Judging You When…

You take Glamour Shot selfies

from your child’s hospital suite.

Yes, I have a friend who did this. On Facebook.

I must now question her character.



What Do You Do When…

Your friend insists on wearing a costume, that is, more than likely, a new degree of racist?

And you don’t have the heart to tell them that they are being racist because

a) they think that you’re being OVERLY sensitive



b) they think you’re being condescending to their (lack of) cultural intelligence.



You tell them that the party is cancelled and go alone.

The Only Thing That Helps Me Pass The Time Away, Is Knowing I’ll Be Back At Echo Beach Someday…


Are you mad?

I hope not. I know, I’ve abandoned you (the one person that reads this blog — two if you count my other sister — and if there are more than who I think reads it — yes, that includes you, too — Yay. Welcome back. Feel free to leave comments).

The past two months have not been full of adventure or anything grandiose. So, there goes my excuse for my absence. It’s all been challenging, introspective, and just mighty frustrating. Thank God for gummi bears because these little fellas have been getting me through (I can’t afford booze. Well, the fancy kind that comes in a box with a spout).

I started a new job that has its own set of challenges that I thought I would have escaped (at least temporarily) from the ones that were emotionally and mentally plaguing at my previous job. Now, it’s just fresh dramz that I never expected.

It’s to the extent where two co-workers are not talking to each other because of an issue that deals with coupon hoarding.



It’s like Team (insert name here) or Team (insert name here). And people are trying to mark territory on the new girl (that’s me).

I didn’t sign up for this. Well, I did — but you know what I mean.

Not to mention my commute is an hour (both ways) — so the extra money I am making is now being spent on fuel.

And then there’s the people. THE PEOPLE. The rude ass people that think I’m their personal assistant. A personal assistant who is not on any kind of monetary retainer that is associated with them.

Then there’s the Rain Prancer.

You read that correctly. Rain Prancer. He offered to do a rain dance for me…when it was raining. He is also blind, but manages to ride a bike and assault cars with his cane to those that aren’t “sharing the road” .

He looks at dirty pictures of himself on Facebook, but doesn’t know how to print.

Remember how I said he was blind?


This is my life.

On top of that, a very close family member passed away, and yes — that godforsaken trial in Sanford, Florida did take an emotional toll. So much so that I lost two people who I considered friends over it. Maybe more, but they haven’t said anything (to my face — as yet) that rings to the sentiment that every black person in this world gets what they deserve because of how they “are.”


I was told that.

So while I was supposed to be writing my godfather’s eulogy, I was dealing with people telling me that I wasn’t worth shit, and I deserve the treatment and the discrimination that happens because of the fault of others.

That’s like me saying I am given the right to hate every white person in the world because of the racism that I’ve encountered. Oh, and because there are white people in the KKK. So that’s your fault and I hate you for it. But I don’t. Because I know not everyone white person in this world is racist.

However, all black people in America are thugs, rapists, murderers, and thieves.

Each and everyone one of us down to our core.

So, needless to say, I’ve not had the mood to blog. However, I am hoping that will change soon.

On my hour drive home today, I heard one of my favorite songs.

When I first heard it, though I was only in my early teens, I knew that I’d experience this feeling and this life for a time in my life. I just never thought it would be as long as it has been. And now, this is my life. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

From 9 to 5 I have to spend my time at work.

My job is very boring, I’m an office clerk.

The only thing that helps me pass the time away,

Is knowing I’ll be back at Echo Beach someday.

However, I have no Echo Beach. However, I’m expecting my Echo Beach to be more than a beach and a memory, which is a fruition, realization, an actualization of my goals. My dreams. Happiness.

If it feels like a permanent vacation, then I know I’m doing the right thing.

I hope that comes true.

*ha. Posted the wrong link earlier. Though I will be posting The Dead Milkmen at some point in the future.

That Awkward Moment When…#323

When someone is preparing food to serve, and they stop and talk to you.

During that conversation, you cannot help but stop breathing and tensing your entire body up because you notice something.

You notice a lonely piece of dried snot wafting in and out of that nostril, begging for escape amongst the cilia that keeps it trapped, never wanting to let it go. You want it to be freed, but not on the food, and not in your mouth. So you keep it shut and just nod “yes”, “no” pursing your lips “mhmmm!” – careful to not aggravate it with any sudden movement so that any part of THAT being doesn’t become a new inhabitant of YOUR being.

Not listening to anything your partner is saying, they almost leave to start re-preparing the food and utensils. You stop them and warn them of the possible infraction that could make or brake a meal.

The Flight of the Boogerator (Like Flight of the Navigator. Work with me, folks)

Embarrassed, they clean their nose (not in the restroom! AHHH!!!!!! – but at least they used tissue). Didn’t see or hear handwashing.

Later food was offered. All I could think of was how many more might have escaped before I caught that one trying to?

Though, I do feel proud. I saved many lives that day. Including my own.

Which reminds me…

Yes, this was an actual candy that was sold the children.

WHO THE FARK thought that this was a great idea? Boogers candy? The one thing that Nickelodeon got wrong when picking up advertisers. The announcer (on Guts, Legends of Hidden Temple, whichever one…) advertised this, I always turned. Just nasty. He sounded like a guy from Jersey trying to give you a hard sell on some hot property that he knows is no good and has to push in a 24 hours before his life is over.

The Uncanny SeX-Men

The timing couldn’t be any better on this.

Only in Jersey

Whilst composing this blog, I stumbled upon this story about a Senior Citizen complex that was not only running drugs, but HOSTING A PROSTITUTION RING. AMONGST THE TENANTS.

That’s just a giant senior citizen orgy.

Crap. Why did I type that? Though I can undo the sentence, I can’t undo the image in my minds eye. So I’m leaving it. Not the image. The sentence.

And yes, you have to suffer, too.

*insert hurling here*

That’s a segue. And so is this.

And it got me thankin’…(that’s ‘thinkin’ but I didn’t want to spell it correctly)… Did those Ladies of the Night (maybe I should call them Ladies of the Evening? Late Afternoon? You know they can’t stay up past 7:30 — no pun intended) bother to dress up for the occasion?  Use street names? Even though they probably knew each other?

Names, names, the magical fruit. The more interesting, the more potential customers. Wanted and unwanted.

Today, I met a woman who was trying to replace her library card.

In order to do such, it is required that your driver’s license, or some other form of valid photo identification, be shown.

This is the fun part: The names.

Her name was Phoenixx.

And she was old (but very sweet).

Like she’s been eligible for Social Security for over a decade old.

Didn’t look like an aging hooker. But hard times can do a body in.

And no, that extra “x” on her ID was not a typo. At least she didn’t look like a Phoenixx. (I really hate typing that extra “X”).

Her last name was comprised of a color and an animal combination.

All I could think of how much it looks and sounds like a name for a pornographic actor (or, if you want to political correct, actress) OR an amoral heroine in a comic book or graphic novel (ya ya, I know Phoenix is already taken with Jean Grey…but the combination on it’s own is just too wild to pass up).

We get a lot of people whose legal names could pass for porn names, or comic book villain/hero names.

Clearly, due to privacy issues, and you know, handling sensitive information (it’s kind of illegal to do…), I can’t reveal the interesting names I’ve come across. So let’s play a game!

(Stone or Metallic Element) First Name + (Human Appendage) Last Name = Lady or Gentleman of the Late Afternoon (Street) Name

(Mythical Animal, repeat the last letter of the animal two times maximum) First Name + (Color + Animal Combination, add an “e” to the end of that animals name) Last Name = Uncanny (Se)X-Men Name

An invitation has been extended to create your name with the aforementioned combinations.

Have fun!

Thanks for the memories, Phoenixx!

That Awkward Moment When #19

Someone claims that they don’t look their age. As in, they look younger than they appear.

And everyone else is in agreeance.

Joan Van Ark Lindsay Lohan

Except for you (which, in this case, is me).

It is your opinion that they appear otherwise.

Apparently, I’m the only person that didn’t mistake you for your government age. Or, more accurately, something way over 40 .

Get It On/Let Me Go

So, I’m guessing since I work in the lieburry (Library is no longer the actual, or correct, pronunciation and spelling of the institution. Ask anyone one the street. I’m not kidding.), I should probably write posts about books and such.

The sad truth is that I honestly don’t read that much. You would think that I would because I work there, and I’m there for 8 hours, that I would, no?

Sippin’ on lattes and reading the latest trend in cheap vampire and werewolves novellas or the crapfest James Patterson novels.


I do not.

Instead, I’m dealing with other people’s bullshit, trying to teach them how to print a Word document or program their smartphone. But these people also have Twitter and Facebook accounts.

*****Sidenote: If you know how to use any form of social media, as well as mobile phones, there is no excuse for you not to know how to use Google, start an email account, or understand the concept of printing.***** Now back to your regularly scheduled programming.

Hello, my name is ______________, and I’m a narcissist.

Okay, not really, but when I’ve other things on my mind, they tend to take over and I don’t give myself the leisurely time that I deserve to partake in the well-deserved mental staycation that is the joy of reading.

It’s not that I don’t care to read. I don’t know if you remember me mentioning that I’m a writer, so a majority of the time, I ‘m developing ideas or characters to place into narrative, that I don’t (want to) think about any one else’s work but my own.

To quote Sade, “Tell me, is it a CRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMEEEEEEEEEE?” (You’re welcome, sis).

I know. It’s a horrible excuse for not being well-read. I try, but I get so sidetracked by a backed up DVR and Netflix and looking for a job before I lose my everloving mind   my writing that I don’t want anything else influencing, or rather, manipulating, my work.

However, when I go on vacation, I often try to bring a few books with me to read.

The last two vacations I took, one most recently to New York, where I tried to start reading  Stuart Nadler’s “Wise Men”, as well as Aristotle’s “Politics” — I know. Very odd combination. I’m still reading them now, but before that, the book that has stuck with me the most for 2012 into 2013 was John Taylor’s autobiography “In The Pleasure Groove: Love, Death, and Duran Duran”.

John Taylor

Now, from the title, John Taylor is obviously a member of Duran Duran, the 1980’s pop band that spawned hits such as “Rio”, “Hungry Like The Wolf”, and “Girls On Film”. They had many more hits, but I’m not going to bore you with those notations. Anyway, it was a great, engaging, humorous, heartbreaking, and earnest read. I’ve always been a fan of Duran Duran, especially when they had a massive comeback in the early 90’s. But I never truly appreciated their contributions to music, particularly Mr. Taylor (<<<<<<<<—-you’re supposed to click on that link, btw). Growing up, he and Nick Rhodes were always my favorites. I never understood why — but they were. And as I’ve grown older, especially after reading his book, I understood why. And that will be discussed for another time.


Because I know that I’m boring you right now. And this is segueing into a post about music. Not artists. Music.

As I mentioned earlier, after reading his book, I came to develop a deeper appreciation for his music, and New Wave music in general. Specifically, the art of the 12″ remix in this genre.. I’ve always loved New Wave music — but my fixation of it is mostly my sister’s fault.

She purchased a three cd box set World of Dance: 80’s, and she didn’t care (gasp!) for the one that featured the New Wave artists. So she gave it to me. You know, doing me a favor because she knew I was thirsty to build my CD collection at the ripe age of 12.

That’s when record shops actually existed, kids. And you had to go to a store and actually purchase a compact disc with cash. Using a debit card was frowned upon. Unless it was a credit card. Which is not the same thing, I know…but I don’t feel like going back and thinking of ways to transition that sentence.

It wasn’t until recently that I started to truly appreciate the art, the depth, and overall genius of New Wave music. It was truly a mashup of many musical genres and sub-genres. Jazz, Rock, Funk, R&B, Soul, Punk, Disco, Rockabilly, Hip-Hop, Reggae.  And all of these genres are considered it. And you can dance to it! It’s all a girl like me could ask for, because I love all of those genres. And I love dancing.

With that, I have satellite radio. And every Saturday night, the 1st Wave channel has a program called the Saturday Night Safety Dance. It’s six (whoops, it’s not, actually…) eight hours of non-stop dance remixes of new wave and alternative music by brilliant and talented spin master named DJ Bueller.

Every Saturday night, I will have my Saturday Night Safety Dance Song of the Day — where I encourage you to have your own mini-Saturday Night Safety Dance — wherever you are. I know I will be.

Obviously, I should have started this post with a Duran Duran song. However, the first song off of that New Wave album that I absolutely fell in love with was this cut by Heaven 17, “Let Me Go” — their biggest hit stateside.

And to start:

Thanks, sis. You’ve created a monster. Albeit, a beautiful one.