Why So Serious?

That's the latest addition to my movie catch-phrase repertoire, courtesy of Dark Knight (already used it three times since morning, lol).

So Dude has been (unknowingly) converting me to an action-flick lover. I'm not big on the comic strip hero crap *comic lovers gasp: oh no she didn't!* but I've been seeing alotta these movies lately. Blame Dude. He loves alla that nonsense... *They gasp again: banish her!*

So I finally watched Dark Knight last night, and It. Was. Fantastic!!! Right up there with the best of them (in the comics/action category anyway...) It didn't get me jabbering endlessly (the hallmark of a great movie for me)... but it was well-paced, grabbed and held my interest for the entire three and a half hours I was in that theatre -intermission included- and had a crazy cast: Morgan Freeman (luuuv him), Maggie Gyllenhaal, Christian Bale, Michael Caine (love that lil old fella)... Definitely a movie worth seeing on the big screen. In fact, watching this movie on bootleg would be an insult to it's greatness! *Comic-lovers nod* Ok, maybe I'm not that big a convert, but still, the movie LAAHGE!

The Joker stole the show: Heath. Was. Awesome!! He was sick, demented, disturbed... and I loved him! And he was zuggly! Nasty-lookin... had my face contorting with disgust everytime his face hit the screen... yuck! But he was funny, and even though he was the villain, I just couldn't hate him- I was like, 'awww, poor sick demented bastard... he just needs a hug' lol. course that could just be cuz it was Heath Ledger under there :) ;)

All in all, Dark Knight gets top marks. It was worth the wait, and definitely worth the watch... Glad I saw it... was really worth the money. And I've bagged another catch-phrase: 'why so serious?' and: You know how I got these scars...??
:) ;)

This Crazy World...

Riddle 4 U: A single girl can't look for this when she's looking for this... (one word).
I've come to the conclusion that the world is full of nut jobs and weirdos and freaks and freakish accidents. If you don't beleive me, then see for yourself...

Up, Up and Awayyy!!
Hailstones blasted, and I mean cannon-balled, a man off his toilet in Austria. Apparently hailstones the size of golf-balls just started shooting out of the toilet, popping up like pop-corn, till an "avalanche of ice quickly filled the toilet, then the entire flat, and eventually the entire building." Hear this: "I grabbed a board and put it over the toilet, but the pressure was so great, I ended up sitting on the board as the hail flowed through the flat and down the stairs." LMAO! Hail-surfing anybody? Austrian people will have to take out insurance against hail shooting up their assets! Too bad there's no video footage for this story :( (Full story here).

Talula Hula
Some crazy couple named their kid 'Talula Does the Hula from Hawaii'. A judge had to officially change the poor kid's name to something decent and sensible and, well, normal. Why would you name your kid 'Talula Does The Hula?' And how does that even work? Is the first name 'Talula', and the last name 'Does the Hula'? Or is it like a Talula-Does-the-Hula Watson? I can think of a million ways that could come back to haunt the poor girl, especially in high school and college. Thank God for that judge! I say if you want to give someone a ridiculous name, make it your own! (Full story here)

Two friends set fire to their friend's 'groin' after a drinking spree... and got sentenced to prison for it, because their friend got second degree burns from the 'prank'! One of teh guys actually got 2 years jail time. Can you imagine when he's in prison, and the guys are talking about what they did to get there?
Random 'Real' Criminal: I killed my mother-in-law. She was annoying me something fierce. (Turns to crotch fire guy) What'd you do?
Crotch-Fire Guy: Oh, I set fire to my friend's crotch...
Tsk tsk tsk! Only in America, I tell you, ONly in the US of A...

Riddle Answer: A Husband!! A single girl can't look for a husband when she's looking for a husband... get it?

Considering Marriage?

That Matter of Dieting...

To a sistah I care deeply about... Let me say this once and for all:

In today's world with its plethora of fashion styles and stitches, with all the options we now have at our finger- and toe-tips; with the million and one fine details that can be manipulated to perfectly sculpt clothes to match any body:

I WILL NOT BE SCULPTING MY BODY TO FIT ANY CLOTHES!!!

It's backward and retrogade and all too common: too many women are going on diets and performing all varieties of excruciating acrobatics to fit into that 'perfect li'l dress' or the 'perfect pair o jeans' that obviously can't be that perfect if it doesn't FIT you with ease when you try it on, or if you have to be going through the world's most intense obstacle course to get into it...

I'm just sayin': we have too many options and variety in today's society for me to get so stuck on one print or stitch or shape or style that I decide to change my body's entire contour (which is FABulous BTW, thank you) for something as manipulatable (is that a word?) as clothes... I won't do it: I won't, I won't, I won't! Nah sah! Not worth it at all...

... and the gyal who got me started on this rant knows herself... Luv yuh curves, tek yuh 'fluffy' to the world, and stop trying to change yuh body to fit clothes that weren't made for you from the get-go! You are pretty durned fabulous-stop bein' such a @$$%^&*! and believe it! Nuff said!

Now, to the rest of y'all, TGIF and happy weekend. Shalom.

My Mind In a Minute...

...Can't see dark, menacing clouds or feel cold, bone-shattering breeze, but I feel a storm coming!... this feeling... this ever-present, somewhat subconscious irritation, a dull foreboding, an intuition, a knowing...

...NEED time for pause... need to find the button that puts life on hold... the one that brings everything to a stand-still, kinda tableaux, while you walk around and examine the intricate details of what just happened and what is about to happen... need that button for pause...

...Hard learning, inconvenient truths... the kind that slap you squarely between your eyes with a force that knocks the wind right out of you... leave you sprawled on the ground... floored... Wh-? What just happened?

...You Live, You Learn, You Grow: that's my life's motto... the first thing to slip through my lips when stuff leave me crazily distressed, or strangely elated... Throw 'you laugh' and 'you love' somewhere in there, and you have my life story...

...why do bad things happen?... you LIVE, you LEARN, you GROW...

...'aha!'... a moment of epiphany...

CHIC Clothing

<<<<-This t-shirt has gotten me into more weird conversations than any other piece of clothing I own. In fact, that t-shirt inspired this concept I have of 'CHIC' clothing.

CHIC stands for Come Hither and Initiate Conversation. It's what men and women do when they read a witty message on your tee, or just like something you're wearing, and use it as an excuse or think it's an invitation to come over and strike up a convo. My 'I heart chocolate' t-shirt is a winner in that department. It just never fails. I don't think I've ever worn that tee without hearing several, I-love-chocolate-too's followed by a list of other things that the speaker loves... or doesn't love... My response, of course, is dictated by my mood, the weather, the time, dude's looks (if it's a dude), alignment of sun, stars and moon, and a host of other purely prejudiced and random things... My sis has a tee that says "I don't need your attitude, I have my own". You can imagine the sorta convos that triggers LOL. She even got the nickname 'Ms. Attitude' because of that tee, (and her attitude, cause she sure has one!)

CHIC clothing work wonders on the conversation radar. It doesn't even have to be a witty tee. It can be this hand-bag that never fails to get you a coupla compliments from both sistahs and brothahs, or those killer stilettos that just make men pause, or that shirt in that colour that everyone stops to say looks good on you... CHIC apparel just open doors for conversations with all sorts of people...

*Announcer's voice* So what are YOU waiting for? Get yourself some CHIC clothes today!! It could work wonders for you...

Stolen Beach, Anyone?

It sounds ridiculous, but it is true. A beach has been stolen in Jamaica. For what is a beach, if not the sand that adjoins to the sea's waters, inwards to the shore?
An estimated 500 truckloads of white sand have been illegally removed from the beach of a 64-acre property in Jamaica that was meant to be used for luxury villas (with spas, restaurants, amphitheatres and marinas, get the picture?). The removal of this sand has destroyed the beach-front and put a halt to US$109 million development plans. The whole country is in shock (that in itself is just hilarious), and investigations have been mandated by our Prime Minister, Bruce Golding, into the robbery.

Sounds like a joke, doesn't it? 500 truckloads of white sea-sand stolen? And a national investigation underway?

*Swtiches to Jamaican Patois*:
Me jus have a couple a questions:
1.Why would you steal 500 truckloads of sand that cannot be used for construction? What you doing with that?
2. Where on earth do you hide THAT MUCH sand?
3. You mean to tell me that nobody never see when them was moving off with truck-load after truckload of sand? Nobody never get suspicious after about the fiftieth truckload? Or the hundredth? Or the five hundredth? You mean to tell me that in Jamaica, where inquisitiveness is like second nature, and curiosity does abound, nobody never wonder what was going on and why? It never tickle nobody curiosity? That just hard to believe.
4. And you mean, if you live somewhere, and see truckload after truckload of sand being brought in, yuh ain't goin' want to know what them be doing with alla that sea sand?

Me ain't know, but it sound funny, very funny. In all senses: suspicious, weird and somehow strangely comical. On an even more serious note, though, we hope the thief them realise that is business that spoil for this country again. Is investment in we nation that them just set back for God knows how long. You can imagine the foreign businessman sit down in they big meeting to decide where to build another hotel, and when Jamaica come up, one a them say, 'no way, them people will steal anything, even the sand on your beach...'

Not funny at all...

Office Duppy

They say there's a duppy in our office. I not convinced, even though the printer does cough up days-old jobs when you turn it on in the mornings just like that, out of nowhere, when the print job status thingie says empty...

And then there's that mystery with the alarm drama:

One day we're all in the office working, when out of the blue, the fire alarm starts beeping and the lights start flashing. At first everyone was panicked, was there a fire? Where? After we ascertained that there was no fire, we all went back to work. A couple minutes later, the damn thing went off again.

I went to find the Maintenance People to report this little mishap. Maintenance, apparently, doubles as Security.

I explained to him that our fire alarm keeps going off for no reason, and that we need that dealt with as soon as possible (thing is sooo annoying).

Security: Somebody pulled the trigger for the alarm.
Rb: No, no-one was even near the fire alarm trigger... it just started going off
Security: Is there a fire?
Rb: No...
Security: Then someone must have pulled the trigger for the alarm.
Rb: But no-one did.
Security: Where is the fire then?
Rb: There is no fire, but no-one pulled the alarm either, and that's why I'm making this report...
Security: Listen to me, the alarm only go off if one of two things happen: fire or trigger. There is no fire, that means someone pulled the trigger...

I said thank you, and walked away.

Conclusion1: Fire alarms are perfect. They can NEVER malfunction...
Conclusion2: Security / Maintenance Guy needs to think outside the books, I mean box
Conclusion3: Maybe there's a duppy in the office after all... if Sec/Main Guy is right...

PS. Duppy=Jamaican for ghost

Never Been Drunk

I've never been drunk. Never had heightened or weakened sensual perceptions, never been super-horny as a result of an overdose of alcohol, never seen blue birds singing in the middle of the night, never had the scandalous night out only to wake up the next morning with no recollection of where I was and what I did. Never ever been drunk.

And I've tried (this goes under the category of young and foolish). I lived for three years on the only all-girls hall at the University. Every year, we have a combined dinner with our 'brothers' from the only all-boys hall (I should tell some of the stories bout what my hall-mates did with these brothers some time...) Our Annual Dinner and After-Party. At the after-party for one of these events, I decided to give this get-drunk thing a try. I figured what the heck, I'm here with all my friends, my room is right around the corner, and there are ample guys I know and trust to carry me there should the need arise (young and foolish category, remember?). Plus, security's here a-plenty. Why not give it a shot?

So I started drinking. Straight vodka first. Several cups. I drank while dancing and what-not. I was waiting for drunkeness to set in. Nothing. Now straight vodka tastes just awful, so I start going for the mixed stuff. Several Vodka and cranberry juice. Nothing. Some cups of Appleton and some sort of soda. Nothing. White rum and pepsi (a whole heap of cups of this actually). Nothing. I felt wonderfully carefree, but I wasn't drunk.

I still knew where I was, who I was with, what I was doing... I started to get pissed. Why wasn't I drunk? So I started to just take whatever the bartender had (he found it hilarious, thought I was a little bibber). And by the end of the night, still wasn't drunk. I was outraged. I had drunk more than I ever had before in my life and much more than all my friends, who agreed I consumed a disgracefully plenty amount of alcohol, and I still wasn't drunk.

Even at the lyming that took place after the after-party (yes, university parties and after-parties usually have plenty mini after-after-parties), I still felt no signs of drunkenness, only a certain very carefree spirit. So I went to bed, even read my bible. Then I woke up. And I've always heard of hangovers, but to date I've never had one. No hangover, no overwhelmingly groggy feeling. Just red eyes, a pretty clean memory, and more than a shot of guilt for some of my carrying-ons the night before. (Jesus, forgive me.)

And that was my failed attempt to get drunk, and proof that when you young you chupid boy. Cause now I'm wondering why would I want to be drunk? What was this fascination I had with losing my faculties and possibly creating a scandal around my unblemished and veery Christian name (cause university scandals never die...)? What if I had suceeded in this 'get-drunk' quest and ended up hurting myself? Curiosity, they say, killed the cat. I'm just glad (thank God) I'm not that cat. In fact, this cat is sane, sober, wiser and very much in tact.

Random Thoughts

I cooked yesterday. In Jamaica, Sunday dinner is the largest meal of the week, and in my family, the person who cooks the Sunday dinner is usually the best chef in the house. Yesterday, therefore, that was me! I remember 13-year-old Ruthibelle (with the record for the most broken dishes in the house) getting banned from her mommy's kitchen. If mommy could see me now, whipping up a storm in Auntie Jay's kitchen like I was born doing it... LOL

Flashback: Primary School Memories

It's funny, the things I remember most clearly from primary school (all sad). Every Saturday, I'll recall the one thing that stands out most clearly in my memory from each grade. Today, I remember Grades One/Two.

Grade One - Hm, well, sin starts young. Nuff said. Even though kids don't even act innocent any more, which makes me (lil 20-y-o me) shudder...

Grade Two - I remember being in evening lessons class. I had a weak bladder and always wanted to use the bathroom. Teacher musta thought I was being disruptive, because she didn't let me out at all (we had to ask permission to go to the bathroom/leave the classroom, and I was the good kid, never even thought of disobeying, even though I musta asked her a million times). So, I ask again...
Me: Miss, can I please go to the bathroom. (I have this agonised look on my face. I needed to go like pronto!)
Teacher: No. Stop disrupting the class. Sit down and finish your work.
Fine. I sit down. I try to do my work, but my bladder refuses to cooperate, and, sure enough, out comes the pee. Right there in class. All over that bench. I was six.

Boy, the things you get away with at 6... if I ever tried that now, lol...

Trouble Nuh Set Like Rain?

They say trouble always comes in threes. If that's so, then I've had my full quota for the day- all in the last 10 muinutes. Yep, that's how long it took me to walk from work, to the town square to get lunch, and back.

It started with the lost $1000. I think it fell out of my pocket when I was reaching for money to pay a man for a phone card. So that's Number One.

Numbers Two and Three happened in quick sucession. I didn't realise I had lost my money til I was on the way back. When I put the box of food that I was carrying in one hand to check my pockets again (denial, I was hoping my first ten thorough searches had missed the money in some corner of my pocket-they hadn't), the gravy from my lunch box leaked out onto my clothes (off-white capris). That makes Two.

I was exclaiming over this unfortunacy when I stubbed my toe, and one of the Geenas sandals I was wearing decided to give up the ghost, and just popped. That makes Three. I had to walk barefoot back to work.

So if Trouble comes in threes, I'm punching out for the day. I think it's fair to assume that I'll have a relatively trouble-free rest of day, right?

PS "Trouble nuh set like rain" is a Jamaican proverb that translates: trouble does not set up like rain (it gives no prior warning, comes suddenly).

Broke... Again!!

Having no money all the time just SUCKS! I've known this horrible companion called 'bruk-pocket' only all my life. I remember this one time in Grade Five, when we were exchanging gifts (pixie exchange). Even though I told my parents weeks and weeks in advance... we just never had enough money to lavish one of those expensively nice gifts on my Pixie. So we got a little picture frame, and some other nice li'l trinkets, neatly put them together, and wrapped them up pretty. (Sidenote: I was excited to see the end result, thought it was reeely nice!)

Forward to pixie exchange day. I got a new book. I loooved reading, so of course I liked my gift. But when Pixie opened her gift, she said she wanted her book back. Yeah. It was like that. I was only nine at the time, and the youngest in the class (bright kid + born December + start school early...) but I doubt youth was why it hurt. It was being reminded of just how poor you were in comparison to your classmates.

She drew the whole class's attention to the issue. Everyone was doing the upturned nose thing, looking down on me like 'how could you?' The teacher got involved and told me I would have to give Pixie another gift. In the end, I had to go home -bawling- to explain the whole thing to Mummy (the things I put my mother through...). She had to explain it to Daddy, and he, in turn, had to find the money to buy Pixie a book similar to mine. So that's how we settled that. But it has stuck with me til now.

Being poor sucks, and being bright and poor is like an oxymoron. Shouldn't brains get you the well-paying job? When I was little, I used to wonder what that feeling was that I got from my rich friends' parents. It wasn't exactly adoration, but it was like uncomfortable compliments, awkward congratulations ("aw, you're so poor but so bright... good for you"... ack). They were obliged to say they hoped you reached far and did well, but the fact that they had to look at you in order to say it, and thus be reminded that you were the underprivileged sparkie made them uncomfortable. People hate to be reminded of the discomforts of life that DON'T affect them.

Ah, the rich man's pity. Nothing worse. They treat you with deference because your brain is like, Einstein, but they don't really like being in such close proximity to poverty, or poverty being in such close proximity to their kids five days out of a week... yup, primary school was somethin' else.

Wonderin' what started this? Today was another one of those rough days at work. In Jamaica, when you're not born with that little silver spoon dangling out of your pouter, you have to take what you get til you can get only what you'll take. And right now, that's where I am. It sucks. There's something about taking charge of your own life and creating realities to be said here... but I forget. *SIGH*

The sun'll come out... toooomorooow... Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrrooooow... there'll be suuuuuuuuuuuunnnnn... Just thinking about... tomoroooow....

Ruthibelle and The Ras

I met a Rasta man one day at University. He was doubling on the job: selling jewellery and hitting on me. (I find it funny that whenever I wear long, flair skirts and ethnic-looking jewelery, Rastas always harass me to no ends...) So anyway, I was there listening to this man tell me how royal I looked and how he was searching for a beautiful young empress like me to bring Jah light into his life (always the YOUNG empress they want... I never hear any of them pitch that speech to an old empress yet!) when he asked me my name. I said, "Ruth."

He stopped, looked at me in something akin awe, and then exclaimed, "But my girl, you annuh just the root, you a the trunk and the branch and the whole tree...!!"

To this day, I still wondering if that was a compliment... It's still the funniest pick-up line I've ever heard...