Fish sticks are better than I thought

I had fish sticks for lunch today. 

Normally, I would have had a, um, less processed fish, but my nieces are visiting. I needed something easy enough for Kaylee, the 17-month-old, to eat, even though she only ate one half of a stick.

I can't remember the last time I had fish sticks. Maybe second grade. And if so, I buried the memory. But these Mrs. Paul's fish sticks were pretty tasty. Crunchy. Fresh. Yum.

When was the last time you ate fish sticks?

 

Entry 1: Getting the kids to NJ

If you've been following my blog, you know that Phillip and I brought my nieces, age seven years old and 17-months, back to New Jersey with us. We were all in Memphis for the holiday.

Kendall, the oldest, has flown before, so she was least of my worries, but Kaylee, the toddler, was new to flying and was another story. But first, we had to get on the plane.

Phillip and I normally fly light, if possible, we always carry on our luggage. But yesterday, that was not an option. We had three suitcases - our two carry-ons and their large suitcase. We also had a stroller, car seat, diaper bag and a bag full of toys that wouldn't fit in either suitcase. We checked nearly everything. I'm still trying to figure out how we did that without getting charged $15 per item, which is Continental's policy. Maybe the flight agent took pity on us. 

After checking everything except the stroller and diaper and toy bags, we made it through security fine, even though Kendall didn't want her Build-a-Bear to go through the screening machine, but Fluffy survived.

We settled in the waiting area with an hour to spare, so I called my older sister, Kristi, the girls' mother. When telling her about checking everything, she asked if we checked the bag of toys. 

Panic set in. 

Where was the bag of toys?

I pictured myself placing the bag against a wall near the check-in counter.

"Kristi, I gotta go. I left the bag at the check-in counter," I said.

I grabbed my boarding pass and ID and ran through the airport, praying that the bag was still there. A week without toys was going to be hellish. Plus, a pair of my new shoes were in that bag!

Thankfully, it was sitting exactly where I had propped it. 

Whew!

A little while later, we boarded the plane for the 6:10 p.m. This was an experience. Even though we had checked nearly everything, it still seemed like our arms were full. 

The first mistake was not wearing our coats on the plane, so Phillip had four coats in his arms, plus the stroller. I had Kaylee, who weights nearly 30 pounds, and the diaper bag and Kendall had the bag full of toys.

Now, this might not have posed a problem if we were on a "real"plane, but our plane was one of those with two seats on one side and one on the other and probably had 12 rows. It was tiny.

Heads were bumped. Sweat was forming. A line formed behind us. Apologizes were said. Phillip couldn't get all of the coats in the small overhead bin. I had the diaper and toy bags in the floor in front of my seat, which wasn't allowed. The flight attendant stored the toy bag. Kaylee was crying and Kendall wanted her Nintendo DS.

Once we finally got settled, about six minutes later, I wondered how parents do it? My next thought was "I don't want kids for sure!"

The flight was fine. We left on time. Kaylee ate, slept and was fine during take off and landing. Kendall listened to music and finally got her hands on her DS. 

Once we got to the car, we had to figure out how to get all of that stuff in the car. The suitcases and diaper and toy bags were in the trunk. The stroller was in the front seat and Kendall, Kaylee and I sat in the back. It was a tight ride.

We got home around 11 p.m. and the girls were wide awake. They finally went to sleep around 1 a.m.

My bed never felt so good.

Reinventing Myself

On Friday, I braved the snow and rain and trekked to Manhattan for a workshop on reinventing myself.

Ann Fry, an author and psychotherapist, led the workshop, which was sponsored by New York Women in Communications, Inc., which I'm a member.

Fry, who reinvented herself at 60, when she left Austin for NYC three years ago, went over six steps for how to reinvent oneself:

1. What do you want to STOP doing?

2. What you want to START doing?

3. What will you NOT allow people to stop you from doing?

4. What's your mantra?

5. How will you deal with uncertainty?

6. What do you need to celebrate?

In addition to the six steps, the 13 women in attendance talked about what makes our hearts sing? For me, it's research, organizing and planning. We talked about what it means to reinvent oneself: updating yourself, taking risks, hope and opportunity were some of the answers. We also discussed if we wait or take action. I take action.

Ann thought it was great that I took a buyout 11 days ago. When I introduced myself as an 11-year reporter, who recently took a buyout, she clapped. She also clapped when two other women said they'd been downsized. She said being forced into a situation where you have to change is the perfect opportunity to reinvent yourself. And I agree.

We ended the session by talking about our plans of action. Mine? I came home and started researching business plans for starting a tea party business. It's an idea I've tossed around in my head for a few months now. When I think about planning tea parties for little girls, brides-to-be or anyone who wants to have a tea party, it makes me smile. I want to move in a direction where I can't stop smiling. :)

New gig - sort of

I've only been unemployed two days and I already have a new gig.

For those who haven't been following my blog, I took a buyout from my newspaper on Wednesday. I've been a reporter for 11 years and spent the last five at The Star-Ledger. 

I met a friend for coffee this morning, who happens to be the Highland Park council president. She was talking about how she wants to throw an inauguration ball in New Jersey for people who don't want to travel to D.C. I told her that my husband and I tossed around this idea a couple of months ago when we were trying to decide my next career move.

I love to plan events. I took an event- and wedding-planning course in the spring and have been toying with the idea of starting an event-planning business. My husband thought the local inauguration ball could kick-off to my new career, but I didn't think we could pull it off because so many of my friends are journalists and are not allowed to endorse a candidate by attending a ball, and of our friends who aren't reporters, only a handful would probably be willing to pay upwards of $75 to attend an event. So, I tucked away the idea and we started making plans to go to D.C. next month.

But when my friend, who has connections, paying connections, all over the state, mentioned the idea this morning, my wheels started turning.

We pulled out pen and paper and started brainstorming. She had already talked with a friend who works at a Holiday Inn who promised her the "recession price" on a ballroom. She called him to let him know she was considering his offer and later in the day we were touring the space, which holds 1,000 standing. 

There are a million things to do between now and Jan. 20 and things happened so fast today, but it just feels right. I'm not sure where this gig will take me - more event planning, clients for freelance work, who knows. But I thought it was too good not to have my name on it. I never want to miss out on an opportunity.

Filing for unemployment

I filed for unemployment this morning, the first day in 13 years that I don't have a job. I've never filed for unemployment before and have never known anyone who has had to file, so this is a big step for me.

I'm going to be honest here, I've always associated unemployment with negative images - a woman with five kids trying to get over on the system or someone who really isn't disabled, but filed for disability because he just doesn't want to work. I never thought someone like  me - a college-educated middle class reporter, who's married to a college-educated, middle-class engineer - would ever have to file for unemployment, but I don't have a job.

I'm getting a generous severance package from my previous employer, so the thought did cross my mind not to apply. But I've been working more than a decade and part of the taxes I pay goes to fund unemployment, so that money is owed to me.

So, filing was the first thing I did this morning. It was an easy process; I did it online, sitting on my couch in my robe. After I filled out the forms, which required me to explain that my newspaper downsized 250 positions and that I was willing to work now and that I'm actively looking for a job, I received a notice saying I successfully filled out the paperwork. I have a re-employment orientation meeting Feb. 20, where I will meet with someone who will help me find a job. I start getting the weekly checks after the meeting, but the first check will be retroactive. And I was pleasantly surprised at the amount, $560 a week after taxes!

Even though I'm just one day into unemployment, I'm already looking forward to finding another job. I'm not the type who likes to sit around and watch talk shows all day. I had five days off around Thanksgiving and by day three I was going crazy. So, I can't imagine sitting around the house sane for more than a month or so. Until I find another job, I plan to freelance and volunteer at my church's office.

Wish me luck!

The end of an era

Today is my last day as a working journalist.

I've spent the last five-plus years as a reporter for The Star-Ledger, the best and largest paper in New Jersey. When I moved from Tennessee to New Jersey eight years ago, I had never heard of The Ledger, but I quickly learned that if I was going to continue to be a journalist in the Garden State, then The Ledger is where I needed to be. And since landing at The Ledger, I've worked with some of the most talented editors and reporters in the industry and for that, I'm eternally grateful.

But the news industry is just too unstable to warrant me staying. The owners offered buyouts  - one year's salary and benefits - and it was just too good to turn down. So, today, along with 30 other reporters, photographers and editors, is the end of an era. By the end of the year, 152 newsroom employees would have left The Ledger.

I wasn't sure how I would feel this morning and disappointingly, I felt nothing when my alarm clock went off at 9 a.m. (journalists are not 8-5 folks). I drove to work, walked into the office and still nothing. I wanted to be weepy, sorry, sad, something, but nothing. Even after my going-away lunch with my bureau and the larger going-away dinner with the other journalists who left today, still nothing.

I'm fearful that one morning in the near future I may wake in a panic with tears streaming down my face. For the last 11 years, 13 if you count my junior and senior years in college, I've defined myself as a reporter. I am no longer a reporter. My husband says I am a reporter - just an unemployed one - but still a reporter.

Some people say their job is not who they are, but what they do. But journalism was who I am. It's instilled in my bones, in my heart. 

I'm not sure where life is going to take me or where I will land, but I hope it's just as fulfilling as journalism.

Time to be thankful

It's that time of the year when everyone thinks about what they are thankful for, so here's my list.

• My husband.  We've been married a little more than four years and I am thankful that the happy days outnumber the sad ones. He is my best friend.
• My family.  I could not imagine not talking with my sisters and parents several times a week. They are the best!
• My in-laws. Even though I am spending the holiday away from my parents and sisters, I am thankful for my in-laws. I am thankful that my in-laws and I have a great relationship and I actually look forward to spending time with them.
• My job. While I took a buyout from the newspaper and my last day is Dec . 10, I am thankful that for the last five+ years I've worked for a thoughtful family who offered their employees generous buyouts rather than laying us off without a severance package.
• Friends. I have dear friends from childhood, college and later in life who help to fulfill my life.
• Spanx. After not losing the weight I planned in anticipation of Friday's formal event, I'm thankful for the Spanx that will help hold in my stomach.
• Cheap gas.  After paying upwards of $3.69 a gallon for gas over the summer, I'm thankful that I filled up for $1.99 a gallon today for supreme.
• The spa. I try to get a facial every six to eight weeks. I'm going Friday and can't wait to pamper myself.
• Reality TV. It's my guilty pleasure.
• Car washes. When my car is clean, it makes me smile :)
• President-Elect Barack Obama. I'm thankful for the hope he has brought and will bring in 2009.

What are you thankful for?

The DINKS are getting kids

My husband and I are DINKS - Double  Income No Kids. And we like it that way because we love our freedom - financial freedom, travel freedom, everything freedom.

But things are changing, temporarily.

My two nieces, age seven and 15 months, will be staying with us the last week of the year. My older sister, the mother of the girls, and my mother were on the phone one night, when my sister asked my mother if the girls could stay in Memphis the last week of the year because she and her husband have to return to work and the girls' school and daycare are closed that week.

Since I took a buyout from my job at the paper (my last day is Dec. 10) I jumped at the opportunity to take care of my nieces, who I see about four times a year since they live in Ohio.  My mother voiced immediate concern over the girls staying with my husband and me for a week.

"It's not just a weekend," she warned, probably remembering how I complained about how Kaylee, the youngest, ran me wild when I saw her Labor Day weekend.  She's at that age where everything is a toy that she MUST touch.

While we don't want kids, we do love them, and I cannot wait to take care of the Kendall and Kaylee.  I'm looking forward to spending more than just the weekend with them.  We're going to have true quality time. We will spend our days at the library, Barnes and Nobel and exploring New York City. Kendall is already talking about visiting the Statue of Liberty and is excited to ride the subway.

Kaylee will be too young to remember her first week in Jersey, but hopefully, Kendall will remember this week for life. 

Good or bad, I know I will.

Race matters

Sometimes, it's not about race. But today, it is.

It's the day after our nation elected Barack Obama, who will serve as the first black president of the United States of America, and I'm still stunned by his sweeping victory. While this win will be savored by Democrats, the Republicans who just couldn't vote their party line and the countries around the world who were rooting for the senator, black Americans will probably relish in this victory the most.

And I want blacks to celebrate harder, longer and with tears in our eyes because of our history in America. Our history of slavery. Our history of segregation. Our history of beatings, hangings, burnings and mutilations because of the color of our skin. Our history of being denied to vote. Our history of unequal opportunities for good schools, fair housing and well-paying jobs. And to think some of that violent, sad history was as recent as 40 years ago. But what's even more disheartening, is that some of that "history" still goes on today.

But even with that history, because of Obama's win, when my 7-year-old niece looks into my eyes and asks if she can be president of the United States, I can finally say "yes."

Because of Obama's win, little black boys, raised by single mothers, will finally have a role model.

And maybe I'm stretching here, but it's my hope that gun-toting blacks, who drive up black-on-black crime statistics, will think twice before pulling the trigger because of Obama's win.

People who didn't have hope before yesterday, now have something to grab on to.

It is amazing to think that come Jan. 20, our nation will be led by a black man - a black man who 143 years ago could have been a slave. America took baby steps in getting to where we are today. It took 44 presidents to elect a black man and he will have a presidency like no other. Not only because the economy has tanked; our troops are fighting two senseless wars and millions of Americas need health care, but because most blacks have to work twice as hard to get half as far. So, some people will hold Obama to a higher standard than previous presidents. I wouldn't wish the weight Obama carries on his shoulder on my worse enemy.

But Obama warned Americans last night that it could take longer than one year or maybe even one term to get the nation back on track. It took President George W. Bush eight years to make his mess, so Obama shouldn't be expected to clean it up overnight.

But even before the first national problem is addressed, Obama is well on his way to fixing the problem of hopelessness in black Americans.

History was made today

I am not a morning person, but I was wide awake at 5:15 this morning, eager to get to the voting booth. Since Barack Obama was named the Democratic presidential nominee, I have been looking forward to Nov. 4.

I vote in every election, and when I say, every, I mean every. With a mother who is a retired American History teacher, my degree in African-American Studies and just being a black woman, I know my people's history when it comes to voting - or being denied to vote. And because of that, I never miss an election - casting my ballot is something I take very seriously.

I arrived at the polling location at 6 a.m. and there were already hundreds of people waiting in line. I live in a majority black neighborhood, so most of the people in line were black.

I just smiled. I stopped. I looked at the line. I took it all in.

Never before, in my 15-year voting history, have I seen such a sight: Proud black people who could not wait to vote. I was nearly moved to tears.

Everyone was friendly. People were laughing and talking. There were no strangers in line. We were one family on a mission - to elect Obama. I don't want to assume that just because people are black that they're going to vote for Obama, but everyone around me was an Obama supporter.

I spoke with an 18-year-old who was voting for the first time. She did her part today in making history.

I talked with a 60-year-old who has voted the last 30 years.

"Today is different," he said.

Different in a good way, I thought.

I am only 33 years old and I never thought I would have the chance to vote for a black man for the president of the United States, so I cannot imagine how people my parents and grandparents age feel today.

I have always been proud of my race, my history filled with struggles, challenges and successes. But today, "proud" is too weak a word to describe how I feel. I'm walking a little taller. I'm smiling a little wider. No matter the outcome, today, I made history.

Churches must toe the line during elections

Over the last couple of months, my older sister, who lives in Ohio, has been sharing with me her pastors' comments about the election.

She and her family attend Solid Rock Church in Monroe, where the pastors, Lawrence and Darlene Bishop, have been making comments about how Christians shouldn't support a candidate who is pro-choice. And we all know which candidate is pro-choice.

The Bishops have been very careful in not mentioning names, I assume because they know that churches cannot endorse political candidates because of their tax-exempt status. The Internal Revenue Service says churches may pass out voting guides as long as they don't endorse candidates. Also, it's legal for religious groups to take positions on public-policy issues, including issues that divide candidates in an election, which is what the Bishops did, without using GOP Presidential Nominee John McCain's name.

But Sunday, the Bishops went a step further in their mission. They invited Apostle Kimberly Daniels to the church to give an anti-abortion talk. Daniels, who is the founder of Florida-based Spoken Word Ministries, which is, according to the website, "an inner-city, multi-racial church with a vision to reach the lost for Jesus Christ and to train them to do the greater works," demonstrated who she is planning to vote for by showing a slide show featuring pictures of aborted fetus'.

Daniels' message was so powerful that my sister and brother-in-law, who are lifelong Democrats, were actually considering voting for McCain. And who wouldn't after pictures of aborted fetus' are shoved in your face? That doubt in the voter's mind is what the Bishops wanted.

My sister said the Bishops, over the last couple of months, and Daniels on Sunday, have been trying to make people feel guilty for supporting Democratic Presidential Nominee Barack Obama. Their message was Christians should be pro-life. In my opinion, the two can co-exist. The beliefs co-exist in me. I am a Christian, yet I am pro-choice. I should be able to do whatever I please to my body, because it's my body.

People should be able to come to their own conclusions about which candidate they support without being threatened or told they will burn in Hell for supporting someone who, like everyone else, has the right to believe what he believes. There is more to Obama than being pro-choice, just like there is more to McCain than being pro-life. Solid Rock's approach to the election was simplified, when it should not have been. Does education, healthcare and economy not matter? I guess not, if you fall under Solid Rock's definition of a Christian.

Goodwill is on the come up

My husband and I are attending a 70s disco benefit gala Saturday and 70s attire is encouraged. I was thinking we would just stop by our local Goodwill Industries store, spend about $15 each and walk out with fly outfits.

We went to the Goodwill store Saturday and were blown away by the modern merchandise. There were no obvious 70s clothes - polyester bell bottoms, leisure suits, mini skirts with screaming patterns or tall white patent-leather boots. 

I thumbed through the dress section and saw cute clothes from J. Crew, The Limited and Express. Name brands. Stuff I would wear today. 

I walked over to my husband who was looking at the shirts. There was nothing stretchy or shiny to be found.

I overheard two teenage girls who were scanning items looking for clothes that could be used for Halloween costumes. They were also empty-handed.

The image of Goodwill has changed from hobo, 60s and 70s clothes to up-to-date, slightly used items. It's good that people who have to shop at Goodwill for clothes to wear to work and school have a nice trendy selection. 

We left without buying anything. The next day, we visited a seasonal Halloween store and bought mac daddy and mac mama outfits. 

Blacks burn, too.

That's a picture of my sunburned, peeling leg. Look at it! It's disgusting, right?!

Contrary to popular belief, blacks can sunburn and peel, too.

Earlier this month, my husband and I spent six days in Turks and Caicos in the Caribbean for our 4th wedding anniversary. We literally laid by the pool and on the beach for five of the six days. The sun in T&C is like no other I've experienced and I grew up in Memphis.

I've always liked to tan a bit because I've always thought my skin was slightly pale. I love the golden color my skin turns once the sun hits it, so I was really excited about going to the beach to lay out. My goal was to get tan!

Little did I know that black people burn in the sun, too. I noticed my white friends every summer with their red skin, tan and burned. I never thought that would happen to me. My skin didn't turn red, but by the last day while laying out at the pool, it was on fire. But I left the island with a gorgeous, golden tan.

A week later, still glowing,  my left arm started to peel. It was spotted, like a bad case of eczema. The next week, which was last week, my legs went. This morning, I saw a little dry spot on my right thigh.

I'm tan on just about every part of my body, so I'm dreading what's to come. I'm constantly putting on lotion, trying to keep my skin moisturized because I don't like to see my dry, peeling skin. I've learned a tough lesson about the sun. Blacks do burn. Blacks do peel, so stay out of the sun!

I've been bought out!

Today is the first day of the rest of my life.

On Aug. 4, I signed buyout papers at New Jersey's largest newspaper. Today, I found out that I was approved to take the buyout!

I'm wondering why I don't feel sad about leaving the news business - it's been my life for the last 11 years, 13 if you include the two years I wrote for The Daily Beacon at The University of Tennessee in Knoxville. Some of my co-workers, who have been dreaming about getting the buyout for the last two months, where walking around in a daze after finding out they got it. Maybe I will feel some sort of melancholy emotion on my last day, which will probably be Dec. 10. Until then, I'm all smiles.

News will always have a special place in my heart, but I feel as if the world is my oyster right now. I have a chance to start over. I feel like a kid talking about what she wants to be when she grows up.

Anyone who knows me knows that I love event planning. My friends call me "Martha Stewart." So, maybe I will start an event and wedding-planning business.

An easy transition from journalism is public relations. I actually interviewed with a firm in NYC Tuesday and was offered the job Wednesday, but the president of the company and I just couldn't agree on the salary, so I had to turn down the offer. I was flattered I got the offer so fast and beat out three other candidates, but my skills and talents were worth more than she was paying. I haven't given up on PR, though. It was one interview. One firm. There are thousands out there.

I could also freelance full time. Oh, the thought of not having to go into an office everyday makes me smile. I could write from my couch, in my PJ's, comfy and cozy.

I'll be walking away from my newspaper with enough money to be comfortable for a while, so I can take my time and figure out what my next move will be.

The world is at my fingertips and I love it!

Where's the maverick?

Two shots of Cabo Wabo tequila sat on the coffee table in my den last night. After being slightly bored during the last presidential debate, my husband and I thought we'd make it interesting by taking a shot every time GOP Presidential Nominee John McCain said "maverick." He said it so many times during the last debate, we were sure we'd be nice and buzzed by the end of the night.

Ninety minutes later, the shots of tequila were still there. McCain never referred to himself as a "maverick." So instead, we tossed back the liquor in honor of Democratic Presidential Nominee Barack Obama.

I can't get inside McCain's head, but maybe his team told him he overdid it with the "maverick" term during the second debate. Or maybe he read the article in the New York Times that gave the history of the term "maverick," which has nothing to do with the nominee's principles.

According to The Times article, "In the 1800s, Samuel Augustus Maverick went to Texas and became known for not branding his cattle. He was more interested in keeping track of the land he owned than the livestock on it, Terrellita Maverick said; unbranded cattle, then, were called 'Maverick’s.' The name came to mean anyone who didn’t bear another’s brand."

The Mavericks of Texas, who are known for their progressive ideas, are upset that McCain refers to himself as a "maverick."

“I’m just enraged that McCain calls himself a maverick,” said Terrellita Maverick, 82, a San Antonio native told The Times. “It’s just incredible — the nerve! — to suggest that he’s not part of that Republican herd. Every time we hear it, all my children and I and all my family shrink a little and say, ‘Oh, my God, he said it again.’ ”

Maybe McCain got word from Texas to stop referring to himself as something he's not. Or maybe he just wanted a different strategy last night. Either way, my husband and I only had one shot and it really didn't count.

We should have taken a shot every time McCain said "Joe the plumber."

Maids aren't made for me

I love a clean house, but hate to clean. So, the thought of hiring a housekeeper has crossed my mind more than once. The only thing that's stopped me is while I don't like to clean, my life isn't so hectic that I don't have time to do it.

While we were in Turks and Caicos last week, we stayed at The Somerset, a lovely well-appointed resort that offers twice daily maid service. For someone who's dreamed of hiring a maid, I was so uncomfortable when she arrived and started cleaning.

My husband and I were only in the room once - the day it rained - during her visits. But sitting there watching TV as she stripped the bed, cleaned the bathrooms, loaded and started the dishwasher, swept and mopped the floors and dusted the furniture was such a strange feeling.

We've stayed in hotels and bed and breakfasts across the country and world and it's always nice to come back to a clean room. But I never picture someone actually cleaning the room. Day after day, I've just appreciated a made bed, fresh towels and a clean bathroom. But being in the room while the maid is cleaning made me feel badly for the housekeeper. Yes, I was grateful she had a job, but watching her do her job made me squirm.

I felt guilty.

Guilty that I was on vacation and she wasn't.

Guilty that I was perfectly capable of cleaning the room, but she was.

Guilty that I could afford to stay at the luxury resort, but she probably couldn't.

It made me think twice about wanting to hire a maid. I've been blessed with a good job and a nice house that I need to clean - not someone else.

It pays to be early

As someone who hates being late, I've never missed a flight in my life. 

My husband and I planned a trip to Turks and Caicos for our 4th wedding anniversary. It's a small island in the Caribbean between Haiti and Jamaica. Our flight was scheduled to leave at 1:55 p.m. Tuesday and we live about 40 minutes from the airport. We left our house a little after 11 a.m. heading to a parking lot near the airport. We leisurely drove to the lot. When we arrived at noon and started pulling out the suitcases from the trunk. I noticed the small travel bag containing all of our regular-size toiletries, the video camera and a couple of other items wasn't in the trunk. This was the only bag we were planning to check. 

We checked the backseat and realized the bag was at home.

We looked at our watches and wondered if we had time to drive home, grab the bag and drive back to the airport without missing our flight.

We decided to try it.

"You have to drive 90 all the way if we're going to do this," I said to my husband.

He didn't mind. We were in my BMW 328i - a car that's designed to be driven fast.

We made it to our exit on the New Jersey Turnpike in record time - about 15 minutes - only to hit a parking lot of traffic after we payed the toll. I started to worry. I called American Airlines to find out if our flight was on time. It was.

"Great!" I said. "When you need your flight to be late, it's not."

We had a layover in Miami. So, I asked if there was another flight to Miami that day. There wasn't.

We got through the traffic and pulled up in front of our home. I ran inside the house, snatched the bag and sprinted back. 

My husband again put the petal to the metal as we headed back to the airport. It was 12:35 p.m.

I didn't say a word during the trip.  I prayed the entire way - prayed that we would make it, that we wouldn't get a ticket and that my husband wouldn't lose control of the car after hitting 100 mph more than a few times.

If we missed the flight, it would delay our trip a day and we'd have to pay for a night at the hotel when we'd be sleeping in our own bed that night.

We got to the parking lot at 1:05 - again record time. We left the keys to the car and the parking lot employee told us the van would be back in two minutes to get us. We stepped outside to wait for the van. There was another man also waiting. My husband asked if he had been waiting long.

"About five minutes. Even though the guy inside said the van would be here in two minutes. And I'm in a rush," he said.

"We're rushing, too," I said. "What time is your flight?"

"2:15 p.m.," the man said.

"We're 1:55 p.m.," I replied, thinking what I would give for a 2:15 p.m. flight right now.

When the van pulled up. I told the driver that we were all rushing.

We got to the airport at 1:15 p.m. 

I went to a kiosk and started checking in, but got a notice that we were checking in too late and we should see an agent.  

"Ugh," I screamed.

I turned around and noticed about 10 people in line waiting to check in with the agent. 

"We have a 1:55 flight. Do you mind if we go next?" I asked. 

No one objected. Thank God.

The agent overrode the computer, but said it was too late to check any bags.

"You have to get rid of your liquids," she said.

"The bag is full of liquids," I said.

"Do you want to go or do you want your liquids," she asked.

We immediately started throwing out our full-sized liquids. Shampoo, conditioner, shaving gel, face scrub, mouse, sunblock. It was ironic since we went home to get the bag with the liquids that we ended up throwing them out.

The agent issued the tickets, I thanked the folks in line again and we ran to security.

While in line, I noticed that my husband's boarding pass had the wrong name it - Cara. 

"Just act natural. Don't say anything and maybe he won't noticed. We don't have time to go back," I said.

My husband handed the security agent his passport and boarding pass.

"I think you handed me your wife's," the agent said, after noticing a woman's name on the paper.

The agent looked at my boarding pass, looking for a man's name, and when he didn't find one, he informed my husband that he had to go back to the ticket agent.

"You go through security," my husband said. "I'll catch up with you."

"I'm not getting on the plane without you," I said.

At this point, I started freaking out all over again as I pictured the plane taking off without us. 

I was halfway through the security screening line, when I turned around to see my husband running to join me with his new ticket.

We made it through security, but weren't in the clear yet - we still had to get to the gate.

I've always thought it was kind of funny to see people running through the airport like their life depended on it. Now, it was our turn.

Thank God I had spent the last month running four miles a day to get bikini ready. It prepared me for the sprint through the airport. We were flying. People were laughing, telling us to slow down and getting out of our way. It was crazy.

We got to the gate and were met with a smiling agent who looked like she knew what we had just gone through to make to the gate. She gladly scanned our tickets and we boarded the plane.

Whew! We barely made it!

Heelairous? Not so much!

Two stay-at-home moms, Britta Bacon and Hayden Porter, created Heelarious, a soft high-heel shoe for baby girls, age 0 to 6 months.

The women, who live in Bellevue, Wa., describe the shoes as an "extremely funny, completely soft, fully functional high-heel crib shoes for babies.”

They sell for $35 a pair and come in a variety of colors, including hot pink and a leopard satin print. Each shoe is named, from Brooke to Sophie to Kate, whose style will retire soon. The ladies have received a ton of press about their collapsible high heels, including being featured on The Today Show to Good Morning America and in People magazine.

I know the shoes are a joke, but there's a decent size heel on every shoe. Most six-month-olds aren't walking yet, but there are exceptions, so can you imagine a baby trying to walk on a shoe with a collapsed heel on the bottom? It's as if the baby will be walking with a lump on the bottom of her foot.

The Heelarious shoes made me think of the thong underwear that was marketed to girls 10 to 16 years old by Abercombie and Fitch.

"It's cute and fun and sweet," said Hampton Carney, spokesman for the company based in New Albany, Ohio.

But one parent, quoted in a Milwaukee paper, said "It's Frederick's of Hollywood for preteens and teenagers."

Why does a 10-year-old need a thong? And why does a two-month-old need high-heeled shoes? They don't!

Let little girls be little girls. That 10-year-old has the rest of her life to wonder if her pantyline is showing through her skirt. And the two-month-old has the rest of her life to wear heels. Parents are allowing their children to grow up too fast. Young girls shouldn't be subjected to aspects of the lives of grown women.

It's too early for Halloween

I was running through my neighborhood yesterday and I passed a house with Halloween decorations up. These weren't Fall decorations, like a pumpkin on the porch or a scarecrow in the yard. They were legitimate Halloween decorations - skeletons and ghosts hanging from tree branches and a big witch slumped on the porch.

I immediately thought "It's too early for Halloween."

Yesterday was the last day of summer, so technically, this family brought out the decor before the calendar said Autumn. I shook my head after realizing that Halloween is 40 days away.

I'm sure we've all gone into stores, like Target and Wal-Mart, where the day after Christmas, they already have the Valentine's decorations up. Or the day after St. Patrick's Day, the employees are pulling out the Easter bunnies. I looked through the Sunday circulars to see if stores were already advertising Halloween stuff and they were. Target has one page of Fall decor, which includes a candy dish that reads "Cast a Spell" and a little tree with spiders and cats hanging from its branches. It's not overkill. CVS, on the other hand, is already selling Halloween costumes, tons of decorations and candy. And A.C. Moore's four-page ad is stocked with Halloween goodies.

Retail corporations have been pushing holidays on consumers for years, but we have control over how early we push them on ourselves. I wonder how early this family will have their Christmas tree or Hanukkah lights up.

Artful handwriting

I start an eight-week calligraphy course tonight and I'm super excited about it.

I've been interested in learning calligraphy for more than a year now and tried to take this "boot camp" course before. The last time I registered for it, the class was canceled because not enough people signed up. Hearing the disappointment in my voice when I told my older sister the course wasn't going to happen, she gave me a calligraphy pen set and a how-to book on the artful handwriting, but it was so hard to teach myself.

I've always been told I have a neat handwriting and I like the way I write. The calligraphy teacher said my penmanship was "expressive" after she saw my hand-written registration form. Hopefully, that's a good sign that I will easily pick up the talent.

When I mentioned the class to a friend, she said she's been looking for an "adult-handwriting class." She said her handwriting is horribly embarrassing and wants to improve it. I literally laughed out loud when she told me about her class search. I found a class in Pennsylvania that promises to: increase legibility of print or cursive styles, increase fluency and speed, reduce pain in fingers or hands when writing and improve pencil grasp for greatest efficiency of movement. Too bad my friend lives in D.C. She could have signed up for this class. She's yet to find a class in her area.

While admiring my new talent, I also hope to make some money by addressing envelopes, writing invitations, etc. The average calligrapher charges $2 an envelop and the average bride and groom invites 150 people to their wedding. That could be a quick $300 bucks. I'm a true believer that an invitation sets to the tone for an event and I love to receive invitations scribed by a calligrapher.

I'm looking forward to sculpting words into art.

Vaction spot is in the eye of the storm

My husband and I go on a big trip every year for our anniversary. The first year was Paris, second was Savannah, Ga., the third was South Africa and this October we're headed to Turks and Caicos. We hope.

Turks and Caicos (T&C) is a small island in the Caribbean. It's south of the Bahamas, east of Cuba and north of the Dominican Republic. And with the last two hurricanes - Gustav and Hanna - T&C has been in the eye of the storm. And weather forecasters are already talking about Ike.
September is the height of hurricane season and even though we're only eight days in, it's been very busy.

I frequent the forums on tripadvisor.com, a website for travelers. There's a forum for just about every place in the world, so lately, I've been on the T&C forum. There are tons of people posting messages about their travel plans - or trip reports - the best hotels, what to do and where the foodies should eat. When I logged onto trip advisor this morning, all of the talk was about Hanna and the damage she left in T&C. Some of the resorts are closed at least until Ike blows through. One traveler, who was scheduled to stay at The Sands in T&C this weekend, was told her reservation had been transferred to the The Sands in Jamaica. Wow!

Locals who work in the hotels, bars, restaurants and the airport, those who essentially who make the tourism industry happen, have packed up and gone home. Sometimes people forget that just because they have booked a vacation, that without the workers, there is no vacation.

I called the resort my husband and I will be staying for hopefully six glorious days and it's fine now and hopefully, that will be the case after Hurricane Ike.

I'm hoping things will settle down by October, but if they don't, I've put some safeguards in place: today, I bought trip insurance.

Where's the diversity?

I wasn't nearly excited about watching the Republican National Convention as I was the Democratic National Convention, but thought I'd tune in anyway.

The first thing I noticed about the crowd in Minnesota was the lack of diversity.

"This doesn't represent America," I said out loud.

The members of the GOP looked just as happy as the Dems did last week. They were cheering, clapping and wearing those silly hats. But what was missing from the GOP crowd was the beautiful diversity America offers. I admit, I only watched about 45 minutes, but in that time, I only noticed three blacks and one Hispanic, the rest were white men and women, many wearing cowboy hats. But the diversity during the Democratic convention was so apparent, that I didn't even notice it, if that makes sense. It took not seeing many black or brown faces to realize how diverse the Democratic party really is.

As someone who is extremely liberal, I don't understand how anyone can be a Republican, and I often feel sad for them. But last night, I felt especially sad for the GOP. I wondered if they noticed the lack of diversity. I can only guess probably not because their party doesn't mirror the real world.

Are you packing?

My husband and I leave for Ohio tomorrow for the holiday weekend to see my older sister and her family and I haven't packed a stitch of clothing!

That's not like me. I hate last-minute packing, but it was a last-minute decision to take the trip, hence we're driving the nine hours to get there. I love my sister and all, but I refuse to shell out $900 for a plane ticket to the mid-west. Plus, I've been crazy busy this week and haven't had a chance to even pull out my Coach weekend bag. I bought this bag in hopes that my husband would whisk me away for the weekend. That hasn't happened.

But I digress.

Since my husband travels a lot for work, he's become an expert packer. All he needs is about 15 minutes to throw a few pairs of pants and shirts in a suitcase. He has a few pairs of socks, undershirts, boxers and a set of toiletries that always stay packed, so he will be ready to head out in a moments notice. And he normally wears the same pair of shoes he travels in.

I, on the other hand, take forever to pack. No matter where we're going - a casual few days in Memphis, my hometown, or Paris, France, I stress over what to bring. I pull out outfits, lay them on the bed then accessorize jewelry and shoes. I always overpack, no matter how many shirts, skirts, dresses or pants I put back in the closet. I must have been crazy to think that I was only going to bring a carry-on for two weeks in South Africa. Ha! That turned out to be a horrible packing experience. I pretty much turned our guest bedroom into my closet for a week while I carefully packed my checked bag. There were clothes everywhere.

Once I decide exactly what to bring, then there's the actual packing the suitcase. Is it better to roll or fold? Everyone I've talked with says roll. I usually roll stuff that won't wrinkle easily and lay clothes across the rolled clothes that will require an iron if I would have rolled them. I don't believe in ironing, which is why my dry cleaning bill is so expensive. I rather pay to have it dry cleaned and professionally pressed than to lug out an ironing board.

So, as I'm typing this blog, I'm thinking about what to take to Ohio. Dresses would be the easiest choice because it's one item a day. And considering it's 12:45 a.m. Friday as I'm finishing this entry, (I started writing at 2 p.m., but got called away to cover some breaking news) the packing may have to wait until the very last minute - the morning.

How you doin'?

That's radio and now television talk-show host Wendy Williams' catch phrase.

You have to say the "doin'" very exaggerated.

If Wendy Williams were to ask me that, I'd have to tell her not good and it's her fault!

I love, love, love Wendy Williams, but had to stop the love last week when I tried to see her new daytime talk show, The Wendy Williams Show on FOX. She had a six-week run in four markets. Her radio show on WBLS is broadcast out of New York City, so that's where the show was taped.

I requested tickets as soon as the website went up, which was about two months ago. I finally received an email about a week ago, confirming me for Thursday, during the last week of the six-week run. I was super excited - one I was going to see Wendy Williams in person for a length of time, and two, I was spending the day in my beloved NYC!

According to the show directions, guests had to be in line before 11 a.m. for the 1 p.m. taping. My friend, Erica, and I arrived at 10:35 a.m. and were numbers 66 and 67. We were given blue tickets, which meant we were guaranteed a spot in the studio audience, according to a crew member. Folks who arrived after 11 a.m. received yellow tickets and no guarantee.

We waited, in the hot sun, slowly moving closer to the door. Occasionally, a crew member would come out and make an announcement and apologize for the long wait.

"It's taking them forever to move people through security," she explained.

We continued to wait.

One hour passed.

More announcements about security and heartless apologies.

Two hours passed.

There were four people separating Erica and me from the door. I could even feel the cool air from inside as it opened.

Then, a different crew member - the bearer of bad news - came out and said that the studio was full. She explained that Wendy Williams had invited too many of her friends and more seats than usual were reserved for VIP.

And here I was thinking I was VIP with my now useless blue ticket.

People cursed. Arms were folded across chests. Someone even threw something. I couldn't make it out, but I think it was that darned blue ticket!

"The best we can do is put you in the 'How you doin'?' room. There's coffee and Munchkins in there and Wendy will greet you after the show," she said.

What?! Did I just stand in the hot sun for two hours getting lied to over and over about gaining entry into the studio? Incredible! I was pissed.

So, Erica and I left in a huff and went to the closest bar we could find and drank our lunch: a pitcher of white sangria.

Wendy Williams' show was picked up for a full season beginning next year. Good for her. Hopefully she will save more seats for the true fans, those who wait in line for hours just to get a glimpse of her big blond wig, than her friends.

What in the world did we walk into?

I'm sure that's what my parents were thinking Saturday as we walked around the Jersey City LGBT (Lesbian Gay Bisexual Transgender) Pride Festival.

My parents were in town from Memphis for a few days and my husband and I took them to Jersey City for a couple of open houses because we're considering moving to that area. On the way to the third home, we passed a festival. Music was blaring. Balloons were flying. And there was a smell of grease in the air. We decided to stop to get something to drink and see what was going on.

I think I noticed the rainbow flags first, because a few minutes after realizing what kind of festival it was, my mother asked, "Is this a gay event?"

Now, my parents are uber religious and ultra conservative. They're the kind who pray that homosexuals find their way back to the land of straightness, since God certainly didn't allow them to be born that way.

I, on the other hand, believe people are born the way God intended - lesbian, gay, straight, bisexual, transgender, etc.

So, I turned to my mother, not sure what expression I'd see on her face, and told her that it was an LGBT event. Her reply: "Oh."

We walked around for about 45 minutes, got something to drink, listened to a woman sing Gladys Knight and the Pips' "Neither One of Us," which my parents enjoyed, and got some goodie bags.

On the way to the car, my mother asked my father if he was looking. There were tons of men in tight shorts and no shirts; women wearing short skirts and the occasional drag queen. And love was in the air - men kissing men, women holding the hand of their girlfriends, a butt grab, a back rub. You get the picture. No one in the crowd was shy.

My father said he wasn't looking. My mother said she was looking enough for the both of them. They laughed.

I think the festival was slight culture shock for my parents. There is a gay community in Memphis, but they don't frequent it. I thought it was good for my parents to see that the LGBT community is just like any other community - looking for friendship, companionship, acceptance and love.

What's the point of deodorant?

I'm asking this in jest. I know exactly why we wear deodorant - so we won't stink.

But I forgot to put on deodorant this morning. There are no offensive smells yet because I haven't broken a sweat today. My office is cold and I'm hoping there won't be breaking news that will send me into the streets for hours on end to bake in the hot sun. If that happens, forgot it!

When I told my younger sister that I forgot to put on deodorant, she said that's like saying I forgot to brush my teeth.

But to me, it's not. I love to brush my teeth. I'm a serial brusher and flosser. My dentist told me that if I keep it up, I'll have my teeth for life. But I have to verbally remind myself to put on deodorant. When I get out of the shower, if I don't remember to take the Secret Platinum out of the drawer, there's a good chance, the powder fresh smell may not make it to my underarms. Some people put on deodorant right after bathing, but I wait until after I put on my clothes, so it won't smear on my shirt or dress.

Egyptians are credited with creating deodorant - or at least a substance to kill underarm smell. Armpits are consistently the warmest places on people's bodies. They used carob, incense and porridge. Mum, which resembles today's form of deodorant was created in 1888 by an unknown inventor from Philadelphia. Since then, deodorant has evolved and is combined with antiperspirants, which attempt to stop or significantly reduce perspiration.

With deodorants so readily available, everyone doesn't use them. Cultures and individuals differ in their beliefs about the need for deodorant, and on whether bodily odors are offensive. While I respect other's cultures, unless you're a baby or young child, you need to wear deodorant. And even some kids need deodorant.

So, hopefully, I will get through the day without sweating. And the point may be mute by tonight, but the first thing I'm going to do when I get home is to put on some deodorant!

The things we do for love

I was on the New Jersey Turnpike at 4:15 this morning - not because I wanted to, but because I love my husband.

My husband's job requires him to travel about 30-40 percent of the time. Usually, the business trips are on the East Coast, so he drives his company car. But occasionally, he has a trip that requires him to fly. This time, it was Houston.

I was not a happy camper last night when he said "5:30," after I asked him what time his flight left.

"In the morning?" I questioned, already frowning my face.

"Yep. In the morning," he replied, knowing I don't like to roll over good before 9 a.m. (I have flexible work hours and usually get to the office around 10:30 a.m.)

"You couldn't have left today?" I asked.

"I could have, but the flight was twice as much and it had a layover. Going from Continental one hub to another Continental hub should not require a layover," he said.

I looked at him with my best version of puppy-dog eyes, tilted my head to the side and stuck out my bottom lip.

"I'll drive myself," he finally said.

"No, no. I'll take you. That's what a good wife does," I sarcastically said.

So, the alarm clock went off at 4 a.m. and we were out of the door by 4:15 a.m.

It was a quiet ride - there's not much to say at that insane hour.

We were at the airport by 4:45 a.m. and I was back at home and in bed by 5:15 a.m.

I love my husband, but next time, he's driving himself!

When image gets in the way of decency

According to news reports, an estimated one billion people watched the 2008 Summer Olympic's opening ceremonies Friday evening when Lin Miaoke, 9, sang “Ode to the Motherland.”

She was charming and cute, in pigtails, a red dress and white shoes.

But it wasn't her voice that was heard around the world. Rather, it was Yang Peiyi, 7, who did the singing.

Yang, cute in a seven-year-old way, with crooked teeth and a short bob, was not as appealing as Lin, with bright eyes, long hair and surprisingly straight teeth for a youngster. And that's why she wasn't placed in the spotlight for the world to awe.

“The reason was for the national interest,” explained Chen Qigang, general music designer of the opening ceremonies, who revealed the deception during a radio interview. “The child on camera should be flawless in image, internal feeling and expression.”

Lin didn't even know that it wasn't her voice. Her father noticed that she sounded differently, but blamed the acoustics.

Chinese lawmakers are so concerned with the way other countries perceive the economic powerhouse, that they favored beauty over talent. If it's not explained with kid gloves to Yang why she wasn't chosen to be in the spotlight, she could grow up feeling inadequate, not as pretty as the next girl and with low self-esteem.

Was China's image worth all of that? In my opinion, no.

The human race

About three weeks ago, a young black man walked into a gas station in New Jersey, stole the money from the cash register and shot the attendant, who was Indian.

Around the same time, another young black man walked into a Chinese restaurant, which is across the street from the gas station, robbed the place at gunpoint and shot a worker, who was Chinese.

Sunday, more than 500 blacks marched through that neighborhood denouncing the violence. I was one of them. The march was organized by my church, which is in the same neighborhood as the businesses where the employees were shot. My pastor wanted to send a message that no matter what race, we all need to be concerned when violence affects our community.

We marched, in the drizzling rain, chanting "Stop the violence" and "enough is enough."

Our destination was the gas station, where we stood hand-in-hand and prayed for the victims. A family member of the gas station attendant spoke, saying that his cousin would never work again - the shooting paralyzed him. He said that more than one person was shot that day - six were. The attendant was working to take care of his parents, wife and two children.

Fortunately, the victim at the Chinese restaurant is recuperating at home.

As I marched, chanted and prayed tears welled up in my eyes. I thought of the victims and their families, how vulnerable we all are and how senseless violence is. While I was sad for the victims, it made my heart happy to see so many blacks supporting those of other races. Everyone's first race should be the human race.

"Have a good day, honey."

That's what an attendant at the Exxon gas station says to me every time he fills my car. And every time he says it, it irks me.

I'm sure the young man, who looks no more than 22, means no harm, but to me, "honey" is a term of endearment meant to be used either by my husband or parents - not the random guy at the gas station.

This Exxon station is by my job. I noticed it about two months ago when I was out trolling for gas that was less than $4.45 a gallon for supreme. At the time, they were selling it for about $4.43 a gallon, so I pulled in.

The "honey guy" didn't wait on me that day, but the next time I filled up, he did the pumping. As he returned my debit card and handed me the receipt, he said, "Have a nice day, honey." I was taken aback. Should I be flattered? He was cute, after all. Or should I be offended? He didn't know me like that.

I was offended, but didn't dwell on it.

About a month passed before the "honey guy" filled up my car again, which was last week. I actually had forgotten about the incident until he said it again. "Have a nice day, honey," rolled off of his lips as easily as "hello" or "good-bye."

"OK, that's it", I thought, "The next time he fills my car and calls me 'honey,' I need to say something."

The next time was this morning.

I pulled into the station and saw him approaching my car. "If he doesn't say it, I won't say anything," I thought. But he said it.

As soon as the word "honey" left his lips, I said, "Hey, come back."

He turned around and I told him that I'm sure he doesn't mean anything by it, but I'm offended when he calls me "honey."

"Just remember my face and my car and please don't call me 'honey' anymore," I instructed.

He looked a little shocked and said "OK."

I told him to have a nice day and he said the same.

Just don't call me honey!

Airline now charging for sleep

It started with food and drinks, then moved to checked baggage. Now, it's sleep.

Jet Blue recently announced that it will charge passengers $7 for a pillow and blanket. This is on top of the hundreds of dollars you will spend to get a ticket. Are times really this tight or are airlines taking advantage of the fact that once you board their planes, you're captive for a couple to 20 hours, so they can just charge you for anything?

These days, travelers are stuck between a rock and a hard place - with gas prices skyrocketing, it costs just as much to take a road trip as it does to purchase a plane ticket. Traveling by car used to be the cheaper option, but depending on how far you're going to get to grandma's house, it's not anymore.

So, you shell out $300 for a two-hour flight. Add $80 bucks if you're flying Northwest, which said it will tack on that amount beginning in January for a fuel surcharge. When you get to the airport, you realize your bag's too big to go in the overhead compartment. It will cost you extra to check it if you're flying American, United or US Airways.

Don't be thirsty when you board the plane, because US Airways also charges for water, yes, water, and other beverages.

And I'll just be cold and uncomfortable before I pay $7 for a pillow and blanket, even if it comes with a $5 coupon to Bed, Bath and Beyond that I may or may not use.

I love to travel, but airline surcharges are out of control. They know some people will always travel no matter how much the prices increase or what crazy item they're charging extra for, but the executives need to think from the travelers' point of view and stop this madness!

Nintendo DS divides a family

My niece, Kendall, turns seven next month and the only thing she wants for her birthday is a Ninentendo DS.

This portable gaming system is about $150 and because of the high price tag, I asked my younger sister and parents if they want to purchase this gift together and it would be Kendall's one birthday gift. My younger sister said she's in. But my parents - specifically my mother - said absolutely not!

Her argument is that Kendall is just turning seven and it's way too much money to spend on such a young child. She accused me of spoiling Kendall by getting her what she wants no matter the price and referred to the $175 telescope she got for her birthday last year. Kendall's really into astronomy and I thought it was important to support her interest. She could be a future astronaut, for crying out loud! My mother also said I'm setting Kendall up to believe that she should get whatever she asks for.

My argument is that Kendall is a good girl; makes good grades and it's the only thing she's been asking for for months. She started talking about her birthday about three months ago! Yeah, it's pricey, but that's the going rate for game systems and that's what kids are into and have been into for years. I had an Atari 2600 when I was just one year older than Kendall. I have no idea how much it cost, but my parents bought it for me because it was hot and I wanted it. Kendall's no different from me at that age.

I talked with my older sister, Kendall's mother, about the DS. She said she doesn't have a problem with me purchasing the system for Kendall. That's all the go-ahead I need.

My husband and I don't have kids, so we feel it's OK to spend money on our nieces and nephews, to even spoil them. Isn't that what aunts and uncles are for anyway?

Kendall will be alright if she doesn't get the DS; her world won't come to end. But with the DS, her birthday will be even sweeter. And if I can have a part in putting a cute crooked smiled on my niece's face, then point me in the direction of the game.

What do you think? Is $150 too much to spend on a gaming system for a seven-year-old?

Are you registered to vote?

I worked my first voter-registration drive Saturday.

I did a four-hour shift at an outlet mall in Elizabeth, NJ. It was the perfect place for a drive because there was a ton of foot traffic.

In four hours, I registered 23 people!

It felt good to have a hand in making sure people register to vote. A large majority of people who passed my table said they were already registered, which was good. I registered a 17-year-old who's birthday is today. As long as you're going to be 18 by November, you can register. It was my gift to him. I also registered several 20- and 30-somethings who had never registered because they weren't interested in voting until now.

There was only one woman, who was eligible to register (there were a lot of immigrants in the mall) who I couldn't convince to sign up to vote. She said her vote didn't count and that the government was going to put in office who it wanted there. She referenced Bush and how he lost the popular vote in 2000, but he ended up as president anyway. I told her that she was giving away her power by not voting, that this time could be different, but she didn't want to hear it.

Registering people to vote is only half the battle. There are so many folks who are registered who don't vote. If I could personally walk those 23 people I registered to the polls Nov. 4, I would. I hope the excitement of voting the first time doesn't wear off by this fall and the new registrants exercise their rights.

My next drive is Friday evening at a local grocery store. Hopefully, I'll have just as much luck.

Make sure you're registered to vote! And then, VOTE!

"Black in America" disappoints

I watched CNN's Black in America last night and was ready to turn in my black card when it was over.

Reporter Soledad O'Brien spent two hours highlighting just about negative aspect of the black community. It was basically a report on how blacks have failed. When it was over, I said out loud, to myself, "Is this all that black people have amounted to?"

As a member of the media and a minority, I try to always be cognizant of the way blacks are portrayed in the newspapers and on television. People always say reporters find the most ignorant blacks to put on television or quote in the papers. Yes, there are unintelligent blacks in the news all the time, but in my experience, those are the ones usually willing to talk. I feel safe writing that in the majority of cases, reporters just want to get the quote and head back to the newsroom. So, if the woman with the Marlboro Light hanging from her mouth, wearing a robe at 3 p.m. with a head full of rollers is at the scene talking, I'm writing and broadcast reporters are filming.

I say all that to say getting quotes from uneducated people in a breaking-news situation is different from what O'Brien did in her special, where she used a feature format to only focus on the negative. She had time to find someone or something positive. With breaking news, it happens fast and a reporter's main goal is to get the story fast.

Instead, she reported that blacks are uneducated. Blacks live in poverty. Black women can't find a good black man. One in 20 black women in D.C. have AIDS. Blacks don't have insurance, so they have to use emergency rooms. And so on.

Most of this information is already widely known in the black community, so I'm not sure what O'Brien wants us to do with it. There was no commentary on solutions to get ahead. And no mention of Democratic Presidental Candidate Barack Obama other than the section on biracial Americans.

In giving her the benefit of the doubt, maybe O'Brien hopes the documentary begins a conversation. Maybe she wanted to show the black community their problems all at once so we will start thinking about solutions.

Even with last night's special being a downer, I'm going to watch tonight's on the black man. I can only imagine how O'Brien will show my brothers.

Reality show is full of irony

I couldn't sleep last night, so I ended up watching "Tori and Dean Home Sweet Home Hollywood," the reality show based on Tori Spelling's life. It's not a show I tune into every Tuesday, but I've seen it before.

During last night's episode, Tori and Dean, who on the show are expecting their second child, but in real life, have had this baby, were registering for their baby shower. The paparazzi were everywhere outside of the store trying to get a picture of the couple looking at baby items. It started with about five, then grew to 10 and finally, to 40, which is ridiculous.

But what's even more ridiculous was Tori's comment when Dean announced there were about 40 photographers outside: "We're trying to have an intimate moment."

What? Does she realize that her life is being filmed for a weekly TV show? And that everything about her life ceased to be intimate when she signed the contract with Oxygen? There are no intimate or private moments left, Tori.

I actually laughed out loud when those words came out of her mouth. So, it's OK that the Oxygen camera crew follows her into the store while she's looking at bibs and bathtubs, for ultimately the world to see, but she gets upset when someone, even 40 someones, want to take her picture. It doesn't make sense to me.

I'm not a fan of the paparazzi when they're hounding someone famous who wants their privacy. There's no need to take a picture of an actor at the grocery store; they have to eat, too. But when your life is knowingly being recorded for TV, the paparazzi should have free reign.

Loaf of bread stands the test of time

My husband and I have been eating off of the same loaf of bread for four months and it hasn't molded.

If you've read my blog before, you'd know that we haven't been in a cooking mood lately, which means we haven't really been going grocery shopping. Instead, we're on a first-name basis with the take-out guy.

The expiration date on this Arnold's 12 Grain wheat bread is April 9. My husband noticed it Sunday as we were making egg sandwiches - we do have eggs in the frig and opted to cook that morning rather than go to Sunday brunch. As he was grabbing the loaf of bread, I mentioned that I didn't remember the last time I bought bread. He glanced at the expiration date and frowned.

"What's the date?" I asked.

"You don't want to know," was his reply.

I love feeling like I've beaten the odds when I eat something past the expiration date that hasn't molded. So what if that yogurt has a June date on it, if it doesn't smell, I'll eat it.

I asked my husband again, and he said, "April 9."

Wow! True victory!

"I'm blogging about this," I said, feeling supremely satisfied that we'd got our monies worth.

I don't know what the folks at Arnold's are putting in their bread, but it amazes me that this loaf is still soft, tasty and and free of anything fuzzy. According to the website, it's made of "The finest wholesome ingredients like cracked wheat, sunflower seeds, oats, barley, brown rice and molasses create a delicious, hearty taste in each slice."

Arnold's will be my bread of choice from now on. We have about four slices left, so maybe by September, it will be time to purchase another loaf.

Bigger isn't always better

My husband and I are going house hunting this weekend.

We've been toying with the idea of ditching the suburbs to be closer to New York City. I would love to move to "the city," what folks who live in the Jersey suburbs call NYC, but my husband enjoys a more relaxed, less crowded environment. So, we compromised: If we can't live in the city, let's at least live close to the city. Right now, we're about a 45-minute train ride from NYC. We'll be looking in the Jersey City/Hoboken area, which is about 10 minutes outside of the city. And both are easily accessible to the city by the train and ferry.

We have a three-bedroom, two-bathroom house now. It's about 2,600 square feet if you include the full, finished basement. Unless we get lucky and find a steal, we'll be downsizing to a two-bedroom condo. For the sake of our sanity, we'll need at least 1,500 square feet and a garage for my husband's new motorcycle. And because the area is right outside of New York, we'll be paying twice as much for about half the room.

In a era when bigger means better, some have asked why we're downsizing. It's just the two of us now. We don't need our backyard; hardly ever use our deck; never use the fully-furnished office and only use the guest bedroom when someone is visiting. For us, right now, it's too much space.

And some say we're foolish to pay more for less, but I say you pay for what you get! I love the appeal of the city - bright lights, big city! My eyes light up whenever I see the New York skyline on TV. I love the culture, the food, the eclectic people. There's nothing like it. There's a vibe about New York that's unmatchable.

It took seven months and about 60 houses before we could agree on the house we finally purchased. There was so much overpriced crap for sale four years ago, that we had to wade through the sludge to find something in our price range that didn't need a major overhaul. I'm hoping the process the second time around won't be so painful.

The housing slump will be a double-edge sword for us: Sellers are desperate, so they will hopefully be flexible. But this time around, we're sellers, too, and will want the best price for our home. But fortunately, we don't have to move. If our house doesn't sell, we'll just take it off the market until the economy is better. New York City will always be there, waiting for us to move closer to reap its benefits.

Objects of desire

Have you ever looked at the wanted section on craiglist? There's some crazy stuff on there. It's amazing what people are looking for.

If you're not familiar with the site, it's like an online garage sale. People post items they want to sell, including real estate and cars, but they also list items they want. All major cities and most smaller cities have pages on craigslist.

I had some extra time at work today and thought I'd checked out the wanted sections for New York City, Hattisburg, Miss., Odgen-Clearfield, Utah and the San Fransisco Bay area. Other than NYC, which is my default page for craigslist, I chose random places to see if the smaller the area, the more weird the wanted items became, only to find out that there are quirky needs everywhere.

The most strange - and creepy - was a man in Hattisburg looking for an "attractive house wife."

Here's his plea: "Single Father of 10 Year Old son seeks a Female House Mate. Must be willing to relocate to Mobile. Should you have children of your own that is fine with us. Please have a picture and be willing to exchange on the first email. I do not want to waste your time, or you waste mine. This ad is for real. Jim."

I kind of feel sorry for Jim.

A man in NYC is willing to pay $100 a month for a space to park his 2007 Audi he hardly drives. If you've ever tried to park in the Big Apple, you understand his pain. It's already hard to find a spot to park in NYC, and once you do, on most streets, you have to move your car - at the crack of dawn - to the other side for street so it can be cleaned - the street, not your car. Here's a photo of the cars in action.

Also, in NYC, someone's willing to pay you $1 if you have a box for a 32-inch TV and someone's looking for 50,000 people to send him $1 each. Here's the address if you want to pledge: P.O. Box 48, Douglas, Mich. 49406.

If you have a trampoline net, you can get $1 for it and $9 for a fixer-upper car.

Other odd wanted items in NYC include a jazzercize T-shirt, Legos and a massage partner. I can only imagine what that's for!

Heading south to Mississippi, someone's looking for funny stories about people getting high. Huh? And then there's the ad for people willing to sell their hair. The woman who placed the ad said she's setting up a website for "serious" people interested in buying human hair. She's willing to pay $5 for your locks.

In Utah, someone's looking for scratch-n-sniff stickers, hold on, from the 1970s and 1980s. Gotta love the specifics! And a couple posted their engagement picture on craigslist asking for someone to marry them. You guessed it, they're broke and want the service for free.

In San Fransisco, a low-income, disabled woman wants $2,000 to take a massage class; another person wants fresh fish. What? And yet another needs "all kinds of balls."

If you have a Dublin High School class ring from 1974-77, someone in the Bay area's looking for one and a shoe shopper needs a Nordstroms' discount. Don't we all!

Funny, I didn't see any postings for world peace.

New Yorker cover goes too far

The editors said it's satire and they were making fun of the rumors that Democratic Presidential Candidate Barack Obama is Muslim.

Satire, mocking rumors or not, the New Yorker's cover of Obama and his wife, Michelle, depicted as terrorists, is insensitive and goes too far.

I'm not a subscriber to the New Yorker, but if I were, I could cancel my subscription. Call me sensitive, but I'm highly offended. The editors are feeding into the rumors and someone may look at that cover and truly believe that the Obamas are Muslims, when they are actually Christians.

Obama spokesman Bill Burton said, "The New Yorker may think...that their cover is a satirical lampoon of the caricature of Senator Obama's right-wing critics have tried to create. But most readers will see it as tasteless and offensive. And we agree."

The New York explains that the cover "combines a number of fantastical images about the Obamas and shows them for the obvious distortions they are."

In the magazine that hit newsstands Monday, the cover also shows the couple standing in the Oval Office bumping fists, which they made mainstream to white America, and burning the American flag in the fireplace.

The only thing right about the cover is that the Obamas are in the White House.