White Honda Civic-Morning Pages Draft

Her white Honda Civic taunted me. It was parked right in front of my driveway, blocking me in. If I wanted to go out, which I did, I would have to run upstairs and ask her to move it, playing right into her bony, manipulative hands. She always did this shit and I had no fucking way out.

I sat in my apartment fuming. I didn’t want to see her, especially not today. The boys had given me hell today and just as the doorbell rang, heralding another unexpected visit, I was rushing them downstairs to eat and nap so I could take a break. As long as that white Honda civic stayed parked in front of my apartment, a break was the last thing I was going to get. 

Good Afternoon. Today, I'm really not in the mood. But here I am. Writing these pages with the expectation that it will translate into my becoming a better writer and perhaps having my blog recognized by more than four people.

No offense you guys, but this invisibility is wreaking havoc on  my confidence-to the point that I posted that hideous picture of myself in the early stages of pregnancy hoping that somebody might see it and want to comment on it and that it might  go viral and jump start my career.

Pathetic. I know, but there is a method to my madness. I keep telling myself that. '

I'm wondering why people who say things I've said, not any better or worse than I've said it, have their stuff recognized by millions of people, their blogs get tweeted on Huffington Post, they get interviewed about their tiny little blogs that they never thought would get noticed but theyeventually captured the attention of the world and now, here  they are famous authors! People read them. People see them.

That's all I want. Is it too much to ask?

Is it because I'm not a journalism, communications or English major? Or does my writing really suck that bad?  We'll soon find out because I'm going to devote this blog (apart from the morning pages) to trying out my stuff. I will finish my novel  (thirteen years in the making) in the meantime and that's my goal. I just want to finish the novel.

The story is in me. It has to come out. I'm freaking constipated by the bloody thing. Thirteen agonizing years of constipation. So I will do what I must. Writing is the only thing I want to do with my life and I want to get paid for it.  That's against most odds, I know but I am a woman of faith. Also, I've been trying to get work that pays me more than what I'm making where I currently work. Yet,  even with a master's degree I can't  seem to get an interview. Not even for an assistant's position. I've been trying for an editorial assistant or any assistant's position in publishing.  Problem is the salary is way below what I should be earning especially at this stage and age of the game. I've never made what I'm supposed to be making with an advanced degree.  It was the reason I went to school in the first place, yet I haven't been able to use my degree at all. I don't know why I'm constantly low-balled, humiliated, debased, degraded.  It's the fucking story of my life.  What, I'm begging any of you-well, I guess the four of you-to tell me, what the fuck is wrong with me?

Maybe I'm not meant to do more. If this is the only "published" writing I do than I will be happy with it. I will be grateful.

No. I won't. I'm tire of falling into shit. Taking jobs just because I hated the one I was currently in, without really thinking it through. I don't want to be hasty. I don't want to be impatient. It's my life and I want to have some peace knowing that I made the right choice because it was the right choice, because it was my choice. Not because I was rushed into it or pressured into it.

 Now is my time. I know I've been saying that for years, but this time is different. I've got kids now. I've got their  futures to think about. I don't want them to be anything like me. Also, I want them to know that if they truly want something, even if they are good at it, they still have to work for it, which I can admit has been a problem all my life. Things were natural for me. My sister always said I never really had to work hard for anything. Piano exams, I always got higher grades without studying or practicing as hard as I should have. I imagine how great I would be if I stuck to it. Like my sister for example. She works. She's an actor. I remember when she first started she was told she'd have better luck becoming a neurosurgeon. I was the one who took that statement literally and felt like if she was told that, what would they say to me? She didn't let it stop her. She literally pounded the pavement and knocked on doors until one opened.

She's a teacher now, another of her passions BUT, she has a role in a sitcom opposite Thandie Newton and Cole Hauser. Not bad. She waited a long time and put up with a lot of bullshit and rejection to get to that point but she is living her dream. She can die without regrets. I suppose that scares me too. I don't want to be on my deathbed, knowing that all I had to do was devote some time and energy to what I claim is my passion without expecting the world to accept what I have to say just because I say here I am.  Perhaps that's been my problem all my life. I expect things to fall into my lap, if I'm good at them. Like I shouldn't have to work just because I have a natural talent for something.  I'm not afraid of hard work but I don't want to work at things I enjoy. I'm also scared to death of rejection too. I hate to sound like an elitist, especially when I haven't published anything of substance but there's a lot of bad writing out there. I don't want to be a bad writer. Does that make sense?   Also, I 'm tired. I'm not ever in the mood nor do I have time to write the way I did when I didn't give a shit about it you know?  Raising the twins is work. I'm potty training two of them at once so forget it. When I get a minute to myself, I just want to binge watch t.v. and zone out until they wake up from a nap. I make too many excuses. Yes. I know.

My husband always says, "I don't get why you don't just send your stuff out.." Or my mom will say, "I was watching such and such show the other day and this young girl was talking about her book and she reminded me of you," or I read these articles all the time from people who don't write as well as you and they get their stuff published in so and so magazine, Then I get angry. I tell her I'm working on it.  She sighs and says,   "So I've been hearing for thirteen years."

 I know. I'm making excuses, but that's what these pages are for. Anyway, I'm going to answer my mom's question by posting a link to a woman's blog who, like my mom said-writes exactly about what I've been writing about for two years: how motherhood has changed her life.

It's changed mine too-and although I've said what she's said. I like the way she said it. Maybe there's something to that. Her blog has changed my life.  Motherhood will make me a better writer and so far, I have kept my writing promise despite the fact it's becoming more difficult to do since my eldest twin, Zachary has figured out how to escape the confines of his crib,where I desperately need him to be when it's writing time.

Oh well. This is where the work comes in I suppose. Hey. Look at me! Mommy's still writing!

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ashli-mazer/this-is-what-motherhood-did-to-me_b_7073842.html?ncid=tweetlnkushpmg00000067

Forgive me...

Please bear with me as I figure some things out.  I'm a work in progress, much like this blog.

I'm just trying something.

This is a test.

Sent from my iPhone

Promises...Promises

I apologize in advance for any spelling, grammar or usage issues with this post. As a writer, I know I shouldn't be making those kinds of excuses but it's more important for me to write, than get it right.

Also, I'm just not in the mood to write at all (which is why I have to do this). What makes things worse is that while I'm trying to keep true to my word, make the time to do what's write-excuse me, right-and prioritize what's important to me, which of course is my writing and these pages.

I have the news on because sometimes I'm inspired by what's going on in the world and they gave about five minutes to the news of the guy that died in Baltimore from a severed spine while at least 15 minutes to the freaking Royal Baby...I hate to sound like an asshole, but really? I just don't give a shit about the Royal baby. I have a feeling most people don't. Even the London correspondent claims this  baby is not big news-they are calling it the spare to the heir.  Yet, here I am talking about this shit and not the tragedy in Baltimore. This is the state of news today and it's sickening. Now they are talking about Don Johnson's Miami Vice outfit. (This is MSNBC in case you ever want to catch breaking news) Oh wait, the reporter is talking about the suspicious packages found at City Hall in St. Louis. They don't have much info about it yet, but I suppose by the time I come back to write again the world will know more.

As for the incident in Baltimore. I haven't really got much information. I think the Mayor of Baltimore is also waiting for answers. As usual, I didn't intend for the pages to begin this way. My time is limited so I have to be brief, but of course I have to get the writing in. I can't believe it's 11 already.

Anyway, I must say I'm not surprised. As one correspondent claims, it seems as though it's open season on Black men. While I'M not going that far I have to say it's troubling that despite all the media attention surrounding the recent deaths of black males in police custody, I'd think that cops would be extra cautious. Apparently not. You know it's also troubling that -well, again I don't know the circumstances so I don't want to speak to soon but c'mon black men. It's suicide to do anything remotely illegal these days. Why in the name of all that's holy are you in a situation to be involved in any kind of altercation with the police? I hope it wasn't a situation where the young man got mouthy; I'm hopeful that it's not a situation where tragedy could have been avoided had he not been in the wrong place at the wrong time, though lately it seems that might be anyplace.

I hate to say it, but I have two black boys. I mean they aren't old enough to go anywhere by themselves yet but when they are, I'll have to impose a strict curfew. I am afraid of them being out after dark where the chances of them having an unfortunate encounter of any kind are increased.

It's scary.

And my son somehow escaped from his crib so I can't delve into the details about Freddie Gray even though I'm hearing this guy blame the Mayor of Baltimore who is black and female for essentially sucking up to the white administration in order to become mayor so this is why there hasn't been enough done to curb tensions between police and the black community of Baltimore...

I guess now I may have something to work on for tomorrow;s pages.., oh, and in the meantime they trial in Tulsa where the guy mistook his gun for a tazer begins,...

http://www.msnbc.com/msnbc-live
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Story Hour Mom

Lately, I've been in a James Blake state of mind.  Oh wait. It might have a little something to do with the fact that I'm  listening to both of his albums as I write these "anytime pages."  Seems tonight they are for venting.

Today started out pretty well. Actually, this weekend wasn't bad at all-after picking my husband up from work, he claimed he needed to pick up some scotch bonnet peppers for a dish he was making but when we got to the grocery store, he informed me that first, we'd be going to a fancy little bar in the same plaza! Surprise!!!!!

Look,  I never say no to a drink at any hour, happy or not, but I wish he would have told me because I might have made more of an effort with my appearance.  I was not dressed for this. Fortunately it was still early. The bar hadn't really even begun to do business yet. I would be out of there before anybody could see me and snicker.

The sad, but sweet thing about my aloof but always well-meaning husband is that he thinks that I am beautiful regardless of what I'm wearing or not wearing.  I'm flattered that he wasn't ashamed of me but that's my husband. He's humble, genuine, sweet and compassionate to a fault. He once dated a woman with a goatee, and two teeth and didn't care what anybody said because she was a damn good  and beautiful on the inside and out. Her goatee was apparently the result of hormone replacement therapy. I'm not sure if it explains her missing teeth but I suppose that's neither here nor there at this point.  I'm not saying a woman with a goatee and two teeth can't be attractive, I'm just saying it's a bit hard to trust him when he says I look beautiful. His frame of reference is a bit skewed.

I know how vain I sound. I cannot tell a lie. I want to feel and look like story hour mom now and again. I want to get dressed up and look fierce and be envied. I know it's wrong but I just want to feel beautiful, young, fresh and vibrant. It's been a long time since I've felt any of those things.
 (courtesy of Mingles in the Bronx )

Lately, I don't ever go anywhere requiring  the effort which by the way has me resenting the fuck out of Story Hour Mom. She breezes into toddler story hour fresh off the pages of InStyle magazine (at least that's the message she's quite convincingly trying to convey), nails freshly manicured and brightly painted, rocking a wicked hairstyle that I  could only pull off in my wildest dreams; too risque for a mom of toddler twins.

Her outfit was a bit too trendy (and tight) for her age, but she had the body for it, and the bitch looked fierce.

How dare she sashay into the library  (a library of all places!-there are children with insecure moms here!) exuding that ridiculous amount of swagu?  I overheard her talking to the librarian and she mentioned that she had two younger boys at home too.  Is she for real? I checked her out again from head to toe as discreetly as possible from the corner of my magnifying eye glasses.  The shoes. Damn her. How does she chase young children in those?

 She's obnoxiously spirited and happy and joyful; a chipper chatterbox spewing ridiculous tales and anecdotes, doling out stupid advice to any idiot who'll listen.  Like a bunch of drooling sycophants the other moms hang onto her every (grammatically incorrect I might add, ) word. I am not fooled. I don't even flinch when she flashes a flawless smile at me, looks me up and down and tells me what a beautiful job I'm doing with the twins. Taking them out to the library and  managing their melt-downs all by myself. I wonder how I must look to her.  I absolutely love the shade of her matte lipstick.  I hate her.

Let's move on, shall we?

Sunday morning: hubby and I went to our Cozy Cottage (diner-we don't actually have a cozy cottage yet) for a delicious breakfast and to get out of the house.

It was... nice.  It felt like it did when we were dating and we could stay out all night long doing whatever it was we did when we were young and unfettered, doing it until the sun began to creep up into the sky spreading daylight. Back then, our only concern was which diner had the best breakfast. We'd fine one and eat our scrambled eggs, bacon and Belgian waffles and talk for as long as the coffee refills kept coming.  When we had our fill we'd waste the rest of the day at his place, wrapped in each other's arms  in front of the t.v. watching old movies. What a time we had back when we were our only raison d'etre.

Of course we are living a completely different life now.  I never imagined how different it would be.  No spontaneous anything anymore. These days I have to schedule taking a shit. Free time is an oxymoron.

Honestly, I don't know what all of this has to do with James Blake but for some reason his music takes me "there."  Where? I have no clue.  I don't care...all that I know is I'm fallin'...fallin'...fallin'...might as well fall in...

For more on my obsession with James Blake and the affect of his music check out my Tumblr reneelizz.tumblr.com) post entitled "HBO's Togetherness and James Blake."

Thanks to James Blake and The Wilhelm Scream, Mingles and Story Hour Mom for the inspiration for tonight's post, which  despite my intentions, seemed to have a mind of its own.

http://jamesblakemusic.com/

Hypertension

I am hyper. I am tense. First, I must apologize because while I have continued this conversation, I left out the crucial details I wanted to discuss. Never mind, when my head is clearer, I shall get back to that.

Of course, the continuation of this post is later than expected but  I did, at least stay true to my word. I'm writing my morning pages at night because I wasn't really in the mood to write them this morning.

You will be wondering why I didn't want to write them this morning, which actually ties into why I didn't have time to finish yesterday's post. I had a doctor's appointment.  Lately, I've been having some issues with my blood pressure. My doctor has been trying to put me on medication.  I was quite adamant with the doctor, over the course of these visits that I refused to take medication and that  I could lower my blood pressure naturally, which I did for one visit, but yesterday's visit didn't do much to convince her I didn't need the pills, because it had skyrocketed again.

My issue is simple: I don't trust pharmaceuticals. I can self medicate if I want to do drugs that are going to do my body harm. I mean, these water pills, which even at the low dose she's prescribing can do some damage to my kidneys, which I took a hemoglobin to ensure they were healthy enough for this medication that could potentially do them harm? I don't like it. I refused, again. Vociferously.

So then my doctor showed me a chart of my blood pressure history, which was pretty normal until the my world turned upside down with the twins and my mother-in-law and being unemployed. Also, I've put on some pounds which have undoubtedly contributed to my hypertension. All of this can be reversed-without medication.. I know that I can lower my blood pressure naturally. I know that if I just work out rigorously and vigorously like I was doing before my life changed, I'll be fine.

I've been working out-every morning for half an hour at least...I know I have to do something but clearly it isn't enough-especially now that I'm ...old. I'm tired and I have twins to be chasing around which, I thought would contribute in some way to my exercise but it has not. My stress has increased in ways that I never imagined. Mom in law, kids, work, money etc. etc. But I told the doctor that I recognize all these issues have contributed to this, and if she'd just take a look back and see...

She did take a look back and see. That life no longer belongs to me, she says. As the kids get older, the stress, though it may look different, sound different-will always be there, And since my blood pressure has decreased only once during these visits (by the way, while doc is "looking out for my well being," each visit costs me 15 bucks and she's been seeing me  every two weeks. ) Need I remind EVERYONE that I'm unemployed?  Also, I beg you to take into consideration the fact that whenever I go there, I'm in a rush-and I'm anxious about having my blood pressure taken because it's always to high and because I'm not ready to die and I don't want to go on any medication and-I assume you get the point-It is a lot and it doesn't improve matters.

My doc is  right to be concerned.  I am fully aware of the dangers of high blood pressure.  I recognize it's a blind-side killer. She's also right about the stress continuing, but she doesn't know me, so I kinda resent her pushing the blood pressure meds on me because I don't know if her concern is genuine or if she, like anybody else responsible to a corporation or industry, have to make that corporation or industry money and since I'm a perfect candidate for some new drug that the pharmaceuticals need to make money on, so why am I not on it?

I don't want to tempt fate but  I am confident that I can lower my blood pressure naturally. I did it before, I can do it again. Although, I was much younger and which much less (read no) stress.

Stop using salt, cut out refined sugar, cut out the carbs, which reminds me, I forgot to pick up pistachios today! I got some beets I plan to juice tomorrow, some raisins  to add to my unsweetened (blah) oatmeal and I'm ready to rock this!
Of course I'll need to increase my home work outs (read: intensify, step it up, SWEAT!)  until I can officially get back into the gym.
Stop drinking...during the week, What can I say? I'm a work in progress. Please don't judge me.

Lastly, stop being angry: assholes are going to be assholes and me raising my blood pressure by getting angry, flipping out, cursing, unleashing the full weight and fury of my wrath upon inconsiderate drivers, grocery shoppers, ignorant passers by who just have no manners and can't say excuse me, or hold the door for me when my hands are full with twins or groceries,  will never prevent an asshole from being an asshole-besides assholes seem to breed like cockroaches. For every one you stamp out, another million are born.

Therapy? Meditation?  I've heard it can do wonders to relieve stress, reduce high blood pressure. I guess I need it.

In the grand scheme of things, being on medication is not the worse thing in the world. It could be worse. I could have cancer. I could be dying of an incurable disease. I know that.  It's just that my pride won't let me accept the fact that I am getting old. It also won't let me accept that at the young but old age of 40 I could have a heart attack, suffer a stroke or heart failure. I am only 40 years old. I just became a mother. My boys need me. I need them.  As much as they suck the life out of me, they keep me alive. My life belongs to them and that's why I have to live.

Ahhhh....these morning/anytime pages are like blood letting and it feels good. It's cathartic and necessary. They must continue. And so must I.


.

Ok. So...in keeping with my promise to blog/write every day, I am going to start what are the equivalent of morning pages, in case I don't have enough time to get into what I want to get into today.  (Oh, and for the record, I posted twice yesterday to cover my ass for today, which has already started out a bit hectic. My time is severely limited today. See photo below.

Let me say a little something about morning pages. Right after the twins were born, I realized that I was going to have to get serious about writing, if I ever planned to do it again because as you might imagine, my entire world was flipped off its axis.  I was completely turned around.  The funny thing was that I found that I forced myself to write. For maybe a month. And I did that with the help of Julia Cameron's book, "The Artist's Way." I doubt there is an artist alive who hasn't read this book or found it useful.  Thirteen years ago someone mentioned the book to me, and I had always been meaning to buy it but my priorities were different back then and writing or being an artist meant something completely different to me then. Again, we'll get back to that.

The irony is that my mom was in town from Toronto helping me with the twins and we took a trip to Barnes and Noble to have some coffee and chit chat. It's funny that every time my mother comes to town we end up there and somehow she ends up buying me a book that transforms my life. At least for a time. Well, I was actually looking for the latest Zadie Smith novel and they didn't have it.  As I was wandering down the aisles, "The Artist's Way"  practically jumped off the shelf and into my arms...Oh, I'm sorry. My time has run out for today. I'm being summoned. To be continued...

You have been warned. Off the computer.  Now.

I know I'm jumping ahead but, what the hell. I'm on a roll...and making up for lost time.

I know this is late; in more ways then one. You see, I'm turning this blog into a semi journal, so bear with me.

I found out i was pregnant on Ash Wednesday, April 19, 2012: unofficially. Holy shit, that's almost three years ago to the date! I don't look anything like that now by the way. (That's my vanity talking...another issue we can address at another time. I trust you'll be back? Please. Don't let the picture frighten you.)

Anyway, after 6 pregnancy tests and staring at myself blankly in the mirror, wondering what was really going on. Who was this person staring back at me? I had so many conflicted emotions. First, I was ecstatic, overwhelmed with joy that  I wasn't sixteen and in high school; second, panic and frustration that I was 39 years old.

Needless to say, I  made an appointment to have the news made official. Sure enough,  they confirmed it,set up ally tests and here i am 16 weeks and 2 days later pregnant, confused, overwhelmed, overjoyed, shocked and awed by the fact that I am carrying twins.

Yes. Twins! I was shocked but as soon as they gave me the news, I thought back to the evenings my husband and I sat on the couch and prayed before our evening meals. Before every meal, and after giving thanks, He prayed for twins. Now, I pray too. But even I was skeptical. There are no twins in my family that I know of, and my husband wasn't aware of twins on his side either.

 One thing i have learned throughout this pregnancy-aside from the fact that my body does not belong to me anymore, but that we do serve a mighty God and there is a purpose to the chaos that is existence. Ever since i became pregnant I only care about the lives inside of me. I've learned a lot about myself. I have not always been a nice person. And that scares the shit out of me because I do believe in Karma.

Anyway, I think now I know what love is. Or selflessness.  Everything else is secondary:  the job i hate, the disappointment I felt when I realized I couldn't/wouldn't have a drink in 9 months!!!!??? Before the pregnancy, I couldn't last five days.  The boys kinda cured my "affliction." (Perhaps we'll delve deeper into that another time-I've put you through so much already.)  

So I'll end here for now, and let you know that every morning, despite the fact that I don't want to get out of bed and board that freaking 5 train during rush hour to a job that I would rather not be doing, I rub my tummy and remember it ain't about me anymore. In fact, as I heave myself out of bed and go to work, I realize I'm stronger than I give myself credit for. 

Before I begin, Craig in lieu of an email, I wanted to dedicate this post to you.

This should pretty much catch you up on where I am right about now. As for the question you asked regarding A Hard Day's Night; yes it was a job I should have applied for thirteen years ago.

 I'm not worried about being blackballed. If someone is interested in hiring me they will. I'm qualified. In fact, I'm overqualified, and I refuse to settle ever again. I think that I had to experience that humiliation in order to realize it. Like I said, I'm getting older. I don't have time for regrets, well not regrets that I'll regret.

I WANT YOU TO SEE ME, TO HEAR ME TO FEEL ME! I know how corny this sounds but I'm getting pretty desperate lately.

I've been writing for far too long now. It's about time I get some feedback, some followers, some hate mail-whatever.

I know how cliche this sounds as well but I still have to say it. Or maybe I've been saying it too much-I am a writer. If I don't write, I'll die. A slow, agonizing, pathetic death. I'm miserable.

This is scary, but it has to be done. I'm too old to start over and I'm too old to make any more mistakes, well mistakes are inevitable I guess, so what I mean is that I want to be taken seriously as a writer and this means I have to open the fuck up. There. I said it. I cursed. I don't like to curse, but at this point I felt like it conveyed the frustrations I'm feeling at the moment. I don't like to curse, but sometimes I have to, but I've always (because of my good Christian upbringing) felt badly about doing it. However, I realize that it's affecting my writing in that it's not sincere. Not that I have to curse to be sincere, but I do have to open up.

So...that being said, I'm inviting the world into my writing life. My life is precious and beautiful and strange and what I write about reflects that. It should reflect the good, the bad and most certainly the ugly. There's a lot of ugly.

Well fuck it. (Shit, I'm on a roll.) Here it is: My life, my love. My thoughts. My world. Love it. Hate it. Follow me. Don't follow me. I don't care. I'll keep living. I'll keep writing. For me, those two things are mutually exclusive. I make love, peace, war with my words.

My friends, you may do with that what you must.

The story begins today, but it actually started two years ago with the birth of my twins...and let the journey begin...

Finally Found A Place 2 Go

I’ve been looking for “A Place2Go for some time now. I mean, I’ve been places, they just haven’t been “that” place. The food, the company or the ambiance wasn't what I needed it to be. A few nights ago, at a little spot in Westchester, I found all 3. At the behest of a an old young friend, I skittishly hopped on the I 95 North to New Rochelle headed towards "A Place2Go", a Jamaican infused, induced, influenced, inspired-whatever you want to call it spot that has completely shattered not only my universe but (being Jamaican I can say this) every single unsatisfactory, unfavorable, take-it-for granted preconception I've ever had regarding going out for “Jamaican” because I obnoxiously assume that I’ve had Jamaican food all the ways it can or should be done, so what’s the point? It just seemed a waste of time to me-until now. This place Effen rocks- (Let me defend the use of the word “Effen” here. This is the name of rapper 50 Cent’s new vodka and I thought his word of the Swedish word for “smooth” was pretty clever. Also, I’m dying to try the cucumber vodka but none of my local “wine and spirit” shops carry it—wink, wink; nudge, nudge), from its tuff cocktails, like the tropical Long Island Iced Tea Honestly, this is the best Long Island Iced Tea I’ve ever had. Usually they are a mish-mash, hodge-podge of hard liquors that are a bit too harsh for my palette and which I drink if I’m on a limited budget and need something that’ll kick in hard and last. This Long Island was perfectly balanced, without the harshness and believe me, it lasted. It was as smooth as fruit punch, and it’s one of those drinks that sneak up on you. I easily could have had more until after a few sips in I felt the kick in the ass that reminded me I was driving and chilled. As soon as I get someone to be the designated driver, I’m going back for more. The calamari I ordered was fried to perfection and my home girl’s fried chicken wings-were too; cooked perfectly all the way through and not-greasy at all. My issue with wings is that they are either fried nicely on the outside, but the inside could do with a lot more cooking or the inside is cooked but the skin isn’t crispy enough. By the way-I’m not even a wing person, but I ended up finishing hers. Oh! And can I say that the side of coleslaw was as gorgeous a garnish on the side as it was tasty? And I liked that my calamari was a top a bed of my favorite green: baby arugula, which is not something I usually find at my around the way-Jamaican joints. Needless to say, I ordered some more wings: Buffalo and Jerk-to go. Actually, if I could, I would have ordered every single appetizer on the menu: pepper shrimp, deep fried jerk chicken balls, crab cakes, codfish cakes…and let me tell you that even though there’s nothing extraordinary-sounding about the dishes I’ve described, you had to see them to believe what I’m telling you. You hear me? I witnessed them. I also had an opportunity to talk to the chef, and that brother's enthusiasm for not only preparing tantalizing twists on classic Jamaican cuisine, but his understanding of the importance of visually stimulating food is evident in every single plate that is served. Each item brought out of the kitchen was a colorful feast for the eyes; inviting you to taste and see; to experience… It is obvious di ‘bredda" luv weh im do.’ Traditional entrees like jerk chicken, jerk pork, oxtail, and snapper were presented with flare and with pride. Each garnish was placed with precisions; not simply flung on the plate, smothered in onions, gravy or hidden beneath a pile of vegetables obscuring the objet de art. When somebody makes that much of an effort with your food, it makes you feel special; that you are someplace special and that you are worth the time and effort it takes to create the delectable flavor you will savor long after you’ve finished your meal. From the old-school to new school tunes playing in the background, the friendly wait and bar staff, you feel like you are hanging out in your best friend’s stylish and unpretentious basement, laughter permeates the air, good vibes a plenty, making its rounds throughout the entire place. Everybody is feeling it. Everybody is having a good time. Everything is copasetic at A Place2 Go. They wouldn’t have it any other way. They couldn’t have it any other way. Finally, let me say this: A Place 2 Go gave me one when I desperately needed it; I want to shout out the chef, the staff, the management, waiters and bartenders for their excellent service and professionalism and mostly for the Irie time. I know that they put a lot of effort into ensuring your experience is a good one that that you will come back. As a matter of fact, many of the people I talked to that night were regulars. While I’m saying this, I have to shout out to my sista girl, twin mom partna) NaughtyRas for introducing me to this lovely little get away that’s not too far away from my own backyard. Nuff respect y’hear girl? I can’t thank you enough. I plan to make that place a habit. Next time I’ve got to check out the band. Nothing much else to say but this: Make 273 North Ave, New Rochelle your Place 2 Go. You won’t be disappointed.I’ve been looking for “A Place2Go for some time now. I mean, I’ve been places, they just haven’t been “that” place. The food, the company or the ambiance wasn't what I needed it to be. A few nights ago, at a little spot in Westchester, I found all 3. At the behest of a an old young friend, I skittishly hopped on the I 95 North to New Rochelle headed towards "A Place2Go", a Jamaican infused, induced, influenced, inspired-whatever you want to call it spot that has completely shattered not only my universe but (being Jamaican I can say this) every single unsatisfactory, unfavorable, take-it-for granted preconception I've ever had regarding going out for “Jamaican” because I obnoxiously assume that I’ve had Jamaican food all the ways it can or should be done, so what’s the point? It just seemed a waste of time to me-until now. This place Effen rocks- (Let me defend the use of the word “Effen” here. This is the name of rapper 50 Cent’s new vodka and I thought his word of the Swedish word for “smooth” was pretty clever. Also, I’m dying to try the cucumber vodka but none of my local “wine and spirit” shops carry it—wink, wink; nudge, nudge), from its tuff cocktails, like the tropical Long Island Iced Tea Honestly, this is the best Long Island Iced Tea I’ve ever had. Usually they are a mish-mash, hodge-podge of hard liquors that are a bit too harsh for my palette and which I drink if I’m on a limited budget and need something that’ll kick in hard and last. This Long Island was perfectly balanced, without the harshness and believe me, it lasted. It was as smooth as fruit punch, and it’s one of those drinks that sneak up on you. I easily could have had more until after a few sips in I felt the kick in the ass that reminded me I was driving and chilled. As soon as I get someone to be the designated driver, I’m going back for more. The calamari I ordered was fried to perfection and my home girl’s fried chicken wings-were too; cooked perfectly all the way through and not-greasy at all. My issue with wings is that they are either fried nicely on the outside, but the inside could do with a lot more cooking or the inside is cooked but the skin isn’t crispy enough. By the way-I’m not even a wing person, but I ended up finishing hers. Oh! And can I say that the side of coleslaw was as gorgeous a garnish on the side as it was tasty? And I liked that my calamari was a top a bed of my favorite green: baby arugula, which is not something I usually find at my around the way-Jamaican joints. Needless to say, I ordered some more wings: Buffalo and Jerk-to go. Actually, if I could, I would have ordered every single appetizer on the menu: pepper shrimp, deep fried jerk chicken balls, crab cakes, codfish cakes…and let me tell you that even though there’s nothing extraordinary-sounding about the dishes I’ve described, you had to see them to believe what I’m telling you. You hear me? I witnessed them. I also had an opportunity to talk to the chef, and that brother's enthusiasm for not only preparing tantalizing twists on classic Jamaican cuisine, but his understanding of the importance of visually stimulating food is evident in every single plate that is served. Each item brought out of the kitchen was a colorful feast for the eyes; inviting you to taste and see; to experience… It is obvious di ‘bredda" luv weh im do.’ Traditional entrees like jerk chicken, jerk pork, oxtail, and snapper were presented with flare and with pride. Each garnish was placed with precisions; not simply flung on the plate, smothered in onions, gravy or hidden beneath a pile of vegetables obscuring the objet de art. When somebody makes that much of an effort with your food, it makes you feel special; that you are someplace special and that you are worth the time and effort it takes to create the delectable flavor you will savor long after you’ve finished your meal. From the old-school to new school tunes playing in the background, the friendly wait and bar staff, you feel like you are hanging out in your best friend’s stylish and unpretentious basement, laughter permeates the air, good vibes a plenty, making its rounds throughout the entire place. Everybody is feeling it. Everybody is having a good time. Everything is copasetic at A Place2 Go. They wouldn’t have it any other way. They couldn’t have it any other way. Finally, let me say this: A Place 2 Go gave me one when I desperately needed it; I want to shout out the chef, the staff, the management, waiters and bartenders for their excellent service and professionalism and mostly for the Irie time. I know that they put a lot of effort into ensuring your experience is a good one that that you will come back. As a matter of fact, many of the people I talked to that night were regulars. While I’m saying this, I have to shout out to my sista girl, twin mom partna) NaughtyRas for introducing me to this lovely little get away that’s not too far away from my own backyard. Nuff respect y’hear girl? I can’t thank you enough. I plan to make that place a habit. Next time I’ve got to check out the band. Nothing much else to say but this: Make 273 North Ave, New Rochelle your Place 2 Go. You won’t be disappointed.
A Place2Go