Good Eats

Asia De Cuba

Located inside the so-called trendy Mondrian Hotel on Sunset in West Hollywood. Rumor has it, when the hotel revamped they fired all the brutha's who worked the door, because they were going for a certain look. That's right, I put them on blast because I noticed the change myself. But I digress.....

I went there for a birthday dinner. We ordered a bus load of appetizers and entrees and dined family style.

Stand out delights:

Butter Fish
Oxtail Spring Rolls with Mango Salsa
Lobster Mashed Potatoes
Plaintain Fried Rice with Avocado
Tuna Tartar
Calamari-banana salad


My Friend had to raise the dead to get them to seat eight people without the other two scheduled....ten in total...which I find to be a bit extra...you've got eight diners coming to spend a nice hunk of change...birthday cake already ordered in back..and you're willing to allow these people to leave in anger instead of being accommodating...If they wanted to obsess about something, they should've been focused on the condition of their ladies bathroom....it was an abomination to God....truly. I mean if that is how high society trashes a toilet....then the women who used the bathroom that night....wealthy or whatever, should be institutionalized immediately.

Once the buzz of the lovely Cabernet the waiter recommended, kicked in, I approached the hostess about the condition of the bathroom. I told her I was a travel writer who loved to address the condition of bathrooms in swanky restaurants and how I didn't want to mention the condition of their bathroom, because I enjoyed the food so. She was all.......Sorry and Oh my Gosh, Becky, and this never happens and yadda, yadda, yadda.....but seriously I've only seen the likes in a Starbucks in Times Square.

So....The hoopla of the food....Above average. The hoopla of the ambiance....average. The hoopla of a fancy, yet neglected and trashed bathroom.....Gross me out.

I'll go back....for the Plaintain Fried Rice and Tuna Tartar, and the waiter who suggested the smoothest Cabernet I've had to date (can't remember the name, dammit) but not for the "scene".

Walk the Quote Land Three

"Be the change you want to see in the world"

"As long as you derive inner help and comfort from anything, keep it."

-Mahatma Gandhi



"If you scatter thorns, don't go barefoot."

-Italian Proverb



"Sometimes I feel discriminated against, but it does not make me angry. It merely astonishes me. How can any deny themselves the pleasure of my company? It's beyond me."

"I want a busy life, a just mind, and a timely death"

-Zora Neale Hurston



"If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people."

"I meant to write about death, only life came breaking in as usual."

I thought how unpleasant it is to be locked out; and I thought how it is worse, perhaps, to be locked in.

"If we didn't live venturously, plucking the wild goat by the beard, and trembling over precipices, we should never be depressed, I've no doubt; but already should be faded, fatalistic and aged."

-Virginia Woolf



"Nothing will work unless you do."

"Self-pity in its early stages is as snug as a feather mattress. Only when it hardens does it become uncomfortable."

-Maya Angelou



And because laughter always helps.....


I don't have false teeth. Do you think I'd buy teeth like these?

-Carol Burnett


"Frisbeetarianism is the belief that when you die, your soul goes up on the roof and gets stuck."

"I have as much authority as the Pope, I just don't have as many people who believe it."

"May the forces of evil become confused on the way to your house."

-George Carlin


The trouble with some women is that they get all excited about nothing-and then marry him.
-Cher



"Reality is a crutch for people who can't handle drugs."

"We are all in this together, by ourselves."

"Why isn't there a special name for the tops of your feet?"

"Why is it that when we talk to God we're said to be praying, but when God talks to us we're schizophrenic?"

-Lily Tomlin

Coping

A blessing in the form of a job related emergency allowed me to visit my family and friends in New York and New Jersey...One full day....in and out.

I stepped off the plane, checked my messages....My Grandmother who has been like a mother to me is in the hospital and has been since Wednesday. I could not have found out at a better time. My family is learning to respect my emotional limitations and my being 3,000 miles away from an emergency which involves my favorite person in the world is Numero Uno on the list of causing me to have a neurological breakdown. Hearing and not seeing makes things a hundred times worse. I was able to get the message and then go see for myself....the situation at hand. She's 92 years old and anytime I tell the age to people whose Grandmother's were distant old Grandmother's not second mother's like mine, they look at me like I'm crazy for being so distraught instead of being grateful she's been healthy and great up until now.....Screw all of that. I don't care if she's 115 years old.....she is the love of my life. I have found my own strength through the strength of this wonderful woman......Minnie Pearl. And now I have to figure out how to be strong for her.

I spent my Saturday bedside by one of the greatest women to ever grace earth. Basking in the glow of my beloved Great-Grandma who I lived with for fourteen years. And who I've been told must officially go to a nursing home..this woman who is completely aware of her situation and horrified at the thought of never going home again....and with this news my spirit has forever changed and I'm just working on keeping a positive appreciation for this gift of life and all it's glory while really feeling like jumping off a cliff.

I am finishing up the book "The Red Tent, in this life-saving great read, the daughter and narrator of the book makes a comment about being grateful for not being around to witness the pain, suffering and passing of her mother, aunts and all her loved ones. She missed them terribly, she worried and felt guilty for not being there to offer help and support but....still grateful for not being around to witness the agony and pain.

One word......AMEN!!!!!!!

I have moments where I feel like I should move back to New Jersey to make sure my Grandma is as comfortable as possible seeing as how her worse nightmare is coming true....to be poked at and prodded in a nursing home until the end of her days( the horror)......I should be there to make sure her hair stays clean and beautiful and to make sure her beautiful skin stays soft and supple through the loving application of pure Karite Shea butter and to make sure her nails stay trimmed and filed. She has a few dozen grandchildren and great-grands who live in the area and go to visit...but I am the self-ordained favorite and these thoughts plague me, though this may be one mission I fail because......I can't take it. When I look into my beloved Grandma's eyes, I can see her frustration and embarrasment at her condition.......that she will never cook another meal on this earth, or care for another child or sit with her favorite Grandaughter and enjoy the Fisherman's seafood platter (her favorite) at Red Lobster or just pick up a piece of f%*&in' paper off the ground (she mentioned the paper to me herself) .....it breaks my heart in to five billion llittle pieces and the despair becomes to much for me to handle. I can't even believe I'm able to write about it like this, but I also feel I must or else I will turn into dust and crumble to the ground.

It seems human suffering and tragedy are hitting home like a tornado leaving sad and defeated bodies piled up all around and all I can manage to do is escape to Los Angeles where denial IS a river in egypt and in LA and I intend to jump in head first...where I'll probably suffer a concussion because we all know how shallow the river of denial is although my tears might help deepen it....some of the best advice I ever got...came from my friend Luis.....it's okay to cry, sometimes we just need to.....AMEN....and I'm okay with it...so I've taken to crying whenever and wherever....in the cab, on the plane while ordering coffee from the flight attendant, in the office, at the laundromat, at the post office....wherever...it feels damn good. It's the holding it in that hurts.

This move to the west, though emotionally, physically and financially taxing as hell, has saved my life and I'm working so hard to hold on the the reality of how "Living Life" can really save one's life. The people I've met...bad and good, fun and boring have all helped me.....and I, like Dinah, in "The Red Tent", am grateful.

But I still have my moments. Sad moments where I think of somehow rigging a knife so that I might collapse on it and split my pained heart in two. Yes, like that. Thank the big God of little fishes that these are MOMENTS....and they pass. And then I get up and get out and go live the life I've been blessed with instead of living in a constant state of life threatening despair over things I can't control.

Writing helps.....it really does....but reality is harsh....it really is.

Thank God for great memories, moments, photos and recording devices of all kinds.

Things I pondered.....

while suffering for two weeks with no computer or television in my home..


Why do some people's second toe and second to last toe grow above the other toes and some don't?

How many pieces of paper does one get from your average tree?

That new ad for Black Cherry Coca-Cola......."Black Cherry kissed by Vanilla".......a bit risque...no?

What's the deal with my tongue? It takes some serious concentration to keep it completely still while looking at it. Is that me or everyone?

Did Chevy Chase rename himself after the city in Maryland or vice-versa?

Who created soap? And how did they decide those were the correct ingredients to clean a human body?

All men (and women) are not really created equal because ........God bless the person who took the initiative to create indoor plumbing.....seriously.

Rejoice....

If the rumors are true that Bobby Brown feels his career is boosted enough for him to leave his Provider aka Wife aka Whitney Houston. It's her and her daughter's only chance at a happy ending. I am revisiting an old post from when that stupid show first aired......

Originally posted 7/17/2005...

Desperate Jackass forces prideful lioness wife to air business for the sake of peace and harmony on the homefront.....the new name for "Being Bobby Brown".
I have not seen the show and am actively avoiding seeing it. I've seen it all before. Dysfunctional obsessive love for being in a dysfunctional obsessive love. I've heard enough and read enough about it to last me a lifetime. I may have even been in a few....short-lived....

Let me start by saying..my love and adoration for Whitney Houston spans two decades and up until this moment I have exercised my right to remain silent on her personal life. Because........

1. Is it really my business (although I kinda feel like it is, but not in a star gossipy way, more of a concerned cousin kind of way.)

and

2. Is it really your business

But now that she has signed a contract for all the world to see, I am officially prepared to release a statement.

My heart breaks for what I see when I look at this life Whitney Houston has been fooled into living.

What Whitney as performer has done for me...1987...was the first year I saw Whitney live and it was my first "Hey this is the greatest singer I've ever heard". I was gone. Completely won over and on my way to being the biggest Whitney fan of all times...I really am....I'm not trying to prove it...it is what it is. Framed photos of Whitney are on my walls (plural) Unconditional fan. I'm sure I am here (meaning alive and thriving) because of my love for Whitney Houston...Kept a depressed suicidal 15 year old girl preoccupied...guided me to Arista Records as an intern and from there begins my crazy life in the world of entertainment. I am working in the entertainment industry right now because I wanted to work at Whitney's record label.

We're talking about 1991.....I was brizzzzzoke (broke) out of my mind....half working, half going to school, half just figuring out where I wanted to be in the world and what kind of person I wanted to be (a decision more people should spend time on.) Owned a raggedy ass 1987 mitsubishi mirage. It looked nice enough but man....don't sit still in traffic....the fumes were out of control...but it got me all around New Jersey and New York, in to and out of all kinds of mischief...more importantly it got my ass to Hershey, Pennsylvania to see my favorite singer/entertainer.

To this day, I have not felt the kind of thrill I felt at this concert. My cousin(invited herself) and friend(fellow Whitney fan) came along...My friend's financial situation was worse than mine....I with my no money havin' yet determined self..wound up paying for her as well. But my cousin...God Bless her.....had some dough and God Bless her again...I'll never forget what she did for me and my friend....Paid the extra cash for second row center seats....We would've been sitting on the lawn....instead....a scalper came to us...I had not one extra cent (had to make sure I had gas money home) My cousin paid for me and my friend. She barely knew my friend. I actually need to drop my cousin a note and some photos from that day....over 14 years ago...One of the best days of my life....not to mention how we spent the day in Hershey Park, met Whitney's dancers and her brother, hung out with them for a little bit and kept it movin' and I won a huge stuffed animal. Security thought I was bringing it for Whitney, wrong, that was for my Great-Grandma. It was Babs Bunny and she is still in my Great-Grandma's room, right now in the year 2005 thank you very much...If I had given it to Whitney, Bobby would have thrown it out of a window in some angry fit.
Waited for hours outside her tour bus....the crew kept telling me she had left...I mean the woman who played piano in the band tried to tell me Whitney had already left....yeah right....I waited and waited...backed down a one way street in the smoke-mobile and my poor cousin and friend had no choice but to wait with me..My cousin started to complain...I turned a deaf ear to her and walked closer to Whitney's tour bus.....and guess what.....after hours...Whitney was tired and I'm sure not in the mood...I asked "Whitney will you take a picture with me?" she stopped, her security stopped, she turned to look at me....studied my face for a moment (I guess saw the painful desperation and took pity on me ) walked away from her security and towards me...."Okay, baby come on" as she stretched her arm out to me.....GOOD GUGAMOOGA....I could've died right then...
Yeah baby, I have too many "Oh my God I just met Whitney" moments.....I'll share later..if it comes up. All this to say I was a huge fan, And still a huge fan , except I'm older and I have more of an indepth understanding for life..its fulfillment and its disappointments and how this might affect an "individual".

Whitney the "individual" not "entity" is what I see and have seen and every time I see her now...My heart breaks a little more. I wish I could carry the addictions for this woman....kick them for her and allow her to regain the light she has allowed her "betrothed" to smother out. Seriously...

Bobby Brown is obsessed with fame and stuck in a nostalgic box of memories of his former fame.....he is failing, has failed, at his current career, which is father and husband and being a grown ass man.....It's a job and he is not on it...when someone fails at his or her job what usually follows is his being fired. Fire that fool. I wish an angel would come to Whitney in the night pack her and Bobbi Kristina's belongings....move them, while they remain asleep, out of GEORGIA (I will address my contempt for this place at another time) and either back to some remote town in New Jersey or California or Florida.....or out of the damn country. And somehow magically keep Bobby Brown held captive in the house they once shared (like the ghosts in beetlejuice).....Just leave the whole scene behind and focus on her daughter and kicking her addictions...one being addicted to her husband...addicted to chaos and aggravation. I understand those addictions and I also understand the only way to kick them is to put some space between yourself and whoever or whatever you're addicted to....It's impossible to kick something when it's staring you right in the face. Remove yourself from the situation and take the blinding goggles off so you can see how crazy things really are.

Every time I see Bobby Brown shucking and jiving for the camera (other places, not "his" new show) I'm reminded of a scene in The Five Heartbeats when the washed up ego maniac of a drug addict ex-lead singer shows up..all beat down.....talking about TA-DA...donning an old shirt from one of their performances.....Pitiful.
Bobby Brown was never, will never, has never been the King of R&B. If he's the King in the Houston-Brown household so be it...but give the rest of the world a break. And please give me a break. I can't take it. I get it. I totally understand it. But I can't take it.

Instead of being grateful for the life and wealth Whitney has provided him with he's mad about it. Trying to make her believe something's wrong with her cause' he's the man. Classic scene. Except this one is on a more public scale.....Some of the best advice I've ever heard was in Forrest Gump (I love this movie and will refer to it many more times)....Some kids were coming to harrass Little Forrest....His best friend Jenny, yelled "Run, Forrest, Run"....to my Whitney I give similar advice..."Run Whitney, Run." and take that little girl with you. It's not to late. Look at Tina Turner, she ran, late, but better late than never. You can still live the great life God planned for you and get out of the life the Devil tricked you into believing you were supposed to live.



P.S....when I say unconditional fan...I have met Whitney when she's not in the greatest of moods....and got my feelings hurt a little but I've also met her at her best and she treated me wonderfully.....everyone has a bad day...Rich, broke, star, unknown whatever and we all get burned by someone in a bad mood....from a Judge who had an argument with his wife before coming to work...to a doctor who's not feeling too well but still performing an operation....to the guy in charge of french fries at the fast food restaurant and lastly a celebrity....I'd rather fall victim to a cranky celebrity than a cranky judge deciding my fate or some angry french fry guy dropping fries on the floor or throwing gross objects into the fryer with my fries.

And don't get it twisted....back in the day..Loved me some Bobby Brown....My Prerogative and Every Little Step...what....he was a dancing and entertaining fool.....turned ego maniac....the young R&B girls have Usher now Bobby, hang up your dancing shoes and feel pleased about making room for the next generation of dancing fools....and either love her or leave her....don't stick around hating on her....

Houston he has a problem....

Bobby Brown is to Whitney Houston what the moon is to a werewolf.....a terrible influence.










What a fool believes he sees, no wise man has the power to reason away.

-WHAT A FOOL BELIEVES (written by Michael McDonald & Kenny Loggins) performed by the Doobie Brothers..

Which Doobie you be??????

Welcome to JamRock

My computer has crashed and burned....Not good timing in my financial world...so I'm straight blogging from the Apple Store. I have to make this quick because I feel like all these sprocket like apple sales people are staring at me.

I had to post about one of my newest musical loves.....Damian Marley. Wow. WELCOME TO JAMROCK is the name....something for everyone is the game. I can listen to this guys entire album without skipping a single song...that is an amazing feat in itself, as I love Bob Marley's music but I'm not really the banging Reggae fan. Seriously...this guy is really doing the Marley name justice and he's quite the good-looking chap as well. My favorites.....Welcome to Jamrock and Beautiful ( featuring Bobby Brown). Even with it featuring the man who holds my dear Whitney captive....love it..and I mean love it and hope to receive the sentiment in Beautiful from someone one day.....how nice that would be.

He's got a great song called Move! Samples Exodus. And my friend who gave me the heads up to pick up this great CD, thought homeboy was saying Pixie dust...Instead of Exodus....Oh my God...Becky! She was steady singing and I asked her what she just said and she repeated herself loud and clear....Pixie dust. I'll give her half a break as this is the same friend who back in the early 80's thought Jermaine Jackson's song...Tell Me I'm Not Dreaming.....was more about sewing...."Cutting out my trimming" was her version.....but I will leave her nameless because of the Pixie and Exo.....Dus.....t incident. People have to be given the space to come into enlightenment on their own. I have to remember to ask her what the hell she thought Pixiedust was about. Movement of Jah's people to Never never land maybe?

Every song on this beautiful Welcome to Jamrock, is great in it's own. And I mean music, lyrics a whole package deal of depth and pleasure. Okay Security just moved closer to me. I have to stop because I'm too paranoid to enjoy this blogging moment. How nice would it be to be able to purchase one of these lovely Powerbooks today. Oh well...the sacrifices I make for following my bliss.....this is one of them.


Check out Damian Marley's new cd....He's even got a cut with Nas....how lovely.

Must go. Can't take the glares.

The Color Purple....on Broadway

Okay....so I have been treated like royalty since I've been here in the east coast.....the ultimate treat so far...another bud who has weathered the storm that is my friendship called in a couple of favors and secured two second row seats to the quite sold out broadway show.....The Color Purple. We had a lovely lunch at B. Smiths and then caught the 2:00 showing of the play.

I am so amazed and I stand in such awe of actors in general but theatre actors deserve a pedestal all to themselves. It's so amazing to me how these humans get on stage and perform....twice a day.....as if it were the first time every time. I cried, I laughed I was completely drawn in and overwhelmed with this performance. And let me had how hard a sale it was....I love Alice Walker's book, I love Steven Spielberg's interpretation into the movie...and I mean LURVE...so..I was skeptical. I mean how can there ever be another Shug or Sophia or Celie....we're talking..Margaret Avery....Oprah Winfrey and Whoopie Goldberg...A beyond tough act to follow. And even though broadway is a whole other vehicle...the expectations of all The Color Purple fans is still high as Mt. Everest. I'm certain I'm not the only one who was a little skeptical..even with Oprah's name attached to the production.

I'll admit I was not feeling the woman who played the role of Sophia (Felicia P. Fields)....a little skeptical of Shug Avery (Elizabeth Winters-Mendes)...but they both are talented and extra-skilled performers who clearly possess the same respect for the book and movie as the masses and were able to encompass their roles and draw the entire theatre. Especially Sophia who received "threshold of pain" amounts of applaud. Harpo (Brandon Victor Dixon) was a great looking guy and he WAS Harpo. Even Mister (Kingsley Leggs) held his own. Mister's father was played by Lou Myers who played Mr. Gaines on A Different world...that was a nice treat. Celie (LaChanze) was good....did what she was supposed to do... but the obvious favorites were...Shug Avery and Sophia.

The role of Nettie was played by an understudy who is a gospel recording artist and part of the Ensemble, Jeannette Bayardelle, and I have to admit I probably like the understudy more just based on complexion...that's right...there's no way I'm accepting a butternut squash Nettie (Renee Elise Goldsberry) over a dark-chocolate one, although the "featured" Nettie is on the soap, One Live to Live and I hear she's great, but because she's taping that show I'm sure she'll miss many of the afternoon showings....I'd like to catch a show with her next because I do intend to see it again and I live in a constant state of "open to being converted" Because I am such a bullheaded fool (I know it).

The Color Purple on Broadway is a well done joyous celebration of life with a fine balance of humor, heartache and triumph. A wonderous event to behold. I hope I can make it back again, again and again.




Next time I can do without the woman seated in front of me (C2), who tested my temper with her disgusting gum popping. Thankfully the performance washed out most of the popping but there were quiet reflective stage moments where Miss Tacky's gross habit tested my patience. Theatre tickets aren't cheap and I didn't pay to hear some fool smacking on gum...I can get that for free on any street corner. It's really a nasty habit people..you look like a cow chewing cud. All of you gum poppers. I've had so many arguments with fools, friends and foes who smack on gum. From strangers on trains to my own sister. For the sake of humankind and your safety......control that S&^%! Because one day, somewhere, someone is going to snap over the snapping of gum. Trust me.

Over the river and through the woods..

On my way home...not my official home but….my former home of New Jersey…must see my Grandma otherwise I would skip the cold ass weather part and go straight back to Cali….but again... as long as Minnie Pearl resides in New Jersey…I will call it my home and get there as often as possible to see her.

It’s been a crazy voyage…started in south beach on the 17th……hopped on a cruise line ship…one of those hugantic ships..holds about 2,000 folks..I had never been on one..never really thought about it, but when the opportunity came up I had to jump on it. I worked with a film crew on a commercial shoot. 18th – 21st. I originally had a lot to say about this floating hotel...but the inspiration has seeped from my pores. I'll say this...It's Massive and filled with a bunch of folks who assumed I worked FOR the ship because I'm a black woman with dread locks....after the tenth person asked me some f'in question about today's activities or which way the main dining room was or yadda, yadda, I had to ask a few crew members why everyone assumed I worked there (although I already knew the answer). One diplomatic chap said it was because I looked like one of the girls who works as a hostess in one of the restaurants...I told him there was no way the people who just got on the boat had seen this woman they speak of (and I never did as well) and one honest chap let me know the deal..I look like I'm an islander and that's what mostly works there...in other words I'm black and Should be working for the boat if I can afford to be on it. Well they can have that floating disaster waiting to happen.

I did love the route...Fort Lauderdale to the Dominican Republic to Puerto Rico...I had never been to any of those places, nor have I ever seen water as deep blue and beautiful not even in Saint Barth's (one of the best places I've been). And if the only way I can get to see deep ice blue beautiful water again is by cruising on a big boring ship filled with a bunch of old school fools who think I work for them....then I'm pleased as punch I took pictures because I never will again. The wrap party our crew decided to have the night before the last shoot day was a beautiful and fun release of "trapped on a floating hotel" tension...we danced and drank and partied like it was 1999. And then overslept like nobody's business. Ahhhhhhhhh......a load of liquor and the big blue sea...man was I sick the next day. It was a great experience, definitely something to behold...my biggest head trip was being in an elevator on a ship (there were four).....very happy I got paid instead of having to pay. Three days is the maximum cruise for me and definitely not on a boat with a 2,000 person capacity....way to many folks to be trapped with. My next cruise (if ever) would need to be more of an Oprahesque cruise.....beyond frou, frou with 200 of my closest friends. :-)

We were done in Puerto Rico (though I felt like I was still on the boat for two days after I was off)...the ship cruised on to the Bahamas and back to Fort Lauderdale...Thank the Big God's of Little fishes, our part of the voyage was over. Everyone flew back to Miami, or Los Angeles or wherever they wanted or needed to be for Christmas...I booked a room in Rio Grande, Puerto Rico called one of my buds.... Al....one of my friends who has weathered the storm that is my friendship for over 23 years and God Bless her..she puts her foot in my locs......that's right..... and we spent Christmas basking in 86 degree weather baking our (own) buns in the sun....It was great. Had a wonderful Christmas dinner at a local restaurant in a city called Fajardo. Metropol was the name....delectable food was the game....if you ever find yourself on Deste 3 highway in Fajardo, Puerto Rico.... STOP....and eat. If you're in a rush.....STOP.....and get a black bean soup to go....Seriously...take my greedy food lovin' word for it.


And two seconds in to the 4th leg of my trip....New Jersey/New York...unneccessary aggravation came to wash away the island dreams and give me my shot of reality with the "annoying passenger syndrome" elixir. This guy is looking over my shoulder right now..... so I shrunk my word viewing to 75 % on my computer and now I can’t even see what the hell I’m typing…but this guy pissed me off so bad I can't even understand how I was able to control "THE TEMPER" long enough to keep me from causing a delay by being beaten and dragged off the plane by airport security. He and his wife thought I just fell off the turnip truck…they learned really quickly that I own my own turnip truck and I push fools off mine.. when I got to MY seat, they had already negotiated with seats they didn’t even have..a couple of dumbass yahoos with a foolish and false sense of entitlement tried to take my window seat and then asked me "Well what’s wong with a middle seat?" obviously a whole lot..... as your asses have been pissing everyone off trying to negotiate your way out of two middle seats. Sigh......I will love God's children despite their arrogant dumbass 'selves. And I have to say in all honesty....I would have softened and given up my EXIT row window seat to sit in an EXIT row non-reclining Exit Middle row had their approach been different..I'm that kind of gal. But they were way to arrogant and jackassy to get anywhere with me or the other passengers because the guy on the aisle seat in my row told me they tried the same with him before he got to his seat....how the hell do you start taking and switching before all groups have been boarded? And with nothing to negotiate because middle seats aren't great negotiating vehicles. So of course the big man had to sit next to me while his wife went to the seat behind...and you know this dude was all in my personal space...but I made it through....and this is how. It's nice being grown and coming up with more peaceful ways to handle stupid situations....23 year old Dayna would have went neuroballistic....33 year old Dayna pretended to be nauseaus during take-off. Watery eyes, gagging, grabbed the barf bag and held it by my side for take off......obnoxious guy leaned his ass back into his seat space...it was great. I wish I didn't mind the whole cattle call feel of being an actress because I acted my way right into actually feeling sick for a minute...that was crazy. But it was worth it and it was a peaceful resolution not one in which I would be forced to attack a strange man and his strange wifes character and then cry about it later because I gave FOOLS my energy. So I leaned against "THE WINDOW" and lost myself in the stories of the first women in "The Red Tent" ....one of my Christmas gifts from my friend Sarah....the same friend who schooled me on "Wicked" which is now historically one of my favorite reads.

From 86 degrees to 40 degrees in 60 seconds. Puerto Rico to New Jersey.....damn. I have to add a little about the feel of Puerto Rico..because what God made....the ocean and the sun...was just grand and beautiful....but something is lost there. It has the feel of a beaten society. A society who is bummed out at the 5 dollar minimum wage as they see how it's going down in the country that claims them. Fat Joe is making millions..I'm at this resort making a dollar....damn. I swear that was the feel and a local cat trying to do the right thing told me and my friend about it because I had to ask. And maybe it's because I'm comparing it to St. Barth's and Jamaica. So far...as far as the spirit of an island....Jamaica wins hands down. Even the Bahamas (though I'm quite tired of the place).....there was an undeniable spirit for life and living. Puerto Rico and Hawaii are both a little too tamed for me...at least the parts I've been too. I'll go back and try again...just not anytime soon. I must get to Jamaica....it's so my cup of tea.


*foot in my locs = she started them and maintains them with love and it shows.

It's like everybody's on some kind of Sex Drug

or drug to make them feel sexy in South Beach, Miami(me included)....and I lurve it.

It's Humid and Hot....to death and I lurve it.

Beautiful and naturally bronzed bodies crowd the streets and clubs....and I lurve it.

It's a place where a guy can walk down the street, arm around his woman while staring another woman down, without being slapped, and a woman can dance with another woman's guy and it's all good for that night....and I lurve it.


South Beach was the first leg of my strange voyage....I was there one night..December 17th...stayed at the National (actually, my luggage stayed there.)


First club stop Mango's...where I was immediately grabbed up by a hostess dressed in a wonderfully scandalous outfit(if ya got if flaunt it even if ya think ya don't ...still flaunt it) who escorted me through the crowd up to the VIP section..she whispered to me "You'll like it up here better". Got my VIP hand stamp and continued on....and she was sooooooooo right. Good Lord. The downstairs area was for the nerdy tourists. Upstairs was for the real deal, the "We didn't come to just watch", folks....that would be me. It was great. Danced, and danced and danced.

I drank all of four beers over a six hour time span yet felt so lifted and relaxed....high off the humidity and sexiness of the whole scene.

And after club hopping and dancing and blah, blah, blah....the cherry on top....finding a pizzeria with delicious pizza, open at 5:00am in the morning...and it was as busy as it might be at lunch time on a random work day.....and I lurve it.


Finally made it back to The National hotel at 5:30am...up at 6:30 and in the lobby by 7:00am...getting barely one hour of sleep before the rest of my very busy sleepless voyage began. I'll sleep when I'm dead.

Alternative Scenario of my one night in South Beach had I opted to be a stick in the mud... I would have gone to the hotel room...gotten in the bed to try to force my completely sober ass to sleep well before it's time....twisted and turned until the throbbing pain in my restless legs foced me to jump up and scream with sleepless frustration. Thanks to one of my PA Brudda's..Jay Gon, for getting a sister up and out of the usual. My one night in South Beach was da' bomb.


South Beach is just an unbelievably sensuous place...you don't even notice the goons and nerds who come to gawk because your too busy gawking (or being gawked at)....and I swear fo' God.....I lurve it.


It's the Latin Persuasion that does it...a slew of men and women who aren't obsessing over their looks...because they were born that way.....and I lurve it.

Uninhibited humans, free of all that crazy self scrutiny we're spoon fed in America. Believe me, I swallowed a big healthy serving of my looks (and dark skin) are ruining my life, when I was a freshman in high school...talks of a nose job...in the great words of my friend Luis "child bye". That stupidity lasted all of a month. And though the claim is so much "beauty" in LA....It's actually more like a beauty side show, were you pay to get in the tent and see the ridiculously enhanced woman.

All ye women of Los Angeles and those who have adopted their surgically cosmetic enhanced ways.....Beauty really does come from within...I swear it does. And wrinkles plague those who carry jealousy and envy in their hearts. When you're always walking around turning up your nose at something or someone for no good reason....No amount of cosmetic surgery can reverse that wrinkle in your soul.

If I could mix the price of homes in New Jersey, with the dopeness of New York City, the weather and sexy feel of South Beach with the space, location and entertainment focus of Los Angeles... I would be as content as an Ant in a sugar factory....at least for a good while. More on the voyage later....

an excerpt from : Undefined Attraction© revisited

I have plenty to say as I have had a very interesting few days, but I'm too damn tired (thanks to those crazy days) and this is more befitting of my christmas cheer anyway.... .So I'm posting a prior entry...one of my fav's.

Originally posted:

Thursday, July 14

an excerpt from : Undefined Attraction©
It’s never really a restful sleep. Living a few stories above the streets of Manhattan. We all say we do, sleep restfully, us New Yorkers. It’s similar to when one under dresses for the weather but will swear up and down they’re fine, when if you had x-ray vision you could see the goose bumps on their back and the chill on their bones, so us Manhattanites always claim,

“Of course I sleep, once you get used to the noise you don’t even notice it.”

You never get used to the noise. So at six years old, living in a small apartment two stories above the continuously buzzing streets of Manhattan, I certainly hadn’t experienced a restful sleep. Most noisy nights, I would rest my head on my mother's lap, while she cradled my ears in her hands, until I drifted off to sleep, shielding me from the fire engines, the ambulances, the police sirens or car alarms, the barking dogs, the happy couples, the angry couples and the mad rantings of her live in boyfriend.

On this particular night, shielded from the world by my mother’s magic hands, you couldn’t tell me I had not drifted off into heaven. A blissful angelic sleep. The last blissul sleep I would know for a long time. I was shaken out of my deep slumber moments later, by what every other resident of the apartment building may have assumed were two firecrackers. Maybe one little bad ass boy had lit one seconds after the other.

“Bang”
“Bang”

I leapt to my feet and screamed.

“Mommy!”

Standing on my bed, waiting for my mother to enter, with her magic hands and shelter me. I screamed again.

“Mommy!”

I waited. I heard our front door slam. I heard a thump. This thump sounds in my head over and over. On any bad days in my life to this day, which are any in which that thump sounds in my head, twenty-five years later. It still hits me…hard. I don’t believe it myself on most days. How this thump, this sound sends me right back to the worst day in my life, when I was a six year old standing on my bed, waiting for my Mommy’s hands.

Always afraid of that man, I wouldn’t dare venture out of my room in the middle of the night. Not for anything, not a drink of water, not to pee, not even to see my mom. But on this night, that thump, forced me out. I had to risk it. I had to go see what this sound, more disturbing then any firecracker, police siren or car alarm was. I stuck my toe out first. If he was there and mad at me for venturing beyond my boundaries, I’d prefer to have my toe knocked off before my head. Next, my entire foot. I wiggled it, tried to get his attention. I felt nothing. I heard nothing. No yelling. No, “Get back to your room you nosey brat!” Didn’t hear it. Only silence.

Enough of this scared little girl routine. I’m going to find my mother. I swung the door open and boldly stepped out into the living room. She’ll tell me what this disturbing sound was about and why out of all the noises I’ve heard every night of my six years of life, this noise would move me so. And screw that loser. I’m even going to call for her.

“Mommy!”

I feared at any moment I was going to get slugged for waking the fool. But he must’ve been awake. No one but his rude ass would have slammed the door so hard. And my mother would not, could not, ever leave me alone, not for five seconds with that volatile fool. He was a volcano set to erupt. When, was the question. Unhappy and miserable, he hailed from a filthy rich, quite white upper west side family who loathed him and his love of the darker women and in return he loathed them back and everyone else in the entire world including himself. He felt my mom owed him. He had sacrificed his family’s love for her. Delusional. Best believe if it weren’t my mother, it would have been some other woman of color, seeing as how he cheated on her several times with her chocolate counterparts. Ungrateful, loser. Go get a job trust-fund baby. His family paid him to stay away. College drop-out and lover of black women. God forbid they have a baby. They didn’t have a chance to.

I took a deep breath, stuck out my chest and marched right into the bedroom. Not a soul to be found. Where the hell is my mommy? I heard a moan from the kitchen. The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up, until that moment, I hadn’t even realized I had hair on the back of my neck.

“Mommy?”

I froze at the kitchen door.

“ Go back to your room, Pumpkin.”

She nicknamed me pumpkin at birth. She said when I was born I was as round as a pumpkin and every part of my plump body was dimpled, my cheeks, my chin, my arms, my legs and my little baby butt; her little pumpkin.

And there she was. Looking as if she were simply resting on the kitchen floor. Still being strong for her little Pumpkin.

“I’m okay, go back to your room.”

I eyed my mother. Her face seemed so angelic, I almost believed her until the thump replayed in my head. I scanned the floor. My eyes followed the pool of blood on the floor to the holes in my mother’s chest and stomach. The holes bubbled with deep red clumps of my mother’s lifeline. She was a living breathing oil refinery being drilled. Drained of life.

I remembered hearing the door slam before hearing the thump. The faggot didn’t even wait for her body to drop. This woman he claimed to love so.

What goes through a child’s mind when she sees such a horrific sight? Wouldn’t you, my aunt, my father, my grandmother, a slew of cousins, uncles, friends, three child psychologists and even myself like to know? God, I believe is the only one who knows because I certainly don’t. What I do know is, I am a product of that night. Everything I am and am not is because of the night I heard my mother’s body hit the kitchen floor. And I had believed I had grown to be the best person I could possibly be, against all odds. Proud of myself first and foremost. Happy, I chose wine and weed over cocaine or crack. I always felt every bad choice or rundown road a person chose to take could be justified someway, somehow.

I smoke crack because my mother abandoned me when I was a child.
I smoke crack because I never knew my father.
I smoke crack because I saw a man get shot in our backyard.
I smoke crack because I was molested.
I smoke crack because my parents are divorced.
I smoke crack because my mother is crazy.
I smoke crack because my father is crazy.
I smoke crack because I lost a slew of money in the dotcom industry.
I smoke crack because I made a slew of money in the dotcom industry.
I smoke crack because I got caught cheating on my wife.
I smoke crack because I caught my husband cheating on me.
I smoke crack because I can’t keep an erection.
I smoke crack because I was a straight A student until I got a B in Gym.
I smoke crack because I asked for Malibu Barbie and got Balibu Marbie.
I smoke crack because this….
I smoke crack because that….
And I smoke crack because the gotdamn other….
I smoke crack because one day my reality became too much to bear, some situation, some accident, some thing. I needed to escape. I chose to escape. I thought I could escape.

I, Destiny Marie Bell, chose to be okay. Some people don’t know how to be okay. I’m not judging. But thankfully, I’ve always known this: Crack won’t make it okay. I’ve had no real run ins with crack, no temptations and no long lost brothers climbing through the window to steal my television for a vile of crack, but to me crack epitomizes escapism, a sure fire way to not be okay. So whenever I f#@$ed things up somehow or someway, offended a love one, smoked too much weed, drank to much wine, drove to fast, slept too long, cried too hard (this was a weakness in my book), ate a jelly donut while grocery shopping and forgot to mention it to the cashier… My cure all phrase: “At least I’m not on Crack”

My method of escape, My crack of choice, fleeing. And I mean really fleeing, running away in the middle of the night like a fugitive. ©



This is the first page of my soon to be abandoned novel. I needed to show some of it. I might have to leave it alone and get back to the screenwriting....I'm not really trying to write long ass serious ass novels.........I like comedy...I like funny movies....I wanna write those....but I don't think my mind will allow me to continue until I get the rest of this book out of me. Thanks for reading."


Every time I read that part of the book, I hope it ends differently...Is that crazy?