Highly Textured

A lot of us watch the First Lady like a hawk, and some instinctively so, since we work in the business of watching people. But somehow, in the all the hubbub over clothes and royal protocol, we missed this when the Obamas were in London over a month ago.



Post your reactions below.

Omigosh, loves! The premiere of Obsessed was incredible! I had such a good time in New York, even if the trip was shorter than I would have liked. To give you a quick run-down...

The hotel: Swanky.

The eats: Delish!

The celeb-spotting: Insane! (I hate acting like groupie, but once I saw Michael Ealy and *gasp* *faint* *swoon* Idris Elba... it was a wrap.)

(Speaking of Idris...I wonder how the Tall Chocolate Strawberry feels about curly hair... hmmm....)

And the movie: Actually pretty good! No one believes me, but we came away mostly satisfied and pretty friggin' entertained. I really think the studio somehow picked the dullest parts of the movie to put in the trailer -- maybe to lower expectations -- but the flick turned out to be pretty nice.

OH! And the queen, the one, the only Beyonce?

Fab. U. Friggin'. Lous.

But you all know how I feel. The woman can STILL do no wrong by me.

A few pics below!

Getting ready in the hotel

On the (little) red carpet... after the movie....

You see that? That fine chocolate specimen to the right? That, my friends, is the prototype. Yes MA'AM.

Oh, and I have to give a disclaimer... I've worked in radio for years and met a fair share of celebs and cool people. Decorum is the name of the game, and I was taught to be cool, unfazed, and never, EVER gush.

But gosh... I sure was gushing this time around. HARD.

So please excuse me while I get all this excitement out of my system. It's such a foreign feeling, and yet it's happening so naturally! Lol. I'm going just bear with myself and ride it out. And I'll be back to my regular blogging schedule sooner than you can say Idris.

Oooh... Idris....

What do Beyonce and I have in common (aside from both, at one point, rocking curly, fire-red hair)?


We're both going to be in New York tomorrow for the premiere of her movie Obsessed! Woot woot!

Yeah, so I definitely won this random contest at a random party last week (by doing the "Single Ladies" dance of all things... shameless, I know), and now me and my "fake wifey" Lynnette are heading up to Manhattan to see the premiere screening tomorrow.

Color me excited. It's the first time I've won anything since I scored free tickets to Fern Gully when I was a kid. (By the way, I never really enjoyed that movie. Too serious to be a cartoon to me.)

Part of the package includes a stay at the Hudson Hotel, which my friend Nadea tells me is super swanky. (She's tagging along so she can go to the bar.) The only unfortunate thing is that I have to cut the three-day trip in half, since both Lynnette and I have work obligations this week. (Drats!) However, I fully intend to enjoy my time in New York, regardless of how abbreviated it is this time around.

I kinda want to get glammed up, but I've never done a New York premiere before. I'm just a lil' old news producer in D.C., so this will be a whole new scene for me. What's the protocol here? O.M.O., Wes... could you ladies help me out? :o)

My mind is definitely racing, trying to figure this all out before we leave Washington this evening. But please believe I'll be snapping pics and taking photos. I might not be around the blog till I get back, but I will be updating on Twitter. Follow me, baby. :o)

Those of you who follow me on Twitter and Facebook (all three of you) wanted to know what happened to my poor Lola. So here's the story:

Tuesday is my off day, and as I'm wont to do, I spent the morning snoring loudly on the couch. Until my roomate came in and woke me up.

"Uh, Veronica," she said tentatively. "I found your mirror on the ground."

I stirred a bit and then looked up.

Kelly was holding the casing to my driver's side mirror in her hand.

My first words of the morning: "Why the hell is my mirror inside the house?"

Kelly explained. "I dunno. I went outside and saw it on the ground. Someone must've knocked it off in the middle of the night."

"Is there a note?" Common etiquette tells me someone would have left a note.

Kelly went back outside to check, and then returned. "No. No note."

...

What the HELL man?! Seriously? Who knocks off a person's mirror and keeps it moving? And how do you even do it when my car is parked so close to the curb?!

At this point, I'm only half-awake but fully pissed. Kelly gingerly set the mirror casing down on the floor in front of me and left to go to class -- which she was on her way to before she saw the remains of my car mirror outside.

A few hours later, after preparing myself to get upset all over again, I went outside to see what happened to my precious car.

I found this.



*sigh*

But you know what's worse...?

Do you see those slightly darker spots on the mirror? The sort-of splatter in the lower corner?

That was blood, before it was washed away by the rain.

Yes. There was blood on my car.

WHAT THE #%&@ HAPPENED TO MY CAR?!

To make it even more maddening, there was no other damage to any part of the car other than the mirror. No scratches, no dents. Just a splattering of blood and an obliterated sideview mirror.

My car was a crime scene. And I had no way of piecing together what exactly the crime was.

I was so pissed, I just went back into the house and sat down. Quietly.

* * *

I've knocked off a car mirror before. Lola's passenger's side mirror, in fact, not long after I drove her off the dealer's lot. (She's my first car, and I have a theory about people and their "firsts" -- invariably, they find some way to eff them up.) When I sought out a junkyard to replace the broken part, I came back with a white mirror that stood in stark contrast with my aqua blue car. Now here I was again, placing an order for a mirror whose color I wouldn't know until I arrived at the shop.

I shook my head in shame. Lola was about to have two mismatched mirrors. My baby was going to look so bootleg.

So imagine my surprise when, after arriving at the junkyard, I'm handed a mirror that's the same, exact color as my Lola. I'm especially thrilled because Lola's paint is a discontinued hue. What are the odds?

"Sweet!" I exclaim to no one in particular. "It's the same color as my car!"

I was hype. But for some reason, no one else in the shop seemed to care.

*

Fifteen minutes and 50 bucks later, Lola is refurbished with a new/old mirror. I thank the friendly mechanic who so quickly fixed up my baby, and drive off the lot.

"You're like new again!" I say to the steering wheel. Then I look over to the unpainted mirror.

"Well... almost...."

I don't want to paint myself as a saint or anything, but one thing I do pride myself on is actively affirming people. Cute hairstyle? I'll tell you. Banging earrings? I ask where you got them from. Hot shoes? I'll give you two snaps and a twist.

I do it mostly because I know how uplifting it feels to get a compliment from another woman (or, in the very best-case scenario, a gay man). But I also do it because I've noticed, as illustrated by makeup artist Todra Payne, we hate on each other waaaay too much.

Todra describes the time she spent a day with a gorgeous model with striking features -- and the women that very openly insulted her as they made their way through a department store.

"Well damn," I thought. "These chicks didn't have anything nice to say?" It was sad, really.

In college, I used to get teased for my optimism. "You just have to say something good about everyone, don't you, Veronica?" Being snarky and critical was in, and I, feeling persecuted, would shut up and sheepishly remove myself from the discussion. But now when I think about how much sneering, smearing and snickering we do as women, and how uncomfortable it still makes me feel, I figure it's only right to say something good. Shoot, someone needs to.

Tearing other folks down just has never been my style. And even if I may think evil thoughts (I'm no saint, remember?), I try not to speak them, because chances that they'll come right back at me, threefold. But more importantly than all of that -- there's a genuine joy in giving another woman a genuine compliment. And I don't think we do it enough.

And to that end, friends, I challenge you... if you don't do it already, this week, try giving someone at least one compliment a day. It could be your mom, your roommate, or even woman you've never even met as you pass her on the street. Whoever it is, simply make sure you affirm something that you find absolutely fly about them -- and make sure it's genuine too.

Oh, and if you feel like being nice just isn't your cup of tea, that's cool. Just remember...

Hating her won't make you more pretty.

Y'all, I am SO proud of myself!

On Monday, after coming home from the grocery store, I realized that my purchases often -- if not always -- go unused. I rely on delis, take-outs and drive-thrus so much that I've ended up with a stockpile of food in my freezer, refrigerator and pantry. (Which would come in handy if, say, a freak snowstorm hits DC with 15 feet of snow... but yeah. Unlikely.) So this week, I resolved to finally use all this food I have, and cook a meal every day in my very own kitchen, while taking the leftovers for lunch.

Now it's Friday and I can fully say that it's been a success! (Granted, I work Wednesday through Sunday, but I cooked on Monday and Tuesday too, so that counts.) And in the span of one short week, I've become absolutely thrilled about cooking again! (The dishes, not so much... but that's minor.)

My choices ranged from the trusted standbys (baked tilapia with salad), to the gourmet (grilled lemon butter chicken with gnocchi in a white cream sauce), to the simple and comforting (grilled cheese and veggie soup.)

Seriously, I'm looking at that list and having a hard time believing that's what I ate this week. Me, who subsists of off usually hamburgers, chicken nuggets and meatball subs, with the occasional fried rice from my favorite Thai joint.

I know, I know. Shame. Shame on me.

But this is change I can believe in. Whereas I used to look at cooking as a chore, now I spend a good amount of each day pondering over what I'll whip up in my kitchen that night. It's a fun creative process. It's even funner now (yes, I said "funner"), since I stumbled on this great blog called Flavor Diva. (Couscous... I'm comin' for ya.) And the suggestions on a recent post by Afrobella provide even more help. On top of that, it's comforting knowing where my food is coming from, how healthy it is and how well it was made.

Suffice it to say, I'm excited.

Now... where's my cutting board...?