Mini Thugs

It hit me today. My children are going to be crazy little gila monsters. Much like the soccer hellions that peed outside Dana’s window in Dillard, much like the ones that took over the exercise room tonight, much like Lynette’s on Desperate Housewives. As much as I wanted to yell at the rats, I couldn’t because there, on the treadmill, I knew that monsters of that nature would someday spring from my loins. It’s inevitable, much like my regression back to geriatric playing. Which brought on the thought that I’ll be raising a brood fit to serve as the horsemen of the apocalypse. I can see it now, on my hiatus from jury consulting (how the hell did he convince me I should stay home for a few years to raise the 3 boys?!), I’ll be at home trying to keep house as the triumvirate of evil play cowboys and Indians (an ever so PC game for the children of a once history major) trying to kill each other and me. Mini Thugs.

I find it ironic that I’ve dubbed him the Thug. I was informed upon disclosure of my Nelly music choice that he was eh hem, “A Rocker.” Tonight he reinforced that with a mention of playing his guitar, and two dogs, a husky and golden retriever. I melted upon word of the husky, died from that HUG, but recovered in time to make him blush. Go me. Found out he’s a mortgage broker and found out I don’t know anything about that. Does that mean he’s got money honey, or is it that he’s got moola and is two steps up from a sleazy car salesman? The overall lack of bling would support hypothesis ‘a’. And he sounds like he’s from Yankeeland, so I’m guessing the sleazy businessman fits more with the tacky Miami accent than the pretentious Yankeeland accent.

I still think I might be playing with fire. Is that my perception of y’alls thoughs being projected into my mind? Cause I’m so comfortable in my GP. Think HOLLA. And then am like giiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrl!

Cynthia asked me to refrain from working out until I’m skin and bones. I assured her that I’m nowhere close to my fat reserves yet. What can I say, I had to do it; I was turned on. It was inevitable. She also asked if my flight was at 6am. I reassured her that it was not and that very few things are on my list of things to do at 6am. Flying would not be one of them.

I got called a “mami” by a guy the other day. He’s a nice patron of Borders so I’m at least grateful it wasn’t in the sleazy Petey Pablo version. But it was still an evolutionarily viable male that uttered the Miami-esque term of endearment. And it still broke me.

Looking forward to the breast exam and full cavity search tomorrow. At least I got in a little practice of one tonight ;c)

“Cigarettes and chocolate milk These are just a couple of my cravings Everything it seems I like’s a little bit stronger A little bit thicker, a little bit harmful for me
If I should buy jellybeans Have to eat them all in just one sitting Everything it seems I like’s a little bit sweeter A little bit fatter, a little bit harmful for me
And then there’s those other things Which for several reasons we won’t mention
Everything about ’em is a little bit stranger, a little bit harder A little bit deadly”

"When my pass came in you dropped the ball...it didn't change the way I feel"

So yeah remember that time I told you I wasn’t a geriatric playa anymore?

I probably should have never taken that nickname off the table. My thug is 38 years old. Yep that’s right people, do that math—although I choose not to for fear of blowing a few brain cells I so desperately need. My mom and Dana asked me, doesn’t that kinda blow the excitement for ya, to which I responded, no no not really. And that’s the scary part, I didn’t really bat an eye, well in the non-flirting sense because it would be more likely that I did bat my eyes and toss my hair at the news. I’m like that kid who just loooves the way blue hot flames look…just wants to touch them…put his hands in the crucible of certain pain yet absolutely enchantingly dangerous waters. He knows he’s gonna get burned but hell wouldn’t it just be fun?!

I’m not even gonna feign Maria and cry “Oh no Anita no, Anita no…” If you’ve managed to make it through more than the first 8 minutes of finger snaps, dance moves, and great vocals, you’ll understand what I mean. I’m not stupid and I won’t play the ingénue; the deck is stacked and most likely not in my favor. But let’s talk about the irony here. I was by far the youngest person in that exercise room tonight. There were two groups playing raquetball…one that contained strapping young men of considerable agility and robust bodies. I was watching the group bandaged and braced, Asprin-ed and Nebutoned. But to be fair, my thug was only well Motrin-ed due to a bad ankle—the back had cleared up over the weekend.

“I went for the steal, maybe it was rushed. Oh my crush, I got a crush.”

Give me a break. He speaks impeccable English and has a Boston accent. Northeasterners really turn me on. Even if he did go to college ::cough:: 16 years ago.

Work in progress

Tell me why the jury needs to see pictures of Laci Peterson in their penalty phase deliberations? What does that have to do with aggravating and mitigating factors? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Sweet no more FN EVAH! And 3 days til I get groped.

;cPPPPP

These are the Top 10 cities for relocating singles:

Austin/San Marcos
San Francisco
Portland, Ore.
Jersey City, N.J.
Seattle
New York
Washington
Atlanta
Orlando, Fla.
Jacksonville, Fla.


Whatever. Fine. Be like that.

Friendly reminder

Just in case you forgot, the apocalypso is coming. So if you have anything you'd like to do before the fires of hell burn on earth, you might wanna get started. I was invited to play raquetball with the "thug"...who no longer wears his skull cap and name is Rick. I'll be glad to let you know as soon as we do so you can make immediate plans to fight the ultimate battle.

I'm not gonna lie, it was sexxy.

Here's the best part. It sounds like he's from New York and both of them speak ENGLISH. I'm broken.

That's my public service announcement.

Love,
Calypso

Things to know

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/6663021/

Looks like I'll have to remember this when I have my romps with po-po. Wouldn't want to get em fired or anything.


In Borders the other day, an eccentric, grown woman, brought her American Girls doll with her. She sat the doll in a chair and then proceeded to brush and style the doll's hair. The sad thing is, I think she had most of her mental faculties.

One of the girls in my program is having guy friends down...they are in Rotc. She wants me to come out with them...I'm planning to. But given my track record with me in uniforms, I wonder what they might think of me if I do choose to go out and they happen to be good looking. It could be dangerous. ;c)

Redhead used the phrase "I promise, i don't bite" today. I was remind of the last time I heard that phrase. I told her she shouldn't use it in that context and suggested an addendum she might like to use. Provided she doesn't say it to me.

“This is the start of something good don’t you agree?”

I hope by now, we’ve all heard of the TSA airport screening debacle. No, not the ridiculous existence of the entire government agency, the other one, you know the screeners molesting women. I’ve decided that, in order to avoid the strip searches, I’m not going to wear a bra when I go home for Christmas. In fact, I might be downright indecent and make sure that whatever I got on doesn’t even have a support shelf bra in it. This could get interesting. I’m also going to drink a glass of wine before my family takes me to the airport. That way, when the alarm goes off, which I feel is inevitable, I’ll be able to handle the situation quite well. My mom said I could ask for a woman to do the pat down. Heh. After 4 months in the FN office, do you think that’s gonna happen? Oh honey. “If I have to be searched…I want HIM.” Here’s to getting felt up by a good-looking TSA agent.

My thesis was accepted for presentation at APLS this March. Could I be any prouder?

Manhattan’s birthday is August 21, 2004. One day after I arrived. Things seem to cluster around my anniversary.

Tonight was a night of victory. I took myself out to dinner. As I sat there, I realized that I had wanted to do this for a long time. Whenever people would bring up dining alone, I’d say “Oh! I love doing that but I just can’t take that blow to my ego right now. Miami sucks enough.” Today, I knew that I am comfortable enough with myself in this strange land to dine alone. What a feeling; after having held onto my sanity by a threadbare ribbon for the last 4 months, I had changed and stepped fully into my skin as a survivor from way back. Sometimes you forget your own ability, your own heart, and your own will. It’s my new chapter. Not inherently better than the first one, but different and filled with new opportunities. Just me. And I smiled.

OIM

Only in Miami and only at FIU...

Walking in the FIU parking garage today, I see a car with its engine still on. Funny cause there's no one in the front seat. Oh thats because they are in the back seat having sex!

I don't think anyone was getting it on in Common Glory.

My new pick up line "Hey you wanna go fuck me in the FIU parking garage?" Cause that sounds like fun. Just getting some ass before class!

Although lets be honest, turn the engine off (just to be a little more discreet) and I'd be hard pressed to come up with an argument against that. Get it when and where you can people.

“Apocalypso”

That’s right ladies and gentlemen, it’s happened today. 5 signs of the apocalypse or the “apocalypso” as I now like to call it seeing as how it’s happening in tropical Miami. I’m even breaking my rule of no wine on a school night, but hell I’ve had a rough one here in hell. Can the apocalypse happen in Hell?

1. I got to leave work early today. The FN decided that I’d done enough secretarial work to service the entire government, so I got to go work on my paper. I went to Borders, which has become my local coffee haunt. It’s great—it actually makes me feel like I’m a regular in this irregular world.

2. When I was there working, my law and psychology books scattered around me, a nice older gentleman sat down at the table next to me. He was drinking a mocha frappachino, which is unusual for a grown man of his age, given that hoochie mamas and ho bags like me take to them (although I was drinking a medium latte with gingerbread—true to form) much more than the Mr. Rodgers type. He asked me if I was in law school and I proceeded to tell him about the legal psych program. He thought it was so wonderful and found it very interesting; he was finishing up some sort of a medical degree. Later, he interrupted to ask if I had any children. I replied that I did not and he told me “Children are a beautiful thing, you’ll know when you have them.” We’d both just watch this big burly father ever so gently brush the hair off his daughters forehead. He mentioned how beautiful that site just was and then said he wished his children were young again so he could pick them up. He said that he wouldn’t interrupt me again. I said that it was no bother and it was actually very nice to have someone to talk to. He made a sweet and kind face and I have to use every muscle in my body to keep it together. Nick.

3. As I approached my car, I exchanged smiles and a hello with a nice looking man. He stopped and asked where he knew me from. I was like ummmm…he figured probably Borders. Ladies, you all KNOW I remember people. Although he wasn’t my type, I would have remembered if I had seen him given he was pretty distinctive. I noticed the DSM-IV in his hands and asked what program he was in. Have no idea what school but it’s a PsyD program and he’s in the neuro field. He proceeded to mention that he failed a section of comps and almost got kicked out because he and his professor disagreed about the answer to a question. He got kinda agitated and I really didn’t know what to say. Ummm that’s okay?! Don’t throw your DSM-IV at me? He calmed down and reminded me that all things come to an end eventually. Hallelujah. Amen to that brother. “Gregory. Like Gregory Peck.”

M—You may want to sit down for these. Take some sedatives or at least make sure you aren’t eating or drinking anything. Granted I was in spandex (but that’s not unusual), maybe I’m giving off pheromones or I’m in heat or as my mom so poetically suggested, I had one breast hanging out. I dunno, but I give you signs 4 and 5 of the apocalypso.

4. Went to the gym, where I’m lucky if someone half looks up at me and offers a mild form of a grunt. I walk in and the good looking guy who usually looks like something of a thug, even though he’s distinctly Hispanic/Italian but could clean up well, is there. He says HI and SMILES. I almost fell over. What’s better about this is that he plays raquetball with the hot young guy who has a tattoo on his ankle, a great body, and a shaved head--and has given some of the better grunts previous to this. Better yet, he was looking at me on the treadmill. Hollla! Drop it like its hot Thug.

5. A new guy sitting on the bench in the gym said an even more enthusiastic hello and SMILED. I got on the treadmill and had to stand there for a minute as I realized that something was very wrong with that picture and that the apocalypso was surely on its way. New guy.

We knew it was bound to happen again. Redhead I think you started it. Thanks. No you sure as hell started it. Did I mention my gratitude? Thanks a lot. Oh. Jesus! Sign 6: I’ve got tomorrow off. Now do you realize why Riesling has appeared on my grocery list again?

“I can still smell summer on your skin and I can still remember giving in. Wrapped up all in your hips and your sheets felt grateful in. Sometimes I find I catch myself letting you back in but I’m so tired of singing all the sad songs in my head.”

My Problem has left Miami. End of the chapter.