This marked the first time he had worn a suit in years. He found it uncomfortable and unflattering, somewhat like his relationship with his father. He found the comparison to be particularly fitting when considering that he was only wearing the "polyester identity repressor" at his father's request.
He walked down the hallway, obvious discomfort marring what otherwise might have been a dapper outfit and handsome face, and tried to enjoy the rather distinct clack of his shoes on the hardwood. (It was a lovely sound that reminded him of enthusiastic lip-syncing, red pumps, and companionable silences.)
He reached the door to his father study, cursed whatever stork misread the address given to him as a babe- a quiet ritual that preceded every entry into this office- and crossed the threshold. His father sat in a leather chair, reading the paper, and smoking a cigar. (Having come from a middle-class family, his father's only understanding of how properly to convey innate pretentiousness came from films- please forgive the cliched choice of snob expression on his part. He has yet to finish watching them all.)
His father chose not look away from the paper and assess the outfit when his son approached, choosing instead to compliment the sound of his entrance.
"Now that is the way a true gentleman sounds as he enters a room. Clear, strong footsteps."
The young disgruntled son smiled at the comment for he sounded just a strong and clear when he wore pumps and a well-trimmed dress. Knowing that vocalizing such an observation would in no way be welcome, he kept his silence. (His father had gotten far enough in his cinematic studies to know cross-dressing was a no-no in terms of acceptable upper class behavior.)
The boy sighed, stared down at the brown dress shoes, willing them to the reds pumps awaiting his return at his closet door.

I received an email today from Martin Weaver, a student at Yale, encouraging me to attend.  It was quite a long email, but this paragraph jumped off the page: 

"I should probably tell you a little bit about myself. When I was saw you in the list I got so excited, I'm also half African-American and half Eastern European, my father is Christian and my mother is Jewish! Needless to say, my childhood was filled with surprises. On top of that, I grew up in Philadelphia, PA too, and went to Quaker school for two years, but I moved to Sicklerville, NJ and attended a public school there."

His identity was so similar to mine that I actually asked my mom if I had an older brother that I didn't know about.

I don't, but nonetheless, it was surprising.  

    Once upon a time in a far away land called Northeast Philly, a young family sat in the basement of their relative's home waiting for a speech to come from their leader, Mom. Mom was a complex creature, an incredibly emotional person and you had to be careful what you said to her and how you reacted to her news. She saw everything and she overreacted to everything. So, the three minions sat in patience waiting for whatever life-changing thing was going to happen this time. The eldest minion had an idea, but refused to believe that it could possibly be the reason they were gathered there. And then, Mom let the bomb drop; a baby was to be born. And Mom watched each of the minions as they rejoiced of the creature to become part of their village. And each of the minions did rejoice, on the outside.
No one's quite sure whether the youngest minions were earnest in their rejoicing or not, but some of us understand that the eldest minion was shaken to her very core about the news. If not for the fact that Mom would surely be exceedingly upset if her favorite minion began to cry, she would have been curled up and sibling against the cold, hard ground. But, every one knows that your leader comes first, always. And if rejoicing meant leaving a smile on Mom's face, then that was what her minions would do.

Yesterday was my Mom's birthday so my Aunt took us out to eat at the Cheese Cake Factory. This was my favorite dish... Oreo Cheesecake!

My first attempt at cooking.

Basketball Star. Wrong Crowd. R.I.P. Dom.

Regardless of all the crap I have been through in my high school career because of the school district. I love them deep down inside, and here is why.

You can't even imagine the things that I've seen. A cat climbed up the side of my house and ate my window plant!. I once witnessed a petite Chinese florist tackle a homeless man who stole a bouquet! The Kool-Aid man broke my chimney! Paula Deen used Pam. This is the best I can do on short notice. The rest are exclusively about cats and I don't want to get repetitive.