The More Things Change...

On February 23, 2001 I was blessed with five new sisters. Over the past seven years, we have been tried, trialed and faced our fair share of tribulations. We have fought, cried, joked, laughed and grown--both individually and collectively. This weekend we celebrated our seventh anniversary in Delta Sigma Theta, Sorority, Inc. Nu Chapter.

Some of you reading this won't really understand--and that's ok. This is mainly to the phenomenal women of C.O.H.E.S.I.O.N. 6.

Sands, it goes without saying that this weekend was so typically COHESION that a script could not have made it any better. From being 35 minutes away, to the 2 hour coffee run, to the Walgreen's run, to 2:30-11 pm, to 1800,to getting to the Cheesecake and deciding to go home, to LEAVING at 10:00 pm, to 6 hour showers, face basings, mascara applications, burned ears (sorry EB), to seeing Barack at 8:00 am (right...), to me being ignored, to X outta X ain't bad!, to getting stopped by secret service and being in the system to me missing my flight--this was so typically COHESION. And I loved every minute of it.

I loved it because sometime along the way this weekend I realized that we had grown into our own--as women, as sorors, as sands. The things that would have caused a check up 7 years ago this weekend we finally accepted as COHESION and rolled with it. It is what it is.

Words do not express how lucky I am to have been affected by you. Even though we are spread far and wide, and we are not 5 minutes away from each other anymore,I feel closer to you than I ever have. I am so convinced that this continues to be the beginning of great things and I'm just anxious to see where we will be lead next.



KS-I love you for your true sense of compassion and genuine cheerleader spirit.
RT-I love you for your tenacity and strength, even in the face of the greatest adversities.
EB-I love you for your focus and outlook--you never fail to make me laugh.
CYR-I love you for your dedication to a cause nobler than yourself and commitment to a true higher calling.
TWIN!-I love you for your true sense of generosity--in time and in friendship.

Thank you for being my SANDS! Paper burns, but sand is forever. Anyway, I know I'm Fertile and the Attitude and PG folks are probably rolling their eyes outwardly (but secretly smiling inwardly) so I"ll stop with the ball ad.

Where are we going in 09?!

To older sorors who made us--thanks. No, for real: thanks. To younger sorors who are facing their own challenges, just know that Delta is what you make it--what you put in, you will get out. Sometimes you have to walk through the storm to get to the sunshine, and we have all walked through the storm. COHESION has found its sun, and it was worth every minute of the storm.

Anyone who doesn't understand what I'm talking about, I can't explain. Just to Be...
Muffin Man...

Back to LA

I am going to summarize my LA trip in 20 words: 3 friends leave Vegas on a road trip to meet a prince, meet a goober and have a car towed.

10 words: Left Vegas, saw LA, met a goober, lost a car.

6 words: Bye Vegas--Hi LA--Bye car.
Click Here for Pictures of Day 1

Last weekend I went to LA with 2friends of mine: Monica and Andrea. When we left Vegas on a whim on Saturday afternoon, the day was bright, the sun was shining and the breeze was blowing gently in the wind. We had no idea that the next 48 hours would be wrought with a botched hotel reservation, a towed car totaling well over $200, a Serbian prince and an excrutiatingly painful march up and down Venice beach.

Having never seen LA before, of course I wanted to do all the corny touristy stuff: visit Hollywood (which, in actuality, should be called HollyHood as it is in the straight hood), tour Venice Beach, see where the OJ Simpson chase took place-you know, the norm. We woke up early on Saturday (Ok, I woke up early on Saturday--I was up, showered and dressed by like 8:00) and headed toward Venice Beach. On the way we stopped at a delightful farmer's market where we ate breakfast at a small french booth and bought fresh fruit. We were then off.

Venice Beach is the kind of place where a lot of weed smoking takes place. Weed smoking, inhalant sniffing, mushroom licking, pill popping, etc. Everyone there looked high--on something. But, these high people were incredibly nice and lovey--from the 60 year old woman wearing roller skates and skating to old house music to the very odd, leathery muscle man wearing leopard thongs who spends all of his time, evidently, wandering up and down the beach posing for pictures.

Venice beach is long. Very long. 26 miles long. Though we did not walk all 26 miles, we did walk a good 5. This stroll I'm going to refer to from this point forward as the death march. By the end my feet felt like sandpaper, my legs felt like rubber and my knuckles felt knuckled. I was tired. So we decided to find a place to eat dinner.

We ended up eating at a small seafood restuarant and were waited on by a very attractive gentleman whom--I"m convinced--is a Serbian Prince.

That night, we were too cheap to park in the $30 parking lot of the hotel. We parked on the street. The next morning, with a jaunty step in our feet, we made our way to the vehicle. It was missing. Thank you LAPD for your diligence and persistence in keeping the street free of cars between the hours of 2-4 am--which, evidently, is the only time street parking is not allowed.

The tow truck man--we'll call him Rufus--was missing several teeth and those that were still habitating in his mouth were covered in a shell of brown. I guess the tow truck company does not provide dental insurance. Before we got to the tow yard, we called and got the price from the receptionist. When we got there, Rufus saw us and added an additional $70 to the price. After being cussed out by two of us (I won' say which 2--gotta keep some secrets), Rufus refused to give us the car. After being sweet talked by one of us (I won't say which 1--it's too embarassing), Rufus released the car for the original price--plus $70. Click here for pictures of day 2.

Hollywood (ahem, HollyHood) was a big disappointment. All I will say is what you see on TV is not what really is. Oh well. I'll keep my movies in my dreams.

I was glad to get home. The weekend was way to eventful for a belle like me.

*M*

Miah Does LA

So because I am dead tired and have had a harrowing weekend, I am not going to write about my trip to LA tonight. I will, however, give you some of the highlights:

Magic Johnson's Fridays'...just as hood as the Fridays in Southfield.
The goober at Magic Johnson's Fridays'...just as gooberish as the goobers in Southfield.
Taking a 5 mile death march up Venice beach only to have it proven that I am, indeed, getting old.
$30 hotel parking.
Not paying the $30 hotel parking and deciding to park on the street then waking up to find the vehicle missing from its place on the street and in the possession of the LAPD and in their towing facility.
HollyHood....


Stay tuned for more details.

*M*

Valentine's Day

So I know you are all expecting me to write about Valentine's day. MY friends who know me as the five dollar girl are most likely expecting a tale of romance and love and a dashing man. Well, I don't. I usually spend my Valentine days alone, in a prom dress, with a full face of make-up, crying and rocking myself to sleep.

This year I decided to write a poem:

Ode to Valentine's Day

Oh Valentine's day.
How much I hate thee.

Finis.

*M*

Telling Time

Today, after school, one of my students asked me what time it was. She was facing the clock. I told her to read the clock. She told me that she could not tell time and proceeded to pull out her cell phone (my thoughts on that later). I had her put the phone away, because I was going to teach her how to read the clock. Before I could get started, another one of my students stopped, dumfounded, and said with complete disbelief "You can't tell time?" She walked to the clock, began pointing, and said "It's easy. The little hand is the hour, the big hand is the minutes, and the red hand, well that one just goes around."

I teach 8th grade.

*M*

This is an Order

Dear reader,

I need you to revisit the post titled "My Home." After an hour of a half of fighting with my computer, I have managed to add a slideshow to the end of it. Quite frankly, I am directing you to look at my 90+ minutes of painstaking labor. :)

*M*

In the name of fairness

Over the past few days, I have laughed at you. And not in a nice way. I have watched the news and chuckled inwardly at the plight of the folks in the midwest and east coast (which is where I am assuming you are). I giggled with glee as I saw the temperatures steadily drop into levels that are cold enough to freeze ice. I basked in the glorious, warm, spring-like temperatures of Las Vegas. I know it was wrong. So that is why I am going to attempt to make things fair.

I realize I have been focusing on the good things Vegas has to offer. I am now going to divulge some of the negative attributes so you can laugh at me:

1.) It is now too warm to wear the really cute winter coat I bought a few months ago.
2.) Thirst. Unending, undying, merciless thirst--all day and night. No matter how much water or wine I suck down, I am always thirsty.
3.) Dry skin. Really dry skin. Really dry itchy skin. My budget for lotion has increased ten-fold!
4.) UV rays. Oh wait...you get those too...nevermind...
5.) Perpetual sunshine. Sometimes a thunderstorm would be nice.

Well that's it. Feel free to laugh at me behind my back now. I totally understand the whole eye-for-an-eye thing. That's right. Laugh at my misfortune.

*M*
PS--for those of you keeping tabs, I broke my garbage disposal again last week.

The End of an Era

So today marked a pivotal point in my decision to grow out my relaxer: I finally cut off the few remaining, dry, dead, lifeless, listless ends of relaxed hair this afternoon. Exactly one year ago, in February of 2007, I got my last relaxer. In February of 2008, I let it go--for good.

I have a lot of hair. My full, thick, tightly curled coif has put many combs, brushes, headbands, bobby pins and elastic bands to the test. Many have failed, but some have managed to tame my hair. I remember being a child and running away from my mom when she had to brush and braid my hair. I remember crying endlessly when she finally caught me, pinned me down, and threateded me with a spanking. We both gave up. I was five when I got my first relaxer and kept it, almost religiously, every six weeks for the next 23 years (God only knows how many chemicals have seeped into my brain). I was happy, my mom was happy, the brushes were happy.

Last year, when I looked at my dying strands, full with chemicals, I wondered how my hair would look if I nixed the relaxer.

Well, it's nixed. And I love it. So, embracing my nappy roots, I encourage all of my friends who have not stood up to the chemicals and said "No!" to do so.

*M*

On Why I Love Vegas...

Winter is over. At least, coming from the midwest, that is my assumption. Yesterday, when I left work, the temperature was a warm 60 degrees; the sun was shining brightly in the valley; the street walkers had resumed their positions on the strip. Winter is officially over. When I was in Michigan, I would look to Mr. Robin Red Breast as his arrival signaled the end of the brutal winter months and the beginning of spring. In Vegas, sadly, there are no robins. However, judging by the onset of hookers trolling the strip, my assumption is that they are the robins of the west.

Anyway, for all of you still stuck in MI,IL, MD, DC, or IA--I pity you. Enjoy these last few weeks of shoveling snow, salting driveways, exceedingly high heat bills, and bitter gusts of cold air biting you in the arse.

*M*

My Home

This posting is a little different from the type I normally post. This week my students took their state exams (part 1) and to help them review I gave them daily topics to write one. One of the topics asked students to describe their ideal living place. In an effort to "model good behavior" and all that jazz they teach you in teacher's college, I wrote with them. I read it to my students and they liked it. One of them even suggested that I publish it. So that is what I'm doing. Enjoy!

My ideal living place

The smell of chocolate-chip cookies fresh from the oven warms the air. Lemon scented towels, fresh from the dryer, adorn the bathrooms. My daddy's favorite cologne appeases my nose. These scents all remind me of my ideal living place: home.

Located in Detroit, MI, what makes my home ideal is not the five bedrooms; it is not my grandmother's china and silver; it is not my Aunt Julie's hand blown glass. What makes my home ideas are the people, the memories, the good times, the laughter and even the tears. It is not the living room couch. It is the memory of sitting on that couch, five-years-old with my grandma Evvie, or dozing like a cat on that couch, waking up with Crys curled up right next to me. It is not the bedroom with a solid mahogany bed. It is jumping on that bed (and always breaking it) with my favorite cousin Stan and hiding behind a plush chair while he brought me crayons and snacks and hearing him tell my Aunt Julie "I don't know where Miah is. We weren't jumping on the bed." knowing that if she caught me, my tail was hers. (He never told). It is not the new oven and stove. It is November of 2004 when the old one, caked with grease and grime from years of fried chicken,pork chops, chicken-and-dumplins, liver-and-onions, hand rolled biscuits, pound cakes, and whatever other tasty goodies my grandmother, my mother and my aunt Linda concocted, finally broke down and we ate Chicken Alfredo for Thanksgiving dinner instead of the traditional turkey, dressing, candied yams, macaroni-and-cheese, honey glazed ham and gravy and laughted at our (mis)fortune. It is not crying when my Uncle Larry finally surrendering to death. It is all the times (and there were many) that he made me laugh so hard streams of tears ran down my face.

My ideal place is lived in. The wood floors creak are worn down by the heavy workboots my granddaddy wore in and the three-inch heels I rocked when I went out. The stairs creak when they are walked on--tell tale signs of someone tiptoeing in the house well past midnight. The washing maching leaks buckets of water whenever it is used from hundreds of countless loads.

My home is ideal because my home is me. I grew up in that home with my sister and my cousins. We were reare by moms and dads, aunts and uncles, grandma and granddad. This is my ideal living place: My Home

*M*