The Company You Keep

I have spent the last two weekends surrounded by women. Two weeks I ago I went to Atlanta for my college reunion. All ladies. Well there were men there for entertainment purposes. Cause you know we need some eye candy. But when we did our ritual/traditional stuff: dressing in all white and leading the new graduates under the sacred arch, traveling down memory lane at our annual banquet, singing our school song, it was all about the sisterhood.

Last weekend I was at a women’s prayer retreat surrounded by true women of God. I’m talking about some serious prayer warriors. I’m talking about women who done seen some things, had some troubles, been on the brink of debt, despair, and death, and are still down with G-O-D! Imagine 2 ½ days of a bunch of singing, praisin & prayin women, the West Virginia mountains, and JESUS! Yeah it’s pretty powerful stuff.

These two experiences made me remember how much I love being around women. I never understood when a woman says, “I don’t like to hang around females that much. All my friends are guys.” Something in that statement makes me raise my eyebrows and cock my head to one side so I can get a better look at this chick. And I realize that they have never known the wonderfulness that is being surrounded by bout it, bout it women.

I mean obviously I love men. I need them for stuff. Lifting heavy objects, killing bugs, procreation. And conversation and such (I am not that shallow). But I do believe in the collective power of women. I have seen what women can do when we are leaders, working together for the greater good. I have heard from people (men mostly) that you can’t put a bunch of women in a room together because they won’t get along. Pish posh and pishaw I say. And then this leads me back to the question that has been reverberating in my mind: who are these chicks? Obviously men aren’t pulling these statements out of thin air. Something has led them to this conclusion. They must have seen such disagreements occur. Or they have been fought over by two silly women who don't realize he ain't worth it. Or they have learned how to artfully play women without repurcussion.

These chicks need to be learned about what a group of women can do when we put our minds to it. Seriously, all women need to get on the same program. Think of what would happen if we single women all agreed to close our legs, brought men to their knees, and made them get them get their act together What if we all agreed to keep our hands to ourselves and not mess with someone else’s man or husband? What if we were committed to looking out for each other? Oh man! The power that women possess when working together. It would be awesome. But it would also mean that we would have to really have that Come to Jesus meeting I've been calling for. And I mean all of us. Even the ones we give the side eye to when they come into the club with all their stuff on display. Even the ones we think are beyond help. They just haven't learned the deal! And you only know what you know. So the meeting will be December 31, 2008, so we can start the New Year off right! Raise your hand if you’ll be able to attend!

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

....what yo man got to do wit me?

So the other day, I was waiting in line at this seafood spot around the corner from my new job. And behind me was this dude who looked to also be on his lunch break. I could tell he was checkin me out, cause I’m just so fantabolous. In my head I’m thinking ok….wait for it….wait for it…..5, 4, 3, 2, 1…

Him: What school you go to? I think we went to high school together.

Me: ….ummmm no. I didn’t go to school here.

Him: Oh really cause you look so familiar.

Then he proceeds to ask me where I’m from, what I do, etc. and tries to close the deal with, so can I call you sometime?

Needless to say, I was not interested. I mean there were gold fronts involved so no.... just not interested. But in situations like this, I find it hard to just say that. Mainly because I am too nice. I smile at people on the street. I say hi to complete strangers. And I have a hard time being mean and/or rejecting men.

But really what do I owe strange men on the street? Not a ting, not a ting. Yet something in me won’t allow me to say those magic words, NO, I’M NOT INTERESTED. Chalk it up to the time I asked a certain boy to prom in a round about way and came up with less than favorable results. Those wounds are still healing.

Instead I say stuff like, I got a man, let me take your number and…. Well that’s about all I got. Seeing as how I’m living in the murda cappy where niggas be trigga happy (c) lil wayne, I guess I’ll stick with these defaults, unless ye fine readers o’ the view from here have any more suggestions, and by suggestions I mean any funny, witty, nasty, and/or hateful things you say to shoot down would-be suitors or suitettes.

what say you?

seething in silence

I knew beforehand that that the 2008 presidential races would get ugly -- guaranteed. With a black guy as a presumptive nominee -- it means all hell is breaking loose. So the latest gaffes come with a surprise or do they ? However, just because it was expected for Americans to show their ass it doesn't mean it's right. I'm offended by name butchery, monkey t-shirts, assasination references, etc. I mean who am i fooling -- Americans don't get high marks for being class acts. But, I did expect decency. Is that too much to ask?

Are folks making assasination attempts on Hillary or John? And for Mike (Huckabee -- of course) to utter the most stupid ass comment in regards to an assisanition attempt on Barack's life is incredulous. A friend of mine in law enforcement continues to remind the security risk associated with Barack is a nightmare. The most unsettling factors for him is Barack's formidable presence in drawing huge crowds -- nerves are beyond fried. Now I will be one to admit, the Hillary Nutcracker madness wasn't right. And neither is her madness to change the play at the last inning.

Figuring out what to do with Florida is Michigan should not be problematic, but if Hillary and her acolytes have her way they can pursue legal loopholes with the DNC (Democratic National Committee) that could uphold or undermine the Democratic candidate until August. Pure madness. Who would have thought shit would have gotten so complicated. Oh, and it was Chris Rock who said No one heard of a superdelegate, until a black guy could actually win. Damn.

cheers,

Bellini

Something Wicked This Way Comes

As the three witches stood around their cauldron during the opening scene of Macbeth they sensed some of the things that were to befall Macbeth as the next king of Scotland. Sometimes I wish that there was a way that I could know before hand the things (specifically the bad evil ones) that would befall me, without say calling a psychic friend or paying to have my palm read…

“Hello, Ms. Cleo? Tell me my future. What? Why are you asking me what my name is, don’t you know? You’re the psychic!”

I mean, wouldn’t it just be nice to know on Monday morning instead of Friday afternoon that you are going to get fired? Or maybe if you had known that Pookie and ‘em were going to rob you could have made sure you got insurance for that 51” plasma. And how many would be baby mama drama free today if they had known before, that ole girl hadn’t been taken her birth control like she swore she had? Aaaah yes. Life would be a tad easier and breezier if we could know such things. But since we don’t, we get to have interesting stories to tell, and things to complain about.

And so without further ado, I will step on my soapbox to complain about the crappy service I received last night. I feel that had I known before hand that all the wait staff had been replaced with some of the seven dwarfs Grumpy, Dopey and Lazy and a few of their cousins, Stanky and Cranky I would not have dined there. I mean, waiters still work for tips right? It would behoove them the make me happy instead of have me wondering if I had offended them or dreaming about the good ole days when folks still gave a damn.

How many of ya’ll know that Ghettofication is just as rampant as gentrification? While gentrification believes it makes places safer by robbing the poor because the rich can afford the higher taxes and better schools. Ghettofication just makes you wonder what the hell? Ghettofication makes you question if the rules of professionalism decided to just throw up the deuces and rule. Ghettofication makes you wonder if decency was somehow changed to “I don’t give a fcuk” when you decided to patron the establishment.

Not sure if you have been a victim of Ghettofication? Here are some helpful ways to recognize it while dining out on the town…

Ghettofication means You Learn to Wait
My friend and I were seated near the back of the restaurant and had to wait at least 10 minutes to get a “’sup ya’ll” as the wait staff sniggled and giggled in about sex, drugs and rock-n-roll (read: why they love Lil Wayne’s Lollipop).

Ghettofication means You have to Become a Camel
Anyone who dines with me will know that I love soda, I like my glass full and bubbly. Meaning I have to be refilled regularly throughout the meal. Not just at the end when you bring the check.

Ghettofication means no one has to say "I’m Sorry"
So yeah, my friend and I ordered basic American fare (ie Hamburgers and French Fries). Things that came to our table included entrée salads and soup. When informing the waiter extraordinaire that this was not what I ordered. I was stared at, blankly, like I was inconveniencing them.

Ghettofication means that I’m getting something for free once I have it out with your manager! It also means I ain’t leaving no tip! I will not stand for this. I will not reinforce wicked behavior…Ghettofication is present in other places! It inhabits all sorts of people, some types more acutely! Beware!

*stepping off soapbox, smoothing out skirt, pulling back hair*

See You In Seven

Summer Is Here... Almost

I hope you are enjoying your long holiday weekend. Even though summer is about four weeks away, we all know Memorial Day is the unofficial jumpoff for the season. I've had a weekend full of barbequed goodies, cocktails served in plastic red cups, and parties all over the city.

And now I lay me down to sleep.

** Summoning Mr. Sandman**





Tumultuously Yours,
Dark & Stormy

Money for Bus Fare

A long, long time ago, in a land far, far away, while I was in undergrad, my girlfriend and I went to hear Sister Souljah speak at Clark Atlanta aka CAU’s campus. Now, let me stop here. I am not nor was I at the time a die hard Souljah fan. But I was aware of her activist work and commitment to the community. And I was intrigued by her. So we went to hear her speak.

She was awesome. She basically called us ladies out on a lot of bullshit. Our inability to get along and let men get all up in the middle of us, have us fighting each other and whatnot. It was good. Especially if you are aware of the drama that happens between Clark and Spelman women. But I digress. At the end of her speech she told the following story (and please understand that I’m truly paraphrasing because it’s been awhile). So basically the story goes like this: her husband’s friend shows up to the house for a visit. Friend and husband go into the basement to talk, etc. While they’re downstairs Souljah starts cooking (you know being a good hostess). So after a couple of hours they come upstairs and Souljah says, “Friend, I cooked a little something. Would you like to stay for dinner?” And friend says, “Oh I can’t stay. My girl is waiting in the car.”

Can't you just hear the collective gasp from the audience? You know it was nothing but Black women up in there clucking their tongues and working their necks talking bout, “Oh no that chick didn’t stay in the car all that time while her supposed to be man was inside. Why didn’t she get out of the car?”

And then Souljah hit us with this: Some of you ladies are waiting in that car, not necessarily physically, but spiritually and emotionally. Some of y’all are waiting for that man who you know is “no good” to change. Some of y’all are mistresses waiting for the man to leave his wife. Some of y'all are sharing a man and you don't want to give up that good 'd' and be by yourself. Some of y’all are hanging on to a man, to a relationship, to an idea, to a hope, to a dream, to some bullshit. Get out of the car!

Now who knows how much of this story is true and how much of it was embellished to make a point. But the point was made. It hit home for me and still rings true today. Now I can’t lie and act like I have always known when to get out of the car. Sometimes it has taken me awhile to get my Oprah style this is some bullshit 'aha' moment. But when I get it, I get it. And it's coming sooner and sooner as I get older. And then the most important part of it all is that I see it as a lesson learned and try to grow from it while pushing myself not to make the same mistake. So now I make sure to always carry around some emergency money and my walking shoes. Cause I refuse to sit and wait on some bullshit.

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

to protect and serve...who?

I hate the police with a passion. I know hate is a strong word but they really just annoy the hell outta me, how bout that. I’ve yet to run across a cool police officer who I would want to be friends with, ask directions of, and God forbid I needed one to actually help me out of danger. I’d be SOL for real. I don’t know what it is about a uniform and a badge that makes the mf’er behind them act soooo cocky, smug, and all-around arrogant.

On the new job, I come in contact with sheriff’s deputies, court officers and police folk on the regular. And after only 3.5 days at it, I can say with confidence that my disdain for all manner of officers has grown by leaps and bounds in this short time. This morning I so wanted to punch one in the face for making me ruin my most beautifulist, favorite suit of all time.

What had happened was this…

Each morning and afternoon, I attend bond hearings at the jail. My colleagues and I interview people who have been locked up in the last few hours to see if they qualify for our services and also to help get their bonds set as low as possible so their families can bail them out. Usually when we arrive at “the detention room”, the officers have not yet brought out the clients so we wait around and shoot the breeze until they come in. The officers will try to make conversation as if they’re human and we’ll try to be socialable while avoiding eye-contact.

Now at yesterday’s afternoon hearings, we arrived to find that the detention room was going to be the set of some movie in the near future. The Dirty South: America’s Most Disgusting Prisons. Ok, yeah I made that up but it works if you saw this place. Anyway, in preparation for filming, a crew was painting the ceiling of the detention room yesterday. So this morning when we arrived, the ceiling looked to be completed.

Once the clients were brought in, we go about our business, interviewing them trying to get everything done before the judge comes on. I’d finished with my two interviews and headed to the front to help organize the client folders and take care of last minute paperwork. As I leaned away from this little stage platform thingy, I realized realize that gray paint had now attached itself to my beloved seersucker suit. THE uniform of the southern lawyer.

Awww hell naw!

And as I turned around, the officers in the back laughed (literally laughed out loud) at my predicament. Apparently they were waiting for us unsuspecting fools to fcuk up our clothes against the wet paint. All told, they got a good laugh out of 4 people from my office before I put up a bootleg wet paint sign. And of course as we’re leaving out at the end of the hearings, one of the officers says, how bout that paint eh? I got it all over me yesterday. Snicker snicker.

Bastard. Would putting up a sign have been to much to ask of your ice-cold soul?

I hate cops!

p.s. any tips on getting latex paint outta cotton?