ho sit down

last week i gave it to the guys and now ladies, it's your turn.
now this is not directed at all the ladies, just the ones who exhibit the following behavior. while the title of this post may suggest otherwise, every woman who exhibits said behavior is not a ho per se. i just like foolish and ridiculous southern rap songs that provide an extra special exclamation point to my posts.

let the truthtelling commence.

as i've said before i love love. i fully support being boo'ed up, for whatever reason said parties wish to be boo'ed up. i will support my homegirl when she decides to get a little closer to a guy who may or may not be good enough for her. i will listen when my sister shares with me how much she likes her new man friend and i will be that shoulder when he dun dun her wrong.

but ladies, sisters and gentlewomen, what's not fina happen is you invoking your boo's name every 5 seconds in otherwise unrelated conversations just for the sake of sending your man's name into the atmosphere.

i can not and will not.

here's how you tell if ya homegirl has exceeded the limits of sisterly relationship support and overdosed on the D:

1. when you're with your chica at some generic place, say a backyard bbq, an afterwork cocktail party, or chillin at the crib, where it's not just you and her having a heart to heart about something serious, look at your watch. note the time. and then count how many times she says her man's name in a 10 minute time period without you first inquiring about his ass or even talking about love, relationships or making babies. if that number exceeds 5, HO SIT DOWN.

2. if you haven't yet met her new dude but you know his favorite colors, his favorite foods and his favorite hip hop song of all time and they only been datin 2 days, please, HO SIT DOWN.

3. if your conversations with her go something like this:
mj: girl did you hear how kanye west broke up with that stripper chic amber rose. he so extra aint it? hasn't been right since his mama died.
her: i know right, my boo told me that last night. kanye need to deal with them demons. my boo say that's why he made 808's and heartbreak, cause his mama died. my boo be knowin girl.
mj: look, the sky is blue.
ho: my boo's favorite color is blue.
mj: oh snap, my mama just died.
ho: ohh no, i'm so sorry to hear that, you know my boo mama died last year so he know how you feel.

HO SIT DOWN!

and SHUT UP BOUT YO BOO.

enough. we get it. you boo'd up. congratulations! i don't need to hear about him and his predilections every 5 minutes. me and you are cool but i really don't need to know what he thinks about the global environmental crisis. you're dating him, i am not . keep some thangs to yourself.

the problem iswomen who are like this rarely ever realize they annoy the shit out of everyone around them. i overstand the excitement of dating someone new or being overjoyed about the (new) love of your life. i might shoulda been told to sit the hell down a few times or two in the past. but lately i've run across a few ladies that needed to be sat down and realized just how sickening it is from the outside lookin in.

you shouldn't surrender all your thoughts and opinions for those of your SO's. and you certainly shouldn't drop his name every five seconds like he invented the spanx. like he ghost-wrote death of auto-tune. just don't. HO SIT DOWN.

please and thank you.

Foot-N-Mouth Disease

I am one of the millions of people who suffer from Foot-N-Mouth disease, an illness that seems to afflict women more often than men. I first realized I had this problem while hanging out at Rum Punch’s church when we were in high school. A fellow male church member, who I felt was quite easy on the eyes, came over to talk to her about church bizzness. When he left I told Rum P. that I thought he was very attractive, but how difficult his life was going to be because he was soooo short. And no, I did not whisper…that would have been too much like right. So when Rum P. told me that this short sexy fella’s mother was sitting right next to us, I really couldn’t apologize for telling the truth. There was nothing else I could do aside from open my mouth and insert my foot.

Now over the years I think I have learned to control my disease using tact and politeness, at least I hope I have. To have my mom tell it, I have always been very opinionated. But I like to think that when I am dispensing my views to others I think they know I ain’t trying to be mean, just trying to be helpful not hurtful. And usually I prescribe my opinion pills will a spoonful of sugar (usually a smile or a back pat) to help them go down a little bit easier.

But on Sunday I had another flare up of my disease. My new, wise and older male friend has repeatedly expressed dissatisfaction with his job and life after comparing himself with other folks. It is his belief that he should be further along in life. Well ya’ll know how it is when someone you care about keeps talking about the same thing over and over and over again. I mean you care, but you also just want to tell them to poop or just get off the pot already! And since I am not a therapist, but tend to play one in my real life…I gave him a few suggestions on how he could be a better man. Yeah I know. Aside from giving him inspirational stories from the history of Black folks in America a la from slaves to CEOs, I gave my own tale of how I made it…and then I say things like: “Why don’t you…” “You need to…” “Insanity is doing the same thing and expecting something different…” I wasn’t trying to emasculate…but he thought I was wielding a knife in my hand.

And while numerous times he said I was right, I don’t think he was ready to hear what I had to say…especially coming from me, a younger woman he is attracted to, and as a person who hasn’t know him from way back when. I don’t even know the things he’s had to endure or is enduring on a daily basis. And while I was coming from a helpful place, he could have seen me as being mean and critical.

But it wasn’t until my phone call rang twice and went straight to voicemail that I thought that maybe, just possibly my foot had snuck back into my mouth again. And as I wrote my apology text message, that progressively grew into a full fledge email, I realized that I wasn’t sorry for what I said…but moreso if he was hurt by what I said. I guess I’ll know for sure if or when he accepts my apology. So until then, Dr. Amaretto is out of business until her foot can be surgically removed from her mouth…

See You In Seven