From Metro, With Love

To my sisters in the fat struggle: I'll share recipes, secrets, hell, I'll even share food. However, one thing we cannot share is a seat on the bus. I am well aware of the fact that I have a whole lotta ass. Therefore, when I see one of my Rubenesque sisters already in a seat, I keep it moving because I know the even though the Lord makes a way where there ain't no way, some things He really just shakes his head at. To the sister that was huffing and puffing next to me this morning, you know that our asses were big when you sat down. All you did was make yourself mad. I'm not twisting up MY parts just because you failed to use common sense. Move to Glenmont if you want preferential seating heffa.

To all of you runners: WAKE UP ON TIME!! As long as I have been an employed woman, I have done either one of two things: 1) Display bomb ass skills that make my bosses adore me, so coming in late sometimes isn't necessarily an issue; or 2) Make sure that I leave my house with more than enough time for wiggle room so that I am not completely flustered and annoyed rushing into work. I saw this brawd come within centimeters of knocking down this old lady. WE are not late. You are. Therefore, don't expect everyone on the platform to run because you're running.

Rude Ass People: Does it hurt to say good morning or thank you to the person handing out the Express paper? DAMN! Don't make me talk about cell phone users. SHUT THE FUCK UP! I don't care that your baby-daddy-cousins-auntie-sister-friend-homegirl-great-uncle-twice-removed-on-the-black-hand-side has two women pregnant at the same time. Maybe I should start adding my own commentary, just to spice things up. I wonder how long the convo would last. You know. . . since now I've gotten all up in their business.

Beggars with attitude: A couple of weeks ago, a dude walked up to me outside of the Metro and straight up said, "I need a dollar." WTF? No joke, he said it with such conviction, I paused a second to question whether or not this man loaned me a dollar and was there to collect. Once I gathered my wits, I was barely able to spit out that he wasn't getting a dollar from me. What part of the game is that madness? A week before, a dude walked up to the group I was walking with, rolled his eyes and said, "Look, ya'll got change?" Though I don't believe that one should be cartwheels and smiles when they are homeless, something about the "bitch betta have my money" approach is ALL wrong. I've SEEN Slickback my brother, and you ain't him.

Nothing to see here people

I have been MAD busy at work, which really sucks. Evidently someone decided that the whole paying me to sit at work and look pretty thing wasn't very cost effective, so they have been giving me real work...regularly. I'm coping with it, but I think they could have given me some sort of warning. I now sit next to the most cheerful person in the world. . . and I must end her. I mean, she's a real "Happy Monday" type brawd. Happy Monday? I sometimes have to combat the urge to offer her a heaping helping of shut the fuck up. But note I said SOMEtimes. I'm getting better.

I had out of town guests this weekend. I'm really getting the hang of this hostess thing. I'm breaking out of this antisocial rut I've been caught up in FOREVER. I guess this will help this place feel like home or something. I'm going to my first concert in DC. I'm sort of broadening my horizons and checking out this group called Fort Minor. However, Little Brother will also be there, so I'm looking forward to that.

When did the letter h become a vowel? I could scream every time I hear the term "an historic" - a term I have been hearing quite often lately. Did I miss that memo. I know that when the h is silent, then it will have a vowel sound, as in "an hour". Outside of that, using "an" just sounds stupid. Just thought I needed to share that.

I just watched an episode of House where a woman damn near killed herself rather than communicate with her husband. Freaky.

The other night, outside of a strip club (don't ask), I witnessed real life pimping. Some random dude in Urkel pants and MC Hammer glasses was driving one of his girls, evidently from place to place, so that she could find a pole to swing from. She walked into the establishment then immediately walked out. Slickback's response to her was "Ay...ay bitch." I'm sure on paper these words mean absolutely nothing. However, to hear them spoken aloud, in real life and in all seriousness - PRICELESS.

Am I the only one that got WAY too excited to see the MacGuyver commercial during the Superbowl? Ah the memories of youth. I

Left No Forwarding

If there was anything I walked away with from the corny abomination known as "Poetic Justice", it was this quote from Tyra Ferrell's character: "I dress and I rest, because love don't live here anymore." To a certain extent, as superficial as it sounds, I have come to identify what she means. Or I can at least tell you what it means to me.

When I was eight, I knew I was going to get married. At 15, my wedding was planned down to the color underwear I would have. At 19, I fell deeply in love and I was convinced he was the one. I believed that everyone could have that type of love. The subsequent ten years changed my perception.

A couple of years ago, I classified myself as a love hater, but I don't think that's entirely accurate. When my sister became engaged to her husband, I was as excited as if I'd received the proposal. I have a good friend that will be getting married in the fall and, again, I couldn't be happier for her. Believe it or not, I don't harbor any negative feelings toward Valentine's day. I've often found myself being chastised regarding my ambivalence toward love. It's been said that my lack of a relationship is attributable to the before mentioned ambivalence. Could they be right? Maybe.

Last night, while politicking with a friend, he said something that wrapped up my thoughts on love so completely, I would have thought he was reading from the story of my life: I'm not owed anything. Life has been good to me on so many other levels. If I happen to find a soul mate, that would be a beautiful thing. But I don't count on it. This doesn't mean that I can't get hurt. It simply means that I can't be truly disappointed. I think I could muddle through this thing called life just fine with Romance staying on his side of the street. In the grand scheme of things, I can't truly complain. I have two beautiful children, great friends and supportive (even though I want to suffocate them at times) family network. Just because I don't have a man, that doesn't mean that I don't have love.

I've just grown tired of the concept of dating to fall in love. Tired of the waiting for the imminent drama. Tired of having to front like things don't bother me. Tired of the bullshit silk. Tired of moving too fast. Tired of moving too slow. Tired of moving. Tired of feeling like a freak. Tired of feeling like a prude. Tired of hoping that things will go well. Tired of knowing that they won't. Tired of paying for the mistakes of women I've never met. Tired of making men pay for the mistakes of men they never knew existed. Tired of caring too much. Tired of not caring enough. Tired of hearing "I never do this". Tired of hearing "I can't go through that again". Tired of wishing I were more passive. Tired of wishing I were more aggressive.

When expressing this sentiment, I become amazed at how many men, men that don't have a commitment oriented bone in their bodies, assert that I have no reason to feel that way. It seems like my acceptance of my situation is too much for them to handle. They don't necessarily think I should want THEM. I should just want SOMEBODY. How foolish is that?

I happen to think that Hallmark, the Lifetime Network and Danielle Steele have sold a lot of folks some serious pipe dreams. I just choose not to buy into it. We get hung up on what the next person has, or SAYS they have, and decide that we MUST have the exact same thing. We DESERVE the exact same thing. Sike. I cringe when people talk about "making love". That's one bridge I could never quite buy. People have sex. They have good sex. They have bad sex. If they're really good and eat all their vegetables, they have the opportunity to have sex with someone that they care about and there's some type of reciprocity of emotion. However, people start chasing this rumored "love-making", causing issues where none exist. I'll be the first to say that the reasoning behind my disbelief could be due to my never having experienced the act. But that's debatable.

I can either choose to be unhappy and consider my situation a "plight" or I can count my blessings and live life. I've got ME. Does it sound like the typical "independent woman" jargon? Yeah. But you know what? I pray every day for the wisdom to realize my potential and the ability to make things happen. I say a give thanks for the strength to overcome my obstacles. I gets down with me. And, if you're wondering, for those "other" times, my battery operated homie holds me DOWN.

I do what I have to do, because when all is said and done, I want a clear head. I want peaceful nights. I want to possess a spirit that embraces each day. I want to mean it when I say "I'm fine." Is that REALLY too much?

Spill the beans

Today I have no serious commentary (or gripes, surprise!) , so I want to get in other people's heads today. On a first date, what is a surefire thing a person can do to pull you into them? On the flip side, what is it that would make you run screaming for the hills? Since it's my bright idea, I'll start it off:

I love a true conversationalist. Someone that can really express himself and at the same time, genuinely pay attention to the things I say will really grab my attention. Particularly if it is a topic that one, or both of us, feel strongly about.

The yakkity yak about how sexually gifted he is or the ex-girlfriends that are still strung out on him (or that he is still obviously strung out on) is soooo 80's. Tales of good dick and broken hearts are not examples of putting the best foot forward.

So what are you deal breakers/makers?

Shut up Oprah.

"I feel duped," she said Thursday on her syndicated talk show. "But more importantly, I feel that you betrayed millions of readers."

Those were her words to author James Frey regarding his embellished "memoir" A Million Little Pieces. As an individual, Oprah has done admirable things. I applaud her accomplishments as an individual of humble beginnings, as a child abuse survivor and as a black woman. However, it's no secret that I find the deification of Oprah to be out of hand. For quite some time, I felt somewhat guilty about holding her accountable for the way others treated her, but the whole "Oprah Christ" tone never sat right with me. Recent events have convinced me that Ms. Winfrey has bought into her own overrated hype.

Nearly two weeks ago, at the onset of the embellishment debacle, Oprah got on the horn with Larry King to defend Frey's actions and reputation. She opined that the book held an "emotional truth" and the fact that he overcame his addiction was as important as any facts. So why the flip flop? Because of the scathing criticism by the Church of Oprah. They became infuriated that their god had led them astray. They were pissed that she decreed that they spend $24.95 (or whatever the hell folks are spending on books these days) on a book that she gave her stamp of approval.

So what was her reaction? She did what any god would do: swooped down on the offender with great vengeance. To her credit, she admitted that she made a mistake, however, there was still a prevailing air of buck passing. Her first defense was to arrogantly stand behind HER book. When that backfired, then she went with Plan B. I find confronting the author understandable. However, she also condemed his publisher. I'm not even in "the industry" and I know that they don't fact check memoirs any more than Oprah did. Just as she expected them to research it so they could "categorize" it properly, SHE should have damn well done the same because she played a key figure in the book being bought by millions. Mama always told me to make DOUBLE sure before you put your name on something.

Let's use a degree of common sense. A memoir is nothing more than a final draft of a "big fish" story. Since it's on print, the fish can't get any bigger, but the author made it as big as possible without making it unbelieveable. And this is expected. It's so expected that, when an author is candid regarding his or her flaws, critics and readers alike are usually amazed by the "honesty." Because everyone knows that there are some lying mofos in this world.

The fact is, Oprah's issue has NOTHING to do with the factuality, or lack thereof, if Frey's book. It has to do with someone causing a rift between her and her followers. A little side factoid listed in the article mentioned that Oprah pulled an invite to a particular author because he wasn't sucking her dick in gratitude for her endorsement. Are you kidding me? I applaud the author that writes a book from their heart and soul rather than out of some desire to be Oprah's bitch of the moment.

To you Oprah-ites: let this be a lesson in what happens when you let other humans think FOR you. Familiarize yourself with the library. They still make those things, you know. You can read as many books as you want and all it will cost is your time. Not too much duping and betrayal in a free book homie.

Makes Me Wanna Holla Some Mo'

I know this surprises my dear readers (all three of you), but I've got some stuff to get off my chest.

Before I start, please let me know when this ignant shit became romantic? I think this ranks as the "What the Fuck" moment of the week, and it's only Monday. I think I too will be moving to Canada.

I find the public's reaction to adultery appalling. The ooey-gooey reaction people are giving to Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie really makes me sick to my stomach. I won't begrudge anyone their happiness, but the way that whole situation took place was beyond tacky. I'm by no means jumping on the Anniston bandwagon, because she's just tired to me, but that had to be somewhat embarrassing. Going on a tangent, I would still give the "Ho That Will Steal Your Man" award to Jennifer Lopez. Angelina Jolie snatching Brad Pitt from vanilla flavored Jennifer Anniston is no biggie in my opinion. But Lopez, she grabbed Marc Antony's Nightmare Before Christmas looking ass from Miss Universe. If that's not some ballsy shit. . .

Fat women and hypersexuality. . .What CAN'T I say about this? Okay. . .you're fat. Okay. . .you can fuck. . .you can fuck well...and? Now I know fat chicks aren't the only people guilty of this, but this is where you see it the most often. I'm so tired of big brawds parading their nekkit asses and sexual prowess all over the net just for the sake of attention. If you're in the sex business, this does not apply to you. I'm not about to question how you're legally making your dough. However, if you are NOT turning a dollar for exposing your rolls, hills, valleys and snake pits, STOP. This is by no means a way to prove your confidence within yourself. If nothing else, you are showing your desperation in throwing what you should hold most dear to anyone with $9.95 for an internet connection. Try this, for every comment you could make about how you have no gag reflex, talk about what makes you a worthwhile individual.

Men suffering from the ADIDAS (All Day I Dream About Sex...yeah, I took it back with that one) complex, must realize that their behavior is also anti-sexy. We all know that kid in the 6th to 8th grade that punctuated every phallically ambiguous statement with "IN MAH PAAAAANTS". Ground breaking in middle school, annoying at 30+. I enjoy a strategically placed dirty joke as much as anyone. However, I'm referring to a person that, no matter what the discussion, you can count on them to add an unrelated, unprompted sexual comment. I truly believe that this person has self-esteem issues as well. So try this, when you hear of an issue that bewilders you, set aside ten minutes of your customary internet porn jerk time to read about it.

Last week, in a combination of bad judgment and poor planning (for not having CDs in the car), I listened to the radio. You know, the "your station for hip hop/R&B" radio. I discovered that a couple of things that I didn't care about: Cam'ron and Jay-Z had beef and Cam recorded a couple of Jay-Z disses. I'm not what you would call a Jay-Z fan and I normally don't have the "stop to watch the train wreck" mentality, but my curiosity got the better of me. I'm well aware that Cam is substandard at best, but this was below anything I expected of him. Though I do agree that Jay-Z is a notorious line biter and, yes, that negro does look like the bastard son of Joe Camel, to say this song was wack would be an insult to all things wack.

In a somewhat related radio gripe, are there only about five CDs out? I ask because, while I was getting my Black Rapunzel on in the braid spot, I discovered that the radio recycles the same five songs over and over ad nauseum. The radio was on for the last 2.5 hours of my transformation and I heard the same Kanye West, Mary J., Jamie Fox and Nelly songs 4 times each. I'm so thankful for my iPod.

When I moved up here, I bought an adorable blue peacoat because, most importantly, it fit and I figured, I would look a little different from everyone else in their usual black/brown/camel coats. I have since come to the conclusion that they were throwing this coat off the back of trucks because I see MY coat all over the place. Ah well, it's cute and it keeps me warm. That's what matters the most anyway.

As much as I wanted 2 boys, I love, and I mean ABSOLUTELY ADORE, shopping for my daughter. I had fun with Ty when he was a little one, and even now, his gear is tight, but it's regular little boy gear. You can't get too creative and imaginative with boys without setting your kid up to regularly get his ass whipped. However, with girls...oh my goodness!! Shopping for Jae is my favorite activity next to shoe shopping. Putting together her little outfits together and thinking up cute hairstyles for her is really something I can do all day.

Single mothers: stop moving in with men that aren't even worthy to split a cab with. Though this is something that could be said for single women in general, I think there's more at stake in the case I've mentioned. How many times have we heard of a kid getting the crap shaken out of him/her by their stepfather? Or how about raped (statutorily or otherwise)? Some dude ardently putting the naughty on you every Friday for a month does not absolve you of your responsibility as a parent. . .You selfish, thoughtles mother so-and-so.

I've said this elsewhere, but this can't be overstated: The purchase of the sidewalk designer "Goacci" (don't front like you don't know what I'm talking about) bags must stop. First of all, whenever I see a bag with the designers name printed on it a trillion times, I think of Peaches in A Low Down Dirty Shame (I was bored and it was on Starz...don't judge me). But being a billboard for a fictitious designer is even farther beyond something I can relate to.

For the last year or so I had been battling the idea of getting the relaxer monkey off my back. Since I planned on braiding my hair in the interim, my biggest holdup was finances. Braids that are not done by Pookie'nem are a big financial commitment. (As an aside, I know some kitchen beauticians are holding it down, but that's a big gamble and you have no real recourse if they screw up your dome.) However, now that I have a little more disposable income (and have discovered that a retouch costs about $100 a pop around these parts) I have decided to let go of the lye. I discovered that there are many women that have some of the most beautiful natural hair imaginable, hair that I would kill for, but I wouldn't have known because it's braided down under a pound of silky weave. Words couldn't express my disappointment.

Really, I don't mean any disrespect to anybody, but if I receive that "watch the Jaimie Foxx special instead of American Idol" one more time, someone is getting stabbed.

Beware the monologuing vagina

In a time where we are overrun by buzz words, catch phrases and "must see TV", nothing bothered me more than "The Vagina Monologues". Don't misunderstand, I harbor no vaginal phobias, though my speaking against TVM might prompt some hardcore feminists to disagree. I just find the title dumb. It bugs me, and so I'll blog about it.

I suppose if I were to define myself, it could be as a feminist of sorts. I think that Eve Ensler's "VDay" crusade is very admirable. History is littered with stories of a culture or community being violated and disregarded: Hebrews (and She-brews, LMFAO!!! Sorry folks, Family Guy fans know what I'm talking about), African/Black or gay/lesbian. However, nothing has been more constant and cross-cultured than violence against women. Her taking action and raising awareness is spectacular.

That being said, I'm not vibing with "The Vagina Monologues." Now, I grew up in a home where sexuality was by no means a taboo subject, and I'm quite grateful to my parents for that. Sure, I found saying "vagina" to be a liberating experience - when I was three and thought it was a cool word. By the time I got a little older, it was no big deal.

It's not that I am so naive as to believe that there are not women who are in need of self-empowerment in all aspects of life, including - and sometimes especially - related to their sexuality. Yet while the "enlightened" are purchasing tickets, or better still, on stage, the woman in need of liberation is stuck in her one room crap apartment in Podunk, USA nodding her head in agreement with her husband as he scoffs about "that cooter show." That is, IF they've heard of the show at all.

Those gifted with the term "vagina warriors" are extra special to me. I'm sorry, what? What kind of bored, upper-class housewife shit is that? (I wonder what those people would think of a man that labeled himself a "penis pugilist"? Hmmm...) Things like this cause me to opine that people use this cause, this awareness, more as a forum for posturing than anything else. TVM is just another rung in the ladder of the Oprahfication of feminism and femininity.

Respect

Today would have been my parents' 30th wedding anniversary. When my mother passed away, they had been married for 18 years. I remember when The Cosby Show aired, a lot of my parents' friends laughed at the similarities between the show and my family. Of course, there were differences: my brother didn't live with us, my parents weren't college grads and my dad was actually pretty damn good at home repair. However, the blaring difference wasn't known to the outside world: my parents were not in love with one another.

My dad was newly divorced and a minister and my mother was a traveling free spirit. Their best friends happened to be married and my parents ultimately met. At first glance, my mother thought my dad was a clown. At that same first glance my father decided that he was going to marry her, which is pretty much how he handles everything. Persistence paid off and my mother agreed to go out with him. Evidently she agreed to go out with him a lot, because after a few months, he told her that she should probably rent a hall and buy a dress. I'm not saying those were the exact words used, but knowing my father, I'm not too far off the mark. There was no getting down on one knee, etc. Despite that, my mother was there, looking quite lovely, and so were their friends and family.

Then the babies started coming: me that November, my sister two years later, a miscarriage two years after that, another sister two years after that, then finally, the baby, you guessed it, after another two years. (I also remember being 15 and seeing a discarded pregnancy test box. I thought I'd die on the spot.) Kids complicate marriage exponentially even in the most "normal" relationship. In a struggling relationship, kids make marriage damned near impossible.

Their relationship was sterile. (Ironic term for a couple that reproduced like jackrabbits in June.) They spoke to one another, kissed each other good-bye every morning, would entertain guests and go to parties together. But their demeanor at home seemed to indicate that they would rather be watching paint dry. I remember there being days on end when my parents would not spend a waking moment in the same room. If they weren't ignoring one another's existence, they were arguing. Things never became physical, but I learned the art of words as weapons from my parents. I can't say I've ever heard my parents cuss at each other or call each other names, but their words were just cutting.

It was so hard to get a gauge on them. Whatever issues they had, I can say that they did admire one another. I remember more than one occasion my mother telling me, "The men of today don't have a work ethic like your father. We've always had a good roof over our head, all of our necessities and many of our wants. You should be thankful." Then a mere five minutes later when he walked into the room, without saying a word she grabbed the keys and walked out the door. Didn't cast so much as a glance in his direction. My father's actions weren't much different. They admired one another, but would have burst into flames before they told each other.

After 17 years of marriage, my mother's health severely deteriorated and our family situation worsened. My mother, being used to her independence, was a difficult patient, my father's bedside manner was nothing short of deplorable. For their 18th anniversary, their friends threw them a surprise party because of all that had gone on that year, the last they would celebrate together. That was the first time I had seen my parents on friendly terms in months. My mother telling me that she was going to leave my father (though I had NO idea how she planned to do that) was routine. I later discovered my father harbored similar feelings.

We almost lost her that July and everything changed. It was one thing when they thought they would be able to ignore each other into old age, but this was something different. My mother softened up and so did my father. They were joking, laughing, talking. They had a second chance to make up for the previous 18 years. Just when they seemed to be getting it right, she was gone.

My parents' relationship has always made me fear a relationship of my own. They were stellar from a child-rearing team perspective. But since they weren't fortifying each other, they were being depleted. I spent all my years wondering why they stayed together, and assumed that they were biding their time because they had small children. There was a part of me that wished that I could have seen my parents happy, even if it wasn't with each other. I didn't discover the reason until about 2 months ago on the phone with my father. He said:

When you decide that you're going to marry a person, of course you look for love, attraction and the like. But more than anything, you look at a person's qualities. Lord knows your mother and I had a boatload of problems, but your mother had the qualities of a person that would make it through. I trusted her with my well being and with my children. I would have trusted your mom in a room full of millionaires and walked away with the confidence that she would not do anything to disrespect me as a man or jeopardize our marriage. I'm not saying that romance isn't a good thing, but any clown can be romantic. I can say I was married to a good woman. Not everybody can.

After I hung up and stopped crying, I really thought about their relationship. No, I didn't have two parents that were all over each other IN love, but somehow, they still loved each other. They were big enough to see beyond themselves, into the good of the other and work it for all it was worth. Maybe that was not the best way to do it, but I know they did it the best way they could.

Unashamed Fan

Music has always been a major part of my existence. One good thing that came from having parents with precious little in common is that I developed an eclectic musical palate. So I not only knew Gladys Knight, Aretha Franklin and Marvin Gaye, but also Little Feat, Derek and the Dominos and Yes. As a result, there's hardly anything that comes on the radio that I don't know. Though hip-hop most definitely has my heart and soul, good music is good music, so I present some of my favorite artists/bands to you.

Guns N Roses: Though Metallica (also to appear on this list) is arguably a better band, something about the combination of Axl and Slash just does it for me. I preferred them (like a couple of others on this list) before they became MTV whores, but I must say, "Use Your Illusion I" had some gems on it. Eventually, Axl Rose started smelling himself and the shit hit the fan. I still haven't forgiven him for "The Spaghetti Incident?" I don't know what was going on there.

Green Day: A chorus about masturbation propelled them into the mainstream. However, this is sadly a case of yet another great band that went doctors' office rock. "Dookie" was a great CD and I don't blame people for loving it, but they began to cater to "the crowd." I guess I can't knock anyone for wanting to make money, and I won't say that they became sucky. They just lost some of the edge that I loved so much.

Metallica: THEY FUCKING ROCK. No explanation required. It would be easy to claim that being a Metallica fan is cliche if they weren't such a good damn band. Well, in my opinion anyway...which is the only thing that counts around these parts.

L7: These white brawds are pissed. I don't mean regular pissed. I mean Pat Robertson getting dropped off in the middle of a boy-boy teabagging contest pissed. They also have some of the best fight riffs I've ever heard. Let me state that I do not expect straight men to like, or understand this band, but that does not detract from it's greatness. There's a line in "Fast & Frightening" that says "got so much clit, she don't need no balls." Brilliant!

Alanis Morrissette: Yes, she was on Nickelodeon. Yes, she is very VH1 friendly. but I don't care. "Jagged Little Pill" was a great album. Her lyrics cover the spectrum of female emotion whether it's affectionate ("don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are"), introspective ("how about not equating death with stopping") or the ever popular anger ("everytime I scratch my nails down someone else's back I hope you feel it"). Everybody needs something that is different, yet they can still relate to it. Yeah, I guess I sounded a little corny and groupie-ish. Cut me some slack...I'm not made of wood man.

NOFX: Great punk band...GREAT! I loved "Punk in Drublic", but "White Trash, Two Heebs and a Bean" is my absolute favorite. They are irreverent about everything...including themselves. Gotta love that. Well, at least I do.

Rage Against the Machine: This band does nothing to help my agression issues, but damned if their music isn't the shit. I have to battle the urge to just punch somebody when I'm listening to them. Listen to "Guerrilla Radio" and you'll see what I'm talking about. "TURN THAT SHIT UP!!"

Honorable Mention:
The Ramones
Pearl Jam

Porno for Pyros
Nirvana
The Exploited

If you feel that there is a glaring omission, please feel free to share your opinion.

Crackheads and Coffee

Yesterday my cousin related a story that was just TOO good not to share. As both buddies and fam, we trade our triumphs and woes. It goes without saying that sex, relationships and the lack thereof are among the topics discussed. Just when we thought we had it figured out, my cuz witnessed something that can only be described as a "what the fuck" moment:

I'm sitting on the train minding my own damned business when the doors open and in jumps this crusty crackhead looking extra fidgety. He stops and examines a seat, dusts it off and assists his girlfriend in sitting down. Once she sits down, she lays her head in his crusty lap where she begins to fall asleep while he's picking lint out of her hair. I thought I had seen it all, but interracial crackhead love is just more than I'm ready to handle right now. I can't even get a brother to Supersize my Happy Meal.

Okay, I know this sounds petty, but I am a lil' salty about a crackhead having a "better" love life than I. I mean, yeah, I don't have to worry about various communicable diseases and missing electronics, but still...

One of my good friends was regaling me with one of his infamous "Tales from the Titty Bar." Usually I can tolerate them, but once he started talking about the one eyed bouncer, I sort of lost it. Not funny? Eh, I guess you had to be there.

So my sister and I had a bit of a falling out. I swear on a stack of Prince CDs that I was NOT the asshole in this situation. But nobody in my family is speaking to me. Not my other sisters, my dad, the family dog...well, there is no dog, but you get the picture. My phone hasn't rung once. In any event, I called my sister to see how everyone was doing blah blah blah. She then proceeds to tell me about this big party that she and her husband have been planning for this weekend. That was my first time hearing about it and even then there wasn't even a hint of an invite. *shrug*

I take my coffee very seriously. Most New Orleanians do. If you were born before 1980, you were drinking the stuff while you were still on the bottle. (By the time you are five, you've also had your first taste of beer, but that's another topic entirely.) Therefore, you can imagine my disgust when, Tuesday, I was given a foamless latte. But in an effort to be a kinder, gentler Breez, I shook it off. After all, it's just foam. Maybe they were in a rush. So yesterday I gave them another chance. Again, no foam. TOTALLY unacceptable. Part of my day includes letting a little of my turbinado sugar get caught up in the foam, the subsequently enjoying the small taste explosion. Bastards! This morning I went to Starfucks. Sure enough, they gave me foam, but I paid almost a dollar extra. Can we say Pyrrhic victory?

Am I the only one that notices that white people are ALWAYS running? And I don't mean jogging to stay in shape. I mean just running EVERYWHERE. In the grocery store, in the middle of the street even when there's no traffic and the sign says "walk", from their driveways into their houses, on the subway platform even when there's no train in site, on Sundays in the mall parking lot. Where in the hell are they going? I think I'm going to just stop one of them and ask them one day. This has baffled me for years. If anyone has the answer, please, enlighten a sista.

Is it me, are do people get way too deep into sports and whatnot? Don't get me wrong, I get hype watching games my damn self and love nothing better than a nailbiting competition, but I'm not getting paid. I've seen folks come to blows at games. Or what's even more special, I've seen folks come to blows over MADDEN. What is THAT shit about? It always tickles me when guys talk about that game then refer to "their defense". What the hell? I'll never understand that. But then again, they don't understand my fascination with shoes so I guess that makes us even.

Beautiful

"And even though the birds ain't singin'
And the sun ain't shinin'
It looks like a beautiful mornin'!"
- Little Brother

I play this track every morning. I play it because it's something that I want to believe. I want to believe that though I feel more alone than I've ever felt in my life, there is beauty in the fact that I can get up every day and try again. I started and stopped five blog posts because I want my words to affirm this belief. Yes, I'm taking the Jesse Jackson approach ("If I can believe it, I can acheive it") with this one. No, I'm not going soft. I just feel like my occasionally caustic nature was becoming a little too predominate. I'm sure that in a day or two, the tongue will be blazing again. It's just that for now, I felt the need to calm the sea a bit.

Help out my homie

Please go here to vote for my friend Michelle "Danja" Watson-soon-to-be-Taylor. She's vying for a $500.00 cash prize and needs all the votes she can get. She's nominee #14, but she's very close to winning the internet vote, which I believe counts for 50% of the judging. She's in the process of planning a wedding at the end of this year and can really use the money. Thanks for your support.

Babble

I've already begun counting down to my 30th birthday. I know. I just turned 29, but still, I know 30 is there. . .just laying in wait for me. I'm not afraid of turning older and it sure as hell beats the alternative, but I just always saw 30 as this monster. I have been going through the motions of saying all the shit that people say - you know "I'm only getting better", "I'm like a fine wine", blah, blah, blah. William Shakespeare would say "The lady doth protest too much, methinks." I however, say, "Yeah, whatever geezer." Yeah, I know, the 20s and 30s aren't old. Therefore, I'm not sure why I've been feeling the need to validate my youth with cheesy slogans.

I think that part of my age issue stems from the fact that I have yet to engage in a healthy male-female relationship. It's not that I see a relationship as a tool of self validation or anything like that. I just think that after 29 years, I would like to have engaged with someone that afterward, I didn't want to kick squarely in the chest. Part of it is my own fault. My fear of intimacy borders the paranormal. I don't take compliments well and I've been known to have odd reactions to displays of affection. I have actually purposely dated people that I don't like because I knew that the shit would inevitably hit the fan. Once it's done, there's really no love lost because I wasn't that into them anyway. I have also purposely avoided dating people that I do like in an effort to continue to like them. On the rare occasion that I have dated individuals that I liked, admired or otherwise enjoyed, things always seemed to go south for one reason or another. I won't say that I'm blameless, because I know that I'm not; but I also know I'm not the entire problem. Weird? Yeah, I guess.

I mentioned before that I believe that something positive is on the horizon for me, and that thought hasn't changed. I just find myself becoming increasingly cynical of the things people say and disgusted by the things they do. I'm having a case of Holden Caulfield syndrome in the worst way. I believe that more often than not, the world would be better off if people would think before they speak - or for that matter, if people would just think and not speak at all. I won't even touch in thinking before acting because people (present company included) often seem to think that thought and action are mutually exclusive entities rather than facets of life that should work in tandem.

I think part of my issue is that I've flooded my life with "extra". Therefore, my life is in desperate need of cleansing and purging. I don't plan on being one of those stupid people that sends out a broadcast email, or what have you threatening people with being "removed from the circle." (Yes, I think folks like that are stupid. Who in the fuck do they think they are? More times than not, if you feel that a person should be removed from your "circle", they also think you should be removed from theirs. Just do what the fuck you have to do and keep it moving. Sorry for digressing.) I just mean that we can allow our lives to become cluttered with people and issues that aren't necessarily for us. It doesn't mean those people or issues are bad, just not in their proper place. Whose fault is it really if we've allowed unnecessary things to take over our life? Give me a break!

Despite all this, I'm a really nice person. *cheese* Just moody. You know you like it. Otherwise you wouldn't be reading.

New Year's Eve

So I spent the weekend in the Big Apple. I enjoyed myself, met some new people, hung out with old friends and, yes my friends, I danced on a table. That was pretty fun...not anything I plan on doing regularly though. However, with all of the fun that I had, I miss my children desperately. They were supposed to be here December 27 and they STILL have not come. I'm in the process of coming up with a Plan B for getting them up here. If I haven't said it before, procreating with inept morons is really not the new black. I know they'll be here soon. It's just the waiting that's getting to me.

There is so much that has changed for me in such a little time. Many of the changes were for the better. My children are going to love their new home, I've got a great job and even though the place I live in seems a little sterile, it's not half bad. I haven't completely committed to staying here forever, but I'm starting to get use to it. I think once I do more exploring and meet more people, I'll enjoy it a little better.

This year has been a doozy for me on a lot of levels. There is the most obvious doozy named Katrina. There is something to be said about losing everything you own in the blink of an eye to make you realize that none of those things matter. There are so many people who will NEVER be able to account for family members. So many people who will blame themselves for not forceing a family member to leave the city with them. It makes me thankful that I was able to kiss my kids goodnight, argue with my family and speak to my father. Possessions can be easily replaced. I'm eternally grateful that I was able to retain everything that matters in my world. My heart and prayers truly go out to the people that can't say the same.

There is something good around the corner for me. I can feel it. I can't say for sure what it is, however, I know it's there. Maybe it's a mind over matter thing just to make me feel more positive. But something inside of me tells me it's more than that. I hate to put my cynical nature on hold, but I think this might be worth it.

My Southern Vacation

This weekend was a weekend of discovery.

The first thing I learned this weekend is that white folks in the South weren't afraid to steal land. My mother's family, as well as other African Americans owned land that was taken from them and turned into a spillway. You can find the story behind this here. (Stanley Riley is, in fact, a distant relative of mine.) My family is among the many that have yet to collect. This is a story that I knew about. What I did not know is that my great-great-grandfather, a Frenchman by the name of Ducongeaux, owned a large plot of land that spanned from Dauphine St. to the Mississippi River. The Ritz Carlton New Orleans marks the start of the property. Upon his death, the deeds were "lost" and his black wife and family driven from their home. Gotta love the US.

"Foxy" aka Grandma is doing much better than she was. She was so excited to see me. I know this is shocking, but I'm the spicy grandchild. She also digs the fact that I call her Foxy. It's well deserved though. Prior to her illness, I wouldn't have put her past 60-65. On top of that, Foxy's wardrobe ain't no joke. I discovered that she's turning 78 soon. Go Granny! I'm so glad that I saw her this weekend and I will call and visit her more.

The second thing I learned is that the time I can spend with my sisters before having to crush the desire to suffocate each and every one of them in their sleep is very, very small. I wanted to smack each of them with a back of "shutdafuckup". I love them dearly and if anyone else were to say such things about them, they would be handily pummelled on site. But to say that absence makes the heart grow fonder is an understatement.

My dad is recovering quite nicely from his cancer treatment and he's going to be starting school in the near future. My step-mother will also be graduating soon with a degree in, uh, something or another. I just know that it was important for her to finish so, go Step-mom!

No trip home is complete without some ignance. Evidently, the wife of the ex is bothered by my existence. There was some hullaballou abou tme being "at her house." This consists of me being parked in front of her house while my 4 year old retrieved a jacket that she should NEVER have been allowed to leave the house without in the first place. When my kids walked out the house, she slammed the door like somebody crazy? What the hell? Simply because I try to do something about my appearance and she looks like a fat man rode her to glory face first, is that my fault? That's DNA. Get mad at ya mama.

I had the opportunity to visit the best spa in the world. Belladonna is, colloquially, what we refer to as "The Shit". I literally fell asleep during my facial. And I don't mean polite sleep either. I mean borderline drool sleep. I mean the drool was "peeking at the door". But a sister is SPARKLING right about now. A sister is "no makeup" sparkling. I'll try not to hurt anybody...but I offer no promises.

I also visited a bonafide hole-in-the-wall juke joint. That shit is hilarious. Little Milton and Koko Taylor all night long. If you go to a juke joint, you can get "right" off $10...$20 will get you straight twisted. However, the men of these places are used to seeing "women" as opposed to "ladies". Therefore, me and my girls were looking like movie stars when compared to the sister whose back looked like a busted pack of store brand biscuits. The open face gold teeth and jheri curls were in full effect. Then they had a bunch of brothers that looked like they had just bought all of their outfits off the back of a truck that very evening. The entire night was a study in comedy, however, when the man walked in looking like a pimp Uncle Ben, we knew it was time to bounce.

I considered driving past my old home to see what things looked like, but I really had no stomach for it. Though the city is not desolate, there is still ample evidence of what Katrina did. Traffic signs are turned around, stop signs are completely gone, there's pile after pile of bricks from buildings that crumbled, and this is what I saw in populated areas. I couldn't bring myself to see what my hood looked like.

I guess it can be said that I feel like Maryland is my "home" now. By Monday, I was ready to be in my own bed with my, ahem, electronic device. I'm starting to feel like this move was a great idea.

Revisiting an issue

I enjoy surfing my own blog. I like to make fun of my typos or just generally see where my mind was at that point in time. Of course, I also like to check out my comments as well. Therefore, I don't know how in the world I missed he following comment related to my August 15, 2005 blog post about the Willie Lynch letter:

Breez you should know and understand the comment you made about the "Willie Lynch" letter is exactly what the European-American male want to here. If you read further on in your life, you find that it is the women of color that possess your like minded opinion.

For the most part, more African men were torchered and murdered than African women. The slave owners needed the women to releave them of their sexual desires when their women were pregnant, on their cycles, were waiting to be wed or simply did not want to perform their wifely duties. Or is this something you don't care to read about, remember or even discuss, because either you choose to deny the event or you are one of those women of color who choose and perfer the European man anyway.

Which one is it? Being from New Orleans, it is a known fact the most of those African-Americans are mixed with a little of everything. Am I correct?

Huh? Because I don't believe in a document that no one has ever seen, I'm buck dancing for Mr. Cholly? Stop.

In slavery, was the splintering of the African family, and ultimately the African sense of community, through some of the most heinous means imaginable a tactic used by slave masters? Definitely. But I never once disputed that. What I disputed was the authenticity of this document. I believe that we, as black people, rather than regurgitating everything that comes across us via email, should stop and deal with FACTS. Since the European American man wants me to believe that Willie Lynch is fake, why hasn't the African American man not put it in his museums? Since its "discovery", the document has not been displayed anywhere. I wonder why that is? I will state for the record that if ANYONE can tell me where I can go to actually see the document, I will happily admit that I'm wrong.

However, rather than focusing on the actual issue, Yvonne (who is seemingly lacking a blog of her own) felt obligated to insult me because she doesn't agree. Okay...we can go there. If you want to believe in the letter, fine. For me, there are far too many verified and documented accounts of slavery to refer to. I maintain that putting so much weight into a fictitious document is not even remotely productive.

As far as your disparaging remarks regarding the racial heritage of many New Orleanians, that merely highlighted how small minded you are. Yes. My grandmother is a Creole woman. My grandfather was a Creole man. My grandmother on my other side identified both with her African and her Native American heritage. So? We are beautiful black people. I can speak for myself and my family in saying that we have ALWAYS identified ourselves as black people. News flash. In this day and age, African-Americans EVERYWHERE are usually mixed with a little bit of everything. Remember that slavery thing you were talking about? Yeah, that's a result of that. Stupidity really isn't a good look for the season.

Chitter chatter

For those of you that find my blog addictive, think that I'm cute, or maybe just too looney to ignore, you can OD on me here. Even though I think 360 is kinda gay, I'm a motormouth and I love to be heard. Ah well.

Yesterday on my 360 blog, I griped about people being increasingly one-dimensional. However, after doing some surfing I believe some people should just stick with what they know. Good grief.

I need to keep a pen and paper in the bathroom. I get some of my best blog ideas in the shower. Unfortunately, by the time I get to work, I either forget about them or the fragments that I do remember aren't nearly as amusing as when I was brain storming. One might argue that indicates the idea wasn't that amusing to begin with. . .Nah, that couldn't be it.

I'm going home this weekend. For the first time actually. First I have to stop in Shreveport to see my grandmother. She's been in the hospital for two weeks and I just found out about it the other day. I'm also going to visit my babies that I haven't seen since October 1!! I miss those bobble-headed creatures.

I'm sure I'm not the only person that thought Richard Pryor was just always going to be around. From what I understand though, MS is excruciatingly painful, so if there's any joy to this, it's that he's not suffering anymore.

What's up with people saying "thongs". As in, "I'm wearing thongs." Okay, here's my thing, if you're broadcasting your underwear, cool. It's whatever. However, if you're wearing more than one, that's a little weird. It's a THONG. If you have that much ass that you require two, well, frankly that's another blog topic altogether. One thong people...one thong.

Remember the days of yore? The good old days when, if you wanted to be a spokesperson, you had to know how to speak? What is this new crack that Proactiv is smoking? Diddy or whatever the hell his ambiguously gay ass is named these days? I'm sitting there like, "Did this muthfucka say 'moisturize my situation', 'preserve my sexy' and, my favorite, 'I jus' ain't want no bumps in my face'??" Wow...heavy. This begs the question, what sexy is he preserving? Ew. If 50 starts pushing Invisalign, cremate me on the spot.

I knew that I was going to miss the drive thru daiquiri spot (wimpy ass Maryland), but I didn't know how much. Not only do they not sell liquor after 2:00 a.m. on Sunday, but in Montgomery county, you need to follow the fucking North Star to find a liquor store. What is this madness? I'm used to stores that say "Beer, Wine & Liquor", not just "Beer & Wine". What's the point of that?

Isn't kissing great? And I don't mean the tongue fucking grope fests that people call kissing these days. I'm talking about real honest to goodness kissing. Where you're vibing with someone and you just sort of fall into them and get that "yeah, this is what it's about" feeling. There are a lot of things in this world that you can fake (or attempt to fake), but a good kiss is not one of them.

Why do people say that they've made a 360 degree turn? Wouldn't that indicate you've gone back to past behavior?

The terms "haters" and "grown and sexy" have officially become overused. Let it go.

I embrace my inner punk. In high school when the other brawds were changing into miniskirts and midriffs, I was changing into ripped jeans and Sex Pistols t-shirts. Piercing my lip and having pink hair was my sole mission in life. (I did the hair, but not the lip. I decided my luscious soup coolers could stand on their own.)

Can I state for the record that I miss New Orleans po'boys...BUT HOT DAMN if Potbelly's don't make a mean sammich.

Blues for a Tropical Negro

This week has been something else. It started out with me going to Ikea (AKA Satan's Furniture Emporium). Everyone told me how inexpensive Ikea is. Nobody told me that it's because they work the fuck out of their customers. Though I'd rather chew my foot off than buy one of their ugly ass sofas, their kids' bedroom furniture is pretty cute, so I got the munchkins' bedroom needs out the way. HOWEVER, I'm a 5'5 woman, therefore, picking up a bedframe is NOT happening in this camp. So I asked one of the guys to help me. Am I the only person that gets annoyed when, after asking a store rep for help, they look at you like you asked them to fuck their mother?

After finally getting my stuff then had to lug it over to home delivery. This, ladies and gentlemen, is an EXTREMELY painful procedure. See, they've already gotten your money, so they KNOW you're not going anywhere. Therefore, they make sure that you wait on them, just a fraction of a second prior to your commiting homicide. In any event, my experience there only compunded the other anger/emotional issues that I've got going on right now, so I went to bed almost as soon as I got home.

I woke up Monday morning to discover that we would be getting snow, not Monday night, but Monday afternoon. Okay. I can do this. And I made out fine. However, when I got home last night there was a message from Ikea telling me that my delivery would take place Tuesday morning between 8-12. After I was told that I could get evening delivery. Bitches. So I called them to let them know that I was able to purchase that shit because I have a job and therefore needed to reschedule. I was told that since it was so late, they could not reschedule? Uh, this is 12 hours before your supposed delivery. You're not coming on the Pony Express. Tell those hoes not to come. This situation is still simmering, so we'll see how it turns out.

This morning I woke up to everything blanketed in white. My neighborhood looked positively picturesque. And that's ALL that shit is good for. A fucking picture. I busted my ass this morning. Twice. While listening to my iPod. Essentially, I busted my ass to a soundtrack. Not sexy. After I fell the second time, I was like a traumatized kid. I was ready to stay my ass on the ground and not move until the snow melted.

I'm just gonna keep telling myself that it's going to get better. Coming from the Souf, Timbs are for fashion. I didn't realize that they were actually functional. Go figure.

It's like that?

"I know somebody payin' child support for one of his kids
His baby mama car and crib is bigger than his."
- Kanye West "Golddigger"

Okay, this song is cool for entertainment purposes. However, I read a man's opinion of child support and it was somewhat unsettling. Among his gripes were the following:

There is no ceiling on child support

The mother’s baby has the full support of the Child Support Enforcement Agency, attorneys, agents and supporting cast and they have one mission: Drill him! Beat him down! Make him pay! Scare the hell out of him!

A warrant for his arrest can be issued against him at the drop of a dime, without any proof or legal standing. All the mother has to do is call the OCSE Office Of Child Support Agent and say these magic words, “He didn’t send me my money!”

Let me state for the record that I find he-bitch fits intensely unsexy. I find men that use exaggerations, panic tactics and lies to be complete idiots.

Let me say this. I am not so naive as to think that there are not people that get enjoy nothing better than busting a guy's balls because shit didn't work out. HOWEVER, to say that there is a mass conspiracy is pathetic. For every father that is bitching about child support payments, I'm willing to wager that there is a father that is straight up handling his damned BUSINESS.

There IS a ceiling on child support. A certain percentage of your income is taken. However, consider that if you are married with eight children, your disposable income will not be the same as when you were married with one. Therefore, if you decide to start downloading babies, the same principle applies. Your disposable income decreases.

It takes more than Sapphire-ish behavior to have a warrant issued and a driver's license suspended. It must be proven that a person is in arrears in the amount and/or time period deemed excessive by the state.

Now, one thing that was mentioned that concerned me, and that was the "playing Daddy" scenario. There ARE women that have babies for other men and for one reason or another, allow another man to raise that child as his own. One sub-scenario is that she's a skank and went with the "prime choice" (i.e., brother least likely to leave, with the heavier pockets, etc.) without his knowledge. The other sub-scenario is that the guy does in fact know that he is not the father, but makes a conscious decision to be the father in that child's life.

For obvious reasons, I won't even address the first situation. Personally, in this day and age, I'm not against DNA testing being standard for all pregnancies. There are some brothers that have gotten caught up in some bullshit behind a bad decision.

In the event that two consenting adults embark upon parenthood knowing that Daddy ain't Daddy, that can get a little tricky. The adults involved have to realize that this decision affects an innocent third party. The mother is precluded from pulling the "This is MY child" card, as is the father from pulling the "This is NOT my child" card when it comes to any decision making. This would also include custody if, for some reason, the relationship does not work out. I'm still on the fence as to how I feel about people doing this. I don't think it's a choice I would make, but I can only speak for myself.

On top of the initial comment, other men went on to comment on the gentleman's opinion as follows (I include my commentary on said comments in red):

THIS ONE IS THE KICKER -- A man needs to work overtime to be
able to live a decent livestyle after paying child support. He has
to pay HIGHER child support for his overtime hours, therefore, he
actually can easily take home less for working an extra 10-15 hours
a week than if he worked 40 hours.

The kicker? To quote the great animated philosopher Eric Cartman "What's the big fuckin' deal bitch?" My parents were together and BOTH of them worked overtime and grabbed side gigs when ish got tight. When I had to make ends, I held down a full time gig, slung Avon (used to run the bomb ass foot care specials) and scrubbed toilets to handle my business. It's not even a matter of manning up. Grow the fuck up. When you have kids, whether you like the other parent or not, playtime is over and you do what the hell you have to do.

I want to know what about the women who have these bastard babies just to bust some man's face and his bill fold. Who don't take good care of them and abuse the children....who just see it as a means of financial gain???? Many black women I know want to make all of these bastard/prison fodder babies who are usually born messed up due to alcohol and drug addictions, plot and plan to get a SSI check and usually end up as the umpteenth generation of ghetto trash. . .Black women seem to think it is their right to have these bastard money makers ad infinitum.

An interesting side factoid is that this dude is a pastor. Some Christians can really be something else. Point blank, there are some trifling hoes in this world. Of that, there is no dispute. There is also no disputing that coming from a single parent home can often stigmatize youth development. But that makes me ask this: why leave your kids with such a person. Let's say your child's mother is an abusive crackhead. What do you do? Drop them off after the visit with you and say "Good luck dodging blows and stepping over crack pipes. Holla back next Wednesday, aight?" I maintain that just as a woman knows she's dealing with a grimy dude, a dude knows that he's dealing with a grimy chick.

Let's be wild for a moment. If you meet someone and you can't see yourself being tied to this person for the rest of your days, DON'T FUCK THEM. You can wrap it up, pop pills, take the shot and use the rhythm method. However there is ALWAYS a chance that a kid can come from that situation. It's disturbing that folks care more about where they park their car than their genitals.

I think the flaw with my idea though is this: people meet, go out MAYBE twice, and the next thing you know, somebody is ass up in the back of an El Camino. You know...because they were "vibing". Yes, I know...we've all bought into that once or twice...or maybe every other Saturday, but I digress. Seeing the end result of such behavior should be a wake up call.

If a person finds themselves in a situation where the other parent is not holding their weight, then yes, being annoyed and even angry is appropriate. The fact that the two of you couldn't work out a relationship also makes the inability to see eye to eye at all times also understandable. However, to decide that forces beyond your control have conspired against you to either get you pregnant or make you pay for all these kids that you didn't want is stepping outside of reality and sanity.

I have seen more than a few examples of men and women that hold it down. I know women that receive enforced child support, but I also know women who never had to go through the system to receive it. I know men that go above and beyond what they are required to do. I know men that have kept the African village mentality and not only provide emotional support for their own child, but look out for their other siblings as well. I'm not saying that's a requirement, but that definitely shows there are some good brothers out there.

I'm the first to admit that child support can be a hot button issue for so many reasons, however, the main idea is to support the child. People can argue about what amount is fair and who is getting got ad nauseum, however, when it's detracting from time you can and should be spending with the CHILD, you need to rethink your position. How productive is constantly harping on how trife your ex-whatever is (and let me say off top that such behavior in front of your children, whether they are also that person's child or not is deplorable)?

We'll all have good days and bad days when we are tied to an ex through a child or children, but allowing the negatives to consume you is toxic. Let that shit go. Not only will that be damaging to you, but it impacts what you should be most concerned about: your children.

No turkey for me...thanks

I wasn't really in the mood for celebrating this Thanksgiving. Coincidentally, it was also my 29th birthday, and I wasn't much for celebrating that either. I was in NYC last weekend and I had a great time, so that fun just sort of carried over. I think the last time I had a revelrous birthday celebration, I was 26. My last 3 birthdays have been spent in quiet reflection. Of course I talk to some friends, but other than that, it's me and my thoughts.

Like most other people, my life at 29 is not what I expected it to be, but I'm sure I could have done worse. I did expect to be published by now. I was sure I'd have a degree. I thought I'd own my own home and I figured I'd only be on kid number one. I didn't expect to be divorced by 26. But I also didn't expect to be happy (usually) with being single, i.e., comfortable in my own skin.

As someone else brought out, the older I get, I realize more and more how many stupid people there are in the world. I had a conversation with my ex-husband the other day about the kids and I realize that his conversation has the same content as when we were 22 and 23. That was more than a little disturbing. (Sometimes I swear I know how Mary J. feels when she looks at K Ci.)

I can say that this has been a year for me to conclude old business. There are no skeletons or blasts from the past that I have to worry about. I guess my gift to myself this year is peace in my thoughts.

*Snore*

"Cornbread...ain't nuttin' wrong with dat."
-Chris Rock "No Sex in the Champagne Room"

I'm tired as a mofo. I know as progressive black folks, we're not supposed to give in to stereotypes, but hell with it. I'VE GOT THE 'ITIS. For those of you that don't know (more likely than not, white folks) "'itis" is a deriviative of the term "negroitis" which describes the condition of black folks following a delicious meal. One might argue that white folks experience this as well, but...well...who cares?

No joke, despite my ladylike appearance, I had to stop myself from pulling an Al Bundy at my desk. Who knew chicken, collard greens (even without the pork) and work just DON'T mix? Despite the fact that I'm going home early, I have a billion things to take care of so that I can relax and enjoy my vacation.

The Maverick

They can't stop me, naw they can't stop me
They keep playin', keep sayin' I'm cocky
They keep tryin' but too tired to top me,
Their best bet is to fall back and watch me
-"Watch Me" Little Brother

By the time I was two years old, I'd had two surgical procedures which required me to spend prime toddler moments in a body cast that spanned from my rib cage down my entire left leg. Folks worried about how that would impact me. How would I function as a child that couldn't play. In true Breez fashion, I said to hell with the dumb shit and lived my life. I worked the hell outta that cast. There is a picture somewhere of me tumbling in it. According to my parents, I was trying to do headstands in traction. There was no breaking Toddler Mav.

So now what's the fucking deal with me? A little rain fell this month and my ass was SHOOK. Of all the things I made it through, now I shut down? My crib is looking like 20 years of oppression. (Well, maybe just three.) Damn. What's funny is that I went through the same shit last year. I refuse to spend my time huddled under a blanket watching fucking "Girlfriends" reruns snotting, "I can't wait for this year to be over."

This year has been a fucking BLAST. I had a flyy ass living room for about 8 months. (DAMN YOU KATRINA!!) I got a chance to hang with my Soul Twin on a few occasions this year. My son received an award for reading at the 3rd grade level in kindergarten (and currently has an A-PLUS average). My little sister matured exponentially (I really had to cut the cord). I discovered that there are still some good brothers out there. My shoe selection is tight, my crib is hot (well, it'll be hotter when I get furniture) and I've almost doubled my salary. I discovered books that nourished my mind and soul. I conquered the anger that I had against my ex-husband. I have learned that Oprah is to be feared and avoided at all costs. I've made new friends, found new fam and even though I still don't know what the hell I wanna be when I grow up, I'm closer "now" than I was "then".

Even the negative things were turned into blessings and I can do nothing but be eternally grateful to my Creator for that. Nothing was more beautiful than the outpouring of love and support I received following Katrina. To all of you who did ANYTHING, whether it was a kind word, clothes, money, a prayer, whatever, THANK YOU. Thank you for letting God work through you and bless me and my family.

I can't let the rough spots shake me. I can't lose myself. Seeing how far I've come let's me know how far I have to go. But I'm not scared. I can do this. Watch.

Universal imbalance

"Sometimes I think there's no point at all and that's the point."
Mozelle Batiste Delacroix - Eve's Bayou

My karma is fucked up. Maybe I should start doing good deeds like that "My Name Is Earl" dude. (Does anybody watch that show?) I don't want to seem like a whiner, because there are good things that happen to me. But they usually follow some earth shattering tragedy. (I'm not complaining about blessings. Just frustrated.)

I'll be real: I'm cute, young, hard working, got all my teeth, and chronically single. The only reason I'm NOT completely flipping out is that Halle Berry can't seem to keep a man around either. Pitiful, yes. But it gets me through the day (and night) and that's what counts.

I make decent money, but since I type 88 wpm, I thought I'd be more than the print beyotch. Again, this is whining. I complained about working like a dog at my last job, but being this idle is sort of scary. Like one day they're going to wake up and say, "We're paying this bitch HOW much to click the "print" icon?" and the party will be over.

This month has been a study in, "Thanks but no thanks" or "Sorry, we don't carry that color in your size" or some such nonsense. I think I'm overdue for a "Breez day." A day where the only words I hear are "Oh yes Ms. Breez, right this way," "This has a very slimming effect" and "That's a spectacular idea."

I'm tired. I'm tired of unrealistic ideals. I'm tired of waging these ferocious battles only to realize that I'm in the EXACT same place that I started. For all of my progression and growth, it still just feels like all i'm doing is making wider circles. Is that the point of it all?

What I believe

"I believe in the sweat of love and in the fire of truth."
- Assata Shakur

A wise man told me that when you can put your cards on the table and not be afraid of the results, that's when you're ready for a relationship. I guess is a telling sign of whether or not your feelings for a person are genuine. A wise woman said that fear is what prevents us from sharing God's most precious gift to us - love. Out of all my flaws, I can say that is NOT one that I have. I have every reason to be fearful, petrified even, of love and all that comes with it, but I can't afford to let it scare me.

Loving a person is worth the sweat it takes to make the impossible attainable. There's nothing stupid about love. People make love seem so unnecessarily complex that it hardly seems worth the effort. However, I refuse to believe that it's not worth it. I refuse to believe that I'M not worth the effort.

Truth's fire comes in when you've taken that leap, but the other person is still on the ledge. They are not only holding on for dear life, but possibly scrambling to get back to the point of origin. It burns to hear someone say that they can't take that chance with you. It would be so easy to criticize that person, and be angry, no PISSED, because you've stuck yourself out there. But the fact is, not taking the leap doesn't make them bad, or less special, or even wrong. It just means that temporary things have to come to an end to make room for what is real and lasting. It means that you can take a special person and put them in the wrong role and that has to be corrected for the sakes of both persons involved.

Why I don't think that Yahoo 360 is real blogging

I guess there's no logical reason for me to feel that way. I just do. I admittedly blog on 360 to amuse myself as well as my friends, but I get no real satisfaction from it. Probably because I have a very low opinion of Yahoo as a whole. In my opinion, it is but a hair's breadth away from Sodom and Gomorrah. You can barely hold a civilized conversation for 3 minutes without some unnecessarily personal sexual inquiry popping up. Then when the person is checked on it, some weak shit like, "My bad shawty, I was jus' trynna get to know you better" is regurgitated onto the screen. No you're not Filthy McNasty...you're trying to get some ass. Some EMAILED ass. They're doing it, because it's worked for them before. Unfortunately for them, I have SERIOUS reservations about dudes that are attracted to women that are willing to email their coochies.

It has also come to my attention that telling a woman that she is smart has the same effect as shiny objects had on that crow from "The Secret of NIMH." This is viewed as the ultimate panty dropper. Unfortunately, my parents and friends have done a GREAT job of encouraging me to educate myself, so mentioning my intelligence is not an automatic "win". As a matter of fact, I'm INTELLIGENT enough to peep the technique and recognize that you're on some bull and keep stepping.

I know all of this sounds bitter and arrogant, but fuck it...color me disillusioned. Have men and women become so disrespectful of each other and themselves that THIS is what dating and the like has come to? I have seen more women justifying doggish behavior because "a man is gonna be a man." Whose man? I've seen more women throwing themselves at men simply because they are able to string a seven word sentence together. I've seen more men fall "in love" with woman after woman that they barely even know. I've seen more men publicly humiliate women that gave them far more time than they were worth, only to sing their "woe is me" blogs on Yahoo. What IS that shit about? Maybe I'm just surly and contentious, but it seems like some bull to me.

**WARNING: The above was an unstructured impromptu rant, meant only to allow the writer to get something off her chest.

Got my swagger back

I was REALLY feeling some kinda way on Friday. As mannish as my behavior can be at times, it's surprising what a trip to VS, the salon and some new boots can do for one's attitude. I plan on renting a car this week because I'm tired of being dependent on other folks. It's not that they make me feel bad, but I like being able to do things without having to ask for permission.

My blog imagination has been somewhat tapped out lately so I present you with the "Vault of Orphaned Blogs."

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, "The Vault of Orphaned Blogs."

"It's a train...not the coming of Jesus" Why the f*** are you knocking down old/infirm people to get on the train? Look at the sign, there's going to be another train dufus. All I'm saying is that I've got something special for the person that pushes me to get on the damn train.

"That's horse manure and you know it" Have you ever met someone whose conversation is a study in foolishness. I am convinced that no one person can be that silly and they merely talk stupid out of boredom. I want to believe that in their secret life, they are forumulating a cure for cancer or AIDS or Ben Affleck fans, and they craftily use nonsensical chatter to amuse us peons.

"I cuss too damn much!" I really do. I'm working on it.

"Don't live out your life story on the net." Everybody that reads your s*** ain't your friend. Even if they're not necessarily your enemy, they may be like me: LAUGHING THEIR ASSES OFF! I really try not too, but laughing is a gut reaction for me. It's more or less: "No he/she didn't put ALLLLLLL the business up there." I've seen folks call people out in Yahoo groups about things that only those two people and the Lord up above knew (AND SHOULD HAVE KNOWN) about. Just pick up your face, handle your business in private and keep it moving.

"Am I imagining this?" People that use their cell phones on the bus/train bother me. However, people that use their cell phones on the bus/train and speak in a different language generally seem to speak louder than folks that do the same in English. Recently a lady next to me on the train called someone from her cell and said "Hi, this is mom, I'll be at XYZ station in 20 minutes." Completely normal tone of voice. THEN she called someone else in another language and evidently entered a "I wonder if my loud ass can break the sound barrier if this angry brawd next to me doesn't stab me first" contest. This is not the first time I've noticed this. Stop it.

"Am I the only one on earth that doesn't give a flying fart about Terrel Owens?" Dude always looks constipated, plus he took pictures in a tight azz nipple shirt. That's enough to completely remove him from my radar. However, folks are getting really involved in this beef he's got going on. Maybe I should clarify something for some folks. *steps up to the mic* Ahem...YALL AIN'T GON' GET NO DAMN MONEY FROM HIM!!! *spikes mic on stage*

"Old men are gross" I don't mean regular old men that live their lives and go about their business. I'm talking about these nasty bastards that are on the loose trying to recapture their youth through young (often dumb) women. Realize this the next time you "mack" - you smell like Adidas cologne, liniment and corn chips.

"I am living in an animated world" Quite a few of my favorite shows are animated: South Park, The Family Guy, The Simpsons, most recently The Boondocks if it keeps up the good work. However, throughout the day, little snippets of these shows pop up in my head and sometime almost escape with Tourette's-esque fervor. I swear on election day I had to stop myself from saying "Shake them titties when you vote bytch!" at least four times. (South Park fans know what I'm talking about.) Something is wrong with me. I need help. Or at least I need to find something else to do with my spare time.

Why I'm not married

. . .to an asshole. Last night while (not quite) minding my business* and waiting for a ride at the train station, I saw this lady picking up who I would assume is her husband. I should first note that he had "First Class Undisputed Douchebag" written all over him. Don't ask me to explain, just something about his face and demeanor annoyed me as the two of us waited. Well, his wife pulled up to the Kiss & Ride area and stopped the car. SHOULD be end of story right. Wrong. Since the car door was not perfectly aligned with where he was standing, he tapped the car, snapped his fingers and pointed to the exact spot that he wanted the car to be so that he would not have to walk the extra two steps. I was staring in amazement. What part of the game is THAT? *sigh*

Protecting Our Children

We live in an age of a million and one distractions, and that can make it hard to keep tabs on our kids. However, it is literally a matter of life and death. Parents, PLEASE talk to your children about the danger of meeting people on the internet. Please see the importance in knowing who your children are speaking to and befriending, on the internet and off. It's really important that you build up a rapport of communication with them as early as possible. This sets a foundation for when they become older and more likely to "close up."

It is surprising and disturbing how many parents don't know their children's moods. "I don't know" is NOT an acceptable answer when it is related to what your child is thinking and/or feeling. As a parent, it is your job to find out. If you don't, believe me, there are thousands of filthy perverts that will take your place.

It is NEVER to early to educate your children sexually (i.e., teaching them what is and is not appropriate). It is NEVER too early to school them on the importance of being aware of their surroundings. Stress the importance of not wandering off. Teach your kids their addresses, telephone numbers, their ENTIRE NAME, your ENTIRE name, the name of your parents and the name of your workplace. Teach them how to get out of the house in case of an emergency. Establish a code word in the event that someone else has to pick them up from school and TEST them. All of these things seem like no brainers, but there are a lot of children that do not have this information. If they can recite the drivel that is on the radio, then they can recite something useful.

Teach them the value of hard work so that the pull of easy money is not as strong. Tell your daughters that they are beautiful, that way, when they hear it on the street, it's not surprising. Instill in them a sense of morality. Let them know that there is a higher power (beyond us as parents) that they are accountable to.

Though doing this may not be easy, it is WELL worth the effort.

Grown Woman Sheeee-at!!

I am exactly three weeks from my 29th birthday. Damn, I'm old as a mug. I remember being thinking that 30 was old. Now I'm talking shit like, "The party's just beginning." In my mind I'm telling myself, "Sit your old ass down somewhere before you break something." Don't get me wrong, I don't think that I'm nursing home old. However, there are some things in the past couple of years that I have just let go.

No more boy-toys. From my teenage years until my mid-20s, there was always a guy in my life. So once I ended my marriage, I started getting a little figety. I didn't want another relationship, but I didn't want to be "alone". So I primarily dated younger cuties because they were far less likely to go the serious route. (Yes, I was a psuedo-Mrs. Robinson.) For a while it was fun, but it ultimately became boring. Dating JUST to say I was dating rather than spending time with someone that I enjoyed is really just not the moved. It also propelled me into a nun-like existence for a while.

Stuff just isn't all that serious to me anymore. I don't have beef with anyone because, if I find you annoying, you get no shine. When people do things to piss me off, I dust it off and keep moving. A couple of weeks ago my kids' dad cussed me out royally on the phone and all I did was laugh and hang up. I'm not walking around like a zombie, but if I spend my entire life addressing every perceived slight and/or affront. There's a lot of important stuff that I'll be missing out on. What's the purpose of carrying out an argument with someone that I think is stupid anyway? *shrug*

I've become comfortable in admitting that I'd like to get married again...one day. It had better happen quick though. Once I'm convinced that I'm not jaunting down the aisle again and I buy my first pair of granny panties, there's no turning back. However, that aside, after my divorce, I admittedly felt obligated to hold up my fist, burn my bra and proclaim that I didn't need a man in my life. And I guess when you think of "need" in terms of "I'll die if I don't have one" - I don't need one. However, in terms of wanting a partner that I value, that values me as a person and will love, repect and help guide my children, yeah, I need that. I deserve that. Nothing wrong with that.

I am becoming more like my mother. She had this way of saying precisely what was on her mind without crushing a person's spirit. I won't say that I've mastered the art yet, but I'm getting there.

I'm becoming more of a doer. Once upon a time all I would do is talk big dreams and never take action. One day I started realizing, "I'm not trying to walk on the moon. I can do this." So I went back to school (not finished yet, but it's GONNA happen), started working on my book, moved to the mid-Atlantic and gained about a million tiny victories that only I and the Almighty know about.

I'm a responsible parent. At 22, I was nowhere near prepared for motherhood. My finances were a mess, my house was a mess and my emotions were a mess. This too is a work in progress, but for the last few months, I was able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. It required me to make some very difficult decisions, but I am confident that the things I have done have been for the betterment of my family.

I have become beautiful. I always thought of myself as a funny looking kid. In pictures taken of me, from age 6 to 16, I look awkward and goofy. I let the males in my life dictate whether or not I was attractive. (Five minutes without a boyfriend MUST mean that I'm ugly.) Now, I won't say I don't care, but...well, I don't. I mean, I care, but I don't CARE care, lol. I'm beautiful dammit. I have learned to focus on the people that make me feel good as opposed to those who make me feel bad. It works.

I recognize that tomorrow is not promised. It's a sobering thought and so I try to make every day count. I know I'm a work in progress and I look forward to the mental evolution that comes with age.

Sometimes it's best to find a corner and sit there...very quietly

And 50 Cent is one who would do well to heed this advice. Regarding Kanye West's comments during the Hurricane Katrina telethon, a recent news article quoted 50 as saying, "I think people responded to it the best way they can," 50 told ContactMusic.com. "What Kanye West was saying, I don't know where that came from." 50 Cent doesn't know something...color me unsurprised. Not only is he a shitty "artist," but he can now add "political moron" to his resume.

He then went on to say, "I feel like Kanye West is successful because of me. After 50 Cent, (hip-hop fans) was looking for something non-confrontational, and they went after first thing that came along. That was Kanye West, and his record took off." No Mr. Jackson. After 50 Cent, hip hop fans were gasping for someone that didn't suck elephant ass. Don't confuse the two. I guess he's talking shit to ensure that the children of the good white folks of the world go to see his semi-mediocre movie.

"Excuse me ma'am. . . may I please roll on your booty?" (REPOST)

My club experience this past weekend, has prompted me to repost (and slightly amend) an old favorite of mine. (Well, that and I'm having blog block.)

I love the occasional jaunts to the club. Some weeks, you just need to watch cuties, have a few drinks and dance your cares away. It's an opportunity to forget that you are overworked, underpaid and occasionally under appreciated. You can be as fun, glitzy or 'hood as you want, and feel secure that at least half of the people won't remember your alter ego because they were probably as drunk as you possibly were, or like you, just looking to let their hair down. However, drunk or sober, the club does not excuse barnyard behavior. Let's explore some recurring club scenarios, where the parties went wrong, and what the polite course of action should be.

1. The Free Drink Scenario s/k/a "Uh uh...I bought that bitch a drink!"

It's not at all uncommon for a man to purchase a drink for a woman, and sometimes her friends (I LOVE that type of guy), to catch her attention. A harmless, good-natured gesture. However, this can be tricky. In Bad Situation #1, the man feels that the woman is now indebted to him and should focus all of her attention on him FOR THE REST OF THE EVENING. In Bad Situation #2, the woman feels that the man who purchased her beverage is somehow beneath her and, though accepting the free drink, is rude and dismissive. This can lead to the occasional Bad Situation #3, which is a combination of the aforementioned situations and all hell subsequently breaks loose. However, the Free Drink scenario does not have to be chaotic.

Men - Once you have purchased the drink, I would definitely recommend that you introduce yourself to the lady. (The guy that buys and lurks is a little creepy.) Be friendly, but not imposing. Don't overstay your welcome. If for some reason, there is no chemistry, or the conversation seems forced, then wish her a nice evening, take your leave and continue to have a good time. YOU CLUBBIN' MAN!! Enjoy yo'self! However, if the two of you are enjoying one another's company, then go with that feeling. Have a good time. However, as a caveat, if after a polite conversation, the woman mentions that she has to catch up with her girlfriends, etc., she's probably not interested. But that is an indication that she appreciated your gesture (and evidently was raised with some manners). It would be unfair of me to not mention that there are times where a brother will buy a drink for a woman and discover that she is ignant or dumb as a box of rocks. Keep hope alive. Don't feel the need to be nasty or combative just because she isn't what you expected. You're more than entitled to use the, "I've gotta check on my people" maneuver and keep it moving.

Ladies - If a man purchases a drink and introduces himself, even if he does not meet your "standards", please be polite. Seriously - who are you eyeballing? All of the rest of the men in the club that did NOT buy you a drink? It won't hurt to have a conversation with a potentially nice guy. If you're not feeling him, after a five to ten minute conversation, excuse yourself. Luckily with all of the extra baggage we are saddled with as women, we have one all encompassing savior - THE LADIES ROOM. Excuse yourself, bid him a good evening and once you leave the ladies room, pick a new spot. You may also use the old "let me check on my girlfriend(s)" routine if you came out with a group. One of those two should derail even the most ardent pursuers, without necessarily making him feel slighted.

Fact to business, as women, we are not entitled to drinks. It is a nice gesture, but using that as some measure of manhood is flawed in my opinion. (Plus my mama always taught me that you don't accept drinks from strange folks all willy nilly.) He also is not obligated to buy drinks for your guzzling ass friends either. I don't know what part of the game that is, but yall need to chill out with that. Again, it's a nice gesture, but not a requirement...and making it a requirement ain't cute. Nothing wrong with being easy going without being easy.

2. The Club Date Scenario s/k/a "Oh HELL NAW! I know she ain't all up on my man like that!"

Simply put, serious couples typically don't go on dates to the entity know as "The Club". I'm sure it's done occasionally, like for birthday parties or other celebrations, but as a rule, a "date" for involved couples, usually doesn't involve the club. That being said, more often than not, if you're on a date at the club, you're not with your man/woman. This is an issue, primarily among women. If the man that you are with begins to dance with another woman, sista, LET IT GO. In a worst case scenario, you have the option of leaving the club. The most baffling aspect of this scenario is that the woman, almost invariably, becomes upset, not with her date, but with the other woman. As though that little succubus had nothing more on her agenda than seducing your man with her mind powers.
This situation can also come about if you happen to see an old flame in the club. Maybe you are sharing a moment, but that will not stop him from sharing his moments with other people as well. This is definitely when confronting the other woman is over the top because, who's to say that YOU are not the other woman? Just a little mental grub for ya.

In either case, take it on the chin. That the situation is not necessarily as serious as you thought, or would have liked it to be. As I mentioned before, you always have the option of leaving. However, there is a saying pertaining to what one monkey can stop - NOTHING! You're already dressed and looking good. Get on the floor and do your "fuck 'em" dance girl! By the way, if the dude brings you out, only to pay attention to everyone else, that's usually an indication that he's probably not what's best for you anyway. Just be glad you found it out sooner rather than later. For those of you who may experience this in a committed relationship, girl, go home and get your shit. If he's rolling on asses while he's in your presence, then please believe he's diving in them when you aren't around.

And while we're on the subject of asses in the club. . .

3. The Stop and Roll a/k/a "Excuse me ma'am. . . may I please roll on your booty?"

I love dancing at the club. Just feeling the music can make me high. However, sometimes, dancing at the club can bring out the animal in folks. Now, I will not speak out against dirty dancing. I've done it myself when the music and company has been right. However, there is a behavior that is becoming more and more common, which I call the "Stop and Roll". This is when the man basically admires a booty so much, he MUST roll on it. . .usually this is not preceded by an introduction. Fellas, THIS IS NOT SEXY. It's creepy and rude and any woman that would allow such a thing is quite possibly not a stranger to the free clinic.

There is nothing wrong with asking a lady to dance. There is nothing wrong with dancing closely. However, there is something wrong with impregnating a woman from behind on the dance floor. If after you've danced with the woman, you think that some close contact would be okay, fabulous. Just, please, go through some type of motion to gain permission.

4. You are not on the pole

For the sisters, close dancing and a little grinding is one thing. Acting as though you're waiting for someone to cram dollar bills up your ass is something totally different. You don't look cute, you don't look sexy - you look like a ho. This is not just my own personal opinion. Whenever I see a woman dry humping some dude while he is standing behind her smacking her on the ass, someone invariably exclaims, not, "Do you see what that lady is doing?" but, "Damn, look at that ho!" If you're cool with that, do you I guess. But do the rest of us a favor and take that shit to Magic City or the Roxbury or something like that.

5. You Only Need One Bath

By this I mean, once you have bathed or showered, please do not "redo" the job by baptizing yourself in cologne/perfume. If I can smell you before I see you, what's going through my mind is not "Wow, who smells so great?" I'm thinking, "Holy crap! Somebody open a damn window PLEASE!" Do the community a favor, hit only a couple of your pulse points, and you're good. If, for some reason, you are not aware of what your pulse points are, then you should be at home reading rather than going to the club.

6. Dumb Bar Conversation - The Scourge of Humanity

We live in the age of information. Therefore, inane conversation about how great you are is really blah. I would rather watch a Brady Bunch marathon than listen to vodka induced dialogue regarding how there are no good men/women left. Conversations about how many men/women you've sexed after meeting them at the club should also be excluded. You're just nasty. (And considering that every bus in the area has the ad stating that the DC area has one of the highest HIV/AIDS rates of any major US city, that makes you stupid as well.)

*This has been a public service announcement courtesy of the "Make America's Club Experience Beautiful" campaign.

THE POWER IS YOURS!

Thank you for your support.