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

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

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...)

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

7 Days In Savannah: Bolo

It was a hot summer day in Savannah. The type where all you wanna do is take 3 or 4 showers and drink a slushy. The kind of day when tensions rise along with the mercury, and you never know who will be the next victim. The kind of day that puts the temper in temperature. I could have very well become the next statistic on the crime sheets that day. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning.

My homeboy Tori was working at the Golden Corral at the Oglethorpe Mall, and, I decided to go get the hook up and hang out with him. I generally avoid buffets at all costs, but being that I was cheap and a poor college student, I bit the bullet and chowed down. I have to admit, it was pretty good, especially for the price (free). Anyway, by the time I finished eating, Tori was getting off work, and I was gonna drop him off at home to change and then hit up Frozen Paradise later that night. As we were leaving, this guy he knew came up to us...

"Hey, can you drop me in Cloverdale?"

Cloverdale was nowhere near where we were going. We were Southside boys, and Cloverdale was completely in the other direction. But before I could say no, Tori interjected.

"Yeah, we got you!"

I was mildly annoyed, but honestly I didn't really care. Even back then I was always down to drive around aimlessly. Plus gas was like .89 cents, so it was really no big deal. I just didn't like being around people I didn't know. Only, I did kinda know this guy.

"Rashan, you remember Bolo, right?"

I did remember him. From summer school in the 10th grade. I somehow managed to fail Advanced English (probably because I never did any homework) and had to go to Beach High School for six weeks that summer. He was in my English class. That joint was mad remedial, but that was my punishment for slacking off all semester. I had to suffer dummies who couldn't put together a sentence to save their lives. I passed the time by writing rhymes and by the end of summer school, I had enough material to put out two or three albums. One of the few bright spots was meeting up with kids from other schools and utterly destroying them in a freestyle rap battle. I was the reigning freestyle champ of summer school. One day, me and Bolo met up. I still remember the wack rhyme he tried to get me with...

"I rap better than one, I rap better than all/I even rap better than aluminum foil..."

For real? That's what you thought was a hot line? I murdered him with the rhymes. It's funny that I can't remember what I said, but I will never forget his line. When it was over, he sulked and glanced menacingly towards me the rest of the summer.

"Yeah, I remember him.. What's up my man?"

"Chillin'. Thanks for the ride."

During the car ride home, Bolo was talking incessantly. He still had dreams of being a rapper, which I had long since abandoned in favor of a college education. He told us about his record deal with a local Savannah record label. That was funny to me, since he supposedly got a phat advance, but was working at Golden Corral and bumming rides from my broke tail. Then the talk turned to the streets. Thug this, gangster that, hoe this, b*tch that... I was done. I decided to call him on his crap...

"Son, you ain't no gangsta! Chill wit all that"

"Oh I'm not? Then what you think this is for?"

I looked back and he was holding a .38. My face immediately dropped. It didn't occur to me that he might shoot me with it. I was just thinking, what if the police see him?

"I'm a thug, my nigga! I shoot lames for fun."

Tori busted out laughing, while I wasn't quite in on the joke. Bolo continued...

"I'll shoot the next nigga that pulls up to the side of us. I don't give a f*ck. I'm crazy!!!"

"I believe you man. I was just messing with you. Go on and put that gat up."

"I'm saying.. you can't be calling me out. You wanna see what I'll do?"

"Nah, man I'm good. Now how bout you just put that up before five-0 sees you."

"Man, F*CK THE POLICE!! I'll blast them too. You Southside clowns don't know nothing about a thug."

"You right, man! My bad for doubting you..."

"You could be next. That's all I'm saying..."

I turned the music up louder and said just about nothing else for the rest of the ride. Tori was still laughing and Bolo was rapping along to whatever I was playing on the CD player. I glanced in the rear view occasionally to make sure I wasn't about to get shot, and finally arrived in Cloverdale. As he got out the car, Bolo says...

"Thanks for the ride man! Lemme give you a couple dollars for gas."

Huh? Did this dude that just threatened to shoot me just offer me gas money?

"Nah, Don't worry about it. Peace."

"Peace, my nigga!"

Tori and I rolled out back to the Southside.

"Yo, what is up with your boy?" I asked.

"I forgot to tell you, he's a little loco."

"A little? Did you see how he just flipped out on me? Is he bi polar or something?"

"I don't know. He's just a little unstable."

"For real, I'm not f*ckin' with no more of your people...ever!"

If only that was true. I wound up hanging out with all kinds of weirdos, psychos and derelicts in the coming years. And because you guys always ask me what happened to the people I write about. Last I heard, (which is over 10 years ago) Bolo caught an armed robbery case and got 8-10 years. I never did hear anything from his alleged record deal.

7 Days In Savannah: The Day I Discovered My Blackness

As a youth, I pretty much hung out with anyone: Black, white, Filipino, Jewish, Indian etc.. Race and/or religion didn't matter to me at all. My homies in New York were the personification of Martin Luther King's dream. Little black boys, little white girls. We were Jesse Jackson's Rainbow Coalition... I think I have a picture to prove it... That's me in the burgundy Member's Only Jacket...




When I moved to Savannah, I pretty much did the same thing. I was in 6th grade and most of my friends were white. The same thing went for the first part of following year. Then something, or should I say, someone happened... we will call him P.

Me and P were really cool in 7th grade. We traded Garbage Pail Kids stickers together. We formed a pencil fighting league (I was the manager, he was the talent) and we talked about music all the time. I remember one day, I was listening to my Ready For The World tape, and he was listening to his Metallica tape. We compared music and both could get with Prince's "Sign o the Times" double album.


P was a pretty talented artist. Well, he wasn't Jackson Pollack or nothing, but what I mean is that he could draw. He was always doodling something or other. He would sketch cartoon characters or people and they always came out well. One day, we collaborated on a cartoon series. It was called the Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. The DRS was supposed to be a collection of comical criminals that got into misadventures. I know, it's corny, but I was a kid. We came up with the idea together, but when he showed me the first sketches, I knew something was amiss...

There was T-Bone, a black criminal that wore a thick gold chain, that he used as a weapon. Then there was June- Bug, a black criminal whose secret weapon was throwing roaches on people. Then there was Ice Pick, a black criminal who would pick his (buck) teeth with an ice pick and then stab people with it. Then there was... You get the point. As if it wasn't bad enough that all the criminals were black, they all had jive captions, like "yo, I be killin people" or "I be a murderer." I was like, hold up P, why all the criminals gotta be black?

P just didn't get what the big deal was. I was never the type to cry racism, but at that very moment, it hit me. Me and this white kid aren't the same. He views my people as only criminals, buffoon criminals at that that can't talk. Never mind that my grades were consistently higher than his, he still felt he was better than me. He was the worst kind of racist: the racist that didn't know he was racist. The kind that could point at me and say "some of my best friends are black."

From there, it all snowballed. I didn't mess with P no more. I couldn't in good conscience let that slide. I had discovered my blackness and there was no looking back. Add to that, watching "Eyes on the Prize" on PBS and reading "The Autobiography of Malcolm X" and it was a wrap. I was black, and I knew and embraced it from that point on. It's funny how one day can change one's entire outlook on life. It was a relatively minor thing, but P's cartoon set me well on the way to be being the person I am today.

7 Days In Savannah: The Beach

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.

So, I went to high school with this kid named Chuck. Chuck was, to say the least, a character. He was a tall, yet dumpy, white kid who was already losing his hair by senior year. He was a bit of an outcast. He liked black people, but they didn't like him back. He didn't have too many white friends, other than the other freaks and geeks. Chuck was that dude that had a trunkful of porn magazines, (mostly black women) and brought a prostitute (yes, an actual prostitute to the Senior prom.) His reasoning: At least he knew that he would be getting laid after the prom, even if he had to pay for it. Weirdness aside, Chuck was pretty harmless. Although he looked like the type to pull a Columbine, and definitely had an affinity for guns, he wasn't the type that would actually do it. I wouldn't say that Chuck and I were friends, but we had several classes together and were cordial.

One night before graduation, I ran into Chuck at the Tara Cinemas. It was the movie hangout for our high school, and is no longer there. I was with my homeboy, Ashley if I'm not mistaken. Chuck was with 3 black girls that went to a rival high school. I was intrigued. How did this clown hook up with 3 attractive sisters? (well, 2 of them were attractive, the other looked like a reject from Jurassic Park. LOL) In the course of our conversation, he invited me to hang out with them. For some strange reason, I said yes.

When the movie was over, I left with Chuck and the three girls whose names I can't remember to save my life. We'll call them girl one, girl two and girl three. He picked up another one of his associates, and we drove around for awhile. Small talk was made, but I couldn't seem to connect with any of the girls. We wound up at the Subway on the corner of DeRenne and White Bluff. They ate (I say they, because I didn't have any loot) and we talked about what we were going to get into. Really, there isn't much a motley crew of high schoolers could do. We usually went to football games, but it wasn't in season. Or we went to a movie, which we just came from. It's not like we could go to a club. Girl One (or was it two or three) came up with a fabulous suggestion.

"Let's go to the beach!"

Let me backtrack for a minute. I didn't have a car back then, and the beach seemed like it might as well been in Africa. I know now, that I can get there in less than the time it takes me to go to work, but back then??? That joint was far. Plus it was already 11:00 PM. I wasn't one for staying out all night. I didn't have an official curfew, but I knew not to come home at ridiculous times of the night.

"I don't know. I have to get home soon."

Girls 1-3 clowned me about this. Apparently, they didn't have curfews. Apparently, they could stay out all night. Apparently, I was a lame for respecting the rules. Apparently, I succumbed to peer pressure, because next thing I know, the six of us were heading to Tybee Island.

Here's where the story takes an even worse turn. Chuck decided that we needed something to drink, so he took his receding hairline to the liquor store and bought a couple of bottles of MD 20-20. In high school, I had not even sniffed any liquor, so I knew I wasn't going to partake, but Chuck, the driver did. Chuck was taking the bottle to the head as we drove down the dark highway. I was appalled. I tried to not say something, so the girls wouldn't clown me again, but I couldn't. Chuck was weaving in and out of his lane and speeding.

"Yo, Chuck! Slow down on that drink. I'm trying to get to the beach in one piece."

"I got this. I drink and drive all the time."

Girl One (or was it 2 0r 3) chimed in with her support of the drunken behavior too.

"Shut up, you big baby!"

I slumped back in the cramped seat, hoping that the two girls surrounding me would serve as seat belts, since Chuck's car lacked them in the back seat. I was sure that this would be the night that I would die. I even imagined it, like on an episode of Scrubs...

"On tonight's news, 6 teenagers were killed when there car drove off a bridge and into the marsh. They were then eaten by alligators. We now go to Trisha Takinowa who is on the scene."

I chuckled to myself for having a sense of humor about my impending death, and almost forgot that I was being chauffered by an alcoholic. That is until Chuck decided to up the stakes. Apparently, drinking and driving was not enough of an adrenaline rush for him, so he decided to turn off the headlights and turn up the Geto Boys!!! I was scared out of my mind. Passing cars flashed their highbeams, while Scarface, Willie D. and Bushwick Bill cursed us out though the speakers. I just about lost my mind. I can't say that I was much of a praying man, but I did that night. I prayed that the Lord would protect me from this fool and his foolery. And he did. We made it to the beach safely, although looking at how Chuck parked his car was a dead giveaway that he was drunk. We got out the car and headed to the beach for an evening of fun.

Except it was no fun for me. I was paranoid the whole time I was there. It was dark and I was with 4 strangers and a classmate who turned out to be psychotic. I didn't know if he would just up and leave me, or try to go swimming in the Atlantic Ocean at night. Turns out, he chose the latter. Dark as it was, Chuck decides that he would ignore the warning signs, and test out the waters. He took Girl One (or was it 2 or 3) with him. Me, his homeboy and the other two girls stood at the edge of the water as they went deeper and deeper into the current. Eventually, we couldn't even see them anymore.

At that point, I just threw up my hands and resigned myself to my fate. What's the worst that could happen. I have to call my mom and tell her that I got kidnapped. I've always been a good kid. She wouldn't punish me too much, would she? I felt peace for the first time since Chuck cracked that bottle of MD 20-20. Ten minutes later, Chuck and Girl One (or was it two or three) come sauntering up to the pavillion where we are sitting. They are soaking wet, and the girl is holding her bra and underwear in her hand. I guess Chuck had a good night, even if I didn't.

Luckily, by the time we drove home, Chuck had sobered up. The ride home was much less eventful than the drive there. I looked at the clock as we pulled up to my house and it was 2:45. I wasn't expecting to be out so late, so I didn't unlock the side door to the garage, which was my way of sneaking in and out of the house. I had to take the hit. I quietly unlocked the front door, and to my surprise, nobody was awake. They never even knew I didn't come home at a decent hour. Or if they knew, they never said anything. I went to the laundry room and changed my clothes, and laid down on the couch, and fell asleep. This was one heck of a night, and I didn't want to do it again anytime soon.

That Monday, I saw Chuck at school and he told me they were going out again on Friday. He said, I was more than welcome to tag along. My answer? Not no, but HELL NO!!!

Rashan Vs. Dem Gangsta Cats Part 2*

If you read this post, you already know about the cat population by my crib. Actually, read that post when you get a chance. I'm freakin' hilarious. LOL. Anyway, I had another run in with a cat last night. ..



I was coming home from a long boring day at work. My manager, who for some reason went to culinary school, cooked for us. We had chicken leg quarters, some kind of fish, roasted potatoes, 4 cheese mac and cheese and a broccoli- carrot concoction. The food was pretty good, but being that I don't like to eat at work, I brought most of it home. Anyway, I get out of my car and walk up the stairs to my apartment, when all of a sudden a kitten comes running towards me. Normally, cats are scared of strangers, but not this one. She started purring and rubbing up on my leg. I'm like go away... Actual quote was "Hey, dawg! Beat it!" Yes, I know it was a cat and not a dog, and yes I know that he doesn't speak English. Anyway, I unlock my door and open it a little, but the kitten runs toward the door. I quickly shut the door, so she wouldn't get inside, but I didn't get inside either. Every move I make, the kitten followed. Jameil, who was on the phone with me tells me to stamp my foot in the kitten's direction. I tried that, but she wasn't scared. I made menacing movements, I lifted it up with my foot and moved it out of the way, I kicked it (softly, don't call PETA on me), but this little thing was determined to hang around and climb up my pants leg. Finally, I got an idea...

I had fish in my tupperware container. I opened it up, and threw some towards the adjacent apartment. Then when the kitten went to eat it, I opened the door and made my way in... Only, I underestimated the speed of this little kitten. Next thing I know, she's inside the apartment, and I'm outside looking stunned. She runs around my living room for a few seconds, as I am comically chasing her. She zig zags past me at each attempt to pick her up. Finally, I open my container of food again and throw another piece of fish outside. She runs out the door and I slam it shut, laughing at myself. For the next hour, this little cute kitten (yeah, I said it. she was cute) was meowing at my door. Poor little thing wanted to get out of the cold and get some real food. She had a collar on, so she probably belonged to somebody, I hope they found her.

*Technically, this cat was more stalker than gangsta, but I just wanted to use that title again. LOL

Rashan vs. The Security Guard

The female security guard spoke in a half nice, half nasty tone...

“Excuse me, sir. You can’t park where you parked.”

“Huh? I’m in the deck.”

The deck is the parking structure that’s about a 4 minute walk up a hill. I don’t even try to park close to the building anymore. It’s a waste of time to circle around in vain and then inevitably have to go park down there anyway. Every now and then, you may catch somebody leaving on a fools errand, but most of the time, people guard their parking spaces with their lives. Only on Fridays, when people take vacation and leave early is it possible to get a spot if you start work after 8:30am or before 4:30 pm. Anyway, I digress.

"You are parked in visitor parking. You can’t park there!"

"Nah, I just walked up the front of the building. But my car is down in the deck."

I kept it moving and tapped my badge on the magnetic card reader. The light turned green and I made my way into the revolving door which I determined only exists to slow the flow of traffic and annoy me when it hits the heel of my size 12s. Seriously, I’m clumsy enough without having a slow moving door attack me from behind. Suddenly, the door stops and I’m standing in the middle of a no longer revolving door. The intercom beeps and the security guard speaks:

“I told you. You can’t park there. I need you to move your vehicle”

I’m blowed, but I try not to let it show. I know how I am. You can read the emotion on my face. My natural inclination was to say something sarcastic while giving her the smirk, but I refrained. I mean, I could have told her that maybe the weave was in her eyes and she couldn't see the video monitor clearly, but really what would that accomplish. Anyway, the revolving door started moving backwards, this time hitting me in the toes of my shoes. I backed up along with it until I was smack dab back in the lobby from whence I came. I composed myself before speaking.

“What car do you think is mine? I’m telling you I parked out in the deck.”

“Don’t lie to me, sir! I saw you get out of that Accord.”

“Did you see me get out or did you see me walk by it? I don’t have an Accord.”

Even if I was driving someone else’s car, or got a new car that I didn’t register, do you really think I’m gonna stand here arguing with someone that can tow my car? I’m a contrarian, but not that much. It really is not that serious. But for real, why you gotta just straight up call me a liar?

“We have ways of finding out.”

“I promise you that is not my car. Go ticket it! Tow it for all I care! Right now, you are making me late with this conversation. Can I go please?”

“Well, if you just move your car…”

“Look, here is my badge. Look up what kind of car I have. Look up if I swiped my badge in the parking deck like 5 minutes ago. Just do it on your own time. I gotta go.”

“I don’t need your name. I know who you are..”

“Cool, can I go to work now?”

“Go ahead…but if I'm right...”

“You are wrong.”

I swiped my badge again. This time the card reader stayed orange. Access denied. I shot her a look and she pushed a button and the doors started moving. Do you know what she had the nerve to say?

“Have a nice day, sir!”

In honor of this interaction, may I present to you... N.W.H. from the movie "Fear of a Black Hat" - Don't watch at work... or around small children... or security guards... It's hilarious, though!

Meet The Parents (and the friends) Part 2

This post is gonna be mad disjointed cuz I'm trying to write it at work while actually working, so forgive me if it seems rushed...

Okay, so where was I? Oh, yeah. We were meeting JoEllen at Fox and Hound for drinks. JoEllen is wild, yo! She was a little ball of energy and jokes. I could definitely see why her and Jameil were friends. The two of them together: It was like hanging out with 2 Jameil's for the price of one. It was so strange and entertaining. During the course of the night, this drunk white guy was trying to get with her...HARD! Dude was mad persistant. He kept interrupting the conversation, joining in our conversations, dude even bought me a drink trying to get me to hook him up. It was hilarious. He also lectured me on what real rap was, a conversation that I humored for awhile. He told me "Jay-Z is a lyrical prophet" asked me if I ever heard of "Common from Chicago" told me that "it's not about black and white anymore, it's about good music. Eminem broke that barrier." I was rolling laughing. At some point, I just laughed dead in his face at something crazy he said. Anyway, we left there and walked back to the hotel and crashed out.



The next day, we were supposed to go to church but overslept. I checked out the hotel, and then we headed crosstown to Jameil's mother's house. It was time to meet the parents. Well, one of them. She was cooking for us and Jameil's friends. When we got there, she was still at church, so we watched some hung out and watched some Olympics and looked at more old pictures. When her mom got there, Jameil introduced us and it was cool. No big deal. I wasn't nervous or anything. The kitchen was smelling great with all that food. She made us a feast. Chicken, turkey, mac and cheese, cabbage, this dressing that was out of this world. Man, it was good! Jameil gets a phone call from her father, who was in town. Now, he is coming over and bringing Jameil's brother too! Wow, okay, I get to meet both parents in one day. I wasn't expecting all that. LOL. Mother's don't make me nervous, but it had been a good 15 years since I had dated a girl that actually had a father involved in her life. I know that's pretty sad. I shook off any nervousness and luckily it was only a brief interrogation, so that was cool. The other friends were there too and this happened, which was funny to me and I'm glad she wrote it so I didn't have to add yet another paragraph to this post. LOL

I wound up not leaving until 11:30 PM to head back home. I didn't want to leave, but figured that I should actually work a few days this month. It was a great trip and we get to do it again in 2 days. Going to Gainesville with Jam to help her get settled at school. We were supposed to stop in Savannah, to get our tourist on but I don't think we are going to have time. Oh well, I guess she'll have to meet my family at a later time. Lucky her! LOL

Meet The Parents (and the friends) part 1

I guess I'll do the recap cuz Jameil doesn't have Internet right now. I'm sure she can do it much better than I could, but here goes nothing:

I left Atlanta around 5:30 in the morning. I had the bright idea that I would just leave before I got any sleep. It wasn't really intentional, but I was too wired to sleep, and by the time I got sleepy, it was time to go. The ride was about 4 hours, which normally would be a walk in the park, but since I had been up for over 24 hours, I had to stop a couple times and run around a gas station parking lot to keep myself awake. I got to Jameil's mother's house around 10. We chilled for a minute, looking at old pictures and stuff, then I accompanied Jam to run her errands. We did some major riding around the city, and I was so glad I wasn't driving, cuz I was about to fall out from lack of sleep. It was cool being with her, even though we were just doing regular mundane taking care of business stuff. Besides, I couldn't check into my hotel until 3. I stayed at the Dunhill in Uptown Charlotte, which looks really cool on the Internet, but was just aiight. The room was kinda small, and there was some renovation going on that I didn't expect, but was cool regardless. It was in a good central location downtown, oops, I mean uptown, and everything was in walking distance. I got about an hour of sleep, before Jameil's homegirls came over to pop bottles and interrogate me. LOL.

Meagan and Tasha came through around 7:30, 8:00 and we all talked and drank that bottle of champagne, Jam had been holding on to since she found out she was going to grad school. I was mad tired, but tried not to be the anti social dude I usually am. Truth be told, I was more nervous to meet her friends, than I was to meet the parents. More on that later. Anyway, after a while the 4 of us went out to eat at this Mexican restaurant. I'm pretty sure this is the spot, Cantina 1511, but I was not really paying attention on the ride there, cuz I was sleep in the car. I know I musta looked-ed crazy falling asleep so much, but dangit, I was tired. LOL. The food was crazy good, and they had fresh guacamole which made Jam happy, which made me happy. I got this huge chimichanga thing, that I still got leftovers from and just may be today's lunch, if I remember to bring it to work with me. Laughing, drinking, talking etc..etc..etc.. and then we went out to a club.

For real, when we got to the club, I was having Savannah flashbacks. It wasn't hood, per se, but it was definitely country. What was the club called?? Oh yeah, The Savoy. They don't have a website. There was all manners of coonery going on there. I'll let Jam post them pictures, since they are on her camera, but suffice it to say, the 4 of us were the flyest cats in the spot. I felt like I should have been rocking a white tee and some J's to fit in. For the most part, we just chilled in the back at a table talking and laughing (at people). My personal favorite was the DJ who kept berating everybody for singing the radio version of The Dreams "I Love Your Girl" instead of the dirty version, all while playing...THE RADIO VERSION! Also, I seem to remember getting cursed out over music all night, but I was sleepy, so I may have been imagining that. LOL. Also, they had that club picture thing going on in the back, and people were posing in front of pictures of champagne bottles and dice. It was hilarious to me. Got back to the room around 3 and crashed out. Minus the hour of sleep I got while waiting for Jameil's homegirls to come through, I had been up for about 42 hours.

Woke up the next morning around 10 and ordered some breakfast from room service. It came from the restaurant attached to the hotel. Yo, that French toast was crazy good. Anyway, we procrastinated for awhile longer, watching When Harry Met Sally, which Jameil had been trying to get me to watch for what seems like ages. When we finally got up and at 'em, we took a walk in the downtown area. I mean, uptown area. Why Charlotte gotta be all different? The area with the skyscrapers is downtown to me, but they call it uptown. Anyway, immediately outside the hotel, they were having an Irish Pride Festival. We walked through and saw some drunken behavior, but didn't hang out too long. We walked around uptown for awhile and then stopped at Fuel for lunch. My chicken parm calzone was hot and Jam's buffalo chicken pizza was good too. Did some more walking around (noticing a theme? walking and eating were a big part of this weekend!) and checked out this photo gallery thing called the Light Factory on the way back to the hotel. Had to make sure we were back in the room in time for Jam to watch Project Runway. Okay, fine, I watched it too. LOL

Later that night, we went back out for another walk around the city in search of some food. We ended up at this spot, but the wack azz waitress never came and took our order, so we bounced. Walked around some more before deciding on Rock Bottom Brewery. The food was good, the service sucked again, but the beer had me not really caring that much. Another one of Jameil's friends, JoEllen called and we made plans to meet up for some drinks across the street at Fox and Hound. I just realized this is getting mad long, so I'll finish the recap a little later. I just got back in town, and I probably should get some sleep before it's time to go to work. I didn't even get to the Meet the Parents stuff, but I'll do that later. Happy Monday!

Our First Argument

"Rashan, you've changed"

Three little words. Quite simple words, in fact. But these eighteen letters had the potential to mess up a good thing. My first reaction was to become defensive. When I'm on the defense, it usually goes one of two ways: bad or worse. Either I just shut down and disregard what she's telling me, which on its own is bad enough. But I was feeling worse coming on. When worse comes to worse, the jerk comes out. Previously, I would have called it something else, a word that starts with a and ends with hole, but I've been making a conscious effort not to curse as much around her. When I think back no longer than a year ago, I had a potty mouth. I still do to an extent, but not around her. See, I respect her, but word is bond, she's getting on my last nerve. I fought the urge to be "that guy" and simply asked for an explanation.

"What do you mean, baby? How have I changed?"

She spoke in a muted tone, eyes cast downward to avoid my inquisitive glare.

"I mean, you used to think of only me. Now I'm not so sure that you still feel the same."

"What do you mean? We talk daily. If not daily, then at least most days."

"Yeah, but even you have to admit it's not the same."

As usual, she was right. I hate when she does that. Disarms me with proof that I don't always have all the answers. I like to think that I'm always right, even when I'm left, but since I've been dealing with her, I've had to admit far too often to my liking that her way is the right way. This was yet another time where I would have to swallow my pride and acquiesce.

"You're right, baby. Things are different. I don't know how we got here, but I know I'm willing to do whatever it takes to rekindle our relationship."

"It's not that simple. You can't just wave a magic wand and fix this. I've been thinking..."

"No, baby. Hold that thought. Once you put that out there, there is no turning back."

The fear wrapped around me like a blanket on an invalid's legs. I didn't want her to utter those words. There was no way that I was gonna let her go without a fight. We've been through too much in a relatively short period of time to just give up now. I needed her in my life.

"No, Rashan. Relax. I'm not going there. I just think some things have to change. I'm not as happy as I used to be."

"So we are having our first argument, huh? Should I mark the date?"

"That's what I'm talking about right there. You never take me seriously. Here I am trying to pour my heart out to you and you make jokes."

"You used to love my jokes. I remember you told me that was one of the first things that attracted you to me."

"I still love them. I cracked up at your post the other day. But there's a time and place for jocularity. This is not it."

"Okay, baby. Go ahead. I'm listening."

"I feel..."

Here we go. Feelings and stuff. I mean I should have expected it. Its normal in these situations for emotions to get involved. But, I honestly did not ever intend to hurt her feelings or make her feel neglected. I guess like most men, sometimes I do things without thinking about the consequences. By no means do I think I am perfect, but I do think I am perfect for her. Me and her together are unmesswitable, nah mean? Look at that. A year ago, that phrase would have been much more vulgar, but I'm trying. I'm trying to be the man she wants me to be.

"What do you feel, babe?"

"I feel that you need to pay more attention to me."

The defensiveness is bubbling up in me. I want nothing more than to state my argument, but from the tone of this conversation, I realize that is probably not the best tactic. I slump down on the love seat and continue listening.

"You used to be all about me. Along with your sense of humor, that was another thing that attracted me. You were so attentive. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that you don't still feel the same way about me, but I need you to show it."

"Yeah, you're right."

"I don't want to be an afterthought in your life. It's like everything else comes first now and then you think of me."

"Yeah, but...

I couldn't help it. I had to say something. I felt like she was maligning my character. I just wanted her to know that she is still an integral part of my life.

"But what? You just got finished admitting that things are different. Were you just saying that? I don't need your platitudes. I don't need you patronizing me."

"I'm not. I swear to you I'm not. I honestly see where you are coming from, but I just think you are making way too big a deal out of this."

"So, now what I feel is not important. Way to be sensitive there, Rashan!"

"You know that's not what I meant."

I'm so not an arguer. I really am all about the solution, rather than the rehashing of the problem. Me and her have never really argued before though, so I'm still learning her rules of engagement. From what I can tell, we have totally different styles of communication. I had no choice but to follow hers.

"What did you mean then? Cuz it sure sounded like you were discounting my feelings and I have to tell you I DON'T LIKE IT ONE BIT!!!"

"You don't have to yell. I'm right here. Can't we discuss this like two rational adults?"

"OH, SO NOW I'M A CHILD!!!!"

"Come on, relax. I'm just saying we've identified the issue, now lets see what we can do to rectify it. What is it that I can do to make you realize that I still care for you the same way?"

"I have to come up with all the answers? You are supposed to be this brilliant guy. That's what you said in your little wack post the other day. You need to find a way to fix this. Use that brain you are always bragging about."

At this point, I felt an unfamiliar twinge in my gut. I don't get mad, but I'm pretty sure that the feeling I was experiencing was anger. I've felt it a few times in my life, like when I swung on Earl at Freaknik 94. But generally, in my 33 years of living, I've found anger to be the easiest emotion to suppress. It doesn't accomplish anything in my opinion. People say I will snap if I don't let it out, but this was not the right time to let it out. I was trying to keep her around; anger would push her away. Let me take a deep breath. No, that's not working. Count to ten. That didn't do it either. "Nam-Myhoho-Renge-Kyo" - Okay, I'm cool!

"Okay, baby. I understand you are upset. I completely get that. Here's what I'm going to do."

"This should be good," she stated sarcastically. I taught her that. Her sarcasm was a direct by product of her being around me.

"I pledge this to you. Starting right now, I'm gonna make you feel like you are important to me again. I can't tell you how, honestly I don't really know that yet, but I'm going to make a conscious effort to make you feel special"

"I've heard that one before."

"Look at this face. Do you see my resolve face?"

"Wait, did you just quote Buffy The Vampire Slayer? You are so odd."

"See, the mere fact that you knew where that quote came from is proof that we are meant to be together. You like what I like, I like what you like. We are one. We can't lose sight of that."

"I guess you are right. I can't believe you got me interested in all your strange interests. How did I get hooked up with someone so incredibly weird?"

"Just lucky, I guess!"

She let out a light chuckle. She tried to hold it in, but I could see that smile, no matter how hard she tried to obscure it. I sensed that we had turned the corner. She was back on my side. I know that I have to do better though. Consider this my wake up call. I don't want to lose her because of laziness. I don't want to lose her because I have new interests. I don't ever want her to feel neglected. I'm trying to keep her around for the long haul, if she'll have me. I dodged a bullet this time, but I guess I have to show and prove.

I can't believe that I just had an argument with my blog. She sure is high maintenance!!! What, did you think I was talking about a person? LMAO!!! I dare you to tell me that was not brilliant! Don't be lying, you know you liked it! Have a good weekend, folks!

The Other Half Of The Story...

So yesterday, I asked you to finish the story. Had some good guesses, but here is what really happened.

Story One:

I'm in 7th grade at DeRenne Middle School. I was a recent transplant from New York, and didn't really get on too well with the kids at my school. A bit of a nerd, but thought I was the bee's knees cuz I came from up top. One day, I'm riding on the school bus on the way home and this lil skinny kid that I couldn't stand named James Jackson started messing with me. He was talking mad trash talking about how I thought I was better than the rest of them cuz I was from New York. The words meant nothing to me. I was listening to my walkman tuning him out because I knew he wouldn't dare touch me. Then he did it. He grabbed my New York Mets baseball cap off my head and ran to the back of the bus. I was heated. I couldn't believe this clown tried me like that. I... (finish the story for me)

So, I got up with fire in my eyes. I yelled at James. "Gimme my hat, yo! Quit Playing!!!" He said something about make him. So, I decided to do just that. I threw down my book bag and motioned to him like a taunting wrestler. I was gonna beat that skinny little punk down on the moving bus. Never mind the fact that I can't fight, I wouldn't have needed any skills, just my superior size. The only problem was... I tripped over the cord to my earphones and did a face plant right in the aisle. How embarrassing!!! Everybody started laughing, and James stood over me and tossed my Mets hat down on me. I was the butt of jokes for about a week, until Samuel peed his pants at school and replaced me as the school whipping boy.

Story Two:

Freaknik 98. Freaknik has lost all its luster pretty much, but there are still loads of beautiful Black people that gathered in Atlanta not knowing that the city has decided to shut down most of the festivities and crack down on our unruly behavior. I'm rolling with Kareem and Tori in Downtown Atlanta. I wanna say we were on Peachtree St. We were high..and maybe drunk, and we are riding in my Tercel blasting some east coast hip hop that is getting drowned out by the boomin' systems of the dudes in the Jeeps, the lex coupes, beemers and the benz (for all my ladies and my mens - I used to love this song.) Anyway, Tori gets the attention of some ladies from Maryland (at least that's where their car tags said they were from.) They tempt him to get out the car and talk to them. That was pretty much a no no with the Atlanta Police Department. They made it clear that they didn't want people getting out their cars. I told Tori not to get out, but he did anyway. He's dancing in the street for the ladies and the next thing you know the cops roll up and handcuff him. I had to decide what to do next. I... (finish the story for me.)

Kareem tried to get me to pull over to at least figure out what jail Tori was being taken to. I refused. I told that clown to stay in the car, and it ain't my fault he got knocked. Besides, traffic wasn't moving and I couldn't pull over if i wanted to. Traffic crawled until finally I was able to bust a left out of the jam and onto a slightly less congested road. Kareem pontificated about bail money, but I didn't even consider it. Ain't no way I was bailing them jokers out of jail again. I told them that the first and only time I did that. "He just gonna have to call his mama." Next thing I know, Tori walks up to the car and hits the roof. We let him in and rolled off. Apparently the cops didn't really intend to arrest him, they were just making a show out of it. He was pretty heated at me for just rolling away, but guess who didn't care? Me, that's who!!!


Story 3:

Myo.. you can't answer this one. LOL. I'm working as a manager in a bank call center. I'm kinda a big deal. LOL But for real, the chicks at the job used to love them some Rashan. I don't know if it was really me, or if it was the perceived power they thought I had, but there was always someone trying to get at me. If I was a man of lesser morals, like my man D, I could have cleaned up in that place. Anyway, back to the story... I'm interviewing this woman and throughout the interview she's giving me the come hither look. I hired her. Not because of the look, but because she answered the questions correctly. Stop looking at me like that. There were 2 of us doing the interview, so it wasn't just my decision. Okay, so her first day at the job, she sees me and greets me with a hug. I had a strict no touching rule because I wasn't trying to get no harassment lawsuit or anything, but she caught me off guard. She was pretty, but had a shifty look about her. Throughout the day, she came to my desk quite often, flirting with me, looking at me like she wanted something I couldn't provide at work. Toward the end of the day, she told me that she was having a birthday party at a club and asked if I wanted to go. Now, I was the cool manager that wasn't above hanging with my reps on occasion, and she was pretty fly, and I wasn't dating anybody, so...(Finish this story for me...)

Yeah, right. I didn't go anywhere with that girl. I politely declined her invitation citing management - employee relations rules. She said "What if you just show up at the club? Nobody will know you came for me. It would just be a coincidence." Nah, I'll still pass. She came back later and asked me again, but I still wasn't trying to hear it. In the coming weeks, she kept up her flirtatiousness, but I wasn't biting. There was just something shiesty about her. Come to find out, the baby daddy she would reference was actually her husband. And I'm pretty sure that she was having relations with this other dude at the job. Better him than me.

I'll Tell You Half The Story, The Rest You Fill It In

long as the villain win/I spend Japan yen at 10 major events... Fast forward to 1:55 if you wanna hear the line. Yep, another Jay-Z lyric as the title..

I'm just gonna tell you half the story. You fill in the ending in the comments. Let's see how well you know me.

Story One...

I'm in 7th grade at DeRenne Middle School. I was a recent transplant from New York, and didn't really get on too well with the kids at my school. A bit of a nerd, but thought I was the bee's knees cuz I came from up top. One day, I'm riding on the school bus on the way home and this lil skinny kid that I couldn't stand named James Jackson started messing with me. He was talking mad trash talking about how I thought I was better than the rest of them cuz I was from New York. The words meant nothing to me. I was listening to my walkman tuning him out because I knew he wouldn't dare touch me. Then he did it. He grabbed my New York Mets baseball cap off my head and ran to the back of the bus. I was heated. I couldn't believe this clown tried me like that. I... (finish the story for me)

Story Two:

Freaknik 98. Freaknik has lost all its luster pretty much, but there are still loads of beautiful Black people that gathered in Atlanta not knowing that the city has decided to shut down most of the festivities and crack down on our unruly behavior. I'm rolling with Kareem and Tori in Downtown Atlanta. I wanna say we were on Peachtree St. We were high..and maybe drunk, and we are riding in my Tercel blasting some east coast hip hop that is getting drowned out by the boomin' systems of the dudes in the Jeeps, the lex coupes, beemers and the benz (for all my ladies and my mens - I used to love this song.) Anyway, Tori gets the attention of some ladies from Maryland (at least that's where their car tags said they were from.) They tempt him to get out the car and talk to them. That was pretty much a no no with the Atlanta Police Department. They made it clear that they didn't want people getting out their cars. I told Tori not to get out, but he did anyway. He's dancing in the street for the ladies and the next thing you know the cops roll up and handcuff him. I had to decide what to do next. I... (finish the story for me.)

Story 3:
Myo.. you can't answer this one. LOL. I'm working as a manager in a bank call center. I'm kinda a big deal. LOL But for real, the chicks at the job used to love them some Rashan. I don't know if it was really me, or if it was the perceived power they thought I had, but there was always someone trying to get at me. If I was a man of lesser morals, like my man D, I could have cleaned up in that place. Anyway, back to the story... I'm interviewing this woman and throughout the interview she's giving me the come hither look. I hired her. Not because of the look, but because she answered the questions correctly. Stop looking at me like that. There were 2 of us doing the interview, so it wasn't just my decision. Okay, so her first day at the job, she sees me and greets me with a hug. I had a strict no touching rule because I wasn't trying to get no harassment lawsuit or anything, but she caught me off guard. She was pretty, but had a shifty look about her. Throughout the day, she came to my desk quite often, flirting with me, looking at me like she wanted something I couldn't provide at work. Toward the end of the day, she told me that she was having a birthday party at a club and asked if I wanted to go. Now, I was the cool manager that wasn't above hanging with my reps on occasion, and she was pretty fly, and I wasn't dating anybody, so...(Finish this story for me...)

Cliché

I was still wet behind the ears when I met her. Young dumb and full..well, you know. Let's just say that I was smelling myself. I saw her getting her groove on, cutting a rug with some thugged out looking brother. He gave the image of being a real tough cookie, but in reality, he was soft as a baby's bottom. Who me? I was with my guys. My brothers from another mother Kareem and Tori. It was a Friday night and I just got paid. I was sharp as a tack in my Girbaud jean shorts and brightly colored Hilfiger shirt. I was feeling cool as a fan. I'm not telling a tall tale when I say that time stood still for a minute when I saw her. It was like nobody else in the world existed. She took my breath away. I took a minute to get my ducks in a row, then waited for opportunity to knock. The guy she was dancing with had left her on the dance floor to answer a page. She stood there looking like she lost her best friend. That's when I made my move. I was ready to stick a knife in his back to meet this girl. Was it wrong? Sure, but I had to look out for number 1.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Yeah, it ain't trickin' if you got it. That's what all the rappers say, so it must be true. Even though I was just a college boy, I worked my fingers to the bone at my j-o-b. I'm pretty sure I could manage to get her a glass of Alize. Now, as I reminisce, that in itself was mad cliche. Everybody and their mama was getting their drink on with that Ze. Myself? This was back before I knew any better and was drinking that liquid crack. If it wasn't Cisco or MD2020, you might find me 3 sheets to the wind off that Christian Brothers brandy. Or maybe some Seagrams Gin. Sometimes both. Well that night I was sipping on gin and juice. You know what they say. "Gin makes you sin." I thought of all the sinful things I could do with her. Matter of fact, before I move on, let me confess, I wasn't exactly rolling in the dough. I was NOT keeping up with the Jones'. In fact, my money was funny, but frankly, I didn't give a damn. They say romance without finance is a damn nuisance, but I figured let's roll the dice and see if I can hit the mark.

So back to the girl. She smiled a smile that lit up the room. She was finer than all outdoors. I mean, she could have been a model. What should I call her on the blog? I think I'll call her Nashville - cuz she was the only 10 I see. Or saw. Or.. never mind, that doesn't work out. I thought I would run it up the flagpole and see if it flies. Anyway, she told me her name. It was Keisha. What a surprise! A black girl named Keisha. I've never met one of those before. I think that there must have been a come to Jesus meeting for all parents between 1974 and 1984. They decreed that every 5th Black female child shall be named Keisha. It was written...and forever more shall be.

But I digress... Keisha was rocking the styles of the day. She had the white K-Swiss on with some Daisy Dukes shorts that fit like a glove. Her white tee was tied up around her navel, revealing a butterfly tattoo on her stomach. You have to remember this was when I was still mad young, and not set in my ways like I am now. A cliche tat like that back then was exciting, especially the strategic placement and "blue like the sky" coloring. Keisha's hair was gelled up in a french roll, and a long (weave?) curl cascaded over her left eye. Yeah, she was hotter than a sinner in church. She was hotter than July. She was hotter than a fat chick's butt crack and I was hooked like a crackhead. She had my nose open like some Vicks.

I paid for her drink and then we walked to the corner to chop it up. I mean we were talking, not getting blowing trees. Although by that point, I was probably high as Bob Marley. But guess what? You most certainly can't judge a book by it's cover. Turns out Keisha was dumb as a box of rocks. She was a few fries short of a happy meal. Her conversation was so wack, that I considered finding the dude she was with and returning her. "Here, you take her. I don't want her no mo'." Ain't that the way the cookie crumbles? You never trust a big butt and a smile. All that glitters isn't gold. I had to bounce out of there. I guess that's the story of my life. Oh well, another one bites the dust!

Oh yeah, this story was fiction. You know how I be lying. LOL Or more accurately it was fiction based on a composite of true stories. Did you notice all the cliches? If not, read it again and look for them. I lost count of how many I threw in there.

Say You Say Me (editted to include the whole story)

Okay, I edited the post to include the entire story. I added some links and stuff too.


May 1st 1988 – Savannah, Georgia

I woke up for school like any other day. The Today Show played in the background as I ate breakfast. For most of my fellow 8th graders, it was set to be a good day. We had our chorus field trip to Downtown Savannah this day. That meant that there would be very little schooling and a whole lot of playing around. It was the annual May Day celebration. May Day was a real corny thing where kids would run around the May Pole with ribbons and stuff (this isn't Savannah, but this is the basic idea) and just generally look a fool. I suppose it was cute if you were of another persuasion. I was going because I was a member of the DeRenne Middle School Chorus. In addition to the elementary aged kids frolicking, all the choruses from the school district would be singing throughout the day. The previous year, I went and found it a very good way to hang out with kids from other schools, which is something I never did. In the preceding months, I anticipated May Day like a kid waiting on Santa. It was, after all, the only day of the school year that I could legally slack off.

But something was in the air this May Day morning. As I put on my freshly ironed baby blue chorus shirt, a feeling of dread took over. I didn’t want to go. I violently did not want to go. Why, you ask? My trepidation was a result of what I had to do when I got there: Sing a solo. Now this may not seem like a big deal to some of you, but since my move to Savannah 2 years previous, I had been affected by a crippling shyness. People didn’t get me, and rather than over power them with my personality, I retreated. I was able to speak to classmates and people I knew, but getting to know new people was not on the agenda. For the past few weeks during rehearsals, I belted out the song like nobody’s business. Say You, Say Me by Lionel Richie. We were doing it as a duet and it probably would have made more sense to sing Endless Love if we just had to sing some Li-o-nel stuff. It was me and De.dr.a Wr.ight. (pause for drooling.) She was the prettiest girl in class. Dedra had this long black hair and a shy smile that could light up a room. (I’ll see if I can find a picture when I get home.) For some reason I wasn’t shy when we were practicing in the chorus room, located in a trailer towards the back of the school. I hit my notes, I nailed our hand choreography, I mastered the “oh so sincere” R&B cat look. I was ready. Me and Dedra were gonna turn some heads down in Johnson Square…

I sat silently on the bus as we rode across town to school. I mentally rehearsed the song which by now I knew like the back of my hand. My stomach started hurting at the prospect of standing up in front of all those strangers and singing. The pain didn't stop as I went to Mr. Aliffi's homeroom class. I remember that people were talking to me, but I was paying them any attention. I went to first period, I don't remember what class that was, and then it was time for our field trip. I headed to the chorus room where we were all meeting up. My homeboys Chavon and Derrick were waiting for me there. They were far better singers than I, but they didn't hold that against me. They were encouraging about my solo. We sat and talked in our matching baby blue chorus shirts.

"You ready, Rashan?"
"I think so. I know the song, I'm just nervous."
"No need to be nervous. All them honeys from the other schools are gonna be watching. Just sing to one of them."

That wasn't really helping. In fact that made me even more nervous. I had resigned myself to the fact that parents and politicians would be watching, but cute girls? Did I mention how painfully shy I was? It really was quite pathetic. I didn't know if I could go through with it. The chorus got on the bus and headed to downtown Savannah, practicing our songs. The chorus teacher, whose first name was Robin, but whose last name I can't remember directed us. Some of the songs we were singing were "The Rose", "Fifty Nifty" (Fifty Nifty United States from thirteen original colonies,Shout 'em, scout 'em, Tell all about 'em, One by one,til we've given a day to every state in the USA in the USA in the USA - I remembered these lyrics before I looked them up. LOL) and Body Electric. Oh, yeah... and my solo that I so did not want to do.

The sun was beaming down that late Savannah morning. I don't know the temperature, but I do know I was sweating. We watched the kids running around the may pole and eye stalked the girls from the other middle school chorus. Then it was time for our performance. We got into place on the risers and waited for our introduction. The mayor introduced us, so it was mad crowded with onlookers. As we did our first few songs, my mind was wandering in anticipation of my solo. My choreography was off. I was pretty much lip synching because I just couldn't concentrate on anything but that damn Lionel Richie song. How did I let them talk me into this? I'm a background singer. I'm not the star. Then it came time for me and Dedra's song.

We were supposed to walk to the two microphone stands that stood in front of the rest of the chorus. I say supposed to because, although Dedra walked down, I froze. I was literally paralyzed by stage fright. I tried, but I couldn't move. Chavon and Derrick kept nudging me, but I couldn't move. It was mad uncomfortable. *crickets chirping* The chorus teacher Robin ??? mouthed at me to come on, I shook my head no. That's all I could manage. Luckily, Chavon knew the song and took my place. It was probably for the best. He was way better than me anyway. After the song was over, I was just fine. I did the rest of our chorus performance like nothing happened. The little gay choreography was on point, I hit all the harmony like I was supposed to, I even "sang with a smile" like Robin used to always tell us to do.

On the ride home, I got teased a little, but not relentlessly. Everybody was too busy praising Chavon and Dedra for their performance. I was just relieved that it was over. That's right, ol scary Rashan punked out. Did I mention how much I hate that damn song? If I don't ever hear "Say You, Say Me" again in my life, it'll be just fine.

Okay, I'm off to try to repress this memory. Talk to you later. LOL!

Confessions: I Hit A Girl

The rage boiled in my throbbing brain and before I knew it, I was grabbing her. Fists balled up, I let loose with a left hand that landed squarely on her temple. I knew I was not supposed to put my hands on a female, but I had to assert myself as a man. No more would I tolerate her disrespect...

I'm getting ahead of myself. If you read my comments on Diva's post yesterday, then you already know what I'm writing about. This isn't some domestic violence story; its the story of how me and my sister became cool. I guess I should start at the beginning...

My sister had terrorized me for as long as I can remember. She is two years older than me and always asserted her role as the oldest. My role as the younger brother meant that she could antagonize me whenever the mood struck. It could be something as simple as turning off the Atari when I was about to beat her high score or something as violent as throwing a can of soup at my head. I remember once when we still lived in New York, she tore my Whodini poster off the wall for no good reason (that I can remember.) When I had the nerve to talk back about it, she ripped it to shreds, laughing at me with her friend Sherri. That's what I lived with for many years. I seem to remember her also banging my head on a coffee table, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the hurt I felt at being humiliated by my sister.

All my life, I was told not to hit girls. Matter of fact, I don't know if it was something that had to be told to me more than once. For the most part, I was a good kid and never overtly disobeyed my mother's life lessons. So, instead of fighting back when my sister slapped both my ears and yelled "Stereo!", I just took it. For 13 long years, I was her punching bag. Until this Wednesday night in Savannah, Georgia.

I remember it was a Wednesday because Magnum PI was on. That was my favorite show at the time. It came on at the same time as Dynasty, her favorite show. By this time, we had escaped from New York and were living in the Dirrrty at my grandmother's house. The house was full of 4 generations of women: Grandma Cleo (my great grandmother), my grandmother, my mother and my sister. Throw in me and my little brother, and we had a packed 3 bedroom house. We didn't have our own bedrooms. My sister slept in the living room, I slept in the family room, Lord knows where my brother slept: I think in the room with my mother. Over the years, we had many different sleeping arrangements, from couches, to sofa beds, to cots, to palettes on the floor. I guess that's why I can sleep anywhere now. I don't need a bed to fall asleep, I didn't really have my own until I was in my 20's. But I digress, although its not a total digression, because I needed you all to get the picture of how the house was laid out. There was no privacy, no retreating to your bedroom when you got an attitude. I suppose we could have gone to the garage to sulk, but with the flying roaches and the Savannah humidity, that was really a last option. Let me move on...

At the time, the only color tv that we had access to was in the family room. My sister and I used to fight to get control of the TV after Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy went off and my grandmother retreated to her room (which by the way had a TV with cable.) We had to be pretty sneaky to be the first in the room. Whoever finished their homework first, was more than likely gonna be handed the remote after Alex Trebek dipped. This Wednesday night, I was the victor. I watched Unsolved Mysteries at 8 o clock, but was really just waiting for Magnum to come on at 9. I had control of the TV, the night was mine. At 8:57, my sister came in the room and grabbed the remote from me. She turned to channel 4 like she was gonna watch Dynasty.

Normally when this would happen, I would just go to the other room and watch Magnum on the cheap black and white TV with the rabbit ears. But this night, something came over me. I didn't want to acquiesce to my sister. I wanted to watch Magnum on the big TV. I earned it. I sat through the local news with that annoying Dou.g We.athers as well as Wheel and Jeopardy and darnit, I was in control of the TV (that was the phrase we used.) Why should my big sister just waltz in here and take what I rightfully earned? She's been doing this my whole life, but enough is enough.

At first I told her to give me the remote. Not surprisingly she refused. This went on for a few minutes. "Gimme the remote" "No" "Nikki, Gimme the remote" "No." Then I decided to take it by force. At 13, I was bigger than she was at 15 and I figured I could just snatch it from her. How bout she had a death grip on that remote. It took far more effort than I thought to get it from her, but I finally did. I turned to channel 9 and just caught the opening credits of my show. Thinking it was over, I sat back on the sofa and relished my small victory. That's when Nik walked up to the tv, and unplugged it. Word? You gonna do it like that? I was getting mad. I went and plugged the tv back in, leaving the remote in the spot that I was just sitting. She picked it up and turned right back to Dynasty. Another struggle ensued; Her gripping the remote, me trying to pry it out of her hands. And then she did it... My loving sister swung the remote control at me. This was like 1988 and it wasn't one of those small ones that are out now. It was a huge, industrial strength remote. And it hit me right upside my head.

The rage boiled in my throbbing brain and before I knew it, I was grabbing her. Fists balled up, I let loose with a left hand that landed squarely on her temple. I knew I was not supposed to put my hands on a female, but I had to assert myself as a man. No more would I tolerate her disrespect. I threw punches like a madman, some landed, others missed. I wasn't really hitting Nikki, I was punching away the years of torture I experienced at her hands. When it was over (and I can't remember who broke it up) I felt relieved. I didn't get to watch Magnum that night, but I got something that much better: my dignity!

From that point on, my sister and I have been mad cool. I can't recall a single argument after that day. We actually became friends. I remember when I went to high school, she was a junior. There was a tradition at my high school that the upper classmen would take the freshmen's drawers. It was kinda like a wedgie, except they would pull them so hard that the elastic band would break. It always seemed kinda gay to me, but that was what they did. I didn't have to worry about anybody trying me, because my sister had her friends look out for me (well, that and the fact that I dressed in all black and kept a mean mug like Cube and 'em for my entire freshman year.) When she went to college at Spelman, I used come to Atlanta to hang with her and her cool college friends. When I was a broke college kid, her and her boyfriend at the time drove to Savannah, to pick me up for a Prince concert and then drove me back the same night so I could take my finals. When I moved to Atlanta, she let me and my girl stay with her until we got on our feet. The list can go on and on. We really have been nothing but cool since that night.

Although we have our Don't ask, Don't tell policy, I know that if I ever need anything, Nikki has my back. And that goes both ways. Whatever she needs, she got it. I wonder if we would have been this cool if I never fought back and let her run over me for my entire life. And that's the story of how one night changed my relationship with my sister forever.

BTW, I know I went a little link crazy with all the YouTube joints...

The Ride Home

For real, ask me a question people! Thank to Pserendipity for her queries. I need some more though. I can't make a post out of 3 questions. Well, I can, but I don't want to. Audience participation please. This is your chance to control what I write about. Ask me some off the wall mess. Ask me something that you been thinking, but are not sure about. Ask me anything. Okay, I'm done begging now.

On to today's post. I intended to post this last week when I was talking about my ex's but I somehow got tired of writing about them.

The Ride Home

Dateline: Sometime in 1996 - Savannah, Georgia

As was customary, this day I met Lisa at the Biology building. She was pre med, I was an English major. We had coordinated our schedules so that our classes coincided with each other. I parked my 1987 VW Fox, you know the one with the fresh Cerulean Blue paint job and the airbrushed license tag that said Rashan X and was adorned with a tiger, Savannah State's mascot, across from the library. I walked in the building to find Lisa sitting in the lobby.

"You ready to go?"

She didn't say anything, just nodded and stood up. I grabbed her books and we walked towards the exit. I opened her the passenger side door, put her books in the back seat and then she sat down. Closing the door after her, I scampered around to the driver's side, got in and turned the car on. Loud hip hop blared from the 6 x 9 speakers that my homeboy Ashley had just recently installed for me. I quickly lowered the volume, realizing that I had forgotten to remove the detachable face for the cd player.

"My bad."

Lisa used to get on me about blasting my music in front of the biology building. Something about not wanting her professors to hear my profanity laced booming. She didn't say anything this time, so I considered myself lucky. I changed the CD to something that we both liked, I wanna say it was Monifah's Mood...Moments album, but I can't quite remember. I depressed the clutch, put the car in gear and rode around the campus towards the Victory Street exit. We usually stopped over at her cousin's house right outside the campus for a while before going home, so I drove in that direction.

"I'm not feeling too good. Can you just take me home?"

Not a problem. I didn't want to go over there anyway. They were okay, but I always felt a little anti social over there. I usually just wound up watching Jenny Jones or Tempestt Bledsoe's talk show while the family did whatever they did. I rode back around the campus, exiting at the Skidaway entrance.

"Hey, Lisa. You need something to drink or something?"

She shook her head, still not very talkative. Really, I wanted to stop and get a Mystic or one of them Lifesaver drinks, but I could tell that I should probably get her home. The music played softly in the background as I made the right turn onto DeRenne Ave. We rode without talking, which was rare, but had been known to happen from time to time. We stopped at a red light at DeRenne and Waters.

"How did you do on that test?"

Lisa didn't respond. I scanned my memory banks to see what I had done wrong. I don't think she knew about my trip to the ghetto ass strip club (please someone remind me to write about Lady Lou's and BoMays - hilarious stories in those clubs) the other night. Kareem and Tori weren't around so they couldn't have gotten on her nerves. Matter of fact, we rarely if ever argued about anything, so I wasn't sure what I had done to rate a silent treatment. Was she really mad about me blasting my music? Nah, she's not that type. But what's up? The light turned green and I inched forward slightly when I heard her say something.

"What'd you say?"

Again, Lisa didn't respond. I figured she was deep in thought and decided not to push the issue. I hit another red light right in front of Candler Hospital. It took an eternity for the light to change. It was what passes for rush hour in Savannah so there were cars in front and behind me. I stared ahead into traffic waiting for that confounded light to change to no avail, car in first gear, my foot on the clutch. I heard a rustling noise coming from my right. I turned my head to see what Lisa was doing. To my surprise she....

Let's back up a little...

I'm only kidding. I'm gonna tell the story now. Lisa was in the midst of a seizure. Her body convulsed, and strange guttural sounds emanated from her throat. I threw my Fox in neutral and reached over to help my girlfriend. The seat belt was tightening across her throat, so the first thing I did was to unbuckle it. I turned her over on her side, so in case she had to vomit, she wouldn't choke on it. In the midst of this, I caught a couple of shots from her flailing arms right in my eye. But the adrenalin masked any pain I was feeling. The light turned green. A cacophony of car horns blared behind me. My car, in neutral, started to roll backwards a bit. I managed to find the parking brake to stop the backward momentum, and of course ignored the drivers behind me that didn't know what was going on. The convulsions continued for what seemed like ages, although it really was not long at all. Lisa began to look like she was choking, so I did what seemed like a good idea at the time, but in fact was the exact wrong thing to do. I put my finger in her mouth to stop her from choking on her tongue. Of course, she bit the shit outta my finger, but I didn't care as long as she could still breathe. When the seizure ended, I busted a right turn on to Reynolds and took her directly to the emergency room at Candler, which fortuitously was right there.

I knew that Lisa had seizures. I knew that she took medicine daily to control them; I think it was called Dilantin. I knew that she didn't drive because of the possibility. Only she hadn't had one in the two years I knew her. In retrospect, we probably should have talked about what to do in the event of a seizure, but under the circumstances, I think I did pretty well. Sure, I had a black eye and a bloody finger, but at least Lisa was all right. I called her Mom at work and told her what happened, Lisa's father also soon showed up. Moms was giving me the side eye like it was my fault, like I short circuited her brain or something. Her father was just grateful that I didn't punk out.

"Thank you for taking care of my little girl."

Those were the most words he ever said to me in the entire 3 years Lisa and I dated. I saw Lisa have a seizure one more time. This time we were at her sister's house in that little bedroom that we spent so much time in. I was so much more prepared the second time, and I knew for the sake of my appendages, to keep them as far away from her mouth as possible. Before you ask, I don't know how she is. I haven't talked to her in like 3 years. Last I heard, she was getting her 2nd Masters degree in Tennessee. but that's another story for another day.