Christmas Eve...

My dad bought my mother a really great gift called The Roumba. It's basically a flat circular device that vacuums your floors for you. (Hottest thing I've ever seen) My mom couldn't wait until Christmas so we decided to test out our new gadget. We watch it push its bristles around my parents bedroom and digest dust and debris. One by one we leave and return to where the hens cluck in the kitchen. My dad decided to stay upstairs and watch the Roumba, just to see if it lives up to all the hype. (Basically trying to find any reason he might have to return it)

20 Minutes passed and we are still chatting in our coop, and then all of a sudden my whole world stopped moving for a brief moment. BAH BOOM BOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We all hear the thud through the ceiling, and without a word uttered we sprint up the stairs to where my father was. Titiah, then mom, myself, and then Toya. Never have I seen my mother move with such agility in my life.

We reach the double doors of the master bedroom and I don't even want to peer in, because I don't know what I'll see. I put molasses in my stride and let the future doctor pass, and enter the room before me. I turn my head into the room and see my father spread out on the floor with his head leaned against the door. My hands turn to fists and I press them so firmly against my cheeks. I furrow my brow as I quickly look over my father's motionless body, with the Roumba laying on his legs.

"Greg? Greg?" my mom calls out as Titiah grabs a pillow from the bed. Toya is on the floor trying to wake my dad, and I have cement in my slippers. Immobilized. He wakes, and then I breathe. First thing he says "Hey, Where's my buddy? Where the Roumba?" They let out a light hearted half of a chuckle, and make him as comfortable as possible on the floor. I, on the other hand let out no sign of emotion at his first words. I'm still in shock, and I can feel the tears welling up from my stomach. It was that deep. I slowly make my way to the very edge of the bed, and can't even look him in the eyes because I know the tears will stream. No one else is crying, so man up Deidre.

I did what I could to keep the tears back, but there was one unruly salt water drop that snuck away from the herd. One lonely tear was all I allowed myself at that moment, and I wiped it swiftly from my cheek with my pointer finger. He was fine a little while later, and everyone relaxed. But I smiled a fake smile and laughed fake laughter, for the rest of the day. I just couldn't stop thinking that this could have been the day I lost my father. He knew I was uneasy, after that incident and he just looked at me, brushed my cheek and said, "I'm okay Bubbie".

Reflection

1:47am

I'm up right now fighting killer cramps and waiting for my tea to cool to a sip-able temperature. My head is beating throbs of pain like a heart, and all I want is for the pain to subside long enough for me to drift to sleep. I'll just wait the 13 minutes until the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air comes on. I can recite those episodes by memory. Sleep is near. But of course, like all other nights when I can't sleep, my mental gears turn.

It being so close to the new year, I can't help but reflect on the past year. This has been a crazy year for me, and I'm more than happy that it's over. Usually the year flies by without enough time to reminisce, but this year has moved at a slugs pace and carried me over every bump along the way. While it has been an awful year of hurt and disappointment, it has been a tremendous year of growth. It's a shame that It had to take so much for me to see my potential, but some people just need a swift kick in the behind. And that's what this year did. Kicked my butt until I finally GOT IT!

I lost friends. I acted before thinking. I gossiped. I lied. I was lied to. I got angry... a lot. I stopped praying. Mom got laid off. Dad didn't get any better. Money was tight. I stopped loving, for fear it would backfire again. I sold myself short. I did not love myself enough. I had to leave school, and I stained my credibility with people I love... to say the least.

But my skin got a little tougher, and I thank God for the trials. I lived, I learned, and I'm ready to start next year with this new found knowledge.

I await my fate for 2008.

Guilty pleasure...

I throw myself on the mercy of the Blog community... I have been neglecting my readers, and I'm sorry. It's not because I've been so distracted and dedicated to my book. I wish it was that. But the reason I haven't written anything, is because I've been preoccupied. I made the mistake of borrowing my sister's Sex and the City DVD's...The whole collection!!! And I've been watching that on the majority of my nights, when I should be writing. I don't know what it is about that show, but I think it has me in a trance. I can watch 6 full episodes and feel like its only been an hour. But little do I know it's 3 in the morning. Granted its full of graphic sex scenes, vulgar language (thanks to Samantha), and more drinking than these stank rappers yacht parties. But there are elements of the show that I find appealing. Besides all of the HILARIOUS embarrassing sexual experiences they all have had, and the random WEIRD men that haunt women in NYC, It's their friendship that makes me slightly jealous.

They all live in close enough proximity that they can have breakfast as often as possible. They sit and talk about ANYTHING and EVERYTHING over breakfast. They are so open with each other, because they know that what is said at the table stays at the table. They tell each other about their problems, and inquire for friendly advice. They fight, and make up all in the same episode. And they aren't afraid to tell each other when they are MESSING UP! Point blank they are there for each other in EVERY sense of the word. I hope I can be a friend like that, and have friends like that in my life.

But for someone like myself who is single, just like the ladies on Sex and the City, it helps me to evaluate what type of man I'm really looking for, and who to steer clear of. Of Course the show isn't my guideline for love, but some of those questions Carrie Bradshaw conjures, really make me think. What are we fighting for after we break up with someone? and what are all of the male and female insecurities in a relationships. I love it all.

I'm pretty sure the only way I can balance my guilty pleasure and my writing, Is if I write about my guilty pleasure. I've decided my next few blog will be my own views to some of my favorite relationship questions that Carrie researches about in here column. Should be interesting. Well I think it's about time to go change discs. Season 4 here I come...

Sincerely,
No sex in the burbs

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I don't know what I’m doing here. Every time I say I won't accept anymore invitations I always seem to find myself sitting on a couch wondering how I got there. My girls and I usually go just to observe everyone else, and to have something to talk about the next day. But strangely enough I was here alone, with not one of my girls to giggle and gossip with. The entire house was almost pitch black. If it wasn't for the faint light coming from the DJ equipment I wouldn't be able to see my hand in front of my face. Every now and then I could feel a quick draft from the door opening and a gust of wind tickling my legs. The room was getting packed and I wish I was back in my dorm room watching a movie, and eating pizza.

The main event took place in the basement, where couches were covered with grinding bodies, and sweet laden woman lap dancing. The walls were even beginning to sweat and I could feel the drip forming on my brow. So much for my makeup.

It was an obstacle trying to get through the labyrinth of people and make my way to the kitchen. Somehow I made it. The pungency of body odor and warm spilled liquor in the carpet combined and made my stomach flip, and made me swallow hard. A girl sat on the counter top being “macked” to by a senior ball player. Her legs practically gapping open in her black mini skirt, letting him know she's interested. These dance parties usually turned into a mating frenzy like salmon during their last chance to spawn.

The mood in the house is strange. Everyone is on a high like hippies in the 1960's. The volume of the music makes it hard to even think, let alone have ration and logic. I guess I should relax and try to have a good time.

“What's up ma?” said Edgar. I didn’t even see him approach me. He was good friend of mine who I met my freshman year in college. He was a great looking guy with a body of a God. He played basketball like no one I've ever met in person. He always had a way of making me blush when he went out of his way to say hello. We never had any intimate moments, but we always liked making little flirtatious jokes with one another.

“Hey Ed, what's good. You enjoying yourself?”

“Yeah Jackie this party is live. Where's your girl Melinda? You know this party ain't a party without her. I still remember the time when she danced on that coffee table at Maya's house warming party. Boy was she pissed when the leg just broke from right under the thing.” Ed said taking another sip of his bottle.

I wish Melinda was here. She was my best friend and always the life of every party. I didn't matter if it was a bar mitzvah or a baby shower. Where ever she was it turned into the Melinda show. That's why I loved her. We balanced each other out. I could never be that outgoing and fearless.

“Want one?” Ed gestured his Corona in my direction.

I was never much of a liquor drinker, and I know I shouldn't be drinking liquor at this party by myself. It would be different if I had one of my girls here so we could keep an eye on each other. Ed could read my discomfort with his question.

“Um...? I contemplated

“Nah it's cool. Don't even sweat it Jackie, I didn't want to be impolite and not offer you something to drink. We have water, juice, and soda in the refrigerator. Can I get you anything else?

I really wanted to keep a level head tonight, but something kept telling me to live a little and have some fun tonight. Ed just stared at me while I ping ponged the idea of what I should do. Battling with decisions in crunch time always left me making the wrong choice. If I don't have enough time for good judgment and reason to set in, I usually flunk the test.

“You know what Ed, mix me up something special” I tried to deliver my line cool as a cucumber.

A cheesy grin spread across Edgar's face. He must have seen right through my “too cool” act. I watched him as he made his way to a make shift bartending station, with lemon wedges in one red plastic cup, and limes in another. I had no clue what he was doing over there, but I made sure I watched him closely. Little bit of this, and a little bit of that, mixed with some juice and my cocktail was ready. He handed it to me and I peered down into the mixture like it was poison.

“Let me know if it's too strong”

I took a sip of the concoction and could feel my organs melting away from the inside out. He was watching me so closely while I sipped, I could just smirk an uncomfortably smirk and sip again. It tasted like tropical nail polish remover, with a twist of lemon. But I kept drinking it, until I saw the bottom of the cup. I couldn't take another one of Ed's citrus cyanides, so I quickly decline Ed's offer of a refill. I decided Smirnoff was a better choice. That tasted like sprite to me. My buzz increased after the third bottle so I thought it best to calm down with my liquor intake.

The loud thump of the music pulled my limbs in rhythmic directions like a marionette doll. I chose to seclude myself from the crowd and found my own corner to dance in. I liked it better there. No one was staring at me, or accidentally rubbing on inappropriate parts of my body. I was really dancing like no one was watching. My hips swayed like the ocean and it made me feel sexy. I didn't need anyone to tell me I was, because I knew it.

It had to be 2am, and my little piece of the room was no longer private. As more people drifted in, my space was getting tighter and tighter. Just when I was really getting a workout, these people had to ruin it for me. I was used to dancing alone, because big girls like me don't usually get that much love on the dance floor. But every now and then a brave man who thinks he can handle it attempts to break me off.

That's when I saw Mr. Brave.

He came into my vision wearing a green and yellow button up shirt, black dickies, and a pair of the freshest black timberland boots I've ever seen. He was alright looking, but what caught my eye was the Jamaican flag hanging out of his pocket. If he's Jamaican that means he must be able to dance. A white towel he used to wipe his glistening brow hung off of his shoulder. As he made his way through the crowd I knew he was coming to dance with me. I just kept my rhythm and avoided eye contact.

His almond skin glowed as small beads of sweat clustered on his forehead. I had a real weakness for tall men. I'm 5'9” and it's always been a struggle finding a man tall enough for me, luckily Mr. Brave was just right. I would guess he was at least 6'3” with a football player’s frame, and the sexiest walk I’ve ever seen. And just like he was walking on a cloud he drifted right to me. As much as I tried to ignore him, his presence was as strong as his Curve cologne. He stepped in front of me and his aroma intoxicated me all over again. At that moment, the strength in my knees floated through the vents.

He didn't ask, and I didn’t look up. We just synchronized our movements to the reggae rhythm like it was second nature. I could have dance all night with Mr. Brave and Wayne Wonder on the stereo. He wasn’t vulgar, or trying to bend me over to the floor. He was sweet as sugar.

I tried to take a glance back at him and see his face in its entire splendor, but I couldn’t do it without looking over eager. I twist my head quickly back to the front.

“You alright Ma?” His deep voice dripped like warm molasses. My knees almost gave out from under me, but his strong hands were holding me up.

I nodded yes, to let him know I was more than alright.

“Ladies and gentlemen” the DJ announced over the microphone. “We ‘bout to slow things down a little bit, and play some old jams. So grab that special someone and hit the dance floor.”

The announcement made me nervous like I was in a thong bikini contest. I only had one choice. I had to turn around and finally stare my Mr. Brave in his eyes. I mustered enough courage and did a smooth about-face to witness the prize I was about to claim. But instead of almond skin and a perfect smile, I saw his wide back and the Yankees emblem on his backwards cap. As I turned to face Mr. Brave, he turned to notice a different half naked girl who quickly wrapped her manicured hands around his neck.

To my horror I was in the center of a slow grinding coupled cluster. I was the only solo girl on the floor. Sigh…great just my luck.

“Excuse me. Oh sorry. Excuse me” I thought skinny thoughts as I tried to make a dignified exit. But everyone who saw me knew that I was leaving the dance floor because I didn’t have a special someone.

It was true. I didn’t.

How Will I Be Remembered?

My sister is in med school and she is doing her geriatric rotations. Her days mostly consist of home visits where she gives the elderly people they regular check ups, and tries to make them feel as comfortable as possible. For one of her classes she has to do an 10 minute presentation on death. It can be anything she wants so she thought to get her families perspective on death. She called us and asked us all the same questions. How do you feel about death?

I don't know if this is normal or not but I think about death all the time. I've experienced death and funerals at a very young age when my grandmother died. Since that day it seemed like I was always at someone's funeral. In high school death has taken away a handful of my friends. Car accidents, suicide, and even random heart failure. Since those days death has been on my mind quite often.

Any person who has been close to me has had their own mock funeral in my mind. I've seen them in the casket, and mourning friends and family dressed in black. The thoughts don't last very long, but the sadness lingers. I might even shed a few tears. Why do I do this? I don't really know. I think I have had so many friends and family die unexpectedly that I try to prepare myself before they suddenly die. So I won't be a wreck, because I've already seen it in my head.

What's interesting is how my family views death. My mom and dad just want to make sure their kids are taken care, and their money divided amongst us, and they don't want us to struggle because of their death. My oldest sister says before she dies she wants her money, and her career. They are more practical. But its weird that none of that even enters my mind. I don't care about my career of money. I am more concerned with how I will be remembered, and if I righted all of my wrongs. I want to know I loved with my whole heart, and that I sincerely forgave. I want to be known for my contagious laughter, and encouraging advice. I figure death is a part of life and I shouldn't let it take such precedence in my thoughts, because its a crazy thing that can't be controlled or predicted. But while I'm here on this earth I will live my life to the fullest, and be known for being someone I can be proud of.