Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Not the one

I recently made a difficult decision. When my kids' father calls, he gets sent directly to voice mail. I'm sure some may dismiss me as bitter baby mama, but that matters not to me.

I've grown weary of the Wack-a-Mole style of fathering he seems to have adopted. Whenever he decided he didn't want to contribute financially, or didn't want to be a parent during that time, he would be ghost. And for a long time, I tolerated it. When he would reappear, it would be as though nothing happened. It's been like this for almost seven years. And for almost seven years, I've tolerated it. He has not sent a dime to them since March of 2007. He's never sent them a pair of long underwear, boots, pencils for school, or done anything that shows he gives a damn.

Saturday, he called for the first time in two weeks. Now, one could argue that he's been busy. Well, if that were so, that means he's working, so he could send them provisions. One could argue that he has not been working. Well, if that were so, that means he has time, so he can call more regularly. Either way, it doesn't add up, so his ass went to voice mail.

So I made a judgment call. I am not going to act like his deadbeatism is something that will pass, and I will suffer it for the sake of some mythical benefit to my kids. The rollercoaster fucks them up. Everytime he disappears, my kids act a fool. And almost on schedule, when they're settled into their routine, he pops back up again. That's just not something I'm going to stand for. I can't in good conscience allow it.

If my kids were to come to me about a friend who only had time for them when it was convenient, or they had nothing better to do, I would tell them they need a new friend. Now, as he is their father, I can't exactly tell them that; but I refuse to treat him as though his sperm dontation gives him free reign to mishandle them as he sees fit. So, as far as I'm concerned, my kids call the shots. If they so happen to ask to talk to him, they are free to call. Two weeks and counting and they haven't asked for him yet. Sad.

Friday, January 18, 2008

"Fi Fie Fo Figga" Part Deux!

I'm STILL fired up ya'll!! But I feel that I owe you an explanation why.

In addition to the inaction of our Black "leaders" and "voices," and piss poor job of spin that others have attempted, a young black woman got on the radio a week or so ago, and fixed her ghetto ass mouth to say that Obama should stop trying to run for President and be Clinton's VP. "BITCH is you smokin reefer?!" (c) Kanye West. When they went on to ask her why, she said, "Iono...he just...I mean...um..." then proceeded to recite some innacurate drivel that shows she was about as politically educated as Jenna Jameson is a virgin.

I am incensed by the fact that we see the biased images in the media day after day, and yet we believe that the media will give Obama a fair shake. I am INCENSED by the fact that Bob Johnson had the absolute gall to try and speak negatively about a brother who is truly trying to effect change. I am incensed by the fact that Al Sharpton seems to have taken a "Well, yall muhfukkas ain't vote for me, I ain't supporting his ass neevah!" THE FIRST BLACK PRESIDENT CAN NOT HAVE A PERM YA SELF SERVING BASTARD! And what incenses me more than anything? In all of this, who agrees with me? FUCKING OPRAH!! Has the world really come to this? Me and Oprah are on the same page? Get the hell outta here!

As I said yesterday, no matter what you think of her (and for the record, I do not dislike Hillary) she KNOWS this politics shit. Go to www.HillaryClinton.com. Notice anything? No? Not even the curiously absent "Rodham?" It doesn't even appear in her bio, except when referencing her father (though I half expected to read "Hugh Father-In-Law-to-Bill-Clinton"). Additionally, where's the lezzie haircut that she had been sporting before? (Personally, I was glad when she got rid of those hairbands, but that's neither here nor there.) Do you find it a mere coincidence that she started with the Obama attacks almost immediately after she got shut down on her national healthcare joint.

I'm not saying that any old Joe who runs for President should be supported by us just because he has a black face. However, I dare one person to highlight how Obama is "any old Joe." Maybe if Arsenio comes back, he can jump on his show and do some niggerish shit. Maybe folks will like him then.

* Also brought to you by Getyoshitryte Productions

Thursday, January 17, 2008

"Fi Fie Fo Figga, I Can't Stand a Nigga" (c) Chris Rock

You know what grinds my gears? NIGGAS! Yes, niggas. I am vaguely annoyed with the number of prominent black voices that seem to go out of their way to not endorse Barack Obama. I think voting is a personal thing, and if you want to know when to hold 'em and know when to fold 'em" when it comes to who garners your support, more power to you. However, it admittedly makes their cries for increases in black progress ring a little hollow. Al Sharpton, Tavis Smiley, Michael Baisden all fall into this category. This doesn't, however, make them niggas. It just makes me believe that I was right to view them as questionable.

That being said: Bob Johnson - YOUSE A SUPANIGGA! I will not bother to further print his original ignorant statement, nor his equally ignorant and lying "retraction." But I will say this: exactly what have YOU done for the black community Mr. Johnson? Let's flip it despite being a product of a single parent family AND making damaging mistakes in his youth, he went on to position himself as the first black man to have a true shot at becoming President. And as he was positioning himself to make this a reality, you were. . .? Oh yeah, perpetuating the glorification of gangster culture, drug abuse, and bringing us BET uncut. I'm also fairly certain you weren't a teenager when you did this. My math may be rusty, but I'm certain you were comfortably in your fifties.

I want to say this to my black folks: It's okay to support Obama. You don't have to apologize for it. For those of you who will say that I like him because he's black, allow me to quote Bernie Mac: "You muthafuckin right." He is black, he is the product of a single parent home, graduated from one of the most respected Universities in the country, IS MARRIED TO A BLACK WOMAN, IS A BLACK FATHER, and I agree with his politics. And I'll keep it real: if it's a contest between a black man and a white woman, I'LL CHOOSE A BLACK MAN EVERY DAY OF THE WEEK AND TWICE ON SUNDAYS. And I'm going to go so far as to say that not enough black people will do that. If it's a beauty contest, and the only contests are Buster Douglas and that light eyed white woman in the Victoria's Secret catalogue, Buster will be a sash wearing so-and-so, and Leon Spinks will be the first runner up. And I'll do it because not enough of us are willing to stand up FOR us.

As far as the Clintons go, I appreciate the fact that black folks came up during the Clinton administration, but let's not be fooled: I don't know of anyone who voted the "Clinton/Clinton" ticket. A friend reminded me of a Chris Rock quote, "If my wife gets up here and starts telling jokes, you're gonna want your money back." I'm not saying that she's automatically UNqualified, but as I said before Bill Clinton sperm does not automatically make you a qualified President.

I've seen a lot of accusations of Obama running the "race" ticket. Where? Despite ALL that has been said, show me ONE INSTANCE where he has displayed "Angry/Paranoid Blackmanism." The Clintons know this politics shit backward and forward. So do their people. Don't think for one moment that the things that have gone on are "slip ups." Don't think for one moment that what Bob Johnson said was him being accidentally overzealous. It's bait. Bait that Obama has YET to take, and yet, far too many people, black and white, have been willing to believe what's been said. We ceaselessly complain about black misrepresentation in the media, and yet, believe that everything about the first black man with a valid shot at the Presidency is going to get a fair shake. We are not that naive. A long time ago, I read the first book in the Left Behind series. In it, the villian shot a man in a room full of people. He then turned to that same room full of people, mentioned the tragedy of that man shooting himself, and they accepted it as gospel.

And I would like to dispel, once and for all, Clinton as the first black president. Give me a reasonable explanation as to why 800,000 Africans in Rwanda were killed and "our" President did NOTHING (besides the explanation that white people are already running all things financial in Africa), then don't come to me with that shit. Or explain why during his administration, while waging the war on drugs, people of color were disproportionately receiving harsher sentences than their white counterparts (other than prison labor is legalized slavery), I would appreciate that as well. Until then, don't come to me with that weak shit.

I'm sure I have more ranting, but it's quittin time.

*Brought to you by Getyoshitryte Productions

Saturday, January 12, 2008

Blogging to Exhale

I'm posting from my BlackBerry, so excuse the typos. I've been attempting to get back into my more organic writing, so I broke out the old composition notebook and started banging out some work.I had some success yesterday, which made me happy. Today, it was a little harder to "flow." I didn't let it stop me, of course, but it was slightly distressing.

One of my favorite CDs is Amel Larrieux's "Morning." Aside from the fact that I have always found her a wonderful talent, the CD came at a very timely point in my life. It wasn't supposed to be my CD. The guy I was dating at the time mentioned that he wanted it, and I bought it for him for his birthday. He kind of dumped me before I had the chance to give it to him, so the CD was mine.

I have this habit where I inadvertently ignore the last song on a CD, particularly when there are quite a few songs that I love ahead of it. So this week, I really listened to the final song on Amel's CD, "Great Mountain of When."

I'm going through some sort of crisis, where I suddenly feel unfulfilled and empty. I believe "lost" is the correct word. Of all the things in my life that I lacked, direction was never one of them.

I acknowledge that I'm not driven in the traditional sense; I'm not ascending the corporate ladder, and such. But I have always handled my business. I've always excelled at my job and enjoyed what I did. I've always fed my literary hunger and never have up on my writing. So this toilet spiral thing that I'm feeling is scaring me shitless.

I'm beginning to feel that, by not taking my writing more seriously, I've cheated myself. My writing, my art, is my heart. As Erykah Badu said, "I'm an artist, and I'm sensitive about my shit." My reasons for not taking my writing to the next level are tantamount to a commitmentphobe halting a relationship. "What if it doesn't work out?"

Getting back to my point, in her song, Amel says:

"Plotting the course
While I'm stick at the bend
Penchant for rocky terrains and dead ends
Wind myself up just to unravel into
A great mountain of when

Predicting a loss
Before I begin
So it don't cut too deep when I don't win
I hate it when I'm right
I'd rather be wrong
I'd rather be wrong..."

I really have to put on my big girl drawers and deal with it.

Wednesday, January 09, 2008

This is for your own safety

I'm about to discuss some real personal shit, which may or may not be for the faint of heart. Now, don't get yourself hyped up, because it may not be that exciting. I'm not even completely sure what I'm going to say here. But, at least you can say you've been warned.

A week or two ago, I was talking to my pops. In the past year, I've added roughly 20 pounds to my already overburdened frame. As it is the beginning of the year, there are a host of weight loss programs trying to get you down with their shit, and I was politicking with him over some choices. Somehow, we got into how I just love food -- arguably a trait that I inherited from him. He then said, "Well, that's understandable. What's probably going on is that you're using food as a companion."

*SCREEEEEEEEEEEEECH* Did my pops just say that I'm not getting any dick, so I've made pie my lover? You fanny pack wearing mutha...

In the two years that I've lived here, I haven't dated much. Admittedly, though I lacked quantity, the quality was nice. We're talking late 20s/early 30s, so that's how it should be anyway.

Let me go on record as saying that (partially due to circumstance, dating out of my area code and such) I have more fingers and toes than I have had sexual encounters in the last two years. It's not surprising. I work, I have kids, I write, I spend time plotting and scheming my way to greatness, I don't go out much. At the present time, I'm still dealing with whatever feelings I have for El Chupacabra Hunter. So I haven't always had the time, and more recently, the inclination to be involved with anyone on that level. I simply take matters into my own hands, as it were.

But I think I've lost my mojo.

Make no mistake, extra poundage and all, I still have "it." Men dig me. If I were a lesbian, I'd be backstroking in hoes. I've got swagger because, though I can use improvement, I like what I see in the mirror. I fucks with me. That's not the issue.

Recently, more times than I care to count, while attempting to ascend Mt. St. Mamba, and . . . remember that time in Spiderman 2, when he was sailing through the sky, then suddenly, he couldn't get his web off? Yeeeeeaaaaahhhh . . .




For the record, me, my pieces, parts, and "trusty friend" are like *crossing fingers* THIS son! This is me baby! It's win-win. I don't have to finesse my own ass, I don't need to consult Google maps for directions, I don't have to ask myself if I had a good time. YOU DAMNED RIGHT I HAD A GOOD TIME. Therefore, this new situation is quite disturbing. A couple of times, it has ended with me throwing up my hands in disgust and saying, "This is some old bullshit!"

I've tried switching up the game - porn, "mood lighting," throwing on sandals and capris and reciting bad poetry - yet the only thing missing is the Family Feud buzzer sound.

This is a major issue for me people. And do not think for one moment that this has not been reflected in my disposition. Grizzly came around here talking that dumb shit, and even his socially inept ass looked at my face and realized that he'd better break out. I'm screaming on old folks in traffic, I almost punched a cashier, and I asked a stupid customer service rep if her parents were siblings.

I feel compelled to state for the record that I'm not peddling my ass on the net, nor am I looking for offers. I'm really beyond the random hook-up/maintenance thing. I know that this is the symptom, and not the problem, but getting to the root of this problem is crucial. I considered titling this blog "The Audacity of Busting a Nut," but I don't want no beef with Obama. Therefore, I'll just close with a little of Jill Scott's "Celibacy Blues."

This here celibacy thing
Lawd, just got something over me
Like an addict, I could really use a thing
You know what I'm talking about
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

It's been hard to sleep at night
And ying ying ying ying just ain't
Scratching it right
I get some new batteries almost every night
Lawd,this here celibacy thing

The stresses of this world
You know how they come down on a girl
I'm trying to clear my mind
But all I seem to find
Is this gangsta,gangsta,type of need

People say mind over matter
But,I don't mind what they say
And it don't matter
This here celibacy thing
Is working on me...

Tuesday, January 08, 2008

Celebrity Hodge Podge and Other Stuff

Beyonce is a beautiful woman. She's got a dynamite body. Her singing voice is that of the angels. So can someone please tell me what the fuck happens when she starts talking? I know I wasn't the only one who thought, "If this girl is the 'leader' of the group, why is Kelly doing all the talking." Uh...we found out. In and of itself, big damn deal. Nobody's perfect. She can't enunciate. But how in the hell does she keep getting gigs as a spokesperson? Right now, she's got L'Oreal, DirecTV, and American Express. I won't count the fragrance, because she's singing, and she can do the hell out of that. I'm taking bets on how many takes she had to run through before she properly pronounced "infallible." Sometimes she talks and I can't help but think, "Is this heffa about to rob me?" I'm not hating the player, but I'm definitely questioning the game.

Maybe if Reggie Bush would have pulled himself from betwixt the rump cheeks of Kim Kardashian, the Saints could have gone to the damned playoffs. That thing is clearly a distraction.

I saw a picture of Sean "Puffy" Combs' (that Negro will ALWAYS be Puffy to me) twin girls. They are quite adorable. However, it would seem they eat other babies. Great day in the morning they're fluffy. Let me say that the sight of them in cheetah print light years beyond country. But what do you expect when they're mother is the Bamma Drag Queen of the Undead. (Say what you will about Puffy, I am hard pressed to believe that he sanctioned country ass cheetah print on toddlers.)

I enjoy cooking shows. I really like Paula Deen, even though she scares me sometimes. Adding short ribs to french onion soup was really a bit much for me. I like that she's somewhat off the beaten path, and her meals are doable. Doable and drenched in butter. I believe that simply watching her show raises your cholesterol.

On the opposite end of the spectrum - who in the hell did Rachel Ray blow to get a job? (A friend relayed a funny story about a guy not wanting a BJ from Rachel Ray because she'd probably talk through the whole thing.) I understand the whole "meals for everywoman" mentality, because not every woman is a cook. But is this bitch really getting paid for showing me how to warm up a Hot Pocket?

When I first moved to Maryland, I documented on this very blog my hatred for Ikea. I believe I named it "Satan's Workshop" or something of the sort. Quite frankly, furnishing your house with them can be hellacious. But there is no denying that their annual winter sale commercial is entirely off the chain. The way she "runs" is priceless, and her husband looked like he was was about to shit his pants.

Does consuming "the sacrament" of Bill Clinton make one an experienced politician? If so, shouldn't that fat pasty bitch from back in the day be running for mayor? (For the life of me, I can't remember her name...Monica something? Monica Selles keeps popping up, but I know that's the tennis chick.)

Tuesday, January 01, 2008

Happy New Year Bitches!

The shit really has to stop. Will someone please give me the number to elderly and infirm abuse services or whatever agency applies? Because if I see these New Years Eve folks pimp out Dick Clark's ass one mo' gin, it's gonna be a misunderstanding. It was all good until he got excited and started talking fast. I will quote my aunt from Plaquemines Parish who would say, "Y'all need ta leave him set where he at."

I did find it funny when that Chuck Wagon Stew eating brawd said that her New Year's Resolution waws to not date ugly guys. WTF? I was sitting there asking, "This heffa is getting dates?!"

I guess I believe more in goals that resolutions. So here are a few personal reminders and goals for 2008:

My children are my greatest assets, loves, adventures and reflections.

To try and live my life according to what I believe is true and right.

Love is perfect; people are not. We will be disappointed by the people we love and will will disappoint those who love us. Shortcomings don't make us any less worthy.

Every person has a story. If I can remember that, I will be more inclined towards understanding rather than harsh judgment.

"Seconds" are not a necessary part of a meal, pie is not a food group and pilates is not of the devil.

Continuing to be unabashedly Breez, Black Mamba, Lady Sol and Melanie seems to suit me just fine, so I think I'll stick with that script.

Happy 2008, people!!!