It Takes a Supervillain

I’m so motivated to vote that if the only thing on the ballot is “Water Commissioner,” I’ll research to see what each candidate stands for before I cast my vote. Some people only vote if it’s a presidential election. Or if they have kids, they’ll vote for school board members.

But to truly bring voters out in droves, there has to be a level of angst that propels people to the polls. For the 2026 mid-term election, there was a lot to choose from.

POTUS started a war, which drove up the cost of gas, especially diesel. He continued to undercut the safety net by throwing people off healthcare. Used ICE agents to hunt down, and occasionally kill, anyone who looked Latino, along with bystanders whose sense of humanity and justice would not allow them to merely bear witness. Prevented the full release of the Epstein files. DOGE’d competent, oftentimes BIPOC, government employees.

All the while, POTUS also attempted to undermine the election process itself by ordering districts to be redrawn so republican politicians could choose their voters. Instigated the tampering of voter rolls. Made unsubstantiated claims about election fraud. Attacked mail-in ballots. Then, declared that elections where the republican candidate won were the only legitimate outcomes.

Some of POTUS’ actions were outright gifts to democrats, such as telling everyone to vote as if he were on the ballot, which many did as a rejection of his administration. Another gift was his recommendation of outright incompetent, nonviable republican candidates that very popular democratic candidates defeated by unquestionable margins such as the senate races in both South Carolina and Texas. (If only republicans had grown a spine to reject POTUS’ picks…)

This election cycle made me amend my belief about money and happiness. Previously, I’d declared that money could buy happiness if you had the right set of priorities. I still believe this is true. However, I have discovered that when a buyer has the wrong set of priorities (and spends nearly half a billion dollars) where things still go MY way, that makes me happy as well.

POTUS, through DOGE and other divisive actions, sought to get rid of all DEI efforts and replace a competent diverse workforce with, (mostly white male) loyalists, regardless of their skill sets. Voters elected the most diverse slate of politicians in the 2026 midterms than ever before in the history of the United States.

Much has already been stated about my country’s first Black woman who was elected governor, the first openly gay senator, and the first Muslim senator, but I would like to muse about Florida’s first Black republican governor.

I’ll enjoy seeing how this plays out. On one level, kudos to republicans for allowing room for diversity. On the other hand, how many white republican men still ask white women if they would ever have sex with a Black man? From now on, I hope Floridan white women will quip, “Only if he’s the governor.”

I believe there are still republicans who flock to that political party because of its lack of racial diversity. Those republicans may fear a Black republican governor as if “the call is coming from inside the house.”

In predominately white neighborhoods, white flight reportedly occurs when 5% to 25% of the neighborhood becomes Black, depending on the study. Yet, political affiliation isn’t a neighborhood. What percentage of Blacks will have to register/vote republican to change the demographics of that party? Will ranked choice help usher that demographic change?

*****Breaking News*****

The long awaited results from the Mississippi senate race was called last night. Another democratic win, which is historical before factoring in that the democratic senator-elect is the first Black person since Reconstruction 150 years ago to win from that state. The cherry on top is that he defeated the incumbent who had blocked him from becoming a federal judge. Thank you, Mississippi voters! And to you too, karma.

Some are still being “cautiously optimistic.” I’m throwing caution to the wind and celebrating all the wins. After all, AI is projected to kill all the humans within a decade. Now’s the time be joyful.

2026 Boo Bop Halloween

For the first time ever, The Cape Fear Botanical Gardens hosted a Halloween event. Not a moment too soon. Some decision-makers, who I presume weren’t educators, chose to have a literary crawl for the October Fourth Friday instead of the Zombie Walk. Perhaps last year’s Zombie event was too successful and made too much money. To balance that result, the decision-makers sponsored an event that caused downtown Fayetteville to look like a ghost town.

Any educator, former or active, could have told the decision-makers that Fayetteville, NC isn’t the cultural setting that would bring out a throng of people to do a “crawl” that didn’t involve a signature drink at each stop AND dress as your favorite literary character. The unofficial slogan should be “Keep Halloween Halloweeny!”

I painted my face once again for this holiday season and did what I loved doing: posing in costume for pictures.

We made the most of the short lighted garden walk. At one point, I spied a bench that I knew would make a good setting for pictures.

Although the gardens were decorated for the Christmas season, we made the most of the decorations by posing at one end of the bench.

The princess’ outfit glittered even more by the lights.

Some showed off their props in action poses.

Two women, who hadn’t consulted one another about costumes prior to attending the event, brainstormed a scenario while waiting their turn.

The cheerleader pretended to be ill and reported to the nurses’ office.

Although I didn’t take any video, the premise brought out the filmmaker in me. I could have captured the scene in far more angles.

For the final bench picture, I had a movie poster in mind and directed the character how I wanted her to pose.

The employees warned us to stick to the lit parts of the garden, which I didn’t have to be told once. Without the lights, the garden was horror movie dark.

As a matter of fact, the lone white guy in our group kept joking about being a stereotypical white guy and suggesting that we “split up into groups to cover more area.”

After the costume contest, where I came in second place, the DJ played dance music. Previously, we were concerned that the advertised 90s music was going to be, at best, karaoke songs.

Although the crowd was lively, we were all spread out. Hopefully, the Gardens will have another Halloween event and not kill the vibe with some high brow notion that books will bring people out in droves.

Berimbau Memories

When I visited Austin for the first time since moving away four years ago, I took a capoeria class. Although I nearly had a heart attack since I was out of capoeira practice, I enjoyed reconnecting with my former capoeira teacher.

At that time, he told me of a capoeira event that would take place in October only 90 minutes away from where I lived. I knew in May that I’d attend the event. I had been looking forward to not only seeing my teacher, but being in the presence of a culture that had been such a tremendous part of my life for over a decade.

Fortunately, one of my friends joined me, which gave me the opportunity to explain some of the things that happened. As the the distinct sounds of the berimbau enveloped the room, I explained that there were three of those instruments for high, medium and low tones, and the capoeirista in the middle initiated the songs, the other two joined in, then the drum and finally the tambourine.

Only thing, I couldn’t think of the word “tambourine” in English. I kept wanting to call it a “pandeiro,” which is the Portuguese word for the instrument.

The only capoeirista I knew was my former teacher, but I captured the mestra’s first game. She’d been a capoeirista for 40 years, which is a rare accomplishment for a woman in a male-dominated sport.

Of course, I recorded my mestre’s game.

Thank goodness I captured his second game.

As soon as my friend saw my mestre backflip, she leaned over and requested that I share that video. When I trained with his group, we’d spend one day a week at a trampoline gym to work on our acrobatics. Not every group has that emphasis, so his game looked distinctly different than everyone else there.

After all the capoeiristas who were moving up to the next level, as noted by their belt (corda) change, the higher cordas had a grand finale with three rodas on stage. I was anxious enough watching just one roda because a player could have easily fallen off the stage.

“Roda” means “wheel or circle,” which describes the shape the other capoeiristas make around the players who are sparring. For the sake of a performance, they open one side of the roda for the audience.

The setting was already risky with one game being played on stage, but three simultaneous games meant that in addition to the risk of falling off the stage, there was the added risk of being hurt by another capoeirista from an adjacent game. That’s how I broke my left ankle during capoeira class back in 2013.

Afterwards, we ate at a local Mediterranean restaurant, which adhered to both of my requirements of no national chains or restaurants with the word “family” in its name.

For a day trip, it lasted the perfect amount of time. I’m so happy that we didn’t reminisce too much about the past since that tends to feel as if acknowledging that the best days are over. In reality, I struggled back then with money and the insecurities that brings and I still do.

The point is, I manage to do creative and fulfilling things as I’ve always done. Now that the robots are going to kill us all within a decade, I’m more mindful of living happily ever after from reconnecting with out-of-town friends to finding the joy in every day life.

1st 2026 Halloween Celebration

Never one to miss an opportunity to play dress up, especially during my favorite holiday, I planned to debut my “zipper face” costume. Strike one: not finding the premade kit at Spirit of Halloween. Strike two: the process not working out like the numerous videos said it would. There was no strike three because I saw the writing on the wall and pivoted.

Fortunately, my sister had been painting my face since I was a child and she regularly runs a face painting table at events year round, so she literally helped a sister out by painting half my face and adorning the painted half with gems. I glittered my lips.

Although only half my face was painted, the main reason my friends didn’t recognize me was due to the wig. I learned years ago that if I wanted to be incognito, all I had to do was hide my locks. When I greeted people, they recognized my voice, which proves how much I normally talk during dance class.

During the middle of the dance showcase, Mom called my sister, requesting that we pick up some evaporated canned milk. As my sister speculated about what Mom had planned to cook, all I could think of was the looks we’d get in costume, under the harsh fluorescent lights of a grocery store. She was dressed as “Pumpkin Spice” with me dressed like “Half Moon.” Both characters of our own imagination.

The joke was truly on us: turned out that Mom hadn’t actually needed any evaporated milk. She didn’t bother to check the pantry to see if she had any. She figured since we were out that she’d have us pick some up. Typical. At least the mac and cheese was delicious as usual.

I consider this Halloween event my “traditional” celebration since I’ve attended it every year since I started pole dancing in 2022. The other two events will be my first time attending. I’m planning on reusing previous costumes since I love getting my money’s worth.

Now that I’m an adult, I hardly ever eat candy. All the treats are drinks and having a good time with friends.

Breakfast in Bed

When I first moved back home to live with my parents, AKA my octogenarian teenagers, Dad was especially happy to have me home that he’d start making breakfast. A few months later, he fell and broke his hip, ending those father-daughter breakfasts.

Over the course of four years, Dad has been in and out of the hospital and rehab due to various health conditions, each time returning home lessened in some aspect of his physical and mental vigor.

Initially, he’d clamor to return home weeks before his physical health had recovered. He insisted that Mom spend most of the day with him, even telling her that she could sleep in his room as well, which never happened.

For the last couple of stays, Dad neither clamored to return home nor demanded that Mom spend the night. He’d acclimated to being out of the house for stretches at a time as his new normal.

Once at home, I’d serve him breakfast in bed. After setting his plate down on the overbed table, I’d kiss Dad on the cheek and tell him to have a good day. If it was a holiday or someone’s birthday, I’d mention it to him. A small interaction, but now that he’s confined to his bedroom, it’s about only the time we interact with one another.

I’d tried reading to him and doing chair yoga when he was more mobile, but he wasn’t interested in being read to nor did yoga interest him. Yet breakfast, touted as the most important meal of the day, has never fallen out of favor.

Before breakfast is served, Mom will have prepped Dad by washing his hands and face and giving him his pre-breakfast meds. By the time I enter his bedroom with his food, Dad has usually fallen back asleep. For the briefest moment, I brace myself before gently saying good morning.

When Dad’s eyes open, I breathe again. Never has someone sleep that has mimicked death bothered me so much. It sounds so pleasant to pass in one’s sleep. We even say “rest in peace” as consolement to one who has transcended this life.

Every “good morning” is a self-fulfilling prophecy when I confirm that Dad is still with us. I’m not sure how much he’s getting out of life, but I know that there will be a flurry of changes once he’s moved on.

As I witness him becoming less vibrant and his world now confined to a single room at home, the most activity that occurs is when various clinicians and caregivers parade in and out.

Breakfast in bed often denotes a special occasion where it is the start of a celebration. For Dad, it is the only nourishment option while he’s at home. I hope there’s never a morning where the breakfast is returned uneaten.

Hormigas Are Ants

Once a month, I’ve attended a Beginner’s Spanish event, mainly because the host chooses Latin American restaurants where, more than likely, the staff also speak Spanish. Besides, the social aspect of getting together with other people to eat good food and drinks, I like the idea of rebooting my Spanish-speaking ability.

Up until recently, I’ve relied on whatever smattering of Spanish I recall during these events. To “practice,” I’ve turned on the Latin American Spanish subtitles whenever I stream movies and series that have the option available. However, this last event has motivated me to level up my language acquisition.

We normally play a few games where we speak some Spanish. The rest of the time, we speak English. There’s always a range of Spanish-speaking ability among us, so English explanations are usually needed.

Despite my nonchalant approach to studying the language, I become amazingly competitive during these games. Especially for our version of the game Taboo. We are forbidden to say any part of the word or phrase we’re giving clues about in English, but the answer must be in Spanish.

During one round, my vocabulary escaped me. As one person gave the clue in English, I knew that she had described “ants.” I stated out loud that I couldn’t remember the word in Spanish. The guy beside me said, “hormigas.”

That wasn’t the only time that phenomenon occurred during the game. As a matter of fact, who knows if we would have tied if I could have recalled the words in Spanish. Perhaps he would have stepped up his game as well. Nonetheless, the next day, I started a free online Spanish course.

The daily lessons are up to 10 minutes long and designed to make the user feel like a winner by celebrating even the smallest wins. The nerd in me looks forward to these daily lessons. The enticement is baked into the cake. The real win is speaking more fluently at the next Beginner’s Spanish event.

Empowering the Stretch & Sip

I took a day trip to Pinehurst, NC to attend a 90-minute stretch and sip with one of my former instructors who’d taught chair, pole and stretch/flex classes. I’d brought one of my favorite chocolate candy bars to share. Turns out, the instructor had arranged a surprise birthday party for another instructor with plenty of chocolate choices.

This studio was less than a year old, shiny and new, and full of inspirational sayings, but none better than the aphorism that hung above the toilet.

Earlier, I’d attended a Beginner’s Spanish conversation lunch at an El Salvadoran restaurant. The host of that event joined me for this event. At one point, the instructor led us in a butterfly pose, where my friend burst out laughing and said, “¡Mariposa!”

I started laughing too because at a previous Beginner’s Spanish conversation lunch, she kept mistakenly saying “mariposa” for “seafood.” I told her to stop repeating the wrong word so I could say the correct word, “mariscos.”

At one point, the instructor gave the verbal cues to get into cow pose. Those of us who’d taken her stretch/flex class before mooed. The first timers laughed. Then, during the cat pose, the longtime students meowed.

Another fun moment was when Bell Biv DeVoe’s song, “Poison,” came on. The instructor and I hopped up from our mats to do the running man. As usual, no one else joined us. After half a minute, we returned to our mats as if nothing happened.

No day trip would be complete without a proper meal before hitting the road again. The instructor and a friend who I’d carpooled with went to a Thai restaurant. I didn’t realize how hungry I was, especially after eating a cupcake after class, but everything on the menu looked delicious.

Although my friend and I had gone out to eat many times before I’d never witness her ask so many questions prior to ordering food. Not as bad as Meg Ryan’s character in “When Harry Met Sally,” but a close second.

At one point during dinner, I had a sneezing fit. My instructor friend, leaned over and asked me in a low tone, “Are you allergic to white people?”

Doubly funny because she’s white herself.

Unlike going to the event, I was wide awake on the nearly hourlong drive back to Fayetteville. That energizing daytrip is how I want to live my happily ever after, which is how I now view my life since the richest people in the world have predicted AI is going to kill us all.

Just in Time for Retirement

When Mom turned 55, she could have retired. Dad, on the other hand, retired from the Air Force, then retired from Civil Service, then bagged groceries for ten years because he’d worked all his life and needed something to do.

For my generation, the retirement age is at least 65, but even present-day 65 year olds are being enticed to work until they’re 67 or older. Or, they cannot afford to retire. At this rate, I figured I’d never retire or I’d die at my computer. Either way, I never dreamed my retirement would end with being taken out by technology.

Actually, I thought AI would replace me at work before retirement age. That may still come to fruition. As AI learns to do my job, I may be phased out prior to being “deactivated” from this world.

Until then, this is my happily ever after. I’ve carved out an interesting life for myself where I’ve balanced interesting work with invigorating exercise after work along with my ever-present juggle of creative projects.

In the background, the country continues to spin out of control and is increasingly more expensive. It’s a wonderful thing that with age, one becomes naturally less active as far as socializing is concerned. I can no longer afford that life.

Fortunately, I’ve never been the “need a new outfit/new pair of shoes” type of woman. Especially since I receive “hand-me up” clothes from my nieces. Some clothes still had the tags on them.

My goal, when the time arrives, is to move from living with my parents for the second time around to moving into a retirement community. I need to research what my financial target is. I’d briefly looked online at communities in Raleigh, but the people in the pictures looked much older. I’ll need a community that accepts adults in their mid-50s.

Homeownership may be unattainable for me, but I’m hoping I’ll find a suitable retirement community or perhaps I’ll need to explore places outside of the States. I’ve led my life like an adventure thus far. Why stop now?

Back to the Animation Drawing Board

I found a relatively inexpensive and easy way to create animated clips. Yet, the platform offered very limited character actions. Even with those movement limitations, I never mastered making the character walk from the foreground to the background and vice versa without them appearing to glide diagonally.

Another bothersome aspect was the lack of natural hair choices for Black people. Once again, I wanted program designers to offer choices about something they hardly knew anything about and probably weren’t aware that was missing. Except for all the feedback in the comment section from other people of color about the limited to nonexistent natural Blacks hair choices for different characters.

In the spirit of Edison discovering a thousand ways the light bulb didn’t work, I’m on a journey to find an accessible way to animate my stories. My nephew and sister have given me some avenues to explore. I just need to take the time to do so.

Time, not money, is the most precious commodity. I can always earn more money, but I’ll never earn more time. For my next round of animation research, I’m going to explore platforms that have an unlimited range of character actions as well as character customization to suit my preferences.

As usual, I’ll need to finish one of the creative projects I’m working on before researching and teaching myself another platform. I’m open to learning a new trick, but having a full-time job is a blessing for the benefits and pay, even though a large chunk of my time is not working toward my own personal/creative goals.

All things in due time…until AI destroys everything.

Eight Times Lucky

I mark every birthday as a celebration of being alive and having survived yet another year of embracing creativity and joy amidst all the chaos the world has to offer. Different cultures of people view the numbers seven and eight as lucky. The product of those two numbers rule my birthday this year.

Wonderful luck foreshadowed my 2026 birthday when I looked at the calendar and noticed that my born day landed on Labor Day this year. An automatic day off.

For years, one of my birthday gifts to myself has been a day off. So the quintessential Virgo in me loved not having to use any PTO this time around.

I’ve also co-opted Dad’s idea of celebrating a “birthday month.” Unlike Dad, I don’t actually label every fun thing I do in September as my birthday celebration, but I also don’t think everything needs to happen on the actual day. There’s wisdom in spreading out the celebration, especially across the weekend.

Back when I lived in Austin during pre-COVID, I’d send out a birthday itinerary to friends for every birthday that ended in a “0” or “5,” foolishly designating those years as being more significant than the others. But let’s face it, on some level, there’s a reason to celebrate all things good, no matter how small.

Case in point, this past Thursday, I found a quarter in the parking lot on my way to dance class. The joy with which I picked up that quarter, one would have thought that I’d found much more money. Yet, ever since the great state of NC had refunded me $1, I’ve been on a mission to find the equivalent of a dollar just going about life. I’m not sure if it’s a sign of how desperate the times are economically, but since I’ve been on this micro-quest, that quarter was the most I’d found in one score, which raised my total to 47 cents for the year. (To read about how I spent that refunded $1 from the great state of NC, please read Tip That Motherf*****!)

For the past year or so, I’ve mostly confined my alcohol consumption to just Saturday and Sunday. I made an exception this past Friday night. Since a little red wine helps with concentration, I used that logic as I took an open book yoga final exam.

On Saturday mornings, I do my laundry for the week and go grocery shopping. I did the same with the addition of selecting a free birthday cake from the grocery store that I frequent. It was just as moist and delicious as it looks.

Later on Saturday, I gifted myself a high-end nice mani-pedi, complete with a 20-minute foot massage. I topped it off with a sparkling blue color, which had my birthstone, sapphire, in its name. That color may become yet another birthday tradition.

On Sunday, after my usual 60-min hot yoga class, I enjoyed a 60-min full body massage. Once again, the Virgo in me absolutely loved that the receptionist honored an expired $20 off coupon in addition to the usual gift of a $15 enhancement.

When I returned home, Mom, my sister and a neighbor had maneuvered Dad into the house and were attempting to affix the bed rail to the side of his bed. I welcomed Dad back home after being hospitalized and in rehab for over two months.

By the time my actually birthday rolled around, I’d slept in, then made breakfast for Dad and me. When I served Dad breakfast, I said, “Happy Labor Day!”

Dad just smiled, probably happier because breakfast was served rather than the holiday. Then, I asked him, “Do you remember what happened on this day 56 years ago?”

His first guess was “Easter.” I reminded him that I’d just wished him a Happy Labor Day. Then he guessed that it was either his birthday or my birthday. I laughed, reminding him that he was long past age 56, but at least he got the correct answer in 1.5 answers.

After breakfast, my sister and I did a labor of love for Mom. She had a decorative, wooden accent piece that was awkward and time-consuming to clean. As a matter of fact, the best way to clean it would be to burn it. A one and done solution. However, the second best way to clean it, is to take it outside and apply a wooden cleaner to it with a paintbrush. I convinced Mom to wait for a sunny day, so we could clean it in the morning and it could thoroughly dry.

Another birthday tradition, which I think I started for my 40th birthday, was wearing a tiara. I thought I’d keep that costume accessory for the rest of my life, but after this birthday, it’s time to retire ol’ girl and get another for the upcoming birthday.

Back in August I’d cashed in $30 worth of reward points from work to buy a two-piece bathing suit and swim trunks. Not only is such attire good for swimming, but also pole dancing and yoga. So far, I’ve worn those trunks to both pole class and yoga, but not to swim in. Yet, I love the versatility in such clothing for all the physical activities that I enjoy doing.

I saved the two-piece black and gold swimwear for my actual birthday. And what better way to celebrate one’s birthday than with a pole dancing class? Granted, this was my usual Monday night class, but a lifelong dream of mine is to spend as much of my waking time doing what I enjoy. Mission accomplished.

The next day I received a gift of fresh spices and a pair of earrings from a friend. Mom surprised me by not immediately asking what I was going to cook with those spices. I sprinkled a little from each jar into Dad and my breakfast eggs.

Two days later, I took Mom out to breakfast at a family-owned restaurant where neither one of us had ever been to before. I informed everyone that we were celebrating Mom’s 86th birthday.

Normally, Mom drinks ginger tea along with a smoothie for breakfast. She joined me with a large cup of green tea. We both employed a different utensil to keep our tea bags from floating. Not that this was a scientific experiment, but my knife produced a better seeping result than Mom’s spoon.

Mom ordered a Western omelet with grits and a homemade biscuit on the side.

Since I normally make an omelet-styled eggs for Dad and me every morning, I ordered a sausage egg and cheese biscuit with a side of potato and parmesan casserole. That biscuit was so big that I had to hold it at an angle to bite it, completely missing the entire top biscuit half, which I eventually removed.

Eating an open-faced biscuit helped me save room for the small stack of birthday pancakes the the chef brought out to both Mom and me. He warned us to make a wish and blow out the candle quickly, so the heat of the pancakes won’t melt too much of the candle.

Afterwards, Mom took a picture with the chef, whose family owned the restaurant.

Mom fussed over how nobody had better mess with her biscuit that I wrote her name on the to-go box in big letters. Proving that one could take the girl out of Cascade, but not the Cascade out of the girl, no matter what age!

Two days later, fourteen of us got together to celebrate Mom’s, my nephew’s, my sister’s sister-in-law, and my birthday at a steakhouse. Although I had a wonderful time, complete with delicious food and entertaining conversation, the post meal activity made my day: axe throwing!

I counted on the fact that my nephew would join me to continue our birthday celebration at another location. My nephew was so much better than me, that his handicaps were trying trick shots and knife throwing.

We were surprised when the knife stuck at the hilt rather than the blade.

Next time around, the knife, stuck as we’d expected it to do.

Of course, I had a photo celebration of my first of two bullseyes.

All in all, I won one game out of three only because my nephew was trying out trick shots, kill shots (where one had to proclaim “killshot,” then hit one of the two blue dots on the board or make a zero if the implement hit anywhere else) and knife throws. What I learned during this experience was that my mind and arms only have three games in them.

After the last game, I reminded my nephew that he hadn’t tried the double-axe throw yet.

Until the next birthday celebration…