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 26, 2008

Sorry I Can't Come to the Computer Right Now

Hello world! No official blog entry today. Awwww....fret not I shall return. In the meantime, I am leaving you with an old school flashback video! Yes, it's a coked out Chaka Khan and Co., better known as Rufus! How about when I was a child I thought Rufus was a person. I'd be lookin at my parents album covers talking about where's Rufus? Ahhh good times. And so enjoy and dance at your desk! That's my time y'all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

Thursday, September 25, 2008

we is a beautiful thang

I'm not married yet, but like every single gal under the sun, I've developed a few opinions on how thangs ought to be when i do jump that broom. Mind you, these opinions aren't based on fantastical musings as mint julep drifts off to sleep each night. Rather they've been gleaned over years of non-matrimonial relationships of which i've been a part and my observations of married folk nationwide. One such trueism that I've seen confirmed time and time again - A wife should never, eva....eva eva join in other folks talking down about her husband.

Case in point. Last Saturday I attended a co-worker's football party, trying to be social and meet the peoples of the office, well the peoples of the caucasion persuasion this time. There I was cheering for the home team like it was my alma mater. Downing flaming dr. pep.pers and something we created called a bluerdi like a sorority girl. During a lull in the debauchery, a few of the co-workers began to lament the departure of Sarah. See Sarah's husband had recently moved to D.C. for a new job and the plan was for her to follow him there in a couple months. And understandably Sarah was not too happy about leaving the office.

The back story is that Sarah met Peter while they were working together in the City. Sarah went to grad school far far away and then a couple years later, Peter followed Sarah and enrolled in grad school as well. Somewhere along the way Sarah and Peter got married. Sarah gets a great job doing what she loves but when Peter graduates a couple years later he can't find a job doing what he loves in the far far away place. But he does find a job in DC, so he takes it and waits for Sarah to join him. But like I said Sarah is still here in far far away land.

Cut to Saturday's party. Dick and Jane, two of Sarah's bestest friends on the job are crying in their cups of beer about how lame it is that Sarah has to go and why can't she just stay, fcuk Peter and his new job. Dick and Jane are pretty much on some make his lame ass come back here Sarah, you wear the pants honey!

Now instead of Sarah putting Dick and Jane in their places for talking smack about her man, Sarah joined in. Like really joined in. She pretty much co-signed on everything Dick and Jane were saying. She laughed at their jokes and made a few of her own: I bet at this very moment, Peter is in Madam's Organ having a beer in some liberal pub lamenting the gentrification of D.C. unaware that he is gentrification. he he haw haw. Hi-5's from Dick and Jane. Then Sarah pulls out her cell phone and says, Let's prank call him! Jane gets on the phone yelling/crying for Peter to bring his ass back/let Sarah stay.

Pure craziness!

It's quite alright to joke wit yo mamanem bout how hubby forgets to take out the trash. Or laugh over drinks with your girls about how lovably nerdy you think your man is. But when you get a kick in when he's been pushed to the ground by your friends, that is just foul! That's your husband. You're his wife. Ya'll are a unit. You should support him in the streets even if you kick his ass behind closed doors when y'all get home. Sarah needs to suck it up and carry her happy ass to DC. Peter moved for her so now it's her turn. Tough cookies if you don't like it. You do it because you are a we!

Nothing should come between that. Especially not your words and antics in supposed jest while you're allegedly drunk.

what say you?

Wednesday, September 24, 2008


So, I have to interrupt my regularly scheduled programming 'cuz folks want to act a fucking fool. So, my musings on the economy will have to come another day, my thoughts on the parameters set on the presidential debates must be delayed -- why you might ask??? Well, Bellini just had an encounter with a BITCH and her ASSNESS do tell Bellini, do tell...yes, I must oblige you!

So, after an eventful day of a workshop, business lunch, and other typical work-related events... I'm driving home. Now, in my neighborhood (across from a park) where the little league teams are in full effect, spectators tend to park on my street. That's cool, but what ain't cool is when a fuckin' fool initiated to park and then chose otherwise, u-turns and situates her car diagonally--thereby splitting the road in half... and utters "Move BITCH."

Bellini's got your bitch.

So, I tell the stupid heffa "BACK UP." She retorts that I should. Well, I put the cark in PARK. And parked, I did. She mumbles, I ain't scare of you. silence is muthafuckin' golden I decide to take the time to decompress and follow-up on messages I had received during the day... "You ain't got to call nobody," she quips. Little does the bitch know, I'm a grown fuckin' woman and I don't feel the need to respond to anything she has to say. Upon, the dumb bitch realizin' that I wasn't going to move... she decides to pull off. Not before I give her ass the finger.

Folks, I'm really not petty, but Lawd pity this fool--'cuz Bellini ain't the one. Don't fret folks, everything is cool, 'cuz I'm here typing this just for you. I just hate to inform you. . .

And to think Puff was actually on to something.



Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Dance I Say!

So I went to a thirtieth birthday party on Saturday and was once again reminded of the ugly American institution of slavery. Yes, I’m weird like that. I know this is not the typical thought of a partygoer on a Saturday night, but I wasn’t drinking, so it is what it is. As Flo Rida blared off the iPod and a circle formed around the spastic gyrations of the birthday girl’s coworker I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony. Here was a white woman dancing and singing for the entertainment and enjoyment of a room full of black folks.

It was a spectacle, a la this right
here. Dance white lady, dance!

My friend who invited me to the soiree wondered how anyone could face Miss Sally on Monday morning. Miss Sally, who was constantly mistaken for the birthday girl’s supervisor (thank the Lawd she wasn't). Miss Sally who had Supermanned, had gotten low, had bumped and grind and saw nothing wrong with any of it. Personally I can’t imagine seeing any of my coworkers on social level…a happy hour? Sure. But inviting them to my birthday party? Hell no! I mean how would you react if your Miss Sally type coworker (and older white woman) asked you the status of the Jackson Report after you watched her essentially make a fool of herself in front of your friends and family? Cue side eyes and suppressed laughter. It’s easy to blame general debauchery on the rain and the Vodka. And I know liquor makes folks have a good time, for some it's a basic requirement. But I’ve always been of the thinking that alcohol just brings to light the desires that have been latent but always there, which made Miss Sally’s singular dance party all the more scary. Alcohol lends balls to people as it takes away their inhibitions, but sometimes it goes even further and robs folks of their shame and embarrassment. Two essential things necessary to save face…or at least tiny shreds of dignity.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I laughed my buttocks off at Miss Sally’s expense. But then felt bad as people encouraged Miss Sally to keep shaking her tail feather. Miss Sally surely thought she was doing something, yet we were all laughing at her and not with her. Even as she sat down to rest the crowd wasn’t through. We wanted more good times, more giggles, more off beat movements, and exclamations that Miss Sally sure was one crazy ass white woman.

And then I thought of the numerous black folks who’ve had to play Miss Sally’s role in this American drama, only sober and painfully aware. How circles of Anglo faces encamped them to be entertained by our dancing and singing for hours on demand. The irony then made me sad. The dancing made still me laugh. Our collective demand on Miss Sally also made me scared. And when Miss Sally said she was ready to go home at 2:30 am…the party ended. Why? Because there was nothing left to entertain us, not even ourselves.

See You in Seven

Monday, September 22, 2008

What do you say, Courvoisier? (Part 1)

Sometimes you have to kick Monday off with a little fun...Brenda needs our help.

Dear Courvoisier,
For the past six months, I have been trying not to become emotionally involved with my buddy. However, our lovemaking has become increasingly more intense. Instead of calling on Jesus, like I use to…I now scream his name. Even though I have shown an additional interest in our lovemaking my buddy on the other hand, insist on leaving immediately after, even when I offer to cook breakfast in the morning. Everybody knows men will leave their wives for some homemade breakfast! The question is “Why is he doing this?”
Yours truly,

Dear Bren-Duh!

I don’t know if you are familiar with the rules of having a f@*! buddy but here are a few of the rules you might want to follow. Let me break down for you…ladies take heed…shhh!
  1. Never ever f@*! a buddy that is husband potential. If he has a job making more than $25,000 annually, then do not consider this man a buddy. But if he lives in his mother’s basement and calls it his apartment because it has a separate entrance…this is buddy material.
  2. Never ever choose a buddy you think is hotter than you. If your heart flutters every time you talk to this person…he is NOT buddy material.
  3. Never ever offer a buddy the option to wash up, let alone spend the night. Remember to collect wet naps from various fast food restaurants for this event so that they can clean up on the way out.
Now in case you have broken some of the rules, here are some indicators that you are CAUGHT-UP:
  1. When you call the act lovemaking,
  2. When you offer to cook that reggin breakfast, and
  3. When you give him the praise and not the lord!
Lastly, if you find your nose wide open…there is only ONE thing you can do and that is to NEVER EVER speak to him again! No texts, no calls, no emails and don’t even engage in self-gratification with him on the mind. It is important to remember that this type of buddy is for sex only.
Till we talk again,
Mz. Courvoisier if ya nasty.