Self Serve

It's been almost a year since I wrote about my decision to be celibate. Um ok cue Usher's these are my confessions... Last December I slipped and fell on some d.ick, so technically I have officially been celibate for a whole nine months. And what a looonnnggg nine months it’s been. But somehow I have managed. Well I think we can all guess how I’ve managed. That’s right let your mind wander and settle there.

Self pleasure is something us single gals rarely sit around and talk about. Oh sure we might talk about men, our love lives (or lack thereof), that crazy chick at work, the last time he put it on you and it was sooo good you were calling God, Jesus, Allah and Budda's name, but m.asturbation - forget about it. That you keep to yourself. Literally. And yet somehow we all know that we’ve done it at some point or another. Even the most prudish of your girlfriends has let the shower head nuzzle across her special place at least once. But she wouldn’t dare tell you about it.

Oh sure from time to time you might slip and talk about your actions aloud. The other night after several cocktails I made an off hand remark about my "me time." And my homegirl said, “I know that’s right. I swear my hand’s going to fall off soon.” Laughter. Shared understanding. And that was it. It's not that you're ashamed or anything, it's more like a don't ask don't tell, what happens between you and your va jay jay stays between you and your va jay jay policy. It’s like being part of some secret, anonymous society. And if you dare come from the cloak of darkness to reveal yourself, it has to be quick, preferably in the form of a joke, and then everyone must return to normal, as if nothing ever happened.

I suppose it’s because it's truly a personal act. And unlike sharing with and demonstrating to your friends the proper way to ride a man, (that's not personal at all), you don’t really want to tell them (nor do they really need or want to know) just how you get through those lean, mean and in between times. I mean it's just an unpoken understanding that we all fall on hard (or not so hard) times. And it's kinda crazy to think that no one self medicates. There'd be a lot more road rage and other psycho chick occurences if us ladies didn't take things into our own hands! So you just gotta do what you gotta do. On your own. Or with the help of a battery operated friend. And when you're done, tell no one.

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

things remembered

Photo: Larry Towell, Magnum Photographers, www.musarium.com/stories/magnum911/01.html.

In rememberance of our collective experiences on 9/11/01,

I am sharing something I wrote about 3 months after the tragedy.

The exhibit hall is quiet with the occasional hushed murmurs floating around the room. It is the typical museum atmosphere: individuals in deep reflection of the items on display. But this particular hall invokes a deeper sense of introspection and reverent muteness. I have just stepped into New York September 11 by Magnum Photographers. As I stand reading the exhibit’s introduction printed on the stark white walls, a woman behind me exclaims, “Oh, Jesus,” as she enters the room and takes in the first enlarged photo of the destruction. This exhibit is the chronicle of something recently happened; history in that sense, but still so vivid in our collective memories that it is disheartening to relegate it to the annuls of long ago occurrences, things normally placed in history’s clutch.

The present visual imagery of the exhibit’s placement invokes a direct correlation to the past subject matter. Looking into the main room of the exhibit hall, I see a group of solemn figures standing to one side facing me, their faces fixed on some object which I can not see. Their gazes are intense with heads tilted slightly upward, reminiscent of the scene in lower Manhattan those few short months ago: businessmen and women watching from street corners as the city’s biggest landmarks were destroyed. As I come around the corner, I see what they have all been looking at, a video of that morning’s events captured by Evan Fairbanks. We, the viewers of the video are now a part of the exhibit, a part of September 11th.

As I move deeper into the space, I am confronted by large panels placed in the middle of the hall. They block the imaginary path which would have run from door to door straight through the hall. Their placement forces me to look. Printed in row after row are names and like the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, I instinctively know these people. They are the victims and their centrality to the disaster is symbolized in the posture of the panels. The glassy surface of the panels reflects my image and it seems that my own mortality in the context of this great tragedy is clearly evident.

That morning, I lay in bed trying to sneak in a few extra moments of sleep before my Latin American history course. The incessant ringing of my cell phone, then my dorm room phone and cell phone again became impossible to ignore. I slowly rolled over and instinctively switched on my TV, hoping that the morning news chatter might make it easier to get up. I am shoked by what I see. One of the gleaming towers of the World Trade Center has smoke rising from its side. The caption states that a plane has crashed into the tower. I sit up in bed. A chill runs up my spine. I had just visited the towers on Saturday, looking up from the plaza at the structures that seemed to extend up into heaven. The security and familiarity of this room, this city is fuzzy. I get up and go out into the hallway. Knocking on my friend’s door, I start in without a hello, “Are you watching the news? We were just there!” We huddle around the TV and watch history unfold.

Hubris at it's best

In Greek Methology Kilpatrickius was seated just below Zeus. Zues has his thunderbolts, Kilpatrickius had his bulletproof Escalade. Kwame is untouchable!... courtesy of Detroit Free Press

For a while now, I’ve been baffled by the turmoil that encircles Detroit mayor, Kwame Kilpatrick. I don’t understand how he let it ball down to this: disbarment, probation, $1 million dollar fine, forgo pension – in my opinion -- it wasn’t worth it. But just to be sure, I call my homegirl who is from Detroit and is a former US States Attorney.

The first thing I utter is “why didn’t he resign a long time ago.” And she utters, “’cuz he’s stupid!” Well, folks there you have it! I reckon that had he resigned he would have kept his pension – folks did we not learn anything from Watergate? Say what you want, but Nixon was no fool. At the very least, I would have thought no matter how much he wanted to fight the case, the tipping point, would be the peril of jeopardizing the livelihood of his wife and kids.

Oh, and I’m sure had he resigned sooner his fine wouldn’t be so high. Think about it… he owes the fine and he still has legal fees. And he has to cough up $20,000 upon sentencing—that’s next month. Kwame! Damn. Really, what were you thinking? And I hate to embroil mama in this, Representative Carolyn Kilpatrick, but did you tell him about himself and he didn’t listen or were you his cheerleader of persistence?

In my mind, he had a chance to walk away a bit marred but could come back. And not to say that he still can’t, ‘cuz if Federal City allowed former Mayor Marion Barry a comeback, Detroit may bestow the same opportunity on Kwame too. Anything is possible – right?

And Christine Beatty. Humph… Girl, you should let Bellini school you. Never, ever-let a man fuck up your shit! Before ya’ go off, by no means am I condoning her part in this scandalous affair. All, I’m saying is her gamble was to big, therefore not worth it. Ladies, here’s one way to evaluate your relationship with a man. At bare minimum, you should lose nothing by being with him (i.e. career, home, money, etc.).

Cuz, this ain’t cute at all!



cheers,

Bellini

Rescue Me!

Rescue me
Oh take me in your arms
Rescue me
I want your tender charms
'Coz I'm lonely and I'm blue
I need you and your love too
-Aretha Franklin

Okay, so this just might cause the authorities to come and take my strong independent woman card away but….

I WANT TO BE RESCUED DAMNIT!

I’m talking about me trapped in castle, bored out my mind and a man coming to save me. That’s right a man, on a big ole steed, swinging his saber, speaking with all sorts of “thees” and “thous” because he lived in a kingdom far, far away once upon a time…

Hmmmm. Note to self: I can’t read any fairy tales to my little ones. I mean I can’t contribute to their disappointment when they’re in their late 20s and ole boy ain’t show up and it’s well past CP time. I don’t want my girls becoming that “I don’t need no man, because I have rechargeable batteries” chick. Nor do I want them to end up like me in my extended singleness-just restless in my waiting.

I’m a survivor though. Not that singleness needs to be survived or anything…but I do wonder how many mo dinners with the girls I can endure. I mean I love them, but I also need some positive reinforcement and the occasional fawning session. And well when you and your girls all get dressed and all look cute respectively…none of them are going to get a gleam of pride in their eye seeing you in your freak ‘em dress or DAYUM girl! Shoes. Nope. Everyone just sits at the table, sipping on their drinks listening for the pitter patter of horse feet, waiting, hoping and praying that a prince will soon come to bring about their great escape.

I don’t know if its our impatience, our drinks or just sheer boredom that causes us to hop down with men riding little ponies. I do know that after saddling up with prince too old, too young, too hard, too soft, too lumpy and too dumby I still long for the one that’s just right. Somewhere out there is a man on a steed and I’m ready to hear him say…

“My Lady, I am here to save you from your prison of boredom. I’m rescuing you with my world views, dreams, and my ability to make you laugh you’re a$$ off.”

Oh yes ya’ll! This damsel is falling out that window and into his arms…and off into the sunset we go…

*Sigh*

Okay. I’m tripping. Let me call up some my girls and see if anyone’s trying to do dinner. Lawd, I can’t wait to tell them about this prince charming rescuing me mess! I’m silly. I don't need saving. My girls got plenty of world views, dreams, and jokes to have me laughing happily ever after.

See You In Seven

2008 VMAs

Last night while I was preparing for my first five-day-work week in two weeks, I watched MTV’s VMAs. And this morning, I was hoping that those of you who did watch the show could help me answer a few questions that came to mind as I watched. And for those who didn’t, hopefully my questions will amuse you.

1) Is 2008 the year of Rihanna?

2) I know he told us who he was but WHO is Russell Brand again?

3) Why did Britney Spears win three VMAs?

4) Did anybody else think that Lil’ Wayne needed to pull his pants up during his performance?

5) If Aaron McGruder decided to make Boondocks the movie, couldn’t Young Weezy play Riley?

6) Wasn’t the little two-step that Lil Wayne and T-Pain did to Get Money cute?

7) Where did all the good hip-hop videos disappear to this year?

8) Why did Katy Perry think peeling a sequin banana appliqué on her leotard while singing Like a Virgin was sexy?

9) Speaking of leotards, is that the new performing costume right after leggings?

10) TI, can I REALLY have whatever I like?

11) Christina Aguilera’s performance was classic, no?

12) Did anyone else do a double take, when Young Weezy was singing Sweet Home Alabama with Kid Rock?

13) Can we stop hatin’ on Kanye when it comes to bringing the drama?

14) And, lastly was missing the season premiere of Entourage worth watching the VMAs?

You tell me…Happy Monday!

Peace :)

I Hope That You're The ONE, If Not...

Lately I have had the strangest feeling. Cue Stevie Wonder. And then K-Ci and JoJo. Ooo yeah. Ok seriously. Lately I have had the strangest feeling on this whole thing about finding the ONE. The thought is everywhere I turn. And it’s not all on my own volition. It’s just the way things go when you get around your girlfriends. I mean the conversation just sort of veers in that direction. What kind of wedding do you want? What kind of man do you see yourself settling down with? What do you think marriage is really, really like? Next thing you know you’re planning a trip to the bridal expo just to look at stuff. Or you’re thinking about your exes, convincing yourself that such and such wasn’t all that bad… And then it gets even harder what with all these wedding shows galore on countless channels. Then that one person in your crew you never thought would get married does. And then you top that all off with getting older and having no children and no main squeeze in your life, and people start to examine you like you’re standing on the auction block, eyeing your uterus like it’s going to waste, parents talking about their imaginary grandkids, church folks, old folks, yo' folks get to questioning when you’re gonna find someone to settle down and have kids with. F what you heard about living life the way you want. It’s all about following society’s rules. Or not. You know cause it really all depends on the kind of person you are and how you wanna live your life. Or not.

But back to the ONE. That ONE person you are supposed to click with, have a spark with, always get butterflies when they’re around, talk about any and everything with, realize y’all are soul mates, argue with but stay in love with, and then finally lock it down, on some foreva, foreva EVA, FOREVA EVA, till death do y’all part stuff… Or until someone decides they can’t do this no more. But you hope it’s the former. That ONE. That ONE mothafucka. In my travels across this land or just walking around my house in jammies, I wonder if such a person exists for me. And if he does then how will I know that he’s the ONE? Will the hair stand up on my arms? Will I just get some spidey this man right here, oh yeah he’s the ONE sense? Will it just be a natural, instantaneous type feeling? Or will it be gradual? And then the thought that it could be all of this, some of this or none of this. And of course there’s no telling if it will ever even happen. And so I was reading my girl Carolyn Hax one day (I like to say it like I know her personally) and I came across the following question about the ONE. Carolyn summed it up quite nicely. Still has me thinking. Read, enjoy and discuss.

Hi, Carolyn:

How do I know if someone is "the one"? I've been with him five years, and the answer isn't coming to me. Marriage is obviously a huge step in life, and it's important to me not to make any missteps. It would be great news if there was a "The One" checklist.

Seattle

1. If you're asking me, he's not it.
You're not marveling at your luck in finding this guy. He deserves that. You do, too.
End of discussion? Maybe. However, some people feel lucky just to have someone rich, or pretty, or breathing, so it's important to calibrate your concept of luck.
2. Do you love, not just like, each other?
3. Do you like, not just love, each other?
4. Do you talk to each other easily? Sit in silence easily?
5. Are you both past the point of comparing yourselves with or seeking approval from your parents? Peers?

6. Do friends and family approve? (Trick question.) Do you respect their opinions? Should you?
7. Should you respect your opinions? Can you spot abuse and control? Have you outgrown any need to delude yourself, can you admit when you're being shallow, stubborn, immature? When you're scorekeeping, holding grudges, shifting blame, undermining, told-you-so-ing, abusing substances or otherwise making suspect decisions?
8. Do you refresh, not exhaust, each other?
9. Are there no major objections, recurring arguments, unhealed emotional wounds between you? Do you two handle conflict well enough not to fear it? Are you free to be yourselves, where others seem to walk on eggshells?
10. Everyone has insecurities. Does each of you respect how the other handles them?
11. Can you share anything, whether you actually do or not? Does your mate know you as well as or better than friends do? Are you free to confide in both?
12. Finish this sentence: "S/he's wonderful, but . . ."
13. Do you understand that the only person you can change is yourself? And even then, only to a limited degree? That "potential" is fiction, it's as-is or nothing?
14. Okay, s/he's wonderful. But is s/he wonderful for you?
15. Have you purged the excuse "All relationships are work" from your lexicon?
16. Is pleasing each other a pleasure? ("Compromise," good; "compromised," not.)
17. Are you confident that, if you broke up, s/he would take it like an adult?

18. Would you be with this person even if you couldn't marry or have kids -- i.e., if there were no societal ticket to punch? (The silver bullet against settling.)
19. Has time -- not months, but years -- confirmed what you're witnessing and feeling?
20. Honesty check: Brutal yet?
And finally: 21. Do you understand that you can get all of this "right," and get everything else "right," and be raised by parents who got this "right," and still have things go wrong? That cosmically, practically and mathematically, the whole concept of "the one" is ludicrous?

This is sounding like an argument for serial monogamy. But operating from a fear of missteps is itself a misstep. Have the guts to accept life without guarantees, and to let good fortune speak for itself. Oh, and if you're wondering where sex is, it's covered by 1-21.

-Carolyn Hax

And now some jump off discussion questions for the class: Have you found the ONE? Believe that there is or is no such thing as the ONE? Waiting patiently (cause you know you can’t go “looking”) for the ONE? Think you let the ONE get away? If you found the ONE, does the mean you have to get married? Living a fuck the ONE, I’m the ONE, so I'm doing me type lifestyle? Do tell then!

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

trouble in the water

Imagine if the place you knew as home no longer existed? The town you grew up in was wiped off the map. That church where you were baptised razed to the ground. Your high school alma mater abandoned and neglected. Pretty disturbing thoughts.

While perusing the internets, I came across this over at The Breaking Point. Lord Hannibal asked "Is New Orleans Habitable?" It is a valid question, especially since I'm chillaxin on a week-long evacucation from New Orleans due to Hurricane Gustav. He raised some interesting points to consider:

Much of New Orleans, which was all but destroyed by Hurricane Katrina, sits below sea level. While it’s debatable that the city is sinking into the Gulf of Mexico, what can’t be debated is that it’s highly vulnerable to the potentially devastating effects of hurricanes.
. . .
I appreciate that New Orleans, with its rich culture and unique history, is the literal and figurative home of some people whose roots can be traced to the migration of 1809, but at what point does reality trump sentiment?

Now since I'm a New-New Orleanian, I'd quibble with the notion that "much" of the city "was all but destroyed" by Katrina but large parts of it do indeed lie below sea level. While Katrina's devastation was widespread, especially in areas like the 9th Ward and the Lower 9th Ward, other areas only sustained minor damage, like the Garden District, Uptown, and the Westbank. Nevertheless, I fully appreciate the devastation that hurricanes can cause on coastal cities and towns.

I grew up riding out hurricanes with candles and battery operated radios in a Georgia city prone to flooding because of its low lying location along the Atlantic Ocean. We'd watch the newscast with diligence and listen as the grown folks of the family assessed whatever storm was bearing down on us based on David and Hugo. Evacuating or at least considering evacuating at the end of every summer was a part of our lives in the same way that my cousins in Brooklyn got snow days when the city experienced a particularly brutal winter storm. In elementary school, we had tornado and hurricane drills where we huddled in the hallways with our bodies pressed against the wall with faces between our knees.

But is there a point at which this "reality" will ever trump "sentiment"? People's connection to a place is more, in my estimation, than mere sentiment. A place represents culture, history and home. A home that many families have known for generations since a time when this "home" was nothing more than a brutal surrogate for a no longer knowable home-land. It would be hard to imagine an abandonment of such a place. My great-uncle who refused to leave his home when most everyone else evacuated would have waved away any talk of the uninhabitability of his home. Not the one that he had labored for years to earn by putting aside every week and sacrificing the now for the rewards of the later. No reality could trump that.

So then what is the reality? New Orleans and many of America's coastal communities sit at or below sea level. An undeniably dangerous place to be. But perhaps these places have become more dangerous over time. According to the Environmental Protection Agency, the "sea level is rising more rapidly along the U.S. coast than worldwide." Global warming may very well be contributing to the rise of sea levels and the level of danger facing cities like New Orleans. The reality is that with the level of scientific engineering skills that we have within this country, we can do more to help protect first human life and second our cultural properties through planning. Planning that slows and ultimately stops the effects of global warming on our coasts. Planning levees that will withstand the strongest categories of hurricanes. Planning that will get people out of harm's way at the threat of a hurricane.

I just can't imagine no longer visiting Saint Peter Claver Church or listening to the Rebirth Brass Band on Tuesday nights at the Maple Leaf. Sentimental maybe, but living in New Orleans is my reality and the reality of a lot of folks, something not given up lightly if at all.

What say you?