Keeping Up with the Jonzee still at the right spot.

Thursday, August 31, 2006

If I stab a fool, I'd be wrong, right?

430.5 miles is the distance from Cleveland, Ohio back to the city. At 72 miles per hour with a 30 minute stop that trip is approximately 6.5 hours. I've done it at faster speeds and it still takes about 6.5 hours. Then why was it, on a random Tuesday, that trip took me nearly 8.5 hours? There were more bad Jersey drivers on Interstate 80 than in a traffic jam going through the Holland Tunnel at 8:30 PM on a Friday night. ...the fug? Crashing into shit. Hydroplaning. Causing accidents. Refusing to let folks merge when lanes were closed for construction. As usual, trying to prove they can drive as ruthlessly as any New Yorker--but they forgot that skill comes with the ability to actually control the vehicle. One fool, caused a tractor trailer to jack knife and fall over a jersey wall. Homeboy, if he is alive, had to be cut out with the Jaws of life and there were 5 tow trucks on the scene to try and tow that blickie out of the ravine.

And then, we get to Jersey. And it just gets better. See I forgot to mention it had been pooring like a monsoon on and off all the way through "no-man's land" central PA. So people were feeling really, quite special. I used the term "ignant -ass muuffuuca" more times in 15 minutes than I had all summer.

As I was trying not to get out the car and punch someone in the head, I camly remembered, that Cleveland is not the only place I have a love hate relationship with. Just as when I arrived in Cleveland, I wanted to go home. The same thing happened when I got back. The crowds, the dirt, the smell, the crazy fools who got no shame in they game about the money you need to hand them cause they "hungry", "homeless", "want a beer" (Now I know this is the case for many, but some of these fools got on newer kicks than me), the brother's who are constantly like "hey love", "Hey shorty", "Where you going, Ma?" Damn. The expense of the place, cajoled me to moving to Jersey City. (But Its like being a kid who's getting ready to get hit by a bully and then the bully walks away. You get real close to the tunnel and then you stay on this side of the river. Sometimes I hate it. )

I even called up some of the folks I have been close to who are/were apart of the NY crew back in the day and went off about how my return was some bullshit.

Then I got home. And it felt good to be home. I was in my parents home for the summer, and although I didn't get harassed about where I was going and mom's made breakfast many a morning, there is nothing like being where your stuff is. The subletter had caringly put my stuff in the room I would be moving into, and a lot less work than I though had to be done.

I walked around the corner and had true slice. Washed it down with a Mr. Softee Vanilla cone dipped in cherry.

Today, I got up, got on the PATH and went across the river. Had lunch. Sat in Union Square. Took the long stroll from Washington Square to the the Trade. And that Love part said hello again.

Monday, August 28, 2006

Wholly cow! i'm in the paper

I wrote an editorial to the Plain Dealer...

and it got published.

I actually didn't know, until I woke up to a slew of emails this morning.


And now for today's update

Oscar asked me whether I had yet made a choice about whether to come home or stay away. And the answer is, we will see. I am definetely going to make a concerted effort at it. I am leaning more towards than against. I have nearly 11 years of big city "excitement". A little peace and easiness might not be so bad.

More signs are saying stay than not. For instance, on my last day of work, I was talking to one of the bank customers who happens to be a Senior Analyst for a very big midwest bank. She offered up a recruiter contact and told me that she was part of the Diversity recruitment efforts. Though I have not heard back from the contact, I will be meeting the bank customer at the National Black MBA Conference in Atlanta.

Then there is the housing market. Though it is turning into a buyers market nation wide, it truly is one here. While I cannot buy some of these nifty four floor townhomes with all the amenities, here I can by a foreclosed two family, rehab it, and rent out part. That means built in equity and somebody paying most of the mortgage.

Then there is the market for young urban professionals to meet and greet and have a good time without the boo-ghetto bull. I keep hearing how Cle needs one. I already have a partnership in mind. I have my eye on two places that were recently renovated with equipment. So minimum cosmetics needed. They didn't fail because of market they failed because some negro's know too much for their own good.

So, those are the signs. But, I am not putting all my eggs in one basket. Did that was not fun at all.

I took a man to dinner

I wanted to ask him out. I was getting the "he likes me" vibe, so after we hung out a few times,and he couldn't go to the Brown's game, this past Thursday I took him to dinner instead. I paid. I had a feeling he felt awkward about it, but we had a great time. I noticed he chose to be on the frugal side when ordering even though I said have what you want. I mean it wasn't like there was lobster on the menu (Strategically arranged, you see. I said I wanted to take him to dinner...not break the bank). Even though he seemed a little uneasy about me paying, the conversation was much that it went on to drinks elsewhere.

It was not until last night that he told me that he always pays and expects to do as such. That he felt uncomfortable about me paying. He alluded to wondering if I was the type of woman who does not appreciate that kind of thing. I told him no, I just wanted to do it. I didn't say it, but I was thinking when I asked, that he might be gun shy about asking me out because I live somewhere else. And he confirmed over dinner that all of the "quality women[he has] meet live out of town."

Well, in the end, we laughed about it. At we agreed that the next time I am home, he is doing the wining and dining...and paying.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

All Hail the Republicans!

Now, before I start getting hate mail and death threats, let me assure you that I am a life-long, bleeding-heart, death-to-neo-conservative-establishment Democrat (even though they been pissing me off over the last few years). But right now I am making nice, smiling, and being as friendly as possible to any fool hanging around Cleveland representing the Republicans or the RNC. See, yesterday and today the RNC is here poking around trying to decide if they want to hold the RNC Convention here.

God willing--they will. It seems to me the conservatives are on the defense. If they know what's good for them they might want to ponder on this city a little longer. The dismal economic conditions of the state of Ohio are abound and this is the perfect time to make nice with a "swing state" that needs some love. The election debacle was just the icing on the cake. We are the state with worse growth rate--housing, employment, etc and Cuyahoga County had the 4th lowest number of new housing starts in the nation (but as we are pretty developed--not sure that means much) AND, recently the paper has been mentioning the exponential increase (from 1% to like 4.5% curious) in the number of Republicans in the state checking out Ted Strickland, the Democratic candidate for governor.

Might be good for the ole' Republican image machine to have the convention in a city that is making a completely bi-partisan effort to "Rock the RNC".

They could go to Tampa. But going there is possibly a shaky proposition--might be seen as more cronyism.

They could go to NYC. But they just had it there and even though that city has a Republican mayor(who thinks like a democrat with an MBA), last time around they were met with a 25,000 people protest. The possibility that the number of protestors will increase is a pretty good one.

They could go to Minneapolis. The city that Cleveland looks to for inspiration for growth. Its nice there-- in the summer; and they have a nice-sized Filipino enclave going on which allows the RNC to check off "diversity" on the bottom of the checklist.

To me, its between Minneapolis and Cleveland. Minneapolis-the turn around is apparent and its a cute mid-western mid-major city. But it might be preaching to the choir and not attracting the votes of folk who are on the fence about defecting. Cleveland is a swinger its an 80% democrat, 70% black city in a wholly red state that might say bye-bye to Red. After that travesty in New Orleans they might want to make it look like Kanye was wrong (to a point he was they don't like poor folk in general).

Lord knows Cleveland needs it( and Ohio too!), especially as it tries to not become Buffalo. Cleveland is underprivileged as was Philadelphia before the 2000 Convention. That convention helped Philly get in the spot light and get it back on the economic right track. But Cleveland especially needs it for Cleveland--some of this city's biggest detractors.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

What if they ask me to stay?

Honestly, I have enjoyed my summer in Cleveland more than I thought possible. I have taken advantage of the various summer activities, hung out with the fam (though there were a couple of moments when I actually said out loud, "you all are aggravating as hell."), and met a boy I like--of course with only two weeks left in the city. There are rumors floating about that I might get offered a gig working for my current boss, or within the company(which might be Chicago). I love working for him--he is a great teacher. But do all of these things lend to it being a good idea to move here permanently?

It is clear that from NYC,I gotta go. I will always drive up the NJ Turnpike waiting to get to exit 6 so I can here Power 105 and 'BLS, but I just can't 'swang' it any more. I need to be able to buy a tax deduction, not be someone else's.

Does that mean I should move to Cleveland?

I could go back to DC and get a good 'guhment job. But anybody who has ever met a federal government worker, knows that even the best and the brightest either quit because of the high level of apathy or they stay on and let their brains turn to mush as they, too, become apathetic.

But does that mean I should move to Cleveland?

A phat crib for under $200,000?
Free food from Mom dukes?
Free handy work (after he complains about being manipulated) from Pop's?
Free car repairs or the super steep discount from my brother or his hook ups?
Pretty close to DC, Chicago, NYC in under 6.5 hours when I need my smog, traffic, noise fix?

Man, I don't know...

Cleveland needs me and young people like me, fo' sho. The opportunity to be a big dog if you are young, bright and driven, is virtually endless.

But, Man, I don't know. Some how it all adds up to the right answer. I just don't know how to get to the answer yet.

Sunday, August 20, 2006

Why so Bitter, Brotha?

Okay, you know some folks are always going on and on about the Bitter(substitute angry if you prefer) Black Woman. I have heard more than a few brothers say that they can't deal with sisters because of this so-called phenomenon. While I do believe that such a phenomenon is running rampant amongst many sisters, this is not a "Sistahs only event". No sir! It seems there are number of cool brothers out there that are not having any more luck in love then some of the ladies . While this might be because all the sudden so many men get to thirty and decide it is time to go sit down somewhere, some brothers just want to find love and are longing for it. They too, are losing faith that it exists.

As matter of fact, yesterday evening I got to see the Bitter Brother Network in action. This so very nice, attractive, highly intelligent brother who is everything I prayed for has begun to lose his faith in finding true love. This brother who knows the wedding songs he wants played at his wedding, is on the verge of saying 'fug it. I was shocked and appalled when I realized that "bitter brother" may have found a a new home. I don't even know if I can crack the shell that is forming on this one.

After the story, I heard last night. I could see why. The one big reason is because muufuccas are trifling. Let me recount the story for you.

Last week, the Teacher was at the neighborhood watering hole when he saw a woman he dated a few years back. She had recently returned from her wedding in the Caribbean and decided to go have a couple of drinks with her friends. Her husband had to go out of town for work. She runs into the Teacher. They about the wedding, the new house they are buying, and her husband. She even breaks out some wedding pictures. They have an enjoyable conversation, and he is happy that this woman who he admires has been blessed with marriage.

Then the bullshit happens. The Teacher goes into the kitchen to make something to eat. In walks the woman. She wraps her arms around him and tries to go for gold. She says to him "I been think about this ever since I sat down next to you tonight." He is flabbergasted. He assumes she may have had too much to drink and gently reminds her that she is recently married and suggest that maybe he should have someone drive her home. She indicates that marriage has nothing to do with what she is trying to make happen with the teacher and his 'friend'. Incensed, he turns around and walks away.

As much as I wondered if this was an isolated incident. When I later talk to him about it, he says it has happened more than once to him. Some were women he dated. Others were the girlfriends of guys he had made acquaintance with. With incredulity, I ask him if he was overreaches. To further emphasize his point, he then has some of his friends, tell me their personal "Say whuh? Pump the brakes" stories. I heard stories about girls who offered various and a sundry sexual favors though they were married, engaged, or in serious relationship. I heard stuff that made me understand why some nice guys just have given up.

Yet, what he may not have realized, as he had his friends tell me their stories, is that all of the dudes were visibly in love with the woman they were with. They beamed at the mere mention of the womans' names. The stories to them the "pump your brakes" tales were mere stories about crazy crap that happened. Not a manifesto of what is to come in love. As they saw it, if it was easy to meet the woman you are meant to be with than it would not be so special. To them the possibility of love was far to wonderful to let them be deterred from seeking it out, trifling muufuuccas or not. Maybe, subconciously, that is why he pointed me to them.

I am of the firm mindset that bitterness will kill you. I feel like the Teacher's friends feel. It takes some faith and some resolve to believe that one day you will be blessed with love so grand that you won't care about the bull that happened with trifling folk. It takes the recognition that failure is inevitable if you are to find love and grow in love.

Lord willing, the bitterness will not take firm hold of the teacher. I'm praying for him. He is far to good of a man not to find love and bliss.

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

When in doubt

So, I called late yesterday evening. Left a message. And I know I should not be worried about it, but as I mentioned my MOJO and I have been on the outs so...

And there is no need for it. I mean, I don't get worried if I call a friend and it takes a few days for them to get back to me. He's a teacher and a football coach and school starts next week. Hella busy probably does not begin to describe it.

Sheeeit, folks call me and I don't often get a chance to call them back the same day, often even the next day--and it rarely has anything to do with me not wanting to talk to them. So, what makes this phone call any different?

One word.


I admit it. I am a control freak. I like to be able to both predict and manage the outcome. This "I like you. Go out with me." stuff puts emotions right out on front street. I am an ENTP, I need feedback, dammit!

I am impatient. I want what I want when I want it. And we all know that life doesn't play that.

But I try very hard not to be that way. I have learned to harness these traits into positive approaches to situations, but sometimes the negative side of them is hard to control.

While I gracefully keep my foot on the neck of 'internal bugging", right now, when it comes to, "the possibilities" (see Love Jones), I admit I am wondering if I screwed it up and should have waited the damn 48 hours.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

The Teacher

He's attractive, smart, and well-mannered. He is a good friend to his friends and would give them the shirt off his back if needed. His students respect and admire him. He loves his family and has a close relationship with both of his parents. He dotes on his nieces and nephews. He has no children of his own--but is excited about the idea of being a father and getting married. He is an INTJ but loves to be social when the time is right.

Altogether, he is everything I asked for in my notebook

And after our first solo date, he asked me to call so we could do it again.

I am on the fence.


Maybe its because, although I have written a number of prayers and thoughts in that notebook, and have never once given it a second thought; saying to myself, "I asked for it, now leave it up to Him.", on this one, I seem to lack faith in the possibility that it might even be in His plan for me.

Maybe, it's because when I decided to ask him out, my mother gave me the "what? Are you desperate?" talk. (which consists of, "I hope you didn't ask him out. That just seems so desperate. Men should do the asking.") And as much, as I want to say I am a "modern woman", I have to admit, I took it to heart--for about 30 seconds. And then a few more hours, while I asked myself if such an action wreaked of desperation? Or was it taking one's life in one's hand rather than waiting for the phone to ring?

Maybe, it's because I feel like my MOJO's on the fritz and was reaching permanently-broken status. Yet, from the vantage point where I have sat when it comes to the supposed lack of single life in Cleveland, I have been complemented and given more numbers than I have in at least a year. Even though, it seems like the MOJO might have come back online, I'm not sure it is really working, or if the moon is still full.

Maybe, it's because in less than 10 days, I will go back to NYC, and the man that I am so impressed by will be here, and we have only gone out once (though we have chatted for hours at a time a few times) and might only go out once or twice before I leave. So, in some ways it feels like "what's the point?"

Maybe, it's because I feel like I have been out of the dating game so long that I am unsure of how to exercise the rules. Yesterday, I called three of my girlfriends to ask them what I should do now. I even called my cousin who knows him well and asked her what she thought.

But...after all that reflection and random advice collection, I will call, since the invitation was given.

That is, after I observe the "48 hour" rule of course.

Friday, August 11, 2006

Before I let you go

I have noticed in the past few years that people I thought would be life long friends with are now people that I think I would really like to distance myself from.

I have always had a problem letting go of folk--even if they did me dirty. But, its too much burden to carry.

The folk I think I need to move on from have not neccessarily done me badly. Some, we just aren't on the same page. Some, everytime I talk to them, I feel like I am on the psychotherapists couch. Some have simply stagnated in life and either always exude negativity or complain about everything. Others always want you to do something for them but can never do anything in return.

These relationships probably say more about me than it does them. But I'm learning.

And what I am learning is sometimes you just gotta say goodbye.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Just Don't

From the age of 5 to 19, I wanted to be an Emergency Pediatric Surgeon.

Then, I failed physics. An F. First and last time.

From 19-21, I wanted to be a City Planner. (Before you say, "how the hell" it was not that big of a stretch since I was a pre-med concentration with a major in Urban studies and development. )

Then, I had three internships with three different communities and realized planners come up with great ideas which make lots of sense, but they are pretty much dismissed until the shit hits the fan.

From 21-25, I took my love for planning and decided to move toward Community Development--specifically housing. This led me down the inevitable non-profit development path. As such, I got to work for some of the "Best Practice" Non-profits in DC and NYC.

Then, I realized they were a mess. In a nutshell, they couldn't manage money, their balance sheets were upside down, they were constantly in crisis mode, and they never had very many significantly sized projects in the pipeline. (ex. average CDC 22 years of existence--550 units of housing. Say whuh?)


At age 25, I finally hit my "Eureka!" moment. I realized that Grandfather's love of history and city life started me down the path from the time I was 14. While during these teen years I was still determined to be a doctor, a major in urban studies became inevitable. I was destined to pursue it, but not working in a non-profit.

But I continued to believe that the mission of CDC's was an important one, the "crisis" mentality--mostly the crisis that they ain't got no money but lots assets, was wholly uneccessary. It became apparent that they needed to function more efficiently like many successful businesses do, and more effectively manage existing assets.

As such, Community development finance and management is what I chose.

I can run a non-profit program with my eyes closed (while swearing to quit) but I have had limited exposure to finance. Being the partly bourgoise girl that I am I thought I had to go top 25 MBA with a dual degree JD (JD because these non-profits always get tangled in some legal mess and need real estate lawyers) so I could be a force to be reckoned with.

Then, I could not get past the quantitative part of the GMAT. I was okay in practice and a disaster during the real test. Three times and $675 later and wasn't about to take it again even thought I was 10 points from the magic score. I just didn't have another $225 to take it.

I applied anyway. 1st time didn't get in anywhere. (well, wait listed but they might as well just say no) The second time I got in to a school...

And I said no.

I wasn't supposed to be a doctor, nor a city planner, nor an MBA. I was meant to be hands on in improving the Urban core. I was meant to go to a little program with a big impact in community development. Not enough money for MBA and almost a full ride for a Masters at niche school made the decision even simpler. Everything I have pursued has lead me right back to Community Development.

Yet, law school remains on the table. And I am not sure its necessary any more. Some developers say "hell yeah" while others are like its not going to be useful (the "hell yeah's" are quite effective developers, the others are 50/50)

I mean, I got to Cleveland with a study plan. That plan was supposed to go into effect August 1. Here it is the 9th and I have not cracked that book. Yet, something keeps telling me to go on 'head and do it.

I am probably just being lazy. Or reverting to my old ways of second guessing "the Voice". I am probably just focused on the near term golden handcuffs, even though I know where that has gotten me before.

Biggest fear? How the hell do I pay for it?

But, perhaps that question would be easily answered if I was Claire and had a Heathcliffe. Or perhaps, I should just leave it to my man, "The Voice"...a.k.a God.

Stay tuned.

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

The Green Kangaroo

My girl Meish and I are kindred spirits. We don't get to chat that much, with both of us being in Grad School. But when we do, the conversation is always amusing, interesting and thought provoking.

When we last talked she told me, "you should write your next post about being in the middle."

I've been pondering what to say about it for awhile. And not much has come to mind. So I will share with you the little bit that did.

First of all, what the hell does 'being in the middle'mean, huh? I call it riding "the culture fence". We are neither super-bourgoise nor the type to be featured in a Luke video. (But we might be at the club where the video is being filmed!) For instance, we can go to the Go-Go in DC's hoodiest hood or hang out at Lotus with the "Bourg" bunch. And prefer neither, but are comfortable in both. We tend to thrive in diverse environments with all types of cultures.

We feel at home at the Salsa Club, the reggae house party, or the Dave Matthews concert. And we are okay with that. We party without pretense. And to some, come off as eccentrics because of it.

Unfortunatly, there are those who feel riding the fence is essentially being an Uncle Tom. They say pick one. They say running in both places without a particular alliegance is giving in to "Charlie". The comfortability with and sometimes preference to places with diverse environments as self-loathing. These folk think that it is crime against humanity to speak both the English of the majority in the board room and understand and communicate pretty well in "Black Vernacular" for lack of a better term. Showing up at Ms. Tousie's Juke Joint and then rolling out to some big networking event to meet a bunch of well connected folk or tailgating like a fool at some hippie-dippie ampitheatre concert as anathma. Yet and still, the boug crowd looks down their nose at us, and the folk from around the way act like we just trying to be from 'round their way.

Riding the cultural fence is like being the middle kid. No wonder the middle kid is always screaming for attention? No one listens to middle kid, but they always have an opinion about him/her.

I am the oldest, so I used to care about being in the undefined yet regularly commented on middle. Now? I could care less. Being in the middle allows you to meet people you wouldn't meet, go places you might not go, if you hopped over the fence one way or the other. Sometimes it is hard to find a place where you fit in the best when you are in the middle.

But whatev's.

Thursday, August 03, 2006

If I were a Rich Girl

My homie in the 'Nati asked me a very interesting question today. He asked me what would I do, if I won $20 million dollars in the lottery.

First, I wouldn't be that fool taking some picture with a big ass check in my hand. That's out. We know what happens when people see you on TV with that check. They start calling talking 'bout "let me hold $5,000" and "Man, I sure don't know how I'm gonna pay for x,y,z".

Yeah, that won't be me player. I'd like to keep my money close.

First thing I'd do? I get a lawyer and an accountant. I'd need the lawyer to set up trusts and estate vehicles for me. You never know, my long lost cousin Lee Lee and her "Husband" Tyrone might think they are Bonnie and Clyde. The accountant is so I can manage my riches, bitches.

Next, I call up Sallie Mae and give her her damn money. All of it. Then I'd get up with CC and them, and give them all the money I owe them. ( CC are my two credit cards that seem to always be hovering close to the limit since I went back to school.)

I pay off the car...and sell it. Then I go buy a 2006 Infiniti FX 35 in burnt orange.

Next, I buy my first house. It will be a rehab and an investment property, so that I can have some automatic equity. Shit, I might be rich, but I plan to only use it as a way in the door that my current low cash flow situation won't walk me through.

I think it might be a duplex and let my dumb ass brother (with the stip that dumb heifer girlfriend of his live elsewhere) live there--at a rent discount. Not for free. I'd rent out the other part.

I set up college funds for the three rugrats (my aunts kids who are more like nieces and nephews). No cash. The funds for all school related expenses will be disbursed by the accountant provided they aren't on academic probation.

I also offer the same to my brother along with some reliable transportation (it won't be new cause he's just gonna do some dumb shit to it) and start an investment account for him, managed by someone else with the stip that he can't touch it for 5 years.

I'd buy the house I live in at school. And keep renting out the top floor. I'd rehab my part of the house, with all the tricks--jacuzzi tub, finished home entertainment room in the basement, Master suite with private bath . New landscaping and one of those fancy ass grills with the all the gadgets and stuff.

I'd pay off my parents mortgage, give them $500,000 and buy them two new cars (Pop wants a Benz and Ma wants an AC) and start an investment account for each of them with $200,000 in it.

I'd payoff my grandparent house, too.

I know lots of people would take off and travel and stuff. But I got one year left of school, and I would just finish it. Then I would take off for 4 months and go to Brazil, Ghana, South Africa, Nigeria, Egypt, London, Paris, Amsterdam, Thailand, Fiji, Hawaii and home.

I'd sit down with an investment strategist put $100,000 each in three accounts for discretionary spending. $150,000 in a mission-based deposit at Shorebank. Invest $50,000 in my boy's company, Nile Publishing. I'd disburse $2 million to the following charities: Enterprise Community Partners, Shorebank Enterprise Group-Cleveland, UNCF, my current school, and the AKA foundation (specifically for a mentorship program for teenage girls in Cleveland.)

I think that is enough, don't you?

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

...Everything but a child of God

I am not a proponent of the use of the word ni**er in any fashion. To me calling someone a ni**er is like calling a girl a cunt. I don't believe that crap about reclaiming the word by changing the 'er' to 'a' and the idea that said change is the difference between good and bad. Bullshit. But I do believe, as so many have already said, written, and waxed philosophical, that there are definitely some n*gga's among us.

And this little muufucca, well...

He made me call him a n*gga. My 5'11, 225 pound, 23, and dumb-as-hell brother made me so angry that I called him a ni**a.

I swear he was raised by some wolves or something in the desert, cause the boy ain't got the sense God (with my parents as conduits)gave him. This little 'Jerry Springer Show' life that he is working so hard at reproducing, is out of control.

When he decided to pull me and my relatively drama-free existence (I worked hard at it y'all) into his bullshit? Man, the word started to prepare itself for take-off.

It all started when my brother's girlfriend managed to finally get them kicked out of their apartment. Since she is a loud, angry, foul-mouthed chick with a penchant for punching her fist through plate glass windows, it's not all that surprising. The cops have been called by the neighbors about her screaming at folks all day long, more than a few times. I should have kept going on my way to get frozen yogurt. But my brother wants me to swing through. So, I do. I get there and homegirl, not ten minutes after I get there, is trying to start beef with folks. She threatens to kick some girls ass who is walking down the street with my brother's friend. True Cleveland girl style, the girl comes charging up the stairs to kick the door in, and succeeds.

Great. Girl fight.

Not enough chaos for you? Well, here is some more. Landlord comes. Cops come. These fools gotta move within 24 hours. She goes to her crazy mama house and my brother comes home. And I think my prayer is answered. I start to foolishly think that my brother left this woman. This no-job, angry, bitter, smoked-out chick who is the epitome of the woman you sometimes have the pleasure to stand behind at the grocery store who has three bad ass kids and a cart full of bullshit (not one vegetable and every frozen processed thing you can find.), has finally been told to step.

I mean, damn. This particular moment alone helped accelerate the Shaker Heights version of "Jerry" to a new level of 'ignancy(*new* word). Honey, it ensured the receipt of the 'ignant-ass Grandprize. So cased closed...

Hecky naw! Walking away, well, that just doesn't make for good TV. The next day, Homegirl pulls the ultimate "bird" move. She calls my pop and tells her that Bro hit her (she had a black eye from getting in a fight with yet another girl a month ago...I was there post fight) and that she is pressing charges.

...then, two hours later, she calls my brother and asks him to take her downtown.

..the fuck? Set-up? Maybe. But it doesn't matter. 24 hours of "I'm done with her. Her ass is crazy." quickly turns into "Jonzee can you take "heifer" downtown, I gotta go to work. I'll pick her up."


Stewing. "I thought you were done with her. Her calling Pop wasn't enough?!"

Nothing. "Man, just do it for me. You going that way."

Pondering. "No"

Silence. "Why not"

Sighing. "Dude leave that girl alone, before yo' ass end up in jail on some bullshit."

Pause. "Why you gotta act like such a bitch?"

Thinking. Say whuh'! Have you lost your ever-loving mind? I know you did not just...

"...Ni**er you want to waste your time with that trifling ass heifer who is clearly using you and spending your money on bullshit for her wardrobe while you take care of her 3 kids each with a different damn daddy then little n**er, you do it. But fuck that, I'm not."

Click. Damn.