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.