The Guilty Admission

vintage-housewife My nephew Jordan is a senior in college. He's been staying with us for the whole summer while taking classes and working on campus.  I love having him around. He mows the lawn, helps out with TG and Tog and keeps me company on the days I work from home. Two nights ago, I'm sitting on the couch. Jordan and his girlfriend are sitting across from me. We're all half-watching a repeat of the show Wife Swap. I wonder aloud: What kind of wife would the producers swap with me? Jordan's girlfriend piped up immediately: "A wife who does a lot of housekeeping!" Um. Okay. My nephew Jordan adds helpfully: "Yeah, a wife who cleans up and cooks. And one who doesn't talk back to her husband and isn't really bossy." What the? So obviously, this is what Jordan has taken away from his summer with me. I'm bossy. I don't cook. I don't clean. Translation: I suck as a wife and a mother.

GM0408_C1_r1P002 October, 2007. Offices of GIANT magazine. I'm sitting across from editor-in-chief Smokey D. Fontaine. We're going over stories I'll be covering in the upcoming year. . “Do you think you could find Malcolm X’s grandson?” he asked. "That would make an interesting story." I shrugged. “I can find anybody. You know that. But should we find him?” Smokey rubbed his hands together and his face lit up. “Of course we should! This young man is a part of history. Malcolm X never had sons of his own. So this young man is the male heir. And then he was found responsible in the death of Betty Shabazz, his own grandmother, Malcolm’s widow. That story would be crazy!” Before we continue, let me tell you a little bit about Smokey.

[caption id="attachment_1109" align="alignnone" width="450" caption="Now I was fully dressed...including my coat. and boots. That's gotta count for at least two pounds. Right? "]Now I was fully dressed...including my coat. and boots. That's gotta count for at least two pounds. Right? [/caption] TG had a swim meet yesterday. On the way out, I stopped and jumped on a scale near the exit doors. A brief breakdown on me and scales: I don't own one. And I don't believe in them. If I go to the doctor, I'll jump on and see what it says. If I'm at my mom's house and I wash my hands, I'll get on the scale in her bathroom and check. My weight doesn't fluctuate too wildly. And I'm not a slave to the number. I pay closer attention to how my clothes fit. When the jeans get a bit tight or hard to button, I know it's time to tighten things up. So. I get on the scale yesterday. And I am very unhappy with the number staring back at me.

tomlin Is it wrong that I rooted for Mike Tomlin because he's Black? Here's the thing: I know nothing about football. Less than nothing. Considering I was a cheerleader for three years, this is a bit pathetic. All I know is that a "first and ten" is good, a touchdown is six points, (possibly seven?) and sometimes all the guys will huddle around the ball and watch it wobble for some reason. (What is that about?!) I don't have a favorite football team. I guess if I had to root for a team, I would go with the home team. But what is the home team for New Jersey? We don't have a football team. Right? The Giants are a New York team. But they play in Jersey? I truly don't know. For the Superbowl, it's no fun to watch if you're not going to root for somebody. I was already leaning towards the Steerlers 'cause they're on the east coast. And because Arizona is McCain country. Then, in the days leading up to the game, I caught a few pre-game interviews with Mike Tomlin, the head coach of the Pittsburgh Steelers. Within thirty seconds, I was sold. The Steelers had to win. Tomlin is young, cute, intelligent, well-spoken and...he's got that other thing going on. That thing I fully support. You know what I'm talking about...

thief2 I don't plan to double up my categories. I came clean with a Guilty Admission just last night. And I had a different post planned for today. But alas, I'm so guilt ridden, I must confess and move on with my life. I’m a thief. There, I said it. For the past month, I’ve been stealing internet access at my new office. I’m generally an honest person. Really, I am. Aside from a brief career as a shoplifter in my bad-ass teenage years, I generally toe the line. I don’t even indulge in minor thievery. Except for one incident in first grade, I’ve never been one to steal office supplies. (Unless they were Uniball pens. Or reporter’s notebooks with the white cover. Or that creamy brown scratch paper you used to get for math to work out your problems... Or the black and white composition books…) Okay, so I’ve always helped myself to office supplies. But usually, I’m an honest woman. So why do I feel like it’s not really stealing when it’s the Internets?

king-cemetary It's true. I hate my name. Not my first name. I love the name Aliya. It used to be unique. Until Aliya the singer came along. Then it seemed like every third girl I met was named Aliya. Still love it. I like the way it sounds and I think it suits me. And I love my middle name too. Although I only use my initial, it's still a special part of my name. And my last name? King. How could you not love that?! It's regal. And of course, I've always wondered if I'm in anyway related to the Reverend Doctor. So, my birthname: Aliya S. King. I love it. It's the butchering that happened a few years ago that I HATE.

[caption id="attachment_185" align="aligncenter" width="450" caption="A Glamour Magazine-style "Don't" bar was used across this woman's eyes to shield her from embarassment."]A Glamour Magazine-style "Don't" bar was used across this woman's eye to shield her from embarassment.[/caption]

Dear readers, let’s talk about the woman above. Based on what she’s wearing would you say that she is: A.    A stay-at-home mom on her way to drop her kids off at school. B.    On her way to the gym for a quick workout after work. C.    A fashion reject who thinks this is an appropriate outfit to wear outside of the house. OR D.    A writer who doesn’t come into contact with other professionals on a daily basis and so puts together ridiculous costumes like this because she’s always dashing out of the house and doesn’t put enough thought into what she’s wearing because hey, who cares, I’m just going to sit in my office all alone all day and no one will see me but Alberto, who manages the building, and he doesn’t care if I look insane. If you chose D, you’re wrong. It’s C.