MGF Best: It’s Not Like You’re Trying A Dish With Onions

When I asked the contributing staff what should be reposted on this trip down memory lane, this particular post was almost immediately mentioned. I am pretty fond of this post as well...it was the first post where I really felt like I was saying something. Thanks again to the friend who uttered the title lines. Still use it everyday. - Lily

I have not, nor have ever been, considered a “Wild Child.” There’s a pretty good reason for it. And that reason, ladies and gents, is FEAR. As the oldest of five children, my parents (especially my mother) exerted quite a few rules on me. Did I mention that my parents emigrated here from the Philippines? Our household was a mix of old and new world sensibilities. But for a long time, I felt like it was 90% old world, 10% new world.

Never was this more apparent than when I started my adolescence. According to pop culture, news agencies, and various accounts from friends and loved ones, the teen years are the start of rampant exploration. They meant sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll (or as in the case of the 90s, hip hop). I did not get the memo on that one. In my teen years I explored libraries, the fine art of Filipino cooking, domestic activities, and found a love for classical piano music. I explored these fields because my family expected me to.

And since I didn’t know any better, I never questioned why I couldn’t go out to the dance after the football game. Or why even I wasn’t allowed to go to the football game. It never crossed my mind that that cute guy in chemistry was actually flirting with me because it was hammered into my head that I didn’t have time for a boyfriend. Nor did I ever have the inclination to sneak out and defy these orders – the mere fear of WHAT my parents could THINK of as punishment was more than enough.

Contrary to what you might think at this point, I don’t hate my parents for laying down these rules. Parenting doesn’t exactly come with a hand book. And let’s face it, teenagers today are freaky. However, as I transitioned from high school to my two year stint in college, I felt like I missed out on something.

So when I did start college and started traveling with the Speech and Debate Team (OMG I am such a nerd!), I decided that I wanted to spread my wings and partake in some good old fashioned rebellion. Getting a scholarship to a local junior college to compete on their Forensics (“Speech, not dead bodies.”) squad opened the door to social liberation. The fact that I was traveling about every other weekend to different college to compete, and often for three or four days at a time, it was the first time I was without parental direction. This was it. This was my chance to become a true bad ass.

But standing at the entrance to reckless abandon, I balked.

My college experience was going pretty well. I had made many friends from many walks of life. I was living up to performance expectations in school and competition. I had moved to a relative’s house to cut down on my hour drive to school. I was stretching my wings and feeling fine.

A college Speech and Debate tournament is just a version of college life debauchery condensed into a three day schedule. During competition, we were very serious. However outside of the rounds, there was a lot of fraternizing between schools. By fraternizing I mean “sex” and by a lot I mean “a shitload.” Both the four-year schools and the two-year schools competed against each other. Because of this, there was a great mix of diversity in age, culture, and intelligence.

I met a lot of people my first year of school during competition. One of them was a guy we’ll call Steve. Steve was a re-entry student at another community college in the same city as mine. He was much older than I was. Thinking about it, I’d say Steve was in his late thirties, early forties (I might be feeling generous). Both of our teams got along well as most people hung out with people from their region. Steve and I competed in most of the same events, so we talked frequently.

We started talking a little more and I noticed he’d take care to single me out from the rest of the girls and give me attention. This was, at the time a new experience for me. I’d never dated in high school, nor did I notice (if ever) guys paid attention to me. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it. But think about it – the frumpy girl has an admirer! Of course I was flattered, but tried very hard not to show it.
One night, we all got together again outside of school for a performance on my college campus. Many family and friends attended. Afterwards, the teams decided we were going out to eat. Since I had driven myself, my parents gave their okay and told me to be careful. So we went to the Boar’s Head. Steve sat with me all night, arm around my shoulder or holding my hand. In my head, the twinges of “this is wrong” started to ring out, but my heart was going a mile a minute with a “just relax and have fun” chant.

People began to peel off the group and head to their own beds. Pretty soon it was just Steve and me. He suggested that we go for a walk. It was a pretty mild night, so I grabbed my jacket and purse and we took off. We chatted about a number of topics. Despite the tactile affection I allowed him to do earlier, I kind of kept my distance as we walked. Oh, but he tried to close that gap. At one point, I let my guard down. The bravura in me was strutting. “I’m a big girl. I can handle this.”

It was then we found ourselves alone in a quite corner of a residential neighborhood. We sat down on a bench and he put his arm around me again. He murmured in my ear that he though I was a neat young woman. I smiled, not really sure how to respond to that. Steve went on to say all the right things while I stammered to answer:

“You know I find your intelligence interesting.”

“Well…that’s cool.”

“Are you cold? Would you like my jacket?”

“No thanks, I’m fine.”

“You’re very pretty.”

“Um, thanks?”

It was at that moment Steve decided to take the next step. I had swung my face around to face him. He lifted my chin to look into his eyes and I saw his mouth moving closer to mine. With his kiss looming, my brain and my conscience made a split second decision that I didn’t comprehend until I got home. Bringing up my hand to his chest right before the point of contact, I gently pushed back and stood up.

I looked at the face of a confused suitor and said, “Steve, thank you. But no.” And I walked back to my car.

If I had let Steve kiss me that night, I probably would have taken a lot of “firsts” off my list. Who knows? All I knew at that moment was that I didn’t want my first kiss to be with a man almost twice my age. This is the pattern that my life started to take. I’d be presented with the choice of being “wild” or “mild.” More often than not, I’d choose the safer path. But despite my choice, I’d hate myself for being such a pansy.

Let’s face facts: I’ve never drunk to the point of drunkenness. I’ve never been offered or taken drugs. I never snuck out even on a school trips though I had nothing holding me back. The only reason why I stay late out on a weekend is because I’m with my Speech and Debate activities.

In my eyes…I thought I was boring as the sky is blue.

Luckily I grew into my own self. Years have gone by since that near first kiss and I have come to understand that I am who I am. I’m the “Mild Child” and that’s okay. I may not have all the cool stories about waking up in someone else’s clothes after a night of partying, but I can probably recount the whole story for the friend it did happen to. I haven’t smoked a joint – but I’m not closed off to the idea. I’d venture to say that I have loosened as the years pass.

I was having a conversation with one of my friends one night and we were talking about the fact that I felt so behind everyone in terms of rowdy fun experiences. I whined a bit about being trapped into the expectation of others and maybe that’s why I am so straight laced about certain things. My friend then said something that totally blew my mind.

“It’s okay. Some people aren’t cut out for those things. It’s not like you’re trying a dish with onions.”

I mulled that over for a bit and he continued, “On the other hand, some of us don’t give a fuck.”

He was right. But only half right. It shouldn’t just be SOME of us. ALL of us shouldn’t burden ourselves with the idea that we’re missing out on life because we’re not rowdy. Really, humans weren’t built or programmed that way. You have free will. Use it the way your soul and heart tell you to. If you’re a party animal…party your heart out. If you’re a homebody, that’s cool too.

I guess what I’ve learned is that no matter how exciting or tepid your path is, don’t just EXIST. Whatever the hell you want to do, just do it with gusto.

Pass the onions too, will you? They’re really not that bad after the first bite.

Why Are We Doing This Again?

For a little over six months, me, the phenomenal MGF Staff, and my awesome Guest Bloggers have been writing with one goal in mind: To make people laugh and think…even if it was just for us. Somehow, we’ve picked up some regular readers. Orchid, FJ, and BrownSuga have managed to keep me from killing myself. And I’ve learned to (kind of) let go and let the blog be.

Back in January, I put up my very first post, ”The Modern Girl Friday Credo”. I remember sitting on Yahoo Messenger with Elusive Orchid, talking it through while typing it up on Microsoft Word. When we were done, I saved it to my handy jump drive – placing the number 1 at the beginning of the title, so I could keep my posts in order. One turned into twenty. Twenty turned into sixty-three. Sixty-three turned into ninety-two. Today, I will be placing the number 100 next to the title of this post.

I’m not lying – I thought I was going to abandon this project by about week two.

But here we are. I have to say, I am extremely happy with the way MGF has grown. For those of you who read us often, I just hope you take something, ANYTHING from what we throw out on here each day.

My friends often ask me why I keep going. There is no shortage of blogs written by people like us in cyberspace. While I hold MGF Blog near and dear to my heart – we’re nothing special (Yet – give me some time!). And then there’s the time commitment. I need a few extra hands to count how many times since January I’ve entered the evening saying to myself (or Lenny or Orchid or whoever was nearby) “I just don’t feel like writing tonight.” And my friends, heaven bless them, are always willing to give me an out.

“Then don’t write.”

“You don’t have to update it ALL the time.”

“No one says you HAVE to do it.”

“Would you slow down? You’ll burn out!”

If you really know me – you know how OCD I am about content. I KNOW nobody will hate me for taking a night off (and I have). But just when I think I really need to step back – I get a piece of e-mail or a comment from someone who stumbles across us. They thought something was funny. They may have thought we were crazy. They might disagree with us. Or they just wanted to tell us that they thought last night’s post was cool.

It doesn’t matter what they wrote to me about. What mattered was that they found us, read us, and responded to us. That’s pretty much more than I thought I’d get from writing EVER. And that’s what drives me: The passion I have for writing and getting a response from anyone who wants to read it.

I didn’t even know what I wanted out of this blog when I posted the first night. The whole thing started because I got pissed off at work because I was getting made fun of. I wrote about it and after showing it to some online friends, I discovered that I needed some place to post ”To Vex a Verbalist”. Who knew my anger would spawn the most positive experience of my writing life?

MGF may never blow up and get thousands of hits a day. It’d be nice – but all the stars need to be aligned at the right place and the right time for that to happen. We’re one of countless blogs out there. But as long as my computer keeps working, I promise these first 100 posts are just the beginning. We are only going to get better, funnier, and more thought provoking!

When a Modern Girl Friday hits a milestone, what does she do? She celebrates, she shops, and she reminisces. Each of the MGF Girls has done their little happy dance with me this weekend. I hit Lane Bryant and Old Navy pretty hard to perk up the wardrobe. All that’s left to do is reminisce.

This week, we’re taking a break and re-posting up our favorite stuff from the last few months. We hope you enjoy looking back with us. I know we had a blast mining the archive! Have a good week, MGF Faithful! And thanks for making this six months really worthwhile!

I am the WOOOOMAN!

An apology to the male readership today. This note is strictly for the MGFs out there.

Ladies -- today I went shopping with fellow blogger Sunny Treasures and another friend. We went to a well known and affordable clothing chain who's name is the same as saying antiquated military (Think hard -- you'll get the hint). I have not been able to buy clothes in this store for at least 3-years since they decided to cut their sizes smaller.

Digging around in the sale area, I come across a pretty, cream colored, light-weight, faux wrap sweater. It is the largest size they have...and the last one in that size. Looking at it, Sunny comments that would look cute on me. After some hemming, hawing, and bodily threats...I try it on.

It fit. HOLY CRAP IT FITS!

This ignites a little shopping spree about the store for a couple of t-shirts and tops that I've been DYING to buy, but didn't think they'd fit. But wait! That's not the best part of the story.

We get to the register...and the sweater is lacking a price tag. The clerk punches numbers for a couple of minutes and looks at me. The next sentence came out in slow motion...but the words were very clear.

"It's not in our system. I'll charge you $1.97 for it. Is that okay?"

1. I BOUGHT a sweater in a store that skinny girls covet.
2. I FOUND the last one in my size.
3. I PAID less than a gallon of gas for said sweater.

I...AM...A...SHOPPING...BAD...ASS!

If It Looks Like a Duck...

Well, N*Sync fans…it looks like when they sang the lyric, “Would you be my girlfriend,” someone was faking it.

Lance “The Bass Singer” Bass came out publicly today with his homosexuality. He had hid it for years, telling the Associated Press, “I knew that I was in this popular band and I had four other guys’ careers in my hand, and I knew that if I ever acted on it or even said (that I was gay), it would overpower everything.” After years of keeping that piece of his life out of the limelight – he announced that he is in a stable, loving relationship with reality-star-turned-actor, Reichen Lehmkuhl.

I don’t blame Lance for hiding his orientation from the world. As forward thinking as we’d like to believe we are – we’re not. And reality is reality. How many screaming little teeny boppers would have followed the band once they realized Lance wasn’t the “big brother” type, but more like the “I like your big brother” type? Probably a better question would be: How many of their parents would have participated in a record burning to save the precious ears of their suburban princesses?

But that’s not the point, ladies and gents. Whatever Lance decides to do with his life is his choice. We should respect it as a basic right of every human being alive. Okay – so he’s gay. Big whoop. There’s something just a little more shocking here that everyone is overlooking.

YOU COULDN’T TELL LANCE WAS GAY?

I guarantee you that there are actually people out there who could be knocked over with a feather with this news. In fact, the buzz I have read and heard is that there are some of us who never saw it coming!

And don’t kid yourself…everyone involved probably knew.

Exhibit A: In all of N*Sync videos, Lance got stuck with the plainest looking girls and maybe 30-seconds of air time.

Exhibit B: Lance’s dance position – usually in the back.

Exhibit C: During interviews, he wasn’t much of a talker when the “So, who do you think is hot right now?” question came up.

Exhibit D: He was cute – but not hot. I don’t think he was made out to be the most non-threatening by coincidence.

Don’t bury your head in the sand, you twenty-something’s who collected every piece of memorabilia from posters to bobble head dolls during your teen years. It doesn’t make you a freak. Quit hyperventilating and stop crying. You were probably too young or blinded by the bling to notice.

And for those of you Negative Nellie’s out there: Leave the man alone. N*Sync isn’t coming back, the news doesn’t change what happened in the past, and what he did was not a betrayal of your memories.

Let this be the last time we EVER have to talk about former boy band members on here ever again.

Crazy Women Drivers Wanted

I was sweating buckets. My arms felt like I just benched pressed 300-pounds. The noise was deafening! My legs were dead. It was probably about 120-degrees in the metal roofed warehouse I was standing in. My vision was blurred from the steamy conditions. It was probably more miserable than miserable can be!

So why was I screaming and laughing my ass off along with about 40 of my co-workers? You’d be amazed at what a 270cc, un-governed, Honda powered go-kart will do to the demeanor of grown men and women.

About a month ago, our Division Big Dog decreed that we needed a team activity to mingle the newly formed team in our division with those of us who had been there for a long while. It was a great idea because we were sorely in need of some together time. Our workplace had exploded, certainly doubling in size with the acquisition of a new business partner. Even though we’d been working in the same place for over two months, we stayed on the separate sides of our office walls.

Then came the team get together. One of the supervisors came up with the great idea of going to a go-kart place. We were all gung-ho about the idea. Luckily, we were able to secure a facility close by. The Speedway Indoor Kart Racing Center was more than happy to fit our budget and needs.

I RSVP’d the moment I got the invite. But let me tell you – I was nervous as hell! I hadn’t been go-karting since my last visit to The Track in Branson, MO when I was 13-years old. Looking over the go-karts online, I doubted that I could fit my body into the go-kart comfortably. And to be honest, my co-workers are a little bit competitive.

But, my ego once again got the best of me and I went. I’m glad I did…the whole experience was better than I expected. And I finished dead last both times I raced.

There’s a lot of humor to be had when you go to a go-kart race track. When you first look at the cars, the first thing (at least for me) that came to my mind was the Shriners. You know, these guys. Sure, you look funny hunched up in a vehicle that is basically a souped up lawn mower…but the safety video cracked us up.

How can you NOT laugh when the credits states that when you go-kart race there is a “chance you will be injured or killed?” It gets even better…check out what was on my race ticket:



You mean I have to keep my eyes open to drive a kart? YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME!

I was in the first group of racers. When they called my name, I swallowed really hard and faked a smile as I picked out my helmet. Egads…there is no graceful way to put a helmet on when you wear glasses! But even more awkward – when you’re the shortest person in the group and you’re trying to adjust your seat so you can REACH THE DAMN PEDALS.

Now, I realize I’m short. And with that comes some problems. But HOW THE HECK DID I GET STUCK WITH THE DEFECTIVE SEAT?! Halfway through my qualifying lap, the seat slide all the way back. I now could not reach the pedal unless I hyper-extended my leg. It was about another half a lap before the nerves went numb. I told my friends that if I had had a mic on under my helmet, they would have heard me cursing in two languages.

It was hard work piloting that go-kart! Taking a corner took all the force you could muster so you could keep the kart steady to prevent spin outs. And after doing about 12-15 laps in one of those things, your body felt like jelly as you exited the kart. I’m sure a lot of us will be sore tomorrow.

Despite the miserable conditions, we all had a blast. I raced twice – but there were some nuts that went out there 5 and 6 times! (You guys are crazy!) And yeah, I’m glad I forced myself to go. Otherwise, no one would be able to snap this shot:



Danica Patrick…eat your heart out!

BrownSuga's Sweet Spot: We Are Family.....

“It's so nice to see
All the folks you love together
Sittin' and talkin' 'bout
All the things that's been goin' down”

~Family Reunion by the O’Jays

This past weekend, I got the chance to do something I haven’t done in 6 years. I attended our family’s reunion. This was the first one I’ve attended since I finished college, gotten married and started my business. So for me this was a very big deal. I’m not sure how many of other families have reunions, but I’ve learned in the past decade or so that our family tends to do things a bit different, so here is a bit of our reunion history.

In 1972, one of my great-great uncles passed away. And like many funerals in my family, a large number of relatives traveled to be there for support. My great grandmother, affectionately called “Nana” also realized that our family only got together when someone died. So she decided to begin planning a reunion hoping to attracted the same large numbers but for a more joyous occasion. That summer in the city of brotherly love, my hometown of Philadelphia the first bi-annual family reunion was held.

And every other year since then we’ve traveled to the host city for a weekend of fun, family and food. Each reunion is hosted by a different region within the U.S. There is the Southern region, the MACCOO (Mid-Atlantic States including Chicago, California, Ohio and Oregon) group, the CONN artists, and George and Hollie’s Follies. Since 1972 we’ve had reunions in Chicago, New York, Massachusetts, Williamsburg, Connecticut, North Carolina and many other locations with this year’s being held in Atlanta, Georgia hosted by the Southern Crew.

The thing I love most about our reunions is that we are centered on our roots. As many African Americans in this country can understand, it’s almost impossible to trace family history before slavery and because of that, our sense of history is cut short. Our family is no different than the millions of other black families that “don’t exist” pre-Civil War. However, our family takes pride in the history since that time. We tell the story of my great-great-great grandparents and their son William who produced 12 children with 9 of those reproducing. Because of them I am part of a family over 200 deep who get together every two years to spend a weekend together. We grew by leaps and bounds. Today members of my family can be found from the inland of North Carolina, to the deep South, to the Northeast shores of the Atlantic to the cornfields of the Midwest and to the mighty Pacific in the West. We cover at least 18 states and Indonesia.

We are proud of what we’ve set up. We have our own scholarship fund, we give back to the community, we support in all business and educational endeavors and most importantly we love each other unconditionally. I’ve learned through friends and my husband that not all families have what we have. Watching my husband take in the many relatives and all the activities we do together, has made me appreciate the whole concept even more. And all of it came from the mind of my Nana and although she is no longer with us, her memory and legacy still lives on. And we thank her.

You may be thinking, “Wow BrownSuga, a little heavy.” But don’t worry there were many many many laughs this weekend and I’ll give you the whole rundown next week…. *smiles*

Lily’s Weekend Sedona Getaway: The Hotel

Greetings, MGF Faithful! Lenny and I just made it back from a little trek up north to the scenic town of Sedona, AZ. Established by entrepreneur, T.C. Schnebly in 1902, and named after his wife, the town is nestled in the middle of the Arizona high country’s famous Red Rock area.

It’s hard to believe I waited almost TEN YEARS to finally get up to there!

Since it’s only a 2-hour drive “up the hill,” Sedona is the perfect getaway from the oppressive heat (118-degrees this past Friday as Lenny and I pulled out of the gas station) for a weekend of relaxation. It was a weekend of art galleries, window shopping, wildlife adventure, and good eating.

Of course I had my trusty digital camera at the ready! So sit back and enjoy a little MGF Travelogue on Sedona, Arizona



The first step of any trip (for any length of time) is finding the right hotel. Having never been up to Sedona, I had to hit the internet pretty hard and do some research on my own. I started off with the very helpful Sedona.net. It’s a great primer on where to stay, what to see, and where to eat. And thanks to Sedona.net, I was able to find one of Sedona’s newest hotels, The Sedona Rouge.

Located less than ten minutes from Uptown Sedona (the town’s main shopping locale) on the highway 89A, ”The Rouge” is a 77-room boutique hotel. It’s atypical of the other, more established hotels in town. Most hotels in the area are themed in the Southwest, Native American, and/or Great Outdoors motif. The Rouge prides itself on the having the look and feel of Spain and Morocco. When we walked up to reception and were greeted by the hotel’s inner courtyard, I knew we had chosen the right hotel for us.



Lenny and I took a package that was offered through the hotel website. For $489, the package included the cost of the room for two nights, a $50 credit to their onsite restaurant “Reds,” two tickets to visit a local wildlife preserve (more on that trip later), and (most importantly) applicable taxes and services. Sedona is a very in-demand kind of destination, so any packages make your stay more affordable and easy.



Our room WAS PERFECT. As an in room pamphlet joyfully touted, “The divine is in the details.” And the details were more than simply divine. Each room at The Rouge comes with 32” LCD flat screen television, petite refrigerator, and coffee maker. Guests lay their heads down on cushy king or queen Simmons Super Pillow Plush Top mattresses covered with mid-weight down comforter, a TON of pillows and a Lambswool throw. Our room had an extra stuffed chair with a leather ottoman and a chaise lounge that framed the doorway to our mini-balcony.



The details don’t stop there. While the room also provided the regular hotel amenities (iron, ironing board, work desk, wireless connection, and full out satellite cable), we also got what I call “bonus amenities.” Having worked in the hotel industry, I know that what separates a good hotel from a hotel you will pledge your life to is the number of bonus amenities that are offered for free. Everyone wants to feel special when they stay somewhere, and good hotels know that!

So, what does The Rogue offer that made both Lenny and I drool? First off, in the closet were two Kashwere robes. These robes are the most comfortable EVER. If the name rings a bell, Kashwere robes are coveted by celebrities such as Oprah Winfrey and have been part of many a Hollywood award’s gift baskets. At $145 a pop, it’s a definitely bonus amenity.

And while they are standard features for any hotel, I have to say that the furniture, décor, and bathroom should be considered bonus amenities when staying at The Rouge.



I’m telling you right now – it is possible to fall in love with a shower. Elusive Orchid will back me up on this one, I promise. The above picture does not do the shower provided in all 77-rooms justice. It was HUGE. The website says that the shower is a “walk-in Centurion Rain Shower with dual shower heads.” I say the person who designed this shower stall needs a raise and must be showered with rose petals wherever they walk! Standing underneath this thing made you forget where you were for a few moments.



And the décor – oh goodness – the décor! Above is the wood, Syrian chest in our room. You see the white flecks in it? That’s inlaid mother of pearl, people! I could kick myself though, as I did not take a picture of the perfect little Moroccan style end table next to the chaise lounge. It was a bright red with a cute, hand-painted design.

I could go on and on and on (and I will about our dinner at “Reds” later on this week), but I already feel like I’m gushing! All I can say is that, if you want something sophisticated and unique for your stay in Sedona, please check out The Sedona Rouge.

In a town where hotels make their business on repeat guests, this one definitely stands out from all the rest!

There's a Sucker Born Every Minute

It was on my Technorati search. I clicked on the link, read it, and rolled my eyes. I KNEW it would land in my e-mail within a day or two. The next day, a link to “That Girl Emily” appeared.

A little primer: A relatively new blog, ”That Girl Emily” started at as a little journal about Emily, a real estate agent in the New Jersey area and her life. Emily soon finds out her husband, Steven, is cheating on her with best friend, Laura. Of course, hell hath no fury as a woman scorned, so the blog details her path of anger and revenge. The opening volley in this divorce war was cashing in on some favors and buying the following billboard:

Raise your hand if your B.S. Meter just started blaring.

How did the internet turn us into a gullible society? Every day, I get e-mails from family, friends, and co-workers that claim fantastic stories of bad luck, tears, and even the end of the world. Most of the time, I just delete them. In the wild, wild world of the internet…you have to exercise some caution and separate the bullshit from the real deal!

Listen up, internet junkies:
1. I do not continue chain letters
2. Donate money to some foreigner claiming to be the rightful king of his country
3. Boycott Target because they allegedly turned down donating to a local Veteran’s Group
4. Sign internet petitions for some random law that “sounds” like it might affect me.

Why?
1. Luck is a state of mind, bad or otherwise.
2. If you read a news board instead of a gossip column every once in awhile, you’d know enough world events to know that royalty never has to use the internet to solicit money.
3. Big corporations may not be able to support local charities on the grass roots level, but they do wonders on the national level with all sorts of charitable organizations.
4. Most internet petitions are not standard legal procedure and are usually only valid if you LIVE in the city/county/state it’s being circulated in.

Many of us are apt to hear nowadays that just because we heard it on the news, it doesn’t mean it’s true. Why can’t we apply that to the internet? Shoot…at least if the news gets it wrong, they can get sued! As time has shown us though, the internet is the perfect hiding place for modern day hucksters and conmen. The kicker: If we apply just a little bit of the common sense that we supposedly use in real life, you can spot this stuff right away.

You wouldn’t willingly give money to a complete stranger on the street (even if they happen to be ringing a bell next to a red bucket) – so what in your right mind would possess you to send money because of an e-mail that’s probably been around the world hundreds, if not thousands of times?

After reading up on Emily’s blog, my gut told me that this can’t be the real thing. I read a lot of Chick Lit books to see the standard plot devices. Even before I started digging deeper, I picked apart her story. I’ve had a few discussions with the people who have sent me the link and there are some who staunchly defend that it’s the real deal. In the interest of letting y’all decide on your own, I won’t publish my instincts here. I’ll just say, read the blog and decide for yourself.

After all – we all have our own minds. For Pete’s sake…USE IT!

On Lily's TiVo: "Psych"

If you’re around my age, your earliest memory of the USA Network was “The Cartoon Express,” where we could gorge our cartoon appetites with episodes of the “Laffolympics” and “The Pebbles and Bam Bam Show” (or as I like to think of it, “Joni Loves Chachi: The Stone Age Years). Or perhaps you were a hip preteen watching “Dance Party USA” (Did you know Kelly Ripa was a dancer on that show?) where 80s fashion and teenage gyrations ruled the hour.

Ahh…nostalgia.

But that was then. Now, the USA Network is a healthy mix of syndicated series and originals. At any given time, you could be watching a rerun of one of the venerable “Law and Order” series to the latest episodes of “Monk,” “The 4400,” or “The Dead Zone.” And now, on Friday nights, you can add the hilarious “Psych” to that list.

“Psych” is about slacker-turned-crime-solver, Shawn Spencer (newcomer James Roday). Shawn isn’t exactly the most responsible person in the world. In fact, when we first meet him, we learn that he is the former holder of 51 different jobs. Through flashbacks, we learn that his man-child behavior may be in part to his upbringing under his police officer father, Henry (Corbin Bersen), with whom he has a tenuous and barely respectable relationship. While he may be a disappointment to his dad, his hyper-observant skills are keen.

And by hyper-observant, I mean Spencer can spot things with his just his eyes in a split second where it would take the CSI team HOURS. The boy has skills. But, according to his dad…too bad he’s wasting them.

In the pilot episode, Shawn’s attempt to avoid jail time by claiming he is a psychic lands him on the case of a missing spoiled heir. Smart-assed, but not stupid, Shawn realizes that he’s got help or it’s a cell for him. Dragging his best friend, Gus (Dule Hill), along for the ride, Shawn helps the local police department (much to the chagrin of the egotistical and hardened Det. Lassiter) solve a double murder thanks to his self-pronounced “psychic” powers. However he solved it, the interim police chief, Karen Vick, is impressed enough to ask for his assistance on certain cases on their payroll.

Money in hand and for the first time with a purpose, the Peter Pan-like Shawn opens up his detective agency with Gus. He calls the agency “Psych” (Now do you get it?).

I’ve watched the first two episodes and I couldn’t believe how hard I was laughing! Roday makes Shawn a mix of the wiseass that is Dane Cook, combined with the right amount of insecurity whenever he deals with Henry. I for one am sooooo happy that Dule Hill has found something to sink his teeth into after eight years on “The West Wing.” And it’s great to see these two interact. Gus’ geekiness and Shawn’s need to be the center of attention make this odd couple a really funny and different take on crime solving teams like the Hardy Boys.

There are so many crime shows out there, that it’s easy to make one a carbon copy of the other (and then spin it off into a billion other shows). But “Psych” is definitely something unique and has its place in the landscape of crime solving. Hey, someone has to solve the mysterious death at a spelling bee (That’s episode two!).

Catch “Psych” on the USA Network. New episodes air on Fridays 10/9c, with a repeat showing on Monday nights!

BrownSuga's Sweet Spot: Proud Mary

“Left a good job in the city

Working for the man every night and day

But I never lost one minute of sleeping

Worrying ‘bout the way things might have been

Big wheels keeping on turnin’

Proud Mary keeps on burnin’

Rollin’ (rollin’) Rollin (rollin’)

Rollin’ on the river”

~Proud Mary by Tina Turner

Last weekend that song played through my mind thousands and thousands of times. Usually I get annoyed when that happens, like that d*mn Barney song, or the song that doesn’t end. Y’all know what I mean. It’s playing when you’re trying to read, watch television, do work or even talk to someone. However, this time I was not annoyed. In fact whenever the song popped into my head, I started singing. I belted it out; loud and proud just like Mary.

On Monday afternoon my husband, best friend and one other person protected ourselves with lifejackets, strapped on our helmets, grabbed our paddles and headed out on the PigeonRiver, in Tennessee, for an afternoon of whitewater rafting.

Let me take you back before I get ahead of myself. As most of you know, I am a business owner. And I can honestly say that in the time I’ve worked there is much more stress dealing being the boss. When I worked for a company, I left everyday at a certain time. I never had to bring my work home or if I did it was a choice I made. That won’t fly with owning your own business. Instead of a 9 to 5, I have a 24/7. But the difference is, I’m happy. I welcome the stress of it because not all stress is bad. In that last few weeks, I had to make some big decisions regarding the future of my business. Instead of getting emotional about some doors closing, I decided I wanted to go whitewater rafting. Spend a weekend not thinking about work (ok not thinking about it ALL THE TIME), relax a bit with my husband and best friend and get a little wet in a river. So we rented a BEAUTIFUL cabin up in the mountains.

The first time I’d gone whitewater rafting, I didn’t have much fun. Like many states in the south, North Carolina was having a drought so water levels were low. In addition to almost no water to raft on, we were the unlucky bunch to get in a raft with someone who refused to paddle her own weight. In fact she didn’t paddle anybody’s weight. She sat there the whole time looking at the rest of us struggle over each and every rock on the Nantahala River.

This time I refused to have that happen. I gave everyone a pep talk before leaving for the river. Yes, I admit, I may have sounded like I didn’t trust people to carry their own weight on this trip but seeing as how I was the only returning rafter besides the guide I wanted all of us to have the best time. And yes they were annoyed with me. They swore that I was overreacting. They would never chicken out and the last minute. They would work harder than anyone on the raft. They could handle anything. Whitewater rafting is a piece of cake, they said. But take a minute and imagine if I hadn’t said anything. While rafting I still heard:

“Oh my God are we going to fall in the water.”

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

“I’m just waiting for my Xanax to kick in.”

“Uh…what happens if a stick punctures the raft?”

STICK??? Are you kidding me? A more intelligent question would be what happens if the BIG @$$ ROCK punctures the boat. But let me not get started on some of the stupidity that we dealt with in Tennessee.

I won’t call anyone out and say who said what, but I’m thankful each and every person made it to the bottom without throwing up in the raft or drowning *rolls eyes*.

The river was great. It’s a dam controlled river and due to some heavy raining the previous weeks we got more water than expected. The river had a nice mix of category 3 and 4 rapids including one we got to “surf”. The trip lasted approximately 2 hours and by the time we were done not only were we wet and exhausted, but I think they appreciated my push to do it right. Well that’s how I figure it.

And as we raft a class 4 rapid I began singing *smiles*. Gotta love some Tina!

Missing: A Dream or Two

I was driving a coworker home after a long day at the salt mine. We were waiting for the traffic to move and were immersed in some non-work discussion, when the question came up. “Hey, Miss Lily? What’d you want to be when you grew up?”

My answer was easy. It was the same answer I gave people when I was in my formative years. For as long as I could remember, I had always wanted to either be an actress or a writer. Writing had always come natural to me. My friends always cursed the fact that I could get full credit for essays they labored days on, whereas I spent two hours the night before shooting from the hip. And the acting? Shyness is a sin in my family. Me and my siblings have been performing for family and friends as soon as we could walk. Piano, singing, dancing…you name it…we did it.

But after I had answered my coworker’s question, I began to wonder. What the heck happened? I mentally reviewed my life after dropping off my coworker and pondered where I was. Nowhere along the way did I ever utter the words, “I want to be a Project Manager at a bank.” But here I am. And I’m happy with it. I’m doing stuff I never imagined I would be doing. But still…

I am very sure that I’m not the only one in this boat. I would venture to say that when dealing with actualizing a dream, it’s the minority of us that actually sees it the whole way through. And why is that? Why do we give up those fanciful dreams of fame, fortune, and/or jobs that we actually love?

We hear it all the time, don’t we? Listen to your friends, coworkers, and family. You hear the sad song of “Woulda, coulda, shoulda.” Millions of people have settled for careers in something else because of various reasons. Perhaps they had to take care of their family. They didn’t have the time. There wasn’t enough money in it. They were urged not to by those close to them. The reasons are numerous and infinite. We’re torn between reality and want. A lot of us traded in our childhood for adulthood and never looked back.

Somewhere along the line, we lose the eagerness of a child and develop the sense of responsibility that adulthood demands. But, you know what? That means we shouldn’t give up on what we really want in life. We just have to make some adjustments, you know? No one becomes an actual success unless you LOVE what you do.

I know that’s the case with me. Writing and acting weren’t going to pay for my bills when I moved out, I to find a job. So, for the better part of a decade, I cultivated my career skills. Lots of hours, lots of tedious work, lots of paying of dues. I’m not one to complain about things, so I put my head down and worked. But I knew something was missing. What once was a daily thing, my writing started to disappear. And I was definitely longing for the days where I could get up and play piano for a bunch of people.

I put my dreams on hold for a bit, so that I could get the house and car I wanted. But I eventually turned a corner a couple of years ago. I looked around and noticed that I was working so hard for so many people in my life. My family, my husband, and bosses. However, I wasn’t doing anything for me. And that needed to change. Bit by bit, I started reclaiming my dreams.

The deal is, I had to learn to be selfish for a little bit. I know we can all hear our parents telling us what we wanted was crazy, but you have to learn how to shut that out. Anything is possible if you’re ready to do it! Sometimes, you just have to say “I don’t give a shit” and jump for it. Your landing might be rough, but at least for a split second you were flying.

Sure, I put writing on hold for a few years, but thankfully…I’m back at it full force here on the blog and with my book. Will it bring me money and fame? Who knows? All I know is that I’m enjoying writing more than I ever have. And for now, that’s enough! No word on the acting yet…but I’ll let you now when I make my community theatre debut.

So, what about you? What are you going to do to reclaim that dream?

MGF Home Game: One Way Ticket to the Sun

In my short college experience, I had the pleasure of commuting one hour each way for school an average of four times a week. Just having gotten my driver’s license, I really didn’t mind. Anything to get out of the house at that point, right?

Well, one of my favorite things on the morning half of my commute was listening to my favorite morning DJs, Jeff and Jer (now on Star 94.1 FM). These institutions of San Diego morning drives always cracked me up as I tooled along the I-15 on my way up to good old PCC. There were so many laughs, that I’d need eons of blogging time to catalog it all. But, there was this one segment in particular that always stuck with me.

Every so often, Jeff, Jer, and the crew would play a game called “One Way Shuttle to the Sun.” This is where the morning team would answer the question: What annoying celebrities would you like to pack into a shuttle that was bound for the center of the sun? It would be a riot to listen to who they would choose and why.

Every time I heard this segment, it was this very cathartic instance. Can you imagine being able to pack up Simon Cowell and wave to him as the shuttle sizzled as it entered the sun? I enjoyed the game so much, I would play it on road trips (12-hours in a van crammed with two too many people and their luggage BLOWS) and at long nights at the office while doing data entry. And it would get VICIOUS.

Arguments would result in some of these picks. I even saw the end of a relationship because significant others were at odds about whether or not Courtney Love should be on the shuttle. Two best friends almost got in the mother of all cat fights because one wanted to put Brad Pitt in the First Class cabin. Lillian enjoyed those moments thoroughly.

What’s that saying? Chaos, panic, and disorder. My job here is done!

I don’t get to play this game very often anymore, as road trips usually consist of me, Lenny, and dueling iPods. But every so often, you hear me mutter under my breath in moments of frustration, “[Insert Name Here], please pick up your one way ticket...sucker.”

Because I don’t get to play the game anymore, I want to play it here! That’s right…it’s reader participation time again!

Here are the rules:

1. Everyone gets THREE picks. Choose wisely.

2. You must have a SOLID reason for placing them on this ill-fated flight. Saying “Because he’s a dick” or “Need I say more” doesn’t count!

3. We will not restrict ourselves to merely celebrities…they are however, the easiest targets.

4. This is not a complete democracy. The MGF staff reserves the right to veto ANY picks that we may deem a miscarriage of justice! (But we can be bribed!)

5. All picks must be submitted by July 22, 2006…let’s not have a repeat of the MGF Mix Tape, okay people?

Okay, MGF faithful…don’t let me down! In this time and age of frustration, think of this as a simple release of stress. Dig deep and be bitter, folks. Trust me on this one, the angrier you are when you think about it – the better this list becomes!

Send your picks to moderngirlfriday@yahoo.com no later than July 22nd. We’ll issue the boarding passes as soon as we can!

Chasing Orchid: Toto, I Don't Think We're in Chicago Anymore!

I knew before I moved here that Maui was a laid back place, friendly and relaxed. I just didn’t realize how friendly it really is. I’m absolutely amazed! Back in Chicago, people were undeniably rude; it was the way of life there. Everywhere I went, they were honking their horns, flipping the bird or yelling some nasty curse at their fellow residents. Maui is nothing like that.

Sure, there are still rude and obnoxious people here, they’re everywhere after all. It’s just not as prevalent (not to mention most of the rude ones happen to be tourists). One thing a lot of locals do in Hawaii is hug. Hug!!! Wait a minute…I don’t hug as a general rule. I like my personal space. I only hug my nearest and dearest friends.

I’ve never been a touchy feely type of girl. If I’m very comfortable with the people I’m around I have not one bit of trouble giving hugs and kisses freely. However, if I’m just meeting someone or I am in a professional situation, hugs are nowhere in the forefront of my mind as a greeting.

The first time I encountered the hug, I was at my new place of employ. I met my immediate bosses. I was introducing myself and as I got ready to stick out my hand to proffer the typically accepted handshake, I found myself being hugged. I was completely startled. My bosses were hugging me…what’s wrong with this picture? I regained my composure quickly and we went about our business. But after I left I thought about it some more. I figured it was probably just a one time thing, not something people here do all the time.

Boy was I wrong. My next destination…looking at a cottage to rent. The woman I was going to potentially rent from happened to be a colleague of mine. I had talked to her a few times on the phone and finally had a chance to meet her. Wouldn’t you know, as soon as I got face to face with her, another hug. At that point it dawned on me…hmm maybe it’s not an unusual thing to hug here.

I didn’t know if I was going to be comfortable with that but I figured I’d better get used to it. Now, almost a month into living here, while I’m still not completely enthused by such actions, it no longer shocks me nor makes me feel uncomfortable. Maui’s hug is Chicago’s handshake.

The locals (of which I am one now I guess) exude a warmth that is genuine. Everywhere I wander, there is always someone smiling or saying hello to me. That’s something I’d never find on a regular basis in Chicago. Saying hello in Chicago is likely to get you (at the very least) a dirty look.

I admit, while I was surprised at this friendliness, I can honestly say I don’t think I’ve stopped smiling since I arrived here. So far it’s met if not beaten my expectations. The aloha spirit is real…I hope everyone gets a chance to experience something like that in their lifetime.

So to the Valley Isle and its exquisite beauty and charming people…Mahalo. *smiles*

On Lily's Links List: A Dress a Day

It is no secret that Lily White is one Class A clothes horse. We can thank my maternal grandmother for this sartorial love. As a woman in her twenties, she flourished in her native Philippines as a modern woman. She earned degrees in both education and home economics, owned three different businesses, and waited until the age of thirty to marry and have children. Bear in mind, this was post-World War II in a country where women were considered marriage material by age 16. With an act like that – what choice did I have but to idolize her?

Growing up, my grandmother always impressed upon me the importance of clothes. She often made her own clothing and had a wonderful stylish flair. My preteen years were filled with a few pretty dresses that were designed by my grandmother. And the cardinal rule about dressing up was “I don’t care how big you are, how skinny you are, or how ugly you think you might be…there is always a dress for you.”

Yes, Nanay…there’s a dress for everyone. And at A Dress a Day Blog, you can probably find it!

If you love clothes, but specifically dresses, you need to check this sight out. The posts are written by the singularly named “Erin,” who’s writing I compare to a conversation. She’s very passionate about her blog and the content. That excitement comes through very clear in her writing. I can’t think of another fashionista who can work a Ray Bradbury comment into their post like Erin can!

Every day (or as her banner says “A dress. Mostly every day.”), Erin posts a picture of a dress and writes either her kudos or a critique. For those of you sewing fans, you’ll be happy to know that Erin is more than capable with her sewing machine. You’ll find patterns included in mix, which has fired up my want to learn about dressmaking.

But before you think its all about the clothes, the blog is decidedly pro women being themselves. In a day and age where they say size 10 is “plus-sized” and clothes seem to be shrinking, Erin gives her readers a great shot in the arm with posts that encourage women everywhere to protest their disappointment in stores not carrying their size.

And don’t forget to check out the side bar. Our fair dress lady dabbles at a little fiction with her Secret Lives of Dresses series. And for my fellow female clothing lovers out there, there are numerous links to other websites about fashions and shopping.

A Dress a Day is decidedly very female-centric. But, I promise you dress lovers out there…it’s completely worth it. Check out the content daily!

MGF Blogs the World Cup Final

Big day soccer fans! Congratulations to the Azzurri (that’s Italy to your soccer newbies) on their victory over the French at the 2006 FIFA World Cup! Nobody likes a penalty kick situation but, as we say here in the States, a win is a win. Drink it up Italia!

(On a side note, thank you for winning! I would have had to hear poor FJ cry about it later!)

Being only casual soccer fans, Lenny and I probably represent the typical American watching the game. We both have an appreciation for anything the magnitude of the FIFA World Cup. But we are nowhere near the fanaticism of fans from countries that take soccer seriously. And yes, I am insinuating we in the U.S. don’t take it as seriously. It’s probably because we suck at it. And by law, if we suck at it, it must not be a real sport.

Anyway…next point.

Watching today’s final match was thrilling. And knowing my viewing audience, I won’t bore you with the play by play. I’ll leave that to the professionals. Instead, tonight, here are the rambling observations of a novice fan watching the world community’s biggest game:

Take it like a man – Just a quick note to Willy Sagnol: If you’re going to sell it to the referee that you didn’t commit the foul, dropping to your knees in pain 20 seconds after the whistle blows for play stoppage isn’t the way to do it. And let’s not forget Monsieur Zidane! As Lenny put it, that head butt is the equivalent of Michael Jordan hauling off and punching Karl Malone at the end of Game 7 instead of scoring the winning shots in his last year with the Bulls. You had a shot at immortality – too bad you lost your cool!

Tall, dark, and in a blue uniform – Hey, ladies! Italian forward Luca Toni can only be described in three letters. And those would be H-O-T. Do yourself a favor and hit Google hard searching for his pic. It’ll be worth it.

How is this different from American sports? – It seemed that every other player I was watching was sporting some ink. And I’m not talking about some small tattoo, I’m talking about art that covers an entire shoulder blade or forearm! For a second there, I thought I was watching an NBA squad and searching for bling!

Yellow and Red Card Bonanza – How cool would it be if we could issue yellow and red cards in real life? Lenny and I tested this out. I issued him two yellows for some questionable jokes during the game. I got a yellow card for chest bumping him in the kitchen before halftime. That yellow was a total blown call. I merely brushed passed him – the drama queen.

Thank goodness for TiVo – I had to leave during the 85th minute of the game because I had a massage appointment. THANK YOU TIVO! I made Lenny NOT tell me what happened, so when I got back, I could watch the game with the same anticipation as everyone else.

Damn you TiVo – Because I didn’t know how the game ended, I couldn't pull up the internet or talk to anyone until I finished the game!

We’d like for you to meet someone – During the penalty kick phase of the game, French forward, David Trezeguet missed his kick and sent it just a bit too high. It was the only kick that the French missed, and it was the difference in the game. The first thing I wanted to do was tell Trezeguet not to worry. Eventually, the Buffalo Bills fans forgave Scott Norwood for missing that 47-yard field goal in Super Bowl XXV. Wait…did they? Oh well…you could always play here in the U.S., David. Half the country was watching a NASCAR race when you biffed it.

Go home ugly Italian – Alright. I get that you won and you were happy after playing 120-minutes on the run, Italy. You scored the most points, you deserve the win. What I don’t get is how American’s get nailed for being “too American,” when you guys showed up to the trophy ceremony looking like a hot mess scrambled up! By my count, three players wore their flags as a cape and a bonnet. One guy came up to the podium for his medal in an Italian tri-color hat ala Cat in the Hat. Why do people make a big deal about us?

Thanks to my experience with this year’s World Cup, I think I’ll be following more closely the next time around. I can’t help but feel like we’re missing something by not being bigger soccer fans! You can tell me that it’s not real football – but I’ll just tell you one thing. If a sport can unite millions of people living in their part of the world, temporarily stop war, or even give fans just a few hours of happiness, it’s worth a look.

So – another tournament in the books. Next up is 2010 in South Africa. I can’t wait!

Dance, Monkey, DANCE!

Okay, for the last day or so, my e-mail has been spotted with these “Lily, you have to read this article by Maureen Dowd” e-mails. For those of you out of the loop, Dowd is a columnist with the New York Times. In the July 5, 2006 late edition, she penned a short opus entitled “How to Train a Woman.”

Dowd poses the question in her piece, “Does it [training] work? And can you do it while you’re dating or should wait until you’re married?”

This all started with fellow New York Times writer, Amy Sutherland. Sutherland wrote about her experience in deciding to apply the techniques of exotic animal trainers in changing certain behavior habits of her husband, Scott. Sutherland discovered that by rewarding him for even the smallest of good behavior (i.e. slowing down in traffic, putting his shorts in the hamper, etc.), she could change his behavior. I believe the parallel was the training of a baboon to jump was akin to training your spouse to pick up after themselves.

Dowd’s article takes a look at the flip side of the equation. If it works for men; can these techniques work for women? The inevitable point is made that women are different than men. According to a Rutgers’s anthropologist Dowd quotes in her writing, women are more verbal and respond to intimacy, especially face to face. The claim is made that this behavior comes from years of holding children directly in front of their faces. So yes, women can probably be trained to change.

Now, I really didn’t have a problem with either of the articles from a writing standpoint. They were both well written and researched. I’ll even venture to say that they made a few (emphasis on FEW) valid points. What I did have a problem with; however, is the insinuation that there is a need to change the behavior of your significant other or spouse.

If your significant other or spouse really needed some major behavioral change…why did you hook up with them in the first place?

As it’s been mentioned on MGF Blog before, the Gender War is best not fought with the usual rhetoric. Unless you’ve got something new to say, just keep it to yourself. In the years since the Battle of the Sexes started, we have come to understand two simple truths:

1. Men are who they are because they’re male.
2. Women are who they are because they’re female.

Each gender has their own annoying quirks and behaviors – but it’s also part of what makes us attractive to each other. Like the old cliché says, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it!”

It drives me nuts when I read things about “changing” people and their basic behavior. Sure there are a bunch of little things that drive me bonkers about Lenny’s habits (*cough cough* Shaving *cough cough*). But they’re not exactly deal breakers. I’m 100% positive Lenny has some choice things to say about a few of my habits as well.

However, the moment I think “If I see just ONE MORE DAMN episode of classic Star Trek, I’m going to divorce him,” it’s a sign that things are much much worse than we’d like to admit to ourselves.

What’s more insulting is that both Sutherland and Dowd make both men and women no better than circus animals. It’s demeaning to me that Sutherland would treat her husband like a trained baboon (and let’s not get started on actually PUBLISHING it)! We’re better than other animals because we have the ability to verbally communicate. Sadly though, we chose to simply ignore it most of the time.

Why even entertain the trickery, ladies and gents? In my experience, real adults hate to be treated like anything but a human. I know, I know – some of them are so immature, Lily! Well…then find one that fits your state of mind. There is someone out there for every one; it just takes time to find them. When you resort to “training” your significant other, it means you done the unforgivable.

You’ve settled.

What Dowd and Sutherland are stoking the fire with is nothing new. People have been sticking to the cry “I can change them” for years. But, once again, just because people do it doesn’t make it right! Instead of wondering how you can train the current love of your life how to fit to your needs – why not spend the time trying to find someone who DOES fit your needs mentally, emotionally, and physically?

It comes down to this: You have to love someone and respect them enough to be their imperfect selves. If you can’t handle that, you have no business being together.

Leave the jumping to the baboons.

Chasing Orchid: Close Encounters of the Country Kind

I’ve been in my new hometown for about 2.5 weeks now. Let me tell you, I’ve encountered some interesting umm wildlife I’ll call it. If you’ve read my previous post about roosters, you know I’ve already met more of them then I care to think about. But aside from these noisy little critters I’ve met quite a few other local residents ranging from cute to scary to downright painful.

Geckos- These guys are absolutely adorable. I admit when I first brushed against one while trying to unlock my gate, it scared the crap out of me. I had no idea what it was, just that it moved extremely fast. After I realized it was actually a harmless gecko I found it quite cute. I actually had a couple resident ones in my temporary housing unit. Honestly for such little creatures they are quite loud. They almost chirp/croak, it’s an odd sound but definitely a distinctive one. The only reason I tried to catch them was not because I was afraid of them but because I simply didn’t want to step on one in the middle of the night! Alas, those suckers are way too fast for me, but we all cohabitated happily and to tell the truth, I kind of miss them.

Cane Spiders-All I have to say is HOLY CRAP!!! I was in my bathroom and I turned on the water in the sink to a slight dribble. Apparently there was a spider in the drain (no drain plug). When the water started running it jumped up, brushed against my arm and landed on the porcelain. Needless to say I jumped backwards and looked at it disbelievingly. I kid you not, that thing was brown, slightly hairy and its legs spanned my palm. Now I’m not normally one to kill a spider, but this thing…no way was it running rampant around my cottage. Not to mention I had no idea what it was or if it was poisonous. So like a typical girl, I grabbed a broom, stood on my toilet and whacked at the thing (well I didn’t want it crawling over my feet *shivers*). This didn’t succeed and the damned thing jumped to the wall. I no longer had the safe haven of the toilet to stand on. So I got down, took another couple whacks at it, made sure it was dead and then gingerly scooped it into the dust pan and flushed it down the toilet. Thank god I didn’t encounter another one of those!

Palm Beetles-Yuck, these things look like mega roaches. They’re really quite big, brown and fast as hell. But they’re not roaches (not that I care, they still give me the willies). I only encountered one in my cottage. It had somehow managed to flip itself on its back and was having trouble getting up. That was good for me (enter the trusty broom). I took a whack at it, then couldn’t find the dustpan so I scooped it up with a barbecue turner, you know, long handles are a saving grace. Then proceeded to flush it down the toilet. Adios spider and beetle! Good riddance.

Fire Ants-Last but not least (for today anyway) are fire ants. These guys just suck! I was standing there minding my own business, when suddenly I felt stinging on my toes. One of the hazards of wearing slippers (flip-flops to continental USAers) is that there is nothing to protect your feet. I looked down and noticed little red ants crawling around. Now I’ve encountered red ants before but not fire ants. Their name definitely does them justice. When they bite, anywhere they hit burns like hell. So now, my pinky and the toe next to it are red and they sting. If you see these little bastards, just run away. They’ll be like roaches and Twinkies. When the apocalypse does come, they’ll still be around. It seems as if they are indestructible. Apparently, the best way to actually kill them is to burn them. Hmm fire for the fire ant, seems like poetic justice to me.

I know there are lots of creatures I have yet to stumble upon, however these few are definitely enough for me. If I don’t run into anymore like them I’ll be quite content (though I do like the geckos). Anyway, it’s all been a great adventure, can’t wait to see what kind of creepy crawly tomorrow brings. *chuckles*

Big Country on Campus

Today is a wonderful day to take a break and relax. Maybe you’re going shopping at one of the squillion sales going on. Perhaps your plans are to sit by the pool and turn on the grill. Me and Lenny are currently hanging out with family on an overnight trip to his hometown. But even if I was sitting in my home doing nothing, I always take a moment to reflect on what this day is about.

So – here’s a little rambling to think about.

Two hundred and thirty years seems really old, doesn’t it? In the grand scheme of things, anything that old should really be put out of its misery, right? But, today it is the exact age of our country. Happy Birthday, America! You have definitely made the days from July 4, 1776 interesting. And while 230-years is quite a good chunk of time…we are definitely still young in comparison to other countries. In fact, you might say that we are currently seated firmly in our adolescence as a country.

Ah, puberty. It’s a rough time for just about anyone. You’re not in control of you body. Everyone seems to be against you. Your biggest worries are if you look good, hanging around the right people, and fearing you’ll be left behind with the dregs of teenage society. Sound familiar?

Yes citizens, we’re in the middle of a growth spurt.

It seems really funny to me. We’re the most powerful country in the world, but we’re powering to the top with a cracking voice ala Peter Brady singing “Time to Change” with his television siblings. It is a day and age where all of us as a whole feel a bit lost and unsure of where we’re going next (which is sometimes how I feel about my blog posts).

There is no doubt about it; we are the Big Man on Campus in terms of Global High. We’re the ones everyone looks up to and we hang out with all the cool kids. Some would say WE ARE the cool kids, but there are some countries out there who can hang with us. But, like Molly Ringwald and Emilio Estevez in The Breakfast Club, we know that even the popular kids have issues.

But, we’re at the point in our teenage nationalism where we have to decide how we’re going to deal with it. Are we going to strive and be the honor roll student and plow through all these tests by studying up? Or are we going to be the stoner slacker and just let everyone pass us by in a haze? Will we be like the emo-punk kid who hates the rest of the world and wallows in their own cynicism? Are we willing to be the jock that uses his muscle to get everything done?

The choices are seemingly endless. But one thing remains for sure: Whatever we decide as a country, we’ve got to start taking more responsibility for ourselves. So, while you’re finishing off the last of the barbecue and waiting for the fireworks to start – take some time to reflect. Even with the growing pains – we live in a great country. Let’s not take our status for granted.

Have a Happy 4th, MGF Faithful!

BrownSuga’s Sweet Spot: Happy Birthday America

Last evening, while doing some work, my husband and I had the television on, not really watching it. I can’t recall if it was 60 Minutes or what, but some news show began telling statistics about Americans. The show claimed that:

1. There are Americans who don’t know what the stars and stripes represent on the American Flag.
2. There are Americans who don’t know the name of our current Vice President.

And for me the most shocking was…

3. There are Americans who don’t know the words to the National Anthem.

Please don’t get me wrong, I am not the most patriotic person in this country. There are things I should know about this country that I don’t. And on the eve of this Nation’s birthday, I decided as an American it is my civic duty to share these little pieces of America’s history.

There are 50 stars on the American flag, they represent the 50 states that make up our country, *clears throat* The United States of America (and no Washington D.C. is not a state). There are 13 stripes on the flag as well. They represent the 13 original colonies. And our current Vice President is Dick “I’m a good shot” Cheney.

I would like to sing you all the words to the National Anthem, but unfortunately I can’t do that. I did, however, sing the whole song perfectly for my husband and he was impressed *smiles*. I don’t know the different reasons why people know all the words to it, but at my elementary school we were required to learn it and to be able to sing it on the spot if any teacher or administrator should ask (no Mr. Clark was not my principal). So here are the words to the United States of America’s National Anthem, The Star Spangled Banner, written by Francis Scott Key in 1814. But if you don’t know the words then you probably didn’t realize we only use the first verse as the anthem, I suppose the rest was too boring to sing…

O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, thro' the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watch'd, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there.
O say, does that Star - Spangled Banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

So tomorrow serenade a fellow American…sing it loud….sing it proud. HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMERICA!

5 Things I Like About Soccer

Soccer is the most popular sport on the earth. Yeah…that’s right Joe American. You heard me. Soccer tops all sports in popularity across the planet. And I get why it’s so popular! All you need is a ball! How much easier can it get?

With the semi-final of the World Cup now set (Germany, Italy, Portugal, and France) – I figured I should write something about it. Like most Americans, my knowledge of soccer is limited (despite that run in with those Dutch players the year the World Cup was held in the States) and often stops when recess no longer is a part of the school schedule. I’m not a soccer diehard, but I can appreciate the drama of the World Cup. That being said, there are a few things here and there that I’ve picked up about soccer that I felt I should share:

1. One Named Wonders – Okay, when you’re dealing with 32 countries, which means you’re dealing with 32 different languages, pronunciations, and slang. As a casual fan, that means a lot of the names I will more than likely forget. Thank goodness for the Brazilian National Team! The soccer darlings from South America has a roster that goes the way of Madonna. 17 of their 23 players only go by one name! Ronaldinho. Cicinho. Dida. Kaka. Lucio. Fred. Yes, FRED. The absence of a surname makes following the action a helluva a lot easier! But before you think that Brazil has cornered the market on one named wonders, please note that Spain had six single monikers, while Angola had sixteen.

2. Shoot Outs (Kind of) – Jim Rome fans, please do not revoke my membership to the listening population. I LIKE THE SHOOT OUT…well kind of. Despite what the anti-soccer fans will tell you, the shoot out is a great way to resolve a tie. It has the feel of sudden death that a “more American friendly” sport like hockey and football does. Think about it – its one player versus one player! Either you make the shot or you don’t. The thrill is in the suspense! But five shots is kind of overkill. Why not make it like baseball? If the first team scores on the shoot out – the opposing team only gets on more shot. If they don’t score, too bad! But that’s just one woman’s opinion.

3. The Uniforms – OMG, these guys are in shape! I like a little mystery, so I for one am happy to drool over the official “kits” that each team has their players wear. The shorts make their legs very worth ogling after. And the shirts? Who cares if they cover most of their arms!? They’ll take them off at the end of the game. Two more reasons why I love the uniform? England’s David Beckham and the U.S.’s Brian McBride. ‘Nuff said.

4. Dive-o-Rama – Who doesn’t like a little drama in their sports? Sure it’s purpose is to draw a penalty – but you have to admire the craft the guys put into it. What have I learned about diving? If the player crying looks like a rejected actress from a mid-80s Lifetime channel movie of the week...they’ll probably draw the foul. If you roll around, bleed a little, and grip the part of your body injured by the foul, you’ll get picked up by the stretcher and given oxygen. And apparently, the oxygen that FIFA (the World Cup’s governing body) provides has some miraculous healing powers because after a good dose of it, you’ll spring up ready to catch your second wind. Who needs acting workshops? I’ve got soccer.

5. Universal Translation – From whichever corner of the earth you’re from…people understand the basic concept of soccer. You have two teams, a ball, and two goal boxes. Kick the ball into the net, you score. The one with the most points at the end of the game wins! The game can be played anywhere and at anytime. This levels the playing field for so many people that don’t have the affinity for sports that we hold so sacred here in the States. If sports are supposed to save the youth and give them identity, then we really need to support things like soccer. A lot of soccer skeptics will say that a sport can’t save a nation that’s at war with itself or dwelling at the bottom of the economic ladder. But you know what? If an event like the World Cup can halt the hardship of one country, even temporarily…it’s worth it.