Check me out

Check me out, check, check, me out, me out...

'member that?

My name's Talia (check)
I go --er, went -- to school (check)
I got a boyfriend (check)
He's super cool (check)
And when they see me (check)
They go...
pow, pow, fist, fist, all around the world like this.

Yeah, so this playground jam was in my head this morning as I scrambled to get dressed for work. The reason? Because I knew when I got there, I'd see the fruits of my labor all on the front page.

A1, baby. A1.

Check me out. Check, check, me out, me out.

**The Day one page(left). My story is bottom left, next to the secondary photo. My lede actually begins where you see Linda Thibault. The additional graphs at the top were added today, after the two kids were arrested. We try and keep our stuff current, ya know?

***The Day Two page (right), my story is below the centerpiece. It may not look like much, but that mammoth stretches to 30 inches on the jump. Turned it around in one shift. Check me out.

It's Official

I'm a Rhode Island resident.

Yesterday, I stood in line at the DMV for an hour and a half and surrendered my Virgina license in exchange for one from the Ocean State.

I planned to shoot a cool picture of me holding the license with my extended arm, a close up on the card, with me kinda blurry in the background. Then, I'd write:

"Ta-dow! How you like me now?"

But, as you can see, that ain't how it's going down today. Let me tell you why.

I took my eye test, registered to vote, became an organ donor and went over to the camera to take my picture. I'm waiting to the side for them to hand me my card and I see all these people walking away with papers - not licenses. I'm thinking, "No big deal. That was a kid. He was just getting a permit." Then it was my turn.

"Telya," the burly clerk barks from behind the camera/computer setup. I spring over to the counter, expecting to get my license, fresh from the printer, in my hand.

Instead, I got a printout of my license. On 8 1/2 x 11' paper. And a red stamp validating it. The man told me my license would be mailed to my address in about two weeks. I took the paper, confused at where things had gone wrong. I've had many an address in my day, but only two licenses: one from MI and another from VA. Everytime I went to renew or transfer my license, I'd go to the DMV, take my test, show some forms and walk out with a shiny new card. I had no reason to think my venture in Rhode Island would be any different. But, I should've known better.

After all, this is Rhode Island.

So, I walked out of the DMV, slightly dejected. I folded up the paper and put it in my wallet, praying I wouldn't get stopped so I'd have to explain. I can just imagine the conversation with the copper now:

"'You know why I stopped ya cah, ma'am," he'd say. "Let me have ya license and registration."
I'd fumble for my paperwork, and hand them to the copper, almost blinded by the flashlight he's shining in my face. He'd look quizzically at me, then at the paper, then back at me.

"Whaddya trying to pull heah, huh," he'd yell, referencing the flimsy paper that said I was allowed to drive in the state, coupled with my Mississippi license plate.

"Nothing, sir," I'd say, "Whatever do you mean?"

"I wasn't born yestahday, girl," he'd say. "You stole this car, didn't you? DIDN'T YOU?"

My mind would be spinning with images of me assuming the position on the hood of my car, about to be hauled off to jail. I could see the headlines now - "Reporter dies mysteriously after confusion during traffic stop."

My case would never be solved.

So, to avoid all of that, until I get my plastic license, I'll be driving slow, homie. Real slow.

In other news, I'm one step closer to getting renter's insurance. I got two quotes yesterday (I was very productive) - but they're both higher than everyone is telling me I should expect to pay. They're asking about $125 to $175 a year. I was told to expect about $50 to $70. I'm going to call around and check some other prices. I can't be having my new couch damaged by any apartment malfunctions, I know that.

Also, I've been informed that my "secret" is out. Sammie has been identified. Maybe it was changing my status on Facebook that did me in. Ah well. So much for trying to have some privacy. But since I've been outed, guess I'll give him a shoutout.

Hey, boo.

Think that's enough for now. If you need me, I'll be baking a cake for Sammie's birthday: Yellow cake with chocolate frosting. Behold my culinary skills and recognize.

Bow down.

Ten Things

Yes, I stole this from Marcus, but I thought it was cool. More insight into me. Holla.

10 Favorites
Favorite Color: Teal
Favorite Food: Fried Chicken
Favorite Singer: Jill Scott
Favorite Song: "Red Velvet" by Outkast or anything off of Stankonia
Favorite Movie: Love Jones
Favorite Sport: Track & Field
Favorite Season: Fall
Favorite Day Of the Week: Saturday
Favorite Position: Ya'll getting too nosey up in 'round here

9 Currents
Current Taste: Some pink lemonade, some spaghetti salad (or potato, whichever is available) and a dinner roll. mmmmmmm, tasty.
Current Clothes: green short sleved sweater, white tank top, Gap Curvy blue jeans (the bomb!), Timberland field boots, my work lanyard
Current Desktop Picture: Some blue swirl wave thing
Current Location: My office
Current Time: 5:26 p.m.
Current Crush: Sammie
Current Thought: Where can I get some pink lemonade?
Current Enemy: People who get 4 weeks of vacation
Current procrastination: Writing a story

8 Firsts
First Best Friend: Melissa Herrick
First Kiss: Jamal Dixon, summer after junior year (with the cutest green eyes, all the girls wanted him)
First Screen Name: Nicbu12
First Time: Sophomore year of college
First Yearbook caption: We didn't do that at my school
First Crush: Erick Pippens (so glad that never happened)
First Music You Remember Hearing: R&B/Hip Hop on Video Soul and Rap City
First Car: 2001 Chevy Cavalier (Deidre, aka Dee Dee)

7 Lasts
Last Cigarette: I don't smoke
Last Drink Alcoholic drink: March 11
Last Car Ride: Earlier today
Last Kiss: March 13
Last Movie Seen: Block Party
Last Phone Call: An angry subscriber who wanted to speak to someone about his paper
Last CD Played: Roots - Phrenology

6 Have You Evers
Have You Ever Made Love to One Of Your Male Friends: Yes
Have You Ever Been Arrested: No
Have You Ever Skinny Dipped: No
Have You Ever Been on TV: Yes
Have You Ever Kissed Someone You Didn't Know: No
Have You Ever Said You Loved Someone and Not Meant It: No

5 Things
5 Things You've Done Today: Driven to Burrillville, met the local town council and other movers and shakers, ate at a local diner, missed out on a double fatal (bastards), covered a Girl Scout ceremony
5 Things You Can Hear Right Now: me typing on the keyboard, the hum of the office refrigerator, the hum of either the computer or the office lights, someone knocking around stuff upstairs, me breathing (I have loud nostrils)
5 Things You Do When You're Bored: Cook, call someone, watch TV, write, read

4 Places
4 Places you want to visit: Africa, Brazil (or somewhere else cool in South America), California, the Philippines

3 People
3 People You Can Tell Anything To: Jarrod, Darby, Russatta

2 Choices...
A) Black or White: Black
B) Hot or Cold: Hot

1 Thing
1 Thing You Want to Do Before you die: make sure my life is in order so that I may go to Heaven

Thank goodness it's Thursday

My eyes darted around the kitchen, searching for a fork.

I'd just heated up some leftover General Tso's and fried rice after working an 11 hour day and just wanted to eat. But to do that, I needed a fork. So, I started looking.

There were none in the dishrack. None in the drawer. That means they were all in the pile of dishes that had taken residence in my kitchen sink.

Great. I sat my food down on the stove and ran my fingers through my hair. This was the type of day I'd been having all week. I didn't need, nor did I want this right now.

If hell were a week, it felt I was in it right now.

On Monday I rushed to work at 10 a.m., tired from the weekend before, only to find that I wasn't on the schedule at all. I told myself, bump it and stayed anyway, working on assignments and showing my replacement the ropes until 6 p.m. Oh yeah, my replacement. Last week I got reassigned, so all week, I was scrambling to finish up outstanding assignments from my old beat while struggling to arrange interviews to introduce myself to the movers and shakers on my new beat. Seems everyone picked this week to go on vacation.

I'd been shafted by an insurance adjuster on Tuesday and Wednesday, when all I really wanted was some renter's insurance. I had to sit down and dish out hundreds of dollars in credit card and utility bills this month (damn that new coat I bought - it's foxy though). My new beat was kicking my butt and all of my centerpieces kept getting pushed back.

And, on top of all that, my new couch gives me static cling.

Today, I sat at my desk and stuffed candy into my mouth - the little pieces of heaven providing me comfort during my week of hell. I guess if I think about it, it ain't all that bad. But it coulda been a whole lot better. Ah well. Good news is I have tomorrow off. Maybe I'll sleep in. Go out to lunch with the homies. Take a bath.

Yeah, that sounds good.

And just in case you were wondering, I found a plastic fork packet from KFC in my utensil drawer. I ripped into it and smashed that chicken.

In other news, read this post by Jameil. It makes me want to go to Malik's Fades and Waves right now and tell the barber to fire up the clippers. Enjoy.

The most beautifullest thing in the world

Bump what Luther said.

I still don't have anyone there to hold me tight, but my house became a home yesterday morning around 8:30 a.m. when my couch arrived in all it's microsueded glory.

For the last four months, I've been watching episodes of House and 24 from the comfort of a twin-sized mattress positioned along a wall in my living room. It was comfortable, but something about entertaining when your major sitting area is a mere 8 inches off the ground just didn't make me feel like a grown up.

So, I told myself, "self, it's time for you to get a couch. You're a grown-up. That's what grown-ups have, couches." I began scouring Ikea catalogues. West Elm, Store House and Design within Reach catalogues teeter a foot high in my living room. I found the couch that would ultimately make it's way into my living room, however, at Cardi's, a local furniture store. It was pouring down rain and I stopped in the store to kill some time before I went to work.

After talking to my sales representative (sorry, his name wasn't Storm), we searched the store for a couch that would meet my particular needs. The first one I tried was too soft. The next one looked too sloppy. The third had a horrendous print.

Then, I saw it.

In the store, it was some vibrant red color, but as soon as I sat down, I knew this was the couch that would cradle my butt for years to come. I didn't buy my sofa that day, but came back a week later, ready to lay out some cash for my down payment. I'd already selected the color I wanted - a brown microsuede that would act as a nice neutral for my future apartments, while still providing a level of sophistication and refinement to my current digs - so when I came in, all I had to do was fill out some paper work.

That was in February. Now, here, six weeks later, I have a living room full of couchy goodness. As soon as the delivery guys left, I couldn't help but run and plop down on my couch. It was mine, finally!

Everything looks different from my new vantage point two feet above ground. My television looks brighter - the pictures clearer. I no longer get cramps in my back from slouching against the wall. My living room doesn't look as empty as it used to. My apartment actually feels like someone lives there.

Now, when I climb the stairs and turn the key, my couch is there to welcome me home.

Captions from top to bottom: My banging microsuede couch; Me, enjoying my new couch.

Do you know who I am?

So, I think I’m going to have to step up my wardrobe game, with my new digs and all.

Today was my office’s first day at our new address – the main building in Downtown Providence. It was kinda shaky for me because I’d been out early covering a story and didn’t get to the office until early afternoon.

I’d smartly chosen to dress up today – khaki pants, a black blouse and my black boots. And as I walked through the halls, I realized I’d have to start doing this more often. The whole vibe downtown is much more stuffy than it was in my old bureau. Everywhere I look, I see suits, ties, sling backs and broaches. I may actually have to wear a heel every once in a while – or at least invest in some smart flats.

Guess I know where my tax refund will be going towards.

On another note, if this whole journalism thing doesn’t work out, I might go into local politics. I covered a press conference at the state house today (a perk of being downtown) and they had the most beautiful spread I’ve seen in a long time. I thought something was off when I walked into the building and smelled fish grease, but I just brushed it off, thinking I was hungry. Turns out, they were upstairs frying chicken on skewers for the reception held after the conference.

And silly me, I hadn’t had lunch yet.

After the conference, I did some interviews and looked for one of the waitresses circulating with trays of chilled shrimp, sandwich wraps and chicken skewers. All the trays I found were void of food – piled high, instead with soiled napkins and discarded skewers. I went out into the hallway dejected, when I saw a woman frying chicken in a side hallway. I walked briskly to the table and tore into the salmon and cucumber wraps stacked neatly around a plate. As I reached for one of the fried chicken skewers, she turns to me and says, “are you with the Chamber of Commerce?”

I looked her straight in the eye, answered with a hearty “yes,” and grabbed my chicken, two salmon wraps and a bottle of water before hitting the road.

******There seems to be some confusion that I stole this food. Not so. I was at the State House covering the Chamber of Commerce press conference. Therefore, i was fully and rightfully entitled to these vittles. So, please refrain from calling me a food thief henceforth and forever more. ******

Bring yo' self!

What’d you do this weekend?

I traveled three and a half hours to do nothing this weekend for my vacation and it was fantastic.

Saturday after work, I hopped on a bus and rode down to the City of Dreams to kick it with my boy – let’s call him Sammie. He was going to try to cop some tickets to a Broadway show for free. I’m all about free, so New York it was. Turns out the tickets fell through, but I still had a good time. What’d we do, you ask?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I went 185 miles south to walk around the mall.

To shop at Trader Joe’s.

To go to Macaroni Grill (and write on the table with crayons).

To see “Dave Chappelle’s Block Party.”

To sit in his room and watch the Oscars.

To eat the dinner he cooked for me (teriyaki chicken, rice and fresh green beans – tasty like a mug!).

To cake like my name was Little Debbie.

One hundred eighty-five miles just to vacate with him. Just to kick it with him.

And I’d do it again.

Sammie and I have been talking for the last few months now, but this was the first real time we just got a chance to enjoy each other’s company. And I liked that feeling. We were so absolutely comfortable around one another. We talked about everything and nothing. We slept until 2 p.m. We ate candy all day and lounged. And did I mention he cooked for me? Just wanted to make sure ya'll took notice of that.

When it was time for me to head back home Monday morning, I didn't want to leave. Not only was it hella early, but I just didn't want to leave his company. Being around him makes me smile. I enjoy the way he makes me feel. Immensely.

As I relayed my weekend to a few friends, they seemed kind of disappointed that I hadn’t done more with my life over the past few days. They’d hyped up the visit and were expecting some grand story in return. But, I didn’t need to be doing something 24 hours a day to have fun. It doesn’t take that much to please me and the few things we did do kept me entertained.

And besides, doing nothing with him was better than doing something with anyone else.

Text madness

I love text messaging as much as the next person, but I think this needs to be said:

FORWARDS SHOULD NOT BE SENT THROUGH CELL PHONE TEXT MESSAGES!

I don’t pass them along (usually) through e-mail, so why would I pass them on my cell phone?

When I read some of the forwards I get on my phone, I have to wonder to myself, “Self, what kinds of friends and family members do you have that think you want to read this kind of stuff on the phone? Are you sending out the wrong messages?”

I don’t know what the world is coming to, but I’d like to know who had enough time on his hands to go through and type all this stuff in?

Whoever you are, you are a loser. Or in your language: 99966688#777#2#5556667777337771

I swear, this week has been worse than most. I’ve been inundated with random forwards from friends and family. I hate forwards in my e-mail, but I never thought. These are all the forwards – or the ones I haven’t deleted – since Feb. 24 in all their text messaged glory (note, these messages were sent as is. No grammar, spelling or punctuation has been added):

“What’s wrong with ur phone? Everytime I call it says ‘the subscriber ur trying 2 reach is currently giving head. Please try again later!”

“Special report! Snow White was kicked out of Disney World. She was caught sittin on pinochio’s face with her skirt up, yellin, ‘lie nigga lie!’”

“Top 5 lies women tell: #5 – I’m a virgin. #4- he’s just my friend. #3- I dont suck dick. #2- I’m cumming. And the #1- Dis yo pussy!”

“20 angels r in this wrld, 10 r sleepn on clouds, 9 r playn n 1 is reading dis txt. Snd ths msg2 10 friends including me if u get 5 bac sum1 u luv will surprise u!!”

“Bacon is bacon eggs is eggs dnt let dat nigga between dem legs he say u cute he say u fine but 9 mnths lata he say it aint mine!”

“A teen girl asked her mom if babies came out da same place boyz put their dicks? Yes mom said! So when I have a baby won’t it break my teeth? BAYBEE GIRL :P"

“Sex is like math. Add the bed subtract the clothes divide the legs and hope you don’t multiply. Send to 5 freaks.”

"A recent survey said 99% of ugly ass people check their messages w/their thumb. Its 2 late; dont switch fingers now."

What they fail to realize is that I only pay for 500 text messages a month. I don't want to waste my precious messages hearing about this randomness.

I say we band together and start our own forward. I have a rough draft already.

Like to hear it, here it go: "If u agree dis madness of texting fwds via cell phones needs to stop, fwd dis blog entry to 10 ppl. Otherwise, you'll be 4eva cursed w/ an inbox full of inappropriate msgs from ppl u thot luvd u...and ur crush will never say another word to u."

Rave Reviews

They just keep rolling in.

Phillipe and Jorge from The Providence Phoenix said:
One musical number that really stood out this year, “SOS,” was a song about the controversy over unionizing child-care workers in the state. It was done to the tune of the old ’60s soul classic, Fontella Bass’s “Rescue Me,” and sung magnificently by a Follies’ newcomer, reporter Talia Buford, who covers the Blackstone Valley. We definitely look forward to hearing from Ms. Buford in the future.

Darrell West from Inside Politics said:
New reporter Talia Buford won applause for her stirring rendition of Brown University President Ruth Simmons. In a skit called "Protection" sung to the tune of Diana Ross' "Ain't No Mountain High Enough", she belted out these lyrics to complain about Fox News' Bill O'Reilly invading a Brown party: "Oh ain't no cocktail strong enough, Ain't no costume low enough, Ain't no party wild enough, To sully our proud reputation."

Alright, it's official. I am a Superstar. I'll be signing autographs at 3 p.m. in the main lobby. Thank you.