An Open Letter to White People

For the record, I originally started this during the writer’s strike…
Also, I’d like to acknowledge my gratitude to my husband Donny and Richard, who if he weren’t gay wouldn’t be allowed to be my friend for our love is so strong, for their all their white boy help in voicing my frustrations.

Don’t be offended my lighter complected brothers and sisters. This comes from a place of love.

Today I was reminded of a long forgotten stereotype I had about white people growing up. A lot of black people did. Black people want to live more than white people do. Where would we get such an idea, you ask? Uh, how about bungee jumping, parasailing, hang gliding, swimming in shark infested waters and getting your leg bitten off only to go on Good Morning America talking ’bout, “Diane, I can’t wait to get back out there!”, and the inability to keep your fucking mouths shut while in a perfectly good hiding spot when there’s a serial killer/mass murderer/pyschopath after your asses!?

After years of watching horror movies I feel as if I’m more than qualified to advise white people to stand up. Stand up, I say! Stand up, rise up, band together, and tell Hollywood screenwriters you’re not going to take it anymore! They ain’t got shit else to do right now, so why not listen to your long overdue and valid complaints? Tell them that you will no longer tolerate being portrayed as sniveling, stupid, simpletons. (Side note: you promiscuious ladies may want to get in on this as it seems having a healthy, but not choosey, sexual appetite means that you are destined to be filleted.)

Now, I realize that this depiction of white folks is a little unbalanced since black peoples’ history in horror films can be summed up as such:

1. For many years our asses weren’t cast in any.
2. And when we finally were, we always died first.

If you’ve noticed, we are now represented more in horror films and when we are we rarely, if ever, die first. Hell, it’s not uncommon to see black people make it through the whole damn film and even through most of the sequel! And when we do die, we go out like P.I.M.Ps.

If you heed my advice and challenge these Hollywood writers to do right by you, here are some suggestions as to what you should address:

1. Why you all have to be so damn loud? I hate when the white girl being chased by the killer finds a good hiding spot and she gives herself away by whimpering and breathing all heavy.

2. If they don’t answer you, they’re dead. Every time a white person enters a spooky house/room/basement, etc. looking for someone they gotta call out for the person six and seven times getting louder and louder. If Billy don’t answer you the first time, Billy dead. Leave!

3. Shoot first, ask questions later. How many times have you seen a white woman have the killer at gunpoint only to stand there shaking and looking all confused? And how about when she tells the killer, “Don’t move,” yet proceeds to let him approach her dumbass until he backs her up into a wall and takes the gun from her? I hate that shit. Girl, shoot his ass. Sometimes they try to explain it away by making the woman doubt whether or not the bad guy is actually bad. You don’t want to shoot poor John and it turns out he was on your side. Solution? Shoot his ass in the kneecap! You can get away and if it turns out he was a good guy, bygones.

4. Stop leaving perfectly good hiding spots! Has anyone seen 30 Days of Night? Why the hell would you be in a more than adequate hiding spot for like 20 days, and then leave to go hide in the grocery store with a shit load of windows and entrances?

And while we’re on the subject, why is there always one white person in the hiding spot that just has to get out? He/she always messes it up for everyone. They’re either claustrophobic or just plain too stupid to not freak out and ruin it for everyone. Kill his ass. And kill him early.

My favorite fucker-up-of-a-perfectly-good-hiding spot is the white girl that will run screaming from cover because she saw a rat or mouse, and right into the arms of the psycho zombie-vampire-rapist. Dumbass.

5. Whenever we watch horror movies together, without fail I will make Donny laugh by saying, “A time and a place, people. A time and a place.” Why do I say this? Because white people always find the time to screw when faced with death. Now I can understand if you’re in a room locked with a bomb and you feel like death is imminent, but while on the run and you find an abandoned house to hunker down in for the night do you really want to catch an axe in your ass ’cause you just had to get your groove on? Does the threat of death and dismemberment really turn you on that much?

6. Is it too much trouble to ask that you make sure the killer is actually dead? Why do white women stab the killer in the shoulder then proceed to a. drop the knife b. turn her back on the prone killer and c. sob so loudly she can’t hear that the fucker has just stood up and is about to, deservedly, stick a knife in her skull? Good rule of thumb? If you manage to incapacitate the killer commence to cutting his head clean. the. fuck. off. And then his dick. ‘Cause that’s how you roll.

7. Ever heard of safety in numbers? Apparently white folks haven’t. It can be like 12 of them stuck in a house with a killer and instead of everyone just sitting in one room and waiting for his crazy ass to come to them so he can catch a 12-man beatdown Brooklyn-style, they decide it makes more sense to split up into groups of 2s, and sometimes solo, to look for clues, find an exit, etc. Inevitably, one of these groups will consist of a guy and girl who will find a room to fuck in (see number 5.)

8. White girls, stop running up to the attic or down to the basement. For once I’d love to see one of you, I don’t know, try the front door. Hell, even jump out a first story window, but stop going to the places with little to no exits! And stop tripping and falling. For the first 45 minutes of the film, you are the most agile bitch ever, but as soon as body parts start flying you suddenly can’t run two feet without tripping over the wind. Learn how to run, bitch!

I can run in heels carrying a baby in my belly, my child in one arm, and my cell phone in the other while texting a blog. Surely you can dash 15 yards through the woods without stumbling twice only to fall perfectly on your back all the better to scream perfectly into the camera while being slashed.

9. Listen to the black people! Even if it’s the single, stoned, brotha, listen to his ass. Even if it’s the brotha sitting in the theatre. Listen to his ass!

10. Assume all urban legends are real. Stop trying to disprove them. Nothing good can come of it.

11. The killer is ALWAYS white. And always really, really, sick and twisted. If you are the last person standing be prepared to run through an obstacle course made up of all the people he has killed before getting your ass. White killers think that shit is funny to watch you hurdling over poor Susie’s head.

12. Stop taunting crazy people!

BIOBaby: Women Are Nuts

Last week, during a brief moment of lucidity, I called my sister to get her advice. She had suffered through 14-16 weeks of horrible all day sickness when pregnant with my nephew in 2006. I needed to know that I wasn’t alone in feeling so much misery and resentment. Not only did she totally relate to what I was going through, but she also recommended that I check out the message boards of a baby site she’d told me about a few weeks prior. I’d been using the site to read my pregnancy calendar and establish a daily pregnancy meal plan, but hadn’t given the message boards a second thought.

Since it seems I’ve passed a major hump in my morning sickness I decided yesterday to check out the message boards. I only went to the board for women due in August of ’08. It’s called the Mommy August ’08 Club or some such shit. I liked the idea that I’d be talking to women in the same stages of pregnancy as I. And because we are all between 7-9 weeks and most likely all found out we were pregnant 3-4 weeks ago, I made sure to read all the postings for the past four weeks. I came to two conclusions….

1. These women are liars.
2. These women are fucking nuts.

First of all, not one of them admitted to feeling miserable, resentful, or even regretful at being pregnant. Not one. Now maybe it’s just me, but I fucking doubt it. They were going on and on describing symptoms way worse than mine. I’m talking 2-3 days being hospitalized and shit and at the end of each post it was, “Well, it’s all going to be worth it in the end.” And, “God gave me this miracle so who am I to complain…”

Excuse me?  Let me get this straight: Women are supposed to be strong enough to endure pregnancy and childbirth, but not allowed to complain when say… it fucking hurts?!  I thought maybe they were all just pussies so I started a thread detailing my misery and how there were times I didn’t feel connected to the baby and how instead of feeling like I was carrying a little miracle, I felt like I had some kind of virus sucking the life out of me. And do you know what these bitches did? They COMPLETELY talked around all that and just regurgitated the same advice for getting through morning sickness.

I know all the tricks! I’ve done them! They ain’t working. I will say that I’ve yet to fill the Zofran prescription even though we have our insurance cards now. I’m just really weird about taking medication especially when I’m pregnant. It killed me to take the other pills that knocked me out. I know they say they’re safe for the baby, but you guys know I think I’m special and I don’t wnat to be that one case where my baby boy is born with fins because Mommy was a punk-ass bitch.

So, yeah… those women are liars. And they’re also fucking nuts. Why are they fucking nuts? The site has this little pregnancy time line thing that appears at the bottom of your posts. It just shows how many weeks/days you are into your pregnancy. You can also include a signature that appears with each post and it seems some women want you to know EVERYTHING.  This signature is pretty popular.

EDD: 8/2/08

That’s the estimated delivery date. Then some go even further. They will put the estimated delivery date based on their last period and their examinations. So, remember how I said according to my period I’m due 8/15, but according to the size of the baby and my uterus I’m actually due earlier? Mine might look like this:

EDD based on examination: 8/11/08
EDD based on LMP: 8/15/08

It doesn’t stop there. Some women feel the need to tell you about the kids they already have. Mine would be.

EDD based on examination: 8/11/08
EDD based on LMP: 8/15/08
Kali Ryan born: 4/12/99

And then, and I wish I were kidding. They will tell you about the babies they didn’t have…

EDD based on examination: 8/11/08
EDD based on LMP: 8/15/08
Kali Ryan born 4/12/99
Miscarriage: 2/12/98, 5/15/00

Why I gotta know all that? It just makes me really uncomfortable. Am I evil? So, now I’m all fucking addicted to going to these boards. I take study breaks to refresh the boards and see what they’re talking about. And as much as I hate the signatures, I’m fascinated with reading them! And trying to figure out what the fucking abbreviations mean! Like this…

DD 1 3/15/96
DD 2 8/2/06

OMG IT’S A BFP! After 10 months of TTC! Crossing fingers for a boy this time around!

I have no idea what DDs, BFPs or TTCs are.

I’m so confused!!

m/c 10/13/07 at 6w – We miss you

Pg again with 1 after m/c
Clomid 50mg cycle 1
BFP 12/7/07, EDD 8/17/08
12dpo hCG: 40, progesterone: 66.9
15dpo hCG: 204, doubling time: 30.5 hours
22dpo hCG: 2,312, doubling time: 48.0 hours
1st OB appointment / 2nd ultrasound: HR 122 bpm

What the shit?

Then, this morning this lady came into the August ’08 boards and posted this:

Hey ladies, hope you dont mind me reading your August board even though I dont really belong here. I sometimes miss the begining of pregnancy (despite the paranoia and occasional morning sickness). Congrats to all of you and I wish you a happy, healthy and easy pregnancy!

Then I noticed her timeline:

She was due in 10 days!!

Bitch, leave! You don’t belong here! We’re all in the suffering stages. You’re all ready to pop and shit. I bet your nursery is complete and you have clothes and shit picked out to bring the baby home in. I can’t even THINK of the nursery right now ’cause I’m too busy puking up my intestines. Bitch.

But my favorite, favorite, favorite, was the lady who had this as her signature:

Kayla Marie born 8/20/07
EDD: 8/12/08

I’ll give you a minute to do the math.

That’s right. She got pregnant three months after having a baby. Ok, let me let all you no baby having women in on another Ugly Truth. After you have a baby they tell you no sex, no baths, no tampons, for six weeks. But even after six weeks, you still really don’t want anyone… for lack of a better term, all up in there. Seriously, my uterus aches just thinking about it. Nevermind the fact that your shit has stretched to accommodate the passage of a tiny human and needs time to heal and recuperate. But let’s talk about the blood.

You will bleed so much after delivery you will be amazed you are still alive. It is NOTHING like having your period. NOTHING. First of all, they give you these Maxi-Pads in the hospital to take home and they really need to be called Mega-Pads. They’re like some sanitary napkin adult diaper hybrid from hell. And this blood isn’t like having your period. For one, when you have your period there is little to no odor to that blood. And if you heifers act like you’ve never sniffed your own tampon I will punch you in the face. But after you have a baby, and you’re bleeding, it stinks! To high fucking heaven, it stinks. I remember nursing Kali and sniffing the air like, “What the hell is that?” I soon realized the offending odor was coming from my crotch. I wanted to remove my vagina and put it in the Diaper Genie.

And it’s just because it’s blood. And blood, in abundance, stinks.

Now, one last baby related thing to share today. This morning I had my first honest-to-Goodness- so strong that honey, you have to get up now and get it for me craving. Last night I wanted lasagna, garlic bread, and salad with Italian dressing for dinner. That wasn’t so bad because Donny was going out anyway to pick up dinner. The only real challenge was finding a place nearby that sold that kind of food. In my mind’s eye I saw the lasagna in one of those round aluminum bowls where you have to unfold the crinkled edges from around the cardboard top to get at the food. And that’s exactly what he got. Complete with garlic bread in foil and a plastic container of a garden salad.

However, this morning at 5am, Donny had no plans of doing anything other than getting another 90 minutes of sleep. The baby and I had other plans for him. I awoke at 5am, reached over for a pen and paper and wrote out the following list:

Grape Fanta
Fruit Cups
Lays ruffled chips
Sarah Lee Pound Cake
Clementine oranges
Frosted Cherry Pop Tarts

Then I shook him awake and handed him the list. “You need to go get this.”

“Now?”

“Yes. Now.”

And bless his heart, he did. Of course, while he was gone at the 24 hour Super Wal-Mart I had all kinds of thoughts of him getting mugged and murdered and how guilty I would feel that he never got to see his child born. It inspired a creepy short story which I banged out three paragraphs of while he was gone. Not only did he come home with what I asked for, but he also got me Raspberry Lemonade Tea from Starbucks. Yum!  Well, he didn’t get the pound cake ’cause he didn’t know where to look. My husband has to be the only person alive that’s never heard of a Sarah Lee pound cake. And he said the chips caused him some confusion because apparently there are Lays chips and there are Ruffles. Who knew? Apparently, not me. But he guessed right in that I meant Lays Wavy chips.
Oh, one last thing… I promise. As we were in bed, him sipping his coffee and me munching on my Pop Tarts and sipping my raspberry tea, we got on the subject of the baby names. I thought we had pretty much decided:

Jack Ian or Isabelle Sophia

He seemed to give some resistance to the girl name.

“I thought you liked it!”

“I do. It’s just that it sounds… sounds… foreign.”

“Foreign?! This from the man who is going to saddle the poor child with a hard to pronounce, hard to spell, no one ever gets it right (even our family!), German last name?!”

Reason Number 453 this has to be a boy. Reason Number 1? I really don’t want to go through this again.

Foiled Again, Crazy White Boy

I think I uncovered yet another plot hatched by Donny to kill me. I know you’re going to say that I watch too much Dateline, but hear me out.  Last night, once I was ready to turn in I did what I do every night. I sweep the house. No, not with a broom. I patrol, I investigate, I make sure everything is okay. And I have a process.

First, as soon as I exit my bedroom I stand still at the landing and peer downstairs. I listen and watch intently to see if I startled an intruder. I stay there for about 15-20 seconds. Then I look out the gallery window and survey the dark street. I’m looking for that lone figure in the shadows invisible save for the lit tip of his cigarette every time he takes a puff. See, he’s been standing there casing the joint (that’s what they say in the movies, casing the joint) and smoking cigarettes until he sees all the lights in my house go out. Then he’ll make his move. Well, keep waiting Mr. Cigarette Man, ’cause I always leave some lights on. So there.

Then I go into Kali’s room and kiss her and tuck her in and make sure she’s still breathing. What!? Don’t look at me like that. Any parent that doesn’t do the breath check every now and again is well… lying. Cause we all do it.

Then I go downstairs and I check every room, check all the windows, and make sure the alarm is set. Well, last night not only was the alarm not set but the door leading from the family room to the garage was ajar. Hmmm, that’s weird, I thought. No, really what I thought was, “I’m going to kill Donny!” He and Kali were the last ones to come up last night and he assured me he’d locked up and set the alarm. I ask every time he’s the last one up and he does the same to me.

Why would he say he’d locked up when he hadn’t? And the cars are in the driveway and not the garage (long story) so someone could have easily used the automatic garage opener in one of the cars and entered through the garage. Why would he say he’d locked up when he hadn’t?

Then I realized that I had just uncovered his nefarious plan to have someone sneak into the house in the middle of the night and kill me. Aha! You gotta get up a little earlier in the morning to pull one over on me crazy white boy. I went back upstairs and woke him up.

“Donny.”

Nothing.

“Donny.”

Nothing.

“DONNY!”

“What?”

“Are you trying to kill me?”

“Not yet.”

“Then why did you leave the garage door open and not set the alarm?”

He jumps up.

“Yes I did.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Yes I did.”

“Then I just imagined going downstairs and having to close the door and set the alarm myself?”

I climb into bed next to him.

“I swear I set the alarm. Kali was standing right next to me. I set it, she got some water, and we came upstairs.”

“Uh huh. Well, somebody is already in the house then. Hiding and waiting to kill us all.”

He gets up and heads downstairs to investigate.

“I already did that!” I call after him.

I listen for the sounds of an intruder knocking him upside the head and when I don’t hear it I figure everything is kosher. He gets back in bed.

“Are you done? Are you done writing, blogging, studying, whatever?”

“Yeah.”

“Then come here.”

And he hooks his arm around my waist and pulls me close. As he snuggled his face in my neck I couldn’t help but wonder if while he was downstairs he didn’t go to the window and wave off Mr. Cigarette Man silently telling him to come back another nigh

Auntie Good Pussy

I want to tell you about my real life friends. Tangible people that I see, feel, talk to, love.

About David:

David and I met when I worked at MCI in Alpharetta.

My boss also happened to be my next door neighbor – a gay man we shall call Lawrence. I was Lawrence’s assistant. As a manager Lawrence had a medium-sized staff, but those that reported directly to him had it made. I was one of his direct reports, obviously, and became good friends with two others – Dee (project manager) and Derrick (supervisor). We had the corporate Amex cards, company laptops, the luxury to “work from home,” etc.

A typical lunch break – especially when Lawrence was out of town on business – would last two hours…at least. It was not unusual for me to drive about two minutes to North Point mall, hit up Macy’s for two pairs of shoes, a purse, Old Navy for some jeans, Victoria’s Secret for some new bras, MAC for lip gloss, Bath and Body Works for lotions, and then have the nerve to go eat in a restaurant for 45 minutes. You’d walk past my cubicle at 4pm to find my ass trying on new shoes. I was a hot ass mess.

When Lawrence announced he was hiring a friend of his we (Dee, Derrick, and I) were like, “Hmph, why?” We didn’t want some new guy coming in and fucking up our flow. The new guy was David. The first week or so I was pretty shady to David. And trust me, when Nina throws shade…she throws serious shade. (Don’t ask me why I slipped into third person)

I would do things like take my purse and leave it at my friend Shay’s cubicle (it was closer to the exit) so when lunch time rolled around and David saw me get up to leave my cubicle (his was across from mine) he would think I was going to the bathroom or something and not ask, “What are you doing for lunch?” Or, if I was really crafty I’d grab an empty folder or something so it looked like I was off to a meeting.

I would quickly grab my purse from Shay’s desk and head for the parking lot. Dee would dip out ten minutes later and Derrick five minutes before that. We’d all meet up at some place like The Cheesecake Factory or California Pizza Kitchen and have a good laugh over lunch while sipping on martinis. See, we couldn’t just let anyone in our circle. We didn’t want to lose our cushy jobs because of a snitch.

Then shortly after he started I was out for two weeks to have my tonsils removed. When I returned to the office I was like a lioness – I didn’t want some other bitch moving in on my territory. These were my friends, my co-conspirators. There was only room for one fabulous diva in our circle and I was it. But, while I was gone everyone else got to know David and insisted he was cool. I warmed to him soon after and then we were glued at the hips.

They started calling us Will and Grace. It was not uncommon to hear laughs coming from our cubicles. All day. The worst was when it was really quiet on the floor and all you would hear was us typing away. Clack-click-clack. Then one of us would bust out laughing. Dead giveaway that we’d been IM’ing each other. If Lawrence wanted to meet with David, Dee, or Derrick I would consult their schedules first – you know, in case that day they planned on dipping out early or taking a long lunch. Yeah, I had their backs before my manager’s. Sue me.

David and I would take smoke breaks together. (Yeah, I stopped after I had my tonsils removed) We went on Weight Watchers together though his fine ass didn’t need it. But I appreciated the support. David has a way of being my biggest supporter….

While totally having body issues – I’m so damn tall and curvy and sometimes I love it and other times I hate it because for 24 years of my life I was skinny..downright bony – I said this while watching a Mariah Carey video:

Nina: I want my body to look like that. Like Mariah’s.

David: Bitch, your body does look like that.

Awwww….then there are times…

David: You remind me of Tyra.

Nina: Aww, really?

David: Yeah, you’re both tall and pretty….

Nina: Thanks!

David:…and ghetto.

(My sister had a similiar compliment once but hers ended with, “…and you’re both corny.”)

David puts up with me. Not many people can. He judges me, but in a loving way. You should have seen his face the day I came strutting into work with a khaki skirt that though it fell below the knee clinged to every curve….and a split up the side…each side. The ass and legs were like whoa.  And I had on these shoes…

Then there was the time Dee sewed this long ass weave in for me. I mean, to my ass long. And I was at my cubicle trying not to sit on the damn thing and I just felt someone looking at me. It was David.

David: Bitch, I want you to cut that damn weave.

And don’t even get me started on my faux bags. Especially the Prada ones. He hated them!! (His dog’s name is Prada) One night, two summers ago, we were at my house drinking, eating pizza, and watching Big Brother 6. He glanced at my faux Prada on the coffee table.

David: Does Prada even make a bag like that?

Nina: Snob.

David is the one that came up with the name La-La for Lawrence. Don’t ask me where it came from or why. But we began calling that man La-La behind his back. It was not uncommon for me to get an IM from Dee, Derrick, David, or Shay asking, “What time La-La leaving?”  Cause let me tell you, when La-La was away the mice played. Though I had it a bit harder than the others cause if he left to go home early I couldn’t follow right behind him because he’d see my black ass pulling into my garage. Remember, he lived next door.

So, one day David sends this IM….

What time is La-La leaving?

….to La-La.

Lawrence comes strutting around to our cubicles, “So, you guys call me La-La, huh?” We could have kicked. David’s. ass. He totally redeemed himself by finding a replacement name so perfect, so fucking awesome, it brought tears to our eyes the first time we heard it. Uncle Peaches. Later, Peaches for short.

What time is Peaches leaving?

Then in the summer of 2005 I got laid off. I didn’t care. As a matter of fact, when we were first told that the layoffs were coming I was praying I was on the list. Nice severance package and I’d be done with that damn place? Fine by me. Because of our personal relationship, Peaches told me early though he wasn’t supposed to. By the time the big day had rolled around I’d already taken all my personal shit (The Sims 2, writing projects, pictures, emails, IMs, etc.) off the laptop, cleaned out my desk, and stocked up on office supplies. Don’t judge me.

Where some people came in that day (a Friday) all sad and scared, my ass came strutting in wearing low rise jeans, brown heels, with a cute little brown top and fabulous cleavage, a hot ass weave, nails done, eyebrows fierce. I went to Peaches’ desk.

Peaches: Damn, look at you!

Nina: Can I go first?

I was more than ready to get the fuck up outta there. I had my rental car packed in the parking lot. I got laid off, hopped in my ride, and drove down to Destin, Florida where I read by the hotel pool, shopped, went out to eat, went to the movies, and shook my ass (and weave) in many nightclubs by the beach all weekend.

That’s how I roll, bitches.

(Key to a successful marriage? Ladies, do something like that at least twice a year. I did. Pack your favorite CDs, clothes, and shoes and go shake your ass.)

David was laid off in the next round of lay-offs a few months after me. While I went back to school he went to real estate school. David now sells fabulous houses in Atlanta (not to mention the bad ass house he lives in), drives an awesome car (I want it!), and just lives this fabulous life of vacations, and good friends, and just…a good life.

I missed David. We still talk on the phone and IM, but we don’t see each other as much as we used to. He makes fun of my Myspace “popularity” and is pissed because he’s not in my Top Friends. I tell him that it’s a pain in the ass to try and find his profile amongst 900+ people to put him up there, but Tobias (his boyfriend) is so that should mean something.

You can just imagine how happy I was when David called last night at 7:45pm…

David: Is your house clean?

Nina: Yes.

It wasn’t.

David: ‘Cause I want to come over and watch Big Brother and So You Think You Can Dance and I don’t want to hear any shit about it.

Nina: Come on over!

Donny and I hung out with David and had such a good time.

I always ask him if the cute boys that I want to molest on So You Think You Can Dance are gay. I’m in lust with Danny. As we watched him dance tonight….

David: Nina, even if he was straight would you want a man that could spin around like that?

Nina: Uh, yeah. If he looked like that he could twirl his ass around all he wanted. I’d be like, “Get up on the coffee table, baby.”

Then….

Nina: You always say the boys I like on here are gay.

David: Well, it’s not like I’m one of those gay guys that want all guys to be gay. You just keep picking the ones that happen to be gay…on reality dance shows…that can do pirouettes.

David and Nina on Women

Nina: Pasha (So You Think You Can Dance contestant) is hot.

David: Yeah, but he has that gap.

Nina: I have a gap!  See, my friend Frogger on Myspace said the same thing about his gap – that it had to go, and I told her that I have one and she wrote back, “So do I. It’s hot on women. It means we’re better in bed.”

David: Women get on my nerves with that. Yall always coming up with some shit to make you feel better about yourselves. Like my Aunt talking ’bout because she has hair on her chest that means her pussy is good. Talking ’bout, “Just call me Auntie Good Pussy.

And I damn near pissed myself laughing. There was no way I was not going to title this blog that.

I love David.

Deathly Hallows Book Review

Am I the only one profoundly sad?

I realized three or four books ago that Harry’s existence was a sad one. An existence filled with death and loss. As the books went on we were given a taste of minor catastrophes upon peripheral characters; like the death of Amelia Bones and Bill Weasley being horribly scarred by Greyback in H.B.P, and major ones; the deaths of Cedric Diggory, Sirius Black, and Albus Dumbledore in G.O.F, O.O.T.P., and H.B.P, respectively. The rumblings of war had been slowly growing louder.

As Deathly Hallows begins Harry knows there is no turning back. With the two people he cared for the most, aside from the parents he never knew, dead and the knowledge now common that Lord Voldemort has not only returned, but is building an army to take over as he failed to do before, he knows there is no going back to the life he once lived. If the readers were not aware of this, we’re definitely hip to the game by the end of chapter five, Fallen Warrior, as we’ve said goodbye to the Dursleys, 4 Privet Drive, Hedwig, Mad-Eye Moody, and George’s ear.

The primary focus of Deathly Hallows was set up in the final chapters of Half-Blood Prince. Harry would not be returning to Hogwarts for his final year of education. Instead, he will try to find and destroy the remaining Horcruxes; items magically containing bits of Voldemort’s soul as tasked to him by Dumbledore, with the help of his trusted and courageous friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

J.K. Rowling could have easily left it at that, but instead readers are treated to a 759-page journey through history. Characters we thought we knew were revealed to have layers beyond any we imagined. Motives behind actions taken as far back as Sorcerer’s Stone are made clear. Whether we like them or not. Peculiar items left to Harry, Ron, and Hermione in Dumbledore’s will prove vital in the three heroes uncovering the legend behind The Deathly Hallows; three magical items said to provide the power to defeat death once possessed.

With very little to go on, and those they love left behind to live in constant mortal danger, Harry and his friends go on the run faced with a decision. Do they try and uncover The Deathly Hallows and are they the key to Harry defeating Voldemort? The words of the prophecy, “neither can live while the other survives,” ring in Harry’s head. Or should Harry soldier on, fulfilling Dumbledore’s wishes, and destroy the remaining Horcruxes, wherever they are and whatever they may be?

At times, that struggle became a bit too much for me to swallow. Harry’s willingness to mistrust what he knew of Albus Dumbledore because of the poison quill biography of him written by Rita Skeeter, of all people, seemed unrealistic. Hadn’t we been through this before with his refusal to open himself up to the Dumbledore suggested occlumency lessons with Snape in O.O.T.P. (which led to Sirius’ death), and his reluctance to work on Slughorn as Dumbledore asked, but rather worry about what Draco Malfoy was up to in H.B.P? That last one was especially frustrating as we know now Dumbledore had that well under control.

Harry’s tendency to react as a hothead and assume he knew better was frustrating through much of the middle portion of the book, but one could suppose it further goes to prove that he was, after all, his father’s son and still just a boy. When it counted though, Harry ultimately makes the right decision having had a sense of clarity after burying Dobby the house-elf (three-hanky moment 20) and realizes that in order to defeat Voldemort he must finish what he started; destroying the Horcruxes.

It is a testament to Rowling’s great talent that a tale so full of death, loss, and sorrow can still find ways to rally the heart. I’ve always found some of Ron’s lines, usually delivered out of his living in the shadow of louder, funnier, and smarter brothers the funniest. Deathly Hallows did not disappoint on that score.

“Why the hell,” panted Ron, holding up the Horcrux, which swung backward and forward on its shortened chain in some parody of hypnosis, “didn’t you take this thing off before you dived?”

And after Harry dreams about Gregorovitich for the first time…

“I think Voldemort’s looking for him.”

“Poor bloke,” said Ron fervently.

However, as much as it is a tale of good versus evil, at its heart the Harry Potter series is about friendship, trust, loyalty, bravery, and family. Which is why I found myself with a funny feeling in my stomach when I thought, “Hedwig won’t make it till the end of the book,” while reading chapter two, and teary-eyed when the owl didn’t make it past chapter four. It’s also why I cried when Fred Weasley, Lavender Brown, Colin Creevey, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, and Dobby died. (Though I didn’t shed a tear when Crabbe bit it.)

It is, too, why the story of Snape touched me so deeply. Over seven books we came to love, hate, loathe, and care about, the people in this world and the reasons behind their actions. How tragic, how brave, that Snape would live a life where everyone thought him to be a traitor because his misguided beliefs helped kill the woman he loved. How sad that he devoted himself to help protect the life of her son who had her eyes. How truly remorseful must he have been to allow the world to believe he had killed the only man to really trust, believe in, and know him, in malice.

I read once, either in some how-to book on being a fiction writer or during some writing class, that you never introduce a loaded gun in act one if you don’t plan on firing it by act three. Maybe Rowling read the same book for she definitely addressed every plot point, every landmark, and damn near every character, ever introduced in the Potterverse in this final installment. Even better, one never gets the feeling that she was just making stuff up as she went along. It was evident that each character, even the evil ones, were carefully crafted, loved, and respected, for they were each given history and some even life after death. Albus Severus Potter? That would be three-hanky moment 40, thank you very much.

Some might say that Deathly Hallows was a bit heavy on the message of tolerance. No one can say they didn’t immediately think of concentration camps when reading about the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. Though, there was a lovely moment during a scene in which Harry, Hermione, and Ron gather around to listen to a pirate radio show aimed at getting the truth out while Voldemort has taken over the Ministry of Magic and all media. Kingsley Shacklebot suggests that those in the magical world also protect the unsuspecting Muggles (non-magical folk) by placing protective charms around their homes.

“And what would you say, Royal (Kingsley), to those listeners who reply that in these dangerous times, it should be ‘Wizards first’?” asked Lee.

“I’d say that it’s one short step from ‘Wizards first’ to ‘Purebloods first,’ and then to ‘Death Eaters,’” replied Kingsley. “We’re all human, aren’t we? Every human life is worth the same, and worth saving.”

Let’s face it, there is no perfect ending to a story you never want to end. And there’s no mistaking that it had to end. I mean, how menacing could Voldemort continue to prove to be if he never succeeds in killing Harry, or how impressive is it to be The Chosen One and The Boy Who Lived if you never vanquish the bad guy? It would become comical.

No, no ending would be perfect. But Rowling gets it damn near perfect in Deathly Hallows. Sure, in the epilogue I would have loved to have learned more about what happened to Luna (I imagine her off running The Quibbler married to Dean Thomas), how the Weasley’s coped with Fred’s death, how was the revelation that Snape was a hero received, did the Dursleys ever see Harry again, and more, but I don’t mind having some of it left to my imagination either.

I’m happy with where these beloved characters were left. I called it after seeing the movie, Order of the Phoenix, that you’d never see Harry performing Avada Kedavra on Voldemort. That’s not his style. Everything was left as it should be. But that’s not to say that if five years from now Rowling ever has the desire to pick up a new tale in the halls of Hogwarts, the streets of Hogsmeade, the lanes of The Burrow, the cobblestone paths of Diagon Alley, I’d be complaining.

Harry Potter & The Order of the Phoenix Film Review

As I drove, alone, to the theater this morning the weather was gloomy. It was chilly, overcast, and rain had begun to drizzle. It seemed fitting as the tone of this film was definitely darker than any of its predecessors. As well it should be. When you first begin the journey that is the story of Harry Potter and its many characters it all seems very tame, doesn’t it? It’s almost as if you got your somewhat happy ending at the beginning. “A dark wizard tries to kill a little boy, but he survives? That doesn’t sound so bad.”

As the stories progressed we find that being “The Boy Who Lived” kinda blows. It’s lonely as he’s an orphan and the few true friends he has managed to make can never fully understand the burden placed upon him. It’s dangerous as he’s in constant fear of what Voldemort, a.k.a The Dark Lord, a.k.a He Who Must Not Be Named, a.k.a. that guy from Strange Days (Ralph Fiennes), might be planning, and he must go through all of this while dealing with the normal rises and lows of being a teenaged boy.

As each volume unfolded we got reminded time and time again what a hard existence it is to be Harry Potter. The cold wind and big fat rain drops put me in the right frame of mind as the film began.

Readers of the books know that The Order opens with Harry (Daniel Radcliffe) having spent a summer alone with the mean spirited Dursleys. He’s been brooding because he’s not had one word from the wizarding world as to what is going on now that they all know Lord Voldemort has returned having tricked Harry into participating in his rebirth, and then killing Cedric Diggory, at the end of Goblet of Fire.
Things quickly pick up as Dementors attack Harry and his cousin, Dudley (Harry Melling), in a park in Little Whinging. This was one of the scenes I had been looking forward to seeing the most as I remember the shock and excitement of reading about the events in the book. Such a blatant attack early on really set up the rest of OOTP well. You know right away that, yet again, the danger has been taken to a whole new level.

As The Order of the Phoenix, a group of good wizards and witches led by Dumbledore (Michael Gambon) and formed to fight Lord Voldemort the first time he rose to power, come to pick Harry up and take him to their headquarters I was pleased that things were moving along so quickly and I was excited to finally see what Kingsley Shacklebot (and auror at the Ministry of Magic working in secret with The Order) and Nymphadora Tonks looked like. They both did not disappoint but I was most pleased with Tonks (Natalia Tena). She was everything I imagined her to be – spunky, quirky, pretty, clumsy, and above all kick ass…but more on that later.
Things don’t get better for young Potter, looking all growed up I must say, as he finds out from The Order, that also includes his fugitive godfather Sirius Black (Gary Oldman), the Weasley parents, and his father’s arch rival and his own Potions master Severus Snape (played with ghoulish glee by Alan Rickman), that the Ministry of Magic has made it their business to try and discredit Harry and his claims that Lord Voldemort has indeed returned.

The wizardry news is filled with stories professing that Harry is a liar and out for attention. Also fearing that Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of the wizardry school Hogwarts, is backing Potter’s claims in an effort to take his job as Head of the Ministry, Cornelius Fudge (Robert Hardy) places his under secretary, Dolores Umbridge (Imelda Staunton), at Hogwarts in an effort to try and control what goes on there.

Much of the movie is spent at Hogwarts, as usual, as Harry and his friends led by Ron Weasley (Rupert Grint) and Hermione Granger (Emma Watson) deal with the over growing presence of Umbridge at their school (educational decrees up the wazoo!), taking their Ordinary Wizarding Level exams (O.W.L.s), and attending secret Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons taught by Harry. Hey, if the Ministry is too stubborn to acknowledge Voldemort’s return and protect them, then they need to protect themselves, don’t they? You bet your ass they do.

All of this leads to a climax at the Ministry of Magic so good I wanted to stand up and cheer. But I was alone. And I’m like 6 feet tall. And grown. So, overall, I’m thinking that woulda been weird.

So now, as is my way, I’m going to tell you what was good before I get to the bad…

- What J.K. Rowlings does expertly, and so far the many directors of each film has managed to capture as well, is display Harry’s constant wonder and joy at his new, true, world. He finds out he’s a wizard much later in life than most children in his world. And now, even five years later, he still displays amazement at experiencing new aspects of the wizarding world. For instance, in Goblet of Fire when he attended the Quidditch World Cup and used a portkey for the first time and now in Order as he arrives at the Ministry of Magic to answer charges of unauthorized use of magic in front of a Muggle (He was cleared. He only used the Patronus charm to defeat the Dementors and save his and Dudley’s lives. Besides, the whole hearing was nothing more than an excuse to further discredit Harry and, by extension, Dumbledore.) Showing Harry watch people arrive to work by Floo Powder and the self flying paper airplanes that serve as inter-office memos is a nice touch that reminds the viewer that he’s just as new to some of this as we are.

- Sirius Black – though he’s never been a huge part of any of the books he’s in (even the one that bears his name – The Prisoner of Azkaban cause let’s face it, he’s not in many actual scenes of the books), he’s still such a presence in the Harry Potter world. He’s the only real family Harry has left and watching the scenes between them knowing the tragic outcome was heartbreaking. I did notice one thing though. He is definitely a rock star. I mean. Sirius Black is like the freakin’ Mick Jagger of the wizarding world. Don’t believe me? Just pay close attention to the scene with him and Harry at the train station.

- Watching members of The Order line up outside 4 Privet Drive and mount their brooms.

- Luna Lovegood! I loved Luna in all loony glory. She spoke as if she were in a haze, but delivered some of the best moments, and advice, of the movie. I totally want Harry to end up with Luna now. Hopefully, J.K. makes that happen in the final book.
- Dolores Umbridge. She was like a walking, talking, bottle of Pepto Bismol. And just as nasty.

- Minimal Hagrid (Robbie Coltrane)…and I didn’t mind.

- Patti said in her review that she wanted to “make sweet, sweet, love to” the final battle that took place at the Ministry. Sign me up for the orgy, please. The film found an impressive way to visualize that battle. The Death Eaters dissolved into black smoke and whipped around our hero and his friends, but when The Order showed up (and wow, what an entrance) they fought back in streaks of white. It made the battle much more magical because let’s face it, two people pointing sticks at each other and shouting Latin can get kinda…lame.

- Though I appreciate Kingsley getting a line, I have a feeling I would have rather seen the painting of Phineas Nigellus deliver the original line, “You know, Minister, I disagree with Dumbledore on many counts…but you cannot deny he’s got style…”, after Dumbledore made his exit from Hogwarts…a scene I was dying to see that did not disappoint.

Here’s what was not so good…

- Several scenes ended weirdly. Like the director didn’t know quite when to cut them so instead we get an uncomfortable fade-out or a shot pulled back straight out of the room and into the skies above Hogwarts.

- As the books got longer it was inevitable that more would have to be cut from the movies. As much as someone like me wouldn’t mind a four hour epic, as long as it was done right, including each aspect of a book that you’ve come to love for its many details, most of America wouldn’t get down with it. And I understand that. And I deal with it. But that doesn’t stop me from missing little details like how much work the teenagers put into helping Mrs. Weasley rid the headquarters of doxies and dead puffskeins, the explanation of how Tonks is related to Sirius, the fact that Professor Trelawney is the one who spoke the prophecy regarding Harry and Voldemort, and everyone running into Neville Longbottom’s parents at the St. Mungos when they go to visit Mr. Weasley.

- There were not enough scenes of the occlumency lessons between Snape and Harry. Considering that their failure to successfully complete the lessons due to their mutual hatred is what led to Voldemort being able to lure Harry and his friends to the Department of Mysteries, I thought there could have been at least one or two more scenes to show the breakdown. Especially knowing what Snape does in The Half Blood Prince, one wonders if this was part of his plan.

- Grawp. I didn’t care for him in the book and he seemed pointless in the movie, but I understand why he had to be introduced. Much like Kreacher, who is rumored to play a big role in Deathly Hallows, had to be at least introduced in this movie.

- Dolores’ comeuppance, being carried away by the Centaurs, always struck me as disturbing. Seeing it didn’t help. Though I did miss the scene with Ron later torturing a catatonic Umbridge with the sounds of hoof beats.
Finally, I thought there wasn’t enough mourning shown by Harry after Sirius’ death. The ending of the movie, didn’t seem to match up with the ending of the book tone-wise, I mean the final chapter was titled, “The Second War Begins,” for God’s sake! I wanted more feelings of impending doom. Some serious stuff went down in this installment and it whispered of what’s to come. Why was everyone so damn optimistic? They shouldn’t be.

As I watched the final scenes of the movie the words of the prophecy stuck with me. “One must die at the hands of the other as one cannot live as long as the other survives.” And though I’m anxiously awaiting the final book (just one more week!) and hoping for good things, I found myself hoping that Voldemort kills Harry.

Why? Because this movie did such a great job of reminding me of the burden that comes with being Harry Potter, and how though they (he and Voldemort) are eerily alike, Harry is much different (and better) because of who he is at heart and the friends that he has. I somehow feel as if I’d rather he dies in Deathly Hallows fighting the good fight than having the added burden of being a murderer.

Transformers: Movie Review

Lately I’ve been confronted with people’s misconceptions of girls that look like me.

“You don’t look like a gamer!”

“You’re going to see Transformers?!”

Damn right, I am.  Opening day at that.

After watching Transformers yesterday afternoon I got to thinking about how ridiculous this notion that attractive people can’t be geeky nerds is.  We all started out the same way. We were all children who watched cartoons after school, on Saturday mornings, and in some cases (Voltron!) before school.

The cartoons that made an impression on me as a kid were The Smurfs, He-Man, Thundercats, She-Ra, Jem, Voltron, and Transformers.  As I type this I can still see and hear the Transformers commercials I enjoyed as a child.

We have no idea what we’ll grow up to look like and it doesn’t matter. There is still an exciting anticipation that comes over us as we realize that the things that engrossed us as children will once again be brought to life with the advances of today’s technology.  We trust the Michael Bays of this world to update, yet respect, our childhood heroes, but more importantly we trust that they will do so in a way that will leave the new generation with a feeling of, “Oh, I get it!”

I have very few, trivial, complaints about Transformers the live action movie.  So trivial, in fact, they really need not be mentioned, but to be fair and balanced I shall.

Let’s begin with what was right.  The plot revolves around the Autobots’ (both good and bad) desire to obtain a mystical cube called the All Sparks.  It has the power to give life and is behind the conception of the Autobots. Those who wanted to possess the cube for evil, The Decepticons lead by Megatron, waged war with the other Autobots on their planet and in the process the cube was lost.  Both groups set off to find the cube and it leads them to Earth where the cube, and Megatron literally on ice, has been in the custody of a covert military group.

As the Decepticons launch attacks against the U.S. military in an effort to locate the cube and their leader, the good guys led by Optimus Prime realize that the key to finding the cube lies with a teenage boy named Sam Whitwicky (Shia Lebouf) who is a descendant of an explorer who discovered Megatron decades ago.

This movie did an excellent job of introducing back story with fluidity.  Instead of one big scene where we’re spoon-fed the history the story was allowed to naturally unfold. Information such as what became of the mystical cube, MegaTron, and the importance of Sam Whitwicky develops and makes sense.

In this day and age of six-in-one gadgets that make phone calls, play music, surf the web, make coffee, etc., the movie incorporates that and uses it to its advantage to explain the Autobot’s knowledge of our language, culture, and to help them achieve their goals – both positive and negative.

The special effects make this movie one that you have to see at least twice. There were times during their transformation from Autobot to helicopter, car, semi, CD player, cell phone, etc., that I found myself truly not believing what my eyes were showing me. The very definition of blink and you’ll miss it. This is one of my few, very small, complaints.  During the Autobots fight scenes things happened almost too fast.

Surprisingly, the robot characters were expressive and displayed distinct personalities.  Jazz, Optimus Prime’s first lieutenant, was cocky and confident. Ratchet, the medic, was logical and calm. The weapons specialist, Ironhide, was a bit hotheaded and didn’t mind, uh, lubricating an annoying military blowhard. And Bumblebee, the kickass Camaro tasked with being Sam’s guardian, came off as loyal and playful like a puppy…and he had little to no dialogue!

A lot of action films of this nature waste too much time with trying to convince their characters that the events are actually happening. We are most times forced to watch several scenes of characters making bad calls and needing way too much convincing to get things to happen. These characters only had to see a police car change into a homicidal robot once to get with the program. Also, I appreciated that the film allowed us to rely on our imagination for the carnage that would surely result from truck-sized robots fighting it out on the streets.  No gratuitous and gory death scenes of innocent bystanders.

The movie is long, but I suspect that most will enjoy it enough not to mind.  Also, it does a nice job of keeping you entertained until Optimus Prime makes his appearance – and let’s face it, we were all really just waiting for that moment.

In keeping with the whole “more than meets the eye” theme another small annoyance involves two of the three female leads. Makayla and Maggie. Both girls are sexy as hell, beautiful, and smart, but were tarted up beyond belief.  I know that we are a society that likes to look at attractive people and that this movie is mostly marketed towards young men and boys; however, as a woman I also know that sexy isn’t always about being overt and after the 20th gratuitous boob/belly button/legs shot I began to feel like no matter how many cars they hot wire, no matter how many alien frequencies they decrypt, no matter how much they contributed to saving the world, they were still just the T&A of the film.  Besides, as much as I appreciated Anthony Anderson’s comic relief it would have been nice to see Maggie crack the code all on her own.

Spoiler Alert: And my final, teeny tiny, I’m mostly joking when I say this, complaint is….”Why the one “black” robot gotta be the one to die? Huh? Why they gotta kill the brotha Autobot?”

Overall, loved, loved, loved this film. I’ve already watched it again since beginning this blog. God bless the internet.

As we walked through the parking lot after the movie I found myself checking out the other cars in a different light. A young, black, couple had to wait for my brother to strap his son in the backseat before they could enter their car and we had a small chat about the movie. The man summed it up best when he said, “I felt like a kid again for the first time in like ten years.” And as I drove back to our house I found myself wishing that the Dodge Charger I was navigating would suddenly do something.

Who The Hell Is Sal, and Why Is His Ass in My Peanut Butter?

“I’ll take Bacteriology for $800, please.”

sal·mo·nel·la [sal-muh-nel-la] – any of several rod-shaped, facultatively anaerobic bacteria of the genus Salmonella, as S. typhosa, that may enter the digestive tract of humans and other mammals in contaminated food and cause abdominal pains and violent diarrhea.

“What is how Nina spent her weekend?”

“Correct for $800. You control the board.”

….72 hours earlier…..

Friday morning I was on the phone with Mike. We both had big plans for the weekend. His mother was coming into town. He and Bette were excited. He hasn’t seen his mother in months. Tara and I were secretly disappointed as we pictured a long, quiet, weekend without Bette and Mike, but were happy that he was going to get time with his Mom. Friday was Donny’s first Friday off on his new Mon-Thurs 10 hour work day schedule, and we got our pretty nice sized tax return direct deposited that morning. The weekend was looking up, up, up.

As I’m talking to Mike, I’m surfing the net trying to decide which X-box 360 games I would buy that weekend when I see yet another headline about contaminated peanut butter. When I first saw something about it on the news a few days prior, I somewhat brushed it off because I never buy Peter Pan peanut butter. Always Jiff. But for a few days, whenever I saw any mention of it, I had this little nagging part of me that wanted to check the pantry. I never did. So, I mention this to Mike on the phone Friday morning.

“Bitch, you better go check that damn peanut butter!”

I yell for Donny to check the pantry and sure enough, Peter motherfucking Pan peanut butter. Mike is amazed.

“Now, check the lid for a number.”

“Inside or outside?”

“I don’t know. Just read me any numbers you see.”

There are numbers stamped on the top of the lid, but to be safe (poor choice of wording there) I open the jar and look on the inside of the lid. It’s covered in peanut butter so I take a paper towel and wipe it getting some on my fingers.

“AQRZ-D…”

“Bitch, I need numbers! Numbers!”

“Oh.”

I read him the numbers from the top of the lid which is what I should have done in the first place.

“2111…”

“Oh my GOD! Throw it away! Now!”

Ten minutes later I’m on the phone with Mike and Bette. The latter is telling me that I should actually eat the peanut butter in order to lose ten pounds. She called it the Salmonella Diet. Mike and I just called it PB Diahrrea. Everyone has a good laugh and I get off the phone to eat a donut and drink two cups of coffee. That’s the last thing I remember.

Kidding. Donny left to do some shopping and I played X-box. While I’m playing, I start to feel really sick. Mike calls, I tell him I think I’m going to throw up. “Do you think it was the peanut butter?,” he asks. I don’t know I tell him. “Well, if you die. You’ll know.”

Donny comes home with a pink Victoria’s Secret bag. I’m too sick to display the usual joy that a VS bag brings. I spend the next few hours vomiting and sleeping. We try to watch Hollywoodland. I sleep through most of it, but wake up for the last 30 minutes or so.

“Donny, this movie sucked. I want my 2 and a half hours back.”

“You slept and vomited through most of it.”

“I still want that time back.”

Mike, Bette, and Donny spend most of the evening trying to convince me to go to the ER. Donny calls the ER and the first thing they ask after hearing my symptons is if I’ve had any peanut butter lately. He tells them that I handled it before eating, and they reply that it could be that or a stomach flu that’s going around, but I need to come in either way. Donny takes Kali to my parent’s house so I won’t contaminate her and she won’t have to see me go to the hospital.

When he returns, I’m sleeping peacefully kinda propped up so I won’t choke on my own vomit.  I’m paranoid that way. You guys won’t be writing memorial blogs about my ass dying so undignified. I convince Donny to let me stay home barring one more vomit incident.  I didn’t keep that promise. I refused to go to the ER and behaved like a total brat until he found himself wishing I would just die there on the couch.

It turns out that Mike’s mother is coming in Wednesday instead as her flight kept getting ridiculously delayed due to weather. Bette is telling me to drink flat, room temperature, ginger ale, and only 2-4 ounces at a time. As I assure her I will, I’m literally sucking down ice cold, fizzy, ginger ale by the glassful. Literally. Like Jenna Jameson making a comeback.  I knew my stomach would regret it a minute later, but I was sooooo thirsty.

It got so bad that I stopped trying to make it to the bathroom early on. I just had a bucket next to the couch.  They say a guy is really committed if he’ll hold your hair while you vomit. Screw that. A man really loves you when he spends the day dumping and washing out your puke bucket. Poor Donny.

I watch Little Miss Sunshine (cute movie) while Donny sleeps. By midnight, I’ve somehow convinced myself that I’m well enough to play Gears of War online with Mike, Bette, and Donny.  We spank them mercilessly. Then they beat us a few times. Then one of Bette and Mike’s new Xbox live friends join in and I leave cause she was making me cranky…and vomit.

The next morning, Saturday, I’m feeling somewhat better. My parents insist on keeping Kali to play it safe and since Donny has to work Saturday night they figure I could use the rest. I’m on the phone with Mike, Bette, and Tara and we’re telling her all about our Gears of War session.

“I’m going to get an X-box today. Should I?”

Not believing for one second that she actually would we all, including Donny, say things like, “Sure. Absolutely. Go right ahead.” The next thing I know, Donny’s advising her on wireless adapters, and Mike has her on the Xbox website explaining the difference between the core and premium systems.  While on the website she exclaims…

“Oooh, what’s this Viva Pinata about? It’s so bright with lots of pretty colors. I want it.”

Oh Lord.

Tara gets off the phone to make some phone calls and price compare. Mike and Bette go to play Gears of War and I take a nap. I have a dream that Tara is molested by a guy in a Circuit City uniform so I call her.

“Listen, before you buy anything, you call us. Especially if they’re trying to tell you it’s something you need. You call and talk to me, Donny, or Mike.”

She calls an hour later from CompUSA.

“Is this Sonic any good? It’s really pretty with lots of colors.”

I’m starting to get worried. These games are $60 and her only purchasing criteria is “pretty colors.” I tell her to ignore the pretty lights and just get the X-box. She calls us back.

“These guys are telling me to get the PS3 instead.”

“What guys?”

Turns out two black guys shopping are advising her against the 360. “Since when do you listen to black guys?!” That from me. This from Mike, “They just wanted you to buy it so they could rob you in the parking lot.”

Several hundred dollars and a trip to Blockbuster to rent games later, Tara is home setting up her Xbox.  Before she can play an online game of Fusion Frenzy 2 with us, she has to open her ports. With a name like BoozyIrishFloozie one would think her ports stayed open *rimshot* but that was not the case. She and Mike spend an hour on the phone with her router’s tech. support people in India before we can finally all play.

And that’s how I spent the rest of my weekend. On the sofa, trying to keep down ginger ale, Gatorade, and saltines, and creating three X-box 360 monsters.  If you have the console you know that you can see what your online friends are playing at anytime. Throughout the evening last night I would take a break from stuyding, and check in on Tara. She was playing Gears of War while Bette and Mike played Uno. Seeing as how Tara is one of those people who grip the controller tightly and move their bodies along w/ the characters on the screen I decided to call her and see how it was going. With a game like GOW I had images of her diving, crouching, and rolling all over the basement.

All in all, even though I was sick, I had a great weekend. I spent a lot of time with Donny and my friends playing video games and laughing. And whether or not it was salmonella or the stomach flu, much like how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Tootsie Pop, the world may never know.

How Much For That Doggie In The Backyard

…the one with the doggie AIDS?

Randy, my love, you wanted a blog, here it is….

So, Tuesday night I’m on IM with Randy and he’s giving me a hard time. This is nothing new. He always gives me a hard time.  If there’s a single typo, spelling, or math error in a blog, Randy will find it.  It could be the War and Peace of blogs, but he will find that one thing wrong and that will be his comment. Bastard.  But on IM, he gives me a hard time about two other things.

One, he sent me a song before Christmas and I still haven’t listened to it. In my defense, it’s after Christmas now and it’s a Christmas song. I’m just not in the mood.  Two, I never call him.  We spoke on the phone once and I’m embarrassed to say that my journalistic instincts kicked in and I drilled the poor man on everything from his kids, to his job, to what it’s like to hunt and eat what you shoot.  I even teased him about his accent which he denies having. He totally does.

Anyway, he’s giving me a hard time and I’m taking it good naturedly because he also called me gorgeous.  And you guys know how I roll. Me likey the compliments.  As we’re chatting, Mike and Bette call me, and I tell them I’m talking to Randy and he’s giving me a hard time.  Mike tells me he has the perfect way to get back at Randy and have a laugh or two in the process.  Hey, this is what true friends do! I tease Mike daily because I have an Xbox 360 and he doesn’t.  When he gets one, I’ll find something else to tease him about.

Turns out Randy has what some might call “an outside dog.” A dog that is basically kept outside.  Now, this doesn’t mean that the dog is mistreated. Hell, if I had a dog I’d probably keep his little ass tied up in the basement.  And, um, if I had a basement.  So, Mike is all, “You gotta tell him you got an email from this poor dog. It will really get under his skin. The dog’s name is Cedar.”

I IM Randy….

Nina: I just got an email from someone at cedar@pleaseletmeinitscoldoutside.net  Do you know who that is?

No response.

Nina: The subject is: I’m starving!!

No response.  Then…

Randy: Tell Mike to shut the fuck up!

I tell Mike and Bette and we start cracking up.  Then…

Randy: What does the email say?

Nina (into phone): Crap, he wants to know what it says.

Mike: Hold on.

Mike runs to get on IM and I improvise till he does…

Nina: If you’re reading this email, I’m probably already dead.

Then Mike feeds me the rest….

Randy is a bastard and I’ve been outside for three months. I’ve got mange, fleas, and now I have doggie AIDS.  I’ve been forced to chew off my own paw because I’m so hungry and cold.  My paw tasted like shit because it was frostbitten.

The kids really want to play with me, but they don’t even know where their Daddy is to ask him if they can. I’m not even sure they know what he looks like.

Randy interrupts: If he chewed off his paw, how did he type the email?

Nina (into phone): He wants to know how the dog is typing with one paw?

I’m dictating this to a chipmunk. Since Randy hasn’t been home from the internet in three months, he hasn’t been around to hunt the poor chipmunks.

At this point, we can’t even continue because Mike and I are screaming with laughter. I can’t even type and my face is wet with tears. For the record, Bette giggled and just said “tsk tsk tsk” a lot. She’s a sweetie.

I had to share this with you because everyone else I’ve read it to just dies laughing. Donny, my Dad, my Mom…especially my Mom.  She was howling with laughter into the phone, “doggie AIDS!! Bwahahahahahaha!”

Randy, it took me 1,001 blogs, but you finally got your own.  Still think I’m gorgeous?  *mwah*

Update: Mike found the rest of the email. It goes as follows:

If you are reading this, then it is too late for me. But please, get the word out that dogs need to be let in sometimes. And fed.

Also, someone needs to call PETA on Randy’s ass. My body can be found behind the shed, with my face in my own poop. Yes, I was eating it when I expired.

I’m a dog, okay? That’s what we do.

Help me,

Cedar

Help me.

When I’m Famous

It has been taken for granted recently that I’m apparently meant for “big things.” Well, I would just be satisfied with financially secure, healthy, with a happy family, and many interesting friends.  If all that comes with “big things,” bring it on.

So, yesterday during my “Ask Me Anything” blog someone asked if I would still associate with my Myspace peeps when I’m rich and famous. That’s right, you all just became “the little people.” Of course I would.  I would still blog too. Until my publicist told me to stop.  The whole thing got me to thinking how might I change if I were suddenly famous.

1. Cribs, Cribs, and more Cribs

I would have a house in Atlanta (cause my Dad’s family is here), and a house in North Carolina (cause my Mom’s family is there as well as Donny’s Mom ), I would have a house in Los Angeles cause that’s the rule, and I’d have an apartment in New York cause that’s my hood and most of my friends still live there.

Though I’m not sure which would be considered my “home.” Probably here in Atlanta. And I’m not sure how often I’d go to these homes seeing as how I am terrified of flying.  I was a nervous, yet frequent, flyer before 9/11, but now…well, let’s just say I still have the random nightmare.

Anyway, another reason I’m sure these houses would spend a majority of their time vacant is because I love hotels. The nicer the better, but they don’t have to be fancy in order for me to get nipple hardening excited over the thought of staying in one. Seriously, hotels turn me on. Which leads me to believe I was a hooker in a previous life.

2. Pimp My Ride

I don’t really care about fancy cars.  And I don’t think suddenly having the money to buy as many as I want will change that. I just want it to run (quietly) and get me where I’m going (quickly), and have a CD player that works (loudly).  So, I’m thinking maybe a nice luxury SUV with lots of space to hold my……

3. Entourage

That’s right, bitches. I want an entourage.  But, I’m pretty sure it would be relatively small. Like, you don’t want something so large where people talk about you. “Who does she think she is?” Just large enough so that I always feel busy, important, and…adored.  Five or six should do quite nicely.  And since my best friend is a happy homemaker now with a preschooler and another due in about 12 days, I’m going to need some volunteers.

You can email your entourage qualifications to ninafrommyspace@comcast.net. Here’s what I need:

- Someone to do my shopping for me. I missed out on that female gene that makes us all want to shop for hours on end. Department stores, literally, give me a headache.  I need someone that, armed with my sizes and tastes, can go out and spend my money like it aint no thang. But it is. I want receipts, bitch. You won’t find my ass crying on Oprah like, “Why? Where’d all my money go?”

- Someone to make me laugh. Your only duties would be to hang out with me and make me snort with laughter. My first thought would be to fill this spot with my friend, Mike, but he’s already informed me he will be too busy abusing his own entourage and sniffing coke off of  hookers’ taints to be bothered with being my personal jester.

- A personal trainer. Nina’s personal trainer will go down in history as the most overpaid for doing absolutely nothing job in the history of cushy jobs.  I just want to say I have one.

- A personal chef – He must be French or Italian, but know how to make collard greens and candied yams.

- 3 or 4 girlfriends. They must be pretty, but not prettier than me. Tall, but not taller than me. And I don’t mind if you’re skinnier than me. I like being curvy.  We can just call this the Beyonce syndrome.  Of course, there will be the prerequisite ugly friend whose sole responsibility is hanging out with me when I don’t feel like being bothered with pretty bitches.

Side story: I actually had a friend/ex-coworker say that to me once. She and another friend/coworker went out one Sunday for lunch and a movie and I had to hear all about it on Monday. When I said, “You didn’t have to call me heifer.” She responded with, “No offense, but I didn’t feel like being bothered with pretty bitches yesterday.”  Talk about a backhanded compliment.

4. Weave-a-licious

I know I said I was done rocking the weaves. For now. And as you can see my natural hair is growing like crazy, but once I’m famous I have to get a super duper weave. Why? Because that’s how famous black women roll! That’s why.

And I’m not talking about any ole weave.  There will be no more ghetto weave palaces for me. I’m talking super-duper-Oprah-level weave. I’m sure such a weave will make me blog fodder for months, but I won’t give a shit. Cause I’ll be rich!!

5. Say my name, say my name

Jennifer Lopez had J-Lo. I want a new name too.  I’m thinking I might be satisfied with just dropping my Hispanic maiden name and German married name (don’t ask, it’s a big ole mess, but I had to keep my maiden name), and just being known as Nina.

Say it out loud a few times. Just do it. Nina. Nina. Nina. Catchy, right?

No? Well, then come up with some other suggestions.  Dean suggested Nina Farina – a softer version of Tila Tequila.  Not as alcoholic and more breakfastsy.

6. Behrina

Of course, none of that will matter when I divorce Donny for Jason Behr and all the magazines start reporting on Behrina (BEAR-EENA) sightings.

Just kidding, I can’t leave Donny. Do you know how hard it was to find a husband this great to put up with my ass as is? Can you imagine how impossible it will be to find a man to put up with me w/ more money and better shoes?

Finally, my promise to you, should I become famous:

- You will never see my vagina. Unless you are my gynecologist or my lover. There will be no Nina coochie shots on the internet.  I promise to wear very expensive panties for the paparazzi to shoot.

- I will never hang out with Paris Hilton. I just don’t get that hanging out with other famous people just because we’re both famous bullshit.  Like seriously, what the hell do Britney Spears and Paris Hilton talk about? I think I lost some IQ points just pondering the possibilities.

- Kali will not become one of those second generation starlets. A la Paris, Nicole, Bianca, etc.  She will go to college, she will wear panties, she will not develop a drug habit or an eating disorder. I promise I will take her out before I let that happen.

- I will not develop an eating disorder. I like hot wings way too much.

Sound good? You can print this out and call me on it if I break any of the rules mentioned above. Of course, I probably won’t be taking your calls at that point, but you can try.

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