Black and Bitter Sweet?

One our readers asked us to comment on the Washington Post article, here is my response in true men-on-film-with-a-hint-of-monique-l-o-v-e.

Hel-lo…I am Courvoisier 2010, also known as Crazy Chic at times and this week I am going to say a lil’ something on the Bitch is the new Black.

URGH!

(deep sigh)

OV-ER IT!

Baa-by! I could go on and on about the issues that I have with this view of black women but I just can’t do it this morning, Shhhug-ar! I just don’t have the strength.

But I will say this…

1. NO woman has it all together. First assumption out the gate that we need to get rid of! Are there some women who have it a little more together than others… YES Baaaa-by! Yes! I would like to think I am one of them. (chuckle)

Second, does this make us GREAT mates? Not necessarily.

There is something ugly and stank (yes... I said stank) about women who think because they have it together financially, that they are together emotionally. That goes for black, white, green and purple people. Unlike this author and the ladies on the dateline special.... my circle of friends doesn't only consist of lonely, single black ladies looking for a man. Seems like these ladies aren't really living. They dibble dabbling doing all the finer things in life but are they making true human connections? Just curious.

Dating is difficult across the board, this is true. But how about we start with who we are, what we TRULY like and enjoy before venture out into the world of what we want in a mate. Most women don't know that until the late 20s and early (so I have been told). I almost want to say especially for sistas whose first goal and purpose in life is to be financial secure and achieve some sort of success. Note, this only my personal opinion but very few of us go to college to find ourselves. (chuckle)

And before I get heated... I am still waiting for these women to describe themselves without mentioning their 9 to 5 or past accomplishments. (snap, snap!)

Much luv until... next week peace :)

P.S. I will BE checking out the movie though because she does have a point worth hearing.

Planned Parenthood

So there are two type of single Black women in this world – those with kids and those without. Now, when I’m talking about the ones with kids, I’m not talking about the women who had that baby in high school or first year of college and still did the damned thing and got their degree.

And I’m not talking about those women that when I say baby mama, your mind eases on down the road of stereotypes and sees a woman living in the ‘jects, has a several kids from different men and appears on Maury Povich looking for her baby daddy or Judge Mathis talking bout, “he need to take care of his responsibilities.”

I’m talking about those women who are in their mid to late twenties (and sometimes their thirties), have degrees, work “good” jobs, are climbing career ladders, buying houses, etc. It could be your homegirl, your office mate, the chick who sits next to you in church, who one day tells you, “yeah girl. I’m pregnant.” And you be like, in an offhanded kinda way, “really? I didn’t know you were seeing anyone serious.” And you learn that it’s from some random nig who work at Safeway or Kenny shoes or something.* Heh.

And while you sit there eating your sandwich, trying your best not to be judgmental to her face, you can’t help but wonder, has she not heard of these things called condoms? And does she really want to be attached to a random nig for the rest of her life? And then you wonder, if she has heard of condoms and other forms of birth control, was she just on f-it status? Did she just figure that since no one had put a ring on it, but she already had everything else in life, the next logical step was having a baby?

But you can’t say that to people cause that would hurt their feelings – but I wonder as I wander and observe this chasm of have and have nots (kids) widen - I think that maybe I should just go ahead and have a baby by a random nig. I mean everybody else is doing it. Riiight? Right. Maybe I should just throw caution to the wind, hit up a happy hour, chat up some dude, and say, “I want you to be my baby faver.” Not tonight. You can take me out a few times first. Maybe we can make a baby like 6 months into the relationship when we're just starting to dislike each other. Maybe that’s when I’ll drop those infamous words, that will change both our lives, “I’m pregnant. And it’s yours.” But see I don’t think I could ever do that. That’s not me. I have no desire to take up the armor that is single motherhood. I'm not into being a martyr. Or being someone's mama and daddy. Or having theme songs written sung by Fantasia. And so here I am single and childless.

But can I just get on my soap box for two seconds and say from this single with no kids perspective – I just don’t think it’s fair that you can pop out a baby by someone, not remain committed to that person, and then jump yo’ happy ass back into my dating pool. Now I gotta “compete” with you and I have to take your “used” goods who wants to show me pictures of his 2 year old daughter on his phone. No thank you, sir. But then reality sets in, and I have to accept the world we live in and the fact that I might one day be in some Melanie/Derwin/Janae situation (sorry they’ve been playing reruns of the Game these past few nights) and not be able to give my husband his first born child.

And maybe I’m being whiny. And maybe I’m being mean. Or judgmental. But the good pastor Amaretto quoted on Tuesday, also said in that same sermon that this type of behavior is bringing something permanent into what was supposed to be a temporary situation. And I wonder – do people really know what that means?

Do you know what it means to go to a back to school night in an inner city and see nothing but mamas? And just a handful of daddies. To hear too many Black children openly wish for their fathers in their lives? Do you know what it means to have a baby with someone you don’t know, or barely know, or kinda like but still not know anything about? Do you know what it’s like to have to answer your child's question of how their parents met? Or what did you like most about my mother? Or how come y’all married? Or what diseases run on the other side of my family? To not be totally sure if the person you laid down and made a baby with is crazy? And to not have a big mama who can look that nygga in the eye and be like, "who yo' people?"

And do you know what it’s like to be on the other side of it all? To feel like you’re one of the last few Black women without kids? To be a woman who wants with all her heart to be somebody’s mommy, who’s getting older, whose eggs are dropping and not being put to use cause she is still clinging to that notion of first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in the baby carriage? Do you know what it’s like to feel like you’re on a losing team? To feel like things are starting to look bleak - simply cause you're clinging to your respective beliefs, morals, values, etc., etc.

To wonder if you're still unmarried and without kids at 50- was all that clinging to principle worth it? Will it matter that you held firm to what you believed? Or will your heart just ache for a child of your own? Will you wish that you had just made a baby with that nig who was good enough? Will you wish that you had made other arrangements? Other plans?

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

*And if you didn't get the reference, you lose 10 Black points. Lol.

Dam, dam, dam James

So last week Dark & Stormy, y’all remember her right? Riight. Anyway. Last week she sent me this blog post. So basically the writer starts off talking about how beavers "pair up for life and take on the world, with its harsh environment and lurking predators, together." You know building dams and such.

The writer goes on to discuss how her grandparents were married at 20 years old, lived in a room in one of their parents’ home, had kids, saved enough money to buy some land that they leased out and then, "they basically went all beaverish in a rural outpost in the southwest corner of Georgia. They 'dammed up' some land and made a living for generations to come. " And then she wonders if in a day and age when everyone has to have their ish together before they take that big step – will our generation see our golden anniversaries? I mean let’s keep it real, will we see silver anniversaries?

Now anyone who knows me in real life, knows that in an ideal world, I’m all about building dams. So when I expressed my glee over this post, Dark & Stormy said, “but aren’t you doing the exact opposite?” Which is true – I have an undergrad degree, a grad degree, a real ‘job’, bout to be homeowner, etc., etc. And I said, “sure by design. Cause I have to eat. And I’m tired of living at my mama’s house. But if someone I really wanted to marry was like ‘yo let’s get this money TOGETHER,' I’d be all over it.” And I would. But that's not my reality right now.

Now usually when I lament the single life on this here blog, I tend to get a tad overly“bitter” and sorrowful. This is mainly done for effect. I mean it’s like I do be feeling this way, but I don’t stay feeling this way. It’s usually a passing feeling cause something seemingly dramatic has happened in my life to trigger that emotion. And I'm operating on a heightened level and y'all get to hear all about it on Friday! But…

As I get closer to being a homeowner and have been the roller coaster ride that is the home buying process, I realize there’s a reason why people wait til they’re a two to buy a home. There’s a reason why it’s just couples on the HGTV show House Hunters – notice the plural. And why the other HGTV show Property Virgins usually features newlyweds looking for their “dream” home. This house hunting/buying/owning mess is hard. No, it’s arduous. It’s annoying. Frustrating. Oh how I wish I could say, “honey. I have to work. Could you meet the home inspector?” Or, “honey. I’ma need your half of the money for that down payment.” Or, "honey. Can you believe the ish the seller is putting us through? Let's cry on each other's shoulders..."

And when I am going through, all up in, with what has got to be the biggest moment in my life thus far, when I must press on as a one, it makes me feel so conflicted. I’m proud of myself for taking this huge step, but at the same time, I’m like um should I really be taking this huge step alone? Like for real. Do I really need to own a home by myself at the ripe old age of 28? It’s not like I have kids who need a back yard to play. My parents aren’t kicking me out the house. But it feels like, if not now, (when interest rates are low and Obama is handing out 8 stacks) then when? When someone comes to sweep me off my feet and take me away from all this? Ha. These aren't the good ol’ days when people go courtin’ on they porches.

And then I get a little sad cause this is the reality for so many single, childless Black women, who unlike our white counterparts who think them being unmarried is a fluke and the one is still out there – we stop thinking there is a one all together.* And move on accordingly. Climb that corporate ladder. Be that church lady who stay going to everythang. Dress up wayy too fancy to be going out to Friday night dinners with just the girls. Travel the world with our sorors. Become some lil' child's play auntie.** We press on, heads held high, refusing to settle. Still holding out to be wives first, then mothers. Find ourselves dealing with silly nigs on the daily who aren’t ready to build dams together. And yet when we complain about the loneliness/fearfulness/wtf of our situation for two seconds, two seconds, we hear the same, “girl, live yo' life” refrain.

And so we go and do just that. Live our lives. And try to build our own dams alone. The best we can. But sometimes on the hard days, when there's no one to turn to. No one's shoulder to cry on -and daddies don't count. Mamas don't count. Best friends don't count. No one to bring you some wood to contribute to the dam. When you take inventory of your life - and like a never been married 50ish year old woman at Bible Study said the other night, "you go to your empty home on a Friday night and you ain't got no man, no kids, and you working a job you hate. Well..."

Well it's enough to make you want to give up the ghost, put down your wood, walk away, throw up both your hands and scream, damn, damn, damn James! I can't do this no mo'! And then you regroup. Take a deep breath. Return to your senses. And go back to building your life. And take comfort in knowing that you can hire some people to come help you move some of this wood.

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

*My homegirl just told me, "I wonder if I can get used to this, being lonely forever."
** This might be its own post, but I think it's all downhill for single, Black women when we start to be someone's play auntie. Next thing you know 18 years have passed and we're still sending them birthday cards and putting their school pictures on our mantle.

Just cause it's Friday!

The Conversation

The Conversation by Hill Harper is EXECELLENT!

Like my lady friends would say, “Let’s get all the disclaimers out first”. Despite the fact that I think Hill Harper is attractive and intelligent and embodies some of the characters that I would love to have in a life partner, his latest book is amazing. I was going to read it during a lunch break, just like I treat all the books written on the topic of relationships, love, sex, video whores etc. I wouldn’t be caught dead claiming these types of books were in my collection. But by page 15 of this book it was evident I had to buy it. I got to page 100 and was like “are you kidding me? No way you going to buy this and return it”. And on that note, I walked half a block in the rain withdrew $20 form my bank using my Drivers License. (It is a recession so I am cutting back on spending by only walking around with cash and tokens and today of all days I was low on funds.)

Two days later I completed the book. If I didn’t have a 9-to-5 I would have finished it that day. This book is truly refreshing. To be honest I don’t want to tell you too much about the book because I encourage every African American to read it. (chuckle) I think that men and women will find it refreshing and something to think about. It truly encourages the action of the title, Conversation. The book doesn’t just talk about relationships and all that he this, she that, how to get a man type of over-rated hype it up blah. This book seeks to discuss our relationships with each other. It discusses historically our ideas about family from slavery to present, our fears and misconceptions, our upbringing, childrearing and the challenges we face today. The book is not preachy, assuming or only Hill’s understanding of the various discussions. This book is filled with stories from friends, quotes from our favorite celebrity couples, comments from ordinary people, facts from others who have written on about this, scientific data and most importantly, Hill’s personal experiences.

This book is honest. Take it from me… I am not sure if I was Hill I would have written some of his personal stories or thoughts. (chuckle) It is not only honest but it asks you to be honest. There is so much in this book that I think will inspire conversation and thoughts amongst us as a people that I almost wanted to hold a party for each chapter and buy Hill a short-set. (chuckle) Okay let me stop… seriously but here is how he got me to thinking.

Some of the things mentioned in this book, we know and the cool thing about it is that Hill knows it too so he doesn’t harper on it (No pun intended… chuckle) and neither will I. He writes this book for the intelligent reader.

I read this book, as a young lady recently divorced who is not quite sure what went wrong with the relationship. And what I find so intriguing is that in the book, occasionally Hill let’s you into his inner thoughts about why he behaves the way he does and how he knows it is not the best but does it anyway because it is the way he has already deemed it so. This makes me chuckle because don’t we all. I do it all the time. Throughout the book he mentions his relationship with this lady and he talks about how when he met her, there was this great connection. He got her number but once he left her and was on his own he started to calculate all these things in his mind about even calling or seeing her again. Whether it was worth it, is she just trying to get with him, if she was looking for someone to father her child etc. And oh boy, don’t we do it. I know I do it. I am back on the dating scene and you better believe sometimes, I think people are out to get me. Scoop me up, make me their baby-mamma, pop-out some pretty babies or just make me their side chick. None of which I am interested. Sometimes it is enough to say F-this!

A friend of mine once said, finding someone to sleep with is so much easier than doing the work to make a great connection.” And you know what? He didn’t lie. That is so true. At times you want to just say forget about it I have other things to focus on and we put more energy into those aspects of our lives, neglecting the importance of companionship and true love in your live. Shucksssss, I am doing it now! But a quote I read in this book on page 15, “Well, the truth about life is that we’re all alone, but when somebody love you, right, that experience is shared. Love is the only real connective tissue that allows you to not live and die by yourself. It gives you purpose beyond you.” Will Smith. Say what? Almost had me in tears. Romantic relationships aside, this is so true for any loving relationship, mother-daughter, sister-brother, friend to friend.

Amongst the many topics that he discusses, the running theme seems to be honesty, vulnerability and openness from both male and female. In the book, he mentions a brother Jared who says (page 115) “…we love them enough to not want to hurt them by breaking up with them but not enough to devote all of our attention to them…. It’s very hard to break up with a woman that you don’t hate!” Really Jared? You don’t say. And I will tell you from a chick who can maintain relationships with all her exs, but refuses to, it's hard to except these type of situations also. It takes a lot of strength on both sides of this situation to be honest and upfront. And Hill reminds us that it is getting even easier with technology nowadays to not ‘man-up’ to any difficult situations. Send a quick text or email… no tone delivered on my end and nor do I have to deal with your reaction immediately. For people not looking to do the work, such an easy way out. Again, I know I did last week. :/

Hill runs from nothing in this book, sex, complicated matters such as divorce, dating others with children, crossing the color lines, money, etc. His experience in chapter 14 is a must read!

“Anger is a manifestation of a deeper issue… and that, for me is based on insecurity, self-esteem and loneliness” Naomi Campbell. Was this before she attacked her assistant? (chuckle) But yes I agree… a therapist told someone I know very well it was usually a defense mechanism for fear. I will never forget that. Here is Hill’s take on fear…

“FEAR = False Evidence Appearing Real”
(Note from Harper’s desk for Part 4… great idea for title pages.)

Hmm… this book left me with a lot of thoughts. For the first time in almost 2 years, I believe I can seriously consider commitment. I am making a harder effort to learn from mistakes and leave the anger behind. I made the ultimate sacrifice of all of 'me' in efforts to make my marriage work and realized I lost me in the battle to save it. Silly me, ‘myself’ is what made it work. This was so much larger than me. We never had a chance at that rate. After The Conversation I am know, now more than ever I am going to be okay as long as I stay true honest to myself. Not every guy I enjoy dating is going to be the there forever or necessarily marry. I will continue to support my mate as I do my friends and assist them reaching their full potential on their own. And most importantly be vulnerable and honest about my needs. Yup... that's tall order to fill but it is worth the wait.

If you don’t read any other pages in this book, just read the last chapter and think about how powerful a party like that would be with your friends.

Much luv until next week… peace :)

P.S. Keys is back… sounds a little like "No one" but I happy nonetheless :)

some things i thought i'd never do

for the last few days, black women have been buzzing about jill scott's latest revelation: she's a single mom. jill and drummer boy have called it quits.

some folks wonder was it all just a show? was the good love, the engagement, and the matching tatts just a smokescreen for the baby. let the comments on essence.com tell it, some women are mad as hell. how could she do it? didn't she say, "I can even raise the child we'll make, make sure he's loved and knows what God gave us, I can teach him how to walk and stand but he needs you to help him be a man, we need you."

or did she?

wasn't that just in a song she wrote? for our entertainment and encouragement. was it the real real truth? did jill scott deep down in her soul tell herself that she'd never be somebody's baby's mama? or did folks just see jill, all natural and glowing, luxuriously voluptuous, empowered and independent, all mother earthish and assume that "she knew better." that a woman who could write lyrics that seemed to express exactly how a woman was feeling would never get caught out there thinking she loved somebody, wanted to be with him for the rest of her life and then end up raising his child alone.

just look to e. badu for guidance. 3 babies from 3 baby's daddies. "i dont take nothin that [chic] say to heart, not like im better, just that we all full of contradictions." (c) rum punch.

contradictions indeed...

as women age and divorce and have desires for babies, we _________ [fill in some word that doesn't have compromise's negative connotations].

we mellow
we grow
we change what we want and desire.
hell, we compromise.
cause we probably started off from some unrealistic black knight in shining armor place.
we make mistakes.
we realize that love is complex as hell and that relationships take work
and we decide whether we will or will not be bothered
or if we'd just rather have the baby, please and thanks...

how far away from your "I'd never do...'s" have you gotten? for the good or for the bad?

Mind Your Business Lady!

Okay, so I have more work fodder for you folks. Sorry, it seems the only things I have opinions on are work related these days. Here’s to hoping that Al Sharpton will do something interesting that I can comment on in the next 7 days. Until then….

Let me tell you about my cubicle neighbor.

She’s one of those Black women who has been through the fire and been through the flood. A sistagirl who is well into her fifties, loves the Lord and will tell it like it T-I-tis! When my department first relocated to our new office space, she came over to my desk and said: Hi, I’m Betty Lou. I just wanted to introduce myself because I’ll be all in your business and I know you are going to be all in mine. Hmmm, I said to myself-I’m not nosey…but okay thanks for the warning. And as if her forewarning of privacy invasion (a la the Patriot Act) wasn’t enough, I didn’t tell you how she had on a fuchsia leopard print pant suit with matching shoes and scrunchy securing her yanky ponytail to her head. But again, we are talking about a fuchsia leopard print pant suit! At work! How is that okay? But different strokes for different folks, not everyone likes to wear black and white everyday like I do.

And given this characterization of Betty Lou, I really should not have been surprised when she decided give me her 5 cents, when 2 would have been enough. I walk into the office thinking about how I am a good person and I am more than my job when Betty Lou starts telling me that she thinks I need to buy Steve Harvey’s book Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man because, she knows I’m single.

Um excuse me? How does she know what I is and ain’t? Aside from the occasional “Bless You” after a sneeze or slight comment about how cold the office is (cause those folks like it that way) we don’t talk. I’m not going to Betty Lou’s cube to tell her about my weekend and how I spent most of it hoping some man would call me back…and asking her what that means.

And maybe Betty Lou was just being friendly. Maybe trying to prevent another black woman from falling into the pitfalls many single ladies find themselves in. But sometimes I find that every Black lady (married or not) wants to advise you on how to get, trap and or keep a man, all under the guise of “Baby, I’ve been there, done that.” And while it’s nice to learn from our elders sometimes it’s hard for them to realize that it’s a new day…and beyond that…I ain’t you, so fall back! And another think that’s bothering me about it all is that would have Betty dared made the same suggestion if I was Anglo or Latino?

Maybe I’m just being over sensitive in this super PC world of ours. If it was 1959 I might have welcome Betty’s advice as we smoke cigarettes in our lead paint office. But in 2009, you can’t tell an older, well meaning Black woman to mind her own beaver damn business. Well actually, in 2009 you can, but Amaretto isn’t of the ghetto variety. So instead I told Betty I’d look into getting the book…I probably won’t but Betty doesn’t need to know that.


See You In Seven

You Ain't Hungry Then

My coworker is a single Black woman in her early forties. She often shares with me about past loves and how around 35 she decided that her playa days where over. I know, playa days? Anytime I meet these type of women who used men like Kleenex it disrupts my notions of what women are and aren’t. Sillly me, I guess. Just yesterday she told me she turned down a marriage proposal because she was sure she would cheat on the dude…repeatedly. Wow. I will just say Amaretto’s mind was blown. Needless to say my co-worker is selfless and I would say that she leads a full life. She has worked on her as they say women ought to do in their singleness. She’s involved with her church, her sorority, her undergraduate school, has travelled, teaches yoga, home owner, drives a nice car, keeps physically fit...but has come to the point of being so tired of being alone and on her own…and well who isn’t right?

During one of our sessions, after exhausting endless meet and greet possibilities and going out with men that she just wasn’t really attracted to, she whispered to me that she recently signed up for eHarmony. I said that that sounded exciting and was happy for her. And then she went into how she never thought it would come to needing online dating... Now granted I am younger than she, and as the years have marched on-online dating no longer screams desperation…I mean I love the movie You’ve Got Mail-can you believe that was eleven years ago?! But maybe for a woman who once lived her life as a player…well this is a big step that she wants to make way under the radar.

So yesterday I asked her how the online thing was working out, and well at the moment it isn’t. One of her matches turned out to be the ex-husband of a woman who went to her church. Yikes. Others seem to be too old looking (she calls them crawdaddies) or too short. Or too much of what she isn’t looking for. So I wondered what Jesus would do in this situation, and I asked her to cast her net a little further. Maybe look at a man who isn’t Black, or doesn’t have an MBA. One who doesn’t enjoy working out in the gym but loves to go dancing. And maybe even just go out on a date with someone who doesn’t have it all, just to see if maybe, possibly there is something else that you didn’t know you could like.

She said-HELL NO!
She knows what she wants.
End.Of.Story.

And to me that was sad. I told her that sometimes you get to the point where you have to be unorthodox to find what you are looking for. My dad answered my stepmother’s personal ad in the newspaper, and they have been married for over ten years. And I realize I am saying all of this as a person who is over a decade younger than she, and I haven’t had the panic of living my life alone truly set in yet…so what do I know? To her, I might be asking her to settle, and like Sam I Am-she already knows she doesn’t like green eggs and ham. But I do know, that if you are hungry enough you’ll eat things you never thought you like…and just might be surprised by how good it tastes. It just seems to me, that only a Black woman is willing to starve herself...when everyone else, will gladly eat from the plate in front of them!

See You In Seven

Yes, Women of Color Do Age Well

Excuse me ladies, I need visit the restroom.

Oh I'll come with...

Me too.

You know I don't like going to the restroom anymore,

can't stand looking in the mirror...

I hear you.

What?!

I can't see how old I am getting in my face.

You kidding me right?

Oh be quiet...you are going to look 45 when you are 90!

Never really thought about it before but yes, women of color do age well. Maybe now that I am approaching that age where I don't look like a teen anymore and my friends of other races are seeing the signs of age creep up on their faces...I starting to take notice.

While I was on vacation, a lady I swear was in her late forties turned out to be in her early seventies with grandkids older than me. Reading the latest issue of Essence article on Valerie Jarrett, she is 52...get out of here!

Then I am sorry, this last one took the cake for me...Michelle O pics at her highschool prom. WOW!

I hope to age like this!

Much luv until next week...peace:)

judges behaving badly

Imagine you walk into a bar to meet a friend. You sit down and order your drink. You turn to your friend, preparing to ask him about his sojourn to the holy land formerly known as Denver when all of a sudden you hear...

I HATE YOU! he he I HATE YOU!

You look over and see a...

Black

Female

Criminal Court Judge

Making a fool of herself

Twas me one night last week. Struggling to hold down a conversation over drinks with a friend while witnessing a HOT ASS MESS!

Now I've seen this particular Judge in court before and while she has a reputation for ghettofabulosity on the job (i.e. having her computer speakers playing hip hop music pseudo-softly in the background during a lull in court proceedings, announcing that she had had enough for the day and was leaving the bench to go pick her child up from day care, etc.), I was generally impressed with her. She is a relatively young Black woman who has risen through the ranks to attain the bench and is a pretty fair and knowledgeable arbiter.

So I was not SO surprised when I looked down the bar last week and saw that it was Ms. Judge sitting at the other end talking and laughing quite loudly with another gentleman. I already knew she was LOUD. Judges tend to be that way sometimes. And it is a bar where people might get a little tipsy and forget to use their inside voices. So maybe she liked to drop an F bomb here and there, no biggie.

Well folks, let's just say it got much worse from there. It was clear that Ms. Judge (who is not married) and this gentleman (who happened to be sporting a wedding ring) had been and still were fuck friends for quite some time. "We been f'ing all week what's the big deal?" Yeah, it went there. And so their conversation continued, a play by play rehashing of their past escapades and encounters along with arguments from both sides about why they never were able to make it work. They'd be going back and forth, with "fuck you's" and "bitch please's" coming from BOTH sides and then the words would stop. I'd think to myself, finally, Ms. Judge got some respect for herself. And then I'd hear...

mmmmm......ahhhhh.....[what making out sounds like]

Yes people! I'd sneak a glance out of the corner of my eye and see tonguing and groping action in full effect. It got so bad that my friend and I had to leave the bar. Cause I damn sure was not paying attention to a word he was saying.

I was ashamed for Ms. Judge and for Black women everywhere!

I will give you that silly loud behavior happens in bars, even considering that this was a "nice" upscale hotel bar.

I will give you that some folks "just don't care", enjoy slobbing each other down and groping genitals in public.

But SHAME ON YOU Ms. Judge for: being loud, having inappropriate conversations about your sexual relations, letting a man (who is someone else's huzband) yell at you and call you out your name, then making out with said man, in public, when you are up for re-election, as a criminal court judge. And you a Black woman dog! I can't and will not! (c) Fresh

cater to you

A friend and I have this running conversation about B&B's, that is bold and brazen (black) women. Ladies who claim him! After observing the aggressive tactics of another woman my friend wondered aloud whether she needed to start being so B&B: picking out a man, claiming him as the one, being ready willing and able to do things for him, generally catering to him cause every day is his day. I countered her query, suggesting that this particular woman's actions (buying opera tickets, saying he's the one for her) to my thinking were more like catering-lite and actively showing and stating interest, a step down from bold and brazen, albeit a tiny step. To me being B&B is self-explanatory: the woman boldy intiates the contact, doing things like asking for his number, calling first and brazenly goes after a man while he goes along passively for the ride until such time as he opens the door and jumps out while the car is still rollin. But with most things in life, there is a fine line between B&B activities and those that are not.

Case in point. During my training last week, one of my male colleagues got sick. While drinking at a local spot, he reached over and partook of some oysters from somebody else's plate. Unfortunately these oysters did not agree with his stomach and the next morning he was down for the count. He'd be throwing up, take a nap, try to eat, and throw up some more. So commenced a vicious cycle for the next 4-5 days.

Some time around day 3, his girlfriend of one month, upon hearing about his distressed state, came to the rescue. Without any prompting, she jumped in her ride and drove over to where the training was being held. Keep in mind that we were training 6 hours away from home and co-worker didn't know she was coming until she called him from the road. Homegirl swept in with groceries and proceeded to cook and clean and nurse her man back to health.

My friend chalked it up to the magnificence that is him. But I wondered.... Had I just witnessed a B&B sighting, wifey auditions if you will, before my very eyes or was this woman simply being considerate? On the one hand, they'd only been dating a month and 6 hours is a hell of a long way to drive to spoon feed some grown ass man crackers and gatorade. On the flip side, you only have one chance to make a first impression, to show yourself to be the concerned homemaker who will drive any distance and clean any surface in order to please her man. This is a quasi-extinct black male with an advanced degree, no kids, and a good head on his shoulders we’re talking about.

Me no know. It could go either way, right? But if you held a gun to my head and made me make a choice about whether this was B&B behavior or not, I'd say it wasn't although the length of the relationship would cause a raised eyebrow. My only concern is whether she did all this out of the goodness of her heart or because she thought it would get her brownie points. Does it really matter her motivation especially if he isn't aware of why she's there, only that she IS there, showing him that she's willing to be down for him. He said he thought it was nice of her and maybe somewhere in the back of his mind she gets a check in the "could be a good wife" column. So who cares what other people (read: women) think about her actions. Maybe some times B&B behavior is called for if you want to survive. I say just don't make it a habit.

What say you?

A Woman's Work

Last Friday Rum Punch used her grandmother’s explanation on why men, particularly black men, seem to be crawling away from their responsibilities as a board to dive into a complex issue that many ponder. And like most things, the definition of how a man walks, is relative in interpretation. For me, my definition of a man tells of a life with consistency and self sacrifice. But, as I look around for men who are willing to do what they don’t feel like doing for their children, spouses and community, men like grandfathers, it seems to me that a lot of males have yet to master manhood. But as Lord Hannibal and Introspective Goddess have commented, what about the women? Aren’t they getting sorrier too?

Hmmmm.

At the core, it just seems like people in general are functioning more with an “F what you heard, Imma do me” mentality. And with that respect and consideration for others weakens under growing egos. I am always taken aback when I meet people who truly feel the world owes them something just because they are here. These folks think that they should start immediately at the top, and that they deserve to bypass the process of making it. Say what? As a people who sought to crawl out of the fields of oppression the value of sacrifice, working as a collective and hoping for something better for the next generation was learned. Yet somewhere this story of us got muted, watered down and sold as a fairy tale. Stories about money, cars and clothes are sung louder than what granddaddy or momma did to keep the family together and strong. And so I wonder how we are to know what we are supposed to do in our families, our communities and in relationships when our cues are coming externally.

On the outside I feel like everyone is getting sorrier. We stopped listening to those who’ve already been there and done that because surely they didn’t know what they were talking about. And because now we are all grown and sexy we don’t have to give respect to get it. I have long believed that it is the woman’s job to set the tone of a relationship. Yet it is amazing to hear about women shocked and saddened that ole boy only sees her as a booty call…when yeah, on your first date your gave it up not knowing his last name. Or that ole boy only sees her as a punching bag…when yeah, you decided not to leave after the first time he beat you. Or that ole boy only sees you as a gold digger…when yeah, all you do is ask about his money, his car and clothes. Or that ole boy only sees you as his baby’s mama and not a wife…when yeah, that’s what you allowed him to think of you. So how mad can women be when men fail to meet the expectations that were never taught or that we never communicated?

As mothers, fighters, glue that's holding it together, daughters, life givers, sisters, teachers and friends we have to know our value. And we have to remind our males that we expect them to be men because we know what they can be. We all need to hear of and learn our worth. And that women, is going to be a mighty work that we must be willing to undertake.

See You In Seven

Real Talk

Disclaimer: If you’re an Obamaholic, you may not want to read any more of this.

So last Sunday, me, my mother, my grandmother and Amaretto journeyed through the rain and a tornado watch, to my mother’s friend’s house to discuss the 2008 political season with a multi generational group of Black women. I went hoping for a healthy, substantive discussion on how Black women were being completely left out of the political equation, but it quickly turned into a ‘WE LOVE OBAMA, THAT MAN CAN DO NO WRONG!!’ fest.

Disclaimer #2: Now for those of you still reading, I should stop right here and tell you that I’m not an Obamaholic. I’m not on the O train. Admittedly, I’m at the O station, but I haven’t bought that ticket yet. And so that is the place from where I write.

So we’re sitting around the living room dining on fried chicken (go Obama!) and pasta salad (go Hilz!) when all hell broke loose. Ok maybe not literally. But basically once Amaretto and I expressed our displeasure/hesitance/question marks about the O man, we were pounced upon, trounced on and damn near held down for an exorcism to be immediately followed by a baptism in some Obama holy water. Not that we didn’t see it coming. Everywhere we go, Amaretto and I are the only ones who have the audacity to raise our eyebrows at all the Obamaholics. On occasion we are met with some like minded people; shout out to that cool chick who said “for real change to happen, there must be blood in the streets and heads must roll!” But I digress…

What pissed me the hell off about this group discussion was that there was a lack of actual discussion and analysis. These women had a myriad of excuses for Obama’s gaffes, mistakes, half truths. Yes, I said half truths. Now, this is not to say that other candidates, i.e., Hillary haven’t lied, we all know that Bosnia sniper story was pure lies and madness. But I focus on the Golden Boy because that was the main focus of the Sunday round the living room discussion. Every misstep he has made was “reasoned,” explained, or justified. To the point that I had to throw up my hands and ask, “When will this madness end?”

And by madness, I mean the lack of questioning of what Obama is gonna do for us, Black folk. Uh oh. Did I take it too far? Now, I’ve heard the argument that Obama is running for THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, not black america. True, indeed. When he speaks he is addressing all the needs of America. As someone said that night, he’s “Keeping us all in mind.” Or is he?

The fact that as a race of people, we have not dared ask “whatcha gonna do for us when the chips are down” bothers me because we are ignoring and exchanging our interests for the momentous occasion of seeing a Black man elected President. I know that it would be an amazing feat, believe me I would love to tell my kids that I voted for the first Black President of the U.S.A., but I fear that too many Black people are hoping and assuming that our needs will be met.

Yes, I believe that Black people have a different set of needs, issues and problems from the rest of America. And since I know that we’ll never receive reparations, someone has got to address our concerns. And while I do believe that some of them need to be addressed and handled within the community, but let’s not play ourselves, if we’re gonna play this game of living in America, then government intervention and action (at all levels) is also necessary. And so I think it’s only fair for us to ask all candidates, “What is you gon’ do for us?” Just like that. Other groups do it. Other groups ensure their needs and demands are heard. Jews. Cubans. Indians. Gays and Lesbians. Shit, Canadians even. They have no shame in using their clout or exchanging their vote for deals and favors.

But right now so many of us are being swayed by a nice smile and flowery rhetoric. And as one woman said at the discussion, “Obama has a nice butt.” Lord have mercy. That Sunday, my thoughts were confirmed, because I feel in my soul that Obama pimped the Black vote like any other Democrat would. He put in the obligatory “work” to get us: attendance at the NAACP & Urban League conferences, recitation of speeches at Black churches, visitation to the local barber shop. He pimped us. And once he won South Carolina and he knew he had won us over, he put us in the corner and told us to be quiet, because he had to win white folks over now.

Think I’m wrong? Yesterday on the Tom Joyner Morning Show, Tavis Smiley, Black America’s favorite man we love to hate, talked about how the National Newspaper Publishers Association (i.e., Black newspapers) had to have a “come to Jesus meeting” with all three candidates because they are not advertising in our publications. Tavis said, “One doesn't have to spend. [We know who that is] And the other two figure why spend?” And why should they spend money to reach Black audiences? 1. Because they get “free” media by appearing on every Black radio show, where Obama is fawned over and Hillary is invited because of those pesky government rules and regulations. 2. They don’t have to spend money and advertise to us, because they know they have us in their pockets-Obama especially, since we have given Billary the proverbial middle finger.

But on this particular Sunday, all of this was ignored. Hillary was constantly regarded as a she devil. I’m sorry, a lying she devil. Two snaps and a neck roll. And Obama. Well, you would have thought he was about to walk on water, feed the masses with just a two piece and a biscuit and then raise some people from the dead. People were visibly upset that we did not agree with them. At the end of the evening they approached me and Amaretto and said, “We hope we changed your mind.” Hmmm… I never said I didn’t or wouldn’t vote for him. I merely questioned him. Nothing wrong with that. I looked at his whole. I examined everything about him. I mean these women already assumed that McCain doesn’t have our best interests at heart merely because he’s a Republican. Then they ripped Hillary up one side and down the other and called her everything but a child of God. We aren’t gonna treat all candidates equally? Or is this affirmative action politics? Cause when I asked if they would vote for Obama if he were a white man delivering a hope, change, jazz hands message, I was met with silence.

I had to bite my tongue, but I so wanted to say to them: I’m sorry I can’t be one of Obama’s ride or die chicks. Because I think that at the end of the day, when the cameras have been turned off, the screaming crowds have gone home, gymnasium lights have been dimmed, and the façade of campaigning has been removed, Obama is just a man. And more importantly, he is a politician. (Rev. Jeremiah Wright said it this morning-holla!) Through and through. With his own motives. His own dreams. His own hopes (that have nothing to do with us). His own eyes on the prize. And I know that we want him to get that prize. But at what cost?

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

why are you still single?

At a recent birthday dinner for a law school classmate of mine I stumbled upon the answer to why some black women who make six figures might be single.* Let me explain.

the place: A cute jamaican restaurant/lounge in the city where working class and professional black folks come after work to get a bite to eat, unwind and maybe meet a cutie or two.

the company: 5 black women, all young associates at corporate law firms in the city.

the characters: "The birthday girl" - late 20s married. "Ms." - on the verge of 30, been dating a guy who she complains about on the daily for the past few years. "Lauren from the black Hills" - late 20s single wanna be BAP doing way too much to seem high class and always ballin outta control. and "lil Pumped (full of water)" so named cause she's gained the first year associate 15 and then some eating way too many free late night dinners at the office also single mid 20s. and mint julep of course, but you already know me.

The birthday girl, being the happily boo'ed up black woman that she is, proceeds to ask the rest of us woefully (to her) un-boo'ed up black women at the table so how's the love life ladies? Any prospects?

*collective sigh*

Ms. throws out a cursory, oh Boo gets on my damn nerves and were gonna break up any minute now. For real, ya'll. Mint julep thinks, Yea Ms. we heard that shit before.

Lil Pumped: ughh I'm done

Lauren: I'm so over the whole thing. Enough!

mint julep: Well I for one am single and actively looking. and in my head i think: done? over it? stop playin bitches. mint julep aint goin down without a fight...i loves me some d... errr... never mind, tmi. instead i continued, ladies ladies it can't be that bad out there can it. There are good men! My homeboy, who happens to be once such good man, says he goes out all the time and never sees black women like us out. He told me black women oughta come out more. You know what I really wanna know? Where do all the good girls go? What club they be at? (c) Andre 3000

Lauren: where does he go? we try to all get together but someone always has to work late and can't commit to come out or cancels at the last minute because of work.

mint julep (in my head): Uhhhhh.... (1) we don't have to all go out together in a gang on the prowl and (2) tis why I giveth not a fucketh about my job because I will cut out on the work shit to go out and meet some men.

And when I replayed this convo over in my head the next day, I picked up on a collective theme, partly from the words spoken and partly from what I know about these women. like how they hardly ever go out except to the occasional birthday lunch/dinner, how they live in outrageously expensive apartments (it's the city, but still), buy fantabulous outfits, take trips with the girls and spend all kinds of money on hotels and dinners, and have basically washed there hands of being about the business of getting out there and meeting new men. they've given up before the race has even started. but i say contrary to popular belief, the 20s are when we should be out there meeting folks and enjoying life. that's what my mama did and she didn't have me till she was 34.

yeah i know times have changed. and in some interesting ways. from my humble perspective, these women are content with their money and their suckey jobs. they've made it in the traditional sense, making 6 figures, can live any where and go any place and buy any thing they want. so what could a man bring to their lives? they got they girls who are also single (or unhappily boo'ed up) and their nieces and nephews and their careers. hell, there aint no good men out there any way so why bother?

shhhhiiiitttt! i'm sorry, i like my friends, i like women but I NEED the comfort of a man (c) stephanie mills. i need a man up and through the mix sometimes, i need a deep bass voice, a husky laugh to give me that tingle up my spine.

of course, the ladies at the table laughed and smirked at my single and actively lookin comment.

mint julep (in my head): just keep laughing, especially when i send ya'll the wedding invite!

*this post is limited to my experiences with a small pool of black women who make six figures. miss me with the "oh stop generalizing" comments. thanks!

when "good" just isn't enough

Happy Valentine’s Day…a day for love and all that jazz. Everybody deserves a little love right? Not just brotherly and sisterly love, love from your mama nem, love from your bestest friends but there persists this notion that everyone deserves to experience that one love, between soul mates if you will, a man and a woman presumably, the one that was made for you and you for him, who ain’t bout that bullshit and this love will lead to marriage and security and bliss. Or not.

I was talking to rum punch a few days ago about this notion. She was jumping off dark and stormy’s post about Black women complaining that there aren’t any good men and dirty red’s comment about some Black men also having a hard time finding good women. And this really stuck in rum’s craw (and mine too for that matter). It got me to thinking…

What is this amorphous “good” everybody’s screaming bout they can’t find?

Finished school, Got a job, Girl do your thang (c) little brother
No kids, 401K, can cook a mean spicy chicken wang (lol my attempt at the rhymes, forgive me)

But really, women are scrambling to make sure they have the wifely resume all set, educated and just independent enough, can cook clean and dip it real low and nasty in the bedroom and according to dark and stormy, with her lip balm and hair always hooked before she leaves the house. Isn’t having all these qualities “good” enough? wellll.... it seems not to be cause there are plenty “good” women by these standards running around.

Now I know there are some scalawags from both sexes among us talking bout they are quality material but put those people out of your mind for a minute and think on your friends and associates who are sane, funny, intelligent, good-looking, hard-working Americans just trying to find love. Think on those “good” men and women.

As Rum said, aren’t we good women, why don’t we have a man? I replied, are we really “good” women?

Hear me out, in the traditional sense we are banging, damn good. But for the male counterparts we have encountered thus far, are we the “good” that they are apparently so desperately searching for and vice versa? No matter how good we see ourselves, if it’s not the good ish that these men we encounter are looking for, aint nothing we can do but continue to look around cause the goods don’t match….

But to many women that’s unacceptable, just plain sucks. And I said as much to Rum. I told her, it’s like applying to law school. You can have perfect LSAT score, straight A’s on your college transcript, a well crafted personal statement with a diatribe on how you’ll save the world with your law degree. And you can apply to your dream school, Harvard. Yet you could still get that skinny envelope with the admission denied letter inside.

Why? You’ll ask yourself, aren’t I good enough, didn’t I have it all together, the perfect package? I deserve to be accepted.

Sadly, no you don’t. Law school admissions, and by my estimation, this whole man/woman dating/marriage thing don’t work like that. Maybe Harvard was looking for less than perfect, someone a little older, more committed to the cause, with more experience or compassion, or maybe someone got their application in a little bit earlier than you did and stole that last spot.

And what can you do? You can’t beg and pled with Harvard and no matter how well connected your parents are or how much money you have, if Harvard has picked someone else, that’s it.

Maybe Harvard isn’t for you, maybe Yale’s where you should be or Duke or some state law school. You won’t say there aren’t any good law school’s out there because Harvard rejected you (will you?). If you want to be a lawyer bad enough, you’ll keep applying and maybe you’ll find a match or maybe you'll decide that law school ain’t for you. You’ll do other, just as meaningful things with your life.

And this is how I’ve come to understand this idea of that good-good, soul mate-type love and marriage. Just cause you’re a good woman and you do all the right things and perfectly position yourself for love doesn’t mean it’s guaranteed, that it will fall in your lap when you look up and say I’m ready.

That kinda love is a privilege, not a right.

Coulda. Shoulda. Woulda.

What do people do with guilt?

Let it eat at them?

Carry it along in the repressed places of their minds?

Let it go?

Friday was the first day that I felt guilt again. It slowly seeped in, occupying space. Dominating my thoughts. I'm feeling it's weight on my throat...

A lady I used to work with had been on my mind a lot lately. When I first came to my good ole government job she was one of the Sistagirls I lunched with who schooled me on the ways of the organization folks. She was from Baltimore and commuted all the way to DC everyday for her temporary assignment (not that Baltimore is that far-30 miles-but it’s still far to come just to work). These assignments allow people from different offices to make more money and learn about a different position. Most beg to go on these assignments under the guise of personal skill enrichment but it’s mostly about the money…mo money, mo money, mo money!

At any rate we become good work friends during her stay. She was my lunch buddy. My “I hate this job” soapbox audience. My source of office gossip. My off da hook-all meat-no-bread crabcake provider. My bootleg CD supplier. My knowing partner in the trenches of the job. A very supportive presence after the death of my grandfather in ‘05. An example of a strong black woman working. Trying to make it for herself, her children and their children.

It was a sad day for me when her assignment wasn’t extended and back home to Baltimore she went amid our promises to keep in touch and hang out one weekend. But ya’ll know how it is when life gets going. You forget and neglect stuff. We kept in touch less often. But after more time than usual passed, I emailed her to quote-unquote check in this past September. She replied that things weren’t going too well on her end, but that she would have to tell me about it later. I don’t know if these things were personal or job related (because the job had been crazy for a minute). I was concerned and eagerly awaited her tale. After all you never expect someone to tell you things aren’t good when you check in with them, we just want to hear their happy readers digest update on life.

But she never got back to me. And when I really realized this about a month ago I told myself that I had to call her. But it slipped my mind. When I did call her cell about two weeks ago, an automated voice told me that she was no longer a subscriber. When my friend found her house number through Google, it rang busy. When I tried to email, her address was gone from our network. Yet when I found out on Friday that she died from a massive heart attack about a month ago, I was still surprised.

Now guilt is causing me to think about this. A lot. I Coulda done a better job of keeping in touch. I Shoulda visited her like I said I was going to. I Woulda warned her this was going to happen to her…had I known. I know that’s crazy right? But this is where my mind goes. Because I’m talking about someone who was in her fifties (like my parents). Not old like my great-grandmother who was 101 when she died. Not sick, like my grandmother who slowly died from Colon cancer. Not living in the face of death like the soldiers in the Middle-East.

And though we didn’t talk everyday, weren't BFFs, it sucks to know that I don’t even have the option to say “Heeeeey, girl” and hear her say the same. That maybe she didn't know that I cared despite my delayed follow up. That the “one day…” I planned on will never take place.

I'm not an overtly affectionate person, but I wonder if my family and friends know just how much I do love them? Even when I don't say it first or daily, and my actions may lead them to assume that I don't. Guilt keeps pressing, saying I could have done better when I had the chance.

Damn. You will be missed MVJ.

See You in Seven



PS. Heart disease is a leading cause of death for women. Black women in particular.

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall...

Looking for a post on politics, the New Hampshire primaries, what Obama has to do next to be the first Black President!? Well this ain’t it...I'll let Bellini handle that breaking news! And here we go…

So as I mentioned in a previous blog entry, I used to waitress at a gentleman’s club…Said club was mostly frequented by white people, therefore most of the staff (dancers and waitresses were white)…Well as can be expected when you put a bunch of women together, day in day out, night in night out, and menstrual cycles start to collide and such, sometimes a spat or two would occur. Rarely violent, it was usually just cussing, screaming and name calling. So inevitably if two girls were going at it and one girl was oh say a size 2 and the other girl was oh say a size 6, at the height of the argument, size 2 would say, “shut up you fat ass bitch!!” Size 6 would be pissed! Those were fightin words! Aaaaah a white woman’s worse fear, Achilles heel and sore spot: not being called a bitch but being called fat.

Now as a size 14 girl myself, size 12 if there the material is stretchy and there are no zippers or buttons (you know what I’m saying), I often wondered if a size 6 was a fat ass, then what the hell was I to these white girls, Shamoo the whale? Of course none of them ever went there with me. They knew better. But they would always be on some, “oh you look good for your size” or “you don’t have to lose weight…” Oh ok. So a size 14 looks good on me but not you? Yeah right. But as a Black woman with that ‘fuck it I know I look good’ gene, I could care less about what they thought.

It seems that both mainstream society and the Black community just expect us Black women to be large and in charge. I remember when I was first starting to gain weight in high school, my pediatrician while expressing “concern” about the situation said in the same breath, “but a lot of women in your family are big, right?” Um yeah. But that doesn’t mean that I'm trying to get on their level. Truth be told, I wasn't trying to literally tip the scales from thick, to fat, to whoa!

Oh but the scale kept going up anyway. And so on many an occasion I have played the: 'I don't care what size I am' card. This is mainly because of the response that us plus size girls get from Black men. They love us nonetheless. Sure there are some who like those skinny minnies but there are so many others who like to have more cushion for the pushin. Plus, we are often told by our community that there's nothing wrong with having a little meat on our bones. And if we can look flyyy while having a little extra, well then it’s all good.

Oh but sometimes we take it a little too far, don't we? Our waistlines grow but our clothes don’t as we show a little too much skin. We get larger and our health gets worse. You know the holy trinity: high cholesterol, high blood pressure and the suga. We don’t want to exercise because we don’t want to sweat our hair out. We eat the wrong things a lot: a two piece and a biscuit, chicken fried rice from the carryout, a number 2 supersized, washing it down with a 32 oz. soda or that good sweet tea… And somehow we continue to release that I am plus size Black woman hear me roar for the world to hear. Walking around like: I don’t care what you say, my mirror says I look good.

It’s a blessing and a curse ain’t it? There is something beautiful about us Black women loving our curves, refusing to conform to the mainstream's standards of beauty and feeling good in our own skin. And still there is something telling about our refusal to realize that what we think is beautiful can also lead to serious consequences. No time to go into the psychology of it all but I often wonder if we really do love all of us, if our men really do want all of that cushion or have they just accepted that we’ll always have a little extra and do we wish deep down that we had the time, energy and know how to drop a few pounds? Hmm...those were some Carrie Bradshawesque, Sex and the City type questions right there...

As I get older and my weight remains thankfully stagnant (but is not necessarily healthy), my mother is constantly on me about losing weight because diabetes runs in our family. And I know that she’s right. I know that I need to go the gym and lose a few pounds. But I also know that I still look good when I wear proper fitting clothes like a slimming blazer or an A line dress or anything that floats away from the body (c) Stacey & Clinton from TLC's What Not To Wear, all which have people asking me how I lost weight. And thank God for the body shaper.

But truth be told I have not always been this size and while I know I can pull it off, it's not where I want to stay. So with a new year and resolutions, blah, blah, blah it's time to get serious! I know, I know, losing weight is everyone's goal. And it's not the losing weight that's the hardest part, (I've done it) it's not even the keeping it off, it's the changing the lifestyle. It's about making exercise a normal part of my routine, eating right (and not getting a slice of pizza or some tacos for dinner after I ate a salad for lunch). It's about admitting that maybe my love for eating is about other things. And it's about continuing to love the skin I'm in as I get ready for this struggle journey, cause I know it won't be easy!

That's my time y'all! Happy Rum Punch Friday! Happy New Year to everyone! And if anyone else has lose weight as a New Year's "resolution", I wish you much success and discipline on your endeavor.

That Good Hair Girl

When it comes to women there are a few rules all must follow.

Rule #1: Never ever ask a woman her weight. Unless you’re always guessing 95 pounds, whatever number you chose (even if you are dead on) will be too much.
Rule #2: Never ever ask a woman if she’s PMSing. If she isn’t, she just might start because of your stupidity! Besides, it’s not something that we can control anyway.
Rule #3: Never ever ask a woman her age. Except for Mr. Robert Kelly, who should always always ask!

But when it comes to Black women there are a whole extra set of golden rules that addresses our hair.
Rule #1: Don’t ever ask if it’s ours. Of course it is!
Rule #2: Don’t touch it! Hair touching is by invite only!
Rule #3: Don’t get it wet! Unless you want to see us turn into gremlins, keep the water away!

Our hair is a very big deal! There is a billion dollar industry devoted to making us hair happy. Whether relaxed, pressed or natural we are willing to spend a couple hours and dollars to get our hair done just right. And after our do is done, we are even willing to sacrifice comfortable sleep to ensure our style remains intact.

Somewhere in our childhoods we learned the difference between nappy hair and “good” hair. If your braids were long and laid flat you had good hair. If yours were short and sometimes one stood up in the air, well you didn’t have the good stuff. If your hair was shiny and silky thanks to a white great-great-grandfather or some Cherokee relative it was good. But if your hair wasn’t manageable or only shined with the help of blue magic hair grease, a hot comb and a brush, well no one was envious of what you had. And as little girls looking for validation of the beauty we saw in our mothers and grandmothers in the magazines we read or even in the mainstream we saw little to none. And it was hard not to believe that having good hair made you beautiful…

But thankfully times have changed, and so have our standards of beauty.

Currently I’m in pursuit of some good hair. But good hair for me is now something that is strong and healthy. For seven years I have been flirting with the decision to go natural. Second to the notion that my hair will be healthier for it, I’m really curious to see how I am going to look. This has been a very frustrating process ya’ll! And if I wasn’t a patient person before, this journey has made me even less patient!

Knowing that I couldn’t pull off a TWA I opted for braids during this period of growth. As the stylist tugged and pulled every strand of my hair with synthetic I realized that I was going to look totally different. And I began to get nervous because I wondered about my white co-workers reactions to my transformation. Sure I had had braids before, but I was in high school or at a job that wasn’t in a professional setting. The Senegalese Twists I opted for were a compete protest against the conformed Anglo office look and I worried if my actions would be viewed as rebellion. If these coworkers would wonder what happened to their good little Amaretto. And for an entire weekend I began to regret finally making a decision to go natural.

Well Black Woman hair rules 1 and 2 were violated that Monday. Oh, the questions! Lawd, there is such a thing as a stupid question. And I heard them all that Monday. They wanted to know who had done it, how long had it taken, did it hurt. Personal stories about seeing black women with braids on the street and them wondering about them were shared. It was like my hair decision had made it okay for them to ask me what they always wanted to know. Or share that they wish they could do that with their hair (insert eye roll here). The whole ordeal makes me wonder how they’ll react to the actual afro that’s growing beneath.

I forgot black woman hair Rule #4: Never ever criticize it! After all we’re sensitive about our sh*t!

Whether our hair is relaxed straight, laid in locks or a strong afro puff our hair is a crowning jewel many have refused to see as beautiful. And the new standard of beauty proves that we all got good hair.

See You in Seven

Introducing a Possible...Bahama Mama

Editor's Note: as the name suggests, this blog features the views of 5 very different women and the possible -- meaning from time to time we will feature other writers beyond the 5 in the mix. Today we debut our first possible, Bahama Mama. Hope you enjoy!

Bahama Mama: Chilled and sweet with just enough hidden intoxication to keep you on your toes. A mother of two who is following the unorthodox map of a quarter life crisis. Grasping at life with the eager hands of a child and forging a path to build strength, character and knowledge to pass onto her children. For it is not expendable riches that keep generations wealthy, but indispensable wisdom that allows us conquer all of life's pitfalls.

My favorite Christmas movie is A Christmas Carol. Okay, it is actually the story of Ebenezer Scrooge that is my favorite. It doesn’t matter how the story is being brought to me, whether it’s an adaptation of the Charles Dickens original, the eighties flick starring James Belushi, or the animated version featuring none other than Mr. Fred Flintstone, I always enjoy the tale. This is my flick of choice because at the end I always think about the different stages in my life. If I had the opportunity to go back, like Ebenezer, I wonder what goals, passions and dreams I would cling to.

I know that if I looked back on my life as a child, one of my goals would not have been to be a single mother of two, in her mid-twenties with so many questions to life unanswered. I ran this by my therapist ( and yes I am a black woman who goes to counseling!), and she logically told me “your twenties are a time when you’re finding out what to do. You’re finding yourself.” I laughed a bit derisively, ‘cause clearly this woman didn’t know the stress that I was going through. I didn’t have time to find myself. Between the drama with their father, working and meeting the needs of my daughters who are a day shy of being a year apart, my mind could not fathom the thought that I even had the right to find out who I was. Because it is the thoughts of many Americans that by the time we have children, we should “know ourselves” or “have it together”.

It wasn’t the pain of childbirth, or the sleepless nights that followed which had me looking around and thinking “what the hell?” It was the shock that set in after I began to comprehend that I was too busy for me. I was so lost in being a mom, a girlfriend, a daughter, and all the other labels I carried, that I started to fold under the pressure. But like many black women before me, my back was bent, but not broken. My spirit was ailing and in need of some serious medicine. So, I stopped and thought about me. As moms we tend to take care of everyone but self, but how can we love and nurture our children, when we don’t love and nurture ourselves? Its impossible ladies.

I began to think about all the things that I wanted before I had children. I thought about the hobbies that I liked to do, the people I liked to be around and I started to make time for me. It was hard, but I handed over some responsibility to their father (and we’ll talk about that later!), and did me. Heather Headley said it best “I need some me time”. It doesn’t matter what you do with those moments, which should never be stolen because you have a right to not cook dinner all the time, or to hand the kids over at bath time. Read a book, go to a movie, do anything that YOU want to do. And ladies (moms, wives, girlfriends, lovers) contrary to what some think, we all need that time to step back, look at our lives, and reassess the situation to make sure that we are happy. Though my life is no where near what I envisioned it to be at this time, I’m learning, growing and becoming a damn better person in the process.

Wading in Water

In a recent conversation with Rum Punch I revealed that I did not feel like dating anymore. I don’t know how she was able to suppress her laughter knowing that I haven’t exactly been on 100 dates like a friend of ours has claimed. But she went on to name the specific opportunities she suggested that I could meet new people and where I repeatedly and vehemently declined to go. With this I realized that I haven’t earned the right to lament about the dating climate for the black woman. Oh how easy it has been for me to sneak on the Strong Black Woman, and sometimes even the Angry Black Woman bandwagons where they welcomed, assumed and encouraged me to shout! I’ve carried the torches that incited many a conversation about how there ain’t no decent, educated, working, childless, single-like really, honestly and truly single-Black men out here. But really what do I know? I’ve only stepped into the dating waters a few times and ran ashore before I could feel how warm the water eventually becomes when you stay in it.

But you know what part of my problem is ya’ll?

Well maybe I should pluralize problem because it’s an extensive report complete with indexes, addendums and yellow sticky notes attached. But, aside from my reoccurring daydream that Mr. Right will fall from the sky and instantly be smitten and ready to wed…I dread those first conversations. Some people want to get money quick and I want to hurry up and get to the comfortable silences, the assumed weekend plans and the pet names. I know that period of caring and sharing until the wee hours of the morning is necessary before the relationship commences-and with the right person it makes missed sleep totally worth it. But with the boring, weird, wanna be playa, mentally slow, thugged-out and possibly gay (but he doesn’t know it yet) person it’s hard for a girl not to sigh over missed sleep and start dreading the getting-to-know-you process.

In the years since my Best Relationship Ever ended (please note years) I’ve had the chance to glorify that time in my mind. Another one of my problems, clearly it wasn’t that great since it’s ova right? This relationship was the first time that I let myself go. Just tossed caution to the wind. Turned a blind eye to the obvious signs of impending drowning. I lived and loved in the moment. I got real deep in ya’ll. But when it was over I was beyond heartbroken… And maybe that’s why I’ve been holding back, avoiding the dating waters for any reason, no matter how stupid. Just afraid of feeling that hurt and that cold again.

So I’m doing what a lot of women do and filling the relationship void with something else. Some of us use children, religion, knitting, promiscuity…and for me it’s my Movie Guy. Another problem. Anyone else keeping count? My good ole reliable, just drop by on a Sunday night to watch Brother & Sisters with me Movie Guy. Someone who I can share my closeted love of the Red Hot Chili Peppers-which he gets because he’s letting me borrow his cd. We’ve been friends since high school so there are plenty of comfortable silences, heated arguments and weekend plans…but there is no future here. Knowing he’s no threat to my heart, Movie Guy has been a life preserver that's kept me safe during my time of healing… and still now. And that’s a not good thing anymore.

And there are more problems that I could list…but the ones I’ve mentioned have helped create and nurture fear. My big ole paralyzing fear that I try to brush off and ignore. But really, I don’t want to end up a spinster feeding a legion of cats…reminiscing about a love from decades past... becoming the neighborhood old crazy lady. So I’m choosing to walk toward, go in and stay in that water. Singing…

Wade in the Water. Wade In the Water Children. Wade in the Water.
God’s gonna trouble the water.
I stepped in the water and the water was cold.
God’s gonna trouble the water.
It chilled my body but not my soul!
…While I swim

See You in Seven

that beesch is eatin' good

A friend and I were recently discussing child support. Not in the i'm-tryin'-to-collect-mines sense but in the girl-you-see-how-much-so & so-has-to-pay-now sense. She seemed to think Take-dat take-dat having to pay over $19,000 a month was way too much but I didn't really have no kinda sympathy for his 5-kid, 3-baby mama havin' ass. But the convo got me to thinking...

Should there be a mandatory maximum on child support payments? Is there some upper limit at which we, as a society say, aw hell to da naw! That's way too much for one guy to pay each month to one woman whom he happened to sleep with without a condom?

Why is it that we applaud the average woman takin' her allegedly triflin' baby daddy to court to collect that $250 a month to help pay the daycare bill. (and why are daycare prices so off da chain...can we get some regulation of that industry) But when the tables are turned and the man is a mega millionaire there is suddenly an outpouring of pity and support for the poor sap who now has to pay $29000 a month to his baby mama (or mamas if he gets around like that).

Jermaine Dupri has an interesting take on the situation.

"Someone in my position has to take care of his child and his baby mama. It's a point of honor that you set them up in a house, pay the bills, and give the mother of your child a monthly check so she can stay home and look after your baby. You've got the money so there's no excuse. In this industry, if you don't look after your baby AND your baby mama, you're an asshole. It's a code that makes guys like me a target."

-Young, Rich & Dangerous, The Making of a Music Mogul (2006)

Basically if dude is making that much money, ain't no reason his child and baby mama should want for nothing much less have to haul his ass to court like this guy, or this guy (just to name a few). I think JD has a point. If you got it like that, don't you want your kids (and the person takin' care of your kids 24/7) to have it like that?

Yet, the argument always circles back to vilify the woman (notice how this also seems to happen in other situations i.e. rape--why was she over to his house at 3am?; kidnapping--why she out in the street so late by herself?; Video vixen/stripper--why she think shaking that ass/swinging on a pole is a legitimate way to pay for school?) but back to jump offs...the thought is that this chick is getting rich off her ass just cause she laid down with (insert famous Black artist/athlete/celebrity here). How dare she! She should be made to work. She shouldn't get to shop all day, blah blah.

Sounds like a bit of hateration in that kool-aid ya'll dranking. Yea yea you all can say now, as you hustle your independent woman self to work each morning, that you wouldn't be able to just sit around all day, you'd have a job or something... gurl stop!

You'd take that 28k a month and keep it movin. You might not literally sit on your ass all damn day but you damn sure wouldn't be working your current 9 to 5 (at least not on a everyday 9 to 5, 6 or 7 o'clock basis). You might dabble here and there in your current profession, do some charity work, etc. but you'd focus on raising your child into a productive adult.

Now, granted there are some jump offs who take their life of leisure to a whole nother level.
Like this chick Willie Gary hooked up with. I mean, come on. Don't go spending the cheese willy nilly like you ain't got no sense. But even in that situation can we really advocate for a mandatory maximum given the facts? His dumb ass initially voluntarily agreed to pay that much (prolly to keep her ass quiet). And according to a quote over at sandrarose.com, the amount he pays per month as a percentage of his yearly income (a whooping $13 million per year) equals out to a guy making $130,000 a year paying only $280 per month.

Marinate on that shit. Puts it in perspective, doesn't it? Not to mention that his ass has yet to see his son and daughter since birth.

With the amount of money that these guys have, why shouldn't they pay (or be forced to pay) these women a percentage to take care of their children. They laid down with these jump offs, with no trojans or magnums on the nightstand, with no thoughts to the consequences of what that phat piece of ass would cost them in real-life dollars nine months later. So now you wanna cry, "This is ridiculous, I need a mandatory maximum please Mr. Judge suh." Naw shawty, it don't work like that. And with all that bread you laying down for that chain, that car, that mansion, that white party in the hamptons, are you really hurtin for it? You feedin' cousin pookie nem, your "personal assistant/bodyguard," and his whole family, why not feed your flesh and blood and the woman who gave birth to junior/juniorette?

But that's just my opinion...what's your thoughts on a mandatory maximum for child support?

"She supposed to spend it on that baby but we see she don’t
Ask ask Paul McCartney the lawyers gettin sloppy
Slaughter slaughter of them pockets, had to tie her to a rocket
Send her into outer space, I know he wish he could
Cause he payin 20K a day, that beesch is eatin' good
Like an infant on a double D, beesch is getting plump
Cause he miscalculated the next to the last pump"

--Big Boi, International Player's Anthem