I usually don’t like second-person narration, but the memoir also doubles as a letter to his mother, almost a love letter even. Even though she was abusive, he loved and loves her still and wishes to tell her all he experienced and went through growing up as a young Black man in America. Southern America. “I looked like a big, dark, black man since I was an eleven-year-old boy.” As a teen and a passenger in his mother’s car, a police officer pulled her over but asked for his ID, assuming he was an adult. Thank goodness his mother had the wherewithal to know her rights and to inform the cops that the passenger was not only her son, but a minor.
Jasmine Guillory’s The Wedding Date is such a cute romantic novel. Stupid me didn’t realize that it’s actually the first book in the series. Months ago, if not a year ago, I read The Proposal first, my logic being that there must first be a wedding proposal to not only set a wedding date, but need a wedding date, as in a plus one. Nope. If you’re reading this, and also interested in reading the series, The Wedding Date is first. Much to my relief, they don’t have to be read in order. They work as standalone novels you won’t miss anything.
Alexis Monroe and Andrew Nichols’ meet-cute happens when they’re both trapped in a hotel elevator. She’s en route to meet her attorney-sister who’s staying at the Oakland hotel for business, and he’s in town for a wedding.
It’s no wonder Harris’s soul looks back. Through a romance with Sam, a colleague more than ten years her senior, she ran in the same circles as Sam’s best friend James (Jimmy) Baldwin, Maya Angelou, and Toni Morrison.
Once this pandemic hit, all that fiscally responsible shit went out the window. I’m sequestering alone. I’m anxious. I’m sad. I’m scared. I’m lonely. Cooking and eating comfort me.
I tiptoed into the podcast-listening world. I went from Soundcloud to Google Music to a now-defunct app that let you earn points per minute listened and now I’ve landed at Spotify. It’s not one of the platforms that let’s your rate or leave reviews, like iTunes or Stitcher, but I like it.
Online dating. The assumption that anyone who goes through the trouble of signing up, creating a profile, uploading pictures, and in some cases, paying a fee, said person is interested in making connections. With another person. As in, a fellow human being. And since none of us are telepathic, we need to communicate.
Every week or every other week, my landlord would text me that I received another package. I let it sit out in the hallway for a week or so to de-Corona before I brought it in unbox. Reactions varied from pleasantly surprised to WTF? Most of the time, I know exactly where and why I want to log on and shop, however, I’ve fallen victim to pesky social media sponsored ads. In one case, it was a podcast sponsored ad. A list of sponsored ads to which I’ve succumbed during this pandemic:
Categories: Fabulousness, Goodreads, Listicle, Random Thoughts, Try New Things • Tags: Baking, clothes, Lists, Masks, Online Shopping, Pandemic, Pandemic Baking, Pandemic Shopping, Retail Therapy, Shopping, Skincare
There should be a warning before reading profiles. Warning: scrolling through these profiles may induce eye-rolling and headshaking. There should also be a warning to manage expectations when going through photo galleries.
I’m ready to get back into the dating game. I purposely called it a game because that’s exactly what it feels like. I’ve been on and off dating apps since my twenties. These men claim they want relationships, but their behavior says otherwise. I don’t want to go back to an app, but there’s no other way for me to put myself out there. Even when we were allowed to roam about freely, I had to resort to apps. I was not meeting The One at the grocery store, subway, bookstore, movies, concerts, book signings, plays, comedy shows, Brooklyn Bridge, doctor/dentist office, work, Greyhound, Amtrak, Lyft share, JFK airport or other places.