Recently, I asked the fairies to write a post for me.  Those magical creatures had been my friends for a long time and I hadn’t asked them for any favors since I was seven.  As far as time was concerned, they owed me.  Because I’m a nice person, I didn’t want to bother them while they worked so I called up a friend and went out.

We went to the The Cambridge Theatre to see Chicago.  *coughs*  Even though our seats were in the nosebleed section, they were the best seats in the house. *coughs*   Seeing Chicago perked up my bored, can’t be bothered cells like I’d just had an injection of happy.  I saw gorgeous men and women in skimpy, tight fitting outfits doing leaps, bends and twirls while singing and dancing.  Yep. Just what the doctor ordered.  

When I got home, my contemplative fairies had not completed their task.  Because I’m kind, I left them to it and my friend and I took a  trip to Berlin. The food in Germany’s capital was delicious; the weather was warm (hot actually), and the people friendly. On my last day there, I visited the Berlin Wall.  The concrete structure is having a face/spirit lift, done by various artists, and is a reminder that no matter how bad the destruction, our spirit will still soar.

As you can see, a little bit of culture never hurts.  *even the lazy fairies agree* 


In case you’re all worried, I’m alive and kicking.  I’m in the midst of two things right now.

1. My bathroom ceilings in my Atlanta place have water damage and mold.  The leak is coming from somewhere in the building and hasn’t been found.  So far, the condo management contact person has done next to nothing to remedy the problem – so I go from being in a rage and sending out massive emails with repair demands to being so stressed out, l I disassociate and go to bed.  This doesn’t happen all the time, but hey, it is a part of my reality.  I’ve also had to postpone my flight back to London and had to purchase/pay for a new airline ticket.  Management sitting on their laurels is costing me a truck load of money.  If they haven’t found the source of the leaks into my ceilings by my new departure date, I don’t really know what to do.  If anyone has dealt with this type of problem and can advise, please do.  Thanks.

2. I am 155 pages behind on my novel edits. *toothy, ferocious snarl*  When I’m not doing drama about those damn moldy ceilings, I’m reading and re-writing.  Can you believe that I’m 155 pages behind?  I can’t and it’s somebody else’s fault. *shakes fist at the air*

 I was trying to catch up on all the TV shows I hadn’t seen since  living in London – while my house rotted and my work went undone.   Since the switch from digital to analog TV, my rabbit ears and I been cut out of the media loop.  Innocent rabbit ears have been discriminated against. *sniffle*   This has forced me to focus my noggin on something else, like editing. 🙂   Anyhoo, I’m glad to be getting back on track.  Until I get 155 pages done of re-phrasing, adding words in, taking words out, washing my thumbs,etc – I will be on a blogging hiatus.  Wish me luck.  Cheers.


Tulane University’s class or 2009 graduated on Saturday, May 16th at 9a.m. and my nephew was one of them.  The commencement ceremony was held in the Superdome, yes the very same Superdome that housed people during the devastating events caused by Katrina.

The ceremony started with New Orleans jazz being played.  WOW!  Talk about authenticity. 

The commencement speaker was Ellen DeGeneres, that famous, good looking lesbian that has won 12 Emmys, has an award winning TV show and is also the new face of Covergirl Cosmetics.  She married the actress, Portia de Rossi.  That’s the Ellen I’m talking about.  She can now add receiving the President’s Medal from Tulane to her list of accolades.

Because I was sitting in the nose bleed section, I couldn’t run over and ask what she Portia and I were doing later – but it did cross my mind.  I even told my family not to wait up, just in case. HA!

I am very proud of my nephew who graduated from the School of Public Health and Tropical Medicine. When he was about three, I videotaped him studying ants.  He loved learning about nature and how things developed, even at that age. 

Thanks Ellen for making A’s graduation the best one I’ve ever attended.  It was good to be a lesbian on May 16th in the New Orleans Superdome.

PS. The lovely Harry Connick Jr. was there as well.

The ‘working title’ of my novel is SUMMER BREEZE. 

Several days before the event, I received tons of advice from my message board group on how to read without looking like an idiot.  For example:

 1. No drinking beforehand. (I really wanted a glass of wine or two to help me relax)  

2. Read my piece over and over before the event.  (If I I got too nervous – my mind/memory would automatically take over).  

3. Very Important.  Don’t read too fast.

Foyles was filling up and my nervousness was increasing.  My brilliant problem solving head took over.  Before I knew it, I was focused on something even more important than reading.  It was….TA-DAaaa….finding the perfect place to sit.  I tried out different seats for about thirty minutes.  It took that long because none of them seemed to ‘feel right.’ It was either under the air-conditioning vent or too near the podium, or I would have to climb over too many people.  It was exhausting.  This obsessive compulsion behavior continued until there were only three seats left and the show was about to start, forcing me to sit down.

When I stood at the podium and noticed all the people staring at me, my nerves started acting up again.  I couldn’t read my writing and the fainting I wanted to avoid was right around the corner.   In the nick of time, I saw people from my message board smiling and nodding, which helped me get a grip. *punches the air*

Giving my character her first public appearance was literally like giving birth to my baby.  I felt a tug of sadness because the person who had been with me at the character’s conception and through a great deal of my pregnancy wasn’t there. As I was reading, out of the corner of my eye I saw someone jumping about with a camera.  I glanced at her, did a quick smile, and then continued reading the story.  The double take that happened next was so huge, even the audience swiveled their necks like a sea wave to see what I was looking at.  It turned out that the missing person (baby daddy) *displaying my sense of humor* was the woman with the camera.

 Though my voice shook and I kept jutting my papers out at strange angles, my audience kept attentively listening.  My first time turned out to be a very positive one. *does happy dance*

 Thanks everybody for your support.  

Thanks, Chroma DEVINE Mentoring Scheme

UPDATE:  Photos Added





I’m finally settled into my new place. As some of you know, my two rooms (in shared housing) needed to be brought up to standard before I could move in. The bedroom walls were painted a hideous and depressing navy blue and its floor looked like dangerous, old planks in a barnyard attic. Certainly fit for hooves, but not for my feet. The living room needed painting as well. Thankfully the paint was only dirty beige. The floor was a thick, cruddy, blood brown color. The crud had to be sanded off and the floor freshly varnished. You may ask why the landlord didn’t handle those things? Because that’s not the way it’s done over here. Generally, if you want something done, you have to do it yourself and pay the cost. I had to buy the paint, the carpet, rent the sander and edger, and whatever supplies I needed without the benefit of having a car. Do you see my dilemma? *fake smile*

I hired a very able bodied worker to get the work done. Her partner did me a favor and chauffeured me to pick up the supplies. The job estimate was three days. Alas, the sander didn’t work properly and the sandpaper kept ripping off the machine. The edger wouldn’t work because one of its wheels kept falling off. After three days of using useless equipment, the nice woman who’d chauffeured me, helped me carry the sander – which weighed two tons – down a large flight of steps and into the trunk of her car. We delivered the crap equipment back and I asked for another edger. There was no way I was busting my guts carrying a sander back up a flight of steps. The second edger didn’t work back at location because this time, the wheels were too large. The able bodied worker did her best without the use of any proper equipment. I joined her on the fifth day (she didn’t have any more time to spare) and helped with the manual sanding and the varnishing.

The nice Rental Agency did not erase their charges even though their equipment was faulty. They were kind enough to give me a very small reduction and after I kept insisting. You may wonder why I didn’t raise more hell and teach them about customer service? Because Dorothy is no longer in Kansas and customer service is a foreign concept in these here parts.

Since I had no furniture, I had to sleep on the thinly carpeted bedroom floor for two/three nights. I was surrounded by my boxes so had a sense of familiarity. *wipes tears* I also didn’t have a thick blanket to warm me during the cold nights and practically froze my bits off. Not to mention that I couldn’t move any parts of my body in the morning without breaking bones that had frozen in place. The furniture I had ordered (from Ikea) wouldn’t be delivered for a few more days. Because I’m tough. I should have been able to bear it. *weeps loudly*

The furniture arrived. A bed, a wardrobe, a sofa, a table top and legs to make a desk, a coffee table. Everything arrived in pieces in boxes. Not a few large pieces, but loads of little pieces like in a jigsaw puzzle, only more intricate. It took me days to get things put together. Then more days to take them apart – because they were put together wrong. And then more days to realize that it wasn’t my fault and for Ikea to pick up their faulty furniture.

After all this time and effort, I still had no Duvet to keep me warm during the cold nights or even a pillow to rest my head. By now, my flat pack/furniture hands were swollen and full of splinters. *rubs fingertips* My bones ached from sleeping on a hard floor and I was feeling pretty damn miserable. I called a friend and asked if she could give me a ride to Ikea – to get the rest of the things I needed. She asked if I had tried a bus or a cab first. ☺

I caught the bus to Ikea and bought lamps, sheets, towels and the softest Duvet ever made. By the time I left Ikea, it was dark. I caught the bus home and just as I’d dreaded it happened. It was the wrong bus. I ended up in an area where people didn’t know which bus I should take or even where I could catch a cab. By the time I got home hours later, I was so miserable, I wanted to chop off my fingers and throw them in the trash.

My bed (made of 75 friggin Ikea pieces) is finally up. I sleep warmly at night. My clothes have been unpacked and been put away, I have a desk, a couch and a coffee table. I make myself hot tea every day and I’m officially settled in. My bedroom window doesn’t have a blind. Who cares? The blanket tacked to the wall is fine by me. The three naked light cords hanging off the ceiling are fine too. I’ll install new lamp fittings when I get a round toit. * wink, wink * The only thing I need to tackle is this cold, throat, sinus, headache hell thing I’m enduring. If you’re a nurse with kind hands and a soothing voice, could you please remove the splinters from my fingertips and kiss my feverish brow?

Thank you and good night.

I have found out that I don’t know how to date anymore.  Before my 5 1/2 year relationship, I was super smooooth.  I could make a gorgeous lady flutter just by looking at her. (I’m sticking to my story)  Out of my entire sexual life, it has been rare for anyone to turn me down or turn me away.  Now, I’m 5 1/2 years older, gained a bit of weight, lost a bit of confidence and am  realizing that I no longer have a clue.  I don’t know how I lost the notorious dating mojo, but I did.  I’m not used to rejection but have now received two let downs in the past four weeks. One I deserved because my style was obviously rudimentary.  The other, she was just plain rude.   Don’t get me wrong, I still receive attention from various and assorted, but thats not the point.  I want the ones that I’m selecting,  the ones that tick my tock and make me fly, high.  I want a mutual spin.  Not a one way, one sided  ticket.  Maybe I’m  reeking of desperation or looking too hungry.  That never stopped the magic of the mojo working for me before.  As a matter of fact, the hungrier I was, the more I was fed.  What has changed?  How did I slip between the dating cracks?  More importantly, how do I climb back out?  Though it pains me, I’m not opposed to accepting help from the charitable beautiful. 

If your answer is ‘maybe you should wait because you haven’t gotten over your ex yet’, I will ask you to move to the back of the line so someone else can speak.  Thank you.

PS.  I know.  I have to accept rejection, just like everybody else.  But I don’t want to.  Thats my story and I’m sticking to it.  Thanks for listening to my rant.

I mean Valentine’s Day.  I used to love it because it meant the day to show people an extra bit of attention.  Friends, family, my girlfriend, whomever I felt a spot of love for.  But I tell ya, being surrounded (for years) by people that run from the idea of extra sweetness will eventually put a crimp in your style.

Consider me crimped. Bah Humbug.  Check back with me next year for a change in my attitude.  Meanwhile, I’m going to go out and dance into an anti-Valentines Day frenzy. I’ll be doing choreographed moves, complete with leaps, batons and screeches.  I may even land on top of some doe eyed innocent who doesn’t understand interpretive dance.

Happy Anti-Valentines Day to you.  *passes out really good chocolates anyway*   🙂

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