Ramblings of the Mildly Insane

I feel like a little punk for owning up to this, but I just finished watching a show on HBO called Happy to Be Nappy and Other Stories of Me. It reminded me how wonderful it is to be a unique individual.

Listening to each of the children explain why they don’t like to be teased nearly brought tears to my eyes. I had almost forgotten that kids can sometimes be cruel to one another (and it is my firm belief that no child should ever feel pain). But each child, in their own special way, had something amazingly profound to share.

There was one child in particular that made me realize something very important – there is always something good no matter how bad the situation is. He is blind, but when faced with such adversity, he looked on the bright side.

“One good thing about being blind is that I can read in the dark.”

When he said that and opened his book to read in bed, I had to chuckle. By the time the credits began rolling, I was suddenly inspired to look at the world as though my eyes were that of a child. They have such a lovely way of looking at things.

(By the way, the title has significant meaning as I’m currently sporting some afropuffs. )

I’ve been holding on to this bit of news for a while, but I can’t any longer.

Behold, the cuteness that is my baby. (And when I say my baby, I mean my sister’s baby ).

(In her basinet, 23 days old.)

She is a little, precious bundle of joy and poop, cries and gurgly noises (Chrissie and Belle were lucky enough to experience it first hand via conference call).

I’m still trying to figure out the poopie part because all she does is drink milk and water. Liquid stuff. How in the world does liquid go in and so much solid scary stuff come out? It makes no sense.

(Now 26 days old, yawning after leaving me a present in her diaper. )

I’ve come to the following conclusion: Babies should come with an instruction manual. Seriously.

Funny thing, though. Even when she’s pooping, crying, gurgling, or just taking it all in , she’s still pretty darn cute. I think I’ll keep her.

(Breanna explores the world. From the couch.)

SissieD is another year older today, and unlike last year, I refrained from calling her old.

And I can proudly say that I was the first person to wish her a happy birthday at the start of the day today because…eh hem…I called her at 12:01am.

She didn’t answer, so I began to leave her a message, then partway through my (very poor) rendition of Happy Birthday someone was beeping in…it was her, so I clicked over and finished singing it where I’d left off.

Now, let me tell you all about my wonderful sissie…

She’s the oldest of us three.
She was the one who took over my dream when I was too tired.
She takes care of me when I need taking care of.
Actually, she takes care of anyone who needs taking care of.
She’s one of the strongest people, emotionally and mentally, that I know.
She makes me smile when I need a smile.
She makes me laugh when I need to laugh.
She’s a super pimp, but refuses to admit it.
She encourages me to never settle and to push myself (I can always do better).
She doesn’t get mad at me when I shop in her home. (She has some pretty cool stuff.)
She’s the logical and sensible one of us three.
She is someone I admire and look up to.

And we’re going to Australia together on Monday – WOO and HOO!

But, for now, I’m off to go deliver her present.

My sister text messaged me yesterday morning a couple days ago, but I didn’t get it until now because I’m notoriously bad at checking my text messages unless I’m actually holding the phone when I get it.

She’s been messing around with her new cell phone, and after a barrage of “my cell phone is better than your cell phone” types of messages, I got this one…

10/05/06 8:42am

GD MORN MY SIS I LV YU

Awww. That made me smile.

(She still needs to work on her text message shorthand, though.)

While making my own notes to self, I decided to check out how others are doing it. So far, this is hilarious.

A few of my personal favorites in no particular order (my comments are in italics off to the side):

• Never buy 1-ply toilet paper. The price-savings to raw-ass ratio never works out in your favor. (Sometimes people need to learn this lesson the hard way.)
• Make a yearly habit of firing a gun, if for no other reason than to remind yourself you’re not particulalry fond of them and they can be quite dangerous if you’re not aware of what to do. Ditto for going out on a blind date. (Been there, done that and it wasn’t pretty — have the pictures to prove it. I’m talking about both, firing a gun and the blind date.)
• Buy a ninja costume. Invent social occasions to wear it in public.
• Rob the jewelry store and tell ‘em make me a grill.
• Name each of your toes. Attempt to train them to stand at attention when called by name. Belittle the ones who can’t manage. By flipflop season you’ll realize that tough love was the way to go.
• Find the end of the internet. Move on with your life. (Here you go.)
• At some point this week, eat a meal that tastes so good it makes you want to curse. Out-loud. Pay heftily for the privilege of doing so if necessary. (I’ll do so only after I’ve lost the necessary weight and shamelessly flaunted my ass in a bikini for ten days in Australia.)
• Begin referring to “SMS Messaging” as “S&M Messaging” in conversation. Stare at people incredulously if they have the nerve to correct you.
• Clean out your inbox. Triple digits are BAD. (If triple digits are bad, I wonder what quadruple digits are.)
• No matter what lies you tell yourself, you really will feel better if you just go ahead and get up in the morning instead of rolling back over. (Riiiiiight.)
• Go get a slight crush on a cute [guy]. It makes you smile for no apparent reason. (‘Tis true. ‘Tis true.)

Okay, there are far too many humdingers to list, so go read, have a laugh, and gain some wisdom. Don’t say I never gave you nuthin’.

While perusing the blogosphere, I came across Rachel’s site and, I must say, she makes absolutely gorgeous jewelry. I personally like the breast cancer awareness lanyard.

So, wanna make a girl smile? Get her something pretty*. Make her feel like a lady.

* Of course, there are other ways to get a girl to smile, but I’m just stating the obvious here.

I’ve been a little late announcing my newest bloggie tenant this week (oops, seems life caught up to me). Well, it’s better late than never, right? Head over to Girl: Running Rampant (aka Alyssa) and say hello. Just don’t forget to come back.

P.S. Alyssa, I’ve been doing quite a bit of soul searching myself, so can empathize. Glad to hear that you’re making the changes necessary for your highest good.

Growing up, I spent a lot of time wishing my parents had enrolled me in piano lessons when I was two or taught me a second (or even, third) language when I was three. In fact, I resented them.

Despite being on the dean’s list, in honour society, and first chair in the top band, I always felt inadequate, especially when the other kids were bragging about playing an instrument for ten years when they were only 12 years old. They started me in everything too late. How could my parents curse me like this? I’d often wonder.

Then, sitting in my bedroom and looking around, I realized that I am fortunate and my parents didn’t curse me — they gave me a fighting chance.

Jamaica, the country where I was born, is akin to a third world country (though not as bad as some third world countries). There are two main classes: the very rich and the very poor. Flipping through my photo album, it’s fairly obvious which class we were in, but it didn’t deter my parents — more specifically, my mom.

My mother traveled to the states for a single purpose, to bring her family here because, after all, America is the land of opportunity. She worked for a year to bring me, my dad, and my two sisters here (and she had to do it individually over a period of another year). She single-handedly plucked us from a destitute future and gave me and my sisters a head start.

I only had to live in a metal shack (yea, like the ones you see in those feed the children commercials) for the first three years of my life instead of the first twenty-something. For that alone, I forgive my parents for not starting me in everything early. Instead, I’d like to thank them for the opportunities they made available to me.

They did the very best they could with what they had, and I have everything I do because of them.

Addendum: Actually, after speaking to my daddy, I only had to live in a metal shack for roughly the first 6 months. The rest of my life, we did live in a real house (I actually do remember it, too).

My sister: Let me have some of your drink.
My nephew: No. (playfully)
My sister: But I’m your mother. I have stretch marks on my stomach because of you. You owe me.

WTF? Sometimes my sister is really funny without even realizing it.

No, not this geek – this geek, who seems to be spending a lot more of her blogging time here.

Happy birthday Chrissie!! And remember, not only are you a year older, you’re also a year wiser. That should take some of the sting out of it.

(Sorry I didn’t call and harass you on the phone. Can’t wait ’til you get down here and I’ll e-mail you in a few. )