Letter from the Editor

I literally JUST found the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup AND the Tootsie-Roll Pop! HA! My God. Both were, well, on the floor! But under the laundry. With Koko bite marks and all.

So I take it all back about my brother being a lying Indian-giver fat kid.

But we got a good post out of it, no?

Trick and No Treat?

My brother returned from a Halloween party last night and to my surprise presented me with a pumpkin head of candy. In it were three pieces of Halloween treats: a tootsie-roll pop, a kit-kat bar, and a mini reese's peanut butter cup. All three have at one time or another been personal favorites of mine. How sweet, I thought. (How sweet - get it?)

Woke up, went to work, came home, and POOF, treats are gone! Some trick stole my treat! I check my desk, underneath; I check the corners, the floor, under the bed. Nothing. Nothing but cobwebs, post-its, and the dumbbells I pretend to lift.

I'm flabbergasted. As a precautionary measure, I ask Stephen if he went and took back my treats. He answers, "Uhh, no?"

What? A nervous whine! Whoa! Guilty as charged, my friend, guilty as charged! Yet, I decide to make face in order to avoid conflict. So I continue searching the floors of the apartment (I really want this candy). But poor guy can't even help himself! He yells my name and awkwardly adds, "Koko probably took them or something."

What now? Koko? Koko the Cat? The one person in the apartment without opposable thumbs has somehow grabbed my candy and walked away with them? Where did she stash them? The cat pan? (I check to make sure.)

Low blow to steal my treats and blame the cat. Low blow.

But I can play that game, too - smell your feet, give you something good to eat, and if I don't, you won't care, I'll even let you pull down my underwear!

Just don't take my candy.

Mommy and Me

Today I decided to put studying for my Contemporary Africa Midterm aside (like I have done all semester) and help a woman in need.  She needed a last minute sitter.  Her name?  Fabienne.  She's amazing.  She's from Haiti.  And her two little tykes are just adorable.  I think they should be baby models because they are gorgeous and very well behaved for 7 months and 3 years old, respectively.  Given the recent victory of my maternal (yet edged with cool) instincts with my young nephews, I went into the three hour baby-sitting gig with confidence.  Kids love me.  I am going to be a great mom. 

Apparently, this isn't the case.  Apparently, I am doing it all wrong.  Apparently, a random, illegal immigrant (I am 90% sure of this as I will explain later) park nanny knows better how to effectively manage children in the park than I.  

As soon as Fabienne left me alone with little Suraya and Jean Luc, I could already tell they loved me.  As we strolled into the park on a beautiful NOT TOO COLD fall day, Jean immediately headed over to his friend Sammy whom I had been told about.  Only a couple of minutes after I took the baby out of the stroller I was being berated about putting the child's hood securely on her head.  Sammy's nanny was not playing around with me.  She could smell the fear on me and she used this to her advantage.  She suggested I put Jean's coat on fifteen times by the end out our park visit.  The other kids were running around in t-shirts and his mother told me he "probably wouldn't need it".  Every time baby's pant leg rose slightly above the level of her tiny sock, nanny Paulina was there, "tsk tsk"-ing and covering the provocative flesh.  Then, Jean and Sammy opted for time on the swings.  I followed with the baby.  Paulina made it clear that SHE would be the one pushing, so I politely stepped aside with my...I mean the...baby.  Soon another little boy came over and asked to be put in a swing for a ride.  Paulina went APE-SHIT on this kid.  She started yelling at him that she couldn't touch him without his nanny because they would haul her into court and send her back to "banana".  I don't know where banana is, but Paulina did not want to go back.  The poor child burst into tears at her unsolicited ranting and ran away. 

Well, at this point, of course, the baby wants to eat.  I have to pour pumped breast milk from a plastic pouch into the bottle and feed her.  So I sit down with her on a bench while jean is playing on the slide in plain view and just as I am pouring BREAST milk from the plastic sack (imagine trying to pour liquid from a shapeless ziplock bag with a groping 7 month old on your lap into the tiny opening of a bottle) into the bottle and spilling quite a lot of it on my own hands (thats right, folks, I spent the rest of the day with dried breastmilk on my hands) Paulina decides to give me some more advice.  "You can't take yourreye off dat bouy, he gits de drama goin".  Seriously, Paulina?  For the record, I am so paranoid about have children in a public place in New York I constantly had my eye on him, which was half the reason I was spilling bodily fluid onto myself. 

Then, Jean runs up and tells me he's hungry.  And Fabienne didn't give me a snack.  Paulina's response? "Oh, youse gottu hev de snack...meybe i giv to him sammy snap peas".  Though every impulse told me to reject her clearly patronizing snack offer, I gave in.  I sacrificed my pride for the child.  Because that's what good mothers do.  

I left that park an hour earlier than planned because Paulina the Nanny tried time and time again to demonize me in front of the children.  On my walk home (after being propositioned by another mother to baby-sit her children the next night) I began to question my future with children.  Am I really cut out to be a mom?

The answer?  Yes, and I am not going to hire a banana-dwelling bitch to regulate my children's temperature. 

I don't think I will be baby-sitting for a long time.  It's self-preservation.  Paulina may have scared me away for now, but the chances of her still being on American soil when my kids arrive are slim to none (if I have anything to do about it).  She may have won the battle, but customs will win the war. 

Yours, 

 mother-in-waiting

Strange Happening #4

As you all know, I spent the night in PHD Saturday night, due to two horribly scary movies that prevented me from sleeping alone.  So.  After a wonderful sleep-talking and screaming filled night and a terrific brunch (followed by horrible sickness), I was home.  

Seeing as its about that time of year, I thought yesterday was daylight savings time.  Then I noticed an hour difference between my clocks.  Now, last year, all of my clocks changed on their own, then i changed them, so I was two hours behind all day.  Not this year.  The one clock that changed was the one clock that should never change itself--not on my computer or cable box--its just a regular old clock.  Anyway, when I finally realized that daylight savings time wasn't yesterday anyway, and realized that this clock wouldn't have changed even if it HAD been DST...i realized...someone had to have changed my clock. 

Just like those people in the masks, they're trying to screw with me.  They're trying to scare me with little things until they finally come in and chop me into pieces.  For further evidence that I didn't accidentally change the time on my own, as Doc keeps insisting, when I did change it back, I remembered that you have to go through 60 minutes to change it one hour--you can't change the hour and minute separately.  So.  If that's not proof that there's a serial clock changing murderer coming in and out of my apartment (or hiding here now),  I don't know what is.

So, Killer, let's call you Ralph,

I'm sure you're gloating over your fame now that you're on the internet.  Well, if you're reading this, I know you're out there, so come and get me.  But please quit changing my clocks and confusing me like that, it's just rude.

Caro

Joke's on Me.

Today, I learned that the acronym "JK" stands for "Just Kidding."

Those who saw my gchat status know that up until a few hours ago, I understood "JK" to stand for "Joking," or "JoKing" (if this isn't incentive for you lame-os without gchat to get it, I don't know what is.). As one who uses the term "JK" at least daily, and usually many many times per day, I experienced an intense WTF (that means What the Fuck, right???) moment. WHO KNEW?! I asked my fellow gchatters. Well:

Hadley knew.
Daniel Skora knew.
Katie Jenkins knew.
My boss Anne Johnson knew.
My coworker Frank Impelluso knew.
Marisa knew.
Christine Murphy knew.
Jesse knew.
Andy Boroson knew.
Beej knew.
Lucy Huggins knew.
Rach knew.

I'm not JKing about this. This is no JoKe.

Quite the gchat (that stands for googlechat right???) response I got. Anyway, as stupid as I felt--and I mean, let's be straight: I deserve to feel really stupid--some good has come of it. My mistake has brought to light other dbag(that's short for douchebag, right?!)esque errors that otherwise bright, functioning human-beings have made:

My really-smart dad, for example, thinks that "brb" stands for "bathroom break," no matter how often I tell him. He really must think I have bladder issues. (A barely-related aside: I think it's weird when my academic, professorial father uses abbreviations. Luckily, these only appear on few-and-far-between text messages or random gchat conversations: "how r u," "Luv u" "Thx grl." NEtime, dad. xoxo.)

One friend (who will remain nameless, except that her name starts with an m and ends with arisa) thought that the acronym LMAO was simply a common misspelling of "lame-o." LMAO, for those who don't know (I didn't), actually stands for "laughing my ass off." When she told me, you better believe I did a little l(ing)mao at that lame-o (Jk, jk (that's: JUST KIDDING), Marisa).

She also told me about her friend, one "Steve," who for many years confused "LOL" (we all know this one, folks: Laugh out Loud), with "Lots of Love." Thus when Steve meant to send "lots of love" when he signed off on emails, people just thought he found emailing really funny.

So, I guess I'm in good company?

And in that light, I'd like to take this opportunity, to invite others to come forward. No shame, people. Partly because I like you and I want you to know that there's a safe place here for you to embrace the stupidity that may dwell within, but mainly because I want to compile a list and publish a book about it and make millions of dollars. I'm like only kind of JKing about that.

O'n'O. (over and out.)

amy

Yeeeeeah.

I feel pretty bad about my Jennifer Hudson post now. 

Strange Happenings 3

My brother cleaned the apartment.

Although he didn't clean the measuring cup after he used it to scoop KoKo's kitty litter, but I'm not complaining.

Strange Happenings 2

To add to hadley's list:

1. UM MY BATHROBE. MY BEAUTIFUL SOFT AS A CUMULUS CLOUD BATHROBE. There's no mystery here: Hadley tossed it. Strange thing to do, though, if you ask me.

2. The fact that I've now run into AML hot orange tunic wearing bald two-toned goateed music grad student 7 times. And one time it was as I was leaving my apartment. So now he knows where I live.

3. That my ticket to 50 words disappeared right before I needed it to get to my seat (Hadley sweet-talked the house-manager. She may be a klepto-clean-freak, but girl's got charm), and then reappeared after the show as I ate a plate of pickles at a dessert shop (honorary strangeness mention to my dessert choice.)

4. That my room has no heat.

5. Um, let us NOT neglect that we have heard clear-as-day cat meows from a certain phd bedroom.

6. Hadley, remember when your camera disappeared? (ALSO: REMINDER: GET THAT SHIT BACK!)

7. My keys were stolen, but somehow the apartment has not yet been burglared. (WHEW.)

8. Mychal saw two ghosts in soho.

9. I was abducted by aliens sophomore year of college (a little dated, okay, but suuuuuper strange)

10. I thought I was indestructable when it came to watching scary movies, and then I saw quarantine and screamed like a baby.

Strange Happenings

I have had some weird shit go down the past couple of days.  I feel this is the safest place to recount it.

It all started on a bright, crisp Sunday Morning.  I was up with the birds (as per uje) sipping on my coffee when I noticed my tennis shows were missing.*  Now, you all know that I am not one to misplace something as important as a pair of tennis shoes.  Granted, they weren't my exercise tennis shoes, just some cute green kicks I wear from time to time with a sporty outfit.  Say to a day in the park, or maybe a hip-hop video.  Simple.  I have gone over it time and time again in my head, and I just know I didn't leave them anywhere.  Strange. 

The second oddity in my otherwise seamless life happened the following Tuesday.  Interesting Monday was just skipped over.  I was walking along on my way to a social engagement, maybe a luncheon, when I noticed I was the only brunette in sight.  

Friday morning, I thought surely there is no more weirdness in the universe that could possibly ensue.  I thunk it too soon.  I picked up my phone to make a call, and all of a sudden...BLANK SCREEN.  Nothing.  I couldn't get picture for six minutes.  And this was RIGHT when I was getting ready to call Amy and tell her that we could order in dinner if she wanted.  

And last, but perhaps the most terrifying experience to date, I was greatly disturbed by what I witnessed last night around 11pm in the very entryway we all walk through every day to get to PHD.  I was coming home from rehearsal.  I was still in my actor frame of mind (an actor must always be in this state of mind, but we can also morph into "pedestrian" mode if need be for social appearance and blending purposes) which left me blind to nearly everyone I passed.  But even the blind can sometimes see.  As I approached our newly green awning, I noticed two outstandingly large people leaning against the first set of doors from the inside.  At first, I tried to make eye contact from beyond the glass so they would move aside and let me pass, but it became clear eye contact wasn't an option for these people (this is the point I concluded they could never be good actors--an actor who can't make eye contact is like a steaming pile of pancakes sans condiment).  So, I did what I had to do.  I pushed up against the door they were BLOCKING and thus expected them to move aside.  If you can believe it, they didn't budge.  So, taking the path of least resistance, I pushed as hard as I could, and by default they kind of shifted from in front of the door (yes, the rumors are true, I am very strong).  I was appalled, as you can understand, and what was even more disturbing was they still refused to acknowledge my presence.  Then I discovered why. They were, at this point, facing the corner they were pushed up against slightly hunched over, like somebody with a hunch in their back.  And by peeking with great care over the shoulder of the man person directly to my left, I saw what held his attention so raptly.  They were eating giant hamburgers.  They were so large, they were really quite repulsive.  But they were devouring these former cows like animals, as if I were trying to steal them.  Then they started grunting at the meat.  All the while I was pretending to find my keys that had been in my hand for two blocks so I could keep watching. Then I came home.  

I still wonder about my two proletariat friends from the entrance foyer. Why were they eating so hungrily?  And why did they hate me?  

Make of these encounters what you will.  Personally, I think they are all interconnected in a sort of grand web.  It's as if someone is trying to open my eyes to something, but I cant quite grasp what.  Please let me know your thoughts. 

Sincerely, Yeldah 

*Amy, please do not equate this experience with your missing bathrobe.  I didn't throw it away. 

I Am A Sea Turtle

Ian returned from Iraq today. He was there working on a story about luxury resorts, believe it or not. So I decided I would deliver his mail and ask him about the trip! It could be a great chance for us to talk, connect, maybe even bond.

So I asked him, "How was your trip?"

He responded, "Good, really good, thanks."

Then I said, "Yeah, well you've gotten A LOT of mail since you left."


THE END

Meet Gayle Quinnell

I have found my Halloween costume! Behold:

Quote of the Day

"Oo, you're a burglar, and now you're gonna have sex with me."

Don't ask, don't tell. Or do tell, because I did. Nonetheless, the Quote of the Day comes from a former Navy girl who likes it rough.

Lock your doors, ladies...I'll be in touch.

John from 11B

Okay, so last night was a near-complete disaster.

I say near-complete, because there was a silver lining:

I had just gotten back to the apt building, and was really peeved about how my evening had unfolded, and was stewing about it when I realized that there was another person waiting at the elevator and he was talking to me and he was CUUUUUTE.

And then we chatted all the way up to his floor, except he didn't realize we were at his floor and the door opened and closed, and all of a sudden we had reached floor PH, and he was really confused.

And then things went sour again when I dreamed hadley was venomously pissed at me for trying to surprise her at a picnic.

PhD-liteful literature.

an acrostic poem about (actually it's not really ABOUT, but inspired by) home.

Why did my alarm clock go off at 7:15 a.m. this morning when all I wanted                         was to sleep-in?

Y'all should probably hop on the bieber bus and come here quick, cause I be                     missin' ya.

Oh my god it is freaking beautiful outside today (and yet I am INSIDE                                  writing on the blog)

My dog is probably the sweetest little angel ever to grace the earth

I think i might be allergic to white bread...

Sarah palin is ridiculous, and john mccain looks like a turtle-troll

Seriously, my dog is so cute.

I'm really worried our coffee machine is broken and that you will all have to                       endure my withdrawal (FIX IT HADLEY!!)

Now that we are close to halloween, we can buy candy corn, and while I                                hate candy corn, i LOVE candy corn and peanuts (for real, try it. it                              will change your life)

Gotta go! 

well that was fun. until next time...

I just might jump off a building now...

Soooo.  The weekend has come.  The famous NYU "Don't jump off a building" holiday designed to ease the stress of otherwise happy kids, who due to the extreme pressures of academia at such an established university feel the need to hurl themselves over the edge of the tisch building or the tenth floor railing in the library.  Well you know what?  

I'M THINKING ABOUT IT.

Chew on that, Doc.  

"Why?", you wonder?

I'll tell you why.  Because at a time when I should be making the long trek home because I finally have the time, the economy decided to implode and I can't afford the round-trip fare to Georgia (I live in Georgia).  But that isn't what's really got me down. 

What is REALLY bugging me is that my dearest FRIENDS, the people I love and trust more than anyone in the FREE WORLD, decided to skip off to their respective homesteads in blatant DISREGARD for my vulnerability about the matter.  I have heard them gushing for days about the home-cooked meals and the family pets waiting at the front door and free laundry and the opportunity to detox (*cough* katie *cough*) in a familiar bed.  

Well, here's what I have to say to you KATIE HELLER, MIKE STOLTE M.D., AND SARAH PALIN-- 

That's right.  Nothing.  I have nothing to say to you.  Let's hope I am still around when you get back.  They may give me days off school, but they can't give me companionship.  

I will left in the city with Amy (Amy, for the sake of my argument I am painting your company as a negative, though you know I would rather hang out with you forever than see those three bozo's again) and a convicted child molester with only letters for a name. 

I CERTAINLY know how the Kennedy's must feel. 

Sorrow and pain and loneliness, Oh My. 

Goodbye,

Y

E

L

D

A

H

K.

A Penny For Your Thoughts

Given the current economic crisis and the resultant stress of my patients, I have received an influx of questions, both medical and completely unrelated (but nevertheless important). I have posted them below in hopes that their answers may help you too.


Q: What do you do when the Internet tells you that you've watched too many episodes of Gossip Girl?

A: You wait 120 minutes, and then continue watching.

Q: What do you do when Ellen asks for your medical opinion but you're too scared to tell her because you think she has a case of the Lezzies?

A: You post it on a blog.

Q: What the do you do when you find out that Mommom is preparing for the next Great Depression by withdrawing all her money from the bank and stashing it under the mattress?

A: Well, what you do is - you forget that you invested in a mutual fund that it is now worth exactly half of what it did when you bought it; you don't worry about a case of the Lezzies because you can't afford to have a romantic interest anyway; and you continue watching TV online because you can't afford DVDs or cable either.

The truth is, people, it's gonna be a long one.


So, I'll take that penny, thank you.

Now how 'bout a dime for my dreams...

thoughts from where the hell are we, texas

"...and to close my eyes knowing that a bare-ass amy is running through the room because of a supposed "forgotten" towel."

Ellen, you're a creepo.

I miss you all but I don't miss Amy running around naked. Did someone ever find that poor girl's bathroom?

Honestly.

Cravings and withdraw....for PHD

To all of you who are blessed to breathe PHD air, smell PHD smells, and walk on PHD ground...I'm jealous of you bitches. I currently live in hotels. Now granted, we're talking Hyatt's and shit, BUT i'd prefer the penthouse. What i would DO to hear a "girls...you know what time it is," and to close my eyes knowing that a bare-ass amy is running through the room because of a supposed "forgotten" towel. To have a roommate dinner...to order some AMAZINGLY DELICIOUS CHEESE FRIES FROM GRAMERCY....the list could go on and on.

Doc, I need some drugs...maybe anti-depressants, anti-anxiety, or maybe something to just knock me out til i return on Dec 1. I dont know, you're the professional here. My trust is in you. Do me good.

What the hell is DETAILS?  Do you have a job?

I Do Writing

I have officially been published, folks.

But I didn't actually write anything. And I didn't actually receive credit.

I did, however, find and propose a certain art exhibit to be featured in the November issue of DETAILS. And it got in! Volume 27, Issue No. 2, Page 94 - What's New This Month, "In Living Color."

In other news, I found iPod-nanos in the back room, right next to the new X-Box 360s, which are stacked beside cartons of Calvin Klein cologne. With a cherry on top.

Oh, ain't life grand?

State of the Union

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you, not only my first post on this weird internet "blog" thing, but also, gosh-darn it, the future President of the United States:

Maverick McCain, and well, me, Sarah Palin.

Thank you.  Thank you.  Really.

First of all, I'd like to start by giving a shout-out to the 3rd-Graders at Gladys Elementary School, you are all getting extra credit for watching the debate last night.  Shout Out, Folks.

On a more serious note, my head official intern just informed me, about an hour ago, that we are in dire straits. Dire. Straits. But, do you really think that two Mavericks like McCain and me, are gonna let this continue?  No, folks. And lemme tell ya what I'm gonna do about it.  I'm gonna rein in that government spending.  That's right. And, ya know, through that, through the, that bailout, we're gonna find ourselves right back where we used to be not so long ago.  Under that umbrella of job creation, we're gonna create a lot of, of jobs, and we're gonna help people, so that they don't have to worry about buying their kids their Happy Meal.  They'll even be able to get 'em a McFlurry for dessert.  And we're gonna fight those terror-loving terrorists, who are so hell-bent on destroying us.  We're gonna get them Pakistanis and Iraqis and Iroquois, believe you me.  We have job creation thats gonna help those people who are, ultimately, the ones being hurt by this economic disaster, which ya know, I am just ill over.  Ill.  But I tell ya, lemme in there, I'll rearrange some things and we'll be back on board with that Bush Doctrine, in which I so firmly beli... 

...Also, I talked to Joe Six-Pack last night, before the debate, and he was a little skeptical as to whether or not I could handle Senator Biden.  And I said, "Well, Joe," Joe Six-Pack, not Biden, I said, "Well Joe, I completely respect you for bein' so honest with me. Because that's what I'm always gonna be with you."  So. I said, "You don't have to have confidence in me.  After all, I am just your regular old gal from Alaska.  Why should you believe that I, mayor of the Bridge to Nowhere and Governor of the State from Nowhere, could be the next VP?"

Lemme tell ya somethin' pretty amazin', folks.  I got a call this mornin'.  That's right.  Woke me up, 10 AM.  I had given Joe my cell number after we talked, just in case he ever wanted to make right any blunders.  And did he ever.  Because, folks, if the debate last night proved anything, it proved that I am not only ready, but WILLING and ABLE, to be the next President of this wonderful country of which I am so honored to be a part.  And Joe, well, he said just that. 

In closing, lemme just say one more thing.  The next Vice President doesn't need to be the person who knows all the supreme court rulings over the country's history.  It doesn't need to be the person with any kind of political or executive experience to speak of.  I mean, what's a Vice President gotta do, anyway?  The next VP needs to be someone who shows willingness. And ableness.  And the person who gets up every mornin', just like you, and wonders things like, how am I going to afford that manicure today?  Am I gonna have to postpone my whale-hunting trip this weekend?  Will my pregnant daughter be able to afford that Happy Meal for her baby?  

If you haven't guessed it already, folks, that person I'm speaking of is, well, me.  I'm that person who gets outta bed every mornin'.  Just like you.  I am, the Honorable Governor of That Honorable Shining State on A Hill That I Like to Call Alaska.  And I will soon be the Honorable Vice President of That Honorable Country in Which Alaska Resides.

I am, Ladies and Gentlemen, Sarah Palin.

Good night, folks, God Bless, and thank you!!!

Storytime 3

On Tuesday night, I accompanied my aunt, her two gay bests, and this random dude named joe, also gay, whom I later deducted (no one ever explained why he was tagging along) was one of my aunt's students from a 1-semester course she taught at Furman university and now lived in new york?---anyway, I accompanied this gaggle to a new musical called "What's That Smell?" Incidentally, the show was a complete and utter delight. Funny funny funny funny.

But this is neither here nor there.

AFTER the show, over margaritas and quesidillas in Chelsea, we were all chatting, and the "where do you live?" question was directed my way. I told them. They were impressed. I tried to downplay. It didn't really work. You know the drill.

Needless to say, I was relieved when joe interrupted with "you know there was a period of 3 months when I had a pretty fancy address." He continued with what I now relate as STORYTIME3 (duhn duhn duhhhhhn):

Apparently, joe picked up and moved from (what I guess was) Spartanburg, SC, to the big city with no real plan: no job, no friends, and no apartment. What he did have was a car and had been spending nights there while he tried to figure out wtf to do with himself. So one day, while brainstorming on a bench in Central Park, a woman sat down next to him. She was holding a turtle.

At this point joe foot-noted: "Yall, I LOVE turtles. Oh my gosh, I have just, like, always loved turtles, yall. One time I had these turtles, and my mom threw them out the window, and I was like...ugh, well whatever. anyway..."

So joe told the woman how much he loved turtles. One thing led to another and pretty soon they were making out! Jk, Jk. Pretty soon they were doing the get-to-know-you question game. It didn't take long before the "where do you live" question was directed joe's way. He explained to turtle-woman how he actually didn't have anywhere to live. In fact, he told her, he was sitting on this very bench for the very purpose of trying to think of what to do about it!

Joe told us that at this point, the turtle-woman pointed to a building right on the park and asked: "Would you like to live there?"

And joe was like, "are there turtles?"

JK JK

And joe was like, "...yessss..."

And turtle-twinkle-toes goes "Well, my family and I are leaving for the summer, and it's just gonna be sitting there empty. Why don't you stay there while we're gone? Now, I hope it's not too big for you. It has four bedrooms. But it also has just the most gorgeous view of central park. What do you think?"

And that's how joejoe landed a parkside, 4 bedroom apartment on 5th avenue.

WHAT??

Another margarita, please.

An Emancipation Proclamation

Yeldah --

Jennifer Hudson? PHD-lite? I don't know what "blog" means to you, Yeldah, but it does NOT mean that you can talk about actors or, or black people - that's blasphemy, for Christ's sake.

But alas, I must rebut. Jennifer Hudson Day? Consider this: When Oprah, mayor of Chicago (open to interpretation), declared March 6th Jennifer Hudson Day, she was positioning Jennifer as the newest American icon, for on March 6, 1875, the Supreme Court ruled that people of African descent were not and could never be citizens of the United States. That's Dred Scott v. Sanford. But now, March 6th is Jennifer Hudson Day. And Jennifer, former BK employee and vocal extraordinaire, is saying "I object" to Sanford.

So she might have worked at Burger King (but c'mon - have you tried their chicken fries!), she may not watch Sex and the City (but who does? the show sucks...), and she may not believe in drugs (which I do find questionable - what about Fen-Phen, Jenny?) but I think you should pull her out of the barrel anyway and let her roam free.

As I have argued, this is an issue of abolition. "Free Jennifer," I declare.

And I do declare.

More like NIGHTMARE GIRL

I HATE JENNIFER HUDSON. 

I like the river.  I like Kate.  I love the bay.  But Jennifer?  No. No. No. 

Now, I don't hate a lot of people.  And I don't hate anyone I have never met.  Except Jennifer overrated Hudson. 

First, I would like to give props where props are due.  Girl can sing.  Girl can whaaaale.  Love listening to girl in the car.  

Now.  On to the hate. 

Long ago I created a mental "hate barrel".  Whenever somebody was mean to me on the playground, or spread an untrue rumor about me, or sexiled me from my OWN ROOM, I would simply close my eyes, calm my mind, and imagine a giant claw (reminiscent of one of those claws at the arcade that gets the stuffed-animals) reaching into space and grabbing the perpetrator (about the size of a coke can) by the head, only to drop them (pleading for mercy) into a large wooden barrel (labeled H.B.) where they would remain until I felt vindicated.  

Today--for the FIFTH time (no one has ever been in the barrel that much)--Jennifer Hudson was clawed and dropped. 

I just watched Dreamgirls again.  I couldn't turn it off because I STILL can't understand why JH was nominated and AWARDED and oscar.  

Watch the movie and judge for yourself.  But before you do, you might as well know the girl can't act.  As I have outlined above, girl can sing.  What can girl not do?  ACT.  Have you seen the Sex and the City movie?  Need I say more?  If you honestly think JH displayed even mediocre acting ability in that film, don't tell me.  I don't want to have to place my nearest and dearest in the Hate Barrel (don't worry there's only like three people in there right now). 

Now, to really make you cringe:

1) Jennifer Hudson beat out 782 hopefuls for her role in Dreamgirls.  A role originated on Broadway by Jennifer Holiday. 

2) Worked at Burger King (I know, low blow, but just go with it)

3) Admitted when asked to play Louise in the Sex in the City movie, she had never seen a single episode of the TV show.

4) A quote--"I don't do clubs. I don't drink. I don't smoke." She a LIAR. 

5) Jennifer apparently has a five octave range.  Too bad Mariah and I have eight. 

                                       6) "I really love purses!  I'm a purse girl". 

Do you see a SINGLE purse in these photos?  LIAR.

7) The mayor of Chicago gave Jennifer Hudson a DAY.  March 6th.  Jennifer Hudson Day.  

I am too upset to type anymore today.  Please tell me that you agree.  For the sake of our relationship. 

Peace, Yeldah

Happy One-Month!

That's right, kids. PHD-lite is one month old today!

Thanks, PHD-lite--for always being there when I needed you. You're a great friend, and I hope this day of celebration is as fun as you are! 

I also just want to thank everyone involved...and feel free to share any memories you have, or just general well-wishes.