I've never been big on bridal showers. Or baby showers. Or any of those weird parties that involve grown women playing random games to win dish clothes.

But . . . mine was this past Saturday. And for several weeks now I have been seriously looking forward to it. Maybe it's the fact that I'm excited about who I'm marrying. Maybe it's because I knew I'd be getting a bunch of presents. Maybe I was just psyched to attend a party that was all about me [yeah, that was probably it].

No. I'm kidding. That wasn't it at all [really]. For me, this trip was all about the people. First of all, my best friend Andrea came with. We had a blast. I can't explain it. We are so different. But when we get together I feel 16 again and I can't stop giggling. My dad offered her a beer. Now, we are both 26, but she hasn't seen him since before she was legal. It just seemed so strange.

She and I speak at the same time constantly. It's like we're on the same [off-whack] wave-length. I don't have a whole bunch of mom friends. I'm so thankful that she's one of them. I feel it helps us to relate to each other on a whole other level.

Andrea is not the only fantastic woman I got to hang out with this past weekend. My Aunt Peggy was there, too. Though she's not technically related to me, I love her like a mother. She babysat me when I was a toddler. And after we moved away from Pennsylvania, our families visited each other every chance we got. She told me that out of all the kids she watched, I was her favorite [shhhh, she made me promise [when I was 4] that I wouldn't tell anyone [I told my mom [when I was 5] and she didn't believe me]].

She's my favorite, too. She's one of those rare women, always trying to feed people [she doesn't ask if you want pancakes, she asks how many you want]. And she is an amazing cook. She's hilarious and frankly a little vulgar. She's so talented as a woman [think proverbs 31] and yet so modest. She's simply amazing.

But we haven't been close since I went astray as a teenager. We never talked about it, but I think she might have felt betrayed. Even after I got back on the straight and narrow, things just weren't the same. I'd see her at family gatherings, but it was just . . . different.

This was the first time I've bonded with Aunt Peggy in like 10 years. Of course, it's no surprise it ended in tears. Just before she left she gave me a big hug. With tears streaming down her face she exclaimed, "I just want you to be happy!" Before I knew it I was bawling. Andrea, my mom and my cousin Elizabeth followed suit. As Peggy drove away, feelings of relief and gratitude enveloped me. I realized whatever chasm that had been keeping us apart had just been demolished with one fell swoop. A piece of me returned.

I think the weekend ranks up there in my top three favorite vacations [hmm, I just realized that Peggy was present for two of them].

My all time favorite was at St. Simons Island when I met Jermaine [another blog for another day]. Second runner up was a week at VA beach with my family in between 9th and 10th grade. Anyone who knows me from high school knows I entered my Sophomore year a completely different person [I got a lot hotter, too [but again, that's another blog]].

In all three vacations I learned something extraordinary about myself and people I love [last weekend I learned way too much about Andrea [and that is definitely another blog [and one that I won't write because she would kick my ass [but bff's are supposed to share deep dark secrets [no - she did not kill anyone [that's just silly]]]]]].

Oh look. I made a whole paragraph from parenthesis.

I think that's it for now. I definitely have more to say. But it will have to wait [too much crap weighing down my to-do list].

Thank you for reading my blog.

P.S. I couldn't not add this! Jermaine's Red Bubble career is really taking off. Andrea bought one of his shirts and volunteered to model it on the site. It totally made the front page.

What's in a name?

Let's face it. Let's be honest with ourselves. It's not working.

My name sucks.

My blog name, I mean. I'm rather fond of my given name. It suits me, I do believe. That's not why we're here.

I know, I know. "A rose by any other blah, blah, blah . . ." Whatev [sp?].

Got any suggestions? I would change it. I would. Sadly, I'm not there yet. The best I've got so far:

"Pop Goes The Weasel [And The Weasel Goes Pop]"

And I have no idea why.

Slavery Still Exists.

I have been putting off writing this blog for a while.

It's so serious.

It's so big.

It's so real.

But honestly, these excuses are lame. So let's get to it.

If you know me only from reading my blogs then you might believe that I possess an ability to make people laugh. I don't [except my best friend, Andrea and my daughter, Sadie - but in all fairness they laugh at everything]. In fact, close friends and family consider me to be more serious than most.

I usually try not to transfer my austere nature to my blogs [partly because it doesn't translate well - I end up coming off like a saleslady]. But I suppose for this entry it will prove itself useful.

Back to the point at hand. If you were not aware that slavery didn't end when it was legally abolished then I want you to take a moment a soak in this horrible truth.

Beat.

Modern slavery is not the same beast that the abolitionists of the 19th century worked so fervently to end. The concept of slavery has evolved into something arguably worse.

I've known about sex trafficking for a couple years now. I don't remember how I came across it. But just before I moved to Maryland I stumbled upon a website called madebysurvivors.com. Survivors of what? I pondered. I did a bit of menial research and discovered that there were women and children all over the world who were being forced into prostitution and captivity. I was horrified by this new information but unsure as to how to help. I was a single mom with almost no money and even less time. What could I do? After a bit of contemplation, I decided to buy this bag from the website [pictured just below]. It was win-win. I was doing my small part. And I got lots of compliments on the pack [I loved it because it made me feel like a more legitimate tree-hugger [and I have to say, two years later it has held up fabulously [and I am particularly rough on purses] - but here I am morphing into a salesman]]. I left the problem in my head but pushed it to the back of my mind.

That all changed last semester. I was assigned to write a 20 page paper in my Social Problems and Issues Class on a topic of my choice. Guess which one I chose?

Alas, I seriously underestimated the scope of my task.

First of all, I discovered that though sex trafficking was prevalent and terrible it was not the only form of slavery in existence today. There was debt bondage, also known as bonded labor. For example, let's say your great-grandfather needed an extra bit of cash to cover his expenses for a particular month. An acquaintance offered to loan him $100 [or less, or more - whatever he needed]. In exchange your great-grandfather and his family would come and work in the acquaintance's rice factory until the debt had been repaid. Fast forward 50 years. You have never experienced a world outside of the rice mill. You are 17 and have been doing back-breaking manual labor since you were four years old. Still, somehow the debt has not decreased. In fact the man who runs the mill [the acquaintance's grandson] just informed your father that since he has had to provide food and shelter to your entire family for so many years the debt has doubled.

This concept seemed outlandish to me, but it is reality for millions.

If you watched Blood Diamond then you are aware of the concept of child soldiers. But perhaps you did not know that it is still a terrible reality in the world today. I posted a video about the crisis on this blog. It is a trailer of a documentary called Invisible Children. I've never done that before [posted a video] and so I don't know exactly how it will turn out [or where]. Let's find out together[it ended up near the beginning of the blog as it turns out]. It explains the situation better than I could. The documentary itself was put together by three boys in their 20s. Passionate, adventurous spirits led them to travel to Sudan directly after graduation. They weren't prepared for what they were about to witness. I haven't seen the documentary [I read about it in the book Not For Sale by David Batstone] but I plan to.

27 million people today are enslaved. Tens of thousands of those people are being held captive in America. I didn't want this blog to be about statistics, but I find these facts shocking.

Sometimes I can't sleep. I cried for days while researching information for my report last semester. I felt guilty experiencing joy while people suffered so tragically. They didn't get a break, I reasoned. How could I?

Eventually I concluded that constant worry wasn't the answer. I have opted in a new direction. I hope that someday soon I will have the opportunity to volunteer for a company like the International Justice Mission or The Polaris Project. Until then I'll research and use my voice, my blog and MySpace.

One more thing [shifting...shifting...Ok! - Saleslady Mode]. A guy named Joe Mettimano works for a company called World Vision. He and his team are currently working on a campaign called the "Children Should Never Be Soldiers" petition. They are trying to get a million signatures and when they do they will submit it to the U.S. president, the Congress and the United Nations urging them to take meaningful political action. I went to sign the declaration online and was surprised that they currently have less than 50,000. Come on. We can do better than that.

Thank you for reading this. I would love for you to comment.

This blog took more than 3 hours. My daughter is hungry and probably feeling a bit neglected [I can't concentrate on this, peel her orange and discuss the pros and cons of the latest episode of Larry Boy [but after brushing her off by saying "not now" for the eighteenth time I finally did explain what I was writing - she agreed that it was very important]. I better go tend to her.

I don't feel like I said everything I wanted to say. I would like to discuss sex trafficking more and talk a little bit about why slavery is so rampant today. Another blog. Another day.

Random Stuff.

Hmmm . . .

Hello. Thank you for reading my blog.

Heartwarming random pictures posted throughout.

I got an email from a friend in Charlotte. Her cousin was working out and all of a sudden his body went haywire. The next thing her family knew, he was in the Intensive Care Unit in a coma [sp?]. And his brain is swelling. Please pray for him. His name is Shaine. My friend's name is Cherish. Thanks, guys.

Una otra amiga, who lives in Richmond, might be signing a contract for a house! Fun! Please pray for her, too. Her name is Tiffany.

I bitch-slapped my professor the other day in class. I believe that is the technical term. Another student got to choke him. That was scary.*


My friend Meghan came all the way from Charlotte to help me de-clutter my home. Well, that's not entirely true. Her family lives in Maryland, too. With the help of her ["her" or "she"? I think "her."], Jermaine, his cousin Dwayne and Ikea, we rearranged my living room [soon to be "our" living room]. It looks fantabulous. I have pictures, but I can't find the stupid cord that hooks my camera up to the computer. So you'll have to wait.


I truly thought I created the word "fantabulous." I didn't. I'm quite devastated.

One of my best friends is currently with child. I'm jump-up-and-down happy for her and know that she and her husband are going to make amazing parents. She's been keeping things kind of on the DL so I don't know if she would want me to reveal her nombre.

So, apparently I type my smiley faces different than the rest of the free world. (: I had no idea. But people keep pointing it out. It makes me feel special.


I want to blog about my balcony garden. Unfortunately it doesn't exist yet. All I have are "before" photos [which I am unable to retrieve from my camera anyhow]. Without "after" shots they're just pictures of my mess.

Jermaine is kicking Bubble. I'm proud of my talented fiancé. Check out his work at Red Bubble before he forgets us little people.

I think that's about it for now.

*These events took place in my "Movement for the Performer" class. We are studying stage combat. No professors were harmed in the making of this blog.

Robin and Me

So much in my head. So much. Too much, perhaps. Let's see how it all comes out.

I got a job yesterday. They hired me on the spot. It went something like this:

My original plan included hitting every service restaurant within walking distance. That includes Ruby Tuesday [Hooray for salad!], The Green Turtle [although, can you see me working in a sports joint?], Bailey's [which to me just screams, "Consume a lot of alcohol!"], The Longhorn [but, I am not that country [regardless of what you may think]], and The Red Robin [BIG Burgers served at the speed of light].

As chance would have it [or God] I chose to make Red Robin the first stop on my journey. I sauntered in [not really, I can't saunter] and requested an application from the hostess. Now, I had the spent 20 minutes prior to entering the establishment realizing that this was the one and only time I did not have a pen handy. And of course I needed one. The hostess didn't seem to mind, though. She lent me hers [oh, crap, did I steal her pen?!].

Anyhow, I filled out the paper, which I found to be refreshingly short and to the point [one page front and back] and strolled back up to the hostess stand. She kindly asked if I would like to speak to a manager. She was so nice. It is my personal belief that the majority of hostesses do not come that way and I found her friendliness a pleasant surprise. I said yes, I would very much like to speak to the man in charge and she wandered off to retrieve him.

I took this opportunity to inspect the premises. Sadly, I think my nerves might have been in control of the situation because I am at a loss to describe to you what I saw. I do remember a mild mannered red-headed man, wearing what could only be referred to as "spectacles," quietly eating his lunch by the bar. I remember him because a moment later the hostess reappeared with an "oh silly me" smile on her face. She walked up to the man and handed him my resume. I was a bit taken aback.

Had I known that the manager had been in my presence while I completed my application I may have done things a bit differently. As he read over the paper he had just received it suddenly occurred to me that I was staring at him.

I began to pace nonchalantly. I walked up to the door, then over to the hostess stand, and then again to the door. I slowly turned to make my way back to the stand and there in front of me stood the Mild-Mannered Man. He introduced himself and shook my hand. I made a point to give him a firm handshake. It's not really my style, but I know it matters. We took a seat and began to make small talk slash discuss my qualifications. I don't really remember the conversation, except that I felt I'd made a good impression. He told me he wanted to get another manager and excused himself. At that moment I had a fantastic revelation.

I realized that I am fairly good with shy people [most of them anyway [and particularly in the professional realm]]. I am good at drawing people out of their shell. My bubbly personality sparkles in the light. On the other hand, I tend to be intimated by loud personalities. I am easily overshadowed and uncomfortable with the idea that I don't know what is about to happen next. Wow, I thought, what luck that the Mild-Mannered Man had been my interviewer.

Just then I saw another man approaching. He wasn't much bigger than the Mild-Mannered Man, but I could tell by his fast pace and the slightly wild look in his eyes [I could see even from across the room] that he did not share the same demeanor.

"Hello!" He boomed, reaching out to shake my hand, "How are you!"


I firmly gripped his hand and shook it solidly, just as I had done with his co-worker. I sat down trying not to show that I was bracing myself. My application had revealed that I was about to be a bride and we chatted about that, about my availability and other things of that sort.

"So," He said suddenly, devilish smilecrept upon his face, "A DWI, huh? Wow."

I smiled sheepishly, taking a deep breath and preparing to begin my shpeal.

"Yeah, well, I definitely learned my lesson," I began.

"Oh yes, me, too. That's about the same time I got mine." He laughed. Very nice.

We chatted for a while about the regulatory stuff. Eventually he morphed into manager mode.

"Why should I hire you as opposed to the next person who walks into the building?" He inquired. Oh, good grief. These questions are always a joy.

I thought for a moment.

"Hmm." I said, trying to keep a smile, "Well, um, I'm bubbly. And I'm reliable. And, um . . ."

I could see that the standard way of answering this question was not doing it's job. Let's take a different approach.

"You know what?" I stated with all the boldness I could muster, "I'm good. I'm really good. People like me, I like serving them. It just works."

My answer was met with another devilish smile. He turned his head toward the bar and called out to the woman working behind it.

"Can you please bring me a menu?" He asked. She obeyed. He smiled at me. "Prove it." He said. "I'll be back in two minutes, sell me something from the menu."

Oh crap.

That's not exactly what I meant. I wasn't talking sales. I was saying I wouldn't screw up their order and I'd remember to refill their drinks. No matter. Apparently it was game time. I scanned the menu. What would I get? Oh, yes. That's it. I didn't need two minutes. He sat back down and I took a deep breath.

"So," I smiled, pretending not to hate role-playing, "Have you tried our Whiskey River BBQ Burger?"

"No," He lied, for the sake of the experiment.

"Well, I'd like to recommend it. You see the secret to a good BBQ sauce is to throw in some alcohol. Seriously. It sounds funky, but it adds just the right tang. And this burger comes with our bottomless steak fries seasoned just right. You can't go wrong."

"I like your confidence." He said. It's all a facade, I thought, hoping I hadn't been stuttering. "You're hired."

Sweet! I think it was the handshake.

------------------------------------------------------------------

I had planned to talk about all of the other things happening in my life right now. Too much. This has been fun, but alas, the good times must eventually end. This apartment isn't going to clean itself.

Impatient Perfection

I'm not entirely pleased with my creation thus far. It doesn't feel organic. I dove in so fast I missed a bit of quality control.

I'm stumped.

I don't love the name. I don't know if I can change it. I don't know if I should scrap the whole thing and begin again.

Jermaine and I are so different. He relishes starting from scratch [the process]. He's so attuned to the details, the inner-workings. Everything he touches [and finally finishes after hours and hours of labor] just sparkles.

That's not exactly how I operate.

I want to have something to show for myself. I want to look like I've been hard at work - slaving over my computer. But, I've got things to do, so could we just wrap it up already?

I think, "Let's get it all out and then I'll make it pretty later."

I mean, that's all well and good for this particular venture. Blogging is just for fun. But, I take myself so seriously. I demand perfection without first putting forth any magnificent effort.

And then I complain about the end product.

My hope for this blog is that it will chart my growth as a budding writer.*

I don't know exactly what I'm going for. I think my original lofty expectations that this little blog would magically blast me into fortune and fame [I'm kidding - sort of . . .] were a bit misguided.

I think when it comes down to it, I just want to write. I hope I get better [it has taken me 10 freaking minutes to figure out how to say those last two sentences and I'm not even completely satisfied].

Good night [I can never think of a suitable way to end].

"Sigh."

*This blog may or may not reflect the previously referenced growth.

Green Goings On

In honor of Saint Patrick, I am posting some of my greenest photography.

She really has to go to the bathroom.

Mr. PianoMan, your shirt is blinding me.

Surprise, you're on Candid Santa!

"Help, this little man trapped me in this green bubble and that girl won't stop playing her stupid piano to rescue me!"

Okay, this isn't really green. But, it is the back of Questlove's head, and I think that's good enough.

They're half-heartedly chasing a leprechaun.

I finally fit into the shorts! Unfortunately, I also have a tail . . .

My thoughtful Irish pose.

Yeah. No caption necessary.

"Yes, I am up to no good. Too bad I'm so freaking cute, right?"

When you're five, flying and horseback riding are virtually the same thing.

Us after a long day of class skipping and web-surfing.

Yes, kid. This is what talent looks like.

I hope you liked my pictures. I planned on writing an intense blog about going green [environmental damage, global warming, blah, blah, blah], but this is what materialized. I still might [just a warning(;].

Happy St. Patrick's Day [drink green beer].