“What does one wear to such a solemn occasion as this?” I asked myself as I searched through my closet.

I missed one of my mother’s doctor appointments because I was in Philly, so I had to make sure that I would make it to this one. I didn’t want to wear white, because it seemed too clinical. And I don’t care what anyone says, white is not slimming…even if you squint! Black, seemed so sad and pessimistic. I could go with yellow or gold, but it just seemed way too bright. And then I got to thinking about all the eligible doctors at the hospital and it was downtown, so I settled on black cause it was fetching and slimming. What is that thing people always say, “Black is beautiful?” Yeah, Black IS beautiful, especially if you have your hands on a black Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress cut just so.

Possums, the air permeated with uncertainty, as the three of us (my sister, my mother and I) waited for her name to be called as we sat in the waiting room. It was not only a battle of wits, but a battle of perfume of three Black women! I think my sister won. Nothing can beat cheap cologne, I say! Darn tootin’!

I thought about picking up a magazine, but I couldn’t concentrate. So, being who I am, I looked around the room, and studied people’s faces. My mother and sister being who they are talked to each other in hushed tones…about the people in the room.

“I wonder what he is in here for?”

“I love her hair. I wondered where she bought it?”

Finally, our names were called and my sister and I fell back, so that my mother could walk into the examination room first.

“Watch the door for me.”

“Mom!”

“What? You are going to be the same one calling my phone, asking me if I have any plastic gloves to perm your hair!”

Possums, I have to let you in on a secret. When I was little, my mother would pillage the drawers of the doctors. Nothing serious-just cotton balls, plastic gloves, free medicine samples, lotion, antibacterial lotion, towellettes, rubbing alcohol, brochures on how to quit smoking (for my Dad), facial cream, note pads, lost of sexual drives in seniors (again for my Dad) and pens. My mother reckoned that the samples are going to be given free anyways…she was just hurrying the good old doctor along.

Possums, don’t be acting like it never crossed your mind as you sat in your doctor’s office, either!

Come to think of it, we never took those long wooden stick things that the doctor holds down your tongue with. I guess, we never did like anything long and hard in our mouths…

Well…

My mother’s doctor let her know that she has to get a bone marrow scan for further testing, which means that she is definitely going to have day surgery. She had it many years ago, and it is very painful. I felt it for her. Truly, I did.

When the doctor removed himself from the room, his decision was left clouding the air. So, I decided to clear it.

“What do you think about me getting myself some butt implants?”

“Lucresia!” said my sister.

My mother guffawed.

Hey, sometimes you have to laugh, or else you are going to cry.

I repeat…

DO NOT READ THIS, THIS POST IS NOT FOR YOU!!!!

Inside McDonald’s McCafe

Last night I awoke in a state of dysentery and sweat! And there was no man around! I found myself wrapped up in my bed sheets like a taco from a Chipotle restaurant!!

Suppose I lose her, Possums. I know, I know, but I was always taught to fear the worst and expect it too!

Maybe, I am selfish, but who would I have to talk about?

Who would get me so mad, on purpose, in order to push me to the heights of glory that only a mother would know her child could reach? Who would be there to constantly ask me of that nice “light-skinned boy with pretty eyes” and why didn’t we work out? And although, for the 160^th time I let her know that he was mean and ended up being a bore in bed, she still puts down any other riff raff that she sees on my arm.

Who would be there to get me to second guess my make-up, outfits, and choice of hair? Who would constantly remind me to perm my hair to make it look nice? Who would I chat back to that they should have slept with a white man, if she was so concerned with said nappiness.  SIDE NOTE: Possums, my mother was the only person who agreed that if they had a problem with being called “nappy headed ho’s”, they should have gotten their coarse hair relaxed in the first place!

They say that your parents laid down the cornerstone of who you are as a person.

I remember my first talent show audition. My mother drove me to the school and practically shoved me on stage. Was it her dream or was it her dream for me? I would never know. All I remember is that, although I looked good, I sounded like Minnie Mouse. How did I know that I sounded like Minnie Mouse? Cause a man actually pulled her aside and said, “your daughter sounds like Minnie Mouse!”

Such memories, and now there may be no one to stand beside my pedestal and rock it back and forth a few times, only to push me  off and help me get back up on it again.

Just to feel needed.

Yes, Possums, only my mother.

If ever.

She was going to be the 2^nd person I thanked if I were to ever win a Grammy for Best New Artist.

If ever.

She was going to be the 2^nd person I thanked if I were to ever win a Juno for Best Jazz Artist.

If ever.

She was going to be the 2^nd person I thanked if I were to ever win an Emmy for Best Guest Starring Role…for Mad Men. It would be the episode where they tackle interracial relationships of that era and I would have to lock lips with Mr. John Hamm.
I would give the role my all.

I knew that she would demand top billing, but God was going to be the first.

And no one fights with God.

And so it seems, Possums, there is something wrong with my Massa/Capitane/warden/mama/my mother. The doctor thinks that she may have gotten the Cancer. And with my Aunt who just recently passed away, is this thing airborne????

My sister called me to give me the news. I asked her is she was sure that she got the Cancer or is the doctor just testing to see if she has it? My sister wasn’t sure because my mother naturally couldn’t explain herself over all her crying.

You see Possums, the reason why I have to ask my sister, is that she, my mother, tends to exaggerate a lot.

I was in the middle of a doctor’s appointment when I received a frantic call from my mother that my sister had died and had to be resuscitated back to life. I later found out that she never died and that she simply passed out. No one touched my sister’s chest, not even the paramedics that evening, except maybe her man.

I was on the way to visit my parent’s when I received a call to come home quickly that my brother had slipped into a coma and he wouldn’t wake up.  I arrived to see fire trucks, an ambulance and a cop car surrounding our house. I ran inside only to find that my brother had passed out due to sheer exhaustion from a soccer game. There was no coma, just a fever and chills.

Or there was the time when we were little and my mother couldn’t find my brother in the mall. She feared aloud to all around her, even to the security guards who had to shut down the mall that my brother was probably being molested right now as we speak!

Possums, at the time, I didn’t know what being anally raped was. My mother did though, cause she tore my brother’s ass up when she found him in the arcade playing games.

I’ll have to give her that one, though.

“Now look at that!” said my sister over the phone.

“What, fool?” I asked.

“Is it me, or weren’t you the other day stating something to the fact that you had a red dress waiting to be used for this woman’s funeral?”

“Yes, I may have a red dress, but it is waay way back in the corner of my closet.”

“Humpf!” came from my sister.

“I didn’t even buy shoes to match it, yet,” I tried to explain. “Cha-cha, you know that no matter how I joke I love that woman.”

And then she asked me to follow her and my mother to the specialist’s office next week Thursday.

I ask you to say a little pray for my mother, Possums. It would mean a lot to me.

He seemed happy when he opened it, and I know that he will put it to good use, being who he is. He may be all fisherman and nature warrior, but deep down inside, he is a label whore! He likes to have things written across the front of his sweater. In Bold. He told me it would be a nice match to all the things I bought him a mere three weeks ago, for Christmas.

I didn’t get him the cow’s tongue or pig’s feet. Apparently, when you go to even a gourmet supermarket, they don’t have them spread out on a tray surrounded by lettuce and the such. Anyways, who does that?

“Hi, I would like to have a tray of pig’s feet for a dinner party I am having.”

Ironic, thing though, when I came over to his house, my dad served pig’s feet for dinner.

But, of course!

He is a simple man, my father is. He is a full red-blooded male. He loves to go fishing. He loves to watch his wrestling and his nature shows. He loves to go out and sit on his back porch and go bird watching.

I remember one time I made him a gorgeous (my word) bird house. I was in the 7^th grade and I was taking Shop. I decided why not make full use of my time and make something for my father’s birthday. I cut all the pieces, by myself, and put it all together, by myself. And I even sanded it down all by myself, too. I got an A++ on it.
I remember my father’s eyes when he opened up the package. He had an almost quizzically look on him. I knew he must know what it was, I mean it did look like a bird house! I was never those type of children who made a mug and it didn’t look like a mug. I never deluded myself. I was that grown. So, you must understand that when I say to you my father had a weird look, he had a weird look.

He began to chuckle and then the chuckling turned into full out guffawing! I asked him what was so funny? He asked me if I made the bird house with African birds in mind, because those are the only type of birds that were going to fit into the hole.

Yes, my father IS that country!

I hadn’t realized that the hole was so small. Looking back on it now, you could see that I had a thing for small tight holes. Ha!

But, I digress.

I have even resorted to looking at the local supermarket for gifts. I thought maybe coffee beans, but then I know that he would prefer the ones from the Blue Mountain in Jamaica, and honey, I ain’t gonna track up that far to get that! And then I ventured down the meat section, contemplating between cow’s tongue and pig’s feet, so that he could barbecue. But, alas, it IS winter after all. So, that won’t do. I did find the perfect gift for my mother, which I bought promptly because it is on sale-toilet paper.

Because she is such a shit disturber.

From Lucresia’s hospital bed as dictated to Ava Linton-Byron:

I just received a blow job.

No seriously!

I got a blow by blow play of the season finale of Mad Men. 

Thank Christ for Ava!

They have T.V’s in here, but they ain’t got no AMC. I forgot all about the show, when someone reminded me.

I am having convulsions. At least I have my old Vanity Fair pictorial to keep me going until I get home.

There’s one thing though that I am going through while I am in here. I am not one to desecrate in front of people! Ask my mother.  That is why I would not do well in jail. I heard you have to do everything in front of people while you are in there. I can’t even desecrate if someone (mostly a man) is in close proximity… as in the next room. You see, my “descreets” always tend to make sounds. And not the short putter sounds. More like the sounds that elephants make.

Exactly!

So when I was put into the situation where I have neighbors you can see why I was a little apprehensive. A little scared.

It all started when I found quite a delightful little man to converse with. It happened all accidental-like. We met while the nurse-man was handing out our food which looked a little suspect. All of the sudden, I heard a man laugh. I turned around to see a man laughing, from his bed, lying in a posterior(?) position (anyways, on stomach, ass up).He reminded me of an older jolly Green Giant, without the giant part, just pure jolly. And he wasn’t green.

In less than ten minutes flat, I found out that he was widowed, with two sons and a girl, he was having a cyst removed from his behind and he was Jewish.

In ten minutes flat, I shared that I was Black, a singer, who loved to write, loved the colour black, loved too much, got excited when I got a manicure, love to watch That 70’s Show reruns, loved vintage cars, have a strong weakness for Puerto Rican Black Men with light hazel eyes, love rhinestone jewelery, love reading tarot cards, only read biographies, working my way up to wearing skinny jeans, wear slips all the days long at home, looking for a really good wedge boot in black, crave to find the perfect dog, want an apartment in Paris, would love a house in L.A., would love to go down to Saint Tropez and see if I can run into Brigitte Bardot, wonder how long it was going to take for Anderson Cooper to really come out, love to eat Chinese food for breakfast, lunch and dinner, love to eat my beef patties with cheese, love the fact that Oprah is wearing her real hair, love listening to jazz, love to try to set people up, have a thing for decorating with Buddhas, would love to paint my den a “Tiffany” Blue colour, have Jewish people in my family, always indulge in cheese omelets, have never even watched the movie “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”, have to watch the Godfather I and II ever single time it comes on, was never really feeling the Sex and the City movie, but was afraid too afraid to say it in front a large group of women, never experienced anal sex cause the thought of it gripes me with fear and got into a car accident.

What really perked his ears was the fact that my  ancestors were Jewish. He was surprised that so many years ago that my great great grandmother would break with tradition and go with a black Jamaican man.  I reminded him that once you go black you only go back…if they have a lot of properties and money to spare.

He agreed.

So of course with all the talking I had to finally excuse myself to use the washroom.

I was finished doing a  “number one” when all of the sudden I felt the urge of a “number two” coming. I tried to back it on back up there, but it was like a soldier getting ready for battle-when all the men are lined up they are ready to fight! So I did it. Reaaal slooow. So that it did not make any noise.

Yeah right!

Now I know what Mr. Ford must of heard when he first started his engine. My word!

But, I did it. I finally did a number two with another man in the room! I was so proud of myself!

When I came back into the room, I was quite confident in myself and all my soundings, I mean surroundings. So, you could see why my confidence totally deflated when I saw his sons were with him when I came out of the washroom.

I quietly crept back into bed…with no luck.

Possums, you know what I found out?

All religions have scrubs!

Have you ever been in a “scrubs” situation where there is the cute guy that is offering everything and then the friend with them, thinks that he is all that and then some, but ain’t. And that said friend (who is usually ugly) keeps misinterpreting your signals and always trying to get up all in your business!

Well, I don’t know if it was my soft black “Nick Lacheys” (that is what I call my negligees) or my “very” just-out-of–bed hairstyle, his sons were both trying to make a play for me. They pulled a “double scrubs” on me! Anyways, I found out in the end that they both had nothing up there. And what is the point being with a guy who has nothing at all up there. Remember Possums, the penis may be able to stand on its own, but it needs someone to still drive it!

Or I wasn’t feeling them, which could just be the drugs or the lack there of.

So, I begged off  my new little neighbour and his exposed bottom and sons and went for a walk to the Nurse’s station.

And I made the Doctor up the ante on my medication.

For my pain and suffering.

But, of course!!

Live is good.

Have you ever flashed your lover?

I mean really flashed your lover?

I am talking about when the pressure is on and other people are around and no one notices, but you and him. But, let me tell you about the time that I did this.
I have a friend that had met up with an old ex of mine. Naturally, he asked my friend how I was. And she told him I was amazing.

I am you know.

But, I digress.

He replied that he knew I was amazing, but very high maintenance.

She told me that I may be high maintenance, but I was worth it!

Anyhoo, I remember this fool.  Let’s just say that he had a lot of connections. Political connections. He was way up there. No, he did not run a country, nor  could he clear off very questionable charges on my phone bill (Questionable for the phone company, not questionable for me. I mis-dialed Dubai one day, before I knew about this little jewel of a country, and had a nice delicious conversation with a nice man named Amil. Anyhoo, I was able to point out to the phone company that someone must be placing these calls cause looking at my past bills, does it look like I would know someone from Dubai? And if I did, would I still be living here? Case in point, they took off the charges).

But, I digress, yet again.

So the above fool dragged me to one of his boring politically-charged party. Now, possum, you know I love me some conversations. In certain social circles, they refer to me as a conversationalist. But, this time I was done for! I felt I was saving the people I was speaking to and no one wanted to catch the lifejacket. I was done for and I was bored!

Then I had a delicious thought. It started with a cool stiff breeze. No, not him..yet, but with me. I had moved close to his host’s patio door when I felt a cool breeze a blowing right up my black skirt. Oooh, how delicious! I thought that maybe GOD had heard my pleas of desperation and answered my prayers to get rid of such humdrum in my life. Then the breeze did it again! Now, I know that many of you have experienced a lot of breeze in your life. Both in and out. Clean and not so clean. But, the breeze from GOD gave me a thought. If such a secret thing could give me pleasure, why not share it? Why not go all the way?
They say that if you want to get to a heart of a man it is through his stomach. True, but if you want to get through to a woman, it is through her mind. So, I decided to use this ESP-thing I have been reading about lately.

I placed an image of him in my mind, while I looked at him, which was easy enough and said five little words. Look at me you bastard.  Look at me you bastard. And you know what? He actually turned around!

Well done. Me!

I guess the ESP book worked after all….unless you count the fact that a lady saw me looking at him intently for awhile, touched his shoulder and pointed him my way.

“It was now or never,” I thought to myself.

No one was looking, except him and I slowly pulled up my skirt and showed him what he assumed for a long time-that I despise wearing underwear! I paused and I did it again. The trick, my possum, is to always hold a steady gaze. It is best if you keep your face serious. If you can raise one eyebrow, instead of two, then go for it. This will give you more of a coy look.

He faked a cough and then a stomach ache when his host turned up with a pack of Halls. And grabbed me by the elbow and we both hot-tailed it out of there.

My, my, my the fun that we had later that night. I wished that I could have said that about our relationship. But, as he said I am high-maintenance. And while I believe I was worth it. Possum, he was not!

Two words-Venice Beach.

Venice Beach, where do I begin. I won’t even go into the man on the roller-skates who looks like he needs a bath. I would normally go right up to him and take a picture, but he looked so questionable. I could see the smell in his aura like a black cloud. So, I took a picture from a far.

Walking down the boardwalk was such a nice trot, so nice that it made me hungry. So I had to stop by a hot dog stand. After I put all my condiments, I started walking again, but this time towards the beach. Then it happened. I almost squeezed my hot dog out of its buns. Betixing my eyes, all I saw was skin.

Talk about hot dog! 

There they were. Men, in all shades and flavors.

Black and white buffet for everyone!

Sadly no, Japenese men. They are now the soup du jour (you know how I do). I spent the night watching my fav sexed up movie of all time-“The Lover” (which will be an entire post in itself, honey chile)!!!  All buttered up with their arms glistening under the weight of the sun. And for some strange reason, they all must have worked up a sweat cause possums they all had their shirts off! Every single one of them!

Now I know what hot flashes feels like.

At first I thought it was the sun, but I beg to differ. The men were hawt! Where were all the baggy pants that young men were supposed to be wearing these days? Chile, they must have left them back in Toronto! Why should L.A. be any different? I kept on hoping that their shorts would fall down, but unfortunately no dice! Up and down they went jostling each other to get that big hard massive balls, ahem, I mean ball, in the small little hole.

But, I digress.

No use getting myself all hot and bothered when I am all alone. So know I am just plain bothered.

Sweaty men aside, I love Venice.  I felt so down with its people. And there were soo many people. I love walking along the boardwalk and see what all the many vendors had to offer. Some junk and others not. I was tempted to buy a wooden carved boogie board and had to be talked out of it. I don’t care if I can’t swim and really have no purpose for it. I just thought it would look quaint beside my wooden carved Buddha (the one I tell everyone it is form Mozambique, but is from Pier One) in my living room.

Corporations were out there in full force, giving away free stuff. So, I took a free fan and a couple of cans of Coke Zero.

But, let me tell you… it looked like Coke.

It popped and fizzed like Coke.

But, it sure as hell ain’t taste like Coke!

I don’t give a care if it says, “Real Coke Taste”. It is the same thing that drug dealers say about the coke they sell, but then they go and mix it up with other drugs. Or, who wants marijuana laced with Coke either and then instead of just being plain ass hungry afterwards, you are hungry and messed up! All of the sudden the Twinkies are talking to each other in the middle of your late night cravings at the local convenience store? Not that I know this for sure. It is definitely just a for instance!

So, I promptly threw the stuff away! So to get the taste out of my mouth, I did try to find a Pink Berry store, but couldn’t find it nowhere, so I walked back to the car…of course, with a small detour past the men playing with their balls.

And my possums, I leave you with this thought for the day-the art of war may be learned in a quick pick-up game of basketball, but the art of men is the real true battle.

Up keep, upkeep and upkeep

Be Careful in This Day And Age-Not only is it wise to use a condom (you should shlack the whole thing) but, you should make sure that everything is as discreet as can be, especially if he is in a high profile job. You don’t want anything to come back and haunt you, so make sure that if you have to, have a paper trail of some sort (for your memoirs or proof that he initiated the whole thing) and make sure to have a security box at a bank and put the key in a safe place. I would not leave the key with anyone cause relatives are the first ones to sell you out. And I wouldn’t tell your parents too much, cause if the media does seek them out, their denial over what is said about you would be more convincing.  Also, any diaries should be kept in the security box as well.

Education is everything-Brush up on all your reading-Playboy, Hustler, sex books, Tolstoy, Austen and Dickens. I am not asking you to read published speeches of Roosevelt, but you may as well know now that experimentation is key. The more you know the better it will be for you. You have to keep Mr. Self-Involved interested. Read daily newspapers and comb the internet for interesting tidbits. You will find that he may just want to come in and talk about his life and he may ask you for advice. And if he gives you any stock tips, don’t forget to write them down. We may be bridging something illegal here, but at least when you are old and grey you can hire a household full of nurses to take care of you around the clock instead of ending up in a crowded nursing home talking about your sugar daddy to a plant.

Do Not Live In Denial-You know that you will never be the wife and why would you want to? If he cheated on her with you the same can happen to you, Stupida!If you find yourself getting too emotionally involved then it is time to move on. I think that it is probably best if you see someone on the side, so that your sugar daddy relationship will seem less important to you. By now you should have your tuition saved up and hopefullya car or condo paid off.

It is all about dividends.

You have to cash them out some time.