Warning...This Blog Will Self Destruct In 5...4...3...2...1

Not really. It'll still be here, but I got a new blog. I guess I should start blogging again...

http://rashanjamal.blogspot.com/

See ya over there...

A Letter to the Crazy Lady(ies)

7/6/2009

Dear Crazy Lady(ies),

Please don’t murder-suicide me. I know in the past I’ve taken your craziness lightly. I thought if anything, you would hurt yourself, but you wouldn’t do anything to me. When people told me to look out for your crazy behavior, I dismissed it like I was invincible. But believe, I get the point. You can, and will kill a brother if you feel like it. I don’t want to end up like Steve McNair. I don’t want to end up like Phil Hartman (yes, I took back like 10 years.) To put it simply, I just don’t want to die.

So, let’s do this. And this is hard for me to do. Let me apologize. I’d like to apologize for not answering the phone when you call. I’d like to apologize for not liking you like that. I’d like to apologize for NOT telling you that I love you when I don’t. I’d like to apologize for calling you a stalker to your face. I’d like to apologize for just being mean. I didn’t mean it. In retrospect, I should have done a better job of keeping you on your rocker. I should have realized that it’s my responsibility to make you un-crazy. It’s not your fault. You can’t help it that I put homicidal thoughts in your head by ignoring you. It’s all me.. My bad, crazy ladies…

In conclusion, crazy lady(ies), I don’t want to die. Please do not murder-suicide me. That won’t accomplish anything. We are not going to meet in the next lifetime. And if we do, I’m going to be pissed that you murder-suicided me. Call me stubborn, but that will have a negative effect on our fake relationship. If you just must do something drastic, can we switch this thing around and do a suicide-murder? You go first, and I’ll meet you there after a long long life with my wife and kids.

Sincerely,

Rashan Jamal

P.S. – I really don’t want to die. Put those murder-suicide thoughts out of your head please.

Thursday Thirteen: 13 (okay, just 12) Misspelings* On The Same Document

I promise this is true... These are from a document that someone was passing out to the new hire training class I'm helping train. Needless to say I snatched the papers up as quickly as I could. I sent Diva an email last week with the subject line "I work with idiots..." Never more true than today... I was studying the document intently trying to find a thirteenth, but I guess I'll just have to roll with twelve today....

1. appropiate (appropriate)
2. disclousure (meant disclosure, but typed it wrong twice)
3.inmediatelly (immediately)
4. privasy (privacy)
5. awared (meant to be aware)
6. producktivity (for real, where did the K come from?)
7. sell (meant "sale")
8. an (meant" and")
9. and (meant "an")
10. carreer (I can almost give this one a pass based on the rest of the misspellings.)
11. transitionalize (don't ask what they were trying to say.)
12. assistants (assistance)
13.. I couldn't find another one. Darn it!!!

Yep, I work with idiots. Let me find out who came up with document and I'm going upside their head with a Funk and Wagnall's

*yes, I spelled it wrong on purpose. It's irony. Get it? LOL*

Conversations With Aristide

So, I’m at work early today doing some training. Got an hour lunch and it’s way too early for me to eat. I decided to sit in the cafeteria and watch some CNN. One table over, Jean-Bertrand Aristide (you know, cuz he’s Haitian) is sitting there talking to everybody and anybody that is in the area. I didn’t have my ipod, but I had my phone. I call Jameil, but she didn’t answer. As a result, the following conversation ensued.

Aristide: Hey, where do you live?
Me: Huh?
Aristide: I see you driving on 285, so you must live out in Stone Mountain.
Me: Tucker (not really, but close enough)
Aristide: These f*ckers are getting on my nerves.
Me: Who?
Aristide: These bastards at (insert company I work for)
Me: Oh
Aristide: They are playing games with my salary.

Five minutes later, he is still talking about something or other about medical leave, and wrong paychecks.

Aristide: Did that ever happen to you?
Me: Did what ever happen?
Aristide: They give you wrong pay.
Me: Nah, I never had a problem.

Aristide: You know, this is first time I hear you talk. I thought you were deaf-mute.
Me: Obviously I can talk if I’m working here.
Aristide: I don’t know… Maybe you use the machine..(imitates typing) What do you call it when deaf people use phone?
Me: The TTD machine?
Aristide: Yes, the DDT machine….

Aristide: I think they soon change dress code. The women are dressing too provocatively.
Me: *laughs*
Aristide: I see this girls entire p****. (points at woman who is too close to be having this conversation)
Me: *blinks*
Aristide: I think she have, what do you call it.. toe of the camel.
Me: *cracks up* Aiight, man. I’m about to go. I’ll see ya around.
Aristide: They leave nothing to imagination.
Me: *walking away* Aiight, I’m out.
Aristide: I can see the crack of…

Man, I wish people would not talk to me.

Having A Bad Day

Tuesday was a jacked up day for me. It started out pretty well. Work was slow. Had tons of meetings that kept me away from any real work, but then lunch came. I started not to even move my car from the garage because it was crazy hot, and I was already sweating. But I did it anyway. When I got in the car, the leather seats were blazing, and my glasses immediately fogged up. Sweat poured from my forehead, and trickled down into my eyes, causing an uncomfortable stinging feeling. As I was pulling into the parking spot, I wiped the sweat from my eyes and bammed right into a Honda Civic. Yes, your boy hit a parked car. How careless could I be? It didn't even really cross my mind to do the wrong thing. I went to the security desk so they could find the owner of the car I hit. We filled out an incident report, then waited for the police to come. Did I mention that it was 95 degrees? Yeah, I was out in the heat, sweating like a slave. Then I had to call my insurance company and tell them what was what. After that ordeal I was a little miffed, but still okay.

Later that day, I hit the ATM that's in the dining area of the cafeteria. I pulled out my $40, and walked away. Yep, I left the card in the machine, yo! What the hell was wrong with me today? Since the machine is not attached to an actual bank, I couldn't get anyone to open the ATM to get my card either, so I'm gonna be without it for a few days. Son of a... I was just done. I was supposed to stay late to make up the hour that I missed handling business after the crash, but after that I was just like "eff it. I'm outta here."

I came home in a bad mood today. I don't like the feeling, but it doesn't usually last long. I just need some time to wallow and then I get over it. I don't think people understand that about me. Maybe because it doesn't happen regularly, people can't figure out how to take me. When I'm in a bad mood, I just want to be in a bad mood until it goes away. Cheering me up doesn't really cheer me up. Its nothing personal, its just part of my process. I'm having a bad day. I think I'm entitled to one once every couple of months. I'll be okay tomorrow. Hours of old school hip hop on YouTube is helping.

Random

What kind of sense does it make to comment on an news/sports article by saying “who cares?” – Obviously you care or you wouldn’t have taken the time not only to read it, but to comment on it.

Now that the American Idol dude has come out, does that mean that he is going to sing songs overtly to dudes? Will he change “Mandy” to “Andy?”

Would you listen to that? If not, does that make you homophobic?

That reminds me of an old school joke me and Kareem used to have about Luther Vandross. We changed the lyrics to “Don’t you remember you told me loved me, Larry?”

I read an article about a grandfather that killed his grandson b/c he dropped his watermelon. Do you know how glad I was that he wasn’t black? Feel like I dodged a bullet there.

Anonymous sources irk me. I think unless it’s a matter of life and death, if you say something, you should be man or woman enough to stand by it.

I think women that fake rape cases should have to register as sex offenders. They make it so much tougher for real victims.

Is anybody else disturbed that Hurricane Chris’ song “Halle Berry” is about a woman old enough to be his mother? I looked it up, she’s 43 and he’s 19.

I got bored the other day and shaved my head. Apparently I missed a few spots and was looking crazy for a day.

My job blocked Yahoo email yesterday. I wonder how long before Facebook and Blogger get blocked. Hopefully, at least one of them will stay available.

I didn’t have anything to write about, so I just started writing random thoughts and now I have a post. Hopefully, certain people won’t be harassing me in my comments about its time to post again. LOL

Southpaw

I’ve always thought of myself as a lefty. I throw with my left hand, punch with my left hand, I would write with my left hand if my 3rd grade teacher didn’t switch me to righty. My left arm is significantly stronger than my right arm (or as Jameil calls it, my lame arm. LOL) But I didn’t realize until this weekend, how much I depend on both of my arms.

When I left work on Friday, my right shoulder was hurting. No big deal, but I couldn’t figure out why. That’s neither here nor there. As the night progressed, however, the pain was getting worse. It felt like the shoulder was dislocated or something. I could hardly move my right arm, forget about lifting it over my head or picking anything up. My range of motion was severely impacted by the shoulder pain.

The worst part of it, other than the ridiculous amount of pain, was that I just realized how much I actually use my right arm. I hold my fork in my right hand, but that’s no problem, I could use my left for that. But taking a shower? I felt all out of sorts trying to wash with my left arm. Or buttoning a shirt. It was difficult enough getting my arm in to the sleeve, but trying to button it with no range of motion was nearly impossible. I just rocked a tee shirt. Just pouring a glass of orange juice was messed up. I had to put the glass on the counter, open the container with my left hand, pour the juice, put the oj on the counter, open the refrigerator with my left hand, pick up the oj and put it back in the fridge, then pick up the oj.. again with my left hand. It would have been way easier if I had both arms available to use. Wiping my… never mind you don’t need to know about that. LOL

I also realized that I sleep with my arm under my head, but I couldn’t do that this weekend. Friday, I couldn’t sleep at all, Saturday, I managed a little bit of sleep, but woke up when my shoulder told me that was enough. It was better Sunday, but after 4 hours of sleep, it was a wrap. It feels better when I ice it, and take aleve, but I think I need to go to the doctor to get this checked out. I could live with the pain, but I can’t live without the sleep. The weekend is supposed to be my lazy time. Stupid right shoulder messed that up for me.

Some say I’m negative, but they’re not positive…

What song does that title come from? I doubt any of the people in their 20’s will remember that…

Anyway, I’ve been doing some thinking. Rather, I’ve stopped blocking my thoughts as I usually do. I sometimes don’t like to face the hard truths, even though my brain knows about them. Here is the simple fact: I’ve been becoming more negative lately. I’ve always been a realist, some would say cynical. That’s not a problem for me. I think I see the world as it is, rather than with rose colored glasses. I’m not too far gone to see that although some people are messed up, other people have good, decent or altruistic motives. So, when I say I’m becoming negative, I don’t mean that.

I guess I should just say what I mean. I’ve recently realized that I am extremely proficient in identifying and talking about stuff I don’t like. People, places, things. Its far easier for me to say what’s wrong, than what’s right. I don’t want to be a complainer. I don’t like them (LOL – see I just did it again.) I need to get a positive mindstate. I looked at my draft posts over the last two week period, and 7 out of 10 aborted posts were complainey, or critical. And the thing is I wasn’t complaining about anything big. Just stuff that was getting on my nerves. Either that or I was talking about people. Why spend so much time on the negative? I don’t know, but I think I need to change that.

So starting today, I’m gonna make a conscious effort to not post about annoying people, annoying things or general annoyances unless for comedy purposes. I can’t let it go altogether. I’m gonna try to be more positive and affirm the good for awhile, rather than display the negative. Don’t worry, this isn’t gonna become one of those inspirational blogs. I still don’t like motivational writing (oops, I did it again.) But I just want to try to avoid the negative energy for the time being and see how it works. We’ll see how long I can last.

10 Things I Hate About You

Dedicated to my annoying co worker....

1. You're pretty dumb. You've been working here long enough to know the things that you ask me on a daily basis.

2. Your voice is annoying. I don't know where that accent comes from, but can you give it back?

3. MuthaFu... my name is not Rashad. It's on my name badge, its on my desk, its on my email, my instant messaging. I've told you. Not a "D", an "N".

4. You have the same conversation several times a day. I know the Lakers won. I'm not happy about it either, but it is what it is. No need to rehash it every hour.

5. You think you are an expert in sports, but as far as I can tell you've never picked a winner. Celtics, Rockets, Nuggets, Cleveland.. Its one thing to root for the team, but don't talk big about what's gonna happen, and then come up with excuses once the opposite happens.

6. You be interrupting people's conversations. Son, do you see me talking? Well, I wasn't talking to you. Wait your turn, better yet raise your hand and wait for me to call on you.

7. How old are you anyway? You look like about 60, but your wife just had a baby? And you got Rick Ross as your ringtone? I don't hate you for being old, I hate you because I can't figure out how old you are. LOL (yes, I know this one was a stretch.)

8. You be looking over my shoulder. Don't worry about what I'm doing on my computer. Don't be trying to look at my Facebook pictures. Or at the very least, at least be discreet about it.

9. You be lying. Why is you lying, yo? Whenever a celebrity is brought up, you say you know them. For real, you went to school with Gabrielle Union? For real, you homeboy is Dwight Howard's step father? For real, random NFL player used to date your sister? Stop lying!!!

10. You talk to me. While I don't mind some people talking to me, you aren't one of them. We aren't friends. I don't like you. That's why I ignore you when you speak. Or pretend to be on the phone, or elongate conversations with other people so I don't have to talk to you. It's also the reason I changed my desk at work. I don't want to hear you drone on and on about stuff I don't care about.

Thursday Thirteen: What I've Been Doing In The Week Since I've Blogged.

1. Getting a concussion. A mild one, but my head was hurting for 2 days. I got hit in the bumper on I 75. I’m cool. Thanks for your concern. LOL

2. Hanging out with Jameil. She came down Tuesday!!!

3. Watching inordinate amounts of Dexter. I got a couple of DVDs from Netflix, and then instead of waiting for the rest, I downloaded the rest of season 2 and 3. 24 episodes in a weekend.

4. Watching an inordinate amount of “Weeds.” After I got done with “Dexter”, I moved on to Weeds. Downloaded the 4th season of that.

5. Making excuses for not blogging. Honestly, I didn’t feel like it, so I didn’t do it. *Insertlameexcusehere*

6. Coming up with a plan to rule the world. Well, not exactly world domination, but I need to make moves. The writing is on the wall at work, and I need to have a plan.

7. Doing as much of nothing as possible at work. Between the slow times and the computer issues, a couple of days I shouldn’t even be there. It’s like a full time job not to go home early. (although I’m salaried, they take that time out of my check.)

8. Not calling people back, or not responding to emails. Umm, yeah, you all know that’s how I roll.

9. Making fun of people. Since it’s been so slow at work, this gives me lots of time for laughing and joking with the co workers. The more they talk, the more ammunition they give me for comedy. I wish I would have blogged about some of these situations, as they cracked me up.

10. Getting harassed by Aries. You saw the post last week from the old girl that I haven’t seen since 97. I got another facebook message from a different Aries who evidently neglects to see all the pictures of me and Jameil. Come on, Aries women, stop trying to get at me. LOL

11. Starting and stopping writing. I got drafts both in blogger and in my work email that I haven’t finished. At least when I finally decide to become a full time blogger, I won’t have far to go to find ideas.

12. Becoming more and more frustrated with the co workers incessant talk about losing weight. How many crazy diet ideas can you try, before you decide to bite the bullet and actually walk down that one flight of stairs. At the very least don’t talk loudly about your BMs and your colon cleansing. I don’t want to know about it.

13. Teased people to their faces... and they didn't catch on. We had a meeting the other day at work. This guy was supposed to be facilitating it, but knew nothing of what he spoke. After 5 minutes of silently mocking, I decided to "help" him. I turned on the overhead projector and found all the answers that he didn't know. I was mocking him, but he really, really thought I was helping him. Everybody cracked up, but at the end of the meeting, he stated "I'm going to look to you for help next meeting." Dog, you didn't even see that I was calling you dumb and undermining your authority. What a waste of sarcasm. LOL

A Late Thursday Thirteen: The Biggest Loser

So, they are doing a Biggest Loser type thing at my job where different teams get together and try to lose weight. You may be thinking, how can Rashan possibly be in opposition to that? Well, I'll tell you. While I'm all for people getting healthy, the team names some of these people are using are just ridiculous. Keep in mind this is a WORK thing... Here are thirteen of my least favorite Biggest Loser - Work Edition Names...

1. Baby Phat
2. Brick Houses
3. Bringing Sexxxy Back
4. Don't Feed The Models
5. Dyme Divas
6. Dynomite Divas
7. Divas Going To Knock Off Pounds
8. Divine Divas
   
9. Dropping It Like It's Hot
10. Keepin It Real
11. Northside Dymes
12. Poundz Krushers
13. Thick Wit It

Why everybody gotta be a diva? LOL. They sent an email to EVERYONE in the building. All departments. All department heads. All executives. Then they proceeded to talk trash to each other...copying EVERYONE on the emails. So ridiculously unprofessional. Or maybe I'm just a hater. I've been known to do that too. LOL

The Reason It Took So Long For Me To Join Facebook

Help me out with something. I need your input about something. Read the following facebook message and tell me how I should respond.

I can't believe how you have changed

May 6 at 10:59am

You have changed drastically. When you first contacted me you seemed to be enthusiastic about it. Now I ask you to call and you won't even pick up the phone. I am confused. I thought we were going to reunite and have a tight friendship again. I guess some things and some people really do change.
Please call
904-XXX XXXX

This Girl I Went To College With And Haven't Seen Since 1997

Response #1.

I'm sorry that I haven't responded immediately to your request. I thought that since I haven't seen you since college graduation, and have talked to you once in 12 years, that there was no sense of urgency. Obviously, I was mistaken. I'll be sure to contact you as soon as I wake up. Perhaps we can stay on the phone all day too. Or maybe I'll just take off of work and come to ____ and visit you. Also, thanks for reminding me that I contacted you. I was under the mistaken impression that you were the one that was looking for me for 12 years, and you were the one that found me on facebook, and that you were the one that called me 7 times in 2 days.

Response #2

Ummm... did you just send me a message about how horrible I am, and then tell me to call you? Why exactly would you want to talk to me? Why exactly would I want to talk to you if you think I'm such a cad?

Response # 3

Yeah, I changed. I hope you changed too. If you are the same person you were 12 years ago, then I think something is wrong.

Response # 4

Just so you aren't confused anymore, repeat after me: Rashan (Rashan) does NOT (does NOT) call people (call people.) If he did (If he did), you can stop repeating after me now... If he did, he would not call you. He has not talked to you in years, you and he have not been friends in years. One conversation of catching up is one conversation of catching up. It's not an invitation to be a part of Rashan's life. Facebook friends doesn't mean real life friends...

Response #5

LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU CRAZY ARIES WOMAN!!! SERIOUSLY, ARE ALL ARIES OUT OF THEIR MINDS!!!!! AND DO YOU ALL HAVE TO KNOW ME???

Response #6 (the one I'm most likely to do)

*CRICKETS*
*SILENCE*
*NO RESPONSE*

Delete message, delete as facebook friend, don't ever speak to again.

Response # 7 - A Picture is worth a thousands rejections




What do you think? Which one response should I give? Or go ahead and make one up in the comments.

Everybody's Doing It/Subconscious

Everybody's doing it:

So why shouldn't I? Seems like everywhere I look, people are slacking on the blog game. I blame facebook and twitter. It's a lot easier to just write a one sentence blurb than an entire blog post. But that's not my reason for not writing. I just didn't feel like it. I had a routine that I've fallen out of, and am trying to get back, but I won't make any promises. I haven't posted in almost a week, but to be honest I haven't even really thought about it (except when Jameil is harassing me about my lack of posting.) I was even off work today, but still found other things to occupy my time. Anyway, I guess the first step to getting back in the blog routine is to actually write something, so here goes nothing...

Subconscious

The other day at work I realized that my subconscious made me do something that my conscious mind didn't realize. I admit this to you, because I just know that none of my regular readers (except Jameil) will judge me. Here goes: I realized that when having a conversation with a gay man, of which there are plenty at my job, I go out of my way to make sure that other people know I'm not gay too. This entails a subconscious deepening of the voice, putting extra distance between us, grabbing the booty of the first female that walks by, and mentioning my girlfriend more than usual. My conscious mind doesn't care what people think of me, but subconsciously I realize that I do. That got me thinking about some other things that my subconscious makes me do. Wanna read a list? Good, cuz here is one:

Flinch: I flinch when someone touches me. It can be something as simple as tapping me on my shoulder or someone trying to hug me. I can feel myself recoiling at the prospect of unsolicited human contact.

Get Nervous When My Mom Calls: I always get shook when I see Mom Cell on my caller Id. I don't know what I expect to hear, but I always assume the worst. Like either someone died, or I forgot someones birthday, I just always get a feeling of dread.

Turn the radio/tv when I hear the name Obama: I just don't wanna hear any more criticism. I think I take it way more personally than I should. My solution is to just avoid it.

Look away: I'm a people watcher. I'm always observing some odd behavior. But when someone sees me looking, I immediately turn away. Even if my conscious mind wants them to know that I see the crazy mess they are doing, my subconscious wont let me.

Put Pen in Mouth: When I want to smoke, my pen serves as a surrogate black and mild. My addiction is pathetic, I know. Please no lectures.

Pretend to be on phone: If I'm on break and someone approaches me, I pull the phone out real quick and pretend to be on a call. Its mad obvious, and one of these days, I'm going to hurt someone's feelings, but you know what, blame it on the subconscious.

There probably are some more, but now Jameil is on the phone and we are going to watch a movie. So I'll talk to you guys later...

Lies: The Science Fair Project

I was supposed to add some details to my post about lying last week. Here is one of those stories:


When I was a kid, I was a horrible student. Don’t get me wrong, I was probably one of the smartest kids in my school, but I was lazy, disorganized, and generally determined not to do homework. My natural intelligence usually got me out of any jams, but in 7th grade, the situation came to a head. *EDIT* Now that I think about it, it may have been 8th grade. I actually might be mixing 2 stories up. Dang, I’m getting old.

It was time for the annual science fair. As always, I procrastinated. I started my project with good intentions about a month before it was due, but never quite picked it up where I left off. My project was something about determining the different kinds of metals in US Coins. I know even the topic was lazy. I could look all that up in the library. But whatever, my teacher approved it, so I was on my way. I had everything I needed: triptych, stencils – so the writing would be neat, chemistry set… All I needed was to actually do the tests, and write the report. But I didn’t… When it got time for the day of the Science Fair, I had a half finished triptych, no actual testing done and a report that consisted of 3 handwritten pages with no bibliography, no conclusions and I’m pretty sure I didn’t even put my name on it. My mom didn’t really supervise my work at that point, so I was able to get out of the house without her checking it. I carried my triptych to the bus, and took the bus ride across town to DeRenne Middle School. As I sat on the bus, I was thinking, “I can’t turn this in. It would be better to get an F for not turning it in, than for turning in a sub par product.”

But then I caught a break. My homeroom teacher told us to set up our projects in the library. The bright idea hit me then. It was a lie, not a very good one, but one that I stuck to. “I put my Science Fair project in the library. I don’t know what happened after that.” As all the other kids walked to the library, I walked the other way to the dumpster. I dumped my half finished triptych in the dumpster behind the cafeteria. I then walked nervously, yet coolly to the library to join my classmates. I was a bit of a loner, so I didn’t have to really worry about people questioning me about my project.

About a week later, the teacher returned the Science Fair projects reports to our class. Kids exclaimed as they got their A’s, some winced as they got C’s, but of course, I didn’t get a paper back.

“Mrs. Spann – I didn’t get my report back”

“Well, we need to talk about that after class. I never got a science fair project from you.”

“I put it in the library.”

“Well, I never got it. We’ll need to discuss this with your parents.”

Man, I was shook. I never had any bad parent teacher conferences. Sure, I got some poor progress reports telling my mom that I needed to do my homework, but I never showed them to her. As long as my grades were good at the end of the semester, that was all she needed to know. Now, we were gonna have to meet with Mrs Spann, and there was no way I could avoid that. I decided to do a preemptive strike when I got home. I had thought about it on the bus ride home. I needed irrefutable details. The slightest deviation from the story and the lie would fail. I practiced the perfect mix of disappointment and righteous indignation. I even planned out the sad look I was gonna throw out. I was a lying machine. I know I sound like a sociopath, and I guess I was back then. Everybody lies, but not everybody would go to the lengths that I did to avoid getting in trouble.

“Mom, they lost my science fair project. I put it in the library with the rest, and now it’s gone. Mrs. Spann says I’m gonna get a zero.”

She musta knew I was running game cuz she looked skeptical. But after giving her made up details of the project including when and where I did the tests, she started believing me. It was hard to keep up the lie, but I did it. I somehow managed to not only convince my mother, but myself that I did the project. It was almost like I was telling the truth, that’s how convincing I was. So convincing that my mom had my back and got me a do over on the project. I still didn’t put my all into it and wound up getting a C, but a C is much better than a zero. LOL

I know, lying is wrong, but it worked out this time. Go ahead and scold me for lying to my mom. I think the statute of limitations has run out sometime over the last 20 years. LOL

Pandemic

For real, son. I’m on the lookout for the swine flu. I don’t know how people really get it, but I’m gonna do this my way. If you nasty, I’m avoiding you. If you sneezing, I’m avoiding you. If you bring food into work, I’m avoiding both you and it. Nah, I don’t want none of your potato salad with the special swine flu sauce. I’m good on your instant death spaghetti. I don’t know about you, but I’m not trying to get dead from the sniffles. Also, don’t touch my computer. I can handle my own germs, I don’t need yours. That’s ain’t what’s hot in the ’09.Which leads me to today’s tomfoolery. I’m in the restroom washing my hands, which I tend to do compulsively when I think about pandemics. This dude walks in, goes to the urinal, then before I’m even finished washing my hands, walks straight out. Doesn’t stop at the sink for even a pretend washing, just walks straight out. I was appalled. You read stories about stuff like this happening, but when it happens to you… *holds back tears* I felt so violated. His germs were all over the place. I’m looking around like I’m on Punk’d or something. Grown men don’t do this, do they? Professional cats wash their hands, right?

So, now I’m wondering where on the door did this dude touch. Did he use the handle? Or did he click the handicap easy open button? Anywhere on the wood? I can’t touch this door. I’m like Monk. Everywhere I look I see little pathogens waiting to kill me. Why don’t I have some rubber gloves? A hazmat suit? A surgical mask? This junk could be airborne. Great, now I’m dodging imaginary viruses and bacteria surrounding me. I probably should get the heck out of this bathroom, but I can’t help but wash my hands one more time. Hopefully, I’ll avoid this flu, but just any case, does anyone have one of those radiation scrubbing things? I didn’t know where the germs were, so I just kicked open the door. Luckily, it opens automatically once it cracks, so I didn’t have to touch anything.

I swear to God, when I see that dude again, I’m gonna find out who he is, and I’m a totally tell everybody that he’s nasty. I’m gonna paint a scarlet SF (for swine flu, duh!) on his suit. I’m gonna spray Lysol on that cat. It’s gonna be on!!! Or more likely, I’ll just head in the other direction for fear that his non hands washing self might be emanating staph infections and swine flu. Even if he ain’t sick, that’s pretty nasty. How you gonna handle your junk and not wash your hands. Nasty Bastid!!!

10 Years Ago

Ten years ago today, I stopped smoking weed. I know most people don't remember the exact day, but I'll never forget. I made a vow to stop and I (with the exception of 2 slip ups) stuck to it. Weed was fun, but it also got me into some situations I shouldn't be in. I originally was gonna just repost an entry from my old blog, but there were way too many stories that involved weed. Before I moved to Atlanta, I was a weekend weedhead. I was never that type that had to smoke everyday, but you best believe on the weekend, it was on. But I'm good now. I still think it should be legal, but thats another post. I don't miss weed, but every now and then, I wonder what it would be like now. I should celebrate my 10 year anniversary with a Philly. LOL

Anyway, if you are bored over the weekend, or just want to know some more about young and crazy Rashan, check out these posts from my old blog. There's probably more cursing than I do here, so be warned. Also, if you see me refer to myself as T. or Terrance, that was my old blog name. If you comment, please comment here, cuz I will not be checking the old blog. Otherwise, I'll be back Monday with a new post.

So High I Could Kiss The Sky

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Thursday Thirteen: 13 Lies I've Told

Let me know if you want additional details or a post about any of these.

13 Lies I've Told:

1. Convinced my mom (and myself) that I actually did my science fair project in 7th grade.

2. Told people I was in the Whodini video for “The Freaks Come Out At Night”

3. Convinced stalker ex girlfriend that I was married.

4. Told Bear I didn’t know who robbed him. (Two guesses who it was? LOL)

5. Yeah, I’ll be there at 10 O’ Clock (and then just don’t show up.)

6. I was home all night. Nope, I didn’t go anywhere.

7. No, I didn’t see you. You were there too? Wow, we should have hung out!

8. I’ve never seen that girl outside of work. You know co workers are off limits.

9. No, I wasn’t paying attention. What did she look like?

10. I emailed you that report last night. It must have gotten caught up in my Outlook. I’ll resend it right away.

11. I left my last job as a result of lay offs.

12. Convinced myself that my first fake girlfriend was actually real. (Not like a imaginary friend. I made the story up and forgot it wasn’t true.)

13. I really liked your CD. My favorite song? Uhhh – track 5?

Another Edition Of Rashan Decides To Be A Jerk

So, I’m on break yesterday when I decided to be a big fat jerk. The situation is as follows. This guy I kinda know came outside looking for someone. Then he decided to involve me. The following conversation ensued. He started it off...

“What’s up man!”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing much, I’m supposed to meet someone out here.”

“Okay”

“Did you see anyone out here?”

“There were a few people out here. Who are you looking for?”

“I’m supposed to meet someone out here.”

“So you said…”

I leave it alone. He obviously doesn’t want to talk about it. He looks around some more, looking really suspicious and impatient.

“Man, where is she?”

“Who?”

“The person I’m supposed to meet.”

He was being mad cryptic, and it was annoying. If you don’t want to talk about it, then don’t bring it up. And that’s when I decided to be a jerk…

“Why are you being so cryptic? You on some corporate espionage stuff? Are you looking for your weed dealer or something?”

He laughs.

“You get set up on a blind date at work?”

He laughs again..

“Ugly girl? Or better yet, it’s a dude, isn’t it?

More laughter…

“I just don’t know what she looks like. It’s not a date. I’m supposed to give her something.”

“You mean ‘him’? You gonna give it to him?”

No laughter…

“Too far?”

“Yeah, a little bit…”


This post has no ending. He just left after that and I laughed at my jerkitude. I guess that’s one way to get people to leave me alone.

Ten Things I Don't Understand

I’m sure I’ve written about this previously, but I don’t feel like looking for the link. Here are some things I currently don’t understand.

1. Why people talk with their hands while there on the phone. The person can’t see you. No need for the gesticulation. She can’t see you flipping her off or pointing wildly in the air.

2. Why sidewalks have cracks. I’m not talking about the wear and tear cracks, but the intentional cracks that grass and bugs come out of. I know this one makes no sense, but I was thinking about it, so I decided to type it.

3. Why men dye their hair. Nothing is crazier than seeing a dark skinned dude with light brown hair. Cut that stuff out.

4. Why men wear colored contacts. *insert own smart comment here*

5. Why I am scared of bees. Not the ones that sting, but those big bumble bee types that don’t even have stingers. They can’t sting me, so why do I jump every time I see one flying near me?

6. Why people actually want to see that new Beyonce movie. The previews make it look horrible. Then again, most people like Tyler Perry too, which I NEVER have understood.

7. The correlation between oil prices and gas prices. Jameil explained it to me a while ago, but I forgot.

8. Why people think they know who is going to win the Super Bowl, NBA Championship, World Series etc, before the season starts. Anything can happen. People can get hurt, or arrested or just have a bad year. I understand making a prediction, but arguing people down about something that hasn’t happened yet seems like a waste of time.

9. Why I listen to Sports Radio. See above for reasons I shouldn’t. It annoys me to no end, so why do I subject myself to it voluntarily?

10. The inspirational quote of the day. Every day at work we get a quote. Most of them are from people that I’ve never heard of. How is that supposed to inspire me? What makes them worthy of being quoted? Or it’ll come from an unknown source? Basically, what that means to me is that you made up that quote. Or even worse… whenever the quote of the day comes from a black person, they’ll say… African American poet, or African American actor. True story… The quote of the day last week was from Steve Harvey…African American actor/comedian. For real? The quote of the day is from Steve Hightower? What’s next, Piggy gonna be our CEO? And wait??? Steve Harvey is black??? I had no idea, and further more, how is that relevant?


That last one should have been a post in itself... Oh well, I'll stop now before this turns into a Thursday Thirteen.

Whole Bunch of Nothing

That's what I did this weekend. I only left my crib for about 10 minutes to get something to drink. Other than that, I was plopped down on the couch watching tons of tv, talking on the phone or eating the food I cooked. When I got off work Friday night, I went to the grocery store so I wouldn't have to go out to get anything to eat this weekend. Saturday, I made turkey burgers and nachos (not to eat together, but because I have to be in the mood to actually cook, and who knows when that will strike again.) Then I proceeded to watch 18 out of 20 episodes of Battlestar Galactica season 2, both on dvd and online. I had to tell you what I was watching because Jameil thinks it weird. I promise I'm not a sci fi nerd, but that show is really, really good. Besides, I don't think its any stranger than her goal of watching 750 movies in this year. I also watched 5 episodes of Rome on HBO On Demand, and a few episodes of 30 Rock on the computer. Then Sunday night, I watched a couple of movies with Jameil over the phone.

Yep, I sat around all weekend. Did not a thing. For most people that would be boring, but not me. I enjoy my nothing weekends when I have no demands on my time, or nothing to worry about. But alas, its over. Today, its back to the grind. Clients, and coworkers, and management demands. My company reports its first quarter earnings today, so hopefully that'll go well. Our CEO already has a town hall meeting scheduled for all the employees. Its hard to tell if this will be a celebratory propaganda meeting or a reassuring propaganda session in the face of bad numbers. Either way, I'm ready for the propanda. Let's hope for the best.

Hope everybody has a productive Monday. Talk to you all later.

I Want A Divorce

I've been thinking lately that I need a divorce from rap music. Not hip hop, although its becoming increasingly difficult to find the distinction nowadays. I never thought I would be that guy. You know the one that waxes philosophic about the good old days, I have to admit that I am. I've always had an appreciation for the music I grew up with, but I used to be able to keep an open mind about new stuff. Whereas, I would rather listen to Rakim, I could still appreciate T.I.'s music. Or, Nas has been my favorite, but that wouldn't preclude me from listening to Ludacris. To me, it wasn't as good as the music I grew up with, but I still liked it. Maybe I couldn't listen to an entire Fabolous album all the way through like I did with Das Efx, but it still had its moments.

But lately, rap sucks. If you can even call it rap anymore. There are too many adolescents copying each other's wack styles, using wack similes, rapping over wack beats, exhibiting total and utter wackness. Its not the subject matter to me. One thing that hasn't changed about me is that I don't care what you rap about, as long as you have a good flow and some clever lyrics. I mean, I listened to NWA talk about murdering dudes and selling drugs and causing general mayhem. Stuff that was far from my reality, but it sounded good so I dug it. Don't get me started on Jay-Z's materialism and drug smuggling rhymes. I don't know nothing about that, but he had a flow that was amazing and his rhymes weren't just run of the mill. I know this was a serious digression, but I just want you to know that I haven't grown into a prude in my old age. I will still rock some old gangsta stuff. Just gangsta stuff from the 90's.

I turn on the radio and I hear, for lack of a better word, garbage. And I'm aware that there has always been garbage on the radio, and will always be garbage on the radio. It never used to bother me. In fact, I would take pride in the fact that I hated that garbage. The only difference between now and then, is that I used to have an alternative. I could watch Rap City and Yo! MTV Raps and hear stuff that didn't get played on the radio. Hell, I could even turn on Hits From The Street, or Miss Cita's World and hear some non radio songs. I bought albums nobody ever heard of (for instance, I had that Jay-Z Reasonable Doubt album before anybody in my city even really knew who he was.) I can't tell you the last time I bought an album. (Actually, I can. It was Kanye's Graduation album) With the exception of a few cats out, I'm just not moved by any of the new music, underground or commercial.

So, yeah, I digressed majorly. The point of the post was to say, I want a divorce from the rap game. I don't care about all the fake beef, I don't care about people that can't seperate their real lives from their rap lives. I don't care about these ringtone rappers. I don't care about people that rap about the same thing people been rapping about for 20 years, and can't find a new way to say anything. I don't care about these rappers that don't even enuciate enough for you to realize that what they are saying doesn't really rhyme. I don't care about these rappers with no craft, no talent, no intelligence, no other word in their vocabulary besides swagger. I just don't care. I want a divorce from rap. If you need me, I'll be laid up in the cut listening to some neo soul or my Boogie Down Productions CD from 1988.

The Hook Up

Remember when you were in high school and where ever you went, you'd get the hook up? Go to Burger King and that girl that thinks you are cute gives you an order of free fries. Or order a small cone at Dairy Queen, and your homeboy makes it a large with two scoops? Or that loser in your gym glass gave you free filet o fishes at Mickey D's so you wouldn't beat him up the next day? Or go to Chik Fil A, no... wait, I couldn't ever get the hook up at Chik Fil A. It's like they count the nuggets by hand or something. Anyway, the point is, as you get older, its harder and harder to get a hook up. For real, hopefully your friends aren't still working in fast food, and if they are, one would hope they are the manager...

This weekend, however, the hookup came out in full effect. Jameil and I went to this restaurant in Gainesville. I wont put the name because of what happened that night. It was pretty empty, but a nice atmosphere. It was a tapas type place, so we ordered a bunch of different tastes and a couple of drinks. The waiter at first seemed like it was his first day or something. He didn't really know too much about the menu, and didn't even know about the drinks on the menu. It was still cool, though. The food was banging...I'm sure Jam will tell you about it on her blog. My first drink.. a tanqueray and tonic was okay, but not real strong. When it came time for the second drink, the waiter asked if I wanted another one. He said he would make it himself because "they act like they don't know how to make strong drinks." That was cool with me. When I got the drink, it was like 97.3% Tanq, and 2.7% tonic. That's what I'm talking about.

That was the first hook up, but when it came time for the check, I was shocked. This dude didn't put any of the 4 drinks we had on the bill. And one of the dishes wasn't on the check either. Dinner and drinks for two for $33!!! I gave him a nice tip and bounced before he could change his mind. Yo, I got the hook up for the first time in years. It made me remember those good old days when you could get something from nothing. I wonder if this can be the start of a new trend. Can grown people get the hook up? Like can you go to your doctor for a physical and get a prostate exam for free? I'm saying.. buy one house get a foreclosed property for the free? (My blog OCD wants me to come up with a third example, but I can't think of anything...) I don't know, but anyone wanna give me the hookup, just let me know. I'll be cool and I won't snitch. LOL

Snap Out Of It

I'm feeling annoyed for no good reason. I can't figure it out. I was off work yesterday, and instead of enjoying the solitude like I usually do, I just found myself restless. What I thought was the cause of my annoyance, as I thought about it, was only a secondary cause. I was feeling annoyed since I woke up yesterday morning. Whatever the cause, I need to snap out of it. I can't stand feeing annoyed with the world. It causes me to say stuff that hurts peoples feelings or just avoiding people altogether. This doesn't happen often, but I usually have some things I can do to get rid of this blah feeling.

Step One: Sleep - I tried this last night. I went to bed at a decent hour, but found myself waking up annoyed every couple of hours. Usually, I can go right back to sleep, but it wasn't working last night. Every little thing woke me up. The dog across the way that barks incessantly that I can usually tune out, the train whistle that I never hear when I'm sleep, the sirens emanating from the fire station that's close to me. Last night, I heard all of those things. Sleep didn't work, so let's move to step two.

Step Two: Long Hot Shower - Something about the hot water soothes me. I did this today before going to work. We'll see how it goes. I felt great while in the shower, but as soon as got dressed to leave, that old familiar annoyance came back.

Step Three: Talib Kweli's "Get By" - Something about this song gets me going when I'm not feeling it. It's one of my artificial hypeners (yes, i know that's not a word.) If that doesn't work, then I can move on to Raekwon's "Glaciers of Ice." One of these should get me pumped up to face the day at work. If not, then I just have to fake it at work today.

Step Four: Don't Talk To Anyone -If all else fails, I just have to go solo today. No team building. No laughing and joking with the co workers. Just me and my computer and my work. Conversations that I usually find funny will just annoy me when I'm in this mindstate. People will seem infinitely dumber than they usually do.

I sure hope these work. I usually don't feel blah for more than 24 hours and hopefully the trend will continue and I can go back to being the easygoing, funloving, jokecracking dude you all know and love. I'm just saying though, there better not be no traffic today. I don't wanna have road rage today. I'm already annoyed enough at little things. I need to snap out of it.

Overheard at Work

Conversation 1

Lesbian Co-Worker: GOD I HATE MEN!!!

Rashan: We hate you too! LOL

Lesbian Co-Worker: Not you, Rashan. You and Al (another co worker) are cool. In fact, you are the only men besides my daddy I like.

Rashan: Wow.

Lesbian Co-Worker: Oh, and Lebron James. You, Al, and Lebron. I hate the rest of them mutha...

Conversation 2:

Rashan: Aiight, y'all. I'm outta here. Good Night.

Co-Worker: You need to stop being so mean.

Rashan: What is you talking about?

Co-Worker: Stop being so mean and you'll find you a good woman.

Rashan: I got one, for about 8 months now.

Co-Worker: See, I know your type. You like pushing people away.

Rashan: Yeah, but it doesn't seem to be working now.

Conversation 3:

Redneck Electrician: Yeah, boy. I tell you my woman dragged me to yoga class.

Black Electrician: Yoga?

Redneck: Yeah, I tell you what. That's not a place that you wanna be with your women.

Black: Why not?

Redneck: There some fine lil honeys bending over and contorting. You cain't help but look.

Black: (laughs)

Redneck: I wanted to do some of them girls downward doggie-style...

Oh, and I forgot to tell you April Fools. LOL!

Sports and Race: If Jay Cutler Was Black

Sorry, Non- Sports Fans, but I had to rant about this. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, google Jay Cutler. He’s an NFL quarterback

If Jay Cutler, he wouldn’t get the benefit of the doubt like he currently is receiving. There wouldn’t be throngs of teams clamoring to trade for him. Teams would avoid him, sports radio would vilify him, fans would shun him. Not real fans, but those that expect their athletes to be perfect, instead of people. They’d spout venom about his immaturity and tell America that he’s exhibiting prima donna behavior. They’d suggest that he’s a distraction that needs to be fined, suspended, cut from the team. There wouldn’t even be a discussion about who’s right or wrong. The team is more important than one player. They need to make an example out of him. Be harsh with him and the rest of the league will understand that conduct detrimental to the team will not be tolerated. You can’t stand for that. No player is bigger than the team. No player can be allowed to show up his coach like that. No player can just not return the owner’s phone calls. He’d be considered a cancer, America’s favorite word to describe black athletes.

But he’s not black. So he gets exactly what he wanted. He doesn’t have to pay any fines. He's not suspended. He gets to leave the team that he’s under contract to. He gets the benefit of the doubt from the sports public. I’m not saying this situation is racism (at least not deliberate racism), but there definitely is a double standard at work. If you wanna take race out of it, call this post… If Jay Cutler was Terrell Owens…or If Jay Cutler was Allen Iverson… or If Jay Cutler was Manny Ramirez… Basically, any man of color can’t assert himself like Jay Cutler did and get away with it with his reputation unscathed.

Thursday Thirteen: Things I Do NOT Want At My Wedding.

Thirteen Things I DON'T Want At My Wedding

1. Electric Slide - Or bus stop, or cha cha slide, or whatever new "I'm doing the same organized dance as the other 200 people on the dance floor" dance that's out. I know its a black tradition to throw on the Earth Wind & Fire and sliiiiiide to the left, but that's verbotten at my wedding.

2. Visible tattoos - I was in my cousins wedding and all the bridesmaids, in addition to looking like strippers, had these hideous prison tatts showing on their bare arms and backs. I'm not trying to see a tattoo of your baby daddy who got shot in 04 in my wedding pictures.

3 White Tux - Having worn a white tux in both my aforementioned cousin's and my mother's wedding, I can categorically say that I do NOT look good in a white tux, therefore there will be no white tuxedos in my wedding. *Sidenote* my cousin tricked me into the white tux thing. I got measured in a black tux, and then when I went to pick it up in Dallas, it was white. I was heated, yo!

4 Trendy hairstyles - Let's keep it classy and timeless. (I sound like Puffy.) I don't want my groomsmen rocking cornrows or a fauxhawk. And I don't want the latest ghetto bright hair color for the bridesmaids. Again, these wedding pictures are gonna last a lifetime. Let's try to think about the future.

5. Long sermon - I don't want the officiant to use my wedding as practice for Sunday's sermon. Keep it short and sweet. We can have communion another time.

6. Candles - If I'm gonna be up in a hot church in a monkey suit, last thing I need is more heat radiating and making me hot. I'm a sweater by nature, and I just might be nervous, so let's just pass on the extra open flames. (I've been talked into the Unity Candle - but candles as decoration are out)

7. Exes - Yeah, they can't come. No matter how cool we are, they just gonna have to miss out on this event. I can just see one of my old stalkers showing up trying to object to my impending nuptials. Pass on that.

8. Pinning Money - I think its tacky to pin money on the bride. Plus, I don't really want no one getting that close to her bosoms like that. Bad enough people gonna be hugging and kissing on her all day. LOL - We can do this Godfather style, just hand me an envelope stuffed with cash and we are all good.

9. Cake Fights - I don't like the whole smashing cake in the face thing. I know people get a kick out of it, but shove some cake in my face and see what happens. Nothing? Okay, so I'm all talk, but let me shove cake in Jameil's face and see what happens. LOL.

10. A Mean Wedding Coordinator - I don't want to plan my whole wedding. In fact, I'd like to just show up and say I do. But, I can't take people talking to me all kind of way. I know that the coordinator has a high stress job, but I tend to do the opposite of what I'm ordered to do. They need to watch how they talk to me.

11. A Huge Wedding Party - Some weddings are just too big. You really gotta have all 9 members of Wu-Tang as your groomsman. Do you really need every girl that went to summer camp with you as bridesmaids? And the kids? I love the kids. Kids are cute. But there needs to be a limit to the number of kids you have in your wedding. Not all kids can handle it. You may need to break out the American Idol style tryouts to whittle the list down.

12. No Wedding Crashers - You wanna come? R.S.V.P. I'm thinking that I might need to have bouncers and a velvet rope. You ain't gonna mess up my seating arrangement.

13. Coonin' - No pimpin' down the aisle. No flashing grills. No canes. No oversized T Pain top hats. No Stanky leggin'. None of that ghetto stuff. Be hip hop on your own time.

Internal Monologue

1 AM:

What am I waiting for? I love her. I need her. I can't stand being away from her. When I'm not with her, she's all I think about. We are perfect together. Everybody says it. Her mom likes me. My mom likes her. I think I've done okay with her friends. I don't have any friends so that's not an issue. We talked about it. Said we would wait for a least a year before we got engaged. But, I don't want to wait. I want her in my life forever. I want her to have my kids. I want two, she wants three, but we can work that out later. The first step is to do this.

3 AM:

I'm really gonna do this. I can't wait any longer. If I leave now, I can be there by 8. I know she'll be surprised. She better be surprised. She doesn't know about the ring. The only secret I've been able to keep from her.

5 AM:

What am I doing? I'm not spontaneous like this. I wanted to plan out something elaborate. I should just turn around and go home. What if she says no? Man, I didn't think about that. What if she says no???

8 AM:

I gotta do it. I've never felt like this before. She is my future, my love, my forever... Let's do this...

9 AM:

She said YES!!!

Segregation

I'm here to tell you that segregation is alive and well. At least it is at my job. I guess it always has been, but I took break at a different time yesterday, with people I don't know, and realized how much birds of a feather truly flocked together. And its not just race, although that is a big factor as well. Here are some of the cliques I noticed...

The Black Group - You'll conversations about For The Love of Ray J, Beyonce and 'em.

The White Group - Usually talking in hushed tones about Obama or Bill O'Reilly. They are out numbered, so they usually huddle together when the topic is controversial.

The Asians - Talking about computers or something.

The Latinos- Don't really know what they are talking about because they alternate between English and Spanish.

Samoans - Do the Humpty Hump.. Do the Humpty Hump... (Just kidding, their aren't any Samoans, but do you remember in that song when randomly bust out with Samoans? Ridiculous..)

Then it breaks down even further....

The Black Hot Girls - These are the ones wearing the tight jeans and heels in the summer, or the tight jeans and furry boots in the winter. They always got their hair done and are talking on the phone or to each other about going out to some club where a celebrity is gonna be.

The Dominican Hot Girls - Always seem angry. Always for some reason sound like they are from New York. Can be heard cursing some one out in English and Spanish loudly. Quick to call the person they are talking to on the phone "stoooopid."

The Black Gay Guys - They sound like a walking stereotype. Many "giirrrrls" and lispy talking about American Idol.

The Black Straight Guys - Sports, Women, Music all day, every day.

The Seth Rogan White Guys - They look like the guy from Knocked Up with the scruffy beard, slacker look. Talking about electronics and World of Warcraft. They are sarcastically funny and never cease to crack me up with their strange sense of humor.

The Mom Jeans group -Talk about their mini vans, or home improvement shows or something that their kid did at school.

The Real Lesbians - look like a guy, talk like a guy, dress like a guy. talk about girls booties.

The Fake Lesbians - look like a girl, talk like a girl, dress like a girl. like girls (most of the time).

The Big Girls - for some reason they all hang out together.

The Storytellers - doesn't matter what race they are, they all hang out together. In the course of 15 minutes you can hear them competing to see who has the most outrageous story. I don't think they even listen to each other, just waiting for a lull to start talking.

The Black White Girls - always talking about how fly Rashan is. How can they get Rashan? Why wont Rashan talk to me? LOL

The Rashan - always by himself. Either on the phone or got the iPod playing. People from all groups talk to him, especially when he doesn't want to hear what they have to say allowing him to notice and document the many different segregated groups at work. Wants to be segregated, but they wont let him. LOL


Is your workplace segregated? What are some of the groups you see at your job?

5 Days

5 Days of blogging? It used to be nothing to me, but I think its been months since I did it. Well, this week, I'm going back to my roots. I'm gonna blog M-F. I promise. Wait, I don't promise, because something could happen but I'm gonna do my darnedest. I even got some stuff in my drafts to help me through. Is that cheating? Not sure, but I am sure that I don't care. This ain't no competition. If it is, then it's solely in my head. Nobody is out there competing with me. At least, I don't think they are. Are you? Are you getting satisfaction from my lack of blogging. Do you think you can beat me? Is that a challenge? Oh, it's like that? Okay, it's on...

Well, obviously you can tell, I'm feeling silly right now. And I know this was a lackluster first post, but I'll do better during the week. I just got in from Gainesville, and the other day, I drove to Savannah, before driving to Gainesville. I've been in the car way too much this weekend to come up with a good post right now. So, I'll call it a night, and write something better tomorrow.

PS - Anybody doing good in their NCAA brackets? I'm done. I suck. Memphis and Duke were supposed to play for the title. The only final four team I picked correctly was UConn. And my favorite team Syracuse is out. I'm ready for football season now. LOL

Kids and Cars

I need to have some kids. If I do, then my mom will give me a car. I know that sounds like a terrible reason for procreating, but it's true. In my family, if you have children, you'll get a car. My mom loves her grandchildren, and will do anything for them. But those of us without kids....

It started with my sister. Maybe about 5 years ago, something or other happened to her car. What happens? My mom and her husband gave her one of their cars. A couple of years ago, my brother and his wife needed another car. What happens? They give them one of their cars. One of my mom's husbands daughters is driving their old (well, used, but not old) van. She got kids too. Last week, My mom's husbands ex son in law, who has custody of his kids, gets another one of their extra cars after the funeral. (Not to mention, the 300Z that he was restoring for their 8 year old that's in storage now.) I know it seems like they have cars for days. It seems like that to me too. I just can't get one of them, because I don't have any seeds.

I'd like a free vehicle. Do I have to impregnate somebody in order to get one? I mean shouldn't I be rewarded for not adding to the overpopulation of the world? Just because I didn't borrow somebody's uterus for about 9 and a half months, does that mean that I have to pay for my own car? I mean, I always wanted to be married before I had kids, but for the right car I can have a bastard or two. LOL

The Savannah Drafts...

I've been in Savannah since Sunday night with my family. As you read, my mom's husband passed away, and I've been helping out with arrangements and stuff like proofreading and rewriting obituaries, cleaning out the garage, playing with kids, and just serving as general interference for the crazy that accompanies funerals. Lots of stuff has happened, but I havent had the time or energy to write about it all. Well, I started a few, but never finished them. Here are a few incomplete posts from this week.

Going Green... (Tuesday)

Savannah is crazy for St Patrick's Day. I think they have the worlds second biggest parade after New York. Every thing is green here: Green beer, green grits, green water in the fountains, hideous green blazers on the news anchors. Even the local newspaper went green. As in it was printed on green paper. If I hear one more thing about a leprachaun or pinches for not wearing green, I'm gonna lose it... (That's as far as I got. I was gonna tell a story about how I used to pick peoples pockets at the St Patrick's Day Parade or how when I was 8 I found out I had some Irish in me, so I had a Shamrock pinned on my jacket.)

The Savannah High Doppelganger (Wednesday)

Remember a couple of weeks ago when I wrote about how I have a twin in Atlanta, that people seem to know, but can't remember his name. Well, apparently I have one in Savannah as well. I went to get my haircut today, and deliberately went to a shop that I've never been too. I wasn't in the mood for a reminiscing session. Anyway, as I'm sitting in the chair, one of the barbers asks me: "Did you go to THE High?" (THE High = Savannah High School.) I didn't, and I informed him that I didn't. You know the next question out of his mouth... "Are you sure?" I didn't even say anything. Then he remembers more about this person he thought I was. "Yeah, you kin to that cop that comes in the shop." No, that's not me. I don't have any police in my family. I think I would know what high school I went to, and if one of my relatives was 5-0. (That's as far as I got...)

You Know What I Don't Care About??? (Wednesday)

...your church. I don't care that you want to talk at the funeral, but have to clear it with your pastor first. Just do it. I'm not gonna make any donations, just to get you on the program. If you feel like you have something to add, then do it, but don't try to extort any loot. That's not only distasteful, its revealing that you have an overly inflated sense of worth. One monkey don't stop no show. Be out for all I care... Also, I'm not gonna mention the name of church next to your name on the program. Let's do that at your funeral. When you die, we'll shout out the name of church. Why do you think that is part of your title. Like Pastor Jenkins ain't enough, I got to call you Pastor Jenkins of the Mount Ebeneezer African Baptist Church of God and Jesus in Calvary... (Then I stopped because I was getting worked up and was about to be ugly to the church going folk.)

Thanks, No Hugs Please (Thursday)

Yo, one of the worst things about funerals is all the hugging. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind my mom and my grandma hugging me, but all these extraneous people that I don't know trying to embrace me??? You can have that. I'm just not one for strangers and virtual strangers touching me. (You know what.. I think I'll finish this one. I have some funny sarcastic comments and stories to tell on this one...)

He's Gone

That's the text message I received at 4:59 PM yesterday informing me that my mother's husband had died. He'd been in the hospital for close to a month, and it was expected, but that didn't make it any easier hearing my mom cry. I don't really have anything to say, except I'll be going to Savannah this weekend to help out. Talk to you some time next week...

I Used To...

Want to live in Atlanta. Just something about having the 404 area code and actually having ATL in my address instead of Smyrna or Decatur seemed cool. Like it would make me a true Atlien... Yeah, scratch that. I don't like the city. I mean it's a nice place to visit but I wouldn't want to live there. Let's put aside my proclivity for getting lost whenever I'm in the city, which really can't be put aside since it happens all the time. I don't want to live in the city, because its mad unsavory characters hanging around. Crackheads, beggars, homeless people. You name it and I've seen them over the last couple of days hanging out downtown.

It amazes me how close the riff raff is to the nice stuff. Like you'll have condos in gated communities with panhandlers hanging outside. Or you'll drive next to a skyscraper for a financial giant and see a bunch of homeless guys on the street. Or you'll be in a public park where people take their children to play, and see people cracked out. Yeah, I'm good on living in the city. Call me bourgousie, I don't too much care. I'm not trying to live somewhere where I can be robbed stepping out of my apartment.

The final straw was tonight. I was picking up Jameil from her friends crib downtown. On the way home, I saw a woman in a wheelchair, with no legs, wheel herself into the middle of the street and ask for cars for change. The light turned green, but she was still in the middle of the street between two lanes of traffic. It was mad dangerous. I looked up at the Atlanta skyline and realized, this ain't for me. I don't have that much change to spare. I'll take the suburbs any day. At least where I live, the only cats begging are at the gas station, and now that gas is under $2 I don't see that too much anymore.

Red, Black & Green

Red Black and Green:

They used to be my favorite combination of colors. I had a hat in those colors. I rocked an Africa Medallion with those colors. They symbolized Africa to an African-American. The Red’s for the blood, and the black’s for the man, the green is the color that stands for the land. That was in some song I used to love, I think it was the Jungle Brothers, but if I stop to figure it out, I’ll get sidetracked and not finish this post. Red, Black and Green were the colors of the African National Congress. Free Mandela and all that. It was to me as much of a political statement as it was a fashion statement. But like most fashion statements, it went out of style.

I blame Cross Colours. Everybody, their mama, and their illegitimate play cousin used to rock these. This was the first readily accessible hip hop gear. No matter where you lived in the country, you could get that style. The clothes were baggy, and when they first came out, they had my favorite colors. Red, Black and Green. They eventually moved on to other hideous combinations of colors, but my favorite of course were the Red, Black and Green. I never actually had any, but I sure wanted some. That was of course before everybody started wearing them. It went from just the hip hop kids and the conscious kids, to the preppy kids that watched Yo! MTV raps and thought they were down and the weird stoner kids that smoked weed in the parking lot between classes. People started making imitation Cross Colours and before you knew it, them joints got played out pretty quickly and along with it, the Red, Black and Green.

I say all that to say this…

This dude down the way from me is wearing a Cross Colours shirt. It’s Red on the left, Green on the right, with a BOLD Black stripe down the middle. Where da heck did he find that shirt in the 2000’s. Gotta be Burlington Coat Factory or some corner shop in the city. Why, oh why don’t I carry my camera with me at all times???

The Tri-Cities Doppelganger

Apparently I have a doppelganger somewhere in Atlanta. People keep asking me if I went to Tri-Cities High School. Yeah, I didn't. The thing that bugs me the most, is that dumb question that follows: Are You Sure???. Of course, I'm sure. Like I don't know where I went to school. Or if I decided to lie about it, then why would I change my answer just because you asked a second time. The first time I noticed this was this girl at my job. I noticed she was staring at me, but not in that normal "Rashan, I want you" kinda way. LOL. Anyway, I had no idea who she was, but finally after a few days, she decided to speak. This was over a year ago.

"Did you go to Tri Cities?"

"Nah, I didn't go to school up here."

"Are you sure?"

See, that stupid question. I was pleasant about it, but she asked me several more times over the coming months. Apparently, I look just like him. I mean, obviously I wasn't who she was looking for unless I changed my name, or if she never knew that guys name either. A few months later, somebody else asked. This time a guy at the office:

"Ay, dawg. You look real familiar. Did you go to Tri-Cities?"

"Nah."

"You sure?"

Son, come on! I just told you that I didn't go there. I went to school in Savannah. I don't know who this dude is, and whether he owes you money, but I'm not him. Could you please stop looking at me? Again, I'm wearing a name tag. Is Rashan Jamal that dude's name? No, then I guess you can stop giving me that skeptical look.

Then today: I'm getting my hair cut at this barber shop that I've never been to. I'm sitting there getting my hair when the barber asks me.

"You mind me asking where you from?"

"I'm from Savannah."

"Oh, cuz I was about to say, you look just like this n*gga I went to Tri Cities with."

"Nah, wasn't me."

"You sure, my n*gga? That cat, I can't remember his name, but he had that good hair like you."

"Yeah, man pretty sure it wasn't me."

For real, I wonder who this nameless dude is and why these people who are at least 5 years younger than me think I'm him. Apparently, they know him, but they can't remember his name and he must look an awful lot like me. To be honest, I don't even know where Tri-Cities High School is. The only reason I know what it is from an Outkast song. I didn't grow up in Atlanta, didn't move here until I was 25, and I don't know these people. I only hope that my doppelganger doesn't go committing any crimes and send the police my way. Seems like it would be hard to convince them that I'm not him...

It's Snowing In The A!!!

Real snow too. I would show it to you, but my dumb behind bought the wrong size batteries and I'm not going back out on the roads today. My little jaunt to Subway and CVS was enough driving for me. The roads are slushy, but drivable. People just were either driving way too fast or way too slow. An accident waiting to happen. So yeah, no pictures of the snow, so you'll just have to believe me when I say, we got some real snow. Perhaps we can have a snow day tomorrow and I can stay home from work. Doubtful, but I didn't think it would actually snow either, so I'll just keep my fingers crossed. I got food, and internet and TV, and a phone, so I'm all good chillin in the house for a day or three. LOL

Okay, off to go throw some snowballs at passing motorists like we used to do when I was a kid. Holla at you later.

Conversation With Mom

"How's Jameil?"

"She's good."

"You guys are hanging in there, huh?"

"Yeah, 7 months."

"Wow, that's good for you. I'm glad you finally have someone that's on your level."

"Yeah."

"I'm glad she's not like all those other girls that used to follow after you."

*laughs*

"She seems like she's not the type to just give you your way all the time."

"Yeah, you could say that."

"Well, I'm happy for you. You guys are cute together. I saw that picture on Facebook."

"Thanks."

"Tell her I said hello."

"Will do."

Operation: Outdo My Mom*

Yo, my moms is 60 years old. She got all kind of stuff I don't have. She got a blackberry. She got a Wii. She got GPS. She got kids. She got just about every modern thing that you can think of. But one thing I will NOT let her have is more Facebook friends than me.

Right now, it's close. I only got her by 5. Now, I could do the thing where I just ask anybody to be my friend, but I'm not gonna do that. Or I could look up old girlfriends and people that I went to school with, but I'm not gonna do that either. My anti social tendencies, however, are making me dangerously close to losing to my mom on the facebook joint. My nephew already has way more friends than me, but I can take that. He's from the internet generation. But my mom? For real? (Can I just tell you how much I was trippin when she sent me a friend invite? I was like, great, guess I have to watch what I say now. Good thing she don't know about my blog. LOL.) I admit, I only joined the book so I could look at people's pictures and make snarky comments about them, but now I kinda like it. But what's important right now, is that I have more Facebook friends than my mother....

So, if any of you bloggers are on the book and are looking to boost your numbers, look me up visionz74@yahoo.com. Or just search Rashan Jamal and I'll be the first choice to pop up. You'll see my picture. I promise *fingers crossed* not to make snarky comments about your pictures. Also, don't be alarmed if I don't respond right away. I may not recognize you and will have to make sure you ain't one of my old stalkers trying to rekindle a friendship that existed only in their minds. LOL

Come on, help me outdo my mother... Please?!?!?*

*this post is intended to be tongue in cheek, but in all actuality, I do wanna have more friends than my mother. LOL*

Stressed

I'm stressed and I don't know how to deal with it. I'm usually the type that let's things roll of his back, but it's not working now. Everyday I go to work, I feel like it may be my last. I try to take it in stride, but whenever I wake up in the morning and see my company's name in the news, or see how the stock is tanking or see that a competitor is laying off 730 people right down the street from me, I just get a knot in my stomach. I get worried, and I'm not the one to worry about stuff. I just can't shake it.

I think maybe it's not so much the jacked up economy as it is real life situations that are getting to me. A few weeks ago, my grandmother was sick, which in itself is enough to make me lose it. Everybody has that one person in their family that means everything to them. Well, my grandma is that to me. She's fine now, turns out to just be vertigo, as opposed to the stroke that they originally thought it was, but for a while I was really worried about her. The thing that made it even worse, was that I didn't find out until a week later. Nobody bothered to tell me that my grandmother was rushed to the hospital. I was so mad at my family, but before I could even confront them...

I found out that my mom's husbands mother died. I didn't really know her, but it wasn't exactly the right time to start an argument. Then the following week, my mom's husband went in the hospital. This time they told me right away. It's really messed up. He has cancer and has stopped taking the radiation because it wasn't working. He has stuff on his lungs and his brain. This is like the 3rd time in the last 5 years that his cancer has come back and this time it looks like it's the end. They are throwing out words like hospice and making him comfortable, but I don't know what's gonna happen. I'm sad for my mother. I can hear her trying to be strong, but I can also hear the grief in her voice. I'm worried about what's gonna happen if he dies. I worry about the family drama that might ensue after he's gone. I worry about how she's gonna raise an 8 year old child by herself at age 60. Mostly, I'm just worried.

I don't even know what the point of this post was. I don't usually talk like this. I don't like this feeling and I hope it passes quickly. I know it's only human to go through this, but I'm not used to it. All I wanna do when I get home is sit around and drink. Don't worry, I'm not doing it, but it would just be easier than dealing with this stress. I hate this feeling of being helpless.

And Now...Another Episode of Rashan Overreacts To Something Small...

One of these days , I'm gonna come home from work and not find something on my door. Monday, it was Chinese food menu, Tuesday it was a flyer (flier?) for an after hours club, Wednesday it was the same Chinese food place, and today its an advertisement for a real estate company. Enough already. I'm not the most green person in the world, but this ridiculous waste of paper is getting on my nerves. And when the wind blows really hard, you can always see these stupid pieces of paper flying around the parking lot. And sometimes its not just on the doors. The after hours club likes to lift up windsheild wipers and put their glossy cards featuring a big booty woman and a bottle of liquor on cars. I don't want my kids seeing that first thing in the morning when they are on their way to school. I don't want theives knowing I haven't been home all weekend cuz there are 12 multi colored pieces of paper all over the door. At least these Mexicans that deliver them have a job.

I should gather up all these menus and fliers and bring them back to these companies.. No, that won't work. They'd only deliver them again. I got it... I should totally go to these places and pass out my own fliers. Like go to the after hours club and post a notice about from a local church on the doors. Or go to the mortgage company and give them a copy of the Obama foreclosure plan. Or go to the Chinese place and put up pictures of cats. See how they like it. Jerks!! Now where are my colored pencils and construction paper. Time to get to work...

My Newest Stalker

For real, I think I got a new stalker. She's hot, yo! I can't even front. Okay, lemme stop before I get myself in trouble. LOL. I'm being stalked by fire...

Last night, on my way home from Florida, just as I crossed over the border with Georgia, I noticed that traffic started slowing down. I was in the slow lane, about to get off the exit to get gas. *sidenote* Why is gas a quarter cheaper in Georgia than Florida? I paid $1.74 right over the border and it was $2.01 no more than 5 miles down the road. *sidenote over* There's usually no traffic on the way home especially when I leave at night. I looked over to my left and I saw a truck, fully engulfed in flames. It was crazy. Then I started to feel the heat from the fire even though I was 3 lanes over with the windows up. I thought it was gonna be like CHiPs when the cars blow up. I was so happy to get off the highway. People were stopping on the highway to take pictures of the fire. Maybe I woulda done that too if I ever got around to buying batteries for my camera, but since I didn't I just kept it moving and watched from the gas station off the exit. I got home around 2:45 to see fire trucks in my apartment complex. Luckily, it doesn't look like anything got burned too badly, but it wasn't exactly a warm (pun intended) welcome home. Then today on my way home from work, there was another vehicle fire, this time on 285.

I think fire is out to get me. One man shouldn't have this many run ins with fire. From burning down Kareem's house, to the fire across the street from my apartment, to another fire in my complex I don't think I wrote about, I'm getting sick of the flames. I need to put my smoke alarm back up.

7 Days In Savannah: Lady Lou's

7 Days in Savannah is a recollection of my time growing up and being a young man in Savannah, GA. All stories are true and relayed to the best of my memory.


I have a confession to make. I used to be a bad boyfriend. Well, not bad bad, but I did some stuff that could be considered not cool. Chalk it up to youth, but when I was in college, I used to frequent a booty club and my girlfriend didn't know. Knowing her, I know she would not have approved, so I just didn't tell her. Let's go ahead and make that confession sound even worse. I used to go after I left her house. I never rushed out of there so I could go see strippers, but instead of just going straight home, I would stop off at Lady Lou's for a dance or three. I could make all kinds of excuses, but the fact is this: I liked looking at naked women, so I did.

Let's talk about Lady Lou's. It was a dump. A hole in the wall spot on Montgomery Street, right across from the Salvation Army store. As far as I know, it's now a sports bar, but back in 95-97, it was the place to go to see strippers. They never advertised themselves at a strip club. In fact, I don't even know how I found out about it, but once I went, I was hooked. The best thing about the club, was the girls didn't look like your stereotypical strippers. They were just hot girls that you'd see in the hood. And there was no pole dancing, VIP rooms or routines, just booty shaking and lap dancing. If you were lucky, you got a seat in the corner where it was really dark, but if not, it didn't really matter. The girls were still gonna get freaky directly under the spotlight. Oh, and one other thing... it was highly illegal. Lady Lou's had neither an adult club license or a liquor license.

On this night, I was hanging out with Lisa at her sister's house like we did just about every Friday night. I wanna say that we had went to a movie and then came home so she could babysit her niece while her sister went out to the club. That's how it usually happened. I had talked to Kareem and Tori and they mentioned that they were gonna hit up Lady Lou's that night. So when the Lisa portion of the night was over, I decided to meet them up there. It was no more than 5 minutes away from Lisa's sister's crib. I pulled up, paid my two dollars (yes, $2) and looked around the club. I didn't see my friends there, but I sat down anyway. I ordered a Michelob ($2) and preceded to find a girl to give my $3 (yes, $3 for a lap dance) to. As I looked around, I saw another one of my homeboys, Mike, in the corner getting a dance. I tipped my beer to him and he raised his plastic cup at me. I continued my search for the perfect stripper as Aaliyah's One In A Million came on. I loved the beat on that song, so I got the closest attractive stripper to me, and ponied up my cash. As her body gyrated to the Timberland beat, and she got a lot closer than strippers do now a days, I felt a tap on my shoulder...

"Rashan?"

I looked up and saw a tall woman with long black bushy hair. I recognized that face anywhere. It was Kasey. Kasey was a good friend of mine back in high school. She was even a better friend to Kareem and another one of my homeboys, Chavon. She dated both of them. I hadn't seen her probably since graduation, but I heard rumors that she had turned gay. It surprised the heck out of me seeing her in the strip club.

"Kasey? What you doing here?"

"Working. What are you doing?"

Then I noticed what she was wearing. A red bikini set. Well she was wearing for about 30 seconds. Then it was on the floor. Oh snap! Kasey is a stripper. I wasn't prepared for that one. She wasn't exactly the type that you would think of when you think of strippers. Now that I'm older, it does make more sense given her childhood, but all I was thinking was I went to high school with this girl. We were good friends for awhile there. She dated two of my homeboys. I don't wanna see her naked.

I tried to concentrate on the dancer in front of me, but Kasey kept making small talk. Asking me about this person or that person, all the while dancing naked for some other dude. It felt weird. Obviously, most of the strippers went to high school, but none of them went with me. It was the first time that I had experience with someone I knew. All I wanted to do was just enjoy my dance, but my mind was racing. When Aaliyah went off, I paid my dancer and Kasey came and sat down next to me. Great! Now, instead of just seeing her naked, she was sitting next to me naked. And talking to me naked. It was just so weird. This may not make sense to you, but I had very few platonic friends that stayed completely platonic, but she was one of them. I didn't want to see her like that. Plus, it felt like a violation of friendship since Kareem dated her. I tried my best to expedite her leaving.

"Hey, don't you have to go make that money?"

"Nah, I'm good. I can talk for awhile."

"I don't want you to get in no trouble. Just call me and we'll catch up."

"You still got the same number?"

"Yeah, it's the same. Go get your money!"

"You want me to dance for you?"

"NOOOOOO!!!"

Okay, that's what I thought. I was really said this..

"That's a little weird, isn't it. I've known you since middle school."

She moved on and as soon as it was possible to leave without looking too conspicuous, I trotted to the door. As I exited the club, I wondered if I should tell Kareem that I saw his high school girlfriend butt booty naked shaking for dollars. I decided against it for the time being. I squeezed past the police officer that was working security and got in my car. As I was pulling off, I was nearly hit by a police paddy wagon. Then I saw 3 more cop cars coming in the same direction. I figured that the weekly Friday night shooting was in the area. It wasn't until I talked to Mike the following Monday that I found out what really happened.

The police raided Lady Lou's and took all the dancers and customers in. Luckily, only the owners got real charges, but I was so glad I left before it went down. Can you imagine me trying to explain that I was at an illegal strip club when I was supposed to have been home? That wouldn't have went over well with Lisa. They shut Lady Lou's down. It did reopen, but it didn't stay open very long before they got raided again. Luckily, I was nowhere near there that night. I'm glad Kasey was there that night to run me out of the club.

7 Days In Savannah: My Dance With Death

7 Days in Savannah is a recollection of my time growing up and being a young man in Savannah, GA. All stories are true and relayed to the best of my memory.

You ever have one of those days when you thought you were going to die? I have, and this is my story.

I was in 12th grade at Windsor Forest High School. The highlight of my day was 5th period chorus class. I had long since checked out of any other academic endeavors, since graduation was around the corner. I basically showed up to school, sat in class and wrote rhymes while the teachers droned on and on about stuff that I already knew, or didn't care about. Chorus class was different though. I was by no means a strong singer, but I could provide some tight harmony, and I could sight read music, so it was fun. Plus, we had numerous field trips that got me out of classes, so that was a plus.

The drawback to chorus is that we had to add choreography to our songs. Lets just be clear: Rashan does NOT dance. It's not so much that I don't like dancing as that I don't like looking silly. I have my own sense of rhythm, and the dances we were doing were borderline homosexual, so I didn't really feel that. Okay, lets just be even more honest. I can't dance. I am the living proof that the stereotype of all black people being able to dance is false.

On the day in question, we were learning a new lame dance to some new lame song we were singing. The dance called for couples. As a senior, a lot of the freshman girls in the chorus wanted to be my partner. It was like Flavor of Love in that piece, except I didn't get to pick. The chorus teacher chose based on height. I was paired with a similarly height challenged girl named LaShawn. She was a pretty dark skinned girl who was just the type of girl I would try to get at back in the day. Well, I would if I wasn't painfully shy. Even being 3 years older, I still didn't have the confidence to start a conversation with her. Anyway, the guys in the chorus cleared space by stacking all the chairs in the chorus room in the back, and Mrs. Reagan took her place at the front of the class to teach us the steps. I remember me and my partner were on the right side of the classroom.

Everything started off pretty cool. I got the first couple of steps with no problem, and the methodical way of teaching was working for me. Learn two steps, try them, learn two more steps, try them, then put them together. After about 15 minutes, we were ready to do a walk through of the entire song. Mrs. Reagan sat at the piano and played the intro of the song, I grabbed LaShawn's hand and got in postion. The dance started off with me standing behind her, wrapping my arms around her and holding her hands at her waist. Then something went horribly wrong...

It started off with a steady stream of sweat. It was warm, but the class was air conditioned, so there really should not have been that much perspiration. I backed off a little and grabbed a t shirt out of my bookbag to wipe off the sweat. In doing this, I missed most of the dance. We tried it again...

More sweat, only this time I was feeling dizzy. I tried my best to maintain my balance, and not sweat on LaShawn, but I failed. I had to sit down. Only my pride wouldn't let me tell anyone that I wasn't feeling well. When LaShawn asked me if I was okay, I told I was and I just needed a minute. I walked to the back of the class and tried to clear my head. Next thing I know I was having trouble breathing. It wasn't like I couldn't breathe at all, but shallow breaths weren't getting it. I looked like I just ran a 5k, the way I was inhaling so deeply. Funny, nobody really noticed anything, other than my sweating and they thought I just didn't want to do the dance. This wasn't the first time I had become frustrated learning steps.

I told LaShawn to excuse me for a minute and headed to the door to leave and get some water from the water fountain. That was the plan, but I quickly calculated that there was no way I was gonna make it down the hall on B-wing. I staggered over to Mrs. Reagan's desk and sat down, wondering just what in the world was wrong with me. I put my head down and thought about science class. What causes sweating, shortness of breath and dizzyness? Even back then I was a (unsuccessful) self diagnoser. Then my left arm started to go numb. I figured it out: I was having a myocardial infarction, or to those that don't remember health class: a heart attack.

How in the world could I have a heart attack at 17? I didn't smoke, I didn't have a family history of heart disease and I was relatively active as a kid. I mean, we were always playing football or basketball. I was a little overweight, but I was an active fat kid. Hell, I even used to ride the stationary bike all the time at home and do my sister's exercise tapes. There was no way that my heart could give out on me this young.

The voices around me all became distorted while the piano keys played an odd soundtrack to my death. I did manage to make out a couple coherent phrases...

"Rashan, are you okay? Do you need to go to the nurse?"

Somehow, I managed to answer.

"No, I'll be fine. I just need to sit down for a minute."

Then the distorted voices and piano keys came back. My life didn't flash before my eyes like they say it will, but my unfulfilled future did. I would never get to go to college, get married, have kids, overthrow the government, etc... I thought about how my mom and grandma would feel if I died right there in that chorus room, which made me feel even worse. All these thoughts went through my head as I sat there dripping puddles of sweat on the desk. Next thing I know, there were only 5 minutes left in the class. I stood up, bracing myself on the chair to make sure I didn't fall. And then a funny thing happened... I was fine. From the brink of death to no longer sweating, no more breathing hard, no more being dizzy. The numbness in my arm was probably a self fulfilling prophecy as a result of my overactive imagination. I told Mrs. Reagan that I was okay, and went right back to the dance like nothing ever happened.

A few days later, I told my mom what happened and she took me to the doctor. My heart was fine, although with the limited number of tests he performed, I don't know how he knew that. He said it was most likely an anxiety attack. I used to leave that part out when I would talk about this story. Black people don't get anxiety attacks! It made me feel week as a kid that I could actually get that white people disease. I might as well have mononucleousis. LOL. But yeah, that's what it was. The stress of dancing in front of people with a pretty girl and I punked out. Did I mention that I was a lame in high school? LOL