Giant Gay Repellant Umbrella

A Gaythering Storm from Jane Lynch

Perfect!

How Steven Can Help Susan- Taking Tough Love to Great Brittain

Although I don't think that Susan needs any tough love, I do think that she will need a tough regimen to find the man of her dreams. From what I have read about Susan, the spunk and hope that she emanates when even talking about finding love is so encouraging! She even got her hair curled special for BGT because she had a crush on one of the judges!!! So Steve, you should put together a proposal! Steven Ward is just the man for the job! With his natural razor edge and heart of the softest gold, I think Susan and Steve would get along fabulously in an effort to find her a wonderful man. What do you think Steve? Give it a try!

Abiola Makes Me So Proud

I watched VH1's Tough Love just because of Abiola Abrams. She is an amazing woman. She did something amazing by just being a beautiful woman of color and dwelling in the transparency of her search for love. She may have her quirks, but who doesn't? I am especially happy that despite not finding love, she remains open and so soft, and pliable. I wish her the best, and aim to add her intelligent soft durability to my womanly to do list.

The Susan Boyle Inspiration: You Cannot Kill 'The Dream

Enter Susan Boyle, the UK's brand new singing sensation, singing 'I Dreamed a Dream' (Les Mis) The fact that she is singing this particular song is so uncanny, especially since her dreams, though delayed, of being a singer, are coming true right before her (and Simon's) very eyes.

The following verse of 'I Dreamed a Dream' is an especially dark, sad, gaping reality, and it seems to be the last scene, of the last act, of dreaming the dream:


"I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I'm living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed the dream I dreamed."

Does it not seem in life that dreams die? Life, the lived experience, tends to maim and shred our dreams and morph them into something we never anticipate, and sometimes something we grow to dread, resent, or fear. Through every twist and surprise of life, it seems, at times, that the dream, whatever it may be for you, dies.

But Susan, bless her heart and her voice, is living proof that the dream was never dead. Never.

I was recently in tweets with some folks who were wondering what the hell was the big upset! Why all this attention to Susan all around the world? Why the 35+ Million hits on YouTube? Why were people going crazy about her? I concluded that it is because Susan is standing in proxy for so many of us who want to revive our dreams. We are wishing, and hoping, but too scared or nervous to take that leap of faith Susan did, lest we fail miserably. One tweeted:

"Every1 is having n S.B. min But will it change their shallowness? Probably not. Pre-judgment is usually based on phys feat."

I totally felt that. That is usually how we go about life, in our relations and reactions to each other. The reason that we all love Susan in the first place, is because we misjudged her. It is kind of sick actually, if you think about it. We are all obsessed with her, because we see our collective selves in her, but only after nearly laughing her off the stage. A strange sense of guilt, pity, wonder, adoration, and wistfulness all explode to create Susan's instantaneous popularity. She is a household name for crying out loud (thanks to the internet and youtube)! It was played so wonderfully too! Susan's BGT video is a great documentary of her walk to fame. The video captures perfectly audience and judges' disdain, and surely the disdain of millions of viewers. Now, we pity her, we love her, and we recognize her talent. But most of all, we approach this whole Susan idea with a strange sense of condescending benevolence. Hm. So I reply-tweeted:

"heres 2 personal perspective transformation. Susan Boyle is not 2b pitied but 2b recognized in us and overcome."

Of course the 140 characters limit me from being superfluous. Good thing. But this is simply to say that we must recognize the Susan Boyle in us, the one before this moment of fame, and find our strength to continue to dream, and make our dreams come true! Susan does not want our pity. If anything we should want her courage. Learn more about Susan's before-life here: Bullies, LD, and the Last Laugh!

Susan is just one more reason to keep dreaming. She is one more reason to keep on keeping on. She is a blessed gift that continues to remind us that you cannot kill the dream, you can only keep dreaming.


Become a Susan Boyle Fan: www.susan-boyle.com

EVEN THOUGH I HATE THIS SHOW...

You gotta admit, Pierre Downing is the Uber-Ultimate Eye Candy! Breaks my heart to know that he has a girlfriend. Just breaks it into tiny lil pieces. Bridget, hear me good, you are one of the luckiest girlfriends on this earth! It appears that Mr. Downing is a great find, despite being corny on T.V. Upcoming post on why I Hate Harlem Heights so much.

Everyone Wants to Urinate in Public

This morning was my first experience in Brooklyn Criminal Court. I was so scared that I would not find the place, for as I found out, it is truly behind God's Back. Yes. Criminal Court. I woke up anxious, nervous and annoyed. I glanced at my summons again. What the hell did 'disobey sign' mean? All I did was try to turn around at the monument in Grand Army Plaza. I was hella lost that night! The officer was very nice, but this was a ridiculous inconvenience at nine in the morning.

I Googled directions and got myself together. Here we go...Criminal Court. I got in the car and took off, rushing not to be late, but hoping not to get another stupid summons. I rounded the circle at Grand Army Plaza and Peered at the Monument for the wretched sign. There it was. NO THRU TRAFFIC. I was guilty, I guess...

Traffic court was all that I expected: idle city officials, a host of "criminals", power hungry police officers, lots of yelling, metal detectors, cocky lawyers cute guys, and chocolate. The Sergeant was selling World's Finest for his daughter's fund raising project. I made friends with him quickly after overdosing on three bars in about a half an hour.

All criminals that had had been summoned to the Red Hook Community Justice Center, were filed into a small courtroom to await trial. And by 'await trial' I do mean 3.5 hours of waiting for a judge that forgot to show up that morning. Gotta love the justice system. It should be noted that the city crinimal court officials did so close to nothing for those 3.5 hours that I felt much better about my pending state tax return.

During my three hours I made friends with the two handsome gentlemen sitting next to me. 'What are you in for?' They quipped. It was unnecessary detainment indeed. Unjust. Cruel. 'I crossed the line at Grand Army Plaza,' I said slightly embarrassed. They laughed. I was even more embarrassed...until they told me their story.

Mr. Redhead (the most gorgeous of the two) recounts his tale of ' A St Patty's Day Mugging'

'We were on our way home from hanging out that night. We were with a friend that was extremely drunk. We were close to our apartment and were trying to give him the keys to go upstairs so that he could sleep it off-- he was so drunk. We had to stuff the keys in his pocket because he kept saying 'no! no! i can't take the keys! I can't! I just can't!' After we stuff the keys in his pocket, we decided to jog to Dunkin Donuts to get food. As we rounded the corner we heard sirens. The police accused us of mugging our friend, told us to get down on the ground, frisked us, and put us in hand cuffs. We explained that we didn't mug our friend. We were giving him the keys to our apartment. After a few minutes of convincing them of what had really happened...they gave us summons for disorderly conduct instead.'

Wow. If I had my eyes closed, I would have assumed hat this was happening to two men of color. I laughed and laughed (with them, of course) and asked them to tell me the story again. I had to remember this. I wanted to blog about it later. It sounded SO suspect!

Ironically, it seemed that they were telling the truth! About 45 minutes after their rather tall tale, their names were called and they were excused from the courtroom! They winked at me and waved as they left. So adorable. As they exited with extremely liberated swaggaer, folks in the 'audience' (as termed by our residing police officer) were rolling their eyes, sucking their teeth, and muttering 'damn lucky white boys' under their breath. The man next me asked me 'how the hell are they allowed to leave?' As if I was their lawyer.


The rest of us sat their bored out of our minds and getting yelled at for talking, breathing, or simply being for the next hour and a half. It was maddening. The new judge that they had convinced to come to Summons Day in Criminal Court, was on his way. He was further delayed because he thought someone was picking him up from the train station. I rolled my eyes as the idle city officials argued over who was going to pick up the judge.

Finally. A Judge, Any Judge. And a really funny judge.

I immediately perked up as the officials began to call the names of the criminals and their charges.

Here is an idea of the criminal offenses that plague the City of New York, Borough of Brooklyn: dog-walking without a leash, drinking alcohol in public with out a cover on the bottle, simply 'violation', disobey sign, unnecessary noise, among a HOST Of others, warranting fines of $25-$400.

But the number one crime in criminal court today was...

...drumroll please...

1. URINATING IN PUBLIC ($50 Fine): 8 People (by the time my crime was called)

Now I found this amazing. In about 15 minutes of the judge showing up, he had fined 8 people for urinating in public (especially maddening when my car had just been broken into the day before and there was not one officer around). All men, all dark skinned, save one. One man pulled out his prescription and his medication and proved to the judge that he had a medical condition that made him urinate uncontrollably. The judge ACD'd his case (adjournment in contemplation of dismissal), exasperatedly and sarcastically told him to go to the bathroom before he left the next time, and sent him on his way. The room laughed, and was yelled at by that damn police officer.

When my name was called, three others stood with me, along with the public defender. The charge was read 'Disobey Sign'. The Judge rolled his eyes rather unceremoniously, and mumbled
'ACD. NEXT!'

The public defender also mumbled something we were supposed to know, quickly, and that police officer (his uniform and badge be damned) screamed, 'ALRIGHT! MOVE OUT, MOVE OUT!'

After four hours of unjust and idiotic detainment with the most non-smart city officials on earth, we were all very close to assault. We just glared at him, and made a quick exit.

The Upside? I got plenty of morning entertainment, and I didn't have to pay a fine. Word.

Weddings, Friends, Theft, and The ER.

In true Kit form, I unwittingly set myself up for the best and worst weekend of the year thus far. I attended a friend's wedding in NYC this past weekend. What a fabulous event. Everything, was so perfect and expensive. I mean all of the guests were so busy trying to figure out how much the wedding cost that we almost missed the ice sculpture of the bride and groom's initials in the corner behind the wedding party's table at the reception. Talk about class, pomp, and circumstance. It was one of the nicest weddings I have been to, ever. The food was delicious, which is never the case at weddings, and for a BT wedding we had a whole lot of fun dancing at the reception. Theirs was a beautiful story of love, and it was the perfect event to celebrate their new life. I was so happy to see all of my friends that I had left in the city, and see how our lives and changed. We were adults, and thankfully, it was not as scary as any of us thought. PhD's, Babies, Marriages, New Jobs, Deaths, Weight Loss, and Depression. Everyone had a story to tell, and we had a great time laughing and catching up. For a few hours, we suspended ourselves from the mire of real life, and just enjoyed the wedding cocoon. It was wonderful.

So that evening, I came back to my old place in my favorite borough, and I just looked through the wedding pictures and smiled. I laughed at how fat I thought I looked. I found it simply ironic the amount of compliments I got that day. I was so self concious and fidgety most of the day. But as looked at the pictures, I could not help but laugh at the great time that we had just a few hours earlier. I told my best friend all about it, recounting all of the wedding idiosynchrasies. She laughed with me at all of the old characters of my life's story, and how we were turning over a new chapter.

I went to sleep that night and I was determined to not give up on anything I was thinking about having or accomplishing in life. I dwelled for a long moment on the fact that life was a series of choices and decisions that I was free to make. As much as I believed in a Supreme Intelligence, I believed that I was steering my life, and I had better make some good decisions. I had better choose to be happy, despite my religious or spiritual convictions.

I closed my eyes and drifted into a fitful dreamfilled sleep. My mind was obviously calculating what the cost of happiness would be.

I wake up the next day, still high from wedding bliss. I decide that I don't want to be in the house on this beautiful Easter Sunday and that I would visit my old church here in the city. I get dressed. I was kind of excited. I would get to see some of my friends again. I walk down the block, and unlock the car with the remote. As I look up to see if the car is still there, as I always do, I experienced a moment of disorientation.

Boy, Dante looks different today...

Dante had a black eye.

What the F@%&! Someone busted my car window!

Now I didn't mean to think a curse word, but this is what came to mind immediately. I wasn't really mad, I went to see what they took. An iPod. They busted my window for an i-freaking-Pod. How ridiculous. They could have left me a note for that old-ass iPod! I would have hunted them down to give it to them. The man on the step said a few words to me I can vaguely recall. Something along the lines of, 'Oh that's your car?' Yes. My car. My Dante.

I called the police, and they were there quick. This is a bit unusual in the city. They even had a pre recorded message for me after I called 911 to tell me that someone may not get there for a while. But they came straight away. Six of them. Way too many cops to fill out a incident report. I laughed at them several times. They had to call the sergeant just to figure out what questions to ask me about the incident. They looked way more confused than I did.

I sat in the back seat of my car and pretended to call the insurance company so that I could have a moment to think. What was happening here? I looked over the seat at all the glass and I felt a twinge of pain in my chest. Jerks. Assholes. Idiots. Losers. Crackheads. All for a stupid iPod.

Then somehow I began to think it was my fault. I was seriously considering what I could have done to make this better. I began feeling guilty. I began to believe that somehow, I had brought this on myself. Then I snapped out of it. What was I talking about! This was Brooklyn.

So I get it together, and clean enough class off of the seat, and clear the class out of the frame, so that I can drive the car to a parking garage. Everything was going to be fine. Safelite Glass Co. was coming in the morning, and I was on my way to church. Nothing was going to stop me.

As I pull into the parking Garage, let my mind slip for a second back to the fact that I was the victim of a burgulary. I felt a tear coming. I breathed deep and opened my eyes as wide as I could hoping that the air would dry up the the tears. It worked.

The parking attendant came to the window, and I asked him if I could park the car with a broken window. He said sure, as long as I signed for it. He left to get a ticket.

I put the car in park, and I reached into the back seat to throw the things that were there into the rear part of the car. Those stupid thieves. The shoes sitting in the back seat were worth more than that 4 year old iPod. Dummies. I threw the first shoe into the back.

As a reached back again to throw the second shoe over the backseat, I felt my arm do something weird. In the next flash, extreme pain bounded down my right arm. Within seconds, I was incapacitated. My shoulder was dislocated and I could barely move. Every slight movement sent firey lightning bolts of discomfort searing through my arm. Even when I moved the other arm, my whole right side exploded. I could barely reach the phone to call 911.

At that moment the parking garage attendant came up to my window. He stared at me cautiously. I made a quick grab for the phone, and dialed 911. I told the operator that i needed help and that i had dislocated my arm, and she was so soothing. I told the attendant that I needed an address. He he told me he didn't know the address. I tried to explain where I was to the 911 operator. She couldn't figure out where I was. Deliriously, I screamed to the attendant, 'I NEED AN ADDRESS NOW! LIKE RIGHT NOW!' He jumped and scampered off. The operator told me that they would try to find me with the information I had given them.

After what seemed like an eternity. I called my mom. I tried to talk, but everything hurt. I hung on her. I tried to call my old roommate, to tell her where I was. I could barely dial the numbers.

Finally an EMT appeared at my driver's side window, with celestial glow illuminating his dark uniform. 'WHOA...' he looked at the broken window. 'What happened here?' Through my tears, I to explain everything. I could barely hold my head up to look at him. I felt so delimited and debilitated.

They got me out of the car. They got me onto a stretcher. I howled for about 5 minutes. They put me in the ambulance. They bumped all the way to the hospital. I howled all the way there.

Once in the hospital, of course, I was not seen for two hours. Finally an intern came in and examined me. She told me my arm was cold and that my fingers were turning blue. She wanted me to rate my pain on a level of one to ten. I wouldn't give her a number, I just kept repeating that I could not move my arm. I could not move my arm. I could not move my arm.

She left my little hospital cubby.

My back was beginning to hurt ridiculously. I was so afraid to sit up. My arm was dictating every movement. I sat up slowly, wimpering as the pain shot through my arm....then....SNAP.

The pain decreased. My arm started to warm up. 'All I had to so was sit up?' I thought to myself. I swung my legs out of the bed, and walked to the nurses station. I begged to go home. She sent me to the Dr.

'I think it went back in. I just wanna go home! You guys are great, but I hate emergency rooms!' I sniffled a bit.

' Oh honey I know! I hate emergency rooms too, and I work here!' The other Dr's around her laughed.

She sent me back to my bed upset. I called my friend Nana, and I complained to her about how they were keeping me hostage in the hospital. I wanted to leave. The truth was I felt so alone, and I had no one there with me. I watched all of the other folks with their loved ones there with them on Easter Sunday bringing them food and hanging out with them, and I felt extremely sad. Nana offered to come see me and bring me food. I was so thankful for her offer.

After nearly fainting in the ex ray room and being brought back to my cubby in a wheel chair (percoset is no joke), I became light headed and free. I imagined that my friend Nana was also an ethereal being, who had floated into my hospital cubby. She smiled her beautiful smile, and laughed at the sight of me in the wheel chair. We ate An Easter Dinner of Japanese Food- Tofu Teryaki, Eel Avocado Roll, Edemame, and Miso Soup. I was so content. And doped up.

This is the appropriate place to write that, even though I repeatedly think that I am alone, and become fearful of that, I am constantly reminded that alone really is a state of mind. I gotta learn how to control that state of mind.


I went back to my old home in Brooklyn and told my former roommate, my best friend, and my mom all about the day. The weekend went from Fairytale to Nightmare in the span of 24 hours. I could not have dreamed that sequence. Thank God for my Nana.

Salsa Night: Locating Culture

On this journey of self-situating, that is, reconstructing how I view myself after arriving to new location, I have been inundated with feelings of culture-starvation and sheer loneliness. It is already difficult to make meaning of oneself when relocating from everything familiar to everything foreign. But as I have discovered, this process is even more difficult when one has extreme difficulty connecting with the new culture, local fare, people, and at time foods. I walk the streets of this College Town and literally feel faint from culture shock. Where is the variety? Where is the 'corner store'? Where are the neighborhood businesses? Where is Raquan selling the original (debatable) discount couture, out of his van? Can I get a local dance spot that does not play the Top Pop/Rock 40? Where is the music, life, action, and happenings that depict more than just one ethnic group, that does not always become watered down under 'white' culture? Where are my neighborhood expressions? Where is the fingerprint of originality for crying out loud?

I have concluded that they are hiding away from me on purpose, but willing me to find them, or whither away. My best guess is that they wish to remain a good secret. I am not sure why.

In my mentally disheveled state, I met up with my friend Megan from the BGSA, which was hosting invitation to Tony's Big Easy. It was supposed to be Salsa night this Wednesday. Ha. Salsa night in this college town. If anything this ought to be hilarious.

Megan and I got there early enough to see that the place was empty. It was 10pm and the music was not even set up, nor was there any sign of life in the place. Just a lonely bartender, and a half way decent looking door guy. It was shaping up to be just like every other University Park Experience. Dull.

But we stuck around, had a drink, and talked to the doorman for about a half-an-hour. Then, slowly, people started wandering in. I even saw folks that I knew! I saw my wonderful Holmes Scholar Sister, and I immediately felt a little more chipper. She was Hispanic, and she was attending salsa night. I was hoping my stereotyping proved true, and that there was some credibility to this event.

Megan, Halima and I wondered over to the still empty salsa room and decided to take a salsa lesson with a very unassumingly excellent Salsa dancer. Looks are not only deceiving they can down right delusionary. I was so confused when he started to dance. His dirty blond hair and short stature made my eyebrows form a question mark. His small build and quirky voice nearly had me snorting. But his dance moves...Oh, they were slightly salacious!

I was intrigued. He taught us everything we needed to know in about a half an hour, including how to 'turn' and 'be led'. We were ready to go! We were going to be the best dancers on the floor tonight!

That is, until all of the ballroom, professional, and native salsa dancers started pouring into the place. Before we knew it, the dance floor was saturated. For the first time in this college town, I saw GOOD LOOKING MEN. GOOD LOOKING ONES. But the dancers! They were fascinating. Their moves were sensational! I could not believe I was standing in the midst of this...cultural experience. From the ballroom dancers, to the natives, this was a real, fun, salsa experience going on here! It was more than I expected. I danced for a long time! I watched others dance. I laughed at the obvious non-natives who had learned to salsa in a classroom somewhere. The passion was so different, the dance more technical. The native dancers, and the the great non-native dancers were such inspiration. They set loose the sensuality and the fire that makes salsa so sexy. I forgot where I was for a good while. In the midst of dancing I simply lost myself, and just had fun! One of my favorite songs came on, 'La Vida Es Un Carnival' and I decided to live like the drums, horns and lyrics were my libation. There was really no need to despair. I was not alone: I had found Salsa night! And subsequently, a new lease on fun.


Without any warning, my feet reminded me that I didn't know what I was doing. But Salsa Lessons started on Monday! I had found my bit of culture! Life seemed less bromidic.

Sing it Celia!

I can't change the direction of the wind

I spoke at length with an invaluable friend of mine last night. I have been in this College Town for a few months now and I have been feeling the PAIN! I am constantly aware of this self constructed cloud of inadequacy hanging just overhead, ready to break at a moments notice if I fail to keep the conditions of my atmosphere in order- study, work, write, read, sound smart, be confident, be cute, maintain a quick wit. I am nervous that I may be in danger of Grad School Epic Fail. That's when you get into the world of academia, and realize that your tools for navigating the fathomless seas of intelligence are wonting. Time to create and reinvent the new self. Which is where my invaluable friend comes in.

She told me the story of coming to this very same academic institution, nearly five years ago, and enduring some of these same feelings; 'I'm not smart enough to be here,' 'Everyone has it together', 'Is it me or am I lonely?', 'I am tired of being the 'colored' person in the room,' 'Do I have to be the only one with natural hair in the whole entire department?' 'I don't even know how to begin to understand what I am reading' and the infamous 'I will never, ever, ever, find a dissertation topic. Ever.'

Last night, She reaffirmed that I am smart enough to be here. I cut the mustard. They chose me out of many applicants to attend that University, and to be in that particular program. And that I had better nip the habit of inadequacy in the bud very quickly.

The habit of inadequacy. Hm.

So today, I am adjusting my sails. I might not be able to do much else, but I can do that.


"I can't change the direction of the wind. But I can adjust my sails." - Unknown

Blondie and Kit

My best friend and I are celebrating 10 years of friendship. We met in college. We have spent the last few days reminiscing about college and the crazy men that we madly in love with. One was a particular type of nut that we never could crack. He believed in Polygamy and wanted Blondie, my best friend, to be one of his wives in one of the various states that he proposed to setup wives in. He planned on providing husband services to all the struggling black women who needed a good man, and could not find one. This is no joke! This story is for real. Here is a quote from one of the emails from said Ex:

"The issue boils down to which choice is optimal for many black women today:
(1) being alone for the long-term (sometimes with children); (2) being
yoked with a man with issues (be it lack of commitment, issues with drug
abuse or homosexuality, or being a person of another race); or (3) sharing a
true, strong black man with another black woman. There are pros and cons to
each option, but I think each option has to be fully considered."

He further goes on to explain that:

"God gave us free will so that we can work out the problems that we face. We
would be crazy not to utilize it. Very few things are inherently evil and
wrong (i.e. drug use is sometimes helpful, sex is not inherently wrong, even
food and water can be harmful to one's body if abused). So I don't think we
can dismiss polygamy as wrong because some folks claim that it's nefarious.
We have to consider it and maybe even experiment with it. That's just my
thoughts though . . ."

He thought and still thinks, that he is THE black man of all black men, and that he is fully capable of providing his services to as many women as he can handle. Ha ha ha.

It is on this premise that I base 'Blondie and Kit'. We will be taking our stories and fast forwarding them into the imaginary. What would have happened, even if years later, if Blondie would have taken him up on the offer? Click below to see the beginning of our series:

Leave a message for the writers in the comments section on ProVim . More episodes to come!

Well, Who Do We Have Here?

I am ecstatic about starting this frightening process.

I am not going to claim that this blog does anything.

It may be inane, mundane, insane, or profane.

But it will be altogether lovely. You will enjoy reading.

~~~~~

So, I am still journeying. I awake most days wondering how I arrived at my current station in life. I search for the remote so that I may rewind my mental DVD. I struggle to remember the last few months, or even moments, before I closed my eyes. For the most part, life has been great. For the least part it has been terrible. For this combination I am grateful.

Today I stop the DVD at my last great quest and press play. Chapter Unknown, The Barack Obama Presidential Campaign. The DVD never goes back to the campaign chapter itself, but to the outtakes- the boyfriend, the friends, the fights, the homeless folks, the business owners, the food. In a strange way, these components were all the campaign, as much as they weren't. As traumatized and worthless as I felt when the campaign was done, I look back on the time with so much love and admiration in my heart for the woman who lived and breathed then.

I hold obfuscated memories and beclouded events in my mind's eye. I look back at her and I know that she accomplished greatness, but I wonder who she was? I endeavor to know what she experienced. Did she love the campaign as much as I do? Looking back at Me-Then, I wonder how much she is a part of Me-Now. That woman was driven and focused. Me-Now is a lethargic wanderer. Me-Then, well, that woman was friendly, amazingly smart, attractive, and funny. Me-Now, seems to have never had those qualities. Me-Then, was innovative, quick on her feet, and strong as steel. Me-Now is an unsure, apprehensive student...again. What did Me-Then think this doctoral program would be like? I want to ask her, Me-Then. What corner did she escape around? Who was she anyway? I can barely see the slightly overcome slump of her shoulders as she vanishes from my memory. Where is her confidence? Where is her swagger? I want those qualities of hers. I want to reach back into time and take them from her, and use them for myself. I envy her. She seemed to have it all together.

That campaign and the surrounding cacophony of events changed my life.

I am a totally different Me.

The verdict is still out on whether or not this is agreeable.