About me

Friends,

So, my sister came to visit me this weekend and asked me to complete this homemade survey so she could learn a little more about me. It's a little long, but I hope you'll read to the end and learn a little more about me in the process. Enjoy

--T. Dot

Career
Proudest Career Moment: I have a few, but the most recent is this one. It's the first chance I've had to write a feature in a long time. But more importantly, it's my first Sunday local centerpiece. So yeah, read it. Tell me what you think. I'm proud of it.
Why did you choose your career? Honestly, I chose my career partly because of an aptitude test I took in the 5th grade. It told me that I'd be a good artist, journalist, writer/author, or teacher. I thought seriously about the options, realized I wanted to eat on a daily basis and didn't really like kids that much. Plus, I loved writing. At the time, I wrote poetry and I devoured books in hours. The idea of getting paid to do something I loved appealed to me. Plus, as I learned about what a journalist did, I realized that I could help people (something that was important to me), tell cool stories, meet interesting people, do fun things and have each day be different than the day before. And get paid for it. Seemed like a no-brainer to me. I honestly don't know why everyone isn't a journalist. I guess that is for the best though. We'd have a lot of newspapers and no doctors, lawyers or police officers. Or politicians. There might not be anything to write about.
On a scale of 1 to 10, how satisfying is your career? In general, I think the profession has the potential to be a 10. Right now? I'd say I'm at about a 6 or 7. I'm working on raising that number.
If not this career, what would you do? Hard to say. I think I may have ended up being a teacher. Maybe a high school or college teacher. If not that, then maybe I'd work for a non profit or be a scientist. I always liked experiments

Relationships
How many true friends do you have? I think I have many friends - ones that I consider lifelong friends. But I guess if I had to count the number of "for better or worse" kinda friends, I'd say maybe 7.
Any of them within 25 miles of you? One
What makes you feel most connected to people? I feel most connected to people who feel comfortable enough to put their guard down and allow me to listen to them. I believe deeply in the power of conversation and that just voicing feelings, thoughts, concerns, etc. instantly connects you to another person. If I feel connected to you, I'll tell you how I feel and what I think. If I'm really connected to you, I'll talk to you when I don't know what I'm feeling or what I think and need help figuring it out.
With whom do you miss spending time with the most? That's a hard question. I miss everyone. I miss some people -friends and family - more on some days than on others. For me to choose who I miss most would be like trying to choose who is your favorite child: you love them all.
Are you fulfilled now by the relationships you have? Yes and no. I have great friends. Fabulous friends, actually. But it's hard when they aren't nearby to make new experiences with.

Hair
Do you regret going natural? Hecks no. I wish my hair would grow, but in general, I love being natural. Embracing my natural hair texture has made me (I think) a lot more confident in who I am. It's also made me more cognizant of the confidence that comes from being at ease with ones self. I love playing in my hair. I love the way people react to it. I love that it's mine and that I love it just the way it is. I have no regrets.
Best hairstyle you've worn so far? I really enjoyed the comb twists I had in August 2006 for the NABJ convention in Indianapolis. I just thought they were really cute. Other than that I've thoroughly enjoyed when I have a fresh shape up and I just wear my fro out - no headband. I just love the look of it.
Hairstyle you can't wait to rock? There are so many options? I want two strand twists that look full and that actually hang; I'd like a big afro, just so I can say that I have it. I also want to rock a poof. I wear it now, but it's more like a mini poof. I want a real poof. There's also a coil style that Lauren Hill used to rock that I wouldn't mind trying out.

First Time:
Kiss: LOL. Alright, so I was a late bloomer. My first real kiss was the summer before my junior or senior year of high school (I think junior, but I can't rightly recall) and it was with a fairly popular guy at my school. I won't name names because I just don't need to spread the business like that. It happened at my house. We kissed a few more times after that. It was more a summer fling. Clearly I wasn't trying to bring him into the school year.
Break-Up: Wow, um, yeah. I guess technically, the first time I split with a boyfriend - not just someone I was 'talking to' was sophomore year of college. I'd been with my boyfriend for like 8 months or so. There was something I was unwilling to compromise on. I told him when we got together that if it got to the point where it became a problem for him, don't cheat, just tell me and we can break amicably. October 2002, he did. He came into the newspaper office and I already knew what he was going to tell me. He said it and I busted out laughing in his face. He asked if I would be okay. I said sure - and that we could still be friends. I called him on his birthday every year until we graduated.
Out of state trip: I don't rightly recall my first out of state trip, but I'm sure it was probably to Oxford, Miss. to visit family. Wait, it may have been to Canada. My 6th grade class took a trip to Niagara Falls. It was pretty cool. I bought a magnet and gave it to my mom.
International Trip: I guess Canada counts as my first International trip. I hope to travel to Africa later this year, and possibly to somewhere tropical this spring.
Own apartment: My first apartment was the summer after my freshman year. I was doing an internship in Memphis, Tenn. at The Commercial Appeal and I rented an apartment sight unseen at the suggestion of the editor. It turned out to be a decent place. One bedroom. My mom came down to help me get settled and help me furnish it. She found some K-mart/Dollar General/Family Dollar place and furnished it, along with some stuff I brought from home and a few selections from Target. I had so much junk, I had to make a trip to Oxford to drop off some of the stuff I wouldn't be able to take back with me. This is also the first time I had a real plant. My mom has 50 million plants in the house, so my apartment wasn't home until I got a plant. My fern flourished that summer. Then, it died when I left it in the packed car in the Mississippi sun. RIP Fern. RIP.
Car accident: The first major car accident I had was Thanksgiving of 2003 (right Darby?). Darbs and I were driving my car from D.C./Hampton to New Orleans for the Bayou Classic. Somewhere just outside of Tuskegee, we'd stopped to get gas or food and switch places. Up until that point, I'd driven. But it was getting dark and I was getting tired. So I let Darbs drive. Which was a big thing for me because I don't let people drive my car. I just don't. So anyway, we were getting on the expressway when, out of the corner of my eye, I see us getting really close to a semi-truck. Just as I went to say something to Darbs, I felt the semi-truck tires bump against the side of my little Cavalier. We went skidding into the breakdown lane, where, thankfully, we stopped. The semi-truck continued about it's way. As we watched it, we saw it sway (we think the driver was sleeping because we were all up in the middle of the merge lane). So, Darbs and I crawl across the seats and switch places. I floor it and catch up to the driver. Darbs writes down the license plate number and we pull off at the next exit and call the police - and my mom. We go back to the scene of the accident at the request of 911. We stayed the night in Tuskegee. By the morn, we've come to realize that: a) the back of a tractor trailer means nothing - you need the license plate on the front of the cab (which defies all logic), and b) the wheels had jammed the driver's side door shut. That meant that for the entire time we were in N.O., I had to climb over the passenger seat to get into the car. It stayed like that for a few weeks after I got back to Hampton. I got it fixed just before I went home for Christmas break.
Celebrity Meeting: I met Floetry during the Summer of 2003. I was working in Washington D.C. at a wire service when I heard they were coming to town. A friend of mine, a photographer who lived in D.C., suggested we try to get into the concert for free under the guise of writing a story about the group for the wire service. I pitched it to my editors. It worked. We were on the press list and I set up an interview with the women the day before to get background and talk to them about other random things. We arrived at their hotel and waited for the women to come downstairs. When they did, both were obviously blunted. Our suspicions were backed up by their loopy answers, droopy lids and erratic behavior. I got my interview, then went to the show - where we watched the show from some of the best seats in the house. Good day, that was. Good day.
Encounter with Racism: I've always been acutely aware that racism exists; that credit goes to my mother, who ensured we knew that everyone was not always out for our best interest. When I was younger, I remember a number of racist things that happened indirectly to me - one that sticks out is my mother relaying the story of a friend's mother, a Native American, who said I couldn't come to a sleepover because her husband, a white man, didn't like black people. I was probably in the 3rd or 4th grade. That one still hurts a little because at the time, the girl was one of my best friends. After that incident, we barely spoke to one another. I'm sure that I've encountered other incidents of racism, but I learned a long time ago to ignore ignorance and answer it instead with my actions. People have suggested I got positions via internships or whatever because of my skin color. Snide comments would occur in the newsroom - or I'd hear about them second hand. I smiled and held my tongue. And wiped the floor with the other interns. I didn't have to say anything because it was my name they saw on the front page, on the metro front, in the editor's e-mail praising the staff's work from the last week. I let that speak for itself. As far as people who decide they don't want to associate with me because of my skin color, I consider it their loss. I'm a great person and, sadly, they'll never have the chance to find that out for themselves because of their ignorance. I, on the other hand, will be just fine without them.
Blog: Tidbits o' Talia, August 1, 2005
Sunburn: I don't think I've been sunburned badly to the point where my shins were red and peeling (lol, Slayer), but I have had the general darkening that comes from being in the sun. I guess that's called a tan, right? So, yeah. I don't think I've tanned to the point of it being painful. I don't rightly plan on changing that anytime soon, either. I stay out of the sun as much as possible and wear sunscreen when I do go out for extended periods.

The Follies

In a word?

Rocked.

Setta B. came up for the weekend to see me shake a tailfeather. When she sends the pics we took, I'll update you all on the shenanigans and songs.

Here's what the Phoenix wrote in an advance about it.

Stay tuned.

Oh, how I've neglected thee!

I've been slacking on my pimping lately.

It's fine. I can admit it.

I just haven't really had the time, energy or inspiration to post lately. So, just to tide you over while I get my second wind, here's a random post for you. Enjoy.

I need some Ambien CR
Clearly, I have been exhausted lately. I've been working long hours, going out with friends, taking weekend jaunts to NYC and otherwise living my life lately. And that mess has me exhausted. Every night, it feels like I'm struggling to stay awake. When I do go to sleep, I fall asleep hard. I wake up in the morning like I've had too much to drink the night before.

And, I've started snoring again.

To let my sister tell it, I never stopped. We used to share a room growing up and she'd always throw pillows at me to try to stop the chainsaw emanating from my side of the room (nah, it wasn't that bad). Over the years, I learned that I snored mostly when I was really tired and it's usually just a quiet buzz rather than an earth shaking roar.

Well, my snores have been waking me up lately.

I'll go to sleep, only to wake up a short time later after hearing myself saw a log one good time. When I fall asleep around people, they start nudging me to try to get me to stop snoring (which I think is rude. If I'm sleep, let me sleep. Clearly I'm tired. I have no control over this snoring thing so you will do nothing but irritate me if you continue to wake me from my obviously much needed rest). I'm thinking that maybe I'm just overexerting myself lately and that come March, I'll be back to sleeping normally.

I sure hope so. Otherwise, I might need to seek some pharmaceutical help.

Selfish much?
Alright. So, I was sitting on my couch with a friend of mine when he offered me an individual package of Snackwell's cookies that he had produced from his pocket. I said no because I wasn't really in the mood for cookies and turned my attention back to the basketball game on the television. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him take the cookie out of the opened pack, lick it, grab the other cookie and lick that as well.

I stopped.

"Did you just lick those cookies so I wouldn't ask for them later," I said incredulously.

He said: "Yeah. You said you didn't want them so I didn't want you to change your mind."

I swear I sat with my mouth agape for a good minute and a half as I tried to wrap my head around what just happened. What possesses a person to do some mess like that?

Sidenote: I later offered this person some Oreo's that have sat neglected in my cupboard for many months. After he'd eaten some, he rearranged the cookies so that they would form two solid rows. I flipped out.

"Did you just touch all those cookies that you're not going to eat," I asked. "I don't know where your hands have been - you could have been digging up your nose for all I know." I could feel myself giving him the worst look of disgust I've handed out in recent months.

He sheepishly took out the ones he'd touched and apologized. I don't know. I'm just kinda weird about people touching things that I might potentially eat. That's why I don't take my contributions home from potlucks - they've been sitting there all night with people breathing all on the lasagna. Who wants to take that home and eat it? Not me. Wash your hands and keep your face away from my food.

(P.S. - Though I'm lambasting this friend for his eating habits, I'm also publicly thanking him for coming to see me during my dress rehearsal. Gracias!)

It's FOLLIES Time!
So, the Follies is going well. We had our public dress rehearsal Sunday afternoon (for those who missed it, trust, you MISSED it) and it went really well. This year, I have a duet with another performer where I play one half of a gay married couple who can not get divorced in Rhode Island. I also have a verse in a story about DOT workers who leased space above a local strip club. Guess what I am.

Other than that, I play a Vegas showgirl, a "Celona-ette," in honor of a local big politician who was recently jailed for accepting kickbacks from CVS, and, of course, I'm in the opener and closer. So, I'm not the star (as I was last year) but I get a respectable amount of stage time. And I'm okay with that.

So, Setta B. may make an appearance in the 401 for my performance. If she makes it, I just want to say that it will be off the chain. We'll actually get a chance to kick it in my state instead of me always going down to the Big Apple. Maybe we'll go kick rocks or something because I clearly don't know what we're going to do when she gets here. But we'll figure it out. :-)

Momma T-Dot
Momma T-Dot is doing well. Thank you for all who inquired about her recently. The house is cool and we haven't had any other run ins with neighborhood hooligans. However, my sister did pass along this funny story to me about my mom. So, apparently, she was at the crib and a woman came to the door asking for some guy who obviously doesn't live at our house. My mom shooed her away and went about her business. Later that day, she's watching the news and she sees the woman on TV as someone who is wanted by the Flint Police for robbing more than a few places. Clearly God was looking out for ma on that one. My sister suspects the woman is the one who broke into our house recently. It is odd because everyone knows my mother has lived in that house for more than 30 years. Just odd is all.

Another random Momma T-Dot factoid: she had a jar of the contaminated peanut butter! Yes, Rutha Mae had a jar of the salmonella laced peanut butter - and had ate almost all of it! She had complained of some symptoms, but just brushed it off and kept eating. We tried to get her to go to the hospital like they told people to do and she just brushed us off. I guess she figured she'd gone this long without anything serious, it wasn't going to hurt her now. However, she did throw the peanut butter away. I swear, she's gonna give me a heart attack.

Mmk.

I think that's all I've got for now.

Cheers to you, blog readers!

So, this whole blogging thing has opened me up like never before.

Most noteably, to people I don't really know.

I started this blog a year and a half ago mostly as a way to write and get my narrative story telling game up. Then, I found a whole little community of bloggers - some friends, some family, and some strangers - who read my stuff and allow me to read the shenanigans that happen in their lives.

I guess somewhere, deep inside, I just assumed only people I knew read my blog. I guess I just thought my life wasn't that exciting to hold the interests of people who didn't know me.

Apparently I was wrong.

So, shout out to JLong, who IM'd me today and wrote: Ms. T-Dot......wuz good? U don't know me but I just thought i'd let u know how much I love ur blogs

J, honey, you absolutely made my day!

So to you, J Long, old friends (hey Toya!), strangers, fellow bloggers/friends (ya'll know who you are) and to the many members of my family (D.B., T.W., A.W., K.M., etc) who have now stumbled across the blog, thank you for reading about my antics and other ruminitions on life.

I appreciate your lives.

Sincerely,
T-Dot

The ABC's of T

I stole this from Veronica (everybody's blog is getting made over these days, huh?).

Enjoy!

A - AVAILABLE: Yes, and I'm actually not looking to change that anytime soon.
B - BIRTHDAY: October 12, 1983.
C - CRUSHING: Nothing but ice, homie
D - DRINK YOU LAST HAD: Cranberry Raspberry cocktail juice
E - EASIEST PERSON TO TALK TO: Jarrod. It just comes so naturally. I'm glad we're friends.
F - FAVORITE BANDS: I'd say my favorite musical artists are Outkast, Prince, the jazz greats (Miles, Coltrane, etc), and a variety of artists that find their way onto my mixtapes.
G - GUMMY BEARS OR GUMMY WORMS: Bears, all day, baby.
H - HOMETOWN: Flint, MI, aka Bedrock
I - INSTRUMENT(s): I used to play the trombone when I was in middle school, but I got tired of carrying it on the bus, so I gave it up. The case was taller than me.
J - JUGGLE: Nope, but I do a mean softshoe
K - KILLED SOMEONE: Only with kindness. But I did shoot a gun recently.
L - LONGEST CAR RIDE: The Thanksgiving jaunt from Hampton to D.C. to New Orleans with Darby for the Bayou Classic. Good times, ah, Good times.
M - MILKSHAKE FLAVOR: I don't really prefer milkshakes.
N - NUMBER OF SIBLINGS: Eight. I'm the youngest.
O - ONE WISH?: "If I had one wish, we would be best friends..." okay, not really. Um, one wish? Security, stability and happiness for those I love.
L - LAST PERSON WHO TEXTED YOU: Julian
Q- QUIET?: Yeah, I like to observe first, then I'll open up and get real reckless with my comments.
R - REASON TO SMILE: God gave me another day - isn't that enough?
S- SONG YOU LAST HEARD: "Our Day Will Come," Nancy Wilson
T - TIME YOU WOKE UP: 9:10 a.m.
U- UNDERWEAR YOU'RE WEARING?: Nothing cute, just some plain ole regular drawes
V - VEGETABLE YOU HATE: Squash. And Zucchini. And Okra. I find my tastes evolve as I grow older, but these will remain on my hit list.
W - WORST HABIT: I have a few, but since we're talking worst, I'll say keeping a messy car. It really gets in the way sometimes.
X - X-RAYS YOU'VE HAD: Just my teeth.
Y - YOUR FRIEND THAT SHOWED YOU THIS: Veronica.
Z- ZODIAC SIGN: Libra. I'm balanced, yet indecisive because I always need to see all sides. Gift and a curse.

T-Dot's got a gun

When the officer first offered to let me let off a couple rounds, I thought he was kidding. When they made me put on the body armour, I knew he wasn't.

I had no idea what to expect when I pulled the trigger.

But here I was, at the Warwick shooting range getting lessons from the Police Academy instructor on how to properly hold the pistol and brace my body for the recoil.

As he spoke, I thought about some of the bad things that could happen:

I could hit myself in the face from the recoil.
The force might be so much that the gun would flail wildly in my arms and I'd become a danger to everyone.
I could scream like a little girl.

I looked at the instructor and then at my target, a bullet riddled grey silhouette about 15 feet away.

Did I really want to do this? Oh yeah.

See, ever since I was robbed at gunpoint on my front porch when I was a teenager, I've been afraid of guns. I've known friends who had them. I tell them not to take them out around me. I've been invited by my cousins to go do shooting practice in the country. I politely decline. There's just something about using a deadly weapon for fun that, honestly, just doesn't appeal to me.

But here I was, surrounded by trained police officers and cadets at a municipal facility and I had the chance to learn. So I took it.

I bet the officer instructing me thought I was stupid because the whole time he's telling me how to hold, load and unload the gun, I have a huge smile on my face - it's a nervous habit. I smile as he shows me the correct positioning of my thumbs and explains the pressure I should use when pulling the trigger.

Behind me, I see the line of cadets begin to form. They've finished their training. They've come to watch me.

The officer takes a magazine out of his jacket and loads it into the gun. At that moment, I'm totally sober. The smile is gone from my face. He cocks the gun and hands it to me.

"Okay," the officer says, "get your positioning right and when you're ready to fire, align the dots on your sight guard and pull the trigger back slowly and smoothly."

My legs are shoulder width apart, my Timberlands slightly sinking in the muddy field. I lean forward and look through my yellow eye guards to align the gun.

"Just shoot?" I ask, halfway expecting him to tell me to shout 'fire' when I'm ready to unload.

"Just shoot."

I exhale. And then I pull the trigger.

A loud shallow pop echoes off of the sand dune behind the target. The recoil of the gun forces me to take a step backward, but my gun stays upright - as do I. For a moment, I'm frozen. Everything and everyone else is silent.

Then I hear it.

A slow clap emerges from the line of cadets 15 feet behind me. Then, the congratulatory hoots and hollers of "Good Job, Ma'am."

The instructor, who had stepped aside while I shot, stood next to me. "Do you want to shoot that one," he said, pointing to the target next to the one I'd just shot.

"No," I said, my arms still in shooting stance. "You can take the gun now."

He takes the gun and holsters it. "Not bad for your first time," he said, turning to the cadets. "Right? Pretty good for her first time?"

The claps and hollers get louder. The instructor and I walk toward the target to see how I'd done. The grey silhouette, which is just a head and torso that ends just around an imaginary belly button, also has another circle that stretches from the sternum to the bottom of the rib cage. That circle, the instructor explains, is where they want cadets to shoot as it is the most effective for stopping attackers.

My bullet hole rested inside the circle, about half an inch from the bottom. If this were real, I would have shot my assailant about an inch below her breast.

"That's actually really good," the instructor said. From the smile on his face, I could tell he was speaking truthfully.

I speak to the instructors afterward, thanking them for the lesson and the opportunity. In my car, I look to call someone to tell them about my experience but I'd left my phone at the office. My thoughts weigh upon me heavily as I drive back to the office.

I imagine the force of the bullet I fired ripping through my body, or the body of someone else. I know that if I hit them, they're gone. I wonder to myself if I could shoot someone if it were a part of my job description. I'm thankful that I don't have to find out.