Sugar Babies versus Sugar Daddy

Sugar Babies versus Sugar Daddy

By

Imari Jade

It is seven o’clock and we’ve lost power twice to a severe rainstorm. I barely made it into the house this evening before it came down. If the bus driver had procrastinated five more minutes at the terminal I would have gotten drenched. I hope the power stays on long enough for me to complete this blog. The severe weather alert I have downloaded to my computer keeps chirping every time there is an important weather bulletin. Let’s see, we’re under tornado watch, flood watch, severe weather watch, and god knows what else. It’s kind of spooking being home alone. I’ve taken my bath and was trying to put some music on my MP3 player but so far I’ve been unsuccessful. I just got the Original Theme Songs to “You’re Beautiful,” and I want to hear it on the way to way to work tomorrow. Darn, the storm just wiped out my television. Okay I got it back on. I need to watch the Weather Channel, or at least listen to it. It’s starting to hail. I have 100 mile an hour wind resistant windows installed. I hope I don’t have to test them, and I hope their hail resistant. I hope I don’t have to get into my walk-in closet because it’s too cluttered to walk in.

Today’s blog title is Sugar Babies versus Sugar Daddy. True I can say that this blog is about candy…eye candy, that is. I had a doctor’s appointment this morning. I got out about 8:30 but I missed the bus and had to wait another hour for another bus so I could go to work. Five minutes after I arrived at the bus stop a man came up and started a conversation. He started off by discussing the bus schedule and telling me that he used to be a bus driver for the city of Los Angeles before he retired. He was a nice enough gentlemen and before I knew it we were deep in conversation about the state of the city post Katrina, our kids, the kids of this generation and fishing on Lake Ponchatrain.

So in an hour I found out that he was retired, was a widower, had six kids, and was an army vet. He asked me what I did for a living and I told him. I handed him one of my business cards and told him to check out my site.

By the time the bus finally arrived there were about five of six of us waiting. I got on first and then he got on and came sat next to me. We continued our conversation. I was really flattered that he thought I was younger than I am. He is sixty-eight and living in a retirement home. He told me that he was on his way to VA but would be moving in another retirement home soon on the other side of the Mississippi River. He told me that he thought I was a nice young woman, complemented me on my manners and for not being stuck up like most women he’s met, told me I had a beautiful smile and asked if he can take me to lunch one day. I told him sure. I’ll probably never see him again, since my business card does not contain my real name, or my phone number. I don’t expect to see him again or go out with lunch with him. And it’s not because I didn’t find him charming, or intelligent and well-mannered. Okay, you know what’s coming…he’s sixty-eight and I don’t date anyone older than 40. What can I do with a sixty eight year old sugar daddy, except take his money? That’s not me. I’m strictly into sugar babies.

So what exactly is a sugar baby? My definition of a sugar baby is a young man between the ages of 25 and 40, tall, Asian, lithe and more beautiful than handsome. He has to have fashion sense, good manners, and great personal hygiene and can financially support himself, preferably a Korean music idol. Yah’ll know I was going there. Fine black guys around my age don’t fit into that category, (they’re more like Hershey candy bars, delicious to look at but bad for my blood pressure) so this blog is not about them. It’s about my current personal choice.

I really should pen a book on forming relationships on buses. I’ve heard women say that they can’t meet a man or a good man no matter how hard they look. Honey, you should get your butt out the car and ride the bus. Not a day goes by when a guy doesn’t strike up a conversation with me. It is not bragging, but the honest truth. Half the time I don’t want to be bothered, have my face buried in a book or writing, but for some reason they just start a conversation. I won’t say that’s a bad thing because I’ve gathered a lot of character information just by talking to people. It’s one of the basic rules of writing, listen to the people around them, talk to them and pick out the little quirks and differences you can use when you develop a character for a short story or a novel. So far it’s been working.

Okay I’m starving so I have to make my way to the kitchen to get me something to eat before this power goes out. I better save this before I step away and take the flash light with me. It took me five minutes. I had to run past my patio door in case the wind decided to blow it out. I threw some salad fixing on a plate, added salad dressing and dinner is done. Son number 3 will have to fend for himself tonight. I fixed steak and baked potatoes yesterday and he didn’t even touch it. See what I mean about black men? This one is gorgeous but he stresses me out with his poor eating habits. P. S. I pretended I didn’t see those two boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts on the table that he brought home. I had to reset the time and the alarm again on the clock.

Now back to the blog. Let’s compare a sugar baby to a sugar daddy. I’m talking about other people’s sugar babies but not mine. He fits into another category and there’s not enough room on his blog today.

A sugar daddy is an older man who likes to go out with a much younger woman, take her to dinner and then dancing. He shows off in front of his friends because he’s with a younger more attractive woman and his friends are in the bar with much older women…possibly their wives. He dances all the dances from his generations, drinks Jack Daniels and Coke most of the night and falls asleep at the table when the young woman goes off to the ladies’ room.

A sugar baby is a young man who likes to go out with a much older woman, takes her to McDonalds or Pizza Hut to show her off to his friends, takes her dancing at a club versus a bar, knows all the current singers and their songs, can dance their ass off on the dance floor, drinks Hennessey or Patron most of the night. He may get drunk, but not if he has other plans for the evening. He watches you as you walk to the ladies room and is standing outside of it waiting for you when you get out so you won’t go off with some other sugar baby on the way back to the table.

A sugar daddy will call you every day to see how you are doing, tell you that he had a good time on your date, and wants to get with you again. He tells you when his retirement check is coming and wants to spend it on you in return for you going to bed with him. He’ll pay your bills, buy you pretty little baubles and let you drive his car. Then if you’re foolish enough to fall for this he’ll probably fall asleep or have a heart attack while you’re getting busy and you’ll be scared for life because you think you’ve kill him with your feminine whiles.

A sugar baby will call you when he’s not playing on his X-Box or he doesn’t have any of his friends around to play basketball with. The subject of money won’t ever come up in conversation unless you’re peeping over his shoulder at the ATM machine, but he’ll tell you that he want to go to bed with you because he likes a mature woman who is more experience than girls his age. If you’re foolish enough to fall for his line he won’t be the one having the heart attack because men that age can go on and on like the Energizer Bunny. You’ll be the one scared to get him with again until you recuperate or at least have your heart checked by a doctor.

A sugar daddy wants to introduce you to his kids and his mama and take you to church to show you off to the pastor and the deacons. He wants to see if he can make the women his age drag your name through the gutter for dating an older guy and probably won’t invite you to their home to dinner for fear you’ll either steal their husbands or make their husbands think they can be sugar daddies even though their married. A sugar daddy will even put money in the collection plate for you to show the rest of the congregation that he still know how to take care of a lady.

A sugar baby won’t try to introduce you to his kids because he’s trying to hide the fact that maybe he has a baby mama somewhere in the picture. And he also won’t take you to meet his mama because you and she are the same age and he doesn’t want the two of you to get into a fist fight. He certainly won’t take you to church because he’s afraid he’ll be struck by lightning since he hasn’t been inside one since he attended Sunday school. If he does manage to take you he’ll live in the confessional confessing to all the things you and him have been doing to get your freak on.

A sugar daddy is more affectionate that a sugar baby. He wants to hug on you and kiss you and touch your stuff in public and he definitely have it in his mind that he can still perform in bed now as he could when he was in this twenties.

A sugar baby might hug you if no one’s looking, but kiss you passionately when you’re alone. And he’ll never touch you stuff in public, but will check out your butt if you’re walking ahead of him. And he’ll definitely perform better in bed than a sugar daddy, even if he’s a virgin. And since Sugar Mama’s are more experience in love-making than sugar babies she is willing to teach him what it takes to please here, which is easier than trying to teach an old dog a new trick.

Lastly a sugar daddy will respect you in the morning if he survived the night of passion, while a sugar baby will thank you every morning for just surviving and probably treat you to breakfast at Denny’s to show you off to his friends and his employer.

Okay enough being silly. I have to read over a synopsis and submit a manuscript to my publisher. It’s still raining cats and dogs.

Imari Jade

Jury Duty/No Luck of the Irish

Jury Duty/No Luck of the Irish

By

Imari Jade

Today I had to do my civic duty and report to jury duty. I had to get up at the same time, catch the same bus I normally catch each morning (those of you who are not from down South, don’t ask me how I can catch a bus. It’s something like making groceries), but instead of crossing the Mississippi River I got to stay on my side of the river and travel to the Gretna Terminal to catch my second bus to take me to the Gretna Courthouse. Sounds simple doesn’t it?

I want to reiterate that if I am diagnosed with Alzheimer when I get older, remember it started somewhere around this time.

I contemplated not taking my high blood pressure medicine because I didn’t want to spend the day in the restroom, but I woke up with a headache so I had to nix that idea. It was in the high 50s when I walked out of my front door, and dark. The dark part made me very nervous because I couldn’t bring my usual protection with me because I had to pass through a metal detector when I got to court and I didn’t want to have to explain to several big men in uniform, with badges and guns why I had it. (For those of you who don’t know, I don’t look good in prison orange, or Saint Patrick’s Day, green).

I only had to wait a few minutes for the first bus. That wasn’t so bad. I got off at the Gretna Terminal and sat down on one of those cold cement benches and froze my tail off waiting for the bus that was scheduled to arrive in seventeen minutes. The first bus pulled up, but it wasn’t going toward the ferry. The second bus pulled up, it was going to the ferry, but not the Gretna Ferry. “There hasn’t been a bus going back that way since Hurricane Katrina,” a bus driver told me. He also told talk to one of the Jefferson Parish drivers.”

So I walked to the other side of the terminal and the first Jefferson Parish driver I saw was the one I normally catch in the evening. First, he asked me, “What is your name?” Stop laughing Tracee. No, he wasn’t asking just to be nosey. I seem to be drawing the attention of a lot of bus drivers lately. “You ride this bus everyday and I don’t know your name.” (Apparently, everyone who grew up on this side of the river knows each other. I didn’t grow up on this side, I grew up on the New Orleans side, so of course, he doesn’t know my name even though I’ve been riding that bus for over twenty years. So now he knows it. He told me I had to get back on the Westbank Expressway bus and get off on Derbigny and then walk to the courthouse. So I walked back to the Westbank Expressway bus stop and waited ten minutes for the bus, which is the same bus and the same driver I got off earlier this morning. She had done a complete trip across the river and came back. “Maybe I should have asked you if there was a Gretna Local bus earlier,” I said to her. She nodded. “Let me know when I get to Derbigny,” I told her. About a block before Derbigny another lady boarded the bus and she and the driver got into an argument. (We’re talking about 8 am in the morning here). Luckily I was looking for the street because she passed it up without stopping. I rang the buzzer and walked back a block. Then I walked ten blocks to the courthouse, through a neighborhood I didn’t know, but luckily I was wearing my Dr. Scholl’s walking shoes, had my MP3 player playing, and I probably could have outrun anything that got behind me. I reached the courthouse in about ten minutes, signed in and went straight to the bathroom because my high blood pressure medicine had kicked in. Then I entered the jury room.

You can grow gray quickly waiting for something to happen in that place. I didn’t eat before I left home so my stomach was making that empty wild animal sound, so I had to drink a cup of their free coffee and spend sixty cents for a pack of Lance Vanilla Cookies. I’m surprise this didn’t kill my stomach. A clerk came out and gave us instructions. We had to watch a video and then the wait began. There were only four cases on the docket today. Good, I thought. Maybe this won’t take all day. I don’t mind doing my civic duty, but I hate sitting there all day and then at four o’clock they tell me to go home. I brought along two steno tablets and two ink pens but I left my E-reader at home because I was afraid that it would be de-programmed when it went through the x-ray machine. (I should have bought it). But my plans were to write two scenes for “Cherish,” that had been sent back to me for edits and continue writing on the current WIP (work in progress).

The television set was on Channel Four and after the Price is Right went off an NCAA Basketball game came on. Have I told you guys that I hate sports? Well, I do. So I pulled out one of the steno notebooks and re-wrote the two scenes for “Cherish,” began this blog, and then started working on my current WIP that I have steadily been working on for the last two weeks. It’s due to the publisher in two weeks. I’ve been writing on the bus in the morning and on the way home in the evening, on lunch and both my breaks because I’ve been editing “Cherish” at night when I get home. (Yes, a writer’s work is never done, not even when we sleep. I’ve dreamed some of my best premises while slumbering.)

I started getting sleepy and it was freezing in the room, so I put up my writing, signed out and went outside. Another cup of coffee was not an option, because I ran into the restroom again before I stepped outside.

Two trials had been settled without needing a jury so they sent us to lunch until 1:15. I wasn’t in the mood for walking to a restaurant after that long walk this morning, so I stopped at the snack bar and purchased a chicken salad sandwich on wheat bread, a bag of plain Lays Potato Chips (which I know I should not have) and a Pepsi. So no doubt I will be expecting that headache to return because of the salt in the chips. The soft drink was also a no-no since I had been living in the restroom, but I figured the bottle Pepsi was better than the watered down soda from the fountain.

I was trying to wait around to hear the President’s announcement about the radiation crisis in Japan but it was too cold in the snack bar too so I went outside in the warm courtyard. This is the second good thing about jury duty in Gretna; you don’t have to sit in the jury room for the duration of the wait. I would have sat out there all day if I could have. They should put a little speaker outside and call us when they need us. The courtyard is really quite nice with little silver tables and chairs, small sapling trees and a mixture of shade and sun. During this time, I wrote, checked my email on my cell phone and listened to my MP3 player. I went back into the building at 1:05 (after I went to the restroom again) and then back into the jury room. I wished I would have heard the President’s announcement because I can’t watch the news or read the newspaper for the next couple of days. (Explanation below)

At 1:30 the door opened and the bailiff entered and the clerk announced that they needed a jury. They called twenty-four names and mine was not one of them. Those twenty-four people followed the bailiff out of the jury room and I went back to writing, figuring I would be going home soon if they didn’t need any more jurors. This is how things have normally worked since I’ve been doing jury duty in Jefferson Parish.

The door opened again at 2:15 and all of the remaining people in the jury waiting room looked up in shock when another bailiff walked in and said he needed a jury. I guess I wasn’t the only one expecting to go home since we’d been sitting there all day. And wouldn’t you know it my name is the first one they call.

To make a long story short I have to go back tomorrow morning with the possibility of serving on a trial that could have me sequestered for two weeks or more. I don’t know what kind of trial it is and they didn’t tell us. After filling out a very long form, and receiving my new subpoena, they sent me home. I went to the restroom again, and left the building and walked the ten blocks to the bus stop. I called my job as soon as I got to the bus stop and told them that I wouldn’t be in tomorrow. It was so hot outside I thought I was going to faint, but the bus arrived about ten minutes later and I finally made it home around five. I called my mother to tell her that she might not hear from me in a while, explained why and told her I’d call her when they let me use my phone again.

Funny story – We were asked to turn off our cell phones before we entered the court room and I didn’t know how to turn off my phone. Do not laugh Tracee. Everyone knows I hate my cell phone because all I can do is the basics and go to Yahoo for my email. The bailiff had to turn the phone off for me. (Yes, I know now it’s the red button). And it’s not that I’m stupid, I just haven’t had time to read the instructions (they are too small any way) and I haven’t had time to go to the Internet for bigger instructions. Hell, I have mail falling off the dresser because I haven’t had time to read it.

2^nd Funny story – The other day I told you that my brother called me and asked me to call AT&T to get them to send someone out to their house to fix their wires because they are having bad connection problems. My guess is that they need new phones, but anyway, I didn’t have time to call yesterday or today, so when I talked to my mother earlier I told her that she needed to call. She politely told me that she wasn’t going to do it and she was going to wait until she talked to me again (which I interpreted that she is going to wait however long until I am off of jury duty so I can put in the service call from them. There are three adults in that house so if they can’t transact their own business they can just do without a phone.)

3^rd Funny story – My granddaughter Autumn came here after nursery school this evening and wanted to eat. First she wanted yogurt, so her father gave her a cup of yogurt (which she didn’t eat). Then she noticed that I had grilled chicken on the counter and was cooking. I offered her the grill chicken, which she didn’t want. She wanted some of what I was cooking. I told her that it wasn’t ready because I had just turned it on. (1) A three-year old doesn’t understand that food has to cook, (2) A three-year old who likes Italian food knows by smell what Maw Maw is cooking when she smells tomato sauce she does not want Spagettio’s out of a can (well she does sometimes), (3) A three-year old will throw a temper tantrum when she doesn’t get what she wants, and (4) a smart daddy takes her home before Maw Maw puts her out in the backyard (smile).

4^th Funny story – My room had an awful smell when I opened the door this evening. I had turned the air conditioning off this morning because I was cold and Brandon never turned it back on so it probably had a stuffing smell. I didn’t know what it was so I decided to mop the house. While doing so my legs and back started to hurt and then I hit my left knee with the mop handle and saw stars. So after mopping myself into the kitchen I walked over to the table while the floor dried and turned on my computer. I tried to prop my leg up in the chair and I not only got a pain in the knee but I also got a Charlie horse in my foot. Walking twenty something blocks today wore my butt out.

5^th Funny story – Did I mention I saw Stinky Cutie on the bus yesterday? I can’t remember if I posted a blog or not. I missed my second bus home yesterday because I couldn’t cross the street to get to it because of traffic, and the 5:00 bus driver didn’t see me so he pulled off, which meant I had to wait for the last bus going across the river. While waiting one of my princesses (blond-haired guy I’m using as a reference for a yaoi story I’m working on) walked up to the bus stop but boarded the Lapalco Bus instead of the Westbank Expressway. I thought this odd because he always catches the same bus as me but I figured he had a stop to make before he went home. I didn’t see his younger, blond partner (also used as a character reference in my yaoi manuscript). The Westbank Expressway bus arrived a few minutes later, and I boarded, pulled out my MP3 player and my eBook reader and began reading, of all things…Dracula.

The bus stopped on Poydras, and something told me to look up. Stinky Cutie boarded the bus and I started to smile. To refresh your memory, Stinky Cutie is this guy who got on the bus with me one morning about a month ago. What caught my fascination is that the guy appeared to be Korean (which if you don’t know is my soup of the day), had thick neck-length straight black hair, but he was thinner than I liked a love interest to be. He was dressed in jeans and a shirt like he worked in constructions and he sat down next to me. The problem is he stank (be it from not taking a bath or sweating from the construction work, but it nearly knocked me out.) You have to read back in my blogs to find the entire story) Needless to say I didn’t smell him yesterday. Either he took a bath or he passed by me too quickly. Of course I couldn’t concentrate on Dracula knowing he was seated somewhere behind me, and the cougar in me still insisted that I take an interest in him. I think the cougar has this thing for his hair and will probably end up doing something stupid that she will regret the rest of her life just because the guy hair turns her on. Anyway we crossed the bridge and made it to the first terminal and the blond who got on the Lapalco Bus was waiting at the terminal and got on the bus. I don’t know if he just didn’t realize that he was on the wrong bus but it didn’t matter because seeing both of them made my day.

The only thing that made my day today was that there was a new picture on Junsu, Jaejoong and Yoochun on Twitter. (Yes, JYJ still rocks my world). Come on Yoochun, I’m getting desperate any time I’m looking at Stinky Cutie. Yoochun is still husband material for me.

I finally received my TVXQ CD from Korea today, but it wouldn’t rip to my MP3 player. This is the second CD I brought that wouldn’t do it. I paid a fortune for that thing and it took almost two months to arrive because it’s so popular and it sold out on the pre-order, and I can’t carry a CD player around with me. I use my MP3 player not only to listen to but to write by. And UPS also left me a note that I had to send someone to pick up a package tomorrow. The only thing I ordered was a Korean drama (You’re Beautiful). Why someone has to sign for it is beyond me, but Adrian better not lose the receipt and go pick it up tomorrow when he drops the kids off at the nursery because I’m planning to that that DVD with me to Alexandria next month.

So you might not hear from me for a couple of days if they don’t eliminate me tomorrow as a juror. Out of the forty of us, I think they only need twelve. (Like the title of this blog today states, I don’t have the luck of the Irish).

Imari Jade

Bootilicious Buns

Bootilicious Buns

By

Imari Jade

Like a fool I thought I’d give an exercise show by this name a try. I previewed it yesterday to find out what equipment I needed to use…nothing but an exercise mat. But before I could start, my grandson came down the street and asked Maw-Maw to fix him something to eat. Me, being me, couldn’t refuse. He, like his father is a very finicky eater. He only wanted sausage, of all things. I can’t get either of them to eat anything nutritious even if I paid them. So I fixed the sausage. And just like typical Elijah, he ate and left.

My feelings are not hurt. He’s always been this way. A few minutes of Maw Maw is all a four year old can tolerate.

Lunch today consisted of one ounce of tuna, five crackers, and a cookie. It was not filling. So I ate a rice cake. That didn’t work either, so I ate another one. I felt full. The two guys in the office had something from Popeye’s, and the other young lady, Tracee is trying to diet too. I don’t know why we even bother if the office smells like fried chicken. You think they would have had the decency to spray some deodorizer. Gentlemen, women can put on weight just by smelling this type of food.

The day was pretty much screwed. Our computer programs were still dragging because of server problems and that made the day very long, so I was looking forward to going home and doing aerobics. My other plan was to mop the house. So, I brought in the garbage can, brought in the mop and bucket, swept the floors, fixed Elijah his sausage, and then turned on the exercise show, and then the phone rang. It was my brother. He wanted me to call the telephone company and tell them to come out to look at their lines. To make a long story short, he lives in Mississippi and I live in Louisiana, so it’s only natural that he makes a long distance call to me to call AT&T to fix their lines when it’s easy to call himself. And while I’m at it he wants me to call Direct Television to find out when they are going to get local channels out there in the boonies where he lives. Sometimes it does not pay to (1) answer phones and (2) have relatives.

So of course I had to talk to my mother too, to tell her I saw her double on the bus. It was like looking in a mirror. Spooky. I hope that’s not a premonition.

So I’m actually exercising while I’m talking to them. And I’m dying in the process. My thighs and legs were hurting two minutes into the exercise but I stuck it out for the full ten minutes. I walk every day but I’ve never been able to do leg or ab exercises without being in pain. Well, you know the floors aren’t going to get mopped now unless they magically transform like in the animated version of Disney’s Cinderella and clean the floor themselves.

I didn’t even sweat…not one drop. To me it’s not accomplishing anything if you don’t sweat during exercise, and I probably would have chosen another show to do but it’s hard to exercise if your legs are out of commission. And it almost made me feel bad about eating dinner because I didn’t earn it…almost. I ate it, but I didn’t enjoy it. What good is eating vegetables if still have to take Beano and Maalox? I’m probably doing more harm by doing this than good. Acid reflux and indigestion sucks.

It’s eight o’clock, which mean I have only two hours to dedicate to editing my book tonight. I still have about four pages to type on my current WIP, but there’s no way I can get to that tonight.

The day wasn’t a total loss. I smelt night jasmines on my way to work. It brought back memories of being a young girl.

Imari Jade

Out with the Old/In with the New

Out with the Old/In with the New

“Lessons in Buying New Clothes”

By

Imari Jade

The time to shop for new clothes isn’t when there’s a clearance sale or at Income Tax time. It’s when your grand-daughter tells you, “Maw Maw, cover up your belly. Ugh!”

Although Maw Maw is considered petite because of her height and frame, Maw Maw has an unnatural passion for bagels and Hershey’s Kisses and she hasn’t done aerobics in two years. She has a sit down job so now she has one of those Buddha bellies going on and she can pinch more than an inch at her waist. So the first step in buying new clothes is:

(1) Convincing oneself that you’re not going to get into those bikini hugging jeans in your closet even if someone greases your ass with butter.

(2) Remove all temptation from the closet – Hidden 3 Musketeers, Almond Joys and Kit Kat Bars. This also includes clothes you haven’t worn in a year because you can’t button, zip or squeeze into them without your friends talking about you. Fold the clothes you plan to give away in a neat pile and toss anything torn, stained or missing a button away. I tossed a brand new blouse into the trash bag because I couldn’t figure out how to put it on. (Don’t ask it had strings and a halter and I just gave up.)

(3) Remove everything in your closet that’s not yours. Grandchildren, their toys and clothes, and ex-boyfriend’s stuff. You don’t need any reminders of past, bad decisions or judgments staring at you in the face every time you open the closet.

(4) Turn on some music – It will make the task go faster and give you an excuse to dance and exercise. You don’t have to worry about any one seeing you because kids are never around when there’s work to be done.

(5) Get rid of unnecessary shoes – If it didn’t fit when you bought them and you haven’t worn them ever, get rid of them. I have this bad habit of ordering shoes and clothes over the Internet. If I order a 7 ½ it will arrive with a 7 ½ tag but they’ll either fit like a six or an 8, so what good are they? Toss the crap out or give them to someone who really likes wearing heels (which I don’t.)

(6) Don’t answer the phone – This is the second biggest distracter next to kids. I talked to my sister for three hours yesterday and now she’s calling from Winn Dixie where she is grocery shopping. I already know that everything is expensive. Either buy it or leave it. It’s not a hard choice. We got off the phone three hours later. Since then I’ve talked to my brother, my daughter-in-law and one of my sons.

(7) Use other closets as a place to put out of season clothes. This might have worked but when I opened the closet I found a huge speaker and a baby stroller. The babies now walk better than I do. When the nest empties they should take everything they own with them. Maybe I should charge a storage fee since the closets and garage are still overflowing with their things.

(8) Watch DBKS’s Mirotic video. There’s nothing like seeing nice abs and pretty faces to give you energy and motivation. Set a goal. I’m going to get rid of this belly fat before I meet them.

(9) Clean everything off the top shelves of the closet and move boxes to the top shelf. Don’t just pile boxes on top of the stuff that’s already there because it’s just going to fall on your head when you open the closet.

(10) Get rid of cassette and 8-Track tapes or convert them to CDs – This fad is not coming back.

It is now 6pm and I’ve finally stopped trying to clean the closet. I ended up putting the bag of clothes I took out of the closet back in the closet because I don’t have anything to do with them at the moment. Maybe they might make it out to the garage or to the Salvation Army in a couple of days…probably not. But I’m getting new clothes anyway because I don’t want to hear, “Maw Maw cover up your belly” ever again.

My brand new television set is messing up and I don’t have On-Demand. Of course I have a call into the cable company. Surprising enough I’m really not too upset since I have YouTube.

Imari Jade