I just wanted to take a moment to thank all of you so much! I have been deeply touched by your care and concern over these last few weeks. I am fighting through and have no doubt I'll be back on my feet in soon.
In the meantime, enjoy your holiday shopping with Preppy Pink Princess sponsor:
I apologize to all of you...I KNOW many of you have been expecting my take on soooo many of the events of late, but I am in Marathon Migraine Hell and it has kept me away from writing and the light of the computer. That said, I have taken enough meds to try to catch a bit and comment on a few of the things for which you have been asking.
I blame the media! Ummmm...sure. Once upon a time, there was a beautiful Princess, living in a beautiful, quiet, suburb of Philly...still too young and sheltered to truly understand the danger and pain and negative in the world. I will be leaving the dates out of this post...because...frankly, they make me feel old, but if you must know, google. We begin with this post so that you have a bit of background for my next.
A group...a black Libertarian group/cult...calling themselves "MOVE," and all adopting the surname "Africa" formed in 1972 in Philadelphia. They help more than a few protests and refused to kill vermin...in fact drawing them to their property with their giant, inner city compost pile...and enraging their neighbors. This was not going unnoticed by the Philadelphia PD.
In 19**, they had built themselves an inner-city compound and despite a court order, a year long stand off, the fatal shooting of a police officer and 12 other police and firefighters, not to mention 3 bystanders...and yes, 3 "MOVE" members...being injured in the crossfire...though 9 "MOVE" members were convicted for killing the police officer...they still refused to "MOVE."
Am I the only person to find irony in the face that they called themselves "MOVE" and yet refused to, well, move...
In 19**, they finally moved to a row home on Osage Ave. As I recall, during that time, they bought neighboring row housing and tunneled between them. The compost piles continued and they were cited for health hazards because of them. Various charges and arrests had continued to accumulate against many of the "MOVE" (we swear we're not a cult, we are a black libertarian group)...and oh, by the way...whilst I understand the goals of current, true, Libertarians, and I do support some of their ideals...I am one who tends to believe too much freedom potentially leads to chaos, sorry Daddy...and all those of you who read my blog frequently are likely shocked it took me this long to even marginally digress, sorry to disappoint...but I have a lot to share with you and having been far more sick than usual, I want to take advantage of the time I'm well enough to write...what self-respecting Libertarian chooses West Philadelphia for their compound...and yes, every time I hear/write/read/say "West Philadelphia," the voices in my head IMMEDIATELY start suburban, private school, preppy white girl rapping the intro to "The Fresh Prince of Bel Air," so for all those who just did, you're not alone...at any rate, James Joyce just tapped me on the proverbial shoulder and told me to get back to the story...where was I? Yes, yes...Joe and Mary and Bob, etc, Africa continued to accumulate arrests for charges ranging including contempt of court, parole violations, terroristic threats, and...hello...it's a cult...building an illegal cache weapons. As you can imagine, tensions continued to mount.
Finally, in 19**, the city, and Mayor Wilson Goode, had had enough! When police arrived to serve an eviction notice at "MOVE"s Osage Avenue compound, it lead to yet another stand-off. There was tear gas, water cannons, the "MOVE" members began firing, again, at police and fire fighters...the escalation was intense. It was the first time I can ever recall seeing such a thing...it was all live, unfolding right there on television...I, along with everyone else for a minimum of a 100 miles at least, was riveted and terrified. It went on for what seemed like forever. Then the news kept reporting that then Mayor Wilson Goode was considering something drastic...this had been going for years and action had to be taken. He warned them repeatedly what was going to happen, though I they didn't believe him...frankly, when it was announced on tv... I don't think anyone did.
"Mommy? Daddy? What's Napalm?"
Though some say it was a combination of C4 and Tovex...some say it was Napalm. Late on the night of May 13th, by helicopter, the compound was bombed. Romona Africa and a child called Birdie Africa were the only survivors.
There has always been a bit of an urban legend that the song The Roof is on Fire was about the "MOVE" incident. Far be it from me to point out that the song came out shortly before the Osage Avenue fire.
Though the city denounced Mayor Goode's actions, no criminal charges were ever filed against anyone involved on the side of the City of Philadelphia.
Why, you may ask yourself, is this where I am choosing to start when there are a few issues on which many of you have requested I blog recently...it will become very clear to you in my next post, titled, "The British are Coming!"
Once I have addressed the topical issues you've been requesting, I'll try to provide you all with a better excuse for my absence, introduce some truly fab sponsors, get to some fantastic giveaways, and oh, my friends, the fun we will have discussing decorating, shopping, dressing and cooking for the holidays!!! My honest love, thanks, and appreciation to all of you for your understanding!!!
So Iwas thinking the other day...I think, by now, we can all agree this is a bad idea...but I swear it was an accident...I received, yet another, of those "Let's see who will forward this," "What's your favorite," "What did you have for breakfast," ridiculous emails. Little aside...I NEVER forward them!!! It doesn't mean that I don't LOVE the friends that send the to me...it means...well...when I got to thinking...it means a few things. It definitely means introspection is not my thing. Trust me...I'm as shocked as you are!
Maybe it means I don't feel like copying and typing all that stuff because...I just don't feel like it. It's entirely possible it's a migraine or an RA flare in my hands creating this particular case of the "I don't wannas," maybe I'm in the car or at the gym...or really, I just don't feel like it.
But then I realized...when I was doing that thinking thing...that sometimes, it's none of anyone's damn business!
Why do randoms, to whom the email will ultimately be forwarded, need to know what I had for breakfast? Why do they need to know what I'm reading? Why do they need to know...or all of Facebook in my status, for that matter...what color bra I'm wearing....and why do they care? I assure you, and this applies to even my very best friends, tho of this they are already aware, the ONLY reason I would give a damn about the color of ANYONE'S bra, is that they have visible bra straps...Ewwwww!!! Outside of my head, I can't imagine my likes and dislikes are THAT life-changing to anyone.
Worse are those that ask for favorites. That's what really caused all of this "thinking" silliness. I realized I simply don't have answers to those questions. They all ask:
What's your favorite color? Well, Pink...but I often like to answer Plaid or Argyle...you've got to mix things up...keep people guessing... But that's an easy one.
What's your favorite food? Ummmm...I kind of don't know. Do I say chocolate...I do LOVE chocolate. Or french fries...but not all french fries because some are soggy or have blechy coatings or seasonings (Can we say Old Bay?!?). Is a sauce a food? I mean, do alfredo and bernaise stand alone...or must I choose specifically that which they make the most delish? What about bacon? Grams used to put more and more bacon on anything people didn't like because everyone loves bacon. This particular phenomenon gave birth to the transformation of the previously merely disliked sweet potato to the "God Damn Sweet Potato"...and on the subject of potatoes...yes, potatoes, I said french fries earlier and sweet potatoes now so I'm going there...my blog...you know the rules...double baked...love...mashed...adore...scalloped...well...how can it be that in high school I framed a magazine ad for the potato (because I HATE vegetables) that was a picture of a potato with green paint being poured on it that said something along the lines of "What must we do for you to consider us a vegetable, paint ourselves green" that I find scalloped potatoes...oh dear...I have no words. Perhaps, yet again, a good time to switch to a fairytale. Once upon a time, there was a beautiful Princess who sent to a sleepover in another Kingdom. I was friends with the Princess at whose home I was sleeping...but her mother, the evil Queen...well...she was the type who wouldn't let yet leave the table without cleaning your plate. The Princess and the evil Queen didn't see eye to eye on this particular issue for a number of reasons. The Princess is a VERY picky eater and doesn't enjoy anything shy of being catered to. The Princess had been taught well, by the Queen in her Kingdom, that a proper Princess ALWAYS leaves a bit on her plate. A Princess owes it to her hostess to make any dietary needs known...generally this task is preformed by minions, but the Queen must've given them the day off. Poor timing...really, REALLY, poor timing! A proper Princess doesn't criticize what she is served, but does push the food around on her plate a bit, so as to be gracious give the appearance of eating and not insult one's host. When the evil Queen asked the beautiful Princess if she liked scalloped potatoes PRIOR to cooking, the Princess firmly, tho politely, conveyed, in no uncertain terms, that scalloped potatoes...tho the Princess diplomatically kept to her self that this extends to any potatoes from a box...that scalloped potatoes were forbidden in her kingdom. The evil Queen decided to test the Princess' resolve. Ohhhhh, evil Queen, the Princess may have been a mere tot at the time, but she is the Princess, nonetheless. I should mention, no judgment...you know me, I don't judge... that the evil Queen is BAD cook. A poison apple would be step up! There was, before my time, "the Lasagna Incident," in which, and the details are hazy because pretty much everyone involved ended up in the hospital, that, as I understand it, involved jarred sauce, possibly ketchup, and Velveeta! Clearly the evil queen missed the memo, because as we sit down to dinner, the Princess' plate was piled high with scalloped potatoes made from a box. I ate the rest of what passed for food in that particular Kingdom, yet the potatoes continued to stare back at me. And the evil Queen decided, that the ideal way to teach the Princess a lesson (good luck with that), was to make her sit there until they were gone. After quite some time...enough so that what had once made a vain attempt at looking like a potato...resembled in both appearance and smell...a cold, congealed mess of sweetbreads than anything I wanted to ever see baked, fried, or mashed again! Still, the evil Queen thought surely her will was stronger than our heroine, our Princess. The evil Queen decided to compromise and force just 3 bites down the Princess' throat. It would appear that the evil Queen also missed the "No Means No" memo. At this, the Princess decided to give the evil Queen just EXACTLY what she wanted. Princess chocked down her first bite and while turning unpleasant shades of green, fortunately, our fair Princess looks fab in green, and her gorge began to rise. The evil Queen insisted on bite number 2. Princess warned her that bite 1 was not going well. The evil Queen, refused to listen. Princess took bite number 2 and gagged the entire time...it was a Royal struggle!!! Still, the evil Queen insisted on one last bite. When bite number 3 hit the gag reflex from bite number 2...things got VERY undignified!!! The henpecked King quickly swooped me up and took me straight to the bath to clean me up...he managed to hide is laughter from the evil queen until we were safely in the bathroom with the door shut. The evil Queen was STILL cleaning up after the Princess was all cleaned up and ready for bed. She had also called the King and Queen of the Princess' Kingdom...both of whom had been subjected to "The Lasagna Incident," and laughed all night and the following morning driving out to retrieve the Princess.
So far, we haven't established my favourite anything...ahhh...but tomorrow is another day...and we shall carry on, my friends!