It's time to leave the winter wonderland of Northern Wisconsin and head south for some R & R. Time to put the freshly pedicured feet up and chill........

I will be flying to Georgia to spend Thanksgiving with my biological family. I hope to have wonderful stories to share upon my return.

Wishing all of you a joyous and festive holiday.

Ok, I need to spout off a lil bit.

Why in the fukk is it that on every site I have, i.e., Yahoo, Myspace, Tangowire, Black Planet…………I have some very nice pictures of myself posted, and the first time I get an email from some dude, they want me to send them more pictures, or send them a “good picture” or send them a “hot picture."

What.in.the.hell - UGH

When I go to their damn page, they ain’t got (dis be my ebonics) a gotdamn picture posted, not one….or maybe it is a picture of their friend’s hot ride or some dumb picture of Beyonce or some shit, and be all pissed off when I tell them hell naw!!

I don’t do the nekked shots, nor do I have my ass or belly hanging out. The most daring picture of me would be a sexy shot of my top, semi-open, (like the one on my Blogger profile) and that’s pushing it.

If you want to see what I got, meet me……..be a gentleman, be nice, be cute, be clean, have some teeth, have a job, (all the basics) and be somebody that I might consider showing my stuff to, and even then you can’t have a picture of it.

Rest In Peace

Gerald Levert and Ed Bradley

The passing of two greats. Just a tragic reminder of how short life really is.

I think I have food psychosis. I literally get psychotic when it comes to my food. I think it comes from the long line of food abuse I suffered as a child.

There are so many stories I could tell you which might confirm my diagnosis but I will share only a few.

When I was a young girl I loved Orange Crush soda and Snicker Bar. These were my favorite summertime treats. I would put my soda in the freezer just long enough to get it slushy and frothy and when I came home from a long day of bike riding, I would enjoy my cherished treats. One time in particular I came home to find my Orange Crush in the hands of my older step-brother (whom I hated for real) and the Snicker wrapper sitting on the kitchen table. When I saw that bottle up to his crusty ass lips, and my empty wrapper, I went ballistic. I was so mad and I went to tell my step-mom who looked at me like I was nuts. She said to me “it’s only a damn soda, here’s fifty cents you can go buy another one.” She just didn’t understand that first of all, I felt like my things were stolen from me and I wanted her to punish the thief who took them. It didn’t satisfy me to simply have her give me money to go buy another one. It was the principle. And, I had to suffer the teasing of the step-brother who knew nothing would happen to him for taking it. Oh, I hated him.

Another instance was in grade school. There was this bully who used to take things off students’ plates and lick it or take a bite out of it and say sarcastically “oh, you didn’t want that did you?” That used to piss me off so bad. So, one time I walked past his table (don’t know what possessed me) and I summoned up a snot loogie and spat it in his plate. With this crazed look on my face I said to him “oh, you didn’t want that did you?” The Principal happened to see me do that and I got suspended for the rest of the day (which was lucky cuz it could have been me and the bully, lol). He had to call my mean ol’ daddy to come get me and I got my ass beat. As I tried to explain why I did that, I got no sympathy or understanding.

My young brother (my biological brother) and I used to have to sit at the dinner table alone together. We was separated from the step-family dining (unless it was a special occasion). One time my brother was messing around with his food in his mouth and was chewing it all up then he would squish it out of his mouth so that it oozed out the sides. I thought that was so gross and I couldn’t get him to stop. I was trying to eat my food and that simply disgusted me. So, I decided to do that to him and I put a bunch of mashed potatoes in my mouth and just as I was squishing it out the sides, my mean ol’ daddy happened into the kitchen. I got my ass beat right there at the table. He was smackin me upside the head and telling me how nasty that was. Of course, I was tryna tell him that my brother had started it, but he wasn’t hearing that. Then, my mean ol’ daddy scooped up a mouthful of my food off my plate, chewed it up and spit it back on my plate and beat me upside the head forcing me to eat it. I hated my mean ol’ daddy too.

My mean ol’ daddy loved to eat Tripe, which he made me cook for him and watch on the stove so it would not burn. If all the water cooked out the pot, the Tripe would burn and stick to the pot. I hated that chore, I hated Tripe, I hated my mean ol’ daddy. Well, I decided I could go outside for a while and ride my bike and be back in time to make sure the Tripe wouldn’t burn. WRONG. Ya’ll know I got my ass beat as I was standing there crying over the stove tryna scrape that rotten burnt Tripe off the pot. For an additional punishment, my mean ol’ daddy forced me to eat a piece of that shit. I gagged and felt as if I was going to vomit. He told me that if I vomited he was gonna beat my ass for real. Oh, I hated him.

That psychosis has remained an integral part of who I am today. Don’t fuck with my food. If I have made my plate and am sitting down to eat, I refuse to move until my food is gone. I won’t answer the phone, or the door, or even leave the table until my food is gone. I am afraid someone will fuck with my food. I used to almost beat my kid’s ass if one of them would mess with something I had placed in the refrigerator for myself. I literally had to hide shit that I bought or write my name on it if I placed it in the refrigerator, and dared a mofo to touch it. My poor children thought I was psychotic. And, I am about my food. They learned to ask before eating a damn thing. Po’ chiles.

Sometimes, for a special treat I will go to the bakery in the morning and grab a cranberry muffin to have with my coffee at work. One particular morning, I went to the break room to warm it up and there were people in the hall of the courthouse. As I walked back to my office with my nicely warmed up delicious muffin, a lady that I kinda know reached at me pretending to grab my muffin and she said “oh, you shouldn’t have” and I snatched my hand back so hard, my muffin fell on the floor. I just glared at that bitch and walked away, leaving that muffin on the floor. The next morning, she showed up with a fresh muffin, which I was scared to eat. LOL

Which brings me to my current setting. Today, I was in the break room eating lunch, which I often do alone, and one of the ladies I work with came in. She leaned over my plate and started talking shit about what I was eating. She made such a fuss, talmbout “oh, that smells nasty” “oh, that looks gross” “what the heck is that you’re eating” – damn, it was only a Healthy Choice microwave dinner of turkey with gravy and gotdamn veggies. I didn’t even look up or comment, but my mind was saying “back the hell up off me and my food.”

Now I know how a Rottweiler feels when someone reaches for his dish.

About a month ago, as I was on my way to work at the Courthouse, I saw something that I thought was a “one-time” incident. But over the course of the past few weeks, I have routinely seen this beat up old truck parked right in front of the building. Covering the seats are some very interesting seat covers......I found this excerpt on Google:

"The Confederate battle flag, called the "Southern Cross" or the cross of St. Andrew, has been described variously as a proud emblem of Southern heritage and as a shameful reminder of slavery and segregation. In the past, several Southern states flew the Confederate battle flag along with the U.S. and state flags over their statehouses. Others incorporated the controversial symbol into the design of their state flags. The Confederate battle flag has also been appropriated by the Ku Klux Klan and other racist hate groups. According to the Southern Poverty Law Center, more than 500 extremist groups use the Southern Cross as one of their symbols....."

Yes folks, you read me right. From the eyes of a "freed woman" to see that shit while making my arrival to my place of employment, literally sent me into shock!! The first time, I could blow it off as a possible “visitor” to the area and thought I wouldn’t have to actually see that mess again.

Now, I am all for freedom of speech, but hell.to.tha.naw on that mess. I almost feel like I want to watch out the window and get a look at the person who drives that truck so I know if I am in contact with that particular person on a daily basis. I might be talking to and/or possibly getting along with a person who is a member of the Arien Nation or KKK and not even know it.

This might seem harsh or racist on my part, but I don’t want to have any kind of involvement with a person who has or had hatred for me or my people. I have asked around and been told that the person who drives that truck is an inmate at our jail, but I have not confirmed that information. If that is the case, I want to know that shit too, so I can be aware when the sucker has to report to my office for something.

I am of the mindset also that once I find out a person has even talked about me behind my back or had something negative to say about me to another, they are CUT THE HELL OFF too. I don’t tolerate that kind of backstabbing. I am an up front, brutally honest type of person and don’t have time to play pitty-pat with a mofo, especially if they got some kind of hatred toward me or my people.

Continued from post of 10/17/06......

When I returned the call to my mother, we talked for hours. We continued communicating for more than a year before we finally met in person. My friend told me that it was imperative that I go see my mom and give her the opportunity to look me in the eyes and hold me and reconnect with the child she had lost almost 40 years prior. After speaking with my mother for the first time, I immediately felt a connection with her and knew that I would not be complete until that meeting took place. For some reason, I knew I loved this woman and felt I needed to connect the circle which had been broken by my father years before.

My friend and I went to my house to tell my boys that I had found my mom. I think that was more heart wrenching than the actual phone call with her because my boys both knew how much I had missed out on as a child and they knew the stress it was causing me not having her in my life. They both had told me many times before that they could not imagine someone taking them from me and them not being able to grow up with me in their lives.

When we arrived at my house, I could hardly move my body to get out of the car. My friend had to actually help me out of the car and walk me up the steps to my door. Once inside, I had my friend go in and wake the boys. They were 15 and 12 and you know how boys hate being wakened in the middle of the night (it was around 1:00 a.m.). They thought someone had passed away because they came out to the living room and saw me slumped over holding my tummy and moaning and whimpering like a hurt puppy. I looked up at my children standing there with fear in their eyes and wondered myself how I would have lived all those years without them. I grabbed the boys by the hand and sat them both down beside me and, through the tears, said to them “I have found my mom.” They both began to sob and I knew those were tears of joy for them just as it was for me. They grabbed ahold of me and squeezed me so tight and we all just sat there for almost an hour hugging and crying and my friend and I told them how it happened that we found her.

Over the course of the following weeks, my friend (whom I love dearly) had taken it upon himself to make it his mission to set in motion the reconnection of me and my family. He knew that my fears (both of the unknown and FLYING) would prevent me from making a plan and actually executing it. He and the boys had decided that we all would go together, as none of them wanted to miss out on this particular reunion.

{to be continued.....}