I haven’t forgotten…

…so I’ll make this my gift to Mister Edmundo Rocha.

These are the rules:

1) Link to the person that tagged you, and post the rules on your blog.
2) Share 7 facts about yourself.
3) Tag 7 random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.
4) Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog

Awww, snap. Seven, huh?

1) When I was around 7 or so, my friend Erica and I were in a shopping center. My mother was in a different aisle picking up groceries. Erica and I were in the breads/baked goods section looking for a small snack to take home, and we saw an open box of donuts. And we looked at each other. Oh No It’s Open What Do We Do?

Well, naturally we couldn’t waste them. They were powdered. That’s double the amount of sugar being wasted than if they were cake donuts. So we started eating.

Erica went first because I was chicken and thought it was a trap. Then I ate one. Then we began shoveling them into our mouths and we were covered in powdered sugar until the store manager came over and grabbed both our arms. He brought us to my mom. We were in trouble for some reason. Huh.

(I still think if they didn’t want us to eat them they wouldn’t have left them open but APPARENTLY SOME GREEDY CAPITALISTS DISAGREE.)

I had to pay for our yummy snack with my allowance. Not pleased. (Want my money back.)

2) I own a working Nintendo game console and a working Sega Genesis console. However, since my family did not have much money, I only own one or two games for each console. I would sell them but they’re not in the best condition. And besides, they’re mine.

3) After seeing Aladdin (not to mention memorizing it) and Jumanji I had a short-lived crush on Robin Williams. Said crush ended when I learned how hairy he was. *shudder*

4) My most humiliating moment came when I was in middle school. I was in a dance troupe made up of 6th and 7th graders, and we had to perform in an assembly for the graduating 8th graders. We performed our first dances in black leotards and black tights. I was already one of the biggest girls on the dance troupe. And in this particular dance we had to stand on chairs at one point and balance. We hadn’t practiced this dance in the venue we were performing in, and someone thrust a chair at me as we took the stage. Being the paranoid kid I was, I was worried that the chair was one of those rocking, rickety ones with a base or two missing. Nevertheless, I took it and stood next to my partner. (I hated my partner; she was a bitch.)

The 8th graders instantly started in on me with the pointing and laughing once the dance started. I wasn’t exactly thrilled. “To Be Young, Gifted, and Black” started up. The part of the dance where we were all grounded, dancing on the floor: that part went well. Then we slowly built up to the section where I had to stand on the chair. I was hoping that if I found the right spot to stand on, just the right spot, I would be able to balance and support my partner while she stood on her chair…

So we took each other’s hands, and I glanced down cautiously as we both stepped up–

And the chair wobbled so violently I let go of her hand and stepped right back down.

Okay, I didn’t quite step; I more tripped down and luckily landed on my feet. The rest of the dancers snickered as they continued the dance. I’m sure that somehow my very brown face found a way to turn very red as all the 8th graders in the gymnasium EXPLODED in laughter. (We didn’t have an auditorium.) My partner, rather than do her part of the dance without me, decided to point and laugh at me while she was up in the chair. At that point I wanted to knock over her chair, but there was a dance to finish. So once that portion was over, I danced in tears while I realized people kept laughing and laughing, and I couldn’t figure out why until we finished our number and began taking our chairs offstage.

Our dance teacher advised us to take off our underwear before wearing our leotards and tights, and being the rebellious (lazy? insecure?) overweight preteen I was, I chose not to. I realized that I should have followed our teacher’s advice so the 8th graders would have stopped laughing at my red lacy bikinis after I fell — excuse me, tripped gracefully and landed (on my feet!) — out of my chair.

I haven’t taken well to dancing since.

5) My grandmother taught me a song when I was a little girl, and she and I would sing it almost every time we met. My family highly suspects that the reason I wanted to read so badly — and started doing so before I could even talk — stemmed from the fact my grandmother would look at newspapers all the time, and I would patiently watch her. I’m guessing I was bewildered because I was definitely a television baby (I used to sing the VH1 tune when I could talk) and she wouldn’t be watching!

WTF is she staring at so hard when Pretty Lady Made of Colors is wiggling on the screen?!

And so, when I started reading and slowly began talking, she taught me this song:

Sugar in the morning,
Sugar in the evening,
Sugar at suppertime.
Be my little sugar,
And love me all the time.

The last word is meant to be dramatically screeched for a long time. Followed by giggles. That’s how me and Grandma roll.

6) When I was really little, I wondered why boys did not wear bikini tops. My aunt was the first black woman to move into the neighborhood around the time I was born, 1985. (Now it’s almost completely black.) One summer, when I was about 4, a 6-year-old white boy came over to say hi to me and my mother while I played in the water hose on our porch instead of watering the plants. He wanted us to spray him with the hose because it was July or August and really humid.

I was aghast. Where was this boy’s bikini top? At that age, any exposure of skin beyond forearms and calves was the equivalent of porn. And the appropriate thing to do with any type of porn is stare.

And man, did I stare. I think he was staring at me too, but I had on a shirt so I was confused about that part. I’m confident we were both grinning like fools.

My momma slapped me when he went away. When I told her I thought he should have worn a bikini top, she was too busy laughing and getting me ice cream to explain that boys don’t wear bikini tops.

(But they should so wear them! I mean GOD let’s be fully Puritan and not go halfway. Y’know? :-p)

7) There are exactly seven letters in each of my names. Totaling 21. Allegedly this makes me lucky. Maybe when I’m 60 I’ll win Powerball or something; I don’t know.

Tagging BFP, Kai, Kay, Ilyka, Chris Clarke, Sudy, and Fire Fly.

I’ll stalk y’all at your blogs tomorrow or Thursday.