Friday, November 9, 2012


I am not perfect, nor do I profess to have never given my parents any problems in my youth. In fact, I went out of my way, like most kids to master my sneaking skills. I waited until they fell asleep before I'd tiptoe into the living room and stretch the super long phone cord ever so gently along the baseboard of the walls. Then, I placed it into the crease of my bedroom door, where I'd slide the cord underneath, and commence to talking, or rather whispering. Sometimes it would be a boy, but at that age, most often it was my best friend. We would just chit chat while watching the Home Shopping Network and fantasizing about what we'd like to order. Oddly, we did that a lot.

As I got older, 9 times out of 10, it was, most assuredly, a boy I was sneaking and speaking with on the phone. The late night calls naturally progressed to secret meetings in the park, to after school outings, to full out playing hooky together. I know.  I know. I keep my eyes and ears open.  The luxury is having an alarm system and indicators on every door, so if any one of those doors opens...momma knows!  

I wish I had a picture to give you a visual of the layout of the place where I grew up, because you might find it extremely hard to believe the shenanigans I pulled. We basically lived in a condo style apartment, so the living spaces weren't grandiose. We had a living room dining room combination, a small kitchen, and a hallway that held one bathroom, a "laundry room" and two bedrooms. Somehow, I managed to sneak out of my parents' house while they slept. I rarely went someplace, but rather opted to sit out front kissing my boyfriend. OK, there WASSS this one incident, in which I won't delve too much, where my best friend Sabs and I snuck out and came back so late that we actually passed my dad in a car when he was leaving home and on his way to work! That was the closest call...ever! Nevertheless, we crept back into the house, climbed the 14 steps in the entrance of our condo, slid down the hall and past my parents'ADJACENT bedroom, into mine. 

So one night, after a nice dinner out with my girls, we were driving down some unknown street. Though born and raised in DC, my navigation skills in the city perplexes and annoys everyone, so sorry I can't remember the name, ok?! Sabs is driving, I'm riding shotgun and Jam is in the back. I peep someone on the left hand side coming out of a window, that's only a few feet from the ground. 

I screamed, "Look at that girl. She's sneaking out of the house!" My girls whoop it up laughing and Jam says, "Turn around, go back. GO BACK!" Sabs makes the world's slowest and most cautious u-turn and we pray that she's still in the DC metropolitan area, LOL. She was! We turn right on her street and pull up beside her just as she's putting on the pink hoodie she was holding in her hand, mid-jump. I rolled my window down and the exchange went something like this:

Me - Are you over 18?
Her - (looking flustered) No.
Me - (neck rolling and lips pouted) Um, hm. We saw you sneaking out of your parents' house and we're gonna tell 'em.
Her - (looking flustered still and softly mumbling) OK, go ahead.

In the background, like out of a movie, was a random older lady, probably in her 70's, holding a brown paper grocery bag, and looking on. The little truant was standing at the driver door of an SUV, which we later surmised that she was about to steal! As we're pulling off, it appears as though the senior is saying something to her, so I start yelling, "That's right. Tell her momma. Get your behind in that house, ain't nuttin out here in these streets for you girl!" LOL, was quite the scene. Of course, we don't know what happened, but I'd like to think that she'll think lonnnng and hard again, before she rolls out in the middle of the damn night, to go God knows where, with God knows whom. 

Saturday, October 20, 2012

Womb Hole

Just a few moments ago, I let myself feel, without judgment.  I let it go and smiled so deeply.  I don't even think its intensity manifested into an actual, physical smile.  It was buried within my soul.

My children are 17 and almost 14 years old.  Every year, at least once, I get these little "kicks" in my stomach.  If you've ever been pregnant, then only you can really REALLY relate, because nothing feels like a baby's kick...but a baby's kick.  They're rarely painful.  They're the sweetest surprises and reminders.

Tonight, I felt a "kick."  Normally, I dismiss it like it's not what I think, or rather what feel it is, but I couldn't this time.  It just didn't seem fair or authentic.  I always hide - run away from it.  This time, I wouldn't.  These moments are so rare and special to me.  I'm going to partially credit my early age hysterectomy to this treasure.  Whatever it may be, I love it so much and I can't wait for the next one. I can hardly wait for the next one.

This time, tonight, I exhaled during and after the kicks and let my wandering hand be.  It waywardly circled my tummy.  My eyes closed.  I let them stay that way, until it felt natural to open.  My tummy felt warm.  My hands, there are two of them now, stroked my semi-flat belly. And for those few precious minutes, memory lane was all mine.  The only passengers were me and my baby. The times I sang and read and cried and laughed and listened and prayed and wished and hoped to my baby in my belly came back to me.  They're alive.  Resurrected. Hallelujah. Amen.      

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Call Kaiser

Last night, I popped over to my best friend's house, where our other bestie was, as well. Most of their kids were there.  Missing was my youngest nephew, who's 3.  Not sure where  he was though. Curious as I'm typing. Anyway, as kids do, they were butting into adult conversations.  The sending of the kids upstairs ensued.  If only it were that simple.

They left.  Seconds later, Ladybug, the elder of the cousins, was "crying," because her "leg was hurting."  No need to explain the quotations.  She's 8. I'll say that.  Annnnd, with THAT said you should already know the crying surely exceeded the supposed injury.  Her mom, eyes rolling, head shaking, snail's pace moving, went to her rescue. She was around the corner for a few minutes and the crying, still persistent, wasn't sufficiently subsiding. Shit was actually getting *louder.  I popped up, slightly entertained.  Rounding the corner and entering the foyer, I see my niece damn near stretched out across the floor and my bestie kneeling down "consoling her."

I asked Ladybug if she was okay and if she thought we needed to call Kaiser. Honayyyy, when I tell you she straightened up, she straightened the fuck up!!!!  Her beautiful bright eyes couldn't have **shone more.  She shook her head "no."  I left the room and guess what.  Her crying revved.  Having way more experience in parenting (because I got knocked up in college) and being increasingly entertained, I came back in the room, but not empty handed.  Ohhhhh no.  I'm a jokester - always have been.  Always will be.  I had their cordless, house phone in hand in plain sight.  Here's how that convo went:

Me:  Should we call Kaiser?

Ladybug:  (frightened) No, mommy.  No, aunt Tiffanie.  We don't need to call Kaiser.

Me:  Are you sure?  You look like you're in a lot of pain, Sweetie.  I'm calling.  (the neon color of the phone pad light up)

Ladybug:  NO! NO! I'm okay.  We don't need to call Kaiser!!!!!!!

Me:  Hmmmm, I'm calling.

My bestie:  Aunt Tiffanie, I don't think we need to call.  She said she's okay.

Ladybug: I don't need Kaiser, Aunt Tiffanie.

Me:  You're sure?!  I'm calling.  (faint beeps of the cordless and I fake call)

Ladybug:  I'm better!  I'm better!

I slowly walked away and back into the room where our other bestie was ON THE FLOOR DYING LAUGHING.  She was like "You ain't right.  You AIN'T right."

Shoot, in my opinion.  I was justified and pretty sure that Ladybug would think twice about faking an illness or least with me in sight.


*more annoying
**after visiting this page, I decided on "shone."

Saturday, September 29, 2012

Estas Cosas

These things I hate:
dry kisses
noisy bangles
boys with big booties
"Lawd Mama Done Burnt Up The Chicken" stage plays

These things I love:
wind from wagging tails
cheap wine
being thin
muscadine grapes
wet kisses
The Catcher In The Rye
What's Happening
popping tags
going green
fake nails
Don Cheadle
clothes from the 70's
Weird Science
high heels
long torsos
snapping my fingers in a circle 3 times

Friday, July 27, 2012

Flip It

You have your closet freaks, your secret snackers, your bump poppers, and your nose pickers.  I'm in a different league.  I don't think my fetish is kinky, but rather crazy.  I have this thing and I've been doing it for a long time now and I'm not going to stop.  It involves a stall and a seat - nothing fancy needed, just a bathroom and toilet seat.

For years, and I really don't know how many, I go to the bathroom and have a field day.  While everyone else is pretty much all about business, whether it's #1 or #2 or completing a Words With Friends game, they are on a mission.  As am I.  My mission involves making my visit as comfortable as possible. My intentions are never to stay in there for the long haul.  No.  Because this only takes place in a bathroom, other than mine.  I approach it just as anyone else. I may or may not lace the seat, before plopping down.  The difference is, once I'm on the seat, I immediately go for the tissue.  If it looks like this

it will inevitably look like this.

I don't care who it is or where I am.  I'm going to make your undie an overy.

Thursday, June 14, 2012

Otis Monkeying Around

I swear I admit that I'm "that chick" with the annoying and adorable dog.  I just love Otis Dexter Bailey (aka ODB) Coleman.  I do.  The connection I have with him is deep and real.  See, he wasn't my dog from my married life.  No.  I had another dog.  I've blogged about her before in my, now defunct blog.  I got Chelsea Marie Coleman after a few years of begging my ex-husband to let me get a dog.  Be clear that he got me her, but she was NOT what I wanted.  I've always craved a dog, well, like Otis.  Instead, he got me Chelsea, the Queen of England's dog, a Pembroke Welsch Corgi.  I was so happy, I really didn't give two fucks.  That was until I discovered that she was one the TOP SHEDDING BREEDS of dogs!!!!  I couldn't keep up with her.  Her hair was everywhere.  And though she was smart as fuck and perfect, the hair drove me bananas.  I taught her how to speak (yes, I'd say speak and she'd howl!!!!!) and roll over and sit and stay and come and all of that good shit.  She was the absolute perfect dog, but again, she was NOT what I wanted.  So, when my marriage came to the most dramatic and cliche demise, I let her go.  My kids, who were also a product of my marriage, were indispensable, but somehow she, Chelsea, was.  Shortly after being bought out of my half of the house and moving into the most expensive rental in PG County, I got rid of her.  I put together a great little ad and sent her picture around to my fellow dog lover co-workers.  Within 24 hours, I had a hit.  My co-worker, who had 2 other dogs, fell in love with Chelsea's bio and pics.  The next thing you know, we were doing house visits and Chelsea was on her way to her new family.  Simultaneously, I was online looking for cute, purse sized dogs and I found a Schnoodle breeder in Silver Spring, Maryland and gagged.  I saw Otis online and fell in love.  I went to visit him and fell all the way in love.  To date, I haven't stopped.

Otis was my divorce dog.  He was my new beginning.  He was my carry-on.  He was my ride or die.  And though he's waaaaaaay too clingy now, I get why.  I'd just left my husband and changed my kids' futures.  When I'd come home after work and crawl into the bed, without fixing dinner or settling in, Otis would be by my side.  He'd be by my side peering up at me with that damn eyes.  He heeled me and so I happily admit that I'm that chick, because without my Pooter, I wouldn't be. That's it.  I wouldn't be.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Reb'l Fleur

Easter was this weekend.  I don't celebrate it, which has nothing to do my Buddhism.  Way before I became Buddhist, or a Buddhist - however you wanna say it, I didn't celebrate it.  I can remember taking the kids to church a time or two, but it was for the most *shallowistic reasons.  I actually loved how cute my babies looked in countless layers of tule and Steve Harvey-esque suits, with matching "alligator" shoes!  Easter, for me, it was an occasion to get dressy.  I do know some of the basics about Easter and what it represents. In my Buddha world a lil something something happened on Sunday.  I can't even call it.  I guess my faith was resurrected and rejuvenated too.  I hadn't been chanting much and found myself casually mumbling "nam myoho renge kyo" as though it were an after thought.  There were always things I'd have in mind, stuff like where I want to be professionally, physically and of course romantically.  As a girl, and I'm such one, we seem to be stuck in the place where we want to high-five and or middle-finger love.  We'd much rather the former, but the latter is more acceptable. When we openly profess that we want to be all up in it, we get the gas face and unsolicited cautionary tales of good boys gone bad. When it's schmeared with fear, who the fuck in their right mind would want it? Well if loving is wrong, I don't wanna be write.           

*inside joke

Saturday, March 17, 2012

Call Waiting *(NSFW)

I know, I know.  I'm picky as fuck.  That's what you might think, but I don't agree.  Spoiled?  Nah, only my father does that. What adjective or compilation of clever words can I use to describe what I'm saying, without blurting it out?  Ef it.  I can't.  I'll just say it.  I hate to be put on hold!  Nooooo, that's not it.  I hate when I'm talking to someone and they say "I'll call you back."  I'm not spoiled.  I'm NOT.  Fine.  Maybe I was in this regard.  You see, my ex (boyfriend, not hubby) is a talker.  That sucka could go on and on and on and on and I loved him for it.  I gets my talk and listen on and we complemented each other in that way. He was indeed, the best friend a girl could have.  Because he was my primary goto phone buddy, our conversations were rarely interrupted.  In hindsight, I'm sure a slew of chicks were calling his ass and he didn't answer, but nevertheless on those very rare moments, he'd put me on hold and even fewer times he'd end our call.  He is the exception.  I have to tell and remind myself, sometimes.  Still, I don't think it's "fair."  Like, when the fuck do I get upgraded to "I'll call you back" status, because "Tiff's on the other line"?  I'm serious!?!

My best friend Sabs, for example, is notorious for this shit.  No lie.  We could be mid-sentence, story even, and she will roll me the fuck out in an instant and mumbles her exit.  The hold will be abrupt, but pales in comparison to her "lemmecallyouback" slur.  I hate her.

She's not alone though.

Am I the only person who doesn't find a call from my mom as dire and a necessity?  No diss, there's much love but we ain't talkin' 'bout shit important.  We ain't!  What she ate for lunch or I'm telling her something the kids did, but uh that's it.  Even when I was boo'd up or married, my guy's beep didn't mean the end of a conversation.  It just didn't.  Perhaps it should have, LOL?  Nah, a few missed calls couldn't have saved our relationship.  I'm just saying,  that shit irks my nerves, buttttt it's getting better.  I expect it and so it doesn't bother me as much as it used to, despite this post.  'Sides, texting has been my remedy and it works.

*not safe for work label only because the cursometer is high, ha.

Monday, March 12, 2012

Mission Possible

I tell ya, I never envisioned myself one to participate in or need the assistance of a Life Coach, but I do.  We all do, in my opinion.  The presence of one doesn't have negative connotations.  It means you're all about improving your life space.  I see nothing wrong with it.  Day 6 of my 31 Day Reset Program calls for me to put together a mission statement, based on the values I've identified as being most important to me in Day 5.  I kept this to myself, but am sharing my mission statement.  P.S. I'm actually hella late on my other days, but this program is important for me to complete, so I'm playing catch up today.

Thanks for reading...

"My life will always be meaningful, because honesty is my highest value.  I will strive to incorporate authenticity and truthfulness in everything that I do, say, and become.  I hope to be an example for my family, friends, enemies, and strangers.  With sincerity and financial responsibility, I will secure my children's futures.  I will give love and accept it, like I've never been hurt.  I will dance and sing and travel with him.  Like a lotus flower, I will fearlessly blossom.  I will shamelessly share my Buddhism and become a Bodhisattva. Through my spirituality, I will conquer fear and I will win.  I will win."  

Monday, January 9, 2012

You've Been Warned

Earlier today, I received this email, from my mother, addressed to me, my sister, and my Uncle (her brother).  

"Good morning, just wanted to let you know that someone at my job's Facebook account was hacked into. The person was sending emails to her Facebook friends and saying they had won some money and all they had to do was send money for the taxes and they would get the money they won. Also there was another person's account at my job whose account was hacked into, and so they sent out some pictures of them to their friends and some spam email. So the bottom line is be careful of what is on your account and email, and check out things first that come your way. Tiffanie please let grandson know about this also, and anyone else you want to inform.

Love ya!"

Now, tell me you didn't smile and or laugh and or shake your head when you read this.  It's not possible, at least it wasn't for me.  My morning's start was craptastical, so imagine the instant joy I felt working its way through my mouse finger to turning my frown upside down.  This sweet, naive, gem did that.  I think I read it about 3 times, before I picked up the phone to call my mom.  That conversation went a little something like this:

Hi mommy!  I got your email.  

You did?  Okay, I'm glad.  I wasn't sure if it sent.  Well, anyway ain't that something?  


That somebody hacked into my co-worker's account and asked for money.  You have to be careful.

I'm confused.

They hacked into her account and sent emails to a lot of people saying that they had won some money and all they had to do was pay for the taxes on the money and then they would get the winnings.  So she went all the way down to some place and wired the money.  When my other co-worker got in today she asked her if she got the money she sent her over the weekend.  She was like "I don't know what you're talking about."  Well they figured it out that it was spam and she went back to the email to show her.  It's crazy. You can't trust people and you have to be careful.  I'm just saying that you double check things or pick up the phone and ask and confirm before you do something.  Well, I know you wouldn't do that, but I wanted to spread it, just in case.  Oh, and the other one said someone broke into his account and sent very graphic types of pictures to his FaceBook friends and put it on their sites and stuff.  

Oh wow, okay.  I get spam emails all of the time and I just ignore them.  


We swapped a few more comments about how silly and unfortunate it was that her co-worker lost money, that she didn't really have.  Desperate times calls for desperate measures, huh? I absolutely loved this exchange, because it was so sincere.