Friday, June 30, 2006

Houston...Who Has My Keys?

Anybody else gonna be in Houston for the 4th? I don't know about y'all, but I've been hella bored with this whole blog ish of late.

I'm bout to go get drunk, get laid and get inspired!


So anywho...I’m talking to this guy, right, and we hang out with these three other couples. Two of the girls are twins, and one of their dudes is effing nuts. Like certifiably crazy. He’s my fav.

Thing of it is, all the dudes, mine included, are inordinately sexy. Under other circumstances I’d do any one of them. And I have a feeling one of the chicks would do me. Can’t blame her.

So last night we met at one of the twins’ cribs and she suggested a fun activity for us all for next weekend. We’ll all meet back there and hit the bottle and chill. But before we leave the women will all place the keys to our cribs in a basket…

Whichever guy walks away your key is the guy you’ll hook up with for that night. No questions asked, no strings. Just the deed.

From jump the twins are bout it. Oddly, among the guys, only the crazy dude is down. I’m straddling the fence, leaning towards hell naw. But then again…

Help me out crew…would you do it?

PS…this is actually not my life…cuz fun, scandalous ish like this never happens in my sphere. But it is the premise of a book called The Ke.y P.arty.

My nephew is a young hustler and he is selling this book for $7, shipping included. So I decided this should be our first book club selection.

And while you’re at it, below are some other books he’s selling, or that I’m trying to get rid of.

Email me to make it happen.




Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Prodigal Penis

Chitown showed me no love this weekend. None at all, at all, Joe.

Not the weather.

Not the testosterone.

Not even the retail.

I love visiting Chicago, but this time the city seemed to be on a sabbatical. Not even the hood showed me love. (ok granted I was mostly in the 'burbs. )

Love was actually the reason for my extended jaunt to ChiGritty.

My Uncle Judd, one of my mom's 4 lil bruhs (8 a dem in all), got hitched. He's one of my fav uncles... the cool azz rasta who rocks Dickies shorts, a crispy white tee and matching immaculate white Ups with a swagger meaner than any young knucklehead.

He lives outside Philly, and I don't see that jawn very often at all. Matter of fact, he was at my sister's wedding two years ago, and before that I don't think I had seen him since I was a kid visiting Spanish Town in Jamaica.

So it came as a bit of a shock when a couple months back my cousin called and asked if I would be a bridesmaid in the wedding.

Uh, yeah, sure. Take one for the fam, right?

Lawd Gawd.

Things you will hear at a Jamaican wedding...

..."...take you to be my awfully weddin 'usban."


..."Jessas Chrys, mi cyan find di dyam ring dem!"

..."Is wha time church a keep?"

..."Yuh auntie mek some manish watah. Gwan oatside an get a cup bring fi mi and di baby."

..."Ah op'n, di bar op'n?"

..."No woman no cry!"

...Ladies and genkleman...Daddy him woulda so proud fi see all him pick'ni dem gather togeddah here..."

I was born here, and frankly lots of their back home inside jokes are always way over my head. But you don't need to be fluent in Jamaican patois to translate the love that permeated the weekend.

My Uncle and his wife had their first baby 28 years ago. My Uncle has a couple of other kids from another relationship, the youngest of which is 5 years old.

So basically there was a lot of on again, off again going down in their relationship. 30 years worth, to be exact.

One thing I kept hearing over and over was a saying from back home, "Nobody cyan tek what ah already yours."

While I can't say that I totally co-sign that one, because I think the underlying implication is that women should shut the fcuk up and twiddle their thumbs while their men go out, do their dirt, then grow the hell up...I am definitely feeling the boomerang theme...

"They say if you love something, you've got to let it go.
And if it comes back, then it means so much more.
But if it never does, at least you will know,
That it was something you had to go through to grow."
~"In My Mind" (aka the Millenium Stalker Anthem) by Heather Headley

I'm of the belief that there is always one that got away...could be bad timing, youth, a stupid indiscretion, pure immaturity or just denial that keeps you away from one another. But as they say, if it's meant to be it will be...even if it's 30 years later.

Not exactly encouraging words for me, as I approach 30 years old. I'm impatient, and curious...with a very healthy dose of obsession with marriage. I'm fascinated by people who are divorced and under 40. I got some stories to tell. Got some folks who I wanna have tell their own stories.

What I hear a lot from married folk is that love is only a small part of the equation.

But after being in coldhearted Chitown, warmed by intense family love all weekend, I wonder if love shouldn't count for so much more.

PS...I'm still feeling nostalgic and idealistic after the wedding...It will soon wear off and your regularly scheduled reality-based, cynical/sarcasm-laden programming will return by week's end. I promise.

Thursday, June 22, 2006

Are you Effing Kiddinig Me PT IV

Mary Kay LeTourneau might even say WTF..

A sexy grown female model and an 8th grade track star?

Better yet, a grown up female ex-high school hoops legend and her former jr high school basketball coach? Female jr high coach that is.

*Ok that's like if Jameil grew up to be a lesbian and then went back to her jr high school and hooked up with her old band teacher. (telling allll ya biz today girl!) HAHAHA

Both true stories...except the one marked * :)

Are You Effing Kidding Me? Pt III

Since when can friends of friends fuck??

Por exemplo...If I intro Jameil to Slish...and we live for years as one happy extended family...they can't all of a sudden rock!


Are You Effing Kidding Me? Pt II

...And who is this guy who keeps calling me 2 months after we danced at a club...out of town no less. Boys, there IS a statute of limitations you know.

Are You Effing Kidding Me? Pt I

So dudes are still asking women if they're ticklish???

Dudes over 16 I'm talking about.

Monday, June 19, 2006

House Rules

So I was at my mom's this weekend, and my siblings are giving me hell for what they call, "some shit they woulda never got away with."

I don't see the big deal.

Ok, so I hung out with him (I know, I know). Spent the evening watching the fight with some friends, and chilling... spent most of the morning on a park bench talking. So around sunrise we head home. As my head hits the pillow, the shots of Patrón, and the glasses of Riesling finally hit me like sudden solutions. I soon surrender into dreamland, when I hear Hi Tek chirpin about The 'Natti (think Ohio, folks) on my cellie. It's a text msg from him saying he's locked out of his mom's crib. Looks like she got her deadbolt game tight before bed.

"Whatchu gonna do?"
"I called the house, called my sister, banged on the damn door."
"You can come here."
"You sure?"
"What am I gonna say, 'Hope you figure something out, B,' and hang up the phone?"
"You're sure it'll be ok with your mom?"
"She's still asleep, but I'll leave her a note. She'll be in church for most the morning, so it's all good."

He gets across town to the So Wise Upstate Estate in record time.

My mom is just getting up for church, so I tell her what's up and she says it's cool. Now I had considered taking him around the block to my brother's crib, but decided against it because, well, my brother doesn't like seeing me with boys. Whatev.

So I bring him up to my room, close the door, turn on SportsCenter, give him some scrubs to put on, and he's straight.

No need to get into the particulars...that's another blog for another day.

But long story short...we fall asleep for a bit, and wake up to the smell of curry chicken. My sister is over, cooking for Father's Day dinner. I go down to the kitchen while he gets dressed to leave, and I tell her what's up. She's like..."Huh?" So before he leaves I re-intro them and he bounces.

Of course she can't wait to tell. As soon as my family starts trickling in for dinner that afternoon she says, "Wise brought a BOY home last night!"

I keep saying..."He got locked out!"

My sister in law is particularly interested in the details ("Why you didnt bring him to my house?") are my brothers, who don't say nothing. They just listen.

"And it was THIS MORNING... NOT last NIGHT!"

They ignore the logical details and proceed with gasps and 'oh hell naws.'

I'm struggling to understand the root of this perceived infraction.

Was it inappropriate to have a man in my childhood bedroom with the door closed? [My answer, yes...15 years ago. Today? No...I am grown.

I'm normally pretty old school in this respect, having been raised by traditional West Indian parents who don't play that shit...but I'm finding it hard to understand why the uproar.

Is it really that they are clinging to a glimmer of hope that this man may soon make an honest woman of my no-longer-so-young, unwed black azz?

Are they just mad that they couldn't pull this off in their day?

Are my siblings just haters?

Or am I really as gully as they allege?

Can't call it.

PS ...Y'all so nosy...Naw, I aint hit.

Thursday, June 15, 2006

Shout Outs...Paternal Edition

Ya girl So Weazy (or "So Easy" after I've had a few) is packed and ready to hit the road again. Biz and pleasure.

But before I go I wanna leave you with a few vignettes to commemorate the upcoming holiday. As much as I probably don't want to give it much thought, I'd feel terribly left out if I didn't put my two cents in about my daddy...esp since he is on my mind constantly, almost 2 years now after his passing.

Plus, I would be terribly remiss to have created this here 'Keep it Real' zone, and conveniently left out my reality.

So I'm not gonna give it much thought beyond a copy and paste, and whatever else is on my mind, for fear of self-sensoring or emotional cold feet. Not even gonna proofread...ok you know I won't go that far!

Here goes nothing...if only it were.


Special shouts go out to:

Guys who secretly wonder if they should be celebrating this Sunday.

Fellas who wrote off that $250 clinic bill as a "medical visit."

All the "
Direct Deposit" Dads.

All the single, seedless cats in the market for new friends with weekends off, bec all their boys either have visitation rights, second jobs...or both.

And before you blast me for making light of the state of black fatherhood, let me remind you that last month I also bigged up all my sistas who narrowly missed a gestation period this year.

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Daddy's Read, Too first book recommendation also commemorates the holiday. It's a really dope book edited by a sista in Chicago; a collection of pieces written by Black daughters about their fathers. It's broken into several sections...some about daddy' lil girls, absentee dads, deceased ones.

It's really well done, really deep personal accounts that are so relatable and touch the heart. Also great for all you education types...there's a new readers guide available for teen girls.

Oh, and I'd definitely give it props even if I wasn't one of the contributors. Great Daddy's Day gift.

Happy Father's Day...The Letter

So I've convinced 3 friends to start therapy since I started going in February. Remember the last tag, where one of the questions was the dumbest thing you've done in the last 5 years? Well therapy is like, the best effing thing I've done in my LIFE. Highly recommend it. I swear it's like, happy hour...with no booze, or dudes...which doesn't sound all that fun at all. But trust me, it's a blast! And I swear to God I'm not being facetious. I lucked up and got a really great therapist, who at this point can do a hilarious Wise impersonation dead on. Good times.

My best friend since 4th grade just finished her clinical psych degree at St. John's and she tells me that lots of people stop therapy bec they hate their doctor. And we all know Black folk got some silly stigma about mental health. No wonder our shit is so messy. ::sigh::

Anywho...I had an assignment one week...write a letter to my dad. Easy enough. Not really. The thing of it is...I'm still in a state of denial, working overtime to avoid feeling the weight of the reality of the death. Yadda yadda yadda. Baby steps.

Wait til I tell her I showed y'all...

Dear Daddy,

Brian from across the street got married this weekend. It was such a great ceremony, lots of love, laughs and smiles. I did a lot of crying.

First of all, “Phoenix” from down the street was one of the groomsmen. He was so handsome and striking, and it was impossible not to miss his brother “Penn State”. You remember, the one who died a couple years ago? When we were little I used to think I would marry him.

Then the wedding singer was really good, sang a really heartfelt song. It was hard not to be overwhelmed.

But then I also had very vivid memories from our last family wedding. A lot of the same people who were at (my sister’s) the wedding, showed up at the same church for your funeral, commenting on how happy and healthy you seemed at the wedding just a few weeks earlier.

At Brian’s wedding, when the preacher asked ‘who gives the woman away to this man,’ I couldn’t help but remember how coolly you said it that time…”My wife and me.”

At every wedding I’ve ever been to, I have imagined what my wedding day would be like. The dress, the food, the people, sure, but I’m usually more mesmerized with how I will feel, merging my family with his, feeling my heart beat out of my chest walking down the aisle. How he’ll kiss me. Having you give me away.

Now I envision “Anger Management” and “The Boss of Me” (my brothers) giving me away, having a moment of silence for the father of the bride. Lighting a special candle like the one we light at family dinners now.

Those are all outward shows of remembrance, but I’m sure that when the time does finally come, I’ll be more missing the personal things, the ones that no one else will see. I’ll miss the moments you and I would spend alone together right before we walk down the aisle. I wonder what you would say to me. I’ll miss sitting down on the living room steps, or on the porch telling you that I’m in love. Asking you what you think of him. Watching you scope him out from afar. Waiting to hear from mommy what you REALLY think.

Some times it feels like life has just been on pause since the last time I saw you. I’m really ready for it to start again, but for some reason I can’t seem to give it a boost. I know that’s not the way you would want it, and I know that you wouldn’t understand it. Well I take that back, maybe you would understand, but you surely wouldn’t approve. You were always very hard to figure out in that way. You had this very bilateral personality. You’d be very charismatic and funny to everyone else, yet very withdrawn and disgruntled at home. Oh how I wished I could slip into your world during the “laugh times.” I know that you’d be liberal with the smiles and laughs and maybe even hugs. It was in those times that you’d lovingly recall some mistake of mine, and make me feel not so bad about it (“Wise, Ray Charles could have seen that car you backed into!”) Those times would absolutely erase the times you’d be upset, or quiet or gone to work.

As an adult, I’ve learned to be a critical thinker. I know that there are always things lurking under the surface, just waiting for us to uncover them. So I know that you were not a miserable old man. I know that there were reasons why you showed us the you that you did. And I know that I was almost past the stages where you felt you had to still discipline me, almost old enough to get to know you. But maybe, just maybe you didn’t want me to grow to be that age. Maybe there were things in your own life, mortality perhaps, that made thinking of me as your little girl seem easier. Maybe you felt old thinking of me growing up. Maybe you didn’t know how to let go.

The point is that there was a lot of unfinished business between us, but that never stopped me from thinking the absolute best of you.

I have a lot of growing to do and I need to find a way to do it without you. Yeah, I get the whole, ‘he’s always with you’ thing. I do and I feel it. But it’s nothing like feeling accountable to your authority, seeing you, hearing your silence, knowing your mood.

I’m constantly thinking about the last time I saw you, or the last couple of times, and knowing that there are a lot of things I wish were different. Yet having no regrets. Sort of.

If there is one thing I know, it’s that we always understood each other.

I know that even with that oxygen mask on, the last thing you said to me was, “You didn’t have to come today, Wise.” I know what you meant. You knew I didn’t like being there in the hospital. The day I was leaving to go back to NY, I messed around all day doing nothing, and procrastinated as usual, and almost missed the flight because I waited until the last minute to come say goodbye to you. I knew it was goodbye. Mommy even had to ask me that day, “Aren’t you going to come see your father before you go?” I can’t believe she actually had to ask me that. I can’t believe I wasn’t there all day long. I can’t believe I even got on the plane. When I left, I told mommy I would be back.

I left for two reasons: there was a check waiting for me from a client in Brooklyn, and because I was expecting a guest for the holiday weekend. Convenient excuses that gave me a reason not to be there with you.

I know that you wouldn’t want me there, to be uncomfortable or sad, but did you maybe want me to grow up in that moment? Did you expect me to? Was I maybe supposed to finally stop falling back on the youngest little sister role and be there like the others?

In the moments that I envision being there, I’m laying in the hospital bed with you. Less worried about the tubes and machines, and more wondering if you know it’s me. Just laying there, holding your hands, watching you breathe, watching you die. And in those moments I wonder if you missed me in those last days? Were you sad that you didn’t see me with all the others before you closed your eyes? Were you worried about me? Did it hurt? I mean, on the inside?

This, not having you here is a different kind of heartache. I’ve been in love before, I’ve had my heart broken, and I know that time takes that hurt away. But losing you is with me every single moment of every single day. Some days the hurt is more than others. And sometimes the hurt is more just a melancholy set of memories, kind of like at Brian’s wedding.

Finding a true love is very important to me. I remember hearing a story that when you found out that “Spider” (my niece) had her heart broken by a little boy in her kindergarten class, you told her it was good that she had that experience early so it won’t be so bad if it ever happens again.

Is that what you would tell me right now? Would you tell me that it’s good that I’m getting this grief and this confusion out of the way so that I will be ready when true love comes for real?

As we were leaving Brian’s wedding on Saturday, we said goodbye to his mother. She was sitting at the table with some of their family and she introduces us as her neighbors of over 30 years. And with tears in her eyes, she told them about you. Her exact words were, “Any time I have ever needed anything, these people have been right there for me without a question asked. And when her husband passed away I finally felt like I was able to be there for them in the same way. He was a good man. A good father and a great neighbor. A good, good man. And look at his children, you can see how good he was.”

Those are the things I will be thinking when I get married. That my dad’s not here, but that I’m marrying a good man, just like him.

Book Club

Now having said all that, the book I'm currently reading is a hood "classic"...BMore Care.ful. I first met with the author a few years back at the Starbucks on 125th Street, shortly after its great migration Uptown. The night before, I tracked down a copy of his (then new) book from a friend who dug it out of a mile-high pile submitted to her for shine in her mag. Then I asked my then roommate to read it for me. Done in a few hours, she said it was aight.

Since then he's gone on to be published several times over, secured a very lucrative book deal with Simon and Schu.ster, and has put quite a few other cats on. Though I'm struggling through his, umm, prose...I can stomach his hustle. He's got grown men and women discussing the virtues of his fictional characters and their grimy world surroundings. You remember my book club...and its penchant for selecting this genre...and such an oldie at that (tho I think the chick who picked this month's book just has a lot going on and wanted to pick something she already read).

Well, I made a comment in jest on another blog about starting a blogger book club. Then another blogger emailed me and co-signed. I responded and expressed reasons why I don't think it would work... trying to find a unanimous selection, actually read it on time, and then actively coordinate a discussion. But I really enjoyed the diversity of intelligent opinions on my last post. So I plan to talk more about what I'm reading and encourage y'all to do so too. Who's in?

I also know that there are some bona fide authors already out there in've seen some of their comments on this here blog in fact...and I wanna give them some shine too. ::holler at me::

I also need to clear out a lot of books that are severely cramping the Harlem Estate. So be on the lookout...I'ma have me a blog book sale!

Friday, June 09, 2006

Reading Fundamental Trash

When work and blogworld get a blog entry that's recycled from a recent assignment...

I’m elated that my 16 year old nephew is enthusiastic about reading…but less so when I see that the tome holding his attention is entitled Booty Call.

As a Literary Publicist working in the industry during this current African American book boom, I know all too well that urban fiction is dominating the sales at black bookstores nationwide. While I do believe there is a place for these run and gun tales of drugs, murders, and bling, I don’t believe the place is in the hands of impressionable young people.

Last week at the 2006 Book Expo America – the annual prom of the book-publishing world, this year held in Washington, DC – everyone came dressed to impress. BEA features literally miles of book exhibitors, from small to conglomerate publishing houses, to distributors and media. It is a top-notch affair with all the biggest names present.

So imagine my surprise, and sheer horror of coming face to face with the book that appears to be the crème de la crème of one of the premiere indie urban publishers: WHORE (Triple Crown Publishing, 2006).

The cover features a back shot of a well-built, brown skinned, well, umm… young lady, cloaked in a barely- there, tight, white ensemble, getting into a luxury sedan.

This image, juxtaposed against the surrounding pristine logos of storied and well-respected trademarks like Scholastic and Knopf, was disappointing to say the least. It felt somehow a representation of me, a young, African American reader.

A representation that will soon hit bookstores nationwide, and land perhaps in the hands of thousands of young people with no discernable skills to recognize this as disturbing and inappropriate.

According to the Target Market News, African American consumers spend an annual $325 million on books. First hand accounts from long-time booksellers like Carvelas Sellers in Washington, DC, report that readers are indeed getting younger as the titles and subjects become more risqué and explicit.

Then there are the authors of such titles, who defend their urban genre, sometimes erroneously referred to as “hip hop fiction,” saying that at least they are enhancing literacy among non-traditional, often young readers. “As long as they’re reading,” is the justification.

There must be a better way. J.K. Rowling seems to have found one. But where is our Harry Potter? Is it truly tucked between covers that resemble soft porn? I hope not.

Not only is the content of urban fiction largely inappropriate for young readers, it can also be problematic of readers of any age. Much of it is self-published, and sadly self-edited. So what my nephew and his peers are really exposed to is grammar, syntax and errant punctuation that are as sub-par as some of this country’s failing public schools. They are reading dramatic stories with construction and execution that merits no assessment of standard English or literature for that matter. Reading helps develop critical thinking skills as well as vocabulary. But how is it furthering a young person’s education by having street slang, and underworld politics reinforced via these texts? It is not.

Not all, but some. And if the sales figures are accurate, that “some” is more than enough to further rot the developing minds of students who are feeding on literary junk food, instead of being nourished with more age appropriate work.

It’s great that people are writing, and wonderful to see us reading. But let’s not fool ourselves; young readers of this genre are getting pimped.

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

Color Blind

See this is what I'm talking about.

Clear the aisles for another clearance sale, folks. I'm not sure yet who's to blame, but we got a problem.

So I'm in the suburbs the other day, down at the Walmart. I'm in the negro hair care aisle, perusing the bright ethnic packaging in search of a pre-emptive strike against the summer frizzies, when I notice I have guests.

It's White Mom and Hot Mess Mixed Daughter. Mom's telling HMMD that she needs something for her hair. Shampoo I guess. HMMD is beside me, looking aimlessly at the vast rainbow of Just For Me products.

White Mom: "That's the one you got last time, honey."

HMMD: ::whining something I can't quite make out::

I'm the type that in public, instead of staring, unless you speak to me I pretend you're not there, because that's the golden rule. But I couldn't resist.

Oh.My.Lawd. The child's HEAD! I gasp inside. Ok, like, you know back in the day when you cut your baby doll's hair and left it with what stylists today call "layers"? Well, HMMD is beyond that. She has a untamed upsweep...a hurricane of a ponytail that appears to have been dropped like Rikers mess hall slop onto a prison tray, ie...the side/top of her head. Straightish stray hairs stretch from said pony, splayed like whore's legs, all across her head. I know there's a rubber band or thin scrunchy buried in there somewhere.

She was a few hours out of the pool, I'm certain of it...just like her wash-and-go white mommy at her age... who would go from diving board to driving home, without a care in the hair care world.
Oh I peeped White Mom's steez too...mid-late 30s, antsy, homely, battling the bulge, auburn haired, smart aleck-know it all, who now, 8 years later wishes she had listened when her parents warned her hot azz about spreading her legs for that colored boy Leon. But White Mom's healing and dating again, and enjoys dropping off her daughter as her Nana's.

Because had the girl's father been around... had he not threatened to kill White Mom if she ever brought the girl around his mother, then poor HMMD would not have been in public looking this way. Black Paternal Big Momma woulda slapped some plaits on the brat and whupped her HMM azz for cutting 'Rachel from Friends' bangs. And mind you, we're not talking Marriah Carey texture here...shorty has India Arie hair.

The entire time I'm standing there I consciously check my body language...unfold my arms from my chest, and replace my 'shut the fcuk up $7 for some gel' scowl with a sunny disposition... a smile even. Couldnt get more non-threatening than me. And yet, White Mom does not acknowledge me.

So White Mom leaves HMMD in the aisle to select her grease or shampoo or whatever. I see her looking bewildered, as if she has never in her life seen a little black girl on a bottle...and God forbid that she could in any way identify with little bottle black girl . So I make my move.

Sweet Sistagirl Wise: "You looking for shampoo, sweetie?"

I felt so proud of myself for conveying such a genuine attempt and intent to rescue and serve. I was really touched by this moment, one I knew she wouldnt soon forget...two generations of black women from different walks of life, bound by a common goal... shopping for grease in the discount retail evil empire. I leaned in, hoping to ease her distress, lending a knowing smile, and a helping hand. Maybe even an eager ear if necessary.

And with that, the lil heffa ran off.

I mean, like Flo Jo, arms pumping, feet in a flurry...out of ethnic hair care aisle.

And with that, I grabbed my Motions leave-in and bounced.

Now before you jump down my throat with personal stories of strong white mothers of strong black daughters, I know plenty of them myself.

Before you say maybe she was rightfully taught not to talk to strangers, hear me when I say she ran like she saw Beloved standing in that aisle.

But if you want to know why Darnell and Becky pushing a stroller into The Children's Place sometimes gives me pause...Scared Shitless Hot Mess Mixed Daughter in Walmart is why.

Friday, June 02, 2006

Speak Brothas, Speak

No one knows Black men better than Black women…or so we’d like to think. But this sista will be intently following the yearlong study by the Washington Post, which began today, about what it means to be a Black Man in America today.

I was one of about ten pretty little, cornrowed black girls in my Kindergarten class of about 25. And you couldn’t tell me nothing. I came in knowing my ABCs, had a mean left hook, and home training enough to know when using it was appropriate.

What I didn’t know then was that statistically, if you grabbed a pen and my class photo, you could cross off about four of us bright eyed, pony tailed princesses. Only the six remaining would ever marry.

Or that so many of my male counterparts would face a rigorous and unparalleled societal obstacle course to the path of success. A road too often making pit stops at prisons and morgues.

But as professional urban women we sure know it now. We have loved, been heartbroken by, mentored and befriended the brothers featured in the first installment by the Post. We are related by blood and experience, walked graduation stages beside them, and even grabbed our designer handbags when they pass us on the street.

As well as we know our brothers, as many of us are raising them, we will never know what it is, really like to be these brothers. It’s time for Black men to have a voice. That is why this sista is all ears.

Shut up Negro, Shut Up!

"I've been involved in three projects pitched to (Oprah), but I've never been asked to participate," the 36-year-old told the magazine in its July issue. "For Barbershop she had Cedric the Entertainer and Eve on, but I wasn't invited. Maybe (Oprah)'s got a problem with hip-hop. "

~Ice Cube...[another legend shitting himself at the prospect of releasing (another) album ("Laugh Now, Cry Later") the same week as some superstar too young to know he was ever a rapper.]

So what's Eve, jackazz...a lil bit country??

Thursday, June 01, 2006

Keep it Real... The Epidemic

We cool right?
Been getting to know each other for a few months now.

If we were dating I'd know some things about you by now...and we'd both know by now if we're really feeling each other.

If we were pals...might have even gone thru some shit together. Or maybe I'm just spoiled cuz I grew up with most of my closest friends today.

But our bond is still special, no? We communicate regularly. We're privy to personal details and thoughts and inside blogger jokes. Run in the same (tiny) circles. We're peoples.

So I'm sayin...I wanna know more about you. Take it to the next level, shorty. Let's get real. Eff the electronic pretenses. If we're gonna try to make this thing btwn us work, we gotta lay it all out on the table.

I'm tagging all you muhfuckas...

Young Montez
Supa Sista
Blah Blah Blah
My Neil
Kutie Stacie
Liq & TV
Eq Opp Crush
Trev Holly
Living Single...if she ain't in retirement
Miss Ahmad (not to be confused with Miss A, who I am also tagging)
Anybody with a blog name with "sista," "date," "soul," "divine," Muslim or musical origin

Why the epidemic tag? Bec I feel cheap! I spend way too much time being invested in your lives and thoughts, and vice versa...and what do we really know about one another? :)

So I've come up with some questions I probably would have already asked you if we were cool in real life.

Dont feel left out if I didn't name you. I extend the invitation to you, too.

Keep it Real...

1. If you could be doing what you really want to be doing for a living, what would it be?

I'd be a professor, urban radio producer, a novelist, and a wife...and not necessarily in that order.

2. If you could slap the shit out of any famous person, alive or dead, who would it be?

Tough...cuz there are people that I would just wanna backhand given the opportunity...ya know, people that havent really done anything to me, per se, but that I don't really like. Folks like Kobe. Brandy. The blond Bush daughter. Dame Dash. Lance Armstrong. Rudy Giuliani. Bow Wow. The son on the Sopranos.

But then there are people who maybe really deserve a palm mark to the cheek. Actual offenders. Maybe an Ex or two. That bitch Cicely for stealing my Right On! magazine in 7th grade. My old landlord. SJP for pulling the plug on Sex & the City. Limbaugh. Nancy Grace. Jesse. Jayson Blair. FEMA muhfuckas. MattyD for lying on me in 5th grade talking 'bout I was throwing rocks at the fish at the conservatory and then I got kicked off Safety Patrol and couldn't go to Sea Breeze at the end of the school year. Pat Robertson. The blond Bush's daddy...and uncle for that matter. My literally crazy Brooklyn roommate. Al Quaida dudes. The list could go on... I realize it said "famous people" but some of those were personally famous azzholes. Sorry.

But I'm trying to live a purpose driven life, so I wouldnt actually...whatever...see lists above.

3. What's the dumbest decision you've made in the past 5 years?

Not purchasing the co-opt I lived in when I first moved to NYC after college. It was in Brooklyn in a really residential neighborhood. Great building. GORGEOUS crib. And I blew it off. Just wasnt yet financially savvy. Bad credit (like it's all that now). And was distracted by aforementioned crazy roommate.

4. Give up one for a year: (good) sex or (good) music.

I'm not so sex-obsessed that I get weak when I don't get any...but when I want it I like to have it.

And I also randomly go thru long withdrawals from music. But even if I just listened to the radio I could still be connected to at least some segments of society.

So I'm (reluctantly) giving up the azz.

5. Dudes, would you rather have a big dick or a great sense of humor?

Ladies, nice tits & azz or common sense?

I think I could get some good mileage on T&A and book smarts.

6. So you've been invited to an all expense paid Blogger Prom in The Bahamas. You're sitting at the bar on the beach. Which blogger do you want to join you for hours of good convo?

Depends on my mood, but today it would be Nikki...cuz she's able to make me laugh and think and nod my head in solidarity. Ask me tomorrow or the day after and it might be someone else.

7. Which blogger would you most like to cuddle with on the beach? (and don't defer to your current signif other either. Infidelity won't count against you. Duh.)

My Neil...any day of the week.

8. You're going on a 5 hour road trip...which 5 CDs do you bring?

1. Stevie Wonder... At the Close of the Century, Disc 3 (Sir Duke, Lately, Knocks Me Off My Feet )
2. The Roots...IlladelphHalflife
3. Super Wonder Bread fav white songs (Still The One, The Rose, My Immortal, More Than Words)
4. Biggie...Life After Death, Disc 2... no Disc 1!
5. Vivian Green...Love Story

9. Would you rather bury your children young or have your children bury you young?

I know what it's like to lose a parent, and I can't imagine going thru that at a young age. But then I also imagine losing a child is a pain like no other.

On the one hand, you want to be the one to die so that your children live...but then you also don't want them to have to live with the pain of losing you.

Hell if I know. I'm not a parent.

10. What's your biggest insecurity?

I'm afraid of being misunderstood. I really hate being inarticulate or not being able to find words to explain I get really insecure about people misunderstanding me and then deeming me weird.

But then again I bet I'm too insecure to even try to figure out what my biggest really is.

11.What's the first blog you read every day...or however often you read them? (And I swear to God, don't be saying mine just cuz I'm the one asking...unless of course you really mean it. lol)

I usually start with MEasy...bec it's always short and sweet...and it has a very 'what a way to start your day' tone. He's my Matt Lauer.

12. When's the last time you peed your pants?

Maybe like 5 years ago...I swear I thought I had bladder control issues cuz I would just barely make it to the can. I wasn't even that far from it either...I was in my room.

Oh my goodness, around that time I had a close call out on a shoot on an internship. I was in Wendy's with my photog and out of nowhere I had to go REAL bad...but I made it.

13. Which was better, your first kiss or your first pay check?

The first check was lovely...I must have spent hours figuring out my net, then writing out the total and doing the math in subtracting everything I could buy with it...

But the first kiss was sweet. I still remember sitting at the top of slide at the park...when Kazi King kissed me. Summer before 7th grade. To this day I love the way it feels to daydream about great kisses for days after.

14. Do you have kids? Want kids?

Got none...but want 5. No, I'm serious. I also would like to adopt all 5. Yes, I'm serious.

15. You get dropped off at home after the office holiday party by your bitch azz boss that you can't effing exit the car and he peels out, runs a red light at your corner and rolls up an unsuspecting midget. The next day the midget watch groups are on TV outraged at the heartless hit and run, and are calling for any witnesses to please come fwd...that half dead midget has a family at home waiting on C-mas presents. Would you take $1000 hush money? $500? $100? A six pack?

Six pack of what, Corona Lights??
For real, for real...I would only dime him/her out if I was next in line for that boss job (even tho KZ says being the boss blows).

16. Live the rest of your life without your eyebrows or your fingernails?

It would hurt like hell to touch just about ANYthing...but eff it, I got a mean arch that I'm keeping. lol

17. What makes you angry?

Happy morons.
Indecisive lovers.
Sprint PCS.
Gossipy dudes.
NYC rent.
Negligent parents.

18. What makes you horny?

Eager tongues.
My imagination.
Colin Channer books.

19. What makes you nervous?

15 year olds with nothing to lose.
Random phone calls from my mother.
Watching my nephew run at top speed.
Sudden movements on the subway platform.

20. What makes you smile?

A well-timed phone call from a friend.
Seeing my name in print.
My nephew trying to pronounce my name (he's only 1).
Drink specials/open bar events.
Cards from my mom.
Emails about the blog.

THE END...Wanna share a Newport and cuddle? No? You've gotta get up early tomorrow so you can't stay? Oh ok, no problem, I just thought maybe... ;)

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  • So...Wise??

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    Our Nation's (HIV) way of Harlem, NY and Upsteezy NY
    I'm older than I look, and stupider than you think. But I'm quite proud of my sharp eye for The Ridiculous, and by Ridiculous, of course I mean Me.