Mahoganie: The Chronicals of a Komplex Phemale

Walls Come Tumbling Down

nobody@vox.com(Mahoganie) — Fri, 16 May 2008 12:35:59 -0400

The real nitty gritty has begun on the house.

Dust covers the heavy duty plastic covering on the furniture in the kitchen and dinning room. New copper pipes replace old rotted ones. Parts of the living room and kitchen have been knocked out to make way for a new bathroom on the main level. Old furniture pieces have been donated.

My back (and even a part of my chest) hurts from all of the packing, moving and even carrying my child around on a daily basis.

Change is here and in a big way.

In the midst of packing up my bedroom I've thrown away a lot things.

A couple of old book bags filled with classwork from my junior and high school years, old and broken trinkets and donated just about my entire closet of clothes and shoes to charity; stuff I hadn't worn since the late 80s and well into the 90s.

I came across old printed out emails, including one from my "Him from New York"; professing his "love" for me. Whatever...

I've come across many pictures and loose change.. I didn't realized I had so many pictures and money scattered about.

In the midst of all of this change I can't help but wonder what is in store for the future.

Indeed I'm in this new phase in life, but I don't know how to describe it. It almost feels as if I'm in the same position I was in during my first brink of real change.... very pivotal.

The urge to write has hit me and I'm a bit frustrated cause within this week alone soooo much had to be done before the walls could be knocked into no time to really write. i just pray that the thoughts retain in my head, even as I dream.

Now that the renovation work has officially begun, it sort of caught everyone in the household a little off guard - even though we've known about this since the planning stages. Yet, to see a drastic change to your HOUSE go on right before your eyes is "a hold your breath" kinda thing.

This is indeed not only a change in my life but in my parents as well. For 28 years all of us have LIVED in this house - a house that was originally built in the 50s(?) by an old white guy - who built it for him and his grown son. His son never moved in, because once the house was finished he had gone to live elsewhere and started a family on his own. This is the story my old Italian (next door) neighbor would tell our family over and over.

Speaking of which I miss Ms. Lovisa dearly. I grew up fascinated by her well kept garden in the backyard and her mini vineyard. Who ever heard of a mini vineyard with grapes growing wildly in Southeast Washington, DC? Ms. Lovisa may have very well left Italy, but Italy didn't leave her. And yes.. she did make wine and didn't hesitate in sharing with my father. She even picked me up from school a couple of times - once with a visiting relative from Italy and I got an earful of spoken Italian as I sat back and smile and nodded as if I understood.

It broke my heart when she was no longer able to care for herself. Her family placed her in a nursing home clear on the other side of town... more so in Montgomery County, MD near her sister. Her house was sold and I was a bit angry at the folks who now live in "Ms. Lovisa's House." How dare they get rid of her garden and dig up her beautiful peonies!

Again.. that was a change I wasn't ready for just yet.

Along with this change that is occurring there's Papi. I find myself haunted by past lovers; with opportunities that I could have jumped on but left alone. I'm definitely not the same girl. Each day I'm wanting Papi more and more. Still it's one day at a time. Just be. Last night we had gone to see The Roots and Erykah Badu perform. What's strange is, I've never been the cuddle in public type, but there I was with my head resting on his shoulder or my arm contently on his leg as Erykah Badu sang her heart out.

Side note: Can I just say I looked and felt sexy. I rarely say this often, even if it is about myself but I was hot! I found a dress at Torrid.. something like this - minus the pockets and mine is a dark gray. My jewelry from the Lalia Rowe store in Tyson's Corner... something like this - my necklace was multi-color with pastels pink, yellow, a mint green and light blue. My black six inch Steve Madden pumps and my black clutch from Aldo. Oh and of course the right touch of MAC make up. I even wore a little eyeshadow which is something I do once is a blue moon. Ironically, I matched Papi who was wearing gray and black; which is something I loathe when I see a couple matching. However, I had no idea he was going to wear such. Too bad we didn't take any pictures.

Change is in the air and I'm not talking about Obama's madness.

I feel like shedding more skin.

Recognize. Accept. Embrace.

Change.. feel it

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I Got The Memo

nobody@vox.com(Mahoganie) — Sun, 11 May 2008 22:12:23 -0400

The day is done. I'm phsyically tired, but I'm emotionally charged. Mentally... I'm 90% there.

Divine messages have once again interjected into my life. Perhaps in the most usual form, but I believe I got the memo.

I finally finished Jennifer Weiner's Certain Girls late last night. Again, my hats off to her for such an excellent work. I will admit it was in a bit of shock towards the end when she decided to write off a character. Honestly, I pretty much grieved last night with Cannie Shapiro, because like her, I too had grown accustom to the character that was killed off. The person was a permanent fixture in the fictional world of Cannie - so I thought.

Nevertheless, my revelation didn't come with the character's death as it served as an culminating event to the plot. It was more so Cannie's reclaiming herself in the aftermath of everything - her true purpose in life... her Divine purpose in life. What was it? Naturally it was to write. The calling was there ... been there... for Cannie to write something sincere from the heart. From her gut. Not out of anger as she did with the first novel that eventually caused her shame and made her hide under a psuedo. Though she was good at it (apparently) and found her comfort zone in writing under another name, it wasn't the REAL Cannie.

The way Weiner summed up Cannie's fears on writing again or just writing a book in general hit home for me. It was all about protecting the ones she loves in the midst of her own madness (true or made up) and releasing in order to let go..or maybe just coast along in a comfort zone. Yet deep within, because of whatever insecurities her real life's work or purpose in life was obscure of foggy.

This morning I arose with thoughts in my head on finishing my work/manuscript as I scrambled around prepping my daughter for her big day in church. She was dedicated today and for a time I felt as if I were going to cry. Actually I did most of my crying last night as I read through Joy's bat miztvah and her message and even made some comparisons of my own daughter's life. Like a bar/bat miztvah a dedication is very much indeed an important milestone. It's a process or MY commitment as a mother... a parent... to "offer" my child's life back to God. It's up to me to guide her through life and raise her in the light of God until she is old enough to say "Mother I want to fully commit to Him."

As I listened to my pastor's words today during the dedication and during the sermon (from which he preached on the widow in debt with her empty vessels and filled it with oil as Elisha instructed her to do and further told her to sell the oil in order to repay her debt - 2 Kings 4:1-11) the tears filled the corners of my eyes. Today, I was not only being charged with the duty of motherhood, but also my purpose. my writing...my oil.

Are my vessels (of life) empty?

I probably still have some cleaning to do, which is something that I may need to serious sit down think and pray on.

If anyone who reads my blog doesn't hear from me in a while.. don't worry... more than likely... I'm behind closed doors working with my oil to fulfill something that I do feel is calling me.

I have a story to tell... somebody's needs to hear it.

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I Got Work To Do

nobody@vox.com(Mahoganie) — Thu, 08 May 2008 21:57:37 -0400

It's obvious. I got work to do.

My day has been a little off today. I didn't feel like venturing out. I've been a bit irritable. The contractors came by today to take some extra measurements, and all I wanted them to do was leave me alone in the process. My sister and her little women are in town, but I promised myself to meet up with them tomorrow. There is a family function tonight, but I didn't feel like going. I can easily blame my shut-in-ness on PMS, but really....I just hear Ron Isley crooning from afar in my head...

"I'm taking care of business, baby can't you see
I gotta make it for you, and I gotta make it for me
Sometimes it may seem girl I'm neglecting you
I'd love to spend more time
But I got so many things to do
Ooh, I got work to do, I got work baby
I got a job yeah I got work to do"

Feeling a bit rejected and almost dejected from a single email, I managed not to wallow in my pity. I kept thinking and seeing the situation in a positive light.

What happened?

Well, a few weeks ago a fellow journalism buddy help me revamp my resume and craft a cover/pitch letter to a major news publication. They were looking for a shopping columnist within their "Source" (wink - hint hint) department. The position seemed perfect as it was part-time and the subject is right up my alley. Yet, I believed I screwed up a bit in applying. In my hast, I applied for the position without running it by any one for a look over. I was confident enough to send my materials over as is. I showed my buddy what I sent after the fact and basically we came to the conclusion, it was pretty much a disaster for this particular go around. Things could have been spruced up, shorten and tightened a bit more.

We stayed up a bit late hammering out a new cover letter and revamping the resume. I resent my materials, beating the deadline, and awaited a response. I finally received one yesterday, to which the assignment editor wrote that I didn't have enough experience for the position.

*insert my deep inhale and tears ready to ball*

Of course I shared the news with my buddy and she suggested that I respond with a thank you and ask specifically what would have qualified me for the position. At first I was just going to let the issue go. However, my emotions (PMS) got the better of me. I sent the assignment editor a three liner, thanking her for the consideration, asking what would have qualified me and thanking her for any advice she could give me for future pitches.

A couple hours later a response. Without giving any further advice, she simply stated that the position calls for someone who has experience in writing about fashion and the arts.

Duh!

Shit!

I sold myself SHORT!!!!!!

I've done this before! Maybe not for five to ten years and granted it was for my college paper, but I basically spent almost two years writing on such subjects! I went to gallery/exhibit openings throughout the city. I've interviewed curators, artists and etc and reported back to campus.

In talking with my journalism buddy, she suggested that since the lines of communication are open that it's really up to me to not let it go stale. I've made the decision that I will be contacting the assignment editor in the next couple of days to pitch an idea to her for a freelance article. Perhaps that will be my chance to audition to show that I CAN do this!

What's interesting, as I was clearing more room for the renovations the other day I came across an old pitch letter I had written up. It was addressed to Fader Magazine. I had full intent to pitch a story concerning the house music scene here in DC. My angle for the story was straight - pun not intended. I had interviewed a couple of underground DJs and was on the path to interview more.... then a distraction hit. I believe it was during the time my mother had her mild stroke. I put everything to the side. Fader never got "the memo." Story.. nonexistent. Story...defunct.

I still may pick it up again, but I have to investigate to see if my angle will still work. If it is still fresh.

As for the idea I want to pitch to Ms. Assignment Editor...... I need to go WORK on that.

I Got Work To Do.

"It is not the man of great native talent who wins, but he who pushes his talent, however small, to its utmost capacity."

- From the book "Things Your Mother Always Told You But You Didn't Want to Hear" by Carolyn Coats

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The Reviews Are In

nobody@vox.com(Mahoganie) — Wed, 07 May 2008 07:45:43 -0400

Retro Is Sexy

Yesterday I received an unexpectant review.

I was in the midst of ditching, packing and cleaning for more renovation work when the phone rang. It was the project manager/lead for the volunteer work I did with the group of sixth grade boys. The culminating event for the project was this past Monday. However, I missed it as I had to take care of some things for the Snickerdoodle.

Apparently I made a lasting impression on the boys as they were excited to see their name in print. The final project for the boys included an anthology the project manager and I put together for the them. The book featured the work they did with me and even a few written things from their regular classwork. It also - in keeping with the theme of creativity and business matters/sense - the book also featured their professional profile (what they wish to be in life). The boys also had business cards as well that told their "desired" profession.

"Believe me when I say, your name is gold in that school. The teachers were impressed, the parents and the principal loved it."

I was given praise for the work I did during my short time with the boys. Honestly, I didn't know I had introduced or encouraged whatever creativity they had within them. Some weren't use to speaking in front of their class. Because I had them stand in front and present their poems, they were eager to share their work to all by Monday's event. What I'm most happy about is the fact that the boys actually learned something!

The whole time as I held the phone to my ear and listened to Ms. S go on and on about how what they experienced through the program has changed them, I couldn't help but wonder if this is part of my purpose - basically just inspiring and enpowering through writing. Nisha use to ask me ..or tell me rather.. that I should thinking about teaching. I don't know about that kid! As I tell Nisha all the time, ESPECIALLY TO HER, teaching is a special gift. I saw this in my mom and all her close friends who are now retired from the school system. I see it in Nisha as she is a high school English teacher in the Miami/Ft. Lauderdale area.

Me? I never wanted or even considered being a teacher. I don't have that much patience to deal with an ill school system, parents who act worse than some children or being over worked and under valued.. even though the most rewarding part is watching a child mature with knowledge and molding them for the world. I guess what made it "easy" for me with these boys is the fact that it was a small group - easy to manage. The other thing is - as with most sixth graders - they were very impressionable. As I prepared for my presentation I made sure I was on their level with some things, while exposing them to something they may come across is in junior high school.

Ms. S went on to say how the boys gave her suggestions for next year, which proves the point that children want to learn when you take your time with them and make it interesting. I hope to be around for next year's project. I really did have fun doing this. I'm actually sorry to see it end.

As for my purpose and my gift... I honestly do believe this writing with worth more than gold. Thank you Lord for such a gift.

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A Funny Thing Happened While...

nobody@vox.com(Mahoganie) — Tue, 06 May 2008 01:12:05 -0400

Kimora and daughters fashion week 2008

1. Viewing Kimora Lee Simmons' reality show.

I cried.

Last night's (Sunday) episode was a part two to Kimora and her production team staging the Phat Fashions fashion show for New York's Annual Fashion Week. A segment of the show features Kimora giving her oldest daughter, Ming Lee, a pep talk about her hair. Ming Lee, 8, was about to take part in a rite of passage that all little girls of color (or perhaps any girl) goes through at some point. In prepping for the fashion show, Ming Lee's hair was about to be "blown out" or straightened via the blow dryer. Kimora's pep talk was more of handing out "the law" in how to keep up with such a hair style, plus bumping up Ming Lee's chores around the house - to washing dishes.

After a kiss to seal the hair and chores deal, and Kimora's daughters asking her how old was she when her hair was blown out - to which Kimora responded "at the age of 13 when I was hitting the runways in Paris" - an emotional mommy began to break down and cry. Ironically, I was crying right along with Kimora as she (maybe with a little bit of dramatic overtones) talked through tears of how her babies are growing up before her eyes and it was all too much for her.

I thought about my own daughter. How she is a little over 13 months now. I look at her now and compare pictures I took of her last year when she was a few weeks old. She's definately older. She has her own personality. She is starting her journey of becoming her own unique spirit. I'm anxious, scared and happy at the same time to the different rites of passage she will go through - menstrual cycle, first bra, allowed to have boys call her, wearing stockings, wearing high heels, makeup and of course hair permed/straightened.

I was roughly 12 when my hair was processed. My mother was furious. At the time I didn't understand what the big deal was. I just knew I was tired of the hot comb. I had enough war wounds (hot comb scars) behind my ears to plead my case. My grandmother agreed and "ordered" it done. Aunt P, who worked as a beautician at the time, commenced with the order. PCJ (as it was/is called) or Pressing Comb in a Jar did the trick. Funny thing is, all those years I spent with processed hair, I finally let the chemicals go. It's been eight or nine years as I've returned to my "au natural" roots (which do need some professional work here and there), and began a regime of washing my hair every two weeks and either letting it air dry into a bush or finding the patience of pressing my own hair with the hot comb - only to make it managable to comb and not bone straight.

However, back to Kimora....

It was at that moment of her "breakdown" that I truly gained respect for Kimora as a business woman but more importantly as a mother. Though she is demanding and a bit of a diva with her over the top ways, the love she has for her daughters is not for show for the Style Network cameras. It's real. In all that she does, she always makes it a point that no matter what, when her babies need her she is there.

I can only hope that I am doing just the same for my own daughter. I'm always careful to continue to let my passion for writing and all that I want to do drive me, but making sure it doesn't leave my daughter in the dust somewhere. Whatever I achieve in life I want it to be for us - God, my daughter and myself.

Certain Girls: A Novel

Jennifer Weiner

2. Reading Certain Girls

Since I began reading Jennier Weiner's latest novel, I've been happily entralled in Cannie Shapiro's world again AND her daughter, Joy. Ironically, I laugh when I read Joy's thoughts, because like any adolescent in this world what "tween" doesn't think their mother is a little "off." As I've been reading I have noticed that I see myself in both Cannie and Joy this time. Joy represents my "ugly" teen years, but she also represents something new in my life... yes my Snickerdoodle. Though Cannie is a little older than me in this book (she's in her 40's where as in Good In Bed she was right on the bullseye as my current age - late twenties) I still related to her on some level as she flashes back to her twenties to relive some horrid "single mom/writer" moments.

What's funny here.. in keeping with the theme of rite of passages...Joy is obviously about to go through one with her bat mitzvah on the horizon. However, as I keep reading it seems that her rite of passage is coming in another form as well..learning the real truth of how she came to be and beginning to understand her mother's intentions, ways, persona...etc.

Part of Cannie's past deals with a book she wrote that was based on her life. However, she fictionalized it with a hyper/over sexed heroine as she told a tale of how she over came some of her issues with the men in her life; a father that didn't want her and a boyfriend that was a pile of....shit. Not to mention a mother that eventually admitted that she was a lesbian. Naturally Joy ends up reading the book and at the moment is seeking answers, on her own, about her mom and dad's relationship and her existence.

When I initally started blogging (in 2002) and decided that what I wrote would eventually end up in a manuscript or book form, a lot of it did sound like a broken record. That was because it was during the time when I was in my depression and part of my solace or my comfort zone at the time was through sex. As I began to put the pages together, I didn't like what I saw. Granted it was my truth. That shit hurt. Still, I always worried about who would eventually read my truth if in fact it did get as far as being published. Who would it help? Who would it hurt?

My manuscript has been changed so many times because

1) I'm never going to be happy with it until my brain can finally say "STOP!" That's just the writer perfectionist in me.

2) Though I did fictionalized it, those who are close to me will know it's about me. So what will my mother think, especially in some of the mother vs. daughter scenes?

3) Since becoming a mother, I now feel it's my duty to use it (or perhaps anything I write) as a tool to teach my daughter a (few) lessons in life.. for when she is older and is able to comprehend what I went through.

In reading about Cannie and Joy, it's also bringing up a couple of the same issues I had.. umm HAVE... with my mom.... the over protectiveness and the broken communication line. Where I am currently in the story I do feel as if the crap is about to hit the fan. I'm just anxious to read about it and see where the two Shapiro ladies will go from there.

Another rite of passage...being able to face your truths, the whole truths so help you God.

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1998 - 2008

nobody@vox.com(Mahoganie) — Sat, 03 May 2008 02:12:46 -0400

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Ten years ago this year I graduated from high school.

My next door neighbor "K" is a senior at my alma mata. Ironically her aunt is the music/choir instructor there - thanks in part to my mom who told her about the opening during my freshman year when the janky instructor at the time was being a bit of a scatter brain.

Lately I've been taking a special notice in K. It's hard to believe she is the same "girl" who would stick up under her aunt during our choir rehearsals. This is same chic that would get a kick out of my father's antics and would bring him a small token back from her family vacation. In a way I've unspokenly called her my little sis, especially since her schooling sorta followed in my foot steps. Aside from high school, she also attended the same elementary/jr high I attended.

Nevertheless, I've taken some joy or delight in watching K grow up before my eyes. I've figured this must be what it felt like for my long time neighbors to watch me grow in front of them. Proud and filled with a sense of pride. I'm even more excited for K as prom time is coming up. By my calculations (and if the school still runs on the same "graduation schedule") prom should either be this weekend or next. Graduation should be three weeks away.

In silently traveling the senior year journey with K, I can't help but to revisit some of my own feelings about my high school experience, especially as my class reunion is set for July. A couple of inquires have been sent to me via email or MySpace asking if I will be in attendance. I answered an old friend back via MySpace by telling her that most likely not. I hope to be doing some traveling around that time. Another old friend, who I was close with back then and reconnected with via the internet, is a part of the committee. She's been keeping me informed of what's what - not to mention the postcard mailer and the reunion package sent to my house. Then just the other day, a third friend sent me an email asking would I be there. I haven't responded.

My feelings about high school are very indifferent. Yes, there are a few people I would love to see again - mainly the few folks that survived high school with me. However, I really didn't like high school. It was a Catholic institution with a diverse group of students but majority Black. We were probably considered the most (or perhaps one of the) ghetto schools in the Archdiocese. I say that in light of some of the "upper crust Catholic schools" I battled with on the tennis court during my time on the varsity tennis team. A lot of us (students) came from a decent background or home life and yet I still didn't like the school. For a while I use to think it was because of the people in the school. Something about everyone urk'd my very nature. I use to think "this one" was too childish or "that one" was spoiled beyond belief. I hated the cliques that presented itself during freshman and sophomore year and believe me by junior year I found myself shaking my head at a lot of dissovled friendships.

No. I wasn't any kind of outcast or some reject that everyone ignored. No, I wasn't popular, but I had friends and I got along with most. I stayed quite, only trusting a couple, and even then I wasn't all that telling. I was active in choir, tennis and was delighted when I did the photography class and helped out with the year book. Being an aspiring writer, I even helped to come up with something (a passage) to be painted on the school's shed (it's a senior tradition to paint the shed reflecting the school and class spirit of the current senior class)

Still I couldn't stomach high school. I now realize I was expriencing a (perhaps) pre mature growing pain... or maybe not. I blame my Aquarius nature - the wise beyond years "fluff" - because I was soooooooo ready to move on to the next phase of my life. By then I was working part-time in the federal government and I was looking forward to college..more so the (so-called) going away part of college. High school, though it had its excitement, bored me and frustrated me. Also, I was partially "home-sick," meaning I was missing my "REAL" classmates that I had literally grown up with from Pre-k to 8th grade and desperately tried to stay in contact with. I managed to hold onto one, who after to all these years she still calls me her best friend and I do the same - even in our time of open space as we grew into adulthood.

It was eneivitable. I was growing up. No turning back.

By my senior year I was in my own world. I still managed to function in school, but slightly talking less to my friends, which prompted some of them to wonder what was up with me and even lightly tease me for being so... "aloof."

After the research paper, finals, prom and graduation I was rid of "them." The class of 1998.

Every once in a while I would bump into someone. On my college campus. At my old OBGYN. At a grocery store. At Ben's Chilli Bowl @ 4 am after a night of clubbing. At the club. Online. On the subway train to work. At the mall.

Then MySpace happened.

(Curse Tom for creating such a daft site)

I won't lie. I was curious to know who turned out to be what and doing what close to ten years later. I sent a couple of request. Virtually befriended some. Some sent a request to me. Perhaps a few I was shocked that they remembered me. I approved their request. Then some time later I began to get a funny feeling. It was almost as if I were back in high school again. However, that feeling wasn't just contained to my old classmates, it was really for the whole site.

Then 2008 rolled in with announcements on the reunion.

When the talks first developed about the reunion, for a minute (just a minute) I contemplated on my attendance. Would I really care to see these folks again? In all honesty, no. Other than the couple of friendships from high school that managed to maintain after, I have no connection to my old classmates.

I feel "aloof" again as the excitement around the reunion builds.

I'm sure it will be a swell time for those involved, but I wish to do other things.

High school is so past tense in my book.

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Out of the Lane Bryant Loop

nobody@vox.com(Mahoganie) — Wed, 30 Apr 2008 21:47:28 -0400

Aquarius Mode

No matter how hard I try, I somehow end up at the mall in Pentagon City. Over the years I've grown to loathe that place since it became "a must see stop!" among the tourists that flock to the DC; mainly those large bus groups of middle and high school students. I only go to that mall if I absolutely MUST. Today was such.

My mother had a wedding gift for a fellow church member engraved at the store Things Remembered. My mission was to pick it up for her since she would be dealing with my grandmother for the day. Naturally I didn't mind. Also, I figured since I was there I would visit the Lane Bryant (only a few stores downs) and pick up a fresh pair of jeans. I've worn my current ones down to the ground. So it was time.

I walked into Lane Bryant thinking it would be a simple task. I would go to my usual selection of average or petite size 16 with the natural waist, stretch, boot cut. Today I would want the dark stone wash demin if they had it. Yet, I was proven wrong when I reached the jean section. It became obvious that I had missed the memo about the changes the store made with their jeans. Curse me for not paying close attention to my emails or those niffty coupon/promo announcements they mail to my house. Instead of facing my usual selection I was now dealing with a color code and single number digits from 1 - 7 (or so). It's Lane Bryant's (not so) new marketing gimmick "The Right Fit" as I later learned.

I took a deep breath.

Yellow = Straight body type

Red = Moderately Curvy

Blue = Curvy all the way.

I went for red after mentally answering the questions or statements posed for "red jean" wearers.

"If your current jeans ride down in the back of your waist and have pockets that gape when you sit" then you are red.

Then my logic kicked in. I'm still pretty much a size 16 so I'm guessing a size 1 or 2 should accomodate.

Another deep breath.

I search around for perhaps a size chart of some sort. None in sight. Thankfully there was a Latino lady next to me who looked just as confused as I did. Finally her daughter spoke up for her and asked an associate to measure her mom and help her find the "The Right Fit." I waited a few moments and asked the assocate to mesure me. At first she was quick to say I was a yellow, but after further inspection she told me red and that I seem to have the right size picked out already, a 2, but she handed me a 3 just in case.

I asked her when did the store make the changes. She informed me that "The Right Fit" has really been in effect for about two years, but at first it was just a very small "thing." I vaguely remember the promo about it, but I stopped paying attention to Lane Bryant long ago when I became disenchanted in their selection. Granted the better store for me in this area is the Tyson's Corner store, I would still only come out with a nice top here, a pair of jeans there and once in a while a nice suit. Then again, clothes have been very disappointing to me lately as nothing has been inspiring to me.

Shoes on the other hand............

Nevertheless after conversing with the sales associate I got the idea behind "The Right Fit." A size 14 may not necessarily fit a "size 14" but will feel just right or perfect in a size 12. A normally size 16 figure may fit best in a size 18. So whomever these top researchers are that have partnered or are under hire from the company that owns Lane Bryant, they have developed a system that sort of leaves your normal size undefined and goes with a denim sizing system fits best for your body shape.

I should have known something was up when I went into the store once before and noticed all of the regular sized jeans on clearance. Yet, after browsing around for a few more minutes I entered into a dressing room. I tried on the 2 and was instantly impressed! My curves - hips and bottom - looked "bootylicious!" I'm scared to know what it all would look like had I had on a pair of heels. I tried on the 3 and it was a bit baggy and didn't have the same effect.

My love affair that I once had with Lane Bryant still hasn't returned, but if their jeans keep accenting my right spots we may can work something out.

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Confessions of a Stationary Magazine Book Whore

nobody@vox.com(Mahoganie) — Tue, 29 Apr 2008 22:48:23 -0400

Forgive me "father" for I have sinned it has been several days, maybe weeks, since my last confession.

I've been on a slight mission ever since I purchased a dress a week or so ago.

My mission...finding the perfect black patent leather clutch purse.

After my free oil change (thank you Mazda), I ended up at Target today and was very disappointed in their selection. Really... how hard can it be to find a nice black patent leather clutch bag without big silly bows? I know I'm a child of the 80s but DAMN!

COOOOOME OOOOOON!

I steered the cart away from that department, picked up a few items for the Snickerdoodle and landed in heaven.

My eyes lit up when I saw the stationary/card section.

Greeting Card Whore

Okay, I don't know what it is about me and greeting cards or stationary exactly. I don't even know when this addiction started. I have a fetish for pretty paper thingys. I literally have a collection of greeting cards that I have not given to anyone, because they are too pretty to give to just anyone.

Hey some people collect stamps.

Me....

I'm a pretty paper person.

I did manage to pick up a couple of Mother's Day cards that I will be giving to my mother and grandmother. I still have May birthday cards to pick up. oye!

Eventually the cards I have in my collection will go to someone... well.. I'm not too sure about the card with the glamour high heel (as pictured above). I simply adore that one. So if anyone gets it, they better damn sure appreciate it.

Anywho....

Needless to say, I caved to my greeting card addiction right there in the middle of Target. To hell with the clutch purse...for now.

On to Barnes & Noble.

My original mission with B&N was to pick up the May issue of Allure Magazine (I actually got the last copy! Did everyone know this was the annual "naked" issue?)

Again, I was in heaven.

1. I was in a freaking bookstore. I miss buying a book or two.

2. B&N has just about any pop culture and sub pop culture magazine you can think of. I'm a straight up glossy, airbrush, feature writing, artistic photography, quirky article, inspirational and motivational, 1,000 word count..... WHORE!

Today's Picks from the Newsstand aka Barnes & Noble (4/29/08)

Along with Allure, I picked up two of my favs.

Black Book and Fader (oh I missed reading Fader!)

I also picked up the 2008 edition of Writer's Market! Oh how I NEED this as I scope out who to query for freelance projects and even further my search for a literary agent!

(Big Score for me!)

Also, I could not resist another Jennifer Weiner book.

Gnb cover

OK! Stop! Hold it! The last book by Weiner that I actually own, read and loved was her first, Good In Bed. I could relate to that book on so many levels - and probably even more so now. Ironically I thought about that book last night. I had the urge to re-read it, but my butt was too lazy to get out of bed to hunt for it in my maze of boxes and such thanks to renovation inconvenience. I never got around to reading In Her Shoes, which I'm mad at myself for - since I wanted to read the book before seeing the movie. I didn't bother picking up Little Earthquakes, because after reading the synopsis I wasn't interested. However, today I just couldn't refuse her latest, Certain Girls. The story picks up where Good in Bed left off. So yes... if you are a Jennifer Weiner reader... Cannie Shapiro is back!

With nothing much more to say I would like to be excused now from today's confession. I'm eager to do some self assigned homework in drumming up some ideas, reading a chapter or two in The Purpose Driven Life and skim through my magazines while drinking some ice tea and wiggling my toes under my covers.

If there shall be a penance for my addictive ways let it be the Snickerdoodle refusing to sleep unless she curls up with me. I can handle that.

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Still Pushing!

nobody@vox.com(Mahoganie) — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 16:43:34 -0400

I'm utterly speechless right now. I almost feel like crying. I feel like I'm experiencing another epiphany.

For the past couple of days, in light of my conversation I had with my aunt , I've been mulling over pushing myself (even harder) out of my comfort zone. As I scoped out a few more frelance gigs on journalism job boards, I almost felt intimidated. A lot of the freelance gigs that are up for grabs are based in New York. I thought back to one of my old writing & reporting professors and the journalism logic he shared; a journalist my have to be a nomad from time to time. So I'm not a full fledge journalist and most of the freelance projects I'm doing are more so on the creative side now. However, a lot of the "cool" projects I see are outside of DC. I STILL have this mindset that I can find a freelance gig or two in DC (or at least in the area) - one that I LIKE! It would accommodate my lifestyle and be convenient.

I often complained how creativity is often underground, hidden in the cracks of this city. It may not be as prevalent as in New York, maybe Philly and perhaps San Francisco or Chicago, because politics is the mother load here. So yes, I've been trying to carve out my own niche. However, today I took a look at what some of the projects from New York are looking for. Guidelines seems simple enough, but there goes that pain-in-the-ass self doubt. Am I really an expert on fashion? The woman who just put some pink and white poka dot sheets on her bed?

(don't ask)

I even considered posting a profile on another journalism site under their freelance section. That other pain in the ass set in, intimidation. I began to feel really small when browsing the other profiles and taking note of how many years they have been at this.

I started reading emails and clearing out my inbox. I came across one of those weekly gossip thingys that Ms. C always sends me. To be fair, the one she sends is really the most truthful. She actually sent it a week ago, so I'm a bit late on the latest. I skimmed through not caring much about Star Jones and Al Rynolds' divorce, Eddie Murphy wanting the engagement ring back from Tracey Emmonds or even Whitney Houston and Brandy's brother, Ray J, dating again (yuck!). My eyes locked on a small paragraph about Jill Scott.

Jill Scott, along with actresses Angie Harmon and Gabrielle Union, go nude for Allure Magazine's annual "nude" issue. I did a quick search on the net and there is was, a pre posting of what to expect in the May issue of Allure Magazine.

Jill For Allure May

I got a chance to read the inset attached to her picture. Jill talks about how nervous she was. She couldn't sleep the night before. She didn't think she would feel comfortable in doing this. Her comfort zone of being her naked size 16 self is usually in her home, when she is alone. Yet, she did this to join up with Allure's cause - to celebrate EVERY woman no matter her size. Basically Jill pushed passed her comfort zone. The end result; a liberation she never felt before.

(see photo shoot in video below)

I feel inspired. Being naked in front of strangers, let alone to have your "beauty" posted for publication is not the easiest thing to do - unless you just that damn confident about yourself. My writing and my professional experiences, creative or journalistic, are me; EXPOSED.

My self doubt and intimidation are going to have to take a back seat. I'm on a mission as I seek my liberation.

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Twisted Happiness Or Ignorance Is Bliss

nobody@vox.com(Mahoganie) — Fri, 25 Apr 2008 22:15:46 -0400

Gerber Daisies

Every family has secrets. I wonder what mine are.

I just got off the phone with my Aunt P. The conversation started out simple enough. She was checking on her son, my lil cuz. Tonight I'm "babysitting" the little cuz and my own little Snickerdoodle. Oddly, she asked me a question that seemed to have come out of left field.

"Are you happy?"

I sheepishly chuckle and tell her yes. I even inquire on why did she ask.

"Something in your presence," she responds.

She's reluctant to tell me the reason why she asked. She starts out by breaking down her feelings on how she believes we have a special bond. Despite her flaws, her mistakes, her bad choices in life, she appreciates how I never seem to judge her. Actually I don't. True, I get upset or a little disappointed at times when she does something that would make anyone go "What the flip?!?!?!" However, I always try to look at the bigger picture of the situation. Why should I judge? No one is perfect.

However, in that same token, while I am understanding of a majority of my aunt's ways, I still have a fear of becoming like her in some ways. Mainly my fear is more of my mother seeing me the same way she does my aunt. Yes, my aunt and I are two different people, but in some complex emotional way we are the same. Ironically, my aunt mentioned how at 46 she is seeing more clearly now that she can't live her life by my grandmother's standards or anyone else's. She must live for her. Through all her drama and goodness it's all her.

I mainly let my aunt vent or just speak freeling about what has been on her mind. It's probably rare that she gets to do that without being judge or chastised. What has piqued my interest a bit is the mention of my mother and how my aunt told me I only know half the real story behind my mother and grandmother. This I won't deny. I'm sure I'm spared a good decade of drama that doesn't concern me. However, if someone were to ask me what is something I would want in this world more than anything, it would be to learn or know more about my mother and to be closer to my mom whereas I can feel comfortable about talking to her about my life.

Tragically, this portion of my life is deeply scarred. Pain lies there, but I do feel it's getting a bit better. A mild stroke and a new baby girl later, we talk like adults, but still bump heads every now and then. Just the other day, I had received a phone call from the University of Phoenix. It was a courtesy call since I was referred to them for a continuing education program and blah blah. My mother began inquiring about why were they calling me. Sorry to say, when speaking to my mother about school it's a painful matter and yes I do put up a wall immediately. My college years were the worse in my life (thus far). It also brought up some issues I had with my mother; as far as control, her over protectiveness, money and trying to live by her standards. Naturally my mother took up a minor 'tude with me for brushing off the phone call.

"Everything is a secret. This is why your life falls a part. You don't talk to the elders."

*No. I just don't talk to you...much.*

A few hours later, the same thing she spoke against me she admitted doing herself. It was later that evening when we were in Forestville, MD (a hop, skip, jump, from the DC line). We were heading home when some police action was going down at the mall across from where we were. I was amazed by the number of flashing lights and cruisers wizzing by my car. I just shook my head and chuckled.

"Only my mother," I said as if to say only-my-mother-would-have-me-out-late-in-the-midst-of-police-action.

I was making a joke, but my mother seemed to have eased it into another direction.

"You just know the half of it. You only know what I choose to tell you."

I drove in silence for a while down Marlboro Pike, unsure what to say. So when my aunt briefly mentioned how my mother's life was similar to hers back in the day, a chord was struck. What was my mother really like? My aunt never went into details, but made bref mentions on certain things. So now, at least one thing does make sense to me; how my mother and my aunt ended up living with my great-grandmother for a while.

Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood (Full Screen)

I'm sort of reminded of one of my favorite films: The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. I'm Sandra Bullock, a writer who has all these notions and ideas about her mother based on negative (and some good) experiences. Yet, I don't know what makes my mother tick. Yet, I never seem to understand her ways because she has never let me in or trusted me enough to let me in. So, I turn out to be like her and perhaps like her mother and so on.

Like Bullock's character, I use to have a fear of my children having the same negative traits that I seem to have inherited - "secret keeping." I use to always pledge that I will be as open about my life as I can be and my child will never feel uncomfortable about approaching me to talk. I still pledge this as as I continue to bond with my Snickerdoodle. I want that fine balance of yes-I-am-the-mom-and-I-have-the-last-say with I-am-your-mother-the-listener-and-i-will-hear-what-you-have-to-say-and-i-will-repect-you.

Since I was a teenager I use to wonder if my mother ever respected me. Yes parents are the authority, but I also feel that parents should have a level of respect for their children, especially when you are teaching them about it.

Back to my aunt's question to me at hand....

After I let her speak her mind, she eventually got around to saying how because of the special spiritual bond we have she takes notice of me from afar. I have to admit sometime she is a bit off the mark in her observing, but maybe she wasn't too far off this time. She said something about my presence just seems like something is bothering me. Still I confirmed that I was fine, but she kept going.

"Something in my spirit just moved me to ask you. 'are you happy?'"

I stopped talking.

I felt tears forming.

I didn't let them drop.

She kept talking...rambling on the same point.

My floodgates never open.

The topic quickly changes to the Snickerdoodle.

We say our "I love yous" and hang up.

Moments later I realized.....

I'm not completely happy. I'm content, but this contentness feels too confortable. Things in my life can ALWAYS be better, especially with my mother and me.

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