Monday, February 14, 2011

Throwback: WARNING: Chocolates, Flowers & Balloons are Gifts for Girls Under 18

(First published Feb 12, 2006)
Oh dear…I fear I may be too late. VD (not to be confused with what you got from Random Club Chick back in '01) is in 2 days and I had no idea that there were still guys out there with no idea. In the last 24 hours I’ve had 5 guy friends call sounding anxious and uneasy and frustrated. Lemme make this quick…

I don’t know who the hell came up with the shit, my guess is Mr. Hallmark and Mr. Godiva joined forces…but it’s wack. The same way that Black History Month is wack…like, we need a day to focus on love, of course…but we also need to be in love every day…if that’s our journey, of course.

But really, fellas, no sense in trying to fight the power, bec like with every other cultural phenom, there is intense peer pressure…more importantly, P Pressure…and P Power of sorts.

I think that the idea of Black History Month is indeed absurd. A month? But how else can we force feed white folks a good Jeffersons marathon on TV Land…AND make them laugh when George calls Tom a honky (RIP)? How else do we justify a documentary about The Middle Passage for Christ sake?? We need the month to force the world to recognize, to dialogue, to honor.

VD is the same. We, women esp, need this day to make brothers validate the relationship. We need a day to evaluate how much he values us. We use the day to make brothas pay back all the times we endured wack sex, lent you dough for rent, and let slide those ambiguous text msgs from the Puerto Rican chick on your job.

Be real, VD is for women and Bitch Dudes, typically the more insecure in the relationship. Some take it waaaaay too seriously, expecting a recent grad on a recent grad’s salary to somehow afford an evening straight out of Diddy’s diary. They expect the dude who has yet to proclaim “THIS IS MY GIRLFRIEND” to stand toe to toe with Luther and Shakespeare in expressing that a crib is not a casa.

Ladies, if the most romantic thing dude has ever done was lick crumbs from your cleavie, then don’t expect no rose petals leading to a candlelit lavender bath for two.

Be realistic. There is a definite grey area during the dating stages, but what is NOT done or said is just as important as what is.

Women are analyzing you fellas. Be on point.

But with that said, fellas, step it up! Do something original and out of the ordinary, but don’t send any mixed messages. If she is just your jump off, the LEAST you can do is engage in some foreplay...but do not under any circumstances refer to it as "making love."

I do not believe in overindulgence. I don’t advocate breaking the bank to make an impression. If shorty is expecting more than you have to offer, then either she is delusional or you are misleading.

If she says she doesn’t want anything, give her something anyway. Something sincere. She will give it up, and more importantly, she’ll appreciate it. Yes, sometimes it IS a test. Even if she really don’t want shit, she would be thrilled to know that it came from your heart, unsolicited.

You cannot avoid the drama. If you try, you will fail. It’s a bullshit holiday, I agree. But if you’re dealing with someone when February rolls around, then you have to play the game. You have to understand that this is the one day that she can get away with forcing you to recognize, to dialogue, and to honor HER. Cuz you know any other day you would blast her:

“Yo, why you trippin, yo?”
“Stop pressuring me!”
“I told you when we met I wasn’t trying to get into nothing serious.”
“I’m too focused on my career right now to give that question much thought.”

Bottomline... chances are, in the dating phase, you’ve been getting over without much accountability. She’s having sex with you without knowing that you have an eye out for something better. She is settling for being the “Right for Right Now Girl.” And hell, maybe that’s how she wants it, too.

But VD is the day she is in control.


And she might relinquish the power of the P on ya. And you'll LOVE IT!

Sunday, February 06, 2011

So...Weezy Super Bowl Analysis

First off, never bet against a black quarterback. But my desire not to hear my brother's mouth has me going straight Cheese Head. *praying for the re-institution of my race card*

Dear Xtina,

Cash your check, immediately.

I wonder if the SB Nat'l Anthem folks will try to be funny and write the wrong name on said check?

It's not a SB without a Diddy coon dance. This time a high-end, luxury number.

Seriously Pepsi??

Eminem finally took his rightful place on the cross as the Aryan Jesus of the auto industry, complete with spiritual black gospel choir. Eminem wept.

God bless Charles Woodson's sweatpants.

I'm really glad to see Fox standing by Omar Epps, I mean Mike Tomlin. Is he still on the "House"?

I'm not in the market for a new car, and from the looks of the economy, neither is anyone else in America. So blowing your wad on SB commercials wasn't a wise use of your bailout petty cash.

What percentage of the 100 million straight men watching the SB were like, "WTF is a 'Glee'?"

After last year's Tom Petty debacle, I was rocking to Black Eye Peas and would sincerely appreciate an electric head box and shiny onesie for my bday.

Any time I see Usher on stage I think it's a motown 75 celebration and he's 45 years old. His skinny hammerpants coupled with child support and alimony payments seem to be slowing the boy down these days.

Why did I feel like my Negroness was on the witness stand because I was on Team Green Bay?

In the end, it came down to the end. And frankly, GB had the better asses. And asses, as Kim K. proved in her spot, trump even talent and win against all odds. They don't call them "Packers" for nothing, if you know what I mean.

Why the hell is there a white picket fence on the Lombardi Trophy stage?? Is this white flight foreshadowing? Tea party, stand up!

Great game!

Tuesday, February 01, 2011

Passion Plea

Lemme show you something...

Disregard the melody and sink deep beyond the bass of a manic techno/basement bhangra/symphony/ringtone rap; it's there, settled at the core.

Peep how time, which allegedly waits for no man, seems to stand stark still in deference of our consumption of the moving image mass-mediated.

Follow along with the transcript of a lovers' quarrel. Read lips and subtitles for context clues to the subtext of a prolonged misery. The hollering makes it easier.

It is Passion...and it is addictive.

Not like crank-laced weed; that's just the obvious conduit to the pursuit of bliss.

Not tobacco in Newport clothing. Cool, calm, closure -- in that order -- await at the filtered finish line.

Booze is indeed the boss of me. This we all know. Inhibitions and body shots, after all, are attractive in a world of structure and moral code.

But Passion is what we all crave. It is why we over-indulge in movies, music, nacotics, food, love, other people's business -- no matter how mindless.

Because the tone deaf waif on the other side of your headphones is driven. We watch and admire her movements and missteps.

Famous for No Reason folks are be famous, I suppose. So much so that we take the ride with them on their journey...without even bothering to ever leave the couch to open our front doors to allow in an opportunity for us.

We group into social media "followings" and scroll through other people's stream-of-consciousness adventures...instead of embarking on one for ourselves.

Passion is the thing that keeps people's attention for hours without end, years without ceasing, lifetimes even. It is the harmony, the carcinogen, the climax, the infatuation that act as roughage for the soul.

Lemme show you... See? I recognize it in others and pray for a similar blessing.

My passion is out there somewhere, lonely, passing the time by flirting with fear and serenading self-doubt, waiting for me to find it.

Disqus for She's Just Not Feeling You...

  • 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.