Mia: Shaken Not Stirred

The true life stories of a NYC female.

Sunday, November 30, 2008

Beer, Money, and Cleavage

It started out innocently enough the model thin females I call my friends were talking about cellulite and stretch marks around their butts and thighs while we waited on our table. My friend Psycho Chick whipped out her cell phone and showed me some pics of her wearing a thong and pointed to her troubled areas. When I didn’t add my tale of woe to theirs I was asked about mine. “I don’t have either” I said. Considering that I am heavier than both of them the girls were amazed. “Genetics” I said. “You’ve got a great ass Mia” Psycho Chick said as she reached behind me and attempted to pinch my butt.”Uh, what the hell and thank you?” “Shit Mia your ass is solid muscle I can’t pinch it!” She then let her hand roam freely along my ass until I stepped away from her. Something about that felt a little too friendly if you get my drift.

Maybe it was the music, the good company, or the booze, or maybe it was the nifty new necklace I was wearing courtesy of the oh so wonderful Frumalicious. Whatever the reason behind her confession there was no stopping Psycho Chick, she’d decided that the time had come to reveal that she was bisexual ( I knew this) and that she was attracted to me (news to me) and she’d decided to do this in front of my friends while sitting in my favorite pub. My friend Ursula loved it; her boyfriend, Rassan, just didn’t know what to do with himself, this was a totally new experience for him. His facial expressions were killing me every one was funnier than the last.

I tried to tell her that she was just feeling that way because she’s going through a really bad time in school right now and I’ve stood by her. I’m due to act as her student advocate in front of a panel of professors in a few days. “You’re just feeling me because I’m about to slay some dragons for you.” She disagreed with my theory and went on to inform us that she’d been attracted to me the first time she’d seen me in class and that’s why she’d started talking to me.“Oh man and here I thought it was my charm and wit” I joked just before sipping the last of my Blue Moon beer. Psycho Chick’s blue eyes twinkled and she winked at me, “I’ve always been attracted to women with brown eyes. You have beautiful eyes beautiful chocolate eyes.” Chocolate? I’ve had them described as amber, café au lait, brown sugar, and the more mundane light brown but chocolate? Never. I wonder what kind of chocolate?

Ursula’s boyfriend’s eyes opened wide and he looked off to the side before putting his game face on and looking at me. I smiled at him and said, “Rassan, don’t you wish I‘d brought my boyfriend along?” He laughed and nodded his head. “Before this night is over I want to kiss you” she continued “You have the sexiest lips. There’s something about you Mia.” Ursula’s boyfriend looked as if he wanted to run. He also looked as if was blushing but given his dark complexion and the lighting in the place it was hard to tell. I pointed to Psycho Chick and then myself,”Bet you wish you’d stayed in Jersey huh Rassan?” He nodded his head. “That’ll teach you to hang out with Puerto Ricans. Aren't you glad you’re dating the Polish chick right about now?” Rassan nodded his head a bit too eagerly. Psycho Chick scared him.Ursula laughed at his reaction. I whipped out a tube of lip balm and began coating my lips stretching and puckering them into anything but attractive. “Sexy lips huh?” Ursula and her boyfriend laughed at my comical grimaces.

I excused myself from the table to get another round of drinks from the bar “What are you getting?” Psycho Chick asked. “I’m getting a Stella “I’ll have the same” she said as she stuffed the money for her beer down the front of my shirt and into my bra. I tugged at the shirt glancing down at the twenty dollar bill stuck in my cleavage. “That’s too much, the beer’s only four bucks" I said . “Keep the change, it’s your tip” she replied. I shrugged my shoulders and reached into my bra for the money. I also made a mental note to pay for the rest of her drinks with the change. “Thanks, times are tough” I said and shook my boobs back and forth. Ursula’s boyfriend howled in laughter as Ursula slapped the table and yelled at me, “Go baby go!”

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Friday, November 28, 2008

I Wanted To Say...But I Didn't

“See me after class.” The note attached to my ungraded paper read. I sighed and ran my finger over the note feeling the tell tale pin prick of tears swimming behind my eyes. Here we go again. Suck it up. No matter how mad you are you will not cry.

I’m tired of this, tired of having to defend myself over and over again just because I can string my thoughts into words, words into sentences and sentences into comprehensive paragraphs. I go through this every so often.I hand in my first paper of the term and a professor will question my work, in essence they question me. I wonder what is it exactly that people see when they look at me? I must come across as dumber than a door nail. Maybe I should just dumb my papers down so I wouldn’t have to go through this hassle repeatedly.

I approached the professor after class and he took my paper from me.

- What’s this about?

He looked disappointed as if I’d done something wrong.

Oh yeah here we go again.

-- Mia, this paper looks like you purchased it.

Oh no, he didn’t, oh hell no he didn’t just say that to me. I chuckled. I have a tendency to chuckle when I’m nervous or angry. Hey, at least it was keeping the tears at bay.

- Are you serious?

I laughed again and he glared at me.

- This isn’t the first time this happens.

-- It’s not?

- Nope. Last semester Dee accused me of the same thing the first time I did a paper for her.

I didn’t bother to tell him about all the others or that I’d chased away their doubts after consistently turning in “A” papers.

- Scan the paper if you want. It’s not plagiarized and it is my work.

Judging from the condition of the paper he’d already scanned it. Having found no evidence of plagiarism he assumed I’d paid someone to write the paper for me.

-- See this here this is a red flag

He pointed out a chart I’d created breaking down data

-I created that chart specifically to make it easier for you to interpret the data.

He stared at me incredulously.

-- You did this?

- Yes.

His comment stung as if he’d slapped me. I wanted to retaliate with a smart assed comment but this wasn’t the time. I didn’t want to embarrass him in front of the students who’d hung back to talk to him after class. After all he is the one who ultimately decides if I pass or fail the class.

-- This is a grad level paper

I looked into his eyes defiantly and laughed.

I get it, because I’m a BA student I shouldn’t be able to work on a grad school level. I wanted to kick him yet I felt a flush of pride.

- Are you serious?

What I actually wanted to say are you FUCKING bloody serious?! I didn’t because there was no need for me to be rude. I’m better than that…sometimes.

- I should be a grad student by now. This is my second BA.

A look of surprised skittered over his face, he arched an eyebrow at me.

-- Really?

- Yeah, I got my first BA from John Jay.

-- John Jay?

- Yeah

John Jay has a great academic rep I’d impressed him. Big whoop.

- The subject really interests me. I plan on doing my masters thesis on this.

-- Are you working on your masters now?

- No, but I will be next year. I believe in being prepared.

-- Still…

- I took this class at John Jay

-- You did?

- Yeah

-- Why are you taking it again?

- The head of the social work department here insisted I take it again.

I explained to him that if he’d asked when I submitted my topic for his approval I would’ve told him that I’ve been researching the subject for a year now. My topic was on the stigmatization of mental illness in women of a specific religious community and the reluctance of the afflicted individuals and their families to seek outside help. There’s very little research being done in this area and as a result I’ve been using my ties to that community by reaching out to women in here in the United States and abroad and conducting my own studies and surveys. I’ve been compiling my own data. He stared at the paper and then looked at me. I think I unnerved him.

-- Mia, don’t take nothing bad out of this.

-What am I supposed to take from this then?

--It’s just a well written paper. Too well written, it looked professional. The format… I thought you purchased it. What was I supposed to think?

- I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.

I stared at him and held in what I wanted to say. I don’t know what you were supposed to think. I only know what you obviously thought. You thought that I wasn’t smart enough, that I didn’t have it in me. No sir it’s not like I’ve dedicated every free moment I have to my research. Surely I would never be that dedicated towards my educational goals. I wanted to say all that but I didn’t.

-- Mia, I’m giving you an “A” for this paper. I don’t give any higher.

I nodded my head and took my paper from him and turned to walk away. I know I should’ve felt vindicated but I didn’t, I felt hurt. Maybe he expected me to thank him but I didn’t feel like I owed him that. I busted my ass on that paper, I’d earned that grade. He called out to me softly and it was all I could do not to give him the middle finger.

-- Mia, You never talk in class, you’re always so quiet.

- I don’t talk because I’m always thinking.

I wanted to say I don't talk because I know this stuff already and want the other students to get a chance to ask the questions they need to ask and to learn. I wanted to say don’t think I’m stupid just because I don’t speak in class but I didn’t.


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Saturday, November 22, 2008

My Mother The Witch

Somewhere out in Ireland there's a 5 year old boy who thinks my mother is a witch. The fact that he believes this is due to my mother. The little boy was recently visiting his granparents in my building when he met my mother.

She slipped the Nextel phone into her pocket as she entered the laundry room and side stepped the bundle of energy that was headed straight for her. The little boy ran up and down the laundry room driving his older sister crazy as only a hyper and bored five year old could. Mom smiled at the teenaged girl she hadn't seen in several years, “Miss Maggie!” the girl screeched as she ran to embrace my mother. When they finally broke off their hug the little boy followed my mother around and watched as she placed the laundry into the washer. Mom tends to dress like a gypsy sans the head gear and crystal ball; kids tend to love this look. The little boy’s attention was drawn to her curly auburn hair. “Your hair is pretty.” “Thank you Kieran” she replied. The little boy gasped at the mention of his name. He was clueless as to the fact that his grandmother had been flashing photos of him to mom since he’d been an infant or that both of his sisters had spent several years in mom’s Girl Scout troop before their parents moved back to Ireland.

Just as mom was about to explain this to him the Nextel in my mother’s skirt pocket started talking. My brother was trying to reach her via the walkie talkie feature of the phone. Whenever mom doesn’t pick up the phone right away it means she has the phone either in her pocket or her purse and doesn’t hear it so its best to use the walkie talkie feature on the phone if you have a Nextel or sprint phone, other wise just leave a message and eventually she’ll check the phone.

My mother’s pocket was talking…“Ma take me out of your pocket! Ma! Mommyyyy! Take me out of your pocket woman I need to talk to you!” The little boy stared at my mom his eyes opened wide. “Your pocket is talking!” My mom never missing an opportunity to mess with a kid nodded her head and touched her pocket. “It’s my son. He was misbehaving and I cast a spell on him and put him in time out.” she said looking down at the little boy. “Your son is in your pocket?” Mom looked over to his sister and winked, and the teenager hid her smile behind her hand. Mom nodded her head, “Yes he is Kieran.” She said as her pocket continued to talk.

Kieran narrowed his eyes at my mother and looked back at his sister. “Miss Maggie is a witch Kieran.” “Uh uh she’s too pretty to be a witch.” He said. The little boy stared incredulously at his sister and then back at mom. “Becky is telling you the truth Kieran how else would I know your name, we’ve never met before have we Kieran?” mom asked. Because he’s still at that age when he believes in the tooth fairy and Santa it didn’t take much to convince him that my mother was a witch.

“ Kieran, I'll be back in a few minutes go over there and sit down like a good boy and mind your sister I wouldn’t want to have to give you a time out as well.” mom said as she patted her pocket. Kieran quickly ran to the nearest bench and sat down. When mom returned from calling my brother Kieran was still sitting in the same spot.


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Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Never Claimed To Be Perfect

My mother’s mantra has always been “Be the bigger person.” No matter what insult or offense was heaped on us she’s always advised that we turn the other cheek, be the better person. “There is no weakness in forgiving others, retaliation and vengeance is what makes you weak. The desire to even things up eats away at your soul and weakens your humanity.” I’ve always tried to remember that whenever I’m in a situation where I’ve been emotionally hurt or wronged. As a result I tend to think…a lot…before I act out of anger or hurt. I’m not always so successful in my endeavor to be the better person, it’s nice to know neither is my mother.

As we rode down in the elevator one of our neighbors was glaring at my mother. My mother was stunned even though they were just acquaintances they’d always greet each other warmly and stopped to chat whenever they saw each other. It had been this way for about 15 years, now the woman stared at mom as if she were evil incarnate. Mom shrugged her shoulders and tried to figure out what had she’d done to this woman to cause such palpable disdain. She finally recalled what it was and flashed the woman a dimpled smile. The woman rolled her eyes at mom and looked off to the side. In the annals of history it was no biggie but the woman had taken great offense. It was kid stuff that had caused the once warm and friendly neighbor to turn against my mother.

My little sister had ended her friendship with the woman’s daughter when my sister had realized that the girl was using their friendship as a cover in order to meet with an older boy to have sex. Because the woman had adored my sister whenever her sheltered daughter mentioned she was going out to the library or going to hangout with my sister the woman had given her the freedom to go out. Her lies were finally revealed when she’d violated her curfew and her mom called my house to find out if my mom had heard from her daughter or my sister. She was shocked to find out that my sister had been home all day and that in fact hadn’t been hanging out with her daughter at all for months. Naturally she didn’t believe my sister when she told her this. She thought my sister had been covering up for her daughter all along and blamed her for whatever rebellious streak her daughter was now showing. It would have been fine if it had ended there but then the woman took great pains to trash talk about my sister to anyone and everyone that would listen and it got back to my mother. Mom thought it had all been settled after she had gently approached the woman, obviously it hadn’t.

When the elevator finally reached the lobby the woman glared at my mother one last time before walking out of the elevator. As we walked behind her into the main lobby I noticed that the back of her skirt was tucked into her underwear. It was obvious from the condition of her underwear that she didn’t follow the wear nice underwear in case you get hit by a car rule of thumb. I started to open my mouth to say something when my mom grabbed my arm and held me back. She gave me “the look” and shook her head. “Que se joda” (screw her) she said as the woman stepped outside and crossed the street to wait for the bus. “What about being the better person?” “I’m not the better person when it comes to my kids. Fuck it, maybe in my next life I’ll master that lesson. I never claimed to be perfect.”

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Friday, November 14, 2008

Her Guide

He taught her how to build and fly kites, how to throw a football, dunk a shot, and how to sew. He taught her carpentry by building her a doll house as tall as a five year old and filled it with handmade dolls and furniture they’d made together. He helped her build her own soap box derby car and cheered her on every weekend as she raced against the neighborhood kids past the Park Slope Armory on 8th ave and 14 th street.

With great difficulty he learned how to plait her thick waist length curls although they were never quite up to snuff. He learned how to properly host dress up tea parties for her and her friends. He instinctively knew when she needed to rough house and when she needed to just cuddle in his lap and cry because her mommy had missed yet another scheduled visit.

When the time came he taught her about the joys of Midol and hot water bottles. He took her training bra shopping blushing the entire time as he stood in the background as the Macy's clerk helped her pick out she needed. When the first pimple reared its ugly head on her face he taught her how to take care of her skin. He taught her about the birds and the bees, and the rules of dating. He taught to value herself and never allow a man to disrespect her in body nor spirit. He taught her how to walk in heels (don’t ask), how to sit like a lady, and that when she wore slacks her socks had to match her blouse. He taught her how to shave her legs, paint her nails, and even though he didn’t approve taught her the proper way to apply make- up so she didn’t look like Alice Cooper.

I walked in yesterday and my mother was on the phone her lips were pressed together making her dimples and the slight cleft in her chin more prominent, her eyes were closed, her nose was scrunched up and she was pinching the bridge of her nose. She was struggling not to laugh.When she hung up the phone she laughed until she was gasping for breath wiping tears from her eyes.

“Oh man these awkward conversations with my dad never end.” She said

“What happened ma?”

“Your grandfather read an article on menopause and pre-menopausal women and realized that I’m at the pre-menopausal stage so he called me up and was explaining the change of life to me and telling me what I need to do now to make sure I went through it smoothly.”


“You heard me Mia, my father just spent 45 minutes from his hospital bed getting me ready for menopause.” She said placing her hand over her heart. “ and still he wonders why I send him a mother’s day card every year. I love that man.”

I imagine that being given the task of raising an infant alone at the age of 18 must have been hard for him. I imagine that it wasn't easy for him having to guide his little girl through the female rites of passage on his own. I imagine that despite the passage of time relinquishing his role as her guide through the important milestones must be hard. I think it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever witnessed.


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Posted by @ 11:39 PM
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Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Lesson Learned

My friends find it hysterical that I will not hesitate to punch a guy out when it’s called for yet when faced with the details of their sex life I cringe. Contrary to what my friends may think I am not neither uptight nor a prude when it comes to sex. I’m a very passionate open minded female when it comes to sex. I just feel that what happens between couples should stay between them. I don’t feel the need to share the details of my sex life with my friends and I sure as hell don’t want to know theirs. Despite this or maybe because they love to see me flush red with embarrassment they insist on sharing their sex lives with me.

Thanks to them I ‘m developing a cell phone phobia. It all started about a year ago when my best friend handed me her cell phone. She told me that there were some really cute pictures of her baby stored in the phone that she wanted me to see. As I went through the baby’s pictures I came across some risqué pictures of her in all her glory and of her then lover’s personal junk. I handed the phone back to her as if it burned me. She laughed when noticed I was blushing, “God, Mia you’re such a baby!” After that day I refused to look into her cell phone.

Just when I thought it was safe last night my classmate, psycho chick decided to show me some pictures of her spanking brand new fiancé whom she wants me to meet. She showed me a bunch of pictures of them smiling together and some of him solo. It’s obvious she’s really in love with the guy... and then she showed me a picture of his penis. What is it with these chicks needing a picture of their man’s junk on their phone? I’m saying is the time between love making sessions so far and few they’re afraid they’re going to forget what his equipment looks like? Oh yeah and why on earth do they feel the need to share it with me? I’m not a nun, i'm not celibate, I know what a damn penis looks like.

“That’s all mine!” she said as I averted my eyes from the penis. “And you decided to show it to me. Wow I am so honored. Words fail me.” She laughed and then called my attention to the next photo and promised it was not pornographic. Just before she closed her phone she said, "Mia, check this out.” and clicked on a video clip. At first my brain didn’t register what my eyes were seeing, “Holy Monkey!” I gasped when I realized the video was of her stroking her fiancé off. I slapped my hand over my eyes lest I see him reach paradise and asked her to stop the video. I looked up at her, “Well meeting him is going to be kind of awkward now.” I said as I felt the color creeping into my cheeks and the tips of my ears getting hot. “Mia, you are such a prude!” she said as she embraced me.

Moral of the story? Next time someone asks me to look at the pictures stored in their cell phone I’m walking away. I’ve learned my lesson.

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Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Big Balls

Because my classmates rarely hear me speak Spanish they tend to forget that I am functionally bilingual. There are days I wish I really wasn’t; today was one of those days.

We had a research paper due today and judging from the poor attendance either a mass outbreak of the flu had struck my class or my fellow students didn’t have their papers ready. My professor, the hottie English dude, was rocking an outfit that according to his adoring masses was hugging him in all the right places.

I sat in front of my laptop my eyes focused on the screen as the professor presented his lesson. Behind me several of my friends were talking in Spanish about the fit of the professor’s pants and the attention it drew to his ‘package’.

“Did you see the size of his balls? They’re huge! His entire package is huge!”

My friend's comment took me by surprise and I laughed.

“Your husband really needs to get his ass back here from California.” I said.

“Oh my god Mia I forget you speak Spanish, you heard me?

“There’s only ten of us here tonight, of course I heard you. The whole room heard you.”

Just then the professor asked me a question and when I glanced up he was standing in front of me, crotch to eye level and I had visual proof of my friend's statement. Holy monkey! I quickly looked away and felt myself blushing furiously. He commented that my cheeks were blazing red and with concern in his voice asked if I was feeling okay. I nodded my head struggling to erase the image i'd glimpsed from my brain. I didn't bother to look up at him I was too embarassed, instead I mumbled that I was feeling fine and quickly refocused on reading over my notes. As he walked away from my desk I heard my friends behind me giggling softly.

Big Balls -ACDC

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Saturday, November 08, 2008

Hopped Up On Caffeine

It’s been a rough week in my house. My grandfather who except for the occasional cold has never been sick a day in his life was hospitalized.

My dad has been rushing straight to the hospital from work to visit my grandpa for a few minutes then driving out to my school to pick me up and then insists on driving back to the hospital to pick mom up despite her telling him she can cab it back to our house. He’s a tad bit over protective of my mom. The end result of this is that my father has been getting very little sleep and the only time he’s been able to spend with mom the 15 minutes it takes to drive home from the hospital every night.The other night the nurses assured my mom that she could leave early because grandpa was going to sleep all night thanks to the drugs they’d given him. My dad was beyond thrilled that mom was taking the drive up with him to my school.

As we drove home I noticed my father seemed to be euphoric, mom told me he’d been that way since they left the hospital. My dad was talking up a storm. Dad is up and out of our home by 3:30 am every morning so by 9pm his battery is running a little low. That wasn’t the case on this day. As he happily chatted away drawing the occasional breath before jumping onto another subject mom looked over at him and smiled.

“How much coffee have you had today?” she asked.

He’s not supposed have more than a cup of decaf per day.


“Have you eaten?”

“I had some egg whites and toast this morning. I skipped lunch, haven’t had dinner yet.”


“I didn’t know you were getting out early tonight and if I’d stopped for dinner I wouldn’t have gotten to see you at all today. I wanted to see you.”

“ How much coffee have you had today William?”

“Uh 3 mocha frappe things from Starbucks and Mark gave me a triple espresso before I left work.”

That’s more coffee than you drink in a week.”

“Babe don’t get mad okay? I had to I was falling asleep on my feet.

“I’m not mad honey but 3 mocha frappes? You don’t even like Starbucks coffee.”

“Yeah I know but you love those things. They reminded me of you. I missed you babe.”

Nice one dad tell the woman you had all that coffee b/c it's HER fav.

She instructed him to drive to the nearest restaurant so she could get him something to eat. As he parked the car she noticed how twitchy he was and laughed.

“Oh Jesus honey look at you you’re all hopped up on caffeine! You are not going to be able to sleep tonight. ”

He grinned at her and then kissed the tip of his finger and ran it over her lips “well if I can’t get to sleep you’re not getting any sleep either.” he said waggling his eyebrows at her.

My mom covered her face with her hand.

“Father I’d like to remind you I am back here, thank you very much! Child on board, hello!”

He turned in his seat and gave me a mischievous smile.

“I forgot you were back there Mia thank god you spoke up I was about to get into a heavy make out session here.” he joked.

“That’s it old man you are banned from Starbucks.” I shot back.

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Friday, November 07, 2008

Mia, Thug Therapist

The other day I was sitting in on a group therapy session when one of the patients who was visibly upset became agitated after the therapist continued to press him as to sharing why he was upset.

The more the therapist pressured him to reveal his feelings the angrier he got until he just exploded and began punching himself in the face. The violent outburst took us all by surprise because he'd never done anything like that before. His therapist instructed me go get one of the male therapists to subdue him. By the time I came back into the room with the male therapist in tow one of the other patients had managed to calm him down.

The next day I found myself sitting next to the guy as I waited on my ride to school. He seemed embarrassed so I took the first step.

“What the hell was that about yesterday?” I asked

“I’m so sorry Mia I didn’t mean to scare you. I would never hit you. I’d never lay a hand on a woman. I know I was acting crazy.”

“Don’t worry about it, shit happens. You should’ve handled that way differently.”

“Yeah I know." he replied

We discussed some of the alternate ways he could’ve handled his anger and he promised me that if he saw himself going down that road again he’d handle it differently. He studied me for several moments his eyes resting briefly on my tats and smiled.

“Mia, I saw you throw your hands up in the air like you were getting ready to throw down. What kind of therapist are you?”

“The kind that wouldn’t have hesitated to beat the crazy out of you if you’d tried to attack me or anyone else there. Client or no client I would’ve kicked your ass.”

“I’ve got mad respect for you ma. You’re a thug therapist. ” He said as held out his fist and tapped it to mine.


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Thursday, November 06, 2008

His Dream Came True

“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.” –Martin Luther King Jr.

Last spring I sat with some Arab friends discussing Barak Obama and how I felt he was going to be our next president. My friends strongly disagreed with me they felt that the USA would never get past the issue of Obama's race. I felt differently and argued that as nation I felt we were past that. That we were ready for a change granted what had been going on in our country. In the end we would choose what we felt was best for our country.No matter what I said I was shouted down, “Never” they’d shouted, “He will never be president. Americans will never elect a black man president.” I remember telling them that on Nov 4th they’d be eating those words.

I raced from school to watch the election results making it in time to hear the local anchorman declare Obama the winner. My entire neighborhood seemed to burst into a collective cheer. It was like the Yankees winning the series, the ball dropping in Times Square. I choked up when an African-American reporter struggled to keep it together on camera saying that as a child his father had always told him that there would never be a black president and the reporter thanked the country for proving his father wrong. I got goose bumps and felt a lump in my throat. I didn’t know why but I started to cry and as I watched the television screen and I saw I wasn't alone. People were openly weeping all over Times Square and Harlem.

I watched my mother as she wiped a few tears away. When she saw I was looking at her mom smiled and quoted some of Martin Luther King Jr’s “I have A Dream” speech. “Mia, Dr. King’s dream came true.” Before I could respond my phone went crazy. I have a huge assortment of friends all over the world and they wanted to share in my joy and let me know how their countrymen were reacting. My friend in Spain called to tell me people were crying, cheering and chanting USA, USA!in the streets. A friend in France text messaged me with the news that in France people were cheering as well. Imagine that the French were actually cheering something America had done. Be still my foolish heart. A friend from England called, “Baby, it’s crazy out here", and held his phone up so I could hear the cheering going on around him.

None of my local Arab friends called so I text messaged and reminded them of what they’d shouted at me several months ago. I text messaged all of them, “would you like a glass of water ? I wouldn’t want you to choke as you swallow your words. By the way what do they taste like?” Yeah I'm mean like that.

I’ve always been proud to be an American but today I am just a little prouder than usual I’m standing a little taller. Last a dream came true, history was made in a country where brother had fought against brother because of slavery, in a country where simply being black was a good enough reason to be lynched. Last night this nation finally turned its back on the past and decided it was time to move forward. The man chosen to lead the way for us was judged by the content of his character and not the color of his skin. Dr. King would be so proud of us all.

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Posted by @ 12:29 AM
2 comment from: Anonymous frum, Anonymous Darla,

Tuesday, November 04, 2008

I Feel Like a Kid on Christmas Eve

I’m gonna miss George Bush, not his politics that’s for sure but definitely his speeches and the perpetual befuddled expression that always seemed to be on his face.

I always had the impression that he had a bong hidden somewhere in the Whitehouse and did the wake and bake thing every morning before going in to work. Look it’s the only explanation that I can come up with anything else is just too scary to contemplate.

I glanced out my window at 6 am this morning and saw the lines to get into the local polling place snaked out for a couple of blocks. I haven’t seen lines like that since the last Harry Potter book was released. People are turning out in record numbers. By this time tomorrow my country will have a new president elect and I for one am excited. I’m not just saying that, I know I’m going to have a hard time concentrating in school today my mind is going to be on the election. I figure either way it’s a win-win situation. If Mc Cain wins I’ll get to spend the next four years playing the maverick drinking game and looking forward to Tina Fey’s appearances on SNL as Sarah Palin. If Obama wins I’ll be witnessing history in the making and my country headed in a new and much needed direction.

Hand to God I feel like a kid on Christmas Eve, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight. Ever since last night I've had this song on my mind from West Side Story it mirrors my current mood perfectly. I've been singing the damn song since last night.

Something's Coming

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Posted by @ 8:14 AM
1 comment from: Blogger Just Jane,

Sunday, November 02, 2008

Throwing Candy

I was staring at the huge oak tree outside of our class window. I wasn't into the lecture the professor was giving on identifying the different markers of various mental disorders. I was admiring the color of the autumn leaves by moon light and lamp post when I heard the professor stop her lecture and ask the class a question.

“How would we classify a self-mutilator?” my professor asked.

The class was silent.The professor asked the question again this time rephrasing it. “How would we classify someone who cuts themselves?”

I decided I better answer her question since it appeared no one knew the answer and there's only so many ways you can rephrase a question.

“Borderline personality disorder” I said with confidence.

My professor approached my desk beaming at me.

“That’s correct Mia!” she looked as if she wanted to pinch my cheeks or something.

“I wish I had some Halloween candy to throw at you!” she said as jumped up and down and clapped her hands enthusiastically.

“Throw candy at me? Like Hershey miniatures and stuff?” she nodded her head eagerly.

“Oh, definitely!”

I smiled and nodded my head. She had to be hopped up on candy corn there was no other plausible explanation for her wanting to pelt me with candy. The holidays are quickly approaching and I’m of mind to keep my mouth shut in class from now on. I’m too scared to even contemplate what she’ll want to throw at me during Thanksgiving and Christmas.

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Posted by @ 8:30 AM
2 comment from: Blogger Tapsalteerie, Blogger christina/ohio,

Saturday, November 01, 2008


This is what happens when you leave a 2 year old, my cousin Nadine the baby of our family and her dad alone with her cake. Did I mention that his is his only child, the apple of his eye, and he finds everything she does amusing? Did I mention I feel the same way?

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Posted by @ 9:07 AM
3 comment from: Blogger christina/ohio, Anonymous tapsalteerie, Blogger Mia,