Vacation Over Stuff

I took a very long vacation from this page.  (Captain Obvious is at it again.) I simply was tired of jalishouse.

I considered deleting this blog a couple of times but I held off, hoping that I’d find inspiration and want to share with you guys. I’m glad I didn’t end it since getting to know all of you (some of you intimately) and having this means of communication really is important to me. (doesn’t seem so, but it’s true)

Back in March of this year, an actual tornado struck downtown Atlanta. I was struck too, on the same day, but by something more powerful than a mere tornado. I met Sam.

I left the afterwork party at Club Taboo, declining the offer of a ride home “…if I’d hang out until the party was over”. “Bah”, I thought, “I’ll make my own way home.”

I sauntered down Roswell Road humming a tune and tapping out the beat in my bright red heels, the gin in my system leading me to believe that was on the catwalk and I posed at the light (after reminding myself that red means STOP!) I realized that I had no change for the bus, so I headed for the gas station a couple of blocks ahead.

As I passed a driveway to my left, a cutie pie smiled and said hello from his car. I responded with a smile and kept on my way. I could tell that he was young but man – what a charming smile.

As I left the gas station victorious – with change in my hand, I stepped back out into the night to find the scene transformed: rain, howling wind – (whew -I must have had much more gin in my system than I realized huh?) I had no umbrella and the bus stop across the street had no shelter.

Like a knight in shining armor, cutie pie in shining car pulled up and offered to take me wherever I needed to go. I got in immediately – no hesitation at all and I remember staring at him as he stared at me for a few moments before we even spoke.

He took me to the indoor parking lot for the train, and then decided that the night seemed too dangerous for me to leave just then. We agreed to wait out the storm at his place and he promised to take me home as soon as the weather changed.

He was sweet and considerate and the perfect gentleman and host that night.

I slept on the couch in his bedroom – when I finally fell asleep – first we watched the weather warnings on TV and watched the storm churning from his bedroom window.

We were shocked and amazed to learn that an actual tornado hit our city and that Sam was my actual hero.

He drove me home early the next morning and we hugged goodbye, promising to get together again someday. (I didn’t expect to actually hear from him again – he was shocked when I told him how old I am)

He called me on his way home.

We spoke again that day a couple of times and we made arrangements to meet again.

I’ve been seeing this beautiful man since March but because of the difference in our ages, I didn’t think it would be going anywhere (some of you might remember my broken heart after life with Adrian was over) and I didn’t want to repeat it, so I promised myself to keep it casual this time.

I was determined to hold my feelings in check despite the great times we had together, but that’s all been squashed. (throwing in old school lingo just for the hell of it.)

Sam. Yup, that’s his name. (I smile each time I say it.) Sam.

Remember that butterfly stomach, can’t hang up the phone, grinning all the time, humming to yourself, can’t wait to see him, need just one more hug feeling? That’s where I am today. (I know, I know – I’m getting a bit old for these Jr. High School feelings but DAMN! it feels good.)

I spent the weekend at Sam’s place and it felt like a real vacation. He lives on the 23rd floor, so sitting on his terrace and enjoying what felt like tropical breezes blowing was amazing.

His parents came for the holiday and I nervously awaited ”the talk” with Sam’s mother Sybil. I figured his Dad would be cool, but I’m a mother too and I was a bit worried about how she’d feel about her precious baby dating an old chick.

Sybil is a sweetheart who went out of her way to assure me that she has no problem with our age difference and we had a very good time together. We shopped, cooked, laughed and talked. Good stuff.

When Sybil and Charles learned that I play Spades, they challenged the “winning couple” to a match which of course resulted in a Sam and jali victory on Saturday night, so I had my opportunity to talk big smack for the rest of the evening.

Sam dropped me off at my office this morning and I still wasn’t ready to say goodbye. He used the L-word in a sentence to me so I’ve been grinning like a kid all day.

Summer Theme Stuff

Found this today and I had to post! Loooove Lucy Pearl.

 

Travel To Cali Stuff

In my previous post, I talked about my time in California with my sister Lynda. Now I’ll talk about my trip there and back.

The Atlanta Airport is pwned by Delta Airlines and AirTran. Certain discount airlines don’t fly to ATL, so some of the internet specials available to many aren’t available to Atlantans.

Cheap-jali refused to be foiled by these evil corporate entities in my quest to save money so I devised a plan. I decided to book a round trip flight that fell within the terms I dictated (meaning really cheap tickets).

Before making my decision, I checked a few travel sites and found that the fares from Atlanta on the days I wanted to fly to Oakland were waaaaay beyond my means. Priceline wouldn’t accept any of my offers. Expedia needed more flexibility. Orbit couldn’t help me.

Ah, Southwest. I checked the dates on their website and found an internet special that I was happy with. I was excited and I entered my acceptance of their nonrefundable tickets. I was “on my way” to California!

Oh, yeah. Southwest doesn’t fly to Atlanta so my flight left and returned from and to Birmingham, Alabama.

I’ve been to Birmingham, and the ride isn’t that long so I thought that one or the other of my friends here would be able to drop me off there when the time came, or that I would be able to take a shuttle, airport to airport. No big deal.

(Sound of record scratch to a halt). BIG deal.

Big, big deal.

I watched the cost of gasoline soar in the weeks following my purchase. Having a friend drop me off as a favor wouldn’t be feasible. I checked for shuttle service between airports and found that there is a very limited and very expensive service available. I sent an email message to the company and heard nothing at all in reply.

Scary.

Airline tickets with no way to get to the airport. Cheap-jali has done it again!

Ooooh. Inspiration! Trailways!

I clicked to their website, expecting a few simple steps in booking bus tickets to Birmingham. I clicked and found myself on the Trailways Charter page. Not good – not helpful. I clicked my back button to try again. No matter what I tried, the system wouldn’t allow me to buy tickets, see schedules or see prices. I think I was sweating by this time – frustration, annoyance and my old stand by: menopause, all joined forces to make me feel…um… “not so fresh”.

Finally I remembered that I wanted Greyhound NOT Trailways (not my fault that I couldn’t remember – I’m old as shit!) and I was able to navigate the Greyhound site easily and buy my nonrefundable (seems like I never learn) tickets right away. I allowed ample time between bus and train travel to guarantee that I’d make each leg of my trip comfortably without having to stress while on vacation. ( cue maniacal laughter in the background).

Have any of you ridden a bus lately?

 

coming up next: Part Deux.

Cali Stuff

I’ve been to California to visit my sister Lynda (does this sound like the old, ‘my dog ate my homework” line to you guys?).

Lynnie lives in a small town, Livermore http://www.ci.livermore.ca.us/ , which sort of reminds me of the town in the movie Doc Hollywood, but with much higher property values and a more diverse population.

Livermore is in a canyon and from her backyard bridge (her husband Mark is a good builder, one of his many talents) I watched unbelievable sunsets over the distant mountains. I didn’t capture the view with my camera (duh) so I’ll have to ask her to send my some photos so that I can post them.

Lynnie and Mark have 2 children, the lovely Lorraine (named after the writer Hansbury) and Mark, Jr., who showed me cool-Cali teen mode for most of my visit. Rainie is outspoken and straightforward but also very sweet and funny. Mark, Jr. doesn’t break character too often but once and a while he drops the cool and he’s a sweetheart too.

Mark’s mother Christine lives with the family and she and I hit it off immediately. We share the love of coffee and ciggies first thing in the morning so it became our routine for the week I was there. It’s great to make a new friend!

My sister and I look alike (so we’ve been told) and we love each other, but we are very different. I hadn’t seen her in a couple of years and wasn’t sure how a whole week together would work out.

Lynnie is settled and mature and plans things. I’m immature and spontaneous. Lynda has been married once and is determined to make it last forever and she’s very happy. I’ve been divorced twice so far, lived with others, and dated a few more and I’m very happy. She goes to Bible study – I go to Open Mic nights. She goes to church every Sunday – I roller skate religiously. 

We both love to read and Lynda told me that she’s joined a writers group at her church so there are things we have in common. We also share memories of our family vacations and family arguments. We spent quite a bit of time saying, “…remember the time Grandma said…” or “…remember the time you snuck out and got busted…” and laughing or crying at those memories. We pulled out her VOLUMES (maybe 8 or 9) of photos and sat together laughing and crying again, reliving days that touched us both.

We are orphans now  (we both say this). My dad died in 1982 and my mom in 2000. Our elder sister, Jackie has been gone since 2003. We are all that are left of our immediate family and I’m glad that, despite our differences, we were able to enjoy each other for a whole week.

I’ll tell you about my travel next – being a cheapskate is tough on the bootie!

Explanation Stuff

Okay folks, here’s the deal -I’m again full o’ shit and haven’t posted for over a week or visited any of your pages. You guys were real cool and accepted my explanation last week. You guys were real cool and accepted my lame excuse a couple of weeks before that. I’ve really been doing stuff which is a GOOD thing – I just haven’t taken the time to log in and post, and I apologize.

My massage therapist, Leo asked me to hang out with him a little while back – the plan was to use me as bait for the chair massages he was offering, and since I’m massage crazy (and greedy) I agreed to get up very very early on a Sunday morning to meet him and hang out for the day. (Here’s a quote from the post from my first massage with Leo with the magical fingers: “I treated myself to a massage. Young cutie pie. It’s been too long – my reaction to his hands on me was entirely inappropriate – I’m going back next week.”)

I met one of Leo’s partners at the address he gave me, 660 Irwin Street in the Inman Park section of Atlanta. The Irwin Street Market (unbelieveably funky little spot – ya gots to get over there!).

Leo’s partner is a BEAUTIFUL Sistah named Jacqueline who owns one of markets within this market place. Her business name is 3 Piece, and I hung out with her (between massages) and got the opportunity to really look at her products. Jackie is an artist who creates hand poured soy and beeswax candles and sells them to a long list of clients.

I watched her store for a bit that day while she was doing other things and now I’m her newest part- time employee. I worked for her this past Saturday and Sunday and I had a ball.

I’m used to my regular 5 day schedule for work. It’s when I do a bit more that I don’t have the time or inclination to even check my email – much less visit my ‘roll or post something new. I hung out with my favorite people (The Green Apple , poetry hosted by Seria Mills ) on Wednesday night until about 2. I did a couple of poems on Saturday night after work at the Afrocentric Teaching Museum. An outstanding poet and actor, JuanLove came to the Green Apple to invite us to join him for a benefit that his non-profit group, Esoteric was holding  there and quite a few of us decided to join him. I didn’t perform as well as I had hoped to, but the other performers I heard were amazing! I had to leave mid show in order to make it to the last bus going to my neighborhood.

If I were still driving, I suppose it might be different, but Rapid Transit in the Atlanta Metro Area pretty much sucks, so I waste a lot of time waiting for trains and busses these days.

Accept my explanation and apology? Please?

(If you called me or sent a text and I haven’t answered, you know how I get grouchy and don’t feel like it sometimes – sorry, I’ll call or text you back soon)

 

Dental Stuff

Okay. I’ll admit it: I’m a punk when it comes to the dentist. Punk.

I had an issue (that’s the only term that applies here, despite my dislike for this overused word) with one of my front teeth and have been waiting for the money to have it taken care of.

I’ve had dental coverage at work, but the Cigna HMO plan has to be the suckiest of all the sucky dental plans in the world. I waited patiently, looking like a crackhead because of my tooth, until a new enrollment period started so that I could upgrade to the Cigna PPO plan and choose a dentist who was aware of the new developments in dentistry and whose practice was nothing like that dentist in The Little Shop of Horrors.

I chose Dr. Jason Eaglin. (He attended LSU as an undergrad and Howard U. for dental school, he was his class president and gave the commencement speech at graduation…yada – yada – yada) who has an office within walking distance of my home.

He looks pretty nice in the photo, doesn’t he? Wouldn’t hurt a fly…

I am not a fly.

It’s not his fault that the 20 or more injections he gave me (“just a pinch”) had absolutely no effect on me and that I was crying like a kid during my deep cleaning and the first extraction. It’s not his fault that I was crying again when he shaved my teeth in preparation of the bridge I need.

Okay. If I had taken much better care of these choppers, I wouldn’t have suffered so much this week, but if the treatments weren’t so painful, I would have kept all those dental appointments - it’s a crazy circular logic thing.

I had the deep scale cleaning thing, the teeth shaving thing, the extraction times three thing – my mouth was wide open from 8:30 until 1:30 on Monday. After Dr. Eaglin called it quits for the day, I looked like a refugee of war or an escapee from some type of mental hospital. My mascara had run all over my face, my lips were ashy white and I had a crazed look in my eye.

I walked home, feeling very sorry for myself with my sore mouth, sore jaw and sore throat. I took a tour of “pityland” and called my girl Faye at work to try to explain. She’d had a few of the procedures and listened sympathetically to my cotton mouthed mumblings and insisted that I get my prescription for pain killer filled immediately.

I did.

Aw hells yeah! Opiate based pain medication is the silver lining of the dental drama. I floated to sleep, then awoke to take more pills and to float back to sleep again. Rinse, repeat.

In between, I sent text messages to friends to explain why I would not be speaking for a couple of days. I received great messages back and a big surprise: my sweet friend Jason came to take care of me. He rubbed my back and neck until I fell asleep and then hung out with my son Jack for the evening. (Jayce is a guy I once dated* (*code for slept with) for a few months, who’s still a very good friend).

I went back to his office on Wednesday for part 2 and it wasn’t half as bad as the Monday torture session. His staff is the greatest and Dr. Eaglin is a wonderful dentist. Despite my many complaints, he continued to encouraged me to “hang in there” and told me “you’re doing great”.  My teeth are cleaner than they’ve been for years and the temporary caps look just like my teeth. I can’t wait until my bridge comes in and I look like myself again. (I do the “Elvis” upper lip down low thing to cover the gaping HOLE in my head).

I’m back to work today and the concern of my coworkers who are stopping by my desk to check on me has brought real tears to my eyes. It’s cool to be missed.

See – I had a good reason for not posting this time. Have a good weekend all!

Play Stuff

I remember summers when play was my only responsibility in the world. I was a very conscientious child so my play was charged with that extra ooomph. I played like it was 1999. I gave play my all. Play was my life.

I wasn’t alone in my quest for excellence on the playing field (the streets and sidewalks on my block). We were a devoted block of children. We were determined to play hard and play well for every single day of our summer vacation.

Play was so important to me that there were days that even the siren call of the Mr. Softee Truck couldn’t distract me from my duties. (the fact that my allowance was withheld for certain infractions made it a bit easier to ignore at certain times)

On 200 street in Hollis Queens there were the games we played and then there were The GAMES.

Anyone on the block was welcomed to play our regular games like “Chinese jump rope*”  (we never used the corny rope our parents bought us- we made our own with rubberbands!) or “RCK*” and when we played punchball in the street (first base the tree) we called on everyone to participate.  We even used one kid as base sometimes, depending on our mood. (Hi David!)

The GAMES were “skelly”  (this is how we said it and we used jar caps instead of bottle caps) and “doubledutch” but the hippest game on the block those days were the intricate hand clapping games usually played with a partner, but sometimes with up to four people. There were words to the accompanying songs to learn, but more importantly the moves had to become second nature to anyone who wanted to be part of the block’s ‘in crowd”. Here’s one of the basic songs that used a very basic hand clap move:

Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack All dressed in black, black, black

With silver buttons, buttons, buttons All down her back, back, back

She asked her mother, mother, mother For 50 cents, cents, cents

To watch the elephants, elephants, elephants Jump over the fence, fence, fence

They jumped so high, high, high They touched the sky, sky, sky

They never came down, down, down Until the fourth of July, ly, ly, ly, ly, ly

Songs like this were cool for beginners and the “pros’ played this as a warm up, but if you messed up just once, no matter what your previous achievement may have been, you’d be relegated to the sad position of onlooker for the rest of the day. You would not be permitted to voice your opinion or judge anyone else’s game. You’d be a “non”.  (oh, the horror – just saying the word brings back very painful memories. Non.)

In order to play skelly you would need to have your jar cap inspected by the game owner (the kid with the chalk always owned the game). If your cap passed the initial inspection you would be conditionally approved to play. Final approval was determined by the other participants and there was no strict rule – sometimes you’d be in – sometimes you’d be called a “non”.

We had a bike club on the block too. We rode our banana seat, stingray bikes all over the neighborhood. Our limits were Farmer’s Blvd and Francis Lewis Blvd. (bus route streets), but everywhere between these main roads were game. We had a president, Jimmy who decided where we would be riding for the day. We would pack provisions (a bag of Onion and Garlic Lay’s chips and a Devil Dog) (as if we were going cross country) in the front baskets of the chick bikes and set off in a group. Riding “no hands” was expected of everyone, and the slow riders were left behind.

If it was too hot to run around we would sit on someone’s stoop and play “That’s my car”. To claim a car as your own, you had to be the first to shout out, “that’s my car” – that’s it – the whole game. We amused ourselves for hours playing this game and I can crack up any of my girlfriends if I use the phrase today.

As a kid I believed that all children in every neighborhood played the same as we did. I was shocked to learn that my cousins in Delaware played differently than we did. They actually tied string to Junebugs’ legs and swung them around. Disgusting.

As a teen, I graduated to handball. Going to the park and “running” the court was everything back then. Running the court meant beating every challenger and playing all day. We played with a ‘pinkie”, the same type ball we used for punchball and the greatest move was ‘the roller”. A roller hits the wall at the point where the wall meets the floor and rolls back – there’s no comeback from a roller. Score!

What games did you play on your block? (With your play-play cousins)

 *RCK stands for Run, Catch Kiss. It’s a game somewhat similar to tag that we played, sometimes intentionally falling so that our pursuer would catch, and then hopefully kiss us. (If Gerard ever reads this:NO I’m not talking about THAT time – I really did fall!!!!!!!) The game is played at twilight.

 

The Mayor Stuff

The Mayor Of Arrowhead Blvd.

A friend made a comment the other day, and I’ve decided to post based on his comment.

He told me that he’s been judged by his appearance and despite his long list of credentials and awards he hasn’t always been afforded the courtesies from some that those credentials might merit. I’ve been mulling this over for the last couple of days and I ran into The Mayor of Arrowhead Boulevard this morning and this essay of sorts was born.

The Mayor of Arrowhead Boulevard in Jonesboro, Ga. was never elected to his post. Some in the area may be unaware of his role in the community. Others rely on The Mayor to always be around – as that never changing background to their lives.

The Mayor always seems to be in the area when I need him. He’s willing to carry a package from the store to a car and happy to help to bring your laundry into the laundromat- he just might remind you to use bleach on your whites. He doesn’t help to earn a tip or a gift. He sees a need and offers his hands or back to help.

I’ve seen The Mayor flying his kite on a windy day, grinning like a kid. I’ve seen the mayor flying his kite on days when there wasn’t even a little breeze to inspire his kite to fly, yet he would persist, running as fast as he could, through the gas station parking lot and up the hill towards the strip mall looking back hopefully each time, believing that maybe this time the kite would take flight. I’ve see The Mayor running with the kite string trailing behind him with no kite attached, smiling it seemed, at the simple joy of running fast.

I usually see The Mayor on foot but sometimes he rides in style on his bike which he’s decorated in his unique fashion. He’ll park the bike then gladhand his constituancy, crossing and re-crossing Arrowhead Boulevard in order to greet everyone.

When I first moved to the neighborhood, I thought he was just another “slinger” working on the corner and because of my negative attitude, I didn’t really look at The Mayor. I dismissed him as a thug and barely spoke when our paths crossed.

This changed one Sunday morning when I arranged to meet a date on the corner (I don’t give up my address very easily) and while I waited, I watched The Mayor make his way across the street to where I stood.

Annoyed, I sighed audibly and The Mayor asked me what could be wrong with me on such a beautiful Sunday morning. He was so charming and complimentary that I just had to smile, and a friendship of sorts was begun.

We fell into an easy conversation and he held forth on the state of the economy, the political primaries, the state of Black America, and the neighborhood in general. He showed me photos of the woman who had his baby as well as a few of his child. He explained that a one night stand resulted in his little girl and he promised to “wrap it up” in the future.

I don’t know The Mayor’s whole story. I have an idea where he might live, but I’m not really sure. He’s always very clean and takes time in grooming his mustacheo, sideburns and beard. He dresses in his own style – sort of a hip-hop-hippie, a throwback to the flower children, with a Dirty South twist to make it interesting.

The little kids in the area give him respect and the older guys make a point to chat for a moment or at least stop and give The Mayor daps and a “whassup” to hold him down.

I’ve learned my lesson with The Mayor of Arrowhead Boulevard. No one should be judged before being given the opportunity to present themselves. There’s a beautiful soul under the hippie-thug I met and I would have missed out on the blessing of knowing the Mayor.

The Mayor’s Bike.

Mo’ Retread Stuff (from waaaay back)

This is a rerun. I’m back to writing my novel so this is my effort to keep jalishouse moving while I do my thang.

Very upset woman here. Some truths are just too difficult to face voluntarily and when the truths sink in (as they eventually do) upset is usually the result. I’m not crying anymore, but the feeling of terrible loss has stayed with me since I realized what I’m missing.

I thought I still had it. I thought it would be with me forever but I somehow lost it. I lost it. Me…sigh.

When did I lose my “hip”?

There was a time when my hipness wasn’t in question. You could just look at me and see the hipness radiating from me. I spoke the language and sang the songs. I knew all the right moves and hung out at the hippest spots. I was one of the “cool kids” and I became a cool adult.

My wardrobe reflected my cool. My hair and nails, my walk and talk. All hip to the nth degree. I decided to stop smoking weed in college and my girls followed suit. I’d wear my hair a certain way and others would rock my style. I was hip.

I thought about the four most important people in my life and wondered if their appearance had anything to do with the loss of my hipness. Nope.

I was a hip mom – the Kool Ade mom of the block – the one the kids could talk too. Having children didn’t negate my hipness – if anything my little ones became fashion and social accessories to add to the Jali mystique.

I began to question my hipness recently while driving. A song came on the radio and I didn’t understand what the hell the song was about although I thought I did. I wondered, ‘why would the guy snap rubberbands at a chick at a strip club’. I happened to have wondered out loud (big mistake) and “A” started laughing at me (first sign of loss of hip – folks laughing at you). He explained that ‘popping a rubber band’ had to do with spending a lot of cash at the club – not literally popping a rubberband on some woman’s butt.

Oh.

The hip Jali would have known that. This new somewhat hip neutral person is confused by certain phrases. I don’t like this.

 

 

Reality Bites Stuff

Nah. I’m not talking about the movie. The reality that bites is reality TV which has taken over almost every broadcast channel. It’s Jerry Springer set in better locales. I wish that our newscasts would dare to be real instead of the fluffed up crap we get instead.

Here’s a list of some of the shows I found:

The Amazing Race  American Dream Derby  American Gladiators  American Idol  American Inventor   American Juniors  America’s Got Talent  America’s Next Top Model  Amish In The City  Anything For Love  The Apprentice The Apprentice: Martha Stewart  Armed & Famous  The Ashlee Simpson Show  Average Joe  The Bachelor The Bachelorette  Battle Of The Network Reality Stars Beauty and the Geek  Being Bobby Brown   The Benefactor  Beg Borrow & Deal Big Brother The Biggest Loser  Big Man On Campus Blow Out Boarding House  Boot Camp  Brat Camp  Britney and Kevin: Chaotic Boy Meets Boy Canadian Idol The Casino  Celebrity Cooking Showdown  Celebrity Duets  Celebrity Mole The Complex The Contender  Crowned  Cupid   The Cut Dance War Dancing with the Stars Dog Eat Dog Dream Job Extreme Makeover Fame The Family Family Plots Fear Factor  For Love Or Money Forever Eden Grease: You’re the One That I Want He’s A Lady Hell’s Kitchen  Here Come the Newlyweds The Hills Hit Me Baby One More Time High School Reunion House Rules   I Love New York I Want To Be A Hilton Joe Millionaire Joe Schmo Kid Nation Kitchen Nightmares Laguna Beach Last Comic Standing The Law Firm The Littlest Groom Love Cruise Mad Mad House Manhunt Meet Mister Mom Meet My Folks Miracle Workers The Mole My Big Fat Obnoxious Boss My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiance My Fair Brady Nanny 911  Nashville Nashville Star Newlyweds Next Action Star  The Next Great American Band The Next Great Champ On The Lot The One Oprah’s Big Give The Osbournes Outback Jack Paradise Hotel The Player Playing It Straight Performing As… Phenomenon Pirate Master Project Greenlight Project Runway  Pussycat Dolls Present Queer Eye Race To The Altar  The Rebel Billionaire The Real Gilligan’s Island The Real Housewives The Real Roseanne Show The Real World Renovate My Family  The Restaurant Rich Guy Poor Guy Road Rules robandambergetmarried/ Rock Star The Scholar   The Simple Life Skating With Celebrities So You Think You Can Dance Sorority Life Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Model Search The Starlet Star Search  Starting Over Supernanny Superstar USA Surf Girls The Surreal Life Survivor  The Swan  Temptation Island  Three Wishes ‘Til Death Do Us Part Todd TV Tommy Lee Goes To College Top Chef  Trading Spaces  Trading Spouses Treasure Hunters Tuesday Night Book Club  Unan1mous   Who Wants To Marry My Dad  Wickedly Perfect Wife Swap The Will  World Idol 

I’ll have to admit that I’ve seen a few of these shows and off the top of my head I can name a few more: Run’s House, Rock of Love, Cops, 70s House, Charm School, My Sweet Sixteen. I’m sure there are many others.

I’m embarrassed to admit that I’ve seen at least 1 episode of each of 43 of the shows listed above. I didn’t continue to watch most of them, but I do have a couple that I really like.

Reality TV has taken over to the point that almost everone will have a connection to someone or the other who’s appeared on one of these shows. I know 2 people who’ve auditioned.

How many of these will you admit to? I know it’s cool to say you only watch PBS or CNN, but I want you to give it up. C’mon – I won’t tell.