Now Serving: Mimi, Party of 1

I have issues, people. Food issues, to be exact.

You may recall that my dining habits are….quirky….to say the very least. And while I should be ashamed to admit that I once ate meatballs and M&Ms as a meal, I’m not. Not ashamed at all. Those little chocolate buttons taste good dipped in marinara sauce. (I may or may not be kidding about this.)

I am happy to report that things (including my waist line) have gotten better. Well kind of. I eat out more. So that means I eat foods that sort of match and meals that involve vegetables. Oh, and my pal over at Life in Dishes takes pity on me pretty often. She’s a bona fide, certified, dignified personal chef now, so her meals guarantee that I don’t develop scurvy.

The issue is not that I can’t cook. I can. The issue is that I can’t cook meals that are perfectly portioned for the singleton in me, who--by the way--doesn’t like to eat leftovers.

What I know about cooking, I learned from my Bigmama. And meals for our family usually involved serving 15 to 20 people at a time. On a random Thursday night. And I’m not kidding.

Now bring those lessons home to my own kitchen and I always end up with a mighty big pot of just about everything. Which is why I might hate spaghetti forever. I’ve tried using a half-pound of ground meat. A handful of noodles. A half jar of sauce. But I always end up with more than I can eat. Once for dinner, maybe twice for lunch, but after that I’m done. And yet, the pot will still be full. Which is why we had to break up.

The other thing is bread. I like turkey sandwiches. I like PB&J. You know what I don’t like? Buying an ENTIRE loaf of bread. Why can’t they make loaves with exactly 8 slices, including end pieces? That’s all I need. Any way you slice it, though, I’m toast when it comes to meals at home.

So tell me, all you single ladies, how do you do it?

Rise and Whine

I am a genius at finding reasons to stay in bed in the mornings. I try to outsmart myself with tactics like putting the alarm clock across the room so that I have to actually get up to turn it off. That worked for about three days before I realized that if I just keep my eyes closed, I never actually wake up. 

This morning, I got up with the alarm at 7 a.m. but then, I decided that I could lay down again while the water warmed up in the bathroom. The water ran for an hour while I slept. Help me, please.

Also, I have old lady feet. And before you all try to convince me otherwise, tell me that my feet are fine, just take a look at this:

See? Old Lady. (Wait, why is it so quiet. Why aren’t you all trying to convince me otherwise? You agree with me, don’t you?)

Part of the problem is that I’m having a tiny problem with my ankle. It’s nothing major, but the treatment makes my feet swell and I’m forced to wear flats while it gets worked out. 

The result? Old lady feet. And since I was not prepared to deal with this, I don’t own any cute flats that aren't flip flops. 

I guess that means these foots are made for shopping this weekend. But not until after I host an Easter Egg hunt at my house (cause that’s what old ladies do, even when they don’t have kids). 

P.S. Do old ladies get a discount at the nail salon?

Happy Resurrection Weekend, y'all.

EDITOR'S NOTE: For the reader who wondered, the green carpet is at my work not my house. Though I can understand why you'd make the assumption, given the old lady feet on top of it.

Not so hot rods

This weekend was all about adventures in hair styles. I heard a rumor that spring is just around the corner, so I wanted to get a head start on refreshing my look for the season. 

I wanted a fresh hairstyle that would:  

1. Let me extend the time between relaxers.

2. Stand up to the rigors and sweat and steam of working out.

I had a very clear vision of a cute, coily, curly fro look that I was pretty sure would fit the bill. I wanted cute, sassy, soft and touchable. But how to get the effect?

I stopped at a local Beauty Mart and found these soft, bendable rollers called Flexi-Rods. They looked easy to use and painless. As a bonus, I figured if I got tired of sitting under a dryer, I could lay down on them and let my hair air dry.

I used Design Essentials sculpting foam and lots of water as my setting products. It was my first time EVER rolling my hair, and the hard part was figuring out how to get the ends of my super short hair around the rod. 

It took a few tries, but I ultimately ending up using 24 1/2-inch rods for the look. Brace yourself.

I spent about 30 minutes under an ionic hood dryer. Once I figured my hair was all dry, I unraveled the rods, sprayed them with Finisheen and pulled them apart for this finished look. That was about the time that I noticed they weren't dry on the underside, if that makes any sense.

It didn't QUITE turn out as I'd hoped. On the closeup below, you'll see it's a little too frizzy. What you can't see is that the curls in the back just didn't set. I think a lot of that was due to my lack of rolling experience and also the size of the rods I used. With smaller rollers and more time under the dryer, though, I may just come up with a cute, coily summer look.

What do you think? Cute, coily fro or a Granny no-no?

A fool and his fetish

Maybe three years ago, I met this tall, dark and handsome foreign gentleman at a Playdate event.

Nigerian-born, he'd spent time in England, I believe, before he landed here. He was SO my type. His height, his manner, his dress, the way he spoke with the slightest accent. I was so digging him, and couldn't wait until he showed up at my place for our first semi-sorta date.

He'd lost a bet--can't even remember what it was--but the prize was a free car wash to the victor. And so, after weeks of easy conversation and budding attraction, I invited him to my house for the car wash, pizza and drinks. 

During the food part of the night, Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome got a little hungry for something other than a pizza slice AND in the worst move ever known to a man, he reached over and shoved my fingers into his mouth--the same mouth he was using to eat pizza and slurp beer. It was....a disaster. His mouth was hot and oily from the food and it just wasn't sexy. The date ended about 5 minutes later, and I never saw spoke to or saw him again.

Until...this past month. He started calling and, for reasons I don't understand myself (okay, I was bored), I eventually agreed to meet him in a public place for dinner and a movie. He laughingly vowed ahead of time to keep his oral fetish to himself and my fingers out of his mouth.

Dinner was great. The movie was just okay. But there was a really sexual scene in it, where this hooker is servicing a dirty cop, and the cop is giving her explicit instructions on how to do it. Slightly awkward for a first date after our history, but we got through it. Or so, I thought.

After the movie, he walked me to my car. Still on his best behavior, he hugged me good night, and I was pleased with the way it all turned out. Until...he pulls me close to him and whispers in my ear: "You should come home with me and let me lick you like in the movie." 

I was floored. I was disgusted. I was shocked and surprised. I was PISSED.

I'm never at a loss for words, but outside that theater, nothing came to mind. And so I just turned, unlocked my car and drove away, without ever saying a word.

The last I saw of him, he was standing in the spot where my car had been, looking on as I left him in the dust. 

Refreshing the Spirit of Generosity

I woke up this morning to images of brown bodies piled beside earthquake debris in Haiti. My throat hurt and my stomach ached all morning long before I realized those images were behind my discomfort. Images that hurt my feelings. Images that remind me all too much of other brown bodies, floating after Katrina's devastation. Images that I need to do something about because I can't bear to live with them.

I poked around and found a local organization that is solely focused on collecting feminine products and stuff for babies. Because the least a woman should have after she loses everything is the dignity of clean necessities for herself and her children. And the least I can do is send one little box and a heaping helping of prayers to a woman who is brown like me.

Help, I said to my friends, this is bothering me. And a lot of them said, okay.

My little box is gonna be packed and my feelings are hurt just a little bit less because I found something I could do. Writing this is making my throat hurt again a little bit, but it's a different kind of ache. A full spirit kind of ache. And that is something I can live with.

Happy New Year

Hello my lovelies!

2010 is 6 days old and I'm ready to get it started, get it started in here!

2009 went out with a bang, boom, crack, sizzle, fizzle....well, more like a sputter. I actually went to a party for the second year in a row, and it was just....lame!

Too many women. All dressed up with no dates. Really, it was almost enough to depress me. Almost. Until I started dancing... and then I danced until I had to take my shoes off.

I hear the same thing was true for my girls who went to Las Vegas and Chicago, too, so I don't feel so bad.

But that's all behind me. The best of 2010 is yet to come.

I'm not making resolutions this year. It's pointless. Instead, I'm going to steal an idea I saw on Facebook and come up with a theme for the year.

I've thought long and hard about it (all of 45 seconds) and I've decided my theme will be REFRESH!

Mind, Body, Spirit, Hair and even the Company I Keep. It's all in for an overhaul, so I hope you'll stop by from time to time to read all about Refresh 2010!!! 

I just love them

See them, how they go?

Together.

Unmatched strides on different footing; but they get to the same place at the same time.

Together.

It works.

Is he guiding her or is he following? Is she allowing herself to be lead or steering with him in the way he would go?

A hand at the center of her back. A gentle and a firm weight that says, “I’m here. I know you got it, but I’m here.”

The slight curve of a graceful neck that acknowledges, “I know.”