Not the Anomaly

Blogging and tweeting are done for various reasons; at the core of those reasons, is the individual’s hearts desire.  Whether it’s health, wealth, an end to bipartisanship, or just good old fashioned notoriety, you can get a little bit of everything in the blogosphere.  Therefore, I’m hesitant to publicly criticize what individuals choose to express.  Yes, quite often, I read things that make me cringe, or say, “This so-and-so must be missing hugs and attention today,” and things of that nature; but free speech rules the day, man.  I can either log off, unfriend or unfollow.  Frankly, there’s a whole rack of people who have fallen victim to my Facebook “hide” button.

My biggest issue, as of late, is the misconception that black women are standing on the side of the road with “Will Make Sandwiches for Love and/or Penis” signs.  This phenomenon has brought “gurus” out of the wood work.  Not only celebrities with a trail of failed marriages, and their folksy down home shenanigans, but “everyday unmarried girls” who are in the trenches and all too ready to weave their tales of battle.  I’m basically tired of all of them for two reasons.  Not only do they create this inflated list of requirements/accomplishments/instructions, but they seldom adhere to their own bullshit…because it’s bullshit.  You’ve got:

The Angry, Manless Trenches

The trenches where, a man had-better-be-coming-100%-correct-because-I-work-too-hard-for-all-the-sh*t-I-got-for-some-m********a-to-come-in-and-ruin-my-good-credit-and-piss-on-my-toilet-seat-to-just-to-say-I-got-some-less-than-stellar-dick. Of course, this chick made all the wrong decisions in her youth, so has now gone to the other extreme.  In some cases, she’s secretly (or not so secretly) hoping for a white man to Calgon her life.  She creates this obscenely detailed list of must-haves for potential suitors, and you can almost see her mentally checking off whether or not homie fits the bill when she does go on dates.

The Farce

She doesn’t do that stuff man.  Not where it counts.  Sure, she has her moments of you go girl empowerment where some cats are easily dismissed for not fitting the bill.  But I can assure you, these dudes are invariably lacking something that is material or tangible.  He fits the bill but his clothes are only so-so and he has an old car.  Or he’s unattractive and maybe spits when he talks.  The moment she meets a dude that can spit some slick stuff at her, and is throwing down in the bedroom (because that three month rule is just some stuff she saves for her blog) she’s sold.  She’s move him into her mama’s crib if necessary.

The Sex Kitten Trenches

A.K.A. the “How to Please Your Man By Some Lady” (c. Dave Chappelle) Diaries.  This is the chick that will detail how she has fucked and sucked her way into the hearts of men by knowing how to please.  What dating drought?  Her chest of drawers are filled with lingerie and condoms.  Her fridge is stocked with beer and an impressive selection of post coitus deli meat.  The idea of any man having dry balls –anytime, ever – is cause for her to go on an earth shattering tirade.  Mother Nature coming to call doesn’t stop the party.  She’s more than willing to advertise her fellatio skills, and she’s got at LEAST one thirsty commenter per post asking “Why aren’t all women like you?!” Samantha Jones would have to have a B-12 drip and three daily ginseng injections to keep up with this chick.

The Farce

Remember Lili von Schtupp?*

Women are not men.  Period.  We have different motivations, and different makeups.  This is not to say that women do not have healthy sexual appetites and automatically devolve into sexless librarians.  However, being the Non Stop Cooch Shop runs will run you down, no matter who you are.  Kim Catrall was just a pretend skank (I know nothing of her every day life), and she looks rode hard and put up wet.  Additionally, even in the cases where this type of behavior yields a relationship, it’s often tenuous and drama filled.

The Bunned Up And Still Pissed Trenches

THIS bitch. She was every woman, then she met a guy who was spitting her type of hype and she dug it.  There’s nothing wrong with that.  But these men are still out of pocket, and she has to be down for the cause.  Her boyfriend is annoying, and she constantly reps on how she had to train-him-so-that-he-could-be-prepared-spiritually-mentally-physically-financially-emotionally-makeupwordially-for-a-strong-black-sister-because-I-don’t-play-that-shit. Her profile pic will either be: Alone and strong sisterish; visibly annoyed with him while he’s doing something stupid in the background.

The Farce

Her desire to not appear like a hypocrite, or at a minimum admit that her past views were somewhat unbalanced, has outweighed her desire for a healthy relationship.  She’s either lying, or has spent so much time railing against men, even if she has a good one, she’s not quite sure what to do with him, so she’s driving homie away.  Ultimately, she’s getting in her own way, unless she has a real sucker dude.

The Real

Those women are all caricatures of some adopted standard of womanhood.  They’re only offering what they want the public to believe.  It makes for good readership.  In truth, women want healthy relationships.  Even the “I’m-at-the-point-where-I-don’t-need-a-man-thank-you-Jesus” set is only rejecting the drama that seems to be part and parcel with the current state of relationships.  And there’s nothing wrong with saying that.  Most normal women, when you really get to the core of things, will admit that the “crisis” faced by black women in the dating world is overblown.

I know of several women in loving relationships with partners to whom a government wedding is just an unnecessary hoop to them.  I know happy black lesbians who, due to politics, can not legally marry.  I know personally eight black women who have gotten married within the last year.  I, though currently single, was married once before, so I don’t even fit in the “black woman never married” mold.

There are tons of us out here, so let’s do something crazy.  Let’s admit that as a whole, we’ve never been objectively represented in the media.  Acquiesce to the fact that there is more likely than not, an ulterior motive behind a sudden concern with black womanhood.  Free yourself to define your own existence by who you meet and what you do and abandon the statistical mind fuck.

Yeah.  That would be cool.

*You’re welcome.


One of the biggest challenges in all of humanity is the act of being humble.  I believe that we were created in a spectacular manner, making us capable of great things.  With these capabilities, however, I believe comes the obligation to recognize that we aren’t always “at the wheel.”  This very evening, I found myself in the midst of a situation that is totally beyond my pay grade, as it were.  Instead of relaxing and realizing this was one of those situations where I was not necessarily in control and falling back a bit, I lost control.

The problem with me losing my cool, is that I’m a yeller.  All I know how to do is get loud and cuss you out.  And that’s what the individual on the business end of my rage got, which wasn’t exactly cool.  Now, that being said, this situation came about with him not exactly being in touch with his own  humility, but I can not control others; only myself.  Therefore, I just have to pray to do better going forward.  Few things are uglier than baby mama/daddy drama, so I won’t go into detail.  I will say that I have faith things will work out for the best.

That being said, this week, we will be getting back to our regularly scheduled blog dancerie.  I still have some issues that I would like to address regarding the infrastructure of New Orleans, and I’ve just got a whole lot of stuff to say about life in general.  The nomination process for the Black Weblog awards is closed, and I will know within the next week or so whether or not I’m a finalist.  Be it yay or nay, I want to thank all of you for your support, and I hope that you continue to read and maybe bring a friend.

Smooches and holleration!

Back to the lab

As I mentioned before, the 12 pounds that I lost prior to spending time in New Orleans were sitting on the sofa waiting for me.  You can’t expect to maintain weight loss AND be the turkey neck and daiquiri queen.  Bad combination.  But I’m back where I need to be mentally, and the svelte me shall reemerge.

I got way too excited when I discovered that my kids didn’t eat their pudding before they left for summer vacation, so it’s a pudding extravaganza up in this joint.  Additionally, Ben & Jerry’s Coffee Heath Bar Crunch ice scream is the shizzle.  I have more that I should probably write, but I’m way too mentally wiped.

I hate constantly baiting you guys for “coming soons,” but my first week back has been hard to collect my thoughts.  I also have so many non writing things to do, it’s not funny.  So…soon.  I need to address some things going on in the world, amongst my people, and in my hometown.  I also am working on not jumping on the easy topic, so we’ll see how that works out.  Love you guys.


The Root of Cliff and Claire’s Problems and other stuff

First and foremost, I may have mentioned the 12 pounds that I lost recently.  Apparently I Fed Exed it to New Orleans.  I got to my Pops’ house, and it was sitting on the sofa waiting for me.  “Hey girl.  Where you was at?”  It’s all good.  I’ll refocus and get it back in order.  Right after I have my 1/2 seafood platter at Deanie’s.  Don’t judge me.  Or do.  You don’t know me.  Shoot.

Remember that triathlon thing I want to do?  I still haven’t learned how to swim.  And let’s discuss how my ankle is still totally FUCKED.  We’re going on three months and it still gets swollen.  I’m a little bummed out by that.  I would have thought that I would be getting around great by now.  These old bones are not handling business like they used to.  I need to get my Calcium and Vitamin D on.

The water here is softer.  I remember being a young girl going on vacation to Biloxi, Mississippi.  The Gulf water was so soft, my skin would be gorgeous after our trip.  Maryland water is even harsher than New Orleans water.  Fortunately, all of my little dry patches are gone.  Love it.  I was considering visiting the divine Belladonna’s while I was here, but I think that money would be better spent elsewhere.

Now, coming home, I discovered why the Huxtables had such a hard time getting rid of their children.  Once the kids are grown and out of your pockets, you’ve got all this disposable income.  I’ve been watching television on my choices of HD screens.  I can watch HD DVDs OR BluRays, because when kids aren’t sucking your wallet dry, you don’t have to wait to see who will win the tech war.  I’ve had candies and cakes, cheeses I ain’t never heard of before and the finest of Cambodian breast milk.  The most comfortable mattress in the world now exists in my former bedroom.  HOWEVER, my parents also instilled in me the “work hard and get yours” gene, so though I love to visit (for a while), coming back home never crosses my mind.  They give me motivation.

Tomorrow, I’ll have to dedicate a post the the shit hitting the fan in this city.  My 2 am hodge podgery would not do these topics justice.

Sleepless Nights

I’m in this very comfy bed.  Sleepless.  I refuse to go the sleeping pills route.  I can only sit in the silent darkness listening to the creaks in the house and the outdoor creepy crawlies.  So instead, I’m allowing the incomparable Al Green to tell me that the way I love him is Simply Beautiful.

Being home has been lovely, but it’s still not bringing me the much desired sleep that I have been lacking for over a month now.  The restlessness goes beyond my thoughts and sits in the pit of my stomach.  Ultimately, I do get some sleep, but it’s typically during the day.  This would be perfect if I were actually a vampire, or owl, or a tarsier (the animal with the haunting large eyes).  Since I am a human woman that works during the daylight hours, this doesn’t work so much for me.

I’m getting to the point where I hate nighttime, because I know everyone else is going to sleep soundly, and I’ll invariably witness five am stroll in. Can I blame part of my insomnia on night being on the receiving end of a foot rub in ages?  Or a back rub?  Or a rub of ANY sort.  Yeah.  I can’t sleep because I’m rubless.  Marinate on that.

First Impressions

As discussed ad nauseum on this blog, music is everything in my world.  I wake up, go to bed, and dream about music.  I am a grown woman that still sings into her hairbrush and, when my ankle is not impaired, will still do the dance routines to every Janet Jackson video from the 80s and 80s – albeit more out of breath.  There are several components that make a song great, but one surefire way is to make the opening GREAT.  So today, I will give you five songs (and a bonus) that had me hooked within the first five seconds and made me love them.

5. “Ambitions as a Rider” by Tupac – It starts with this almost unassuming husky whisper, “I won’t deny it…”  That could go anywhere.  “…I’m a straight rider, you don’t wanna fuck with me.”  Piano, bass, lyrics, boom.  Love it.  This intro is what catapulted “All Eyes on Me” into the position of instant classic amongst Tupac lovers, even prior to ‘Pac’s death.

4.  “Stronger” by Kanye West – The first two words in this song tell it all: “WORK IT!”  As irritating as autotune has become, it was perfect for this hook.  The bass comes in, and you’re sold.  At least I am…and that’s what matters here, right?  It matters not to me what Kanye does or doesn’t write.  He has a talent for knowing what a song will require, and his delivery is virtually always on point.  This song gets me so amped.  I was on one of my famous road trips, when this came on, and it gave me energy for another hour on the road.  True story.

3.  “Freaky Thangs” by LUDA! (I have to say it that way) ft. Twista & Jagged Edge – I’m a sucker for that Spanish guitar sound.  Faizon Love provides a rather entertaining intro, leading into vocals by Jagged Edge.  LUDA! and Twista proceed to spit all sorts of filth and flarn in true rapid fire fashion.  This song almost makes me want to perfect my pole skills.  Did I say perfect.  I meant develop.  On second thought, considering how accident prone I am, it may be advisable that I leave that to the professionals.  It’s definitely a head nodder.

2. “Somebody to Love” by Queen – Sometimes it’s the simplest thing; Freddie Mercury’s typically powerful voice starting with the soft plea, “Can,” and the choir follows up with, “AN-Y-BO-DYYYYYYYYYYYYY.” The damn song can end right there.  Right there, the song is the shit.  Mercury’s vocals were ridiculous, and he always fits into the category of my top ten favorite singers.  Possibly even my top five.  The passion carried throughout this song, from beginning to end, gives me that little tight feeling, not so much on the verge of tears, but quite possibly being on the verge of the verge.  His death was a huge loss to music.

In the battle of Prince vs. MJ, I NEVER chose sides, and I will not do it here.  When you look at the catalogs of both performers, the question of their songs being at the top was not “If,” but rather, “Which?”  So, without further ado, the number 1s:

1.  “Kiss” by Do I Even Have to Utter His Name? – Funky Guitar riff followed by an unmistakable groan.  No one does anything like Prince, and that includes seizing your instant attention.  Now, I don’t worship at the alter of Prince as some of my comrades do, but I respect game, and the brother has it in spades.  This song has the fun and sass to make you pull your granny on the dance floor when it comes on at a family function, and just enough sexiness to get you to grind on a sexy somebody if it comes on at a party.  Everything stops for me when this song comes on.  Every time.  He takes that saying your mother used to make you feel simple (“Act your age, not your shoe size”) and geniusified it.  Yes, “geniusified” is a word, as is “geniusify,” and “geniusification.”  Deal with it.

1.  “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough” by The King of Pop Michael J. Jackson* -*bass* You know I was…I was wondering if you know, you could keep on…”  What?! Mike got SEXY ON YOU FOOLS!  Everything about this song, even with that bass line and Mike whispering at the intro, lets you know that you should be prepared to get bucked up, because it’s going down.  I’m listening to the song as I type this, and my fingers are working overtime.  The song gets me that excited.  A song like this lets us know that Mike was giving us his all, and in retrospect, quite possibly not keeping enough for himself.  I think that’s why as his fans, many of us take the loss of him so personally.

*Okay, maybe my alliance DOES lean on the side of Michael, but that is no shade against Prince.

On going home

Tonight I’m going to the store to stock up on treats and delectables so that I’ll be ready for my trip.  I already have books, my iPod, and when my laptop when I want to watch movies.  I’m goign to scour the crib for a toasty blanket.  The only thing missing from this trip will be my Grams’ smiles and stories.  Lots of people have a laugh to remember their loved ones by, but my Foxy wasn’t a laugher.  She had this sly smile that spoke of a secret; she knew all the answers, and she was just waiting for you to catch up.

I’m going to the funeral, but I’ve already decided that I’m going straight from there to the repast, and I’ll help set up (to the best of my ability).  I hate the burial site scene.  You’re standing right next to the chamber or hole, and you know the grounds keepers are just waiting for you to be out of eye shot before the close your loved one away.  That darkness turns my stomach.  It’s hard for me to do funerals as it is, but that part, I’ll have to do without.  As much as I don’t want to, I did decide that I would “view” her body.  I know my family isn’t lying to me, but part of me doesn’t believe it.  It’s not real to me, and as much as I don’t want to do so, I have to.

I also hate when people call death a “homegoing.”  Her home was 3941 Prentiss.  Her home was at the head of our table at family dinners and the comfiest chair at cookouts.  Her home contained stencils, and bendable rings with fake rubies and emeralds, barrel o’ monkeys and puppets.  Her home was where she poured us water, and prune juice and made us bran muffins because we were never to young to be “regular.”  God knows that, so I don’t buy that he “called her home.”  Death is not a divine plan, and no one can convince me of that.  It’s a thing that happens, but to me, it’s innately abnormal.  Our body is made to renew itself constantly, then all of a sudden, it doesn’t?  Our reaction to death is pain and violent crying.  There’s nothing natural about it.  She’s not going home.  She left home.  That’s why we’re so sad and broken behind it.  I’m going to miss that lady, and her brilliant mind, her faith, her kindness.

And her smile.  I think I’ll miss that most.