any event the prospect of flying to Brazil just a few days after the holiday just didn’t sit well with me. Partially because I am in a bit of a funk about the whole going back on my word about the Spaniard, why do I do this to myself? Something is wrong with me I know. Maybe I really want to believe the lie. The little Faith inside keeps jumping up and down screaming you stoopid stoopid stoopid girl but I just keep ignoring her because sometimes the truth is a lie. Or sometimes we like believing the lie because it’s easier to digest. So my digestible lie is that he’s actually getting a divorce and hasn’t been with his wife for the last three years. I choose to believe this like so many other mistresses (sideways heifer…hey I call it like I live it these days) because it’s easier than admitting the obvious truth, that he’s probably slaying both myself and his wife (shuddering a little in the corner at the detestable nature of that last comment).

Man oh man how those morals they do fall.

And to add insult to injury you know because nothing in my life goes as planned, The Little Brother (TLB) totaled Juan. Yup you read that right; Juan is sipping mojitos in a land where good cars go after ridonkulous accidents on the ice. Before you try to hang me at the stake I made sure my flesh and blood was 100 (this is slang it means ok in this instance) before asking about the car. Believe it or not I haven’t yelled at The Little Brother once for the accident. (This is subject to change if I have trouble securing another equally reliable relatively similarly priced automobile.) TLB suffered nothing more than a bruised ego…too bad his bruised ego had to come at the expense of Juanino. Yet another expense I wasn’t ready for, much like my $600 cell phone bill from making calls in Vancouver on my personal cell, but I guess that’s why they call it life. If it wasn’t full of janky shit it wouldn’t be nearly as fun…or nearly as interesting to blog about.

Ah so back to this whole Faith you’re flying to Brazil thing. Anything that could have gone wrong with this whole trip did go wrong the first week. Let me just give you the run down in bullet point form because well I’m a consultant and we likes our bullet points because it makes us feel like we’re doing our job well. (I would bet half my paycheck there isn’t a presentation (we call them decks) that exists that doesn’t have some form of bullet point, ok I might be pushing this mundane topic too far).

What went wrong in no particular order:

• Told literally at the last minute to book a flight to Brazil at the cheapest rate possible which pretty much meant you’re flying coach unless you have status…ugh!!!!
• Totaled Juan…well I didn’t but TLB did
• Entertained some nonsense with The Spaniard (good and bad for me sort of like ice cream
• Didn’t get my Brazilian visa until the last possible minute (it arrived the Thursday before the flight on Sunday)
• Ignored two state-side text messages, one from Mailroom Boy and the other from the taxi driver (I use my cell as my primary number no I didn’t give my number to yet another random taxi driver) who mistook my friendly conversation for sexual innuendo
• Delayed in Philly airport (not surprising) causing me and Fellow Traveler to dart through Dulles Airport in order to catch the last plane smoking to Sao Paolo
• Saw my life flash before my eyes not once, not twice but three times while in flight on the monster jet from Dulles to Sao Paolo…literally I believe we dropped 5k feet out of the air at one point over the Amazon (children were screaming)
• Arrived in Sao Paolo (Fellow Traveler’s luggage wasn’t so lucky and actually never left Philly) with a serious case of bubble guts but I didn’t make it to the hotel for another two hours…y’all know I can’t do public restrooms
• Met Texas and all he wanted to talk about was how the Eagles lost to the Cowgirls…WHATEVER!!!!!
• Felt like the outer limits of hell traveling in the Sao Paolo traffic
• Expected to actually rush from the airport to the client site after a few minutes of “freshening up” clearly some stoopid ass man thought of this (sorry for any hombres in the audience but seriously after 17 hours of travel the last thing I’m thinking about is going straight to the office how about an actual shower, dirty ass bastards!!!!!

And before I forget why were there no washclothes in my room and why didn't anyone know what I was talking about when I asked for one at the front desk.

Oh yeah and happy new year folks!!

Lately my life has been so boring I’d rather watch a patch of grass grow and as a result I’m gonna pull an oldie but goodie from my vault of oddly amusing things that have happened to me. In addition Cardiogirl asked that I give her the back story on a comment I left on her blog so I figure since I’ve literally got nothing else I might as well satisfy her curiosity.

Without further ado….back when I was a stressed out, underappreciated and overworked senior attending a Jesuit University in Philadelphia I decided it would make sense to lighten my load by taking a nonsense class. Considering my rather hectic work schedule that required me to be class free on Fridays, by night I was a directory assistance operator, my course selection was restricted to classes offered Mon-Thur. Additionally I’d have to find something that interested me. With that small list of requirements I found myself in student services rearranging my schedule.

Not surprising there were only a few classes that even fit the mold. Now I would have preferred to take advanced Psychology considering I’d already taken the intro course. My initial thought was that while not 100% aligned to my major, Criminal Justice, it linked quite nicely and would compliment my growing resume of Criminology and Sociology classes. Just for shits and giggles I’d taken two Philosophy classes…you know trying to be well rounded and read. Unfortunately it was offered on that frigging M/W/F schedule so it was a no go.

After about a half hour of toiling futilely through the catalogue I happened upon an Intro to Art class. Booyah! Believe it or not this was right up my alley. Back in the day I was very much into sketching and the course description said it would be an introduction to sketching, sculpting and painting. And to put it over the top, it was offered on Wednesdays for three hours at night, and I know I said I worked at night but Wed was my night off so this seemed like it dropped from the sky above.

Like every good rainbow severing the clouds from the heavens above it started first as rain….well in this case more like an amusing Caribbean shower. My first night in class I didn’t know what to expect. The course details didn’t indicate what if any materials we needed, it just said something like bring your imagination…no problem there I had mine in tow with me all day. To that end I guess I was more than prepared.

The art classroom was pretty small, oh wait the word is quaint isn’t it or maybe intimate. Yes yes, the art classroom was intimate. It held enough room for 14 students and 1 professor comfortably. Once inside I began chit chatting it up with the other students. I wanted to know if they’d been given any advance notice of the materials we’d need going forward…you know I’m anal like that. No one seemed to know and the professor was nowhere in sight.

My life as a career student had taught me that on the first day of class teachers and students alike are equally capable of being up to 15 minutes late so I wasn’t going to stress out that he was tardy to the party. Of course with 14 or so random students of differing ages, majors and sexes the conversation soon turned to recent parties and a whole bunch of other debauchery, ah college!

Anywho I’d taken up talk with a relatively cute butter pecan Puerto Rican hombre to my immediate left, for what it’s worth we’ll call him Butter Pecan for the rest of this post or BP for short. He was local Philly not imported Jersey like so many of the other students. This was rather refreshing. Standing to Butter Pecan’s immediate left was an overly tan large haired individual reminiscent of Bon Jovi but I didn’t give it much thought because I was lost in silly flirty convo with Butter Pecan.

By ten minutes in the room was pretty loud with tons of side conversations and the like. Suddenly and I say suddenly because before anyone could realize it Mr. Bon Jovi took center stage. And you know I say center stage because it dawned on me in that very moment in the middle of the intimate classroom there was a sort of podium type contraption with painters clothe draped across it, subtle details.

Once on stage Mr. Bon Jovi dropped trou!!!!!! Yes you read that right; he dropped trou in front of everyone with no warning. And really it took me by surprise in particular because he was so dang close to Butter Pecan that it almost had the appearance that Mr. Bon Jovi was giving BP a private show. Of course that wasn’t the case but you know appearances. After de-clothing all willy nilly he struck a sort of work of modern art pose and held it. And yes if you guessed that the room fell monastery silent you’d be 100% right except for some horriprised (horrified and surprised) gasps from the collective peanut gallery.

What broke the silence, Butter Pecan of course saying, “Damn dude you could have given us some kinda warning, yo! I wasn’t even prepared for that. (Turning to face me) Aye Yo, what the hell, he don’t even have no drawers on…it’s cold as shit outside.”

Hmmm this situation is uncomfortable, at least I’m not alone in my uncomfortable-ness.

I understood BP’s frustration or maybe slight awkwardness, hell the classroom was full of folk caught completely off guard, I mean it’s not too often someone de-clothes in a semi crowded room.

My only response, “Yup you’re right he’s not wearing any underwear!”

Before long the professor walked in and instructed us to pick up a sketch pad from along the wall and begin capturing Mr. Bon Jovi’s “essence.” When he said that all I could really see was his hair…you know because I felt it slightly inappropriate to stare at his little man jewels. Even still the teacher liked my work…he said that he could feel Mr. Bon Jovi’s energy in my rendition even though I’d forgotten his essentials.

Even though I went through a semester of nudes and got relatively comfortable with the concept of holding normal conversation with someone who suddenly de-robes I never ever really got comfortable with the sculpting, painting or sketching of the essentials.