Nonsense, Foolishness, and a Sprinkling of Whatnot

See that pic? That is my daughter doing a rope climb. She is taking "girl power" to new heights. Yay for my little athlete!

When did the by-laws of crackheadiquette dictate that after an all day crack binge, youo should then plow your Volvo into a crowd of 40+ individuals at a speed of 70 mph? However, this leads to an even bigger question? When did crackheads come up and start getting Volvos? What happened to the Nova with the primer colored door? Actually, shouldn't she have sold that by now? *shrug* Go figure.

What the HELL is wrong with Akon? First he humped some girl across the stage, then he threw somebody else into the audience. I get all of those children mixed up anyway? Is he the one that's "in love with a stripper?" You don't know either? Oh well.

Ill thought out headlines are quite comical. For example, yesterday on Yahoo news, I read the headline, "Blindness cure in sight?" Really?

Speaking of blindness, there's this documentary being released called "Crazy Love." In 1959, at the dawn of the age of Barbie, Burton was a dumpy lawyer who was in love with Linda. Correction, Burt was OBSESSED with Linda. Linda...well, Linda figured Burt (and his money) were okay. What Linda didn't know that Burt was married, with a kid, and in the midst of legal woes. So she dumped him. He hired someone to throw lye in her face, blinding her. After he was released from his fourteen year sentence, he proposed marriage. And she accepted. You can read more about it here. I just...wow.

So evidently Paris Hilton was released from jail. Am I the only person that doesn't care? Nor do I care about Brangelina, or Jessica Simpson and John Mayer, or any of that other horseshit that TMZ and Mediatakeout loves to inundate us with. Really, people need to fucking read books more. And no, I don't mean wack ass Zane. (Her stuff is really puke-a-tronic people.)

I really hate boob-crack sweat. It's lousy. It just gives you an uneasy feeling all day long.

Last night, we were sitting down watching television, and my son started poking my arm, looking in my ear, digging in my fro, etc. He's an eight year old boy, and I know that if there's one thing eight year old boys love to do, it's aggravate their mothers. I let him slide...for a WHILE. Then finally, I looked at him and asked what the hell he was doing. He held one finger in the "just a minute motion," while poking my arm with the other. He finally exclaimed, "FOUND IT!" It seems he was searching for my inner M&M. I'm not sure how I feel about that, but I know there's a therapy session coming down the pike.

I have to find some activities for the two of them this summer. My sister is still here, and she's going to be taking care of them while I'm at work until they go to Louisiana. I had to rule out "Fun with Tasers," "Manhole Speulunking" and "Homeless Skateboard Challenge" a la Eric Cartman. So I'm thinking that they will know the Smithsonian Museums like the back of their hand before the go home for a visit.

Ever feel like...

this?




Me too.

Flabbergasted

This morning, I witnessed some HORRIFIC THINGS. And the only word I can use to describe those things is...well...nothing. Because I am FLABBERGASTED.

I make no bones about my weight problem. Now, I'm not going to run around hating myself. But as my man Beanie so eloquently phrased it, "that's not cool to be." Let's deal with the reality: being overweight puts excess pressure on your joints; it zaps your energy level; it is a health NIGHTMARE (high blood pressure, high cholesterol, diabetes, poor circulation due to inactivity).

Sisters, it is very easy, when you're gasping just to get the basics in a class full of hardbodies barely out of their teens, to give up. It is easy to give up because, as my favorite Aries Woman says, "our men tell us we look fine [something I will address soon] and we love fried chicken." I will be the first woman to attest to the fact that I KNOW life happens. I know what it's like to go from being very active, to sedentary, bored, and eating every waking moment. I also know that there are sisters out there who are truly trying. Keep your heads up sisters.

Sex appeal is relative, and I'll never begrudge a woman her swagger (because it is so necessary). But let's exercise logic for a minute: If you were to see a picture of an anorexic Barbie doll, the first thing out of most of our mouths would be "unhealthy." And you would be right. It is extreme and it is unhealthy. It's a medical condition. Let's take that same line of reasoning to the other spectrum. Edematous feet and bloated facial features are also extreme and unhealthy. Again, it's a medical condition. Medical conditions are not sexy. The contradiction is that your average overweight black woman, or BBW, cares about her appearance. No matter what, we're still black women, and we LOVE to look good.

Color me puzzled when I have a conversation with a woman that spends a large part of her salary on weekly trips to the hair and nail salon, eats fast food on a daily (if not twice daily) basis, but will balk at the cost of fresh vegetables and lean meats. An inexpensive pedicure is $30. A manicure, without acrylic is $10. Eyebrow waxing is $10. Your average hair salon trip is anywhere from $75 to $100 on a good day. I'm not even touching on cosmetics, shoes, intimate apparel. Believe it or not, you could make healthier purchases AND purchase a cookbook with tasty, nutritious menu selections for less than half that.

Now, on to the topic of men. There are men in this world who have a genuine affinity for women, based on who they are, rather than them fitting into one specific body type. There are men that do like women with extra meat on their bones, and who are we to say whether they are right or wrong? HOWEVER, we don't typically hear about them, because they're minding their own business, with little to no pomp and circumstance. The men that make the most noise are the "BBW Lovers." They love BBWs so much, that they juggle four or five of them at the same time.

Enter the drama; the blog wars; the pleas for the other WOMEN (note plural) to "stop hating and let me shine blah, blah, blah." Newsflash: There is no patent on coochie. Whatever it is that you have that "keeps him coming back," evidently "she" has it too. Wake the hell up. This man is a bottom feeder. Doesn't necessarily mean that you are the bottom, sister, but you are definitely declining to reach for the top. Love yourself enough to stop sleeping with, I'm sorry, SHARING, these men that don't give a damn about you. Your spirit should really require so much more than dick and drama.

We've gotta do better sisters.

We can.

PS: If this offends you, please take that energy and rather than type a silly comment, type a meal and exercise plan. Thank you.

Mgmt

PPS: Or at least burn calories while you're shaking off my hatin' ass,

Mgmt

Been a long time, shouldn't of left you...without a dope blog to step to

I'm back to being a Celebreality junkie. As such, I LOVE this woman pictured above. She is hilarious, and just so deliciously and unapologetically HOOD! I never thought I would/could become invested in such a show, but I am rooting for her to win. I'm also watching Celebrity Fit Club, and I'm trying to figure out how Dr. Ian was planning on taking me to the French Riviera and he has a wife and a baby? I'm just saying.

Okay, yes America, Amy Winehouse can sing. But give it a rest. She has NOT reinvented soul music; nor did Joss Stone or Justin Timberlake. I'm kinda tired of seeing their white asses damn near every time I turn on VH1 Soul.

I don't know if I've ever chronicled my Comcast customer service nightmares here, but trust me, dealing with them has been, well, I'll be polite and say eventful. Finding a competent representative is like finding the good man in "The Color Purple" - it just doesn't exist. I think the issue that will go in my personal Hall of Fame (Shame?), was the tech that scheduled not one, but TWO booty calls while at my house (one of which he all but begged), then hooked up my cable improperly. If he lay's pipe like he lays cable, that would explain the young lady's reluctance.

My son asked if he can get a job when he becomes a teenager. I looked at him and realized that in the span of about six months, he has grown from chest level, to over my shoulder and two of my sisters can fit his shoes. He's lucky if I don't have his ass on Georgia and Randolph selling flowers next week.

Last week was laden with drama. Among a million different things, the baby's daddy actually threatened me. WTF? Evidently, despite the fact that he has decided to not send child support anymore, and has only talked to his children twice in the past four months, he feels that I should still go in my pockets and send the kids to visit him for the summer. Money talks and the rest is background noise. He must have been getting his braids tightened when that lesson was handed out. So now I guess he can be the next tired brawd to tell the tired story to tired hos, making me the baby mama that "don't let me see my kiiiiiiiiiiiids." Fortunately for me, I never really cared much about the stories he would tell about me. Truth always outs.

My kids are going to spend one portion of the summer here, and another portion of the summer at home. I have been coordinating with my sisters to keep them occupied. Plus, I need to get better about doing things on the weekends. I have become such a bump on the damn log. When I was in New Orleans, my neighbors would check on me periodically, because I would hibernate from Friday night until Monday morning. (Great neighbors.) I've been going to the gym lately, so I need to make use of this newfound energy.

Queen of all I Survey

I just wasn't digging my kingdom. So right before I turned 30, I started breaking the rules that stopped me from living:

• I opened myself up to seeing someone. This is a decision that, though complicated, I do not regret. He's fabulous. Even if things aren't perfect, I'm richer for having known him. Not everybody can say that. Yay me. Yay him. Yay us.
• I made a conscious decision NOT to go back to school for a while. I like my job, and my bosses are great. One day, I'll decide that I no longer want a boss, but for now, they're cool. My children need me; as much of me as they can get. School doesn't fit into that right now.
• I stopped apologizing for being Mel. I'm divorced. I'm a single parent. I'm a nerd. I'm overweight. I'm quirky. I'm not a great housekeeper. But I'm also a diamond. I'm a great friend. I'm a GREAT single parent. Yes, improvements are needed. Such is life. I'm working on it.
• I'm letting myself like what I like. Sometimes, I need a little smidge of ignorance. Or something unforgivably "white." For those who don't like it - so!

Breaking other people's rules is easy as pie. But nothing, and I do mean NOTHING, is as hard as breaking your own rules. At the end of it all, you can still smile, it was worth it.

Going through it

Having one of those days/weeks and things are not swell right now. Some things are too complicated to put into words, and all you can do is feel. Like, right now, I'm angry. Spit nails angry. And if I were to try and type, it would be incoherent babble. If I were to try to say it, it would come out in a shrill, harpy-like version of Charlie Brown Teacherspeak. I don't even know where to begin or end. I don't even know for sure if I'm angry or sad. I just feel so . . . heavy. I guess I'll soak and give myself a mani-pedi.

This shit is for the birds.

Hoes, Housewives and Everything in Between

So with spring in the air, lots of people have love, relationships and the like on their minds. But what is consistent, are the complaints. Some are valid, some are subjective, some make me wonder, "and you are allowed to navigate traffic alone?" So I am going to exercise my right, nay I say, execute my DUTY, to give my thoughts on a couple of topics that have caught my eye.

"You know that light skinned ho was a ho, right?" (c) Riley Freeman

Brothers, I know dating is hard for you. I know that between the thug, the baller and the pretty boy, it can be hard for you to get a break. BUT, sometimes *stomps feet* I say SOME-TIMES, ya do it to yasselves. I don't think they heard me congregation. I said sometimes, ya do it to yasselves. When your mama, or your daddy, or your auntie or your big brother told you that you can't turn no ho into no housewife, did you think you were the exception. Now, don't get me wrong. A lot of us *cough most of us* have pasts. So just because your girl got videotaped sucking a dick at a party in 93 does not mean that is an automatic disqualifier. Honestly, that's subjective. But if you met her 20 minutes after she finished her dick sucking gang bang video, if you're looking for wifey material, she's probably not for you. Therefore, the "women ain't shit" rhetoric that you're going to spout when you find out that she sucked off your crew - we really aren't interesting. You knew she was an Olympic dick sucker when you met her. Simmer down with the bitterness. You chose wrong. Learn from it and move on.

"Everything He Misses At Home"

So, the Soothsayer posted this blog referencing an Essence article, about why "good Black men" cheat. I saw it and couldn't resist. Besides the whole, good men do NOT cheat thing, I have to give this article a rousing "what the fuck," because it's hard to believe that women are this dumb. Imma break it down for you: If a dude is asking you to do something that he's afraid to ask his wife to do, please be aware that you should not feel complimented. If he's asking you to pick up an 8-ball bottle with your pussy, it's not because he's afraid to ask his wife: It's because he needs his healthy babies to come out of her coochie, so he's going with the next viable option, which is your dumb ass.

"Nothing Wrong With A Little Bump And Grind"

But damn, are we doing anything besides fucking in 2007? If I were to judge by people's conversations, not just on the net, but on television, in the line to get lunch, on the train, 2007 is one big orgy and EVERYONE'S INVITED. And honestly, if that's what you're about, I am really not judging. But don't lament about there being no viable relationship options. If you're sleeping with every "nice" person you meet after 3 half decent conversations, then don't be surprised when, down the line, this person is not up to par with what you would consider a compatible individual. Books, plays, politics, global warming, reparations - these are all viable discussion topics people. I believe I've quoted my homeboy before who said, "Yeah, anybody can suck a dick, but can you make gravy from scratch and discuss world events?" If you want more, offer and REQUEST more.

Sometimes love just ain't enough

Relationships don't work out sometimes. Even the coolest of folks aren't necessarily compatible on a romantic level. Therefore, this "Imma set you on fire because we're not getting along" shit has really got to stop. Women: If you constantly find yourself in a jam because you're destroying his property, fighting his other womEn (not singular), calling him thirty times a day because he's not returning your call, or driving by his place because you don't believe he is where he says he is, you need to let that go. Maybe the issue is with him; maybe it's with you. However, there is no disputing that there is an issue there. Men: If you constantly find yourself in a jam, because you can't seem to stop batting your woman in the mouth, following her around, have the irresistable urge to douse her with an accelerant and strike a match, caller her thirty times a day because she's not returning your call, or driving by her places because you don't believe that she is where she says she is, you TOO, need to let that go.

Now, I'm not saying this to hurt anybody's feelings. I'm not saying this because I know all the answers. But I am saying that we need to get over ourselves and make some improvements.

Drunk Dialing

It's 3:34 a.m. and I can not go to sleep. Putting on a good movie (which oddly has a calming effect at night) didn't work for me. Neither did tea.

Typically, when one (read: me) has been out drinking (read: tequila shots and ketel & cran) to the point of inebriation, the inexplicable - and at times uncontrollable - urge to spill your guts to people that evoke an extreme emotional response (read: sad, happy, horny, affectionate) takes over. Being up for 21.5 straight hours seems to have the same effect. Yes - I am drunk off my own exhaustion.

Who would be the target of my hypothetical drunk dial? I feel fairly guilty about neglecting Blogger (Plus would you believe the father of the kids is all up IN my myspace business?? Negroes.) As penance for my crime, I will divulge a big secret. I think I'm seeing someone. (No...not spilling out names and that kind of stuff.) Sort of. Kind of. As much as you can see a person that doesn't live in your zip code...or time zone. No big deal right? Except, I'm sort of in like with him. Again no big deal right? Except...I can't tell him. Not now anyway. Or at least not directly. (Though it's highly possible that I just did since he may or may not read my blog.)

So there you have it Blogger. I have a crush on a boy. And it scares the proverbial shit out of me.

Brothas and Sistaaaaaas...we are gathered here today!

"That uppah room nigga...the uppah ROOOOMMMM!" (c) Eddie Murphy

(Have to remember to replace "Life". Damn Katrina.)

My iPod has gone on to a better place ya'll. However, I find myself in a serious delimma. With the exception of having ALWAYS had a personal computer in my home since I was around 9 or 10 (Apple II GS baby!) I am not big on having the "it" technology. I'm just considering getting a Blackberry simply because life has dealt me a wicked hand of CRS, and I can get it for under $100 bucks, so I figure what the hell. As an adult, I didn't own a microwave until 2003. (I have not purchased one since I moved to "Murrlund".) I didn't get a DVD player until late 2004 and the only reason I owned a gaming system was because I want my children to put me in a retirement home with electricity and plumbing.

However, my technological revolt puts me at odds with my inner music-phile. The mere thought of 7,500 songs being at my fingertips makes my insidey parts get all quivery. We were one, my iPod and I. I would put it on shuffle, and I swear it could sense my mood. Amped? "Guerilla Radio." Nostalgic? "Buddy." Homesick? "I Feel Like Funkin' It Up." How could I not love this?

Still, a new iPod is $250. Oh, did I mention that in the span of about 2.5 weeks both shorties busted out the knees in almost all of their jeans and outgrew the shoes that I bought a full size too big only a few months ago? Even with my very cakey raise, I have to exercise some discipline. Plus, uh, Macy's is having a sale...on boots. *drool* As much as I love the convience of the ipod, I'll happily go old school Discman for a couple of months for the love of music...and new shoes.

Thoughts tiptoeing across my cabeza

As I sit at my desk, savoring the tiny orgasms in a little gold bag otherwise known as Godiva chocolates, with no tasks in sight, my mind is left to wander and ponder.

While politicking with my friend, the Harlem Philosopher and Quintessential Bon Vivant, we discussed the necessity of "the nigga moment." More specifically, he quoted Flip Wilson, who said, "I reserve my right to be a nigger." Strong words. Now, I don't throw that word around, but in my opinion (PLEASE read "MY OPINION") sometimes, the word fits. Being the good and patient citizen does not always pay. For purposes of this blog, I will use the definition of "nigga" provided by Gin Rummy (if you don't know, you won't): "I mean it as a general term for ignant muhf***ahs. Anybody of any race can be an ignant muhf***ah." With that being said, the nigga moment can be necessitated when one is forced to deal with, well, niggas. For example, dealing with customer service agents, telemarketers, public service passengers, taxicab drivers, etc., who just happen to be of nigga descent.

For example, the time I spent 20 minutes waiting for a refund on a faulty product. Twenty minutes of rigamarole was solved in five minutes after I shouted, "SOMEBODY had better give me a refund on this garbage ass product or it's gonna be some SHIT." Now, when I initially walked in with my receipt in hand, knowing full well the product was not functioning due to a manufacturing error, I had no intention of behaving in such a manner. However, after 20 minutes of being treated as though I used said product to unclog my toilet, I was taken "there." *shrug* Some folks like it like that.

Somebody really needs to send my girl Choc some porn. Like, STAT. *eyeing STO*

I've got "Old Reliable" set to random, and he is most definitely bringing the fiyah. "So Fresh, So Clean" is playing, and I remembered how disturbed I was the first time I heard, "I love who you are, love who you ain't, you're so Anne Frank, let's hit the attic to hide out for 'bout two weeks." I mean, clever but...werd? *wrinkles nose*

Baller: 1995, you're in the club, with your regular crew, "This is How We Do It" comes on, you scream "AWWWWW SHIT!" and jump on the dance floor. Not Baller: 2007, you're in the club (possibly the same club with a different name if gunshots have not shut it down permanently), with your little cousin's crew (now YOUR regular crew), "This is How We Do It" comes on, you scream "AWWWWW SHIT" and jump on the dance floor...alone...because your lil cousin, her crew and everybody else in the damn club, save for you, the dj, and the jheri curl man that keeps trying to send you drinks, were in 2nd grade when the song came out. EVOLVE!

"CORNBREAD! Ain't nuttin' wrong with that."

The following are situations where the parties involved really should have just said, "Because that's what the hell I wanted to do!"

I find it just a little confusing when individuals will on one hand, complain about the message conveyed in rap music, but poo-poo the message conveyed by Oprah. We don't want our kids to emulate "them". Okay, fine. But when "we" tell them, "you don't appreciate shit" (and ostensibly, "you AIN'T shit"), where would, or should, our kids look to for allies? Definitely not those who have already written them off. I've said it before and I'll say it again: there better not be a Nike or iPod commercial airing during Okra's show. A simple, "Why did I do it? I'm Oprah Winfrey bitch!" really would have been sufficient.

A couple of weeks back, Rosie O'Donnell, in attempting (stress on the word "attempting") to make a joke about Danny Devito, proceeded to insult, pretty much the entire nation of China. (Note to Rosie: When you're that off the mark, that's when you should reevaluate and recognize that your brand of humor just isn't funny.) She used the phrase "ching chong" multiple times in describing the Chinese language. Okay, who hasn't? But I think anyone that has, did it with the knowledge that it was offensive and inflammatory. However, when you consider yourself an activist in your own right, and request tolerance, comments of that sort are really not advisable. But, being Rosie, she couldn't just let it be. She had to qualify it by saying she didn't know the term "ching chong" was offensive. Where the hell has she lived? *blank stare* I learned that lesson in 5th grade when this dude said it in a group of about 5 Vietnamese kids. Hmph. They chinged his chong.

Black women that say they would love to wear the natural hair, except they could never get away with it at their job, really kinda chap my behind. Now, I'm not going to say that this is completely impossible, but I'm willing to wager that 98% of these women are full of caca. I worked for Good Ole Boys, LLP, and when I came back to New Orleans, the managing partner gushed over my hair. I am currently employed at a corporate law firm, and coincidentally, the oldest law firm in the country. Ten months later, the white folks still can't stop complimenting me. For a while, the coloreds couldn't stop asking me when I was going to "do something" with my hair. Please read my above referenced comments re: the nigga moment to get some idea as to how I got them to stop. Just say you like relaxers, long hair, weave, etc. I've had it all, so I'm not hating. But phoney excuses, circumstances, consequences and repercussions are really in direct juxtaposition to all that is sexy.

Smooches!

Wastin away again, in Whatdafuggsville

Greed and Christ. What's really going on people? The cost of a Nintendo Wii is $249.00. The cost of a PlayStation 3 is $599.00 (ridiculous enough). However, the sellers on Amazon, as of 9:17 p.m. on 12/5/06, are charging $643.00 and $1, 640.00. Why? 'Tis the season. What is more deplorable than that? The fact that there are parents so obsessed with material things, they're going to go broke buying that crap for their kids. I knew it was gonna be some bullshit a few months ago when they pushed the release date back. SUCKAS!

In related Christmas nonsense, while my kids were in New Orleans, the daddy told my son he was going to get him one of those mini-motorbikes for Xmas. *insert blank stare, sound of crickets and uncomfortable throat clearing, here* I could go on a rampage. Really, I could. But I was always taught not to berate the retarded, so I'll just keep it moving. In situations like this, all I can do is wonder: "What would Ashy Larry do?"

Recently, my girl Lala requested a cease on all the scattered ass pics floating around on Yahoo. I, too, am joining her crusade. I, too, would like to take a deep breath one day, knowing that my air is not marred with the scent of someone's nipple sweat as they heave their bosom in front of their web cam hoping to get some of the cyber love that evidently eludes them in the real world. Recently, while randomly searching the net, I came across some things that I just couldn't understand. Let me say that though I WILL crack on folks, it's all in good fun. Not out to hurt nobody's feelings. But I will question judgement.

For example (not for the faint of heart...cover your eyes Siren), when I encountered a profile with a view of a lady's posterior that was, let's use positive language and say ample and accommodating, I must question why she didn't review said pic with an objective eye. There was a "ring" around her ass that was curiously the same diameter of a toilet. I'll go so far as to bet my check that it WAS the damn imprint of a toilet. I'm all for confidence, but +4 edema is not sexy...it's a medical condition. Prioritize...work that out. Most of us ain't no stranger to dimples, dents and hell, even creases, so please understand, I'm just dessiminating helpful information. Thank you for your time.

Now that I have been sucked into the monster that is Myspace (which will soon make the class reunion OBSOLETE), there are several things that amuse me. First, what the hell do fifteen year old boys want to talk to me about on Myspace? My child is eight years old. My sister who I virtually raised, is 21. Is Dateline trying to get some women caught up in the game? What's really going on? Second, is there anything gayer than the Myspace profile set to private? Particularly if you like to just add strangers at random? Don't be inviting me like I know you. I have no issue with denying, or if I'm feeling particularly ornery, replying with "Who are you, do I know you and what do you want?" I further maintain that if you have some odd picture on your blank profile, you are up to no good. NO GOOD I SAY!!

There's a new show on Adult Swim, called "Assy McGee". Assy McGee? I'm a fan of all things offbeat, but, well, dude's an ass. Literally. Didn't Jim Carrey do the talking ass thing in Ace Ventura? Did we laugh then? I mean, I did chuckle when his being dressed up simply involved putting a bowtie on the crack, but still, can this carry a show? It may win me over, but for now, the jury's out. To his credit, there was no bowl ring around his ass. I guess that counts for something.

Am I the only one that's going to see "Blood Diamond", not only for the story line, but also in hopes of seeing a gratuitous shots of Djimon's chest (or ass, whatever)? Yeah, I know this is random and unrelated.

Unfortunately, since my computer has been attacked with "the gay", I am unable to load the luscious picture of Reggie Bush. How does this picture relate you ask? C'mere. *smack* You've seen that man...don't need no damn reason. Stop asking stupid questions.

Forefinger to lip in deep thought

Evidently, it is now fashionable to dress like a jockey? Tight tight pants invading one's crack tucked into boots is what's hot in the streets. Uh. . .yeah. This is right up there with skinny jeans to me. BOOOOOOOOO.

Can anyone think of an Asian-themed movie that does not have a "Ling" in it? Can we get a Phanavong or a Phomvihane?

Will someone please pinpoint when sexy left, requiring the need to bring it back? The ugly and unappealing was fashionable at some point? Why wasn't I notified of this? I'll just deduce that I was too busy being unfashionably sexy to notice. And Justin Timberlake was put in charge of this, why? He couldn't even handle a titty. One titty. You a grown ass man and you are unable to control a titty? Once he pulled it out, he had an obligation to the titty. Since he didn't immediately cover it up, can Janet charge him for titty support?

If I'm at the copy machine, why does a hooverer inevitably show up? They just kind of stare at you for a minute, shift from foot to foot, then ask, "Uh, you gonna be long?" When you tell them yes, what follows is a "look" and an expectant silence. Like you're supposed to stop your work, then let them cut in so they can do theirs. Fuck THAT son. Find another machine sucka!

My homeboy brought to my attention that some banks require that you remove your hat and shades when transacting business. I understand the theory behind this. I do. But really, are those with ill intentions going to follow this rule? "I can't rob that bank bruh. They're gonna make me take off my hat and shades." I also wonder if this rule ever got a bank robbed on principle? "Sir, will you please remove your hat and shades?" "You know what, I was just coming in here to buy a roll of quarters. But since you wanna play the smarty-art role, EMPTY THE DRAWER MUTHA*****!" Just a thought.

Where are Chubb Rock and MC Brains? What y'all think they're doing? Is Chubb Rock on Atkins? I heard Redhead Kingpin is working a toll both on the NJ Turnpike or something like that. Think the hotties are still pumpin' it for him? Me neither.

Fandom!

Life's certainties:

1) Death
2) Taxes
3) The Saints losing crucial football games

Number 3, quite frankly, doesn't really bother your average Saints fan. (Upon examining the average Saints fan's diet, one may opine that they're not too concerned about Number 1 either.) The Saints go to the playoffs - and lose. Then they go to the playoffs again - and lose. Then they go to the playoffs and win - then lose. This has been since the dawn of time.

However, with that being said, it has NEVER occurred to me to like anyone else. The entire concept is as foreign to me as a red beans and rice-less Monday. Sure we bitch and moan about them. This year they've got a great defense but no offense. The next they've got a killer offense but no defense. Whatcha gonna do? Say what you will about the Louisiana (*cough* Tom Benson *cough), no one can accuse us of being fair weather fans. Mostly because we haven't really had any substantial fair weather. Like everything else in New Orleans, we loved them because they were ours. Think I'm kidding? Talk to a fan about relocating the Saints.

ANYONE can love the winning team. They're winning. What's not to love? Only a fan, however, can look at a game where the final score was, say. . .iono 23 - 3 (IN YO' FACE FALCONS) and rave about that one field goal. Only a fan can be content to watch the game highlights, when ALL of the highs belonged to the other team. Such has been the existence of the Saints fan.

But not last night. *contented sigh* Last night was the game that every Saints fan dreamed of. Last night was the game that every Saints fan NEEDED! Last night the Saints set up a branch office in that ass! (Though I'm still kind of pissed at Deloatch's act of stupidity. What the hell?!) It was spectacular to witness my team relentlessly defending the house.

The thing is, the Saints don't have to win another game this season (though they will) and we'll still love them. But today, I got bragging rights. Today my team is #1 in the NFC South. And, just in case you forgot:

MY TEAM IS 3 - 0!!!

Shooting from the Hip-stress

In recent conversations with the Desperate Housewife, a few topics came up that had coincidentally been on my mind as of late.

I don't know how many of you were keeping up with that Debra Lafave nonsense, but if you've been under a rock, or did like me and saw some blonde bimbo bumping her gums and switched stations, I'll enlighten you: this is the teacher who molested an 8th grader and got off with house arrest. (The fact that the boy seemed black, or at least biracial, is an entirely different blog for another day.) This bold bitch went so far Men - and particularly black men, since it is you who are near and dear to my heart - if an older man or woman used you for their sexual experimentation, listen to me and listen good: YOU WERE MOLESTED. You're not lucky, it didn't help you be "a better freak," you are a fractured individual. Quiet as it is kept, if you are pre-pubescent and another pre-pubescent individual initiated sexual experimentation, chances are, that encounter was a by-product of their own abuse (again, another blog post for another day).

Here's what's sad: our young black men are taught that, even if they do feel victimized, they must view this encounter as some sort of conquest. Do you have any idea how detrimental this is? I have several male friends who were molested by teenaged girls/young women over the years, and never reported it. All of them brushed it off as though it was nothing. NONE of them have healthy attitudes toward women. Not a one. Couldn't hold a relationship if you gave them a bucket. Women who are raped or molested as children tend to be wary of men. *taps temple* Think about it.

Yo: kids are fat. And no, I don't mean there's a random chubby kid here and there. I mean FAT! Your eight year old should not weigh 125 pounds, unless that eight year old is 5'3. I have someone very near and dear to my heart, and her daughter is obese. The doctor put her on a diet, and I asked her a couple of weeks ago how she was doing? The response I received was, "Eating everything in sight." Uh, why are you giving it to her/allowing her to have it. A child will eat junk all day if you let him. This is why a child is given parents/guardians. Put away the cookies, chill out on the Kool Aid, turn off the T.V. and send their behinds outside.

However, the flip side to that is this: the cost of eating healthy is ridiculous; often, to the point of being prohibitive. If a chicken leg is $0.99 a pound, why in the HELL is a chicken breast $4.99 a pound. They came off the same damned chicken! When you show me a chicken that has nothing but legs or nothing but breasts, then you can rationalize that shit to me. White rice has to go through a EXTRA process to be stripped of all it's nutritional value, but you can get two pounds for a buck 99. Brown rice on the other hand, costs roughly twice as much, sometimes for half the amount. They're making brownies bigger and more accessible, yet making apples smaller and more expensive. That is some sick shit.

You white folks with chocolate fetishes: *sigh*. I take very little issue when two people can see past whatever, overcome obstacles and find love. However, you folks that like to say things like, "I have a taste for chocolate," etc. work my last fucking nerve. It is 2006 and white folks STILL see black folks as little more than mobile masses of sexuality. Imma be right next to the Housewife setting off revolution in this bitch if I hear it again. It's insulting, it's demeaning and whether you want to hear/believe it or not, THAT SHIT IS RACIST AS ALL HELL. Yes, you, with all your "nigger lovin'" are perpetuating racist ideology. When you ask a white woman why she likes black men so much, almost the first thing out of her mouth is something dick related. For white men, they almost immediately go to ass. For real black folks? Are we really that cool with being broken down into sexual parts for the amusement of white folks? *tsk tsk*

More often than not, an individual of this sort RESORTS to black folks. Because "white men/women just aren't into me." Make no mistake black people: the MOMENT an eligible Caucasian presents him/herself and you (if they are not merely using you as a jump off) cut out of line, your black ass is out of the picture. I have seen it happen more than a few times with my own eyes. These folks are not far removed from the people that had brothers swinging from trees and sisters raising mulatto babies solo when their "fetish" wasn't so cool. *taps tample again*

Think about that too.

. . .aaaaaaand I'm SPENT!

Releasin' my delf Pt. II

What's poppin' 360?! How y'all been? Me? Ahhh, I just been "bein' me, T-hug, cuz if you take out the dash, IMMA THUUUG!!" (If you don't get that, you don't need to.) I've just been popping up periodically watching folks run their mouths, occasionally giving thanks for that little red 'x' in the upper right. Of course in the time that I've been away, stuff has been building up in my mind, so sit back and enjoy my mental regurgitation.

So, am I the only person in the world that gives not a shit about Britney, Whitney or Suri? Why was the world wondering if that child really existed? Do you know where your fucking kids are? Can they spell? Do they know their alphabets? Are they cussing out grown folks?? Focus on THESE things people. Do like the rest of us : wait for Bobbi Kristina's porn flick to come out and shut the hell up.

Bringing sexy back. Yes. This is the new catch phrase. I'm presuming this has replaced "grown and sexy", (read: "obese with attitude"). Give it a fucking rest people. Remember how we looked at our parents when they used to use the popular catch phrases and run them into the ground? Shut your simple ass up.

Remember how stupid that show "Full House" was? Yeah. It's even stupider in the '06. And I don't care what anybody says, those twins were some of the ugliest children I had ever laid eyes on. Show of hands? Who's with me on this? C'mon. . .who's with me?

Yo! Who knew Meth dropped an album? Again. . .show of hands? Yeah, me neevah, until I went to order my Roots CD and was like, "Hmmm...4:21? This is unfamiliar." Dude got ZERO promo. I guess badmouthing the boss isn't all that wise, even in the music biz. Meth, brother, you got fam to take care of. You HAD to know Jay-Z would act like a lil bitch if you pissed him off. At least you'll have stories to tell when you go to your next label.

So the fro is coming along lovely, but I gotta find different stuff to do to it.

So, Lil Kim got released from prison and nobody cared. Yall heard that girl. She's bringing reconstituted, surgically altered, ex-con sexy BACK! Iono...she still looks like that hippie muppet to me.

And in other news, I have discovered that I LOVE "Best Week Ever". But uh, is Diddy really pissing on his myspace page? And are jackasses REALLY going to his page to see that shit? He is the epicenter of all that ails the world. You know how there's that "Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon" game? Look at all the shitty stuff that's going in the world, I can virtually guarantee you that it is but six degrees (or less) separating it from Diddy. Think about it? Coincidence, I think not.

Ok, though I don't CARE about Whitney and Bobby per se, I have always found it amusing that people always like to blame Bobby for Whitney's issues. Like she was this angel and he was a part of a bad phase. She's been married to that man since 1992. That's a "phase "for that ass.

White folks and latinos: strollers are not for five year olds. If you have to keep stopping because your child's feet keep dragging under the stroller, his ass needs to be walking. What the hell is wrong with you? Feet should not cause sparks. Work that out.

And in closing, for your enjoyment:

Me and those grinding gears of mine. . .

You know what grinds my gears? People who dial the wrong number. The act of mistakenly dialing a wrong number is not a big deal. However, once I've told you that the number was wrong, other than a brief apology, that should be the end of the conversation right? Repeating the wrong number that you dialed, as though I'M the idiot when I tell you there's a mistake does NOT help your cause. Calling it back immediately after hanging up with me makes you even more of a panty waste. Cut that shit out.

You know what grinds my gears? That snide guy on the "For Eyes" commercial. Yes, I know this man is an actor, and he was hired for his ability to mock the snotty shop-person demeanor, but I get this perverse satisfaction when the customer sticks it to him. My favorite is the one where the old lady is creeping toward him with her cane and he's obviously annoyed by her snail's pace. Once she is within reach, she belts him in the cajones with her can and says, "That's for overcharging me for my glasses," leaving him writing on the floor groaning. THAT ladies and gentlemen, is Must See TV.

You know what grinds my gears? Must See TV. Remember that trash? What was "must see" about it? Were there ANY black folks there? I remember they threw in Aisha Tyler and Gabrielle Union as tokens, but other than that. . .? So, we must see the world without negroes, other than the ones white men would "do"? Riiiiiight.

You know what grinds my gears? Type A running-everywhere white people. I believe I've addressed this before, but I'm still confused. WHERE are they going? Twice last week, I was actively bypassed (not a full knock down, but a bypass) by white folks, running to get into the building. When I got inside of said building, you know where they were? Waiting at the elevator, both times. Should I have thanked them for being my elevator bitches? (Next time you SMILE when you press that button BEEEYOTCH!!)

You know what grinds my gears? Being broke. All the good concerts come around when it's not in your budget. All the good restaurants have these special promotions when it's not in your budget. All the good movies come out when it's not in your budget. All your friends want to hang out and/or go on vacations when it's not in your budget. What the hell is up with that?

You know what grinds my gears? Polka dots. All my life, I have viewed polka dots to be the most useless "design" ever. What inspired this? Some odd dalmation fixation? A dalmation fixation, I say! Everything about the sight of polka dots disturbs me. I remember when Kwame had y'all thinking that was cool. Uh, yeah, freaked me the hell out. The only thing that comes close to disturbing me as much as polka dots is houndstooth. *shudder*

You know what grinds my gears? Bra shopping. I maintain that everybody loves a big titty girl, but damn, I think bra shopping for the full busted woman is the most ridiculous thing EVER. Besides sending you to that "industrial bra" section when you're bigger than a 34C, unless you're ready to turn tricks, your sole color choices are black, white and taupe. For those of you who don't know what taupe is, it's basically what happens when the bra monster eats all the white bras, then regurgitates them. I will say that VS has gotten better about accommodating the "full coverage" crew, I'm still not happy about the fact that the bras are more expensive. Should we be penalized for our gifts?

You know what grinds my gears? Winos. No, I don't mean people who overestimate their tolerance and get drunk. I mean people that are constantly drunk. If you get on the bus at 5:30, and beer is seeping through your pores, my friend, you need an intervention. In furtherance of this gear grinding, I get annoyed by the presumption that only poor black folks fit into this category. I've been around a WHOLE LOT of Biffs and Becky's that were smelling like the sauce at 8:00 a.m. Ya need deliverance.

And that's what grinds my gears.

On the verge of. . .

There is a scene in The Incredibles where, after witnessing Mr. Incredible pick up a car the day before, the neighborhood kid is sitting in the driveway, gawking at at Mr. I. Incredible looks at him and says, "What are you waiting for?" The kid replies, "I don't know. Something amazing I guess." To that, Mr. I replies, "Me too."

Yeah . . . me too.

Casual Considerations

Who set earth's thermostat to "slavery" today? What's disturbing to me is that not as hot in the N.O. I'm trying really hard not to take these weather issues personally, but I dunno yall. Isn't this heat just a little too oppressive to not somehow be racist?

So now that the kids are home, I'm back up on all the cartoons. Yo, Shaolin Showdown is my JOINT! This weekend they were watching Toon Disney and I certainly pulled rank so I could watch SS on the big television.

Coming soon to the LOGO Network: the First Annual Gay-Off. The participants: P. Diddy and Kanye West. By show of hands, who else believes that these two negroes are trying to out-gay one another? In the "Number One" video, Kanye's shirt and jacket are so tight, I saw his last heartbreak. (I could also say that Pharrell's pants are so tight, I saw his firstborn child, but I digress.) Diddy often comes off (to me of course) as the flaming queen who is trying to keep this young fish from usurping the throne. The hosts will be Omarosa and Carson from "Queer Eye." (Please keep in mind, I have no firsthand knowledge, nor do I care, about what these men do with their anuses. I'm just furnishing my opinion. I don't want Auntie Combs or Second Cousin West or the bathroom attendant that they were REALLY nice to at some random social event to act a fool because of some chatter.)

And while we're talking about Beyonce. . .what the HELL was she doing at, what my homeboy refered to as, "the circle jerk known as an awards show"? (The fact that I agree with his assessment notwithstanding, the opportunity to use the term "circle jerk" doesn't arise often for me, so I pretty much just seized the opportunity.) Who hit that brawd with a can of Black Flag? Quiet as it's kept, I generally like her, but I was not feeling the wanna-be-Tina-catching-the-holy-ghost thing she had going on. And did she actually let Jay-Z touch her booty? GUH-ROSS!!

Okay, I'm by no means a Bush supporter, but why is it in the news that he cussed? Because he was on the job? I said "shit" three times yesterday evening when I couldn't print out a document. Where's MY story? I'm sure there are other things to care about people. He's a freakin Texan for crying out loud. I'm willing to wager that he says, "Dude, I f****n' swear," three times a week.

On a more serious note, another tsunami struck Indonesia. According to the last report I read, 368 people are dead and over 200 missing. They received a warning, but did not pass it on because they had no way of notifying everyone. No siren, no radio announcement, no Harpo Marx look-alike with a bicycle horn. Nothing. I'm kind of speechless on this.

It's fairly well known that I'm not an Oprah fan, so I'm not always in tune with what goes on in her world. However, when did people start caring whether or not she is straight or gay? She and Gayle Whats-Her-Face have promised that they would tell us if they were lovers. I'll be waiting with baited breath. *steps out of the path of the lightening*

Better than . . .?

"But in the meantime, I'll settle for some of that mo' better."
- Clarke "Mo' Better Blues"

This movie was released in 1990, when I was every bit of 14 years old. I remember being in the room while it was on, but not quite "getting it". In my adolescent mind, I could not comprehend how such a scenario could exist. Yes, I "knew" (as much as a 14 year old virgin with no interest in losing said viriginity any time soon) that "all boys/men were dogs," so Bleek Gilliam's actions, though abhorrent, were unsurprising. However, what I could not comprehend, was the women's passive acceptance of this canine behavior. That's where I pretty much lost interest and explains why I never really "saw" the movie. You dump dogs. I would NEVER tolerate such behavior when I became an adult.

Fast-forward 16 years.

In an effort to create a new, and improved movie stash, I added "Mo'" to the cinematic repertoire. I had it for months, before I got around to cracking it open. Suffice it to say, I have a completely different frame of reference. I fully recognize that this is by no means a woman's story. (It is also NOT as simple as the imdb plot summary would lead you to believe.) Yet, I must say, the above referenced statement uttered by Clarke did sink me deeply into thought.

If we were to get down to brass tacks, the average woman has sex with some type of future in mind. At the very least, that woman is entertaining the possibility of what could be. Women's (d?)evolution into the being that systematically separates sex from emotion is a rather recent phenomenon. (And it is my personal belief that at least 75% of those women aren't really being honest with themselves. I've seen my fair share of "hoes" take off their clear heels and HAPPILY jump into the slippers of "housewife" when the opportunity presented itself.) Most women that settle for the mo' better do so in anticipation of the payoff. They assume that, someday, they will be rewarded with a relationship for sheer strength of will. Which hardly, if ever, happens. I personally know of three such situations where, when the "relationship" dissolved, the man was either married or engaged within the year. (Though I found the movie's ending to be sweet and even somewhat considerate, it is by no means the norm.)

Most women, by their mid-twenties, have 'settled for summa that mo' better' at least once. Some women settle for that mo' better every other weekend and all bank holidays. I could bullshit you and say that statement made me think, "Have I ever done that," but I think we're beyond all that here. So I'll be real and say that it made me count how many times I've done that. The honest answer? ALOT! I found myself in my fair share of situations (you know, because relationships are sooo 90s) where I bought into the okey doke that was being sold to me. Frankly, if there's any fault to be apportioned, it's mine. It is incumbent upon me to protect my own interests and adhere to my own standards.

A virtually seamless metamorphosis took place. From the idealogical, "I'll lose my virginity only when I find my true love, and we'll climb mountains, slay dragons and have lots and lots of babies" (nymph); to the cynical, "Men are good for dick and dinner, so I might as well get what I can" (pupa); and, up until very recently, to the resigned, "If it weren't for these kids, holing myself off in a cabin in the mountains with a lifetime supply of AA batteries would really be the move."

Adult? A school of thought that would cause halt to the perpetuation of the species can not be the completion of my mental evolution. It's admittedly not a very "adult" decision, either. So I nixed the idea to disappear into the Adirondacks once the kids go to college. But the lingering question is, "now what?"

I don't "want" a relationship. Let me clarify. I have no desire to actively search for a relationship. I can't think of one soul that looked for a relationship and did not find one. However, the caveat on this method is that one can look so hard for something, they find it; even when it's not really there. Think of cloud gazing. Has someone ever suggested to you, "That cloud looks just like a man riding a horse," and you finally saw it, but only after squinting and contorting your own vision? That's what a relationship hunt is like to me. We can sometimes squint to craft a "hardworking, intelligent brother who loves his mother" out of the brother that always puts his work before his relationships, relentlessly corrects your grammar and has a hopeless case of mama's boy-itis. We turn the brother that sexes you, never calls and always lets you pay for dinner, into an "free spirited guy that respects my space and isn't intimidated by my earning power." That, ladies and gentlemen, is quintessential "settling for that mo' better." (Let's also keep in mind that this exercise of often done with the help, or for the approval, of friends.) So no, I'm not looking for a relationship.

At the same time, I'm not looking to be single. Though there are situations that have angered me, I'm not angry with all men. First and foremost, being a mother (to a super CUTIE), a daughter (to the greatest father on the globe), a sister (who still think the sun rises and sets on her big brother's ass) and having male cousins and friends whom I love dearly, I can ill afford such anger. Second, I can honestly say that there were times where I was at fault, in whole or in part, to the demise of a relationship. Third and finally, it's just flat out unhealthy to harbor hatred for an entire species of anything. Well, except roaches (nasty buggers).

The idea of spending my life with some dude does appeal to me. Quiet as it's kept, it appeals to the most evil of sisters (often their evil nature is related to the denial of such companionship). Envisioning myself side by side on a walker with some old geezer who likes Seinfeld and Wu Tang, wearing a fresh pair of shell toes that the grandkids bought us is actually kind of flyy. Appealing, but I'm not hurtling myself headlong into the task of finding that person. I also have no desire to make a career out of investing in the mo' better and crossing my fingers for some mythical distribution.

What's in a dream?

Last night I went to bed with a very heavy heart. Many of the things swirling around in my head came crashing down on me. I subsequently dreamed a dream so significant to everything that has been going on in my life and everything that I have been feeling, I almost feel obligated to share it. It's sort of wacked out, but do you really expect anything else from the mind of Mamba? I thought not.

I was in a room. With this HUGE bitch. With a gun. I didn't know her exact plan for me, but I had a sneaking suspicion things wouldn't end well for yours truly. So I broke out. I kept running until I found this house. I told the owner that someone was chasing me and trying to kill me. Well, evidently she knew the broad, pulled out a meat cleaver, then SHE started chasing me. So I broke again. Upon coming across another safe house, I explained my situation again. This brings the lunatics in hot pursit of the kid count up to 3. Again and again, I keep coming upon these "safe houses", with each situation being either equally or more perilous than the last.

Finally I run into a house and find an attic where a bunch of children are playing. They ask for permission to brush my hair and want to play tea party. Just when I feel comfortable enough to say yes, I hear Psycho Number 1 coming up the stairs, talking to the kids - their relatives. So I dive over this countertop and hide, hoping that she won't see me. Of course, she does and calls out to her cohorts. I see a wrought iron door, so I decide to run for it again. Unfortunately for me, it's locked from the outside, so I start reaching through the door to unlock it, and I hear her scream, "This dumb bitch is gonna to run again. Doesn't she know there's nowhere to go?" I realize that she's right. I don't know what's on the other side of that door. I can either run the risk of adding another person to the chase, or I can go downstairs and face the 6 bitches waiting for me. I started thinking to myself, "I can knock at least one of them hoes out. Two if I hit them with the Mighty Mamba Rabbit Punch Power Mix."

While she's screaming to her folks about how bad they're going to mess over me, I walk past her and go downstairs, with her behind me, still yelling. They're standing in a semi-circile, and I get in front of them, pull off my earrings (because I'm a LAAAADY), throw my set up and say, "Alright bitches, let's rock, because I'm not running another step." And they all just stand there and look at each other, as though they have no idea of what to do. So I just stand there, waiting for one of them to make a move, but it seems like now that I won't back down, their heart is gone.

Then I hear "Juicy" (my cell phone alarm) and wake up.

Now, this dream was significant to me in so many different facets of my life, once I woke up, all I could do was sit down and ponder it's meaning, and determine whether or not I would take it seriously. I think a lot of us have leftover demons that we try to escape, whether it's a jobs, false friends, bad relationships, or finances. What often happens is that we "escape" to a situation that is potentially worse, because we haven't overcome the first hurdle. More times than not, if we take care of and close an issue right off the bat, it's not as bad as we feared.

Just some mental grub for ya.

Swagger Jacking

Yo. There's nothing new under the sun people. Truly. I recognize that. Everybody that is doing something, is doing a variation of what they have seen, learned or observed. Artists of all sorts often emulate or find inspiration from other artists they admire. Writing is my passion. I'm not going to say that I'm one of the "greats", but I will say that I, like many people, put time and thought into what I write. That includes my blog. Even when I get an idea from a news article, song, movie, or another blogger, I give respect to the source. THEREFORE, when I see my shit get straight JACKED, I get a little tight about it. (There was also the instance when someone went to my blog and directed folks to theirs. Riley Freeman put it best when he said, "That's REAL gay my nigga! Cut that out!")

If I may loosely quote the unforgettable Raekwon, "I DON'T WANT NOBODY SOUNDIN' LIKE ME, OR MY CREW, ON NO BLOG!" Okay, maybe that's going a little far, but I think I made my point. There's room enough in the blogosphere for everybody. Doling out a little respect really won't hurt nuffin.

*This has been a public service announcement by Gityoshytryte Productions

Releasing my delf

So on one of my other blogs, I let folks give me a bunch of topic with the promise that I'd blog about them. So, for your reading enjoyment:

Hossenfeffer

So, uh, STO wanted me to blog about hossenfeffer. I said I'd do it so. . .hossenfeffer is essentially rabbit meat. I have discovered that it is also spelled hasenfeffer, which is a sour rabbit. Mmm-mm. Now, since i don't eat anything that could feasibly run across my porch, I really can't blog much about this topic. However, my concern about STO's interest in it could produce and ENDLESS blog. STO? Need a lil therapy hon? Traumatized by a rabbit? Just messing. I don't want him to stab me. He IS violent ya know.

Love and whatnot

Ladies, ladies! The men folk really have ya'll pondering if the grass is greener eh? Well, lean in close, and I'll give you my assessment on Northern men vs. Southern men (though technically, we are still below the M.D. line, I feel where you're coming from). Southern men lie to you. Northern men lie after they've gone to work. As you can see, the end result is the same, ergo, there's really no difference. A little to jaded for the fellas? *sigh* Okay. Not ALL of y'all lie *cough much*. (Yeah, I know we lie too. But yall didn't ask about that, lol. Closed mouths don't get fed.) However, my point, and I do have one, is that for better or worse, men are men. So hold off on buying that plane ticket because "you heard the brothers in *insert random metropolitan area* are the BOMB" because, honey, they're not. As my blogs of late would indicate though, I'm not very optimistic in the romance department, so maybe I'm not the one to ask. I'd be lying if I said I didn't half hope for a little "pick up" in the love department. But fam'ly, can I be honest with you? This has SUCKED.

There are a few differences. The economy is a little better, and there are more college graduates up here, so employed brothers are more common. I can also say that the brothers up around these parts are fairly impressed with themselves. For instance: recently, a brother was eyeballing me, HARD. Understandable, because I had on the spring work finery and whatnot. He was actually a handsome brother, well put together, etc. On a normal day, he would have gotten some play. However, the brother started basically posing and profiling. My people, I shit you not. Dude all but did the Capitan Morgan. I couldn't have talked to him if I wanted to because I was so busy biting the inside of my mouth to keep from laughing. Then there is the plethora of males who talk about what they drive, how much they make, how much they're gonna make, blah, blah, blah, (yes they do talk as much as women when the topic is themselves lol) and never discuss things that actually matter: do you have explosive gas? Will a bitch be waiting to stab me if we walk out the door together? Do you have a hossenfeffer fixation? So though things are different, they're the same, because the brothers down south can be full of some caca as well.

In reference to the BANs (or BABs for the fellas) that calls when they are in some form of "need". We all, at one point or another, have been in a situation where realized that we have been 'bootycalled', 'car repair called', 'i need a ride called' or 'i want to go out and not spend my money called'. Hey, shit happens. However, you're faced with a decision of whether or not you're going to be used, and/or is this person even worth being in your life in ANY capacity. Once you make that determination, all you can do is stick with it. Ain't nothing wrong with call block. Or hell, ain't nothing wrong with answering the phone "don't f*****g call me!" Hell, they ain't paying the bill.

Being both a dumper and a dumpee, my assessment on that is really simple. People dump or get dumped, for one of two reasons: either they don't like each other anymore, or they never really liked one another to begin with. More often than not, either one or both parties are damaged. People that are well adjusted and happy with one another don't dump each other. Yeah, it hurts like hell (BELEEEE me I know it) but more often than not better in the long run. Who wants to be with someone that feels stuck?

Black/white love. I can't say that there's anything wrong with it, but that actually depends on what motivates the involved parties. If two people look beyond the opinions of others for love and happiness, who am I to deny that. There is barely enough time for me to keep tabs on my own happiness. If it floats their boat, sail on. However, I think I do get annoyed with "trophy whitey/trophy darkie." Self hatred is never a good look.

Work

I must say that my job is different here. However, though the South is characterized by it's "country pace", they were working a sisters ass off there. I worked in a litigation small firm, so everything was needed yesterday. I don't have to put in anywhere near the OT that I did at my old firm, and the deadlines that I am given are usually far beyond what I need. I do have one boss that has decided that I am the "fix-it ho" and only is aware of my existence when she needs something. I won't elaborate on this thing, but I will say that everything has it's price. That includes disregarding those that you need most. Other than that, I LOVE my job. A 7 hour workday is a beautiful thing ladies and gentlemen.

The Kids

The two cutest negroes in Los Estados Unidos are coming home in one week and I couldn't be more excited. When I talk to Lil Bit, she always tells me how many days are left before she comes home. Lil Man has decided (and I use that term loose as a hookers Saturday night drawers) that he doesn't want to live in Maryland. Lil Man also has a lil girl that comes to his house every day to play video games. I don't NEEEEED these problems. I'm sure he'll adjust.

Nigga technology and other forms of ignance

Ok, first of all Senor, you know you be sending all of your bitches smiley faces. Bitches love smiley faces. I'm thinking some people don't want to use up all their cell phone minutes and send texts. Some of those same people *cough foxxy cough* caused Mamba to have to up the number of text messages on her plan. I don't have too much issue with texting folks, but you chirpin muthafuckas gotta stop. No, you know what? Imma say it: YOU CHIRPIN NIGGAS (this includes those of the burrito variety) GOTTA STOP. Every time I hear a damn chirp, I can bet my check that it's some ignant colored soul, talking loudly about shit no one else on earth, other than the ignant chirping summamabitch on the other end, wants to hear. What's worse is that they don't HAVE to have that shit on speaker. Newsflash: this does not make you look important. It makes you stupid. Important people have been doing important things all day, therefore, they don't have time to talk about their brother's baby mama. Find something else to occupy your time. I don't care what you do: read a book, work on your citizenship, fall off the face of the planet, whatever! Just wrap that shit UP B!

The Katrina relief funds. Allow me a moment of digression please. Whenever I think about Katrina, it forces me to say "FUCK TEXAS". These fucking Texans make me sick acting like people from N.O. moved into THEIR houses after Katrina. If one more idiot posts that job fair urban legend I'm gonna choke. A few years back, when Houston flooded, my father was among a group of 250 who traveled out there to help people rebuild their homes, etc. Some of those same people are now getting treated like crap in Texas. As Texas is part of the United States of America, that would mean it is a recipient of federal tax dollars; some of which come from Louisiana. Therefore, if you are a Texan that has a problem with the relocated New Orleanians, please slowly fuck yourself with a rusty spur.

Sorry about that. Anyway, regarding the relief funds. Frankly, in my opinion, it was a plan to buy the nigras out of New Orleans. However, as my boy Honeycutt says, "niggaz is a beautiful thing", and where there's money, somebody's gonna smell a hustle. Therefore, the grand plan backfired on them. If they were really concerned with the money being spent wisely, etc. why did they not also offer financial counseling of some sort? They were offering contracting kickbacks to everyone else, they couldn't have hooked up T.D. Waterhouse? A large chunk of those people had never seen that much money in a YEAR, much less in one check. I'm sure there are people that did ignant shit with the money they received. But what are ya gonna do? For every one of them, someone else has gone elsewhere and completely rebuilt their lives with the money they received. Including yours truly. The media keeps bringing that up to reference "the ignant niggas that spent relief money on strippers and spinning rims". Meanwhile, all the other big time kickbacks are ignored. There are hundreds (possibly thousands) of trailers that are, even still, unused, yet contractors have been paid. New Orleans' East and 9th Ward communities are still all but desolate (my old neighborhood REMAINS in utter darkness), cars still litter the streets, yet contractors have been paid. We are 21 days into a new hurricane season, these things are still incomplete, yet contractors have been paid. Let's keep in mind that I haven't even mentioned this waste of a war that the U.S. is involved in. They found two young soldiers tortured and killed just a day or so ago. But they're going to endlessly run the same story about some ignant, probably never had money before, soul that wanted some MOMOs and titties in his face? Get the hell out of here.

Hopefully, my responses have been to your liking. If there is anything you would like me to elaborate on. . .sike, I'm done man. Go to google or something.

. . .and I'm SPENT!

The Blurt Out Extravaganzza!

Remember the colored shirts with white collars that guys used to wear? (Or maybe men still do that. I don't pay attention.) I watched Office Space this weekend and saw that the evil VP (Lumberg) wore them. I honestly can't think of a man that I have known, that wore that style of shirt regularly, that wasn't inherently evil. The mark of the beast? Maybe.

I also think that men who wear big white framed sunglasses are evil. Those things REALLY look like the type of $3.00 shades my mother would buy for me at the TG&Y (southerners know what I'm talking about) to shut me the hell up. Sorry. They just look dumb to me.

Did yall know that D4L and Dem Franchize Boyz were beefing about who invented "snap" music? Did yall even know that "snap" was a type of music? Maybe the better question is, did yall care? Yeah, didn't think so. I believe that mankind at large can settle this dispute. You both suck badly and equally. And you're both clocked in at 14:30 of your 15 minutes of fame. Hurry up and work on that last "hit" so you can pay the balance on your spinning rims.

I find the number of sisters working out regularly in my gym very encouraging. (I must admit though, I was a little grossed out by the sister that was on the treadmill barefoot. Yuck?) I plan to take pictures of them and paste their faces over the multitude of Caucasian images that are plastered all over the walls. WE WORK OUT TO MUTHAF****!

I'm reading a book by Patricia Hill Collins (Black Sexual Politics: African Americans, Gender, and the New Racism), and it is fairly interesting. I find that she makes valid points, and though her overall message is good, there is something in the tone of her writing (at least up to the point that I have read) that makes her seem a tad bit out of touch with my age group. However, despite that, I still think the book is worth a perusal.

I brought vengeance upon the mosquito that assaulted me. It HAD to be the same one because it was all fat and whatnot. So, though I could have just slapped it, I chose to bludgeon it with the written word of Ms. Collins.

Jay-Z is headlining a (sold out) concert at RCHM and the tickets START at $135. Word? I mean, dude is aight, but he damn sure ain't $135 aight. That joint betta be coming with a happy ending at those prices. Personally, I appreciate that he is good enough by radio standards, however, he really overdoes it with the boasting. His professing to be the greatest is tantamount to me standing in a room full of midgets and saying I'm the tallest. Sure, I'm the tallest. . .in the ROOM. I'm not hating on dude, but I'm really hesitant to throw the "greatest" title around with that great one's entire catalog is like a neverending episode of deja vu.

I SWEAR I AIN'T DO NUFFIN'!!

This week, I would swear that there are little gnomes running around my universe trying to figure out "how much this bitch can take before she clicks the fuck out." I'm tryin' y'all. I'm tryin' REAL hard to be the shepherd. But the forecast is NOT optimistic.

Has the planet gone mad?!

In the news this morning, recent scientific studies state that road rage stems from a personality disorder. Specifically "intermittent explosive disorder". Wooooooord? Thanks for clearing that up. GETDAFUGGOUTTAHEAH! Folks with road rage fit in one of two categories: (1) fed up with the bullshit, or (2) bullyish asshole. Either the dillweed that cut you off in traffic was the straw that broke the camel's back, or you're an asshole and you just like to make noise the moment things don't go your way and your parents never corrected that behavior. Stupid scientists. That whole finding cures for AIDS, cancer and, hell, the common cold, don't have you busy enough? Get your ass back in the lab and work on something relevant and beneficial to humanity at large.

Last night, I was watching one of my Chappelle standup DVDs ("For What it's Worth" - not as funny as "Killin' Them Softly," but worth a look see), and he delved into the trouble black celebrities have been facing (usually by their own doing). In that, he discussed R. Kelly. Here's my perspective on the situation in general. The prevailing joke is that it is only those possessing a "niggerish" mentality (see "ghetto ass black folks") would support R. Kelly and listen to his music. Y'all remember when Rob Lowe got caught on videotape fucking the 16 year old? He helped with (conservative) Arnold Schwarzenegger's campaign for governor. Or better yet, Roman Polanski fled CONVICTION (not prosecution) related to the statutory rape of a 13 year-old girl. They gave old dude an Oscar. My point? Well, I don't know if I have one. I'm not absolving R. Kelly (I personally think he's on the top 10 list of "Nastiest Mofos in the World"). Just thought I'd drop that as something to think about.

About a week ago, VH1 had a show related to hip hop video vixens. First folks, let's discuss this word "vixen". Vixen is defined as: (1)A female fox. (2) A woman regarded as quarrelsome, shrewish, or malicious. Am I the only one that misses the words "ass out rump shaker"? Didn't think so. Now, does shaking your rump in a video make you a ho? Not at all. You could well be a vixen. However, if you subsequently compete in the pussy decathalon, then you have successfully graduated from vixen to ho. Chronicling those adventures, making a profit off said chronicles, then considering yourself "redeemed" because some middle aged white man is willing to be seen in public with you does not make you a reformed "vixen". If anything, you could arguably be considered a 360 degree, documented ho. (Am I the only one that found her having a picture of her son in the same publication as her dick sucking resume a little disturbing?)

Y'all going to see "The Omen"? Good luck with that cousin. There are things in this world I just don't fool with. Not even at the box office.

It's been said time and again, but this war is Vietnam's sequel. I find it puzzling that the voices so adamantly opposed to "wasting" money on social/welfare programs, have no issue with this war. Somehow, I think that Marines killing 24 people (in ONE incident) that they were sent over to "free" is somehow counterproductive, and therefore, wasteful.

Two tears in a bucket. . .

I'm not sure if i pissed off Oshun, Venus or Aphrodite, but onna dem brawds is MAAAAAD at me. I'm not one for playing out my love life (or lack thereof) on the net in any significant way, and I promise you, today, I'm not gonna start (well, not too much). However, I will say this: being told "oh yeah, I'm dating somebody else" (I could swear I JUST gave to this fund!) as casually as I would tell MCI that I switched to AT&T is a real shitty way to start a rainy Saturday. That's just not what's hot in the streets. What drives me insane, is that I saw it coming. I ALWAYS see it coming. Sooo, maybe I'm supposed to be used to it?

The same old has become too much for me. Particularly when someone goes out of their way to "prove" otherwise. Blah. When do I get my license to just be fed up, tired, and maybe a little angry? Because being nice obviously isn't cutting it.

Imma be straight. It's just gonna take me a minute to get back to my regularly scheduled programming.

Vesuvius

". . .because when I remove the blade that I keep in my boot from its sheath I cannot return it until it has split blooood."

- Mooj "40 Year-Old Virgin"

Lately, I just haven't been feeling it. I am perfectly content going to work, going home and not peeking out until it's time to go to work again. My life has been in snow-globe mode, and the only remedy for that is to sit very quietly and still until I can get things under control. I take this tact because I KNOW myself. I know that when I'm in "le funque" I can be a 240 (not the whole 360) degree beyotch and when you pluck that reserve nerve, things will get uglier than Goldie Hawn in those Enquirer pictures (I SAY GOT-DAYUM!).

What I hate most about being in the funk (also known as a case of the cruds) is that folks don't want to leave you alone. I don't mean that they call you, because it's nice when friends call. But I just want to be left the hell alone, because I don't want to say anything ugly to anyone. OnceI get started (removing the blade from it's sheath), that's a wrap -- and I mean the things I say, so though I may apologize that someone's feelings were hurt, I do NOT apologize for what was said. So, rather than cussing out folks and losing friends, I'm going to do what I do best: vent.

Is it just me, or are people becoming more and more self-absorbed? If I had a nickel for every time I was in conversation with someone, and they all but said "fuck that shit, look at meeeeee", I would be a rich bitch. One thing I do know about myself is that I am a very good listener. Therefore, nothing gets my goat like expressing something that I deem important, only to be cut off by someone that thinks that my shit is irrelevant. Grrrrr!

Don't some of these American Idol followers make you want to walk up to them and tap on their shoulder with the butt of your gun? A little part of me dies inside when someone calls me, I break my neck and get to the phone, and it's a friend or family member on the other end saying, "Girl, hurry up and turn on Idol!!!" I don't watch that rubbish!!! The more I protest, the more they say "but you've GOTTA see this one!!" Why? Am I going to spontaneously combust? There is nothing about that show that appeals to me. Deal with it people!

Metrorail Mackin' is just way more than I'm prepared to deal with at 9:00 a.m. I'm in the middle of a last minute move (vent alert) and I have been absolutely exhausted. Yesterday morning I didn't even hear my alarm go off, so I was rushing, found a seat on the train and closed my eyes. Then I heard, "You look tired." How observant. Did my being half asleep give it away? Despite myself, I smiled and said, "Yes. Very." Which SHOULD have ended the conversation. He went on and on about things that I REALLY had no interest in hearing and then asked if I'd take his number, to which I replied thanks, but no thanks. I initially was above board and told him that I really wasn't interested, but his persistence forced me to play the "I've got a man" card. He seemed to momentarily respect that and ask what I did for a living. I told him and he responded, "Well hell! You can talk to me while you're at work!" Evidently I've got the look of the hood-rat-esque, gum-popping, finger-filing secretary that makes personal calls all damn day. What the HELL do we have to talk about? OOOOOOOOOOH!

So a couple of weeks ago, my landlord called me and said, "Uh, yeah, I gotta sell my shit and you've gotta move." (Unless any of you have $355k you can let a sister hold onto for a minute. Nah. Ah well.) My lease was not due to be up until October, but I figured, that battling that was an exercise in futility, so I started with the apartment search. I found an apartment in the same general area, so no harm. I even told him that I didn't mind making myself available for agents to bring potential buyers. HOWEVER, I did say I would require sufficient notice, at least the day before during the week, 3 hours on the weekend. That way, I would know how to schedule my day. Why would these people call me at 5:00 on a Wednesday afternoon (while I'm still at work), "Yeah, hi, I have a client and we'll be around at 6:00 okay?" I'm pissed because these bastards act like they're going to Jedi mind-trick me into changing my whole day/evening because they can't follow simple instructions.

Why are we some folks so afraid to admit to an otherwise creative person that they effed up? For example, am I the only individual that found the Alicia Keys Unplugged album somewhat unnecessary. I normally enjoy her music, but I was just not digging it. And that "Unbreakable" song? TRIPE!!!! Utter and unadulterated TRIPE!!! That break down at the end? What the hell?! They sound like Charlie Brown's teacher. Plus there is a GLARING omission. If you can sing about Bill, Camille, Oprah, Steadman, Kimora and Russell with THEIR dysfunctional asses, how in the HELL you gon' leave out Whitney and Bobby? I won't even discuss that DMC song ("Cats in the Cradle" or something like that). Tragic! JUST TRAGIC!!

Did you know that the words "child care" and "summer camp" are derivatives from the latin word for "ass rape"? I love my children dearly and I can't WAIT for them to come home, but these so-and-sos need some jobs. . .QUICKLY!

This isn't so much a vent, as it is an observation. Did Good Times have a contract with the creators of the colors orange and gold (or their subsidiaries)? I can't remember who I had this discussion with, but we talked about how EVERYTHING in Florida's wardrobe was orange. And it just wasn't a real episode unless James had on a gold shirt or pulled out that mustard-y colored suit. Can anyone explain this? I need answers!

*sigh* I guess that's about all I've got today.

This house is clear.

White Man's Burden

Typically, I don't have much sympathy for white men. I mean, you're white and you're a male... work it out. However, this goes out to the black men that are dating white girls simply on the strength that they are "easy to deal with."

Dude was half asleep when I sat next to him. A few minutes into the ride, his phone goes off. Though he's speaking within reasonable levels, the volume on the phone is quite loud, so I hear the young lady on the other end. Basically, America, they went out the night before, and she wanted to go out with him again last night. The story essentially unfolds as follows:

I don't know Becky [I can't remember the real name, but we'll use Becky for the purposes of the tale], we stayed out late last night, I had a long day today, let me go home, grab something to eat, get some rest, and I'll see how I feel then and we can make plans from there.

Well, I'm in the mood to make my plans now, so I need an answer NOW.

I'd rather not make a commitment now, because even though I don't feel good now, I may feel a little better later and want to go out.

I just think you're being nasty about the whole thing. If you don't want to see me, just say that. I could make other plans you know!

I mean, if you have other plans, I don't want to hold you up. I can call you later, after you get out of your yoga class? Though I may not want to go out again tonight, if you want to hang out, you're welcome to come over.

No! NO! If you don't want to be with me, just SAY that! Just have the balls to tell me! You don't have to be nasty about it. God! I just don't see why YOU'RE turning this into such a big deal!!!

This went on for about 15 minutes. Needless to say I was ready to slap him, take his phone, and tell her to shut the fuck up. How did dude's, "I need some rest," translate, "I don't want to be with your bitch ass"? I mean, I don't know the whole story, and maybe dude is running hoes and whatnot. But, SHIT! She got in dude's issue almost from the jump.

It looks like the new crop of white girls got something else to accompany the ass...

It's been a long time. . .I shouldn'ta left you. . .

Ok, so I've been busy guys. Working, visiting home again, and all that good stuff. Plus, I've been blogging a lot more on Yahoo 360. It's sort of like crack without the ashy lips and questionable sexual services (at least for ME). However, a funny thing happened on the way to 360 the other day. I got cyber thugged yall!! Like for real.

I ain't even DO nothin'. Ok, like, what had happened was, all I had did was said that Matthew Knowles looks like he wouldn't be out of place on the offender website (AND HE DOES!) and a brawd got her nose all out of joint. But you don't have to take my word for it:

Do you actually know him? If not all this is mere rumor and speculation. He went to school with my father and I got a chance to meet him and he is a great guy. I was reading some of your past blogs and you are a contradiction. On one hand you ask why dont people speak positively about themselves and on the other hand you spend quite a bit of time tearing people down. Here is my take. I dont know you but on casual observation from intensive reading of your blogs, you seem to be straight tripping. how are you going to clown females when you a bald headed, fat ass freak show. I took the time to view your pictures and the ones of you in your friends albums. The ones on your profile are OLD. You got about 20 pounds more and 20 ounces more hideousness on you since then. Must have been the stress from Katrina. And what was with the synthetic fiber 2 strand twists you had and the sagging breasts? You were Talking about bras in one of your blogs. How about get you one with some straps to hold yours up OK? And where is your hair sweetie? Had a recent problem with chemicals? They say a woman who loves talking about what other females should not wear really do that because they hate themselves and they are trying to appease their own insecurity. If I looked like you, I would hate myself too. Return to New Orleans darling. you and that wrecked city are a dead on match.

Say WORD? Beyonce? Is that you girl? Or is that Tina? Let me first say that a total stranger doing research on/about me is just a little icky. Katrina barbs. And, uh, did this brawd study my mammaries? Can you casually observe and intensely read at the same time? And does passing him a hot dog at the Essence Fest automatically mean that dude shouldn't give me the heebie jeebies? I knew that singers had groupies, as do sports stars, actors, musicians, but their creepy fathers? Daaaaaamn. What part of the game is that?

Needless to say, this has been my joke of the week. I have been called a lot of things in my life and time, but a fat, bald freak show. Wasn't that the dude on Harold and Kumar? I mean, I'm no cover girl, but WOW. I swear to you America, I did not have sexual relations with her man.

I don't want a resolution, I don't want an amen corner and I certainly don't want sympathy (even though when my homegirl called her a chuck wagon stew serving bitch, I damn near busted one of my fat freakish guts). This was really just too funny NOT to share. Folks will take up a cause and fight to the death for damn near ANYTHING.

But then again, that's what I get for fucking around on Yahoo.

And all this time I thought Mary J. banned hateration in the dancerie.

The Pod People

With all the trials and tribulations of parenting, especially in today's world, one would think that it is a very taxing chore. . .were it not so damned entertaining. So today, I will provide you with little snippets of conversations I've had with my children over the years. Please bear in mind that these people are not normal children. They are reincarnated senior citizens. Now granted, these are MY kids, so I will probably think that what they say is a whole lot funnier than the rest of you, but hell, it's MY BLOG!!! *sticks out tongue*

The Lil Boy - Age 3: "I don't feel like going to their house." "Why not, T?" "It always smells like a whole lot of farts." (I could not argue with his logic. We went to the movies that day.)

The Lil Girl - Age 2: "Us daddy is gonna take us to the park." "Pumpkin, 'OUR daddy is gonna take us to the park.' " *shakes head* "No Mama, not YOUR daddy, US daddy." "No baby, it's not 'us daddy,' it's 'our daddy.' " *explosive giggles* "You silly Mama. We don't have the same daddy."

The Lil Boy - Age 4: "Where are we going?" "To Paw Paw's house." "My black Paw Paw or my white Paw Paw." *blank stare from me*

The Lil Girl - Age 3: (Overheard conversation with my good friend) "Where is Christian?" "He's punished." "You forgot I was coming or something?"

The Lil Boy - Age 2: "Lil Man, we're gonna have a new baby." "Where?? Where is it!!" "Oh it's not here yet, it's in my stomach." *starts crying* "What's wrong son?" "You ATE IT!! YOU ATE OUR BABY!!"

The Lil Girl - Age 4 - "He makes me SICK!" "Who?" "My brother! He thinks he is the boss. Will you please go tell him that I am the boss! Not him!"

The Lil Boy - Age 7: (Background story - When they were 1 and 3, the lil girl decided that she wanted his meatball, went to his plate, grabbed it and took a bite. He subsequently started screaming and crying. The following is his reaction four years later.) "I can't believe that little bitty girl took my meatball off my plate, and ALL I did was cried. . . I just can't believe it. [trailing off] All I did was cried. . ." (I'm wondering if this will come up in a therapy session.)

The Lil Girl - Age 5: (Looking at a rainbow boa constrictor at the zoo.) *sigh* "That's all I've wanted all my life."

The Lil Boy - Age 5: "Son, why the hell were you swinging a belt at school? Didn't I tell you that could really hurt somebody?" "This boy pushed me, then his big cousin pushed me. So I told them that I was gonna tell the teacher and they wouldn't let me go. So I took off my belt and got to swingin'." (Who can argue with logic like that?)

The Lil Girl - Age 4: "Mama, I heard you laughing when Dave Chappelle said a curse word. You say curse words too. When can I say a curse word?!" "When I was watching Chappelle, you were supposed to be upstairs. How do you know what I was laughing at?" "We gotta go upstairs everytime people say a curse word? [mumbles to herself] We can't NEVER be downstairs." (Yes, I have subsequently made efforts to clean up my language. Freakin responsibilities.)

The Lil Boy - Age 7: "So where are you about to go?" "To the airport." "What are you going to do with the rental car?" "Oh, I'm going to bring it to the rental car office?" "Well, how are you gonna get to the airport if you're gonna leave the car?" "They have a shuttle that brings me from the rental office to the airport." *thinks a minute* "You gonna put some gas in your car right?" "Yeah." "Don't do that when you talk on your cell phone. Paw Paw said that's dangerous." "Okay son. Anything else?" *thinks another minute, then gives me a hug* "Nah, you're cool."

The Lil Girl - Age 4: (Overheard conversation with my aunt.) "That dress is so pretty. Are you gonna let me borrow it?" *with a WTF look* "Oh no! You are too big for MY dress. You are way way way too big for my dress." *Aunt chuckes* "Alright you! I get it." "You are too too big for this dress. What you wanna do? Break it?" (Okay, I HAD to punish her, because that was borderline disrespect, but I'll be damned if my cousins and I didn't collapse laughing once the aunt and the girl were out of earshot.)

Conversation between the two: "Girl, shut up." "Don't tell me shut up boy! Shut don't go up, crisis do!"

The Lil Boy - Age 6: "Mama, this boy called me the 'n' word today and you told me black people shouldn't never never call other black people that. So I punched him in the mouth." (Somehow, I think there still was a lesson lost somewhere in there.)

The Lil Girl - Age 5: (Pointing at my left ring finger) "Where is your ring?" "I don't have a ring ma, because I don't have a husband." "My daddy has a ring." "That's right, because he has a wife. I don't have a ring there because I don't have a husband." *thinks a minute* "Well, you don't need need no husband, but you need to get a ring on your finger." (Budding feminist?)

I could write all day about the stuff they say that I deem hilarious (I won't even touch the things they actually DO), however, I will spare you good people. Feel free to drop some of your own kids' (or nieces/nephews', godchirren's) pearls of wisdom in the comments.

Beautiful. . .like a rainbow

"You with the sad eyes
Don't be discouraged
Oh I realize
It's hard to take courage
In a world full of people
You can lose sight of it all
And the darkness inside you
Can make you feel so small"
- Cyndi Lauper

The other day (maybe yesterday) I got one of those circulating email quizzes. For lack of something better to do, not only did I reply to it, but I read the replies of others as well. Invariably, I saw the same thing over and over. When asked whether or not they viewed themselves as attractive, almost all of the people replied either, "no", "I'm just okay" or something to that effect? I almost felt vain answering yes. Almost.

What world is it that we live in, that not only will society judge us harshly, but we judge ourselves even MORE harshly? When did it become taboo to find yourself attractive? To see the beauty in yourself? I mean, no, I'm not Halle Berry, or Gabrielle Union or whoever the kids are into these days, but who says I have to be? Chocolate cake and fried chicken don't taste the same, but I'll be damned if they ain't both delicious.

Now I'm sure that some folks gave the "aw shucks" response out of some sense of modesty, but, the question remains, why can't you express a positive sentiment about your looks just because you don't fit into some imaginary mold?

I can guarantee that there are at least 40 things that a person can pick on me about in the looks department and you know what? So what. I'm going to get thousands of messages via the media that points out one deficiency or another. Therefore, opinons on the aesthetics of Mamba are little more than lips flapping in the breeze. Yes, I DO like to be thought of as pretty. Yes, I AM flattered and get giddy when I receive a compliment. But when all is said and done, that doesn't validate me anymore than an individual telling me that I'm ugly makes me void. I would like to think that my looks convey my spirit, and that, ladies and gentlemen, is a beautiful thing.