CALL ME NOW

High school?
I think we even had a True Love Waits wall displaying everyone's signature at mine --if my memory serves me right. Though I didn't need their words to tell me that which is in my heart--I can see the use for something of this nature now coupled with really amazing sex education courses. Once while working at Boys' Club New York (BCNY) --[ sniffle. great memories] I listened as some of the boy's (fifth and sixth graders) vented their frustration over not having "a real sex ed class." But wait, their words were "They don't tell us what to do or nothing!"
I said, "What to do--WHAT!? You shouldn't be doing anything!" One boy said, "I know but the 13-year-old girls be mad fast!" They all giggled and concurred.
Umm...I will not explore that at this moment, in fact... Nope. Let's just say that I'll never forget that moment. And I'll never forget my moment signing this card. I see they have plastic wristbands now. I might buy one. I can wear it with my Stand Up Speak Up bands.
I should get like 26 True Love Waits bands and wear them on one arm--to commemorate each year of waiting and perhaps a couple extra just in case. My status doesn't seem to be changing any time soon.

Right, Miss Cleo?

THE WAR ON WARDROBE

I don’t understand why in the most diverse country more of it [diversity] is not embraced within mainstream media. Sometimes I wear a head covering or a hijab (depending on who’s looking) and it brings about all kinds of questions. For instance, today while deciding between flavors of tic tacs—Orange —taste good—not gonna help the garlic breath or White—will help the garlic breath—but won’t be as tasty—I was asked a question by the cashier at the little quickie mart inside the Uptown 6 at Astor Place. She said, “You’re not a Muslim are you?” I answer her. Then she goes on to say, “Because I saw you wearing the hijab before and …” While my ego was like ‘Oh neat-O someone remembered me’—my mind wandered back to this other cashier at a cafe near my house who while ringing me up asked, “Why are you covering up that beautiful hair?”
I thought, ‘Mr. when have you ever seen my hair?’ I said, “Why can’t I be a Muslim?” He said, “Oh, you’re a Muslim?”
I said, “No but I’m saying…”
I left on request.
He said, “Next time I want to see hair…”
Perhaps he was flirting? I never pay guys enough attention—Prince Charming Complex ya know I just believe THE ONE is going to come…Giggle ^-^
I really do. All the women reading this are like—“Yeah get over that sweetheart!”
You know I had a 12-year-old tell me rather matter-of-factly in these exact words “Sorry babygirl fairy tales don’t come true.”
I have fun in this city! Why so much fun? It’s fun to be in the one place that you think NOONE pays anyone any attention and realize YES they do. This is no longer ya know Odyssey “Native New Yorker” NYC. We have a lot of Midwesterners and imports who import a lot of ideologies that they’ve assumed from a lot of TV shows and magazines—which are cool but are often stifling to the creative soul.
I personally, could not care less about what anyone thinks of what I wear. I’ve had a war on wardrobe for the last ten years. And I won it back in January.
Having returned home from holiday here in New York my opponent called me one morning and conceded. She said, “I’m never going to talk about what you wear again. I’m proud of you.”
Talk about an AFTER SCHOOL SPECIAL moment!! I couldn’t believe it--these words coming from my mom.
Now, we all know that you should never say NEVER…but to hear these words come from a woman who’s questioned almost every ensemble I’ve ever assembled was big.
On Christmas Eve, our last battle was fought. It was over this Christmas frock. She couldn’t believe that I’d wear "a Christmas tree bow" as a bowtie. I couldn’t believe that after all these years she couldn’t believe that I would wear "a Christmas tree bow" as a bowtie. Well, I was wearing it and it wasn’t coming off. So she huffed and puffed and almost blew my Christmas spirit and my house down but I wouldn’t give in. How did I win the war—well, my mom realized that though what I wear isn’t generally found on models in retail stores—it’s me, and I’ve been consistently me for the last 10+ years. My Southern belle mama discovered that in this city her daughter has a pretty good repertoire—be it at KumGangSan, Nepa Bhon etc. And no one she met who was acquainted with me looked at me like WTF? Not to say people don’t. But I’m used to it. You know parents naturally want to shield and protect their offspring—and when you don’t look like everyone else you will draw some attention. So I had to see her POV—but whatever, I won the War on Wardrobe(!)

SHOCK OF THE HOUR

It’s 7:10 A.M.
Who are you going to call?
Ghostbusters?
If you’re living in Tennessee, call every and anybody—they’re up, right? (stereotype about Southerners being rooster risers)

But in New York City—there’s an unspoken law about not calling before Double Digits.
Ten=10=the start of the double digits. While this city may not sleep, its people sure do.

But rewind, my phone sang at seven. Super Virgin wakes at 5:30. Giggle. I do. Good crime-fighting hours. Most mornings I battle stereotypes/work on the website...a lot of desk work. Wait, I don't have a desk. I digress. But check it out, this morning Super Virgin got interrupted. . .I see a picture pop up on my phone. NOTE: only a couple of my Girl Scouts have pictures attached to their phonenumbers because they entered their numbers themselves. So what does a 7th grader have to say at 7 : 10 A.M. ?
“Um Miss Danielle can you bring your camera and your laptop so you can take pictures and email them to me?”
Today was Twin Day at her school.
Despite the rainy day everyone was amazingly cute.
Meanwhile, this day may have boasted the neighborhood economy. There were so many matching tees, jeans, jewelry…
One girl told me that she didn’t participate because her mom didn’t have the money, so she carried a mirror in her bag. “And if anyone asks me where’s my twin,”she said, “I show them my reflection and say “Right here!””
By far, out of all the twins— the AA Combo—two sisters whose names begin with the letter A they came in matching traditional Indian dress.
And of course I brought my camera.
Wanna see pictures?

In unrelated news:

WHAT IS HAPPENING TO THE TEAM?????

ADIOS TO MR. RIJKAARD!!!

Well, we knew that was coming.Now the question is who's next to vanish from this Barca pic? Sniffle. Muito obrigado, Ronaldinho!!! Mr Eto'o, are you leaving too???????

AT LEAST HALF OF ALL NEW HIV INFECTIONS ARE AMONG PERSONS UNDER THE AGE OF 25

The first letter that I ever wrote was to someone living with AIDS.
I was in elementary school and part of a drama ensemble called Act II and one day we had a guest speaker come in from another a town to speak to us about HIV/AIDS. This was at a time when HIV/AIDS was new and an extremely “big deal” unlike today as it’s seemingly fell of the radar? When do you hear about AIDS? Hmm...if you have to think--the answer is not often enough. Where were you the first time you heard of AIDS? Where were you the first time that you begin to care about it?
I remember sitting in that little desk silent as a mouse listening to the strange man speak although I can’t recall exactly what he said, but he was HIV positive and I was fascinated and saddened listening to him speak. After he left I couldn’t get home fast enough to write him a letter. Someone with AIDS right before my very eyes? C’mon only people on TV had AIDS not a person…Oh man, was my mind spinning. I had no clue what to say—but I had his address and something to say. I mean this was big stuff for my little brain. So I wrote him, his name was Richard, I believe. I have no idea what I put in that letter. But I’m sure that it was multiple pages, involved a few questions and opinions. Given that I was in 4th grade or so, I don’t know what I would have discussed (Saved By The Bell?) but I must have said something fore he replied (in a return letter) that my words made him cry and he thanked me for writing -- which in turn made me fall in love with the written word.
Since then it’s been me and the pen/keypad have been like this (signaling eye to eye).
Meanwhile, I’ve never been in love with books and I was named after an author. Some writers will tell you, Oh I read this book and that book changed my life inspiring me to begin a magical literary journey of my own and here’s a list of my favorite books etc.
Me = no list of favorites.
But I have a box of letters mostly from people that I’ve never met. And my favorite, despite having letters from Finland, Australia, France, Uganda would undoubtedly be the one from a place less than 50 miles outside my hometown.
So, on this day of AIDS WALK NEW YORK 2008, I’d like to say congratulations to all the participants! Keep fighting to all those living with the disease! Hello to everyone I met during those fun evenings volunteering at the phone bank—especially a big hello and thank you and bear hug to William! I hope there was lots of $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ raised and awareness spread!
Lord willing, I will see you guys next year circling that magical place called Central Park!

AMERICA'S FAVORITE PASTTIME

To: New York(ers)

From: Your friendly neighborhood virgin

Subject: VIRGIN AND THE CITY

Perhaps you’ve heard.
A virgin is coming. And now you’re wondering who she is, what she is, where she is and why she is... Well, for all of that, you must wait until the launch of the site.
For now all you should know is that I’m not 40, I don’t walk in heels, own a thong, knot cherry stems with my tongue, strategically lick ice cream cones, knowingly expose cleavage or understand crotchless underwear. And oh, I’ve never made it to first base either. First base?

What is it with bases?

I really don’t understand this common correlation between baseball and sex. Yes, Derek Jeter is cute but baseball is boring and only fun when someone’s hitting it out the park. Soccer, now that’s a real sport! 90 Minutes up and down. Too, soccer and virginity have something in common—they’re popular overseas ;)
Meanwhile this American girl lives here, 10110, Temptation Island AKA: Manhattan where the preservation of sexy is serious business. There are Stiletto Strength classes, Toe-bone trimming, Vaginoplasty… Just walking on the streets is a constant invitation to go Nuts 4 Nuts—and sometimes they smell so good and I’m so poor and they’re so cheap that I find myself crossing the road just to get away only to find them at the next block.
And then I stop. And I smell. And I hear the man say, “Sweetheart with a smile like that I’ll give you a bag for a dollar ya want almonds?” And I think to myself… anybody could have these nuts or they’ve been marinating in NYC air all day…And I say, “No sir, cashews please.”

Kidding;)

THE MORE YOU KNOW

Was it ever cool to be smart? Highly educated : yes. Dumb : accepted. Stupid : cool. But smart? Ever? Was it? But first let me address
what you're probably wondering. What's the difference between smart and highly educated? A lot. I won’t give you my definition. But remember, the first person to give out a degree didn’t have one. And George W. Bush graduated from Yale. Let's just say I know a lot of highly educated people. But I don't know many smart ones.
I look, listen and can’t help but ask the question that many of us think, but fearing challenges to our own intelligence, dare not put forth, WHERE HAVE ALL OF THE SMART PEOPLE GONE? I said it. Now go ahead, ask me if I know the capital of Islamabad?
I don’t.
Have you ever known people who pleasure themselves in asking things like this? While the rest of us are like ‘WHAT?’
But don’t feel dumb if you don’t know the capital of Islamabad.
Islamabad is not a country. Islamabad is the capital of Pakistan. The reason that I know this is because one of my highly educated and very smart role models was from Pakistan and foreign policy—which may sound like something for the highly educated—and I began a relationship in middle school.
So now, as I (through Girl Scouts (GS) the USA) work with middle school aged girls in the Bronx—I’m often left feeling stupid—but in a good way. Their topics of discussion almost always involve some famous entertainer/someone famous for being famous. I’m always the odd girl out (some things never change).
My Scouts say, “Ms. Danielle doesn’t have TV?” They ask, “How do you live without TV?”
I answer, “I don’t have a radio either.”
“AGH” they sigh. “That’s crazy!” "I can't live without TV." “You need to get some Cable!"—And then, like little paid advertisements, they start singing a vowel song from a commercial advertisement for digital cable …” I-O (?)
One day last year one of my GS went around the classroom showing off a newly received text message to her girlfriends—I noticed (knowing the history of this particular young lady) them coo'ing and giving each other the eye and I turned to all of them and said, “ I hope that you aren’t giving away anything you can not get back.”
Then one of her friends looks up and says, “Ms. Danielle you’re really smart to be a virgin.” “Right!” echoes another.“Ms. Danielle be saying some stuff!”
What?
Did I miss a MTV News report—Sex has been linked with smart? Surely everyone who text me to say that fellatio has been linked with throat cancer would’ve sent me one to say sex has been linked with intelligence… I'll have to find more on this :)
Meanwhile, I’m finding that "smart" is not on the priority list at this age for many of our girls. Too many. Open your window, turn on your TV (never thought I'd find myself saying that). Who desires to be smart when so much attention is paid to pretty and so much money is paid to graduate schools?
“Although people are going to school more and more years, there’s no evidence that they know more,” says “The Age of American Unreason” author Susan Jacoby in a recent NYT article titled “Dumb and Dumber: Are Americans Hostile to Knowledge?”
I have tête-à-têtes with my Scouts, getting the goods on pop culture, their take on the world and am finding that smart isn’t cool. Smart is not what’s being promoted. Smart has no corporate sponsorship. Smart has no appealing face. Smart is irrelevant. Smart is only cool in this age when “street” precedes it...or so it seems.
One day after a chat about Divine, a Ghanaian Fair trade chocolate supplier , one of my favorite 7th graders says, “Ms. Danielle’s always trying to make us smart!”
“What’s the alternative,” I quip.
She had to think.
As for me, I’ve been thinking and thinking working and working planning and planning committing the plans to God, and I keep committing them to God, sometimes I think God must think I’m dumb—like “Danielle, from where (who) do you think these plans have come?”
Yesterday as sure as I type these words I had a moment, I was typing and all of these ideas came rushing at me, I just collapsed back on my bed looked up and said, “LORD HAVE MERCY, GOD.
WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?”



(I'll relay THE answer in the next post) As for now, PEACE IN THE NYC!
And HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!!! In remembrance:

Stupid Girls - Pink (Lyrics)

COSIGN.

SELFISH VACCINATION

“I asked Mom if I was a gifted child... she said they certainly wouldn't have paid for me.”
--(?) ^-^/

While everyone else throws questions out about the website, work, etc. my mom asks when’s the last time that I washed my hair, what I ate for dinner, what I wore today (my fashion still amuses her). My mom is my mom. And my mom is my friend. I know that couldn’t sound more kindergarten but it’s the truth.
I am a complicated soul and no one walking the Earth’s surface gets as close to understanding this virgin as she does. She knew me before I knew me. That’s deep. That’s my mama. And with Mother’s Day coming up, it’s only right that I talk about her behind her back. And post pictures of her making funny faces too :) haha!
The great thing about being the daughter of a busy mother who doesn’t count reading as a favorite pastime is that she has no interest in what I do. Her interest lies solely in who I am my whole life she raged against me becoming selfish—often inevitable for an only child. If someone said sit down and write a list of all the selfish things you’ve done—I could do it. And because not being selfish was so deeply drilled I now have no problem recognizing it in others and backing away when I see it rearing its ugly head. I met this really cute guy, a total gentleman, a true blue football fan (do you know how hard that is to find around here), everything—but despite being cute to boot—he was selfish. I don’t know about you, maybe I’m selfish in saying this—but being selfish is not a quality that I can overlook. And speaking of guys, oh my mom is the best—she never mentions them. I mean she’ll listen to me go on and on and on and on about how CUTE so and so is. But she never pressures me to snog or snag any of New York’s finest. (And I have FDNY right across the street ;)
And then there’s football. My mom having no interest once so ever, sat through the entire game of France vs. Brazil in the semi-finals of WORLD CUP 2006. I was on Fellowship at Northwestern and this, her first time visiting me, not even 24 hours after her plane touches down at O’Hare, are we sitting in ESPN ZONE awaiting the start of the game. To make it interesting I insisted she cheer for the opposing team—France. I was suited up (Robinho jersey) and ready to give a lung for Brazil. And when Henry scored that goal breaking my heart in 4 different places (oh, baby did it break my heart) it was her who cheered (like a true fan) and then, seeing my contorted face, it was her who said “Oh I‘m sorry!” …. Yes, the one I like (Henry) broke my heart but the one who loves me, as we later window shopped our way down the Magnificent Mile, pieced it back together.
People have said, “TELL YOUR MOM SHE DID A HEAVEN (word change) OF A JOB, GIRL!” And “GET HER SECRET SO WE CAN SELL IT.”
I tell them no need for all that. Just be your kid’s best example as a human being and oh, occasionally threaten to knock your kid’s teeth down their throats—and mean it. That’s all she did. She and Nike shared the same mantra—JUST DO IT (sex, drugs and alcohol excluded).
Funny, my first official day of college I called to ask my mom what Opium because someone had asked me to try it. Unfamiliar and unwilling to ask the cool kid, I decided to call the real mom. She didn’t flip. She didn’t run to the university and snatch me up. She laughed, told me it was a drug and that I should not try it but that she can’t stop me. Talk about a good save!
My mom has never desired to be my friend; she’s always been my keeper. I’ve been told that parenting isn’t easy, and with bogus environmental pressures on the rise, it’s not looking to get any easier. But oh well, so what if it ain’t easy. It also shouldn’t be optional. Don’t be selfish. If you did it you gotta do it, right, Mom?

THERE'S ONLY ONE RONALDO

THERE'S ONLY ONE RONALDO

America, we should align ourselves with the rest of the world and reconsider calling football football and football something else. By calling football soccer we separate ourselves from the other nations—and being an American—at these times—we can use all the unity we can get.
With that being said, let me spiel about what’s really on the brain. Football.
This whole Ronaldo and the transvestites thing is crazy!
What is it with superstar-athletes and hoes? Well, I suppose prostitutes and paupers wouldn’t make any cents since the objective of a prostitute is to get money. But Ronaldo! Come on. It’s different when it ain’t personal. But this feels personal. This is Lenny’s Ronaldo—my ambassador of Joga Bonito.
I was cheering for Brazil in the last World Cup—not France (as some would suspect)—not Landon Donovan. Why? Well, before Ronaldo, soccer didn’t exist. Ok, let’s just say Ronaldo = America. And I = Columbus.
See, New York, your friendly neighborhood virgin grew up in a very rural town in the South—to this day I credit God for giving me football. There’s no other way to explain my passion for this game. It’s still not popular down there. Last summer I sat alongside two of my cousins (both male) at my mom’s house and as we watched the 2007 MLB All-Star Home Run Derby—well, as they watched it—I (with the compute on silent watched football). But as soon as a commercial would come on it was “Oh, you gotta see this one!” I’d just discovered YOUTUBE and couldn’t get enough of showing clips of Robinho and Thierry Henry. I was so hype trying to win them over to the bonito side.
My little cousin said, “We’ve got this kid from Africa on our team at school—he’s pretty good.” I beamed! I’ve been beaming since 1998—the year that I discovered football. One of my pen-pals, a Singaporean named Lenny wrote me about Ronaldo. She was so excited. She LUVVVVVVVD RONALDO. #9. And she was excited about The World Cup.
“The World what?”
I had no clue but I would soon learn come summer.
In June it will be ten years. Wow. Picture it. 1998. Summertime. A kid fresh out the country into the big city recognizing nothing and no one but my mother and her friends riding along behind me up the escalator inside of Trump Tower—imagine the thrill, being this fish out of water and seeing a larger-than-life-sized familiar face welcome you at the entrance of Niketown. I think I scared a few people with my shriek. “ RONALDO!!! MOM, THAT IS LENNY’S RONALDO. TAKE A PICTURE!! OMG OMG LENNY IS GOING TO LOVE THIS!!!” And she did. And I do.
So, when people, making conversation, ask me if I heard about that Braziliansoccer playerandthetransvestites, I cringe. It was only a couple of weeks ago that I sat at Celtic Bar eating fries sipping cranberry juice watching Barca play Manchester Utd. that I chatted about this game with an Irishman who was amused by my puzzled look. You see, Henry didn’t play in the first half of this game and being the American that I am I like to know why and actually see the player sitting on the bench and/or hear an announcer give an explanation to the player’s whereabouts and why-they’re-outs, but I didn’t get that. So I of course expressed my concern with a “Where is Henry?” But it was a quiet exasperation I didn’t think anyone heard. Wrong. An Irish accent came at me like lightening, “The Frenchman?” “He probably got a sniffle and needed pampering. You got his phone number? I’ll call him.” he said.
I laughed. And we chatted and later he asked “What about Ronaldo?”
To which I bemused, “RONALDO—WHO DOESN’T LOVE BRAZIL?!”
Then it hit me. I realized that he was referring to the Ronaldo who’d just missed a free kick, the one on the screen in front of us. “Oh,” I said recognizing my error… “You’re talking about Cristiano Ronaldo.”
He chuckled. “Yeah,” (in the most Irish of Irish accents) you were referring to the fat guy?” he said.
“What?” I was taken aback.
“Ronaldo,” he said.
“The fat guy?” I said.
“Yeah that one’s past the expiration date!”
He laughed.
I crossed Ireland off the Bucket List.
You know, New York, this summer I will commemorate a decade of devotion to the beautiful game. Perhaps I’ll go back to Niketown. Truth be told I haven’t been back there since 1998. Perhaps I’ll unite with an old pen-pal and tell her “Thank you.”
Perhaps I’ll fly to Europe and watch my favorite footballer lead France in this summer’s Euro 2008...Perhaps that’s a stretch of the imagination. But it is a dream. And you know what, in a time when reality and its strangeness leave little to the imagination. I still have a dream. One day we’ll all call soccer football, my little cousin will call football "cool," Thierry Henry and I will have a tête-à-tête and Ronaldo will be remembered for defining Joga Bonito.

Amen.

DID YOU SEE IT

O. M. G.

DID YOU SEE IT? DID YOU SEE IT? TELL ME YOU SAW IT?!!
Ok, I know this is where my people are all thinking NO, FOOL, we didn't see it the website hasn't launched yet and since nobody still knows you exist little-virgin-that-could nobody saw it and nobody cares about your "French Chocolate"!
YES, I KNOW YOU ALL QUITE WELL :^P

BUT WHATEVER. HE SCORED. FRENCH CHOCOLATE SCORED IN WHAT WAS A DELICIOUS--ARSENAL'ESQUE GOAL . BUT WHY LIVE IN THE PAST? THIS HAPPENED TODAY-- BLAUGRANA TIME!

and umm...

DID YOU SEE IT!!!
I'm not even asking anymore. I'm exclaiming!
FC Barcelona beat those oranges to a pulp, baby!
Valencia what? Valencia who? 6-0 oo oo oo!!!!!!!!!! YOU SHOULD'VE SEEN IT!
HEY, THERE'S ALWAYS YOUTUBE.
Meanwhile, this is where the guys who are interested in you, knowing your interest in the sport actually YOUTUBE it and try to have discussion not knowing that I'm saving myself for
a true futbol fan. Oui!
BUT I DIGRESS :)
DID YOU SEEEEEEEEEEE IT.