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.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
"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.
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.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
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.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Thursday, May 31, 2007
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
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
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
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.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
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.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
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.
This shit is for the birds.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
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.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
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.
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.
(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.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
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!
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!
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, November 13, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Fandom!
Life's certainties:
1) Death
2) Taxes
3) The Saints losing crucial football games
Number 3, quite frankly, doesn't really bother your average Saints fan. (Upon examining the average Saints fan's diet, one may opine that they're not too concerned about Number 1 either.) The Saints go to the playoffs - and lose. Then they go to the playoffs again - and lose. Then they go to the playoffs and win - then lose. This has been since the dawn of time.
However, with that being said, it has NEVER occurred to me to like anyone else. The entire concept is as foreign to me as a red beans and rice-less Monday. Sure we bitch and moan about them. This year they've got a great defense but no offense. The next they've got a killer offense but no defense. Whatcha gonna do? Say what you will about the Louisiana (*cough* Tom Benson *cough), no one can accuse us of being fair weather fans. Mostly because we haven't really had any substantial fair weather. Like everything else in New Orleans, we loved them because they were ours. Think I'm kidding? Talk to a fan about relocating the Saints.
ANYONE can love the winning team. They're winning. What's not to love? Only a fan, however, can look at a game where the final score was, say. . .iono 23 - 3 (IN YO' FACE FALCONS) and rave about that one field goal. Only a fan can be content to watch the game highlights, when ALL of the highs belonged to the other team. Such has been the existence of the Saints fan.
But not last night. *contented sigh* Last night was the game that every Saints fan dreamed of. Last night was the game that every Saints fan NEEDED! Last night the Saints set up a branch office in that ass! (Though I'm still kind of pissed at Deloatch's act of stupidity. What the hell?!) It was spectacular to witness my team relentlessly defending the house.
The thing is, the Saints don't have to win another game this season (though they will) and we'll still love them. But today, I got bragging rights. Today my team is #1 in the NFC South. And, just in case you forgot:
MY TEAM IS 3 - 0!!!
1) Death
2) Taxes
3) The Saints losing crucial football games
Number 3, quite frankly, doesn't really bother your average Saints fan. (Upon examining the average Saints fan's diet, one may opine that they're not too concerned about Number 1 either.) The Saints go to the playoffs - and lose. Then they go to the playoffs again - and lose. Then they go to the playoffs and win - then lose. This has been since the dawn of time.
However, with that being said, it has NEVER occurred to me to like anyone else. The entire concept is as foreign to me as a red beans and rice-less Monday. Sure we bitch and moan about them. This year they've got a great defense but no offense. The next they've got a killer offense but no defense. Whatcha gonna do? Say what you will about the Louisiana (*cough* Tom Benson *cough), no one can accuse us of being fair weather fans. Mostly because we haven't really had any substantial fair weather. Like everything else in New Orleans, we loved them because they were ours. Think I'm kidding? Talk to a fan about relocating the Saints.
ANYONE can love the winning team. They're winning. What's not to love? Only a fan, however, can look at a game where the final score was, say. . .iono 23 - 3 (IN YO' FACE FALCONS) and rave about that one field goal. Only a fan can be content to watch the game highlights, when ALL of the highs belonged to the other team. Such has been the existence of the Saints fan.
But not last night. *contented sigh* Last night was the game that every Saints fan dreamed of. Last night was the game that every Saints fan NEEDED! Last night the Saints set up a branch office in that ass! (Though I'm still kind of pissed at Deloatch's act of stupidity. What the hell?!) It was spectacular to witness my team relentlessly defending the house.
The thing is, the Saints don't have to win another game this season (though they will) and we'll still love them. But today, I got bragging rights. Today my team is #1 in the NFC South. And, just in case you forgot:
MY TEAM IS 3 - 0!!!
Friday, September 22, 2006
Shooting from the Hip-stress
In recent conversations with the Desperate Housewife, a few topics came up that had coincidentally been on my mind as of late.
I don't know how many of you were keeping up with that Debra Lafave nonsense, but if you've been under a rock, or did like me and saw some blonde bimbo bumping her gums and switched stations, I'll enlighten you: this is the teacher who molested an 8th grader and got off with house arrest. (The fact that the boy seemed black, or at least biracial, is an entirely different blog for another day.) This bold bitch went so far Men - and particularly black men, since it is you who are near and dear to my heart - if an older man or woman used you for their sexual experimentation, listen to me and listen good: YOU WERE MOLESTED. You're not lucky, it didn't help you be "a better freak," you are a fractured individual. Quiet as it is kept, if you are pre-pubescent and another pre-pubescent individual initiated sexual experimentation, chances are, that encounter was a by-product of their own abuse (again, another blog post for another day).
Here's what's sad: our young black men are taught that, even if they do feel victimized, they must view this encounter as some sort of conquest. Do you have any idea how detrimental this is? I have several male friends who were molested by teenaged girls/young women over the years, and never reported it. All of them brushed it off as though it was nothing. NONE of them have healthy attitudes toward women. Not a one. Couldn't hold a relationship if you gave them a bucket. Women who are raped or molested as children tend to be wary of men. *taps temple* Think about it.
Yo: kids are fat. And no, I don't mean there's a random chubby kid here and there. I mean FAT! Your eight year old should not weigh 125 pounds, unless that eight year old is 5'3. I have someone very near and dear to my heart, and her daughter is obese. The doctor put her on a diet, and I asked her a couple of weeks ago how she was doing? The response I received was, "Eating everything in sight." Uh, why are you giving it to her/allowing her to have it. A child will eat junk all day if you let him. This is why a child is given parents/guardians. Put away the cookies, chill out on the Kool Aid, turn off the T.V. and send their behinds outside.
However, the flip side to that is this: the cost of eating healthy is ridiculous; often, to the point of being prohibitive. If a chicken leg is $0.99 a pound, why in the HELL is a chicken breast $4.99 a pound. They came off the same damned chicken! When you show me a chicken that has nothing but legs or nothing but breasts, then you can rationalize that shit to me. White rice has to go through a EXTRA process to be stripped of all it's nutritional value, but you can get two pounds for a buck 99. Brown rice on the other hand, costs roughly twice as much, sometimes for half the amount. They're making brownies bigger and more accessible, yet making apples smaller and more expensive. That is some sick shit.
You white folks with chocolate fetishes: *sigh*. I take very little issue when two people can see past whatever, overcome obstacles and find love. However, you folks that like to say things like, "I have a taste for chocolate," etc. work my last fucking nerve. It is 2006 and white folks STILL see black folks as little more than mobile masses of sexuality. Imma be right next to the Housewife setting off revolution in this bitch if I hear it again. It's insulting, it's demeaning and whether you want to hear/believe it or not, THAT SHIT IS RACIST AS ALL HELL. Yes, you, with all your "nigger lovin'" are perpetuating racist ideology. When you ask a white woman why she likes black men so much, almost the first thing out of her mouth is something dick related. For white men, they almost immediately go to ass. For real black folks? Are we really that cool with being broken down into sexual parts for the amusement of white folks? *tsk tsk*
More often than not, an individual of this sort RESORTS to black folks. Because "white men/women just aren't into me." Make no mistake black people: the MOMENT an eligible Caucasian presents him/herself and you (if they are not merely using you as a jump off) cut out of line, your black ass is out of the picture. I have seen it happen more than a few times with my own eyes. These folks are not far removed from the people that had brothers swinging from trees and sisters raising mulatto babies solo when their "fetish" wasn't so cool. *taps tample again*
Think about that too.
. . .aaaaaaand I'm SPENT!
I don't know how many of you were keeping up with that Debra Lafave nonsense, but if you've been under a rock, or did like me and saw some blonde bimbo bumping her gums and switched stations, I'll enlighten you: this is the teacher who molested an 8th grader and got off with house arrest. (The fact that the boy seemed black, or at least biracial, is an entirely different blog for another day.) This bold bitch went so far Men - and particularly black men, since it is you who are near and dear to my heart - if an older man or woman used you for their sexual experimentation, listen to me and listen good: YOU WERE MOLESTED. You're not lucky, it didn't help you be "a better freak," you are a fractured individual. Quiet as it is kept, if you are pre-pubescent and another pre-pubescent individual initiated sexual experimentation, chances are, that encounter was a by-product of their own abuse (again, another blog post for another day).
Here's what's sad: our young black men are taught that, even if they do feel victimized, they must view this encounter as some sort of conquest. Do you have any idea how detrimental this is? I have several male friends who were molested by teenaged girls/young women over the years, and never reported it. All of them brushed it off as though it was nothing. NONE of them have healthy attitudes toward women. Not a one. Couldn't hold a relationship if you gave them a bucket. Women who are raped or molested as children tend to be wary of men. *taps temple* Think about it.
Yo: kids are fat. And no, I don't mean there's a random chubby kid here and there. I mean FAT! Your eight year old should not weigh 125 pounds, unless that eight year old is 5'3. I have someone very near and dear to my heart, and her daughter is obese. The doctor put her on a diet, and I asked her a couple of weeks ago how she was doing? The response I received was, "Eating everything in sight." Uh, why are you giving it to her/allowing her to have it. A child will eat junk all day if you let him. This is why a child is given parents/guardians. Put away the cookies, chill out on the Kool Aid, turn off the T.V. and send their behinds outside.
However, the flip side to that is this: the cost of eating healthy is ridiculous; often, to the point of being prohibitive. If a chicken leg is $0.99 a pound, why in the HELL is a chicken breast $4.99 a pound. They came off the same damned chicken! When you show me a chicken that has nothing but legs or nothing but breasts, then you can rationalize that shit to me. White rice has to go through a EXTRA process to be stripped of all it's nutritional value, but you can get two pounds for a buck 99. Brown rice on the other hand, costs roughly twice as much, sometimes for half the amount. They're making brownies bigger and more accessible, yet making apples smaller and more expensive. That is some sick shit.
You white folks with chocolate fetishes: *sigh*. I take very little issue when two people can see past whatever, overcome obstacles and find love. However, you folks that like to say things like, "I have a taste for chocolate," etc. work my last fucking nerve. It is 2006 and white folks STILL see black folks as little more than mobile masses of sexuality. Imma be right next to the Housewife setting off revolution in this bitch if I hear it again. It's insulting, it's demeaning and whether you want to hear/believe it or not, THAT SHIT IS RACIST AS ALL HELL. Yes, you, with all your "nigger lovin'" are perpetuating racist ideology. When you ask a white woman why she likes black men so much, almost the first thing out of her mouth is something dick related. For white men, they almost immediately go to ass. For real black folks? Are we really that cool with being broken down into sexual parts for the amusement of white folks? *tsk tsk*
More often than not, an individual of this sort RESORTS to black folks. Because "white men/women just aren't into me." Make no mistake black people: the MOMENT an eligible Caucasian presents him/herself and you (if they are not merely using you as a jump off) cut out of line, your black ass is out of the picture. I have seen it happen more than a few times with my own eyes. These folks are not far removed from the people that had brothers swinging from trees and sisters raising mulatto babies solo when their "fetish" wasn't so cool. *taps tample again*
Think about that too.
. . .aaaaaaand I'm SPENT!
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Releasin' my delf Pt. II
What's poppin' 360?! How y'all been? Me? Ahhh, I just been "bein' me, T-hug, cuz if you take out the dash, IMMA THUUUG!!" (If you don't get that, you don't need to.) I've just been popping up periodically watching folks run their mouths, occasionally giving thanks for that little red 'x' in the upper right. Of course in the time that I've been away, stuff has been building up in my mind, so sit back and enjoy my mental regurgitation.
So, am I the only person in the world that gives not a shit about Britney, Whitney or Suri? Why was the world wondering if that child really existed? Do you know where your fucking kids are? Can they spell? Do they know their alphabets? Are they cussing out grown folks?? Focus on THESE things people. Do like the rest of us : wait for Bobbi Kristina's porn flick to come out and shut the hell up.
Bringing sexy back. Yes. This is the new catch phrase. I'm presuming this has replaced "grown and sexy", (read: "obese with attitude"). Give it a fucking rest people. Remember how we looked at our parents when they used to use the popular catch phrases and run them into the ground? Shut your simple ass up.
Remember how stupid that show "Full House" was? Yeah. It's even stupider in the '06. And I don't care what anybody says, those twins were some of the ugliest children I had ever laid eyes on. Show of hands? Who's with me on this? C'mon. . .who's with me?
Yo! Who knew Meth dropped an album? Again. . .show of hands? Yeah, me neevah, until I went to order my Roots CD and was like, "Hmmm...4:21? This is unfamiliar." Dude got ZERO promo. I guess badmouthing the boss isn't all that wise, even in the music biz. Meth, brother, you got fam to take care of. You HAD to know Jay-Z would act like a lil bitch if you pissed him off. At least you'll have stories to tell when you go to your next label.
So the fro is coming along lovely, but I gotta find different stuff to do to it.
So, Lil Kim got released from prison and nobody cared. Yall heard that girl. She's bringing reconstituted, surgically altered, ex-con sexy BACK! Iono...she still looks like that hippie muppet to me.
And in other news, I have discovered that I LOVE "Best Week Ever". But uh, is Diddy really pissing on his myspace page? And are jackasses REALLY going to his page to see that shit? He is the epicenter of all that ails the world. You know how there's that "Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon" game? Look at all the shitty stuff that's going in the world, I can virtually guarantee you that it is but six degrees (or less) separating it from Diddy. Think about it? Coincidence, I think not.
Ok, though I don't CARE about Whitney and Bobby per se, I have always found it amusing that people always like to blame Bobby for Whitney's issues. Like she was this angel and he was a part of a bad phase. She's been married to that man since 1992. That's a "phase "for that ass.
White folks and latinos: strollers are not for five year olds. If you have to keep stopping because your child's feet keep dragging under the stroller, his ass needs to be walking. What the hell is wrong with you? Feet should not cause sparks. Work that out.
And in closing, for your enjoyment:
Monday, August 14, 2006
Me and those grinding gears of mine. . .
You know what grinds my gears? People who dial the wrong number. The act of mistakenly dialing a wrong number is not a big deal. However, once I've told you that the number was wrong, other than a brief apology, that should be the end of the conversation right? Repeating the wrong number that you dialed, as though I'M the idiot when I tell you there's a mistake does NOT help your cause. Calling it back immediately after hanging up with me makes you even more of a panty waste. Cut that shit out.
You know what grinds my gears? That snide guy on the "For Eyes" commercial. Yes, I know this man is an actor, and he was hired for his ability to mock the snotty shop-person demeanor, but I get this perverse satisfaction when the customer sticks it to him. My favorite is the one where the old lady is creeping toward him with her cane and he's obviously annoyed by her snail's pace. Once she is within reach, she belts him in the cajones with her can and says, "That's for overcharging me for my glasses," leaving him writing on the floor groaning. THAT ladies and gentlemen, is Must See TV.
You know what grinds my gears? Must See TV. Remember that trash? What was "must see" about it? Were there ANY black folks there? I remember they threw in Aisha Tyler and Gabrielle Union as tokens, but other than that. . .? So, we must see the world without negroes, other than the ones white men would "do"? Riiiiiight.
You know what grinds my gears? Type A running-everywhere white people. I believe I've addressed this before, but I'm still confused. WHERE are they going? Twice last week, I was actively bypassed (not a full knock down, but a bypass) by white folks, running to get into the building. When I got inside of said building, you know where they were? Waiting at the elevator, both times. Should I have thanked them for being my elevator bitches? (Next time you SMILE when you press that button BEEEYOTCH!!)
You know what grinds my gears? Being broke. All the good concerts come around when it's not in your budget. All the good restaurants have these special promotions when it's not in your budget. All the good movies come out when it's not in your budget. All your friends want to hang out and/or go on vacations when it's not in your budget. What the hell is up with that?
You know what grinds my gears? Polka dots. All my life, I have viewed polka dots to be the most useless "design" ever. What inspired this? Some odd dalmation fixation? A dalmation fixation, I say! Everything about the sight of polka dots disturbs me. I remember when Kwame had y'all thinking that was cool. Uh, yeah, freaked me the hell out. The only thing that comes close to disturbing me as much as polka dots is houndstooth. *shudder*
You know what grinds my gears? Bra shopping. I maintain that everybody loves a big titty girl, but damn, I think bra shopping for the full busted woman is the most ridiculous thing EVER. Besides sending you to that "industrial bra" section when you're bigger than a 34C, unless you're ready to turn tricks, your sole color choices are black, white and taupe. For those of you who don't know what taupe is, it's basically what happens when the bra monster eats all the white bras, then regurgitates them. I will say that VS has gotten better about accommodating the "full coverage" crew, I'm still not happy about the fact that the bras are more expensive. Should we be penalized for our gifts?
You know what grinds my gears? Winos. No, I don't mean people who overestimate their tolerance and get drunk. I mean people that are constantly drunk. If you get on the bus at 5:30, and beer is seeping through your pores, my friend, you need an intervention. In furtherance of this gear grinding, I get annoyed by the presumption that only poor black folks fit into this category. I've been around a WHOLE LOT of Biffs and Becky's that were smelling like the sauce at 8:00 a.m. Ya need deliverance.
And that's what grinds my gears.
Monday, July 24, 2006
On the verge of. . .
There is a scene in The Incredibles where, after witnessing Mr. Incredible pick up a car the day before, the neighborhood kid is sitting in the driveway, gawking at at Mr. I. Incredible looks at him and says, "What are you waiting for?" The kid replies, "I don't know. Something amazing I guess." To that, Mr. I replies, "Me too."
Yeah . . . me too.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Casual Considerations
Who set earth's thermostat to "slavery" today? What's disturbing to me is that not as hot in the N.O. I'm trying really hard not to take these weather issues personally, but I dunno yall. Isn't this heat just a little too oppressive to not somehow be racist?
So now that the kids are home, I'm back up on all the cartoons. Yo, Shaolin Showdown is my JOINT! This weekend they were watching Toon Disney and I certainly pulled rank so I could watch SS on the big television.
Coming soon to the LOGO Network: the First Annual Gay-Off. The participants: P. Diddy and Kanye West. By show of hands, who else believes that these two negroes are trying to out-gay one another? In the "Number One" video, Kanye's shirt and jacket are so tight, I saw his last heartbreak. (I could also say that Pharrell's pants are so tight, I saw his firstborn child, but I digress.) Diddy often comes off (to me of course) as the flaming queen who is trying to keep this young fish from usurping the throne. The hosts will be Omarosa and Carson from "Queer Eye." (Please keep in mind, I have no firsthand knowledge, nor do I care, about what these men do with their anuses. I'm just furnishing my opinion. I don't want Auntie Combs or Second Cousin West or the bathroom attendant that they were REALLY nice to at some random social event to act a fool because of some chatter.)
And while we're talking about Beyonce. . .what the HELL was she doing at, what my homeboy refered to as, "the circle jerk known as an awards show"? (The fact that I agree with his assessment notwithstanding, the opportunity to use the term "circle jerk" doesn't arise often for me, so I pretty much just seized the opportunity.) Who hit that brawd with a can of Black Flag? Quiet as it's kept, I generally like her, but I was not feeling the wanna-be-Tina-catching-the-holy-ghost thing she had going on. And did she actually let Jay-Z touch her booty? GUH-ROSS!!
Okay, I'm by no means a Bush supporter, but why is it in the news that he cussed? Because he was on the job? I said "shit" three times yesterday evening when I couldn't print out a document. Where's MY story? I'm sure there are other things to care about people. He's a freakin Texan for crying out loud. I'm willing to wager that he says, "Dude, I f****n' swear," three times a week.
On a more serious note, another tsunami struck Indonesia. According to the last report I read, 368 people are dead and over 200 missing. They received a warning, but did not pass it on because they had no way of notifying everyone. No siren, no radio announcement, no Harpo Marx look-alike with a bicycle horn. Nothing. I'm kind of speechless on this.
It's fairly well known that I'm not an Oprah fan, so I'm not always in tune with what goes on in her world. However, when did people start caring whether or not she is straight or gay? She and Gayle Whats-Her-Face have promised that they would tell us if they were lovers. I'll be waiting with baited breath. *steps out of the path of the lightening*
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