Believe only half of what you see

I find that as humans, we are always willing to, not only expect the worst, but believe and be entertained by the worst. We also tend to be fascinated by urban legends with little to no basis whatsoever. What I find amusing is how dogmatically a person will defend something that they not only can't prove, but have virtually no stake in.

The Willie Lynch letter has been circulating for number of years. Supposedly it was a documented speech given by Willie Lynch, a slave owner, who essentially gave the blueprints for keeping black folks enslaved. Simple enough, right? Unfortunately, overwhelming evidence shows that this letter was manufactured MUCH later than this speech was to have taken place. I will say that in reading the letter, it does outline what slavery has done to the black community as a whole, but to attribute this to an individual merely perpetuates the belief that racism is a figment of our imagination. It also makes us seem panicky and uneducated. There are far to many REAL documents, slave journals, blatant acts of racism and xenophobic violence that we can point to, rather than relying on a contrived document that was never really discovered. To me, it is an affront to all individuals who are legitimately involved in the struggle. This document could just as easily have been written by a white man to prove how gullible we as black people are. All I can do is shake my head each time I see it pop up or referenced.

Maya Angelou did not write that shitty FUBU poem and Timberland is not owned and run by the KKK. What's funny is that she has denounced the poem on her website. Funnier still is the fact that Timberland was founded by someone of Hebrew heritage, which would probably exclude him from KKK consideration. However, that has not stopped, or even slowed, the circulation of this "poem." I'm not saying that because of this, folks should go out and make any designer rich. What I am saying is...have an independent thought. Don't patronize or stay away from a certain establishment or brand simply because Maya Angelou (or anyone else) says so. (No disrespect, but I'm not taking fashion advice from a 70+ year old woman.) What I'm also saying is STOP FORWARDING THAT HORRIBLE POEM.

The Wendy Williams gossip list...what can I say about that list that hasn't been said about Afghanistan? (Shameless and gratuitous Chappelle's Show ripoff.) Basically, this is a list of celebrities that are freaks, have stank breath, stank genitalia, homosexual, bisexual, lying about their age, etc. The obsession with celebrity is astounding to me. Celebrities are human beings, so it stands to reason that there are some who will be gay, some will be freaks, some will have breath that smells like 15 pounds of get back and so forth. I don't know anyone for being interested in those things, but that isn't my cup of tea. If Will Smith wants me to know that he's gay, he'll call me and tell me. Wendy recently stated that the list is not affiliated with her...in all fairness though, you can give my saying this as much credence as I gave that over-circulated email.

My love for Jesus is not dependent upon whether or not I forward your email. That 12 year old girl has been in remission for 8 years and is now a dancer at Big Daddy's Gentlemen's Club. If you think that Bill Gates is going to cut you a check for forwarding a stupid ass email rather than actually working, you are out of your damned mind. Sophia Stewart has NOT won her case against the Wachowski Brothers. I could go on forever.

To state it simply, just because your cousin's babysitter's hairdresser's uncle's girlfriend sent you an email, that doesn't make it true and it most definitely does not make it worth of dogmatic defense.

That is all. Go back to your lives citizens.

Just running my mouth

If your email has a name like "num1dyckryder", "cuminside", "likuallover", etc., please do not have "I do all things through Christ who strengthens me" as your sig. I'm not saying I'm as tight with the Lawd as I should be, but I feel safe in saying, he wants no part of that. Chill out.

When you call in to work, your coworkers don't want to hear the details of your GI issues, so please keep the details to a minimum. It will only enhance the ridicule factor.

Those that use their cell phones in public bathrooms, take note: if you use the stall adjacent to mine, you will get embarrassed. Please believe that.

I spent the weekend in Mississippi on the Coast. While passing a couple of white guys in Edgwater mall, I heard one say to the other in reference to me, "That right there is a badunkadunk." I turned my head in partial disbelief only to see Cleatus the Slack Jawed Yokel grinning at me like he had a snoballs chance in hell to even have me fart in his general direction. Verrrrry distressing.

As a woman living alone with two children, I do NOT answer my door if I am not expecting anyone. Yes, I know, the Publisher's Clearing House people will never get me in my home, but neither will the thugs. Far too many sex offenders pop up when I search my zip code. People know this, so why folks insist on popping up at my crib unannounced is beyond me. I have no qualms with listening to unannounced visitors get robbed through my door.

Madden 2006 is out and I will be copping it. However, let me state this for the record: YOU ARE NOT PLAYING REAL FOOTBALL. Let it go.

Why do folks feel that pregnant women are public domain? Her carrying life does not give you the right to touch her, give her unwanted wives' tale advice, or say dumb shit like "Damn you gettin' big!" or "Ooooh you just look miserable." It makes you seem stupid and annoying.

The next man that says to me, "Why you got that look on your face? Smile!" is straight up getting stabbed as I scream, "MAYBE I AIN'T GOT NOTHING TO SMILE ABOUT TODAY BEYOTCH!!" Who made up a rule that I have to smile 24/7? I know I didn't sign off on that. Sometimes I'm just thinking. Can a sister be pensive? Damn!

Whenever I walk into a room full of stuffy folks, I always have to fight the urge to say "Oh my God! What in the world is that smell?!?" Then cast a knowing/accusing stare towards whomever appears the snottiest.

I have discovered that people with the raunchiest breath hardly ever want gum. There is barely one inch between one's mouth and nose, so I refuse to believe folks can't smell the tartness.

For those of you that don't know, let me tell you this: PMS is a motherfucker. If you think it's an imaginary affliction, mess with a sister during one of her "days". . . you'll be telling your story from a hospital bed.

From this moment on, I refuse to get into any group discussions/debates related to child support. I always end up with a headache.

The older I get, the more I realize that things are going to be what they are. This isn't to say that I have no control over my life, but sweating things I can't control is only making me crazy. I'm just going to take it easy.

I'm poor, so when someone finds some gay porn with Bush or Rumsfeld or somebody, help a sister out.

I'm way too emotional for my own good and often feel like a kook afterward.

I'm losing my faith in humanity at a steadily increasing rate.

My children want to go to Disneyworld. Disneyworld is gonna cost about $3500.00 on a budget. There may be some disappointed folks this year.

I've gotta cut back on the java. I have been far too jittery lately.

I'm finding that more and more women are accepting of "man sharing". That is some of the most twisted shit ever to me. I've actually had a dude that was married approach me on some bull and even had his wife (if that's really who she was) call me to tell me that she knew the score and did her own thing so she didn't mind. What kind of shit is that? Heathens I tell ya!!! DIRTY HEATHENS!!!

I don't mind when folks disagree with me. Actually, I love hearing opposing points of view and listening to people explain those views. It doesn't have to necessarily be eloquent or wordy, but to have a solid argument...that's the shit right there. However, to argue with me for the sake of arguing, or because you've got your ass on your shoulders, you don't like the way I express myself or because you simply haven't listened to what I said, well that's just annoying, and maybe a little silly.

*The opinions of this post are solely the opinions of Breez and are not necessarily held by www.blogger.com. If you have any issues with the opinions on this blog:

DON'T READ IT DUMB ASS!!

Muddling through this thing called life

Last night while thumbing through a notebook I had as a senior in high school, I realized how organized I was. A friend of mine expressed a similar sentiment and noted that it was because we had nothing else to do at the time. (I would have loved to regale him of tales of how exciting my life was at the time, but unfortunately, he was right - I was social plankton.) Now that I'm older and have more responsibilities, I know my life should have lost some of it's order. However, my life looks like the organization monster threw up in my life. I'm always late, I can never find anything, I forget everything, I'm slower than molasses, I can't focus and reaching goals seem like impossibilities.

Living in New Orleans makes me want to scream bloody murder. There's a saying related to the difference between New Orleans and purgatory - supposedly God lets people leave purgatory. It's loud, bawdy, country and it stinks. I'm also pretty sure that when the Lord gets in the mood for some smiting, New Orleans will definitely be in the "Top 5". It also does not pay to be a woman with an definitive opinion on anything down here. (Though I'm finding that it doesn't go over too well in other places either, but that's another story for another day.) Long story short, I'm ready to bounce. Call it running, call it escaping, call it whatever the hell you want. I've gotta go.

I have already changed my goal for being published at 27 to 32. I will not allow myself to change that to 37. I've gotta get cracking on this for real. I've been writing lately, and that's most definitely a good thing. One day, maybe folks will say "I knew her when..." I promise not to go on vacation and marry a juvenile gay Jamaican.

I hate doing the dishes. I mean, I despise it. I considered paying my sister $50 a week to do my dishes for me. No joke. I'd rather scrub a million toilets than wash a plate.

I'm fat. I set up an appointment with a trainer at a gym today because I'm tired of being fat. I've started doing Pilates in the morning because I'm tired of being fat. Tonight I'm giving away my red meat because I'm tired of being fat. You get the picture.

My dad was diagnosed with cancer earlier this summer. He's been sort of hush hush about it, which makes me nervous. Between that, my brother leaving his wife, my sister floating through life without direction, my kids growing like weeds and my friends and family thinking that I'm a nut job, I'm somewhat overwhelmed.

I know I'm going to make it...I'm sure of it. I'm just not sure if I'm going to make it with a full head of hair.

the pageant

matters of the heart
make us the most practiced of liars.
we profess to have mended
and grown past our hurts
but rooted within
lies the same
fractured
infantile
soul
aching for warmth and comfort.
so adroit do we become
at putting on this
cavalier charade
that it becomes all at once
effortless -
impelling us to believe
in our own duplicity.
we scoff
at romance and lovers
as foolish and unnecessary
because we are too fearful
to admit
that's what we crave most.
so as our comeuppance
love cuts us
the deepest
and we cry
the hardest.

Today's Nominee for the "Most Deserving of Copious Blows to the Body With a Sack of Nickels" Award

Some people are just gasping for it. I don't want to kill anyone...just give some folks the beating of their lives. Here's today's nominee:

At work we received a fax and the cover sheet indicated that there were two pages. We only recieved that page. So my boss called the office to say, "Hey, we're missing page two. Would you mind re-sending the fax?" The receptionist said, "No problem. I'll give his secretary a note so that she can send the fax." This story should end with us receiving a complete fax on Monday (today). Notice I said "should".

This morning I received a call that went a little something like this:

Good morning. ___ ____'s secretary please.

This is his secretary 'Breez'.

Hello. This is ___ of ___ ___'s office calling regarding the ___ matter. Our office received a call from Mr. ____ stating that he did not receive page two of my fax. Do you know anything about this?

No, I don't, but if you'd give me a moment, I can find out for you.

Well, he said that he didn't receive the entire fax, but I only sent two pages.

(There is a pause as I wait for her to shift into common sense drive. She does not.)

Well, though he's not here, I will assume that means he only got the cover sheet, but I can check on that if you like. (Another pause waiting for the common sense reserve to kick in. Again, nowhere in sight.)

But I only sent two pages.

Ok, please hold while I check the file.

Hi ___? Yes, we only received the cover page, would you please send page two?

*sigh* Okay.

Thank you for calling.

Here is my question: What parallel universe does this woman live in? And did she go on record expressing her inability to count to two? In the effort that it took to make that phone call, she could have filed it under the "shit happens" category and resent the second page of the fax. Her incredulous tone was particularly annoying. As though there was no way in hell that we could be missing the second page. What was even more annoying was that our fax machine prints the number of pages received at the top of the page, and our printout read "Page 1 of 1". So basically, she only sent one page.

If this world were mine, my end of the convo would have gone something like this:

____, stop being a moron. I know where you work and this conversation has me prepared to get into my car, go to your job and beat you within an inch of your life. You were told that page two was not received. That being said, whether you sent two pages, or two thousand, our fax is sans page two. Obviously, actually doing your job is not a strong point, because the fax would either have been sent properly in the first place or you would have sent it again without question. However, do you realize how much extra "work energy" you've expended making this inane phone call? Right now you could be talking to Cindy or Buffy or whoever about your weekend while filing your nails and plotting your next cigarette break. Instead, you're stuck on a phone with me trying to locate the fax that never was. Do us both a favor. Do your job right the first time so that you won't have to "work" twice in the future. But in the meantime, get off your ass and send me my damned fax...and a banana cognac BEYOTCH!!

Ahhhh, if I ruled the world...

PSA

Poetry is one of my favorite artistic expressions. Now I know that art is subjective. One man's trash is another man's treasure and vice versa. However, some shit is better left unwritten. When all you can do is throw a bunch of words that rhyme on a page, recount a detailed sexual experience or tell me how all men are dogs/women are bitches, YOU ARE NOT A POET. Though you have the right to write down whatever you want. What you do NOT have however, is the right to subject others to that madness. Keep that shit on your hard drive, blog, notebook, etc. Please don't mass reproduce that foolishness to everyone you know via email. It's painful and wrong. You put folks in the position where they feel obligated to comment. If they don't want to hurt your feelings they either say nothing, or lie. Unless you have really hard boiled friends (like I do) and tell you, "Say, that shit is wack. Start over."

What's funny is that a true poet wants to know that they've hit you with "the weak-ness." These psuedo-folks are not trying to hear anything that resembles constructive criticism, because they KNOW they've hit you with the bomb. And they have - it's called a stink bomb. So, be a good friend. Unless you plan on publishing your work and are seeking improvement, keep your writings in the private sector.

"Friends don't let friends read wack ass poetry."

This bugged me

This morning I read a "poem" pertaining to male discontent with the "independent woman." In recent months I've heard this repeated ad nauseum and it's got me a little uptight. Believe me, I'm as tired as the brothers of hearing every woman proclaim independence (particularly those living with relatives, married to governmental assistance or damn near prostituting themselves to pay their bills). However, as I said before regarding good men, most independent women are too busy doing the shit that makes them independent to toot their own horns. That being said, the following statement annoyed me: "INDEPENDENT=ALONE". What the hell?

If a sister spouts the ideology that she only has time for an "accomplished" brother, and she has not attained comparable accomplishments, she is enslaved to her own "knight in shining armour" mentality. She has neither pot nor window, but she's knows that "Mr. Right" is going to elevate her. It goes without saying that this woman is not independent.

When a single sister has attained certain accomplishments, and subsequently uses said accomplishments to berate and browbeat men, she also, is NOT independent. She is a ball buster. She is enslaved to her past hurts and the things that she has read which have convinced her that a man can do nothing for her. She is also enslaved to her own ego. So, for a brother to hold her up as a symbol of independence is flawed.

There is also folly in assuming that an independent woman is single and unhappy or, if she is married, her husband's life is a living hell. I've seen quite a few successful marriages where the woman is independent, yet considerate and respectful of her husband. I'm not referring to folks in my age group, but rather, a success that has been charted for ten years or more. A degree of independence is required, in my opinion, to uphold the vows of "in sickeness and in health." In the event that a husband becomes ill, one would think that he can rest easy knowing that his wife will step up and handle business for him. A truly indpendent woman would also recognize that communication is key in interpersonal relationships and therefore, would value the importance of communication in her marriage/committed relationship.

I can't overlook the fact that some independent sisters are busy. Since there's nothing more unattractive than a sister begging for bill money, having to handle business comes with the territory. That being said, if a sister doesn't find you engaging, she probably won't give you too much of her already precious spare time. This is not to say that something is wrong with you or that something is wrong with her. The two of you just aren't compatible. I can attest to the fact that when "it" is there, busy folks will make the time. So take heart and don't just label the sister because it didn't work out between the two of you.

I don't have an issue with folks liking what they like...but to demonize something merely because it is not your preference is very "blah" to me, because what they have done is taken a label and applied it acrossed the board. There are a lot of sisters who are independent and balanced and statements like that often detract from the accomplishments of those sisters.

Life's Massage

While hitching a ride on Sweet Kimmie's Train of Thought I noticed that Neena told her to let life massage her, but she didn't quite define what was involved in that. Here are some things that I think of that qualify as my massages of life.

1. Hanging with my girlfriends

I mean just legitimately hanging, sipping wine, listening to music and reminescing - WITHOUT uttering the words "I hate when men ___." I love my sisters, but some of us really need to let the brothers BREAVE! I really began to enjoy being single when every time I hung with I developed a close circle of friends that didn't turn every gathering into a man gab fest.

2. Dancing with my kids

I LOVE to watch my little shorties dance. Ty tries to do all that ticking shit all the kids are doing these days (I sound like my father) and Jae just kind of struts her prissy self around, lol. It's really a lot of fun.

3. Making lemons out of lemonade

It sounds corny and I often live by the creed "When life gives you lemons, squirt as many people in the eye as humanly possible," but sometimess, lemonade is in order. My car has been out of commission for a couple of weeks now, so every morning and evening, while on public transportation, I give myself mental health time. This society is saturated with distractions: Cable, the internet, the telephone, cell phones, video games and iPods have really taken over. We rarely just take a few minutes to quietly collect our thoughts. So for 20 minutes of my bus trip each way, I tune out everything and just think, plan, scheme, whatever. It's actually quite refreshing.

4. Going on a date

This one I don't do very often, but an enjoyable date is priceless, even if it's just a friendship date. Sometimes being in the company of a man is just fun. I don't mean this bed hopping booty call crap that folks call dating these days. I mean just going to dinner, going to a movie, a concert, walking in the park and saying "Good night, I had a great time. I'll call you later." Folks seem to see that as boring these days.

5. Watching a good action movie

The sight of fictitious ass getting whipped does wonders for my soul. My kids are going to my sister's for a week and the FIRST thing I'm doing when they leave is popping "Fists of Fury" in the DVD player.

6. Talking to my sisters

They are beautiful, hilarious, compassionate and strong. Of course, I occasionally want to crack them over the cabezas, but they are the best. No one can replace them.

7. PJ shopping

Once upon a time I had as much night wear as day wear. There's just something about the right pair of pajamas that gets me giddy.

8. Reading

Pick up a book dammit. You just might learn something. I am a fountain of useless trivia because I read. But I'm also have gained a lot of knowledge for that same reason.

9. Chewing the fat with Michelle

I'm not in the habit of making new friends. The ones I've had for years suit me just fine. However, I'm glad I bent that rule, because she's great. We are exactly alike and completely different all at the same time, and we keep each other (in)sane. DIVAS!!

10. Straying from the beaten path

Being a worker drone, a parent and just getting older has made me quite methodical. I tend to do things according to a routine that I don't deviate from. However, it's good to switch up the game every once in a while. Sometimes, I run across new things that turn out to be something I can incorporate into the routine.

To all the boys I've looooooved befoooooooore...

Reading the relationship musings of the legend known as Harlem Slim, has me pondering my own romantic past. If I had a few minutes to talk to each of them, here's what I would say to them today:

MD - First "boyfriend" To date, you are the only guy that ever gave me flowers. And...and...remember that time you gave me your last Capri Sun at our class picnic and cursed out Chris for knocking down my Coke...remember? Yeah...that was cool.

CA - Dude you tortured me for two months. Couldn't you have just told me you liked me? Throwing spitballs and bugs at people is really just gross...and that eyelid thing was creepy. You made up for it by writing that rhyme about me though. It was tight and I still smile when I remember the hook.

OJ - You were such a sweetheart. My mother loved you. Really. I think she liked that fact that you were a little left of center. I'm glad to see that you've made your life beautiful.

JH - Dude, you were a waste of time even for a middle school boyfriend. And what was up with the chickenhead scallywag? There is no way in the world I was giving up ass at 13, but you picked one hell of a route to take. I would have felt better if it was Latonya, or even Shante...but Keisha? Ewwww. Rumor has it you're strung out on "the shit" now and Keisha - she had "crack ho" written all over her in 8th grade. I hope that's not true, but that's the road you were heading down when I knew you. That's messed up.

EV - Didn't I tell your ass to call BEFORE 10? 1:30? WTF? You saw my daddy...you KNEW he was crazy...ONE THIRTY? I was grounded for two weeks after that. Thanks for nothing.

GM - You caught me at my "people are just people" phase and though you were nice, I did realize one thing: black folks and white folks were different. Plus I always got the feeling that your mom was 3 seconds from a nigger joke and I think we both know how that would have turned out. I also see how things turned out with the sister you DID end up with. Glad I figured you out early on.

HJM - I've already blogged about you extensively. You will always be loved by me, but I can't ever love you "that way" again. You always seemed like you were distracted and that sort of got tired. It's not like I didn't try to make it work or BEG you to work with me, but you gave me nothing. Then when I figured it was time to part ways, you were bewildered. I've admitted that I didn't handle it the right way - that I was flat out wrong - but you never admitted your part. Then, the way you invited yourself back into my life and disappeared - that was special. You really could have left me alone. I guess you had to get the last word. Hope that made you feel better.

MR - I could insult you but what's the use? Plus I can't blame you for being, well, you. Everybody told me what you were and I went ahead and tried to build something with you anyway. I'm glad you found a Tina for your Ike, because I wasn't the one for that shit.

CL - You are worse than herpes. Just when I think it's safe to go back in the water, you try to pop up again. When I was ready to go to the next level, you acted like I asked you throw your dick into a wood chipper. Then when I finally went my own way, you acted like the ground I walked on was sanctified and when I took you seriously, you went back to the old you. What is that shit? And did you REALLY think it could happen twice? Ooooh, you just simple.

DA - That massage thing? That is the oldest, most tired trick in the book. I didn't have a damn headache. My "corn" allergy started flaring up and that's why I called a cab.

LS - I don't know what happened. You fell into the "friendship zone" and I stopped looking at you like a "dude". My bad about the giggling, but I really didn't think you were serious. You gotta admit that it came out of the blue. Glad you got over it though. Even if you don't get no bigga...

KA - You didn't think I would tell you no did you? You are one of the prettiest people I've ever laid eyes on, but outside of that...I get nothing. You weren't mean, you weren't nice, you weren't funny, you weren't corny, you were just...there. It was like going to dinner with this really pretty picture and I just couldn't get with that.

RR - You really hurt me man. After my separation I was a bonified love hater and you joked your way into the inner circle. Deep inside, I knew you had a girlfriend, but like you said, I never asked. Since I thought we were friends, I didn't think I would have needed to. I spotted the three of you in Semolina's recently. I'd never seen them before, but she looks like both of you. I'm glad y'all were able to hold it together.

SK - You, sir, are a lepton. (Thanks Amadeo!)

Yeah...that sums it up.

"People don't forget they have kids."

These two round chocolate faces are focused on me, waiting for an answer. It's not that I don't have an answer for them - I just don't want to give it. The ringleader repeats the question:

"Did you hear me? I asked why my daddy doesn't call me."

Previously, I either avoided the question ("It's time for bed"), changed the subject ("Who wants some pizza/to go to Walmart/IHOP?") or flat out lied ("He's gone away to work" when he was in jail). Evidently, my oldest finally saw through my subterfuge and wanted some answers. This was his third time asking me that question within an hour, so I felt like I owed him a response. I tried diplomacy first. I told him that sometimes, people get very tied up with their lives, and they can forget to do things, even contact people that are very important to them. My four year old looked at me with eyes as big as saucers, "My daddy forgot me?" I immediately realized that if ever there was a wrong answer, I gave it. Before I could fix it my son blurted out, "Nuh uh. People don't forget they have kids. All he has to do is call and say hey." Out of the mouths of babes.

The conversation sort of ended there, because it was a Saturday and there were cartoons to be seen, but it was an elephant in the room of my mind, because I knew it would have to be addressed, I just wasn't sure when or how.

Fast forward a couple of weeks. We're fixing lunch. Lil Man is helping me at the stove, Baby Girl is "stirring" the Kool Aid, and we're having a wonderful time. Seemingly out the blue, my son says, "Maybe if we tell my daddy we can cook we can come over." And my daughter starts singing this "I'm gonna go by my daddy" song. He picks up the phone and calls his dad and, surprise surprise, he's not home. Ty is disgusted because he's been getting this same song and dance for a month now. My kids go into an immediate funk and one of them implies that if they promise to be good, maybe they can go to his house "next time." Four years later and this motherfucker is STILL fucking up my program. Not five minutes before, we were having a great time, then virtually at the mention of his name, the whole vibe changed. The fact that my children, who (though they may be pains in the asses) bring me joy, laughter, love and general entertainment, think that his absence is due to some deficiency on their part is enough to make me want to deliver a shotgun blast between his eyes. But I collect my thoughts and give my children the best thing I know how - the God's honest truth:

In this world, you're gonna be surrounded by people. Some will always be there, some you will never see again and some will come and go like the breeze. Some will express love, some will express hate and some won't show anything, but don't let that take away from who you are. You will always be Ty and Jae and you will always be loved by me and even if he doesn't call, by your dad. Plus, if you don't have anyone else, you have God's love. You are both beautiful and helpful and smart and great. Even when you aren't around I think about you and you make me smile and I'll bet your dad thinks about you too. I won't make excuses for why your dad doesn't call, because I don't know, but I can tell you this, when a person is ready to talk, they will. Until that time comes, try not to worry about anybody that doesn't show that they are worried about you because they've got their own issues to work out.

Now, there are folks that will say I'm wrong, but there's no way in hell I'm going to stand there and let my kids think this is their issue. I would have preferred that they put the blame on me. Anything but blaming themselves. I really don't have the time or the energy to harbor hatred for anyone, but if ever I did, he'd be at the top of the list.

Now I know that one day, he's going to look at the people that they become and want to kick himself. I know one day he's going to be confronted to answer questions, questions that will hurt him, make him cry and make him wonder what was that important that he had to miss out on his children. I know that one day he may even wonder how he made room for another man to fill in the role of "Dad" while all he has is a mere title.

What I don't know is why it had to come to this at all.

My first love

I remember him well. His name was Maurice and I met him in the second grade. He was smart, nice and funny. I was seven and he was. . . about 40. He was my guidance counselor and he would visit my class once a week - every Thursday at 2:00 p.m. to be exact. Every Thursday, I would pick out an outfit, make sure that my mom ironed it properly, wear bows in my hair and refused to play so that I wouldn't get scummy looking. He was actually the first person that truly encouraged my writing. As a kid, I had these bushy eyebrows and of course, folks poked fun and I hated them. Mr. Maurice told us that my eyebrows were what made me unique and things that are unique are what makes us beautiful. Looking back and pictures of my younger days, I looked like my forehead was attacked by two wild caterpillars, but Mr. Maurice was forever in my heart for being sweet to a gangly, bushy-browed kd.

A tear for Big Pimpin'

For those of you that don't know, Big Pimpin' is my car. I told myself that I would name my car after the first song I heard on the radio that made me bob my head. Jay-Z came on and the legend was born. My car's previous owner was an extremely militant lesbian and I had a whole bunch of gay pride and gay interest stickers on my car. If I got out of a car and there was a gay chick around, I was getting mad love. As it turns out, the prior owner was evidently well known so I was asked on more than one occasion "Is this Cathy's car?"

The car is old as hell and I think on it's last leg. It's a 1991 and had 220k miles on it when I bought it. The trunk doesn't work, something in the wheel well is bent, it gets boisterous when it goes over 65 and the headlights don't go down anymore...but I love it. However, it gets me and my friends wherever we have to go, and I'm NEVER ashamed to park my shit in the front. Some folks, when they go clubbing, they'll park their car 3 blocks away and walk to the club. Not me and my homies. I will proudly part it smack in the front. To the folks that don't like it and talk shit, fuckem. However my car may look, I promise you that the vision that steps out of it is on point.

Today however, I have no car. My alternator is shot. I bought a new battery Friday and it turns out that the alternator was the issue. DAMMIT!! Two weeks ago, I had to replace my tires. So far, we're at about $250 in car repairs. I'm too broke for this shit. I should have been prepared for this though. EVERY three day weekend brings car issues. It's like my car says, "She ain't got nothin better to do. Let me fuck with her right quick." I'm giving consideration to purchasing something else, I'm just not sure of what right now. Hopefully I can get things in order in the near future because this unexpected crap is really killing my social life.

Oh...wait...I must have been absent. When did they make that sexy?

Lately, I've been questioning the commonality of common sense. I mean, old folks saying, "Common sense ain't so common," is about as old as time to me, but I feel that the lack of it has descended to new lows - particularly in the realm of fashion.

The other night I went to a club where this sister just happened to catch my eye. I was a little tipsy and at first glance, I couldn't figure out for the life of me why her outfit drew my attention. Until I realized that she had an entire layer of flab dripping over the top of her pants and a shirt that purposely stopped well above her waist. I don't mean that the top of her pants were too tight and she's thick around the waist. I mean the shit was draping over her jeans. WTF?? Now, as a mother of two who doesn't work out nearly enough, I'm not at all unfamiliar with a fat roll or two (okay or TEN don't focus on the wrong part of the damn story), however, to flagrantly have my rolls on parade is another matter entirely. What was even funnier was that she didn't stay still either. She swung the horribly dressed monstrosity known as her body across the room to be viewed by all and sundry. I had to take another shot of Cuervo just to relax.

What the hell is up with men in tight shirts? Is there anything on this planet that is gayer? If my six year old is astute enough to look at a man and ask me, "Why is his shirt so small?" you know something had gone awry. To add insult to injury, they're usually pink or mint green or peach, making the guy look even more ambiguously DL. The other day I saw a guy dressed like that, walking with his woman. I honestly wanted to slap the crap out of her for not being the voice of reason in this fashion faux pas concert.

Women and these misplaced ponytails really have to stop. I'm not knocking a woman for wearing them, but there are rules that should be adhered to. What I fail to understand is, why are there sisters that walk up to the counter and say, "Uh, yes, I'd like to purchase the silkiest ponytail on earth please"? What is that shit about? Can we do some texture and color matching PLEASE? You look like you've got follicular split personality disorder. Living out your caucasian fantasies is really not the move.

The only thing that looks more self hating than a black woman with green color contacts, is a BLACK MAN with green color contacts. What in the Flipmode (thanks Curt!) is going on? To put it simply, they look like a steaming plate of microwaved mess. No nice way to state that. I can't be the only one to notice the cruddy brown undertone that comes with putting a light colored contact over our brown eyes. Simply put, if you buy seafoam green, it transforms into shitty green, sky blue becomes shitty blue and I won't even go there on how awful hazel looks. Just stop it. It does not enhance beauty.

The other day I saw a brother with loc extensions. I'm not even dedicating a full paragraph to that foolishness. Just stop it.

Though men in tight clothes disgust me, men in baggy hanging off the ass clothes are equally disgusting. I don't mean teenaged boys (we all had crazy shit that we wore as teens) I mean grown ass, 30 year old men. Pull up your damned pants stupid. Comfortably loose and even a lil baggy is cool (actually, kinda sexy in this chica's opinion) but once things have begun to fall off your ass, you really just look like a moron and it's time to stop trying to recapture the misspent years of your fleeting youth.

What really takes the cake is that Grandmama has been replaced by Grand-Hood Rat. In the past week I've seen four women well past 50 with variations of the same fucked up plastered hairstyle, booty shorts (or just too short for past 50) and halter tops with metallic flip flop sandals. I can't effectively convey my disgust other than by just saying "Ewwwww" *shudder*. Big Mama really is gone ya'll.

Summer Hibernation

My home is a black hole on the weekends. Once I go in on Friday evening, I don't come out again until Monday morning unless there is a dire necessity to do so. I hate leaving my house unless I absolutely must. I spend so much time on the run during the week, letting my crib go to pot, on the weekend, I feel obligated to dedicate my time to my house, cleaning cooking, sketching out projects.

This has made me increasingly antisocial. Once my neighbor knocked on my door to make sure I was still alive. I remember when I initially bought my car, I was never home. I felt free to go to every mall in the city, work late without having to worry about catching the bus, visit every friend and family member that would have me. However, now...it's just too damned hot man. The thought of entering the inferno known as my car makes my head hurt. Every errand that I have is done after work Monday through Friday. Once I get inside of my home, that time is sacred.

Today is really bad though. Typically, I do my and my daughter's hair, iron our clothes, do my facial and pedicure all while I'm doing my laundry. However, today, uh, I did my daughter's hair and some of my laundry, but all that other stuff *shrug* didn't happen. The things that would make me look presentably human, uh uh. My feet look like, as a good friend has said, I ran all the way to freedom barefoot and I'm still in my pajamas at 7:15. I actually feel quite bummy, and this is not the vision. I know it's hot, but this is ridiculous.

*sigh* I guess I've blogged myself into guilt, so I'll go make myself look like something.

No Home Training

Actually, I spent my formative years in home training boot camp. However, after about 18, I filed for conscientious objector status. When my mother passed away, I discovered how scandalous people can and will be when they think that you don't have anyone in your corner. I mean, my dad was there for me, but he had his own shit with him (he did lose his wife) so in a lot of ways, I was on my own. Since I had adult responsibilities, there were a lot of people that had to be programmed to respect my mind. Around that time, I wiped off the shine grin and unleashed the dragon on society at large. I figured there was no need to be wishy washy with folks. I either liked you or I didn't and life was too short to leave people confused.

My mother had a very magnetic personality and after her death, everyone claimed these great friendships with her. Usually this was because the woman in question either wanted to get with my father, or had a friend that she wanted to introduce to my pops. They figured if they got in good with me, the oldest, it would be smooth sailing. What they didn't know is that my mother was no dummy and she prepared me for this bullshit. One day in particular grimy brawd that knew my family took me on what was our third "ladies luncheon" and talked about how wonderful my mother was, and how, in the spirit of friendship and goodwill, she promised her that she'd do everything in her power to "take care of the entire family." I didn't even pause as I cut into my prime rib, peered at her over the glass of chablis I conned her into getting for my underaged ass and said, "Bitch please, how many times have you been to my house? None right? That's because my mama didn't like you. If you're trying to get with my pops say that so we can stop having these bullshit lunches and go about our business." I know she wanted to slap me seven ways to Sunday and I was itching for her to do it. I guess she wasn't that crazy. I'd have whipped that ass.

I developed this fascination with telling folks to go fuck themselves. Specifically I would tell them, "Here's a suggestion - how about you go couplate with a rusty sewerage pipe and stay out of my damned business?" I told to one of my ex's cousins this after he told me that I needed to learn my place and let my husband come home whenever the hell he wanted. The thing is, this bamma didn't even know the meaning of "copulate". However he wasn't so dumb as to not be pissed when I told him to get a dictionary to look the word up, then get his daughter's "my first dictionary" to help him with the words in the regular dictionary. I thought of calling him a cretin, but I'm more than sure he wouldn't have known the meaning behind that either.

I am most definitely the fly in the ricebowl at my uber republican right wing office and more often than not it drives me nuts. The thing is, they sort of goosestep around racial issues, try to be politically correct in my presence and talk alot of shit when I'm not around. One all but called me a credit to my race. After discovering this, I decided that I would say pretty much whatever pops into my head at the time. When the crazy chick in my office starts acting, well, crazy, I'll tell my boss shit like, "I'm really not in the mood to go to jail for killing up some white folks today." Or if my supplies have been removed I'll ask, "Which one of you people took my stuff in the name of manifest destiny? Did you put a flag on it?" My personal favorite is "Okay, eight hours of white folks is about all I can stand. Good night." I'm sure I'm every type of jigaboo in the book in their opinion, but oh well, c'est la vie. I'm convinced that to a couple of them, I'd be a jig either way, so I may as well get my jollies out of the deal.

I got tired of pleading with my ex for money and since I'm convinced that I'll NEVER see a cent from him, I've decided to make it entertaining for me. So on the RARE happenstance that I actually talk to him, I'll blurt out, "Man, you've been dodging us like you owe me chi...oops, nevermind," and burst into laughter. It really is good medicine.

I'm really not a bad person. I just spent a lot of years thinking that being "good" equated to a chronic diet of other people's bullshit, and that's just not the case. Once I discovered that I could be good and occasionally correct a mofo, "liberated" doesn't begin to cover what I felt. I'm acutally discovering that I'm going soft in my old age and folks are starting to get away with more and more bs with me. *shrug* It doesn't really bother me that much anymore. I've handed out more than my fair share of new assholes, so letting folks slide these days is sort of my way to give back to the community.

Here I am

I haven't been blogging much lately because they've been working me like a $2 ho on the corner of Bourbon and Canal on Mardi Gras night. But also because I don't know where to begin with what's going on with me as well as the folks that are closest to me.

My daddy was recently diagnosed with cancer. He truly wants this to be hush hush, so I'm limited in who I can tell about it. I'm pretty sure that it was caught early, but I'm still a little shaken over it. I'm just staying strong in prayer about it. He's all I have in the way of parents man.

My Soul Twin is in love and I've acquired a homie/ghetto soul brother. I'm happy for both of them and the family that they are forging. It's truly a beautiful thing. (BTW if you're fed up with the radio mediocrity of these Rin and Tin cats, check out Euphon and watch them redefine what is colloquially referred to as "hot shit.")

My black sheep sister is going through some changes, and I'm not sure what they are. By her age, 22, I was married with my first child, a place and a car. She's still struggling and it's partially because she's hardheaded. I worry about her. I can't live her life for her, but I try to give her as much guidance as I can and pray that she acquires some get up and go.

My other two sisters and my brother in law are doing quite well, which is beautiful. My kids will spend some time with them in July. My sister is working on two years of wedded bliss and I'm infinitely happy for her. She's such a beautiful person. My baby sister is a little diva, but I love her all the same, lol.

My kids are getting grown, and I don't know how to deal with that. My son was getting his six year old flirt on with a 40 year old woman. I ain't ready for this man!! He's been conscious about keeping up with his reading, etc. during the summer, and I'm very happy about that. My baby girl is excited about starting school and she's already determined that she's going to have a slumber party for "her girls" after school starts. She's my little chocolate Powerpuff Girl.

On a personal front with me, I've got a thing or two going on in my life that puts an extra smile on my face, and ain't nothing wrong with that. All I can do is take things day by day. No one can really say what tomorrow will bring anyway, so I don't see the use in obsessing over it. I'm just gon' let it do what it do.

Thank you Daddy

I've said before that my mother was definitely the glue that held us together, but my father was the rock that we all rested on.

Yesterday morning, before working in this 95 degree heat, he found out that my tire was flat. He turned around and came to my house immediately to fix it. Then, when he realized that the tire was flat because it was shitty, he brought me to buy two new tires for my raggedy ass car. Considering that there are people in this world who couldn't spot their dad in a one man race, I'm blessed. Further considering that there are people whose fathers are so subhuman and cruel their kids wish that they'd never seen them, I realize that I'm supremely blessed.

Along with my mother he taught me to be resourceful, command respect, seek knowledge for myself and respect others. However, most of all, he taught me how to identify a real man and father. We never knew what it meant to be without food, or lights or transportation. My sisters and I knew that we were special and beautiful because my father told and showed us that we were. We never knew what it was like to feel unloved by him. Toward the end of my mother's life he personified "in sickness and in health." Gotta love a man like that.

My dad makes dating tough. It's not that I expect a man to be "just like daddy" (he does have a 25 year jump on everyone else), but I do expect to see at least some of the same qualities. There are definitely good men out there, but there are quite a few (often those that gain my initial attention) that completely miss the mark. I've never seen a woman open a door in my father's presence. I've never heard my father toot his own horn about how much of a good man or provider he is. He's a reformed player and he taught me that if a man is buried in explanations, then bullshit is nearby. He schooled me on successfully walking the fine line between being strong and being a ball buster. (The dudes that think I don't are generally pussies and I don't give a fuck what they say. J/K...well, sort of.) He looks out for my children to ensure that they have a positive male figure in their lives without a second thought. He does the same for the young men in his church. It's not a conscious effort that he puts forth, it's just what he does. He taught me the value of respecting myself.

I can say with complete confidence that any wrong choices I've made in my life was not because of a lack of guidance or foundation. I can also say that when I made those choices, he dusted me off and didn't hesitate to point me in the right direction. Lately, I've found myself more attractive to men that remind me of my father, not so much in physical type, but mannerisms. He's got his flaws (TREMENDOUS flaws), but they are so outweighed by his strong points, knowing him is truly a blessing.

Blah Haiku

All day long I hope
That shit will just get better
Maybe tomorrow

I Got Five On It

As usual, I'm always ready to give unsolicited personal info about myself. So, here goes.

Five Things I Want to Change

1. I procrastinate.
2. I'm suspicious.
3. I suck at financial management.
4. I am a major worry wart.
5. I cuss first and ask questions later.

Five Things I Like About Me

1. I have a thirst for knowledge
2. I'm a good listener
3. I'm willing to admit that I'm wrong and apologize
4. My smile
5. I'm a pretty good parent

Five Things I Would Like in Five Years

1. A good relationship with God.
2. My own home.
3. A healthy relationship.
4. My first book published.
5. To send my father and stepmother on a vacation.

Five Things I Do Not Apologize For

1. Putting my kids first
2. Openly expressing my feelings
3. Immediately excising drama from my life
4. Working hard
5. Going with my instinct

Five Things I Need To Survive

1. God
2. Ty
3. Jae
4. A good book
5. My mother's advice

Five Lessons I've Learned

1. Trust your gut
2. Silence speaks volumes
3. You really are taught all of life's skills in kindergarten
4. Saying no is easier when you are responsible for others
5. When a person makes a statement, then adds "but", whatever follows is how they truly feel.

Five Favorite Books

1. Memoirs of a Geisha
2. Nervous Conditions
3. The Darkest Child
4. Caucasia
5. The Best Kind of Loving

Five Favorite Movies

1. Fists of Fury
2. Malcolm X
3. Love Jones
4. The Last Samurai
5. Hero

Five Favorite Musical Artists

1. Prince
2. Black Star (I can't separate them)
3. Red Hot Chili Peppers
4. Al Greene
5. Gladys Knight

Five Weird Factoids

1. If I don't have ice for my cereal, I don't eat cereal
2. I LOVE cartoons
3. I always drive in the inside lanes on bridges
4. Coordinating underwear is important to me
5. I have a bad giggling habit

Five Places I'd Like to "Make the Beast With Two Backs"

1. That tower that watches Niagra Falls in Canada
2. An elevator
3. A park
4. Navarre Beach
5. The Eiffel Tower

Five Things That Go A Long Way

1. REALLY ask how I'm doing
2. Remember things that I say
3. Be direct but tactful
4. Respect my kids (i.e. my obligations and boundaries as a parent)
5. Tell me when I'm acting like a beyotch


Five Places I want to Visit

1. Senegal
2. Venice
3. Guadalajara
4. Rio de Janeiro
5. Hong Kong

Five Things Going Through My Head Right Now

1. Am I going to be single in my 30's?
2. I should have bought some Cheerios
3. My hair looks an awful mess
4. I have to start walking during my lunch break
5. I need to go to bed

Sunday morning rambling

Could anything be better after a pleasant evening spent with family, than to sit in your own crib, in silence, ass naked, drinking Sumatra and watching one of your favorite movies? At this point, I think not.

Does Breez Brady have to choke a bitch?

Get ya bail money together for me just in case folks. Earlier this week, my crackhead neighbor tried to sell me some dollar store jewelry for ten dollars. Now initially, I didn't know that this was a crackhead transaction. It's not uncommon for the ladies around here to get their hustle on trying to sell Avon, Tupperware, or whatever. I told her I don't wear it, but I would check out what she had and let my friends know. After about five minutes or so, her behavior went into classic crackhead mode: saying she didn't want all the neighbors to see what she had, hyping up shitty merchandise (you would have thought she had the hope diamond) and last of all, unnecessary whispering. (Particularly since the stuff was so shitty. Honestly, no one would have missed it. In any event she was initially trying to get into my spot and I was like "uh, no, my house is a mess," which is code for "No Crack Whores Allowed En Mi Casa." So I gave her the big thanks but now thanks and went about my business.

Fast forward to today. She knocks on my door and said it was my neighbor. I thought it was my other neighbor and so I opened the door. Lo and behold, I'm face to face with Felicia. (You Friday lovers know who I'm talking about.) She just kind of stepped into my house and was like "I still have that stuff if you want it," all while giving my crib the once over. I tell her "Oh hell no" and put her out.

My point for telling this story is to say this. If I come home, and my shit is at so much as a different angle from how I left it, I am going to kick her door in and DISMANTLE that ho. I'm not asking questions, I'm not gonna ask where my stuff is, I'm just going to break her back. If there is anything in this world that I hate, it's a scheming, scamming, theivin' ass bastard. Let it be stated that I will make dominoes out of her vertebrae if my abode is disturbed.

Okay, got that off my chest. Go back to your lives citizens.

"He's Touching Me" and Other Crap I Hate to Hear

I'm a mother of two - a boy and a girl - both are positively gorgeous. They each have beautiful cocoa skin, warm brown eyes, thick, dark eyelashes and I'll be damned if they weren't blessed with perfectly shaped eyebrows. They are also full of personality and very loving, which is just as attractive to a parent as any physical manifestation of beauty.

That being said, some of the things they do make me want to set myself on fire and throw myself into traffic. I'm inclined to believe that their Auntie Chelle has CPS on speed dial for whenever she hears me say "hold ONE second." I am able to demonstrate tremendous restraint when dealing with them, however, I think I'm entitled to some venting times. Here are some things that I (and a lot of other parents) hate to hear and what goes through my mind (but can never say) when I hear them.

1. "He's/She's Touching Me"

Of course you're touching each other. I drive a fucking Celica for crying out loud and we're always giving somebody a ride. I've had you both checked out for leprosy and various other flesh degrading afflictions and you're okay, so touching should really be a non-issue. Further, if you don't stop that screaming, I'M going to touch somebody and it won't be pretty, I assure you.

2. "You Never Take Us Anywhere/Buy Us Anything"

That's right. The trips to the aquarium, McDonald's, the movies, Toys R Us, WalMart and the like have all been figments of your imagination. The three storage containers that spilleth over with toys - fake. You exist in the Matrix. Sorry to break it to you so harshly, but rumor has it that this dude named Neo is about to fuck it up for all of us, so enjoy it while you can.

3. "Why Didn't My Dad Call Me?"

Because he's a deadbeat broke ass that is so terrified by the thought of Mommy asking him for money, he is completely willing to throw his relationship with you two down the toilet. If it's any consolation, he's liked by few, and when he's old, you can put him in the shittiest home known to man.

4. "You're ALWAYS going to work"

You didn't get the memo? Having a spare moment to myself is sooo yesterday. I'd much rather have my boss on my ass than spend time with my kids. What the hell? Do you think I'm doing this shit for my health? I don't see you complaining when the cable bill is paid and you can watch Cartoon Network until you lapse into an animation induced coma. Now buckle your punk ass in the seatbelt so I can drop you off and go to work.

5. "You like her/him better than me"

Yes...yes I do. As a matter of fact you haven't seen what I do to the kids that I REALLY don't like. You HAD a third sibling. Wanna find out what happened to him? Keep playing.

6. "He/She is touching my stuff!"

Honestly, who gives a shit? It's not my stuff. You really think I don't have anything better to do, huh? Do you see that Law & Order is on? Get your punk ass upstairs and sit down somewhere before they do a "ripped from the headlines" episode about us.

7. "Why can't we just go to McDonalds"

You ungrateful summama...I just spent $10 on chicken breast and another $20 on seafood. Do you know that shit was a delicacy in my house? I didn't know what white meat tasted like until I was 12. Frankly, it would be in your best interest to get out of here before I hurl this pot at you.

8. Temper Tantrums (Yes, I know this doesn't require them to say anything)

Not sure if you've heard, but they shoot dogs who behave that way. Just some food for thought.

9. "I don't know how it broke"

How do you keep breaking my shit and not knowing how it happened? That's the fifth time this week. Here's an idea, I'm gonna run through your room and break all your shit, then make you replace it with your money. Allowance is a dollar a week. Good luck with that buddy. By the time you've earned enough money to replace it, you'll be too old to care about it. HA HA.

10. "You always get to watch what you want. It's not fair."

You did not put in on this mannnnnn. Let's go with the fact that you're lucky I let you do anything at all with ya broke ass. You start kicking in on some bills around this biatch, then we'll talk, because right now all I'm hearing is the breeze. The nerve. Before you leave the room get me some kool aid and turn up the volume. I don't feel like reaching for the remote right now.

Hype That I Just Don't Buy Into

I believe that Steve Harvey said it best when he made the statement, "White people...always in a hurry to jump on some bullshit." I'm all for liking what ya like, but sometimes, they take it too far. When white folks love something, the grab onto with with pitt bull ferocity and shake the shit out of it. For example:

"What the fuck is a Renee 'Zellwedger'?" Why is this woman one of Hollywood's biggest actresses? Ever since she exploded onto the scene in the incredibly corny "Jerry Maguire" (Where Black America got to cringe at Cuba Gooding, Jr. show himself to be Coon Supreme. Regina King was the ONLY thing that redeemed that movie in my opinion.) white folks have not been able to stop singing her praises. I don't think she's particularly bad, just so ridiculously generic I can't help but ask myself "Whyyyyyyyyyyy?" The bits and pieces that I saw of Bridget Jones were cute, but to me it was really an "Insert Random Actress Here" type of thing. The fact that she looks like a Picanese makes her fame even more difficult to comprehend.

That brings me to her "Cinderella Man" co-star Russell Crowe. Will somebody wash his greasy ass please? He has got to be the dirtiest looking so-and-so I've seen in all my days. Granted, I preferred him to that Fire Marshall Bill looking guy in "L.A. Confidential", and "Gladiator" was enjoyable because of the ass kicking and whatnot, but he just seems to play the same dude over and over. That's not a sign of ground breaking talent to me. Again, I don't think he's a BAD actor, just not anything great.

I have not been swept up by the "Desperate Housewives" (i.e. "Sex in the WASP-y Suburbs") craze either. My rule of thumb is this, if I look at a random television show and I go five minutes without seeing a black face, I lose interest. I see white folks all day long. I'd like some color in my free time, thank you very much. For all I know, it's a great show, but watching a bunch of white women fuck around for an hour is not my idea of entertainment.

Jumping off the Huey P. Long bridge and slitting my wrists and throat on the way down is more appealing than the mere idea of watching a Dr. Phil anything. As if his stupid ass talk show wasn't enough, he gets these one hour specials where he can berate people on prime time television as well. He's a loud mouthed bully as far as I can tell. To say that he is an ass is a gross understatement.

The Tom Cruise-Katie Holmes union kind of grosses me out. They keep publicizing that she used to dream about marrying Tom Cruise...but what they neglect to repeat is that she was in grammar school and he was a grown ass man. Why are folks not just seeing this for what it is? A lecherous sugar daddy that snapped up a sweet young thing while he's going through midlife. It's gross I tell ya...just gross.

The pitiful tone of the commercial has ruined my daughter's chances of ever setting foot in a Build-a-Bear Workshop. What kind of loser ass Daughter of Frankenstein kid are you? The girl is sitting in her room singing and looking supremely lonely and unloved when her mom eventually comes in and says "Since your bitch ass is to mousey to have even one friend, let's go make this stupid bear." At least that's what I got out of it. When I tell my kids to make friends I don't mean CREATE them. That's just weird to me. Her simulating single parenthood with one of those damned Cabbage Patch Kids is more than enough for me. I draw my line in the sand at Build-a-Bear.

And I'm equally adverse to those stupid ass Yu-Gi-Oh cards for my son. First of all, every male figure on that cartoon looks ambiguously gay or like the Spawn of Satan. I didn't jump on the SpongeBob Squarepants is gay bandwagon, but men with Farrah Fawcett hair wearing eyeliner definitely concern me. I'm sure there are folks that disagree with me but to them I say "Fuck you. Get your own damned kids."

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Maternal Musings

Today my handsome son graduated from kindergarten. He looked so grown up and serious. It was actually quite hilarious since just that morning I was watching him running around in his underwear looking like Gollum. Of course I did get teary when I saw him walking up the aisle...THAT'S MY BABY MANNNNNN. As it turns out, he got the bronze award for academic achievement this year and he's reading on a second grade level. GO TY!! I completely forgot where I was and went into Bonquiesha mode when I heard my child's name called. Of course I know that my kids are bright, but to hear it recognized does something to a mom. Ah well, my parents embarrassed me with their spontaneous displays of pride too.

Ty had a really rough time this year. Besides the fact that he's already a typical boy, he's only seen his father about 6 times since July of last year and he developed this funky skin condition called lichen nitidus that is really a pain in the ass. He's got these fine bumps all over his body and they particularly concentrate in areas where the skin has been broken by cuts, scabs, etc. He's a six year old boy, so you do the math on that. I don't even have to go there on how accepting six year old kids are of things they don't understand. To say the least, he got picked on a lot.

I could see how it hurt him because he's normally a very sociable, happy go lucky kid. After the fourth busted lip and the second ripped shirt, telling him to walk away and tell the teacher was really getting old. I found myself one morning on the way to school telling him "If one of those punks grab you up, I don't even want you to ask questions. You jump on that little bastard and talk later - AFTER the teacher has pried you off his ass." Eh, some kids get Wheaties in the morning . . . mine get sparring instructions. Whatever. I discovered that it's really hard to convince a nice kid to punch the shit out of somebody that won't leave them alone.

He goes to a ghetto ass public school and EVERYBODY there is related to somebody else. Occasionally, that led to him having to fight a couple of kids at once. There were occasions that I found it funny (I've never professed perfection). I got a call from the school one day related to his behavior. It seems that Tyson had taken off his belt and was swinging it at some boys that day. I make it a practice to talk to him about the calls before I react. The story went this way:

I was in the the cafeteria and Ghetto Name Boy #1 was messing with me and I hit him. When I went outside, Ghetto Name Boy #1 got his cousin Ghetto Name Boy #2 and they were both pushing me at the water fountain and when I went to go tell, they blocked my way. So I took of my belt and got to swinging.

I almost chewed off my tongue trying not to laugh. He had a few other incidents this past school year, but constant communication with his teacher and principal has paid off and he has made great strides. He is still a work in progress because he is quite active, but this year, he's going to play sports, so hopefully that will take care of at least some of the excess energy.

Whatever the case may be, I'm looking at his medal and certificates and I've still got a big goofy grin on my face. I pray that this is just one step of many that he will take on the path to becoming a prolific black man.

Who's Afraid of the Boogie Man?

See me, want me, give me, trust me
Feed me, fuck me, love me, touch me
This whole world is cold and ugly
What we are is low and lovely
I am the most beautiful boogie man
The most beautiful boogie man
Let me be your favorite nightmare
Close your eyes and ill be right there
While...Open...All...Over...A-gain

-Mos Def "The Boogie Man Song"

Damn! Favorite nightmare? That's serious. Something about this song just makes me want to engage in some seriously adult activities. There's just this understated intensity about it that just puts you in a zone. Or maybe it's just me.

The lyrics have me thinking about the likelihood every woman having a Beautiful Boogie Man in her life or at least in her past. That person that macks so deliciously, you know it's game, but you eat it up anyway. The brother that you relish telling yourself you won't think about anymore . . . after you make that laaaaast phone call.

Don't misunderstand, I'm not referring to abusers and the like. Just honest to goodness Boogie Men. Though he can come in the form of a playa or a thug, he doesn't necessarily have to be. He could be the man that's exactly right for ALL the wrong reasons or maybe that brother who stepped on the scene just in time for it to be the wrong time.

Granted, we'd never admit to a brother that he is our Boogie Man, but we know him when we see him. The single woman's "homegirls before men" credo is summarily tossed out the window. In all honesty, the interaction does not even need to be physical. It could just be something about the thought of his presence, the sound of his voice on the line or maybe just the fact that he inexplicably makes you smile just a little bit harder than you do for the mere mortals that you typically associate with. If you're a woman reading this and you feel me, you're probably smiling right now. If you're a man, you're probably wondering if you are that man . . . THE man. Who knows? You just might be.

You Wanted to Know

After reviewing the questions posted by my friends I realized, "I associate with some filthy bastards." Ah well, I guess I asked for it. Forgive me, as there may be some dodging. Here goes:

I. Filthy Danja:

1. What is your NASTIEST sexual fantasy? Be honest. I mean shit that is so nasty makes you blush when u think about it.

There's two things with that 1) at 28, the only thing I really blush at are compliments; and, 2) I don't think of fantasies and sexuality in terms of "nasty" (ya nasty bastid LOL!) That being said, there is something about the thought of tearing it down in the sky box at a Hornets championship game thing (yeah...Hornets and championship - REAL fantasy, lol) that does it for me, but like I said, nothing I do is nasty. Heh heh.

2. When was the last time you cried and why did you cry?

I'm a big ass crybaby. I know folks tend to stereotype women as emotional cheaters who use tears as leverage, but not me. I cry at movies, weddings, graduations, when I'm angry, you name it. The last time I cried regarding that something that affected me directly though was when my boss pissed me off and it was a choice between crying or getting creative with my letter opener.

3. If you had Djimon Honsou (sp?) for 8 hours and you could do anything with him, give me THREE detailed descriptions of things you would do.

The FIRST thing I'd do is thank the Lord for sending a man THAT fine my way.

Second I'd work fulfilling that un-nasty sky box fantasy of mine. (I'd fight the urge to ask him to yell out "Give us us free!" But I promise NOTHING!)

Third, react the sky box festivities in the arena parking lot...and on the way home...and once we get home. Hey, I don't know that man, I didn't say I liked him for his mind.

II. Native Feather the West Coast Beauty:

1. Have you ever been in love and with whom?

Yep. I've had decent dating relationships over time where I still have affection for the guy. However, if you're referring to being completely in love, check Him, December 10, 2004 blog. He was my sweetie and the only person I've felt that way about so far. I wish him the best.

2. What is one dream that you have and do you think that it will be fulfilled?

To be a published author. I can see that it will be fulfilled.

3. What is your dream car?

This gorgeous '66 El Camino. I love muscle cars. I'm not a car junkie or anything, but I would LOVE to drive around in that. If you want something modern, a silver Q45 would look good around me.

III. The Inquisitive Tiger:

1. WHERE DID U GO WHEN U LEFT US AT THE POOL HALL?

Oh how I hate you.

2. WHAT WERE THE POSITIONS U MIGHT HAVE BEEN IN , IF SEX OCCURRED THAT NIGHT?

I was too busy hating you.

3. HOW MANY LICKS OR SUCTION DOES IT TAKE FOR U TO MAKE A MAN CUM?

Here I am...hating you again.

IV. Recent Loser of Blog Virginity

1. I want to know why all of your questions are about your sex life...let me find out that you are a southern freak!

It just seems that I have surrounded myself by people whose minds inhabit their southern regions. Horndogs!

2. I would like to know why you felt to need to include me in your blog addiction? Now I am here ever freaking day dammit!

Heh heh heh! Blogging is fun!! It's a great way to say whatever the hell you want and if someone comes to your casa with that bullshit, you can say "Beyotch, this is my shit! Kick rocks! 'Es mi casa, y yo viva aqui!'" LMFAO

3. Um and I like Sabre's # 3, just make sure you document your techinque (getting ready to cut and paste).

Uhhh...the way I hear it, shouldn't I be taking lessons from you? Just asking...

V. The Lovely Lady Neena

1. when you were little, like say 8 years old, what did you want to be when you grew up?

A ninja assassin, lol.

2. going along with all the sexual questions... (u must be a freak)... lol... describe your "first time", your age, where you were... the whole 9.

Ahhh, the day that will forever live in infamy. I was relatively old, 21, living on my own and of all the dumb luck, got pregnant. Unlike a lot of folks, I don't see it as a particularly ground breaking day, other than, without it, my beautiful son would have never come to be. It's not that it was bad. It just was what it was. And I am not a freak...my friends however, are, lol.

3. describe the perfect date... without concern for time and money.

The perfect date to me, is anywhere that would enable that brother and I to enjoy each other's company and connect with one another. So movies, concerts, maybe even parties, would be out. A nice dinner followed by walking and talking would really be ideal for me.

Break Yo'self FOOL!! Blog Jackin!

I'm stealing an idea from a blogger, who stole the idea from two other bloggers. (Is there no honor?)

Actually, I think the idea is hot, but I'm also busy (and a lil lazy) so I'll just paste the concept:

So for those of you who don't frequent the other blogs that I do, Im going to explain what I am doing. Today is Tuesday. You all have until Friday to submit 3 Questions that you want me to answer

THREE QUESTIONS

Leave the questions in the comment section. I will answer the questions Saturday or Sunday and post every answer to every question to the best of my ability.

Ask anything you want to know about me. No question is too crazy.

I'm going to be supremely bored this weekend, so take pity on me and give me something to do. Don't force me to go to the mall and buy another pair of shoes!!

Garage Sale

In life we amass items that are positively useless, yet we hold onto them. Whether it's a skirt that you're NEVER going to get your big ass into again, an exercise bike that you've had since the Carter administration, a sofa in the attic, whatever. Ultimately, a light goes off in our heads, "This is some unnecessary ish," and we have a garage sale to get rid of the stuff. Once we sell it, it's gone. No returns, no exchanges.

I think people should have a garage sale of issues. Sometimes we hang and harp on to things that are totally unnecessary and all they is clog up space. So I'm putting some stuff out at Mel's Garage Sale:

1. My marriage/past relationships - FOR SALE!!

The past is the past. Everyone is different. Some folks are great, some will do you dirty. C'est la vie. No big story there. I've lived and learned the lessons I believe I was meant to learn from those few bad experiences and now I'm slapping a sign on that topic. I'm knocking on the door of my 30s and there's no need to enter it with the 20s garbage.

2. Losing weight - MUST GO!!!

I'm a big girl...I'd like to think I'm a big pretty girl, but a big girl all the same. I'm in the process of breaking off my passionate affair with grease and gravy. However, conversations about that are off limits. No one cares. Most of the people I hang around now have only known me as a fat brawd. There's nothing more pathetic than hearing somebody talk about "When I'm a size 8 again" or "In my thin days" with a piece of chicken dangling from her paw. Shut up and do a push up...or better yet, push AWAY.

3. Fincial Standing - CLEARANCE!!

My goal is to be about it. As the talking increases, the action decreases. So now I plan, and work it out from there. All that mamby pamby complaining is gone though.

4. My occasionally shitty job - LIQUIDATION!!

I complain about my job. I feel overworked, underpaid, but yet, I still manage to pay (some of) my bills and blog! So either I quit and work for a firm where I have to punch a clock and wear hose, or I shut the phuk up, relax and work in the environment where I have a fair amount of leeway, can handle my personal issues as they arise and I can give my lovely gams some air.

Whew...now maybe my real life can begin!!

For all the right reasons

We've all seen it before. Two people meet, fall in "lurve," get married, fall out of love and divorce. It is not uncommon to hear at least one of the parties in this predicament say, "We got married for all the wrong reasons." This has me thinking, what are some "right" reasons to get married. Yeah, I know about love and all of that other stuff, but what about other things that may count. I've compiled a list of such reasons (not including sex and money), from a woman's point of view. I've also added a list of appropriate engagement gifts, in lieu of an engagement ring.

1. Taking out the trash

That shit is dead as Jimmy Hoffa to me (and most women that I know). I'm sure it's a social conditioning thing. In every house I've been exposed to, either in person or via television, the man or son of the family took out the trash. I hate taking out my own garbage. I mean, I've already had to buy, cook and clean the shit up, but now, I've got to throw it out too? Basuro!! I guess there's no logical reason why I should hate the task of walking to the corner, but I do. A lifetime supply of those Hefty stretch-y bags and a large garbage can that can't be stolen would be a suitable gift in this instance.

2. Killing bugs

The man should kill the bug. Don't ask me why, but it's one of those unwritten rules. I live in one of the bug capitals of the galaxy, so I spare NO expense in keeping the critters out of my home. I have been known to leave and give a bug the house until I think that it has relocated. A bug crawled across my foot once and I don't think I have ever recovered. If I merely see a bug, I get that creepy-crawly feeling. Therefore, killing bugs...played out. Let me meet a brother with a can of Bengal and some roach motels and it will be on like popcorn.

3. Car repairs

As the owner of a shitty vehicle, I have a moderate amount of auto knowledge. However, this knowledge does not prevent mechanics from attempting to screw me with a 10 inch piece of unsanded crooked wood. Once I went to get a tune up at Pep Boys and those bastards tried to convince me that my ignition needed to be replaced...my fucking ignition. You know...the thing that I needed to crank up in order to transport my car TO Pep Boys. Every time I would go to them, they would tell me I needed no less than $500.00 in services that were absolutely critical. I had my dad bring my car once, and he was merely told of $75.00 in maintenance services that he might find helpful. Wallet raping bastards. I guess that this marriage position should only be filled by non-shade tree mechanics.

4. Talking to bill collectors

There are a lot of broke sisters in this world and they're tired of talking to bill collectors. If for some reason they can't get their financial shit together (though they can't fairly be too picky about the brothers from a financial standpoint), a brother that doesn't get rattled easily with a booming voice should do the trick. Since he has experience dealing with bill collectors, he probably doesn't have money to get a gift so bomb ass sex would have to be a requirement. Hey, the it's an ugly truth.

5. Health Insurance

Have you checked out the price of prescriptions lately? HOT DAMN! That is completely off the chain. A snaggle toothed brother with a PPO plan and a $10.00 copay might not look too bad. His gift, obviously, would be a health insurance card with your name on it.

Now, I'm not saying that a woman SHOULD get married for these reasons. However, if I'm 40 and still killing my own bugs and cussing out folks at Pep Boys, a sister is going to investigate her options.

A letter to my mother

Dear Mama,

You've been gone for 10 1/2 years now, and I can't quite say that it's ever gotten easier. We moved after you went away, and I didn't live there long after that. That place never felt like my home. I won't even tell you who Daddy married. Let's just say, I questioned your gift of reading people for a while.

I sometimes wish you would have met my first love. He was a sweetie. He used to ask me how I felt about you as someone who wanted to know, as opposed to being a polite shoulder. He actually blended in with the four of us and was pretty much like their brother. Anyway, life happened, we broke up and believe it or not, I don't even miss him anymore. I think you would have liked him all the same.

I got married and though that was a bust for the most part, I got two beautiful kids out of the deal. Don't even bother doing the math, my son was born four months before I got married. Eh, you always knew I was the rebel. They're wonderful though. Really smart too. Unfortunately, they inherited the Smith nailbeds. Sorry about that. I cried a lot when I carried them. I had support from a lot of people, but they weren't you. No one was even a close second. It's not their fault though.

I don't know how you did it with four. I'm barely hanging on with two. There were so many times I wanted to punch through a wall when I was younger because I couldn't understand where you were coming from. As I got older, I realized that it was because you could see exactly where I was headed. A lot of folks maintain that I would have never gotten divorced if you were still around. I say, I would have never gotten married. He wouldn't have lasted 10 minutes under the hawk eye.

Being a mother made me realize why you were so tough. It helped me see how important going with your gut could be. I remember how many times you would be on my tail because I didn't "seem" right, and you were usually right on the money. I appreciate that now.

I try to live in a way that would make you proud and sometimes, I'm sure a do. I fall way short a lot of times though. I'm just living one day at a time and doing my best though. Ultimately, that's all you really asked of us anyway, wasn't it?

It's so funny how I would spend so much time trying to get away from you, while all of my friends couldn't get enough of you. You always miss what's right under your nose. You remember them getting in the hospital bed with you? How did you manage to touch so many people, just with a few words? You are the only soul I know that mastered counsel without judgment. When they came to say goodbye, it was as though they had lost their own mothers. Jim McDonald died two days later. It was a hard time for all of us. Turning 18 is supposed to be a joyous milestone, but I never remember being more heartbroken than I was for that entire month.

Anne died in May of 1997. Her cancer came back and she went really quickly. That was actually the last year I visited your hometown or hers. Actually, I've lost touch with a lot of people since you've gone, and with the exception of a few, I can't say I'm trying to reestablish contact. It's just not the same.

There's not an event that goes by where I don't wish you were here. Ty graduates from kindergarten this month. You'd love Jae, but I know how you always liked boys - he'd definitely be your heart. They ask me to drive by the old house to see your tree every day. It's gotten so big, considering that it sat in the garden for years as little more than a stick. Those trees actually look like real pine trees believe it or not. I never thought they would. I think I drive by the old house to appease myself as well.

I miss you Mama. It still hurts and I still cry. I mean, I'm not a walking mess, but isn't time supposed to heal wounds. When I see my girlfriends shopping with their mothers, a little part of me breaks inside. You were gone right when I was truly beginning to appreciate you and realize how big you truly were. I realize that you were tough on me because you knew that things would never be easy for me. You knew I would have to be strong enough for all four of us. I think that I was, most of the time. There are times that I wish that you taught someone to be strong enough for me. For all I know, maybe you did, but after you left, I was alone for a long time.

Fortunately, the four of us are close in different ways, and we hold on to and be strong for one another. But we always miss you. And as long as you're gone we always will.

Cyber-thuggin and Whatnot

I love the internet, really, I do. I have gathered information, shopped, laughed, cried and wandered through the psyches of some pretty interesting folks. Through this medium, I have made a great friend (hugging my Ghetto Soul Twin) researched religious beliefs, obtained educational materials for my kids and learned the real definition of a Dirty Sanchez. (Bows graciously to Humanity Critic.) All in all, I can't really complain about it. However, there is an element pervading the internet that makes it undesirable.

Allow me to preface my rant by stating for the record the following fact: I'm a smart ass. That's something about me that probably won't change. There is nothing I take more pleasure in than shutting a moron, what is known as, the fuck up. There are days that it makes me tingle in places that I didn't even know existed. I know that it gets on peoples nerves, but ask me if I give two craps?

In an effort to spread my joy nationwide, I've joined a few Yahoo discussion groups. They can be informative, but more often than not, the groups are littered with disillusioned pseudo-intellectual desk jobbers, psychos with virtually no social skills and the unemployed masses -who have nothing better to do than bump their gums on the 'net. OCCASIONALY, you find a cool person, or someome who actually has something to say. All too often, discussions turn into overly emotional free for alls, logic loses it's foothold and wackiness ensues. Enter the cyber-jerk.

This type of person is tangled in the world wide web in various forms. All forms are both entertaining and annoying. Therefore, you don't know whether to laugh or slap the shit out of them.

You've got your cyber thugs who, when you disagree with them, say dumb shit like "I got heat for bitches like you," and "Yo you don't want it with me." WTF? How exactly did we get here? Give me a second and a half to shake in my cyber boots. Here's a helpful hint, real thugs, you know, the ones that should actually be feared, are too busy living the life of a ruffian to jump on the net and cyber-threaten.

Then there are the folks with cyber-issues that put their bullshit problems on the net a la "I caught my boyfriend cheating and I don't know what to do. Please help." Yet, the first voice that pipes up telling her to kick his philandering ass to the curb gets, "You don't know my man. We've been through so much." I'm sorry, I thought you wanted my opinion, not an amen to stand by the dude that had unprotected sex with his third baby's mama. Please beg MY pardon. Better yet, get some friends that you can actually see in person and ask them for advice.

One of my favorites is the illiterate intellectual. This person is an endless fountain of knowledge. Unfortunately, they can't spell one word of it. One lady went so far as to grossly misspell a word, then she defined it - you know, for the dummies that didn't know what the word meant. Typos and misspelling words aren't really biggies in and of themselves, however, when the person is trying to be a smart ass, or worse yet, gets angry when someone gives them the correct spelling, they fall under the category of cyber-jerk.

Every group consists of the obligatory cyber-sphincter. This person takes pleasure in regurgitating controversial, illogical opinions, simply to get a rise out of the group members. This person is usually an extremist in some way: complete chauvinist, ultra-conservative, ultra-liberal, man-hater or just your run of the mill curmudgeon/witch. It's obvious why the 'net is a hang-out for this sort. No real, sane person would spend five minutes in their company.

The cyber-sexual annoys me. This person is also known as also known as hot mama and sugar daddy. Virtually every post has a sexual reference. They make no bones about sharing how talented they are sexually. What they WOULD do for their man/woman is in heavy rotation in their conversations. However, they just NEVER seem to have a relationship. I urge these folks to set a personal goal: refrain from attempting to e-screw every screen name they encounter and see how exciting REAL life can be.

Basically, these people take the 'net way too seriously. It can really go too far when the owner of a group fits into this category. Once, for respectfully voicing my opinion, an owner gave me a "warning" and any further infractions (i.e. my disagreeing with him and not allowing him to talk to me like he removed me from his shoe) would result in my being banned. Of course my response was "Fuck you, so what?" Did he think he was going to have me exiled to Siberia?

When you get on the net, it is possible that people will talk shit about me, maybe spread rumors, etc. Maybe they'll do it over my head, maybe directly to my face. You know what? So what. It's truly not that serious.

So Ya Wanna Build a Bookcase

That's my new venture. I've done some hammer and nail building in the past, but all of the materials were already laid out for me. I found a couple of cool bookcases that I'm interested in, and have gotten the dimensions for each of them. I have learned what wood would be optimal and I have access to primo power tools (THANKS DAD!!), so now I plan to do the damn thing.

I am SO excited. Actually, the level of excitement concerns me a bit, but what the hell! Wish me luck.

Better Than S...Well, A Lot of Stuff

1 for the money
2 for the Lie
3 for my peoples in the struggle gettin by
4 Lu, Spig Nice, and Freaky Tai
Music Makes Me High

Music is one of the most intense forms of artistic expression. A good song can tell the story of everything that you're feeling. A great song will do it wordlessly. (Give Ellington & Coltrane's "In a Sentimental Mood" a listen if you don't believe me.) It carries you through the spectrum of human emotion.

I am a musical eclectic: r&b, hip-hop, rock, punk, grunge, you name it, I'll listen to it. (Even a lil bit of country, but don't tell anyone.) If a song can convey an emotion that I feel, or just want to feel (i.e., PM Dawn's "I'd Die Without You"...never felt that way, but damn, doesn't that sound lovely?) I just let it draw me in.

I think we would be a lot more peaceful if we just allowed ourselves a few moments a day to have music wash over us. Lately, that's what I've been doing. Between 9:00 and 10:00, the kids are in bed, the TV goes off and it's me and my music. Whether I want to head bang, cool out, think dirty thoughts or whatever - I just go with the feeling. Letting music soothe me, excite me, inspire me, heal me or just make me come to terms with my own bullshit has really helped me over the past month or so. I guess I'm still learning myself.