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.