It's A Wonderful Life

Twas the week before Christmas, when all through the nation
People were shopping, preparing for vacation.
Others were sad that they were out of work
Looking for miracles, about to go bezerk.

The children were all being nice
Knowing being naughty would put them on thin ice.
And here I was a single Black woman whose closet was darling
Wondering just where was my prince charming.

When all of a sudden there was a great sound
That caused me to quickly turn around.
After all I was all alone in my new house
And was soo hoping that it was not a mouse.

The street light was on, so rare for DC
I went to the window and what did I see?
A '54 vintage convertible, light blue
This was definitely too good to be true!

With a little old driver in a fabulous mink
I wasn’t too sure just what to think.
Faster than Tiger’s mistresses, out they came
And she whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

Now, Good Health! Now, New House! Now, Life Lessons! Now, 5 Spot!
On, Faith! On, Joy! On, Family and Love, let’s trot!
To the top of the roof! The chimney it calls!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!

This awesome corvette began to fly
And headed straight for the sky.
They made it promptly to the top, lickity split
With a backseat of gifts and a divine woman who was too legit to quit!

And then, in a twinkling, I heard up top
Dancing and clapping that just wouldn’t stop.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney her fabulousness came with a bound

She was dressed to the nines from her head to her toe
And her clothes were full of sequins, they were all aglow.
A bundle of blessings she had on her back
And she looked like a queen, just opening her sack.

Her eyes how they twinkled! Her dimples how merry!
Her cheeks were like roses, her brown skin smooth as sherry.
Her plump lips formed a smile
As she put the gifts into a neat little pile.

“Just what are you doing”, I had to ask
“Just what do you think,” she said with a laugh.
“I’m not too sure,” I replied, giving her room to shine
“Why, I’m bringing your gifts from 2009."

“But what about all the other things I want,” I said trying to be pleasant.
Hand on hip, she said, “Um can you please focus on the present?”
“Can’t you see how much you’ve been blessed?"
She continued, “now why are you trying to make me stressed?”

“It’s just sometimes it doesn’t seem like enough and such.”
“Honey chile, be grateful, before I say it’s too much.”
I stared in awe and watched her finish.
She took her empty bag and said for 2010, she had to replenish

She went to her corvette, and let out a whistle

And away they flew like the down of a thistle
But I heard her exclaim as she drove out of sight
“Merry Christmas girl, count your blessings, and to all a goodnight!”

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

**The 5 Spot will be taking a Holiday break from Monday, Dec. 21-Sunday, Jan. 3, 2010. We’ll return on Monday, January 4, 2010 with a week long segment titled, Black & Bitter – our response to the now infamous Washington Post article. Y’all come back now you here? Be safe and Happy Holidays!**

They Say...

In 2001, everyone’s favorite sista girl Jill Scott was nominated for a Best New Artist grammy for her debut album, 'Who Is Jill Scott?' She lost to a white woman named Shelby Lynne whose album was titled, ‘I Am Shelby Lynne.’ God’s sense of humor? Mayhap.

Anyway. Critics noted that Shelby shouldn’t have even been in the new artist category since this was like her third album, and the fact that she was just beginning to receive acclaim shouldn’t have been a factor. But that is neither here nor there because she won. And I being a true Jill Scott fan wondered who was this white chick and how could her CD have possible been better than Ms. Jilly from Philly. I was intrigued. I mean the titles were so similar and yet different. One a question. One a declarative sentence. Both suggesting that their music would give you a hint into who they were as artists and women.

So. Being the type of person I am I went out and bought ‘I Am Shelby Lynne.’ And it totally rocked. Here was a white woman, singing a little bit country, rock, bluegrass and soul. Talking about heartbreak, love, and men. Sound familiar? Asking questions like: Did you miss me? Saying things like: I thought it would be easier after you were gone. And your lies won’t leave me alone. I ended up playing Shelby as much as I played Jill. And in the end I had to admit that her 10 track CD was a little tighter, a little neater than Ms. Scott’s.

So what is the point of all this? I’m not sure. Maybe that sometimes you have to find out things for yourself. Try new shyt. I know curiosity killed the cat – but they have 9 lives right? Tee hee. Even though what I did was something so easy – listening to a different kind of music, artist, etc – too often people are afraid or just unwilling to go around themselves and what they think they know, done heard or read in a book. Don’t want to try it for themselves. Can’t envision thinking and living outside the box.

And I’m not talking about anything detrimental or dangerous or illegal like smoking crack. Although you know if you wanna try crack, go ahead, it's your world! I’m talking about that seemingly simple shyt that might expand your horizons, but you’ve been reluctant to try. That ain’t gonna hurt nobody, we just dancing y'all, stuff – going to a concert of an artist you don’t know, trying a new food (at least taking 2 no thank you bites), throwing a dart on the map and then traveling to that place, learning a language, making a new friend, putting both feet in and being in love - head over heels, all consuming love.

Fcuk what they say. The critics. The naysayers. The people who done it already. Whether or not they liked it. Or that they said it wasn’t worth your time. Or that it didn’t work for them. Or that they told you it wasn't going to last. What the hell do they know? You’re a different person, right? With a whole set of your own experiences, feelings, and ideas, right? Cause I've lived by the rules they set. And been miserable. Taken jobs that everyone thought would be perfect for me and learned the hard way that they weren't. Been told that he's my type of man and we'd be good together. And realized - hmm not so much.

Now I'm not saying I live my life at 100% fcuk what they say level - mama has to keep a job cause I gots bills to pay. But in the day to day of the life that's my own, I do what I want and leave the rest. Try new shyt. And make a concerted effort to enjoy it. To find something good about it - even if I'll never do it again. Hear what they say. And then see for myself. Cause you never know. You might be pleasantly surprised. You just might like it...

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

Love Training

I will be in New Orleans in less than one week celebrating another Fourth of July with the one and only, Ms. Mint Julep. We have spent the past two Fourth holidays together and they have been quite interesting to say the least. Both years I have gone out of town with plans to just chill and have a good time for the night/weekend. And yet on both occasions, I have met what I thought at the time was a great catch of man, so numbers were exchanged, and a long distance dance/courtship/what the fcuk have I gotten myself into began.

First came the tingly feelings. The fun and thrill of getting to know a new person. The walking on sunshine. The like, the lust and I wonder if this could one day be love thoughts. But then came the drama. Right on time and all the way live! The miscommunication. Or lack thereof. The muhfcuka is you crazy? The this can’t be life moments. No really, this can’t be my life.

Heart was splintered. Tears were shed. Cussing was done. Fcuk that nygga was the refrain from friends and my mama. Teedra Moses songs stayed on repeat. Prayers were uttered. Sadness settled in and tried to make a home. And I started thinking that me and “celebrating” this thing called Independence Day were cursed. Got me vowing that next week, I will tell any man I meet in New Orleans that, naw I don’t have a phone. No email either. Nope, no facebook page. And a sista lives on Mars, so rent you a spaceship if you tryna come see me.

But seriously, as this July Fourth approaches, bursting with possibilities, I find myself looking back at how what were supposed to be simple out of town jaunts to have a little fun turned into more than I could have ever imagined. Thinking how I then put my expectations on the totally unexpected. And then witnessed in awe what did and did not come into fruition. Remarking on how so much can happen in just one year. Let alone two. How things can grow. Then shift. Mutate. Change completely. Become unrecognizable. End. How you can think you’ve got it all figured out, only to make the same mistakes. And then wonder if you are becoming the definition of insanity.

While rehashing the most recent dissolved relationship with a friend, I sighed, “Well I guess you live and you learn. And she responded, “And then you get luvs.” “Perfection,” I said. Cause even though it’s from a diapers commercial, these experiences have me feeling like I’ve been wearing “love” pull ups. Seems that I wasn’t quite ready for the real thing. Had to go through some shyt, just to be changed.

Having to wear these training pants before getting the big girl panties has me sorting out in a practical, grown up way, what I want and need from a relationship. What I deserve. Truly (and finally) understanding that communication is key. That being true to one’s feelings is crucial. That compromise is a four letter word. That this grown up, real life shyt is no joke. That every event is preceded by a sign. We’re all clairvoyant if we'd only know it. © Toni Cade Bambara That if a man want you, he will choose you and if he ain’t really chose you yet, then you ain’t the one. That you can pontificate all you want on what you would do if this or that happened, but when placed in said situation, you may in fact let your own self down. That you think you know, but you have no idea.

And so whilst at the time, it felt like I was really going through it, that my heart was shattered beyond repair, me thinks (and have decided) these luv pullups were actually padding for when I fell, to ensure that I wouldn’t be bruised for life. Wouldn’t hold grudges. Wouldn’t fight people in the streets. They have served as protection from leaks of cynicism and jadedness. Kept me dry. Sane. And most importantly still hopeful. Hopeful that there is someone out there just for me. And that all of these experiences, no matter how bad they were, no matter how much it hurt, in the end have a purpose - to mold me into a woman who will know better. Do better. Live better. Expect better. And get better. Got me now believing that you live and you learn. And then you get love. Real love.

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

Epilogue - Everyone has their own memories of HIM. The King of Pop. Mine are: my cousin babysitting us and playing the Thriller record (RECORD!!!) and her making me sing Paul McCartney's part from the Girl is Mine over and over and over again. Playing the Motown Christmas record (RECORD!!!) as a child, beginning right after Thanksgiving and loving every Jackson 5 song. Loving that lean in the Smooth Criminal video. Amaretto putting in the Thriller CD (CD!!) when nothing was on the radio and letting that joint ride! Riding the train to work with Baby be Mine on repeat. And grooving to my all time favorite MJ song that always brightens my mood, makes me smile and then wanna get up and dance. Rest in peace Michael Jackson. You were a soundtrack to my childhood. Loved by people of all generations, races, and cultures. The best who ever did it. You will be missed.

The Bridge to Friendship

So one day I was talking to Amaretto and I said:

“Remember how in high school you would categorize people you know. And you’d have acquaintances, associates, friends, best friends?”
And she said, “Yeah. I still do that.”
And I said, “Yeah but remember how in high school it was like ---“
“A caste system,” she said.
“Yes!”

Cause I remember how it was hard for someone to move up or down the “friendship” ladder. Like oh I don't fcuk with her like that, she’s just an associate. And then insert whatever definition associate meant to you. But even today, as we’re grown, even if we don’t break it down in those hard terms, out loud for everyone to know, we still have an idea of what constitutes a real, true, for real, for real friend.

Awhile ago I was watching a Seinfeld episode and Jerry had made a new “friend.” So off the break new “friend” was all, “Can you help me move this weekend?” So his real homies were on some, “how dare he ask you to help him move. Y’all just met. That’s like asking someone to drive you to the airport.” Ain’t that the right.

Cause depending on your city and your proximity, you don’t take or pick up just anyone to and from the airport. You gotta be on a certain level with that person. Have at least shared one deep, dark secret with each other. Cried on their shoulder. Gotten fcuked up together and lived to tell the tale. Met at least one of they family members. Gotten some blood or a kidney from ‘em and need to return the favor…I ain't lying. You know not everyone you know loves or even likes you enough to take you to the airport in the wee hours of the morning or circle and circle whilst you wait for your bag...

In this facebook and myspace age where the person you sat next to in Kindergarten can be your “friend,” it truly makes the typical definition or idea of friend null and void. Can make you forget what a true friend is. Until you need one. I dated this guy who thought anyone he met was his friend. So, he had hundreds of “friends.” Which I thought was stupid because in reality only a handful of people are really gonna have your back in this lifetime. And as you get older, that number gets smaller and smaller. One because you get tired of telling people your life story over and over, of having to build a foundation, garnering trust, playing the ‘are they good enough to be my friend' game… And two because people will start to die. I mean that's life, right?

In these past few weeks, I have gone through it. Lamented the single life, car got stolen, unnecessary drama, etcetera, etcetra. And I’ve called (literally on the phone and for emotional support) on my friends and they’ve been there. And I love ‘em for it. I love my one friend for riding through the hood with me to look for my car. I love my other friend for telling me to get it together, grouch and stop thinking no one will marry me. And I love my other friend for believing in my writing ability when I have doubt. And for having copies of all my stories after my flash drive was stolen.

I am reading one of my favorite authors - Dianne McKinney Whetstone’s book, Trading Dreams at Midnight and there’s a part where a homeless man asks one of the main characters who is going through her own shyt, “You got anybody laying down for you baby?”
“Huh?” she asked.
“A bridge? You got a living bridge? I only asked ‘cause it’s important for a person to know where their bridge is.”

As I get older, I realize who my living bridges are. And I'm oh so thankful for these people who encourage me, help me, would loan me money if I needed it, but still call me out on my shyt, wish me Happy Birthday every year, make me laugh, let me cry, whine, babble, ramble, talk shyt, and just love me for me with all my flaws, quirks and mistakes. So, who's your living bridge?

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

Through the Looking Glass

If one day time were to stop
and the past and present
Collided
And I could see me
the younger me
through the mirror
Looking weary
and worried
and uncertain
about the future
What’s to come?
I would reach my hand through the looking glass
then take my younger me's hand

and say
- Girl, what’s wrong?
You looking for advice

from me?

Sigh.

Pause.

Silence.

And then finally a response

-Fine. Let me tell you

You sure you're ready?

Cause here it go
You don’t know shit
about shit
Nothing
at
all
Not.a.damn.thing.
And everything you think you know
is wrong
Off base
Will prove otherwise
Will make you question everything:
Your God
Your family
Your friends
Your values
Your decisions
Your mistakes
Your wants
Your needs
Your feelings
Your purpose
Your life
Yourself
So
Stop fcuking worrying about it
And while we’re on the subject of fcuking
Don’t fcuk him
Or him
And definitely, for sure don’t waste your time with
that one over there
But most of all
Stop trying to figure it all out

at once
Give it time
S p a c e
Breathing Room
And then wait
'Cause it’s just got to play itself out

But time does not stand still
Continuum
No magic tricks
No time machines
Or looking glasses
Just me staring in the mirror
Full of:
Visible scars
Invisible hurt
Secrets
Contradictions
Questions
Joy
Faith
Love
With a past that can’t be changed
and
an unknown future
Living in present tense

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

Tea Party Discussion

It is that time again when everyone starts reflecting on the past year and looking forward to the New Year. And although I am not one for making resolutions, I do think of the New Year as a time to start fresh and a new. With my birthday right around the corner, I tend to always look back my younger selves and what made me so happy then.

Years ago someone told me that a part of being youthful was keeping the aspects of your life that truly made you happy as child alive as you get older. I try to implement this everyday but at the beginning of the year, especially around my birthday, I start to look back and see if there is anything that I might have neglected over the past year. Because even though you want to hold on to your youthful nature, you are suppose to wiser as you get older. (Warning not always the case for everyone…chuckle)

Anyway if I could have it my way, I would have a tea party the first Sunday of every year and invite my younger selves. This year the attendees would be me @ 17, me @ 22 and me now. Kind of like what probably goes on in Tara’s (from United States of Tara) head, when Tara is asleep. We all would nibble on different tea sandwiches while we chat about men, life, love, music, art and fashion.

Me @ 22, would talk about how life is about sacrifice and try to justify the career decisions she was making. She would go on and on about love and how fulfilling it is. And Me @ 17 and Me Now would be baffled by this talk and question where the real me went. Unlike Me Now, Me @ 17 would challenge this mentality. Me @ 17 is somewhat narrow-minded but she sure would remind both Me @ 22 and Me Now what is means to be true to myself.

I would like to think Me Now would be the leader of the tea party discussion but the truth is Me Now would have so much more to learn from Me @ 17 and Me @ 22. I honestly don’t think Me Now is old enough to pass on that much knowledge to the adult Mes of the past. Try me in ten more years. (chuckle)

With that said, what would we say to each other? Me @ 17 would voice disappointment. She would encourage Me Now to live life, do things that I enjoy; paint more at all costs. Me @ 22 would urge me to love again, put the past behind me like before and move forward. And Me Now would thank Me @ 17 and Me @ 22. Tell them that a lot of little compromises could put me completely off track so stay focused. We all would agree that too much alcohol is never good, at least one guilty pleasure is a must and to love everyone for who they are and not what they do for you.

It will be interesting to see what Me @ 30 and Me @40 would have to say...I can't wait.

Much luv until next week…peace :)

A Declaration of Independence

I never thought that I would be one of those women who, through hail and high water stuck around and hung on because one day, some day it was all going get better. I never pictured myself as that woman who would hope in despair that a change was gonna come, maybe not today, or even tomorrow…but soon. Yet here I am, eight years later realizing that I am more house than field because it’s easier to put up and shut up than it is to get up and walk out.

I stay because I can’t afford my own freedom. It’s like just as soon as I get enough together, be it money or might, there’s always another requirement that I’m being informed of. Or as Nas said it, “its like they playing with 54 and all I got is 52”

*Sigh* At this point, it will take an act of God-
“I’ve been ‘buked and I’ve been scorned…”

So maybe I’m being a tad dramatic. I’m not a slave and I’m not a woman trapped in a loveless relationship; but damn Sprint! Free me from my contract! They are getting all Bally’s Totally Fitness on a girl, like I have to die in order to not be in breach and be free from these people. And don’t try to get all bold and brazen like I did in my youth and not pay ‘em... What?! It like’s like a boyfriend on the dow low, the next thing you know you (or in my case, my credit) is diseased!

But like I said I’ve been with Sprint for eight years, meaning that there were at least 3 times I could have walked away. But they kept enticing me with discounts on new shiny phones with the latest and greatest bells and whistles. And so a couple weeks ago I fell again, for a sleek little phone with a camera, television and music player-all upgrades from what I previously had. Once I held the phone in my hand I was in love instantly. I didn’t mind committing the next two years of my life and a couple hundred dollars to a company that I have been with for so long. I was happy. I was content. I was gooey inside.

Until Sprint started acting like it’s usual ‘ole conniving self. I swore they had changed, and had new hope for our relationship. But when I tried to watch television on my new and improved phone, all I saw was black; and my reflected WTF face in the LCD. Oh yes! Sprint wants me to give them 70 bucks a month just to use my own damn phone if I want to do more than calling people. The nerve! Fool me once shame on you, but fool me twice…well at this point I am covered in shame. Are they serious? 70 bucks a month in a recession? Please! I bet Verizon wouldn’t do me like this!

Hell no I ain’t payin’! Hell no I ain’t… Hell no… Damnit Sprint! I’m just giving you two more years and I’m out! You hear me?! I’m packing my bags and going to my momma’s. Imma pay your 70 dollars, but I ain’t going through this with you again! I’d get a Trak phone first!

See You In Seven