Two Drink Maximum

There was a time when Rum Punch and liquor were synonymous (heh, heh, no pun intended). Seriously, I Rum Punch used to could drank! Not just drink, but drank. It was common knowledge that if I were there at your spot then alcoholic beverages needed to be had. And it got to the point that if I didn’t have a beverage in my hand, if I took a freakin’ night off, people would be like, “What’s the matter with you Rum Punch, how come you ain’t drankin?”

Oh yes, I was the resident alocoholic © Eddie King Jr. from the Five Heartbeats… I’ll admit it. And even though I knew that my family has substance abuse issues I chose to pretend like my drinking wasn’t a real problem. Because in my mind it really wasn’t. I didn’t have any serious issues with it. I was never out of control with it. It’s not like I drank every day. But when I did, I drank. A lot. Sometimes too much. Not so much that I made a fool out of myself, but way more than I should have. But as I got out of the college atmosphere and gradually out of the party mode and stopped going to late night happy hours on the regular, my drinking declined.

And now I’m soft y’all. Now, two drinks will make me very tipsy, whereas I used to take numerous shots in rapid fire succession. Now, I prefer to stay in my house and have a glass of wine with my daddy. Yes, we have our own lil' bootleg wine tasting. And if I do go out I have learned the art of pacing because I just can’t do it like I used to! Recently I hung out with a girlfriend from college (a true drinking buddy), and we tried to do it like we used to. Let’s just say the next morning was filled with curses and regrets. I mean who were we kidding? We weren’t two young girls who only had to worry about midterms and finals. We were grown ass women who had real responsibilities and whose livers were begging for mercy.

And to add insult to injury while I was in Atlanta we went to a spot we used to frequent in college where the liquor is cheap and the wings are tasty! I asked for a rum and coke. And the waiter practically brought me straight rum! I was like, “I’ma need some more coke.” For realz. It pained me to say these words. I, Rum Punch needed more coke? I was like is this me? There was a time when I drank their long islands like it was water. What the hell was wrong with me back then? And what happened to me?

I suppose that everyone gets grown in their own way. I mean there comes a time when you have to put the childish things away, whatever that is to you. Of course this happens to different people at different times. But for me, I realized that I couldn’t be that “resident alocoholic” anymore. I couldn’t be that chick who drank in excess on the regular. I had to save that shit for special occasions. Like last night… LOL! Damn it. Now, this morning I gotta headache…

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

SHOUTS OUT TO MINT JULEP FOR PASSING THE LOUISIANA BAR!! DRINKS ON ME! Now isn't that a shame?

single woman's burden

I’m one of those women who likes to stay “friends” with exes. And when I say friends I mean call randomly from time to time just to see how said exes are making out in life. Most often my relationships start off on the friend level so I usually like to keep the “friend love” alive after we part ways.

One of these exes I call once every 6 to 12 months just to say hello. We went to law school at the same time so I’m especially interested in what he's up to professionally and like to keep the networking connection alive. Feel free to debate the utility of and justification for my random phone calls. Or whether I should expect him to still be taking my calls after 5+ years.

Usually when I call Mr. X, we talk about the legal job market, how much we love or hate our respective jobs and sprinkle in an “are you dating anyone?” for politeness. This time around, Mr. X had some news in the love department. Homeboy done jumped the broom! My first thought was damn Gina! Is everyone I know married, on their way down the aisle or actively looking? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a love hater. I love love, weddings and all that jazz. So I was genuinely happy for him. The curious kitty in me wanted to ask all kinds of questions like where’d you meet her, how long did ya’ll date, what she look like, married dude really? I asked none of these cause that would be creepy and weird. Instead I simply congratulated him and continued the conversation.

But in the way that married folks, boo-ed up sistafriends, and random black men do, he proceeded to hit me with the “Why are you still single?”

Boooo, Mr. X, booooooo! As if singleness was some disease to be cured. Some temporary state to be suffered through until you hooked up with someone and all your cares in life were erased.

I stumbled through the generic you know I’m just working on me man and the other obligatory men don’t get me. But looking back I wish I had said something a little bit more “Yaaa trick Yaaaa!”

My single ladies out there feel me. I held in my “Nigga why?” and just kept it civil. Cause that's what we as single women do. When asked, we retreat and feel ashamed for not having some magical I AM WOMAN answer. Maybe mofo's should stop asking cause actually it's kinda rude. Folks don't go around asking they obese auntie who's been adding on 25 lbs each year, why you still fat? That cousin we all got who only calls when he locked up looking for that bail money, yeah him? We don't ask him, Why you still broke?

Exactly! So how bout ya'll stop asking me why I'm still single?

the end.

the tail end of a saga

I represent less than 2.5% of the population, call me naive, but I didn't think he did it. Now whether he knew who did it -- is another story. But as the late, great Johnnie Cochran said " if it doesn't fit, you must acquit"! So the fact of "...the combination of bloody gloves that didn't fit, a cop lying in court and forensics expert Henry Lee testifying to finding "something wrong" with the collection of evidence provided enough reasonable doubt for acquittal (courtesy of Hartford Courant)." End of story... well not quite.

So, after 13 years-- Lawd i tend not to be superstitous, but the omen was there I guess-- he was found guilty of armed robbery and kidnapping. Oh, Orenthal James Simpson -- The Juice, aka OJ--what has befallen you? I really don't know what to say.

I was in middle school lying on the living room floor, the night of the chase. I remember it like yesterday. Talking to my best friend, trying to figure out why the LAPD are chasing a white Bronco all across LA's freeway. Holding my breath, not knowing if the cops were trigger happy and were going to shoot...Little did I know the chase was the beginning, not the end of the story.

And so when the news out of Las Vegas broke out about the beseiged NFL star, journalist Stan Simpson of the Hartford Courant captured my sentiments best, "Many, like me, who were captivated by the murder trial, took a pass on following this Vegas misadventure. We're OJ-ed out. African Americans and whites could pretty much agree on this after L.A.: We wanted Simpson to fade to black." Yup, that about sums it up.

I reckon, some people like drama, strife, and all that ain't right in life. And I think OJ is one of them. So, farewell Orenthal James, you've been juiced out. So, raise your champagne glasses folks as we toast to the drama of our lives being over although he is appealing the verdict.

cheers,

Bellini

P.S. Damn, you know Johnnie is doing somersaults in the grave.

A Rite of Passage

This weekend I realized that my little 15 year old cousin has become a woman. Not in the had a period, can get pregnant from sex kind of way; but in exhibiting Typical Grown Woman Craziness Behavior because of the foolishness of a male type of way.

We were at our grandma’s house this weekend and I heard her on the phone asking her friend “Did you read it yet? What did you think?” Of course my curiosity was piqued, and so I asked her what was going on in her world. She explained that once again she and her boyfriend had broken up but this time she decided to write him a letter.

Oh lawd! Why oh why women do we get to scribing our feelings on paper? Especially in an age of textassness, email, and the KISS method. But from Aalyiah’s 4 page letter to the 18 page letter Rachel wrote to Ross (front and back), it seems that us women folk have a lot to say…and maybe its because we don’t feel our male counterparts hear us when we talk and so we hope against all hope that if we say it in writing they’ll get it.

Well, when sharing my letter writing philosophy with a male friend he essentially crapped all of my theory and told me that even in writing he gleans everything he needs from what is said in the first paragraph, so why bother reading the rest? Say what now? The first paragraph?! In my letters I haven’t even made my point yet in the first paragraph. Shooooot, I’m still talking about feelings and I haven’t let my inner lawyer come to the forefront to state my case. In the first paragraph I haven’t yet explained why I feel this way or that, or how I wish I knew your feelings, want you to share your feelings, stop talking to your momma so much, tell your boys you’ll get at them the next time, tell me I’m beautiful every morning, and…well ya’ll get the drift.

So I realized that my cousin had become grown when, in telling me about her letter she told me that she didn’t get all crazy with him. Had her best friend read it first to give her stamp of approval. But most importantly she had evidence to back up everything she was saying. That’s right EVIDENCE! When we women folk get pen to hand (or sit in front of computer), suddenly we remember Every.Single.Detail. of every single thing that’s happened since 1999. It’s something about letter writing in which we become determined to make the males in our lives Get It. Get why we are hurt, or disappointed, or angry. And get it to the point that they start caring enough to feel bad, or if they already feel bad to tell us.

But really, that’s a crazy expectation. Because what sane person really wants to have a conversation with a person who has thrown everything they’ve ever done wrong in life back in their face. Yet that’s what most women folk want. We want to talk it out, have a conversation and maybe an admission of something…like guilt. But it’s easier to just live with guilt, ignore and avoid…in hopes that thing will blow over eventually, than to deal with stuff head on.

So when I asked little cuz the other day if ole boy responded to her, she said no. And she doesn’t even care anymore. And well, I can't say I was surprised by any of it. All I could think was that my cousin was now aware of something that she wasn't before.

Welcome to womanhood!

See You In Seven

April, "This is jump-off..."

Sometimes I am not sure where the hours in the day disappear to but before I know it, I’m doing the whole get-it-together-it’s-Monday routine. Anyway before I kick this week off, I wanted to let you know that by Tuesday I had had enough of my non-functioning cell phone. It was no longer refreshing. It was making it rather difficult to keep up with my social calendar.

Okay, so last week I was drowning a few of my work sorrows away with a friend during happy hour when I ran into my cousin’s boyfriend. Of course, I spoke and attempted to introduce him to my friend but as I opened my mouth to say his name I realized, I was about to introduce him by some other name that his mother didn’t give him. Ut-oh! Not only was I about to do that but I couldn’t remember this man's name for the life of me. WOW! This man has been dating my cousin for almost a year and I don’t know his name. I had to think on that for minute.

Then it all made sense (and ladies don’t kill me I just thought this discussion would be rather entertaining) for the last eight months, we called and referred to this dude as jump-off. Now of course he doesn’t know this but dang we must have used it a lot for me to almost introduce the man as jump-off!

At this point, I am thinking when the girls get together do we ever use real names? I know guys have their little code names but we rarely hear those unless they tell us. But my girls and I have used these codes names sometimes in the presence of the man in which we are referring. Tsk-tsk. (chuckle) Sometimes the names switch…you can go from being a "jump-off" to a "mister" without even knowing. Your woman might have even had a slip of the tongue and you never even realized it. (chuckle)

Well this morning, I am going to shout out a few of them. They all hold special places in our hearts. (chuckle)

To:

Jump-Off: One minute you chilling and the next there is more than just the lights off.

Coach: You keep a sister on her toes giving her the little extra encouragement that she needs and not necessarily what she wants.

Father: Not to be confused with the pimp and I think this one is self explanatory.

WH: Ahh, everyone has one of these…work husband. (Well not everyone.)

West Coast: The long distance brother. Time stops and the relationship pauses when you are not in town, but picks right back up from where it left off when you are.

Mister: Ooo, “if you think hard work been doggin’ you before get ready for the big dog!”

Old head: I think is one is pretty common but chivalry is not dead here!

Wing MAN: Not the initial score but proves that first impressions might be deceiving.

Hooptie: a.k.a The overambitious, loves to make promises but just can’t seem to follow through...but we love him still, his intentions are good.

The Avatar: Whether he knows it or not, he IS the chosen one and has mystical healing powers.

Mr. Sandy Nipples: Last but not least, my favorite. Always knows how to show a sista a good time. Doesn’t matter who is there…Mr. Sandy Nipples puts a smile on you and your girlfriends’ faces.

We love you all & have a wonderful day! :)

Take a minute to shout out your favorites by code name. (chuckle)

Until next week…peace :)