Dear readers: What have we learned this week?
We learned that it’s totally common to freak out over your friend requests. In my post on my phobia of requesting friends, I admitted that I seldom request friendships. I’m insecure and afraid of rejection. And in 2009, I’m getting over it! So I vowed to send out friend requests that very day. I started with Harve Pierre, the dude from BadBoy who was “suggested” to me. And so, what happened?
And I was confirmed! Yay!
I noticed that Harve has like, 5,000 friends. So I take his acceptance with a grain of salt.
I sent a request to Karen Good, the writer who wrote the Vibe Brandy cover that I loved.
And I was confirmed! Yay!
Karen sent me a cute email, letting me know she confirmed me BEFORE she ran across my blog post about being afraid to friend request her. I believe her. I think.
And finally, I sent a FriendRequest to Farai Chideya, former host of News and Notes on NPR. Let’s see…
Well. It’s only been a week. She could have been really busy. Might not have even seen my Request yet. Right? Or maybe, like me, she’s marinating on it for a minute. At the moment, I have eight friend requests. For some reason, I haven’t placed them in their proper categories yet. I’m starting to waffle on my Confirm Them All Strategy. Wondering if I should be more selective. But the thought of Not Confirming someone…well, I don’t know if I can do it! We’ll see.
This week, I also admitted that I hate my name. At least my name when I’m at home. Not my blogger-writer-author name, which I love. I hate my hypehnated married name. And I got lots of good feedback from folks who are going through the same thing. I just asked TheHusband two seconds ago: “Would you care if I changed my last name back to King?”
He said, “Yes. I would.”
That’s that. Moving on.
Later this week, I admitted that I, like MANY of you, am I thief. For a month, I stole internet office from my neighbor at work. And I felt bad for it. (Still do). My office manager shut me down and I had to go out and get a USB-powered Internet connection. Which I hate. There were lots of suggestions here for options from my Dear Readers and I appreciate that.
My favorite post of the week was my post on 10 questions about the Obamas. Y’know, the random things that we’re not sure it’s safe to say in mixed company. Well, it’s safe now ’cause I just broke fool and asked the questions we dare not ask. (Oh. and my eagle-eyed Dear Reader Katura pointed out that I only had nine questions on my list, not 10. Ooops).
Interestingly, in the comments section, it was the issue of Malia and Sasha’s hair that got the most feedback. Is their hair permed? It seems so. Does it matter? Well. In a word, yes.
It still boggles my mind that there are Black folks in the White House. Not in the large ways. It already seems normal for me to see Obama at his desk, signing paperwork.
It’s the small things that make me wonder. The hair grease, the soul food, the pinochle, the grandma. So much of MY world and MY life will be in the White House? Feel me?
Well. I ran a contest to see which reader could help me encapsulate my feelings on the whole thing, while giving me their vibe as well. The prize for the contest?!
The cheesy but oh-so-awesome Obama commemorative plate. (It’s 22K gold plated!)
I loved Hanif’s thoughts on the Obamas’ sex life…
If they are having sex is not the question, but How? Did she give him that good ole presidential special?
Hilarious. Although, maybe too much of a visual, even for me. But a Honorable Mention to you sir.
But the Commenter Of The Week Award™ goes to a woman who had me pumping my fist in the air and saying, ‘yeah! that’s right! what she said!”
but the question i’ve pondered the most is the question of fried chicken. there has probably never been a drop of kool-aid in obama home but what kind of idiot, especially one repping AMERICA, doesn’t have fried chicken? for fuck’s sake, that’s one of our country’s greatest contributions to global cuisine. they’re just going to have to pick the occasion carefully (some 4th of july picnic or something) and serve it a really precious “nouveau americana” context with saffron dusted something or other.
So the winner of the commemorative plate is Alexandra Marshall. Alex, dahling, email me your snail-mail address. And make sure you send me a picture of you and the plate!! I need to start a photo gallery of my DearReaders and their prizes. (Tremaya and Kim O, this go for the both of you too)
My last post this week is still a sore point for me. Honestly, I really don’t want to talk about it right now. It was my update on the saga of the Biggie Belt. My apologies, I can’t revisit it right now. I’m too upset. It seems as though the Biggie belt may have been lost forever. I haven’t given up hope yet. Still need to talk to Kim O, Gotti and J. Pablo. I’m not letting it go. Yet. But I don’t have a good feeling about it.
A part of me feels like I’m making too big of a deal about it. I called J. Pablo like three times and left messages. I know he’s probably like, why is this chick stalking me about this damn belt? It’s so silly. Kind of. But then, it’s not. Or is it? I don’t know.
I do appreciate so much that so many people reached out on that thread. From Chris Wilder, who wrote the first feature on Biggie in The Source to almost ALL the Keepers of The Belt. Chris Wilder commented that the thread made him appreciate those who came to The Source after him. I can’t agree more. Tracing the history of the belt has been like doing a reverse family tree. I feel a connection to all who moved into the condo after I left. And the belt is (was?!) a shared connector.
I sincerely hope it’s found.
Have a great weekend. I’ll see you all bright and early Monday morning.