Straight from the Streets: Big Apple Edition

After the Bestest Christmas Ever, I hopped on a bus and headed to New York City to see my sister, Russatta. The following are a few tips and tricks I learned during my visit to the Big Apple - Enjoy!

*Do enjoy the show with your ride. The New York City Subway system is a variable smorgasboard of shows, acts, panhandlers and entertainers. Instead of gluing your Ipod to your ears, enjoy the talents of those around you. While my sister and I were on the 2 train, she was serenaded by a man with a guitar and an amp. I'm talking classics like "My Girl," ya'll. It was a hoot. On the A train, two kids got on and started break dancing. Of course, you get the youngsters trying to sell you candy for a $1, too, but for the most part, the train entertainers are just trying to make a living. Support them.

*Don't look for people you know on the NYC subway. You'll never find them (trust me, I know). But sometimes it's still fun to look, though.

*Do make a native New Yorker act like a tourist with you. It's hilarious. Here, my sister's Brooklyn-born friend, Naima, is pointing out one of the many landmarks on Madison Avenue. It's fun that way. Point out all of the landmarks. Make them stand in the middle of the sidewalk to gawk at the height of Trump Tower. Take pictures of them in front of the LOVE statue in Manhattan. Help them enjoy all the great things about their city that they walk by every day. And don't forget to laugh when the other New Yorkers storm past you, latte in hand, grumbling, "damn tourists."

*Do get your money's worth. And understand that college student ID's are the gift that keeps on giving. Take that validation sticker off and no one will suspect that you graduated and already have your degree framed and hanging in your living room. I got that good $20 student discount at the bus station in Providence, taking my ticket from $70 to $49.99. Take that FAFSA! Then, when I got to NYC, we ventured to the New York City Theatre to see the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater. Not only did I get to see these amazing dancers for the first time in my life, I got to see it all for $10 on the student rate! Sure, I was in the balcony, but the performance was that much sweeter with the extra cash in my pocket. But the performance brings me to my third point...

*Do only make one call to invite someone in on your scams. Trying to be a good friend, I called one of my exes who lives in New Jersey to see if he wanted to get in on the student rate for Alvin Ailey. Now, this ex knew I was coming to town and asked me to call so we could hook up and chat. Cool. I call when we're about to go get tickets because he would have had time to take the train up and meet us there. Ring, ring, ring. No answer. I hung up and that was it. There would be no return call because why? He's my ex for a reason.

*Don't drink mojitos at 3 p.m., no matter how much you love them. We went to a Latin restaurant in Manhattan while we waited for the show to start. I LOOOOVVVE Mojitos, so when the waitress told me they had them I had to get one. (Notice my mojito - the glass with the sugar cane sticking out of it to my left - in the photo.) Now, I can hold my liquor, but I hadn't had anything to eat all day and by now it was early afternoon. So, I ate my ropa vieja with black beans and spanish rice to coat my stomach while I sipped on my drank. We got ready to leave and I didn't want to waste money, so I went ahead and handled my drink. I was good for a while, but after a while, my head started to hurt. I was very thankful to get to the theatre so we could sit down.

*Do get some culture in your life. NYC isn't all about fashion and parties, there's a lot of great culture and history there. For our part, my sister and I went to see "Malcolm X: A Search for Truth" at the Schomberg Center for Research in Black Culture in Harlem. Very enlightening.

*Don't feel the need to buy everything just because "It's NYC." We went shopping in Fort Green and Park Slope on Thursday before I left and went to this fabulous boutique called "Flirt." Now, ya'll know I'm fairly thrifty with mine, but I decided to try some things on anyway. This festive number (right) looked AMAZING in person. The picture just doesn't do it justice. The floral print made it nice and summery, while the satiny material made it suitable for evening. It was a wrap dress, so it covered the parts that needed to be covered, while leaving just enough skin showing. Talking bout stuff was lifted and tucked and draped just so - I looked like a million bucks. And it was reversable. The price tag for this find? $287. I left that joker in the store. However, I did manage to find another beautiful dress in the same boutique that made me look like the grown woman I am while flattering my assets. Price tag? $118 after tax. I bought it ya'll. Now I gotta find somewhere to wear it. Anyone want to take me out for mojitos? Anyone?

The Bestest Christmas Ever

I marked my first Christmas away from home by beginning my life as a common criminal, all thanks to my girl, Jessie.

Jessie came up to visit me in the Ocean State for the holidays for some southern cooking and good-natured shenanigans. And as we all know, I aim to please, so we embarked on what would henceforth be known as "the Bestest Christmas Ever."

The crime spree started in the wee hours of the morning on Christmas Eve. Jessie, my friend Lyndsey and I were driving back from a party in Boston when I told them about the Christmas tree. I'd never gotten a real tree - we always used the plastic and metal trees at my house - so Jessie wanted to make sure we got one this year. Being that she was getting in so late, we expected to get a Charlie Brown Christmas twig, which added to the charm. So, for the weeks leading to Jessie's arrival, I'd been scoping places to buy a conifer.

The place, I'd decided, was the Broadway Mart up the street from my house. For much of December, they'd had a cache of trees wrangled in a corner of the parking lot, near the pay phones. Each day, I saw the stock of trees get smaller and smaller until they disappeared. Or so I thought.

On the way to pick up Jessie from the airport, I spotted three small trees thrown on a snow bank near the dumpster in back of the store. One of those trees, soon, would be mine.

So, as we drove down I-93, we plotted our strategy: I'd creep into the parking lot, pop the trunk and we'd stuff the tree inside. I'd then drive away inauspiciously and we'd cart the tree into my living room, where a tree stand was waiting at the ready.

We got to my house covered in pine needles, trying to quiet our laughter as we entered my building. We erected the rescued tree, a 5 foot tall scrawny thing, and dubbed him "Rufus." Once we decorated him with bulbs and lights and placed a homemade star atop, Rufus was a bad mofo.

That caper set the stage for the rest of the weekend, which included a rainy Christmas-night trespassing excursion to the Capitol building where we got some great pictures of Providence at night.

Another highlight was touring the Russian Sub Museum with our guide, Doug, a former sailor. We skirted up to the entryway at about 4:20 p.m. Christmas Eve and persuaded the people to take us on a tour.

"My friend is leaving on Monday," I told them, "we REALLY want to see the sub." Doug - bless his heart - agreed to take us on the final tour of the night. After we watched the safety video "what not to do on a Russian Sub" - off we went.

Five minutes into the tour, Doug, begins explaining the barracks and torpedo shoots therein. Jessie wondered aloud if the torpedos were still live.

Silence.

Doug looks at us and you could see the wheels in his head turning. "Oh, no, we don't want to, like, blow anything up," I offered. "She's just asking because she's curious." That was enough to ease Doug's nerves for the moment. We shimmied through port holes and gawked at the Russian lettering on the steering mechanisms. We emerged from the belly of the sub with a new found appreciation for our country's sailors and tasty little tidbits of information. Did you know the sub only had three bathrooms to service 88 sailors? Eighty-eight!

We capped the weekend off with a lazy Christmas day (save for our trespassing excursion to the Capitol) of movies. After the Disney Christmas Day parade, we watched Elf. We merged our Christmas traditions for dinner: I cooked greens, smoked turkey legs and spaghetti salad; Jessie made mashed potatoes (she's from Idaho). Hotel Rwanda played on my television as we ate.

I took Jessie on a rainy tour of Federal Hill and the newsroom, then decided it would be a good idea to go to the Capitol building. We tiptoed across the ice and peered into the windows to see the State House Christmas - err - Holiday Tree. Then we went to the movies and saw "The Family Stone," after which, we went to a club with Lyndsey. We drank martini's and rum & coke. We recoiled at the skimpy outfits. I taught Jessie how to wind. A good time was had by all.

The next day, it was time to say goodbye. We arrived at the airport and Jessie gathered her bags as the rain beat down from above. We hugged one another and went our separate ways - armed with memories of the Bestest Christmas Ever and grateful we had friends who could double as family in times like these.

(Captions, from top: Jessie and I at Roger Williams Memorial Park in Providence - the skyline of the city is in the background; me hugging Rufus just before we hauled him out to the dumpster; Jessie checking out the torpedo shafts as Doug points out some interesting fact.)

The color green, Lunchables and Miles Davis

After Christmas, I hopped on a bus and trekked it to NYC to visit my sister, Russatta. Anyway, during the course of the trip, she misplaced her phone - leaving her incommunicado until the early part of next year (when Sprint will send the replacement phone). We're walking down 5th avenue and she starts talking about how her hip feels empty without her phone and how she feels she's missing out on important things. I turn to her and say: "Just enjoy it. You're not tied down. No one can interrupt your day. Just enjoy this moment."

She looked at me like I was crazy - one of those, "yeah, you say that but you HAVE your phone" kind of looks. But she knew I was right. Ironically, my phone didn't ring for the rest of the day, so we enjoyed our outing interruption free.

I had such a good time, I've decided to make that my theme for 2006: Enjoy the moment.

For so long, I've been working toward a goal - graduating from high school, getting out of Flint, passing my courses, graduating from college (with honors), finding a job - that I've let some things in life pass me by. Now that I have a job and I'm relatively stable - at least for a few years - I'm going to start enjoying myself and living life to it's fullest.

So, what does all this mean? I'll tell you.

Among other things, in 2006 I will:
~take salsa lessons
~get a full night's sleep (on a new mattress)
~learn how to walk in heels so my feet don't get tired (a la Sex in the City)
~forget about color schemes and what's "in" and decorate my house with things I love
~sit on the waterfront and enjoy a lazy afternoon breeze
~change my hair (maybe go natural)
~learn how to put together an outfit
~buy a banging overcoat
~spend good money on quality items more often
~splurge on something for me every month
~volunteer and give something back to the community
~eat more things that will keep me healthy
~eat more of the things that make me happy
~take better care of my body
~find a church home, attend regularly and tithe correctly
~speak proper English - or at least a less broken version
~read more good books
~listen to good music
~add onto my jazz collection
~go to art exhibits, plays and other cultural events
~visit a foreign country (Canada doesn't count)
~be a tourist in any town that I'm in and not care that I look like a tourist
~take my "pictures"
~visit my friends and family more often

This upcoming year is going to be all about the things I love, the things I wish I could do and the things I want to do. And if you haven't guessed it, the title refers to some of the things I love.

Enjoy the Moment.

Yeah, 2006 is going to be a good one.

"Be Happy for this moment. This moment is your life."

It's the Small Things

Instead of New Year's resolutions, last year, I started giving myself a theme to live by.

Last year, No one could steal my sunshine. That meant all of the things that brought me down in 04 - worry, peer pressure, confidence, whatever - weren't going to have an effect on me. For the most part, it worked. I had a good year.

So, I'm talking to my girl, Delilah about my theme for next year, being that we're grown women (ha) now and all.

Me: "Yeah, so you know how last year no one could steal my sunshine?"
Delilah: "Yeah."
Me: "I think I got my theme for this year."
Delilah: "What is it?"
Me: "My theme for this year is get a new mattress and a couch."
Delilah, cracking up laughing: "So you went from having sunshine to just wanting a decent place to sleep, huh?"
Me: "Times be hard these days. That's all I really need right now. A good mattress."

But for real - I do need to get a theme for next year as January 1 is rapidly approaching. What's your theme for this year? Any suggestions for me?

213 to 542, them

I knew I shouldn’t have, but the way this game was going, I needed all of the help I could get.

It was getting close to the end of our hand of spades and, for some reason, I still had an ace of clubs in my hand. And there was just one person standing between me and this book.

"Lord, please let this boy have a club," I prayed. "Please let him have ANY club."

I was in Medford, Mass., at a friend of a friend’s house playing spades – the universal game of black people everywhere. I ain’t no slouch, so my partner, Andrew, and I had started off well enough. We won our first hand 80 to 30. I thought it was going to be a good game. Then, our luck turned for the worse.

I don’t know how it happened, but in a matter of three hands, we’d gone from winning, to betting blind six, just to get out of negative numbers. And, no offense, but our opponents weren’t that good. I could pretty much predict how good her hand was because of the smile that would creep across her face. The guy wasn’t as easy to read, but he often had to pick up the slack for her. But not even Nostradamus, himself could have predicted the cards we were dealt that night.

If my partner and I weren’t bleeding to death, we were trying to recover from the cuts our opponents were dealing throughout the game. If he wasn’t cutting, she was cutting. Every time I thought I had a book, here they go, slapping down a spade. To make it worse, people kept coming by periodically to look at the score.

“93 to 207? Damn, ya’ll getting whooped!”
“120 to 375? Talia – that ain’t Hampton.”
“176 to 402? Ya’ll still playing?

I tried to explain that we’d come from a -30 deficit, but they weren’t trying to hear it.

That’s why this hand was so important. If we won this hand, it would give us a fighting chance at winning and saving at least a bit of face.

That’s why I decided to pray.

Now, I know you’re not supposed to pray for selfish reasons, but I figured, hey, the way the score was looking, things couldn’t get too much worse.

“Lord, please let him have a club,” I prayed silently.

I stared at his cards as my opponent tried to decide what to play next. He pulled one up, hesitated, and then placed it back into his hand.

I readied the ace in my hand, preparing to slam it on the table with a monstrous “boo-yah.”

Ever-so-gently, he took a card and placed it onto the pile in the center of the table.

Time stood still as I stared at it in disbelief.

I threw down my ace, disgusted.

Foiled by a three of spades.

**After our whooping, Andrew and I coaxed our opponents into a redemption game, where we were able to walk away with our dignity after winning with a score of 297 to 101.**

Customer Service

I swear I'm about ready to stuff all the money I have into a mattress just so I don't have to deal with banks anymore.

It all started last week when I went online to buy a gift card for my sister. Visa has this nifty thing where you can just put money on a card and the recipient can use it as a credit card. So, instead of me having to wire money to my sis for our mother's present, I could just send the gift card at minimal charge. Sounds good, right? That's what I thought. Then, I get an e-mail from the bank saying they needed verification of my address - a utility bill or license.

Are you serious? I called the customer service people.

Me: "Hi, I ordered a gift card and now I'm getting this e-mail requesting that I fax verification to ya'll? For what?"
Service lady: "I'm not sure ma'am. It just says that before it can go through, you have to send verification."
Me: "It ain't enough that I'm calling you to verify my information?" (by now, I'd given her my address and everything)
SL: "No, it says you need the documents."
Me: "Well I don't want to do that. Can I cancel it?"
SL: "Yes, but there'll be a $15 fee."
Me: "For what? You know what, let me speak to a manager."

By now, I'm heated because cats is trying to charge me money that I don't have for a card that I didn't get to use. So, I speak to Olivia, the manager on call. I tell chick the scenario and Olivia tells me that there would be no charge because the card hadn't been authorized yet. I'm like, cool, let's cancel the joker then. I get a confirmation number and I think everything is lovely.

That was Saturday.

Tuesday, I go online and check my balance and I see a $100 deduction from the gift card people. Say what? So now, I'm irate. But I'm at work, so I gotta chill. I didn't get a chance to call them until Thursday, when the conversation went something like this.

Service Lady: "How can I help you?"
Me: "Yeah, I canceled this gift card on Saturday, ya'll took the money out of my account on Tuesday and I want to know what's going on."
SL: "Let me see if I can figure things out."

Chick proceeds to tell me that they deducted the money and have cut a check in the amount of $85 that is in the mail as we speak.

Me: "$85? Why is it $85? I bought a card - that I cancelled - for $100; not $85."
SL: "Well, there's a $15 charge for cutting the check."
Me: "Oh, I see. Let me talk to the manager. I know you've done all you can. Let me talk to a manager."

So, this chick finds Iris, the manager from hell, to speak to me. First thing comes out of her mouth:

Iris: "Hi, we've already sent your check for $85 and we can't refund your $15 because the notes in the account say you refused to send in the verification."
Me: "Hold up. Why are you being so rude to me."
I: "I'm not being rude, I'm just telling you that we can't override the fee because you refused to send in verification."
Me: "I didn't refuse, I asked what the information was for which ya'll couldn't give me a vaild reason for. If I knew I'd be charged, I woulda sent the stuff in. When I spoke to Olivia on Saturday, she told me there wouldn't be a fee because it was still waiting approval."
I: "Well, the fee has been charged and it can't be reversed."
Me: "well what's the $15 for?"
I: "We already cut the plastic for the card, so that fee is for the reimbursement for that."
Me: "How were ya'll already cutting plastic for my card if you were waiting on verification of my address before you put the order through, Iris?"
I: "We've already sent the check in the mail. You should be getting it in a couple days."
Me: "Alright, Iris, is that your name? Is there someone else I can talk to - someone higher than you?"
I: "No, I'm the highest manager on duty right now. But you're welcome to call corporate."

Don't test me, Iris.

I filed two formal complaints with the corporate office, one for Olivia and one for Iris. Then, I filed a grievance with the company to get my $15. I also plan on writing a very strong letter to the people at the bank telling them about my situation. Hopefully, they'll see my side of things and refund my money. Maybe I'll even get a free giftcard or something. Whatever happens, I know one thing - next time I need to send money I'mma just buy a money order cause this ain't worth the hassle.

The Joys of the Job

I'm sitting in my bureau, watching the time roll away. I turned in my story an hour early and I'm waiting to see if the desk has any questions.

Tonight, I covered a meeting about the changes to the Medicare system and sat next to this elderly guy in a room full of other elderly people. He was nice - I even used him in my story.

But every time he coughed (and it he coughed alot), his breath smelled like vomit.

Maybe he had acid reflux or had just gotten over a bad cold. I just know the smell almost made me throw up in my mouth a little bit.

Luckily, I was able to restrain myself.

I would just turn my head, hold my hand over my nose and try to breathe through my mouth every time I heard a cough coming on. Sometimes I still caught a wiff though. It tended to linger. The thought of it still grosses me out.

I think I'm going to spray down my coat with Lysol when I get home. Because whatever it was he had, I don't want to catch it.

I hope they finish with my story soon. I'm ready to go home.

Straight from the Streets: Nor'easter Edition

A quickie for ya'll:

On 95/I-195 - I thought I'd experienced the worst drivers in America when I lived in Virginia. Va drivers don't hold a candle to Rhode Island motorists. I've been cut off, tailgated, boxed out, and just all around motorally assaulted (yes, I made up that word) by these drivers. They're not rude, they just don't care. It's like they all got their license yesterday and are still learning how to work their signals and master the art of staying in one lane.

everyday round 9:30 a.m. and 6:30 p.m. - Sometimes I wonder how the DJs in Rhode Island keep their jobs. No matter what time of day I turn the radio on, I hear the same songs: Chris Brown "Run It," Mariah Carey "Think About Us," or Jeezy - anything he's got out now. I'm saying; I understand the songs are hot, but can I get a little something called variety and a little bit of innovation. Can I hear Jamie Foxx's "Unpredictable"? What about the new Floetry joint, "Superstar"? Is that too much to ask? I will, however, give them their props for playing my joint - "Stay Fly" by Three 6 Mafia. But I can't get crunk to one song and one song alone.

Friday, Dec. 2, round 9 p.m. and 4 a.m. - Somebody needs to do something about the signage in Boston. Twice, I got lost following the detour signs for I-93. Each time, the path led me right to the exact spot where I started from - with no instructions about where to go from there. A couple of wrong turns and one notch less in my gas tank later, I finally made it to the expressway.

Friday, 10 p.m. - So, I make it to the "grown and sexy" party, looking fly. I'm comfortable and I look good, ready to mingle (shout out to everyone who tried to help me with my fashion dilemma - your advice was much appreciated). I walk in the door and was disappointed. Many of the people weren't dressed by my definition of "grown and sexy" - they were more "Hampton casual." For those of you who didn't have the pleasure of being a Hampton Pirate, let me explain. It's not club, it ain't casual, and it's not as formal as business attire. It's a wonderful hodge-podge of all of these things, complimented by the perfect accessories. It's classy, sophisticated and confident. But, also in the Hampton world, there's a thing called "grown and sexy," which is used to describe attire for a caberet or dressy party. Grown and sexy could include jeans, but more likely involves a skirt or a nice pair of slacks and banging heels. So, when I step into the hall with my green pants (yes, green and they are FLY) and black sparkly halter top and see people in jeans, collard shirts and sweaters, I felt mislead. Hoodwinked. Led astray. But I still looked good regardless. But now I know: I can get away with Hampton casual for almost any event in Boston. And knowing is half the battle.

Fashion Non-sense

I was never really good at the whole “girl” thing. In fact, besides cooking, I pretty much suck at being a girl.

I’ve worn my hair the same way since 11th grade.
Even at 22, most makeup techniques remain a mystery to me.
Days in heels are spent looking for a place to sit down and take them off.
And I can’t put together an outfit to save my life.

Never was that more clear to me than last night as stood in my closet trying to figure out an ensemble for a party Friday in Boston.

Should I wear pants or a dress?
What can I wear with my gold heels?
Can my Gap tee be considered grown and sexy?
What about the cream pants – can I wear those after Labor Day?

It’s times like these I wish I had a girlfriend here with me.

My friends have always been my enablers; doing my hair and makeup or helping me decide what to wear for a night on the town. In high school, it was my girl, Sisco, who could take $10, a jar of hair gel and black eyeliner and make you look like a million bucks – or at least any chick from the videos. In D.C., Louise, my friend who could navigate the hills of Howard in three inch heels without missing a step, kept me looking fly on our semi-regular jaunts to Dream. At HU, Delilah helped me navigate that fine line of what’s sexy – and helped me showcase my femininity with sophistication.

When I don’t have the luxury of a personal dresser, I tend to stack the deck. On trips, after packing my chosen “outfits,” I turn to Plan B. It’s simple really. I go to my closet and chuck a few extra shirts and pants into my suitcase - just in case. The plan B pieces usually never match each other or are very simple, safe pieces. I figure if push comes to shove, as long as it fits well, doesn’t have any holes in it and is clean, I can make it work.

But, as I stand before the growing mountain of clothes on my bed, I’m not so sure.

Here’s the problem: I can conjure in my head what I think the outfit should look like, but when I put the clothes on, it never looks like my vision. Maybe I’m shaped funny. Maybe my clothes don’t fit well. Maybe I just can’t match. Who knows. But I know that when I look in the mirror, about the outfit, something just ain’t right.

So I take off the failed outfit and throw it in the heap with the others. Maybe I’ll just wear a white tee. Being a girl is too much work.