Interlude

As I am still working through my latest post, I figured I'd leave you with some, "whatchu know 'bout dat" shit to start out your week.

Not so easy like Sunday morning. . .

This week has been hellacious. I'm a little better, but not great. It's funny when you're face to face with something you've spent the majority of your adult life avoiding. In any event, I'm trying to do things to keep myself busy. One of my major issues: I'm a broke mutha-shut-yo-mouth.

1. I really need to get on my writing grind. I want to get articles and such out there, but don't know where to start. Ideas?

2. I still want to get my staffing agency business off the ground. Again, no clue where to start. Now that I have extra time on my mental, I guess I can go back to the drawing board on that.

3. An immediate solution (and I promise death to all who laugh) is that I am now a Mary Kay consultant. I need money, people buy the stuff, and did I mention I need money. Plus, this leads back into that extra time on my mental thing. We'll see how this works in six months. This job requires dresses and skirts. Lord save us all.

"To be young, gifted and black. . ." (c) Nina Simone

So, yeah people. I'm sad. Actually, I'm heartbroken. Yet, the sun has managed to come up each day since, so I guess I need to dust myself off as well. And besides, Tom Selleck is back on prime time television, so that's got to mean that things are going to be okay. Right? Well, at least that's the story I'm sticking to for now.

From time to time, I get into discussions about black entertainment: where it's going, where it's been, what must change, what must evolve and so forth. Of course, you can't have a discussion about black entertainment without discussing hip-hop. Sometimes I wonder though, how I even feel about the label "black entertainment." I mean, white folks own BET, lol. [Can we digest this for a moment: white people are essentially telling black people what "entertains" them. WOW. The even bigger wow: black people are LETTING THEM!] This, however, is not the only issue. Not every black person likes hip-hop; not even "good" hip-hop. Or R&B for that matter. I went to a high school where I'd say 40% of the black student body listened to metal, alternative, etc. And I'll say that a chunk of that 40% didn't have much interest in hip-hop or R&B (remember when those used to be completely separate entities?). So if Guns N' Roses also entertained me, why wasn't "November Rain" entertaining my black ass on the station that is supposed to be mine? But, I digress. . .

When I talk about hip-hop to those younger than I, inevitably, I assume the "young-whippersnappers-don't-know-a-dayum-thang-'bout-good-music" tone. It can't be helped. Of course, I sound like my parents, and I'm sure there are some songs that will come from newer artists that I may enjoy, but on the whole, it's crap. But if you know anyone from 29-40, you've probably heard this argument ad nauseum. Whether you're digging the old school, or getting crunk, this woman should be your she-ro.

Ponder

Foreword: This post originated last week, after reading this article in my office cafe for the fiftieth time. At the time, I was in an entirely different frame of mind. It's interesting how things change in such a small time span. Even more interesting is how, this situation, viewed from two perspectives, moved me to tears each time. I'm hesitant to post it, because it can seem accusing, which is not my intent, but I feel as though posting it will be therapeutic.

Recently, I've been considering the state of romantic relationships, and why they fall apart so quickly. I've come to the conclusion that we don't really have the stomach for adversity.

Earlier this year, Jim and Nell Hamm, just shy of their 50th wedding anniversary, were hiking in the mountains. Suddenly, a mountain lion pounced on Jim and would not let go. If ever there was an instance where someone could have broke out and run, it would be this. Nell Hamm, however, is from an entirely different school of thought. She grabbed the nearest log and started beating the animal. When that didn't work, she tried to jab it's eyes out with an ink pen. Can you imagine? Living without her spouse seemed a more daunting task than attacking a mountain lion with a Uniball. "We fought harder than we ever have to save his life, and we fought together," she said.

I've sat down and given much thought to what this means, and I've tried to sort out whether this should be viewed as an aspiration or an anomaly. All I've managed to come up with is this: beautiful though this may be, it's not something that we are owed. And if this is the road not chosen, that doesn't make us bad, or weak, or wrong. I think it just means that when we pick our battles, we can do without the mountain lion.

Mamba Reborn

"An essential characteristic of the superhero mythology is, there's the superhero, and there's the alter ego. Batman is actually Bruce Wayne, Spider-Man is actually Peter Parker. When he wakes up in the morning, he's Peter Parker. He has to put on a costume to become Spider-Man. And it is in that characteristic that Superman stands alone. Superman did not become Superman, Superman was born Superman. When Superman wakes up in the morning, he's Superman. His alter ego is Clark Kent. His outfit with the big red "S", that's the blanket he was wrapped in as a baby when the Kents found him. Those are his clothes. What Kent wears, the glasses, the business suit, that's the costume. That's the costume Superman wears to blend in with us. Clark Kent is how Superman views us. And what are the characteristics of Clark Kent? He's weak, he's unsure of himself... he's a coward. Clark Kent is Superman's critique on the whole human race. Sort of like Beatrix Kiddo and Mrs. Tommy Plympton."
- Bill "The Snake Charmer" "Kill Bill Vol. 2"

I wished and hoped and prayed that I didn't have to be the superhero anymore. I slipped for a moment and thought that I could finally put her to bed. I don't know why I always have to be wrong.

I'm precisely two months away from my 31st birthday, and I still can't get it right. And the fucked up part is that no matter how sad, or hurt or angry I am, it doesn't really matter because: 1) it won't do a damn thing and 2) I have to many responsibilities to take any type of "break." It just doesn't pay to be some people.

Damn you El Chupacabra. . .you win again.

Yoo Hoo

I've got about eight million unfinished blog posts. Okay...slight exaggeration, but there's a crapload. Things have been pretty quiet around here. So I guess I'll engage in some word regurgitation.

So, my new goal is to learn to cook different types of foods. I bought three cookbooks from Borders last weekend. Two of them only costed $2. If anyone knows where I can buy some yucca, get at me. My South American cookbook has a recipe for yucca cake. Who knew?

I was going through my iTunes and found a lot of duplicates. This is not baller.

Am I the only person that finds the likes of Perez Hilton, TMZ and other shows of their ilk galactically boring? I have little to no concern for who's gay, who's coked out, who's fat, or who's losing custody of their kids. Are they taking my kids? Sneaking coke into my coffee? Please, if you know me, don't send me links to this stuff. I really don't give a monkey fart what "Perez Sez."

I bought a fresh pair of Nike Shox off eBay for $31. Don't hate!!!

A couple of days ago, I was reading Horton Hatches the Egg to the kiddies. The whole time, I'm thinking, "This story completely KICKS ASS!!!" In a world filled with crap, it's cool to have a story that is basically an ode to integrity. Having kids really lets me rediscover some literary hotness.

Going beddie bye now.

Peace

"When they reminisce over you, my God" (c) CL Smooth

My children are the coolest individuals on the planet. Not just regular, "I'm their mom, so I have hype them up" cool. They're on some, "Even if they weren't my kids, I'd take to buses and a train to hang out with them" cool. They're well mannered and kind. I TRULY have no idea where they got that from, because I consider myself rather surly and unpolished, but I won't look a gift horse and all that. Don't misunderstand and think I'm pretending that they walk on water; they are still kids. They fight, bicker and without warning scream, "STOP LOOKING AT ME!" Overall, their virtues far outweigh their faults. Plus they're just so darned cute!

Of course, like most kids, they have a father. (Caveat: I often tread lightly on the topic of our "union," as it would open Pandora's existential box regarding The Chocolate Wonders.) Frankly, I don't like dude. Don't get it twisted, it has nothing to do with what happened to "us"; the decision to divorce was a stroke of genius. I don't discuss him much because 1) for all practical purposes, he's somebody else's problem; 2) my children hearing me bad-mouthing their father, even accidentally strikes me as being in bad form; and 3) he's essentially useless.

He subscribes to the Wack-A-Mole parenting style. He appears, then ducks out just in time to avoid any sort of adversity (read: anything remotely financial). It's been this way since 2002. Pain in the ass? Yes. But the show must go on. Initially, this would crush the kids. They couldn't comprehend why he was never returning their calls. How does one explain that to a child? "Well honey, the thought of having to send you money mortifies him to the point that occasionally forgets that you exist?"

At one point, I remember hoping and praying that they wouldn't feel the pain of missing him. Be careful what you pray for. They're five years older now. And now, his disappearance isn't so crushing. And his resurfacing is met with a casually polite demeanor. And if he doesn't call them, they don't call him. That is hellacious. Granted, I make no apologies about my feelings for him as a Grade A douchebag. But as a woman who has known and loved her father, and the descendant of people who knew and loved their fathers, it's sad to see this.

Lately, I've been thinking what they will be like five years from now - or ten. They are great kids...AWESOME kids. But I wonder how often they will forgive? When they look back, what will they recall? People say, "Your kids will remember that you were a good parent." That's not enough. I don't want to be the "good" parent. I don't want to be the "strong" parent. I don't want them to one day realize he attained his comfort at their expense. I want them to know that they can rely on both parents to have their backs, always.

But my wanting it isn't enough, is it?

AWWWWWWW SHIT!

Honestly...what else needs to be said.

And it all started at dinnertime. . .

This weekend, my children returned from visiting "down home," so I took the opportunity to restock my freezer. Soon the season of chicken noodle soup, stew and various pot pies will be upon us. I ordered my groceries via Peapod, because I was feeling like a lazy bum. As I shopped, I noticed chicken breasts were $1.79/lb. Who could pass up such a steal? I presumed the chicken simply needed to be frozen (Side note: I almost typed "freezed" and it took an embarrassing amount of time to figure that was not right) as soon as it arrived. What I discovered was much worse.

America, one single chicken breast should NEVER be bigger than the person about to eat it. I'm telling you - my chicken breast was four feet high. Maybe I'm exaggerating a little, but just a little. I cut it in HALF, and my kids said, "Mama...this is just too much chicken." Do you comprehend the gravity of two black children saying that chicken in ANY variety is "too much?"

It's really a damned conspiracy. Read here to get some perspective on what I'm saying. No coincidence that the poorest state in the nation is also the fattest. There's the main reason is lean meats, fresh fruits and veggies can be cost prohibitive. I've said it a million times: there is no reason a chicken leg should be one price and the chicken breast should be another. I will not sacrifice this argument until you point me to the Peruvian All Breasted chicken. No legs, no thighs; nothing but titties popping out all over the place on the chicken. Also, try explaining why 20 oz. of fresh pineapple slices is $4.99 and 20 oz. of canned is $1.79. Anybody seen a canned pineapple tree? If you think that simply going the lean meat, fresh produce route is expensive, think about the cost disparity when you go organic.

Then, when these healthier choices ARE in the price range of poor people, they are completely FUBAR. Plums with more bugs crawling inside of it than actual plum flesh, bananas that look like active participants in a Mexican hat dance-off and chicken breasts so injected with growth hormones that they ARE AS BIG AS A MAN! (It's also no coincidence that even when the children are not morbidly obese, they look like grown men and women. You should not have 38-24-36 proportions when you are ten years old.) So they're screwed even when they do what they are thinking is the right thing.

But, as Chris Rock said, "The money ain't in the cure, the money is the medicine." Diabetes, heart disease, cancer - these are all medical cash cows people!!! It also provides fodder for those with the "us vs. them" mentality. "Look at how they eat!"

If you're not rich, this country will do it's damnedest to keep you poor. You buy a car and go to work to pay for it, but you have to get another job to pay for gas and parking. You have kids, and you work to provide for them, but you have to get ANOTHER to afford child care unless you plan to entrust your kids to the "raper man." You pay for medical & hospitalization insurance that you may spend five years not really needing; but the moment you require a treatment that falls an inch outside of their stringent guidelines, you're sick and SOL.

So what's a scratchin' and survivin' single mother to do? Go home, eat the genetically mutated chicken (because though I'm not "poor," I damned sure don't have money to waste chicken) and pray that I don't have to buy a bra for my six year old next week.

Overwhelmed

Have you ever had a day, where so much was swirling around your head, it almost made you puke?

Plus, I think I really fucked up something important in my life.

I've had better days.

Lovely Lauryn

This morning, I received a picture of Lauryn Hill taken at a concert in Brooklyn, NY. It was a very unflattering comparison between Ms. Hill and Homey the Clown. Unfortunately, there was no denying the comparison.

This afternoon, I posed a question to STO. "Am I the only black person that finds Lauryn Hill's sanctimony just a little irritating?" I was then asked to elaborate because, well, it's Steve, and you can't pose a question like that without it requiring some elaboration. But since I'm me, I am very good about conveying genuine emotion, be it love, hate, or irritation. What I am not so good at, is giving the details as to why. At least, not all the time. It is easy to explain why I hate liver, or why I love my friends. To explain an irritation with someone you love is a much more daunting task.

On more than one occasion, I've found myself in the midst of the debate on whether or not she is a musical genius, or if that was an invalid theory because she only has one solo album to her credit. So last night, I sat down and listened, really listened, to "The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill." Not only did every cut resonate me, but some made me misty. Twice, I closed my eyes and was transported to "then." To accomplish that is genius.

But this new Lauryn, I don't dig at all. And it has nothing to do with her wacked out clothes, or her "different" music, or any of the other things people pick at like scabs. It's her. Lauryn was always beautiful to me. What made her such wasn't the way she wore her hair, or her ability to spit some of the illest verses ever uttered (period - I will not use the "by a female qualifier"). It was the light she had in her eyes because she was doing and saying something that came from her heart. You got the feeling that she was sharing an experience with you.

Not so with new Lauryn. Now, you get the sense that she's not sure we will understand or be interested in her experience, so she placates us with what she thinks we want. Unfortunately, we want her creativity. I would rather she shaved her head, played the cowbell and celebrated it than furnish us with the musical equivalent of a pity screw.

The going opinion is that she alienates her fans, but I believe that's only a by-product of her being alienated from herself. She is still at odds with where she's going and where she's been. She doesn't seem to realize that she is timeless; an entity altogether classic and and ceaselessly relevant.

I'm just a soul whose intentions are mediocre

I haven't blogged here in a LONG time. As a matter of fact, I haven't done much blogging anywhere. I just came out of hibernation last Sunday I think. And that one wasn't even here. I think it was on MySpace...or maybe 360. I think all seven of my readers have those addresses, so I won't bother adding the link. I'm actually a little lazy today.

Here's what's not lazy. I've completed the first chapter of my book. It's a short chapter, but still, I finished it. Now I'm well into the second chapter, which will be longer. It feels so good to have things flowing, I just don't know what to do. That's also part of the reason I don't blog as much. It can quickly become a monster that stops me from doing my own writing. Basically, every time I miss my honey and start obsessing over it, I pull out my notebook and start writing. Though I do a lot of work on the computer, there's something organic about pulling out a huge notebook and a pencil and just getting down to it. That method better serves to isolate me from distractions.

My kids come home in another week. I've missed them so. I had a lot of time to just decompress and kick back. It's a beautiful thing.

Gonna pour myself a glass of wine and hit the hay.

Smooches!

Mmmm Mmm Bitch!

In a world full of pretense and demands, happiness can be elusive. For some, it is virtually intangible, causing one to question the very meaning of life. However, I'm a simple brawd, and happiness can be summed up very simply - ramen.

Who knew that you could wrap paradise in cellophane and charge twenty cents? It's cheap, it's comforting, and if you can get beyond the fact that the flavor pack is tantamount to a .zip file for sodium, it's the best damn thing on the planet. Like, if someone were to ask me, "Hey, what do you want to do? Have sex, or eat ramen?" I'd choose sex, but I'd probably ask what flavor ramen first.

My Pell Grant and Stafford Loan people feel me. The college experience isn't complete unless you've pulled an all-nighter with nothing more than your trusty ramen to provide nourishment and comfort. When I say you have to go to the Vietnamese store to get the "real noodles" (and a hot pickle), my New Orleans people DEFINITELY feel me. (For in New Orleans, the word "ramen" is rarely, if ever used. "Noodles" is completely sufficient.) I'm willing to wager that if a steaming hot bowl of Oriental flavored ramen were placed in the middle of the Saudi dessert, they could coax bin Laden out of hiding. Just a theory.

Personally, I get artistic with my ramen. You'd be surprised how some green onions, red peppers and a scrambled egg can jazz it up. Don't even talk about if you throw in a little broccoli. Talk about a MEAL!

So here's to you ramen, for bringing us so much joy, for so little, for such a long time.

I couldn't resist

You know what grinds my gears?



No, seriously, she does. I mean, people criticize Paris Hilton for being famous for doing nothing, but I actually prefer that to any displays of "talent." Plus, though this should really surprise no one, when she got caught doing dirt, she essentially came out her face with, "Oh, dude, that so wasn't me. The nigger was driving."

You know what grinds my gears? That little boy on the Verizon FiOS commercial. I mean, not the little boy per se, but I just really can't support little kids approaching strangers in vans. What next? The dude in the trenchcoat with a bunch of lollipops? I let ya'll live with Dora the Explorer roaming the jungle while her mama was running hoes in the daylight hours, but this is just too much!

You know what grinds my gears? Dweebs. Nerds are sexy, geeks are necessary, but dweebs are just...scary. An example of a dweeb? ANYBODY that participates in the show "Who Wants to be a Superhero." For the past three days, I walked through the valley of the shadow of death, and vegged out. It was terrifying how emotional these people got over this. But it lost me when the sole black woman was big as a Buick and named Fat Momma. Her weakness is diet foods yall. Evidently her strength stems from diabetes. Don't talk to me.

You know what grinds my gears? White America. Normal regular white folks are fine. White America is outrageous. Granted, I have labeled Michael Vick as a dumb nigga for doing dumb nigga shit. HOWEVER, my issue with him is, regardless of what he may or may not have participated in, he allowed his name to be affiliated with some old bullshit. Everything else will come out at trial. But not for White America. "THAT WIDE NOSTRILED NIGGER DID IT! HANG THAT NIGGER!" If White America showed half the concern for young black kids that they did for the fucking whales and dogs, maybe we'd have more doctors, lawyers and techie moguls and fewer unruly athletes.

And that's what grinds my gears.

The Call Out

"Now, black people don't like to talk about crazy niggas, because white people may be listening, but I'm afraid the secret might be out." (c) Huey Freeman

Face it people. Some folks in this world are niggas. Whether or not you choose to point the finger and vocalize the words, "You'se a nigga," is honestly a matter of personal choice. However, I'm willing to wager that even the late Coretta Scott King saw some stuff that made her say, albeit only mentally, "Look at this nigga here." But that's why I'm here: to say what you're thinking. Ladies and gentlmen, I present to you, "The Call Out."

One can't have a conversation pertaining to niggas without bringing up the illustrious four star nigga, PACMAN JONES. Being merely suspended for one season due to your 31 flavors of nonsense, ignorance and general tom-foolery was, in my opinion, a gift. You make millions of dollars - MILLIONS - yet you can't stay out of trouble? Your salary makes mine look like lunch money, but I still live my life in a way that has kept me out of trouble with the law. Switching license plates? Seriously? What's wrong with you? Plus, we got beef because I had to explain to "making it rain" meant to my older relatives. Thanks alot.

After reading the details of the indictment, MICHEAL VICK, you are a nigga. In the best case scenario, the "trusting the wrong people" defense no longer flies. How many celebrities before you have found themselves in some shit for allegedly "trusting the wrong people?" So in 2007, if you haven't realized the need to at least cover your ASSets, then nothing can be said for you. Worst case scenario, you were involved in some unspeakable shit. Beyond the deplorable act of dog fighting, you sanctioned (and participated in) killing dogs that did not have enough fight in them.

CAFE 1200 BREAKFAST PATRON, you are also a nigga. I understand that you may have been upset with the cost of the food and even the demeanor of the worker. However, the screaming, threats and stomping up and down the cafe are what earned you your title. Whatever happened to not patronizing the establishment, or, in extreme circumstances, filing a complaint with the management or BBB? Then again, maybe that's too much work for niggas. Under normal circumstances, I would dismiss this as a "nigga moment," but everything about you said that this is an everyday occurrence for you. The flip flops and capris also worked against you.

UNNECESSARILY ANGRY FELLOW TRAIN PASSENGER, when the trains are behind, the trains get crowded. And lord know folks will talk sporty, sometimes mandating a response in kind. Unfortunately, we couldn't hear the other person. All we could hear was you. Every word, including the vaguely ominous, "I'll see you again." Who in the fuck are you? Michael Corleone? Let it go.

I'd be remiss if I neglected adding 50 CENT at least as an honorable mention. I've got a curious relationship with 50. Now granted, i think he's lyrical content is pretty garbage, I find the things that come out of his mouth astounding. He is, and I quote, "[s]mart enough not to overwhelm people with information." [Read full article here.] Dude, you are a muthafuckin' RHODES SCHOLAR at that shit. And though I'm not jumping on the bandwagon with everybody else saying, "FIDDY SAYIN' YOU SHOULDN'T READ," I really don't think he thought about what he said about Nas before saying it at all. You've gotta appreciate a person who is not afraid to say what's on his mind. But must everything that is on his mind be so damned scary?

Come listen to my story 'bout a girl named Breez

So I jacked this post, from a chick who jacked this post from somebody else. It seemed fun, and I don't feel like coming up with thought provoking topics.

My ex is still.....

not even a factor in how we live our lives.

I am listening to...

"Romantic" by Goapele


Maybe I should...

color my hair

I love...

being loved. Not being "in" love, but having people who see past the facade, look my frailties square in the face and love me anyway...yeah, that's what's up.

My best friends are....

first and foremost, my sisters. After that, my cousin Amber. I am so blessed to have family members that I would want to befriend, even if we weren't related. In terms of old friends, I have Chasity and Tammelle: we go back like afros and fist picks. And for newer friends, there's Michelle. These are TRUE friends. It pays to keep your circle small people. And of course, Ro is definitely in the running.

I don't understand....

Calculus.

I lost my respect for....

individuals who don't care enough to have respect for themselves. Respect is a jewel, and I refuse to waste it on those who have no interest in it.


I hate....

that juicy-mouthed feeling one gets right before they barf.

The meaning of my screen name is...

there are two related to this page: Breez and Black Mamba. Think Bruce Banner/Incredible Hulk. Once you read a post, you can which alter-ego wrote it.

Love is...

never having to say you're sorry; yet being humble enough to say it anyway.

Somewhere, someone is...

thinking sweet thoughts about me.

I will always....

cherish my life and the blessings that it brings.

Forever seems.....

like just the right amount of time.

I never want to lose......

my memories and my family; possessions come and go.

My mobile phone is.....

to Breez as the Bat Phone is to Bruce Wayne.

When I wake up in the morning...

I realize how blessed I am.

I get annoyed at.....

complacent individuals. It bothers you? Do something!
Parties are....

essential outlets.

My pet(s)....

don't exist. I don't think it's in good "mommie form" to count one's children as pets.

Kisses are....

magic

Today I......

am beautiful.

I really wish i could......

assist my father financially.

I want to see.....

Venice with Ro.

I'm afraid of......

my children being without me. I know how hard it is to make it without a mother, and the mere thought of them ever having to go through that makes me incredibly sad.

I think I am.....

constantly evolving

Tomorrow will be...

a fresh opportunity.

In 5 years I...

want to know what it's like to be supremely happy.

Grindicus Gearius

You know what grinds my gears? The BET game show "Take the Cake." There was a point in time where I REALLY liked Toccara Jones. She was representing for the big girls. She was beautiful, she was vivacious. Hell, plenty of us could relate to her. Then she opened her damn mouth. . .and I don't think it ever closed. And stupid words were always falling out of it. I found myself saying, on more than one occasion, "Sister, please just sit there and look pretty." (Though I MUST find out where she gets her strapless bras. MAGNIFICENT!) The game show couples her with the equally irritating Joe Clair. Should a television show incite the sudden desire to commit seppuku? I think not.

You know what grinds my gears? Natalie from "Monk." It's not about her being better or worse...She's just not Sharonna. But what FURTHER grinds my gears is the fact that there was full out beef on IMDB proclaiming "Bitty [Sharronna] is GONE." There was about two pages of back and forth. People will argue over ANYTHING. On the same vein. . .

You know what grinds my gears? Forum pricks. Well, they don't so much grind my gears as puzzle me. You disagree with me. Okay. We can't move on from this. This past week, Smashing Pumpkins held a 3.5 hour concert at the 9:30 club. The Post all but called it a stinker. Another two pages of forum pricks commiserating, and the bored engaging them. Give it a rest.

You know what grinds my gears? Train spreaders. This is not your chartered transportation service. It's PUBLIC transportation. Meaning any soul with $1.35 can ride this ho. Pick up your shit and move the hell over. Now I maintain, if you're fat, your seat is safe as far as I'm concerned, because the two of us sitting together can't do anything but make each other mad. Otherwise, push the hell over, because my behind needs every centimeter of my seat, and I can give less than a damn that you don't feel like holding your Dukes of Hazard lunch box.

You know what grinds my gears? Having to admit that the Spice Girls look FABULOUS! Yes, Posh could use a sandwich, and Ginger has always looked a tad aged, but time has done Sporty well. And for any of you who are judging me for referring to them by their Spice names, lighten the hell up! My sisters and friends used to give people we knew unflattering spice names. There was Stinky Spice, Greedy Spice, Moocher Spice, Old Spice (this lecherous dude that was just a SMIDGE too long in the tooth to roll with my crew. Ahhh the good old days.

You know what grinds my gears? Alli weight loss pills. You know you essentially shit on yourself right? I mean, yeah, you're skinny, but you shit oil in public. Diiiiiiidn't really think that one out, did you?

And that's what grinds my gears.

The Topic That Launched a Thousand Posts

Of course I'm referring to the recent "funeral" with respect to the word "nigga." As I knew the topic would be discussed ad nauseum, I initially decided to leave this topic alone. Obviously, I couldn't resist.

I sincerely understand the desire to abolish any and all derivatives of the word "nigger." It was born of pain and venomous hatred. I don't believe someone my age can fully appreciate the power this word once held. We have not endured the same brand of racism that our forefathers did. Bigotry of that sort, though it does still exist, is decried as extreme and unacceptable behavior. Many of those individuals (and their offspring) believe that we need this word to be abolished, fully extinguishing its power so that we can heal and move on as a people.

However, there exists another school of thought. Some believe, transforming it's pronunciation and adopting the word as our own is also a means of depleting the strength of that word. It's a classic defense mechanism. By taking it, it removes the sting when someone else uses it.

I don't typically use the word. Well, that is to say, it's not a part of my daily lexicon. However, there are people in this world that I belive are niggas. Believe me, I am in no way being endearing when I use this term. Bobby Cutts is the perfect example of who I would put in this category. I also admit that I have occasionally used it for signifying purposes. I didn't grow up in a family that recognized themselves as such, so it's not something I would use to refer to my man, or my children.

As far as it being "buried," it's little more to me than a symbolic act from a symbolic organization. When was the last time the NAACP effected earth shattering change? (Beware the first person to post something re: Don Imus will be hunted down and flogged in the streets.) Can I also say that I find the National Association for the Advancement of COLORED People burying the word "nigga" ironic. If a white person used the term colored, we'd look at them like they asked our mama, "What that thang smell like?" Or is "colored" a word that we can use, but white people can't? And if that's the case, what makes "nigga" different? Just asking.

But honestly, they want to bury the word? Fine. Can you also bury public school systems that provide substandard, outdated books to inner city schools, while keeping public schools in more affluent areas up to par? How about burying the myth that most of our black men are in jail? Bury the judicial system that imposes harsher prison terms on African Americans than their white counterparts for committing the same crimes. Or if that's too much, would you simply bury the notion that something is "wrong" with our hair? Maybe you could start by getting Al Sharpton to step away from the Dark N Lovely? Just a thought. Bury the complacency that comes with expecting black men to cheat and/or abandon their families, black women to be Sapphires and hoochies and black children to be unruly and disrespectful.

My point is, if they focused more on burying the REAL issues that make people FEEL like niggas, a symbolic burial might not be necessary. Because we could stand up as black people.

Mel-and-Choly

I can't sleep at night. I haven' t gotten a thorough night's sleep in well over a month. It's affecting everything. My thought processes, my moods, my reactions.

I feel like I'm drowning. Unfortunately, since I've always swam to safety before, nobody's asking if I need a life preserver. It's interesting. There hasn't been a day, over the last three weeks, that I haven't cried. Nobody seems to notice; or have any interest.

July 14 would have been my mother's 56th birthday. It's also the day that my babies are going to Louisiana. Despite the fact that it will afford me some much needed rest, it only reminds me of how alone I am.

I'm just dealing with a lot of bad feelings today.

I'm really hoping to feel better soon.

The good, the bad, and the unfunny

I believe it is a well documented fact that I love to be entertained. What I love to do most, is laugh. I don't mind if it's a little left of center, or offensive, if it's funny, dammit, I'm laughing. This is why I decided to give "Norbit" half a chance. I knew going in that I would be watching at my own peril. But I figured, hell, it's Eddie Murphy. Certainly I would get, at a minimum, four cheap belly laughs. Wrong. I have never watched a comedy where I didn't laugh once. Not once. I think one scene elicited a low chuckle, but that was it. It was bad, people. I know that there are some who, like myself, have to witness personally. However, once you witness the atrocity, remember that you were warned.


I read an article today, calling out Michael Jordan for his respectfully declining to put his voice or likeness behind any cause that does not generate a dollar for him. I believe my brother detailed in a blog post that sometimes, your heroes just aren't who they thought they were. Can we not accept the fact that Micheal Jordan is a talented athlete, who just may be a douchebag? Can we not accept the fact that Bill Cosby, was right about "us" needing to do more with our kids, despite being a douchebag? Can we not accept that Oprah is a hell of a networker, but she too, just might be a douchebag? (I have a very limited amount of respect for Oprah. Honestly, if you're an Oprah groupie, save your breath. I don't like her, and whatever Oprah expertise you've gained from watching her for an hour a day and subscribing to her crap ass magazine is going to change my POV. Use that energy to save the whales or something.)

For those of you looking for something new to laugh at, allow me to recommend "Lil' Bush." I believe that even the staunchest of Bush supporters would find this funny. I won't even get into Bush wearing a shirt that said, "Lil Tony Lil Toni Lil Tone!" I can't say that I'm a weekly viewer, but it definitely satiated my need for a quick laugh. Of course, it could have just been due to the fact that "Norbit" set the bar so low. NARNIA! LMFAO!

My children have spent the majority of their lives around a very limited variety of people. For them, hearing a person speaking another language was a big event. Therefore, moving to Rockville, Maryland has been a bit of a switch for them, since so many people here speak Spanish. My daughter has decided to make up her own version of Spanish, which consists of jibberish, occasionally punctuated with a legitimate Spanish word (most often something food related, e.g. "jibberish, jibberish, jibberish, TORTILLA!!") This is an abomination, yet I can't stop myself from laughing.

So last week, I watched "The Black People Awards" (c. In Living Color"). My brief commentary. I loved the tributes. (It was hard to spot a dry eye during the Gerald Levert tribute.) I'm sure that there are several music purists out there, who don't like remakes and enjoy nothing more than to hear the original belt out their hit song. However, I require said original to belt out said song WELL. Jennifer Holliday was so determined to prove that she was "better" than Jennifer Hudson (because, let's face it that "acceptance" speech proved that J. Hud can be an ungracious jackass), that she forgot to not sound like some HOT GAHBAGE! I mean, Hudson kind of fell back and was like, "Let me let this heffa sing for her farina money." Was she getting paid per grunt? Not celebrated.

In further Mo'nique news, the "Charm School" finale aired last night. Maybe I'm PMSing, but it was very emotional. I was glad to see that my girl won.

So my kids and I play this game called "Fart touch." Simple rules: if you fart, you stealthily pass on the "fart touch" to someone before they can scream "stamp out infinity." CLEARLY, not something I want to tell my dad, as he banned the game when I was 12. Last night, he called me, and as usual, we were having a two hour gab fest. All of a sudden, I hear my kid scream, "MAMA!! SAY STAMP OUT INFINITY! SAY STAMP OUT INIFINITY!!!" Before I have time to react, my daughter taps me on the arm and screams, "TOO LATE! SHE'S GOT THE FART TOUCH, SHE'S GOT THE FART TOUCH!" My family is so going to have my kids removed from my custody.

No Title Necessary

If he were a dance
He'd be complicated like the tango
Exotic like a mango
But if he were a song
He'd be a complicated melody
That complicated fellow he
I almost can not sing it on key

- India Arie "Complicated Melody"



This is actually Take Two of a post that I've been trying to write for the better part of a week now. Though I haven't completely abandoned my first idea, the post did something that is not uncommon of my posts: it was turning into a carnivorous beast. In said post, I rehashed my dating past and compared it to my present. It was. . .interesting. What it amount to was me using the shortfalls of my past dating relationships and using it to bolster my current situation. After consideration, yes, I DID date some losers in my past, but not every guy that I dated before was a loser. But that fact is utterly irrelevant. Because what I have truly needs no justification.

I'm still not 100% certain when it happened. I had essentially decided that I wasn't interested in dating anyone, and truly enjoying the single life. I didn't give a second thought to the harmless flirting we were engaging in. Then, I'd barely blinked, and he and I were in the same place, at the same time, sharing a kiss that I felt in my toes. Seven months later, I still get the flutters in my stomach whenever I think about it, and every kiss we've shared since then.

And my kids like him. Keep it real, that's just as important as me liking him. Not saying that I have to live my life for them to the exclusion of my feelings. However, what I do affects them, and it is very important to me that they have embraced him in the manner that they have.

I dn't remember having such a good feeling about anyone in my life. Even when I miss him, I can't be that sad, because I'm blessed enough to be building something with someone worth missing. He's beautiful through and through. And somehow, verbalizing that doesn't quite capture it.

I'm glad this is what it is. And I hope it continues to become what it is to become.

"For you to get, Your game on track, not your wig pushed back"

Last night, in the midst of parlayance with my homegirl Melissa, the topic ultimately switched to men. Somehow, the conversation went from lame ass dudes, to that "booty call rules" email that circulated a while back. From there, we arrived at the topic of the pity screw. (Bear with me - I'm trying not to say "fuck" so fucking much.) The pity screw is not totally unlike the booty call, in that it typically happens without prior planning. But the quality of person varies somewhat. They're typically rather likeable. You wouldn't mind going on a friendly date with them to a social function, you're not afraid for them to open their mouths in public, and the only thing that kept you from pursuing a relationship with this person, is the fact that they are missing the X-factor. Maybe you are this person

Yes folks, I know we women like to think that we are Pussyliah; fellas, you want to believe that you are King Ding-A-Ling. However, if you have slept with more than seven people in your life, chances are, you have been the recipient of a pity screw. Or at the very least a, "Dang, he/she is still around? I got time between the game/getting my hair done. And he/she did get his/her brother fix my brakes that time. Fuck it" screw.

Now thankfully, some of us have evolved past that. (And if you are over the age of 27, you should DEFINITELY be past the age of giving/receiving pity sex.) But for those of us who are not (due to youth, or just being a little slow on the uptake), I've decided to do like Eddie Murphy's father and put the rules on the refrigerator.

1. The establishment where said action shall commence takes place at the choosing of the pity screwer (hereinafter referred to as "PS")

Beggars can not be choosers. As a matter of fact, you will find this is a recurring theme in the rule book. If he/she wants it to take place at their home, so be it. At your home, so be it. On the moon? Build a rocket. This individual has basically agreed to coitus at their convenience, and as the pity screwee (hereinafter referred to as PE), it is incumbent upon you to accommodate them when at all possible. (Please note, you will not die without sex. If the meeting place is unreasonable, you have every right to tell that person to piss off and keep it moving. Having some bomb porn as a back up is probably a good idea.)

2. If you are a visitor, don't be intrusive

I the home of PS is the decided meeting place, keep the requests to a minimum. If you are thirsty, request water only. Not soda. Not Kool Aid. Unless you are about to die of hypo/hyperthermia, make no inquiries re: the thermostat. K.I.S.S - Keep it simple stupid. Now, if you're dealing with someone who is not gracious enough to ask, you should possibly reevaluate whether or not you want to deal with this person. (See above note.)


3. You're not getting head

Be logical. You had to essentially beg to get in the door. Pretty much any "extras" that you have to request will probably get the nay-no my damie. If you get it, consider it a gift and press on. (Keeping that in mind, I would recommend against pulling out all the "tricks". Get yours, but you really don't have to make a memory.)

4. Stay away from the "Five Ws"

Questions like, "When can we do this again" and "Why don't we see each other more often" and "Why did you stop calling me" are ABSOLUTE no-nos. Because really, any answer you're going to receive is a bullshit answer that they give to spare your feelings. The "Ws" really don't matter. They don't. They won't. Allow me to recommend "Whose is it" as another no-no question. Trust me. You don't want the answer.

5. You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here

In this respect, this is EXACTLY like the booty call. After the deed is done, there's no bathing in the afterglow; there's meaninfgul conversation. BOUNCE. Any conversation that you would have with an individual that you essentially had to cajole into sleeping with you will be forced, uncomfortable, and just a little weird. What are you going to talk about? The relationship you aren't going to have with each other? The jumpoff you would have called if he/she said no...again? Seriously. What? You break out of that mutha like it's on fire.

6. Do not think it could eventually become a relationship

Again, this person's interest in you is quite limited. It's highly possible that they flipped a coin between you and clipping their toenails (which brings up the issue that they probably give less than a squirrel's fart about their grooming as far as you are concerned). It's not the start of something beautiful; it's the means to an end.

7. They're going to ask you for something

When a person knows that they have you over a barrel, as it were, they're going to maximize the potential of what they can get out of the deal. Be prepared for that. Don't act brand new when they do it. You know what this is. However, don't be a sucker and act like you are incapable of saying no. It doesn't even matter how big or small the thing is. Again, the backup porn comes into play.

8. Keep embarrassing habits on the low

This especially holds true for men. If you giggle alot afterward, or suck your thumb, or anything of that nature, please keep that shit on the tuck. Because I PROMISE, every time she and her girlfriends get drunk and angry with men, "that dude who who farts every time he busts a nut" is going to come up in conversation. And if you know more than three of the same people, she WILL name names. Sorry. It's ugly. It's wrong. It's a fact.

9. Grooming does count, but don't go overboard

Though the PS may not feel as though you should be impressed with polished toes or botoxed balls, you do have the responsibility to be well groomed. A shower with clean, appropriately sized clothes is more than enough. This goes back to not pulling out all the tricks. They don't really care, but you still need to have a shred of self respect. Showing up in your dating finery is way overkill. But, keep the musty nuts and the hammer toes to yourself.

10. KNOW WHEN YOU'VE BEEN PITY FUCKED

This is possibly the most important rule of all. Sometimes, when you think it's persistence that has paid off, it's really pity. If you have been getting no shine from this person. Then all of a sudden, they decide to let you kick it, consider yourself warned. This especially holds true if you have tickets to a hot, sold out concert, offer an expensive dinner, or some other major selling point that benefits them. Or, in the event that you were previously involved with a physical relationship that they dissolved, they're probably just horny and remember that thing you used to do with your tongue.

Granted, I'm no expert. So you don't have to take what I say as gospel. However, if you find yourself on the business end of a "I don't know what the hell you thought this was" glare, don't say you haven't been warned.

Nonsense, Foolishness, and a Sprinkling of Whatnot

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ever feel like...

this?




Me too.

Flabbergasted

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We've gotta do better sisters.

We can.

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

Mgmt

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

Mgmt

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Queen of all I Survey

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

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

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

Going through it

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

This shit is for the birds.

Hoes, Housewives and Everything in Between

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

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

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

"Everything He Misses At Home"

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

"Nothing Wrong With A Little Bump And Grind"

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

Sometimes love just ain't enough

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

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

Drunk Dialing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thoughts tiptoeing across my cabeza

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smooches!

Wastin away again, in Whatdafuggsville

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Forefinger to lip in deep thought

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

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

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

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

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

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