I love him cuz he cleans his home

So, Neyo n’nem have that catchy little song about how they want their woman to be independent and such.  She has her own thing, her own money, her blah blah blah.  Here’s my question to that:  Muthafucka, is your tub clean?  How often do you clean your refrigerator?  Is there FOOD in your refrigerator?  Real talk.

I know a lot of guys that speak this independent jargon, and their apartment looks like Beirut.  Okay, I’m making my own money, can you hook up an edible gumbo?  Do you refrain from wearing the same pair of socks two days in a row? Do you wash your baseboards?

Check it fam, I’ve got this independent thing down, and as an independent woman, I am not trying to be your mama.  I want YOU to be up on the good fabric softener and know how to make gravy from scratch.  Yeah…that’s right.  There are a whole lot of yall still going to mama for your laundry.  Hell, a lot of yall are still going to mama for your laundry because YOU LIVE THERE.  I just want the playing field to be leveled.  It’s no problem for me to have my own thing.  Do you have a complete set of pots?

Okay…these are just jokes.  It’s not the 50s, and women are making their own money.  But still…what you got on my jambalaya homie?


Say what now?

This morning, I checked my Yahoo mail account (I usually just check this once or twice a week).  The home page has a bunch of little articles (I’m sure you’re familiar, but I’m just feeling chatty), and the one that caught my eye was “4 Questions to Never Ask Your Guy”.  It goes without saying that I had a field day with what those four questions could be, but I wanted to see how things play out in date land.  My first thought was, “Who are these women that ask these questions?!”  Then I thought, “This is in desperate need of my commentary!”  So, here goes:

1. “Am I better-looking/smarter/etc. than your ex?”

Who gives a steaming pile of caca?  You are clearly SOMEHOW different from his ex, otherwise, you would be his ex too.  Unless, of course, his ex held a propensity for asking stupid ass questions, NOW you’re going to be his ex too.  There are certain things about a man’s past that are crucial to know.  “Are you wanted by the law?”  “Have you been tested for ‘the bonus’?”  “How many times have you been married?”  Shit like that is crucial because these things can feasibly affect your feature together.  But you’ve got issues if you think he cares that the woman who set his shit on fire had bigger boobs than you.  And if you ask a dude that THIS CHICK used to rock with, if I was smarter than you, then the answer is yes, because I’m smart enough to know that inane shit like that doesn’t matter.

2. “Do you love me?”

What?  Okay, different people have different views about dropping the “L” word.  Some people feel the guy should say it first.  Some believe you should say it when you feel it, blah blah blah.  I won’t get into all that.  But I will tell you how a LOT of dudes let you know that they love you:  they SAY it.  If a guy hasn’t said it, it means that either he’s not sure, or he doesn’t feel it enough to take it there.  Bottom line, dude isn’t ready.  Do you like being backed into a corner for shit you ain’t ready for?  Didn’t think so.

3. “Can you lend me some money?”

Again, who are these people?  They spoke of substantial shit like down payments on cars and shit like that.  (if you can’t afford the down payment, how are you going to pay the note?  Moreso, how are you going to pay the note AND repay your loan?)  I’m not saying that The Kid has never received money from a dude.  However, I WORK, and I take great pride in not being the “handout ho.”  Get it together.  If your shit is so shaky that you can’t pay your own rent, then you need to take that time you’re spending dating and get a second gig.

4. “Are you cheating on me?”

My damie, my damie.  More times than not, people (read:  women) ask this question because there are other issues in the relationship.  I’ve never quite understood the need to assault the extraneous issues, and ignore the thing that’s right there.  If your issue with your man is that you’re not spending enough time, or he’s always working late or whatever, deal with THAT. Maybe he’s at work because he has to raise the money for your stupid down payment on your car?  Or maybe, he just doesn’t think like that.  Yes, lots of dudes cheat, but not ALL dudes.  When that’s the first place you go every time things don’t go right, you’ve probably got some healing to do before you embark upon another relationship.

Now, you may ask yourself, “Why listen to this chick who can’t get a relationsihp to last longer than that show ‘Cop Rock’?”  To you I can only say, don’t listen then.  But keep in mind, I kind of happened to deal with the experts, so you could lend credence to that.  Also, if you subscribe to the theory that even a broken clock is right twice a day, then you should at least give credence to two of my opinions.

Healing…Oh Yeah…THAT kind

“If he’s got a scar, then he’s got a [Melanie], and if he’s missing a tooth, I’m missing mah pants!”

– Robin Scherbatsky “How I Met Your Mother”

For a celibate chick, I am REALLY preoccupied with getting boned.

So here’s the strange thing.  A couple of nights ago, I had a dream, and I was getting my buck naked swerve on.  My SWERVE.  BUCK NEKKIT!  I was pulling out the 2010 tricks, fam!  Then, all of a sudden, Artemis pops up, and says, “You know, she’s probably going to need a glass of water.”  Since that wasn’t enough, the other party to my buck nakedness is one of my homeboys.  A homeboy where I KNOW we ain’t rocking like that.  A while back, I had an issue of trying to pollinate my own flower, shall we say, to no avail.  It just wasn’t happening.  And that was bad.  This dream, was SO SO much worse.  In the dream, every time I would get close to the magic moment, she would pass by, rub my foot and say, “You’re okay, right?”  Then, I would look down at the end of the bed (don’t ask) and say, “This REALLY shouldn’t be happening.”  What fuckery is this?!  So now, I can’t even bust a subconscious nut?  Nice.

I had three dreams that I can remember this week, and each was overtly and explicitly sexual.  Does it make me want to abandon this notion of celibacy?  FUCK and NO!  Do I miss sex?  Certainly.  But it’s been long enough that I’m not really “thinking” about not having sex.  I’m just not having sex.  I’m also faced with the dilemma of having virtually no desire to have sex with any man I know.  I mean, really, there’s not one person, near or far, that has me thinking, “Hmmm, I wonder what HE’S doing?”  It’s no slight to all the dudes I’ve loved before.  I’m just at a stage where I realize there’s a reason that your past is your past, and the reasoning may not be for you to understand at that time, dig?

Part of my issue is, uh, where the oppressed looking brothers at?  Where are the brothers that know how to change their own oil?  Can a sister get a deviated septum up in this bitch?  I really don’t like guys with pretty faces.  I get fidgety when a guy tells me that he spent an hour waiting for Pop-A-Lock?  Can my B&E brothers get at me!?  I’m not talking about thugs.  I’m just talking about men who know how to do manly things. I’m not exactly saying that not knowing how to do these things will make you ineligible.  I’m just saying that if I see a decent looking brother pushing his own car out of traffic into a nearby parking lot, then getting under the hood, tinkering, and driving off, I’ll probably throw my drawz at him.  That’s all.

I’m pretty sure I’m not a thirsty broad, and with all the male friends I have out there, I know that ONE of you so-and-sos better tell me if I AM running around like a thirsty bitch.  But, as my esteemed brother in blog has said,nobody WANTS to be by themselves.  It’s usually something born of experience or necessity.  It’s real talk.  I mean, I can type with my eyes closed.  However, that doesn’t mean that shit is what’s hot in the streets.

Truth of the matter is, it be what it be.  I’m not fucking, but my subconscious definitely is.  So that, and yoga, is gonna be the way things are for a while.

* I know that you want to believe that thoughts of this nature make me some sort of aberrant freak, but women think this way.  Mousy chick next to you at the cafe.  Yeah.  Her too.  Oh yeah, and your mom.

Peeking In

Hiya lambs,

Aside from handing out sex ed lessons, I’ve been writing up a storm.  That means my blogging with probably decrease quite a bit.  I can’t tell you how excited I am about how it’s turning out.  It’s so rewarding to channel all of your emotion and passion and use it to create.

Having a positive outlet is a wonderful feeling.  I would write more, but I am literally falling asleep as I type this.  Stay tuned though, because I have a few thoughts that I need to get out here, and I think you’ll enjoy them.


just b

Youth, wonderful youth

The universe found it fitting to entrust me with living things.  Namely, my children.  The thing about children is that they’re always learning stuff, and they always have questions about stuff.  Periodically, they hit me with some stuff that I’m just not ready for.  “Why do people smoke crack?”  “What are pubes?”  “What does masturbate mean?”  These are all questions that I’ve had to field, seemingly out the blue.

I must say, my skills are pretty sharp, and any question they’re big enough to ask, I’m big enough to answer.  This comes from me being six, asking my pops where babies come from, he runs down the whole “Well, the dad has the sperm and the mom has the egg” jazz.  Yeah, I get all that, but I’m also knowing that we’re talking about two separate individuals, so how does YOUR shit get to HER shit?  He never answered me.  I finally got pissed and gave the six year old equivalent of “This is some bullshit!”  (Had this taken place when I was seven, I quite probably would have said “This is some bullshit!” as by then, I was a fluent cusser.)  My folks were dropping kids like first period calculus.  I needed to know what the hell was going on.

So, as I said, I like to answer my kids’ questions.  I do it in a manner appropriate for their age, and I try to keep it as simple as possible.  Despite this, I found myself unprepared for Monday night’s shenanigans.

The kids and I are watching wrestling.  Of course, it’s all contrived, so they’ve got the excessive drama for show.  A guy’s arm is pinned behind his head, but he had an obviously free hand, which annoyed my son.  Greatly.  His annoyance was so great, in fact, that he shouted out, “USE YOUR FREE HAND DILDO!”

Melanie = dead.

Now, he had obviously learned this new word, that he thought was REALLY cool.  The look on his face told me that every moment of his life had been lived so that he could experience this!  This greatness.  The utterance of “dildo.”

I look at my kid (thankfully, his sister was not around) with the strength of the ancestors keeping me from totally losing my shit and laughing all over the room, and I calmly ask, “Dude…where did you hear that word?”

“At school.”

“Wha?  At WHAT?”

“Yeah.  Everybody says it.”  (Really?  Everybody says it?  Everybody?  “Class, I’m returning your spelling test.  Study harder next time dildoes?”)  “You know, it’s like when someone is being dumb.”

“Dude.  No.  That’s not what it is.  And, it’s actually not an appropriate word for you to be throwing around?”

“Okay.  But why?”

“Well.” *long pause*  “It’s an adult thing.”

“What?  Mom, you’re confusing me.  What is a dildo.”

YES ladies and gentlemen!  This is the moment EVERY mother waits for.  To have to explain to her kid the delightful world of adult toys and, uh, marital aids.

This one is a doozy?  I don’t even know where to start.  “Well son, when a woman and a woman really care about one another…”  Yeah.  No.  So, I try to give him warning that I’m gonna drop something heavy on him.

“Well, I mean, I can tell you, but are you SURE you want to know.”

“Yes.”  I guess if someone did all that hemming and hawing, I would have to know too.  But then it dawned on me, “Stupid, you don’t have to give him a tutorial on how to use it.  Stop being a punk and tell him what it is.”

“Okay.  Yeah.  It’s, um, a fake penis.”

And the look on my kid’s face as he tried to figure out why in the fuck someone would want a fake penis.  Well, that just made the 15 hours of labor followed by a C-section ALL worthwhile.

Can we try that again in the Key of ‘G’? Oh, and maybe without you being such a bitch?


Today whilst lounging at Cliff’s Crib, he discussed how ugly the commenters can become, particularly in matters of race and politics. He remarked at how easily anonymous individuals showcase rudeness and hate. In my comment, I mentioned that it’s not only hot button issues that bring out the snarkiness in individuals.  People do it for no reason whatsoever.  I mentioned in the comment that it could be a debate about Doritos:  “Cool Ranch is the best flavor!  Eat a dick!  I’ll kill you muthafucka!!!”  How the hell did we get here.

So I went about my business, post-comment, and someone sent me a write up about whether or not there would be a sequel to “The Dark Knight.”  Just to satiate my curiosity (because I purposely avoid comment sections generally) and sure enough, the beginnings of snark and moderate douchery.

Commenter 1:

McDohl: Ya, I seen that Nolan interview. I think its wise for him to take a step back and figure out how to make the third one good, instead of throwing something out there in hopes of capitalizing on the 2nd one….
December 9, 12:01 PM

Commenter 2:

Lydia: @ McDohl: you didn’t “seen” anything. You SAW the interview. Good lord.
December 9, 12:46 PM

Now, I’m a bit of a stickler for grammar and diction.  It chafes my hide when I see people type, “Your so crazy,” or “it’s over their.”  The misspelling “definate” has been known to send me into an emotional tizzy, and I can’t stomach the use of the word “irregardless.”  However, shit happens!  There have been plenty of times where I’ve blogged or commented and started with one thought, gotten distracted, then ended with my subject and verb not merely disagreeing, but coming to hellacious blows.  Certainly we SHOULD always proofread, but it doesn’t always happen.

Now, part of the reason you love me is for my honesty.  I HAVE been that person that would not hesitate to cut a person down for even the most minor grammatical infraction.  And that person was a MISERABLE BITCH.  And one day, I realized the world would not collapse if some person I had never met (and would probably never meet) said “I is.”  I would not be one whit happier for making someone feel small for using the term “irregardless.”

When you feel empowered by making others feel uncomfortableand small, it’s important that you reexamine what’s going on in your life.  I know that I reexamine what’s goin on in my life when my first reaction is to go to the bad place.  I love my biting sarcasm, but when it comes through once too often, I have no qualms with checking myself.

Just food for thought.