Supa's Holiday Antics

Didn’t go to the mall. It was raining outside….

But. What the hell possessed Supa Sister to go ahead and ingest a Starbuck’s Caramel Macchiato tonight? Well, because it was absolutely frigid outside (to a Cali chick = 51 degrees) and my outfit didn’t warrant a warm enough jacket that matched my boots. Bad, bad move. The coffee. Drinking Starbucks is the closest I’ve ever come to a crack cocaine addiction. Supa Sister is really an herbal tea kinda girl, much too sensitive for hard drugs such as that. Way to start off the new year. With a crippling headache and a critical case of the shakes.

So what other sort of antics has Supa been up to, you wonder? Well, during the happy hour get together last week, I did some harmless drunk dialing, one particular dial being to CSJ - an all around hard-working conscious compassionate soulful fine ass black man, who happens to be Supa Sister’s high school sweetheart and permanent fixture in her life for the past 20 or so odd years. Damn that makes me sound kinda old. But I’m still fine, so fuck it. Anyway. The infamous CSJ was fresh off the job and decided to mosey on up to the bar to make sure Supa didn’t do anything supa stupid like trying to drive home over the limit. Confession: seeing a fine ass black man posted up and waiting for you when you exit a bar with your drunken secret-keeping coworkers, is just a beautiful fucking thing.

So we greet each other properly, then decide to walk to the Cuban restaurant a few doors down and have coffee. We do. And it was just one of those fleeting unplanned intimate kind of moments that make life bearable. We joked, laughed, shared, reminisced, pondered. The Cuban restaurant owner commented how beautiful and happy we looked together. But of course. That’s ‘cause Supa is a deliriously happy divorcee and he’s a marginally happy married man. Like, duh. The perfect 21st century couple.

Every now and again, CSJ and Supa play the “what if” game. If you’ve been keeping up, this is where my sweet yet implausible marriage proposal always comes from. It generally goes something like this:

CSJ: Girl, why didn’t I marry you right outta high school?

Supa: Because you were a young horny fool. Remember?

CSJ: If you woulda gave me some, I wouldn’t have been so horny…you were always teasin’ a brotha…

Supa: True, true...

CSJ: So marry me now.

Supa: No.

CSJ: Please?

Supa: You’re already married.

CSJ: So?

Supa: Polygamy is still illegal in Cali, sweetie.

CSJ: Damn.

Supa: And I’d be a shitty wife anyway, babes. I’m too moody and unreliable. And I’m still stingy with the ass.

CSJ: Word?

Supa: Muthafuckin’ word.

CSJ: (contemplative silence) So, how ‘bout those Lakers?

Supa: Fuck the Lakers. It’s all about the Heat, baby!

-end of marriage conversation-

So, Supa Sis semi-sobered up in a most delightful way that night. Then, once at home and attempting to engage her Pooch in late evening play activities, she proceeded to snatch Pooch’s favorite squeak-toy and run about the house with it, which usually ends up in a nice game of chase and fetch – except on this particular eve, in her mojito inspired and overly silly good mood, Supa Sister slipped on her freshly sheened hardwood floor (thanks, cleaning lady), stubbing her big right toe and injuring her shoulder on the edge of her sectional sofa. Supa simply lay there; stunned. Pooch was unconcerned, and merely stepped over Supa’s body to grab her toy and trot back into the kitchen. Heifer.

My toe still hurts. Seriously. Like, I don't even know if I can rock any heels tomorrow.

Supa’s saga to be continued…