OMFG!! How come NO ONE told me!!!

I had NO idea that Jonathan Brandis committed suicide in 2003! Oh come on, you remember Jonathan Brandis! Cute little blond haired, blue eyed boy in the "Never Ending Story 2".
















He also dated Tatyana Ali (the adorable, sassy 'Ashley' from Fresh Prince of Bel Air), which I didn't know. They were so cute together...
<----Look :)











Geez, now I'm all depressed! I had the serious hots for him when I was an adolescent cable watcher. Back around 97, The Never Ending Story 2 played on HBO daily, for an entire summer. This is exactly like when Michelle Thomas who played Myra Monkhouse ( Steve's lovergirl on Family Matters) died. I didn't find out until 2 years after she passed. R.I.P Jonathan....and Michelle :(

But you'll be on my mind

I never quite understood the flow of friendship. The give and take. Mostly I just give. I give until I'm limp and dry and crawling across the floor with fatigue. Or at least I used to. This is how I met the types of friends who only know your phone number when all their hip associates are busy. The type of people who never have 10 dollars in their pockets to get into a movie, and don't tell you until you're next in line for the tickets. (batting eye lashes) "Could you please pay for me this one time?" The type that never hear a word you say, but always lay their problems on your head. The Toxic Friends.

Well, my last toxic friend used to be a high school crush of mine. I knew him before he spoke English, and through him I sharpened my Spanish-speaking skills. He was adorable, down to earth and very sweet when he first arrived. And then...slowly he began to change. Sadly, he became toxic. Well, I invited him to my wedding and he called me (rather than RSVPing) to say he would come "Of Course!". He told me to tab a couple places for him and a date. I counted him amongst my guests, but in my heart I knew he'd never show his face. I don't know why, but I knew. I also knew that his failure to appear (with zero apology or explanation) would be the end of our friendship. the end. And it was. Not because I'm shallow or vengeful or anything like that. But because I called him on his broken promise. Asked what had happened, and he never responded.

I tend to shed people like dead skin. Not because I'm shallow, like I said. But because I understand that carrying someone around who doesn't deserve to be carried... that can be poisonous to your aura. Self preservation is sooooo important to me, the older I get. And so there is a person I'm wondering about. Dean. I have his number in my phonebook. I've known him for a while now. And regrettably I'm no closer to him now than I was at "hello". I just can't justify maintaining this facade...this dream that we'll be good friends some day. I mean, hell he doesn't even call me. I can't even send a Christmas card because I don't know where he lives. So maybe I need to shoot this dying dog and move on. Maybe I need to let this carcass of a friendship rot in the sun and move on with my life. But I can't stop thinking about what might've been.

I'm a black magic girlie. . .

Ok. Not really. Rewind to age 12. I had the major hots for this dude named Kyle. He was a light-skinned, braces-wearing teacher's pet. He had a head of thick, black curly hair, the kind I wanted to get my fingers stuck in. I was awkward at 12 (hell, I'm still awkward...who'm I kidding). Kyle's attention was on the fly girls in our class: the girls with the freshest permed do's, the gold hoop earrings and the latest Reeboks (pretty much whatever Salt 'n' Pepa wore). I was too poor to compete with the likes of them, so I maintained my wallflower status and fawned over the boy from afar. And then one day I saw "Teen Witch", or one of those crazy ass movies and thought...maybe I don't have to be a wallflower. Maybe I can make him love me. So I started borrowing books from the library and boning up on my chanting skills and utilizing my Ken and Barbie dolls for obscure rituals. My mom never noticed, she was very preoccupied at that point. Kyle never fell in love with me. He just didn't. All my chanting and rituals did nothing to draw him to me.

But then a strange thing happened: The week before we were supposed to graduate to high school (7th grade), I stopped liking him. It was like a switch was flipped off and all feelings ceased. Personally, I think it had something to do with the fact that I saw him wearing flip-flops and white socks one afternoon. I was never a fan of the look on guys....or gals for that matter.

I don't know why but I mentioned what I had done to my dad. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in that disappointed-fatherly way. He's a Jehovah's Witness but for some reason that didn't occur to me at the time.

"Don't mess with things you don't understand! All this witchcraft crap has to stop. Don't you realize you're playing with the devil? Forces you can't possibly comprehend? Just stop now before you go to far."

By now I was over Mr. Kyle, so it didn't pain me too much to return the books to the library and never glance back. Although, I was interested in finding out how to turn my worst enemy, Camayer, into a toad. And I thought it would've been mundo cool to find out who I was going to marry, even if it meant having my pillow smell like raw onions for a week. I was an obedient child, and I left magic alone.....for a long time.

At age 18, I was at it again. This time, I had all kinds of advice and guidance on how to do it right. There was a guy that I liked. He liked me at first, and then he didn't. So my "spiritual leader" offered me a hand and helped me rope the bastard back in. I burned candles in his name and uttered Latin words into the flame and thought about him in clear focus. Within a week, he was calling and he didn't know why. He was missing me but he couldn't bring himself to reveal it...instead he rode past my house at odd hours of the night.

This is the point where I started seeing *things*. Creepy shit. Demons and scary ass looking eyes. I mean, I felt like I was losing my mind! It was very frightening and quickly, I stashed away my candles and fan fare and tried my best to forget those Latin words. The calls stopped, I didn't see his car on my street anymore and just like that the link or whatever it was had been murdered. He was through with me. But after all the shit I had witnessed, I was perfectly fine with the whole thing!

NOW, my little sis is interested in stomping through the same unusual path. Hisgirlmonday the adult can literally look at Hisgirlmonday the child and speak to her...convince her not to screw up her life with this crap. Of course, my sister is not me. By no means are we the same person, but her reasons echo in me as things I would've said to myself as I blew baby powder across my naked Ken and Barbie doll, chanting 'Abracadabra'.

Another reason I stopped screwing with the love hocus pocus is because I felt terrible when my ex would call and not know why. I had manipulated him via some unusual love saint. I had tried to play God and force him to want me, forced my image into his mind. These are things I could not live with. I didn't want to wonder if he truly loved me, or if the magic would wear off and leave me twice heartbroken from the same person.

I understand her frustration. I can remember being that girl that no one wanted to hold hands with on the playground or give a carnation to on Valentine's Day when I was her age. But now, just a few years from my last lapse into the supernatural world, I realize that magic is a wonderful thing when you can't figure out how to make something work. When you feel like you've been beaten into a corner and pressed under the heel of circumstances, magic is a weapon. Only the true weapons are confidence, self-esteem and determination. Finding that in myself turned out to more magical than those Latin words whispered into flickering flames... and much healthier for my mentality.

Duuuddeeee, he's hot!

Your 80s Heartthrob Is

Jason Bateman

Who's Your 80's Heartthrob?

A little swooning is good for the heart ;)

I seem to be magnetically attracted to Brits or something. I married one...well, sorta...both his parents are descendants of Brits, and he can actually draw a line from himself to his ancestors who settled in America way back in the Pilgrim days (I'm horrible with dates). So anyway, I married one, and I've always loved the accents. And now I'm all ga-ga over Christian Bale. "The Machinist" was a little piece of terrible. Every bone in his body was jutting through his flesh. It was heartbreaking to watch. I wanted to force-feed him a Bacon Double Cheeseburger for the entire 2 hours. But anyway, he's superbly hot. Look at those eyes. Makes me want to rent American Psycho on Netflix...

Natural...but not like India.arie natural

So, I consider myself to be a natural woman. I hardly ever wear make-up, I keep my nails mostly unadorned and untipped, and I haven't permed my hair in almost a year. Just to clear that last one up: The word "perm" has two meanings, really. Perms for straight hair make it curly (sometimes with frizzy and unruly results). I believe those are called cold perms. Perms for kinky hair make it straight. Actually, those are called relaxers. Anyway, I used to straighten my hair.

The pursuit of straight hair has given me agony and grief my entire life. It was the spurting fountain of my low self-esteem issues all through out school. "Oh, look at M's hair! It's so nappy! Buckshots. Beady-beads. Nappy head." That's what I would usually hear. Natural hair is not looked upon kindly in some places...like the ghetto. Rule of thumb: you should keep your hair permed, weaved or otherwise tight.

So, I used to go to the beauty salon and sit in a chair at 10 am on a Saturday with loud women hooting and hollering around me at the TV. I would have my hair parted in four and slathered with smelly ( like boiled egg mixed with chemical smelly) relaxer creme put on my head. And of course I would have to wait, even when it burned badly on my scalp, until the hairdresser felt that my head was "done". And then she would wash it out. I could feel small burns all over my head. God, it was terrible. And then I'd sit under the dryer for an hour or so. After that she'd sit me in her chair and work over my head with a comb and a sizzling-hot barrel curler. Occasionally, I would jump and hiss because she had burned my eyebrow, or had gotten my ear with that thing. 5 or 6 hours later, I would get up from the seat, my hair all straight and moving like a white woman's hair, and I felt beautiful. My wallet felt 60 bucks lighter too. *sigh* I certainly won't miss that!

I'll be going in for the "big chop"soon. So I'm looking for a place (a good salon that can offer proper guidance!) that will remove the final remnants of my old stressed tress. I have reason to believe that I've got about at least an inch of *coiled* hair on my head. Exciting stuff!!

Pros of going natural: I'll be saving a ton of money. I mean every time I visited Dana in Downtown Brooklyn, NY I dropped at least 50 bucks (including tip). She was a wonder on most things, like perms and weaves. And I could appreciate the fact that she used only the finest products on her clientele... but when I started to talk to her about going natural, she was against it adamantly. All of her reasons were bogus, I realize now. She was afraid of losing a steady customer who dropped over a hundred bucks in her shop on a monthly basis. If I go natural I'll be self-sufficient and almost no hair stylist wants that.

Cons of going natural: I'm afraid I won't know how to care for the new tress. Of course, on the other hand I never knew how to care for my permed hair. Not really. It would always break off and cause me incredible amounts of grief. And those scalp scabs from the chemical burns were a real bitch. I'm sooo not going to miss those!

There's a cold wind blowing, and it's the wrath of Lake Erie

Yes. "Lake Effect". I used to mock the concept. Key words: used to. Now, I stumble along through the blinding winds and silently curse Lake Erie until I've safely reached the indoors. And then I curse the bitch aloud. She can't hear me in there. Yeah, I know it's one of the great lakes, but her greatness ends at the front door.

Anyway, this weekend was warmish. So I suppose the Lake Effect isn't what's making the temperature stick at around 25 degrees today. It was snowing on the way in to work today. This is the kind of weather winter babies live for. I am a spring baby though, so this is torture. I've recently begun to draw the parallel between the month you were born in and your seasonal preference. I have yet to meet anyone who has waivered from the pattern. Sonny was born in the fall, so he's mad about fall weather. I love the spring. My mom enjoys the summer weather, and she was born in the summer.

So, last month the sister of one of my coworkers passed away. It was very sad indeed. But never have I witnessed someone handle such a painful situation with as much composure. She took the weekend off and was back to work Monday. If I didn't find the notice on my desk, I wouldn't have known anything was even wrong. The notice told her the death and asked that anyone able (and interested) help with the grievance fund that was developing. I reread the flier in a somber mood and sighed, resolving that I would drop $20 into that envelope when it came my way.

"That's a bit much, honey." Sonny grimaced, recoiled a little when I told him of my plan.

"Too much? I thought it wasn't enough!" I chewed my thumb nail (as I sometimes do when I'm pondering) and reread the notice.

Maybe I put too much emphasis on the amount to donate, and not enough on the cause of the donation. It was to help this poor woman's family in their deep and dark time of need. My hesitation as to whether I should give more than 20 or less than 20, prevented me from giving during that first week of collection. Another week passed and I still had not decided. And then another week passed. By now, I knew it was just too damn late. The collection had probably already been handed to the recipient, which meant that I would have to put the money in her hand. I didn't want to do that. So I sulked.

I've noticed lately that I'm no longer as warmly greeted as I once was from the small band of co-workers close to the woman who lost her sister. There was a sense (from some of them at least) that I was an unusual new workplace element, but that they would do their best to draw me from my shell...to make me a part of the team. Now, I am no longer informed when there will be a "food fiesta" or when they've decided to declare it "dress down day". I have completely (inadvertently) amputated myself from the close-knit group of coworkers.

I'm not a monster. I mean, Sonny convinced me that while the collection opportunity had passed, I could still pull the woman to the side and give her my sympathies. I decided to do what I do best: write her. And I did. The first card sucked. And Sonny had to suppress his facial expressions as he read it. Man, it wasn't that bad, honey. Anyway, I ripped it to shiny pathetic bits and tossed it in the trash. Next card. This one was better, much more heart-felt and I sent it to our workplace. She should have received it today. Now I am just waiting for the Warrior Princess cry and the 7 of them to descend upon me and rain down the shredded card on my head. ("You should have joined the collection effort with the rest of us, this card is terrible!")

I hope I did the right thing...I pray the card did convey my most heart-felt sympathies...

Who knew?

You Should Learn Chinese

Surprised? You shouldn't be - Chinese is perfect for an ambitious person like you. You're a natural entrepreneur, and a billion people are waiting to do business with you!

What Language Should You Learn?

Like looking in someone else's closet

That's how I've felt lately when I pull open those doors and stare at all my stuff. I can pluck anything out and try to wriggle my ass into it. The result is the same each time. It don't fit. I'm waiting for someone to ask me when I'm expecting. I'll nod, look a the floor and sock em in the mouth. LOL. In my mind, I will.

Just the other day I surveyed my body in a full length mirror. I've never been this big in my life. Don't misunderstand me, I'm not one of those unreasonable, cellulite-phobes whose warped sense of self body-image launches them into eating disorders and bad health. That's not me. And I'm not thinking about being super thin. My scale will never read 112lbs and I'm fine with that. If it did, I'd be serious trouble.

Still, I was about 30lbs lighter in NY. Mostly I think it was just the sheer amount of walking that was necessary to function in NY. I walked all the time. And I loved it! Around here, it's just impractical and damn near impossible. The solution: Sonny and I are in the market for a car. Seriously. There are some nights where I'm at work until 11pm because Sonny is working late. There's no reason why I can't be taking bellydancing lessons(in my living room with that video tape I bought), or sweating it out at the gym or taking karate lessons. It's a waste of time, and it makes me depressed. By 8pm I've already downed a whole bag of SunChips, mindlessly. And my office has no windows. It's a small space. The whole thing is just super depressing. How much can one girl take?

Anyway, I've got my eye out for a Grand Am. I love those things... even if they do have a bad rep. Dude, did I mention I got my license in December? I tend to skip details sometimes. I think I did though.