Sunday, February 18, 2007


Apparently Young Epsilonicus doesn’t respect his elders, and as such has tagged yours truly. As if the blog aint personal and illuminating enough, he wants to know even more.

Things You Don’t About Wise…That I Havent Already Told Y’all Nosy Azzes

I was born in a hospital. No midwife.

One of my brothers was a breach baby. That shit is hilarious to me for some reason.

When I was little I used to battle this girl named Larri on the bus. My brother wrote my rhymes. I used to also perform for all the class parties.

My friends and I once broke into our church and ate the snacks.

My cell phone carrier is Sp!nt. I have unlimited text msgs.

I really wanna fcuk Regg!e Bush. Really.I prefer tamp0ns to woman diapers.

I write for magazines and books.

I'm lazy. Once got fired for it.

I'm obsessed with sweet potato fries.

I once had a dance off with Shaq. He won.

My right tit is bigger than the left.

I think I'm lactose intolerant.

Like I said, what haven’t I already told you??

Ya know how bl0ggers do that thing where they invite everyone to ask them questions?
Eff that. Don't ask me shit.

I'm kidding.

Ask away.

In the meantime, I wanna run something by y’all…

We been talking about ambiguous muhfcukas. Ya know, the guy who says one thing and does another. My Neil suggests that guilt is a major motivation in such behavior. I can get behind that theory. Makes sense when you consider how many bitches simply act an azz so that a girl will break up with him so that he doesnt have to break up with her…

But what about friendships? I mean, sure it’s tough to get out of a relationship, but how do you get out of a friendship? They’re supposed to be unconditional and unbreakable and shit, right? Real ones, anyways.

Well, I have a friend who has outgrown a friend and wants to “platonically break up.” But how do you explain to someone (who you’re not fcuking), that you’ve outgrown them? Someone who has had your back…that you don’t feel the same need or even desire to talk or hang out daily. That you have outgrown the friendship.

Particularly when they are still holding on for dear life.

I don’t really know how to counsel my friend.

Damn, I wonder if they asked bec they’re trying to get rid of me…

Sunday, February 11, 2007


Oh, the day of the Red is almost here...

Happy VDay to all the lovers.

I would have hoped to have had more to say this year, but I think I summed up the holiday pretty well last year.

As you may recall, I pretty much think VDay is an excessive excuse for material unrealism.

But the beauty of the day really does resemble the color red. VDay at it's best reflects the radiance of rose-red. Bright and vibrant. Red hot!

And at its most lukewarm and tepid, VDay is like the palest pink. Brittle and delicate. Pretty, but petty.

It can be a torturous continuum, a life-changing spectrum…this Love thing. And I hijacked the following piece from a m*space blog that I received via email...because I think it represents love at its exact middle. And if you’ve ever been there, you know how extreme it can be...particularly on VDay.


am·big·u·ous [am-big-yoo-uhs] –adjective
1. open to or having several possible meanings or interpretations
2. of doubtful or uncertain nature; difficult to comprehend, distinguish, or classify
3. lacking clearness or definiteness; obscure; indistinct:

Okay, so this is not a diatribe against ALL men... this is just for my "ambiguous" brothers (be they black, white or other) And I'm not talking about guys on the D.L. (or on second thought, maybe I am... that would explain a LOT! But I digress...)

My question is simply this... Why?!

Why the ambiguity? Why do you tell us you love us one day and the next day say, 'I don't know if I believe in love'? Why do you call, 'just to hear our voice' and then disappear for a week? Why do you tell us we're a 'beautiful woman of quality and that any guy would be blessed to have us in their life' and the next day introduce us to the bimbo you just met that is probably your soul mate? WHY?!?!?

Do you live to keep women off kilter? Does it provide you with more options? Are your true emotions a mystery even to you? Is your mind an ever changing river of chaos and confusion? Is it really that freaking hard to know how you really feel?!

Here's what I propose... if you like a girl, tell her, pursue her, make sure she KNOWS that she's the one for you. Don't give up until she's rocking your last name and having your babies. Happily ever after, ya feel me? It's a beautiful thing.

Conversely, if you aren't feeling her in "that" way and you just want to be friends, no harm, no foul... but don't tell her "I love you" (it's confusing), don't say, "We should get married" (not cute, not fair), don't invite her to foreign locals or your Cousin Sadie's wedding saying, "Seeing Rome (or Alabama) with you would make the trip perfect" (blah, blah and BLAH!!!) No holding hands (it's intiimate), No lingering hugs while whispering, "It's SO good to see you!" (that's not friendly!) Let the following be your guide... If you wouldn't say it or do it to or with your male platonic friends, you shouldn't say it or do it to or with your female platonic friends. See how easy that is?

And while we're at it, "Babe, Beautiful and Sexy" are not ways you refer to a friend... at least not one you want to NOT get the wrong idea. So that, "Hey Sexy!" salutation you like to throw around? Lose it! Lose it today! Keep it friendly. Completely friendly. Your female "friends" will thank you!

Even the Bible says that it's better to be hot (for our purposes here, in love) or cold (friends) than it is to be lukewarm (ambiguous)... The Bible says that the Lord figuratively "spits out" those that are in the middle, those not making a strong decision about Him one way or the other. I'm with God. Make a dang decision! Am I your "Bud" or you "Boo?!" (tee... hee... ) I know that "Bud/Boo" thing was corny, but typing it made me laugh. :)

Now, back to my diatribe...

Most women are not a mystery. I think I can speak for most of us when I say we just want to find someone to love who will love us back. When you boil it all down, that's all most women want. Maybe guys too? You can make this quest a lot easier for all of us, if when you feel it, you say so. And when you don't (and you guys KNOW when you're not feeling it, stop acting like you're so confused), don't pretend you do. It provides no ego boost to the girl. It doesn't help her make it through the day. All it does is confuse, frustrate and irritate. That, my brothers, is NOT cool.

Okay, I'm done now. Sorry for my rant, but I've just had too many conversations with my friends recently that start with, "So he said, 'I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you,' what does that mean?"

And my response?

Sadly, these days... absolutely nothing.

Take care and God Bless...

Monday, February 05, 2007


By far the worst part of living in a new city is having to establish new relationships with people with whom you were quite comfortable in your old spot.

The absolute most gut-wrenching…who to let up in your hair.

Let me preface this by saying that I been a proud perm girl all my life. My hair hovers around my shoulders when I’ve had enough and “cut” it. I’m not tender headed in the least, but I’m also not one to fuss much with my hair. Low maintenance. Bump my ends and I’m straight. No weaves, scrunches, crunches, buns, never much elaborate art or architecture involved.

Nowadays, I look at pics from college and damn near weep. All that thick, shiny “glory” as my mom would call it. No matter if I was wrapped in a brown paper bag with matching brown booties, my hair was always in order. Edges obediently laying, ends clipped with precision.

Today my shit is like the before picture on an extreme make over show, and requires more attention than I prefer.

My ends are a mess, tho I try to clip them regularly.

I got stray greys sprouting from my middle part (which I actually think is kinda sexy and have no plan to dye).

Random sections of my hair are breaking without warning.

And my edges threaten to do “The Omari0n”.
I hate perms. Always have really, but lately the fire cream has been particularly insane. My scalp feels constantly tender. I’ve considered going natural before…but always went back to the comfort of the abusive relaxer relationship.

But last week I found myself at a crossroads as I walked into a new salon. A few weeks back I formed an expl0rat0ry c0mmittee to pursue going natural again. Maybe a cute nappy fro. Perhaps dreds (I apologize to those who find it offensive to call them anything but locs…but I’m Jamaican, and also not all that socially correct). The last time I was in Jamaica my brother told me to come with my shit grown out and he would "locs me". None of this loctician nonsense, he says. You let I and I decide how it should grow.

Not only am I not socially correct, but I’m not all that patient either…and I have a feeling I and I, and I might not see eye to eye. Needless to say, I’m a bit skeptical about going THAT natural.

So I haven’t decided whether I’m really ready to go the distance this time, but I do know I’m not succumbing to the perm just yet either. I’ll get some braids before I do that (which will require to get to know some Bawtuhmore Africans, unless I make a quick jet to my NYC Fast Fingers…”Hair braidin, Miss?”).

Since I been in BMore I been going to some Dominicans. In NY they’re literally across the street from my crib. And they’re $10 for a wash and doobie/blow dry (and my girl Lupe knows I don't do no hell-hot blow dryer). The ones here are not as fast or cheap, but they get the job done. No disrespect to them, but right now I need some direction with my glory and I need it in English.

So last week I walk into the new (black) spot and it’s cool. Not too packed. When I’m ushered to the chair (at the EXACT moment when Judy is bout to let this woman HAVE IT), I explain my hair issues again (we spoke on the phone earlier) and she’s receptive and nice. The salon is really spacious, so I’m not sitting on top of anyone. And yeah, the blond sista is a lil on the loud side, but she aint THAT ignorant. And aint nobody eating Chinese food up in there or nothing. I feel oddly comfortable.

Back in the day my hairdresser was a good friend of my parents. She gave me the best hook up ever when I got to middle school…she let me sweep the shop and clean up in exchange for free hairdos. Needless to say I was up in there every 6 weeks on the DOT, and this arrangement lasted thru high school.

Back then it was an all day affair of Jet magazines and Caribbean convo. Mostly really old ladies who loved that I always had a book in my hands.

So last week I lay back at the shampoo station and she does her thing, rolls me up as I requested and I retreat under the dryer, book in hand.

When I’m dry, I sit in the chair and I ask her if braids are the most healthy way to let my perm grow out. She’s baffled. Mind you, there’s a chick braiding hair just behind me. I explain to her that I know that braids are the most low maint. way of growing your hair out, but that I hear it can also eff with your hair, pull out your edges, etc.

Again, crickets.

“What do you plan to do when you grow it out?” she asks.

“I don’t know yet. Maybe rock a lil nappy fro. Dreds maybe. Im not really there yet, but I just know that I can’t keep putting these chemicals in it.”

And that’s that. No response. She works on in silence and I turn my attention to my text messages.

“How do you normally wear the front?”

I show her, and get lost in the episode of Fri.ends when Phoebe’s grandmother dies and she meets her Pops.

After a while I look up into the mirror to see what the hell is taking so long. Homegirl is literally playing in my hair. She’s baffled at what to do with it, if not burn it. The chick in front of me sat there for a good 45 minutes while the other stylist blow dried her, then flat ironed and pin curled her. I know enough to know that you not supposed to put direct heat on wet hair like that without some kind of spray or lotion or SOMETHING. And without my express destination being THAT, the stylist didn’t know what to do with me.

“It’s just so puffy,” she says of my new growth, and then combs me forward, apparently trying something new.

Am I naïve to believe that a black stylist ought to know something about black hair?

That if I have a question about breaking free from the bonds of burning and breakage, I need to go find a black power sista with a brush cut?

Frankly, you natural sistas tend to be a cultish clan. I’ve been to enough websites for natural hair (and let's not forget I go to a black school) to know that they don’t always take too kindly to a woman who simply enjoys the long straight look. Trust me, Queen Kinky, I’m not doing a Euro impersonation, nor do I “fear” my natural hair. I just like it long, like it healthy, like to not need to do much with it. And I just don't like the prospect of cutting it and "transitioning," yet I also no longer like relaxing it. And I like not to be judged for whatever the hell decision I make.

And I also happen to love playing in the nappy roots at the back of my head like recess, the rough wool a sharp contrast to my soft fingertips.

But guess what? Last time I had my shit cornrowed I discovered I got a smallish peanut head. So yeah, it’s just hair, and it can grow back, and God made us beautiful the way we are…but maybe, just maybe, im not ready to be Peanut Girl. And maybe, just maybe, I’m tired of said peanut being scorched and abused.

As with most things in my life, I’m somewhere in the middle, and I wanna be left there for a while.

Thank God I rock a mean Kang0l.

[You like how I acted like it hasnt been forever since my last post! Thanks for the emails checkin up on me and even for the ones downright demanding I stop slacking.]

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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.