I've been MIA for the past few months, partly because I'm in transition with work, went home for the holidays and spent New Years weekend in Atlanta with my homegirls.
When I got back to the Sunshine State, I was refreshed and ready to get my hustle on.
Then, the dreadful afternoon - Martin Luther King Day at that - rolled around.
I started the day with a jog in a residential area of my neighborhood. It was broad daylight, and I was wearing bright colors. Oh, and I'm 6 feet tall, so I'm pretty visible in most situations.
Headphones on and Tribe Called Quest blaring, I jogged past an apartment complex I was quite familiar with from previous runs.
That's when I saw a flash of red in the region of my knees.
A car bumper.
It was too late to get out of the way. Next thing I knew, I heard the loudest, most unforgettable thump I'll ever hear.
I blacked out for a few seconds and came to just in time to use the soccer goalie skills I acquired in high school to save my face from hitting the concrete.
HANDS OUT.
I landed on my palms, with the right one taking the brunt of my body weight. Somehow, I right side a rolled a bit, scraping my shoulder and ankle.
Then came the screams.
"Oh my God, I am soooo sorry!" yelled the small woman who hopped from the red car. She was crying and holding her face.
Next, a witness pulled over to see if I was OK. I sat on the grass, half shocked and half confused and scared as hell. I asked the stranger to survey my body for any broken glass or blood.
Miraculously, there was none.
I told the screaming woman who hit me that I was OK as she called 911. The witness sat with me for awhile before handing me her business card and heading back to work.
I took a moment to glance at her vehicle - a red Volkswagen sedan - and saw the concave circle that had caused a spider web to from on the driver's side of the car.
"Was your windshield like that before you hit me?" I asked.
"No," she began. "Your head did that."
Damn.
I looked down at my right hand, the one I used to grip notebooks and interview other complete strangers in less unfortunate circumstances, and realized that I couldn't ball a fist or span my fingers out.
Before I had time to think about it, two county deputies arrived to take a report. They called an ambulance, whose sirens cut the afternoon air and brought me back to reality.
I got hit by a car, and was apparently going to live to tell about it.
Next came the Emergency Circle of Officialdom that surrounded me on the ground.
"Ma'am, what's your name?" asked a deputy, holding a pen and a report that had to be filled out.
"Let me take your blood pressure, OK?" asked an EMT crouching to my left.
"I'm going to pour hydrogen peroxide on your shoulder, OK?" said the firefighter on my right.
"Do you want to ride with us?" asked the rookie ambulance drivers.
Somehow, the questions above got answered. And somehow, I was taken to a local hospital, by ambulance, with just my apartment key. No ID. No Blackberry. No purse or wallet.
I sat in a cold hospital waiting room for hours. By the time a crochety male nurse called my name, I wanted to leap for joy. By then, the pain had set in.
I had strained my right calf muscle, and my right hand felt like Bigfoot stepped on it. My tailbone was throbbing and I had scratches that needed to be tended to.
By the time I left, I was wearing a giant white cast that included my thumb and went up to my elbow. I was to wear it for a week until I got referred to a hand specialist.
Days of difficulty followed. The little things I had taken for granted had become obstacles. Brushing my teeth left handed took forever. Trying to make a ponytail was almost impossible. Eating was tedius. And most annoying of all, I had to learn to start my car left handed.
Friends and family called, texted and stopped by with wine and food and bubble bath and heating pads. My dad and stepmother flew down a few days after I got my cast off. Insurance agents called and came over offering settlements and talking accident jargon.
But at night, when it was just me, I wondered why this had happened. I didn't want to wallow in self-pity, though. I wanted to survive this thing somehow. So I used a green 3-lb ball to slowly rehabilitate my right hand. And I began to teach myself to write left handed using an old notepad and a gel inkpen. Writing my signature came in handy while filling out doctor's appointment paperwork with the cast on.
Now, I'm wearing a black Neoprene hand glove that I can remove whenever I want. The muscle soreness is gone, but my right wrist still isn't the same.
And the traumatic memories of the day are probably engrained in my head forever.
All I can say is, I'm just glad to be here.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Random Thoughts.
That Paranormal Activity movie had me so shaken up, I couldn't go home for awhile afterward, lol ... I need to figure out what to wear for New Year's ... I think it's sad that Ray J found another dozen or so women to fill space in his 'mansion' who are willing to act a fool on TV for exposure ... my official celeb boyfriend in my mind is Lamman Rucker ... I can't wait to see "Precious" for some reason, although I fear it's going to be like the modern day version of "The Color Purple" ... I realized I need to watch less TV, so I ordered books on amazon.com ... I had the annual I'm Cutting My Hair For Real This Time debate last week and then realized I love how long it's growing again ... I can't walk out of my apartment without earrings on ... I've decided I one day want at least one son, and could be coerced into two ... watching Real Housewives of Atlanta turned me into quite a wine-drinker ... I don't like when someone's self-esteem is tied to what they're wearing ... I think being 28 has showed me how to be completely love who I am while striving to be open to who I'm going to be ... I think the first guy who wrote "Why Lie? Need Beer" on a sign should have patented it, since everybody bites the idea now ... I sometimes wish I was born in the 50's, sans the racism and fire hoses and segregation and whatnot, lol ... I'm turning the side eye to my high school class organizing a 15-year reunion, since we just got back from the 10-year one in August ... I want to marry a man who I admire ... I love Halloween candy more than the average 2nd grader, I promise ... I'm ready for some major changes in my life, and trying to be patient as to when and if they'll occur ... This month marks one year until my car is paid off ... how is it already November?
Monday, October 19, 2009
True Story.
So I'm driving down the street one recent afternoon when I see the car.
Driver is a 30-something black man with dreads. I'm in the left lane, he's in the middle one. We're both moving forward when he speeds up next to me and waves. Then, he makes the 'pull over' gesture.
That's when I realize something.
He's driving a Kia sedan.
(Disclaimer: I don't care about the model of car a man drives. Again, it's not the make or model that are relevant. OK, continue.)
The Eureka moment? Any man who's 5'10 or above - my personal height requirement - can't fit into a Kia anything, except maybe their SUVs. That said, I figured I'd cut my losses, and his, by saving us the embarrassment of getting out of the car and finding out homeboy is 5'6.
Instead of pulling over, I smiled back and kept it moving.
Driver is a 30-something black man with dreads. I'm in the left lane, he's in the middle one. We're both moving forward when he speeds up next to me and waves. Then, he makes the 'pull over' gesture.
That's when I realize something.
He's driving a Kia sedan.
(Disclaimer: I don't care about the model of car a man drives. Again, it's not the make or model that are relevant. OK, continue.)
The Eureka moment? Any man who's 5'10 or above - my personal height requirement - can't fit into a Kia anything, except maybe their SUVs. That said, I figured I'd cut my losses, and his, by saving us the embarrassment of getting out of the car and finding out homeboy is 5'6.
Instead of pulling over, I smiled back and kept it moving.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
The List.
I've changed the dealbreakers list over the years, but the revised version is below.
-It's a recession and all, so times are tough. If you're forced to live with your mama/auntie/boy/grandma for an indefinite amount of time, then so be it. It's a hard knock life sometimes. But the deal is off if you plan to STAY with said friend or relative. Sure, your mom's home cooking is enticing, and playing PS3 with your boy from college is great, but Plan B should be in order ASAP.
-You can't "mess with" certain kinds of foods. (Exceptions include allergies, indigestion and nausea from pervious experiences with said foods). I grew up in a household where my family cooked all types of ethnic foods, and made me try them before I was able to concretely say I hated them. Out of that grew a love sushi, and my obsession with a California roll and a good glass of Riesling won't be coming to an end anytime soon. Sharing the same food preferences as me isn't the dealbreaker. The turning your nose up at going to a Japanese steakhouse or Ethiopian spot is. Life is more than trips to KFC and Burger King. Same goes for music. I love everything from Coltrane to Common to Tito Puente. Broaden your horizons and then we can talk.
-You can't pronounce my name correctly the first time. Yeah, it's a teaspoon shallow. But it's two syllables, and no, it's not spelled with a K, and yes, there are not one, but TWO L's.
-You're an atheist. I'm close friends with a few, and while I understand their views, I can't date one. If I bow my head to pray at dinner and you give me the screwface, this ain't workin' out.
-You don't have any outside interests. I can't be bothered with someone who needs to be four feet away from me at ALL times. Find something to do. A sport. A TV show. A neighbor or a co-worker to kick it with. Anything other than clinging to every interest I have just to show an interest.
-You feel really, really uncomfortable around my gay friends. I've got a half dozen or so close male friends who date folks of the same gender. Don't feel the need to run from the room if they come around. One thing I've learned is, just because they're gay doesn't mean they want YOU.
-It's a recession and all, so times are tough. If you're forced to live with your mama/auntie/boy/grandma for an indefinite amount of time, then so be it. It's a hard knock life sometimes. But the deal is off if you plan to STAY with said friend or relative. Sure, your mom's home cooking is enticing, and playing PS3 with your boy from college is great, but Plan B should be in order ASAP.
-You can't "mess with" certain kinds of foods. (Exceptions include allergies, indigestion and nausea from pervious experiences with said foods). I grew up in a household where my family cooked all types of ethnic foods, and made me try them before I was able to concretely say I hated them. Out of that grew a love sushi, and my obsession with a California roll and a good glass of Riesling won't be coming to an end anytime soon. Sharing the same food preferences as me isn't the dealbreaker. The turning your nose up at going to a Japanese steakhouse or Ethiopian spot is. Life is more than trips to KFC and Burger King. Same goes for music. I love everything from Coltrane to Common to Tito Puente. Broaden your horizons and then we can talk.
-You can't pronounce my name correctly the first time. Yeah, it's a teaspoon shallow. But it's two syllables, and no, it's not spelled with a K, and yes, there are not one, but TWO L's.
-You're an atheist. I'm close friends with a few, and while I understand their views, I can't date one. If I bow my head to pray at dinner and you give me the screwface, this ain't workin' out.
-You don't have any outside interests. I can't be bothered with someone who needs to be four feet away from me at ALL times. Find something to do. A sport. A TV show. A neighbor or a co-worker to kick it with. Anything other than clinging to every interest I have just to show an interest.
-You feel really, really uncomfortable around my gay friends. I've got a half dozen or so close male friends who date folks of the same gender. Don't feel the need to run from the room if they come around. One thing I've learned is, just because they're gay doesn't mean they want YOU.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Monday Musings.
In no particular order:
-The only reason I watched part of the MTV Video Music Awards was because I heard my pre-Beyonce pop diva obsession, Janet Jackson, was headlining with a tribute to big brother MJ. So I sat there, watching. Waiting. Then waiting some more while dancers twirled and spun to jams such as Smooth Criminal and the like. Then, just when I almost thought it was over, out she came. Dancing to the infamous Scream video and mimicking her brother's trademark moves. I'll admit, it wasn't Janet's best performance or finest hour, but hell, a couple months after a close relative dies, you can't expect someone - even an experienced performer - not to falter. Her steps were a little off, but in the end, that wasn't what mattered at all. My reason for turning away from the show - aside from the fact that I'm foreign to most of what the teeny bopping set are listening to these days - was Kanye West. Enough said.
-I can't pick a word to describe how much fun I've had during the past month. First was the career convention, then the 10-year high school reunion, and then a visit from two of my closest homegirls for Labor Day weekend. All in all, it was great times laughing until tears streamed down my face and enjoying the wonderful people I know. I had coffee with a friend this weekend, and he summed things up for me. "You need a T-shirt that reads, 'Summer '09: I Killed It.'" Yessir.
-I think there's certain movies that I can't seem to not watch if they're on TV. One of those is House Party. I didn't see the entire thing the other night, but I enjoyed what little I did catch. Classic flick.
-I love how I accidentally got hooked on Project Runway the other day. I didn't mean to get roped into the fashion frenzy, but somehow, they got me. I need to find out if the new season is on yet.
-I love that my father knows how to text message on his Samsung Blackjack. What I love even more is how he ends each one with, "Love, Dad," like he was writing an email. Cute.
-I haven't been to a concert in a year, when my friend and I went to see Chrisette Michele. Love her. But I need someone I like to hear to come to a venue near me like yesterday.
-I've been craving tacos lately. Weird, since it's 92 degrees outside, and the idea of hot food normally makes me cringe in this humidity.
-I've been going through training at a children's grieving center here, which has taken up a lot of my outside of work time. Well worth it, though. Sounds morbid, I guess, but it's something I've wanted to do for years now that's finally coming to fruition.
-Is it just me, or does it seem like fall crept up on us like a thief in the night?
-The only reason I watched part of the MTV Video Music Awards was because I heard my pre-Beyonce pop diva obsession, Janet Jackson, was headlining with a tribute to big brother MJ. So I sat there, watching. Waiting. Then waiting some more while dancers twirled and spun to jams such as Smooth Criminal and the like. Then, just when I almost thought it was over, out she came. Dancing to the infamous Scream video and mimicking her brother's trademark moves. I'll admit, it wasn't Janet's best performance or finest hour, but hell, a couple months after a close relative dies, you can't expect someone - even an experienced performer - not to falter. Her steps were a little off, but in the end, that wasn't what mattered at all. My reason for turning away from the show - aside from the fact that I'm foreign to most of what the teeny bopping set are listening to these days - was Kanye West. Enough said.
-I can't pick a word to describe how much fun I've had during the past month. First was the career convention, then the 10-year high school reunion, and then a visit from two of my closest homegirls for Labor Day weekend. All in all, it was great times laughing until tears streamed down my face and enjoying the wonderful people I know. I had coffee with a friend this weekend, and he summed things up for me. "You need a T-shirt that reads, 'Summer '09: I Killed It.'" Yessir.
-I think there's certain movies that I can't seem to not watch if they're on TV. One of those is House Party. I didn't see the entire thing the other night, but I enjoyed what little I did catch. Classic flick.
-I love how I accidentally got hooked on Project Runway the other day. I didn't mean to get roped into the fashion frenzy, but somehow, they got me. I need to find out if the new season is on yet.
-I love that my father knows how to text message on his Samsung Blackjack. What I love even more is how he ends each one with, "Love, Dad," like he was writing an email. Cute.
-I haven't been to a concert in a year, when my friend and I went to see Chrisette Michele. Love her. But I need someone I like to hear to come to a venue near me like yesterday.
-I've been craving tacos lately. Weird, since it's 92 degrees outside, and the idea of hot food normally makes me cringe in this humidity.
-I've been going through training at a children's grieving center here, which has taken up a lot of my outside of work time. Well worth it, though. Sounds morbid, I guess, but it's something I've wanted to do for years now that's finally coming to fruition.
-Is it just me, or does it seem like fall crept up on us like a thief in the night?
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Homewrecker Swag?
I was talking to one of my girls the other day about this phenomenon. I'll explain.
Homewrecker swag: A single woman who gets approached by married men in search of someone to break up a happy home.
My first encounter with this came a few years back. I was a young professional in a new state, fresh out of college. I met a high ranking person in the law enforcement field as part of my job duties. Long story short, a "business lunch" turned into a proposition.
While wearing his polished gold wedding ring, homie began telling me how pretty I was. Repeatedly. Then, he asked me if I dated married men.
WTF?
"No," I replied, almost sure I didn't hear what I know I just heard.
"Oh. Well, why not?" he asked, reaching for his drink.
"Because they're married," I replied.
He chuckled.
I sat there, awestruck, as he attempted to convince me that being his chick on the side would be a profitable move for someone like me. After all, he had houses, cars and a decent salary. He could, as he liked to say, "take care of me."
Gag me.
A few minutes later, the lunch was over. We walked outside, and he shook my hand. It was the most professional thing he'd done since we met. Then came this, something I swear I'll never forget, as he slowly untangled his hand from mine:
"The things you and I could do together."
At this point, my brain felt like it exploded.
I didn't know what to think. I was half offended that he thought I needed to be taken care of, and half upset that the whole scenario even went down the way it did.
Later that night, I ran the situation by some friends. We talked about how lame it was for him to assume that I would take the bait, and how sad it is that his wife was unaware her man was out there offering to handle business for another woman.
I couldn't help but wonder whether I had done something that prompted this outburst of adultery-like foolishness.
Periodically over the next few years, I realized it wasn't me. It was just that SOME married men are trifling.
I've had the too long hug. The slick smile when the wife isn't looking. The exasperated life update along the lines of, "Yeah, well, I'm married with kids now. (Sigh here)."
I've deflected it every time. I can't be walking around with the invisible "Scarlet A" branded on my blouse.
I know some women don't have a problem with being the chick on the side. And I get that some men have this whole desire to see if they 'still got it.' But damn.
At what cost?
Homewrecker swag: A single woman who gets approached by married men in search of someone to break up a happy home.
My first encounter with this came a few years back. I was a young professional in a new state, fresh out of college. I met a high ranking person in the law enforcement field as part of my job duties. Long story short, a "business lunch" turned into a proposition.
While wearing his polished gold wedding ring, homie began telling me how pretty I was. Repeatedly. Then, he asked me if I dated married men.
WTF?
"No," I replied, almost sure I didn't hear what I know I just heard.
"Oh. Well, why not?" he asked, reaching for his drink.
"Because they're married," I replied.
He chuckled.
I sat there, awestruck, as he attempted to convince me that being his chick on the side would be a profitable move for someone like me. After all, he had houses, cars and a decent salary. He could, as he liked to say, "take care of me."
Gag me.
A few minutes later, the lunch was over. We walked outside, and he shook my hand. It was the most professional thing he'd done since we met. Then came this, something I swear I'll never forget, as he slowly untangled his hand from mine:
"The things you and I could do together."
At this point, my brain felt like it exploded.
I didn't know what to think. I was half offended that he thought I needed to be taken care of, and half upset that the whole scenario even went down the way it did.
Later that night, I ran the situation by some friends. We talked about how lame it was for him to assume that I would take the bait, and how sad it is that his wife was unaware her man was out there offering to handle business for another woman.
I couldn't help but wonder whether I had done something that prompted this outburst of adultery-like foolishness.
Periodically over the next few years, I realized it wasn't me. It was just that SOME married men are trifling.
I've had the too long hug. The slick smile when the wife isn't looking. The exasperated life update along the lines of, "Yeah, well, I'm married with kids now. (Sigh here)."
I've deflected it every time. I can't be walking around with the invisible "Scarlet A" branded on my blouse.
I know some women don't have a problem with being the chick on the side. And I get that some men have this whole desire to see if they 'still got it.' But damn.
At what cost?
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
On Good Hair, Hungry Hondas and Reuniting, 'Cause It Feels So Good ...
A recap:
-The last few weeks seem like a blur, but I'm taking deep breaths, doing long jogs and making sure my head stays on straight. I wrapped up a fabulous week at a career-based convention, where I reconnected with and met some amazing folks, got to mentor college students and kicked it with friends every night. Also caught a premiere of "Good Hair," (GO SEE IT!) and enjoyed a post-movie Q/A with Chris Rock and the beauty that is Nia Long. Gooood (and exhausting) times.
-I'm heading home in two days for my 10-year high school reunion. I almost questioned why I was flying all the way to Michigan for the events until I realized the four-day trip will be more than just a reunion for me. I get to see a crew of folks I grew up with and don't see often, since we live all over the country, and I'll get to see the fam, too. Nieces and nephews are growing older and taller, my dad and stepmother moved to a new house, and I've been craving a Faygo Cream Soda and some Better Made BBQ chips harder than a crackhead in rehab. And now continues the search for the perfect dress for the reunion ...
-I somehow tripped and fell into accepting more than 300 people as Facebook friends. Sidenote: I am a teaspoon anal about this, in that I don't accept the random requests I get from 1. men I don't know from Adam 2. people I have never met and 3. people who are distantly connected to some Facebook friend from 3rd grade who I haven't talked to since 1989. So Congratulations to me. I think.
-I still go crazy when on a random occassion, I hear Camp Lo's "Luchini" come on the radio. That is still my SONG.
-My car's CD player is malfunctioning. Ugh. I had noticed for the past few weeks that it wasn't ejecting CDs quickly like it used too. Instead, the little wheels inside the player push CDs out in ultra slow motion. I called my dealership and got the nastiest quote ever to replace it, since it apparently can't be fixed. I knew the price would be ridiculous, so I told them to refer me somewhere else. They did, and it's going to be much cheaper. I won't be getting it fixed until I return from my trip. This morning, I watched in fear as my car attempted to eat and slowly regurgitate one of my Little Brother CDs. Ha.
-Guilty pleasure: I somehow got roped into watching "The T.O. Show" on VH1. I say that as if someone forced me to watch. Ha. But it's one of a handful of reality shows I can stomach. Why? I have no clue. I think dude is arrogant, but somehow comical in a way, too.
-Speaking of reality shows, The Real Housewives of Atlanta has me enthralled as usual. Entertaining as hell, and somewhat sad, since foreclosure seems to be the name of the game on that show. I think Dwight is hilarious, and Sheree's style is fierce.
-I'm mad I like a Shakira song. I heard something called "She Devil" on the radio, and I was loving it. She still can't sing a lick, but whoever produced that deserves a shout out.
Now, back to your regularly scheduled programming.
-The last few weeks seem like a blur, but I'm taking deep breaths, doing long jogs and making sure my head stays on straight. I wrapped up a fabulous week at a career-based convention, where I reconnected with and met some amazing folks, got to mentor college students and kicked it with friends every night. Also caught a premiere of "Good Hair," (GO SEE IT!) and enjoyed a post-movie Q/A with Chris Rock and the beauty that is Nia Long. Gooood (and exhausting) times.
-I'm heading home in two days for my 10-year high school reunion. I almost questioned why I was flying all the way to Michigan for the events until I realized the four-day trip will be more than just a reunion for me. I get to see a crew of folks I grew up with and don't see often, since we live all over the country, and I'll get to see the fam, too. Nieces and nephews are growing older and taller, my dad and stepmother moved to a new house, and I've been craving a Faygo Cream Soda and some Better Made BBQ chips harder than a crackhead in rehab. And now continues the search for the perfect dress for the reunion ...
-I somehow tripped and fell into accepting more than 300 people as Facebook friends. Sidenote: I am a teaspoon anal about this, in that I don't accept the random requests I get from 1. men I don't know from Adam 2. people I have never met and 3. people who are distantly connected to some Facebook friend from 3rd grade who I haven't talked to since 1989. So Congratulations to me. I think.
-I still go crazy when on a random occassion, I hear Camp Lo's "Luchini" come on the radio. That is still my SONG.
-My car's CD player is malfunctioning. Ugh. I had noticed for the past few weeks that it wasn't ejecting CDs quickly like it used too. Instead, the little wheels inside the player push CDs out in ultra slow motion. I called my dealership and got the nastiest quote ever to replace it, since it apparently can't be fixed. I knew the price would be ridiculous, so I told them to refer me somewhere else. They did, and it's going to be much cheaper. I won't be getting it fixed until I return from my trip. This morning, I watched in fear as my car attempted to eat and slowly regurgitate one of my Little Brother CDs. Ha.
-Guilty pleasure: I somehow got roped into watching "The T.O. Show" on VH1. I say that as if someone forced me to watch. Ha. But it's one of a handful of reality shows I can stomach. Why? I have no clue. I think dude is arrogant, but somehow comical in a way, too.
-Speaking of reality shows, The Real Housewives of Atlanta has me enthralled as usual. Entertaining as hell, and somewhat sad, since foreclosure seems to be the name of the game on that show. I think Dwight is hilarious, and Sheree's style is fierce.
-I'm mad I like a Shakira song. I heard something called "She Devil" on the radio, and I was loving it. She still can't sing a lick, but whoever produced that deserves a shout out.
Now, back to your regularly scheduled programming.
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