This one is an oldy but goody.

Several years ago on Christmas Eve, I was on my way to long island via the 6 train.  I was waiting on the platform for the E at 51st wearing my OPB bag looking all kinds of tired minding my own business. 

This dude walks by looks at me, looks at my letters and comes back.  Now I don’t normally wear letters whilst out and about in the city.  As the man approached I thought he was a fellow greek that would then ask me the litany of greek questions: where did you pledge, what semester, what number are you, do you know so and so?

The man approached and asked, “what letters are those?”  i told him and he nodded (no clue wtf i was talking about), then proceeded to ask all kinds of questions about me.  I really didn’t try engage and gave short answers but he persisted. 

The train and came and he asked if i was getting on or if I could stand on the platform and talk a little longer.  I told him no, I had someplace to be.  He asked if he could get on the train too.  I said, “it’s a free country.” 

This man sat on the train next to me and asked me if i went to school.  I said yes.  He asked if I finished.  ::side eye:: “of course, i said.”  He said he went to school too but left after a semester. pause.

He asked what my major was.  I told him Africana studies.  He then proceeded to tell me that was racist.  ::side eye::

Apparently as he explained to me studying African and African American history and whatnot was racist because your focus is on this one group however that isn’t a bad thing because “racism” is actually a positive word that means love and appreciation of ones culture.  [i’m paraphrasing of course].

I let him baubber on for a bit because I saw the train was approaching 34th.  I got up and said, “this is me, have a nice one.”  And he of course got up and walked with me. 

Now he started talking about how beautiful I was and how I looked like I would make beautiful children.  Yup.  Apparently he has this amazing insight into the capabilities of my ovaries and uterus,

Anyhoo he carries on about how he isn’t like other guys.  He doesn’t play around.  He doesn’t date multiple girls.  Blah blah.  [I swear walking from the E to the turnstile took forever]

He tells me that he’s looking for his future wife and from what he can see I look like I would bear beautiful children.  Now i’m finally at the turnstile so to be polite and stop him from following me further I say, “hey give me your number because I gotta go.”  He goes ok, then pauses.

Ahem….He reminds me that he doesn’t play around and he’s looking for a potential wife. I go, “ok.”  Then he says that he has to ask me a very important question before he can give me his number. 

Now at this point I could have just left but I felt like I owed it to myself to hang in there because this would make a hilarious story and I wasn’t a quitter!

I sighed and said, “what, I have to go.”

He says to me straight-faced, “As I said, I’m looking for my future wife.  So I need to know.  Are you….pure?”

“What?”

“Are you a virgin? The woman I marry must be a virgin.”

I kind of thought he was taking it there but I think I had to hear it to really believe it.

“First of all you are a stranger to me and second of all I do not feel comfortable discussing such matters at the turnstile in Penn Station.  You have a good day and good luck finding a virgin on the train.”

As I walked towards Penn I could still hear him asking me to answer the question.  Not today sir. Not today.

So I decided to go to the bar up the block from my house to watch some basketball.  When I entered the bar it was me and one older man that was not shy about showing the world his ass crack. [ By world I mean me and the lady bartender.] 

I watched the first game in peace, sipping my Blue Moon.  The college game started and I think I got about 2 minutes to myself before Mr. Wannabe Thug walked in.

As I stated previously, the bar was relatively empty.  There was really no reason for this man to enter whilst speaking on the phone at that volume.  His conversation was very clear, “nigga this,”  “nigga that,” “i woke up next to some trick from the strip club,” “last night i was throwing hundreds in the air…”

bbm face

Now I hadn’t LOOKED at the man.  I assumed he was some type of dark-skinnded color person to be throwing out a”niggas” like confetti.  Of course I was wrong.

Out of all of the empty barstools in that place this man (of course) chose the one next to me. 

He sat down and ordered henny (of course).  Once  he had his drink he picked up his phone and the confetti flew once again.  He went in detail about the previous night at the strip club.  He made it rain and woke up with  some stranger, etc. etc. etc. 

I ordered another drink just as he finished his convo.  He asked me if I was drinking beer.  I replied, “yes it appears that way as I am drinking from a blue moon beer mug –_- “Was that sarcasm?” he asked.  “It seems that way I replied.”

Now I actually LOOKED at the man and noticed that he kind of resembled elmer fudd but with a thin moustache. 

He asked me if I was watching the game.  “yup.”  I thought the fact that my body was pointed towards the game and  I was in fact watching the game was a clear indication of my intentions for the evening.

He asked me who I was rooting for.  I replied Notre Dame.  He asked why and I told him that Kentucky had beaten my school in the Sweet Sixteen last year.  Then he asked me to explain March Madness to him. FAIL.

Anyhoot what ensued was a barrage of questions from this man about me, what did I do, where I was from, blah blah blah.  He told me about himself, he was 32 Italian, from the Bronx, and fresh out of prison.  Apparently he had done 6 years for a crime he didn’t commit, was let go, and had a pending lawsuit against the city. 

He saw the tattoo on my arm and asked me what it was.  I told him Invictus as he read my arm.  He asked me if I really knew what the paragraph that I had on my arm meant so I elaborated on what it meant to me. Then he asked me what I was currently reading and what I had recently finished.  He read a lot in prison but didn’t quite get around to any of my books.

After all of that he tells me that I am intimidating.  Apparently when he came in and saw me I scared him which is why he jumped on the phone.  That was his comfort zone.  He hadn’t been intimidated by a woman in a while so apparently this was a big deal.  I wanted to mention that perhaps the reason was because he wasn’t around a lot of women in prison but I figured that might be going too far.

We continued to chat and said that he would love to lay in bed discussing current novels.  Then he asked if I would be up for it. I politely declined and told him that he had already had enough fun the previous night.  Now I don’t know in what crazy world would a woman say, “Yes recently freed felon, I would LOVE to go to your home (or invite you to mine) so that we can lay in bed and discuss current novels.  This definitely sounds like a SMART decision considering you spent the previous evening at strip club buying bottles, throwing money in the air, and bedding whores.” 

I closed my tab and took out money to pay and was told to put my money away because that was insulting.  He told the bartender to put my tab on his.  I said thank you and left. 

All in all, I learned a lot that evening and had my drinks paid for.  WIN

A few days ago I was minding my own business waiting for the C train at 86th street.  I saw a man to my left that appeared to be staring at me.  It happens from time to time (the staring), so I turned and rushed onto the train hoping that he would go elsewhere.

I sat and of course the man sat right next to me although there was plenty of room on the train to sit elsewhere.  He bumped into me, said “excuse me,” and I made the mistake of replying, “it’s ok.”  That apparently was the green light for our courtship.

He begin with compliments about how beautiful I was, my skin and hair, blah blah blah.  Then he said that we could get married and have a daughter.  He apparently had a big bed and room in his special house on 22nd where I could live.  All I had to do was have his social worker check me out first to make sure that I was ok.

ERRRRRP.  It didn’t take me too long to realize that this man was “special.”   For this reason I was not mean or nasty, nor did I engage him with questions and such.  I simply nodded and answered yes or no hoping the train would move quicker.

He asked me if I could fall in love with him then he said, “I bet you’re married.”  I told him that unfortunately I was married and deeply in love with my husband so our love story could never begin.  He was upset but then went on about how he was in love with another woman but she did him wrong.  I think the woman that he was referring to was a prostitute in Harlem because he mentioned her walking back and forth around 125th street, ignoring his advances.  That made him angry and apparently no one wants to see him when he’s angry.

After that story he told me that he was 46 and in love with yet another woman who was 55.  They held hands and kissed on the cheek.  Apparently she told him she would take him out for Valentines day AND his birthday which was in April. He said he felt that she really loved him and could marry him but there would be no children because she was so old.  I told him that it was nice that he had found love and she seemed like a really nice lady.

He asked me again if I could fall in love with him and I said unfortunately no, because my heart belonged to another man.  He asked how long I had been married.  I said almost a year.  He asked when my anniversary was.  I said June 11th.  He asked me if he could call me if it didn’t work out between me and my husband., He would take me out for Valentines Day and my birthday.  I told him no, because our love was so strong and besides, he had that other woman who CLEARLY loved him (the old woman, not the  streetwalker).

He continued on with the flattery and I told him thank you for the kind words.  I wished him luck and a happy early birthday as I exited the train at 34th street.

Yup 34th street.  All of this happened in a span of 52 blocks.

In no particular order….you might find these individuals in your work place:

The anti-social worker.  You know this person.  Never speaks, never says hi.  You’ll say hi and good morning for a week in a row and they’ll just keep walking by.  You can sneeze for days and they’ll stare at you blankly. 

The overly-social worker.  This person is a little too friendly.  All up in the kool-aid, doesn’t know the flavor.  With this person those rhetoric questions of, “hey how are you?” or “how was your weekend?” turn into long-winded over-shares that make you feel a little less like yourself.  Sometimes you turn into the anti-social worker after a few days of this crap.

People who ask questions that answer themselves.  My favorite is, “hey did you have a chance to send blah blah file?”  To which I want to reply, “ did you receive blah blah file from me?  If I had a chance to send it I would have and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” 

The “are you busy –poop face people” I hate when people ask you, “hey are you busy?”  You say, ‘yes” and they make a face as if they’re taking a shit. The face is usually followed by an “ooohh, do you think I can bother you when you have a chance?”  Now I appreciate you asking if i’m busy before you bombard me with stupid questions that probably answer themselves, however what did you expect me to say?  No, i’m not busy, I’m sitting here with my thumb up my butt waiting for someone to ask me if i’m busy.  Why the poop face when I tell you that i’m actually doing my job??

The “I’m on lunch” people. (These can also be people who are “off the clock”).   I appreciate lunch time.  I usually try to have my lunch elsewhere so that people recognize that i’m not working.  The one thing I do hate though is when people don’t want to answer simple questions because they’re on lunch.  If the question requires a yes or no answer and little to no physical exertion, I will answer it and you should too.  Anything that involves me looking for something is off limits.

The happy hour/company party drunks.  Selecting your friends for happy hour is a very important decision.  Your selecting people who will see how you really are.  Now usually you have fun and let loose with this select group of people, not everyone that invites you to happy hour.  Definitely not at the company party (unless you work for a company that repays their workers in liquor *cough fireball, Jess and Amy).  I never understand why people are drunk grinding on each other at the company party.  If you do that at night at the club you might not have to see those people until the next weekend (if at all).  if you do that at work you have to see them tomorrow, and the next day and the day after that (if you still have a job).

The people who have personal conversations with reckless abandon.  A few years ago i shared a 4 person cube.  The girl in the far corner used to have long conversations about all kinds of foolishness, boys she was dating (how i don’t know), her gyno, job interviews she was going on.  Dwight has long conversations too sometimes in our office other times he will leave and go into a conference room.  I thought the workday was for actual work.  I usually don’t talk on the phone unless it’s an emergency or lunch of for about five minutes or so max.  No 1.5-2 hour long conversations.

The people who have no time for work stuff but plenty of time for fun stuff.  We are all guilty of sneaking some time to check facebook or hop on google chat but that can’t be how you spend the majority of your day.  That definitely can’t be what you’re “busy” doing all day. 

The long-winded explainer.  Usually when I ask what happened with xyz, I want a concrete answer of what specifically happened.  I don’t care about how the sky looked, the air temp, how you were feeling when it happened.  Just the facts please.  This also happens when they’re asking you to do something.  I usually say, “let me know which items you need and i’ll get them.”  They respond by reading the paper verbatim and telling me a little story about it.  Look dude, I’m an adult and I can read.  Let’s save some time here.

The indecisive pausers.  I hate when people are indecisive in general.  It’s even more annoying when they’re indecisive and the add that long pause where they expect you to fill in what they should do.    Sometimes I counter their pause with an even longer pause.  This leads to absolutely nothing getting done.

The people who ignore what you say then get mad when they don’t get what they want.  Example.  Co-worker asks you what a reasonable deadline is for a job.  You tell him. He disregards what you says and shrinks your deadline.  You tell him, ummm that’s not going work.  He tells you make it work.  Guess what, it doesn’t work and turns into a big old argument.

That person with crazy-eye.  I have been fortunate enough to only experience crazy-eye at one place.  I suggest everyone experience crazy-eye to better prepare you future jobs.  How to spot crazy eye?  Usually crazy-eye is completely irrational.  You cannot win no matter what you do.  If you send something to be approved you’ll be yelled at for not taking initiative.  If you approve it yourself you’ll be yelled at for not having it approved.  Sometimes with crazy-eye confrontations you feel the same way you did after a parent or relative yelled at you.   Lastly, crazy-eye is usually passive aggressive and will draw up past issues from months prior as evidence of your bad behavior.  You can’t win with crazy eye but what doesn’t kill you definitely makes you stronger! 

Brian Shift.  Ok this is specific to one place but I feel like the type of behavior can be applicable to different situations.  At one of my jobs I had a coworker named Brian who didn’t want to come to work during regular hours.  He devised his own shift called Brian Shift where he would come in late, stay late, and work on a few jobs after the work day was over.  What ended up happening was he would come in late, leave early, and nothing would get done.  This carried on for a few weeks.  How he got away with it for so long is beyond me.

Tomorrow I talk about clients…..

When I awoke Friday morning after a night filled with tequila, pomegranate margaritas, and dancing, I immediately thought about how great it would feel to come home and sleep. 

During lunch, I spoke with my roommate and remembered that I had promised to attend a birthday party in Queens.  Yes, Queens.  I know, that alone is absurd.  I took a deep breathe and told myself that I could do it.  I just need to take it back to the summer of pacha, or even taj/chi when i went out several nights per week.  Regardless of a full Saturday filled with meetings, I soldiered on.

After work, I cooked, napped, opened up my left eye, napped some more, then finally got myself up to get ready.  I should have taken my inability to get up, get ready, and pick an outfit to mean that I should have kept my little butt home. 

After countless clothing changes I settled on an outfit that complemented my new gray, stiletto bootees.  I sat on the couch watching tv as I waited for my roomie to get ready.  I will have fun tonight I said!  I will dance and break in my new shoes.  My night had purpose.

Around 11, my roomie bbm’d me the following message from the birthday boy, “I apologize in advance, it’s a dancefest.”  Now again, I’m usually pretty intuitive when it comes to signs and premonitions but I ignored this one. 

“What does that mean?” I asked. One would assume that a “dancefest” would actually be a good thing.  The apology made me think that perhaps there was a private party of sorts.  Maybe an elevated door price.  No.  None of the above.  The birthday boy was just describing the various types of music that had been playing since 10:30.  Whew, crisis averted.

Around 11:30 we were off!    After traffic by the George Washington, we sailed through the EZ pass line of the triboro. $4.50 is a small price to pay to make it into Queens without entering another borough.  By now it was a little after 12 and we were fully in Queens, following google map directions, driving deeper into the borough to experience the beauty and elegance of ravel. (that’s what the website said)

My roomie and I were driving down a semi-abandoned street, about to turn onto the street where the hotel was, wondering how ANYONE could POSSIBLY take a train there because the last train station was miles away when she received this message:

“Dude, where are you?”  the response, “driving in Queens.” “I’m so sorry, it’s terrible in there. Go to Sofritos instead.”

My roomie pulled over and asked me if there was a Sofrito in Queens.  Perhaps one that was right NEXT to Ravel.  I told her no it was in Manhattan on 57th and 1st. We thought maybe we were being punked.  Someone couldn’t possible tell us as we were about to turn onto the street of the hotel that we should go elsewhere.  Especially since we came from the Bronx. [bbm face]

The bbm exchange continued.  “What happened?” asked my roomie.  “My friends couldn’t get in.  They’re not letting in couples or singles.”

That’s right folks.  Let that marinate for a second .  Couples OR singles.  Usually they don’t let single MEN but they always let in couples.  Anyhoot we’re sitting in the car….in Queens….woo-sahhhing, and cursing up a storm.    Birthday boy again urges us to go to Sofrito because it’s “right over the bridge.”  Which bridge you ask? The Queensboro of course.  He tells us that he’s driving there right as we spoke.

I  was very perplexed as to what he wanted to do at Sofrito.  From what I knew it was a Restaurant.  Yes there was a bar and tiny strip of free space next to the bar, but not enough for dancing and socializing.  It is a restaurant.  And it was close to 1am.

Determined to do SOMETHING considering we had left our comfy apartment in the BRONX, drove on expressways, through bridges, paid tolls, and ended up QUEENS, and considering that we had both spent time getting ready and were wearing new shoes (well my roomie’s shoes were resting in the back seat, ready to be worn"), we wanted to do SOMETHING.  Perhaps we will see what Sofrito has to offer.

Now it just so happens that the street that we needed to take to get to the bridge passed right by Ravel.  As we drove by, guess who we saw standing outside.  The Birthday Boy! You best believe we pulled over as my roommate shouted and shook her fist.

BB (Birthday Boy) walks up to the car and tries to tell us why we MUST go to Sofrito,  Blah blah blah.  As he’s talking, a van rolls up slowly.  The man in the passenger’s side rolls down the window and says, “hey you, get out of the street.”  BB tells my roomie that she needs to move and remains in the street.  Dude in the van shouts his request again then promptly exits his vehicle.  We see that his waist is decorated with police badges and such and quickly realize he is undercover. He says, “What did I fucking say?!?!?”  Everyone moves.

So now my roomie and I have decided to go to Sofritio to see if the BB and his supposed friends who "all couldn’t get in” can in fact get into Sofrito.  We get there, wait in front, see several people exit with doggy bags (I mean it IS a restaurant), continue to woo-sah while we contemplate the next move.  BB arrives and starts to look for parking.  We drive around for a bit half-heartedly looking as well.  We finally found a spot on 3rd ave. 

We waited for the verdict.  At this point it was after 1.  We were told to come in because the place was great, and we could take shots.  Yes that’s exactly what we need, lots of shots.  Even the driver.  Shyeahh ok, so we’re told about these shots and then we’re told that the place closes at 2 so we need to hurry.

Ok folks.  If any of you know me, you know that when I get really mad I get really quiet.  It’s almost like this weird calm comes over me because I am just so mad that I can’t even speak.  I also cannot hide my emotions on my face.  My roomie is the same exact way.  We knew that because of the ridiculous amount of fuckery that occurred, there was no way we could go mingle without either saying something or possibly hitting someone.

We had done our share of woo-sahing but it was time to go home.  Luckily we saw the traffic on the FDR and decided to go local up 1st Ave.  Thus our tour through the UES of Manhattan. That is exactly how I like to spend my Friday night. driving in a car up 1st ave, wearing uncomfortable shoes coming from no where because I never actually went anywhere.

We got home a little after 2.  TWO AM, tired from sitting in the car trying to navigate through QUEENS, tired from looking for parking so that we can stand smushed up next to someone NOT dancing because there’s no room, tired from driving all the way through MANHATTAN to go right back home.  I love a random night of fuckery and absurdity however when that night takes me from the Bronx to Queens to Manhattan, and back to the Bronx without stepping foot outside of the car I have to put that ish on pause.

Ahem….the night began like any other.  Ok that’s not true.  The night began with me in a grumpy, pissed off mood.  I’ve realized that every time you go into an evening with the expectation that “tonight will be a good night” as the Black Eyed Peas proclaim, it’s usually pretty lackluster.  I find myself thinking that I could have continued watching Season 4 of Weeds or ordered Indian food from the place across the street and the evening would have actually been better since I wouldn’t have to commute.

Initially I had the “great night” feeling, followed by, “geez i’m already dressed and I need to leave the house,” ending with, “woah, that was pretty fantastic!”

Kitty and I headed to Falucka an expected the regular cast of characters: the solo man that assaulted passerbyers with his crotch, the over-excited  group of men that (tried) to sing that Tik Tok song (they tried REEEAAALLY hard), the old couple aggressively humping in the corner (yes aggressive- my eyes burn a little).  The fuckery that ensued was exceeded our expectations.

First of all the music was outstanding.  Perfect soundtrack to our people watching.  Two Stellas in, we see a couple come in, woman with flowers.  She sits at the bar, he stands behind her and they attempt small-talk….at the bar….of a very loud lounge.  We tried to rationalize why they were here, her with a ginormous bouquet; a coworker gave them to her and she hasn’t been home, it’s their anniversary (?), she’s giving them to her roommate???  I honestly don’t know but I sincerely hoped that wasn’t a early date in their relationship.

We ordered a mint-flavored hookah which tasted an awful lot like the cherry one we had previously (>_<) but it was all good.  As we puffed, I spotted the little turtle man, inching his way toward our side of the bar.  I turned my face  in hopes that would read as “don’t come over here,” unfortunately little turtle man could not see and thought I meant “please come over here.”  I find that when men are trying to spark conversation at the hookah bar they always start with, “what’s that?”  It’s a fucking hookah sir.  We’re in a hookah bar.  Don’t try to be coy with me.  You might as well ask me what i’m drinking as I hold the bottle of Stella.

Turtle man asks what the hookah is.  I tell him it’s a hookah.  He says, “wow, that’s so amazing!  i can’t do that.  you know you look really sexy when you do that.”  I was actually going for offensive as I (purposely) blew smoke in the general direction of his face.  He mentions that he has LOTS OF SINGLE FRIENDS.  I shrug and go back to my hookah and Stella.  He says he’ll be back.  (Joy!)

The next man we see is an older gentleman that has finely tuned his “come dance on my crotch dance.”  He waves (his crotch) in a circular motion while pointing to his crotch.  He reaches out and grabs women as they pass by in hopes that they will join him in his circular crotch dance.  I was pulled but my sheer arm strength and will allowed me to resist his strong arm tactics. 

In the midst of all of this, the DJ is on some ridiculous reggae set meaning that i am whining to my hearts content.  Somehow that little turtle man spotted me and made his way over.  He asked if he could join our party.  I didn’t know what that mean because he had no glove (the little tip for the hookah) and we weren’t very fond of him.  Apparently it meant he wanted to put his drink down while he went to the bathroom. Minutes later he comes back and waves over his (amazing) single friend. 

“Jasmine, you want to dance?” he asks (Jasmine is me).  I say “No I don’t dance.”  He says, “I see you dancing.”  I say, “I don’t like to dance with PEOPLE..”  He says, “How about I just stand behind you while you dance,” I said “no thanks,” and stopped dancing.  Apparently he took this to mean that it was time for us to have a conversation.  He asks, “do you have a boyfriend?”  I say, “yes of course, and my friend has one too.”  [LIE].  He says, “oooh, yeah i have a girlfriend too.”  [LIE].  He asks where I’m from, more lies.  I finally pick up the hookah and go back to being offensive.  He tells me, that when I’m ready to come over there with him and (amazing) single friends.  shyeahh ok.

The night continues with more great music.  Turtle man stays farrrr away, crotch man stays close.  Kitty volunteers me to defend our honor in a house  dance battle. I was up against a Jersey shore type dude however I am from long island so I know all of those little hand tricks too!  One small cut on my arm, and I am victorious!

The dance battle actually ended up being a great idea because it moved us away from the bar and gave us a better view of everything.  We saw the old couple dancing about 2 beats slower than the music; the “i want to dance (bad) salsa to EVERYTHING; the lesbian couple that consistently got hit on by guys because the men didn’t get that they were together and weren’t looking for a third [although the one girl did entertain a man while her partner went to the bathroom.. when she saw her coming back she told that man to “GOO QUICK!”]; the i don’t know how to dance but i’m owning my lack of rhythm; and lastly the end of the night wrap it up dudes that just started pulling girls left and right to ensure that they had a happy ending.  Once the lack of rhythm girls got pulled, we knew it was time to go,

I feel that bettering oneself should be a constant work in progress.  Starting off each year with a new list will not lead to achieving the ultimate goal of perfection and contentment unless we look at that same list in December and evaluate what we have accomplished and what we still need to work on:

Resolutions 2009

1.Quit smoking:  I was never a heavy smoker but I wanted to kick the habit since I didn’t like smelling like an ashtray with a tiny hint of Vanilla.  Finally in the Spring I kicked the habit cold turkey.

2. Become more active: The extent of my physical activity was leaving my bed to settle on the couch.  Yes I walked a lot but nothing really substantial.  In the Spring I joined the gym, started running, and joined a soccer league.

3. Travel more:  I can’t cross this off of the list as completely achieved since I only visited LA and San Fran.  I have to give myself some kudos though because I battled my fear of flying to make those trips and it’s getting easier each day. 

4. Visit Paris:  Still not achieved.  I honestly feel that if I go to Paris again I might never come back.  Perhaps that’s why I’ve pushed this off.  One day I will make it there.

5. Learn a new language: Still not achieved.  During my lay-off I focused most of time relearning French rather than learning a new language. 

6. Read More: It started with the discounted books at Target, then progressed to Saturday’s spent in Barnes and Nobles. I read a whole bunch of books last year.  Some were trashy, smut novels others were thought provoking cultural pieces.  All in all I’m happy with my rapidly increasing library.

7. Date More:  Still not achieved. This resolution took a hiatus during the winter and resurfaced in the Spring.  I can’t speak for everyone else but I feel like I’ve been fooled by how dating is portrayed on television.  I never randomly meet men (boys) who want to go out on dates and woo me.  I meet crazy men (boys) with hang ups, (ex)girlfriends, and no teeth.  The ones with no teeth are the most vocal about their affection.

8. Enjoy the City: Being laid-off for 2 months was actually pretty cool because I got to really see the city.  Even before the lay-off I made it point to try and see something new during the weekends.  

9. Try new foods:  I’m extremely picky but I went against my stubbornness and tried something new.  Now I eat sushi and Indian food on a regular basis.  I’m still a little picky (no cheese, no milk) but definitely not as bad as before.

10. Go to the movies/watch more movies:  I think the only movies I used to watch came on TV.  People will talk about how funny that movie was and I’d be lost. I didn’t see a lot of movies in the theatre but I definitely saw the films that I wanted to see.  I also subscribed to Netflix so that I can play catch-up since I had missed so much.

11. Figure out what I want do do with my life:  Semi-achieved.  I realized that I love Workforce Development and the nonprofit sector.  I also realized that I needed to get my butt in grad school for public policy and nonprofit management.  Unfortunately my nice job with tuition reimbursement laid me off so I had to postpone this one. 

Resolutions 2010 (Winter)

1. Remain active:  I plan to continue my gym membership and continue to play in my soccer league.  I also want to run a few races, maybe even a half-marathon.

2. Travel more:  I don’t really care where I go.  Islands, Europe, Vegas.  I want to see it all.

3. Perfect French/Learn a New Language:  Apparently at my job if you say that you are knowledgeable in a language they list you as a translator.  Lovely.   This will be the year I learn how to converse in Spanish.  Yeah I know you guys are surprised because you assumed I already knew. 

4. Read the newspaper:  I always wanted to be the person that woke up early, cooked breakfast, made coffee and read the paper.  The actual paper, not the online version.  Perhaps in 2010.

5. Date more:  This is pretty self-explanatory.  I’m picky I know but I’m not settling so that I can date just anyone.  No one should settle.  Minor preferences might change, exceptions might be made if there are extenuating circumstances  but the basic requirements for a potential suitor remain the same.  

6. Grad School by ‘11:  Not sure where but I’m going to make it happen before my bones get rickety and I get tired.

7.  Write more: I want to blog more, write some short stories, maybe even a manuscript. 

**More to come in the Spring

Jenn “Ameena” Kamara…

was watching the news when the reporter said, "reporting live from an upscale barber shop in harlem. gotta go cause they’re about to start the soul train line."

Wonders if gray pigeons discriminate against brown pigeons. I see you witholding bread crumbs gray pigeons!!

Had an amazing convo with some 5th graders. They all have fancy cell phones (blackberries and sidekicks), love to "blame it on the goose,"and one aspires to be a pimp with a zebra bed in his house. Smh.

Wonders if the lady on the "learn English" poster really got a chance to learn English.

Didn’t know that getting up to let someone leave their seat @ their stop indicated that you too were getting off the bus. Not today lady, not today.

Thinks people with hot breath need not breathe so hard. They also shouldn’t lean in close whilst they speak. I am backing up to get away from YOUR hot breath my friend.

Says dear gym lady. If you insist on letting your ass crack hang out at least shave back there!

Just saw a FUPA gang. I swear the ground shook a little when they passed.

wants to know what everyone is doing with all of the quiz responses they receive. How has determining your disney character, muppet, tv show, or deli meat affected you in your day to day?

Didn’t know that her head doubled as an arm rest for subway passengers.

Wants to know why she saw a homeless man INSIDE msg with his pants halfway down, squatting, smoking a cig,almost taking a dump. Why

knows that car radios are for cars not bikes. grown men should know this as well.

wonders if you’ve ever seen a small man wearing glitter army pants. I have.

i wonder if kel is pissed that kenan and goodburger have both "made it" yet he is nowhere to be found….

Dear homeless man on the train, thanks but no thanks, I don’t want you to buy me BBQ chicken and fries. Also that combo costs a little more than 25 cents so I suggest you ask for more if this is what you desire.

Apparently my upstairs neighbors have taken my advice and are having a dance off. First round elephant v. rhino. Ugh!

ma’am I don’t understand how you cut your hair mad short but won’t take those clippers and attack the hairs blossoming out of your chin.

whenever I see someone with no ass I feel bad. I mean how do they sit comfortably? what is the determining factor in purchasing that new pair of jeans? certainly not how their back looks.

rush hour is not the time for little kids to learn how to use metro cards on the bus.

I am sorry Chris Brown, I can’t take you seriously with that bowtie.

Dear upstairs neighbor: I understand that it’s imperative to have an elephant vs rhino fight to the finish dance off, however I fear my ceiling might fall down.

A lot of these high school kids look like adults with bookbags and dunks.

If you are a man and your skinny jeans are so tight that I can see the curvature of your calf and thigh, there’s a problem. Even moreso if you have belted your tight jeans below your butt and are doing the duck waddle to walk.

When is "laffy taffy"ever a good song to karaeoke to?

Some people need to invest in some personal hygiene products. Nothing fancy, some bar soap and shampoo will do.

Yo some lady needs summers eve pronto! GROSS!

I hate when peeps advertise, "no school or work the next day." you don’t know my schedule.

Dear blond woman: no I don’t mind sitting in the stopped bus while you finish your convo with your friend at the door. I have no where to go so by all means, chat on.

Can someone tell this dude with his long ass pinky nail that him and his crack nail aren’t cute.

Am I getting old cause I was in American apparel thinking where the fuck would I wear this shit?

For real people crack is wack. The rock kind and the butt kind.

Dear old african man: stop looking over here. I am old enough to be your daughter. Even though I "look like I make good babies" I don’t want to have yours. Find someone else to be your 2nd, 3rd, or 4th wife.

If your child is old enough to swipe himself through a turnstyle, he is too old to be drinking juice out of a sippy cup. I’m just sayin…

Full body denim suits are not for everyone. Especially those with a prominent camel toe.

Sometimes I wish I had a remote that had a button that could play approriate theme music for different situations. Right now the song playing would be "he aint havin it" from bebe’s kids cause this bus driver is simply not havin it.

I never quite understand why some people try to engage others in conversation when the other person (me) is wearing headphones. Staring me down isn’t going to make me talk you either.

Yes sir, it makes perfect sense for you to kick open the train door. I mean the doors weren’t going to open on their own.

If you are trying to be professional by wearing a 3 piece suit and a do-rag, you are no longer professional. Happy Monday.

Sir, I know you want to hum your little song but I can hear you over my ipod. That is a problem.

no ma’am my knees are not rests for your bag or wet umbrella.

FYI: if you look like a hot mess, wearing sunglasses will not disguise the fact that you look like a hot mess. It might be dark on your side but it’s well lit on mine and I can see the foolishness that exists.

Whenever someone with a big ‘ol butt tries to squeeze themselves into the seat next to me, I hear that beeping sound a truck makes when it backs up.

Little man with gruff voice at bar: can I have a…cabernet. Really sir.

great parenting job ma’am as you lead your 2 year old back thru oncoming traffic to retrieve your dropped cigs.

aren’t windbreakers supposed to be loose-fitting?

Sometimes I think people just throw all of their change in the money thing on the bus in hopes that it will add up to $2.25.

thank you sir for staring at me as I try to bend down to grab my keys while holding my writing tablet, stacks of paper, and coffee. No need for you to even attempt to help me, I got this one.

Best pick up line of the day: miss I know you taller than me, but I want to dance with you. Sir, its 2:30pm, it is Monday, you are operating a table that sells old music , no.

if you insist on wearing your pants so low that your butt is hanging out, you shouldn’t be able to wear a baggy hoodie to cover your butt cheeks. that’s what your PANTS are for

judging by the look of your weave you might not want to brush it so hard.

deodorant isn’t optional. especially if you’re tall and grabbing the upper part of the pole, wafting your smelly under arm funk with each jerk of the train.

I am all for microbraids but not for young girls. it’s not fair to start them off with receding hair lines.

dammmmmn lady, you look like someone took a watercolor set to your face.

there is a dinosaur in my downstairs neighbor’s apartment. if not a dinosaur some kind of loud, growling, creature.

Everyone wants to have pillow talk with the bus driver. Put your metrocard in and go! I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to chat with you or instruct you on the proper way to put your metrocard in.

sometimes i feel bad for people with no ass and high butt cracks. pants never seem to cover all of the crack.

is it completely inappropriate to give an ashy stranger lotion?

last night i met a girl who didn’t know if her birthday was yesterday or July 14th. say no to drugs people. alcohol is a drug.

dear upstairs neighbor: i think the herd of elephants you’re keeping have escaped and are now attempting an old-school dance comp. as interesting as it might be to watch this competition, I don’t have that option. All I can do down here is listen to the STOMP, STOMP, BOOM coming from above. I don’t want to listen to the STOMP, STOMP, BOOM noises coming from your rogue herd. Thanks.

Do you ever look at someone looking through a victoria’s secret mag and think to yourself, "ma’am stop playin. You know you can’t wear those undergarments."

I think I will buy my upstairs neighbors some fuzzy slippers to muffle their giant hooves.

At some point in your life, you must take a stand. That point should not be when "Cracky" the homeless dude on the train is trying to pass you. "Cracky" is highly unstable. Although he delighted us with several train stops worth of singing and two-stepping, he has nothing to lose and will go for your throat.

Nothing starts the day off better than staring at the fupa of your arch enemy.

Dear little man that sells the old school cds outside my job: calling me chocolate will not make me date you. Telling me you have a sweet tooth will not make me date you. Again you are about 5 inches shorter than me, 30+ years older than me and YOU SELL OLD SCHOOL BOOTLEG CDs OUTSIDE OF MY JOB.

Damn sir, the scent of your cologne burned my eyes. No need to take a bath in your favorite scent.

********DISCLAIMER:  MY MOTHER HAS A POTTY MOUTH*******

Mom Dukes:  There are a lot of ho’s here.  They think this is ho-ville.  Me: What are you talking about? How do you know that woman is a ho? [looks out window and sees a woman in a car talking to a man in a car going in the opposite direction]  Mom Dukes: Just you wait…they come out at night talking about their baby-daddy’s.  Ho’s, all of them.

Mom Dukes:  The people that live in the houses down there are pussies.  They’re scared of the neighbor across the street and his leaf blower.  I’m not scared, I’m calling the Town of Brookhaven to report him for blowing leaves on my lawn.

me: That man is Scottish. mamma kamara: That’s the one you should marry. A scottish man. me: why? mamma kamara: they are hard working. me: you could say that for a lot of people. besides you don’t even know any scottish people. mamma kamara: yes i do! the man that we used to get goat from in Riverhead. me:< bbm face> thanks mom.  It’s nice to know that my mother values hard work like butchering goats.  In all honesty she says this about every race or ethnicity.  She usually doesn’t have any concrete proof as to which type of man is best but I must give her props for bringing up the Scottish butcher from 20 years ago.

Mom Dukes: [dancing like Shakira as she watches her performance on SNL]  Oooooh, she looks like Beyonce.  Me:  No mom, that’s Shakira.   Mom Dukes: [watches as Shakira crawls on the floor and starts humping a speaker]  What the fuck is she doing????  I bet all the men are getting hard in their pants watching her hump around like that.

*Sigh*

During my time home I also learned that I miss driving and concurrently road rage doesn’t go away.

Apparently there are REAL pedestrian crosswalks where said pedestrians lollygag across the street and you are forced to slow down until they finally make it.  Rather than lollygagging when oncoming traffic is stopped at a red light, they choose to be rogue, and go whenever they feel like it.  Some people almost got bumped with my moms car.  I don’t feel bad about that.

Some of my shortcuts don’t exist anymore   Luckily there are fifty million ways to get to places  and even luckier I don’t drive on autopilot because I would have ended up in a newly made grassy patch.

Three Men and a Baby came out a LOOOONG time ago.  I was watching that movie amazed that all of those actors were so thin, they used the same baby for the duration of the film, the dude actually thought it was a good idea to hide the heroin inside the baby’s diaper (no one was searching, stash it under a pillow instead of reconstructing a diaper), the mom really peaced for a couple months then came back like, “just kidding, i want my baby back.”  and lastly they installed a phone in the shower.

Apparently LuckyBrand jeans and I have a different understanding of what “Almost Free” means. I walked in there under the pretense that items were “almost free.”  Almost free to me means that I can buy an item guilt-free.  I don’t have to recalculate my entertainment expenses for that week just so that I can throw on a pair of jeans that undoubtedly will either give me man-crotch or will be converted to “flood pants” (high-waters).  Geez man, I have long legs.  Shopping for pants is a mission.  I walked in and quickly walked right out. 

Some women need to shop for their underwear online.  Some of said women’s underwear/lingerie choices did not align properly with their age, body size, etc.  I’m hoping they were gifts of some sort. 

The mall vendors are on Senegalese-hair braider status.  For those that don’t know, when you get off the train in some neighborhoods (namely Harlem 125th St), the Senegalese women that braid hair will stop you with the “pretty lady, braid hair?” routine.  A vendor stopped me with the, “ hey interested in hair straightening?”  No sir.  I’m not. The man followed me for a bit (like the hair-braider ladies) then went back to his cart.

abercrombie and Abercrombie and Fitch are two different stores.  Initially when I shopped at Smith Haven Mall I don’t recall having one abercrombie let alone two. What’s the difference anyways?   

Burlington Coat Factory has great commercials and shitty stores.  I went in there with high hopes and left, dreams crushed. I saw some coats, lots of bras and underwear (why would you want underwear from Burlington Coat Factory), and lots of semi-designer bags and random trinkets.  I kinda see the direction the store wanted to go in but they veered left and became something else.

Roosevelt Field reigns supreme as far as malls go.  Now I remember why I drove that extra hour and paid sales tax just to shop there.

Things close a lot later.  That Burger King commercial with Diddy that says open Midnight or later is a bag of lies!!!!!  The only places open late are 7-11’s, diners, and gas stations.  None of these places are a good idea late at night.

Undoubtedly, without fail, in the nice, comfy empty LIRR train, the drunk and obnoxious kids, and the family with the LOUD kids will find their way to my car.  *sigh*  Luckily I have my ipod.

Today I learned that the Bx19 has decided to change their schedule.  Unbeknownst to the passengers like myself who have a very specific schedule they like to keep in order to make sure they make it to work on time, now buses are leaving earlier causing me to have to run once I exit the train.  I do not like to run because running leads to tripping and I have too much pride….however I really can’t miss that bus.  What is a girl to do? 

Random MTA drivers get to board the bus wherever they want.  They can also make the bus stop for their friends while other passengers have to run across the street  to the actual bus stop.  I thought we ALL had to go to the bus stop but whatever.

Sometimes people bring cups of coffee on the bus in the morning.  Sometimes they bring a pastry.  Sometimes they bring soup in tupperware…in the morning.

The coalition of kids selling candy, “just for them to stay out of trouble,” need to have a meeting and come up with a new pitch.  The first 4 times I heard it, I giggled a bit.  Now it’s old.  I am happy to report that the coalition met and they have more than just starburst.

Ma’am please do not take the opportunity to confront the driver during rush hour whilst blocking the metrocard machine.  Whatever issues you have can be resolved with you behind the white line while allowing people to pay their fare and board the bus.

Sir you appear to have some kind of phobia related to touching the pole.  Yeah, I know it’s kind of gross, but you will fall if you continue to try and not hold on to anything.  Holding that pole might be gross but your face and hands on the floor is much worse in my opinion.

Ok sir, no need to be irate.  If you board the bus at Convent you can get off at St Nich with a transfer and use that to get onto the train.  No need to not swipe your card because you don’t want to “double pay.”  Also everyone else on the bus understands the process so trying to hype the front of the bus up regarding the “un-fair” transfer process will not work.

This is redundant but it seems to really be a daily lesson:  Apparently the conventional rules for line-forming do not exist for the bus (unless it’s the express bus.  I see those people in a straight line).  (Daily) people assume that standing directly in front of the door that’s about to open doesn’t mean that you should go in first.  By all means ma’am, stand on the yellow strip in front  of me so that you can get on the train first.  Sir, walk right in front of me and the 10 people waiting behind me to get on the bus just as it pulls up.  One day I might swat someone with my newspaper.

Little girls standing outside of the 2nd door on the bus. Sigh.  If you want to play little games with your friends that are seated on the bus, that’s cool.  But please either get ON the bus or harass them via AIM.  Standing in between the 2nd door, debating whether you’ll “do it” and sneak onto the bus while giving your friends the finger maybe fun for you however I would like to go home and I can’t because the doors won’t close.

Concurrently, people that like to jump on the back of the bus.  You better not try that stuff on the Manhattan midtown buses.  I’ve seen bus drivers stop the bus and follow passengers to the back when they tried to play that, “i’m looking for my card/change” game.  The whole thing might be funny to watch, but I got places to go.

Train passengers, your arm strength will not open the train doors.  They open automatically.

Lady, putting your bagel on the floor on a tissue is disgusting. I really can’t believe you picked that up and ate it.  A lot of disgusting things happen on that floor and now they are rumbling around in your tummy .

Older woman at 191st.  Again.  I know that you have received the good word from the Lord, but the entire 1 train does not want to hear this from 191st until 145th.  Can you just hand out a little flyer with your church info so that we know where to find you?

Woman with the stroller, first and foremost I apologize for running past you up the steps but 1) I didn’t want to get caught behind you struggling to lift the stroller up the stairs and 2) i don’t really trust myself trying to lift the stroller up to help you. God forbid I dropped my end.

Apparently the cooler weather has forced the “get light” kids onto the train.  I see them from time to time.  Usually on the A since it’s roomier. Sometimes on the 1.  If you’re gunna get light on the train, i’ma need you to really go hard cause that lame ass, soul clap and half-hearted cooning will not make me clap along or contribute.  If you’re going to chicken noodle soup, I need you to put your all into it.  I need to really feel like you’re letting it rain and clearing it out. all or nothing!