Family of Supermoggels...

So, the odda night the entire fambily dress we’selves in we finery, and headed on down to the photo studio, to take pictures . My four brothers and sisters, my Mom and Dad, the one grandchild, and our significant others. We went all out. We mixed and matched the moggeling: Chillen only; chillen and parents; parents and grandchild; sisters; brothers; father and sons; father an' daughters…you get the point…

My parents have been separated for over 10 years, divorced for three, and they have never gotten along better. They actually posed for pictures together, as if all was well and hunky-dory. We had a great laugh abut this. My Mudda is gettin’ sexier in she ol' age, and Daddy is jus’ mellowing out. Now that I am older, I can see them for who and what they really are, with a view that is no longer tempered by childhood ideals and prejudices, nor fears of 'taking sides’. I can clearly see their flaws and weaknesses whilst appreciating them for their individuality and the sacrifices that they have made when raising us chillen. My mother is now my friend. She is annoying, aggravating and spoilt, but as I am now an adult and a mother to boot, I can call her on her behaviour. My Dad...well, our relationship is a bit more complex, but we have learned how to deal with each other. I can now dole out hugs and kisses to my Dad, and appreciate the fact that he is a very strong man, with many weaknesses.

Anyway, after we did tek the pics, the whole tribe a we swarmed on a nearby restaurant, where we mixed and mingled some more. My parents commenced with the telling of old childhood tales about us chillen, that we never tired of hearing. We drank wine and champagne, and competed for volume. We were loud and obnoxious, as this was the first time in a long time that we had all gathered, without someone being missing. It was also a tad poignant, as my eldest brother will be moving to Canada in January, so this was also our farewell party for him. Sigh. I am gonna miss him a lot. I am used to having my siblings around me all of the time, and other than college and vacations, we have never been apart like this before. Now, he gone and start a new trend! He will not even be on another Island where I can pop over for a weekend, but all the flicking way in Canada. Cho! Anyway, to put a positive spin on this, I am already planning mine and Sonny’s ski vacation next year, and I know that Caribana will not be missed by the I and I!!!

All and sundry, please have a happy and SAFE New Year! Hold your loved ones close, and treasure them always. My soda drinking days will officially end on January 1st 2007, so in the interim, I am now drinking an ice cold glass of Pepsi, my fifth for the morning. Hear my cyber belch.

On that note, I shall now exit.

'Ta.

'Fro.

Snot Filled Christmas

Merry stinking Christmas to me. Yippee. Here I sit on Boxing Day, stinky and yucky, sniffling, sneezing and with a nasty raucous cough that rolls out of me like a freight train and leaves a hallow and painful feeling in my chest . I have not showered or brushed my teeth all day, as movement in any form hurts. That, and I jus’ doh feel like it. I ain’t shame.

My Mother’s intricately prepared Christmas dinner was a loss to me, as the gourmet scents and samplings could not penetrate my stuffed up, booger ridden nose, and the dinner that was piled on my plate was tapered with menthol flavoured Halls. I only ate half a round of food, and could not even go back for seconds and thirds. I watched my family of vultures down my Moet champagne with rabid eagerness, and finish off my three bottles, supposedly in my honour, acting on the premise that I was ‘ill’ and could not drink alcohol with my medication. Cho. I missed the rounds of dominos, cards, scrabble and ludo, as sleep was my enemy. My numerous complaints about the noise from the family’s revelry went unheard, as they were obviously unsympathetic for my plight. Hmprh! They nevah had to slam the blasted dominos so hard !

Just know that I am vex and bitter . Not even my new Subwoofering entertainment thingy from Santa DV could appease my disgruntled status, cuz I jus’ vex and bitter (I reiterate). The noise from the woofering hurt my head and various other body parts. I also missed a great party last night, cuz I had to stay at home in my sick and pathetic state, whereas going out and spreading my germs would have made me feel somewhat better.

Oh, the pain. My head. My chest.

On that note, I shall now exit with a raucous snot ridden cough and sneeze .

Watch out for my cyber germs.

‘Ta.

‘Fro.

Pinky Spirit-Fingers...Yippee!!!

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A Christmas Letter To Santa...

Dear Santa,

I know you probably wondering why I writing yuh one day after Christmas
but after opening mi present dem yestiday, I just had was to write yuh.
Santa, mi was a very good girl all year round. Mi listen to mi madda
when she talk to mi and mi help out wid di chores dem round de house. Mi
even help di neighba pickney dem do fi dem chores tuh. One day mi all
help out di old crasses Mr. George, the blind an cripple one, crass the
road when di odda children dem just ah watch him an dida tek gamble pon
what kind of cyar did ah go lick him dung. Santa, dem just lef him deh
fi dead, but mi help him out.

Santa mi studied real hard in school this year, so hard till mi all come
fuss inna di class. Mi mek it mi duty to be nice and not naughty Santa.
Mi was so good. Ah real good girl Santa. Santa when mi write mi
Christmas list to yuh dis year, mi ask yuh fi a Barbie princess doll, ah
Barbie kitchen, ah Dora the Explorer computer game, ah cyabbage patch
doll and ah monopoly game.

So Santa, how the blood claat after reading mi list yuh leave under di
Christmas tree ah phukking light up yo-yo, one plastic tea-cup set and
ah phukking no name dolly dat look like she have polio and ah dead from
AIDS?

Santa is either yuh blind or yuh cyah blood claat read!!! Every year mi
say mi woulda stop believing in yuh and like ah dyam fool mi always give
yuh ah next chance, but not ah phukking-gain, yuh hear mi Santa? Not a
bloodclaat. Yuh hear whe mi sah Santa? Yuh phukking fat red rass yuh.

Yuh see all nex year, yuh betta dont try squeeze yuh big fat batty thru
mi louvres dem, because Santa mi swear mi going phukk yuh up. It going
to be mi, yuh and dis sharp blood claat knife, so mi can jukk yuh inna
yuh belly.

Yuh hear mi sah? Mi ah go stab up yuh Bloodcaat.

Imagine, yuh give that likkle cock eye gyal Sally from crass di road
everything that she ax fah. So much so dat she all nuh have nuh room fi
walk round she house.

Yuh see all nex year Santa, mi will be back to mi good old self. Dat's
right Santa. Mi naar go giv mi madda nuh trouble or cause nuh havoc
roun'ere . And Santa, a goin wait pon you patiently.... mi goin wait pon
yuh paitently with ah big blood claat rock stone fi yuh backside.

And den when yuh and dem blasted reindeer dat favour some dyam
oversize goat wid tree branch ah grow otta dem head top, com ho-ho hoing

down pon I old rusty zinc nex Christmas..... BOOP!!!!! Is one rass lick inna yuh
blood claat head.

Santa mi goin' done yuh blood claat, Memba dat yuh hear Santa. Try Memba
dat!!

Love

Likkle Keisha

New Year Sacrifice

So, December has been a trying and busy month for me, as I have donned my Social Butterfly guise, and have taken to the town more often than not for the completion of those items that are on my very busy social calendar.

I love the month of December. I can feel it looming when November brings on the Christmas Breeze that will cause all and sundry to don the so called winter garb of the Islands. For me, the month of December is all about closure, and the time to remember and cherish all that is important to me - family and friends. Mistakes and accomplishments can either be eroded or applauded in the month of December. January is coming, and with it the opportunity for renewal. We can either learn from our mistakes, or we can make them again and continue vicious cycles of regret.

Last year, I had undertaken to start each succeeding year of my life by making some form of personal sacrifice, which would have no particular form of content or context. I needed this to test my limits, restraint, willpower, and just to create some excitement from the monotony of my life. For January 2006, I gave up red meat. Now lemme tell ya, this was not easy. I still yearn for a nice and juicy home cooked hamburger , or a piping hot plate of beef lasagna…but I have managed to stay the course. My red meat hiatus should be easier or the next few years, as I have now committed to this lifestyle change.

My eldest sister was diagnosed and has suffered from Tinnitus for the past ten years. She has also experienced gradual hearing loss in both of her ears, to the tune of 21% loss in her left ear and 22% in her right. She has learned to live and adjust to the hearing loss, but her symptoms of Tinnitus results in a constant buzzing or vibration in her ears, which is akin to the constant roaring of a lawnmower or generator, the sound of which can increase or decrease, depending on certain factors. Caffeine, stress, loud noises and certain foods will increase the buzzing, and she will often take to her bed with migraine headaches due to the noise, and her inability to stop it.

She has had to give up a lot of the things that she loves while adjusting to the on set of tinnitus and her hearing loss, one of which is Soda. Yes, people try to sell that caffeine free junk, but it just ain’t the same. My Big Sis is not a coffee drinker, or a chocolate eater, but she did treasure a nice cold Pepsi with a Patty first thing in the morning on the way to work. Sigh. There just ain't nuttin else like it. The burning feeling of the caffeine when you inhale a huge gulp from that red and blue can with the ice cold condensation running down the sides, the consumption of which will result in a resounding belch that can shake the rafters of a house. Sigh.

Let it now be known to all and sundry, that for the new year January 2007 (Drum roll here), as a show of solidarity for my wonderful, awesome and magnificent Big Sis, I will no longer be drinking Sodas. Can you hear the mournful bagpipes and depressed violins wailing and weeping the loss through the Cyber Universe? This is a body that used to guzzle at least 2 six packs of Pepsi per day, and there is nothing better that an Appleton and Coke at a Carnival fete. I will now have to find a suitable replacement. All thee holding stock in Pepsi Cola, sell you shares before January 1st, 2007. I have spoken.

I love my Big Sis, and though I cannot ease her burden, I can try something to let her know that I support her in all that she does. I now goin’ send her a text and call her a Doofus . She will know what I mean.

On that sappy note, I shall now exit.

'Ta.

Children, Sporting Events and Sportsmanship...

So, I went to watch DV’s recreational basketball team play the other day, and as with many of the sporting events on the Island, I was rather perplexed and disgusted by the behaviour of some of the players and spectators. It caused me to step back to ponder about the state of that thing called sportsmanship, and whether the concept has been eroded from that thing called sports. Does the concept exist anymore? Is the concept akin to that thing we call ‘manners’ and ‘humility’? Does shaking hands at the start of a game mean anything anymore? When can we separate genuine celebration from bragging and posturing at the expense of the opponent?

It seems that on watching professional and recreational athletes, the concept of sportsmanship has become a myth as the behaviour of the fans, athletes and parents have deteriorated to an incomprehensible level. Potential sporting events must be thoroughly screened before I would even consider taking my child, and further, God forbid I should never have a babysitter when I go out to play, because I do not trust the athletes or spectators to comport themselves in a manner befitting the presence of a child. Profanity, fights and general inappropriate behaviour are abundant, and it seems as if raunchy behaviour is no longer adjusted when children are present. Whatever happened to the flicking village raising the child? When I am running the bases, is it that I must speed back to the dug out for fear of what might be said to further warp the mind of my child or random children? I can remember asking spectators at an event to refrain from using profanities in the presence of my child. This seemed to be a shocking and unnatural request, and at one point, I was belligerently advised that maybe I should have left my child home. Needless to say, in practicing what I preached, I did not cuss them in front of my pickney, but waited for a more suitable occasion.

I can vividly remember the football brawl which erupted during the finals of the five a side football tournament. Children of all ages were present, playing vdeo games and romping throughout the venue, when the brawl eventually spilled over onto the carpeted area. Spouses and significant others eventually joined the fracas, and it was disgraceful to note that not all parents grabbed their child / children and exited the venue. Fighting and cussing were their priorities at the time.

On watching the afrementioned recreational basketball teams compete, had parents taken their children out to watch, they would have been privy to disrespectful behaviour to officials; racist comments; and general profanity to a level that was downright embarrassing. It seems as if sporting events no longer cater for young and impressionable fans, nor do a lot of adults stand up and take notice, in order to ensure that said sporting events are conducted in a manner suitable for children.

Lawd’amercy. Have we gone mad? I could go on and on with this, but the I and I too tiyad. You get the point.

On that note, I shall now exit.

Ta.