Is it that big of a deal?

Does this need a caption?

All three of us were holding our breaths.  They didn’t know how important and monumental it was.  My daughter covered her eyes, shook her head, and said, “He’s not gonna make it.  He’s not gonna make it.”  This has been a season rife with kicker screw-ups.  I’d already willed that last minute interception.  How could I ask for more?

Secret Service is going to have to carry that child out of the ‘Dome.  We’ve waited so long for this. The guys have worked too hard to lose it this way.

Growing up, being a Saints fan meant having an intimate relationship with red faced frustration.  We were frustrated because we had a good defense, with an offense that wasn’t worth snot.  We had a good offense, with a defense that would all but lay down on the field.  The coaches were either too conservative or too sloppy.  Our oldest fight song only spoke of going to the playoffs, because we dare not dream of the big dance.  The Saints just weren’t that type of team.

And what’s all this “we?”  You don’t play football.

And that proves that you don’t know what it means to be a true New Orleanians.  And yes, if you do not love the Saints, you are not a true New Orleanian, as they are entwined in everything that it means to be a part of this city.  You know what’s going on in every bar in the city on a Sunday.  You know that you probably shouldn’t bother your dad or your uncles on Sunday because they’re cussing Phillips and Mora and Ditka (remember that disaster). Our franchise started in 1967.  We didn’t have a winning season until our franchise’s 21st year.  A playoff win didn’t come to us until 2000.

As New Orleanians, we know what it means to be disappointed.  We’ve been through the worst nature has had to offer.  And when that horrible tragedy took place, our team came through for us.  We showed up and showed out.  As Saints before them had done, they wrapped themselves in the fabric of this city.  The 2006 season was dedicated to us.  Even though they didn’t win, we were proud of them, because we know that they value us as much as we value them.  They are a part of the heartbeat of our city.

So it took me a moment to scream as I watched one of the most perfectly kicked field goals crown us the NFC Champs.  And when I started screaming, I couldn’t stop.  Because this was over 40 years in the making.  It was my entire life.  It made me a little misty thinking of my father, a life long fan, being emotional because he witnessed history.  In actuality, it wasn’t just me that willed that interception.  It was all of us.  The fans.  The Saints’ 12 man.

And so, WE’RE going to the Super Bowl.  And we’re gonna win.  BIG.  I don’t care who we’re playing.  Until the scoreboard says otherwise, we are the champs.  You’ll be hard pressed to find a Saints fan that doesn’t believe this.  So, is a football game that big of a deal?  Hell yeah.

We don’t care who that other quarterback’s daddy is.

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Let’s NOT talk about sex

Because…well, just because.  (But since I’m apparently a secret hornball, there at least needed to be a reference to it.)

What do you want?  When you wake up each morning and go about your business of carving out the latest installment of your life, what do you want to look back and see?  Are your actions proof of a genuine interest in the furtherance of your goals and dreams?

I often find myself saying I want x or y, yet when I look back at my actions of the day, I’ve only done b or c.  Where they do that at? Admittedly, I have done better with my finances – not great, but BETTER.  I still have more than half of the money that I allowed myself for this pay period. Score one for the cute, chubby dynamo.  Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for my battle of the bulge.  I’m STILL not speaking to pie.  But the stray brownie or cookie still finds it’s way to my soup coolers.  Granted, it doesn’t happen as often, but it does happen more than it should, so I’m planning to get that in control.

In my opinion, it boils down to being armed with at least a sketched out plan to achieve your goal.  I am a woman lacking a plan.  Even a skeletal one. I am a woman lacking w workable realistic plan.  Even a skeletal one.  (Yeah.  That’s better.)

My writing has been less focused as of late as well.  Though I am happy that through it all, I have continued writing, there still is a certain polish that is necessary.  My goal is to buckle down and go back to school, so that I can hone my craft just a little more.

There are a lot of things that I want – and plan – to address via this blog.  Additionally, if my padnah ever gets off his bootay, we’ll get Naked Admonition up and running again.  I may have to NOT wait on The Dialectic, and just get it in myself.  Yes.  I am shaming him into action.  (J/K.  He’s a good guy with a lot on his shoulders.  Unfortunately for him, I’m a part time ball buster, so…yeah…)

Love ya Smoochies!

Ten for ’10

I’m not pro or anti resolution.  I actually like the idea of adopting new habits for the new year and seeing how far I can run with them.  Being so busy, sometimes I don’t figure out my resolutions until after the new year begins.  I’m not sure that the following post falls under the domain of resolutions, or “new shit Imma try and see how that turns out for me, but since ten is a nice round number, I figured I’d go with it.

1.  Laying off sugar.  The only thing I hate more than looking fat is looking old.  Sugar affects both weight and age, so I figured, two birds, one stone.  I’m not giving it up, just easing off.  This means cutting out sweets, since I also don’t rock with artificial sweeteners too tough.    (Though that Coke Zero was acceptable when I needed a fix today.)  This is sort of on the “must accomplish” list.  Both of my chins would greatly appreciate it.

2.  Budget.  I’m the worst.  When I see something, I have to do that. Like yesterday.  Until Darren Sharper needs to get his delicious ass mind right, I’m the sole breadwinner, which leaves me with absolutely no margin for error when it comes to finances.  I have to get a plan and stick to it.

3. Giving up Dat Bullshit.  There are a whole lot of people on it, in vastly different ways.  I’m really not interested in it.  If you think this may apply to you, before you speak to me, email me, send me a message by carrier pigeon, facsimile transmission, or Morse Code, ask yourself, “Is this some ole bullshit?”  If you have to think twice, it probably is.  Keep it to yourself.

4.  Drink more tea.  It has antioxidants.  Antioxidants are hella sexy.  I yearn to be hella sexy.  This basically sells itself.

5.  Find Sexy Supportive Bras that Fit Perfectly.  Being big, beautiful, and bodacious about the boob area makes it difficult to find something cute and functional.  There’s that Jill Scott joint that people tried to convince me was a good idea, but no body contraption that does not require a prescription should have eight hooks.  I want something normal, that fits, does not bruise me, and does not cut into my shoulders.  That’s not too much to ask.

7.  Figure out if this foot situation is the beginning of a bunion.  My toe hasn’t been right since my birthday, and I’m trying to determine if this bump on the side of it is something insidious.  I want to start wearin mah sexy shoes again.

8.  Saying no to West Indian men.  Fine ass Jamaican at Gallery Place, yes, this includes you.  He was looking like all kind of business that I wanted to make some seriously questionable decisions with, and I wasn’t having it.  I faked to the left and dashed to the other end of the platform.  I have succumbed to the charm and ultimate frustration one time too many.  Not sure I’m quitting yall forever, but we off dat for 2010.  If you are of West Indian descent, and are wondering, “Damn, is it ME who has her thinking that way?”  Prolly.

9.  Date.  I don’t mean search for a relationship.  I don’t mean hook up.  Before the internet, there was this thing called dating, and people would go to dinner, a place of interest to incite discussion and a meeting of minds, and possibly, if the fates smiled upon the two of you, repeat that activity at a later date.  I’m not pressed for a relationship.  It’s been long enough that I’m not exactly pressed for sex (not EXACTLY *snicker*).  But I would like to hang out with interesting menfolk that can offer me more than a hard dick and bubble gum.

10.  Write Write Write!  I did ATTEMPT to get published in 2009; it just didn’t happen.  I am continuing this for 2010.  Of course, until then, self publishing via this delightful medium will have to do.  I love my readers, and I love reading things you have written.  I’m thankful for you.  I have plans to make this place more interactive.  Also, be on the lookout for more contributions to Naked Admonition. The Dialectic/Conflict Theorist are working to make the new spot a sounding board for the sexes, and help us understand one another just a little better.

A new decade people.  LET’S GET IT!

“Have you ever tried sleeping with a broken heart…”

“…Well you could try sleeping in my bed.”
– Alicia Keys

This past year, I have seen not only the least sex, but the least generalized physical contact that I have ever seen in…sheesh, ever.  I can’t say that I regret it.  I reiterated a sentiment that I have stated on several occasions on this blog, to my homegirl, The Capricorn.  I don’t even have a guy that gives me the warm flutteries inside of my stomach.  When I go out, there’s no “him” that I think about bumping into.  There’s no mysterious stranger on the train that makes me wonder if he’s going my way.  It’s a little bit of a bummer, but in retrospect, I needed to bounce back from affairs of the heart.

I think that if I had the capacity to detach myself from reality, I could be in, at the very least, a dating situation.  Yet, nah.  There’s that point in time where you’re just so done with heartbreak, heartache, and all that other stuff that comes with baring your soul to another, you just want to rest.  Truthfully, whenever one of the dudes that I would have once at least considers contenders makes contact for any reason, my knee jerk reaction is typically, “He must have NOTHING better to do.”  It’s not because I don’t feel worthy.  It’s not because they may not have at least surface interest in me.  It’s becasue at the end, I’m going to want something, and somewhere in this fucked up world we exist in, it’s become against the law for a woman to want anything from a man.

The vast majority of guys have bought into this idea of being a commodity, and as such, the women whom the deign to bestow any interest upon should do little more than offer acts of silent gratitude.  Now, my view on men (and in particular, black men) referring to themselves as commodities is a blog post in and of itself.  Cliff’s Notes view: Nothing conveys a lack of value in other people, and by extension, oneself, than this line of thinking. Stay tuned for my extrapolation later in the week.

The unfortunate coincidence is that so many women have nurtured this idea.  We excuse bad behavior because somewhere our guy exhibits pockets of goodness.  We ignore antisocial behavior and borderline megalomania, because we’ve convinced ourselves that it won’t get much better.  Newsflash:  When men discover that something stops them from getting laid, they stop doing that thing.  Period.  So logic would dictate that men wouldn’t do half the things they do if women didn’t enable them.  And yet, that’s easier said than done.

By now, we’ve all heard of that ridiculous Nightline report where a bunch of lace-front wearers from Atlanta were lamenting their issues with dating.  There was a part of me that was infuriated with that report.  I’m very leery when white media “champions” the struggle of black women; particularly since this primarily takes place when pitting us against black men.  First, I don’t see it as coincidence that now that there is a successful black man running the free world who is married to a successful and intelligent black woman,there is this sudden media frenzy toward “black men ain’t shit and they’re running to white women.”  If anyone cares, let me repeat: The leader of the free world is married to a black woman. The ethnic jumpoff preference of a golfer who will not do one thing about my health care is IRRELEVANT.  Additionally, the statistics were grossly misrepresented.  I received a heated email regarding how we should rally against ABC, and Nightline, and let them know that we would not stand by and allow our brothers be misrepresented in this way.  And I DID.  Because I love my brothers.  I see crimson when things like that take place.  I am sad when sisters allow themselves to be pawns in this media game.  Additionally, many of the men who I spoke to found the women interviewed to be somewhat snobby, with a sense of entitlement, and generally distasteful.  Personally, I found myself turned off by the way they presented.   So, on its face, this report has no merit.  And yet…

You have to look past the messenger, because some of those points were quite valid.  I have male friends and acquaintances who will proudly say there is no need for them to settle down, because there are too many women to choose from.  I know tons of dudes that either have, or have had “back-pocket girls”; that girl that is waiting in the wings until the last wild oat has been sown.  The fact that women are actually having the nerve to speak out about it, doesn’t set well with the men folk.  Rather than addressing the possibility of having fucked up, it’s much easier to dismiss these women as bitches.  Particularly when there are so many that are far less demanding.

And yet, I’m not in that number.  Which I guess accounts for why I don’t laid.  Because my goodies ain’t no knick knacks.  And though there are certain ideals that might be up for compromise, there are certain principles that are NOT.

Be honest in your intention.  I’ve already been married.  I’ve already had two kids.  Don’t piss on me and tell me it’s rain.  If you just want to date and see where things go, say that.  If you’re just looking for a hook up, say that.  If you’re looking for something meaningful, say THAT.  But what you will NOT do, is waste my time weaving these fairy tales just because you want to see my eyes light up.  You want to play hero? Work for Marvel.  You want to be with me? Be real.  You might be surprised of what it yields.

I’m not putting it all on men, because the history of this blog will highlight that I believe men AND women need to get it together.  But I’m not going to pretend that I don’t have legitimate issues with being a single girl.

And until that dude that gives me the flutters manages to materialize…

“Tonight, I’m gonna find a way to make it without you…”