Wednesday, May 27, 2009


I’m almost sick over last night's disaster…oh; you guys probably thought I was talking about the Bible…not this time. I’m talking about the OTHER King James – L’B J (I think you know by now). I mean, I’m more of a football fan but I LOVE THAT MAN! He is truly the KING of the court – amazing happens where he is! Ok, that’s enough praise for now; let’s get down to the real issue.

WHY on God’s green earth does everyone else on the team get a ga-million dollar check every week if they don’t want to perform in the PLAYOFFS?!?!?! I mean, riddle me this; they are supposed to be the elite basketball players…which is how they made it into the NBA yeah, I’m sure there are thousands of street balla’s doing the darn thing, but they’re not getting paid the big bucks. These Cavalier co-stars have been acting like they’re playing a charity game against a handicap girlscout squad.

If L BOOGIE (not Lauren Hill) can throw down an average of 40 points per game, then DAMMIT these cats can pick up the slack. If all they want to do is cheer when King James scores they might as well move back a couple rows and call themselves fans…since they’re already wearing jerseys.

I read an article in which LB said “I know I’m ready” (in reference to the remaining playoff games). Clearly, he’s singled himself wayyyyy apart from his fans…I mean, teammates. I’m no sports journalist or commentator, just a woman with eyes and what I’ve seen is Mr. James working his big-pretty-black butt off with little to no help and it’s just not fair…I wish I could help him, but I’d only offer him something to lean on (lol).

I know the poor baby is frustrated and tired and just wants his mama (lol – I’m laughing at my secret thoughts). I’m sure he’s read those guys the riot act, especially since he’s been the king of the court for years and has yet to win the championship. I think I can pretty-much pick up what I think he’s putt’n down, but I’d still like to hear the King James version, maybe over a glass of wine and dinner…maybe…maybe!

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Ova The Hill?


I met this guy about two years ago at a networking event and was completely enamored by him on sight. I mean, when my eyes fixed on him, my lips wanted to kiss him and my mind called him my “new boyfriend!” Anyway, turns out he was married; we exchanged business contact info, engaged in some idle chatter and got out of each others face (before a problem arose).

I saw him waiting for the train the other morning and because I didn’t like my hair – nor my shoes – and my nails needed a fresh coat – and my mood was tired, I positioned myself behind a pillar, out of his view…yes, I hid!

Man, he looked even better than when I first met him. I laughed at myself (once I was tucked safely away in another car). I sat smiling on the inside and thinking…I’m too old for this shyte!


My girl-crew and I decided to have a social night on the town a couple weeks ago; my best friend suggested pole dancing, so that’s where the eight of us headed. We were psyched and full of red wine…this was going to be the best girl’s night ever.

There were about ten other women in the spot, including the instructors (aka strippers – sike). The disco lights and music set the atmosphere to HO, the wine had me at SUPER-HO and I was ready to get my pole on…or should I say “get my – on the pole.”

I swirled and twirled and strutted and switched, until the instructor (stripper – lol) said she didn’t like how I was moving – she said I needed more “umph” in my sway. I went on at my best for about another half hour, slowly realizing that the hope of supplementing my income as a part-time private dancer was dissipating, almost as fast as I fell slid down that pole.

About ten minutes before the music stopped, I’d decided I had enough humiliation for one evening and changed out of my stripper gear; knocked off the last of the wine as I sat wondering why my right arm felt swollen… I soothed my bruised ego with the affirmation that I’m just too old for this shyte!