WE ARE: 5 women navigating our twenties in search of peace, happiness and love (or not). WE WRITE: about everything and nothing. From the insane to the mundane- you will find different paths taken, lessons learned and lives lived. WE THINK: you’ll enjoy it...Warning: Consumption of these views may leave you enlightened while intoxicated.


The View From Here will conclude on Friday, October 1, our third year anniversary. We would like to spend this month thanking all of our readers, followers, haters, visitors, family, friends, and fans for your continued support, encouragement, and comments over these past few years. Thanks y'all!
-The Five Spot

Friday, September 12, 2008

Self Serve

It's been almost a year since I wrote about my decision to be celibate. Um ok cue Usher's these are my confessions... Last December I slipped and fell on some d.ick, so technically I have officially been celibate for a whole nine months. And what a looonnnggg nine months it’s been. But somehow I have managed. Well I think we can all guess how I’ve managed. That’s right let your mind wander and settle there.

Self pleasure is something us single gals rarely sit around and talk about. Oh sure we might talk about men, our love lives (or lack thereof), that crazy chick at work, the last time he put it on you and it was sooo good you were calling God, Jesus, Allah and Budda's name, but m.asturbation - forget about it. That you keep to yourself. Literally. And yet somehow we all know that we’ve done it at some point or another. Even the most prudish of your girlfriends has let the shower head nuzzle across her special place at least once. But she wouldn’t dare tell you about it.

Oh sure from time to time you might slip and talk about your actions aloud. The other night after several cocktails I made an off hand remark about my "me time." And my homegirl said, “I know that’s right. I swear my hand’s going to fall off soon.” Laughter. Shared understanding. And that was it. It's not that you're ashamed or anything, it's more like a don't ask don't tell, what happens between you and your va jay jay stays between you and your va jay jay policy. It’s like being part of some secret, anonymous society. And if you dare come from the cloak of darkness to reveal yourself, it has to be quick, preferably in the form of a joke, and then everyone must return to normal, as if nothing ever happened.

I suppose it’s because it's truly a personal act. And unlike sharing with and demonstrating to your friends the proper way to ride a man, (that's not personal at all), you don’t really want to tell them (nor do they really need or want to know) just how you get through those lean, mean and in between times. I mean it's just an unpoken understanding that we all fall on hard (or not so hard) times. And it's kinda crazy to think that no one self medicates. There'd be a lot more road rage and other psycho chick occurences if us ladies didn't take things into our own hands! So you just gotta do what you gotta do. On your own. Or with the help of a battery operated friend. And when you're done, tell no one.

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

Thursday, September 11, 2008

things remembered

Photo: Larry Towell, Magnum Photographers, www.musarium.com/stories/magnum911/01.html.
In rememberance of our collective experiences on 9/11/01,
I am sharing something I wrote about 3 months after the tragedy.

The exhibit hall is quiet with the occasional hushed murmurs floating around the room. It is the typical museum atmosphere: individuals in deep reflection of the items on display. But this particular hall invokes a deeper sense of introspection and reverent muteness. I have just stepped into New York September 11 by Magnum Photographers. As I stand reading the exhibit’s introduction printed on the stark white walls, a woman behind me exclaims, “Oh, Jesus,” as she enters the room and takes in the first enlarged photo of the destruction. This exhibit is the chronicle of something recently happened; history in that sense, but still so vivid in our collective memories that it is disheartening to relegate it to the annuls of long ago occurrences, things normally placed in history’s clutch.

The present visual imagery of the exhibit’s placement invokes a direct correlation to the past subject matter. Looking into the main room of the exhibit hall, I see a group of solemn figures standing to one side facing me, their faces fixed on some object which I can not see. Their gazes are intense with heads tilted slightly upward, reminiscent of the scene in lower Manhattan those few short months ago: businessmen and women watching from street corners as the city’s biggest landmarks were destroyed. As I come around the corner, I see what they have all been looking at, a video of that morning’s events captured by Evan Fairbanks. We, the viewers of the video are now a part of the exhibit, a part of September 11th.

As I move deeper into the space, I am confronted by large panels placed in the middle of the hall. They block the imaginary path which would have run from door to door straight through the hall. Their placement forces me to look. Printed in row after row are names and like the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, I instinctively know these people. They are the victims and their centrality to the disaster is symbolized in the posture of the panels. The glassy surface of the panels reflects my image and it seems that my own mortality in the context of this great tragedy is clearly evident.

That morning, I lay in bed trying to sneak in a few extra moments of sleep before my Latin American history course. The incessant ringing of my cell phone, then my dorm room phone and cell phone again became impossible to ignore. I slowly rolled over and instinctively switched on my TV, hoping that the morning news chatter might make it easier to get up. I am shoked by what I see. One of the gleaming towers of the World Trade Center has smoke rising from its side. The caption states that a plane has crashed into the tower. I sit up in bed. A chill runs up my spine. I had just visited the towers on Saturday, looking up from the plaza at the structures that seemed to extend up into heaven. The security and familiarity of this room, this city is fuzzy. I get up and go out into the hallway. Knocking on my friend’s door, I start in without a hello, “Are you watching the news? We were just there!” We huddle around the TV and watch history unfold.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Hubris at it's best

In Greek Methology Kilpatrickius was seated just below Zeus. Zues has his thunderbolts, Kilpatrickius had his bulletproof Escalade. Kwame is untouchable!... courtesy of Detroit Free Press

For a while now, I’ve been baffled by the turmoil that encircles Detroit mayor, Kwame Kilpatrick. I don’t understand how he let it ball down to this: disbarment, probation, $1 million dollar fine, forgo pension – in my opinion -- it wasn’t worth it. But just to be sure, I call my homegirl who is from Detroit and is a former US States Attorney.

The first thing I utter is “why didn’t he resign a long time ago.” And she utters, “’cuz he’s stupid!” Well, folks there you have it! I reckon that had he resigned he would have kept his pension – folks did we not learn anything from Watergate? Say what you want, but Nixon was no fool. At the very least, I would have thought no matter how much he wanted to fight the case, the tipping point, would be the peril of jeopardizing the livelihood of his wife and kids.

Oh, and I’m sure had he resigned sooner his fine wouldn’t be so high. Think about it… he owes the fine and he still has legal fees. And he has to cough up $20,000 upon sentencing—that’s next month. Kwame! Damn. Really, what were you thinking? And I hate to embroil mama in this, Representative Carolyn Kilpatrick, but did you tell him about himself and he didn’t listen or were you his cheerleader of persistence?

In my mind, he had a chance to walk away a bit marred but could come back. And not to say that he still can’t, ‘cuz if Federal City allowed former Mayor Marion Barry a comeback, Detroit may bestow the same opportunity on Kwame too. Anything is possible – right?

And Christine Beatty. Humph… Girl, you should let Bellini school you. Never, ever-let a man fuck up your shit! Before ya’ go off, by no means am I condoning her part in this scandalous affair. All, I’m saying is her gamble was to big, therefore not worth it. Ladies, here’s one way to evaluate your relationship with a man. At bare minimum, you should lose nothing by being with him (i.e. career, home, money, etc.).

Cuz, this ain’t cute at all!



Tuesday, September 9, 2008

Rescue Me!

Rescue me
Oh take me in your arms
Rescue me
I want your tender charms
'Coz I'm lonely and I'm blue
I need you and your love too
-Aretha Franklin

Okay, so this just might cause the authorities to come and take my strong independent woman card away but….


I’m talking about me trapped in castle, bored out my mind and a man coming to save me. That’s right a man, on a big ole steed, swinging his saber, speaking with all sorts of “thees” and “thous” because he lived in a kingdom far, far away once upon a time…

Hmmmm. Note to self: I can’t read any fairy tales to my little ones. I mean I can’t contribute to their disappointment when they’re in their late 20s and ole boy ain’t show up and it’s well past CP time. I don’t want my girls becoming that “I don’t need no man, because I have rechargeable batteries” chick. Nor do I want them to end up like me in my extended singleness-just restless in my waiting.

I’m a survivor though. Not that singleness needs to be survived or anything…but I do wonder how many mo dinners with the girls I can endure. I mean I love them, but I also need some positive reinforcement and the occasional fawning session. And well when you and your girls all get dressed and all look cute respectively…none of them are going to get a gleam of pride in their eye seeing you in your freak ‘em dress or DAYUM girl! Shoes. Nope. Everyone just sits at the table, sipping on their drinks listening for the pitter patter of horse feet, waiting, hoping and praying that a prince will soon come to bring about their great escape.

I don’t know if its our impatience, our drinks or just sheer boredom that causes us to hop down with men riding little ponies. I do know that after saddling up with prince too old, too young, too hard, too soft, too lumpy and too dumby I still long for the one that’s just right. Somewhere out there is a man on a steed and I’m ready to hear him say…

“My Lady, I am here to save you from your prison of boredom. I’m rescuing you with my world views, dreams, and my ability to make you laugh you’re a$$ off.”

Oh yes ya’ll! This damsel is falling out that window and into his arms…and off into the sunset we go…


Okay. I’m tripping. Let me call up some my girls and see if anyone’s trying to do dinner. Lawd, I can’t wait to tell them about this prince charming rescuing me mess! I’m silly. I don't need saving. My girls got plenty of world views, dreams, and jokes to have me laughing happily ever after.

See You In Seven

Monday, September 8, 2008

2008 VMAs

Last night while I was preparing for my first five-day-work week in two weeks, I watched MTV’s VMAs. And this morning, I was hoping that those of you who did watch the show could help me answer a few questions that came to mind as I watched. And for those who didn’t, hopefully my questions will amuse you.

1) Is 2008 the year of Rihanna?

2) I know he told us who he was but WHO is Russell Brand again?

3) Why did Britney Spears win three VMAs?

4) Did anybody else think that Lil’ Wayne needed to pull his pants up during his performance?

5) If Aaron McGruder decided to make Boondocks the movie, couldn’t Young Weezy play Riley?

6) Wasn’t the little two-step that Lil Wayne and T-Pain did to Get Money cute?

7) Where did all the good hip-hop videos disappear to this year?

8) Why did Katy Perry think peeling a sequin banana appliqué on her leotard while singing Like a Virgin was sexy?

9) Speaking of leotards, is that the new performing costume right after leggings?

10) TI, can I REALLY have whatever I like?

11) Christina Aguilera’s performance was classic, no?

12) Did anyone else do a double take, when Young Weezy was singing Sweet Home Alabama with Kid Rock?

13) Can we stop hatin’ on Kanye when it comes to bringing the drama?

14) And, lastly was missing the season premiere of Entourage worth watching the VMAs?

You tell me…Happy Monday!

Peace :)