Getting Rid of It

Today is my last "free" day before the summer session starts at the learning center. Since I made the genius move of quitting my previous job, I don't have the summer off like most normal teachers. Now, now, ol' gal. What's done is done. You all right.

But today is my day of getting rid of stuff. I love getting rid of stuff when I'm in a slightly . . . me mood like I am today because it allows me to expend some of that . . . stuff and be productive at the same time.

Clothes, papers, just stuff. It's going. I'm telling you, if whatever hasn't been looked at in like a year, it's gone. If a certain article of clothing hasn't seen the light of day since I can't remember, it shall be extracted and expunged from my closet.

I don't have time for you, ol hangin around for no reason at all, just clinging on like a layer of dust just begging to be swiped away. I'm moving in a couple of months. I don't have time for extra baggage, extra stuff, extra nothing I don't need. You're doing nothing but holding me down, forcing me to cart you around when you contribute nothing, absolutely nothing but dead weight. You're going. You're going. You're gone.

I Say a Little Prayer

There are times when I have an overwhelming Motown-y craving. When I need some soul in my soul. When I have nostalgia for a time I don't even know.

This song makes me see so clearly those times, those routine, ordinary, everyday times when you're going through the motions of the day that you think of that person. What could be/could've been/what you wish for.

I see an independent woman, getting up in the morning and running for the bus like everyone else, making her way, doing what she has to do to take care of herself, and in love. Hoping for the best.

Bright. Lemon. Yellow.

1. I ate (another) lemon poppyseed muffin today. Those things are seriously addictive. I'm just going to break down and make some at home.

2. I wanted something bright. Lively. It's summer. I was eyeing a yellow dress a month or two ago, but decided against it because . . . it's yellow. Not exactly a versatile wardrobe item. But today, spurred on by my brightness craving, I told myself today that if I went to JCPenney and it was still there, and on sale, and in my size, it would be mine. Must've been the will of God, for all aforementioned conditions were met indeed:

3. So of course I had to buy something yellow and floral to go in my hair.

4. I signed up to bring lemonade to our 5th Sunday dinner at church tomorrow.

5. Look at the stars, / Look how they shine for you, / And all the things you do, / Yeah they were all yellow . . .

Taste the Rainbow

You so innocently offered me some of your Skittles. I so innocently assumed you would pour a few into my cupped, outstretched hand. But you cradled my outstretched hand underneath in yours, grazing my wrist with your fingertips while you poured, not a few, then sent me off with the rest, still in the bag.

To-do

I have been consumed with nervous energy today. Just wanting to get things done. Get it done, get it done, cross it off your list. See, I have a bit of a break before the summer tutoring session starts, so I'm trying to take advantage of this free time to do all the things I say I haven't done yet because I haven't had time.

I always feel like I'm not doing enough. Or too much. I long for a happy medium.

What's weird is that sometimes I put off doing it because once I've done it, there's finality to it. There's something about finality that unsettles me.

Case in point: I crossed "register for conference" and "reserve hotel room for conference" off my to-do list. This means that I am going to the conference. I can't back out, especially because I've enlisted someone else to go with me.

Yes. 'Tis a singles conference.

I have dabbled in the uncertain waters of singles conferencedom in the past. Once. And it wasn't all that. But I've decided to woman up and give it another chance. This time it's a national conference (as opposed to a local, podunk one), and I've heard good things about it, so maybe I should just chill out about it. But ugh. A singles conference. One of those things I used to avoid like the stinking plague but now I've resigned myself to. But alas. There's hope that perhaps it will turn out to be one of those things I wasn't dying to do, but that I'm glad I did anyway. That's the spirit. Chin up, ol' gal.

I've also crossed off "new floormats," "new steering wheel cover" and "clean car interior." Yezzir, my car's lookin and smellin fresh.

Now I plan to write a few people in French. French Mother's Day is next Sunday and I thought I'd send Madame a card. Then there's a Norwegian girl and a Swede. But we only communicate in French even though their English is fine.

Today is the last day for two of my professional development Spanish classes. Thursday is the last day for the other two. Why am I getting an adrenaline-laced knot in the pit of my stomach over it? Good Lord. I organized all my lesson plans into a notebook and put all my powerpoints/handouts on a flashdrive to leave with the professional development department. The class is pretty popular and I'm sure someone else will teach it again in the future.

There's just something about things ending and new things beginning that makes me antsy. I want to do everything I can to prepare, but it never seems like enough. There's only so much you can do. And then the rest just happens as it comes.

C'est moi la plus belle!

That's what my t-shirt says today. I bought it from a street vendor the second time I went to Paris. (That was before I really learned French). I wore it the last day I was there. I would never do anything like that again. When I went to France for my 6-month French experience, I left it behind. It means "I am the prettiest." I don't really think that's true. In fact, I know it isn't true. I just like wearing a shirt most people around these parts can't decipher. It gives me a sense of faux sophistication. Faux. A fitting word, n'est-ce pas?

I dutifully made out a to-do list, and I've only done one thing on it so far. Get an oil change. I also got a whole other host of things my car probably didn't need. I guess I feel like I need to take as many preventative measures as I can now because I'm not going to be able to afford a major car malfunction once I've moved to Georgia and have to live on an assistantship's stipend.

Things are going to wrap up soon, and pretty quickly, I suspect, and I have to be ready. I'm never ready for stuff. I usually end up jumping in as it comes, hoping for the best.

Two things that are bothering me:

1. Lord Henry has long since let me be, which I should be thankful for, and I am. It's just that the prospect of saying goodbye is nagging me and I wish to God I didn't care. I'm afraid he'll either be dismissive of me or try one last time. Perhaps I can arrange it so that there'll be no goodbye and I won't have to find out.

2. My hair never comes out the way I want it to when I get it done. Getting your hair done should make you feel more confident, but it always makes me feel less so. Due to a variety of factors during my French experience, my hair is now slightly shorter on one side, and it's absolutely maddening. It's not too noticeable, and I usually do a pretty good job of hiding it, but I'm always reminded of it when I get my hair done. It's ridiculous, but it really makes me want to cry.

Once I type these things out/say them out loud, they are so petty. Who cares about Lord Henry? He certainly doesn't care about me and will have nothing to do with my life once I wrap this puppy up next week. There are worse things than having slightly shorter hair on one side. My God, get a grip. While getting relaxer put in my hair, I watched a horrible Oprah episode where she interviewed this once-beautiful girl who was hit by a drunk driver and whose car caught on fire. She was totally burned up. Ears gone, nose gone, fingers gone, everything burned up. Imagine that. You're a young, gorgeous girl one minute, and the next, you're burned beyond all human recognition. There are definitely worse things.

I should at least get things done on my to-do list that aren't really work. There are a few friends I need to write in French. I could have spent my $10 Victoria Secret gift card on lotion and body spray. But instead I'm going to watch The Mentalist. Simon Baker's kinda easy on the eyes.

P.S. I'd like to smack the guy who wrote that Psychology Today article about black women being less attractive than women of other races. Chile, please. It came to mind when the redneck mechanic who did my oil change came over to my car still shaking his head after the last customer left, took one look at me and said, "Whoo, Lord, ya'll are killin' me." I didn't know what he was talking about until he thought it would be a good idea to inform me that all the beautiful women he's seen come through lately have been African-American and that there's only been "one good lookin' white chick." Then he asked what my shirt said. Yeah, I think I'd better give my t-shirt a rest for a while.

I know how it feels to

be the only black person there.

take a swig of expired, sour milk.

finish. Finally.

wish you had that girl's hair.

smile so much your face hurts.

immerse yourself in a foreign culture.

suffer rejection.

want it to end.

need to go to the bathroom so desperately you would go to any lengths for relief.

have it work out the way you imagined it.

lose yourself and hope it wouldn't spell your ruin.

pray that God would do it so you wouldn't have to.

wait. And wait. And wait.

run off the road and hit a telephone pole.

wonder when he's going to call.

have a heart-dropping confirmation of what you've suspected all along.

taste snails.

cringe when you remember how your dad lost it over a "hippie" boy.

be whisked across a dance floor by a persistent groomsman.

sob with abandon.

dread those uncertain seconds right before the roller coaster plunges downward.

hear your name in a variety of accents.

wake from a dream that you were glad was just a dream.

bite down on something crunchy that wasn't supposed to be.

realize what you "knew" was so wrong.

want to wallow in sad songs.

get over it and move on.

Sometimes you gotta go down to the country.

You have an inexplicable need to find yourself amongst the obscure, the few, the hoping folks will show up. Off a county road. Not too far from where they got their first Burger King. Then you arrive, your unfamiliar car in the unpaved parking lot, recipient of curious peers from behind that glass door of the famed church-in-a-day. You walk in, get generous helpings of Praise-the-Lord and hugs and handshakes and smiles and good-to-see-you and talking to folks like you always knew them even though you didn't but it doesn't matter because you're brothers and sisters in the Lord. Your heart warms to the sound of a tinny keyboard and the smile spreads across your face when a suited, tambourine-playing white man grabs the hand of a wizened, walker-dependent black woman in solidarity. "Yes, Lawd!" she exclaims in response to the spiritual cheerleader at the pulpit who rhetorically questions whether the congregation heard him and whether the Lord's been good. The church words flow: praise, overcome, good God, authority, faith, revival, devil, world, this generation, get ready, keep on, one day, sacrifice, trust, dance, circumstance, the Word, right now, hands, raise, sing, joy. Don't you go nowhere after church neither, no need to go to Burger King, cause there's plenty of food: sloppy Joes, chips, all kinds of pie—a sweet potato pie made by the wizened sister that'll make you shut your mouth—cookies, and drinks. And is your daddy—? And how old are you? And where are you from? And what do you do? And thank y'all for coming! Hope to see you soon! When you turn back out into the humid night, you have to turn on your highbeams because there are no streetlights between there and the big city (not really big at all) you call home.

Just Around the Riverbend

Said

Last night

Him: So, what is it that you really want to do? If you could do anything, what would it be?

Me: Well, honestly, I . . .

Him: Yeah, honestly, what would it be?

Me: Honestly, I'd like to raise a family.

Him: (surprised) Like, stay home and take care of the kids?

Me: (sheepishly) Yeah . . .

Him: (still in seeming disbelief) Wow, well . . . that's awesome! I mean, with your wall full of credentials, you'd definitely be qualified to educate your children. That's really cool.

Me: Yeah . . . we'll see.

Him: Your time will come. Don't worry, your time will come.

Today

Her: Ms. Chantell, I was just thinking I can't believe you ain't got no husband or no children.

Me: Really? Why?

Her: Cause you so cute. I was just thinking someone as cute as you should have some kids or something. And you seem like a good mom, too.

Me: Oh, well . . . thanks. Maybe one day. We'll see.

My nails are fab!

1. Helped a beautiful, lovely woman of God edit a book in the works! Made me wonder if I should write one, too. I could just take all of my blog posts since I started it in 2005, edit and revise, and title it Back to School. Seriously, my entire life since I started this blog has been comprised of either going to school or working at one.

2. I finally got around to getting my nails in order. Though there are things I could enumerate that I don't like about me, I have to give it up for my nails. This is not a professional manicure. It's just my own nails, filed a little bit and spruced up with some nail hardener. C'mon, give it up for the nails:

I'm sorry for being a prissy braggart, but my nails weren't always like this. I used to bite these suckers down to the quick. They've come a long way.

3. I stepped outside this afternoon to a horror of horrors. I neglected my sunbabies and I was confronted with the haunting image of withered, wilted shells of their former selves protruding sadly from the dried soil. Forgot to water them mugs. I flooded them with water, berating myself for being an unfit flower-mother. Please let them wake up tomorrow morning.

3. Now I'm about to chill hard with little bro. Pizza bout to come out, ginger ale nice and frosty, and DVD popped in. I'm gonna miss this big head when I move.

I Died

Okay, this guy is the BEST Obama impersonator EVER.

"Oh, that'll be two terms, please. Thank you!"

Omg, omg, omg, omg . . .

Just got the news Osama bin Laden is dead.

It's so weird . . . like I can't believe it. On one hand, it's a relief, and I get the celebratory sentiment, but on the other hand, part of me feels uncomfortable about celebrating a man's death. I'm just being honest. I'm just happy for the world, and I'm happy America has something akin to closure RE: 9/11.

This is all I have to say: Obama is SO winning 2012. No doubt. Mission Accomplished FOR REAL this time, baby.