Author: Mitzi

So this past Saturday, my mom’s co-worker/ homegirl Sheila organized this meet-n-greet/ booksigning at her house out in Ozone Park for me to hustle my books. Always up for an adventure (cause God only knows where Ozone Park is in relation to my apt in Washington Heights), me and my mom packed up the Volvo, grabbed the extra vague directions that Sheila gave her at work (no, I don’t own a Garvin) and rode out.

Okay, seriously? I had so much fun. Like the kinda fun where you’re completely exhausted and all you’ve done is sit around, talk mess with grown folks, and eat all night. And please believe, the food poppin’.
Everyone was so funny and nice. Asking questions and talking about THE ABW GUIDE TO LIFE, THE VOW & HOTLANTA- like they really cared about my couple of books. And then, at the end of the evening, they actually bought the product!! Like several copies and whatnot. SIGH. Nothing says love like a receipt of purchase.

4:45p? The days just seem to fly by ESPECIALLY with a weekend around the corner. So far so good with the schedule, life during the workdays has become more productive than not so I won’t coplain BUT as for the afterwork stuff… that’s another story.

So on Wednesday night I went out with my girlfriends. Since it’s been a million and one years since we’ve all gotten together, dressed up, dressed up and headed out we decided to go hard and hit up three venues- a pre-draft party at the Manhattan Porche delearship, a friend’s party in the LES and D-Nice’s bday party at Plumm (better known as the old Nells). All I can say is- being the sober friend sucks.
While it was wonderful to catch up with old faces, chit-chat with new boys and be out with the girls, that whole “natural high” and “just a ginger ale for me, please” business only lasts for so long. And certainly not long enough to numb the pain in my feet or mask the increasing body odor factor (of the folks around us NOT my friends) as the night progressed. By about 2am, yours truly was DONE. But of course, I still had a friend dancing on top of the table so I couldn’t exactly just get up and leave. Sigh.
When I finally dragged my tired behind into the cab home, I could barely feel anything below my knees. Mind this is despite the fact that I’d changed into the emergency flip-flops. You know it’s bad when you get out the cab and the corner boys jump up to open door b/c they pity you, not cause you’re fly. Two days later and I’m still not okay… And the summer is just beginning. Pray for me ya’ll.

for a washer and dryer. Like seriously, my definition of ‘happily-ever-after’ is a top of the line washer and dryer inside my apartment. Forget the husband, baby and white picket fence (watching all the bad ass kids cut up in the supermarkets cured me of all that)… I’m talking, can’t sleep at four in the morning? Go ahead and throw that single pair of jeans in the machine so that even if I’m grumpy, I’ll still look sexy.

I HATE the laundry room in the basement of my building. Although I only wash the floor mats and dog towels, it’s still too much time out of my life lost in that dank, stinky rat hole. Every time I’m down there, I start creating all these horror story scenarios in my head about getting slashed, killed, and beheaded by some recently released psychopath. I can see it now-the trifling super will find my head spinning in the industrial size dryer when he finally shows up to lock the room at 9.30p. Yes, I have an active imagination dammit. But if it goes down, don’t say I never told you.

Ok, this is a horrible, horrible thing to admit but since we’re amongst friends I’ll just say it. The video of Shaq’s freestyle rhyme breaking on lame ass Kobe Bryant is HILARIOUS!!!!

OMG, Shaq looks like a drunken mess (I hope he’s drunk and not just a mess), bragging about stuff no one cares about, calling himself BIG Shaq and crying and complaining about getting kicked off the Lakers what, a hundred years ago? But wait on it…the icing on the cake, taunting Kobe like a child on a playground? “Kobe, tell me how my ass taste?” Fifty bucks says that’s the new quote of the summer- Take notes Lil’ Wayne.

I’m sorry but I must share:

I love working for myself. I really do. The whole random napping when I want, picking my own projects, rushing out to a last minute sample sale, lunch dates whenever I feel like it, freedom of being my own boss is not lost on me. How-some-ever, there are some negatives: the non-existent 401K, hustling like your rent money depends on it (cause it really does), lack of consistent socialization (talking to Drama only counts half the time), the living room doubling as my office, etc have definitely kept me up a night or two. But the biggest downside of being self-employed is that it really requires a ton of discipline and self-motivation. And for the record, I have very little to none of either. Which is not a good thing.

I swear, despite the fact that I religiously wake up at 8.30am every morning. I never seem to accomplish half of the items on my to-do-list. Sigh. And I must admit, it’s extremely depressing. Hence the weekly therapy session (read: co-pay bill).

But rather than stay in a funk (as Elsa like to call my signature fussy mood swings), I’ve decided to be proactive. Remember the new life mantra: I am positive, optimistic and open to all my blessings.

And as of this morning-drum roll, please- I’ve created a new and improved workday schedule!!! Yes sir, my day will be broken down into planned out hour and half long segments from the moment I open my eyes until the point where I unplug the phone (gotta deter myself from stay up late and talking on the phone like I’m in high school). I promise, this time, I’m sticking to it… well, at least for the next two weeks. Why 2 weeks? Because allegedly that’s how long it takes for a habit to form. And from there it should be smooth sailing. Or so I think.

Oh and, if you have any suggestions on ways to improve my time management skills, now is the time to chime in, thanks!

I wrote a story on Jill Scott for Metro newspaper. It ran today but since I have yet to leave my house, I doubt I’ll obtain get a hard copy. Oh well.

Gotta admit, I didn’t have any expectations when I got the assignment (except the check). But I’m pleased to say, I really liked Ms. Scott. As I told my girl Lisa, it’s nice to know that whenever we manage to get famous we’ll be able to remain good people as well. Ha!
Check me out:

I know this is all late but am I the only one who thinks Lil’ Wayne is marginally talented and extremely annoying? So his album sold a million in the first week- what else was there for people to buy and let’s not forget, southerners are always very loyal to their artists. Initially, I was jsut going to keep my opinion to myself- that whole positive, optimistic and open to my blessings philosopohy thing I’m trying. But when I hear critics predicting that this may go down as one of the greatest rap albums of all times… Oh hell-to-the-naw! That drug addicted fool can barely conjugate a verb and like my favorite morning show host, Miss Jones so eloquently said, it ain’t nothing but a bunch nursery school rhymes. I am so sick of hip-hop.

Today is officially the first day of summer! Can I get a THANK YOU LORD from the choir? Even if the temperature still doesn’t reflect it- no, 75 degrees is not hot- I am thrilled beyond words. According to my horoscope, things are supossed to be looking up for at least the next week. I’m hoping that will include at least a fifteen to twenty degree rise in the temperature. That way, I can a)show off the results of all this freaking excercising I’ve been doing all winter and b) justify all the money I’ve spent on cute summer dresses. Cause lord knows, we love to blow the budget ona cute dress.

Yesterday morning, I went to my little cousins’s graduation from middle school. Words cannot express how disorienting the experience was to me. Last time I checked, these little boys were wearing diapers and getting their butts beat on a regular basis. Now they’re wearing suits and talking about ‘oh that’s my ex-girlfriend’. Your ex-girlfriend? It was just too much. I am so not mentally prepared to have kids and let them grow up… ever.

What is about a dreary summer Monday that makes everyone look so cranky? As my boy Anthony described it, like the 5-year old that you’re about to preemptively shove a bottle in his/ her mouth to avoid the crying? Perhaps its the nagging thought that today could’ve been sunny and beautiful but instead, its overcast, moist and not even all that warm. Had this been the fall or winter, at least we would have expected and accepted the whatever NYC weather. But in the month of June? On behalf of all the aggy Monday morning subway riders, I demand warm summer breezes and shiny happy people every step of the way!

On the upside, Christian Louboutin, Catherine Malandrino and Calypso all had sales this past weekend. And while I still may not have been able to afford to buy a thing in any of the three stores, it made me feel encouraged to know that at least they do actually have sales. ‘Cause nothing says frugal consumer more than getting the $900 pumps I’ve been fantasizing about for months at a mere $450. And despite what my mother says, I do try to be economically intelligent about my spending. Ha!

There is nothing more depressing than going to the mailbox and finding nothing inside but a single bill. It’s like, I just walked away from the elevator in the opposite direction of my apartment for this mess? Geez.
Don’t people write letters anymore? Can somebody please send me a pretty card or something? It’s like the only peple that bother to send me anything are the ones I owe money. Boo.

My homie Charlise celebrated her 24th birthday last night by inviting a bunch of folks out to learn how to salsa. I’m not going to tell you how ironic it is that both my parents are Panamanian and I don’t know how to speak Spanish OR salsa. Needless to say, I was very excited to go.

Unfortunately, the group of us got so caught up talking about nothing, fake salsa dancing with one another and eating slices of the delicious strawberry shortcake bday cake her boyfriend bought, that we missed our lesson. SIGH. So now I’m on the only mission to figure out how to sals dance before the next family BBQ. If you know how and feel like teaching, holler at the kid.


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