Yesterday I breathed

When I woke up on Friday morning, I expected to have a wonderful three day weekend. I expected to attend a Halloween soiree (I did) and have wonderful tales of debauchery and sin and festivus to share with you when I was done (I don't). I expected to sleep late, stay up late, and get up late--all the result of me running wild in the Vegas streets on this hallowed weekend.

I did not expect my uncle to die.

On Friday evening, I started my weekend as I had originally planned--with a cocktail and some three inch heels. I partied, got sore feet and partied some more. I came home at a very unrespectable hour, expecting to crash into a fitful slumber. Fifteen minutes into my sleep time, my phone rang. I ignored it. I called the unrecognizable number back to no answer. I dismissed it. Ten minutes later, my sister called. I answered. Thirty seconds later I shot up in my bed like a cannon and listened to my sister cry on the verge of hysteria. I felt nothing.

Several hours later, however, while driving home in the dark in an unfamiliar land with unfamiliar people and in an unfamiliar time, I started sobbing uncontrollably. The selfish part of me is angry and sad and hurt that my favorite uncle of all time; the best uncle for tricks and teases; the uncle who kidnapped me as a child for a day in the park; the uncle who taught me to correctly cut a pineapple and apply a fake mole (for emphasis); the uncle who could always make me laugh--even when he was insulting me; the uncle who never found a group of people he did not know is gone. The unselfish part of me is so very thankful that God finally released him of his pain and he is in peace. I am not sure which part of me is stronger.

For those of you who know me, you are aware that for the past few years I have lived with my uncle Larry, who I am both saddened and glad to say passed of a heart attack on Friday night.

For those of you who know me, you are aware of the internal dilemnas I have dealt with (and probably not very well) over the past few years.

For those of you who know me, you are aware of the stress I and my family have felt--you know of midnight ambulance runs, tears in the middle of night, the constant threat of death hanging over our heads.

For those of you who know me, you are aware of the most painful and taxing four years of my life.

For those of you who know me, I am telling you that for the first time in years, yesterday I finally exhaled and am just now beginning to breathe again.

I refuse to think of my uncle in the context that I have seen him over the past few years. I remember the uncle I knew as a kid and as a teenager--the uncle who brought presents and laughs wherever he was. So, both crying and laughing, Uncle Larry, I remember you.

*M*

Here are some of my absolute favorite "Uncle Larry" one liners:

Who cares about Mr. Right? I want Mr. Right Now.
I might be an old man, but I've got young ideas
I don't like to tell people when I was born, but it wasn't yesterday
You're the prettiest girl on the block--just don't leave the block (can't tell you how many times I heard that one)
I came in like a million bucks, now I feel like a cancelled check.
You should be shot with a shit gun
I used to give it away--but now I have to buy it back
I was blessed by Mother Nature but fucked up by Father Time
What do you expect from me? I'm just a tired old colored woman
Who did your hair? The wind?
You used to be a live chicken, now you're a cooked goose
You lazy lima bean
With us you can't drop just a hint--you have to drop the whole anchor
Just because there's snow on the roof don't mean there's no fire in the furnace.
It's like my uncle down south used to say--don't go naming those chickens unless it's going to be lunch or dinner.

Vegas Buffets-15 steps to a sucessful buffet experience

If you ever come to Vegas, one of the following will happen: you'll end up naked, drunk, poor and extraordinarily happy on the curb in front of Ceasar's Palace of you'll visit one of Vegas many buffets. For your sake, I hope you fall into the trap of the latter, as I did last night, instead of the former.

My sister Maegs came to visit me over the weekend. Yesterday, as we were trolling the strip, we decided to indulge in a seafood buffet. My friend Monica, who was with us, mentioned that she knew of the best buffet on the strip: It is called the best because it serves both unlimited crab and lobster.

So we went. We indulged. We sighed contentendly when it was over.

So for you, faithful readers, I have decided to put together a list of things to do when you visit the buffet. (I would give a list of what to do when you find yourself naked on that street corner, but the most I can say is "suffer with dignity.")

1. Do your research. There are literally hundreds of buffets in Vegas, but they all won't have what you want. Nothing is worse than paying for a balut buffet. (If you don't know what balut is, I highly, highly, highly encourage you to stop reading now and look it up.)

2. Put a roll of toilet paper in your purse/knapsack.

3. Decide how much you want to spend. Yes, you can get a $20 all-you-can eat buffet, but for $10 more you can have steak, shrimp and lobster at some buffets. It's worth the cost.

4. DO NOT EAT for at least three hours before you go to the buffet. This will encourage your stomach to expand slightly, as it will expect food to be coming. If you wait 4 or more hours, you run the risk of getting really hungry and spoiling your buffet appetitie.

4. Wear stretchy pants. No jeans.

5. Wear comfortable shoes. No heels. When it's time to do a cattle run to the opening line, you want to be prepared to either fight or flight. Heels will keep you from doing either well.

6. Get to the line 45 minutes before the buffet opens. Any later than that and you run the risk of being in line for an hour or more.

7. When you get inside, do NOT get distracted by the buffet distrators: bread, pasta and rice. Your stomach will be starting to growl, especially if you have waited the mandated 3 hours. Casino buffets know this and they will place a table of heaping, hot, steamy, fresh bread before the real food. Bread spreads in your stomach and will suck up room for other things.

8. Send a friend to the steak line, the lobster line and the crab line. Each of you is to pile up the largest plate with the largest and hottest and goodest foods possible. Many people make the mistake of going to each line indivually--that is another distractor. Good eatin' time will be wasted by bad waitin' time.

9. Converge at the table. Eat, but do not gorge. Your stomach will be shocked at first. Pacing is necessary at the first round. You don't want to be knocked out the gate because of a preventable stomach cramp.

10. Rest for a few minutes. Send a scout to refill the most pertinent items.

11. Rotate scouts for the rest of the time.

12. At this point, you will probably be sick. Your stomach will be protruding from you and pushing gently against the table. You, however, greedy bastard that you are, will not stop. You will attempt to shove one last crab leg, one last lobster tail, one last shrimp cocktail into your mouth. DO NOT.

13. When you ignore #12 and do have that last crab leg, lobster tail or shrimp cocktail, you will be sick.

14. Be thankful for #2.

15. Meet your friends outside after you have found the closest restroom and have done #2. *The restroom will be filled with other greedy bastards like you. Expect to wait.

Vegas buffets are the temptresses of the casinos. Do not be lured into one unprepared.

*M*

Really cool Optical Illusion

Look at the spinning girl above. Is she spinning clockwise or counter clockwise? If you see her spinning clockwise, you are using the right side--the more intuitive, artistic, creative side--of your brain. If you see her spinning counterclockwise, you are using the left side--the more analytical, number crunching side of your brain.

When I first saw the image, it would only spin clockwise and I really didn't believe it could go another direction. I went and did some reading and wrote some lesson plans then looked at the picture--and it was spinning counter clockwise. It quickly changed back--which just proves what I have known for years: I'm creative but not analytical. That might explain why I tried to shove a melon rind into the garbage disposal a few months back with disastrous results.

Anywho, you can make her switch directions if you focus very intently on a body part, like the foot. Eventually it'll switch directions.

Please post a comment. I want to know which of my readers/friends/random onlookers are right brained and which are left. I have my hypothesis, but I'd like to know for sure.

Oh yeah, if she's standing still--you're no brained and that probably means you're a guy. :)

Private Stripper Lessons

You'd be amazed at how hard it is to find something to do in Las Vegas--the city of lights which never sleeps. Once one is off the strip, the city become amazingly normal--the freak shows only occur once in a while as opposed to on every corner. Most nights I find myself at home, in my poorly furnished apartment, either reading, writing, doing lesson plans or downloading TV on demand. In short-my life is fairly boring and normal.

One of my friends (and I have to protect her animonity because she has a different day job *wink, wink*) has taken to supplementing her income at night by striping at one of Vegas' many upscale and posh gentleman's clubs. I did not know this--until she showed up to my house for dinner last night half in costume. After dinner, I asked her where she was working so late, knowing that she had to work in the morning. She took off her sweatshirt, this revealing a bra top with swinging gold tassles.

OK.

Then, under threat of death and being sworn to utter silence, she informed me that she was working as a stripper part time.

OK.

Then, she told me it was an all nude establishment.

OK.

Well, my friends pay big bucks to have a woman come set up a pole in their basements for private pole dancing lessons--usually at a martini night or bachelorette party. I figured, I have a real life stripper right here--I may as well learn something while I can.

Those of you who have ever seen me dance know that I am not what you would call "good." I'm not even adequate. I'm a C-, on a good day. I have limited rhythm, I like to swing my hair around and am frequently off beat. Eight years of ballet, tap and jazz evidently had no lasting side effects, like the ability to move my feet with the beat. So when Random Friend Who is Not a Teacher offered to show me some moves, I jumped at the chance. I learned how to make my booty cheeks clap--not really, but that's how I imagined it in my head. I learned how to crawl sedutively on the floor--not fun on a harsh carpet. I even learned how to work a pole--not a real pole, a light stand. One of the biggest problems, however, is not my dancing; it is my inability not to smile. Evidently a big cheesy grin while stripping is not sexy.

*M*

Black Hair

Black Female Hair has been subject to scrunity, debate and scorn. It has been altered from its naturally tightly curled state to limp loose sickly strands. It has been teased by boys, and mocked by girls. It has been stressed from tightly intertwined braids, hidden by sew-ins weaves, chemically changed by relaxers and burned by too much heat. It has been colored, cut, styled, teased, primped, and even shaped into mountaneous mile-high creations where birds can (and have) lived. It has been called good (if it's long and free flowing and Barbie-esque); it has been called bad (if it's tight and curled and nappy-like); it has been called bought (gone today, hair tomorrow). White women burned bras to take a stand against injustice and inequality; Black women grew afros.

But nothing that Black Hair has gone through even mildly equates to what happens when a Black teacher (me) teaches in a primarily white and non-Black area with girls ages 12-14.

I have been growing out my relaxer since February and have experimented with a few different hair varieties to help my days run a little more smoothly. June I experimented with a weave (disastrous). Augustl I experimented with French Braids (too jail like). October I experimented with what I can best describe as "crazy hair" (actually cute)

I wash my hair and when it is wet I add setting lotion and a little tea tree oil and leave in conditioner. No, first I persuade one of my friends to give up a Saturday night with a bottle of Bacardi, a hand full of mint leaves, a lime and some club soda. Then I do the washing, conditioning, adding business.

Then, a friend and I commence to twisting my hair into about 70 small different twists that are held in place with bobby pins. I go to sleep. I wake up and un-pin, un-twist my hair.

The result: a curly crazy mass that most closely resembles a very cute and curly afro. I'm satisfied and with a little (and I do mean little) maintenance I can make it for about 5-6 days before I have to come up with an alternate plan.

What I have noticed: White people absolutely love my "ethnic" hair and can't seem to compliment it enough. I love compliments and am happy. Black people love my "natural" hair and actually ask how I did it. Middle school children think I'm wearing a wig.

Yesterday, as I was bending down to unlock a door, I heard a titter behind my back. I ignored it. Then I heard a whisper "I dare you" and more titters. Any teacher would tell you that's a definite sign of trouble, but unfortunately I had a ring of keys around my neck and one of the keys in the door so I could not immediately look for whatever trouble was brewing. Then I felt two small hands tentatively push the top of my hair and feel it bounce back. More giggles.

"You rang?" I replied, not quite irritated, but a little confused.

"It's real?" replied one of my 8th graders.

"What's real?" my response was coupled with a quizzical look on my face.

"Your hair, Ms. Daughtery. That's sooooo (all middle school girls drag out the words so, like, duh...) like cool. How did you do that?" asked white girl student #1.

"Do what?" I probed.

"You know...get it to stand up like that."

Not offended, I gave a quick tutorial on the inns and outs of Black hair for my little girls and, evidently, tomorrow they're all trying to grow curly afros. We'll see how that works out.

*M*