Get Out The Vote (GOTV)

I am a frustrated voter. I am frustrated with the system and I am frustrated with what we have become. Whatever happened to the time when we agreed, for the most part, on what was best for our country and our only disagreement was on how to accomplish it? Why is it that we have deteriorated to the point of yelling at our elected officials and candidates at town hall meetings? What has happened to our civility?

I am frustrated that there is a large group of people that feel it acceptable to doing nothing in response to proposed action. Why are we no longer exchanging good ideas and finding a middle ground in an effort to move our country forward? Why are we allowing our opinions to be shaped by television personalities, negative campaign ads, and polls?

I am a stressed-out voter. I am tired of my expenses rising while my income remains the same. It stresses me that there are so many of us who are still without jobs with no possibilities on the horizon. It angers me that there are still people who have to choose to pay the electricity bill OR buy necessary prescriptions.

Our country has always had a serious racial rift, and while things have gotten better in some respects, a lot has not changed. But even within the races, there was a time that we treated each other the way we would want to be treated. That has vanished. We seem to have no regard for the well being of others, whether they are the same race as us or not. It takes a catastrophic event to bring out the good in us, but that feeling of brotherhood lasts only as long as the event stays in the news.

I would argue that we are living in catastrophic times. Unemployment is ridiculously high. Healthcare costs are obscene. Food and gas prices are crazy. Energy costs are astronomical. The rate of foreclosures is on a constant rise. We have lost our ability to communicate with each other. It seems that our elected officials are more concerned with losing power than acting in the best interests of their constituents. If things continue in this vein, the future is not bright for any of us.

I am a frustrated and stressed-out voter, but that does not make me apathetic. We cannot sit idly by and stew in our anger and frustration. Voting is the best way to voice our collective frustration. No matter which candidate you believe can best represent your opinions, you have to support their efforts by casting your vote.

Early voting ends today, October 28th, at 8:00 p.m in Maryland, Illinois, and Tennessee. If you don’t take advantage of early voting, then please show up to vote on Tuesday, November 2nd at your designated polling place between 7:00 a.m. and 8:00 p.m.

Every vote counts. Show up. Exercise your right. Make your opinion count.

They're still around? Really?!

In court tomorrow, I have a case involving a registered sex offender, his wife, a popsicle, a banana, and a protective order. The story is crazy and not one that I will go into here because the thought of it makes me want to gag.

Anyway, it has been reported to us that the defendant has said that if he is convicted tomorrow, he's going to "take out" everyone in the court room.

It has further been reported to us that defendant's brother is a member of the Klan and he plans to take action if his brother is convicted.

I was the prosecutor that convicted his brother back in January of violating a protective order. With this new piece of information, I will not be the prosecutor tomorrow.

When I reported this news to my boss, he nonchalantly gave orders to call in extra security for the day and went on about his business. About five minutes later, he came into my office and said, "I don't know if this is good or bad, but I just now get why this is such a big deal. Klan. African-American prosecutor. Now I get it!"

Here's the rant: The Klan?!!!! Really?!!!! They're still around? According to the Southern Poverty Law Center, yes, they are still around. No chapters where I live, but there are some very close. Just the threat of dealing with the Klan has me changing my plans. I'm parking behind my house instead of out front on the street. I'm wearing flat shoes to court tomorrow in case I need to make a break for it. Even though someone else in my office is handling the case, I'm still a bit concerned.

If mention of "the Klan" still has this much power to instill fear, you can only imagine the power the N word still has.

Some things will never go away no matter how much we want them to disappear.

"You'd have to have a baby first."

I was in the nail shop a few weeks ago getting all dolled up for a trip I was planning to take. A little girl was sitting up front waiting for her mom. She looked to be about seven or eight years old. She had a number of twisty braids in her hair and each was adorned with two or three barrettes - all in hot pink to match her dress and her mother's pants. She was a pretty chocolate colored girl with a pie shaped face and dancing eyes. She was watching me intently as I was trying to pick out a color.

She started our conversation by telling me that I should paint my toes green as she pointed to a bottle of neon green paint. When I told her that green didn't suit me, she asked "What's your favorite color?". When I replied, "purple", she told me that was the color I should paint my toes. I told her that wouldn't go with the outfit I was planning to wear. She asked me where I was going and I told her D.C. Then she asked, "Where your kids at?". I told her I didn't have any kids. She asked, "Why?". I said, "I'm not ready for that yet." She said, "Yeah, cuz you'd have to have a baby first." I smiled, said good-bye, and made my way back to the magic pedicure chairs.

As I was sitting there with my feet in the water and my eyes closed, I chuckled about what the pretty pie-faced girl had said to me. Did she think I wasn't ready to have kids because I had no babies, i.e. babies grow up to be kids? The logic in that was quite strong, but at the same time, very funny. But then I realized that I hadn't told her that I had no babies. So then I started asking myself broader questions like, "Was this child's sole purpose in my life to tell me that I need to have babies?".

Here's the rant: BABIES...UGH!!!!!!! I love the idea of having children, but I've never relished the idea of giving birth. I also loath the idea of sleepless nights and 3 a.m. feedings. I love holding babies and watching them smile, but the idea of carrying one for nine months is scarier than a Hitchcock movie. On my Dad's side of the family, my sister and I are the only cousins of our age group that have no children. Last week I was at a family reunion. While hugging one of my cousins goodbye, she said to me "Ima pray that you have a baby real soon." I told her not to pray that for me. Why is it that having children is such a necessity? I'm not saying that I don't want to be a mother, but giving birth is not on my priority list.

So I've been considering adoption. I'm not financially ready to do that right now, but I have a few questions that I need to answer first. Is it selfish of me to adopt a child because I want to be a mom? Doesn't that child deserve a dad too? (For those of you that don't know, I'm chronically single.)

Sigh.

Just wondering...

I was in Target today when I heard a little boy say, "Look, Mom. They even have Michael Jackson shirts!" Being the ultimate MJ fan that I am, I walked over to look at the shirt to which the little boy was referring. It was a sequined tank top with a picture of a white woman with long hair wearing large sunglasses and a leather jacket. All I could do was shake my head and chuckle. But it did make me wonder - how does the young generation make sense of the changing MJ? Or do they just know the last version of him? I mean, it's not like anyone buys records or cds anymore, so there are no album covers to look at while you listen to the music. I wonder how aware that little boy is that MJ used to look more like me than like him. I wonder if they claim him as ferociously, personally, and adamantly as we do.

No rant today. Just wondering.

"One Like You"

This morning, as I walked up the steps toward the courtroom (I'm an attorney, for those of you that didn't know), I was greeted by a frantic bailiff. He ran down the steps as fast as his gray haired, seventy-something year old legs could carry him and announced, "The judge is waiting for you! Hurry up! He's on the bench waiting for you!" My heart started racing. Stress took over and I started to feel the knots develop in the back of my neck.

He met me half way on the steps and grabbed my files from me in an effort to be helpful. As he was lightening my load, I said, "He's waiting for me? I'm not supposed to be in court until 8:15. It's only 8:00."

"Aren't you supposed to be in front of Judge Green?"

"No. I'm in front of Judge Smith."

"Oh, I'm sorry." And with that, he handed me back my files and went back to his courtroom.

About an hour later, I ran into the bailiff again. I was returning to court to deal with a Defendant who didn't make it to court on time earlier in the morning. As he passed me on the steps, he said "I'm sorry about earlier. Judge Green was waiting for another one like you."

The only reason that I knew what "another one like me" meant was because on my way to court, I passed an unfamiliar African-American woman who, I could tell by the badge around her neck, worked for the Department of Social Services. We spoke to each other in that "I'm sooooo happy to see another Black person who's not a defendant" kind of way and kept moving. She was the other one like me to which the bailiff was referring.

Here's the rant: Another one like me?! Really?!!!! Wow.

And for those of you wondering, yes, the bailiff was Caucasian.

Help, please.

Why in the world are people so reticent to ask for help? We're quick to pray for it and then watch and wait. But has it ever occurred to anyone that the help we pray for might be right in front of us?

Here's the rant: I have a young family member who has either withdrawn from or failed out of school. If she failed out, why in the world didn't she ask someone for help before it got so bad?! There are three people in our family that hold the same degree that she was trying to earn. All she had to do was drop an email or give a quick phone call. If she withdrew, what in the world was she thinking?! It makes me so angry to know that with just a year left before graduation, she will not be returning to school. Life is hard enough for African-American women, but to be one with no college degree?! Sigh.

She may read this post, and if she does, she'll know exactly where I'm coming from when I sit down to talk with her in a few weeks. If she doesn't read this, I'm going to need some advice on how to approach her. Anger and wisdom are usually not heard by young ears. The young ones usually think they know everything and don't want to hear what you have to say because "you don't understand me".

What do I say to her? Any help here would be greatly appreciated.

MJ Therapy

I find myself thinking a lot about Michael Jackson this week. I can't believe it's been almost a year since he passed. His music and talent impacted my life in so many ways. Here's one of my favorite MJ stories.

The very first concert that I went to was the Jackson family show. All of the brothers took part and Janet was there doing her Mae West impression. I was about three. I'm not sure how much of that experience I actually remember versus hearing stories and seeing clips of the show on tv, but I know it was my first show and apparently I was quite impressed. After that, my parents took me to see Mike every time he went out on tour anywhere near us. Every time. I have great memories of The Victory Tour in Richmond. My cousin, Maria, was with us and told a story of how she ended up in an elevator with MJ. Don't know if that was true, but it sure did make me jealous. But the best story of all was what it took for us to see the "Bad" tour.

It was October of 1988. My parents were having some marital issues and a separation was imminent. I was in high school and my sister was in elementary school. My parents got us out of school early one day and Dad told us that we were going to family counseling. My stress level shot through the roof. No way did I want to sit in a room and openly discuss our problems! Dad assured me that I would enjoy this therapy.

"It's a new-wave type therapy", he told me. "You get to jump around and scream and yell and sing all you want until the stress is gone. They call it MJ therapy."

"MJ therapy?", I thought. "What in the world is that?", I asked.

He wouldn't be any more specific, but kept saying that he was very sure that I had heard of it before.

We were almost 30 minutes outside of our town when we stopped at Taco Bell. (My sister had a thing for Taco Bell at the time.) We got out of the car to go inside when it suddenly dawned on me.

"MJ therapy?! Michael Jackson?! Are we going to the Michael Jackson concert?! Oh my God, we're going to the Michael Jackson concert!!!!!!" I couldn't stop screaming. I'm sure I looked on the edge of insane jumping up and down in that parking lot. Dad was right. The screaming and yelling sure did make me feel better.

So we jumped back in the car and headed up Rt. 29 North towards DC in our Pontiac Grand Am. We were just about to get onto I-66 when the car made an explosive noise. We were able to pull into an Exxon right near the exit. Our car was dead. We were an hour from the Capital Centre and our car was dead. We sat in that parking lot for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, one of Dad's friends showed up to take us to the show.

We made it in time to see everything. We didn't miss a spin, a moonwalk, or a "hee-hee!". He was absolutely incredible.

Late that night, we journeyed back home in a car that Dad's friend loaned to us - a candy apple red Porsche. My sister and I were quite uncomfortable in the back of that car, but I didn't care. MJ therapy had taken care of all of my problems, at least for that one night.

Concert at work

Today started off rather drearily. It was raining pretty hard when I woke up and the only thing I could think of was staying in the bed and sleeping the day away. I got up anyway and took Matilda out for a very quick walk in the downpour.

When I got to work, I spilled my Chick-fil-a iced tea all over the floor in my office. I spent the first twenty minutes of my work day cleaning up the mess. It was shaping up to be "one of those days" and then it happened.

While standing at the copier, I heard music wafting from behind a co-worker's closed door. I couldn't tell if she was blasting show tunes or an aria from an opera, but it was the type of soprano that makes the lyrics indiscernible. Music coming from her office isn't all that uncommon, but what happened next has only happened one other time in the three years that I've been here.

She started singing.

This wasn't sing-along-to-the-music-under-your-breath-while-getting-work-done singing, this was giving-a-personal-concert-while-driving-down-the-road-in-the-privacy-of-your-car singing. Loud. Shrill. Emphatic. No holds barred.

The hilarity of this spontaneous concert at work created a series of physical reactions I could not control. A pain shot through my side. My face started to hurt. I couldn't stop laughing. Tears rolled down my cheeks.

Once I finally calmed down, she walked out of her office - while singing. The shrillness of her soprano and the sheep-like quality of her vibrato struck a nerve and I burst out in laughter yet again.

This might turn out to be a good day.

180 Degrees

I had quite the full weekend. I drove to DC on Friday night, slept on my sister's couch, and did the Walk for Lupus Now walk on Saturday morning. Mom walked with me and we had a really good time. Right now, I've raised a little over $700 and donations are still coming. I had quite the sense of accomplishment after we were done, and so did my legs. Whew! We stopped at Au Bon Pain before going back to my car and ate a muffin while sitting outside and watching people walk by. People watching in DC is always fun. We could've stayed all day, but I was exhausted and needed a nap before my godchild's birthday party that afternoon.

Kay's second birthday party was held at Gymboree. There were 8 small children playing, running, and jumping about, all the while screaming and laughing. Just watching them increased my level of exhaustion exponentially. Times like that make me thankful that I don't have small children. It was fun to watch them because inevitably, every 90 seconds one of them would do something that made me laugh, but I don't think I could've handled it if I had been responsible for one of them and would've had to actively participate in the organized chaos.

After the party, I went to Kay's mother's house (referred to in other posts as "my bestest sistahgurlfriend") and had a great meal and watched Kay open her presents. She had the biggest reaction to gifts of clothes. Quite funny.

I got back to my sister's a little after 9 p.m. and was too tired to make the two hour journey back to the Eastern Shore, so I slept on her couch for another night.

On Sunday, I had a work event to attend in St. Michaels. Before I could leave St. Michaels, my gas light came on, so I pulled into a High's Dairy Store to get some gas. When I got out of the car, I caught a glimpse of a very familiar face that was pumping gas at the pump in front of me. Two seconds later, I realized it was Donald Rumsfeld. (He, Dick Chaney, and other well known DC types own homes in St. Michaels.) I looked around for the Secret Service and quickly realized that he would not have a detail with him at this point. While checking out my surroundings, I noticed that everyone that was pumping gas was either wearing a suit or had on I-just-went-fishing clothes.

He saw the look of recognition in my face and looked away. In the minute that we were less than three yards apart, I came up with a cadre of things to say to him, none of which were kind, complementary, original, or appropriate so I let the opportunity slip away. He spilled some gas on the ground while replacing the pump, got back into the passenger's seat (the white Toyota SUV was being driven by a blond woman with dark sunglasses), and the truck pulled away.

When I shared this story with a friend of mine, she reminded me of an observation I made about four years ago when I was living in Baltimore.

My neighborhood grocery store was in a crack, prostitute, drunk, gang infested part of town. On one particular early Sunday morning, I drove the six blocks to the store and got stopped at one of the two traffic lights between my house and the store. It was during the summer, so my windows were down and since it was such a short ride, I hadn't turned on my radio. While sitting at this light, I looked over and saw a man in jeans and a big white t-shirt sitting on the front stoop of a house that was located next to a bar. The front of his shirt was covered with blood and there was blood coming from somewhere in his face. I'm not sure that he was aware of who or where he was. A woman that was walking down the sidewalk in a serpentine pattern while struggling to hold up her head and keep her balance, stopped in front of the man, looked him over and proclaimed, "I don't know whatchu did, but I betcha won't do that shit no mo'", and shuffled down the street. I wanted to laugh but was too scared.

Downtown Baltimore with drunk, high, and injured people on the street to St. Michaels with Donald Rumsfeld pumping gas. Boy, has my life changed.

No rant today. Just sharing. :)

I do this at least once a week.

Every Tuesday and Friday, I take a brief trip to LaLa Land. While there, I see myself completely stress free, having paid off all of my debt, sitting on the deck of my fabulous new house while watching Matilda run around in the fenced-in back yard and listening to the waves hit the shore. My family's debt is paid off and they are all living in houses they own and driving brand new cars of their choice. I'm planning trips to Egypt, London, Italy, and Greece. I have cute and comfortable shoes and matching purses for every occasion. I have a masseuse and hair dresser on call. I have a beautiful retirement account and so does my family. I have a wonderful non-profit that advocates for people in need. I have no worries.

Today is Tuesday. Megamillions Day.

Tonight's estimated jackpot is $105 million. The cash option is $63.5 million. Join me in LaLa Land today. What would you do if you won the Megamillions tonight?

Walk for Lupus Now

I was diagnosed with lupus on June 18, 2007. My search for a diagnosis began in 1999. I was pretty sure that I had lupus because my grandmother was diagnosed with it when I was in the second grade and her symptoms were similar to mine. My aunt also had similar symptoms, but she did not have a diagnosis. I visited many doctors, described my symptoms, and gave my family medical history, but because I didn't have enough of the symptoms and my blood work was either borderline or normal, no one would diagnose me. It didn't help that none of the doctors were ever able to see any of the symptoms I described. By the time I was able to get appointments, the symptoms would be gone and I would be feeling normal. I remember one of the first doctors I saw in New Jersey - he looked me straight in the face and said "there's nothing wrong with you". He told me stress was probably why I was feeling bad and that I should consider changing my line of work. He was so arrogant and mean in his tone. When I left there, he had me wondering if I had made the whole thing up. Maybe I was crazy or overworked or a hypochondriac.

Here's the small rant: Doctors should be careful how they talk to their patients. I left his office angry and confused - and worst of all, questioning what I knew to be true. Unacceptable!

Fast forward 12 years, five or six doctors, and many episodes of sickness or "flares" later. I had graduated from law school and was working as a law clerk for a judge. The first odd symptom was painfully swollen and itchy toes that would turn either bright red or purple. Then the exhaustion came down on me like buckets of molasses. Then my legs started to disagree with me. Within two weeks, I was walking with a cane. I was very hesitant to see a new doctor because I feared having the same experience as I had had so many times before, but walking with a cane was a scary new symptom, so I went to a rhuematologist. She prescribed prednisone. My body didn't like the dosage, and within two days, I was in the hospital. It was the best thing that could've happened to me.

After spending three days in the hospital, I was released with a pending appointment at Johns Hopkins. I saw a rhuematologist there that specializes in lupus. She was the most thorough doctor I had ever seen. She asked questions that no one else had ever asked me before. She made observations of my appearance that no one else had ever noticed. She put all of the pieces together and finally gave me the answer I had been waiting so long to hear. "I believe that you have lupus." The profound relief produced an awkward knowing smile. "You're taking this quite well", she said. All I could do was chuckle. I had known for about 12 years that I had lupus. I just needed someone learned to confirm it. Now that I had an "official" answer, I could get a course of treatment.

Little did I know that there are very few FDA approved treatments for lupus. The last drug was approved 50 years ago. (Read the bold and underline as another rant.)

Lupus is a chronic autoimmune disease that can damage any part of the body. It affects each person differently, which is one of the reasons why it is difficult to diagnose. Please visit The Lupus Foundation of America website to learn more.

This Saturday, I am doing the Walk for Lupus Now walk in Washington, DC. If you'd like to sponsor me, please visit my site here. Thanks.

Dreams?

On Facebook, Oprah has been asking about dreams one might have, but may need a little help to fulfill. She's looking to give a "Harpo Hook-up", as she calls it. When I first saw that, it made me pause. "A Harpo Hook-up?! What a fabulous opportunity! Ok, let me tell her my dream. Umm...ok. Let me read what other people wrote. Umm...ok. What is my dream?"

Here's the rant: "What is my dream"?! Oh no! When was it that I stopped dreaming? What happened in my life that doused that eternally optimistic, I can do anything in life I choose to do attitude?

Bills. Bills killed my dreams. Can't chase after your dreams when you're over $100,000 in debt and far from being able to meet your monthly obligations. I've done previous posts on my feelings about money, so I won't delve into it again here.

I do have dreams, I guess. I just squash them before they can blossom. "I'm too broke." "I'm too busy." "I'm too tired." "How could I ever make that happen in my situation." So sad.

So here it is - my list of dreams. Even writing this makes me nervous and I can't really explain why.

1. My biggest dream is to be able to pay ALL of my monthly obligations on time. Not being able to do that is such a stressor. I dream of winning the Megamillions so I can pay off all of my debt. I want to buy a house with a fenced in backyard so that my dog has a place to run unleashed.

2. I want to write a book that gets published by an established publishing house and I want the book to sell well.

3. I want to get married and be a mom.

4. I want to know the history of both branches of my family. My last name is Greek (I think) and my Mom's maiden name is pretty unique too. I've done some research and haven't been able to go back very far. I'd like some help.

5. I want to go to Greece and meet someone with the same last name as me. I think that would be a comical exchange.

6. I want to create a clothing line for dog walkers. See yesterday's post for more explanation.

7. I want to sing the national anthem at a ball game.

8. I'd like to be the driving force behind remaking the movie "The Wiz". A friend of mine and I have been talking about this for years! Would love to see it come to fruition.

9. I want to voice a Disney character.

10. I want to start a law firm that caters to people who fall between the cracks - those that make too much to qualify for the services of the Public Defender/Legal Aid, but not enough to hire a private attorney. My firm would focus on helping people maneuver systems , i.e. criminal justice, special education, Medicare & Medicaid, Social Security, etc. My firm would charge for complex services on a sliding scale and would give free services once a week.

That's it. It's out in the universe now. Let's see what happens.

Hot Weather Dilemma

I'm back!!!!!! I've been gone for quite awhile and there's no need (or time) to give all the reasons. But I have some things to say now and hopefully there's someone out there who will listen (and chuckle).


For the past couple of years, whenever the weather gets warm, I find myself in the same dilemma. My lightweight sweatpants don't have pockets and I have nowhere to keep my keys, phone, and poo bag while I walk my dog, Matilda.

Here's the rant: Why don't they make lightweight sweatpants with pockets in them?! I mean really, why is that such a hard thing to find? Do people not have a need to carry stuff on them in the spring and summer? The one pair that I've been able to find after looking high and low have a very shallow pocket on each side. My phone is much longer than the pocket is deep.

One day, when I hit the Megamillions, I'm gonna start an activewear clothing line that caters to the dog walker. Pockets for poo bags. Clips for keyrings. A special place for your phone. And a hidden pocket for treats. I'll call it "Tildy" and the signature color will be purple. I'll use Matilda's little paw print as the icon for the line. How fabulous. Sigh.

In the meantime, I'm still on the lookout for the perfect (strike that), right (strike that), ANY pair of lightweight sweatpants with appropriate pockets.