Just Another Girl On The IRT

Freestyle musings from a pseudo-intellectual hellcat in high heels with Huxtable aspirations in a ghetto fab world. Proudly sponsored by bouts of bitchy mood swings, one too many swigs of Turning Leaf, the letters F & U and the madness that is the Rotten Apple.

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Location: Brooklyn, New York, United States

Work in progress. Neurotic. Daydream believer. Bookworm. Addicted to the arts. Stubborn. Spoiled rotten. Lefty in more ways than one. Pop culture whore. Equal opportunity hater. Kid at heart.

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Previous Posts Diggin' in the crates... The honor roll... Sidewalk talk... Gossip folks... Know the ledge... The writing's on the wall... Subscribe & syndicate... As the page turns... Recognize the real... Speak your piece... Credits...

Tuesday, January 31, 2006

The envelope please...

And the nominees are...It's that glorious time of year once again, the time when I pelt my Heineken bottle in exasperation at the TV while alternating between the thrill of victory and agony of defeat — all the while questioning the existence of a higher power. Welcome to the most important entertainment biz morning of the year, when palm greasing and clandestine arrangements intersect to reveal who artfully applied Lip Plumper all over the asses of AMPAS members all in the hallowed name of Oscar.

Amidst all the much-ados-about-nothing yesterday over the rehashed State of the Union address which in bound to shred social budgets into a trillion little pieces and the slam-dunk Alito confirmation to the Supreme Court, the reminder could've easily been color-coded on the lower rungs of priority.

In a way, the days after the Academy Award nominations have been revealed are almost as fascinating as Joan Rivers' latest cosmetic tweak for Oscar night. What makes the buildup so maddening is the never-ending search for patterns of ceremonies past for an inside track for which way the prize winds will blow. We wonder, what is the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences trying to tell us? Couldn't they just put in a text message to save time?

Courtesy of a valiant effort to brave hoardes of flashing cameras in the bewitching hours of that darned Pacific Time difference, Mira Sorvino futzed through the roll call of the chosen few and millions of dollars in advertising capital will prove a bust or boon to frenzied studio lobbyists. And there's also a few deserving candidates will probably get more recognition in the next few days then they've accrued in their entire career (hel-lo Amy Adams!). So, without further ado, a partial list of the major contenders:

The little gay ranchhands that could in Bare...uh Brokeback Mountain cast its velvet lasso on the rest of the field with a leading 8 nods. Aside from Oscar's tryst in a roadside motel for a little post-coital cowboy cuddling, I'm thrilled to see Felicity Huffman keeping her dream season in tact with her very first mention as Best Actress for her brilliant turn in putting a face to a role the average Desperate Housewives devotee in the Heartland hasn't seen. More snaps and cheers for A Pimp Called Slickback better known as Terrance Howard breaking into the big leagues with his much-praised performance in Hustle & Flow, Dan Futterman transitioning from character actor under the radar to credible screenwriter in one fell swoop, George Clooney's historic and justified hat trick in landing a record 4 noms and the classic "what the fuck!" jaw dropper of Three Six Mafia winding up as Oscar nominees for Best Original Song. It would be the highlight of the year to have someone so haughty and British introduce the performance of "It's Hard Out Here For A Pimp." Dame Judi Dench or Sir Anthony Hopkins, anyone?

Last year my crystal ball was right on the money in all leading categories as I wound up queen of the office pool, but this time around will prove to be a bit trickier to read. But then again, guessing's half the fun. Time to consult with my bookie on the daily odds updates right up until game time on March 5th.

link | Shot from the lip by TriniPrincess at 9:07 PM | 2 said what?!

A league of her own

Do you know what a steel magnolia is? The dictionary defines the word steel as "very firm, strong, durable" and the word magnolia as "valued for their longevity and exquisite fragrant blooms." This decidedly Southern phrase describes the very essence of strength combined with femininity. A ladylike persona with a backbone as tough as nails and a quality of character you wouldn't expect to find in such an unassuming package.

She is the one who nurtures her children with the values of love, compassion, courage, strength, spirituality, joy, and even sorrow. She instills in them that it isn't unforgivable for a mistake to be made, but it is one if you aren't willing to try. She is a salve for the inevitable wounds but doesn't attempt to shield them from scrapes still to come as one must learn from the bumps, get up and move forward. She teaches them that no dream is out of their reach, under the mantra of: hard work breeds achievement and doesn't go unrewarded.

Suffering in them, reveals their endurance. When the going gets rough, they don't scurry away from trials and tribulations no matter how large or small. And when life's greatest hurdles stare them in the face — death included — they do not crumble under the weight of it all. In a sea of adversity, they are an anchor in the eye of the storm.

They say that behind every strong man lies a strong woman. Coretta Scott King was that kind of woman.

To merely acknowledge her as the merely the widow of the most important civil rights leader in our country's past (and arguably its future) is a disservice to a singular legacy that carried from that chaotic year of 1968. She was the first lady of a movement that opened doors from an entire generation to walk through the front, not the back. A civil rights activist that kept the fight of equality pushing closer to the goal post after the assassination of her husband.

It was Coretta's will that ensured we carried Martin with us, that his memory continued to be spoken of in the present tense. The Martin Luther King, Jr. Center for Non-violent Social Change was literally created in the family basement. It was Coretta's undaunted efforts to have Martin's birthday made into a national holiday that solidified her status as a heroin her own right. A student of American history would have no reason to suspect that the nation would honor a slain black man with a national holiday. Coretta believed.
And on the eve of Black History Month, Coretta has finally gone home to join her beloved at long last. The chin-held-high grace and rarefied dignity that made her an exemplary example of the fellowship Martin so believed in has sure done him proud. We were lucky to have been in the presence of a Queen fit so perfectly for a King.

Coretta Scott King
April 27, 1927 - January 30, 2006

link | Shot from the lip by TriniPrincess at 11:43 AM | 3 said what?!

Friday, January 27, 2006

A roller coaster named desire

Touch me, tease me
"You can tie my hands behind my back and lick your initials in my neck...
Foreplay does nothing for me, but commitment makes me wet.
I already know you're having an affair with words...
But boo, I'm married to it...
My vocabulary leaves most men wary...
I need to know...
Can you get into it?"
Somewhere in between August's sticky dampness and just before Hurricane Katrina's menstrual cycle was unleashed on the Gulf Coast was the last time I had a roll on a mattress that was worth a damn. They say that the more often you get laid, the more you crave it. Well, what the hell is the sanity ratio for an almost half-year drought? My last pilgrimage to the Village in July still has me in good standing for battery operated help, but I'm going out my mind right now. I'm thisclose to humping a train pole if I can't get any action in the next few days. If you think I sound like a raving nympho, let's just say I wish I was so lucky.

Do you remember the episode of Sex and the City when Carrie took Samantha along on her cross-country book appearance to San Francisco and she was at her wit's end with horniness that Mr. Big went from the unattainable to a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am out of sheer necessity? Well, as the fates may have it...playing with fire may become my "get out of celibate purgatory free" card.

As much I vowed to myself that I was swearing off toxic men from my past for 2006, my ex-boyfriend's number still stored in my Motorola is taunting me. He's the walking embodiment of inhaling asbestos voluntarily, but I just can't push the temptation out of my mind. Especially since I know taking a stroll down Jumpoff Lane wouldn't be a total waste as I could at least bask in the afterglow of a spine-shifting realignment before the memories of why I'm infuriated by his bullshit comes creeping back into my consciousness soon afterwards.

Decisions, decisions.

Do I continue my one-woman ode to Nia Long as Nina Mosley and continue to sleep with a pillow between my legs, pacing back and forth as intercourse withdrawal continues to play Jedi mind tricks on me? Or do I succumb to my basic instincts and fall into a pattern while comfortable, remains an emotional dead end?

In the meanwhile, I'm off to CVS. I hear Energizer Max is on sale this week.

link | Shot from the lip by TriniPrincess at 11:06 AM | 4 said what?!

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Jesus Christ Superstar

The last temptation of the RocApparently George Bush not caring about Black people wasn't a thing but a chicken wing because we Negroes had the great equalizer in our corner. The Alpha and Omega himself - Kanye West. Who knew? Yes, boys and girls...not only does Jesus walk, but he primps and poses for photo shoots with Mark Seliger too. Shocking isn't it? All this time you were praying to some mystical figure in houses of worship to be the silver lining to all prayers looming when you could've bypassed the middleman and communion lines to the kingdom of Roc-A-Fella by just plunking down $12.99 for a copy of Late Registration.

While taking a break from extolling the virtues of gold diggers to loyal disciples who ain't checkin' for no broke nukka, he espouses self-fellatory praise as the 11th commandment:

"In America, they want you to accomplish these great feats, to pull off these David Copperfield-type stunts," he says. "You want me to be great, but you don't ever want me to say I'm great?"

"If I was more complacent and I let things slide, my life would be easier, but you all wouldn't be as entertained," says West.

"My misery is your pleasure."
Blessed is the blingKanye is being selfless enough to die for our sins. Isn't that precious? Unfortunately, I won't be able to extend my gratitude as I have a one-way boarding pass on the Triple 6 Express. I suppose I can count myself in the minority of people really don't give a rat's ass about getting worked up over the imagery. But predictably, someone has to take the bait and America's Catholic League fell hook, line and sinker. Spokeswoman Kiera McCaffrey states, "It's moronic. I mean, Kanye West as Jesus? He's a pop star." You mean kinda how Jim Caviezel was merely an actor yet got branded with the evangelical seal of approval in spite of the whole Passion of the Christ thing being chalked up as pretty much the gospel according to Mel Gibson. Love him, hate him, just don't ignore him. And this classic move out of the shock rock playbook insures that the ego hasn't landed. Let the countdown to an on-air Grammy implosion begin.

link | Shot from the lip by TriniPrincess at 6:08 PM | 0 said what?!

Monday, January 23, 2006

An unholy alliance

The best of both worlds?Imagine Roger Clemens & Mike Piazza agreeing to share the next cover of Sports Illustrated together. Shaq & Kobe shooting the breeze on the 16th tee. John Kerry and Dumbya bonding over cucumber sandwiches and afternoon tea. Me marrying a Boston Red Sox fan. (I shudder at the thought). After fueling the kind of verbal warfare unseen since the days of KRS vs. Shan, the Hatfields & McCoys of hip-hop — Jay-Z and Nas have traded in beef cooked well done for a serving of split-peace soup with the signing of God's Son to Def Jam. Jigga what? Jigga who?

LOS ANGELES (Billboard) - When Nas' first album under his new Def Jam Recordings pact is released later this year, it will mark the latest chapter in his truce with fellow rapper Jay-Z, the label's president.

Nas' jump to Def Jam after an 11-year tenure at Columbia comes on the heels of the rap icons' headline-making, onstage lovefest last October during R&B/hip-hop WWPR New York's Power House concert.

The two had battled over who would wear the New York rap crown following the 1997 death of the Notorious B.I.G. The feud kicked into high gear in 2001 when Nas' fiery "Ether" countered Jay-Z's teasing "The Takeover."
It would be really easy to take the bandwagoneer route and chalk this up as the white flag for Nasir since he's now wound up on the label run by the man who spent the better part of 2002-on throwing dirt on his relevance and splashed off in his child's mother for extra salt in the wound. With Mobb Deep relegated to being G-Unit's newest cheerleaders and the artist formerly known as Esco under the IDJMG umbrella, finding a Queensbridge MC with a set of balls still attached is a more difficult undertaking than the search for the Holy Grail.

But I digress...that's a lot of residual disappointment talking there. In the bigger picture, I'm glad to see that maturity still has a place in rap and these two grew up enough to put the past behind them and forge ahead without the script ending in gunfire.

link | Shot from the lip by TriniPrincess at 12:00 PM | 0 said what?!

Sunday, January 22, 2006

Weekend at SoBe's

As much as I'd like to fancy myself as a prime number, baffling everyone in a single bound like my name was PMS Girl... I have to admit when it comes to planning even the briefest of jaunts away from home, I pore over every little detail, keep a mental countdown ticker as the calendar peels off days quicker than I can keep up with and I try to sidestep snags that tripped me up in planning's past. In short, I'm residing in Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder city to make sure everything's perfect. So what's the end result from all that strategy? It becomes an afterthought as I get caught up in the last-minute rat race. My french pedicure got smudged within an hour of coming home the night before. I overslept and didn't have enough time to wash my hair which meant I'd be drudging through Kennedy with a 'do that looked like "who shot John and forgot to kill him." And 10 minutes before the cab pulled up in front of my door, I couldn't remember where I stashed the funds for the hotel stay. Living la vida loca, indeed.

And predictably enough, after all the scurrying I put myself through with the shot clock winding down, the time has zipped by and I'm back home looking for the pause button on the last 4 days while battling a minor bout of jet lag, juggling two carry-ons stretched to packing capacity with a surplus of clothes and shoes lugged along simply because I'm a non-believer in travelling light and dreading the volume of e-mails to sift through and messages to return tomorrow morning. Overall, in spite of a screwball sendoff, I have to say that I had a ball and already have another browser window pointed squarely at Expedia for price quotations on the ready for one more dose of Miami rhapsody in the latter half of '06.

However, my prerequisite recap post wouldn't be complete if I didn't give mention of a few of the post-show highlights and lowlights from this past weekend:

  • This was the first, last and only trip I will ever chalk up on my list of visits past with my now associate, Nadine.* When I said that keeping a level head was part of the new and improved approach to mending fences, this heifer found new ways to push my nerves to the breaking point. If you know that airport security is tighter than a Jewish mother's pursestrings, why in Jehovah would you put on every piece of jewelry you own just to get singled out at the metal detector when the flight's on schedule and we're running 20 minutes behind? Why not take out the money you'll need to cover the bare necessities ahead of time instead of dragging my ass to the ATM every 5 minutes? Why give your mom the damn number to the hotel so keeping tabs like a chaperone would be inevitable and you're pushing 30? Were it not for cheap cigarettes and runs to the liquor store a mere block away, this could've easily turned into Mutiny Over Miami.
  • SoBe's club scene is hella overrated. With a capital O. The death of NYC as the preeminent nightlife capital in America has been grossly exaggerated. It has the kind of frenetic pace that a city girl like me craves, but it's gonna take much more than a propensity for bare-if-you-dare ensembles and pleasant weather to snatch the crown. Since everyone I polled before leaving about which places were must-see's added up to a general consensus for the hot spots in town, I checked off a few names on my itinerary to see what the buzz was about. Needless to say, I felt like an old Deana Carter song after slipping past the velvet ropes. I shaved my legs for this? Doormen cut out of the Marc Benecke school of ruthlessness (how Studio 54 of them), laughably outdated music, watered-down drinks and Laguna Beach pinups far too enamored with their own reflection. The oft-praised Mansion? Should be retitled Shoebox. Literally looks like the place where closeout Pier 1 Imports furniture comes to die. I've been in studio apartments on the fringe of Alphabet City that had more square footage. A slurred proposition courtesy from one of Michael Jordan's entourage lackeys (who was holed up with a bevy of bottle blondes as a sidenote. Even after getting his card pulled in the Karla Knafel debacle, it was proof that jungle fever doesn't die, it merely multiplies) was the red flag that it was time to bounce.
  • On the recommendation from a colleague to check out the Front Porch Cafe, I'm a believer. Best. brunch. EVER. Mimosas and bellinis toasting another born day never tasted so good.
  • Stayed right next door to Casa Casuarina (a.k.a Gianni Versace's old digs) and I can't understand why tourists choose to strut their best America's Next Top Model pose in the same spot where he was murdered. Morbid fascination, much?
  • Although the leisurely stroll on the sand with seashells that felt more like syringes off Coney Island made me leery, getting lost in a sea of oceanic indigo made all but made me forget the grit in my flip flops. The water was sub zero on first splash, though. A topless frolic into the blue on the menu? Not the kid!

The magnetic pull of Espanola Way at night is still dancing through my brain. As is the hunk of man candy I couldn't help ogling at Mango's. I can now file Wet Willie's into the "devised by Satan" pile along with Target. Loved the reaction I got from the locals when I answered them in Spanish. Ditto for the charmingly retro Art Deco architecture. Strolling up and down Collins was responsible for the 8.9 damage estimation on the Richter scale to my wallet. Gloria Estefan summed it up in the catchiest of phrases: "the rhythm's gonna get you."

Time for an inventory check on my remaining days off.

link | Shot from the lip by TriniPrincess at 6:26 PM | 1 said what?!

Friday, January 20, 2006

A star is born

Sixteen candles + 10 moreOne of my many New Year's resolutions was to post more often and as I stated yesterday while I was scrambling for cab fare on the way outta here, expect one today. So it was written, so it was done. One small step for mankind, one huge ass olive branch from me to you. Today the sitcom I call my life has brought me to lovely South Beach where I've come to kick back, relax, dance the night away, get shit-faced drunk during daylight hours without judgment and most importantly... to celebrate my birthday.

That's right, folks... exactly 26 years ago (and I'm not getting older, none the wiser and a helluva lot hornier) today, a self-styled princess from Brooklyn made her grand debut out Mama's womb already kicking, screaming and accessorizing what went best with an incubator.

Grown up birthday listReading what supposedly is written in the stars for me in for the rest of 2006 made me cast one cynical eye at Eugenia Last and another at my old black book after reading the following:

Happy Birthday: Work hard to get ahead. You don't have to do things on a big scale this year -- just do them properly. You will have some great solutions for the reforms you feel are necessary. A chance to hook up with someone from your past will lead you in a direction you once wanted to pursue.
Things that make you go hmmm, indeed. In any case, I'm partying like it's 1999 with my birthday hat in my almost birthday suit. Here's a toast to all of you for making Just Another Girl On The IRT a tiny success on my little square space of ranting. Now Mike, Will, Rell and the rest of you males in the blogosphere...I've got just one favor to ask to really make this a happy birthday.

Can a sista get a lapdance? ;o)

See you guys on Sunday!

link | Shot from the lip by TriniPrincess at 5:39 PM | 11 said what?!

Thursday, January 19, 2006

Change clothes and go

Soaking up the sunI know ya'll are probably thinking, "wasn't this heifer just away not too long ago? This bitch from Brooklyn, she ain't no goddamn heiress or some shit!" Well yeah, you're right...and the international sign for "fuck you" is hoisted proudly at the eye rollers. Racking up frequent flyer miles I'll never get to cash in for future usage now ranks among my hobbies as of late. However, this time I'm not running away (again) for a lengthy sabbatical, it's just a mere weekend run to act the fool and decompress from the daily rat race of it all...however, on the upside, I'll be posting tomorrow, so look for it in the A.M. I'll holla from my destination in a few hours (wi-fi is the greatest thing since sliced bread), so stay tuned!

Leaving on a jet plane

link | Shot from the lip by TriniPrincess at 10:22 AM | 6 said what?!

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Life after Rachel Green? The Pitts!

Sucks to be you
So no one told you life was going to be this way.
Your job's a joke, you're broke, you're love life's DOA.
It's like you're always stuck in second gear,
Well, it hasn't been your day, your week, your month, or even your year.
It's uncanny how precise The Rembrandts foresaw the three-car pileup that's now Jennifer Aniston's very public affairs of the heart. Who needs a Miss Cleo phone in when lyrics penned well over a decade ago cut to the bone so succinctly? To think this was the theme song to her own hit show. And now the nail in the coffin to push Jen-Jen straight into Heidi Fleiss' new brothel, holed up on a suicide watch, the blockbuster coming this summer to a tabloid headline near you — the potential amalgam of all that is righteous and superficial with two genetically enhanced DNA sources.

Unless you've been raised by wolves, I'm sure the bombshell which was merely gossip column innuendo has been beamed worldwide that her ex-spouse is now expecting his first child with prior leading lady turned paramour. Oh, you may have heard of them...

Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie.

The newsome twosome

You're still in bed at ten, the work began at eight.
You've burned your breakfast, so far, things are going great.
Your mother warned you there'd be days like these,
But she didn't tell you when the world has brought you down to your knees.
I mean, Jesus Christ...the woman's been a pillar of strength for the bulk of 2005. Pimping the "wronged, victimized, wounded, yet persevering ex" image is mighty hard work, dammit! We're all well aware that a fractured marriage in Hollywood happens about as often as the next sighting of Halley's Comet, so it was cause for a three-hankie salute and a very bitter pill to swallow when America's sweetheart was sacked for the quintessential femme fatale. It's bad enough to lose your husband to one of the hottest bitches walking the planet, but to find out not only have they been globetrotting in presumably hot, sweaty coital bliss, but the supposed other woman's metamorphisized from batshit Goth girl to the unlikely vessel of motherhood in less time than Aniston's college tries at box office success? Como se dice, emotional breakdown? It's gonna take a lot more than just reverse cowgirls on that Paul Bunyan prototype Vince Vaughn to ease the sting. I hope Courteney Cox Arquette has stock in Kleenex, because this one's bound to be a doozy.

Potential hospital stays for Jenny's impending exhaustion diagnosis aside, this golden child is predestined to be the motherfucking hotness. And with ¾ of her Benetton tribe in place, the time was right for baby Whitey's addition as the biological crown jewel of that ragtag bundle of humanitarian goodwill. I'm so loving these two sluts coupled up together and am already mulling baby names to celebrate this immaculate conception. Peach Pitt? Cherry Pitt? Rock Quarry Pitt? Either way, this is gonna be one more fascinating chapter to add to this Archie-Betty-Veronica cutout and it calls for an honorary viewing tonight of Mr. & Mrs. Smith decked out in Team Jolie's finest membership club threads. Congratulatory blood vials for everybody!

link | Shot from the lip by TriniPrincess at 8:31 AM | 5 said what?!

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Like sands through the hourglass...

Yes, I'm a brat. Indulge me.These are the days of my so-called life.

I know.

Don't even fix your lips to mouth what I already sense is coming like the calm before the storm. I've made the mental notes to myself ad nauseum and every time I try to set aside the time to sit and focus on picking up where I left off here, I'd be pulled in another direction. It was high on my list for the new year to maintain some semblance of keeping current here, but shit happens. In this case, I got promoted (hold the applause, folks...the salary bump is slimmer than Nicole Richie's waistline), and now my workload's exploded and I'm chained to my desk at ungodly hours with only the comfort of java beans to keep me going like the Energizer Bunny. Anything that cuts into my commitment to being an underachieving slacker on company time makes me one unhappy camper. It's refrickindiculous.

But on the upside, I haven't fallen down the rabbit shoot completely...I'm still grindin' and trying to plant my feet on steady ground. So bear with my inconsistencies, people.

In any case, you know the drill...and I haven't been kidnapped, so get at me!

link | Shot from the lip by TriniPrincess at 6:02 PM | 4 said what?!

Thursday, January 05, 2006

Confessions of a teenage drama queen

It's a hard knock lifeDrugs. Bulimia. Whirlwind makeups to break ups. Just another day in the life of a teen idol.

Leave it to those investigative gumshoes over at Condé Nast for their dogged determination to bring forth the truth to light by any means necessary. The newest addition to their Pulitzer-worthy pieces is this month's cover story on tween queen Lindsay Lohan. As if her "shocking" confessions about eating disorders and falling under the influence of the plague that is Nicole Richie weren't enough, the photo spread is an extravagant, supposedly evocative homage to famous retro starlets. And while a hint of Lohan nippage may pitch a tent in your Dockers. the most shocking aspect of this "bombshell" is the fact that she actually admitted it at all. Of course, she's lying when she says she only used drugs "a little."

Coincidentally, hitting newsstands is the fresh-off-the-presses issue of US Weekly which details her diet and fitness regimen. And wouldn't ya know it? — So does Vanity Fair! So what's LiLo's secret for remaining as svelte as a skeleton?

Lies and the lying liars who tell themOf course, now that the story of Lindsay Lohan being bulimic and a coke user comes out, and everyone is happy because she's finally coming clean and taking the necessary steps to get back on track, here comes the inevitable backpeddling that she was misprinted and things were taken out of context. Typical...

Just days after the juicy tidbits of her tell-all interview to Evgenia Peretz hit the newswires, LiLo has done an about face to refute the cover feature as being full of lies, non-truths and sheer hateration since she never even told the reporter anything about drugs or an eating disorder. The magazine countered by standing pat and maintains that it has the entire interview on tape. Oooh, checkmate.

"I am appalled, simply APPALLED by this so-called 'journalism'," Lohan said.

"No, this smidge of nose candy is just for my complexion. Yeah. To minimize my pores."


link | Shot from the lip by TriniPrincess at 5:44 PM | 0 said what?!

Sunday, January 01, 2006

Giving it the best that I've got

Turning over a new leafJanuary has always been my favorite month. A new year always holds the promise of a fresh start in approaching life. Reflecting on the past while gazing forward into the future vowing to myself that this one will be better than the last just nanoseconds after binging on every fiscal and nutritional bad habit in the book. And of course, these idealistic vows allude to that seasonal tradition that are New Year's resolutions. It's that time of year again: pig out less, high tail it to Bally's, floss more. Like the overwhelming majority of people, I often make them and watch my well-meaning goals go up in smoke just before the calendar flips over to February. Being creatures of impulsivity, we look at our expanding waistlines, the dwindling balances in our checking & savings, and the Samsonite that's taken up residence under our eyes, and come to the conclusion that such behavior needs to come to end abruptly to fully be new and improved. We give into the our own jedi mind tricks by promising to take better care of ourselves. We'll eat healthier, work harder, and be fiscally responsible. Out come the measuring cups, the calorie calculators and the meal planners in preparation for a run to the supermarket to restock with wholesome additions. On the return home, reality hits us over the head in realizing that we're too tired to slave over a hot stove and backslide into an extra value meal from the closest drive-thru window. We comfort ourselves in the fact that the monkey wrench was simply a fluke and we can really begin tomorrow. The cynics have always contended that New Year's resolutions are a waste of time, or that self-improvement is a worthwhile practice which should be made throughout the year, not just at the beginning. And while there's nothing wrong with taking those baby steps as they come during any of the other 365 days in the almanac, there's no denying the fact that the start of a new year makes for a great symbolic and psychological place to wipe the slate clean on something. I've been thinking lately about what I would like to see this coming year - not just for me, but in my community, and the world around me. In slightly disorganized order, the drumroll kicks off as such...

A reawakening
  1. Utilizing the power of downgrading my yes's and upgrading my no's frequently. I'm not Superwoman and I can't be all things to all people all the time. The phrase, "don't worry about it, I got this" has been in my vocab for far too long.
  2. Defy the inheritance of CPT genes and make it into work on time with more regularity than Metamucil.
  3. Take control of my checkbook and consolidate my fiscal irresponsibility into a budget I can honestly live with.
  4. Detox from public transportation on weekends by making the NYS driver's manual as essential to my reading as this month's W.
  5. Drink more water because the guy on the Aquafina commercial said so.
  6. Reacquaint myself with the hell that is working out on a regular basis.
  7. Quit procrastinating on what could be and get off my ass to make it happen.
  8. Reconnect with old friends instead of leaving the good ones adrift on the isle of "God, I haven't spoken to ______ in so long..."
  9. Usher in the latter half of my 20's with the resolve to get my groove back and get my groove on without hesitation or regrets. Who said good girls have more fun?
  10. Make it through this year without buying yet another pair of heels from Bergdorf's that I'll need to conveniently block out a scheduled bill to afford.
  11. Stop dropping f-bombs to unsuspecting Cingular reps after being on hold for longer than 10 minutes.
  12. Live in the now instead of always waiting on the other shoe to drop.
  13. See that the silent prayer of our troops returning to home soil come to fruition in a complete withdrawal from Iraq.
  14. Become active again with MoveOn networking in time for this fall's elections at grassroots levels locally to get young people engaged and out at the polls.
  15. And last but not least - blog more. My counter's been stuck for longer than UPN's been Nielsen cellar dwellers when it comes to network ratings. The reason? I only bother to hit the publish button once or twice every fortnight (if so often), and while I'm a firm believer of what you see is what you get, it would be nice to maintain a somewhat steady presence. So, I know my tendencies to get wrapped up in 5 different things at once causes me to be neglectful of updates consistently, but I know this too, alright? Give a girl a break....I'm workin' on it. ;-)

link | Shot from the lip by TriniPrincess at 6:29 PM | 1 said what?!