Vixen Chronicles

Minolta C.White: Nina Foxx

2011-02-24T21:10:00.000-08:00

Black Thanksgiving: Say What?

2011-02-19T08:38:00.000-08:00

So NBA all Star weekend is Black Thanksgiving, or least it is according to David Aldridge in an article he wrote for CNN. Well, thanks for letting me know. You see, I was busy celebrating Thanksgiving with the rest of America, I missed the turkey and dressing I apparently am supposed to be having in March.
I took offense to this article. Many of the statements made in the article had me cussing at my desk. Had the article been written by a white columnist, I'm sure it would have never made its way onto CNN's homepage. The author was black, and because of that, it seems like he was given a pass to freely use the N-word (metaphorically) to describe people he obviously doesn't know, or perhaps he was just being allowed to do some shuffling and jiving to appease a larger audience. Just say, "Yassuh, boss" and get it over with.
I'm sure that there is a subset of folks who wait, with bated breath, for NBA ALL Star weekend. Like he said in the article, they covet the hard to get tickets and skulk around hoping to meet the men they hold at near demi-god status. There is also an even bigger group of black people who have no idea when NBA ALL Star weekend even is, or even though they are basketball fans, for them, the real season ends when the playoffs are over.
According to the author of the article, "black people are royalty in black America." This may be true for a group of people who view their only chance of "making it" as coming from a possible (and near impossible to land) stint in the NBA, but for the rest of us, basketball fans or not, the people who play this sport are really just tall guys who get paid well for doing something they are good at, but that's it. We are happy that these men are being rewarded for something they do well, and may even watch a game or two (or in my case, may have had season tickets a few times), but there is no worshipping happening. In fact, we don't even consider these people role models for our children. Our role models are the honest, hardworking men and women among us who chose a goal, get educated and stay on a path to something that makes them an upstanding citizen contributing to their communities and the wider community as a whole. SO, my friend the lawyer, engineer, artist, marketing professional, film producer, father, brother, THOSE are the role models. (I don't say demi-god because that is a WHOLE other argument. Men are but men. There is only one God.)
Yes, I agree with the author when he said that basketball is a culture, but it is most certainly NOT Black Culture. People like a party, and there are lots of them surrounding All Star Weekend, for sure. Party, yes, if that is your thing. But give thanks? There is no Thanksgiving about it. That is still an AMERICAN holiday that takes place in November. Originally, it was about surviving a winter in lean times for people in a strange world (hmm, is there a metaphor there?) but Thanksgiving has grown to mean spending quality time with your loved ones and being thankful for those that mean the most to you. Oh, and now its also about FOOTBALL. One last thing, check your history books, Mr. Aldridge. Black people weren't even there.

A Letter to Cathy Hughes (and anyone else who is interested)

2011-02-12T10:09:00.000-08:00

Last week, I came across an article (I think it was on EUR Report) that told of how Cathy Hughes (TV ONE) slammed both Halle Berry and Mo’Nique. Halle, for her award winning role in Precious and Halle, for hers in Monster’s Ball. She said that the stories never should have been written and she knew of no black woman that acted like Mo’Nique’s character. I will admit that neither film was easy to watch, but I thought both were stunning in their performances. I don’t know of any WOMAN, period, that would have done what either of those characters would have done, but I have no doubt that some variation of those characters exist.
        Cathy also said that those were films that never should have been made. Hmm. Let’s examine that. True, they were difficult stories, but rather than blast the actors who were just that--actors, consider what the films did do. In an industry where there is a dearth of roles for Black actors, black women in particular, those films provided employment and exposure to several actors of color. Gabey Sibedy’s career was launched. Monster’s Ball also launched the career of another young black actor from Louisiana, Coronji Calhoun. Beyond that, Lee Daniels was the director of both of those films, and there are very few times that a Black director gets to be involved with films that receive that kind of acclaim. In addition, Precious was adapted by a book by a Black author. That’s a lot of paychecks. How many of us are still waiting in that line? Several of us have had our books optioned or near optioned, only to be thrown into development hell where nothing much seems to go on.
        Cathy Hughes asked the question “Where are the positive stories?” Rather than blast the actors for taking a job, especially in times when such jobs are so scarce, why not help find some of those positive stories, the ones that portray actors of color in more positive situations and develop a diversity of roles for Black actors? The romantic comedies, the dramas, they are out there, waiting for the funds and someone with the vision to make it happen.
        Cathy, I have one of those for you. Actually I have three. I’m an award winning novelist and FILMMAKER now. I have cut my teeth on a few shorts and by participating as producer at various levels on other people’s films. After watching several of my works be near-optioned several times, I have worked and honed a screenplay, a romantic comedy, that offers those diverse roles with no buffoonery or stereotypical images, a strong story based on a story that reviewers said was a character study with characters based on classical greek archetypes. I know you want to make a difference, so here’s your chance.
        The reason those movies were made is because someone, somewhere, green-lighted them and wrote a check to put their money behind their beliefs. If we have stories we think need to be told, ones that portray the true diversity of the Black American Experience, we have to do the same. There are stories that will never be told unless we do it ourselves and I know there are others just like me who would welcome a little monetary support and gladly give credit (and points) where credit is due.
        So, Cathy, if you want to see our POSITIVE stories in film, I (or my agent) will gladly take a meeting and tell you about my projects. Or you can email me and I will tell you the address of the legal counsel that is accepting checks for my (now) independent film. Did I mention, the screenplay has already garnered interest from several well-known actors and actresses that would love to be employed, especially where they can keep their clothes on?

Thank you, in advance, for your consideration.

Literary Life Reunion

2011-01-24T14:09:00.001-08:00

I had a reunion with my literary life this weekend. I haven't promoted a book In awhile, mainly because I haven't written one in a minute. I went back to San Antonio to kick off the promotions for my new book, Southern Comfort. When I lived there, I wasn't sure I liked the city. As my plane flew over the town, I took in its brownness and for a minute, I missed the sandy beaches of southern california that I've come to love. In 24 short hours I discovered that I could love the grime and romance of the RiverWalk, too.
My boo Surprised me and met me there for no other reason than he could; he flew from the other side of the country to give me support, to laugh at my goofiness, to take pictures and to share a glass or two of good wine with some of our friends. He has been so much a part of my literary life from the beginning; as an early reader of all my work, one that always told the real deal about what he thought, then as a fellow book club member and now as someone who inspires me to do what I do and sometimes even writes the stories through his actions.
It felt good to laugh a minute with my good friends, Reshonda Tate Billingsley and Pam Walker Williams (page turner.net), both of whom I have known since the very beginning. Over the years, both have grown to be more than people who are just "in the business". We may not talk every day, and because of the miles, we certainly don't see each other every day or even every week, but I'm honored to have them as some of my closest friends. Over dinner, I reflected a little on this journey that we have been on together for over a decade. Reshonda and I were self published back in the day and at the same time, and Pam/Pageturner (and her Honey-doo) has helped me keep my schedule and website straight for that entire time. Because of books, these people are much more than colleagues, they are my girlfriends and confidants.
The publishing industry has changed so much over the years and people don't promote books the way they used to. Huge book tours are almost non existent and the economy has killed many of the events that brought us all together and helped to shape our friendships. We rarely see a book cruise anymore, and even the book conferences are not as prevalent. Ten years ago, there were many more independent bookstores that hosted events and featured the works of many of my author friends. Often, we'd see each other on the road or at a yearly event. Today, we are finding new ways to get the word out about our work, but nothing beats a good, old fashioned book event, whether it be attended by 20 or 200, because everyone spreads the word for days about the great authors they just met and the new friends they've just made. I made two new friends this weekend. Tamika Newhouse shared the tip of her story with us, and didn't complain, even though she had to walk a mile in the (Texas) cold in shoes that made her feet feel like they were bleeding. Van Garrett charmed the women with his poetic words and taught a literary lesson from Southern Comfort. We had good dinner and wine and great martinis afterwards, and the fellowship we shared will keep me on a writing roll for months to come.

Read & Win!

2011-01-06T19:14:00.000-08:00

Foot Fetish-Written for Breakoutbeatz.com

2010-11-08T13:27:00.000-08:00

Foot Fetish-

By Nina Foxx

I don't buy clothes, I buy accessories, specifically shoes. I have shoes for every occasion, including going to the supermarket. I hate grocery shopping,so adding a little pizazz to my shopping outfit makes it easier for me to get there every week and avoid a mutiny by my always hungry family.
        I thought the shoes I'd chosen for the task were no big deal; snakeskin strappy shooties in an almost natural color. They felt good and looked just as good and after I put them on, I skipped happily from aisle to aisle in modern hunter-gatherer style, filling my basket with staples while I alternated between chatting on my iphone with my sister and humming "Like a G6" to block out the MUZAK. I'd reached for some turkey bacon and found my path blocked by a middle-aged, pot bellied, average, suburban looking man. His blue shirt was interrupted by his technology access badge and his khakis were riding just a hair too low around his hips. His lips were moving. I looked around me. We were the only people in the aisle. I pulled my headphones from my ears.
        "Were you talking to me?" I asked.
His mouth spread into a grin. "I was just saying that your shoes were cool."
The unthinkable was happening to me. This man was violating the unspoken supermarket silence rule. I stood there at a loss for words. Was this a pickup line?
        Just then, a little girl came flying out of the cereal aisle. "Daddy, Can I have these? She was clutching a box of Captain Crunch.
        "I'm not gay or anything," he said. "The shoes are just hot!" He grabbed the cereal from his kid and tossed it into his cart, then walked off, leaving me standing there with my mouth hanging open.
        At first, I thought that perhaps he didn't get out much, or maybe he was married to a marshmallow sole wearing, orthopedic shoe-type woman, but then I started to wonder what sort of man notices a woman shoes? I mean really notices them and appreciated the efforts we go through to tip around on our toes in the name of fashion? He didn't say, "those shoes make your calves or butt look hot". What he'd said was my shoes were hot.
        I asked a few men that I know about it. I tried to take a random sampling. One or two are absolutely what you would call "Manly- men", a few others more uber-sexual. (These seem to care more about their appearance, or at least let us know they care).
I was told that some men have foot-fetishes, specifically, women's feet, and as such, they absolutely noticed the shoes a woman puts on her feet. So, then, wouldn't this be a shoe fetish since typically shoes cover the feet?
        I also had a man or two tell me that they love women's shoes so much, they loved it when their girlfriend was naked and wearing nothing BUT shoes. One gentlemen even admitted that he admired the diversity in shoes that we women enjoy. What was this about?
        The more I asked, the more I realized that it wasn't just us women who like shoes. I know plenty of fellas who complain that their woman's shoe collection is encroaching on their closet space, but does this mean that deep down, men enjoy our shoes as much as we do?
        I'm at the car dealer today, wearing my car dealer shoes, a neutral-colored (nude is big this year), strappy cage sandal by Jimmy Choo with four inch heels. Fellas, if you see me, weigh in, that is, if you can catch me. Don't let the high heels fool you, though. There's a lot more to this sistah than her feet.

Nina Foxx Presents Closer to Crazy Episode 5

2010-10-25T16:32:00.001-07:00

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Season Finale: Ayzah gets a visit and we see more of Prince's secrets.Starring Heidi Marie Wanser, Freeman White III, ;Written & Produced by Nina FoxxBased on Characters from Just Short of Crazy by Nina Foxxpublished by HarperCollins Publishers/Avon Acopyright FoxxTale Productions 2010

Closer to Crazy: Who Are The Players--Meet Alexis

2010-10-24T11:33:00.000-07:00

Alexis is a character that appears in more than one of my books. In Marrying Up, she was really secondary. The story belonged to the cousin Paris, and we don’t really even see her in Closer to Crazy, at least not yet. In Just Short of Crazy, Alexis takes the lead.
When we were casting, I had a picture in my head of what she was like. she’d recently shorn her long, store bought locks for a hairdo that showcased her new found confidence, and when Shelli Boone walked onto the scene, I knew she was Alexis. As you will read, she has some skills on stage as well. I’m hoping to have the opportunity to cast her in a stage production as well.

Who is Shelli?

Since her first on-screen job co-hosting BET’s "Mad Sports", Shelli has appeared in over 17 films, national and international commercials, print campaigns, radio spots and several hit television shows. One of her most notable roles was as series regular Evan Reed in "Saints and Sinners", a primetime drama on FOX’s My Network TV, still airing overseas. Shelli has co-starred on popular episodics such as "Entourage", "Days of Our Lives", "House MD", "Southland" and "The Young and the Restless". She most recently guest starred as Carol on Tyler Perry's "House of Payne". She also showed her range, playing twins, as the lead in the Lionsgate DVD release of "Holla", a comedy/horror film that garnered her a Best Actress nomination in the Chicago Film Festival. The film was acquired by BET for cable television. Stepping into the new digital age, Shelli is a series regular on three webisodes: She shows her comedic skills as the feisty Tawny in "Hot Sluts:Rated R!" sponsored by Comedy Central; she plays Mikki in the ensemble series "Straight Up!" and ventures into the dramatic as Alexis in "Closer to Crazy" written and produced by Nina Foxx.

Shelli was nominated for an NAACP Best Actress Award for her stage portrayal of Dorothy Dandridge in "Dorothy and Otto" and she also embodied the vivacious Josephine Baker in "When Divas Were Divas”, currently touring colleges in Southern California. Shelli also headlined the gospel production of "Treat Her Like a Lady", directed by Roy Fegan of The Five Heartbeats. “I think the stage is where I do some of my best work”, says Boone. “It’s where you can really connect with the audience. In a sense, you are feeling together. Plus, you never know what’s going to happen –and that’s the fun part!"

Shelli fell in love with performing at an early age. In fact, her mom still has the picture of Shelli on stage at age four dressed up in a little pink tutu - she was the tiniest thing up there but what a big smile! Shelli continued to develop her dance skills in tap, jazz and gymnastics as well as music - playing the violin and piano. However, during adolescence her interests switched to acting and she hit the theater scene in the D.C. Metropolitan area. Being a military brat (her mother just retired after over 20 years of service) has afforded Shelli the opportunity to travel the globe and participate in projects overseas and nationwide. This has also given her much insight into different cultures, lending her the ability to adapt quickly to new surroundings. She uses these experiences as a tool for character development and career growth.

With a Bachelor of Arts degree in Mass Media Communications and having worked as a production assistant and line producer, Shelli also has extensive experience behind the camera. She is developing these skills further by writing, producing and directing her own projects. She has created two sold-out variety shows featuring song, dance and acting pieces from various performers in downtown Los Angeles. This is now an annual production. She has also written a one-woman show based on the lives of frontier women, called "Out West: Women of the Plains". Her acclaimed show now tours nationally.

Shelli is dedicated to making her career flourish and is always looking for ways to challenge herself and grow as an artist and a humanitarian. She continues to train in acting and music as well as boxing, stage combat and firearms. “I would kill to do an action film!” she often says. Shelli also takes classes for writing and directing and reads incessantly. “My faith, family and friends are my biggest sources of inspiration”, she says. “I am truly living my dream and I love the fact that I can wake up every day and be happy about what I do,” she says. “I am so excited about the future and I know that it’s only going to get better and better. I want to do it all…and bring it to the screen!” Mark her words - you will be seeing more from this young lady - this is just the beginning of her journey.

MORE INFO, PICS, REEL at www.shelliboone.com

I asked Shelli where she would like to see Alexis go in the next season of Closer to Crazy.

** As far as the character of Alexis, I would like to see us delve into her darker side. She seems like the perfect doting wife and stepmother, but Season 1 reveals to us that she might have some skeletons in her closet. What is the deal with her mystery caller? What does her past reveal? Maybe she gets pregnant? Is it really Remedy's? The field is wide open for her to have more drama in her relationship, maybe leaving a door open for Ayzah to get back in there with Remedy and creating more conflict between the two women.

(Nina Foxx Presents) Southern Comfort by Cynnamon Foster- Book Video

2010-10-21T13:43:00.001-07:00

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Book Trailer for (Nina Foxx Presents) Southern Comfort by Cynnamon FosterPublished by Stiletto Press Publishing, LLC ;Nov 2010
Book Video by FoxxTale Productions 2010

Closer to Crazy : episode 4

2010-10-03T22:33:00.001-07:00

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We meet the good guy; ayzah and Alexis have an encounter.Based on characters from Just Short of Crazy, By Nina FoxxWritten & Executive Produced by Nina Foxx, Directed by Freeman WHite III, Produced by Paull Cho, Starring Heidi Marie Wanser, Shelli Boone and Featuring Omar Benson Miller.

Nina Foxx Presents: Closer to Crazy - Episode 3

2010-09-20T07:50:00.001-07:00

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Ayzah can't resist and gets drawn further in, Alexis gets more interesting. ;starring, Heidi Marie Wanser, Freeman White, Shelli Boone, Mailon Rivera, Croix K. Sotowritten & Executive produced by Nina Foxxbased on characters from the book, Just Short of Crazy, By Nina FoxxDirected by Freeman White, Produced by Paull Cho,Score by John Forbescopyright FoxxTale Productions, LLC 2010www.ninafoxx.com

Who are the Players in "Closer to Crazy"--Part Three- The FACE, The VOICE, Sure 'nuff

2010-09-17T16:33:00.000-07:00

I met a guy once who left a serious impression on me. He wasn’t tall, he wasn’t overly handsome, or even very well-dressed, but somehow, he was fine. He had THAT THING. He oozed sexuality from every pore, the type of guy that walked into a crowded room and heads just turned his way, whether one wanted to look or not. In my book, “Just Short of Crazy”, the essence of that man became Remedy Brown, the ex-pot head from the hard streets of south Dallas turned single dad and sexy, successful proprietor of multiple hookah bars. He’d survived his hard knocks and his crazy ex-wife (Ayzah) and managed to come out on top.

When we were casting for the part of Remedy Brown (in Closer to Crazy), I couldn’t picture an actor that made me feel how Remedy did in my head, but when Mailon Rivera walked onto the set, I immediately knew that he was the one. Mailon (THE FACE) looks nothing like the original guy, and I’m sure the real Remedy would be flattered, but in his performance, he mailed Remedy to a “t”.

Mailon mesmerized me with his small talk when he came on the set. We’d taken a break for lunch and we chatted and I couldn’t take my EARS off of him. You see, in addition to being THE FACE, he was also THE VOICE. His conversation was like a melody. He didn’t have to sing for me to know that he was a singer,too. I stood there, wondering if he did theater and picturing him in another FoxxTale Production, belting out on of the songs that I’d written with my composing partner, John Forbes.
In about 20 minutes, we were old friends and were surprised to find out that we had a very good friend in common. We were both friends with author Lolita Files.

Small world, indeed.

About Mailon Rivera:
(From IMDB)
Tall, charming, sexy with a voice that should be on nighttime radio. Mailon Rivera has been patiently honing a very successful acting career in Hollywood. The power of his electrifying magnetism has been witnessed as the romantic lead in BET's original film comedy "Midnight Blue," along with credits that include such top television shows as "The Shield," "Friends," "Seinfeld," "Arli$$," and the MTV series "Spyder Games." Not bad for a Puerto Rican kid from Brooklyn who once break danced for subway change in New York City's Times Square, in front of the same building that later was to headquarter MTV! "I wouldn't change that experience for anything in the world," he says. "I was practically homeless and sleeping on rooftops back then, but I think it made me stronger as a person because it allowed me to see what I really wanted in life. My life experience is important in that I can now show kids who have to grow up hard like me that there is another way out if you truly want something in life."

Closer to Crazy Episode 2

2010-09-09T09:33:00.000-07:00

Who is the Preacher-Man? Behind the Scenes on Closer to Crazy

2010-09-07T17:47:00.000-07:00

I first met Barry Lyons is the hallway of a burlesque club--our location for the day. I was watching as they were shooting episode two of Closer to Crazy in a little room with four walls of mirrors. He came and sat next to me while I was trying to figure out how they were going to shoot the scene in this mirrored room with no equipment showing.
Barry quickly gave me the once over. I’m sure someone told him that I was the Executive Producer, ad I knew that he’d been recruited to play the role of Dexter Smalls, one that hadn’t quite jelled yet in my head, at least not beyond these first few episodes. I was nervous for two reasons. One, I was on a STRIP club, yeah, it was daylight, but we only had the place until noon. At that point the club would open and REAL STRIPPERS would come in, but more importantly, our rates would go up. The second reason I was nervous--he was a real preacher. A Pastor. Of a big church.
He struck up a conversation and before I knew it, his wonderful baritone voice had comforted all my fears. (And I ain’t even religious like that.) We talked politics and spirituality and I was impressed that he didn’t even blink twice when Heidi Marie walked by him in her next to nothing wardrobe, nor did he turn his nose up when the REAL stripper came into work early. (We recruited her. You will see her in another episode).

Later, I asked Pastor B about what made him want to be involved on Closer to Crazy.
His reply--“I was very excited to play Pastor Smalls because the way that you wrote him was a slight departure from the normal way that preacher’s are portrayed in film. He felt, alive, authentic and approachable.”

What do you want to see this character do in later episodes?

“Well, I’d love to see him in direct conflict with Ayzah’s past, and confrontational with people in ”the life“ that she is trying to leave behind.”

Well, Pastor B, I’ll see what I can do.

About Barry Lyons:

Barry Lyons is the founding minister and senior pastor at Living Waters of the San Fernando Valley. Originally from New Jersey, he is a fifth generation preacher. He has a background in music and theater, and has enjoyed several lead roles in stage musicals across the country, has recorded a series of love songs for christian couples, and ha authored two upcoming books about contemporary christian living, entitled “Sinners Anonymous” and “PMS: The Pre-marital Shift”.

Who is in Closer to Crazy?

2010-09-06T12:49:00.000-07:00

Now that episode one of Closer to Crazy has been up for about a week, I wanted to give a little background for those who keep sending me questions. First, yes, this series does begin where my book, Just Short of Crazy leaves off. I don’t want to spoil the book for those of you who haven’t read it yet.
When I wrote the book, I didn’t expect people to fall in love with my bad girl, Ayzah Brown, but that is what happened. I got tons of inquiries from folks wanting to know what happened to her after the book ended. At first, I kept saying, the book ended, nothing happened to her. As it turned out, Ayzah wasn’t done yet and she started to talk to me from beyond the page. That’s how Closer to Crazy was born.
In my mind, it is an ongoing web soap opera, similar to what Tom Joyner does for “Its Your World”. After the first few episodes, my plan is to ask you what you think should happen, then go back to the drawing board.

A few of you want to know who the player’s are, so over the next few weeks, I’ll give you a little information on the actor. Let me first say that they were all professionals, and it was amazing for me watch them bring the words I’d written to life.

Let’s start at the beginning. Who is Ayzah Brown?

Heidi Marie Wanser is that actress that you know you know from somewhere. You may have seen her in various commercials, the film See Dick Run, and look for her in the upcoming movie, 513. In addition to being an actress, Heidi Marie is also a vocalist, and I’d like to see her in one of my other productions. You can check her out at http://www.heidimarieonline.com.

Hand Written Romance

2010-09-02T09:54:00.000-07:00

From Cynnamon Foster--

I got note in the mail today. Not email, but old-fashioned snail mail. It was handwritten, on nice stationary that made me turn it over and take a long look. The words were spaced out to leave lots of white space and the note itself, the words, they were sexy and thoughtful. The note isn’t from someone that is new in my life, instead, its from the person that has been closest to my heart for almost 11 years, and just touching the envelope from him still makes me tingle.
I left the note on my desk to read over and over and after I’m done with it, I’m going to put it in a special box I have for such things so that if I want it when I’m feeling gloomy, I can pull it out to revisit the warm feeling I got as I held it in my hands.
Can you remember the last time you recieved something as sexy as a handwritten note? Today, the world moves at the speed of light, but there’s something about a letter that you just can’t get from email.
Not many of us will take the time to even write a thank you note, much less a note to someone special to let them know that you appreciate and love them. We get married, or into long term relationships and we forget the things that made us want that other person in the first place, those little thoughtful things that made our hearts skip a beat.
Men’s hearts skip beats, too, they just don’t announce it to the world the way women so often do. While you’re sitting there asking, “What have you done for me lately?” Consider asking yourself, “What, exactly, have you done for him?”
Have you used any kind words or do you just criticize everything he does? What is the one thing your man enjoys doing? Have you tried it? (Get your mind out of the bedroom here, folks.)
Sometimes, romance happens when we take just a little step. Instead of waiting for it to happen to you, you have got to make it happen for yourself. Not many people take the time to date their mate, male or female. Kids, life, work happens, but if we expect our relationships to continue to happen, we have to plan time or them the same way we plan for the other commitments in our lives. The chase was exciting in the beginning, to keep it going, you’ve got to work.

Cynnamon Foster is the alter-ego of author Nina Foxx. She has been begging to be let out for quite awhile. She tied Nina up and put her in a closet and has been writing ever since.

Nina Foxx Presents Closer to Crazy Episode 1

2010-08-27T09:54:00.001-07:00

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In this episode, Ayzah Brown goes to pay her respects to the mother of her recently deceased friend, Erica and finds she isn't welcomed.
Written & Produced by Nina Foxx, Directed by Freeman White III Produced by Paull Cho, Starring Heidi Marie Wanser, Music by John Forbes/ForJam Media, Copyright FoxxTale Productions 2010

Three Day for the Cure UPdate

2010-06-04T09:14:00.001-07:00

I wanted to follow up on the e-mail I sent you earlier about my participation in the Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure. I've been spending the past few weeks preparing for the event and have really made a lot of progress. So far I've raised 2130.00. My personal goal is to raise 5000 for this walk, but before I get there, I have to raise the minimum to participate, which is 2300. As you an see, I only have a few hundred dollars to go. I also recently decided to be a training walk leader in the an Diego Metro area and am anticipating undergoing my training in the next few days.

My training is also going well. I walk or run a minimum of 3 miles per day. I can hardly wait to hit the road with the thousands of other women and men who are joining together for this common cause.

There is still time for you to support my efforts with a donation. Net proceeds from the Komen 3-Day for the Cure are invested in breast cancer research and community programs.

As I mentioned in my original note, I am walking in memory of my mother, Elvie Powell, who succumbed to breast cancer at the age of 38, but we all know someone who has been touched by this horrible disease.

Follow the link below to visit my personal fundraising Web page and make a donation.

Thank you for your support.

Sincerely,
Nina Foxx

Click here to visit my personal page.
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Points To Ponder

2010-04-28T09:44:00.000-07:00

I don’t know who originally wrote this, but I got it in an email today and some of the points were so spot on, I had to share.

POINTS TO PONDER  1. I think part of a best friend's job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.  2. Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you're wrong.  3. I totally take back all those times I didn't want to nap when I was younger.  4. There is great need for a sarcasm font.  5. How the heck are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?  6. Was learning cursive really necessary?  7. Map Quest really needs to start their directions on #5. I'm pretty sure I know how to get out of my neighborhood.  8. Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.  9. I can't remember the last time I wasn't at least kind of tired.  10. Bad decisions make good stories.  11. You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you know that you just aren't going to do anything productive for the rest of the day.  12. Can we all just agree to ignore whatever comes after Blue Ray? I don't want to have to restart my collection...again.  13. I'm always slightly terrified when I exit out of MsWord and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my ten-page research paper that I swear I did not make any changes to.  14. "Do not machine wash or tumble dry" means I will never wash this - ever.  15. I hate when I just miss a call by the last ring (Hello? Hello?), but when I immediately call back, it rings nine times and goes to voice mail. What did you do after I didn't answer? Drop the phone and run away?  16. I hate leaving my house confident and looking good and then not seeing anyone of importance the entire day. What a waste.  17. I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.  18. I think the freezer deserves a light as well.  19. I disagree with Kay Jewelers. I would bet on any given Friday or Saturday night - more kisses begin with Miller Lite than Kay.  20. I wish Google Maps had an "Avoid Ghetto" routing option.  21. Sometimes, I'll watch a movie that I watched when I was younger and suddenly realize I had no idea what the hell was going on when I first saw it.  22. I would rather try to carry 10 plastic grocery bags in each hand than take 2 trips to bring my groceries in.  23. The only time I look forward to a red light is when I'm trying to finish a text.  24. I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.  25. How many times is it appropriate to say "What?" before you just nod and smile because you still didn't hear or understand a word they said?  26. I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars team up to prevent a jerk from cutting in at the front. Stay strong, brothers and sisters!  27. Shirts get dirty. Underwear gets dirty. Pants? Pants never get dirty, and you can wear them forever.  28. Is it just me or do high school kids get dumber & dumber every year?  29. There's no worse feeling than that millisecond you're sure you are going to die after leaning your chair back a little too far.  30. Sometimes I'll look down at my watch 3 consecutive times and still not know what time it is.  31. Even under ideal conditions people have trouble locating their car keys in a pocket, finding their cell phone, and Pinning the Tail on the Donkey - but I'd bet everyone can find and push the snooze button from 3 feet away, in about 1.7 seconds, eyes closed, first time, every time!

2010-04-13T12:38:00.000-07:00

Postal Problems

2010-04-12T10:04:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, I got a note, along with an envelope, in my mailbox notifying me that a package that had been sent to me was due postage. Okay, no biggie. I put the 40 cents it as short in the envelope and my package was delivered. I thought nothing of it. Then, the following week, the same thing happened. This time, though, the postman rang my bell and stuck his hand through my front door to receive the .23 due. Hmmm.

I realize the post office is having some bad times and they are cracking down, but this time, I was annoyed. If you are sending me a package, why can’t you put the right amount of postage on it since I have probably already paid for postage?

After being out of town a week, I was going through my mail and lo! and behold, another postage due notice. This time though, I checked the postmark. The package had actually been metered at a post office! What the...? You mean to tell me, you weigh something, meter it, then after it arrives you decide it costs more? I don’t think so! I don’t believe I should be held liable for your mistake. It seems to me that all of the USPS scales should be calibrated the same way. The package didn’t grow en-route, so it can’t possible way more than when it left its origin. Mr PostMaster, you should have measured right the first time. No wonder USPS is having problems.

'News from FoxxTale Productions, LLC'

2010-03-19T11:47:00.000-07:00

'News from FoxxTale Productions, LLC'

Three Day Walk For The Cure

2010-03-16T13:48:00.000-07:00

This year, I'll be participating in a very special event called the Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure.  I'll walk 60 miles over the course of three days with thousands of other women and men. Net proceeds from the Komen 3-Day for the Cure are invested in breast cancer research and community programs.  I've agreed to raise at least $2,300 in donations. I've set my personal goal at $5000. So I need your help. Would you please consider making a donation of $50? Keep in mind how far I'm walking - and how hard I'll have to train. You can give online at The3Day.org. Just follow the link below to visit my personal fundraising Web page and make a donation. You can also call 800-996-3DAY to donate over the phone.  My mother died from breast cancer at the age of 38. I was barely out of first grade. I'm not letting you know this to get your sympathy, but I do hope I can convince you to support me in my 3-Day walk for the Cure. I'm hoping to raise 5000 and awareness that this disease affects us all, and is especially devastating in the african american population. I hope you will consider a donation of at least 50 dollars to help me reach my goal, but at the very least 5 dollars.  Not everyone can walk, but most of us can find a way to give a little so that we may help a lot!  One person is diagnosed with breast cancer every three minutes in the United States. That's why I'm walking so far. To do something bold about breast cancer. I hope that you'll share this incredible adventure with me - by supporting me in my fundraising efforts.  Thank you in advance for your generosity!  Sincerely, Thanks  Nina Foxx Author, Playwright & Filmmaker http://ninafoxx.com

History's Lessons

2010-02-13T13:34:00.000-08:00

It’s March. Where did February go? It does seem like February slipped by in a furry of snowstorms. So did black history month. or maybe its were I’m located. When I lived in Texas, it seemed like the short month of February was jam packed with activities designed to remind and celebrate the legacy , contributions and history that Black Americans have made to this country. I went to luncheons, breakfasts, parades and service activities, etc. There were so many we had to pick and choose which we would attend.
Now that I have moved to “supposedly” more liberal California, the month almost slipped by unnoticed. There was one activity, and that is the first weekend in March. Instead of being a month of remembrance and reflection, the thing that will stay in my mind about February of 2010 is The Compton Cook Out on UCSD’s campus, an event that was a mockery of black history celebrations everywhere, where participants were encouraged to come in black face or dressed as jigaboos and project girls. Oh, wait, that’s not all. There was also a noose found hanging in the school library. Lovely.
What saddens me about that is so many times we like to say that things like Black History month are not necessary, that we are all equal now and since we have a Black president, racism doesn’t exist and that the lessons we’ve learned from our past history have been ingrained in the younger generation. Don’t you wish that were true?
In the words of Gustave Flaubert ,
“Our ignorance of history causes us to slander our own times.”

Never Let a Girl (Guy) Cook In Your Kitchen: Can men & women really JUST be friends?

2010-02-09T09:12:00.000-08:00

I was going to blog about what you could do for yourself on Valentine’s day, but instead found a much more interesting topic.
Do you think a man and woman can be “just friends”? I used to think so, then I realized there are all shades of this.

It depends on a lot of things. Is the man single? Is the woman? Just how do you define “friends”? Is a friend someone you know and you might hang out with occasionally? How do you define hang out? Does hanging out mean you went to high school (or something ) together and you happen to be in town and once in ten years you have a drink? Or does it mean you have a regular get together to maybe go to the movies alone together, without your significant other? How does the answer change if you are married?

I know people who would absolutely answer yes, but can they really?

I know you are racking your brain thinking, “Me and Ray-Ray have been friends for years”. But if you dig down, has either you or Ray-Ray, at one point, tried to take your relationship somewhere else, into the romantic realm and been rebuffed, only to settle back into the friendship zone? Is that a hurdle that must be crossed in order for a “friend” relationship to be successful between the sexes? How many times has respect and admiration been confused with sexual attraction and led to disappointment where we say “I shouldn’t have done that”?

If your significant other has one of these relationships, one that you are uncomfortable with, what do you do? Do you grin and bear it or do you speak up and have the “Listen, Buddy” speech?

In the words of Mary J, when is a woman(man) “cooking in your kitchen”, and what do you do to keep things from going from simmer to slow boil?

2010-01-28T07:39:00.000-08:00

A New NinaFoxx.com is coming!

That's right, new year, new FOXX style. My website has been redesigned to reflect the new parts of Nina. Go there over the next few days and take in the new metamorphosis. My new site will be the headquarters where you can find out about all of my new projects.
From there you can connect with me and my friends via my blog or my twitter. You never know what I'm up to or where I'm headed, so be sure to check in here often. My last entry will make you think about the hairy parts of life. :-)
I hope that "Lycanthropy Runs in my family" will make you dialogue about Mo'Niques leg look for the red carpet and what you think is acceptable.

FILM:
One of the new things you will find on my website is a film section. That's right, film. Think of it as FoxxTale TV-

Those of you that have been following me know that I have been active on the film scene. I created a web pilot called "She's Got Is'Shoes" and my love and hunt for SHOES! You can watch the show here in five minute (or so episodes, with new episode posted periodically. She's Got Is'shoes has won several awards, including, Best TV/Reality, Best Short, The Award of Merit from the Accolade and most recently, it is a featured selection at the San Diego Black Film Festival.

Coming soon to that section is another Web series called "Closer to Crazy". This little drama features characters from my book, Just Short of Crazy, as well as some actors you will recognize from TV Shows you love. (Look closely at upcoming episodes, you might even see me!) I like to think of it as Soul Food with grit.

STAGE:
I've penned a new play called Baby Mama Drama. Right now, we are working on getting it filmed so we can make it available to you play lovers, but in the meantime, you can get the music.
I was honored to write music for the play along with my composing partner, John Forbes (ForJam Media). I had a blast doing it, and hope you enjoy listening as much as I enjoyed writing. You can hear the songs FOR FREE on Jango.com and Lala.com and they are available on itunes and Amazon music downloads. The music features Tyga Graham (Silk) and LaTrice Pace (The Anointed Pace Sisters). Check them out and let me know what you think.

For those of you that did not get your copy of Marrying UP, you can now rent it from NETFLIX! Put it in your queue. Its also available from Amazon.com and Target.

BOOKS:

I want to introduce you to a friend of mine, Cynamon Foster. Her work will be featured in Can't Help the Way That I Feel, and erotic anthology coming in March, edited by my good friend Lori Bryant Woolridge. The Story, In The Shadow of the Midnight Train" is a steamy one, so be prepared. Pre-order your copy on Amazon early! Cynamon and I will thank you. In April, Look for Cynamon's Debut novel--Southern Comfort. It is a tale of erotic suspense guaranteed to keep you cumming back for more.

Best,
Nina Foxx
www.ninafoxx.com
www.ninafoxx.blogspot.com

Follow me on Twitter: ninafoxx

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Lycanthropy runs in my family

2010-01-21T16:59:00.000-08:00

Mo’Nique has been in the news because of her hirsute legs on the red carpet. She said on Oprah that being unshaven was a black women’s thing. Ahem. Maybe its just a Mo’Nique thing, cause I’m a black women and I shaved my legs as soon as I had hair.
I must have been twelve when I discovered the first hairs. I remember an oppressively hot day, mid-summer in the deep of Alabama. I was sitting on the porch in my grandmother’s rocking chair, folding myself over to stop the beginnings of what I didn’ t yet recognize as cramps, with my chin on my knees. There were hairs there. It wasn’t a conscious decision to remove them, but I somehow got the sewing scissors and started to trim myself.
I stole my older brothers razor that summer and used it on my legs until it got rusty. At one point it cut me so bad that my nervous system jolted and made me dizzy. No hair will grow in the spot where I cut myself to this his day.
I tried various dipilatories, singing “ “I wear short shorts” with the NAIR ladies as I made the entire house smell like rotten eggs. I was so hairy after awhile that I had to shave every day in the shower in the morning and I swear I would get five o’clock shadow on my legs. I was convinced that lycanthropy ran in my family and was scared that I might become something other than myself during a full moon.
There’s another pot where hair won’t grow because of a skateboard accident. I was riding my skateboard behind a bike, holding on, enjoying my free ride until I go too close to the bike wheel and it burned my leg.
There’s a similar spot, about the size of a quarter, on the other leg that I got years later. I used to date a guy that would take me to work down on Wall Street on his motorcycle. If you look really close, I think the brand name of his bike muffler is branded in my leg, and my skin has grown around a left over piece of pantyhose material that melted there, but alas, there is no hair.
As I got older, I got more sophisticated. I tried a torture device called the Epilady. It really looked viable until I touched it to my leg and realized that it was just ripping my hairs out, one by one. I even tried sanding the hair off recently with Smooth away, but I felt like I was giving my legs rug burn.
With all the torture devices it seems like I would give up, but nothing is more rewarding than my kid feeling my legs and telling me that I do not feel like a cactus anymore, or the look on my honeys face when we are snuggling and he rubs his legs against mine and smiles as he enjoys my smoothness, happy that the only hairy legs in the bed belong to him.
The various spots on my body where hair grows should not connect to one another, and the only hair that should be left au naturel is on top of my head. I do applaud Mo’Nique’s comfort with her choice, but for me, I choose not to give in to my Werewolf side. I will continue to shave, pluck, smooth, wax until I stop growing hair. Its much easier than putting hair gel on my legs to make the hair lay down.

The Vanquishing of Teen Demons

2010-01-15T12:16:00.001-08:00

I used to know a girl in high school who appeared so confident, except for one thing. She had a funny, little nervous laugh that would always give her away. When she said something she wasn’t sure of, her hands would fly up to her mouth, and then that little laugh would escape. It was deep, belly kind of laugh, delivered with a snicker that would shake her whole body. The two of us used to be friends, sort of. We traveled in the same circles, but I think the two of us had an unspoken understanding to keep each other at arm’s length, or we both lacked the familiarity with ourselves that kept us from the disclosure with another that makes people true friends.
I almost admired her. In my eyes, she had all the things that teens deem important; great hair, great clothes and a very close female friend, at a time when I hated my own orange colored hair that my father refused to let me have cut, coiffed, colored or relaxed on a regular basis, and Daddy-chosen clothes that never seemed quite “high school.”
Before Facebook, I was not really in touch with anyone from back in the day. I have since moved repeatedly from region to region. Since I don’t get back to New York much, I rarely even run into anyone I knew from my teen years. But two years ago, I attended a conference in washington, DC, and I saw this same girl, now obviously a woman. I spotted her just as she stepped onto the up escalator. I was about the head down at the same time. My heart skipped a beat. I couldn’t believe I was going to actually run into someone who knew me then. I liked me better now; I was successful and semi-famous, had great hair, was reasonably in shape and had a fabulous outfit chosen by my favorite stylist (my sister). I had every intention of speaking to her. Instead, I watched her step approach mine, and then, it passed, close enough for us to touch each other. I said nothing and she looked straight ahead. I couldn’t tell if she hadn’t seen me, or chose to ignore me, but neither one of us turned around to exchange the “Oh, My God!” that I’d imagined.
A year passed and it was a new summer. I was vacationing with my family on our favorite island, when to my surprise, there she was again, alone, or so it seemed. I was surrounded by friends, and once again she had that stoic, straight ahead stare that let her not acknowledge me in my great shoes, great hair and great friends. I couldn’t stand it, so the next night, when we all gathered at the traditional spot, I went over and I talked to her.
I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. There was a chance that she did not remember me at all, so I reminded her, and of course she remembered, but there was no way she could do the stare now. She had to talk. And when she did, her hands flew up to her mouth and she did that quirky, nervous, laugh, exactly the same way she used to back when doves cried. Except for a few lines on her hands, I could have exchanged the picture in my head with the one in front of me.
We spoke for a few minutes. She still lived in the same neighborhood, in the same city, and really hadn’t changed that much at all. In my head, I’d changed a lot, but had I really? My outside was different, of course, but was the inside? I wasn’t sure.
I thought a minute. There was a time when I might have been intimidated, but no so much now. I realized that there was a reason that the two of us weren’t close friends then, and those reasons probably hadn’t changed much. I’d grown up and moved on and high school was so far behind me that it was blurry in my memory. A series of failures and successes had led me to explore things about myself that had forced me to grow, kicking and screaming sometimes, but grow nonetheless. I might not have liked myself so much then, but I certainly did now. It was clear then that had no reason to make peace with the demons of my past. I’d already done it. As this thought budded and bloomed in my head, I smiled at the woman, shook her hand and wished her the best.

New Year

2010-01-04T13:52:00.000-08:00

I just got back to the West Coast last night, and I’m spending time in opening the holiday cards that came While I was away. I love the picture and the update cards the best. The holidays are a time when you can catch up with friends and family that you haven’t seen in a while, so I really appreciate it when someone takes the time to update me on their life and to actually mail me a card. I did get a few e-cards, but call me old-fashioned. They are just not the same. What do you think? I also came to the conclusion that mainly women send cards. Of about the 100 that I received, only one came from a male. Interesting.
I took the last two weeks of the year to rest and do absolutely nothing. When I left here, I had every intention of writing the last two weeks of the year away. But thankfully, my family didn’t let me do that. Instead they kept me occupied, sometimes occupied doing nothing, for most of the time I was gone. The end result is that I am refreshed, rejuvenated and ready to attack the new year. For instance, look at me I’m blogging. I haven’t blogged in a while. Instead, taking the shortcut and twittering or using face book.
I threw myself into my exercise routine today, and then came home and purged my closet of anything that I had not worn in at least a year. The result is that I can now do yoga in my closet if I wanted to. There is a lot more room, I discovered clothes that I didn’t know I had, and now there’s room for new stuff. YAY. new stuff. I feel somehow lighter, so much so that I may even purge my shoe closet.
And here is some Nina Foxx news. If you haven’t heard already, along with John Forbes, I recently completed the soundtrack to my new play Baby Mama Drama. If you haven’t checked it out, you can hear the music on Jango.com and on my Lala.com. It is available for download on Amazon music downloads, And it’s coming to iTunes soon.
In other news, my short film/TV pilot, won another award. It is best short film in the New York installment of the New York Independent international film and video festival. It is also an official selection of the San Diego Black film Festival at the end of January. I’m looking forward to that one as it is the third largest Black film Festival in the United States.
Just last week, we completed working on Closer to Crazy. That is another short film that consists of mini episodes that I will eventually show on the Internet. I sent out a few film festival entries so keep your fingers crossed on that one.

Happy new year! Here’s to a great 2010!

Funny Christmas pictures

2009-12-08T10:49:00.001-08:00

The Twelve Days of Christmas

2009-12-07T11:01:00.000-08:00

Got this is an email, thought I would share...

There is one Christmas Carol that has always baffled me.
What in the world do leaping lords, French hens,
swimming swans, and especially the partridge who won't come out
of the pear tree have to do with Christmas?

This week, I found out.
From 1558 until 1829, Roman Catholics in England were
not permitted to practice their faith openly. Someone
during that era wrote this carol as a catechism song for young Catholics.
It has two levels of meaning: the surface meaning
plus a hidden meaning known only to members of their church. Each
element in the carol has a code word for a religious reality
which the children could remember.
-The partridge in a pear tree was Jesus Christ.
-Two turtle doves were the Old and New Testaments.
-Three French hens stood for faith, hope and love.
-The four calling birds were the four gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke & John.
-The five golden rings recalled the Torah or Law, the first five books of the Old Testament.
-The six geese a-laying stood for the six days of creation.
-Seven swans a-swimming represented the sevenfold gifts of the Holy Spirit--Prophesy, Serving, Teaching, Exhortation, Contribution, Leadership, and Mercy.
-The eight maids a-milking were the eight beatitudes.
-Nine ladies dancing were the nine fruits of the Holy Spirit--Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness,
Gentleness, and Self Control.
-The ten lords a-leaping were the ten commandments.
-The eleven pipers piping stood for the eleven faithful disciples.
-The twelve drummers drumming symbolized the twelve points of belief in the Apostles' Creed.
So there is your history for today. This knowledge was shared with me and I found it interesting and enlightening and now I know how that strange song became a Christmas Carol...so pass it on if you wish.'
Merry (Twelve Days of) Christmas Everyone

Confessions of a midlist author

2009-11-29T13:41:00.000-08:00

Came across this article on Salon.com and loved it. Sadly, it seems so true!

http://dir.salon.com/story/books/feature/2004/03/22/midlist/print.html

An Open Letter to Oprah, By Virginia Deberry & Donna Grant

2009-11-23T10:02:00.000-08:00

n a moment of frustration Virginia wrote an open letter to Oprah, and shared it with a few writer friends who are going through the same thing we are. Now the letter is starting to go viral--getting a lot of repostings and inclusions in blogs, newsletters and on Facebook, so we decided we should share it with you, the readers who have supported us all these years. We are thankful for you and we wish you a joyful Thanksgiving!

V&D

Dear Oprah:

We don't sing karaoke or dance with the stars, we have been contributing to the cultural landscape long before Jon & Kate, Britney,Rhianna and Chris or Stephanie Meyer and most of America, including you have probably never even heard of us.

We have railed against Kanye's proud pronouncement upon the publication of his 52 page book: Thank You and You're Welcome, that "I am not a fan of books. I would never want a book's autograph." Huh?

We are writers and we are in trouble. Big trouble.

I would never have imagined myself writing this with the hundreds of thousands of emails and letters the show receives, I know the chances of this one actually getting through are somewhere between slim and non-existent. But one of the mantras my best friend/business partner and I lived by in the early days, was "It's only postage." Now it's not even that. So I could not find a reason not to write and hit 'send'. Like I said--we are in trouble.

Everyone knows that Oprah is a champion of reading, that books are one of her favorite things and it is precisely because of that passion that I send this note. I'm sure you are aware that publishing, like so many industries today-especially those centered around the arts, is struggling to keep up and figure their way through the maze of new media. What I'm not sure you know is how that struggle is affecting, or more accurately disaffecting an entire segment of writers--black novelists. Not the few who live in the rarefied literary echelons-Toni Morrison, Stephen Carter, Edwidge Dandicat etc. are doing fine-they enjoy the support of the media and the "wider" (whiter) population. These struggling authors also don't include those who now make up the largest growing segment of Af-Am writers-urban/erotica authors whose books are acquired by publishers at little expense and sold at great profit. A quick look at the Af-Am displays in bookstores will make this trend abundantly clear.

The literary marginalization that is taking place largely affects those of us in the middle-much like the economy today. There are many of us who have/had careers courtesy of Terry McMillan, we came along right after the success of Waiting to Exhale and found a warm welcome and an open door for a career we had longed for but so often found beyond our reach. Terry proved, what we had always known, that black folks read, and would buy books featuring characters they personally identify with. Not that we would stop reading all the non-black authors we supported, we would just enjoy a wider choice.

Members of our 'class' include among others, Tina McElroy Ansa, Bernice McFadden and Connie Briscoe.Carleen Brice, a newcomer to writing fiction-though she has written non-fiction, last year started "December is National Buy a Book by a Black Author and Give it to Someone Not Black Month." She also created a blog and pretty funny video welcoming white people to the AA section of the book store.

For the past 20 years, Donna Grant, my writing partner, and I have been writing novels,7 in total. No Pulitzer or Nobel winners, but well crafted stories that have enlightened and entertained tens of thousands of readers. Our first "big book" Tryin' to Sleep in the Bed You Made was published in 1997, has never been out of print, is in its fifth edition and sold over 750,000 copies, without any major advertising or endorsements.

But that was then. This is now.

And we, along with many of our "classmates" find our careers in jeopardy. (After 20 years, and at the age of 60, I personally am on the verge of throwing in towel and looking for a "real" job.) This precarious position is not because we write bad books, but because we all fall in the came category "African American Fiction" and we just aren't selling as well as our "street-lit" sisters and brothers. What we write is women's fiction with Af-Am characters--stories of struggle and triumph, loss, coping, love, and life, learning. But we are labeled, handicapped, before we're out of the gate. Those who are expecting urban lit are disappointed, and those (white folks) who might enjoy our work because the theme might be relevant to their life (like What Doesn't Kill You, our last book about a woman who loses her job after 25 yrs), don't ever see it because it's in "that" section and they aren't going "there." We wrote a blog about this subject a few years ago and repost it every year--because, sadly, it's still relevant. (Nov 20 entry-Writing White. http://bit.ly/3isaSI)

We do our best with our craft, but get "editorial" requests to add "more grit" or "more sex" and when we don't, can find ourselves without a publisher. This tactic has already cost us the final payment of a very lucrative contract---and a publisher. And despite exuberant praise from our editor about our new book (March 2010) "I kissed the manuscript when I finished..." we find ourselves wondering if we will get a deal for another book. We certainly know that if we were starting out in today's climate, it is unlikely we would have ever been given a chance.

I am going to resist the urge to be pejorative about urban fiction, but it is well known that most of these books are "under-written and under-edited" and are viewed strictly as profit centers. I do question what it means when books about pimps, hos and thugs, are fast becoming the predominant image we have on display in bookstores-a kind of anti-Obama if you will. What will happen when our young people find their choices limited like they were only a couple of decades ago?

I will not ask that Oprah select a book by one of us mid-list Afican American authors for her book club. I will not ask her to condemn the proliferation of badly written urban lit which would likely instigate another rap/hip-hop debacle. (While I do liken it to the crack epidemic in our communities in the '80's.) But I will ask for her attention. A word or two on this subject from Oprah, Champion of Things Literary, would I believe, make a world of difference in our plight. It might even mean that we keep encouraging young writers and continue to get emails like this one we received 2 weeks ago:

Hi,
My name is Carlie and I am a writer. I have loved books my entire life but have never been as inspired to write a full novel myself, until I met you when I was in high school. Up until then, I had dreams of becoming a published author, but was afraid to step put and do more than just a collection of short stories and poetry. Not that writing those don't require equal talent, but I have found that there is something about the dedication it takes to write a full length novel that I admire. I believe it was my sophomore year when you two came to my high school (Lanier High School in Austin, TX). You did a reading of Trying... and then handed out copies that you autographed for us. I have read my copy over and over again over the years and I fall in love with the characters every time as if for the first time. I was so excited when the second book came out because it felt like a chance for me to catch up with old friends lol. I have been working on a novel and have almost completed the first manuscript. I know I still have a lot of revision ahead of me but I thought it would be nice to get some advice from someone who has inspired me on how to begin my journey into the world of publishing. I would really appreciate it if you have a few minutes to share some of your words of wisdom and advice. Thank you so much for continuing to do what you do because you give women like me hope for my own future success.

Love, Carlie Dempsey

Thanks for letting me rant,
Virginia DeBerry
http://deberryandgrant.com

Reconnecting for a New Year

2009-10-17T11:25:00.000-07:00

I haven’t blogged in awhile. Truthfully, I haven’t been feeling it at all. I do know many of you have been keeping up with me on Facebook and Twitter.

I celebrated my birthday this past weekend. (Let’s just say it was an anniversary of thirty five). I’ve had a great year that has been full of lots of life changes. Since last October, I’ve done a lot of great traveling to a lot of great places, and yes, I have looked for shoes in all of them. I also made some personal changes that have left me loads happier and looking forward to great future.

I completed a TV Pilot, and although I have not sold it, it has won a few awards. Most recently, it won Best TV Pilot at the Urban Media Makers Film Festival In Atlanta ON MY BIRTHDAY. Yaay! It was a great event, and they even had a runway, so you know I had to strut my stuff on it! Seriously, Cheryle Reynolds put on a fantastic event and I was honored to be in such great company.
If you want to see the sizzle of the film, see it here, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jr-0V__Yt9Q

Or, if you are in New York this upcoming Thursday or Friday, you can see it at the New York International Film and Video Festival. www.nyfilmfest.com

I have few things up my sleeve. Since I’m a west coast girl now, I have been doing more and more film work.

Look for a new and improved ninafoxx.com, coming and day now.

VideoDetective.com - Nina Foxx's Marrying Up Preview

2009-09-03T20:07:00.001-07:00

VideoDetective.com - Nina Foxx's Marrying Up Preview

Shared via AddThis

2009-06-09T14:27:00.000-07:00

I have gotten several emails asking when I was going to blog again. Yes, I am fine. I have been taking some time for myself, to do some much needed reorganization of both my life and my business. That being said, good things are coming.
I have two projects that I am working very heavily on.
First, I’m working on an anthology---Stay tuned for the submission information.
The second one I am very excited about. I’ve been stewing the idea of some film shorts for awhile, based on the characters from Just Short of Crazy. I wrote them awhile ago and stuck them in a drawer.
After moving to Cali I pulled them out and it looks like they are coming to life in a very special way. I got the greenlight just a week or so ago, and before I knew it I was in pre-production and casting meetings.
I know you want to know who is going to be in it, BUT I can’t tell you yet! Stay tuned for that info---

Happy Easter

2009-04-11T17:29:00.000-07:00

A snippet from "She's Got IsShoes"

2009-04-07T12:21:00.004-07:00

You all know that I have been working on a TV Pilot. Here's a snippet. Nina

The Science of Entering The Pool

2009-03-25T09:42:00.000-07:00

One might have thought that I was just lazing by the pool yesterday in Waikoloa, but I wasn’t. I was studying. I find that I can learn something from almost every situation. I tried to sit there and just do nothing, but before long, I found that I was being schooled.
This is a family resort, so no surprise that the early morning pool-goers were families; mothers and fathers with kids in tow, many with a severe case of jet-lag, just like me. People who’d gotten up at 4:30 AM or earlier, whose kids couldn’t wait to get out into the surf or any kind of water.
The MO was almost always the same. The moms lurked around the edge of the pool, with the kids begging for them to hurry up and get into the water. Usually, Kids would jump right in while the moms watched and slowly edged toward the pool.
Some moms might have come to the edge of the pool and let the kids get on the first or second step, threatening to snatch the pool privileges if they went to far too fast.
If Dads were present, the moms whined a little bit and made that face that worked on their husbands while they were dating, the ones that used to get them anything they wanted, and depending on the state of their relationship, or how wrapped around their little one’s fingers the fathers were, it might work now.
The fathers would sigh, and jump in the water with their kids. Some let out a little shriek at the icy water, others thumped their chest like Tarzan and commenced to playing with their little ones from inside the pool, often convincing their kids to jump fully into the pool with them.
If the look from the mothers didn’t work, the fathers sat on the edge of the pool in their recliners (if they weren’t off playing gold already), and watched mom type 3 from behind their sunglasses.
Kids, of course, don’t really care about how cold the water is. The closer they are to twelve though, the more they side with the mothers, who at this point, are still on the side of the pool.
In general, Mothers seem to have several styles of entering the pool.
There are moms in the mom suits that have no intention of ever getting in. (Type A) They walk around the pool on the outside, following their offspring and sometimes the husband, barking orders from the edge. These moms have the suits that are ill-fitting and will usually sag in the butt area if they get wet. (Note that the type of suit is not necessarily correlated with body type. Some Moms belong in mom suits, some have donned mom suits before their time. Its not about fitness, but level of confidence.) Occasionally they may Put a toe in the water, shiver, and then change their minds and go back to giving orders. These are also the moms whose children wear the suits that cover from neck to ankle, and they make them get out of the water every twenty minutes to reapply the sunscreen. This mom never gets wet and never removes her wide-brimmed sun hat.
The second type of mom (Type B) is the mom who stands on the top step of the pool. They keep their arms across to their body, smile at their neighbor and shiver occasionally. They are going to get in the pool, it’ll just take them awhile to do it. They spend about ten minutes on each step and talk each other further and further into the pool. By the time they get in, their husbands and children are bored and have made it halfway down the lazy river. At the end of the day,this mom is sun-burned, wet and looks a mess.
These moms, smile and cut their eyes at the next kind of mom, the Type C mom.
The next kind of mom is not wearing a mom suit. This trendsetter is wearing a fashionable, often two piece suit. Her kids have jumped in too, but she is watching from the steps, easing slowly into the pool to join them. This mom is usually fitter than the rest because she has been planning to wear her fashionable suit all year. She will usually sport designer sunglasses, and have applied sun screen that contains some kind of color, also know as pool makeup.
She is going to ease into the pool to join her kids, and uses one of two techniques to do it. She will stand on the top step, slowly easing down like the Type B mom, just faster, or she will look like she is taking a gentle bath in the water, gently wetting her arms, then her legs, then her shoulders by tossing handfuls of water over herself to try and get used to the water, until finally she eases herself in, making a squeal when she fully hits the water.
Note that her hair will be appropriately pinned up and her sunglasses never come off. She might even swim with her head out of the water, never getting more than a drop of water on her sunglasses.
The mom-suit moms will smile at the third type of mom, alternating the smiles with cutting of their eyes. People on the side act like they aren’t looking while actually stealing glances over the tops of their sunglasses.
Which type am I? I’m not telling, but I am going back to the pool to refine my theory.

2009-02-23T16:45:00.000-08:00

This past weekend, I had the privilege of attending a luncheon honoring young black men. Usually, the luncheons are all the same. You arrive, have about a half an hour of hobnobbing with people that you see at all the other luncheons, someone rings a chime, the doors open and you new file into a ballroom and find your seat.
Generally, you sit with people you know, because you have bought the table yourself or been invited by one of your friends who did . You kiss everyone on the cheek all around the table and comment on each others clothing.
Usually, there’s a salad in front of you already waiting, and sometimes the dessert, too. The table is usually too crowded, and you sit around and wonder quietly which napkin is yours and hope you choose the right fork.
Finally, some with courage will be the first one to dig in. They grab a napkin and everyone follows suit.
Fortunately for me, I had my big one with me, and she informed us that the right way to go was to wait for the oldest person at the table to start. We chuckled and waited to see if the young ladies and men at our table could figure out which one of us was the oldest.
Just like always, we played around with our salads a little bit and made small talk with the people at the table that we knew until someone got up and introduced the person that was going to do the invocation. A pastor stood up to bless the food which we had already started eating.
As usual, the expected rubber chicken or maybe not so rubber chicken lunch was served. Someone stopped the kids from eating their dessert first, and half of us at the table said we wouldn’t touch the dessert that we would later devour anyway.
And then the program started. As usual, I turned my chair just a little to got a better glance at what was going to happen.
The music started. It was so fresh and so clean. And that’s when this luncheon turned different for me.
I was attending because I’m a member of the organization that put on this particular event. It’s a scholarship fundraiser. I was not on the committee, and I can’t say that I did anything other than write a check. I am new to the city and did not know how or where to step in.
I do not have a son. We did not do this event as a fundraiser back in San Antonio.
Before the event, I can’t say that I felt any particular attachment, other than I knew that since I was unable to participate in the planning,I felt an obligation to attend.
The boys that marched in to the music were high school aged seniors. They wore tuxedo pants with white shirts and bow ties and they carried canes that reminded me of Kappa canes, except they were green and white. They were, as the music suggested, “So fresh and so clean”.
They they were from high schools all over the city, and they marched in with their heads held high. None of them slouched.
None of them acted silly.
Imagine my surprise when I felt myself swelling with pride. These young men were The Achievers. They had worked hard together for over six months, attended workshops and sold ads and tables. They were at the top of their class and most admired in their communities and among their peers. They all had different interests, but they were all college-bound, and today, their hard work over the past few months and indeed the past few years would be rewarded. Each one received a scholarship. They stood up together and took a vow to continue to be the best that they could for no other reason than JUST BECAUSE and maybe to make their parents proud. Too many times, we only recognize the negative in our young people. I listened to their stories and was glad to be in the room, and felt privileged to be part of their village.

Never miss an opportunity, even in Morocco

2009-02-08T11:00:00.000-08:00

I didn’t know what to expect at all. This was my first time on the African continent, and I was standing face to face with some of my American prejudices. I’d just gotten off the plane and was making my way to immigration in Casablanca, my steps slowing the closer I got. All the way down the maze of hallways, a man had been shouting at the top of his lungs. Shouting, and I couldn’t understand. I glanced at him casually, masking my annoyance and his long, black beard stabbed at me. He continued yelling in Arabic. Part of me was bathed in relief, the kind you feel when something embarrassing is happening around you and you’re glad that the person committing the deed isn’t black. The other part, the part that has been bombarded with orange alerts and strip searches, cringed and tried to distance itself from the man and his unintelligible rant.
We ended up in the immigration lines next to each other. His yelling kept getting louder as we neared the desks, despite his friends trying to calm him down. By now, he was making a scene and had caught the attention of some law enforcement types. Some innocuous looking, and some toting machine guns. I couldn’t tell what they said to him, but whatever is was, it made him quiet. Finally. It felt like a stern, “Don’t scare the tourists.”
I couldn’t help it. I’d been unsettled. I had quietly in the taxi as we made our way across the city, to my hotel. I didn’t feel any better even as I spied the red carpet that was waiting for me. It tumbled down the marble steps and greeted me at the curb.
The bell man wore a fez and greeted me in English French and Arabic. They walked me through a side door and it wasn’t until later that I realized they were steering us around the metal detector. A man positioned by the door wrote down my arrival in what looked like a huge guest book. He would keep track of my comings and goings throughout the next 24 hours.
I checked in and they gave me a big key. Literally. Old-fashioned metal key was attached to a metal block. I was to check it and out every time I left the building.
The hotel was charming. I literally felt like I’d fallen into the movie Casablanca.
Once I got to my room, I finally felt more comfortable. They left rose petals inside the toilet to welcome me.
Like always, I only had one day. Thankfully, there we only two places that seemed to top the list of things to see in Casablanca, the mosque and the market. Non-Muslims could only visit the mosque at certain times. I had a few hours, so I headed to the market first. I had to find some Moroccan shoes. I grabbed a scarf to cover my head, and hopped in a taxi. For 200 dirham, (about 20 bucks), he would win if the market until we were done, and then take us to the mosque.
I meandered through the stalls, checking out the merchandise. It seemed as if the shoes that were worn most were slipper like, some decorated with beads some plain, But the ones that caught my eye were good old Louis Vuitton (or Louis-Vuitton like).
While I was visiting this particular store/stall, I realized I was about to have a feminine problem. I had to find a bathroom ASAP. I turned to my companion and let him know that I had to go, and I had to go now. I could tell that at first he did not understand, but the urgency of my face let him know that I was serious.
He somehow let the shop owner know of my dilemma, And an assistant was dispatched to take me to the toilet.
“ I take.” He said, beckoning to me.
I was supposed to follow him. Away from the store, and down an alley. I turn to my companion. “I know you don’t think I’m going to the bathroom with this strange man by myself,” I told him. “Strange bathroom, strange man, strange country. I don’t think so.”
He looked at me quizzically And hesitated for a only short second. We both scurried behind the shopkeeper. We followed him, down one alley up another and around the corner. Finally we reached a passageway with a lone man in the chair guarding the door. I think he wanted money, But our guide shooed him away.
By now I had to go so bad I was following blindly. When I finally looked up, I was inside a wide open room, completely tiled. It was lined with benches that all faced in, and they were men sitting around with no shoes on, throwing buckets of water on their feet.
The guide led me to a stall, on the side of the room. It looked like a saloon door, with swinging shutters attached by hinges. He pushed the door open while he spoke in Arabic and grabbed a bucket, filling it with water from a spigot on the wall.
“ I clean for you,” he said, tossing the bucket of water in a tiled hole on the ground.
I looked at my companion. “I can’t do this.”
I wasn’t being difficult. If I were a man, there would be no problem, I would be able to stand up, and those outside would only see my feet and my stream. I couldn’t even squat and hover here. I glanced around the little stall. Worst of all, there was no toilet paper, And now I was aware that all of the men in the were staring. I gasped, realizing that I was in the room behind the mosque where feet washing took place. The male side.
I shook my head and tried to smile politely. I didn’t want to offend. “I can wait.” Thank goodness I was wearing dark jeans.
We went back to the stall and completed our purchases. Once done, I said again, “I really need a bathroom.”
My companion once again asked the shopkeeper, and he suggested a café up the street.
The Café reminded me of Paris. It was surrounded on the outside with seats that all faced out. We scurried inside, and I realized that there were no women anywhere. Not inside nor outside.
The guide once again led us to the back, and through a door. This time the door and stretched all the way from floor to ceiling, but there was just a urinal.
And no toilet paper.
I shook my head again.“Non,” I said.
A lightbulb finally came on. I followed him down another hallway, and this time a Western toilet appeared.
But, guess what? No toilet paper.
My Girl Scout training was minimal, but I was glad that I paid attention some of the time. I dug in my purse, and finally found tissues.
The conditions weren’t ideal, but this was an unusual situation. Now I know why they said it was impolite to do anything with your left hand. It occurred to me that this was as good as it was going to get. My big sister’s words echoed in my head, “Never miss an opportunity,” she would say. If I passed on this one, I might be faced with another tiled hole in the ground.
I only had one day, and didn’t want to waste it looking for suitable facilities. I put my western sensibilities aside and I did what I had to do, and continued my quest for good shoes.

"I wasn't there, but I was there.."

2009-01-22T09:04:00.000-08:00

I didn’t get to go to the Inauguration, but a lot of my family members did. My sister sent me her thoughts and I feel honored to share them here. The opening line to A Lesson Before Dying is “I wasn’t there, but I was there.” That sums up how I feel...
Enjoy.

I just wanted to take a moment to send a few notes about my incredible experience yesterday in Washington, D.C. Robert, Brandie and I, along with some of my NYC relatives got together for a once in a lifetime experience.

We decided to go with a friend who sponsored a bus outing from Baltimore since private cars were not going to be allowed in D.C. Getting eight people up, dressed and ready to meet a bus at 4:00 AM was easier than I thought since we were all very excited and were eagerly awaiting this event. Thankfully, the temperature in Baltimore rose to a high of 28 degrees to start out with and stayed around 38 degrees throughout the day. Yes, it was really cold! We arrived at RFC stadium where only charter buses were allowed to park at around 6:30 AM. Although it was still dark when we arrived, the huge parking lot was nearly filled with chartered buses from all around the country. Joining the crowds, we exited our bus, making our way to the shuttle buses that was to shuttle us into D.C. There was massive groups of people, walking along, to line up for buses. The lines were really long and we had to wait almost over hour just to board a shuttle bus, but you would not have believed how warm and friendly the groups were. Calling out the names of their cities and states, breaking into "Obama" chants, laughing, joking everyone was thrilled to be there.

We finally boarded our shuttle bus, making our way to the city. The traffic, made up of only shuttle busses, was so congested, a 10 minute ride took over 45 minutes. Still, believe it or not, no one complained. We departed the bus and joined a crowd of hundreds, walking, making our way to the Mall area. The directions and instructions given by police and volunteers, were sometimes wrong, which meant several hundred people had to turn and go another way, but still, no complaints, just, okay, which way do we go? Although it was around 9:30 we finally reached the Mall area, we were disheartened to learn that many of the Mall areas were already full and closed. My group kept walking, eagerly looking for a spot to see the big screens. We ended finding a small area, off to the side of the Mall, but we could see the screen and hear the loud speaker. It wasn't really a Mall spot, about 100 feet short of the Mall, but off to the side. We decided this was our spot. Our spot quickly filled with others, all smiling and greeting each other with, comments like, Wow, we're here, can't believe it. We were lucky to find our spot since there were hundreds of others lining side-streets, not able to see the screens or hear the speeches, but they stood cheering anyway. All glad just to be there. I can't describe how the Mall looked filled with people. I have never seen that many people standing together, all happy and cheering.

I stood next a woman from Kansas. She and her son made the trip via plane. She said they were Obama supporters early on in the campaign. Things had really been bad for their town for several years. Obama was their last hope and she was a thrilled to be there as I was. It was her first time in D.C. and she kept commenting on how safe and friendly it was there! She couldn't believe all the stories she had heard about D.C. I didn't have the heart to tell her that this was not the D.C. anyone had ever seen before either. By the time the program started, we were really cold, but packed in our spot with no room to move. I have never been comfortable in large groups, but don't ask me why, it didn't bother me that I could feel someone almost laying on my back. I couldn't move my body at all without nudging the person next to or behind me. I couldn't take as many photographs as I wanted to because it was difficult to get my camera out in the crowds and my hands were freezing when I took my gloves off. The weather and the crowding did take a toll on some of the very young children and older people who had to ask the National Guardsman to assist them to get to the Red Cross tent. Each time someone shouted, I need help, the crowd parted to see what was wrong and helped that person make it to the front to get assistance. Some of the older people that had to be taken out really surprised me that they were even there. Seniors with canes and walkers, were upset when the weather and the standing made them give up and ask to be taken out of the crowd. One older woman looked faint, but only agreed to go when they told her she could still hear in the Red Cross tent.

Robert and I prepared signs that contained the names of our parents and other friends and family members who had passed on, never living to see this day. Our signs were our way of bringing them along to witness the moment. Our youngest family member (great-niece age 8) proudly carried the sign she made with her school number and congratulations President Obama as well.

I cheered with the crowd as President Obama spoke, but it surprised me that I cried when President Obama said the words, "...so help me God.." The tears flowed freely, I was there and it really happened, a African-American man was sworn in as the President of the United States! I cannot describe the emotion I felt, but looking around at those cheering, crying and yelling showed me others felt the same. I hugged my daughter and my husband, all of us tearfully and smiling. As a family, we had made it to this historical event.

Our adventure continued after the speeches were over, with us trying unsuccessfully to find a place to sit and get something to eat. Believe it or not, we could not find any place to sit, and thank goodness for our packed "bus-ride" lunches, we had something to eat. Even that didn't deter us, we kept walking and searching. We really walked a few miles before we decided to give up and go back to the bus to await our ride home. Even that proved to be a challenge. The D.C. metro station we walked to was closed down due to some time of accident. There were literally hundreds of people lined up to await the Metro. We walked back to our shuttle buses and waited to board a shuttle bus back to RFK stadium. Again, people were still smiling, polite and trying to help each other. We made it back to our bus around 4:30 PM, when I sat down for the first time all day. I couldn't believe I had been walking and standing since 5:30 AM. I have bad arthritis in both my knees. It must have been the adrenaline, or my knees were frozen, but I was not in pain and I had walked miles and stood for over 12 hours.

My only sadness about the Inauguration of the 44th President of the United States of America, was that every person who believed in him and supported his message of Change, could not be there to witness his oath of office. I am, however, profoundly grateful that I, along with my family, was there...

2009-01-15T08:49:00.000-08:00

I read an interesting tidbit about the Real Housewives of Atlanta. First, let’s just say I’m not really a fan. I caught a few snippets and although I have to admit that I was riveted, I refused to return. I was sort of put off by their shenanigans. I mean, are these people real? I know they weren’t figments of my imagination, but I didn’t feel they were an honest (or respectable) portrayal of black “housewives”. I can say that because I know a lot of people who would fall into that category. Really, this was an excellent illustration of the fact that class and money (or style and money) are not the same things. But hey, I wasn’t mad at them for scoring a slice of somebody’s black on TV, even if they did look like buffoon’s when all the editing was done. I realize that not everyone shares my opinion, and that the editor’s knife can be wicked.

The tidbit said that Deshawn Snow would not be returning to the show for another season. Why not? She’s too normal. The quote I read said that the producers claimed she was “too normal for a circus show.”

I would have taken that as a compliment.

Holiday Redux I

2008-12-18T11:16:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, things I write cannot be duplicated. But that doesn’t meant they can’t be repeated. Here’s a Santa Letter post from years’ past, revised to fit the current day. Think of it as a second edition. Enjoy.

Nina

My kids sent letters to Santa. Yes, I said letters, as in more than one. This is something we started at any early age. Since I am The catalog queen, I give them catalogs and let them go at it. We generally do this in several iterations. On the first pass, then go through and check or circle the things that they want. Of course the seven year old circles everything, and then I give them the crushing news. They can only pick five things, and there is no guarantee that they will get all or any of those five things. You see, Santa has to make some decisions to make sure there is enough to go around, and which items Santa chooses of course depends on if she thinks they will be any fun for her or not, and whether or not SHE has had enough coffee today.
The youngest cries and whines at this news, still not understanding why she can’t possibly have everything that she wants. The Oldest, she says nothing. She is teetering on the cusp of understanding the real deal, holding onto the last shred of fantasy. She knows who REALLY buys the gifts, but dares not speak it aloud. Mommy is really Santa Clause and if you piss Mommy off, you get lumps of coal in your Ugg Boots on Christmas Morning. Or worse yet, Bad Santa will take away your phone.
When they have narrowed it down to their five things, they cut them out of the magazine, paste them on a piece of stationary and give them to me to be mailed.

And of course, Santa writes them back. Those letters arrived today and I know they will be overjoyed when they get home from school. The best part is, this year, since Santa has to come early, I also got the convince-em kit. Santa is going to leave a thank you note for the cookies, and he will accidently leave his sleigh driving license. The reindeer will leave some hoof prints, although I don’t know where. It’s not like I really want to mess up my lawn with a hoof hole, and some reindeer magic dust will be sprinkled around. I know I won’t have too many years left to go overboard so I’m taking advantage now.

Adults don’t get to write letters to Santa. We just have wish lists, but I wanted to take stab at it.

Here goes.
Esteemed Mr Kringle—
I have been a very, very good girl this year, or so I’ve been told, so I’ll be expecting a little sum'in sum'in from you up under my Christmas Tree. I have been a good and attentive mother, or at least I’ve tried to be. It took a lot not to lock the little buggers in the closet when they were fighting. That count to ten thing you told me about last year has really helped. Child protective Services didn’t have to visit me this year at all.
I’ve tried my best to my nice to my fellow man or wo-man, even turning the other cheek when people where nasty to me. Do voodoo spells count? The fine print last year wasn’t very clear. ‘Cause if they do I will try and reverse each one.
I have even done my best not to fight over the television, and I was even nice when they cancelled something on my TIVO list. I just hid the remote before they got a chance to get to it each evening, very effective.
So, with all these accomplishments and a very good year, here’s my list. Of course his has changed, these are listed on Kaboodle.com, but I would not be disappointed if I got any of these staples. My Personal holiday elf has already taken care of a few things, and for that, I’m grateful. (The list is to the right, in pictures, or you can go here: http://www.kaboodle.com/ninafoxx/my-wish-list.html)

Cashmere Sweats from Henri Bendel. These are so perfect for traveling. Even if American won’t give me a upgrade to First Class, I can still feel like a million bucks while I slobber-sleep from tarmac to tarmac.

Anything from Tiffany. It doesn’t have to be expensive, it just has to come in the little blue box. Please note that repacking something in the box from target will not be sufficient. It says right on the Tiffany website that doing so will cause the box to self-destruct. And also note that I am allergic to gold, so just go for platinum or titanium. One of those right hand rings would be fabulous, ‘cause I have no problem raising my right hand to show it off.

A full car detail. I do know that thing are not supposed t grow n my car and am even willing to give up the survival aspect of driving the mother-vehicle. I’m told that if I were stranded in the snow in my car I could probably graze for months on the food debris in my back seat, but I think I can take that chance.

And for my techie side- (these are all new)

A Kindle. Thank you holiday elf.

A sonos system.

And finally, I’d like two attack dogs, one to name Cujo and the second to name Demonspawn, the kind that keep away unwanted visitors and salesman and protect me and my children. Okay, I’ll settle for a little dog that yips and yaps and makes small poo. Its just easier to clean up. Of course if this is the choice, I’ll name him Gucci or Prada or Manolo or Louboutin.

That’s all Santa, and have a nice trip. Its okay if you don’t deliver these yourself. I will happily accept delivery from any of your elves in the brown uniform driving the sleigh disguised as an UPS Truck.

N

PS. Take it Easy on the EggNog. What will the kids think if Santa gets a FWI (Flying While Intoxicated)?They are tough on that kinda thing around here and we don’t post bail for anyone, not even the fat man himself.

The True Meaning of Christmas

2008-12-17T08:51:00.001-08:00

Watch more cool animation and creative cartoons at aniBoom

2008-12-10T08:42:00.002-08:00

I used to live in Phoenix. Granted, it was awhile ago, but after my visit this past weekend, its clear that the Phoenix/Scottsdale I used to know is no more.
I was in and out, a very quick trip, to attend a meeting. I stayed near Fashion Valley Mall, and goodness, has that changed. Back when I lived there, there were plans for a waterfront project. No one paid much attention then, because first of all, there is no "waterfront" in Scottsdale, and second of all, it seemed so far in the future.
Not any more. Don't get me wrong, there is still no waterfront, but the project is there. Fashion Valley has sprawled all over. I would bet it goes for miles, and there are new hotels and condos in an area that was largely empty before.
The water front part is amusing, though. The developers have built along an irrigation canal, hence the "water". Its not so wide and packed gravel runs along both sides. If I tried hard enough, I might be able to throw a stone across it, and my arm just isn't that good.
I peered down into it at a crossing, noting the bubbles in the surface sludge as the water flowed through a flood control gate. Not pretty. Residents used to run and walk along it and I saw a few doing it now, but it is still a canal, a far cry from the luxury and peacefulness you expect in waterfront property.
Lets get to the peacefulness. I stayed at the new W Hotel. I like W, and its often my first choice when I'm looking for a hotel. Its kind of trendy and makes me feel "hip". Most of them have great restaurants and a nightclub, and the best part--a Bliss spa.
This W was no exception. The profile was kind of low compared to some of the others, and my second floor room turned out to have a great patio that led to a courtyard filled with fabulous landscaping and glass and water features. That courtyard flowed to a bar area so I could have literally walked out of my room in a robe anbd nabbed a martini had I been so inclined. It was nice enough that I could overlook the odd room layout. The bed was in the center (sort of), not far from an Asian inspired soaking tub I didn't get to use.
The reataurant was sushi--yes, sushi in the desert, but it was very, very nice and they had a great tasting menu. The waitress peddled saki tasting flights. All was good, until it got dark.
I should have known what to expect. It was barely 8PM and the lobby bar was full and loud and the drinks were flowing. The velvet rope bar, upstairs, for residents and hotel guests only, was seriously filling up.
I had my one martini and headed back to my room to catch up on the sleep I hadn't gotten the night before.
I fell asleep just fine, and then the noise started. Apparently I was right on the party patio. People were loud and drunk folks kept stumbling down the hallway. it sounded like they were falling right into my door.
Police searchlights kept flashing on the patio. I think they were checking for people hiding there or something.
The bed in the middle of the room got harder and harder.They'd forgotten the Starwood Heavenly bed. There was no chance of sleep.
I got up and decided to take a shower. That wasn't happening either.
It appeared that they had used all the hot water on the drunk folks as they stumbled down the hall or something. Either that or as they filtered the canal sludge out of the water, it made it cold as ice. I tried to shower by sticking lone body parts under the stream of water, then snatched a towel into the shower stall so I wouldn't freeze to death before I dried. Any colder and ther woudl be icicles on parts I shall not name.
Now I knew why they were peddling the saki so hard. They wanted to make hotel guests drunk enough to not notice the noise and the body icicles.

2008-11-26T05:04:00.001-08:00

Working quietly in my hotel room while everyone is asleep.

2008-11-24T19:15:00.001-08:00

I left the wine specialist at the gourmet market talk me into a
meritage. Ack! It burns! It Burns! Might as well be champipple.
Kerosene. MD2020.

2008-11-22T14:57:00.001-08:00

Relaxing, finally. Just for a minute. Finally finished watching
"Mongol."

2008-11-21T08:56:00.003-08:00

Dear Santa,
I got an e-mail from Black expressions book club this morning, asking if I was breaking up with them. I am a member, but I hadn’t ordered anything for a long time. In fact, I don’t even open the mail from them when I get it. When I get the e-mail from them, I click through to see which books are at the top, decline my monthly selections, and then I promptly go and download what’s interesting to me for my Sony e-book reader. For most books, that is the way I prefer to read them. True, there are some that I want to get a copy of, books that I think will be of historical importance. I purchased a hard copy of the new Toni Morrison book. I’ll read it eventually. I have to be in a Tony Morrison mood .I have become a technological reader.
I appreciate the sleekness of the SONY E-book Reader, although ease-of-use is not the best. Two years ago, it was fine. But that was before the Amazon Kindle was everywhere. I had to put the Kindle at the top of my Kaboodle list, even though I know it’s bigger, and more bulky, and frankly I was trying to wait for the new generation but who knows when that’s coming? I’m hoping that that will be the gift of choice for you, Santa, and once I get mine, I’ll keep my Sony e-book reader I’m sure, until I read all 49 books that I have on it. I do have some titles I’m sure I’ll read more than once. I’m going to gladly sacrifice some of the sleekness for convenience.
I’m still a book buyer. I maybe even buy more books than I did before. It’s just that my format of choice has changed. Santa, How do you think the modern bookstore is going to compete with technology? Do you think they’ll offer e-books stands where you can go and peruse a hard copy, and then download the e-book right your device? What will come of the book signing? Will authors have the capability to add an electronic thumb print to your file?
I’d probably stay with Sony if The client work on a Mac. It doesn’t. I know that there’s a popular workaround, but I don’t want a work around. I wanted dedicated client made for my Mac.
As it stands if I want to get a new book I have to switch to my PC. This means that I have to struggle with my kids to get it away from them, if they are using it because they prefer Mac too. Then, I have to find a cable, find the e-book reader, connect it, open the software, search for and download a book, and then sync the two. That’s becoming too many steps, especially when I know what the kindle its wireless. The other attraction is that magazines are available on the Kindle, Magazines I used to read gladly, but don’t necessarily want to subscribe to anymore because I don’t want the paper laying around my house. And there’s one final reason to get a Kindle. Oprah says so.

Thanks Santa.

Please check out the rest of my list in the sidebar. I'll take all delivers at home this year, and I've been very good this year.

2008-11-17T10:18:00.002-08:00

Gym Observations

2008-11-12T10:35:00.000-08:00

Since I’ve moved to California, I had to get used to working out in a gym as opposed in my home. Two things have come of that. I’ve had to buy better gym clothes, and of course, I’ve watched people. I’ve spent a few weeks taking in all the different types I see. A few weeks ago, I decided to hire a trainer. As opposed to making a blind wish in January for New Year’s resolution I wanted to get started now.
A funny thing happened when I started with a trainer. I’ve been going to the gym for weeks, and barely anyone would ever talk to me. If I made eye contact by accident, they would quickly look away. It was almost as if they had some secret fraternity to which I didn’t belong. After a session with the trainer, I noticed that people’s eyes were friendlier. You know what I mean, the way Tyra Banks says “people were starting to smile at me with their eyes.” If we made eye contact, eyes linger now before they look away. It’s not as if I was thinner and suddenly better to look at or anything, it was more like I suddenly had the word TRAINER stamped on my forehead and I’d been admitted into the secret club.
I’ve gotten sort of comfortable with him, and I’ve started to observe the people while he is torturing me. I’ve figured out that everyone belongs in a certain categories.
Let’s call the overall genus Gym Ratus, or commonly Gym Rats. Because I’ve hired a trainer I am now part of the general Gym Ratus Group, this group has a certain commitment to their health and fitness or the appearance thereof.
I want to lay them out for you so you can recognize them if you decide to join this group.

Ratus Anorexiai- This particular ratus is in the gym, no matter when you go, but you know nothing ever really seems to change. You see, this person is so skinny that there is nothing left to lose, and minimal muscle to build. They have dieted themselves back to pre-pubescent status. In general, their clothes hang off of them at all times, and their skin looks sallow. There are dark hollows under their eyes and you wonder at what point they will pass out. This person is often called the aerobics queen. Sometimes, these are mistaken for male because they are so thin they are built like a ten year old boy,with not even a hint of a hip or barely a need for even a training bra.

Ratus Anorexiai Nekkida- This is a sub set of the Ratus Anorexiai, but in general, in this group the clothes fit them very well. Unfortunately, they are generally in children’s sizes. Often they will come into the gym fully covered up, only to strip as their workout time goes on, exposing usually fabulous looking abdominal muscles, stick legs, no hips, and every vertebrae from the neck to the base of his spine. This person wants to make sure that we know they have barely 2% body fat, and that they live on the fumes of other people’s food. Often, in females, this lack of body fat is also accompanied by huge store-bought boobalas. We’ve seen strippers wear more here, people.

Ratus FitusAndIKnowILookGoodus- This is another type of gym rat that is always in the gym no matter when you go. This person looks good, there’s no question about it. They are fit, toned, with all their parts in the right place. Even their store-bought boobalas look great. That can’t be taken away. They usually appear in the gym fully coiffed and in full makeup. Their clothes are also tiny, but they wear support bras to keep everything where it supposed to be. It’s impossible to tell if the gym has made them look this good or if a plastic surgeon has or some combination of the two. It doesn’t matter. Oh, they also constantly flash smiles at other gym rats, saving the biggest ones for the male trainers. I am not mad at them though. These are very pleasant to be around because they will not make small talk. They are serious about their look and will be concentrating. You want to work out near this person because the trainers will usually notice you need help because they look over at this person several times an hour. Only thing is, they spend so much time in the gym they have no social life.

Ratus OldusWithoutShamus- Sadly, this type is almost always female. Generally thin, this person is working out to keep it all together. Usually older, they’re having a hard time keeping their skin from sagging. To make up for it, they have a standing appointment with their plastic surgeon. Every time you see them, this bionic woman has something new, bigger or better. It will vary, from the boobalas, new lips, or something that has been sucked off, ad when they run out of things to do to themselves, they start rebuilding again. With each new procedure, their clothing will shrink, It is not unusual that all eyes in the gym are on this person, everyone is trying to see what the latest wardrobe malfunction will be. We’ve seen these people’s nipples and coin slot more times than we can count. Undoubtedly, they will talk with a deep, husky voice, and only to the young, male trainers.

Ratus Socialus- This type comes to the gym daily, but you’re not really sure what they’re doing. Nothing ever seems to change, that is, except their clothes. They are very well, very expensively, and very appropriately dressed. Sometimes, they also come with an iPod, and then will sing very loud on top of the gym music, or with a friend. They like to travel in packs. In which case their mouths never stop running. This person never really breaks a sweat.

Ratus Aerobica- This person appears normally fit, but it was like they were born on a treadmill or stairstepper. In between they alternate an aerobics class. Upon leaving, they can be found at the local coffee shop, almost right up to carpool time.

Ratus Muscularus- These are usually males, with a few women thrown in for good measure. I’m not talking about the women that have nice toned shoulders, but the ones that you have to look twice to make sure that they are female. They work out all the time, sometimes only concentrating on one area. They have a sub-type, Ratus Muscularus Hollerus, easy to identify because they yell every time they lift a weight, no matter how heavy it is. This type will usually have a better midsection or six-pack because all that yelling helps them work their core.

Ratus WHyAreYouHere-us- Every day, nothing ever changes. This type is almost, always male as well. They get sand kicked in their face before they came, and they will have sand kicked in their face after they leave.

I must note that none of these types are bad, in fact, we need allof them to make the gym interesting or we’d all be wasting our memberships. Its just interesting to note where they fit.

I’m going to continue my study and fill you in on another day. I’m pretty sure the trainers a fall into different categories yet but I haven’t nailed them all down yet. If I’ve missed any,be sure to hit me up.

2008-11-06T23:52:00.001-08:00

Photos from Beiing and Sydney are viewable on my Facebook Page.

2008-10-29T04:27:00.001-07:00

Trying to figure out what this mystery food is. I think I'll pass.

2008-10-27T10:45:00.000-07:00

Waiting in the airport. Some women tried to claim my Macbook at
security. She better ask somebody.

Funny!

2008-10-24T12:15:00.001-07:00

>Embedded video from <a href="http://www.cnn.com/video">CNN Video</a></noscript>

Chocolate Stock and Absentee Ballots

2008-10-23T10:57:00.000-07:00

I was so excited when I received my absentee ballot. I was worried that I wouldn’t get it in time, I’ll be out of the country on election Day, or at least on my way back home. Do I feel more urgency about this election than those before it? Certainly.

The economy is terrible, and this election is in a historic one, no matter what your politics are.

I turned the multiple parts of my ballot over and over in my hands, making sure I understood the instructions. I called my two kids over to me, and made them watch me fill it out. I made them watch me insert it, first in one envelope, and then the other, and then made them watch me sign the outside across the flap. As far as they know, the election is something that interrupts the Disney Channel. The oldest is more aware, even her friends are talking about Obama. I’s not quite clear to her yet, she just wonders how is it all going to affect her? I give it to her in bits and pieces, on a level she can understand. I don’t expect her to pick a side now, but I know she’s old enough to remember. My actions will make an impact on her, so when she is 18, after I’ve taken her to the voting booth so she can cast her own first vote, the importance of voting is something that will never leave her.

We talked about it for months. Last week I took her to see The Secret Life of Bees, and Jennifer Hudson’s character got beat up because she was ready to exercise her right to vote. My daughter was appalled, and we talked about that too. I was grateful because I hoped that it would drive home the importance of a vote to her once more.

Some of the things I do and talk about are obviously seeping in. My daughter wants to know if she can buy some things that are down in the stock market. She’s already asking me what is a good investment. Granted, she wanted to buy chocolate stock, because she says people will always eat candy. I steered away from this one a little. It was just as Cadbury recalled their products because of melamine.

So imagine my surprise, when I was discussing voting with an earlier early twenty-something that I know. She’s a college graduate, very intelligent, and fun to talk to. Everything you would hope a twenty-something would be.

She didn’t know who Sarah Palin was.
She only barely heard of John McCain.
She had no idea of the issues. The stock market hubbub? She had no idea how would impact her.

As I said at the table with my ballot, I asked her if she was registered to vote. She didn’t know.

She didn’t know.

She didn’t know.

Yes, I wrote it three times.

When I was in high school, I was never old enough to vote. I remember watching those that were turning 18 around me, and we were all excited about the election, and casting our first vote. I already been to the polling place with my father. He took me with him so I could see him do what his parents had not been able to.

This was obviously not my young friends reality. As far as she knew, her people have been able to vote for ages. It’s no big deal. Something she takes for granted.
I helped her look up online whether she was registered and not. She could still print out the registration and get in she took it in person.

She was reluctant. She didn’t know the issues, she said.

I suppose that my own surprise was so deep because not two weeks ago, I sat in the hair salon, listening to the conversation around me. A young, African-American girl came in to get her hair done. Her stylist asked her, are you all registered and ready to vote?
In a valley girl voice, this college student laid down the science about McCain. She didn’t like Obama. She was excited about Sarah Palin. ( This was, of course, before Palin told little children that the vice president runs the Senate). She was registered she said, but wasn’t voting because se didn’t like either of the candidates totally.

Even though I claim to be an Obamican or (republicrat), I didn’t totally agree with her politics, But dammit, at least this young woman was excited about the election. There was mixed company in the salon that day, but the silence that ensued when she said she wasn’t going to vote was heard down the block. Had we all been alone, the Black women in that room, the one’s who had lived some, were poised and ready to educate this young lady about what those had come before her had sacrificed so she could make the choice she was making, no matter how shaky and naive her logic.

These two young people were as different as night and day. But it left me wondering, what would I do to get my children excited about their world? How would I be involved so that my kids would also be a part of the process?

It may be too late for my young friend to vote in this election, but I’m going to help her register. I’m also buying her a book so she can understand why the economy is important to her. And maybe I’ll let my daughter buy chocolate stock.

Why does my kid need Uggs?

2008-10-11T18:02:00.000-07:00

When your kids wear uniforms to school, its sometimes very easy to forget that they do need other clothes and shoes on the weekend. Mine do his funny thing, too. One day, their clothes fit just fine, and then they grow overnight. Jeans that fit perfectly well the night before look like pedal pushers the next morning, or their favorite shoes won’t fit anymore unless you cut of a toe, and kids get pretty testy if you do that (go figure).
        It happened to me this Saturday morning. SoCal was mysteriously cold(e.g. below 60), anything warm would not fit, and it would have just looked like child abuse if I went outside in my shooties and German sweater and my kid was following behind me in shorts and cheapie flip flops. (We aren’t going to mention other kid who wears shorts everyday anyway. I’m talking about the kid to whom I can still dictate choice of clothing).
        I took one look at her outfit and decided that the first stop would be the shoe department. They gladly hopped in the car and stormed Nordstrom’s when we arrived. I just knew my kid would head straight for any shoe that sparkled or lit up or was puke pink. That’s what she normally does. Last year, she wore pink cowboy boots until I had to perform a SWAT operation to retrieve them from her room when she was sleeping because they were too small.
        Those days are gone. This kid doesn’t weigh forty pounds and in less than 10 seconds, she had a pair of UGGs in each hand, contemplating color and height. How did this happen? Who slipped my kid a fashionista pill? When had my sweet, wear what mom says, loves pink and frills kid gone other to the dark side?
I tried to talk her out of them, tried to convince her that the sparkly half the price shoes were far better. She wasn’t buying it and immediately go to the “Please-mommy-please-I’ll-be-good-forever” stage of begging.
Yeah, you know I gave in, but I was exhausted then, done with shopping. I felt miserable about it too, for just a minute. the girl wore them out of the store, skipped away happily. She made my day right after that though. When we got home, she ran up the steps and yelled over her shoulder, “Thanks, Mom. You’re the best. My Uggs are so warm. I love them.”
UGGS- 119 bucks. Unsolicited Thanks and Kudos from baby girl-Priceless.

What are friends for?

2008-10-07T17:43:00.001-07:00

So, you get a call, a request, an email from a friend. When you need money, what do you do? Do you repeatedly depend on friends to solve your cash flow problems if you have them? Or do you find other ways to meet your fiscal needs. This is a dilemma. I'm not talking about the type of crisis where you need some money to pay the rent, buy the groceries, feed the kids, but the type of crisis where its just not clear. And if you find yourself there, do you find yourself there over and over again?

Let’s say, I have a legal problem. I need a lawyer. How do I get the money together to pay the lawyer’s retainer. And let’s say I've been here before. You know what I would do? I’d save it. Maybe ten bucks a week if that was all I had and just wait until I knew could pay. It might take a long time, but that’s what I would do. Is this where you are?

But now, let’s say I couldn’t save it. Then what? Would you try to sell something? Anything? Drum up some business if you are a freelance type, get a loan from a bank, hock your jewelry? Hock someone else’s jewelry? Is this where you are?

Would you ask a family member for some cash and at what point? Before or after you tried one and two above? Would you ask them to give it to you or would you ask them for a loan?

At what point, if any, would you ask your friends for money? You have food, and a place to stay, you aren’t going to jail and there is no life threatening illness, let's be clear.

At what point would you send out and email and ask for mass donations? Do you think you would get them?

Hit me up, and let’s discuss this. This happened to me and I had very mixed feelings. I was hurt that they would ask actually, especially since I’m sure they would sense my discomfort. We’ve been here before, but then I felt almost obligated to help because this person is my friend, right, even if we don’t talk very often?

I also felt too embarrassed to tell them that I felt abused. Its a rough thing to tell a friend no about touchy things like cash, right? But according to Suze Orman, it makes no sense to give away cash in times where you have a credit card bill, light bill, whatever, that isn’t completely paid off. It costs you something, right?

I’d like to hear your opinions on this? When is this okay? Is it ever okay?

When in France...Or the coach disease

2008-09-20T08:54:00.005-07:00

I think I may have caught a cold for the first time in many, many years. The last time I had one, I think was 8 years ago. I know how it happened too. I flew coach.

I went to Europe last week to do some consulting. I was supposed to leave on Saturday, but before day, about 5AM my time on Friday, I get this call. Ike was coming and the team was flying through Dallas, Could I possible leave early?

Like in a few hours?

Now, I love Paris, so it didn't take too much persuasion to have me packed and at the gate in three hours.

Normally I get upgraded on these trips, and I knew my Saturday flights had been upgraded, but seems like everyone had the same idea. The flights were full of folks trying to outrun the hurricane.

I held my breath until the very last minute, but lo and behold, I was seated in the back of the plane. On both flights.

I met my colleagues in Dallas, and we must have looked real pitiful because the flight attendant gave us free wine after we whined about eating with plastic rather than the real utensils you get in business class.

So much free wine that we didn't really care that we got food in a tiny little thing that looked like it was a Jenny Craig meal rather than served on real china. And of course there were no hot nuts.

A Frenchman behind us poked me in the shoulder. "How much is ze wine?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Not sure. We didn't pay."

He wanted to argue with the flight attendant. She batted her eyes and said, 'They were supposed to be up front, so we're bringing business class to them. They're PLATINUM."

Her voice was hushed as if it was a big secret that we were toasted in the friendly skies. Not me, of course, my colleagues were. It was really all about him, and I wasn't mad at him. The more he batted his eyes at the flight attendant, the more free wine I got. Now, if only he could get me some hot nuts.

We got to France unscathed and all looked like it was going to be okay.....until we got to the hotel.

They'd picked one off the list for me and well, I normally am a go with the flow kind of girl, but you have to draw the line somewhere.

The place was walking distance to the Arc De Triomphe and looked quaint on the outside, but boutique hotel in french doesn't mean the same as it does it english.

I checked in, and what it means is, "room that is smaller than my closet, with a salon outside your door where strangers surf the internet with a glass to your wall and a bed that will fall off the wall with barely a blanket on it and no duvet." Did I mention that it also means "ground floor where people outside can look in your window and you feel the vibrations of the metro underneath your head while you lie on the bed?"

French is such a funny language.

I tried to shower, because I absolutely have to remove the 10 hour flying popcorn smell

from my body before I hit the Champs, and the handheld shower attached me! The water pressure was so high, the shower head went crazy like a firehouse, soaked the bathroom and sprayed me in the face. I screamed so loud, the people outside listening through the wall had to knock on my door and ask if I was okay.

I finally got clean and had a few hours, so I headed for the shops, finally redeeming my trip so far with a visit to Louis Vuitton.

Well, I normally would just look, but they had a bag that was sold out in the states, and with the tax back, it was actually a tad cheaper sooo..

and my hotel wasn't so bad after all.

But I did call the travel desk and asked to be changed. to a different hotel.

I'm not that tall, so my feet shouldn't hang off the bed, right? I'm just tooo old for a youth hostel.

Le Meridien was waaaaay better. Even though they had 31Euro Martinis.

I drank wine.

When in France.....

2008-09-08T16:21:00.001-07:00

Good News. The Marrying Up DVD is now available at another outlet. You can find it at www.cushcity.com!

2008-08-21T07:32:00.000-07:00

Do you tweet? I wake up every morning and I check my-Twitter. I need to keep up with my fellow Twitizens. It's addictive. I can't help it. Since I joined, I update about 3 or 4 times a day.
Yesterday, there was a tweet from one of my mutual followers, remarking that they couldn't believe that Christina Applegate had opted for a double mastectomy. They said that maybe her actions were a bit extreme.
My response was something like "Your boobies, or your life?"
Maybe my response was a little harsh, but I applaud Christina's bravery, for opting to make the choice that will keep her level of worry the lowest, and then for going public with it. her actions will help educate a whole lot of people. I think I would make the same choice.
Perhaps Christina and I both share some history. Both of our mother's battled breast cancer. Mine lost before she was forty.
I have had at least two scares myself, and each time while I awaited the results of the biopsy, I thought about what I would do.
I like my boobs, they aren't bad as boobs go, but I do believe they could make me the bionic woman and build them bigger and better than they were before. It'd probably be the painful choice in more ways than one, but I now live with the legacy that breast cancer has left behind, and it ain't good. If faced with the choice, I owe it to my kids and my family to do everything I can to stay around as long as possible.

Follow me on Twitter at http://twitter.com/ninaFoxx

2008-08-06T07:11:00.001-07:00

Enjoying the support of the community of writers.

2008-08-05T18:49:00.001-07:00

Help me. Student readings are becoming torture.

2008-08-03T08:26:00.001-07:00

On FDU Campus searching for coffee. I'm in spartan purgatory

DVD is finally here!

2008-07-30T09:05:00.001-07:00

Hello Reader (and other) Friends!
I hope our summer is going well and not as hectic as mine has been.

Nina Foxx's Marrying Up is finally Here!

I have been getting many emails asking when Marrying Up: The Stage Play would be available on DVD. Well, it's here now. For a limited time, you can get your DVD of the inspirational and funny stage play based on my book, Marrying UP!

If you saw the play, you know what the surprise is and I know you'll want to order your copy today! If you didn't, I promise you, you will not be dissappointed!

Marrying Up stars Tony Terry, Gary "Li'l G" Jenkins, Comic View's Keisha Hunt and a host of other mega talents. The all original music is by John Forbes (formerly of the Killer Bees).
I learned a lot from this project, and think its a pretty darn good directing and producing debut and I know you will, too. ORDER NOW! at www.ninafoxx.com or www.amazon.com.

Synopsis

You can’t judge a man by the size of his wallet!

Paris Montague (Brooklyn Brewer, Houston) has got it going on. She has a good job and a great life. But the one thing she doesn’t have is what she wants most - a good man with a great heart.

Paris is the last unmarried woman in her family and has settled on having rendezvous with her secret lover, Tyson (Gary “Li’L G “Jenkins, Silk, Atlanta)– a man with big dreams and nothing to back it up. Her best friends Alexis (Comedienne Keisha Hunt, Houston) and Sarah (Casme Barnes, New Orleans, Nashville) know what time it is, but Paris’ mother, Athena, is determined to change her daughter’s unmarried status. Athena (Sondra Johnson, Austin) has found the perfect mate for Paris – a good looking, fine man who just so happens to be rich. Even her father (R & B Sensation Tony Terry) is fooled.

But looks can be deceiving.

Jabari (Reginald Johnson, Houston) may have everyone fooled while his demanding ex, Dina (Nina Foxx), pushes him to desperation, but Paris can tell that when things seem too good to be true, they usually are.

With the help of her money-grubbing cousin Alexis, the Montague family must really on their faith to discover that when it comes to Marrying Up, sometimes you have to look down.

Packed with comedy, inspiration and unforgettable music composed and produced by John Forbes, Marrying Up will have you swaying in your seats until the last surprise!

See a clip and Order yours here... www.ninafoxx.com For a limited time, we will be sending a free program with a DVD order. (5$ value). The DVD is only 15.00 plus shipping.

Praise for Marrying Up

"The play was GREAT! All three of us had a wonderful time. There was a lot of human psychology in the message. Sometimes we don’t see what is really important for us."
-San Antonio, TX
"....Non-stop fun"!
--Austin, Tx

"I've seen a lot of plays and this was a very professional Job. Nina Foxx has a future in this business."
-Houston, TX

If you'd like to see Marrying Up in your town, drop us a line. ftpublicity@mac.com

Keep Reading, and thank you so much for your continued support!

Much Love

Nina Foxx

2008-07-29T10:45:00.001-07:00

I'm trying really hard to get into San Diego, but a big part of the
frustration of moving is not knowing where stuff is. If you know me,
you know I'm a huge fan of GPS. I suffer from topographical
aphasia, otherwise known as a severe lack of a sense of direction,
but gps just can't tell you important details, like if a business has
MOVED! Twice last week I went out, armed my trusty GPS and ended up
heaven knows where. The business had moved. Kaput. Gone. And I
wasn't looking for little tiny things either. Target has fallen off
the map.
The other thing GPS can't tell you is what a business is like--
whether when you make an appointment for nine, it really means nine.
I made one such appointment last week, at 9AM. My daughter wanted
her hair braided, so I got up in the middle of the night to follow my
GPS into somewhere in Southern california. I found Sophie's Hair
Braiding on the internet and Yelp and it had been reviewed positively
in the news paper,so I thought, How bad can it be?
I arrived at the place minutes before my scheduled time and--there
was no one there. At least no braiders. Turns out, the braid shop
was in the back of another salon, which, even before nine, was filled
with blue-haired ladies and one man, and no one looked to be less
that 80 years old.
We had a seat to wait.
The "advanced aged" ladies came to talk to my children, who were, of
course, terrified.
One of them said, "Such beautiful kids." And then, "I wish I had a
permanent tan."
Hmm.
Apparently at one point she did because her skin was now mottled with
age spots and sun damage.
I called and was assured they were on their way.
We waited 35 minutes, and then I couldn't take it anymore. I hadn't
had any Starbucks yet (I can't find them either).
The braider person did cal me an hour after my scheduled time.
Something had come up.
Yeah, like the backs of her eyelids!
GPS couldn't tell me any other those things.
I tried to GPS myself to a church--GPS failed to let me know that it
was little more than a store front with bars on the windows--not for
me. I'm more of a traditionalist.
Back in texas, I lived in the land of strip malls and new
convenience. Not so here.
I veered away from my car-bitch instructions (GPS) and found a
Staples by accident. Good thing, I needed cartridges for my
printer. Got home, turned out someone had opened the package, put
miscellaneous cartridges in the multi-pack and resealed it so well,
no one could tell. Or maybe it was a factory error.
But I can't return it because I have no sense of direction, can't
find the receipt and have no idea where the Staples was. Except
there was a Rubio's across the street.
But apparently there are Rubio's everywhere.
And what about school supplies, my kids are going back to school and
the schools have published lists of stuff that they need.
I'm a little spoiled, because where I lived before, the schools did
that for you. You'd show up on the first day and the school supply
fairy would have visited your kids desk and gotten them EXACTLY what
they needed.
Well, I wanted the fairy again, but apparently Southern California is
out of her territory. I remembered that the schools used a company
called SCHOOL PAK,
so I went to the website and guess what--my kids schools weren't
listed. That would have been too easy.
So, I emailed them, and lo and behold, they got the lists and added
both of my kids schools and sent me a link when they were done.
I pointed, clicked and ordered, and a few days later, two very neat
boxes showed up on my doorstep, one for each child.
In it, exact school supply lists for each kids, complete with labels
and a note that told me what was missing(like a box of kleenex).
Helllooooo! Perfect for me. I didn't have to yell at my car bitch
for making me lost, nor did I have to find Target ,which keeps
moving. I didn't even have to fight the hordes of soccer-moms
waiting until the last minute. Now that's service.

School Pack can be found at www.schoolpak.com. Gene will hook you up!

2008-07-23T08:22:00.001-07:00

I've fallen out of the matrix. Dropped off the grid. Broke my cell
phone. I can't answer it when you call, but I can wait until you are
done and turn it off, turn it back on and call you back. I can't
text. That hurts most. I can't surf the net in public when you
bore me. Or find myself when I'm lost in a strange city.
I can't send an email or a text while talking and driving.
Can't listen to music.
I don't exist.
Last week, I was at the Alpha Kappa Alpha National Convention when I
decided to play iphone ball. Its like basketball except you bounce
your iphone instead of some other spherical rubber thing. I've
played this before and it works well. The iphone bounces pretty
good, except its not too good for dunking.
Anyway, mine hit the concrete and bounced like normal.
I didn't think anything of it.
Until i wanted to make a call, and the little thing at the bottom
that says "slide to unlock" wouldn't.
I kept sliding and sliding and nothing happened.
I tried everything, even downloaded the new iphone software.
You can imagine my distress.
The first day I had withdrawal and I poked at my phone constantly in
disbelief.
The second day I had the shakes, clutching the expensive gadget until
the color left my fingers.
The third day, it was almost okay. And I had a hella long flight
home so it didn't matter as much.
I ran to the nearest Apple store so I could get my fix and---
--they couldn't help me.
They had no more iphones.
And the next service appointment was like two weeks away.
Well, that wouldn't work, so I went to the nearest AT and T and--
--they couldn't help me.
They had no more iphones and they couldn't fix the one I had and--
--mine was three weeks out of warranty.
No, I wasn't eligible for an upgrade,but I was welcome to pay 200
bucks plus for a new phone of any type.
Or-- I could order one.
My kid begged and begged me to get the best phone AND order one. She
figured that she would get my hand-me-downs when the iphone finally
arrived.
I didn't.
Its 4 days later and I'm still waiting.
I've about had it.
iphone today or--I may be changing my technology.
I'll let you know.

Trojan Ant Bait

2008-07-09T12:27:00.000-07:00

I thought that perhaps California's nature would be gentler than
Texas was. Not so sure. The first night in my house, I went to get
groceries in the village. I didn't want to wake up to an empty
cupboard. I went to sleep and all was well.
In the morning, surprise! the ants were having a jamboree in my
kitchen. The were dancing salsa on my sink and break-dancing in the
pantry.
A funny thing happens to me when I see swarms of bugs--my skin crawls
like they are all over me. I swatted at the imaginary ones on my
skin while I danced to the beat of the ant party and grabbed the
kitchen faucet sprayer, trying to wash the little buggers away. I
washed and wailed and tried to tracks down some raid.
Back in SA, I was on a first name basis with my exterminator, so I
pulled out the yellow pages and gave one a call.
No "Assassin Pest Control" or "Mountain Monster Killer". Just
kindler, gentler names like "Let The Bugs Rule, Inc" or "Ask Them to
Leave Nicely Pest Control"
They could come today. Boy was I happy.
The man that came was friendly enough, but he kept walking around
saying, "Hmmm."
He said that one wall, was my "hot" wall. What did that mean.? He
claimed that ants were in the wall and it would take awhile. He was
going to lay some bait and we'd have to wait. They'd take it back to
their nest and spread their gifts. Eventually, the ants would
diminish, hopefully before they got in my bed.
In my bed?!
Oh, hell no!
Why couldn't he just spray something, like they did back in Texas?
He looked appalled that I would ask such a thing.
We would have leave the house for four hours while he sprayed an
tented it. or some tiny, little sugar ants. And it would cost a mint.
Of course I was in the middle of something and couldn't do that.
I wasn't going, but I let him spray his pansy trojan-ant bait.
Then I signed all the releases and disclaimers. And warnings.
Damn. California makes you sign a disclosure if someone sneezes in
your presence.
And then he told me something I didn't know.
Spray windex.
Like in My Big Fat Greek Wedding.
Turns out, the stuff really is good for everything.
I'm walking around, armed with a bottle of Windex, and if anything
bigger than an ant comes out of the canyon, let's hope it works on
that, too.

2008-07-05T11:24:00.002-07:00

How to smuggle a cat across country

I know I'm crazy, but I felt like I was being called to drive to San
Diego from San Antonio, instead of flying. I wanted to put my car on
the road and take any last minute things. One problem, what to do
with my cat?
I prepared him for the trip by training him to walk on a leash with a
harness.
Well, almost. I put the harness on him, and attached a leash and let
him run around like that for a few days.
First, he laid down flat and wouldn't move at all while the thing was
attached. Then he houdinied it and escaped. Probably buried the
thing in the Texas outback.
I started again and bought a better, escape proof one.
After about the fourth day, I tried to actually lead Kitty with the
thing.
He promptly walked on only his front paws and dragged his hind parts
behind him, all the time sporting a kitty smirk.
Finally, time to go.
I scooped up the unsuspecting Tik-Tak (backwards Kit-Kat), and
attempted to stuff him inside. He spread his paws like a cartoon
cat, first one way, then another to avoid going inside, so I was
forced to fold his little legs under him and push. Hard.
I wanted him to be happy, so I gave him a catnip filled mouse toy or
two and some treats, which he promptly refused, and started meowing
profusely. This was at 6AM last Friday.
On any given road trip, there's always more last minute stuff than
you think, so Kitty was seated in the backseat between my two kids,
underneath a small duffle and a crown of my youngest daughter's doll,
named, you guessed it, Baby.
Tik Tak meowed.
Cussed at me in cat (I'm fluent.)
Screamed.
And finally asked me over and over, "Why?".
It really did sound like that.
Somewhere on I-10, we stopped and I thought that maybe, the cat might
have to use the cat facilities.
I found some dirt, pulled over blocking the view of the Texas State
Trooper. (I was in Texas for years, it seemed).
I opened the door to the kitty kennel, grabbed the leash, opened the
car door and....
...nothing happened.
Kitty refused to come out.
He just looked at me with his "You gotta be kidding" cat face.
It was 113 degrees in the shade. But there was no shade.
I got him out of the box and he took shelter under the car. I tugged
on his leash to get him out, picked him up and dropped him in the dirt.
The damn cat growled at me.
Translation, "What about me makes you think I could use the
facilities under these conditions?"
I sighed, put the box on the ground, and this time, he gladly
scurried back inside. I repositioned the stuff in the car, and we
continued.
We stopped the first night in El Paso. I searched the internet for
pet friendly hotels, and booked a room.
I quickly discovered that they usually mean dogs only, so I had to
think on my feet.
W covered the cat with my kid's blankie, I distracted the clerk and
we got her into the room.
I'd brought along a travel kitty litter box, which I prepared in the
room. He ran under the bed and refused to go.
We changed the litter, put out some food, and coaxed Kitty out of
hiding.
She made us pay first, but finally came out.
He kept meowing, so we turned on the TV to mute the sound. He
stopped. The damn cat wanted to watch the Disney Channel, so I left
it on all night.
By this time, I understood. I didn't own this cat. We were his staff.
I don't think he used the bathroom that first night.
We did this two more nights. The cat continued to meow and yell and cuss the entire way while I enjoyed the road. We discovered that there is a great nothingness between the two cities. There are times where my phone picked up a Mexican cell tower as we drove, Mexico on one side, and the US on the other. And I had no idea the Gobi desert was in the United States. When we rolled across the Arizona/California border, miles of white, drifting sand flowed around us in the heat. No need for a fence here. If anyone made it across those sands, they deserved to be here as much as the next guy. There were signs that said we should turn off our air conditioner to avoid overheating. Now that's dumb, and the cat agreed. Either way, we'd just be hot. I kept my windows rolled up and the air conditioner blowing, all the way down I-5. The only time I opened the window as when we were stopped by the border patrol. Three times.
Finally after three days of driving, we arrived in San Diego.
One again, I found a pet friendly hotel on the internet.
I was happy. We'd arrived.
And then we kept driving toward a place called 'Dog Beach". Things
got seedier and seedier. By the time we pulled up into the parking
lot, I was hoping that they didn't take cats.
It was a true "motel", where you drive into the parking lot, and park
face-in, in front of grey, industrial looking metal doors. Everyone
had long, messy hair. I'm talking humans, not dogs. It had one
saving grace, a pool. But the water was murky and it was dead smack
in the center of the parking lot. I couldn't help but wonder if they
let animals swim in there too. No thanks. The place looked like a
grade D pay by the hour motel.
This time, I was with the cat. I refused to get out of the car, and
sent my husband inside to check it out. I didn't care how road weary
I was.
At this point, my car was a better option, and I gotta tell you,
that's bad. After three days of driving, it was filled with kids
crumbs and shoes and they was barely any room to move.
I sat in the car and held my breath like a two year old, and the cat-
gods were with me. No cats allowed.
We went to a Marriott Residence Inn, and that made me, the kids and
the cat happy. He even had his own TV so he could watch the Disney
Channel all by himself.

The "F" in Fantastik

2008-06-15T19:04:00.005-07:00

Last weekend, the Femme Fantastik met in Seattle for the wind up of our two year tour. It took me a week to recover. No, seriously, we had a great reception everywhere we went. At Ft Lewis, we were the happy recipients of tote bags by Burberry as Thank you gifts. The military knows how to do it up, for sure. At Borders in Tacoma, we found a whole new audience. For whatever reason, Lori seemed to really attract a much older, male, caucasian demographic this go 'round. One of them shared his special talent with us. He could write that we were beautiful and intelligent upside down and backwards. How does one figure out that they can do that? We had to think long and hard about the invitation to dancing we received. In the long run, we turned it down. He didn't really want US to go, just her. Oh well.
The book club that evening was fantastic, too. They were patient while we joked with each other and told some of each others secrets.
All of these were great, none of them were the highlight for me.
I also visited the first Starbucks and watched fish get thrown at the market in the rain. (Yes, it was hard for me not to notice the cold, rain and the tiny bit of snow, considering I'd left sunny, 100 degree temperatures.)
But the thing that topped it all was hanging out with the Femmes. Femmes after dark? We found a place that stayed open real late, ordered some appetizers and a few martinis. After I stopped dodging Reshonda's bullets--she hates to eat at a place where its hard to pronounce what's on the menu--we settled in.
I haven't been joining the Femme authors on a lot of things this last go round, but this is the part I like best. We're all different as can be, but somehow the chemistry makes our own brand of Sex in The cIty.
The martinis got lower and we shared out stuff. We caught up. We gave each other advice. Laughed at the countriness, the goofy, the fashionista, the diva and the realness among us. (Betcha can't guess who is who..)
We shared what we love about out marriages. And what we hate.
What we loved about being single. And what we hate.
What we love about motherhood. Our jobs. Woman stuff.
The cool thing is, it might be months before we are all together again, but I know that we will pick right up from where we left off.
Over the course of the two year Femme Fantastik Tour, we formed a bond. A good and real friendship. And that's quite a feat, considering that as women, we spend so much time taking care of the other people in our lives, that we forget to take care of us and at some point, we stop making new friends. You stop sharing yourselves with others not already close to you.
In reality, there is not much you can hide when you share hotel rooms, long car rides, and bikini waxing stories.
We shared all those things, and more, and despite all the STUFF we found out about each other, we were able to put aside our competitiveness and discover that we like each other, despite our strange relationships,our countriness, prissiness, goofiness, divaness, shoe fetishes, jewelry-joneses and frankness. Now that is FANTASTIK.

Fwd: New Pics - ghetto prom 2

2008-05-22T08:21:00.000-07:00

> **********************************************************************
> *********

Pitiful Proms

2008-05-22T08:02:00.005-07:00

Every year, I get pictures of "ghetto Proms" in my inbox. This last round has left me wondering, "Are these pictures for real?" Every other dress, make that nine out of the ten, had open middles or skin showing holes down the side, some with cheap material stretched so thin over the offending flesh, they look ready to burst any minute. These girls looked like sausages ready to burst the casing. Does everyone at these high school suffer from a severe case of bad taste? Often, in addition to being half dresses, the dresses are really mini dresses with a train tacked onto the butt to make a part of the dress floor length. How many black women can afford to have ANYTHING tacked onto their rear ends? I know a lot of you saw the video of the young woman who was denied entrance to her prom in Houston last week, because her dress violated school policy. She caused a scene and the police were called, all over a dress that she'll surely (hopefully) be embarrassed that she even considered wearing in ten years. Or even two years.
This last email, the girls even had cheap looking garters on their exposed thighs. Let's say that none of these people in the dresses have any taste. What about the people they live with? No one said to them, "Sweetie, that just looks trashy?" Or "You look like a reject from a second class Carnivale."
Barring that, are there no mirrors in these peoples' homes?
I remember my prom. I was barely 16, and my very strict (too strict) father, didn't want me to go. In my house, I wasn't allowed to date yet. My older sister intervened, and my father broke down and bought me a dress, then drove me to the prom and promptly picked me up afterwards so that I wouldn't end up riding in a car with my already driving date. (I wasn't. We're talking New York here.)
The dress? I hated it. It was pink, and yes, ball gown length. And the only skin it showed were my shoulders, which by the way, wee elegantly covered with a lace shrug.
But I wasn't in any ghetto prom pictures.
I remember fighting with him in the store.
He ignored my pleas for a short, tighter, more exciting garment. Whenever I picked up something that he didn't think was appropriate, he'd screw up his face and say something like, "Hell, no." or "We don't have any hookers in this house." (Yeah, he was rough.)
I know that if we hadn't agreed on a dress, I wouldn't be going to the prom. Period.
Harsh?
Maybe.
But I don't cringe when I look at my prom picture today, nor am I embarrassed to show it to my kids.
I just say, "I hated that dress."
There's no substitute for parenting.

2008-05-12T11:00:00.001-07:00

I haven't blogged in awhile because I had nothing to say, nothing I
was excited about, but today that changed. I arrived home from an
out of town trip to find a package on my doorstep, one that I'd been
waiting for awhile, three weeks to be exact. Three weeks ago, my
favorite jeans developed a hole. Now that they've added lycra to
things, jeans will run on you like pantyhose, and my did, in a place
I couldn't cover up. I was devastated. These weren't old navy sale
jeans, but 200 dollar/pair jobs, ones that I'd had for two years.
I'd tried on no less than thirty pairs to find them. I'm sure most of
you ladies can relate, especially if you are curvy. Good jeans are
hard to find, and these were not only good, but comfortable and
broken in, the kind you always grabbed first, that make you look hot
on the worst of days.
I took a picture of the hole and sent it it my sister. She's my
fashion consultant, my go-to girl. I wanted to know if I could get
away with a patch on the hole.
After she stopped laughing at me, she tried to coax me into just
tossing my beloved jeans. "You'll look like a hippie!"
I wasn't going to be deterred. I did an internet search on how to
patch jeans. I was depressed, but then I found Denim Therapy.
They claimed they could Fix, not patch my jeans, said it would be
invisible. Instead of a patch, they would re-weave the fabric to
make jeans fabulous again.
I decided to try it. What did I have to lose? The jeans were beyond
my repair skills
I filled out a form and they emailed me a shipping label and a
diagram of a pair of jeans. I was supposed to mark it, showing them
the exact area I needed repaired, which I did.
I packed up my beloved jeans, let the UPS dude pry them from my
hands, and I waited.
After three days I got an email with an estimate. 50 bucks. 50
bucks, and I would have my hip-huggers back.
I calculated the time I would spend trying to find a new pair of best
friend jeans, the cost of the time I would spend making them feel
like the ones I had sent in felt, and decided it was worth it.
I emailed my go ahead, and then, two weeks later, almost to the day
that I mailed them, I got them back. I was so excited, I undressed
in front of a window. Its kind of a good thing I have no neighbors.
And my jeans were perfect!
There's some white mesh stuff of the inside and I can see the reweave
a little on the inside, but from the outside they are perfect. Looks
like they never had a hole. I can be dressed again.
www.denimtherapy.com

revenge of the machines

2008-04-02T11:01:00.002-07:00

I have been on blog silence while I recover from a little bump on my head. Don't worry, I'm okay. It's just that for the past few weeks, machinery has been out to get me. I know that sounds crazy, but I'm not paranoid. You'll see once you hear my story. I have literally been living in a Stephen King novel.
It all started a few weeks ago, on a rainy morning. We had the usual early-morning rush. My kids couldn't find their stuff, and they told me they'd left something in the trunk of their father's car. I went to this car, brand to remain nameless, opened the trunk, and peered inside. This trunk is is very heavy, and it has a hydraulic assist on it. It's the kind that opens automatically with the remote. I stuck my head inside. It was almost as if someone tapped me on the back and try to push me inside, only I didn't fall. Then the trunk came down on its own and tried to bite me, swallow me up. That's right it closed on my head. Now this trunk is shaped like a big forklift. Since the push wasn't successful, I was only halfway in, and it caught me right on the forehead.
No Jokes, okay? I was hurt.
I saw stars for a moment, and then the pain radiated throughout my body. It traveled around to the back of my head, and then ran down my spine. I had a quick flash of being found there, like one of those toys they stuff in the back of the Trunk that looks like you've closed Garfield back there, but his butt is still sticking out. I was alone with my children, and was concerned that they would find me. I shook off the pain as I felt a knot rising on my head. It took a few minutes for the stars and planets I was seeing to go away, but I pulled myself together and got my kids to school on time.
But that wasn't the only thing. A few days later, I was loading one of my beautiful new dishwashers. Of course I purchased the latest in technology. It had all the bells and whistles, literally. I stood in front of it and turned around to grab something to put inside. When I turned back around the door fell open, and hit me in a place on the leg there feels like it's directly connected to your core. Once again my body radiated with pain. I bruises, and another knot rose on my leg that would quickly rival the one on my head.
I thought the worst was over. Another two days later, I hopped in my car, intent on taking my kids to NASA in Houston. I'm on the road on my way out of town, and all of a sudden my car swerves out of control. Note that this is a different car from the one that tried to eat me. I pulled over to the median. Lo! and behold holds, my almost new car had a very flat tire. A blow out. I called roadside assistance and I tried my best to entertain the kids as I waited for them to arrive. After half an hour, it was clear that they weren't coming to get me. They claimed they couldn't find me. Three different truckers had stopped to help and I had already turned them down. I tried to put the car up on the jack that came with it, and twice it fell off, The second time after I'd already gotten the tire off. The second time it fell off, the jack became unusable. This is a bad thing because my car now had no tire and it was sort of on the soft part of the road and was sitting on its rim on the side of the car, with me and two car kids in the back of it.
Finally, a good Samaritan came along. He was the Pastor of a Church in San Antonio, and he was on his way to a nearby Raceway. Who would've known I would have blown a tire right near a Raceway? This is another good thing because only the kind of jack they use on a Raceway would fit under my car, which was now so close to the ground you could maybe shove a toothpick under it. The kind fellow changed my tire and I headed home to change cars.
The machine conspiracy had been foiled again. It took me all this time to recover from my two bumps and my hurt feelings because I was sitting on the side of the road and a sports car with only three tires. By the way, that tire was so shredded that I could put my whole body in it. I'm recovered now.
I asked my lawyer if I get car manufacturer or the dishwasher maker, or even the people made the tire. Maybe the Jack manufacturer?
He shook his head It had the nerve to accuse me of being clumsy.
Whatever.

The Boutique is Now Open

2008-03-11T10:45:00.000-07:00

The Girl (IN) Ipanema

2008-02-23T20:22:00.003-08:00

Ipanema. Copacabana. Rio De Janeiro. Yeah.
Does this conjure up images of white sand beaches, near nekkid
women and men? Paradise? How about dengue fever?
I arrived in Rio with the travel book pictures etched in my head. I
just knew I was going to see, tall, tan, young, fabulous looking
people strolling down the beach. Well, sort of.
I'd packed several swim suits, to make sure that I would choose the
most appropriate one. I discovered that the Brazilians (the
cariocas) do not suffer from the same body hangups as we Americans.
They were no more beautiful than anything you might see on an
American beach, but Lawd, they were certainly more nekkid. I saw (or
didn't see) miles of cloth that had disappeared into the hinterlands
between many a butt cheek and grandpas in speedos.
When in Rio.....
Not really. I did pack my best tiny suit. Sort of like your skinny
jeans. The suit a good friend of me had once asked me to cover up
because she had a pre-adolescent son. And you know what, I was still
over-dressed.
I enjoyed the beach and the people watching anyway. Lots of flesh in
thousands of hues. And that dang song kept playing in my head. "Tall
and tan and young and lovely the girl from IPanema goes walking..."
or maybe "Nina in Ipanema." Nah, sounds like a porn flick.
In my short time in Rio, I also absolutely had to visit the statue of
the big Jesus, the one on every commercial about South America.
(Christ The Redeemer).
I cabbed it across town and let me say this, I didn't speak a word of
Portuguese before last week, but my spanish seemed to pay off. I was
able to read most things. Street signs. Roadside warnings. And the
billboards in every bus stop from the ministry of health warning
about preventing Dengue Fever.
Did I get a shot for that?
I enjoyed the statue and the views from the top, but when I got back
to my hotel I frantically searched the internet for clues. What were
the symptoms of Dengue and could I get it?
Striped mosquito bites. Headache. Why did I read this?
While sitting pool-side for an afternoon thirst quencher, I felt
little pricks around my ankles, and I immediately started to itch.
There were cats around, probably to keep rodents away. My hotel was
oceanside, tucked into a mountain and needed protection from the
critters. Cats meant no rodents. No rodents, no snakes. I was okay
with that.
Well, the cats, they had FLEAS. And the &*^% Fleas were biting me.
In a few minutes, I was itching al over and convinced Dengue was
going to set in, never mind that the internet said mosquitos were the
source of transmission and not Fleas.
I was twitching like a crack addict in withdrawal, but I still
considering my cultural quest as I hunted down the best feijoada, the
Brazilian equivalent of soul food. Feijoada is the Sunday meal that
the Brazilian slaves ate. I said it, I ate meat. I even have a
picture to prove it.
I paid though. Paid big. Two days of major heartburn.
I enjoyed Brazil. Immensely. The best part, fitting in. This was
one country where o one really stared and there was a distinct
absence of that feeling that black folks get almost everywhere else,
that fringe feeling. People didn't know what I was, and they didn't
care.

Me & The Cast and some Crew of Marrying up/Reflections

2008-02-07T11:19:00.000-08:00

IMG_0273.JPG
So, now that opening weekend is over, folks keep asking me if I was
happy with what I got. My answer is an unequivocal, yes. Actually,
I had no idea what to expect. I just tried to do each step to the
best of my ability and hoped it would add up to good. And what
exactly was each step? A whole lot. Writing the dern thing was only
the beginning. Being the Executive Producer meant that every little
detail rolled up to me. I mean everything, beginning with raising
the cash to making the show happen. Travel details-someone had to
make sure that each member of the cast and crew go to where they were
supposed to be, reasonably happy, safely and on time. Set building
had to happen on time and be functioning. There had to be a tech
rehearsal for the people who would operate the set and rehearsals for
the cast. Building had to be secured along with security. Wardrobe
had to be available. I'll tell you what, there were a lot of costume
changes. I'll have that in mind next time. My character alone wore
no less than five pairs of shoes in the two hour production. There
needed to be appropriate props for everyone, in the right place at
the right time. Program booklets had to be designed and printed, CD
inserts designed, printed and CD's pressed, T-Shirts for the crew and
for sale had to be designed, printed and paid for. Sound and
lighting had to be taken care of. Oh, and folks had to be fed.
All kinds of unanticipated things had to be fielded. I had to deal
with unpreparedness, attitudes (both good and bad), delays, city
permits, dusty spaces, funky travel schedules, excuses and bed bugs.
Or at least some of the actors did.
At some point, things just started happening by themselves. It was
like the show took over and I could have been screaming stop, but
that just wasn't going to happen. It literally felt like a tornado
had lifted it off my shoulders. My crew of many took it and ran. Not
just the actors, but the makeup artists, set dressers, ushers,
assistant director, stage manager, music director, lighting, camera-
folk, concession people...just a whole lot, probably the bigger crew
I ever supervised outside of my military days.
I sat in the silence in between the first show and took it all in.
This was a biiiig job, but all the pieces just came together like
magic. I'd done what I could do, delegated the rest, anything I
couldn't handle I just handed to the universe and the result was
wonderful. I even enjoyed my family bringing me the same bunch of
flowers at the end of every show. So, would I do it again?
Absolutely. I'm working on that now.

Marrying UP!

2008-02-04T15:05:00.000-08:00

So, I just go up from a twelve hour power nap. Executive production is sleep deprivation at its finest. The play opened and had a great weekend with an almost sold out show on Saturday. I learned a lot from this process.
First, People really like a woman with a gun. I had no idea that Dina (AKA NINA) would be such a hit, even though she was obviously supremely evil. I REALLY dug the mean woman with a gun and hot shoes myself. Of course the character was a shoe diva!
Second, I learned that your employees will eat your profits if left alone. That's right. I have video of my staff happily eating M & M's at the concession stand. I know who you are and you will be fined accordingly.
Third, I learned that there is no modesty in theater.
I had a cameo, but since the role was so small, I didn't have a mike. I had to share one with Li'L G since were were never on stage at the same time.
Logistically, it seemed like no problem to do a ten second mike change.
For the unfamiliar, the mike is on an elastic belt that velcros around your waist UNDER your clothes and then you place the ear piece on your ear.
Well, I stepped off stage ready to change mikes behind the scenes, and realized I had on a suit. So I unzipped quickly and ripped my shirt open, basically flashing the man and exposing my boobalas for the world to see. Of course, he was the ultimate professional. He didn't even miss a beat as he "dressed" me, even though with my four inch heels, his face was right at cleavage height. Another actor stood gaping. he couldn't believe he was seeing his boss in her skivvies. What I didn't realize was I wasn't far enough in the wings. I think I flashed some of the front row audience too. Good thing I was wearing a good bra!

Here's a clip. Sorry about the Cloverfield effect.

The Making of Marrying UP

2008-01-25T11:53:00.000-08:00

On The Set

2008-01-10T19:43:00.000-08:00

I went downtown three times today. Between visiting radio stations, pulling tickets from the box office and checking on the set, whew. I must have driven 100 miles or more. But it was all worth it, because at 5:21 PM this afternoon, I heard my name in lights, yessireeebob. The radio commercial for the play went live and I couldn't help but do the happy dance. My daughter heard it,too and she came running to my room. I am a rockstar in her eyes once again.

I went and looked at the beginning of the set building yesterday. We got past the sketches, but I gotta tell you, I held my breath the whole time. It still looks like sticks and straw to me. Or metal and wood, but Mark Sullivan from the SA Film District has a vision.

Here's a clip.

MARRYING UP!

2008-01-02T08:52:00.000-08:00

I know you have been waiting patiently, so here it is. I've been secretly getting it all together and here's the info.: The play is cast and set to go. Marrying up will have its Texas debut on Feb 2 and 3, in San Antonio at the Jo Long Theater. There will be two shows on those dates, at 3 and 8pm.

So, who's in it?

Here's the press release:

For Immediate Release

Contact: Lisa Horton 210.787.8637

From the pages to the stage…Bestselling Book by San Antonio Author now a Stage Play

Nina Foxx's

Marrying Up

(San Antonio, TX) – In the search for a husband, what's a woman to do? Make sure she marries up! At least that's the motto of Paris Montague and her meddling mother. Paris has got it all – beauty, brains and a fine man on her arm. There's just one problem – he's not the "caliber" of man she was looking for.

Tyson is content being Paris' sexy secret lover. He's a struggling brother chasing a dream and if Paris can just hang on long enough he'll prove he's worthy of her hand in marriage. But Tyson is about to face some stiff competition from the sexy, charismatic – and very rich Jabari Nolan. He's out to show Paris that when it comes to love, the best thing a woman can do is marry up.

Come experience one woman's discovery how all that glitters isn't gold and when it comes to matters of the heart, love has everything to do with it…

Based on the National Bestselling book by author Nina Foxx, Marrying Up is a stage play that's guaranteed to touch your emotions. This unique venture, produced by San Antonio-based Foxx Tale Productions stars R&B Swooners Gary "Li'l G" Jenkins (Silk) and Tony Terry, Comedienne Keisha Hunt (Comic View, Who's Got Jokes) Casme Barnes and Texas-based actors, Sondra Johnson, Reginald Johnson, Darrell Grant, Jacqueline Carter…and introducing Brooklyn Brewer.

"I'm excited about the play," says author Nina Foxx. "After the work was optioned the first time, I wasn't happy with what I saw. I got my rights back and this is my first attempt at writing, producing and directing. I love it when people tell me I can't.. We're starting in Texas and going from there. " Foxx plans ten shows, four have already been scheduled.

Foxx is producing the play in conjunction with The San Antonio Film District. "They built the sets and we are filming it. I'll be involved in everything, right down to film editing. It's a new model. In essence, we are filming a movie where the sets happen to be on a stage in front of a live audience. Five Cameras! I'm a hands on type of woman."

Tickets are $30 and available at TicketMaster.com.

Marrying Up

February 2nd - 3 PM and 8 PM February 3rd - 3 PM and 8 Pm

The Jo long Theater (at the Carver Community Cultural Center)
226 N Hackberry ~ San Antonio, TX

About Foxx Tale Productions

Foxx Tale Productions is a San Antonio-based minority-owned theater and film production company. Foxx Tale Productions is devoted to improving the state of theater in the African-American community by enlightening, entertaining and enriching through music and quality stories on the stage. With multicultural stories and universal themes, Foxx Tale Productions is garnering attention from around the country.

This is not a production of the Carver Community Cultural Center.

2007-12-29T15:14:00.001-08:00

Shanghai-Part II
I finally got to old town. I found historical buildings converted to
house modern day stores, including a Starbucks and McDonald's,
wedged right next to street stalls selling foods on a stick and other
Chinese goods.
When in Rome, right?
When I saw the choices, my courage waned. I was not a Bizarre Foods
Queen on this trip. Instead I chose to watch while a traveling
companion did his thing. His choice-a bird looking creature impaled
on sharp choptick, head and all. He chewed in what seemed like slow
motion, and it dawned on me then--All the open space around us, the
kind of space that would normally be teeming with pigeons, was
totally devoid of birds of any kind. My stomach turned over and
excuse the cliche, but I really did throw up a little in my mouth.
He was eating the rat of the sky. Other tourists stopped to watch
the over-sized hairy american eat the unidentified birdie. We moved
to find a restaurant, preferably one that served food we could
recognize.
Up to now, we'd been getting by with the kindness of strangers. We
spoke no Chinese and read even less. How would we find food we could
recognize that did not come from golden arches? And then, Buddha
answered my prayers (or led me to food enlightenment). An english
sign glowed like an oasis in the desert. "Tourist Authorized
Restaurant." I was starving and at this point I didn't care what the
sign meant. I wanted food that had not been impaled and that no
longer had a face.We stormed through the plastic strapped doorway and
every chinese face looked up at us, then pointed upstairs. Was I
being relegated to the back of the bus?
No, not everything is racial. I was being directed to an English
speaking waitress.
If you want to call it that.
The waitress made sure we sat in a spot with a good view, but I
couldn't undertsand her english at all. And the "english" menu
didn't help either.
It was exactly like the chinese menu, except the pictures were bigger.
How, exactly, would pictures help if I have no clue what they
represented?
I closed my eyes, pointed, and hoped for the best.
I murmured another prayer as the joking words on my Chinese colleague
the night before echoed in my head. "Why do Americans have a problem
with eating dog?" she said. "You have to get over that pet thing."
The food arrived, hot, with no faces, thank goodness. How bad could
it be? On dumpling thing had a straw sticking out of it and another
type, filled with greyish mystery meat, squirted me everytime I tried
to bite it.
We laughed and muddled through.

2007-12-27T12:06:00.000-08:00

I've been on blog silence. I've been busy, casting Marrying Up (more
about that later) and doing a little bit of traveling.

Shanghai

What do do when you have only one day in China? Everything you can.
After 16 hours of flying, I opted not to go to sleep. Instead, after
showering away the airplane grunge, I headed out for a drink with my
new chinese friend. It was a Sunday, but not the Sabbath here, so
everything was as open as a whorehouse in a Navy port of call.
Shanghai never closes, so even at ten pm on a Sunday, lights flashed
and locals filled the streets.
Locals-Let's explore that. I was told Shanghai was the expatriate
city of China, so it took a minute for me to see Chinese faces. What
I was seeing looked more like downtown Brooklyn that the Far East.
After a few drinks and the required tourist photos, I slept a little
and rose early, like 5AM early, and waited for the sun to come up.
I wasn't trying to be romantic. My body was confused and since I'd
crossed the international date line, it had no idea what day or time
it was. And I almost missed that sunrise. It was swallowed by
Chinese smog before it could peek over the horizon.
In what was supposed to be daylight, I ventured out. I stepped into
traffic and almost got run over by a hoard of bicycles.
More bicycles than cars. As I said a prayer under my breath, I
wondered, back home, if I got run over by a car, my butt would
(hopefully) be bumped to Jesus. If I got squashed by a bicycle in
Asia, would I be bumped to Buddha? I shook it off and chuckled, then
sputtered as the polluted air filled my lungs. Cough. cough. Hack.
Hack. I wished for a Micheal Jackson face mask like the locals were
sporting.
I had an ambitious day planned. I wanted to see the Famous Jade
Buddha Temple, The Bund, Old Shanghai to name a few. I had the
concierge write the directions down in Chinese since my Chinese
consisted of two words: Hello (Nihon), and thank you (Xie xie). I
quickly got to an another word as I walked. No! (Mao!)
I was trying to act like I wasn't tourist, but I quickly discovered
that it didn't matter. I was going to stick out like an sub-saharan
african in Siberia. I'd read in a book that the Chinese stared, but
this wasn't staring. These were looks that might earn an old-
fashioned beat down in New York. They had me checking to see if I
had a tail. I tried my best to not let it bother me and headed out to
purchase some souvenirs. I fought my way through the crowds and one
man almost fell off his bicycle he was staring so hard. Another
woman stepped in front of me and took pictures of me with her phone.
If I'd thought about it, I would have stopped and posed, charging for
each photo, but with the value of Chinese money, it would have taken
awhile to make any cash.
Then, a new discovery, the Shanghainese were touchy feely too. I
bought a Chinese style name stamp and now, feeling familiar, a woman
took the liberty of running her hand up and down my arm while she
said something that sounded like "Pwetee wadie."
I nodded and smiled. "Pretty lady. Yes. but no touchee."
I was ready to take her down for that but realized the ridiculousness
of my situation. I was outnumbered 18,000,000 plus to one. A really
bad Jackie Chan movie with me not on the winning team.
I grabbed my purchase and slunk away, accepting the memory of the
woman's fingers on my skin.

Why I Shop Online for the Holidays

2007-11-29T14:52:00.001-08:00

2007-11-20T06:05:00.000-08:00

Today is "book in store" day. Yep, my new book is finally here. Women read the title and they get it right away, but men? I'm not so sure. Guy, I'm not saying we don't need you. Of course we do. That's not the point.
Most people laugh when I tell them the name of my new book, but some ask me "What does your husband think about that?" You know what, he gets it.
No Girl Needs a Husband Seven Days a Week was not intended as an instructional manual on how to get rid of your bothersome significant other, instead it was supposed to be a look inside today's marriage. So many of us grow up looking for the knight in shining armour or the fairy tale happily ever after, only to be disappointed once we make the leap into matrimony. We find that its nothing like we thought and that "Until death do us part" may come earlier than we envisioned because one of us is plum going to kill the other.
Inside my story, you'll find three independent woman struggling to make their relationships and families work, while dealing with the not-so-picket fence demands of LIFE and the baggage they have brought with them.
I got the idea for the book from two sources. There was an article in the Chicago Sun-Times last summer, basically about the demise of marriage, and from looking at all my friends with commuter marriages. I have a very close friend and relative that has been married almost forty years (she got married when she was two). She lives in one state while her husband works in another. They get together on weekends and they have been doing this crazy commuter thing for almost ten years. Right after I got married, I asked her, "Don't you miss him?" She looked at me like I's lost my mind and uttered, "No girl needs a husband seven days a week." I saved that kernel and years later the idea for my book was born. Being separated from her husband part of the week has taught her how to be strong and solve her own problems (sometimes), just as my characters find that sometimes, they have to handle things for themselves. Sometimes, even though you are married, you have to rescue yourself.

2007-11-13T11:08:00.001-08:00

Me with Morgan Miller, The Queen of Sole in Miami Beach

Custom Shoes, Miami & Singelringen

2007-11-13T10:31:00.000-08:00

So, how was Miami? Certainly warmer than San Diego. I thought I was doomed to have a busted trip, but in the end it was saved by my stumble onto a custom shoe store. That's right, custom shoes.
Morgan Miller wasn't my first dance with shoes made especially for my tootsies. I actually had some made a few weeks ago by costume designer Ann Roth. (www.annrothshoes.com).
I picked the heel and the fabric along with a final embellishment and they arrived at my door with cards for me to give out to tell folks where they'd come from.
This time, I went to Morgan Miller (The Queen of Sole) in Miami Beach, picked a heel, picked a top and an embellishment. I even picked the color of the label in the sole. After two fittings and thirty minutes, Viola! Shoes. I REALLY liked this concept and Morgan and family were all very kind.
They even presented my shoes to me on a silver platter.

Other parts of my trip: The crowded Miami Book Fair, an interview with The Marc Bernier Show. I didn't get stuck in any elevators this time, but I did visit a restaurant called Tantra. I did an internet search to find cool places to eat and this one seemed like it was. Okay, actually, it was just at the top of the browser search.
I quickly discovered why they had to pay a premium for top placement.
Ick!
Not tantric. Made me want to throw a tantrum.
I was supposed to be sensual cuisine. More like senseless.
The entry way was carpeted with sod.
Yup, sod. As in a lawn in the vestibule.
Who thought that was a good idea? I mean, the heels on my exotic leather stilletos sunk into the grass and I was not happy.
Think picnic in good high heel shoes.
Then, it was so dark I thought that I'd lost my cool quotient or that old age eyes had suddenly set in. I couldn't read the dang menu. They offered me a flashlight.
My dirty martini looked more like a muddy mess.
And then my salmon was sitting on top of some burned stuff. I really wasn't sure if it was risotto or rice or....
The icing on the cake was the huge screen over the bar. We had to watch Indian Porn movies while eating.
Needless to say I won't go back there.

Where to next?
Well, I'll be in Baltimore County Thanksgiving weekend when the new book hits the shelves. Check out my webiste for details.
And after that? It looks like I'll be in LA, attending an event given by Hello Stllletto Shoe Club and Singelringen.

The two will host the event of the season for shoe lovers – a ‘Shoe Party’ featuring fashion bloggers, stylists, and other personalities, as well as other single life authors Bella DePaulo, Jane Ganahl, T. Murray, and Valerie Cabrera Krause; plus a ‘Stiletto Walk-Off’ presided over by a panel of fashion experts including Lauren Messiah aka “Fashion Kitty.” All attendees are invited to compete for prizes and the title of ‘best in shoe.’ The party takes place Wednesday evening, December 5th from 7-10pm at Zu Robata, THE hot new Japanese fusion tapas bar and shochu lounge located at 12217 Wilshire Boulevard (Bundy), 310-571-1920.

By wearing your most fabulous footwear to the event, you’ll be amongst well-heeled men and women helping those in transition. The admission charge is a minimum of one pair of new or gently worn women's or men's career (dress) shoes to support Working Wardrobes, a local nonprofit organization that assists men and women in crises re-enter the workforce through wardrobing and career development.

http://www.us.singelringen.com/

Singelringen ("Single Ring" in Swedish) is a unisex ring that serves to remind the single wearer that they are already complete; while open to possibilities. The ring features a turquoise acrylic layer shining over a sterling silver band engraved with "made in Sweden" and a unique registration number that provides access to the Singelringen Global Community. The ring was introduced in Scandinavia in April 2005. Singelringen is sold in over 20 countries, and has gained a strong following in trend setting countries such as Brazil and Japan.

I know I'm not single, but I totally get it. I'm going to wear a singleringen in celbration of the independant woman, the woman who gets that you have to love yourself first before someone else can love you (or you can love them). So many people rush to the altar only to find that they had their expectations all screwed up.
What better way to celebrate NO GIRL NEEDS A HUSBAND SEVEN DAYS A WEEK? That's the whole point of the book.

Me with Marc Bernier

2007-11-07T10:05:00.001-08:00

Sigh. You know stuff happens to me when I travel, right? I thought I'd overcome the travel gremlin, but I was wrong. I got back from San Diego late last night. It was a quick trip, there and back, no room for error, or so I thought. I covered all bases. I was willing to risk being rusty, by removing all creams, lotions, potions, and lipsticks from my bag. I even left my computer at home.

I hopped on my SouthWest plane so I could be on the west coast with a full day to burn. I was ready, seeing as how I'd heard that it never rains in sunny southern california.

Ha! Ha!

When I stepped off the plane I had to double check the city I'd landed in.

It looked more like Seattle than San Diego.

The day was gray and overcast and it was COLD.

No, strike that, freezing.

My leather coat that is a winter coat in San Antonio was being eaten whole by the San Diego chill.

I tugged it around my body, trying to keep out the cold and tried to find a Starbucks.

The beach is not pleasant in the cold.

My tootsies looked pretty in my alligator strappy sandals but they were quickly turning blue.

I did all my running aroundwhile I shivered, looking forward to retreating to my hotel room.

I finally got back there, late in the evening, cranked up the heat and phoned home to give folks the update.

After about twenty minutes of yakking, I was no warmer, so I broke my own rule about day clothes in a night bed. I crawled under the covers and tried to ignore the cold fog coming from my mouth.

This was more like an east coast winter than a west coast fall.

I checked the thermostat and my nose started to run.

It was fifty six degrees inside.

I called the front desk and they apologized profusely.

I had checked in one day before they turned on the heat. Of course.

They offered me a space heater.

I waited, and after about a half hour, they called back to tell me they'd run out of space heaters.

Of course. I wouldn't be me if things went as planned.

I put on my PJ's, and put my sweater back on on top, plus my jacket.

I wiped my nose for the tenth time and unmade the second bed in the room and transferred those covers, including the nasty, germ-full hotel quilt to the bed I planned to sleep in.

I crawled into the bed and wrapped up, but I was already cold to the bone.

As you can tell, I survived the night, and took a fast shower the next day.

Hopefully Miami will be better this weekend.

New Book News

2007-10-18T08:18:00.000-07:00

Hello Reader-Friends!

The countdown is on! My next book, No Girl Needs A Husband Seven Days a Week will be released in a few days. I'm excited. Remember that pre-orders are very important to an author, so I would certainly appreciate yours. Here are some early reviews from The Harpercollins first look program--

I LOVED this book! Nina Foxx is a wonderful author and I hope she continues to write because THIS BOOK is one to make you GIGGLE out loud and say, "oh no she/he didn't!" If you have girlfriends, then you can relate to this book. If you are married and struggling, you can relate to this book. Taking care of an elderly parent? Get this book. Nina Foxx writes so beautifully about the beauty of friendship and sisterhood, and I definitely recommend this book.
— Shelly (Henderson, NV)

This book was wonderful. While it dealt with serious issues such as infidelity, imprisonment and oh yeah, men. Foxx dealt them a witty, touching and ultimately memorable hand. With well-rounded characters and steamy chemistry between love interests, this trio of women made this book nearly unputdownable (if that is a word).
— Angela (Rancho Cordova, CA)

Nina Foxx is surely one of the best writers of African American chick lit and this did not disappoint. I loved it! The storyline kept me reading well into the night. Her characters were realistic and very, very funny. The three main characters -- Mai, Marie and Kennedy -- were very well drawn and they immediately became my own girlfriends. They each experienced some personal growth and the supporting characters were just as vivid. I really enjoyed this book! Thank you for a First Look.
— Idrissa (Newark, NJ)

This was way more than I expected, much more absorbing and thoughtful. This felt very real and psychologically affecting. You'll identify with many of the scenarios, and the more embarrassing the more it touches you. I'm so glad to recommend it.
— Jane (Shen, IA)

We all have our dirty little secrets, and it's have fun discovering the secrets of Nina Foxx's three main characters! If you don't have time to watch soap operas any more, this book will definitely scratch that itch!
— Dani (Mount Holly, NC)

Book Synopsis:
A husband can be good for a number of things:

* Companionship (when he's home)
* Household repairs (if he's handy)
* Good loving (if you're lucky), but . . . no girl needs a husband seven days a week!

Marie needs her "stay-at-home husband" to clean the house and babysit the kids, so she can take care of business coast-to-coast . . . and enjoy some harmless flirting on the side.

Mai's perfectly content to be the perfect wife to a successful corporate superstar—throwing lavish parties and organizing gala charity fundraisers. But it's funny how quickly everything can change with just a single phone call . . . from prison!

And high-powered ad exec Kennedy believes the best husband is no husband at all. Hot encounters with a succession of studs keep her going strong as she climbs to the top of her profession.

A spouse is fine as long as he doesn't screw up the rest of your life. Now three lovely ladies who think they have this "husband" thing all worked out are about to learn that, when it comes to love and marriage, "perfection" can always be improved upon. And it's going to be one wild ride!

Thanks!

Macchu PIcchu

2007-10-05T09:17:00.001-07:00

I thought I was in shape. And then I went to Machu Picchu. The day started innocently enough. After the night before, I drank more Coca tea and felt I was recovered from my altitude sickness. We were going to take the train to Macchu Picchu.
We were greeted at the train station by Peruvian dancers and mimosas, and then we boarded the most luxurious train I have ever seen. I felt like we’d stepped back into time when train travel was the way to travel. We were seated our a lavish dining table and plied with food and drink, including pisco sours, a form of whiskey sour made with Peru’s national drink, Pisco. I’d seen that on the travel channel too and didn’t want to think about the traditional way it was made, by people chewing the ingredients until they fermented, then spitting it into a vat.
The three car train ambled up the mountain path while musicians strolled its length and we snapped pictures of the country side, passing farmers and shepherds. Electric pole sliced through the stillness of the mountain beauty, every now an then snatching me back to the present day. The train is the only way up the mountain, other than walking for four days on the Inca trail. At times we were so close we could wave at the backpackers and their porters who chose to rough it. The route is too steep for an old fashioned straight run, the train had to bypass multiple switchbacks to make it. The end of the road is Aquas Calientes, and from there we boarded buses to continue our climb on a one lane road that was so steep I just had to close my eyes so I wouldn’t picture us rolling down the hill. There were a few times when we had to back up to let another bus pass.
We made it to the top, finally, and headed up to the breath-taking ruins of Macchu Picchu. Our guide was excellent and I couldn’t help picture and angered Inca just pushing someone off the side. And then it hit me. We just kept climbing up. My heart was beating so hard I thought it would burst and I had to stop to read several times. The air was so thin that my nose hair hurt. So much for cardio vascular fitness. I was having a great time, absorbing the history of the Andean people. At the top, you realize that you are standing between the Andes mountains above, and the Amazon jungle waaaay below. I dropped a rock over the side and it was still falling when it disappeared from view. I never heard it hit bottom. They said that a Canadian woman fell to her death a few months ago. She got overzealous with her picture taking. There would be rails everywhere if this was in the US. And then, and then, I had to go down. Narrow steps just carved into the side of the mountain. Lordy, lordy, lordy. Jesus, Mohammed, Buddha and the Incan gods, too. I crawled down the mountain backwards on hands and knees. No one laughed at me at all because they wanted to do the same thing. The whole trek was almost four hours and my legs were wobbly when I finally made it to the bottom and tea at the lodge.
Tomorrow, Saqsaywomon and Arequipa.

Altitude Sickness and Llama meat

2007-10-04T05:56:00.000-07:00

Llamas and Alpacas and Altitude Sickness.

I planned to hit the ground running. I hunkered down on my flight and worked it all out in my mind. It was midnight. We’d sleep on the plane, transfer at 5:00AM to a shuttle flight to Cusco, shower and be on our tour at 9. Riiiight.
First, both of my kids started wailing. The little one just wanted to go home. She hated the layover hotel and didn’t want to experience another no –tell motel. The big one wailed because they sat us ear the back of the plane and she hates that, she said it made her feel un-cared for, like I purposely told American Airlines to put us in the back of the plane.
“Mom, why didn’t YOU put us in first class?”
After I stopped laughing and helped to dry her tears, I told her that she was lucky to be on the flight at all. It would have been far cheaper to leave her home with a relative.
“But mom, I have flown first class before.”
She has not.
The closest she came was in the bulkhead row peering through the curtains, although she swears this is not the case.
“Sweetie, you are remembering a past life regression, dear, trust me, you have never flown up there.”
She eventually calmed down and I could not sleep. We raced through customs, and yes, our bags were actually there. Raced through the airport, checked back in to our domestic flight and made it on the flight just in the nick of time.
Our guide met us, we moved our tour to ten and headed for the showers.
And then I realized why my kids were really crying.
I’d bred little hotel snobs.
As soon as they entered our hotel, they relaxed and the smiles returned to their faces.
The hotel is a pre-colonial building, re-built twice after several earthquakes, beautifully redone.
They read the room service menu and laughed out loud. They were in love and happy again.
But I wasn’t. The floor was moving.
Things are different at 11000 feet.
They gave me coca tea, yup, same plant, to sip, said it would help with altitude sickness. (I promise you this is totally legal in Peru, non-intoxicating even. They even give it to kids).
I trudged all over the Sacred Valley, looking at ruins, enjoying the native guard of the highland peoples, trying to catch snatches of their Chechua language. Hard to do, they always spoke Spanish to us.
I met Alpacas and llamas and their cousins up close. We marveled at the shrinking glacier.
We stopped at the same market and community oven that the guy on Bizarre Foods did, hoping for an Andean Empanada, thought a minute about trying the roasted cuy (guinea pig), but it looked too much like a skinned rat on a stick. I trying llama instead, washed down with Inca Kola, It did not taste like chicken.
By the end of the day, my head was pounding.
I tried to nap.
Nausea set in.
Got some more coca tea.
It didn’t make me high, but it did make me run through the hotel lobby, mouth covering my hand, trying to make it…
I didn’t.
Altitude sickness is a motha….
Good hotel. I wasn’t even done yet and they cleaned the lobby.
And the bathroom.
And
They walked behind me, wheeling an oxygen tank.
I didn’t quite need that and I felt instantly better.
Tomorrow, Macchu Picchu.

Trip to The Sacred Valley-Stuck in Miami

2007-10-02T15:31:00.000-07:00

Right out of Dallas, we had a problem. Our flight from Dallas to Lima was delayed by more than an hour, making the possibility of making our connection ot Lima slim to none. That would cause an even bigger dilemma, if we missed that flght,we couldn't possibly chnge airlines in Lima as planned to get to Cusco, the heart of the Sacred Valley. American Airlines could or would not tell me anything except that I should go to Miami and they would talk to me there.

Note to self: In the future, let's try to avoid four connection trips.

I pulled out my I-phone and did a search If we missed that connecting flight to Lima,there were no other flights that night, exept one on LANperu, ther partner airline. I called the red trouble phone again. No, they could not get us seats on that flight, at least not from Dallas, so we crossed our fingers and got on the plane.

Bad move.

We rolled into the gate just as the flight to Lima rolled out.

We missed it by ten minutes, so did ten other people.
I watched the gate agent be rude to the the six people ahead of me, so I had a good idea what to expect.

"Could we by any chance get on that Lan Peru flight? It leaves in about and hour?"
She shook her head no. "I can get you on a flight tomorrow. We (American) have a flight that leaves in about 14 hours."

Fourteen hours in Miami with two kids and rainy weather didn't sound fun.Not to mention we would miss our tour.
I thought about it a moment, then checked the airport boards. That other lIma flight was only a few gates away.
"Can we have our luggage here, then?"
The gate agent snapped at me. Said everything but "Hell No." They would keep our luggage until the morning, but would gladly give us meal vouchers for there meals and a hotel room.
"Can we go without our luggage if we can get on the LanPeru flight ourselves?"
"Sorry," she said. "This is an international flight. You can't get on any flight without your luggage."
In other words, we were prisoners of Ameican Airlines.

I wasn't going to give up that easily though. It was alreasy the wee hours of the morning, but we ran all the way to the farthest point in the airport from us, to the Lan Airlines counter. Maybe they would be able to accept an American ticket (they were partners, right?) And we would end up on them anyway.

The attendant at the Lan counter blinked at me when I spoke. She spoke no english. I mean, for real. I looked over my shoulder to check the signs, make sur I was still in the US like i thought and hadn't somehow fallen off into Latim America without knowing. I was calm as I dug down deep. She was speaking text book spanish, not the mangled spanish I'd gotten used to in Texas. She looked relieved when she realized that we could speak, but she couldn't help me either She told me that since American had already claimed us, she coudln;t grab our itinererary. In fact, she couldn't touch it. She trembled in her loafers every time she said "American Airlines."
We were stuck.
Prisoners.
In Miami.
With no clothes.
But thank goodness that I was a firm believer in spare underwear.
I had spare underwear in my carry on for everyone. They laughed when I did that.
Who wold be laughing in the morning?
We made our way to the curb for the airport shuttle, barely catching it because the guy was zooming past. We flagged him down and in no less than five minutes found ourselves at...
....the roach motel where, again, no one spoke english, the piano was being played by drunken folk at 2AM, and they charged two dollars per toothbrush.

More tomorrow.....

Creating the Play-Finding Venues

2007-09-27T15:37:00.000-07:00

The Things The Femme Fantastik will Teach you about your friends/ The Femmes A la Mode

2007-09-24T10:21:00.001-07:00

The Texas/Oklahoma leg of the Femme Tour was fabulous, of course. We broke in Berta by meeting her at the door with a new Femmetini. Reshonda got to watch Hell Date to her heart's content and carmen is now hooked on it too.

Things I learned:
One of us knows her way around a bar. Like for real. She can make a delicious tasting drink with whatever you happen to have in your refrigerator. No names. But I think its one of her weapons.
Another one of us can really drink anything. Again, no names, but she's new.
One of us can't drink at all. Its just not a good idea to let her imbibe then attempt steps.
Another one will steal your Tums. The girl asked me for one and then took the whole bottle and put it in her bag. I'm told that the girls ate them as after dinner mints in Oklahoma.
One of us REALLY can't eat fast food. The rest of the people in the car regretted that stop at Wendy's between Killeen and San Antonio for the WHOLE trip.
The highlight for me is when we killed time in a shoe store. We entered and all immediately went to a different corner and picked up a shoe. If a shoe tells your personality, its a wonder we're all friends. All the shoes were different.
One of us is practical. (It wasn't me). That Femme picked up a sensible looking flat shoe.
Another of us picked up a shoe boot looking thing. Not cute, but trendy. (Not me, but she's new. If the shoe fits...).
The third picked up a sexy but classic number. (This Femme is from the north and has lots of weapons in her arsenal)
And the fourth Femme picked up Leopard print, pony hair, sky high stilletto mules.
Trips like these leave you learning a lot about your friends.

Oh, and I was patient while they acted like tourists at the Alamo. Femmes Alamo-ed. Sorry about the pun. I couldn't resist.
Can you guess which Femme was which?

Here's the pictures...

Marrying Up Again-casting

2007-09-21T09:38:00.001-07:00

Hey Folks,
We are bringing Marrying Up, The Stage play back. Here's the casting information--

Funny Laundry detergent

2007-09-17T10:16:00.000-07:00

I got this from my sister in an email last week and its definitely good for a chuckle. Happy Monday!

Welcome to the Country New Shopping Buddy

2007-09-08T06:52:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I feel the need the re-post. Or at least incorporate something I wrote a long time ago into one of my posts. This past week has made me feel that the time was near.
I needed a new dress this week. This is the wedding season or something, and with three upcoming weddings in three entirely different states and two countries, I felt the need to shop. Alas, all of my shopping buddies moved away, and then I moved away from my favorite stores, and sometimes, shopping is just not a solitary thing. I pondered my dilemma, then called up a woman I'd met recently, one who felt like she had the material to be a friend.
She recently immigrated to Texas from New York by way of Connnecticut, and she lives very close. The sister (whose name I promised I would not mention) just seemed to be so cool. I invited her and her spouse out for drinks with a group of folks to try and introduce them to our small community a few weeks ago. She was feeling a little uncomfortable and always seemed a second away from whipping out her Amex and hopping back on a plane. Actually, I found out that she did once, ran to the coast for a fix for a couple of weeks and then returned only because her child had to attend school. At that meeting, I knew we would be friends. You see, it was a rainy Texas evening, and when most of us have just learned to find some shelter and wait a minute (the weather will always change in a minute), girlfriend showed up at my house with a trench coat and some Pucci wellies (that's east coast for fancy galoshes). We had a great time that night, and I sort of felt like she would shop good.
And she didn't dissapoint.
I told Connecticut that I needed a dress and what for, and we headed to Neiman's.
I love Neiman's, but I have to admit that since I moved to San Antonio, I've been more of an internet shopper and have only ventured out once or twice.
Well, we walked into Neiman's, and while one of my feet was still on the escalator, Miss Thing's name was ringing out across the ladies department.
The sales folk were all over us like flies on watermelon.
I paused and picked up my bottom lip.
I had just met my shopping match.
Did they not see me here?
How was it, that I had lived in this fair city a year, and Miss East Coast had only been hear about half of six weeks and all of the sales folk in the store were rushing to her aide? What was up with that?
In ten minutes, we were invited to a fashion soiree and stashed away in a dressing room, and I was wrapped in couture frock after couture frock.
I think I frightened her though when two mature ladies tracked me down in the store and, after making sure that I was me, they told me that they followed me on the internet. Basically, they wanted to know if my What Not was Now Free.
Connecticut slunk away from em from that one.
There are some things, you just don't discuss with your Aunt, Mother, older cousin or the distinguished woman from church whom you admire, and these two womman were all of that, so she was pretty mortified that these women knew about my waxing escapades.
She must have felt scolded by her Auntie or at least busted with her credit car in her hand.

I have to tell you, for the first time since I moved down I-35, I felt at home.
I finally found something, a lovely St John number (she thought It'd bee too stuffy until I put it on), which I paired with Caovilla shoes, right before we were about to dash out the door to retrieve our offspring, and we left with plans to attend a little cocktail fashion thing the next day.

She picked me up that evening and I'm sure both of our husbands breathed a sigh of relief. They wold not be forced to stand around and eat barbeque while a bunch of stick figure models paraded through the crowd and tried to act like their heels were not sinking in the grass.
The event was on a ranch, not far from my house. We drove up the hill and down in the valleys with me navgiating (go ahead, you can shudder), because Connecticut hadn't learned how to use her wife (AKA navigation system) yet, but we got there safely.
We pulled up to the gate and couldn't spot a soul, much less a house, punched in the gate key and waited for the ranch fence to part.
The road was unpaved, hard pack gravel.
Connecticut grumbled about Texans driving trucks and having changed her license plates to Texas plates.
And then she got her REAL introduction to Texas.
A pair of zebra winked at us.
She screamed and slammed on the brakes.
"Is this the right place!?"
I laughed. "Yes, they said it was a ranch."
I didn't want to sound contrite. "You have heard that Texas is a whole 'nother country?" A ranch didn't necessarily mean horses or steer.
Should I mention that these people had a kangaroo and a giraffe too?
Her eyes got wide as saucers while I coaxed her driving moccasined foot off the brake pedal and we continued down the road.
The driveway was over a mile long, and when we finally pulled up to the valet parking attendant, she'd found her voice again and was coherent enough to remove her moccasins and slip on the Manolos I'd chosen for her from the back seat.
(Like me, her kid refused to help her chose just the right shoe because we wouldn't let them go with us.)
We stayed a minute or two, listened to the band (good band) and feigned eating barbeque (I don't eat beef or pork) as we hob-nobbed with the designer (south african, fabulous leather work). The folks from Neiman's were so glad to see us and I even resisted the urge to tip over one of the models as she struggled with her stillettos on the lawn.
When the bugs started snacking on us we decided to escape back to civilization and headed for Swig North. Neither one of us gets outmuch and we decided to take advantage of the free babysitting.
(The original Swig is featured in my upcoming book.)
I learned some interesting things and discovered the need to re-print.
Connecticut only takes the service roads so she can avoid the Texas drivers.
She's a little afraid of that El Paso slash. You know, the one where a driver cuts across six lanes of traffic at 70 miles an hour.
I think I found a shopping buddy, but I'm sure I'm going to be laughing every minute.

We had an interesting evening, but I had to tell her, "I love the east coast, and its great, but I assure you that Texas is great too and you can love it. You just have to have an open mind and bloom where you're planted."
Connecticut, this one's for you....

A Whole Other Country
A friend of mine from graduate school just moved to Texas. She didn't want to, but an offer she couldn't refuse had her packing her stuff and saddling up her horse. She came to visit first and had that thing about Texas that folks often do, you know, that TV thing that expects cowboys and indians and tough lawmen with spurs. Its sort of the same thing a lot of folks have about New York, except that all expect Gotham City.
Anyway, she got here and I felt obliged to teach her how to speak Texan and a few other things. I mean,if you are going to live here and love it, there are some things you just gotta know. Tequila speak and Mojitos and how to eat a good fajita, and even that it is okay to live in Texas and not eat beef (contrary to popular belief). She absolutely had to know where the Hill Country was and that the Colorado River does not exist here,instead we have water ways where the map says the river is that are called Lake Buchanan (pronounced BUCK-anun), and Lake LBJ and so on, because everything begins and ends in Texas. Of course the correct pronunciation of Llano is not yano, but LAH-no, and Burnet is pronounced BURN-it. And don't forget that Manchaca is MAN-shack. Every Texan, naturalized or born here knows these things. We speak when we make eye contact with a stranger, no matter what their ilk. Howdy is just the same as Hello as long as you remember to do it.
And yes, its true, everything is bigger here, hair, jewels (a must) and even the critters. Gotta watch out for those cause spiders aren't so harmless and the sting of a scorpion hurts like the dickens even if most of those that you will encounter aren't poisonous (those live in Arizona). Red touch yellow kill a fellow and honey, make sure you cut a wide path around any spider with a red dot on it. Juneteeth is a big deal, as is Cinco De Mayo, The Cowboy Breakfast and Eeyore's birthday. Texans love a good celebration.
If they tailgate you, that either means they are having a party in a parking lot from the back of a truck before a big football game, or they want to pass you on a two lane highway. If the latter is the case, drive on the shoulder a bit until they pass, then either tip your hat or raise just one finger off the steering wheel as they go by. If someone is driving down an FM road, that does not mean frequency modulation, but Farm to Market and RM is Ranch to Market. These are titles mostly remnants of days gone by, most certainly these roads took the farmer's and the rancher's young 'uns away to the cities from whence they didn't return, so now a lot of the wide open spaces that make Texas Texas are fast disappearing, being filled in, as they are everywhere else, by strip malls and housing developments. Oh, and remember, Central Market is not the market, but a fancy gourmet store with all kinds of natural stuff and over 200 kinds of cheese. HEB is more of a market(kinda, at least it feels like one), but we don't say HEEB, its initials, like H.E.B. The man's last name was Butts, for goodness sake, so trust me when I tell you that the initials are far better. As for Albertson's, hell, that's owned by Safeway now and those folks ain't even from here. Yes, its a lot to take in but the good news is, the place grows on you and you will most certainly grow to love it and hate to leave it when you go.

Exercise before Excorcism.

2007-08-30T08:58:00.000-07:00

UPS dropped a box on my doorstep this morning and I screamed when I opened it. Happy screams, it was a box of Galleys (advance reader editions) of No Girl Needs a Husband Seven days a Week. I react the same way to every book. That initial box opening is always like the first time. Don't we wish more things could be that way?
One things for sure, things are getting back to normal. I have galleys in my hand and new proposal in. The kids are back in school so peace is restored in my daytime household.
And the critters are haunting me again.
If you are a regular reader of this blog, you know I have my issues with nature. Natural water. Wild animals. Pestilence.
I thought I'd appeased the earth goddess and we'd made amends, but the more things change the more they stay the same.
I'd dropped my kids at school and headed back to the office. I'd decided it was a mail day, so I stopped at the bottom of the hill to retrieve the mail. My mail box is long as opposed to deep, so I flipped open the metal top, stuck my hand into the almost-full receptacle and pulled out fliers and magazine and catalogs, piling it all up in the crook of my arm.
I made sure the box was empty, then trudged acorss the gravel field back to my driveway and ploppled myself back inside my waiting car.
The control freak in me always comes out at this point and today was no exception, I put the mail in my lap, put the car in gear and tried to flip through the mail as I drove up the hill. I multitask.
I have to be the first to read the mail or crack the pages of my favorite catalogs.
After a few envelopes, I almost jumped out of my skin.
A scorpion was in the middle of the mail, glaring at me, tapping its dinosaur foot because I'd disturbed its resting place.
I started screaming and slammed on the brakes, then grabbed a dental appointment reminder card.
I let my door swing open and tried to flick the little bugger back out into nature.
You'd think I never seen one of these things before.
No one could hear me holler in my house, but I was sure my neighbors could.
I imagined them holding their stomachs, rolling around in their secluded front yards, laughing so hard they would certainly need a change of underwear.
Mail slid out the door.
Mail slid on the floor.
The scorpion, however, found its way onto my seat.
The one I was sitting in.
My foot was still on the brakes.
I still hollered.
But I arched into Yoga's wagon wheel position, liftng my backside off the seat. There was no meaning to squat and hover.
I gripped the steering wheel with my thighs like it was a Magic Circle from Pilates.
And the scorpion did the Cupid Shuffle on my seat.
I flicked it and flicked it some more while it laughed at me.
It fell on the floor and I flicked harder.
No, I don't know why I didn't step on it.
I changed my choice of flicker to a more substantial furniture sale flier, and I was finally able to launch it back outside.
I realized that I was screaming now and abruptly ceased violating the neighborhood noise ordinance.
I scoured the area for sight of the dancing dinosuar, and I thought I saw him, so I carefully picked up my mail, piece by pecce, and threw it on the floor of the passenger side of my car.
Crisis averted.
or so I thought.
I went about my way with a positive attitude, thinking that not only had I done a good thing and not killed the scorpion, but I'd exercised my diaphragm and my thighs.
Later that day, walking through my bathroom, I saw a stick on the rug.
It was sort of dark, so I went to turn on the light to pick up that stick. I stepped over it and felt it lightly under my foot, but at the last minute, I raised my heel, avoiding stepping on it.
Imagine my surpise when I turned around and saw that it wan't a stick at all.
It was the scorpion!
And then I knew that this was no ordinary scorpion.
This was the ghost of scorpions past.
And I do believe it had stung me on the foot and thanks to want of pedicure, the leather-like skin on the bottom of my foot kept it from being able to leave its mark.
(Remember my waxing hell? Well, I haven't been back to that salon for anything since.)
I started screaming again, and this time I'm sure they heard me in my house but chose to ignore me.
I jumped over the scorpion haint and ran to my closet to retrieve a scorpion killer (AKA a shoe).
I Had to chose carefully, there were some I certainly didn't want scorpion juice on.
I finally settled on a Nine West shoe. (Not expensive but not flimpsy either), and ran back to view the little menace.
I.
Hit.
It.
And.
I.
Kept.
Hitting.
It.
Take.
That.
You.
Little Dinosaur.
You.
How.
You.
Like.
Me.
Now.
I hit it until the tail separated from the body and the dinosaur demon was fully excorcised.
More sweat.
I stood there, hands on hips, gloating and just then the family came running.
Too late.
I'd done the deed.
Myself.
No paramedics required.

Cat-trip

2007-08-23T12:15:00.000-07:00

My good friend's son has left the nest and she has been taking car of her "grand-cat" ever since. Recently she had to send the cat to be with his daddy in his new home in another state. She sent me the following email and I laughed so hard I almost peed my pants.

We recently shipped our grandcat "Trips" to New York. A couple of days before his trip we sent him to the vet to get groomed, get his shots, and his nails done (blue vinyl tips). Needless to say, he was traumatized.

Two days later we packed him in his FAA approved case for his trip airplane trip to New York City. The vet gave us some anxiety medication for Trips to take before he got on the plane.

Unfortunately, we did not have these thorough instructions on how to give him the medication. Here they are for you, just in case you need to give your Cat or Dog medicine.

CATS

1. Pick cat up and cradle it in the crook of your left arm as if holding a baby. Position right forefinger and thumb on either side of cat's mouth and gently apply pressure to cheeks while holding pill in right hand. As cat opens mouth, pop pill into mouth. Allow cat to close mouth and swallow.

2. Retrieve pill from floor and cat from behind sofa. Cradle cat in left arm and repeat process.

3. Retrieve cat from bedroom, and throw soggy pill away. Put band aid on left thumb.

4. Take new pill from foil wrap, cradle cat in left arm holding rear paws tightly with left hand. Force jaws open and push pill to back of mouth with right forefinger. Hold mouth shut for a count of 10.

5. Retrieve pill from goldfish bowl and cat from top of wardrobe. Call spouse from garden.

6. Kneel on floor with cat wedged firmly between knees, holding front and rear paws. Ignore low growls emitted by cat. Get spouse to hold cat's head firmly with one hand while forcing wooden ruler into mouth. Drop pill down ruler and rub cat's throat vigorously.

7. Retrieve cat from curtain rail, get another pill from foil wrap. Make note to buy new ruler and repair curtains. Carefully sweep shattered figurines from hearth and set to one side for gluing later.

8. Wrap cat in large towel and get spouse to lie on cat with its head just visible from below spouse's armpit. Put pill in end of drinking straw, force cat's mouth open with pencil and blow down drinking straw.

9. Check label to make sure pill not harmful to humans, drink 1 beer to take taste away. Apply band-aid to spouse's forearm and remove blood from carpet with cold water and soap. Throw pieces of towel in garbage.

10. Retrieve cat from neighbor's shed. Get another pill. Open another beer. Place cat in cupboard and close door onto neck to leave head showing. Force mouth open with dessert spoon. Flick pill down throat with elastic band.

11. Fetch screwdriver from garage and put cupboard door back on hinges. Drink beer. Fetch bottle of Scotch. Pour shot, drink. Apply cold compress to cheek and check records for date of last tetanus shot. Apply whiskey compress to cheek to disinfect. Toss back another shot. Throw T-shirt away
and fetch new one from bedroom.

12. Ring fire brigade to retrieve the friggin' cat from tree across the road. Apologize to neighbor who crashed into fence while swerving to avoid
cat. Take last pill from foil wrap.

13. Tie the little ****'s front paws to rear paws with garden twine and bind tightly to leg of dining room table. Find heavy duty pruning gloves from shed. Force cat's mouth open with small spanner. Push pill into mouth followed by large piece of fillet steak. Be rough about it. Hold head vertically and pour 2 pints of water down throat to wash pill down. Pray vigorously while performing all steps.

14. Consume remainder of Scotch. Get spouse to drive you to the emergency room, sit quietly while doctor stitches fingers and forearm and removes pill remnants from right eye. Call furniture shop on way home to order new table.

15. Arrange for Cat Rescue to collect the mutant cat from hell and ring local pet shop to see if they have any hamsters or fish.
DOGS:

1. Wrap it in bacon or slice of luncheon meat.

Vixen Chronicles

Minolta C.White: Nina Foxx

Black Thanksgiving: Say What?

A Letter to Cathy Hughes (and anyone else who is interested)

Literary Life Reunion

Read & Win!

Foot Fetish-Written for Breakoutbeatz.com

Nina Foxx Presents Closer to Crazy Episode 5

Closer to Crazy: Who Are The Players--Meet Alexis

(Nina Foxx Presents) Southern Comfort by Cynnamon Foster- Book Video

Closer to Crazy : episode 4

Nina Foxx Presents: Closer to Crazy - Episode 3

Who are the Players in "Closer to Crazy"--Part Three- The FACE, The VOICE, Sure 'nuff

Closer to Crazy Episode 2

Who is the Preacher-Man? Behind the Scenes on Closer to Crazy

Who is in Closer to Crazy?

Hand Written Romance

Nina Foxx Presents Closer to Crazy Episode 1

Three Day for the Cure UPdate

Points To Ponder

Postal Problems

'News from FoxxTale Productions, LLC'

Three Day Walk For The Cure

History's Lessons

Never Let a Girl (Guy) Cook In Your Kitchen: Can men & women really JUST be friends?

Lycanthropy runs in my family

The Vanquishing of Teen Demons

New Year

Funny Christmas pictures

The Twelve Days of Christmas

Confessions of a midlist author

An Open Letter to Oprah, By Virginia Deberry & Donna Grant

Reconnecting for a New Year

VideoDetective.com - Nina Foxx's Marrying Up Preview

Happy Easter

A snippet from "She's Got IsShoes"

The Science of Entering The Pool

Never miss an opportunity, even in Morocco

"I wasn't there, but I was there.."

Holiday Redux I

The True Meaning of Christmas

Gym Observations

Funny!

Chocolate Stock and Absentee Ballots

Why does my kid need Uggs?

What are friends for?

When in France...Or the coach disease

DVD is finally here!

Trojan Ant Bait

The "F" in Fantastik

Fwd: New Pics - ghetto prom 2

Pitiful Proms

revenge of the machines

The Boutique is Now Open

The Girl (IN) Ipanema

Me & The Cast and some Crew of Marrying up/Reflections

Marrying UP!

The Making of Marrying UP

On The Set

MARRYING UP!

The Jo long Theater (at the Carver Community Cultural Center) 226 N Hackberry ~ San Antonio, TX

Why I Shop Online for the Holidays

Custom Shoes, Miami & Singelringen

New Book News

Macchu PIcchu

Altitude Sickness and Llama meat

Trip to The Sacred Valley-Stuck in Miami

Creating the Play-Finding Venues

The Things The Femme Fantastik will Teach you about your friends/ The Femmes A la Mode

Marrying Up Again-casting

Funny Laundry detergent

Welcome to the Country New Shopping Buddy

Exercise before Excorcism.

Cat-trip

The Jo long Theater (at the Carver Community Cultural Center)
226 N Hackberry ~ San Antonio, TX