I Ain't Scared to Say It!

Girl, Go Sit Yo Ass Down Somewhere and Call a Therapist!

2005-03-23T16:43:00.000-05:00

I went to school with this chick who had some very tragic ideas about healthy relationships and how to attain one. She had a boyfriend in high school who, aside from running around on her every chance he got, would whoop her behind for the slightest little thing.

I remember one day, she, her boyfriend and several friends were sitting on a ledge in the back of the school that overlooked a concrete basketball court about 15 feet below. She and her boyfriend started a playful argument that went horribly wrong. Within an instant, the boyfriend picked this chick up and dangled her over the ledge just like Michael Jackson did his own child during that infamous time. But, unlike Michael, this dude dropped Ole’ Girl right onto the concrete—shattering her jaw and knocking out most of her teeth.

She recovered after some time in the hospital. They were able to put back the teeth her friends found on the basketball court. The missing ones were replaced with fakes. Her jaw was wired shut for a while, but today, she looks pretty normal.

She just doesn’t act that way. While she may have grown up physically, she still suffers from the same delusions about what constitutes a healthy relationship. We all do from time to time, but this chick takes the cake.

She finished high school, went off to college, graduated and became a teacher. Here recently, she was principal of one of our elementary schools. She may not be getting her butt kicked on a regular basis, but she still hasn’t figured out right from wrong when it comes to choosing a man.

Her latest choice is the father of two of the students at her school. The fact that this father is still married to these kids’ mother seems unimportant to her. She managed to break up the family, and is planning to marry the father. In fact, she’s even sent out invitations to their island nuptials scheduled for the latter part of the summer.

Funny thing is…the man she’s marrying has yet to divorce his wife.

Who, in their right mind, would send out a wedding invitation when one of the potential spouses isn’t quite finished with a prior marriage? Of all the shit I’ve done in my life, I’ve never done anything that fucked up or stupid!

I just keep thinking about the two kids at the school. How long is it going to take before the rest of the children find out that their daddy left their mommy for the principal?

And why would any principal conduct themselves in such a way with one of their student’s parents?

Word has it that the school board has asked Ole Girl not to return to the elementary school next year. In fact, I hear she’s been blackballed throughout the entire region.

All that for some dingaling? I don’t think so.

I wonder if this chick will ever get her life together. I’m real curious to see whether or not this wedding actually happens later this summer. I don’t know where Dude is in his divorce process, but if his Wifey has anything to say about it, I don’t think they’ll be getting married anytime soon.

We shall see…

And, Ole Girl just bought a house for she and her still-married-husband-to-be. Let’s hope she had the presence of mind not to put the house in both of their names (is that legal?). ‘Cause if it is in both names, Wifey might just get the new crib. And it would serve Ole Girl’s dumb ass right! She’d be homeless, jobless and stuck with a man with too many child support payments to underwrite her lavish lifestyle.

Oh well, that’s what ya get when you act like you ain’t got no damn sense.

The Black College Experience: I’m So Glad I Got Mine!

2005-03-23T14:01:00.000-05:00

I remember the days of my junior and senior years of high school when every adult known to man seemed to be curious about the college I would choose. They would try to steer me with their own memories of collegiate days at their respective campuses. I heard stories of Penn State, Georgetown, Oberlin and Ohio University to name a few. I just took their advice and stored it in my brain’s File 13, because one thing I’ve always known is that I would spend my college years on a Black campus. Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs) constituted my entire pool of options. Nothing in this world could have convinced me that a predominately White college would be the way for me to go.

Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against ANY school that can provide a quality education. It’s just that I spent my high school years surrounded by Whites and racially-charged situations. What I needed was four years of my own kind. I knew the basic, core classes would be much the same at any school. But I wanted teachers who could take those lessons and help me understand them through my own world view. That’s what I found at Clark Atlanta University. And I would encourage any young African American high school junior or senior to consider my alma mater and other schools like it.

When I finally got the balls to tell all those Ivy League and White school enthusiasts that I was on my way to the Atlanta University Center—the world’s largest conglomeration of African American institutions of higher learning—I got several responses I wasn’t expecting.

“Why would you choose a Black college,” said one aunt who was raised in the school of If-It-Ain’t-White-It-Ain’t-Right. “Employers will never take you seriously with a degree from such a school.”

“The real world isn’t all Black,” said another one who shared the latter’s world view. “You need to be in an environment that resembles what you’ll face in corporate America.”

And there were other comments with similar messaging. I just disregarded them all.

College may prepare you for the real world. But it isn’t the real world. Instead, it’s a place for you to learn about the real world in an environment that suits you. Considering the cost of my pending education, I felt it would be best for me to choose a university whose bill I didn’t mind paying.

I wanted journalism classes that would teach me more than just the concepts of responsible journalism. I wanted teachers who could show me how to be a good journalist within a system that typically paints my brothers and sisters in a negative light.

I didn’t want to hear more about American history without hearing about my place in that history. My economics classes used examples bred from OUR experiences. To put it plainly, I learned how I could succeed in this world by my own standards rather than those dictated by the status quo.

And now, with my degree in hand, I’ve been able to circle back to those aunts and other nay-sayers with evidence of a fruitful career…one that has touched the corporate, nonprofit and agency worlds…one where I had my own three-year period of self-employment filled with clients spanning a variety of industries.

Clark Atlanta University has not held me back at all. Many of my former employers, particularly in Atlanta, were very familiar with the merits of the school and its other HBCU neighbors. Some of the most respected names in the Black community are associated with those schools…

-Oprah Winfrey, graduated Tennessee State University
-Rev. Jesse Jackson, graduated North Carolina A&T
-Former UN Ambassador and Civil Rights Leader Andrew Young, graduated Howard University
-Thurgood Marshall, graduated Lincoln University-Pennsylvania
-Spike Lee, graduated Morehouse College (but got the majority of his media arts training at Clark Atlanta University)
-Earl Graves, publisher of Black Enterprise, graduated Morgan State University
-Nearly half of the Congressional Black Caucus are graduates of HBCU's

...the list goes on. Hell, even Webster was in some of my classes!

Anyway, I said all of this to encourage more support for HBCUs. It’s alarming just how many of our schools have transformed into mostly-White campuses. My mother’s alma mater, West Virginia State University, is more than half White and actually has a White president. Morris Brown is about to be a memory, and there are many others that raise similar concerns.

As Black people, we really need to do more to support our schools. At one point in our history, those schools were the only places that would offer us a college education. We have to support these schools to ensure that younger generations of African Americans can make the same choices we could when their time comes. We cannot let our schools simply fall by the wayside because we don’t care enough to send a couple of dollars their way on a regular basis.

The Ivy Leagues of the world thrive because their alumni make sure they do. We, as Blacks, need to assume the same responsibility for our schools…regardless of whether we attended an HBCU or Harvard University.

The point is…these schools are OURS, and we need to protect them.

Send some of that expendable cash to an HBCU sometime soon. It’s an investment you can be proud you made.

Removing self from soap box now…

Don’t Get It Twisted…

2005-03-21T10:39:00.000-05:00

One thing that pisses me off more than anything is white people who think they have somehow been so thoroughly accepted by African American culture that they can get away with using the “N” word just because 50 Cent does.

Word to the wise for That-Kind-of-White-Folk…don’t get it twisted! You are never authorized to use the word, and doing so in front of the wrong one of us will get your ass kicked even if we just fed you lunch on a Saturday afternoon.

My recent post about Lil Kim fueled such bravery from one white person on Blogcritics.org. Here’s what this dude had to say…

Lil Kim is a stank ass ho, she represents the very worst of African American culture.

Here are some of the whore's accomplishments: Arrested for marijuana possession; stomach pumped because she swallowed so much cum, flashed her minge at a concert, flashes her silicon-enhanced breasts every chance she gets, bragging about what a ho she is.

All those fine African Americans who defend Lil Kim are idiots. I hope their daughters imitate Lil Kim and smoke week, whore around and suck di** like it be going out of style in the ghetto.

In prison, Lil Kim won't be the Queen Bee, she will be just another ignorant nigga.

Don't even compare the negro Lil Kim with Martha Stewart. Martha is an intelligent, hardworking self-made billionare. Lil Kim is just another stupid, vulgar, whorish African American slut.

Here's one white guy who will be smoking a big ole cigar in celebration when that black whore is carted off to prison.

I can totally feel him when it comes to his dislike for Lil Kim’s over-the-top-slutty image. She has often made me about as sick as an episode of Fear Factor where the contestants dine on moose testicles and coagulated blood balls. But, he truly made that “nigga” line up, didn’t he? And then to follow that up with the "negro" word and a line like, "Lil Kim is just another stupid, vulgar, whorish African American slut" is like purposely throwing straws to break the camel's back! I mean, where is he going with the whole "another African American slut" thing?

Somebody please explain the rationale behind a white person who thinks they can get away with such fuckery! Do they think they can get away with it because J-Lo did in one of her songs with Ja Rule? If you ask me, J-Lo needed her ass whooped for saying it, and I’m mad at every single black person who bobbed their heads to her beat.

The point of the matter is pretty simple. Black folks don’t need to be throwing around the “N” word any more than anybody else. And I say that with guilty fingers pointed in my direction.

But when it comes to white folks, the word takes on a whole new meaning regardless of whether the offending white person has an entire arsenal of black friends and every single NWA album that ever existed.

Let me break it down like this. It is not entirely uncommon for a woman to call one of her girls “bitch” in a friendly way. It may not be nice or politically correct, but it certainly doesn’t mean the women are about to fight.

But let a man call the same woman a “bitch” and see what happens. He’ll probably end up with claw marks down the side of his face.

To put it plainly…if you’re white…don’t ever let a black person catch you throwing around the “N” word unless you’re in the mood to swallow your teeth. ‘Cause that’s exactly what can, and SHOULD, happen if you do.

History has given the “N” word a negative connotation whenever it escapes the lips of white mouths. It doesn't matter if the white mouth is racist or owned by someone who marched right alongside of Dr. King. Whites can NEVER safely use the word in our presence. Just erase it from your vocabulary or prepare to lose your tongue.

Peace…

Lil’ Kim is Going to Jail. Sources Say “Several Years” Likely

2005-03-18T14:14:00.000-05:00

Lil’ Kim is on her way to jail thanks to her conviction yesterday on three counts of perjury and one count of conspiracy surrounding a shootout at Hot 97 in New York. The shootout involved her manager and another friend, and Lil' Kim is in trouble for telling a federal grand jury that she didn't notice them at the scene of the crime. She faces five years for each count, and sources say she’s likely to get a good chunk of her maximum sentence—up to 20 years.

If she does a single day more than Miss Martha Stewart, I’m gonna be mad as hell! Martha only did five months on a four-count conviction for obstruction of justice and lying to federal authorities. If Lil’ Kim ain’t out by Christmas, I’m gonna be pissed.

Now, please don’t get me wrong. I am, IN NO WAY, a Lil’ Kim fan. Never have been…and never will be. But one thing I hate more than her senseless lyrics and Happy Ho attitude is some more racist bullshit from this country.

Lil’ Kim and Miss Martha are guilty of the same crime…not knowing when to tell the truth. The circumstances surrounding the lie are irrelevant from a legal standpoint. The only crime was telling the lie. Therefore, Lil’ Kim should enjoy the same leniency that Martha got.

But as I type this post, I know as well as all of you that Lil’ Kim will probably get a lot more time than Martha. Martha is a rich white woman. Lil’ Kim is a former hood-rat turned rich-black-woman. Martha knits and crochets. Lil’ Kim is most known for popping her coochie. Martha is a white woman’s idol. Lil’ Kim is…well…Lil’ Kim.

Her sentencing is scheduled for June 24, so it remains to be seen whether or not I’m right about all this. But, I feel completely confident that this situation will once again reveal the ugly double standard of American society when it comes to issues of crime and race. You can get away with a helluva lot more with white skin than you can being a ghetto girl who has obviously worked her ass off (regardless of whether she was lying on her back at the time) to get where she is today. Blacks and lengthy jail time go hand-in-hand in the U-S-of-A. So, I don’t think we’ll be hearing much from the Queen Bee for quite some time.

I hope I’m wrong for Lil’ Kim’s sake. We shall revisit this point on June 25 and see…

Free At Last, Free At Last…Thank Ya, Lawd!

2005-03-17T16:56:00.000-05:00

It’s official. I’ve turned in my two-week notice, and am on my way to bigger and better endeavors. I know I’ve been away from the blogging scene for quite a while, but trust me, it was for good reasons. I’ll take this time to update you on what’s been happing in the world of JustMe...

The Homie-Lover-Friend Update

Ain’t a single thing changed on the man front. I still don’t have one, and the prospects are only getting more dismal by the day.

The latest potential Stud is a dude from my past. He wasn’t a boyfriend or anything like that. Just a dude I knew from high school. In fact, he’s a couple of years younger than me, so he definitely had no hope back in the day. However, I spotted him at a party recently and he was looking GOOD.

After talking to him on the phone just one time, I reduced his status from “potential” to “total loser” all within the timeframe of about 20 minutes. That’s how long it took him to brief me on his four children by three baby-mamas—two of which he’s still sleeping with—one of which still cooks his food on a regular basis. Translation…this fool ain’t got no business trying to hook up with me. He may have the body of a god, but he comes with more baggage than a sista can handle in one lifetime.

Gone are my days of screwing just for the hell of it. So, I guess there’ no reason to move forward with anything he’s trying to offer.

NEXT!

The Family

My family has gone through some trials over the past few weeks. We lost my aunt in January, who had been suffering from the after effects of surgery to remove an aneurism from the base of her brain. The surgery resulted in paralysis from her waist down, and she never recovered mentally. We tried to rally around my cousin, who is my aunt’s only child. She is doing very well, however, because she knows she did everything she could to keep her mom happy and comfortable until the end. Plus, she will always have us to lean on.

My father was diagnosed with prostate cancer in December. We went through several weeks of worrisome hell prior to his surgery at the end of February. Turns out, his cancer never spread beyond the prostate, and his doctor thinks he’ll make a full recovery. God is truly good all the time.

JustMe, in General

With all that’s been going on, the biggest personal drama I had just got solved with my new job. It’s definitely a step up, and will look exceptional on my resume. Plus, the nature of the work deals with children, and that means I’ll have the opportunity to do some good with my public relations skills. Can’t ask for anything better than that!

I continue to get more disgusted by the day over the shit our president and his team of fools are doing to further ruin the country. But, I don’t have the energy to dig deeper on this point, so I’ll save it for another post.

I’m convinced Michael Jackson didn’t do it. He may be a bit “touched” as we say, but that doesn’t make him a criminal. I don’t think many child molesters would tell their victims to call their parents to find out of it’s okay to sleep together if there truly was an intent to do harm. There…I said it! Just suck it up if you don’t agree. :-)

I get to take a week off before I start my next job. My last day on this job is March 24. It’s been a long time coming.

Okay…well, that’s the short and skinny of the past several weeks. I’m planning to post more frequently, and am hoping some of ya’ll still give a hoot about what I have to say.

Until next time…peace.

Oh No She Didn’t!

2005-02-07T16:07:00.000-05:00

I pride myself on knowing how to conduct myself in public. But sometimes, depending on where I am, I act in ways that would only make the devil proud.

Like the day I was leaving for Los Angeles. I had just gotten back from a funeral in Missouri the day before, so I didn’t have a lot of time to prepare for this trip. My plan was to get to work early and finish out some things, leave at lunch, run by the shopping center to get some last minute items, stop by the dry cleaners to pick up most of the clothes I needed, and then run home to pack. My flight left at 8:45pm that evening.

Everything was going great at first, except for the fact that I had the flu. I got everything taken care of at work, got what I needed from the shopping center, and only needed to pick up my dry cleaning before going home to pack. I was actually ahead of schedule when I arrived at the dry cleaners.

I walked in the door, pulled out my slip, and proceeded to write out a check to pay for the cleaning.

“We don’t take checks here.”

“Can you take a credit card?”

“No, we don’t take those either.”

Okay, it would have been nice if there was a sign posted as such. My only choice was to head to the nearest ATM to get some cash.

When I got back to the dry cleaners, the attendant—a woman about 10 years my senior with a face that screamed, “I need a lip wax!”—came up to grab my ticket and retrieve my clothes. She started to ring up the order while I was investigating their handiwork. Just as she asked me for $18.75, I noticed the huge coffee stain on the seat of my ivory-colored pants (yes, I actually sat in a puddle of spilled coffee the last time I had them on).

“These pants aren’t clean,” I said. “And I really need to take them with me on my business trip this evening. Is there any way you can get this stain out?”

“There ain’t nothin’ we can do until tomorrow,” Mustache Sally replies like she couldn’t care less.

“Well, I have to take the pants with me this evening. Are you sure there is nothing that can be done today?”

“Like I said…we can’t do nothin’ ‘til tomorrow.” Her attitude was really starting to piss me off.

“Well, I’ll tell you what. I’ll deal with the stain myself, because I have to have them today. You can just take the cost of them off the bill, and I’ll pay for everything else.”

“You ain’t takin’ these pants out of here unless you pay for them.”

“I’m not going to pay you for pants that haven’t been cleaned. Can I talk to a manager?”

“There ain’t no manager here. I told you we would clean them tomorrow,” she says like she’s talking to some chick on the street. My patience was out the door at this point, and if this woman wasn’t careful, it was about to be on and poppin’.

“And I told you I couldn’t wait until tomorrow. I’ll pay for the rest of the things, but I’m not paying for these pants. Can you ring up my total and take the pants off?” My pitch was getting higher and more irate by the minute.

“AND I TOLD YOU THAT YOU WEREN’T GETTING THESE PANTS UNLESS YOU PAY FOR THEM!”

Oh no this bitch did not just yell at me! Without even thinking about it, I reached across the counter and snatched my pants out of the woman’s hands.

“Bitch, have you lost your fuckin’ mind?” I screamed. “You are not keeping my pants. And you damned sure aren’t going to force me into doing more business with this sorry-ass dry cleaners.”

“Well, we’ll just take down your license plate and…”

“The number is 9-1-1,” I screamed. “And I’ll help you dial it if three numbers are more than your dumb-ass mind can comprehend. You do whatever the hell you think you need to, lady. I hope the cops really do show up here, so I can tell ‘em how your trifling ass is trying to rob me!”

She picked up the phone, but instead of dialing the police, she called the manager who was apparently chillin’ at home.

“She wants to talk to you,” Mustache Sally said and handed the phone to me. I snatched it out of her hand the same way I snatched the pants.

“Don’t snatch nothin’ else out of my hands,” she shouts like she was about to do something about it.

“Why don’t you come from around that counter and show me what in the hell you plan on doing about it! As much as you’ve pissed me off today, it would be my pleasure to whoop your ass all up and down that damned parking lot. Don’t say shit else to me or I’ll knock that mustache off your face!”

And with that, I put the phone to my ear to see what “the manager” had to say about all of this.

“Ma’am, what seems to be the problem?” the manager asked.

I proceeded to explain the particulars. I told her I was willing to pay for the items that had been cleaned, but I was not going to pay for the pants with the stain. I also explained that I wasn’t going to give them the opportunity to clean the pants again, because they couldn’t do it the same day, and I needed them that evening.

Of course, the manager agreed with me, and asked to speak back to Mustache Sally. Once Mustache Sally wrapped up her conversation with the manager, she handed my ticket to her co-worker to finalize the transaction, and then she went back into the back somewhere.

I paid for all items, less the cost of the pants, and left.

At the time of my argument, it felt almost relieving to scream indecencies at this customer-service-averse woman. I truly had a bad case of the flu, which meant body aches, congestion and all sorts of other discomforts. Puttin’ my foot up her ass seemed like an ideal stress reducer at the time.

But in reality, I can only hope there wasn’t anyone around who knew me or my family. Because I gave them enough bad attitude and bad language to embarrass my folks for decades. I am so NOT proud.

The next time, I’ll try to take the “I Have A Dream” approach and keep things more diplomatic. But that was one “bidnass in da hood” experience that caught me on the wrong day, at the wrong time.

Sorry, Mustache Sally, for threatening you and pointing out your Sasquatch-like facial flaws. But you really pissed me off that day. From now on, though, I won’t let people like you get the best of me and turn me into someone I strive not to be…a ghettofabulous diva who will drop-kick your ass at will.

Here’s to becoming a more mature ME…

I’m a Desperate Fan

2005-02-04T17:26:00.000-05:00

I’m starting to truly question my sanity these days. Of all the things I could be doing on a Sunday evening, I find myself hopelessly glued to my television set at 10pm to watch what is probably the most hyped show on the airwaves…Desperate Housewives. Oh the shame of it all…

But I have to admit that I get a kick out of watching a group of characters with more money than they need getting into so much trouble every week. There’s the chick who was dating the teenager. And then there was the husband who killed the neighbor. I loved the episode where another teenager ran over a woman by accident after she snapped a picture of her daughter-in-law doing the nasty with the teen boy. And all of America knows about the neighborhood slut whose character managed to step outside of Wisteria Lane to create controversy for the NFL.

And then there was the time when one of the husbands had a heart attack while getting his groove on with an unfriendly housewife who was doubling as a high-priced ho. I can’t wait to see the fallout from the teen boy/housewife huddle, because the teen boy’s mama found out about the affair. It would be a waste of good script writing if they didn’t blow that whole drama out of the water…especially since the offending housewife’s husband is on his way to the joint on some Martha Stewart-type shit.

To be quite honest, all the rich White drama makes our Tales from the Hood seem like child’s play… And I guess that’s why I’m a fan.

On Desperate Housewives, the drama is endless. And I’m loving every minute of it.

The Legendary Ossie Davis Has Passed Away

2005-02-04T14:26:00.000-05:00

Ossie Davis, the legend, is gone. They found him dead in his Miami hotel room this morning. He was in the middle of shooting the film, Retirement.

My heart goes out to Ruby Dee, his wife of 57 years. Together, these two have been symbols of African American creative genius for decades, and they clearly defied the Hollywood odds of successful actor/actress marriages.

Mr. Davis was perhaps one of the greatest African American actors of all time. He and his wife have always represented African Americans in a positive light…both on screen/stage and off. I will miss him, and I will pray for Ruby Dee.

Thank you, Mr. Davis, for sharing your talents with us. You have always been and outstanding example of Black manhood and Black courage. Your time in this life was well spent, and your legacy will endure forever. You were one of our heroes, and we will NEVER forget you.

Family Relations

2005-02-02T15:14:00.000-05:00

I had to venture out to Los Angeles on business last week, and got some interesting “holla” from several of the men in my hotel. The majority of the “holla” came from dudes who ain’t worth mentioning, but there was one fella in particular who’s severe lack of game qualifies him for a brief post.

During one of the conference meeting sessions, the fire alarm went off, sending my group of about 90 participants outside to brave the elements. After a couple of minutes, we realized we had a false alarm and proceeded in a mass retreat back to our meeting room. As I was heading up the stairs, I heard, “Excuse me, Miss.”

“Hi,” I said as I turned to face this okay-looking brother decked out in hip hop gear and a baseball cap turned to the back.

“I don’t have a date for dinner tonight, and I was wondering if you would consider going out with me.”

Well, damn, how’s that for bold! He doesn’t give a shit what my name is, but he’s already convinced I should be by his side at dinner. It was an intriguing proposition, but for all the wrong reasons. So, I said…

“Well, I appreciate you asking, but I’m afraid I have to decline. I’m here on business, and already have a prior engagement this evening.”

Now, he must have missed all of that, because his next response was…

“I don’t have a date for dinner tonight, and I was wondering if you would be my date.”

Okay, damn. I thought we just covered that…

“I’m sorry. I appreciate you asking me, but unfortunately, I already have plans for dinner.” Notice the slight tweak in my language. I thought maybe that would do the trick. I was already starting to get strange looks from my peers who were wondering why this guy was keeping me from our interrupted meeting.

“Well, what about tomorrow night?”

“Unfortunately, I’m leaving first thing in the morning.”

“Oh, you don’t have to leave. I can pay for your room for the weekend.”

Oh yeah…like I’m just going to change all my travel plans to have dinner with some fool I don’t even know who still hadn’t bothered to ask my name.

“Well, that’s sweet of you, but unfortunately, I have to get back home first thing tomorrow.”

But, Brotha Man wasn’t trying to hear any of that.

“But, I’m Russell Simmons brother,” he said proudly like it was some rare badge of honor.

Was that supposed to be my cue to take off my thong and toss it at him as a promise of great things to come? This was truly a first. I have never had a dude try to woo me by announcing family relations like they should make any difference at all. Was he mistaking my business suit for a chickenhead uniform? Maybe this dude had me confused with Lil’ Kim’s cousin.

“Oh really! Well, that’s nice. But like I said before, I have dinner plans tonight and will be leaving in the morning. I hope you have a wonderful time anyway. I’ve got to get back to my meeting. See ya!”

And with that, I walked away.

What a joke! Will the real men of the world please stand up and show the rest of the knuckleheads how it’s supposed to be done! Cause I’ve had more than my fair share of these tired fools!

Now that I think about it though…he did kind of look like Russell Simmons...

The First African American Female Secretary of State—What a Joke!

2005-01-20T16:57:00.000-05:00

You would think I would be proud. An African American woman is about to become Secretary of State here in this Godforsaken, racist country. I should be bursting at the seams, right? I should see this as progress for both African Americans and women, right? I should want to meet her and tell her how she inspires me…how she is a role model to young African American girls across the nation.

But to be quite honest, I wish, by some miracle, that she would just disappear from the political scene altogether and take her boyfriend, GWB, right along with her. I’d love to get her into a private room and give her the neck-rolling verbal assault of a lifetime for being African American in skin tone only, yet getting all the credit for advancing a race she clearly doesn’t love. She doesn’t deserve to be called our “first” anything, because she’s a pathetic sellout who probably couldn’t spell “African American” with a dictionary sitting in front of her. Most African American folks I know would gladly turn her over to Whitey for less than the price of tea in China. I personally wouldn’t pee on her if she was on fire and stopped to ‘drop and roll’ right in my path.

Damn…I sound evil, but I just don’t trust her. And I resent the fact that she is the “first woman” of our race in this, or any, arena.

A woman worthy of the honor of going down in history as the “first African American woman…” should never take a stand against affirmative action whether it’s a muted stance or a blatant one. As Provost of Stanford University, it is quite clear that she got that job, in large part, because of being not just a qualified applicant, but rather a qualified “black female” applicant capable of diversifying the university’s administration simply by coming to work. How does one who benefits from affirmative action all of a sudden decide not to support it in order to appease Whitey. Here’s what Miss Condoleezza had to say about continuing the diversity trend her appointment started at Stanford:

“I’m the chief academic officer now. I say in principle that I don’t believe in and in fact will not apply affirmative action (in university appointments).”

Interesting rhetoric for someone who’s gotten as far as she has thanks to affirmative action. And interesting rhetoric from someone whose own boss at Stanford, Gerhard Casper, told the New Yorker in 2002, “It would be disingenuous for me to say that the fact that she was a woman, the fact that she was black and the fact that she was young weren't in my mind."

Condoleezza and Clarence Thomas must be best buds.

She says she’s a Republican because, after growing up in the Jim Crow South, she remembers when Old South Democrats wouldn’t allow her father to register to vote, but that Republicans would. With all of her education, you’d think she’d realize that those Democratic cooks from back in the day are cut from the same cloth as the Republicans she’s in bed with today. If she had any sense at all, she wouldn’t claim either party…throughout our history, both have screwed African Americans at some point or another. In my opinion, it’s all about the lesser of the two evils. And here lately, those lesser evils claim “Democrat” as their party.

And without going into a long litany about the war in Iraq, I’ll just say that her role in all of this mess disgusts me. She has lied for this administration so many times, I’m sure she probably can’t distinguish the truth anymore.

Condoleezza, you are as sad as your hairstyle looks. You may be African American on the surface and have had your fair share of racist blows throughout your lifetime. But you clearly have lost your way now, despite all of your education and achievements.

You’ve sold your soul to the devil, Used-To-Be-Sista-Girl. And for that, there is no forgiveness. I know the Democrats are working to delay your confirmation, but I realize their efforts at this point are unfortunately useless. I’ve come to grips with the fact that you, your Presidential office-stealing boyfriend and all the rest of your cronies will be constantly lying about something, further ruining our international reputation, continuing to get our sons and daughters killed while fighting wars we don’t belong in, and spending money ya’ll don’t know how to manage for the next four years.

I hope you’re happy. Your decision to become the Republican Ho has made you a permanent part of some of the most tainted American history this country will ever see. Enjoy your worldly fame while it lasts because you will truly have to answer to the ancestors someday. And my guess is, they’ll whoop your ass for all eternity.

A Miscarriage Could Earn You a Year in Jail

2005-01-10T14:16:00.000-05:00

My new cyberfriend, Ariel, published a recent post about Virginia State Delegate John Cosgrove (R-78) and the alarmingly foul piece of legislation he is trying to pass that would force a woman to spend 12 months in jail and/or pay a $2,500 fine for having a miscarriage and failing to report it to law enforcement within 12 hours. Sound ridiculous? It’s positively infuriating if you ask me!

Here’s the language of the Bill:

When a fetal death occurs without medical attendance, it shall be the woman’s responsibility to report the death to the law-enforcement agency in the jurisdiction of which the delivery occurs within 12 hours after the delivery. A violation of this section shall be punishable as a Class 1 misdemeanor.

Only a man could come up with something so foul on this particular subject. And I’m not even trying to make a blanket statement against men in general. But surely no woman could have come up with something so bizarre. A woman would understand that there is nothing criminal about having a miscarriage. To penalize a woman for having to endure one of the most traumatic experiences of her life is a sin against basic human decency. And only someone exempt from personally suffering through such an emotionally and physically painful ordeal could actually grab a pen and write down such flagrant bullshit!

This is the kind of crap that makes me want to bitch slap somebody, and then knock out their mama for bringing them into the world for me to slap in the first place. I am truly appalled. Cosgrove sounds like he must have been some sort of test-tube baby with no umbilical cord attachment whatsoever.

I know so many women who have had to endure a miscarriage…some of them went through numerous miscarriages. And as I review their faces, I have yet to conjure a single scenario that warranted jail time.

And let’s delve a bit deeper into the Class 1 Misdemeanor in the state of Virginia. Other crimes with equal penalties include:

• A person 18 years of age or older engaging in consensual intercourse with a child 15 or older who is not a spouse, child or grandchild (more commonly known as “statutory rape”)

• Burning or destroying a building or structure if the property therein is valued at less than $200 (arson)

• A bomb threat made by someone younger than 15

• Carrying a concealed weapon while under the influence of drugs or alcohol

• Stalking

• Purchasing or providing alcohol to minors

Damn! Ain’t it a shame that Cosgrove thinks of a woman who has a miscarriage the same as someone who committed statutory rape? What in the hell has this country come to?

I don’t live in Virginia, so it’s not as if this legislation would affect me if it gets passed…at least not yet! But for all my sisters in Virginia, my suggestion is that you do everything you can to destroy this Bill.

Oh, and if you spot Delegate Cosgrove at the supermarket…kick his ass real good for all the rest of us. The next thing we know, it’ll be a crime to come on your period and not inform law enforcement about the loss of blood! Each and every discarded sanitary napkin could be considered a crime scene...

Lions and tigers and bears...oh my!

Dude...Where Were You? This Happened A Week Ago!

2005-01-03T14:02:00.000-05:00

After damn near a full week following the tsunami tragedy that killed far more than 100,000 people in parts of Asia, our “president” signed a proclamation Saturday ordering all flags to be flown at half-staff to honor those who have been lost or injured. The effort is supposed to bolster America’s so-called humanitarian image.

My question to GWB…why wait until now? I realize that certain aspects like the dollar figure of humanitarian aid require a bit of closed-door negotiation, but would it have been too much to ask for you to take your tacky behind to the podium when all this first popped off to express, at a minimum, some level of concern and regret? Aren’t you supposed to be the world leader who cares about how the rest of the world lives? Isn’t that one of the bullshit lines you’ve been trying to get both your voluntary and involuntary constituents to believe?

Are you and your people really that inept that you think this “gesture” actually means something to the rest of the world? You’ve gone way past proving you didn’t give a shit by taking your damned sweet time to even acknowledge the crisis in the first place.

That mishap on your part only represents yet another piece of evidence proving you are, in no way, capable of representing America on a world stage. You come across as very callous and outright stupid if you ask me. You certainly don’t act like a world leader…let alone MY leader!

You don’t even know how to keep up appearances. In all my years of living, I’ve never known someone in your position who acted with such blatant disregard for the courtesies that MUST be extended from the Oval Office. I’m not so naïve as to believe that you actually care about any agenda other than your own. Most politicians don’t. However, even when they don’t, they understand how to play the game well enough so that people can’t stack up a whole bunch of proof points about their disregard. Where were you when they passed out tact in school? Oh shit…I done fo-got who Iz talkin’ to. You and school probably didn’t get along much, huh?

Anyway, I refuse to waist anymore energy on you today, GWB. The bottom line is…you suck. And you always will.

I hope all you folks out there who voted in his favor are happy right about now. We would have done better electing Scooby Doo!

In Search of the Black Family We Once Knew...

2004-12-28T15:24:00.000-05:00

My cousin raised an interesting point as it relates to the demise of the Black Family and the prevalence of absentee fathers and single mothers in our community. I’d never looked at the situation from this perspective, but I have to admit that it makes sense.

My cousin points the origins of the problem to slavery. During that time, a Black man’s purpose was to work and breed babies who would then be used for labor. The responsibility of raising those children and being a husband was seldom his role or his right. My cousin suggests that this sad tradition is among the many lingering “side effects” of slavery that have become so embedded in Black culture that it is difficult to break the cycle. The end result is what we see today.

Of all the psychological analyses of the Black Family that I’ve been exposed to, this one really struck me. I never wanted to believe that so many of the men in my culture were just lazy, no-good sperm donors who squirt their goods into as many snatches as they can without so much as a thought about the number of kids that might result. But could the baby-mama/baby-daddy syndrome truly be a vicious bi-product of slavery?

It certainly makes sense when you consider that Blacks have spent more time in this country as slaves than as free men and women. There are many in my generation with great grandparents who were slaves as children. So, we can’t actually profess to be as far removed from those days as some would like to think.

And considering the fact that Black men aren’t inherently evil, lazy or irresponsible by nature, there’s got to be something we can point to as the culprit. I think my cousin may have hit the nail on the head.

Far too often these days, you hear about the fact that there are so many more Black women than there are Black men, and that us women need to learn how to “hang in there” with our men if we plan on having a mate. That’s true, but only to an extent. We shouldn’t “hang on” to shitty relationships that will never be right. Nor should we allow the excuse of “there are so many women for every man” to somehow justify shitty actions like unfaithfulness and disrespect in a relationship because we are afraid of being alone.

But where’s the point of compromise? Certainly, there is some degree of accountability on both sides of the equation…or at least there should be. But for some reason, both sides are content with pointing the finger at the other. All in all, nothing changes. And confused people just end up raising more confused children who grow into even more confused adults.

Are Black men and women slowly moving in opposite directions? Is there anything we can do about it? My cousin’s outlook only provides some background data on the potential origins of the problem. But what is the solution? I can’t figure it out, and I guess nobody else can either or I wouldn’t have anything to write about.

The conversation with my cousin caused me to do some inner soul searching about my capacity to “deal” in a relationship. My cousin suggests that men marry the woman who “hangs in there” with him. So does this mean I’m supposed to just wait on him to finish acting like a fool so we can be happy? My name is not Cookie Johnson, and I’m not interested in going through a lot of the bullshit I’ve seen some sistas go through these days.

I’m not interested in hanging onto a man who dips his thing like it’s an oreo in some milk. There was an article in this month’s Essence (the one with Vivica Fox on the cover) that said that out of all the African American men who participated in a survey, at least 40 percent of them admit to carrying on multiple sexual relationships for an average period of more than a year! They called it, "the new man sharing." Considering the fact that the husband I’ve always envisioned is a Black man, does that mean I’ve got to put up with crap like that? The statistics for White men in this survey were far less frightening. But, like I said, I’ve always envisioned a Black man as my life partner.

I guess the real question I’m trying to find an answer to is…how do we bridge the gap that seems to be growing between Black men and Black women? We used to be all each other had, and it would be nice to, once again, see ourselves as partners and not enemies.

And since there is such a prevalence of absentee fathering and single mothering, how do we, as women, raise Black men to truly be MEN? I know I don’t have the first clue about what it takes to be a Black man in this society…despite how many examples I can point to that demonstrate what a tough road they face. I can certainly surround my future son with positive male role models, but if they’re not my husband, their involvement can’t be as in-depth as it needs to be. So, how would I be able to buffer my need for nurturing with my son’s need for strength? I’m not trying to suggest that a woman can’t raise a productive man. We have too many examples that prove otherwise. I’m just saying they shouldn’t have to face such an enormous responsibility on their own.

Okay, I’m rambling now which only shows how confusing all this is to me. However, the deeper I get into my 30s and the closer I get to wanting to be married and have kids, the more I think about stuff like this. It’s starting to seem like the Black Family that I knew and loved, the one I was raised in, is as much a fairy tale as Hansel and Gretel. And it’s just sad…

Somebody help a sista out with some insight… Brothers, your comments are especially appreciated.

Some Simple Rules of Etiquette

2004-12-28T11:31:00.000-05:00

While eating breakfast on Christmas morning, I happened to come across an interesting book published by Random House in 1956 that offered a laundry list of tips on proper etiquette. It’s amazing how many rules still apply (or at least they should). Take this one, for instance…

Children should be taught early that a store, bus or office is not the place for loud noises, arguments, singing or any behavior which would bother others. The same reasoning should be used to discourage staring, particularly at handicapped people, and audible personal comments about strangers and members of other races.

Somebody should tell that one to 90 percent of the kids I see in stores today.

Here’s another one that speaks to the bling, bling culture of today…

There are strict conventions surrounding masculine jewelry, all of them based on the concept that, except for a ring, a man should wear nothing that’s not absolutely functional. It is in poor taste for men to wear diamonds of any kind, except chips or tiny rose diamonds on evening studs or cuff links. Men don’t wear rubies, emeralds or any light-colored stone. Although, for some reason, sapphires are considered properly masculine.

This one’s for Lil Kim and all the other chickenheads…

Specific rules about modesty change with the styles. However, modesty is based not on fashion, but rather on appropriateness. A woman boarding a subway in shorts during the rush hour is immodest not because the shorts are in themselves indecent, but because they are worn in the wrong place at the wrong time. A well-mannered and self-respecting woman avoids clothes or behaviors that are inappropriate or conspicuous.

Another one for the chickenheads and the chickenhead-lovers as it relates to men, women and money…

No girl worth your time is going to judge you by the amount of money you spend on her. There is really no reason not to be frank about money, and the better you know the girl, the less you have to worry about sharing with her your financial ups and downs.

For the plus-sized chickenheads with too much booty in those pants…

Unappealing as it may sound, if you are on the “heavy” side, you should stick to what is known as “vague” clothes—clothes that are not cut to reveal the figure precisely. The dress that is designed to show off a slender rib cage, emphasize a tiny waist, and hug the hips and thighs is not for you. You need clothes with a comfortable softness so that ridges pressed up by your brassiere straps or girdle do not show. You will also look better in loose clothes than in tight ones. It is a pathetic mistake for large women to try to cram themselves into clothes that are too small, under the mistaken impression that the smaller size will magically make them look slimmer. Scant clothes are not for you—not even in evening dresses or bathing suits. Avoid, too, sleeveless blouses, unless your arms are slim enough to look well bare.

And my personal favorite message to the Snoop-Nelly-50 Cent-type “gangster” rappers of the world who like to brag about the number of groupie legs they part…

A well-mannered man does not talk about his conquests. He does not, in fact, say anything about a woman which would give others a questionable opinion of her integrity or morals. Most men automatically accord this courtesy to their wives or sweethearts, but they may be less respectful about a woman whose relationship with them is more casual. Locker-room bull sessions about women are poor manners.

And there you have it...the rules of etiquette, 1950s style.

Merry Christmas!

2004-12-25T10:03:00.000-05:00

The Christmas Shout-Out List:

Saidy
JustAGirl
Angela Bowers
Beautiful Talker
GeekThug aka Rod
Jdid
Dr. D
Solitaire
Iggy
Anonymous Poet
The Marlo Girl
Fiber
The Humanity Critic
Tony Pierce
JCole
Bleek
NWJR
WIGIT
Spitting Venom
Monkey
Jason Manchild
Mister Underhill
Jerry aka JT

Thanks to all of you for dropping by and encouraging me to do this whole blog thing. Your comments and insights have been most inspirational, and I'm so glad to have met such wonderful crew of exceptional people. May you all have a blessed holiday and a wonderful New Year.

Slacker Mentality

2004-12-17T14:47:00.000-05:00

What are you supposed to do when you’re just not feeling your job anymore, can’t afford to quit, and have no exciting employment prospects to speak of. I’ll tell you what you do…you worry!

I’m really worried right now because, for the life of me, I cannot figure out how to restore my motivation for walking in this place everyday. My motivation used to be my check. And even though I can’t live without that check, it doesn’t seem to be that big of a motivator anymore.

I know…I’m complaining and there are thousands of folks who would trade places with me in a heartbeat. So forgive my immaturity today. I just can’t help it. I’ve got the five o’clock fever and it’s only 2:30p.m. That means I’ve got two and a half more hours to fill before I can go out, get in my car, go home, fry up some Nawlins beef hot sausage and fries, and enjoy my rented Collateral DVD courtesy of Netflix.

All I want to do is become a published novel writer. I actually write for a living…only it’s not sexy stuff. It’s bullshit literature for the corporate world, and there’s nothing really creative about it. I mean really…who can be excited about trying to make a metal pipe sound like something worth reading about? And by the time I get home in the evening, the last thing I want to do is write. My job is the main reason why my posts are so sporadic.

I’ve been searching Monster.com and other career resources everyday for sixth months. I’ve had dozens of interviews for jobs I didn’t really want anymore than the one I have. I’m starting to feel like, now that I’ve turned 30, I’ve somehow gotten less responsible than I was in my 20s. A decade ago, you couldn’t keep me away from this job. Now a decade later, I come down with a mysterious case of the flu every chance I get.

Am I being a spoiled, immature diva? Or am I truly at a crossroads—desperately needing direction? Where do you find such direction?

I guess the answer is to go home and write anyway, whether I feel like it or not. But when I do, I never like what I see. So far, I’ve started at least eight novels. But based on what I’ve written, I’m not inspired to finish a single one.

Anyway, I’m not trying to cloud your Friday with a bunch of whining. Especially since, in this George Bush economy, I’m one of the lucky ones. But I just don’t feel all that lucky. My own admission feels like a sin against God and all the blessings He’s given me. But I just don’t know the answer, and find my work life to be an increasingly disappointing struggle.

Gone are the days of my wanting to fight to climb the corporate ladder. These days, that’s just not important. Gone are the days of wanting to be politically correct enough to not offend the jackasses I encounter for eight hours each day. I’m just not that patient anymore.

Am I a pathetic slacker? Or am I a woman on the brink of a major turning point in life? I guess the best I can do is pray for an answer…and just keep on bringing my ass to this awful j-o-b! At least I can eat, right?

Great Advice For Getting Rid of a Blog Stalker...

2004-12-17T08:36:00.000-05:00

In response to yesterday's post, my friend, JT, had this advice:

1. Tell this guy that you are in fact a post transgender patient
2. Find similar blog of post transgender patient or procedure site,
3. Give site address to stalker (for added funny make sure site is of someone of another color)
4. When he comes and says no way that is you for obvious reasons.
5. Inform stalker that miracles of science are performed daily
6. Have men's electric razor on desk, turn it on occasionally when you know he will hear it.
7. Have stalker see you walk into men's bathroom and come back out looking confused.
8. Never utter a word about site and wink at him every chance.

My favorite is number 6, since my stalker's office is right next to mine. I could close my door, turn on the razor and really freak out his nosy ass!

Help! Stalker!

2004-12-16T11:04:00.000-05:00

I’m being stalked by one of my coworkers.

Last Friday, at the Christmas party, I must have had a bit too much joy juice. For whatever reason, I told my coworker that I write a blog. I think he brought up something I thought would make a great topic. Without thinking, the mention of my blog came falling out of my mouth, and since then, he hasn’t let a single encounter escape him without asking me for this URL.

DAMN!

Me and my big mouth! The wine wasn’t even that great! And now, I’ve got a relentless stalker who says he’s “determined to get the address one way or another.”

There’s no way I could continue working at my company if he knew the writer of this content was me. It’s not that I say things that are too controversial or discuss work issues at great length. But the things I write about are way too personal to share with coworkers. I know this blog is titled “I Ain’t Scared to Say It!” And I’m not. It’s just that I don’t want to say it to everybody. The veil of anonymity is what makes an honest woman out of me.

And to top off everything, my stalker happens to be marrying my boss’ best friend. So he has too many ties to the enemy camp to get a thorough briefing on my personal life.

All this shit is my fault though. I usually have enough sense to control my behavior and fluid mouth at office functions. But I guess this time, I was too charged about potential booty onlookers to maintain the appropriate lockjaw.

But what is most odd, is this coworker’s apparent obsession. I get emails on a daily basis, and embarrassing reminders when we pass each other in the halls. Because of his endless questioning, now others in the office know my blog exists. Considering I write half of this crap on the company server, I could become one of those unemployed casualties of the blogging phenomenon sometime soon.

My coworker and I are not very close. In fact, we’re not close at all. Why he is so interested in my business is beyond me. It’s obvious that he means me no good, since he is fully aware of my concerns yet won’t stop badgering me.

So word to the wise for all my fellow bloggers who may sometimes suffer from fluid mouth the way I do…NEVER MENTION THAT YOU WRITE A BLOG TO ANYBODY AT YOUR JOB.

Oh, and any advice for taming this stalker would be most appreciated. I’m running out of polite ways to say, “no.”

For All You Non-Believers Out There...

2004-12-13T16:33:00.000-05:00

...The Cincinnati Bengals are going to the playoffs. That's my prediction. There...I said it!

Keep Hope Alive!

On Second Thought, Don't Look at My Booty!

2004-12-13T09:29:00.000-05:00

Okay, the Christmas party was cool until the carolers showed up. A troop of five singing characters all decked out in Ebenezer Scrooge-era gear came prancing in just as we were finishing dessert. They held us hostage for 20 minutes as they sang each verse and chorus of all the Christmas songs you love to hate.

But, other than that, it was cool.

However, when I compare the events of the Christmas party with the happenings at the after set, I must say the Christmas party was a smash hit hands down. Talk about lame. I’ve never seen such a lame crowd in all my life. I went there looking for someone to give me some attention. But after seeing the prospects in that place, all I wanted to do was run to a corner with a bottle of joy juice and hide.

First off, I felt like I was the oldest person in the place. It was a party given by members of Kappa Alpha Psi Fraternity—the one known for exceptionally fine men. However, this tribe of Kappas was an entirely different matter altogether. This must have been the “we should have never crossed your ass” Kappa crew. There wasn’t a single face there that I thought I could look at on a regular basis.

So, my girl and I sat and drank some blue drink with a glow stick in it called Hypnotic. It was pretty nasty, actually, and I constantly had to keep adding Sprite to make it consumable. We smoked a couple of squares and tried to get into the music, but couldn’t take anymore after about an hour. The place had a DJ who was actually trying to mix songs together without using headphones. So all night, we listened to random beats that never matched up. So, we took our asses home with headaches and no phone numbers or potential dates.

That was it. No hooplah. No fanfare. No nothing. Just a boring Friday night.

My ex called, though. He left a message on my cell phone asking me to come pick him up from the same bar he couldn’t leave until 4:00a.m. last week. I just deleted the message and went to sleep.

I’m still in that room, Big Sis.

Anyway, the rest of the weekend didn’t get any better either. And the Bengals lost too! Damn!

Please Stare at My Booty

2004-12-10T14:45:00.000-05:00

Tonight is our office Christmas party. In most organizations, this event would be totally voluntary. However, in mine, not showing up means you could be on the unemployment line come Monday.

Why, you ask? Because the partners that run this shop are all arrogant enough to believe that their employees actually want to spend an entire day at the office on a Friday, only to run home, put on formal digs, and go spend the rest of the evening with the same mo-fos they’ve been secretly cussing out all week. Oh yeah, I’m really looking forward to it.

The only bright spot is the free drinks. Although last year, those free drinks snuck up on me, and I was throwing up about five minutes after I got back to the crib. One of the partner’s wives actually threw up at the party. At least my mishap was on the down low.

So, I’ll be going tonight. I’ll stay until dinner is over, and then I’m out the door. At that point, I’ll have to run back to my house, change clothes again and go to a real party. Unlike the Christmas party, I am looking forward to the after event.

As ya’ll already know, I am officially single again. So, I’m on the prowl for a date or two. Especially since my last man never had a dime to take me out. So, I guess I’m looking for the opposite of him.

Probably won’t find what I’m looking for though. Depending on how tipsy I am at the Christmas party, I might not even make it to the after set.

But, if I do, I promise you all I will be the finest Miss Thang in there. I’m wearing a seriously form-fitting dress that has lots of bright colors. You’ll be able to see my sexy ass from a mile away. I’ll swing my hips in the “come-hither” way I’m known for and hope for the best.

Oh God, now I sound arrogant. But I’m really just looking forward to having a pleasant evening. I want some attention tonight. Not the ass-grabbing kind, but rather the constant neck-turning kind. I just want someone to notice…

Wish me luck.

Big Sister Wisdom

2004-12-09T17:07:00.000-05:00

I'm goin' through it, ya'll. I'm not even going to try and lie. I know my man was just using me, but I'm having a hard time shaking feelings of guilt over putting him out on his ass. It's the nurturer in me, I guess.

So, I was talking to my sister about the whole drama. At the time, she just listened. But today, she sent along these words of wisdom...

hey you...
i have something that i need to tell you.
do you realize how wonderful you are? do you realize how much you have going for you? do you realize how absolutely beautiful you are? how smart you are? how spirtually grounded you are? how much fun you are? do you know that i could go on forever listing assets?

if you know like i know, then you should also know that you dont need to accept no shit. look back over the course of the relationship with dude...you have dealt with a LOT of BULLSHIT since the beginning...and it has not been that long. we both know that when it comes to a relationship, it will never be 50/50. its just the nature of the beast...women always give more.

more.

not all.

you deserve much better than that. you deserve a man that can meet you on your terms. and dont allow loneliness (the devil in disguise) to make you think otherwise. dont allow family or society to bait you into feeling that you need a man. you dont. think of it spiritually, do you really think that God intended for you to be miserable in a relationship? do you really think that it's about temporary satisfactions of the flesh (this man got it goin on in the bed, he can make me an occassional meal or two, he cleans the house every now and then) only to realize in hindsight that it was done not out of the kindness of his heart, but in order to get something for himself down the line? real men understand their place, and it is NOT to allow another woman to take care of them. ever. every man that you will meet just wont make the cut. not saying dont date them. not saying dont do yo' thang. but you dont have to try to MAKE him a perminant fixture in your life. your lifelong mate will choose you. not the other way around. we as women dont choose our husbands, they choose us. because when that man chooses you, that means that he is ready for the responsibility of loving you. trying it any other way is going against the divine purpose of God...and doing that is setting yourself up for failure and heartache. He never intends for us to suffer, ever!

ok...so off my soap-box i go. but remember that room i told you to go in? are you there? STAY YO' AZZ IN THERE! cause let me tell you this. as inherintly dumb as they are (men), they know how to be manipulative when they know that a woman, a good woman, genuinely cares for them. to manipulate someone that i know cares about me???what kind of person does that make me? would you do that to someone? then dont allow that fool to do it to you. what the hell do you have to feel guilty about? cause you wont let a grown, able body man live in your house, eat your food, use up your energy, steal your spirit and not contribute a damn thing? reading it like that makes you say, " what the hell??" OF COURSE YOU SHOULD NOT FEEL GUILTY! last time i checked, i dont have any nieces or nephews from you. so that means, you have no children. and to me that means, you dont have to take care of anyone but your damn self. which, let me be frank and say, you are NOT doing because you were allowing that fool to bring you down. i wanted to ask you when we were in Atlanta what the hell you were doing with your money. well now i know. and if you dont want your big sistah whoopin your tail, ya betta stop taking care of grown azz men!!! :-) thats not your responsibility AT ALL. and i am willing to bet that the Big Man upstairs has my back on that statement!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i love you more than life. i need for you to go look in the mirror and realize what everyone else already knows. you are the muthafreakin shit. there aint no two ways about it.

Big Sis

I truly love my sister for those words. And the room she's asking me to stay in is the "Fuck that Man" room. I've gone inside that room now...and I'm locking the door!

Crack Kills!

2004-12-09T11:52:00.000-05:00

I recently went out for drinks with an old flame from last year. We didn’t work out when we were dating because I was on one emotional playing field, and all he wanted to do was play the field.

But it seems his priorities have now changed, and he wanted to run an idea by me.

“I think I’m going to be single for life,” he said.

“Why is that?” I asked.

“I just have too much on my plate. I’ve got this promotional company going. I’m getting grants for my organization. I just bought a five-unit apartment building. And I’m thinking about going back to school to get my PhD.”

“Wow. That is a lot,” I said.

“But I think I’m ready to be a father, so I’m looking for a ‘baby-mama.’ Are you interested?”

Damn. How’s that for trifling? He’s too busy for a wife, but wants to have a child. Go figure?

I translate his message as follows:

I’m not interested in a wife. But I like the idea of having a child. The only problem is that I don’t really have time to raise one. So, I need a woman to raise the baby for me. I’ll come around and be a daddy when the feeling hits me. Other than that, I’ll just send cash from time to time.

My message to him…Lay off the pipe, ‘cause crack kills!

Ya'll Must Be Crazy!

2004-12-09T10:59:00.000-05:00

I was watching the news this morning, and heard about a couple in Florida who decided to launch a strike against their children because they wouldn’t help out around the house and acted like little jerks half the time. The parents pitched tents in the front yard, leaving their 12-year-old daughter and 17-year-old son inside to fend for themselves. They only go inside the house to use the bathroom and shower.

In all my life, I’ve never heard of anything more ridiculous than this. I mean, haven’t they ever heard of a good ass whoopin’? I’ll be damned if I’m going to pay the bills in the house, provide the food, cable and other essentials/desires, only to move out and live in the yard because I can’t keep my kids under control.

What the hell is wrong with people wanting to do all this negotiation with kids today. What happened to the days when children respected elders…when parents commanded the kind of respect that makes situations like these unheard of?

I think it’s sad, because it’s clear the parents thought the whole thing was a neat idea. They created all these picket signs and made a huge spectacle of the situation. While they did manage to embarrass their kids into at least a hint of submission, they should truly be embarrassed for showing the world what pathetic parenting skills they have.

When I was growing up, I had chores to do every single day I lived with my parents. Even during my adult years when “life” forced me to hibernate in my childhood room for a while, I still had chores to do. I just don’t get those people. Why would you leave your own house to prove a point to people living there who can’t support the operation without you?

My advice to those parents…Take your asses back in the house and commence to unloading the greatest ass whoopin’ of all time. It’s a much faster solution with more permanent results.

…And leave all that textbook parenting to all the childless people who write those dumb-ass books!

All Tapped Out...

2004-12-03T16:32:00.000-05:00

I committed a horrible act yesterday. I hauled off and slapped the shit out of my man. And while I realized at the time that my actions could have painful consequences, I was more than ready to brawl.

For those of you who read For Love or For Money and told me to leave his ass alone, I salute your wisdom and wonder why I didn’t heed your advice. The fact of the matter is that he still doesn't have a job, and I have yet to see signs that job hunting is a priority for him.

Now, it’s not like he’s home at my house all day long doing nothing. But instead of being out looking for a job, he only manages to find his way to the recording studio at his friend’s house to make an album that nobody will ever hear. I guess he thinks Puffy is just waiting in the wings for his masterpiece so that he can schedule my man on an upcoming episode of BET’s 106 & Park.

Last night, he called me from the studio at 8:00p.m. to say that he was on his way home and had a ride (my man doesn’t have a car). He asked me had I eaten yet. I told him I hadn’t. He said he hadn’t either, and was on his way.

He didn’t arrive at my crib, however, until 4:00a.m., and he smelled like a brewery! During the interim time, do you think I got so much as a phone call? I was worried sick! I had no idea what to think.

Needless to say, I couldn’t go to sleep. So, I stayed awake waiting. When he walked in the door, I came downstairs and asked, “What happened?”

“Nothing. My ride left me, and I didn’t have any way to call you.”

“So, you’re saying that in the past eight hours since you called to say you were headed this way, you couldn’t find a single phone in Cincinnati that you could use to call me?”

“I didn’t have any money.”

“Well, you do know how to call collect, don’t you?”

“What fucking difference does it make?! I’m a grown ass man! I don’t have a fucking curfew. Why the fuck do I need to tell you where I am?”

Now…let me just say for the record that this man is living in my house with no job, no cell phone, no car and no contributions to the household bills. I, on the other hand, work every single day of the week. Not because I want to, but because I have to. I do so because I want to create the kind of home environment that I want to live in. The last thing I need is some inconsiderate dude yelling at me in my house at 4:00 in the morning because he’s mad that I called him on his bullshit.

“Need I remind you that this is MY house! I pay the bills here! I’ve been up all fucking night thinking something bad might have happened to you. At the very least, you could have called so that I could go to bed in peace!”

I barely got those words out of my mouth before he started loud talking me—not letting me finish a single thought. I was already tired, and way past being pissed. So, without thinking, I used every bit of might I had to send his neck rolling in a 360 degree turn. It was wrong, and I regret that I did it. But I was truly pissed and couldn’t stop my arm from swinging.

I probably don’t have to tell you that there were many other factors that led to my anger. This situation happened to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. I just cannot take his shit anymore. And on top of that, the fact that I hit him means I truly don’t respect him. Therefore, the relationship is as dead as it could possibly be.

After the blow to his right jaw, he proceeds to continue screaming at the top of his lungs until about 5:30 a.m. I was every kind of bitch you could imagine. He was every kind of broke nigga, too. I would try to go into my room to go to bed, and he would simply walk in, turn on the lights, and start screaming again in that “and another thing…” style. It was horrible!

This morning, I woke up after managing about a half hour of sleep and got dressed for work. As I sit and type this post, I am about to fall asleep.

At lunch, I went home to check the status of my house. I had taken back his keys and hid them in my room, but I wanted to make sure he hadn’t destroyed the place while I was gone.

When I got there, I found him in the family room watching television. He came upstairs and walked past me without uttering a single word. I said, “We need to talk.” That led to more arguing. I just got fed up and told him to get the fuck out if he didn’t like what I was saying.

Further discussion revealed that last night, he found out his ride left him by about 9:00p.m. Instead of calling me then, he just stayed “at the studio.” Then, he says he walked several blocks to a bar he frequents to try and find a ride. When he got to the bar, he found out they were having “Poetry Night,” and decided he wanted his chance at the mike. So, he waited in the bar and threw back a couple of beers. He said he didn’t call because he didn’t think it was a big deal.

Notice how his story shifted from, “I didn’t have any way to call you” to “I didn’t call you because I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

Maybe under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t be. But the fact of the matter is…he cannot treat my house like the Motel 6! He’s not helping me with bills. He’s not paying for the lights he left on yesterday. He wouldn’t be able to replace my furniture had he burned down the house because he left the coffee pot on all day. Hell, he damn near left lights on in every room!

He’s not putting gas in my car the umpteen million times he’s been allowed to use it to go find the job he can never locate. I realized yesterday that I am just being used. Funny thing is…he wants me to feel guilty about it.

Instead of truly apologizing for what he did, he proceeded to say that I was an evil bitch for putting him on the street knowing he didn’t have anyplace to go. He even called his mama, and from the sounds of his responses to her, she thinks I’m right, too. So, all she got was a quick dial tone from her youngest son (and in the middle of the night, no less).

The lunch hour ended with me dropping him with all of his belongings at the studio. After slamming my car doors and trunk, he spits on my car and calls me more bitches than I’ve ever been called in life.

Well, you know what? I’ll be those bitches. Each and every one of them. I have more than done enough to show this fool how much I care. And he has more than done enough to show me he truly doesn’t. I’m a convenience for him. And at 32 years of age, that makes me feel sick to my stomach that I would even allow someone into my home who has no regard for my feelings.

I am constantly reminded of his situation. I am constantly told that I don't give a fuck about the shit he’s going through. But, he is 30 years old. It is not my fault or my burden that he cannot get his life together. Why should I put my life on hold to wait for a man who hasn't grown up yet?

How does he expect to act all like the “high and mighty man of the house” when he constantly invades its peace with his antics? He even said to me, “You ain’t my wife or my mother!” And he’s right. I am neither. And that speaks volumes as to why he doesn’t need to lay his jobless, inconsiderate ass up in my house.

So, it’s over…finally and for good. It is painfully clear that I can never have a future with him because he has not yet grown into a man. I can’t even introduce him to my family, because he’s afraid they will think negatively of him because of his situation. He acts like I’m out telling everybody I know that I’m dating a man who hasn’t worked since the day I met him. And last week, my sister was in town from the West Coast, and she and her boyfriend came over to watch the Bengals/Browns game. He stayed upstairs the entire time—making me a third wheel at my own Sunday afternoon football set. He won’t agree to meet any of my friends.

I’ve had enough. I just don’t have the patience to see this one through. I’m not even sure where I would begin. And I realize his problems are not mine to solve. Maybe one day, I’ll stop picking up all these stray cats. Cause Lord knows, I cannot afford them. Not financially…not mentally…and not emotionally.

I’m all tapped out…

One last thought. If he didn't have any money to call me from a pay phone, who bought him the beer?...