in real life

Yes, we are developing a website for this man:

"I am blessed to practice law, yet I am also a convicted felon (probably don't want to put that on website)."

"I have been told far too many times, by other african americans, that they did not know that there were black attorneys in my area. Clearly, this brown skin can be used to make $$."

mamma's boy

It's morning and I'm an hour late to work, but because of the rain that's been going on for days, I just. don't. care. (How can the world expect me to to anything but snuggle on the couch in sweatpants on days like this?)
NPR is too political this morning. Try as I might, I just can't get into politics. It irritated me how even during the coverage of Bin Laden's death, there was such a focus on how it improved Obama's ratings and how the Democrats are now viewed...blah blah blah. Sorry politicals, I just can't hack it.
I skimmed through the radio stations, stopping on a silly song from my youth and left it there. Somewhere in the mid-90s. Again, because of the rain, my mind wandered away, occasionally focusing on the road enough to avoid the lakes spreading across the asphalt. After several minutes, I finally realize that I've been listening to country pop and I go to skim on to the next radio station when...blast. I hear the lyrics. Yeah, it's one of those country pop songs that you've possibly heard once before but never paid attention to. Don't pay attention. Because it just might be the case that you hear your life sung on the radio in some silly twang and you think, "What the? Who is watching me? How did they know that detail? Only I know that. And oh my heck...they even know the month?!" It's unsettling to say the least and maybe it's the rain again, but I feel a little paranoid. If my life is being used for some sad tale of woe, I'd at least like to cash in on some of the royalties. And have it redone by Elizabeth & The Catapult or something. (They have kind of weird videos...Just got to say that.)

(I am this boy today.)

thirty

(I found this in my drafts today and laughed because an hour ago me and said boy shook hands and agreed to forget and forgive this little incident.)

He told me that sometimes I looked like I was thirty.

Mentally, he got punched in the face.

I don't get offended that often anymore. It takes a lot. Lucky for his face, I was over this small offense after the following exchange:

ME: As someone who is honest and fashion-trustworthy, do you think that I dress like I'm thirty?

N*: If so, then a lot of people our age dress like they're thirty...



Vindicated.  ...Though, her answer still kind of says I dress like I'm thirty.

Fine. It's true.
I want to be a librarian, okay??

no title

I wish I could tell my discovery in a story, where the lines would spell out my moral in some beautiful, eye-opening and thoughtful way. But it's one of those things that we just each have to learn ourselves, a realization that we find our own faith in. And that is that imperfection is beautiful.

two weeks

There is no doubt about it.

He's a Wilson.