The biggest secret I’ve been guarding with my life has finally been revealed and there‘s no going back now. No amount of plastic surgery and hair color could have kept this one under wraps any longer (just ask Joan Rivers). At some point, somebody who hates me blabbed my true age to any company whose market is senior citizens. It’s the only explanation for why I’m getting mail thirty years in advance of when I should expect it. Word about my propensity to be accident prone must have made the rounds.

My hands are shaking, my pulse is the speed of sex and I've got a date with a ghost at Woody Creek Tavern. I know it all seems silly...but I'd like to kiss his wife gently upon the cheek. Knowing that his lips have touched that same cheek a thousand times would make my lifetime.

About 30 seconds into my mandatory morning Twitter login, I did my usual....I checked my follower count, read my Twittascope and scanned the trending topics. Halfway down was "Happy Women's Day." Being a Twitter pro, I know that trending topics can bring the best and the worst out in Tweeps' intellect. I thought perhaps it was a joke about Women's Day, commonly celebrated in the Black church. (I just knew comedian @RickeySmiley was behind it!) Women's Day is an annual church service to highlight women's contributions to their churches.

 What is it with men over 30? Why are they all ready to get married or move-in together after two weeks?? Have the roles reversed? Is it that women are increasingly independent--and good at it. Personally I'd like to know if you slurp your cereal in the morning or drink from the milk carton (and those are the small things) before we jump the fence of co-habitat living.

So I actually got to watch the Golden Globes last night even though I was at my boyfriends house where I expected hockey, football, or Wii to be on instead.  John and his roommates actually watched the award ceremony!

 My boyfriend is moving! I have been here in Memphis almost six months, and John is finally moving up here. Saturday we looked at houses for him to rent.  He has to rent a house because he has two dogs (we have two dogs) that need a real backyard.  So we are beginning the search.  

I guess in many ways we are picky and spoiled.  He insists on central air conditioning and in Memphis I don't know how people live without it.  We need a fence.  We require a dishwasher, a washer and dryer, a hot tub (just kidding).  But in talking to some friends I realized not everyone is as picky as us.  One friend doesn't have a dishwasher. Another doesn't have central air.  Not only do I want these things, but I prefer a clean place, hardwood floors (better for the dogs), relatively new appliances, and a nice bathroom.  Luckily, Memphis is a lot cheaper than where he has been living so he can afford most of these things.  After cooking breakfast together this morning in my apartment, he declared that he must have a large kitchen.  Apparently my bacon makin' booty was getting in the way of his fried eggs.  

Are we to picky? Should we give up some of these things to save money?

Hook 'em Horns!

It's actually more like a whisper because I live in the heart of the SEC.  I thought since I moved to Memphis from Birmingham that I wouldn't be surrounded by Crimson Fans yelling RTR all the time, (roll tide roll) sometimes with M and F placed in there too. But last night my friend Rachel from Tupelo went on a rant, first about how Tebow sucks, then about how Bama is going to kill Texas because, well, didn't you see the Nebraska game?

Rachel is this cute little smile of a girl with a big mouth about things like sports, and of course its adorable. So I wanted in.  I took this opportunity to take a part in some fun football "s-word talk." I wasn't very good at it.  I tried to bring up the Auburn game. Rachel said Auburn was good and that Nebraska sucked.  Rachel called the Texas-Nebraska game lucky.  I said that second on the clock was real and they were just the better team. Then she started talking about what happened in the rest of the game and I had to shut up because I didn't watch it and didn't understand anyway.

Here's the thing...this will be my fourteenth black Friday sale to work. Yep. No shopping for me, that is until I get off. And of course, after I race frantically to the time clock, hair flying, tongue held firmly between my teeth, then come screeching out onto the sales floor...there's nothing left. Absolutely nothing. Unless I want to get my four-year-old daughter that pair of extra-large, men's fuzzy purple slippers she's been begging me for...and they're hid behind something on a top shelf. The only reason I find those is because a fellow shopper ran me into the shoe rack...accidentally, of course...(yeah, whatever) and they fell off on top of my head. Oh, the angst of retail. Doesn't help that I work for the largest retailer in the country. Yeah, you know which one I'm talking about. But I will dutifully make the rounds, praying that I can at least find something remotely 'wrappable' this time. Just like I do every year. My day usually starts at 2am. and finishes up after 1 or 2 in the afternoon. I don't understand how my husband finagles his way out of all the fun. He never has to work the day after Thanksgiving. Of course, he doesn't work in retail either. And then there's the fact that he has to go kill the big one...the buck of all bucks, the giant behemoth calling his name, him being the great white hunter that he is and all.

I know it's hard to do, but having confidence is the most attractive quality in males and females.  We all know it, but who actually does it?  Last weekend I was dancing at a club where a whole wall was a mirror.  I kept glancing at myself while dancing, my soccer mom haircut, my tight sweater stretching over my waist, my butt in my jeans.  I don't own "Going Out" clothes, so I always feel a little out of place when surrounded by a sea of spandex.  Then I noticed that the people I found the most attractive at the club were the goofy people who were just dancing around like crazy and acting silly with their friends.  Maybe I should just look in the mirror everyday and tell myself- "You look freaking awesome. You are freaking awesome. Go show everyone how freaking awesome you are."

Okay...I must admit, the last time I was in school academic life resembled The Breakfast Club more than today's version of higher education. Who am I kidding? Dazed And Confused is probably a more adequate description. Be that as it may, this excerpt is simply a day-in-the-life of a forty-something working mom who, with a lot of help and encouragement from family and friends, decides to go back to school to see what she can achieve. Hopefully graduation will be the brass ring. The jury is still out on that one though. With every time that I climb the gargantuan hill behind the building that houses my journalism class, I'm not sure that I'm going to make it through this semester, let alone graduation. I've decided that commuter parking is for the very young. On the first day of class I literally had to pit myself against the laws of gravity just to make it to the top. And that's when it started: 'the popping'. At first, I thought it was the gum that I was gnashing between my teeth just to get my mind off of the distance between my car and the classroom. (At least twenty miles...I'm telling you commuter parking is really going to be the straw that keeps me from graduating...that and algebra).

I am not sure if you noticed but the Christmas shopping season is now in full swing.   I think my tip was when I saw stockings being put up out next to Halloween candy at my local drug store chain. I guess that is our tip to load up on holiday cheer. 

 I am not an Oprah fan…..I used to be one of those big Oprah fans and dedicated supporters who loved the show and everything else affiliated with Oprah Winfrey. I was proud to see a strong, black woman rise up from a troubled childhood and climb the ladder of success, but in recent years my support of Oprah has dwindled tremendously. I don’t watch her show and I wouldn’t even consider picking up an issue of  her magazine. But this blog post is not about the various reasons I no longer support the Big O. This blog post is about Oprah’s continued support of singer BeBe Winans even after he was accused of physically assaulting his ex-wife in February of this year. It is about Oprah speaking publicly about her disdain for Chris Brown after his altercation with Rihanna, but still remaining bubbly and friendly with BeBe Winans as if one abuser is better than the other.

I have a problem with Joe Jackson. No, I don’t personally know Joe Jackson, but in my opinion he is one of those fellas who you can smell the jerk oozing through his pours. I may be wrong, but I believe that having Joe Jackson as a father was a major contribution to Michael Jackson’s “issues”.  I know that MJ fans hate to admit that Michael had some “issues”, but let’s face facts, he did.