Thanksgiving with The Dorsey's

Any event with the Dorsey's is always an adventure. There's bound to be joy, laughter, and at the very least, alcohol induced excitement! Mommy, Tyler, and I headed up the street to Cousin Gary and Ms./Cousin/Aunt Torin's (my play Auntie, Victoria, that fell in love with Cousin Gary's inherited Dorsey magic) house for Thanksgiving dinner this year. By the end of the night, my two younger cousins, Jayden and Ryanne (pronounced Ryan) had used my camera to start their own photography company (lol). I must admit that the little boogers had some pretty good aim. The food was good, the Mascato was sweet and the laughter was loud. Oh! Lest ye not forget the "world premier" (to the family) of my twin cousins, Julius' an Julian's, music video, "It's My Birthday". They taped it during August right in front of their grandmother's house (stifles laughter) and over at Druid Hill park. I must admit, that after a consecutive 3 time viewing of the video, and amidst all of my jokes, the video was nice. I'm proud to say that my cousins are "tryna get up out the hood." Take a look-see at some of the family.

The Way We Were

I was searching youtube, looking for a video of something random that I like. I'm extra EXTRA corny for this, but I really do like "The Way We Were" by Barbra Streisand. She be sangin' on this song, ya'll. I remember seeing Beyonce perform this song at the Kennedy Honors and it made me do some research. I even went out and bought Funny Girl just to see what Ms. Streisand is really all about. But the "funny" thing is, I haven't watched it yet. Ha. Well anyway, take a look at Ms. Streisand....

And here's why I fell in love with the song to begin with.
Beyonce sings the hell out of this song.

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Thanksgiving Tips for 2009 as Provided By Brian 'Protype' Ajayi

My best friend Brian, in his infinite wisdom, decided that he would come up with 10 Thanksgiving tips for everyone this holiday season. Just looking at his tips made me die with laughter, so I thought that (with his permission of course) I would provide them to you all.

1. Don't show up to anyone's house (including mine) uninvited. Don't think cuz it's thanksgiving u won't get embarrassed. I will thank God u made it safely and then show you the door.
2. Don't go questioning all the food.......If you got to question it, take your hungry and picky behind home and heat up some oodles and noodles.........wit ya picky self.
3. Dern it its thanksgiving. Be thankful. Don't be mad because Aunt Luquasia didn't bring the pie...
4. Don't go to 8 houses and eat at all 8. That's being fat, not social.....
5. Don't go to someones house with the intention of wrapping food to go. There is a 45 minute visit time minimum to become eligible for a to go plate.
6. If u like a particular item on the menu, don't try to eat all of it in you first sitting. That's cause for you to get kicked the hell out. You know u wrong for that whole plate of stuffing. I wanted some.
7. DO NOT bring ur own plastic wrap to someone elses house. Its ghetto. BUT if you insist on being ghetto raise your standards and bring gladware. Its better for the environment.
8. If Aunt Bertha makes a Red Velvet cake that looks like pink cotton or mashed potatoes that look like chunky potato soup. TURN UR PLATE DOWN. GOD IS NOT PLEASED.Ur health is more important than her feelings.
9. If you get sick, don't blame it on that last corn kernel. Blame it on that 8th meal u just ate wit ya fat tail. U really want me to believe a corn kernel put u over the top.
10. If a family member is Not saved, wears dentures, has an oral disease, or is just plain nasty don't let them pray over the food. If they do pray and aren't saved, the family needs to pray harder. For all other discrepancies tell them to pray in their secret closet.

::BONUS TIP::

Don't waste your leftovers. Give them to the homeless. But don't give them something you wouldn't eat. That's some inconsiderate stuff.

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160?!!? AreYou Kidding Me?

Earlier this summer, I went to visit my friend Ronnie's father in the hospital. While waiting for his nurse to finish up with him, my Aunt Victoria weighed me on the scale. 152 lbs. Ok. Cool. *side eye*

Shortly after that I decided that I would take up baking. Baking has always been something that I enjoyed watching, but now I could finally, in the comfort of my own kitchen, bake away! Pound cakes and cheesecakes (well... cheese pies. I haven't made a traditional cheesecake as of yet). Orange cake and Red Velvet cakes (!!!!). And then, this past Thursday rolled around. I was at a scheduled doctors appointment, and honestly I was so concerned with both getting home and the hope of using that $1 coupon at Boston Market (did you use yours??? Every time I went over there the place was full of Negroes!) , that I kind of just mounted the doctors weight scale without thinking that I could have gained more than a pound or two since my last time on the scale. I kicked off my shoes and hopped on the scale, and within a few moments, the nurse quickly and without remorse said, "160." She said it so flatly that I was stunned. It wasn't her that I was stunned with, but it was just so frank. "160." "Pounds??" I said. "Yes." She said. *In Gucci Mane voice* "Well daaaamn"

After the nurse quickly whisked me into a room, and instructed me to change into a gown, I sat there in this blue gown trying to stop the breeze from grazing across my back side, and stared at the wall that held the Body Mass Index (BMI) chart. The colors ranged from green (I think) to red. Well... as I adjust my eyes to my weight in accordance with my height... and notice that my color is a light orange... *side eye*... I see that I'm looking at heart disease. "Well damn!" I talked to my doctor and simply put she said, in her West Indian accent, "This is your wake up call Greer!"

Yes it is... I'm 23. And I'm fat. But I carry it well... =)

I say all of this to say, that I'm going to try to lose 10 lbs, all the while praying that my butt doesn't go flat during the process.

FOOLERY!

My mother sent me an email about this article from Blackamericaweb.com Please read.

Finished? Good.

So first of all; who gives a damn where the Obama's are going to vacation? I'm so over the Obama hype that it isn't even funny. They wash their behinds like the rest of us, so let's focus on the mortgage crisis or how Obama keeps giving these other countries the stank eye and saying, "I dare you!" and what the outcome of that will be.

But right now, the important part of this note is simply posing the question, "Why?" Why are these uppity Negroes slamming the Obama's? What about them says that they can't fit into the society of Oak Bluffs? Is it because they don't have enough money? I think they have more than enough. Is it because they don't wear the "right" type of clothing? If I recall, Michelle's Inauguration outfit and ball gown were hand made and tailored to fit her. Or are you mad because she can go into White House/Black Market or The Gap and come out with fabulous finds for her and the girls, without digging the country deeper into debt? And I believe that Obama's suits cost well over $1100. Check the specs on his custom suit that was made for his Democratic Convention acceptance speech here.

What? You mad cuz they stylin' on you?

None of the materialistic reasons I suggested are reasons enough for them not to fit into the society of Oak Bluffs. They won't fit in because the Obama's know that the way to change the world is to start at the home base; not by sitting on their asses acting as if they're better than everyone else. Or acting as if they didn't get to where they are through at least of a pinch of affirmative action. I'm not Obama's biggest supporter by far. But damnit Black people, what is going on?!?! Are we really just going to treat each other like this? Don't get me wrong; I'm the first to yell "FOOLERY!" when I see it, but if this isn't the most ridiculous load of bull I've ever heard in my life then I don't know what is (although I'm sure I can come up with something ). But seriously, all jokes aside- Why does Michelle have to be identified as a "ghetto girl" just because she recognizes where she comes from? And what is so bad about her coming from the same place that Jennifer Hudson did? Did these same buppies lend a helping hand or a heartfelt prayer for Jennifer when her family was murdered in cold blood? It's sad because these well to do African American's probably don't even understand that to the rest of the world they're still NIGGERS! They're just dancing on a wooden board while bullets are being shot at their feet. I shouldn't even have to result to saying such things about my own people. But if this isn't coonfoolery then I, sincerely, do not know what is!

Grits

I woke up yesterday morning afternoon, after a fun night. My mother came in my room to tell me about her night out with the fam. The fun, the laughter, the drinks =). After our conversation, I asked her what she was about to make for breakfast.

“Grits.”
“Grits!?!”

After surfing the net for a little while, my mother finally called my name to tell me that breakfast was ready, but that I had to make my own eggs. Not a problem. I opened the refrigerator, and what did I see? My grandmothers butter dish. It looked brand new. It isn’t, but it sure did look that way. Crystal, sparkling under the refrigerators light, there was Connie’s butter dish. It made my day. I find that everywhere I turn in my home, there is a piece of Connie. Old photographs. Her purple night gown that I slept in last night. Her blue netted night scarf that I tie around my hair before placing the silk, gold and black one on top – for those foggy mornings when trying to avoid major frizz.

Mommy and I watched the remainder of The Great Debater’s yesterday as well. There’s a moment when the younger debater has the blanket pulled all the way over his head, but the tops of it are neatly folded back, where you can see the precise seam. My eyes lit up when I saw that. I said, “Did you see that blanket!?! That’s how Grandma would fold her blanket!”
When I think of my grandmother, I feel like a little kid again. I tried so hard to be strong after she died, that I believe I may have lost a couple of my marbles under the pressure. Deep down I haven’t been the same since. I still smile the same. Laugh the same. Sleep the same. But I’ll never forget the nights that I pulled the cover all the way over my head and cried. Hard. Quietly. The moment that I never broke down. The moment that I kissed her cheek for the last time.
But I’ll never ever forget how she used to pat my head gently and hum, when I’d lay in her lap. She’d always hum, but I don’t think she even realized that she was doing it. I’ll never forget all the times that I’d get my hair done and she’d smile and say, “You look like a brand new nigga!” Funny lady she was. And funny lady she will always be.

So I ate my grits and my eggs and sausage. I never touched the butter dish. I opted for, “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter,” just so that the butter dish could continue to sit and shine under the refrigerator light. And even though the light goes out when the door is closed, it’s still there – just like Grandma.

This Real World is Hard

June 11 is supposed to be an exciting start to a fabulous weekend for me. I'll be heading to NY to be with my girls for what we've titled ReWe - Reunion Weekend. As the days progress, I'm continually thinking about how I'm going to manage my money to have the $200 for the hotel on hand, as well as money for food and of course shopping. I don't yet know how I'll do it. But I will.

Unfortunately, one of my best friends sent out a group text today saying that she wouldn't be able to attend ReWe, because she can't even pay the rent. I feel horrible because she's done so much for me during our friendship, and I wish that I could help her. However her situation brought to light, even more than it already had, that this real world is hard. After graduation in May 2008, it took me 3 months to find a one month temporary job, another 2 months to find another temporary job (which in the end was the PITS!) that lasted me 4 months, until God finally sent a full time job with benefits my way. The pay isn't great, no, but everyday I wake up, I'm truly thankful to get up and prepare to head out of my door to be the best Research Program Assistant I can be.

But the thing is, it's still hard. I still live pay check to pay check - especially now. My best friend is still in Hampton working 3 jobs - 2 waitressing jobs and 1 job that's actually in her field - and it still isn't enough. This economy sucks. As an adult you realize that everytime you get a piece of money it has to go somewhere or to someone, and at the end of the day you can get a little exhausted.

Today, my "boo" told me, that he was gonna get drunk. Why? you may ask -just as I did. Because he needs a job and can't find one. His situation is a bit different - He just graduated from college 2 weeks ago - I know, "cuz I was right there at his graduation." I pray that he doesn't have to go through the 9 months of hell and unhappiness that I went through trying to find a decent job in this crappy economy. It will bring tears to your eyes no matter how strong you try to be, and regardless of how many nights you sit up until 3 and 4 am clicking away at your keyboard in hopes of at least finding a front desk position at the motel in the middle of North Avenue. And those fancy, "Thanks for getting dressed up and putting on your best suit, but we don't need yo ass," letters and emails make it all the more difficult to try and stay afloat.

BUT, once you've made it through, you've done just that - made it through. And once you get to where God wants you to be, you can appreciate that struggle to pay the rent, the whispers behind your back, and most importantly, your tears. Because they all get you to the top - one day.