Stuff I'd Do If I Didn't Need To Sleep

* Transform my bedroom into the neat, organised sanctary that I'd like it to be.
* Get more practice on this guitar. I should be able to switch chords like a chordist by now, dammit! I'm lagging!
* Resume my weight-training. Death to fat!
* Catch up on my msn socialising.
* Learn to make a perfect pot of rice and peas
* Create some beaded jewellery.
* Catch up on some reading.
* Laundry

C.O.T.

Well, I must be having a "bougie" moment or something, cuz I don't get what the big deal is with this Tony Matterhorn guy.
First of all, I can't understand 50% of what comes outa his mouth...I guess that J'can accent just hasn't grown on me yet, and second, is he s'posed to be some kinda DJ God or suh'in? I haven't heard him do anything that somebody couldn't do.

The tall Trini tried to sneak outa the beginner's class this afternoon, but I got him to come back. He usually arrives a few minutes late and lingers in the doorway, lookin' like a shy little boy.
I dragged him on to the floor, made him put his arms around me and chacha with me. His hands were shaking again!
My my, could it be that I'M what's makin' him nervous? Wouldn't THAT be pure kix! If that's the case, then he's in for some trouble, cuz when girls smell fear, they run with it! Or maybe it's just me...

Heheh, and all that time I thought it was his cologne that smelled so nice!

I found myself pointing out to him that in ballroom, you don't use your mouth to communicate with your partner, but your body. He looked at the ground and gave a nervous little chuckle.

I love this.

I recently watched the entire labour and birth process on a Discovery Health. Those bastards showed everything, and I made myself watch it, muttering to myself the whole time "this is educational...everyone should know the basics of childbirth."
Now, I'm scarred for life.

As the soon-to-be mother grimaced with each contraction, I crossed my legs tighter and tighter as if I'd never uncross them again. And maybe I won't.

I like to preach to my brother about how it's a natural process, and there's nothing disgusting about it, but to be honest, I was absolutely revolted when they showed a close-up of the baby "crowning".
It was like a horror movie.
And when the baby finally got squeezed out, followed by a flood of ambiotic fluid (or maybe it was the placenta?) it looked like a mottled grey alien, covered in day-old cheese sauce.

Even visualising that again for this blog has set my heart a beat faster, and a queasiness in my stomache.

I can admit it...it scared the hell outa me.

See, in theory, the creation of life, and having a child to continue on after you, is all fine and dandy, but the actual physical pregnacy and birth???

That is some messed up ish right there.

Once again my thighs are killing me, not to mention my lower back, and now my forearms.
A guy on my MSN list reminded me that the pain is just the weakness leaving the body.
I love that. Weakness, be gone!

C.O.T.

Did I mention I met and shook hands with Mr. Festus Mogae, the President of Botwana, last Wednesday?

C.O.T.

My suspicions have been confirmed.
There's a certain Wicked Witch of the West in the dance community that has either conciously or subconciously, engineered the estrangement between my (ex?) dance partner and myself.
I don't know what kind of hold she has over him, but she seems to have made him her pet, and he's staying far away from me.
There're speculations as to what her master plan is, but that will only come to light at Strictly Latin 2k5. The more I think about it, the more outraged I become, but I have to try hard not to stoop to her manipulative, conniving, underhanded, and flat-out dangerous, behaviour.

She'll get what's coming to her.

I now bestow upon myself the esteemed title of Weekend Warrior! Raaaaaaarrrrr!

My itinerary was as follows:

Fri. 8pm: Dance rehearsal for show in April.

Sat. 4pm: Assist in beginners classes at Genesis Dance Studio (I decided that Mr. Trini Shakyhands isn't gay...no self-respecting homosexual man would dress like a 12 yr. old boy.)

Sat. 6pm: Coach fitness pageant girls on dance/movement/performance tecniques.
There's this one girl who acts like it hurts her to smile. From the minute I saw her, I sensed she would be a challenge. She even refused to take part in one excercise. I WILL break her. Uh...I mean, get her to open up.

Sat. 8:30 pm: Dance rehearsal for cultural presentation for the visiting President of Botswana, on Wed.

Sun. 7 am: Beach training. Each individual muscle in my ass and thighs are currently tellin' me 'bout my mudda.

Sun. 2:30pm: Assist in beginners classes at Bailamos Dance Studio. One dude in particular makes it all worthwhile: 6 ft tall, broad shoulders, muscular arms, impishly handsome face, skin the colour of an antique clay pot, easy-going personable manner, and actually owns a pair of dress shoes, yet maintains his thug appeal (corn rows, y'all!). Gotta stay away from him, boh...he could be trouble.

Sun. 5pm: my own dance class at Genesis Dance Studio.

Sun. 7:30pm: See Sat. 8:30pm.

So much for R & R!

I am now in the process of familiarizing myself with the notes of the fourth guitar string!
D-E-F, baby!
Here's a list of the songs which I've mastered (well, one verse, that is):

Rockin' Robin
Yankee Doodle
Aura Lee
Ode To Joy
For He's a Jolly Good Fellow
And a couple others of which I can't remember the names.

C.O.T.

Where the heck is Moontown???

I've been having some rather unusual dreams lately. Some just odd, but some downright demonic and perverse. I'm getting a little worried actually, and I've upped my bedtime prayers. I may have to sprinkle salt around my bed and/or sleep with a crucifix or something.

C.O.T.

Today's Earth Lover Tip:

Carpool, or take public transport.
I know I myself am guilty of wanting the convenience of car rides here, thither and yon, but I'm willing to put a little extra effort into this too. Plus catchin' a ZR puts you more "in touch" (heheh) with your fellow Bajan, and adds a little spice to an otherwise humdrum day!

(Note: "spice" may sometimes mean "conductor vs. passenger in a cuss-out war", but doan dig nuttin, unless said passenger is you.)

C.O.T.

My least favourite strength-training excercise is the bench press. I find the only thing that gets me through it, is if I psych myself up by referring to the bar and weights, as my "bitches".

And heeeeeeeeeeeeeere's Valentine's Day!
I've decided to give into my natural inclinations, and be festive instead of trying to ignore the season, or even worse, wearing black from head to toe!
My red attire today is as follows: a sleeveless polo shirt, a groovy hippy ring, a beaded bracelet and dramatic crimson lipstick.
I wish I had a big red hibiscus flower to put in my hair.

C.O.T.

Well...it looks like I have a new dance partner. Not sure if I'm entirely happy about it, since it feels kinda like an arranged marriage. He's a cool guy and all, but I'm not sure what kinda "on-the-dancefloor" chemistry we'll present and I think I'm slightly taller than him in my 3" heels.
This will definately take some getting used to. In the meantime, I'll have go into this with all the positive vibes I can muster.

Here's to change.

Today's Earth Lover Tip:

Take your own bags to the supermarket. You can re-use your plastic bags from the last time, or make use of that big green bag/sack that your Aunt gave you for Xmas, that you probably weren't gonna use for anything else.
Think of all the plastic you'll be conserving!

C.O.T.
What happened to us? We used to be fairly cool together, and now I'm getting the feeling he's trying to phase me out of his life completely! I didn't do anything to justify his coldness so how can I help feeling as though I'm being betrayed in some way??
Shit, I didn't even know he was taking salsa classes, and he KNOWS I'd be interested in doing that! It's almost as if he was doin' it behind my back! He's not bound to me in any way, and I'm not trying to cling to him, that's for damn sure, but I thought we could at least have mutual respect, and open communication. Looks like that's too much to ask. That punk.
He won't even do me the courtesy of calling me to let me know when we have a meeting.
I'm tired of confronting him about his attitude.
Even if he doesn't leave, it still looks like goodbye.
I hate that it's like this. This sucks.

How do the powers that be, expect people to do the right thing, and try to maintain a healthy lifestyle when even at the lowest level, everything seems against you?? For example, a golden delicious apple costs $1.20 and a 16 pc. sandwich cookie package costs $0.79.
This is absurd.

C.O.T.

Today, being Ash Wednesday and all, marks the start of the Lenten season. Shame on me, I had no idea. A kindly old lady, in search of Easter cards, had to point this out to me.
I'd like to give up something...I really would, but I can't make up my mind on exactly what.

Sugar's a good choice, but I dunno if I can manage that, since I've discovered Lillifield Mudslides. Oh man, this drink makes me wanna talk dirty.
So...salad dressing it is.

C.O.T.
I've noticed that Buckleys gives me a slight buzz. I'm feelin' quite groovy right about now.

For some reason, which I can't seem to put my finger on right now. I'm getting the feeling that Mr. Trini Shaky-Hands from the beginners class could quite possibly be homosexual. Of course I could be way off too.

I'll be looking into the matter.

C.O.T.

Today's Earth Lover Tip:
Now this one takes balls/ovaries: quit wasting so much water by running the shower 'til it gets warm: Just take that cold water like a thug! Helpful hint: I find that if you do an all-over body jiggle/shimmy while entering the cold water quickly, you don't feel it as much. Cussing loudly may help too.

Now for another Earth Lover Tip (dedicated to Marcus):

Pee in the shower! This'll save at least a flush a day!

C.O.T.

Valentine's Day is comin' up. I'm undecided upon whether to ignore it completely, or be festive and celebrate it despite the fact that no tengo un amante en mi vida. I still have a week to decide.

Schuupes, I never get to do all those cute, romantic things on Valentine's Day, so I feel sorry for the guy who ends up with me around any future February 14th's! *big grin* It'll be late night beach picnics, hand-fed chocolates and hot oil massages galore! The works!
And now that I'm learning to play the guitar, he'll be in for a big stinkin' serenade, whether he wants to hear it or not!

Cheers to all the closet-romantics out there.

Our environment is going, or according to many scientists, has gone, to hell in a handbasket.

We're all guilty of choosing convenience (or in the case of the U.S. gov't, money) over a healthier planet, but the time for this luxury is long over.

Occasionally, I'll be posting some tips to help anyone who Always Wanted To Do The Right Thing But Was Too Afraid To Ask How.

Today's Earth Lover Tip:

It will take some planning, but iron all your clothes for the week in one go. This saves serious moolah on the electric bill. Not that I benefit, cuz my mother refuses to cooperate on this. I WILL break her tho...just a matter of time.

C.O.T.

I just love that show The Dog Whisperer with Cesar Milan. Check it out on National Geographic, weekdays at 7pm. Cesar is an absolute genius! Plus he looks like a cute little puppy himself.

Highlight of my weekend:

At the beginners class, Saturday afternoon, my dance instructor made a gangly, light-eyed Trini dance with me since he wasn't getting the steps right.
The poor boy's hands were shaking for the first 15 minutes or so! It was so darn cute.

I'm happy to say that my calm, easy manner (heheh) soothed his nerves and he seemed to relax a bit. In true Trini fashion, he joked about how much easier it was to jump and wave a flag.

After a while, he discovered his flip flops were hindering his movements, so he removed them.
Soon after, he unclipped his cellphone, and put aside his wallet.

"Hey, if anything else is getting in the way of your cha-cha-cha, feel free to take it off!" I said, half-joking.

Unfortunately, he didn't take the hint.

Ya's gotta spell everything out for these guys nowadays, boy.


C.O.T.

It's funny how much easier learning to play an instrument is, when you do it of your own free-will, than when you're strongly "encouraged" to do so by authority figures. Then again, I suppose that goes for everything.

I KNEW there was a reason I like going into town!

Yesterday, our dear capital was positively awash with fetching young men. Charming Fed-exers here, dapper business types there, sporty young tourists over yonder,... and all so friendly!

Even the miniature cutie in the shoe-repair place threw down a smooth move in slipping me his number along with my receipt.
I have GOT to try that some time.


Yup, it was a good day.

I'm an idiot. I wasted time being scared to make a play for a total hottie and now I think it may be too late.

What the hell was wrong with me? How could I have been so dumb?
I was blind, that's for sure, and I'll admit, maybe a little shy too.

He flirted shamelessly with me, and all I could muster were unenthusiastic responses.
I guess I can't blame him for being discouraged.

I took it for granted that he'd be there if I happened to change my fickle, immature mind, but now it looks like he has grown tired of my coyness, and moved on to greener pastures.

I made too much of it. It didn't have to be a big deal, it could have just been a seasonal romance, a beautiful fling to satisfy our curiosity, but I overanalysed the situation.
I made excuses not to be attracted to him: his head's too big, he's got a dorky name, his voice sounds feminine....

What I didn't realise was that those descriptions would no longer apply to him, once I had been exposed to his true colours:

He's intelligent, handsome, polite, fun-loving, focused, athletic, talented, rhythmic (he can dance, y'all!), and undeniably sexy.

I messed up big time. But maybe, just maybe, I can fix this.

Where the hell's my push-up bra?


*You've been reading an excerpt from my upcoming novel entitled The Origin of The Femme Fatale

Last night I took the 1st steps towards becoming a bad-ass guitar-chick: I cut my nails down to the quick, and got Dad to show me chords C, F, an G7.
I think he made up that last one cuz I've never heard of G7 before.
Oh well, I'll play along, I guess.
Of course, my fingers are rather sore right now. No doubt that in time, all this irritation will cause callouses on my fingertips, which I'm not too thrilled about, but that's a small price to pay for the reward of being able to bring the gift of beautiful music to those around me (who currently refer to it as "a bloody racket").

C.O.T.

And this week's "You Need A Hard Slap Upside The Head" Award goes to:

The all-natural, pseudo-rasta, vegetarian, don't-shave-nothing male, who likes his women in stilletto heels, tight clothing, and full make-up.
Schuuuupes.
Where do I find these guys?

I have decided that I want to learn to play the guitar. And be good at it.

C.O.T.

I watched Catwoman for the 1st time the other night, and it wasn't as bad as all the reviews made it out to be. It was kinda inspiring actually. Makes me wanna get some leather and go seduce myself a cop.
Halle Berry is so darn cute, and that hip-swinging sauter she pulled off at the end of the movie: poetry in motion!!!

Right, so it's Monday night, and I feel like going out and distracting myself from my inner voice. I don't feel like thinking, I feel like living. That might not make any sense, but it sure does roll off the tongue.

C.O.T.

Our christmas tree is still up, and nobody around here has any immediate plans of taking it down. I know I don't. I'm getting pretty good at just ignoring the darn thing.

C.O.T.

Yesterday I watched the romantic comedy Head Over Heels, starring Freddie Prinze Jr. and some blonde chick (forgot the name), and throughout the movie, all I kept thinking was "Oh good grief, this is so corny."

*Gasp*
When did this happen?? When did I become like this? I used to LOVE romantic comedies...developing minute-crushes on each male lead, and in the case of a video rental, secretly rewinding and replaying the "first kiss" scene, after which I felt all warm and fuzzy inside.

Now it seems like I can't bare to watch anything even remotely mushy. Maybe I've "matured" as is the popular notion. Maybe I've developed a crusty, protective, "no-mush" coating, although I don't know why, since my heart's never officially been broken.

Maybe I'm just hatin'.

I was just on my way to bed when certain mp3 started up, and man, it moved me. This song has serious strip tease potential. Very sensual beat too.
Phew, I had to turn on the fan to blog this even.

It's on the City of Angels soundtrack.
It's playing during the scene where Meg Ryan' character is lying in the bathtub, having impure thoughts about Nicolas Cage's character, Seth, the angel, who is watching her the whole time, while in inviso-mode, of course.
Heheh, who says angels have to be saints!

Feelin' Love- Paula Cole


Love, love

You make me feel like a sticky pistil
leaning into a stamen
You make me feel like a mister sunshine
Himself
You make me feel like splendor in the grass
While we're rollin'
Damn skippy baby
You make me feel like the amazon's runnin'
between my thighs

CHORUS:

You make me feel love, love, love, love, love
love, love, love, love, love
You make me feel love, love, love, love, love
love, love, love, love

You make me feel like a candy apple
Red and horny
You make me feel like I wanna be a dumb blonde
In a centerfold, the girl next door
And I would open the door and
I'd be all wet
With my tits soaking through this tiny felt t-shirt
That I'm wearing
And you would open the door and tie
Me up to the bed

Chorus

Lover, but I don't know who I am
Am I (?)
Am I hot inside
What would I place with your hot conscious
Oh baby babe babe babe
I will be your death, the moonlight
Take your time

You make me feel (3 times)
You make me feel loved


Somebody pass me an ice-cube.

I've never had a problem with authority figures; if I recognise that it's for the best, I'll do whatever they ask without an issue.
What I DO have a problem with, is if they try to treat me like a child...especially if they're under 5'4", and bear a striking resemblance to a perky little gremlin.

C.O.T.

Well, it's a good thing My New Year's Resolution No. 1 was "Embrace change", because I've now found myself smack dab in a whole roll of "change" that I gotta start embracin'.

Y'know...I've noticed that whenever people start saying things like "Things always change; nothing stays the same", it just means that something that you didn't want to happen at all...has happened.

Anyhow, on to the point of the blog.

I'm currently on the market for a new dance partner!

Anybody who knows anybody with the following characteristics, can pass along my contact info.

*male
*5'11" +
*20-27 yrs.
*Patient
*Physically fit
*Silver level and upwards in Standard and Latin ballroom
*Self-motivated and looking to progress
*Open to performing and competitions

I wish somebody would come online and talk to me. I feel like reaching out and touching someone.
It's raining, and I kinda bummed, although I'm pretty sure the two situations aren't connected.
Maybe it's that I didn't get enough sleep this morning...only 5 hours. I tried to drift back off, but my eyes refused to close. So here I am...clicking away on the PC, like a zombie. Only with better clothes.

C.O.T.
Last night, I bopped on over to a street jam. You never really think about how alone you are, at a fete, until at least 6 people ask who you came with, and you repeat the line "Oh, I came by muhself."
As usual, no-one was dancing particularly. I realise that this bothers me less and less; I just go ahead and do what I came to do, regardless of whether the people in my immediate vicinity are boogieing with me or not.

Some half-drunk guy came tryin' to chat me up and I pretended that I didn't speak English. Bare "No te entiendo." and "Tonto, porque no te vas??" in his ass.
My, but he was persistent: if one question didn't seem to work (which none of them did, since I was a total Latina to him), he just asked the same thing louder:

"My friend, Wuh you nee-um?...WUH YOU NEE-UM?"
"Where you from?.....WHERE YOU FROM???"
"How old you is?.....HOW OLD YOU IS???
"I wanna dance wid you doh.....DANCE...YOU AN' ME...TOGEDDUH."

Then he commented to a friend of his "Nah, she dumb...she cyan speak nuh english." In all honesty, I'd really like to meet the woman who falls for his brand of charm.

Slight C.O.T.

Of course...Batman was there. He pulled the "Here-I-am-standing-all-alone-to-make-it-totally-easy-for-you-to-come-chat-me-up" routine, otherwise known as pulling a "lonely. Glad to say that I didn't fall for it again. I stuck to my resolution and kept my ass the hell away from 'im. So of course when I was leaving, he decided he had to leave too so I HAD to cross his path. Sigh.

To my credit though, I kept any conversation to a bare minimum...just enough to be civil, and I didn't hug him back when he put his arm around me. And I didn't say bye when I walked away.

Phew...Ice-Queen in training!

What are the odds of, after making New Year's Resolution No.2 "No more centipedes", that 2 days later, I'd come across 2 of 'em??
Coincidence? Who knows.

It went like this:

Everything was calm, I was watching t.v. on our couch, when suddenly, the alarm went up!

"You! Wha de @#&$ is dah??? I nearly step pun dah, yuh!"

I jumped to my feet and rushed to the scene: there was my brother and his friends in a loose circle around It...a centipede about the length of the finger with which I occassionally make obscene gestures.

My brother dashed off to find a cutless, but I, sensing there wasn't enough time for that, sprang into action.
I didn't pause, I didn't waver. I, the lone female in a group of tall, strapping young men, lept forward with nary a thought of my own safety, and crushed the centipede with my beslippered foot, in a smooth, one-off stomp-and-twist motion.
I was told later that it almost looked like a dance.

The 2nd centipede was taken out with far less style: my brother's friend crushed the pinky-sized varmint with his half-empty beer bottle. I'm not even sure if he wiped the 'pede juice off the bottom before he finished his beer.

Sigh. That's the problem with amateurs. No finesse.

And here we are! The first day of 2005! It didn't start out much like my fantasy, but hey, at least none of my loved ones were swept away by a tsunami either
No matter what, I can't complain, because compared to what's goin' on in Asia, my Old Year's was fabulous. Remember the Indonesian posse and the Thai crew, in your prayers.

The Midnight New Year's kiss has eluded me yet again, but my new reasoning is that midnight comes around every 24hrs, so I'll have at least 30 more opportunities this month to make up for it.

There're certain party poopers out there who don't even bother to make resolutions, claiming they never stick to 'em, so there's no point. Me, I love making new year's resolutions, and really putting in the effort to keep to them all year long, in my quest for personal growth.

My resolutions:

1.) Embrace change. Yeah, I'll admit, I'm one-a those peops who likes stability and constance. But things change, such is life, so it's best to have a good attitude about it.

2.) No more centipedes. Take this any way you want.

3.) No more Batman. And I won't stand for any bets being made on how long I'll last with this one.

4.) Make that first head-nod greeting when I cross paths with one-a those people whom I kind of know, but for no reason in particular, don't speak to. When I think about it, it makes more sense to at least acknowledge each other presence than to sail past like ships in the dark.

And here we are...the last day of 2004. Time for me to take a deep breath and embrace two-kay-five. Unfortunately it's looking like I won't be ringing in the new year in my ideal fashion, so I'll take this opportunity to blog about....

My Fantasy Old Year's Night

Picture it: St. Lawrence Gap, the street is alive with merry-makers, tourists and locals alike, everyone is buzzing on the Old Year's excitement.
Or maybe it's the 2-for-1 tequila shots from Cafe Sol.

Le Groove has reunited and is performing in McBrides, while Krossfyah is set to rock at Ship Inn.

Everyone I know and love to party with is at one bar or another in the gap. I'm reunited with all my main girls and we're reminiscing over our past school day shennanigans while sipping blueberry margaritas.

After stopping in every bar along the road, we end up in Ship Inn, to boogie until it's countdown time.

Guess who's there too...Batman!
Of course, I ignore him completely until he comes over and speaks. We exchange the customary "hi, how are you's", and then I give him the cold shoulder he deserves. My girls can't believe my noncholance.

Seems like he's finally come to his senses, but I couldn't care less.
He eventually grows a spine and comes over to ask me to dance. I think to myself "Oh, what the hell...it's Old year's night.", and I let him put his arms around me. And so we dance, and it's nice, like I always figured it would be. What the hell was he running from all this time?
The music stops and it's 15 seconds 'til the start of 2005!
Everyone's counting down, and I'm pretending not to notice that he hasn't moved away from me.

It's 12 o'clock now and everyone shouts "Happy New Year!!" I ignore him and hug my friends. A chorus of Auld Lang Syne starts up, and I pretend to finally notice him. I go to hug him and he steals a New Year's kiss....right on the lips. What a nerve. He's obviously drunk.

He pulls away , and looks at me like I might try to slap him. I really should. Instead, I pull in close to whisper to him, my hands sliding around the back of his neck, my lips grazing his ear,

"You snooze, you lose. Have a nice life guy."


And then I party on 'til sunrise with my girls!

The End!

Cha....I'd have to be made of stone to pull that off!

Well, I'm feeling a heckuva lot jollier now, thank Emily. Ready to spread joy and goodwill and all that.
Which I DID to some extent, at BoatYard last night. Ahhhhh, felt good to be among so many familiar faces, every one dancing and having a ball.

But I have one question for the fellas out there. Please, if you're male and your reading this...PLEASE lend me some insight to the workings of the masculine brain on this:

Why in the name of all that makes sense, would you say you're attracted to a girl, then spend the whole night avoiding her?
Please...I really need some opinions on this. I need to start the new year off with a clear head.
Help a sistah out here guys.

There goes my Christmas and boxing day and since I'd rather not say anything bad about those two days, I won't blog about 'em.
I just gotta start taking that saying "It's only as good as you make it", more seriously. In fact, I'll probably add that to my list of New Year's resolutions.

C.O.T.

I generally don't have drama in my life. When I encounter drama, it's usually someone else's drama that somehow touches me. If I'm gonna be upset, at least let it be my own drama that upsets me. Or wait, maybe I don't know what I'm asking for.

C.O.T.
Whenever I'm about to suh'in not quite "proper" but bound to be fun I hear a little voice telling me it's not the right thing to do. It's my conscience, it's annoying as hell, and it sounds a lot like my parents.
Hey, maybe I'll add that on to my resolutions: Ignore the voices cuz everybody's bound to do things that their parents won't necessarily approve of at some time.

C.O.T.
How can people be so open with their maliciousness and their triflingness? I mean, even if your intentions are less than pristine, at least try to hide it so other people won't know you for the scoundrel you are!

It's Christmas Eve...and I gotta say I'm not that happy about it. Except that it'll all be over soon. I'm usually not such a scrooge, but this year I really feel like my Christmas has been stolen from me. It almost means nothing to me right now, and THAT is tragic.

I was working all day today, finally reached back home around 7pm. I'm coming down with a cold now too. Ain't that some shit. And THEN at 9pm, my crazy parents decided they wanted to do a complete house-cleaning. And of course start ranting and raving at whoever is less than thrilled to join in. Namely me.
I wanted to send Xmas cards to the neighbors , and make sorrel, and ponche de creme, and cookies and all that, but all I did was work.
I want my Christmas back. I wanna spread some joy and goodwill to my fellow man.

And, as usual, I'm having my end-of-year personal freak-out session, where I panic at how fast the year has gone by, and in turn how fast my life is going by, and what scary changes the coming year will bring.
These episodes don't last long, but they're intense while they're going on.

I hope this Theraflu kicks in soon.

C.O.T.

On a brighter (and wierder) note, I inadvertently flirted with a female security guard the other day, and she hooked me up by speeding me through a long-ass line in the grocery store the other day. Hope she doesn't think I'm batting for the other team too.

Why is that everyone around here seems to have this innate fear of centipedes? Is it a Bajan thing? Bees sting hard too, but we don't shudder at the thought of bees like we do centipedes, right? Maybe it's because there're all those cutesy little phrases about bees: there's "busy as a bee", "mind your own beeswax" and my personal favourite "the birds and the bees".

In the bank line yesterday, an old lady came across a 4", live centipede in her purse. Now THAT was the most exciting thing that happened all day! I coulda sworn she was gonna have a heart attack with all that hopping around she did. She was pretty agile though. The guy behind her came to her (and everybody else's in the line) rescue and stomped it into centipede juice with his timburlands. Who says chivalry is dead.

C.O.T.

Batman seems to be giving me a green light again. I dunno if I should take the bait. Maybe I'll just pretend to take the bait, and torture him instead. He certainly deserves it.

I officially hate hook-ups.

It's always embarrassing to have your friends play a role in your romantic life, especially when they insinuate that you're useless when it comes to the opposite sex. Hook-ups make me feel pressured and nervous, like I owe it to somebody to make this guy fall for me.

So what happened last night WASN'T on my Top Ten Best Dating Experiences list.

The date was made on Wednesday, for the movies Friday night, and I won't lie, I felt fussy! I was looking forward to it like my next barbequed spare rib. He seemed calm, quiet...on the shy side. And he was fine. I was willing to give him a chance to compensate for being a smoker. One movie couldn't hurt, right?

Last night I took extra care to look cute without looking like I tried to, and I set out to meet him.
I was on my way to a lovely evening I told myself cheerfully, so imagine how loud the sound was, of my bubble bursting, when my girl called to say he wasn't coming and she didn't know why.

So I called him up of course, handling both my cel and the steering wheel in a risky move. Long story short, he freaked out, said he didn't want to put himself in a position where a serious relationship was a possibility, and made plans to go with some other woman to Harbour Lights instead.
There I was being all nervous, and I didn't even get the chance to show that I can be a safe kinda chick to hang with. He didn't even bother to call me himself....I would have gone done there and waited around for him like a total idiot. I feel like screaming just thinking about it.

But hey, it's okay because he said he was sorry. Jerk.

Big ups to Lani for having my back so I wouldn't have to spend the night at home moping.

I finally got to use the "weekend for two" at the Plum Tree Resort, which I won in a dance competition. Don't mind I didn't have a significant other to make up the "two", I went just the same!
Right after I checked in, I decided to meander around to the pool area. I was just leaving to go meet some friends for a movie, when I noticed someone trying to get my attention.
I turned around, there was a well-muscled youth, clad only in swim-trunks, striding quickly up to me.
Wow, I thought, I LOVE this place!
Turns out "Dave" had been looking high and low for any guests his age since the average person around there was 80 plus. Unfortunately, he was leaving the next day, and I was leaving right then to go see a blasted movie. Curses.

Saturday afternoon, I made sure I found myself in the pool. Of course I was the only one. If it's one thing I noticed about the old folk there, they never actually go INTO the water...they just sit AROUND it....for hours even. Like ancient wildebeest at a croc-infested watering hole.
Maybe they knew something I didn't.

Fast Forward to Saturday Night.
I can't believe I let 'em coerce me into goin' to Club Xtreme. Every time I think about it, spending $40 to party just seems more and more insane. Drinks free or not. I especially have a problem with paying to have my lungs polluted, since every other person in there is puffing on a damn cigarrette, the foolish goats.

I absolutely HATE it when you start checkin' for a fella, and then find out he's one of THEM. A smoker.
I tellya, one can go crazy agonising over whether to throw away one's principles and overlook that one flaw, in favour of (to use Govie's phrase) "the hotness".

It's only the second week of December, but I already feel like I'm slowly being pa-rumpa-pum-pummed to death. And not in a good way either *wink wink*

I really do want to get into the spirit of Xmas, but I guess it's kinda hard when you work in field that profits directly from the exploitation of the season.

Maybe it's up to me to do more to get into the swing of things...insteada just waiting for it to happen to me.

I oughta get a posse together and go out carolling...
I oughta invite peops over for some puncha crema and ham cutters...
I oughta work harder at popularising a Bajan version of mistletoe.

Boy would that come in handy.

What a week.
The stupid computer in the office has taken the printer's lead, and has joined in the quest to drive me bonkers.
Translation: no logging on during the day to distract me from actually working. Bummer.

My weeknights had been commandeered by rehearsals for a group performance for The NIFCA Gala Awards ceremony.
It was a great experience working with dancers from the other genres.

I'll especially miss *Marla, the spunky redhead, who ate all my Eclipse, and accidentally mooned me at point-blank range, and *Isaac, the obviously homosexual young dancer, who, in one number, was made to perform bareback against his will. Oh, how I love to watch him wine.

*Names have been changed to protect the identities of the individuals.

C.O.T.

Well, he finally confessed why he's been treating me like shit for the last 3 or so weeks, after I had to pretty much drag it out of him, that is.
Here I was thinking that he had problems at home....here I was, worrying that something might be really wrong.
Why had he been so moody and distant, I asked....
"Because," he finally replied, "I ainno, you's just annoy me sometimes."

The anger didn't settle in right away. But now it has.
Who the ass does he think he is? I put up with his crap for so long, refraining from cussing him out, even though he really and truly deserved it, was actually WORRIED about the boy, for him to come and tell me, that he was acting like a punk because I annoy him???
Is he for real??? Like he doesn't annoy the snot outa me at times!
Why de france he couldn't be upfront about it? He could either tell me what's buggin' him, or get the hell over it, but don't sulk and gimme stink looks every time I ask him to dance!
Schuuuupes.
Why is this so hard?

I'm confessing openly and without shame: I am a heightist.

Yes, I discriminate against short people! Mostly in the form of overlooking (hey, what an unexpected pun) short guys as romantic interests. Well, actually, I kinda had something against short girls too. You know...those petite nuisances that sneak in below your line of vision, and make moves on your man. Kinda like those ankle-biter dogs. No offence to any short girls out there, of course (please don't band together and try to take me out or anything).

Back to the men.
Yeah, I'll admit, I mostly check for the taller dudes, but I realise that there're some under - 5'7" cuties about the place that are perfectly able to sign up for cookie-duty, so to speak.

So, while I can't say that I'm totally open to all heights yet, I can at least say that I'm seeking reform.

They say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem.

I so bloody vex right now! What is the fuckin' point of makin' a reservation if even de rasshole general manager ain' gun take it seriously???? Good thing I'm a local and not a tourist cuz then I'd be homeless right now!!! And even the man at de desk was no fuckin' help! He musse was de guard or suh'in cuz de man had NO sorta manners!!!
I was SO looking forward to some peace and quiet this weekend!!! Some rasshole solitude!!!! Is that too much to ask????
I feel like a caged animal in a crowded zoo!!!!

They say everything happens for a reason, but that is the LAST thing I wanna hear right now, because THIS IS BARE SHITE!!

The other day during an online conversation I was called "random as hell" .
I was flabbergasted.
Good thing it was a cyber chat, because my snort of indignation was anything but ladylike.
Of all the things to call me!
Random, am I? As hell , he says?!?!?!
Well, goddammit, he has no idea just how random I can be!

Let the randomness fly!!!

C.O.T.

In the next 2-3 weeks, there're so many cultural events, but so little money:

• The CSME Stars (Elephant & Bunji) concert . (Yes, I consider this to be a cultural event, and hell yes, I gun be dere)
• The Traditional Japanese Taiko Drummers concert. (I don't really know what a taiko drummer is, but it sounds pretty groovy).
• The "Just Dance" dance show (Lani's in this show, but I'd go regardless cus this is my thang!)

C.O.T.

I'm gonna start giving any potential flam material that comes my way, superhero/villain nicknames. That being said, Person B shall now be known as "Dr. Octopus" (and, henceforth the beautiful young man who haunted me all summer shall be referred to as "Batman", in case I feel the need to blog about him sometime in the future) !

Well, it seems like the Doc doesn't understand the meaning of the words "I don't think we should see each other any more. " Here's where the power of telepathy would be more useful to him than those tentacles of his.

C.O.T.

Looks like my plan to eleminate white bread from my household has succeded! 10 points for healthy living! My father is still clinging stubbornly to his whole milk though, and my brother refuses to eat the cauliflower. These skinny people think they're so superior.
I won't give up.

C.O.T.

Dealing with toenail injuries obviously gets better with practice, cuz this one has been a breeze. I rather enjoy flapping the loosened toenail up and down, like the jaws of a tiny little puppet, to gross out anyone who'll pay attention.



How's THAT for @#$%& random!

From time to time, you get urges, ...and you mostly fight them since you know in your heart that to go through with 'em would be absolutely ludicrous, but occasionally, you get weak and you give in, the whole time saying to yourself
"This is crazy...this is just crazy. You better not let anyone know about this, cuz then they'll know just how crazy you really are."

So today's motto is:

Occasionally let yourself follow the madness within. Just don't tell anybody.

C.O.T.

I could use some chocolate chip cookies about now.

Now here's where this blogsite gets a little R-rated.

I used consider myself to be a pretty open-minded kinda girl, y'know, hip to modern-day protocol and all that, but recently I've realised that when it comes to discussing sex and anything sexual, I can be pretty uptight, depending on my company. Actually, it's not the fact that sex is discussed, but more so how it's discussed, that gets to me.

No matter whose company I'm in, I just am NOT comfortable saying certain things in raw, "gutter" terminology. When I'm in a discussion with a potential flam, or mixed company, I find myself definately making an effort to phrase things as delicately and politely as possible, even though it's clear that the other person/people in the discussion won't be offended.
I tend to say things like
" gettin' down to business (wink wink)..."
" well-endowed"
"been around the block a few times"
" in a position where certain things are accessible (more winks)"

And I never use parts of the anatomy as cusswords. Well...at least not the fun parts. (Heheh, just had an image of someone hollaring "You! You's a real bubby!" Was too funny not to share.)

The funny thing is, when anyone else around me spits out a graphic description, I actually pretend to be cool, like it didn't startle me, but I can almost feel myself start to blush.

I've heard "Daana, it's ok y'know, you can say it." a good few times in my life. Mostly from males. Why is that?


Did I say this was gonna be R-rated? *Sigh* I've done it again. This was PG-13 at best.

Oh my.
I'm absolutely, postively smitten by that rapper T.I. My heart skips a beat and my breath catches in my throat when I catch even the smallest glimpse of him on BET.

Anyone who can guess why I'm so taken with this particular rapper, gets a Menta Cristal breath mint (they're really good).

Hint: It's a really pathetic reason. Hey, may as well let others benefit from my dotishness.

Note: Lani is not allowed to participate in this game.

One summary of my weekend, comin' right up!

Friday's Highs:

• The surprise b'day shindig we had for my partner's mum. I just LOVE surprise parties!

Friday's Lows:

• The cold shoulder I detected from my partner.

Saturday's Highs:

• My mid-morning workout. Ah yes, I felt the burn.
• I had an empty house to myself for the day. Sweet solitude, how I cherish thee.
• The girls' nite. We ate, we laughed and we boogied. And come to think of it, we didn't talk about men as much I thought we would've.

Saturday's Lows:

• My mid-afternoon nap was interrupted by the mad dash I was forced to make in order to save the laundry from getting soaked by a sudden shower. Of course, as soon as I managed to get every piece of clothing safely indoors, it stopped raining.

Sunday's Highs:

• All the gorgeous dresses I got to pose in for a photoshoot. Who woulda thought I looked decent in mint green?
• The fabulous gold, "gih-tuh-muh" shoes I acquired!

Sunday's Lows:

• Still need to lose 20 lbs. *Sigh*
• Got my toenail lifted from my toe, again, in a ballroom incident. Very painful. I saw stars. And blood.
• More of the cold shoulder from my partner. AND I detected a smirk of amusement on his face at my unfortunate toe drama.
• Overheard him saying to someone that he ain' entering Strictly Latin 2005. So....I ain' nuhbody? Don't I deserve a discussion, or an explanation at least? What de ass I do to de boy?

Y'know...I don't really trust anyone who doesn't like dessert.

It's all good if you limit it in a bid to be healthy, but to avoid it because you just don't LIKE it?? I'll never understand that one.

The minute I hear someone say "Oh, I don't much go for sweets." I immediately (and maybe wrongly, I'll admit) make a character assessment.

In my eyes, that person looks uptight, and unhappy, as if their inner child has died a tragic death long ago.
All at once ,they seem too serious, and secretive. They seem all closed in, like they don't want you to really know them.


Or maybe it's just my imagination.

Can anybody tell my why:

• Royal Bank won't accept one $5 money bag of pennies, but WILL accept two $2.5o bags? They have money bags there, don't they? They know how to count, don't they? Why the ass they just can't pour half of de $5 bag out into another bag, and poof! They get their two precious, blasted $2.50 bags of pennies! It's not higher math.
• Nobody seems to know how to manualy rotate the ink cartridge wheel on this @#%$ printer? It's like we have the only Konica Minolta 2300W laser printer in the world.
• Whenever I answer the phone at my Grandad's house, it's for the maid,who acts like I'm her personal answering service, and then when I insist that she answers the phone herself, it's for me?

Shane and I dominated last night! Yup, won BOTH our categories! Raaaaaaaarrrrr!

I wore a hairpiece (for the 1st time in my life) for the latin section. I whip my head about fairly vigourously for these dances and I prayed to the donkey-hair gods that it wouldn't go flying off. And it didn't! I gotta say, I can see why we women like to wear these things! I felt fussy enough!

I would just like to go on record as saying that that drink Red Bull...tha's a serious drink there boy. I had one before we performed, and I just could NOT stop fidgeting during the wait. Maybe it was a nerves/caffeine combo, but I definately felt the high.

And now on to something that isn't sitting too well with me:

Person B, as I expected, made up exuses not to come to the competition.

It "isn't really my thing" he said.
"Oh, but we're not even in a serious relationship that you'd be offended, right? Heheh." , he said.
Right.
This speaks volumes of his opinion of me.

Now on the other hand, two fellas, to whom I've made it very clear that I'm not interested, STILL made the effort to come and support me. That impressed the hell outa me.
So when I think about how THEY could come out and try to get a taste of my world, and I compare it to Person B's almost total lack of interest in what is important to me, it really drives home what I had been thinking all along.

He's not for me.

It's roughly 29 hrs until the start of the IDTA Caribbean Standard & Latin Ballroom competition. I'm definately not as nervous now as I was for the one back in March...just kind of excited.

Person B can possibly redeem himself if he shows up for this event. Such a thoughtful gesture would not go unrewarded.
I told him about it and he knows it's important to me. Let's see if he comes through.
The suspense is killing me.

C.O.T.

One of the villains on Days of our lives, a young, manipulative, selfish, scheming ex-prostitute, is named Eve. I have a sneaking suspicion that this was no coincidence on the part of the show's creators.
Hmph.

The office printer is draining my energy. An "Empty Toner Cartridge" alert popped up on the screen sometime last week, in the middle of a print job. It terminated my print project, and the printer refuses to let me print anything else, OR replace the toner cartridge. I have since been corresponding via email, with a Konica Minolta tech support guy named Stuart Wardale. I think I may be developing a crush on him. Never mind he spells my name as Deanna...nobody's perfect.

C.O.T.

Never before have I been so conscious of living in someone else's house. I dunno why exactly, but it doesn't feel like my home, just feels like I live there.

C.O.T.

I suspect that my room has turned into some sort of portal to another dimension or something. Things have been goin' missing recently...things that I KNOW I haven't misplaced...an important document...the competition music cd...a black strappy top...

Maybe I'm next.

Right now I'm feeling repressed, depressed and oppressed.
What I want most in the world right this minute is to be as far away as possible from all people, especially my family.

The only thing worse than relatives all up in your business, is distant relatives all up in your business.

Lord save me from old people. Miserable, tunnel-visioned, self-righteous old people.

Awright!
I did my gold medal standard and latin ballroom exam, in 8 dances last night (Waltz, Quickstep, Foxtrot, Tango, Chachacha, Rumba, Samba and Jive), and I aced it! Along with my partner of course! We still have to wait awhile to get our official score & comments report back, but we're finally at gold level! Glad that's over with. Now we have to buckle down and concentrate on finishing this @#&* Paso Doble routine for the competition this Saturday.

Slight C.O.T.

It's absolutely amazing how much drama goes on in my studio, right under my nose, and I'm completely oblivious to it! Obviously I'm way too good at minding my own damn beeswax.
The passion, the romance, the heartbreaks and the bitter lovers...it's all here, apparently.
I had a conversation with an unlikely person, in which much was revealed and confessed. Very enlightening indeed, but I can't help but wonder why he confided in me of all people...

do I smell a mack move comin' on?

Well! Last night's practice was probably the best one since we started rehearsin' for this dang competition.
I dunno why, but my partner was actually pleasant and cooperative! Wonders never cease!

I thought we were gonna be alone for our session together, but we were joined by the Push-up King and his partner. (Awright! Eye-candy!)
The highlight of my week so far, came when he changed his shirt right there in the room. I couldn't help but exclaim "Ooh! Ooh! Half-naked man over there!"
Everybody looked at me funny, but I didn't care. I already got an eyeful of meaty pecs and abs.

C.O.T.

I assume that it's common knowledge that when two people are "dealing" or "talking" or whatever, they need to keep in fairly regular contact with each other, at least a phone call a week, so as to keep the coals of attraction from coolin' off.

So I think it's fair for Person A to be somewhat annoyed if, after not hearing from Person B for about 2 weeks, Person B calls Person A's cellphone and says:

"Hey Deidre?" (Wrong name ass.) "Yeah, I got your messages y'know...but I was just out on my little retreat...y'know, takin' some time out for myself. You know wha I 'bout."

*The person who first patented potpourri was a genius. Dried, perfume-sprayed forest debris...why on earth do I need this in my bathroom? Of course, my Mum's obsessed with the stuff.

C.O.T.

*Daana's Cheer-The-Hell-Up Manouvre after a hard day: head straight for your room or any place you can be alone for a while with a radio/cd player, put on the skankiest, dibbiest clothes you own, and some sturdy heels (at least 3" high), blaze up some dancehall or rap (sorry, rock just won't cut it this time)and getteth thine eagle on!
10 more points if there's a mirror nearby. This can work if you're a guy too, but you may want to make extra sure that you're positively alone.


C.O.T.

Recently I've been thinking...belly-button ring! A nice, sparkly, dangly one! I'll probably get over this notion soon, but geez, tha'd be a fun addition for me!
As common as tattoos and body-piercings are, I'm still absolutely facinated by them. I guess there's something to be admired in people who fight the natural instinct to avoid pain, all in the name of adornment.

There are some people with whom one can converse, and have a neutral experience. Y'know...nothing negative, yet nothing too inspiring either.

There are people with whom one can converse and have a very positive experience. These people lift your spirits, motivate you, give you new ideas etc. They make you want to be in their presence.

And then, there are those people with whom one finds it extremely difficult to converse, because they're enveloped in a pervasive, stifling aura of negativity. These people are unhappy and they seek to spread their misery to the otherwise joyful souls around them. One is usually on the defensive with these people, because these people are constantly using their words to attack, and in this way, they drain one's energy.

When faced with this type, it's only natural for one to want to drop everything, and get as far away as possible, from where this person is standing. They seem to speak with this heavy, spirit-dampening Voice of Doom.

I happen to live with one of these Voices of Doom. It's rough. Mostly because they'll never realise the harm they're doing, or worse, because they don't care.

Ya can try to spread the joy around, but some people just don't want it in their lives.

The almond tree outside my room has been chopped down, and the stump has been wrenched from the earth. I know it was a threat to the house during a hurricane, and yet I miss it horribly.
So many memories...
I used to climb and hang out in its sturdy branches, enjoy it's delicious shade, until I'd remember that I was outnumbered by bugs and lizards. Then I'd get the hell outa there.
But that tree meant something to me, dammit. Serious sentimental value there.
I swear my bedroom is 5 degrees hotter since my tree was abducted. I look out my window and now there's nothing.
Great, now I'm really gonna have to make an effort to draw the curtains when I'm dressing.

C.O.T.

Recently I've been wondering why it is that it's slightly more acceptable for children to see violent death scenes in movies, than it is to see sex scenes.
Kind of an indicator of our attitudes to sex, huh?

I don't have anything in particular to blog about, so you know the drill: ahh, the freedom of the fictional blog.

Today was just fabulous! The head chef created a new type of cake and named it after me! Not bad for my first day on the job, I must say. It has nutmeg and mango chunks in it, and he called it Gateau Naolat! Everybody else was wondering why he named it after me, but he wouldn't tell. And if he wants it kept a secret, then I won't tell either! One of the assistant hostesses kept givin' me stink looks for the rest of the afternoon.
It's not MY fault that Gateau Phyllis just doesn't sound as appetising.

I didn't think I'd actually get the receptionist job at "Horse Ovaries 4 U?Catering ", but when I mentioned that I had experience killing and preparing my own meat, the scales tipped in my favour. Not sure what that has to do with the usual receptionist duties, but I guess time will tell.
Here's to an equally fabulous tomorrow!

C.O.T.

This is the first time I've ever taken a real interest in the U.S. presidential elections. Please Lord, we all need your help on this one.

A different competition...but the same ol' shit.

What does a girl have to do to get a partner with a sunny disposition around here?
I can't go through that every time we compete. I just can't Tha'd be ludicrous.

Lance Corporal D.

I gotta say...I likey this "movement coach" gig...I likey a lot. Barking at people like a drill sargeant, while they dance is suiting me just fine.

"Left! Right! Left! Right!"
"Heads up! And 1, 2, 3, 4!"
"You over there, stop that bouncing!"

Before you know it, I'll be on to bigger and better things...like whips, and black leather clothing.

Yestermorning I got my ass up early and went to church for the 1st time in, I'll admit, quite a while. I was invited to a christening, and I figured "Yeah....why not!"

Well the drama started from the time I got outa the shower. I opened my wardrobe and realised that I had no church clothes.
So I went with what I had : A black corset-style tank top, and a black ankle-length skirt. I figured if couldn't be completely demure, I could at least don a somber, respectful hue. Only problem: the skirt comes low on my hips, so a sliver of my lower back was visible. I decided I was cool with that.
My parents, however jumped on this.

"You're not going like that are you??"
"People will stare, Daana!"
"You can't be exposing your chest, back and arms in church! You just can't!!!"
"Forget it! Find something else!"
"Come, let's go look and see what else you have!"

I wasn't going to a job interview, I was going to church...the ONE place I figured that one's outer appearance shouldn't matter. My bad.
My own parents made me feel like a gutter-whore.

The skirt I ended up wearing, at the insistance of my mother, was black, knee-length latina skirt, with a ruffled split ending high up the front of my thigh!

So somehow, in their eyes, the upper thigh is a far more holy and righteous body part, than the lower back.

Slight C.O.T.

Pentacostal churches are somethin' else boy. I heard people speakin' in tongues for the first time. I also danced in church for the first time.
What I didn't get, was why everybody was preaching with an American accent.

The actual christening went pretty well: the baby wasn't dropped, the reverend didn't spill the oil, and there were no objections from anyone in the congregation (heheh).
However, I must say, that was THE longest service I've ever attended! Three and a half hours??? The pastor like he didn't have Sunday lunch to go home to.


Oh, and no-one there seemed to have a problem with what I wore.

Aaaaaargh!

My ex-dance-partner is SUCH a dance snob!! He thinks he is SO perfect! He absolutely reFUSES to dance with anyone he thinks is "beneath" him and now he's latched onto the pretty, young, hippy thing in the beginners class! As if his pathetic crush isn't comPLETELY obvious! Poor girl doesn't know what she's in for.
And whenever he makes those stupid, insensitive comments, I just can't seem to let it slide! I just can't ignore him and move on....something about him just brings out the bitch in me. Whenever he opens his mouth my wicked Part B whispers,
"Daana, you have GOT to knock this pompous bastard down a peg or two!" It's almost like I consider it my personal duty to prove to him that he's an idiot.
One-a these days I'm not gonna be able to control myself, and I'll be forced to tell him about his B.O. in the loudest, most tactless manner possible.

C.O.T.
I don't know how to say this....so I'm just gonna say it.
The beautiful young man is back in my life. In my cyber life anyhow.
(I can almost hear a chorus of "Oh nooooooooo's")
Yeah, and he's tryin' to mess with my head again, from afar this time (as a certain Prodigal Blogger said he would). But y'know what? I am NOT defenseless! Maybe I'll take the advice of De Lanster and work a little head-messing of my own.

I feel like an idiot already...but hey, let the games begin.

I have been neglecting my blogsite...all because of that nasty, stinking, uncooperative computer in the office.
Schuuupes. But y'know what? I will try to rise above this minor obstacle and do what I know deep in my heart that I must do...blog anyway.

C.O.T.
My grandfather bought a slightly used luxery car...and is going around telling people, in all seriousness, that God wanted him to have this new car.
I find this train of thought ridiculous at best, and downright offensive at worst. I mean "God" just finished wiping out the entire island of Grenada, but wanted him to have a new car? When the old one was still working perfectly too??? Oh yeah, that makes sense. Y'know,I don't think he hears himself when he speaks, but there's just no arguing with old people.

C.O.T.
Well, our dance instructor made the formal announcement to the line dance team that I , Daanz, am to be the official "movement coach" for a section of a line dance routine! Gotta say...I feel kinda fussy.
And at the same time...a little worried...

Will the others like my suggestions?
Can I overcome my reluctance to boss people around?
Will the clumsier team members be able to master the moves I suggest?
And more importantly...will the whole thing look good???

I have reason to believe my car is haunted.

I'm not sure by who or what, but a couple nights ago, I was on the road, all alone in the car, when I felt something start to press down on the part of my car seat next to my right butt cheek.
Can you say "instant panic"?
My heart froze, my body tensed and my hands became iron vices, gripping the steering wheel, trying not to crash the car.
I stopped at the next traffic light, chucked the gear in park, pressed on the light, and whipped around to see...absolutely nothing, of course.
I guess seeing "nothing" is better than seeing a madman with a rusty cutlass, but I still wasn't completely calm.
It happened a couple more times after that, but I made myself ignore it, and it just went away.
It was as if the ghost was tryin' to cop a feel.

C.O.T.

I dunno 'bout other soap operas, but why is it that everytime a couple on Days Of Our Lives sleeps together, afterwards the guy looks happy and relaxed, and the chick looks pensive and mildly upset?

The past couple-a weeks have been a real doozy.

A guy I know was stabbed to death and I'm still kinda shocked. I don't even know what title to give him...he was more than an acquaintance, since we used to chill in the same circle, but he wasn't a close friend either. According to those close to him, he was probably the most "ready" to meet his maker, out of anyone they know. Before I type one of those cliches on death I think I'll change the topic.

C.O.T.
Then there was The Great Hurricane.
According to the law of averages, and the satellite tracking records, Ivan was meant for us. It was coming straight for us, and I for one, was worried. The whole Monday night I was trying to figure out what I should bother trying to save if our roof was destroyed. And I prayed, of course.
But then Ivan veered southward and all we got were storm conditions.

I didn't complain. I didn't feel cheated.
All I did was turn my face skyward and thank the Lord.
And then the news on the chaos in Grenada came in. We had been spared at their expense. I know it's not our fault but I can't help but feel a little guilty.
They need our help.
CBC Grenada Relief Fund
Bank of Nova Scotia
Account no. 9003497

Let's pray for Jamaica next.

Yesterday was SO un-Monday-like, that I just can't get over it.

I mean, it started out like your typical Monday: computer freaking out and refusing to boot up properly, debtors givin' me the run-around when I confronted 'em about their bills, etc...but then, it hit me...I was still the boss for one more day! I could do whatever the france I wanted!
And right then, what I wanted was to "bun de wuk" and head to the beach, cuz it was hotter than a tin foof on Mars yesterday.

And tha's just what I did too. I swung by for muh girl Lani, we suited up, then ran up in that beach so hard, it cried!

Oh...words can't describe what a fabulous day it was. The sky was an expanse of blue, and the water was calm, cool and clear. Everything was copacetic except, of course, for the treacherous sea-creature which disguised itself as an innocent piece of algae, and tried to do horrible things to my index finger.
We found our way back to our towels pretty quickly after that.

C.O.T.

If I had a million dollars and someone put a gun to my head and forced me to spend it as frivolously as possible, I'd build a t.v. station and host my own cooking show. And my own talk show. And my daily news segment. And if I ran out of news to report, I'd make it up as I went along.

Things I've learned this Weekend

1.) Dont judge a guy by his baby-blue tims. This guy was actually sweet, and kinda fun, even though he's extremely talkative and can't dance to save his life. Dating outside one's social circle can be quite an adventure.

2.) The over-40 generation can be JUST as annoying as the young crowd...especially if they come and set up camp RIGHT on top of you , as you sit quietly at the beach, reading your anthropology textbook.
I didn't mind the almost-constant chatter about whether or not one guy should go back home for his swimsuit....I didn't even mind that, of all the wide open space there was on the beach, these people chose my immediate surroundings...but I DID mind when they turned on the radio and blared Lil' Rick and the Guinness Rush hour all up in my earholes. Just when ya thought that mature, "boujie" types were somehow more well-mannered than the average joe, they go and pull suh'in like this.

3.) Oistins on Friday night is a groovy type-a flex.
It's like a big, free fete. I can't believe I took so long to go check it out.





Oh geez. They tell me to leave the young boys alone, but what happens if the young boys won't leave me alone?

Listen buddy, if you're really tryna impress me, don't:

1. Ask me why I didn't call you.
2. Admit that you see nothing wrong with tossing a bottle/chocolate wrapper on the street.
3. Go on about how gay "dem male gymnasses does look in dum tights"
4. Argue with me when I say I have to get off the phone cuz I'm tired.

C.O.T.

I finally got around to watching the movie "Love Actually", and lemme tellya, that film is dangerous. My Part B has been inspired (B for Bold this time), and now I feel like approaching random strangers (cute & male, of course), batting my eyelashes and askin' 'em if they wanna join me for coffee! I laughed and I cried and I enjoyed the hell outa this movie. When the credits rolled, I wondered with a sniffle, if it was really over.

This morning I got another omen: I opened a can of sardines, and there were 6 of the little suckers in there! The usual number is 4, and occasionally you'd get 5, but I've never heard of a sixer before.
I'm pretty sure this is good luck too.

C.O.T.
I don't find Kanye West to be a particularly handsome man, but there's just something about his face that makes me want to look at it....something there that draws my eye.

C.O.T.

If I were to strive to become an Olympic athlete, I think my main incentive (besides the prestige, the honour of repping my country, and the sense of personal achievement, of course) would be the after-party!
Imagine...an Olympic after-party... now THAT would be bashment.
I can just picture dibbing out with all the hottie swimmers and gymnast guys.

I gotta get my act together.

Today is a special day.

This morning I took a time out to play a lil' computer solitaire
(I always play three-card draw with Vegas style scoring. More challenging that way), and I won the very first game I played! What are the odds, especially with Vegas scoring!
I'm taking this as an omen of good fortune, and I shall be on the look out for any money or gifts that are no doubt coming my way.
Of course, I stopped playing Solitaire right away after that.
Y'know...don't wanna nullify my good luck omen.

C.O.T.

There's this song by the Dixie Chicks...I dunno what it's called, but it's about this young dude who's been drafted and is about to go off to a military camp.

He meets this young waitress in a diner and they get to talkin'.
He asks 'er if he can write letters to her while he's away, since he doesn't have anyone else to keep in touch with at home.
The girl agrees cuz, y'know...she's taken a liking to the guy. He was probably really sweet and all that.
Anyhow, so he's left for Vietnam and he's writin' her letters, tellin' her all about the was over there. Everything's cool for a while, until the letters stop coming.

Then the song tells about how a football game back in the town, is interrupted, by the guy on the P.A. system, who reads out a list of local Vietnam deaths. There was one name in particular that goes unnoticed by everyone except the young waitress (who happens to be the piccolo-player in the marching band).
The poor thing hides under the bleachers and cries her heart out for that guy.

That is the saddest song I've heard in the last couple years. Makes me cry everytime I hear it. Imagine meeting someone and makin' an almost instant connection, only to have them snatched away, for something as pointless as war.

Ladies, there's a moral to this...if the man you love is about to go off to fight for anyone's country, don't lag, grab the nearest cricket bat and break his leg.

Do it for love...do it for...oh, I can't do this anymore, I need a tissue.

Highlight of my Monday

That would be the milk & cookie break after lunch...hands down!

Of course, the fact that they were a surprise bonus to a visit from a handsome, broad-shouldered youth, definately helped in earning the "Hightlight of my Day" status!
Did I mention that he's a good hugger?

Raowr!

How is it that there are some people who
1.)see fit to pry into your personal affairs
2.)assess a situation without really knowing wha' goin' on...and finally
3.)go telling out ya bizness to the general public.

What does he want, attention? That idiot will get his comeuppance.

C.O.T.

Y'know...there are plenty of women out there would just love to have a guy to trail them like a backpocket everywhere they go, and drape himself all over them at every chance he gets, sending a message to all other guys in the vicinity to "keep walkin' buddy, this one's taken!"...so maybe I should just give up, quit running, and count my blessings.
But then my Part B tells me to stop being an "ignant beeyatch" and remind that dude that he is NOT my man, and to quit "blocking"!

Yeah..."B" stants for blunt sometimes.

This morning I was perusing a couple of wedding magazines, and I gotta say, the ads in these things are a trip. I mean, who really goes traipsing around woodland areas in all their bridal finery?

On Monday's episode of Days of Our Lives, Mike Horton proposed to his girlfriend, April Ramirez, and she said yes. They seemed so happy and excited (little do they know that Mike's ex-woman, Robin, is about to break the news to Mike, that about 5 yrs ago she had his illegitimate child).

Getting married just seems like such a hassle to me...all the preparatons....who to invite...even deciding on a dress...it all seems like a humongous chore.

I'm not even sure I really want to tie that big ol' knot anyhow.
But wait...I seem to be getting ahead of myself... I forgot about a fiance...I think one definately needs a fiance if one is thinking about getting hitched.
But hey, I could be wrong.
My Granny got married at 19, my Mum, at 22, so if there's any kinda trend goin' on here, this means that I've at least MET my potential future husband.

Now there's food for thought. Yikes.

Crop Over has come and gone...and despite the hullabaloo with the music, I found that this may just have been one of my best jump-ups yet! This season has definately affected me in a way that seasons past have not: I find that now, everytime I'm leaving the house, I get the urge to sprinkle myself with glitter...y'know...to feel "finished".

C.O.T.

It's rainy outside...reflective of my present pensive mood. I have reason to believe that any attention I had received from the beautiful young man, was only his attempt to gain contact with me, on behalf of his friend ! Bummer.
Yeah yeah, I know I said the saga was over before, but this time, I mean it! He's leaving and pretty soon my thoughts will become my own again, and I can get
over this minor obsession.

C.O.T.

I feel I need to walk a dog at the beach more often! People are so friendly when you have a dog! Talk about a babe-magnet!
Big up to bad dog like Gin and a bad woman like Lani who let me borrow him!

Let's hear it for point form!

• That Kadooment Day jump-up was too rastaman short!
• There was NO rain! Wassup with that?
• The area between my knees and my toes are mashed up. But I can take it because I...am a solj.
• People kept tiefing de water and drinks intended for the Baje dancers, AND
• Getting in our way while we were s'posed to be doin' our jobs as flag women and (you guessed it!) waving our flags!
• Not only was the beautiful young man jumping in my band, but he was in the section which matched my costume! Wow.

I saw him again as I was leavin' Spring Garden. He had already showered and returned, the fraud. He stopped to talk to me: "Well, this's the last time I'll see you before I leave next Tuesday."

I hugged him and told him it was very nice to have met him (understatement of the year), then he mumbled something which I didn't quite hear. I got the feeling that we both punked out. And then we parted ways. Probably forever.

And thus ends the mostly uneventful saga of Daana And The Beautiful Young Man.

C.O.T.

Last night, I dreamt I was lying on a big comfy bed ouside on my lawn, snuggled up between Peter Parker and Mary Jane. Only they didn't look anything like Toby McGuire and Kirsten Dunst. Anyway, we were all gazing up at the stars, and I remember thinking to myself
"Gee, I'll bet Peter and Mary Jane would rather be next to each other right now...but I'm so warm and comfy here between them...and I don't want to move anyhow, cuz Peter's cute!"

A couple minutes after this, Peter got up and moved over to MaryJane's side and turned his back to me. I found myself cold and alone.

What does it all mean?

It's Kadooment Eve....I've finished altering the bits and pieces to my costume, and while they could still use a lil' suh'in-suh'in, I'm feeling more comfortable with 'em.
They left us dancers with "sloppy seconds", but y'know what? It'll only make us stronger!!!



Okay...I'm starting to talk nonsense...I gotta go to sleep. Big day tomorrow!!
I must go forth and wukkup on the boy-children of Barbados!

Ahhhh...Crop Over.

I SHOULD be sleeping right now, but I had the urge to blog. Last night, I went to the last Baje International Band fete before Kadooment. Water spray, blue body paint, gorgeous fellas everywhere...what else IS there in life? When I left, my lower back was aching from all the wines and grinds I threw down.

I would like to make a few random comments about last night:

*A man near kill muh wid juk. Not that he was THAT good of a dancer, just that he was ramming me from behind like there was no tomorrow (on reading that back, it sounds a tad pornographic)! Why do guys DO that? It's not as much fun for us as they think.

*I was on lock-down for the first time in...gee, quite a while! It was flattering, yet somewhat of a hindrance.

* Drunk men just don't get it! How is my plan, to mess with that guy's head, EVER gonna work, if he's too drunk to notice??? After messin' with MY head so much, he has it friggin' coming!

A quote by N. Kukamunga:

Happiness is...not having your period on Kadooment Day.

Last night I found myself in the midst of a mix of dancers and musicians. I could almost taste the energy from the artistic aura in the room.
There's just something about African dance...maybe it's that one must use their entire body when performing....maybe it's the wild abandon of the dancers...maybe it's the drums....my lord...the drums.

I can't seem to describe the rhythm those guys were laying down last night. I remember one guy ringing a cowbell in there somewhere.

Man, that beat was so infectious, I couldn't help but move to it. And it just kept getting faster and stronger as the dance went on. It was absolutely seductive.
I sat in awe...my whole world filled with this beautiful, vibrant music, and that pounding movement.
I remember feeling very proud of my ancestry.
I was moved.

Y'know, they say that life is all about learning, and I'm glad to say that I've learned a couple things about myself this past weekend:

1.) ...that I'm not squeamish about entering, or standing up , or even dancing, in a fete alone, and I haven't been for a quite a while.

2.)...that I rather like being one of those doting females, squealing with delight at the antics of a handsome male performer onstage. I used to look at dem udda girls with disdain before, but y'know what? I tried it, and it's fun.

3.)......that I kinda suck at beach volleyball. I had THOUGHT I was average, but I was informed otherwise. I thought I was puttin' in some effort by diving for the ball often, but apparently that was just me being clumsy and falling over a lot.

 C.O.T.

Quote of the day: " I want strong coffee, and further more, I want ya to grind it like ya never ground it before."

The other day my darling Aunt reminded me of something which I have managed to forget for the most part.
Something which I try to disguise, by wearing outfits that draw attention away from the offending area and over to more aesthetically-pleasing regions.
Something, which I had buried deep in the recesses of my psyche for a little while until, of course, she slap-patted me on the right buttock and giggled

"Heehee! Such a flat botcy!"

I ignored the snickers of my Grandfather's housekeeper, and took it in stride.

My father was the one who first brought my mediocre booty to my attention, and at the time, it only served to lessen my fragile teenage self-image.

But I think the time has come for me to stop running from myself and just accept it...yes, I am a black woman with an uncharacteristically flat ass.
However, now I will make sure that whatever I lack in protrusion, I'll make up for, in enthusiasm.

I may be moved to write a poem about this sometime in the future.

I gave myself 24 hours, i.e., all of Thursday, to dwell on my misery, so now it's back up in the "sunny saddle" for me today!

Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately, heheh,) my plans to wallow in melancholy with Vin Deisel on a solo trip to the cinema, were thwarted when I ran into a certain HellRaiser. Suddenly, I found myself in the middle of a movie lime! Darn all wunna who made me be all happy and normal during my wallowing period! You people owe me 2 hrs of misery!

So tonight, I'm off to my favourite band fete to share a little joy, and shake a little booty! If I see this dude again, I'll flash 'im a smile and give an extra saucy flick of my skirt as I walk past.

Shot to fuck down

Rejected...again.

I
hate
this.

Little known fact about my house:

If one looks carefully enough, one can find at least one clothes-pin in every room.

C.O.T.

Great scott! That beautiful guy...I...I think he likes me! Why didn't I get his number???

C.O.T.
This topic is completely unrelated to the one above.

Some people can be SO disrespectful.
I'm walkin' along in "The Gap" with my brother the other night, and this raggedy car pulls up alongside us, full of what looks like rather unsavoury characters. They start asking "Da's you man?" and makin' comments like "He too small fa you baby! You needs someone more bigguh dan he!"
And THEN, the smooth guy in the passenger seat really lays down the charm:
"My friend, I would love to eat you...you would like da?"
And worse still: "Seriously, I cud get you numbah?"

BLEEEECCCHHHHHHHHH!

Last night I went to my first calypso tent: Virgin Atlantic Headliners!

It was bare kix,and hilarious as whoah, especially the M.C. for the night.
I think I'm in love with Andrew Pilgrim.
At some point during the show, before I knew what I was doin', I yelled out "Andrew, we love you!" Of course, the people who I was with, kinda shrunk back in their seats when he shaded his eyes, looked out into the audience asked "Wait, who's dat dat love me boh?" and I raised my hand.
Hee hee. Such a rush.

THEN I went to the Baje band fete which was groovy. And I ran into that beautiful guy again.
Oh, why must he puzzle me so? This time he talked to me willingly enough. Sorta. I notice that his lips seem looser after he's had a couple drinkies. Not very reassuring.
Again...I remind myself that I'm not chasing after him, cuz he's too unreadable...but at the same time, I can't help but be intrigued this odd behaviour.

Whatever.

Opinions, Observations and Assumptions

*I know quite a few big-headed people (I mean people who actually have big heads, not people who think too much of themselves).

*The "Cancel" button on the office printer is completely useless. No matter when, nor how many times, nor hor hard I press it, the wretched printer goes right ahead and prints anyway.

*One sounds like a rednecked, country-bumpkin when one calls the country Eye-raq, instead of Ee-raq.

*Pearls are "old lady" jewelery.

C.O.T.
Right this minute, I believe my thighs are suffering the worst case of muscle-boundedness they have ever suffered.
Why, I can barely walk...I have to kind of shuffle. Even driving hurts.
And, I'll confess, I'm not takin' it like a soldier either. I'm groaning and wincing and complaining bitterly with every step. And I'm loving every minute of it!

It's Sunday night, after b'room practice. I don't feel like goin' out, yet I don't feel much like sleeping either.

I feel like blogging. I'm in a weird kind of mood right now where I feel like opening my soul right here in my little web-nook, and I have to try very hard to restrain myself, and remind myself that other people read this. Maybe I"ll let myself ramble...

C.O.T.
My dance partner's ex-partner is back in BIM on holiday, and she came to class today so I had to share him. I'll admit it...now, once and for all: I do feel threatened by her. Geez, I hate sayinging that, but I also realise that there're benefits to facing your own human weaknesses.

It's not only that she's such a good dancer that bugs me, it's that she is so obviously an outsider and yet she makes no effort to adapt to our customs in class. This is a quality which I both admire and dislike.
She'll go right ahead doin' full-body warm-up stretches in tight short skirts...she'll go right ahead walking past everyone without speaking, heading straight for the furthest corner in the room,... and she'll go right ahead dancing even the crummiest line dance routines as if she's in a Broadway musical.

Maybe one day I'll be that uninhibited.

C.O.T.
I'm tryin' my damndest to keep from developing a crush on Mr. Push-up King. That'd do me no good whatsoever.

For just a fleeting moment, I was thinking about listening to my mischievous Part B who has recently been whispering things like
"If ya can't get your own man, get somebody else's!"
I think I've snapped out of it...for the most part.

Daana's Weekend Escapades

Friday>

I made the long and treacherous journey all the way up to Baku, for the Baje Int'l band launch. Ahhh, I love Crop-Over. I love seeing people dat ya don't see for ages and gettin' bare hugs and kisses!

Saturday>

Riddle: Why did Daana go to BoatYard? Answer: To dance. In the rain.

Good grief! That had to be THE wettest I've ever been in a fete! Despite torrential showers, the Moonshine Foam Fete was bare sport. So much choon....so much foam.
I have to admit, before this, I was feelin' a little off my rhythm, but I redeemed myself completely and got my booty-shakin' groove back!
And I met the most adorable little boy in de fete too. Heheh, playin' he tryin' to outjuk me? God bless his cute little cornrows.

Sunday>

McBrides, baby.
And who should step up in de place but that beautiful young man, who I just love to admire. Be still my heart.
Even though he gave me the brush-off last time, I was still glad to see him. I can be such a sucker for punishment.
Once again he was accompanied by his two bodyguards. I wonder if he pays them....cuz de men were on-duty fa sure!

*Sigh* And I'm still no better at understanding this boy.

My attempts at striking up a conversation with him were met with mostly one-word, lack-luster responses (even when I tried to break the ice with a couple of my corny comments), and yet, for the duration of the night I noticed that he was sneakin' peaks at me. What the heck is up with that boy?
Awright, so he's shy...I GOT that memo...but geez, if this is the problem, this boy takes shyness to a whole 'nother level that is WAY beyond my scope of perception!
He better get a clue.

And that was my weekend. Three nights...three fetes. I was quite the good little party-animal.

My weekend at Time Out In The Gap was just fabulous!
For the most part, I lounged in my room, simultaneously reading, watchin' t.v. and snackin' on peanut butter (yeah, I caved).
Now this may seem mind-numbingly boring to some folks, but to me, the complete, yet all too temporary, privacy was absolutely invigorating! I was completely alone, doin' whatever I wanted to do (which occasionally included bouncing on the queen-sized bed), nobody callin' my name for anything...it was magnificent.

I even went down and chilled by the pool with the tourist peops. I was the only black person there, and I have to admit, I was feelin' somewhat like a bronze goddess in a sea of pale skin.

And as far as I could tell I wasn't treated any differently from any other guests. The receptionist lady was nice.

Secret Agent Naolat pun de case.

Awright, so this weekend I check into one of the Gems of Barbados hotels, and I've made it my mission to see if I, a local, am treated differently to the guests from "over 'n' away".

I plan to be all up in the pool, the gym, and whatever other facilities they may try to hide from me.

This should be fun.

This morning I had a little chat with my family about our electricity bills. I have a little problem with 'em: they're too friggin' high! The bills, not my family.

I've suggested some ways to cut costs in that area, and they'd better not fall on deaf ears, or I will be forced to put my foot down!

Energy-Saving Tips

Minimize the number of times the fridge is opened by taking everything you need, out at the same time. This is tricky at first, but with a little planning, it'll work out.

For rastaman's sake, turn off all t.v.'s, fans, and radio's if you aren't usin' 'em! It's not rocket science, just press the "off" button when you're leavin' the room!

Try ironing everything you need for the week in one go. This'll seem like a humongous drag, but believe me, it'll be easier on your pocket. Or whoever's pocket the bill money comes from.

There's no need to run to the microwave if your food happens to drop half a degree from "burn-your-mouth" temperatures...just eat it! It won't poison you.

I've nominated myself the official Energy Police in my house, and my family WILL respect my authoritaw! (Who got that?)

Father's Day is nearly upon us, and the only gift ideas I have so far are speedo-style swim briefs, and/or a dvd.
Arrrgh! Why must he be so picky? I've learned the hard way about many gifts that my Dad just won't use.

Unsuitable Presents For My Father:
1.) black leather men's tote with shoulder strap
2.) framed "holographic" waterfall scene
3.) any cologne (he's allergic)
4.) cufflinks
5.) voucher for a para-sailing session
6.) any type of jewellery
7.) silk shirts (see #3)
8.) The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe
9.) A bunch-a other stuff which I can't recall right now.

Any tools or electronic devices/equiptment that he wants, he just goes out and buys himself without givin' us the slightest hint. Sigh.

I really gotta put some thought into this too, since he already thinks that we like Mum better than him.

Today's Personal Achievement

This morning I refrained from buying a jar of delicious, yet fattening peanut butter, and got 4 delicious, yet boring apples instead.
Whoopee.

C.O.T.

I can't believe I forgot!

Timmy spoke to Lani and me on Saturday night as he left Boatyard!
THE Timmy!
The same one who likes to ride minivans, and share out Courvoisier, and set fire to the backsides of Barbados!

The whole thing went down like this:

Timmy: You girls shouldn't have to walk out here to de car. Ya should have transP!
Me: But de car's right here!
Timmy: So de girls goin' home now den.
Me: Uh, yeh, iz 'bout dat time.

Not the most profound conversation, but still.
He's a lot taller than I imagined too.

I'm going to try to blog everday this week, even if I have nothing of substance to say.

C.O.T.

Occasionally, I find that my judgement of other people's actions may be somewhat harsh, and this tends to temper my own actions, ie. stop me from doin' things that my Part B might want to do.

For example, I refrained from goin' to a football match for the sole purpose of scoping out one-a the players, because if any other chick had done it, I would-a thought her a "man-hungry trick, with too much time on her hands".
Even reading that back I'm thinkin' "Yikes Daanz, tek it easy."

One-a these days I'll try ignoring that nagging little voice in my head (which sounds suspiciously like my father) and just "goin' with the flow"