Are you smarter than a blogger?

Does anyone remember this brain teaser? I saw it on another blog and had to share.

Just post your answers in the comments section, there might (not) be a prize. Okay here goes:


11 was a racehorse.
22 was 12.
1111 race.
22112.


Can't wait to see your answers.

It's too hot to blog, but it's never too late for love

It’s stupid hot outside. I just want to lay right on top of the fan wearing granny panties and a tank top with holes in it. (Oh, like you don't own any....)

I think the heat is starting to affect my brain, though, because I swear I saw a new reality dating show for that Apprentice lady Omarosa and Al B Sure was one of the contestants.



Al B Sure was my light-skinned, curly haired dream lover man of 1988-89 and I just knew he was going to fall in love with 12-year-old me, when I turned 17. (Hey, it made perfect sense at the time.)

I really loved him, and I dreamed about being the girl in the acid-washed denim jacket in this video.



I didn’t even care that he had to roll that turtleneck down around his neck about 15 times or that when he sang, he looked like he needed to take a dump. I was in love.

Now, he’s looking for love on TVOne, and I’m sweating to death in the Atlanta heat. I guess that makes us both hot messes.

If at first you don't succeed, just blame it on Kelis

Kelis wanted me to style my hair like hers.

Why else would she have taken this picture for me to find?


I love the coily, curly style. It stands up to sweat monster workouts and really helps me stretch the time between relaxers. I’m in love with curly coils. I’d marry curly coils if I could.

Ignoring the fact that Kelis’ hair is naturally curly, I went to work on my own tresses with some old friends. Yes, those ARE sponge rollers you see. What else would create the kinda tight curl I need that my genetics chose not to give me?



I shampooed then added gobs of olive oil to my conditioner. I’ve been sweating lots lately and I figured my hair deserved a treat. I noticed some shedding as I combed the conditioner through, but nothing I plan to worry about yet.



I used a blow dryer to damp dry my hair, and then added a little coconut oil for moisture, sheen and smoothing. I used about 30 medium sponge rollers in my hair, sprayed the whole thing with Finisheen and capped it with a silk scarf.

The curls were soft and springy in the morning when I removed the rollers. Most of the sections were smooth, but a few needed more coconut oil as I separated and finger combed the curls into a style.



Ummm….not quite what I expected, but wearable, I guess.



By midday, the coils had started to fall, so this style doesn’t look to have the same durability as the flexi-rods. I may try again later with a holding spray and even smaller rollers, but I can’t make any promises.

I kinda hate you so much right now, Kelis.

Sit-ups and Hook-ups

I’m not sure why I named this post the way I did because I haven’t done either of those things, but I am thinking about them. I figure if I do more of the first, it could lead to lots of the second. Only….not actual hooking up, more like dating hooking up….date-ups? dook-ups?

This post is going nowhere fast. Much like my life.

Oh, wait! I do have one thing to tell you. I’ve been spending a lot of time sweating and roaming around Stone Mountain park. I go about the same time each day and tend to see the same people. There’s this one guy cyclist who wears the brightest clothes I’ve ever seen. I’m talking shock, electric, costume parade fireworks blue. It’s quite a sight, but I use it to my advantage, because I can pretty much pace myself by the number of times he laps me.

I don’t feel bad about it, though; he apparently me has been using me as his personal pedometer, too. The other day I was struggling through my workout, and he flies over a hill and yells “pick it up, pick it up,” as he passes by me.

I should mention that I was STRUGGLING on this particular hill, so I did what any mature woman with nasty funk-water dripping off her body would do. I shot him the bird, blasted him with a hot, sweaty ugly side eye and threw a stick in his tires to make him fall off his bike. That will teach him to keep his mouth shut.

Or, that really didn’t happen. Not the stick part. Now, the ugly sweat glare. THAT happened. But it must have been a good look, because he wheeled his bike around and came back.

He said his name was Rawr or Roar or Roud or Rah, but I couldn’t really understand him. His thick SOUTH AMERICAN accent was getting in the way. Oh, did I forget to mention that he was from the land of the sun? Okay, well, besides his bright blue biking shorts, he has beautiful golden skin that pulls tight across his big, fine thighs when he pedals me… I mean, his bike.

After I stood there looking like the sweat monster, asking, “Whah, what did you say,” he finally spelled his name for me. Turns out, it’s Raul. I spelled my name for him, too, as he put my number in his cell phone. *winks*

There’s not much more to this story except to say we’ve chatted twice and have talked about getting together so he can show me his moves…. His South American DANCE moves, you guys.  Get your minds out of the gutter! There’s not enough room for all us of there.

So, here’s to electric blue biking shorts. Maybe I could get to like them.