GOODBYE CALL

[READ THIS FIRST]

DATELINE…Upstate NY. Couple days after Thanksgiving ‘07

“Gum. Where you at?”
“Marshalls. What up.”

I shift my phone from one hand to the other, juggling it with my bag and small handful of things. Despite the Black Friday pillage a few days before, I manage to find a generous offering of my beloved CK panties.

“What time you leave?”

“Flight’s at 5 or 6 or something. You know I don’t know,” I laugh. I’d only seen my brother on Thanksgiving Day, and this is his goodbye call. He had called me the night before, teasing me because I was downtown at my favorite coffee shop, where he insisted “No Coloreds Allowed.”

With a flight to catch, and my nephew needing a ride from school within the hour, I’m in a rush. But I browse leisurely as I chit chat with The Boss of Me, as I affectionately refer to my big brother.

“I gotta tell you something.”

Though the phrase is preceded by what I imagine was a deep breath, there is no pause between sentences. But when you hear these words uttered, your brain switches to autosurvival mode, and stops time on your behalf. Allows you to catch a deep breath of your own. So as he speaks on, my feet stop moving at precisely the moment my racing heart refuses to.

“I gotta tell you something so I’m just gonna say it. I have cancer,” is how he actually says it in real time.

“Okay,” is my response, rendered in my own time.

“I started playing ball again, and I just started feeling funny. So I went to my doctor and she was like, 'it’s probably just your body telling you you’re getting older. Take some aspirin.' But I was like, no, I know how my body is supposed to feel. So I switched doctors and new patients are required to do blood work. So they saw something they didn’t like…”

Now I’m pacing.

“So they ran the tests and told me.”

“Where is it?” I ask, now rummaging through the Kenneth Cole computer bags.

“It’s in my blood and it's called...”

I can’t see the price tags. I don’t have on my glasses, but I don’t think they were prescribed to correct the blur from sudden tears anyway.

“I found out on my birthday of all damn days. Basically, I have to take medication for the rest of my life and obviously get regular check ups…”

“37 years ago, you came into the world on the wrong foot. Life’s a breach!! Happy Birthday!”

I sent him that text on his birthday, just a week earlier, and he never responded. Didn’t pick up when I called either.

“And I can’t play ball anymore. Can’t whup Miles’ ass on the court like I do his brother. And no, the kids don’t know.”

I suddenly remember my nephew who will soon be outside his school looking for my car to pull up. I shift my phone to the other hand, now piled high with things I didn’t realize I had picked up within the past four minutes. And I remember that my brother is a dad.

“If there’s one lesson I learned from Daddy it’s to always get a second opinion.”

Our dad took his last deep breath just three years and two months prior. Or I should say the venerable villain, cancer, took it without our permission.

“I need you not to do that.” He can hear me crying. I wonder suddenly if the security cameras have me in focus, racing mindlessly through narrow aisles not intended for shoppers, dumping miscellaneous items in random bins and racks.

“It’s gonna be fine. I’ve been wanting to tell you since you got home, but Ant picked you up from the airport…”

It occurs to me just now that when I walked into my parents’ house on Thanksgiving Day with two big bottles, my brother took the glass I poured only after I had mocked him relentlessly for refusing. Said he had a doctor’s appointment the next morning, to which I said, “All the more reason to drink.”

“And that’s why I called you last night. But now that I’ve told you, Mommy can stop worrying and she can talk to you about it.”

My poor mother. Having to hear this shit again. This time from the son who always took after his father.

“Quit crying. It’s gonna be fine. I need all positives, aight?”

“Yup.”

“You gonna be ok?”

“Uh huh.” Whatever. We’ve made a living lying to each other. I’m hoping I’m the only one with no regard for truth this time.

“Ok. Don’t miss your flight, loser.”

“Yup. Love you,” I say, wandering around the houseware section. I've seen this movie before. I know the ending. The villain leaves, but always comes back.

“Love you, too. Peace.”

But of course what I heard was the hello of a Goodbye Call.

BODY OF WORK

If I'm to be judged by my body of work, I can live with that. I've shared lots of things with you all, mostly complete strangers from across the world. Nosy sons of bitches that you are. We exchange stories... some inane, others intimate or hilarious or tragic. We're kinda on it like that.

Looking through said body of work today, I tried to get a glimpse of what you see, the Wise you've gotten to know over the past two years. Some of you a lot more recent. Judging from the contents of my crates, I'm pretty consumed by family, love, boy bashing, TV, and the pursuit of premium liquor.

You know that I'm a NY girl, with island roots, the baby of my family. I have a dead dad, and issues thereof. I went to undergrad at Syracuse and hated it, so don't take offense when I hate on your schools too, Jam or La or Jonzee, et al. I have a love/hate relationship with NYC, my home for most of my adult life. Oh yeah, in March I turned 30 for the second time.

I'm terribly random. I admit. But also pretty direct and sincere. Particularly when it comes to the opposite sex. I started the blog because back in '06 I had had a succession of run-ins with young guys who were desperately confused about the women in their lives. And I mean simple, basic shit. This was my public service. But after a while you find your ego in the shadows, looking to shine, and the focus turns away from ridiculous dudes who lie on their dicks, to more personal relevant discourse. I've seen this exact shift in the bloggers I continue to loyally follow.

There's always that epic heart break. The thing you need to share in stunning detail and with jarring vulnerability in order for it to make sense in real life away from the blog. Judging from this body of work, heart break is an important fabric of Wise. Not only mine though. I acknowledge the shit you all share. The shit that fate brings to my doorstep.

Judging by my body of work, I've changed, as many of you have noticed. I'm chilling. Traveling. Boo'd up. Grad schooling it. Life is good.

And it is mostly. But it's also been dramatic. Lots of it not so good.

Lemme catch you up on who I am today, and you tell me what you see...

GOODBYE CALL...

HOLLYWOOD HERE I COME

And just like that...I'm Back!!!

No, not with a post (duh!) I'm talking about Real.World Hollywood.

I know what I had said before... but I'm in and I'm in big.

Clearly I'm in love with Will. Clearly there's no way he could be that attractive and be from like a really dangerous city. (That wasnt an ex joke, I was quoting the blond bitch. WTF? Classic!)

Associates.

Albino chick and Will in the remake of Glitter.

Yo could you imagine pining away for your signif other...then watching them making out with some clown in a effing hot tub? No mas.

Yeah, still love Will even tho he hates strippers evn tho I dont hate strippers. Remember?

I actually don't hate the pretty dude. He's socially inept, and I have a feeling he's an islander. My guess start with a T and ends in rini. lol

Peasants.

"You're scary." Who ARE these judgy juvy broads??

Clearly I hate Will and the Arizona broad.

Wicked chill.

I'm in! (It really doesn't help that I'm going to LA (where I'll hang my jersey in the rafters ;) ) for the first time this summer!)

THE GIFT

"Wise, write me something."

Ok...


The thing about birthdays is that they're all about the gifts.

There was the time you told me to keep my schedule clear. You sent me a text that morning with explicit instructions...

"Here are the directions. Be there at 12. I know you. Don't be late! Text me when you get there."

I find myself downtown, my heels clicking on cobblestone, the high noon sun guiding my steps. Even standing under the awning I wasnt sure what to expect.

"Go in and ask for Lisa. She's waiting for you. Take some time and relax and allow someone to pamper you for once."

...Or something to that effect (you know you're recall is laser and mine is aging.) After the most rejuvenating, fantastic facial ever, I walked around for a bit before calling to thank you. It was literally months since I had made the off comment about my skin feeling like shit. You listen. It was easily the most thoughtful gift I had ever received.

What about last week, when I was too weak to lift my head for juice and meds, but not too weak to text you. Sick, jet lagged, chest on fire, hung over. You used your resources and found the one place that delivered to my crib and had lunch sent over within the hour.

Or the time I had a long, stressful week. Long, hectic Friday. Long, turbulent flight. We sat at the bar staring down shots #2. Your hand playfully resting on my thigh. Like it belonged there. Sharing food and laughter. And afterward, exhausted, collapsing on fluffy sheets, legs and lips locked, anticipating a shower.

"Me first." I watched you disappear, disappointed that you left me out. Drifted off while you were away. Nudged awake by anxious hands in my hair.

"Take off your clothes."

How off guard was I, naked and surprised, at the soft crackle of the carefully lined and lit candles that accented the warm bathroom? The bubble bath with water that matched me perfectly, not too hot, not too cold. Or maybe too much of each equally. You left me with a card to read, and to relax, knowing that I hadnt all week.

After all, I knew then...

I knew that every day would seem like my birthday.

It's the little things...

Every day that I wake up laughing at a sweet or frisky or ridiculous or blue or encouraging message.

Going to bed frustrated that I can't be closer.

Busting out laughing at how much we bust out laughing.

Our sweat dripping onto a dance floor.

When I called you first, crying with bad news.

Exploring a new city.

When I lose track of time (and ask you how many days).

Laying in your lap showing you how to twist my hair.

Dancing all hard, and singing all loud, even though you're the Talented One.

Pouring you a drink that I know will get you talking.

Making each other CDs.

When you let me pass out in a cab.

Eating til we're out of breath (not to be confused with being out of breath after running to food).

Each hour you keep me company while I'm in class.

Plotting on travel vouchers.

Every time you ask me to write you something...I know the best gift is you.



(Hmmm...is it YOUR bday yet?!)

BLOGGING FROM THE BEACH (*photo updates)

Im currently sitting on the beach. Rain soaking my hoodie. The sun playing hard to get.

This couldn't be more like my life right now. Im in the right place just not necessarily at the right time.

20 of my closest friends are within earshot. An empty patron bottle litters the sand as does a few too many smoked down cloves and bidis.

My throats sore from God knows what... Walking through chilly rain puddles in sandals? Disproportions of liquor to water? Singing mary j blige and jay z songs for 3 hours straight on saturday (did that ngga Jigga endorse obama somewhere btwn performing 'Can I Get A' and 'Brooklyns Finest'?? LOVED it!) Laughing out loud til I cough uncontrollably?

Im on the beach but the sun won't come out...

Damn you sure gather up a shitload of debris during the course of 20+ year friendships. Lots of secrets too.

So this is what they mean when they say your family wll break your heart without remorse.

Mr. Wendel, the old homeless guy who does tricks, makes water disappear and "levitates" for tourists can't find a way to "magic" a roof over his head??
I didn't fall cuz I was drunk...but bec I was drunk, I couldn't stop myself from falling.

Im an obsessive crotch-watcher...and this is prime terrain.

I wouldn't last a second without my pda phone.

DatNucca is equal parts patient, hilarious, quick-tempered, sensitive, and sexy. Rrreeeooorrr!

My boy tatted some cat's name on his shoulder and hid it from us for almost 2 years.

Im pretty sure I lost a friend this weekend.

My brothers really never fulfilled their New Edition fantasies until they rented bikes today and rolled thru Miami looking like the NE Heartbreak video.

A confirmation number don't always mean 'confirmed.'

Everyone in my life is plotting on my biological clock...

Including my mother who called to speak to my best friend from college to tell him that she has a feeling he's gonna be her son in law. Ima need that feeling to take a hike.

It is in fact possible to get kicked out of and subsequently banned from the ocean.

Corn nuts??

Boys just never get tired of ass...

Can't really blame them.

Don't worry if a restaurant doesn't allow you to byob. You can. And should. A big one. For everyone.

"Her hair look like chicken-flavored ramon.noodles."
"All around me love's just not working. But I still feel like its the absolute only thing worth fighting for."

"What's a little head among friends?"

"There's more to the story..."

"Omg I was always DYING to ask daddy this...Can you feel it crawling around inside you?" ...
"No. And that's why people die from it."

"Bout time you got curious."

"I definitely thought less of him for it."

"You look like last night's good time."

"Who HASN'T had a threesome since we've been here??"

"Lawd ah cyan Sonny Wise dautah a dahnce so! Jesas hof di Sabbat!"

"Laaaaaaa laaaa la la, wait til I get my money right!"


Im on the beach and the sun is trying to play nice. As am I.

But its getting harder, not easier. The older I get, the more complex the relationships around me. Things are falling apart as others are coming together, and its impossible to find a sensible emotional balance.

Much like a hoodie on the beach.

So do you wait for the sun to show up or do you lay on the beach, shivering, and enjoy the imperfections that make life a beautiful fucking pain in the ass?

You have another shot. Another smoke. And laugh til your throats sore. It'll be better tomoro.

Happy birthday to me :)

NINE'S NOT A TEN

I'm not saying it's right. In fact, it's abhorrent and skanky.

But LOOK at him...and many other husbands like him who are powerful and largely unattractive.

All I'm saying is, chick prolly ain't wit him for the nooky.

So what's a trollish, insecure and underblown elected official to do?

That is all.

Are Dudes Really That Dumb...or Is The Chick Wrote This Shit?

My Neil only admitted to one of these, and while I won't blow up his spot, I will say that I was relieved to learn it was a pretty good mistake. ;)

So I wonder what you think of this list. I'll insert my commentary later...
PS...no, I didnt write these)


1.No matter how skinny we are, NEVER feel our back-fat whilst making love

2.Do NOT lean on our hair

3.Be careful with the nipples

4.Don’t ever feel our legs because there is a chance we haven’t shaved them and we will be VERY aware of that fact

5.Fanny farts are your fault, not ours

6.But it helps if you laugh afterwards because then we don’t feel so embarrassed

7.In the morning, do us a favour and leave the room for a couple of minutes because no matter how sexy we look naked or how much we need the toilet we will be very conscious about getting out of the bed in front of you

8.Don’t sweat so much!

9.Phrases such as ‘you drive me nuts’ and ‘fuck fuck fuck’ are banned

10.Do not rip our underwear off – chances are we spent about 3 hours trying to decide which underwear to wear and we would really appreciate it if you noticed. Perhaps a ‘that underwear looks really sexy’ would be good

11.Our private areas are to be treated with respect, you are in no means allowed to treat it like it is your last meal

12.Some girls just dont like morning sex (but some do)....so if you are getting the signs that she is up for it then fair play, but it should be quite blatantly obvious when morning sex is not on the cards - so pack it in and go and put the kettle on

13.….and please don’t attempt to try and do stupid positions like wrapping our legs around our head first thing in the morning cause we are still pretty stiff

14.The key is to kiss our neck, not eat our ears….

15.….and don’t kiss the same place for ages cause it get pretty boring

16.Feet are a no go area

17.What gives you the right to think you can go anywhere near our arse for the first 10 times we have sex……

18.….but don’t be surprised if we go near yours (cause you know you love it)

19.Don’t push our heads down when you want head, cause the chances are we will get pissed off and probably spit your load in your mouth

20.When we are on top, just lie there and enjoy…..don’t start thrusting because then we lose the rhythm and feel like we are about as crap as a virgin (and any chances of us enjoying it have just gone out of the window)

21.Candles and music are good, lights on is a big no no

22. A girl should shudder a bit after she has come (if she doesn’t, you have failed and she will be annoyed)

23.Cupping the face makes us feel special

24.Find out if she has any injuries, then you can reduce the risk of hurting her…..

25.……but pain is sometimes good, just in a certain way

26.If the covers start to fall off the bed, pull them back over as we will be very conscious of the fact that we are in full view

27.Don’t try and take our bra off unless you know for sure you can do it….this leads to a highly embarrassing pause

28.Don’t try and pick us up, no matter how small we are we are at least 8 stone….and if it is less then check ID immediately

29.Know your own strengths, if you are crap at certain things then don’t even go there

30.Don’t say thank you afterwards because then we feel like prostitutes

31.No turning your back on us after sex

32.No morning kisses (we will probably be fully aware of bad breath particularly if we have been smoking/drinking/giving head)

33.Turn round temporarily so that we can wipe the mascara shit out of our eyes

34.Foreplay is essential – if you go straight in for the kill you a re likely to lose major points (and be gentle)

35.Always make sure there are tissues on hand

36.If you try and make us come too early we will not be interested in what’s to follow, but if you do it too late we will think you are crap….timing is important

37.Taking memento’s is not big, not clever, we will notice and you will not be asked back again

38.For fucks sake tidy your room beforehand

39.The fact we are shagging you on the first night does not make us a whore, it just means we feel like we have to have sex with you in order to keep you

40.Be vocal! How are we supposed to know if we are doing it right......

41.If a girl says she is about to come, you are doing it TOTALLY wrong and she wants it to all be over. We say this because we know you will come in about 10 seconds.... (the same goes for when we suggest doing it doggy style)

P.I...

If you're reading this, I need your help.

I need every single person who's reading this to please leave me a comment with anything that comes to mind...topic...Pimps.

What I need are pop culture references. Anything from TV, movies, books, music that make you think of pimps, that have pimp in the name, lyrics, lines from films, inspired by pimps, etc.

Doesnt matter if someone else has already mentioned the one you're thinking of (matter of fact, write yours first THEN read what others have written). I need to know which are most pervasive and enduring. You can do it. Even you sexy lurkers. Do it anonymously.

Here. I'll even go first...

BAR.ACK STAR

Yeah, so I decided to go to the concert. And I elbowed my way onto the bandwagon.

So The Bama was in town last Monday, the day before he swept the Pot0mac primaries. Monday happened to be the dead of winter.

FUN WISE FACT... I do neither winter nor long lines. And as I walked up on the arena Monday afternoon, I encountered both. The long snaked around the building where rappers perform when they come to town. An arena. I literally couldnt see where it ended. Luckily my friend and I ran into a professor who let us step in line with him. And we still were out shivering for 20 minutes.

Once inside though it was the most amazing thing I've seen in a long time. First off, it was PACKED. Like, Jay-Z & Mary show packed. So I walk in and confirm that the concession stand is in fact not selling beer (losers), and climb up to the cheap seats. Even way up in nose bleed territory it was shoulder to shoulder.



Second, I don't think I've ever seen a crowd this diverse in a long time. Maybe ever. Not even at something as universal as a sporting event have I seen a crowd of so many different ages, races. Families with young kids. Elderly couples. Groups of black school kids wearing uniforms and book bags. Blue collar folks in their work uniforms. White baby boomers.



And folks were listening. And excited. Engaged.


And with that, I'm in. Because it would be a damn shame for him to gain this much momentum, gather this much anticipation and attention from people who have never given a shit about politics before, to lose. This aint no reality show where millions watch and vote and then don't buy the winner's shit [*cough* Taylor.Hicks *cough*] This is our country and our way of life. People who are engaged today will be engaged after he's in office. They won't stop watching CNN and reading the papers. We will all be watching to see how he does. We'll give time like we've been giving money to his campaign, to pitch in and help steer us back to some semblance of normalcy. Greatness even.

With that being said, and he's already got my vote, I'm still convinced that HC would be a more efficient leader overall. Why? I just do. I think she'd get more done in a shorter period of time. When I was a sophomore in high school some of my teammates voted me captain of the basketball team. I was appalled. I was the youngest, and there were seniors who had put in work for longer than I had even been on the team. They had earned it. Regardless that I may have been more galvanizing and well-liked, it wasnt my time (I did accept junior year). That's how I feel about this race.

But this isnt about efficiency. It's about hope and history. Plain and simple.

And in the end, the young gun is Varsity, and HC is JV.

SUPER STAR

It's like MJ is in town. Sold out concert. Last one ever.

You KNOW you should go.

But it's on the wrong side of town.

And the scalpers are ridiculous. You'd literally be spending your last dime.

But it's MJ, and you had a curl and glitter glove in '84.

And everywhere you go, everyone's talking about it. The excitement is intoxicating. Contagious.

But, despite the promise you're not so sure how he'll pull it off. He's never played this venue, and every night on the news you hear how rundown the joint is.

Do you go?

Or do you stay your ass at home, not risk getting shot, and pay your rent on time, instead?

That's how I feel about Rockamama, as my nephew calls him.

He's an absolute rock star. His momentum in the last week alone has been nothing short of spectacular. It's impossible not to get caught up.

Truth is, as I look at the issues for which both he and HC stand...I'm in agreement with the NY Times endorsement of HC. In my estimation, 'Mama presents bullet points of the issues. HC presents a detailed outline. In health care, for example, they both pretty much are offering a model of the types of plans available to members of Congress. Difference is tho, HC spells out how it will be funded, who will be eligible. Too often I'm seeing that 'Mama just spills on about how reprehensible it is for us not to all be covered and how we need to change.

But taking nothing away from the man, I'm probably on my way to the concert.

We have an opportunity that may never happen again in our lifetime...to try something new. Even if it doesn't work, if he fails miserably, if he lying like the rest of 'em, we'll know not to do that shit again.

But maybe it's worth a shot.

Might be the last one ever.

[But why I think if he wins the Dem nomination, 1 vote for Bara.ck is like 100 votes for whoever (white) is his opponent? *sigh*]

PPS...Does the news count as reality TV? Cuz I been all over this shit for weeks!

I HEART TV

[2/3...THIS JUST IN...

In a late addition, I have a new fav. Anyone seen the show on the Country Channel (oh hush!) where the washed up singers are competing to be a country singer?? All I have to say is...Carney.Wilson (remember that video for "Hold On" where they wre walking and she was all struggling to keep up. Ahh, I LOVE her. (she also got the bootleg gastro.)...DianaDegarmo (the young chick who got her ass whupped by Fantasia)...MarciaBrady (who knew she sang beyond the Brady variety show)...ok lemme cut to the chase. SISQ0! (My homeboy works with his mom and she had mentioned he was doing a reality show. YES!!),,,and BOBBYBROWN! All I can say is, can someone pls watch with me!!

And PS...who is the Puerto Rican (Mexican) broad on CleanHouse and where in the mayhem hell is Neicy?!!

I got issues...]


It just rarely occurs to me to plop down on the couch and pop in a dvd and watch a movie.

Cuz I got cable.

Eff a writers' strike, yo. I’ve been saying it for years (roughly around the time Survivor, Love.Cruise & Temptation.Island debuted)…this is the second Golden Era of TV (the ‘50s is considered the first…Uncle Milty, Jenny Benny, etc.).

Sure, I miss Greys and Negro Night on the CW, but here’s what’s been my pop culture Prozac so far this winter (seasonal depression is a bitch!)...


OK…so right now I’m switching btwn that dance crew Randy Jackson show, and Scott Baio. These are two great examples of what I love out of my Golden TV.

First off, Randy done gained back all that gastric bypass weight. What he get the bootleg surgery?? Anywho…Little Known Wise Fact…In my heart I’m a backup dancer. Like, on tour and everything. So I'm all over this (as well as that JLo dancer show, and So You Think..Dance (by why there always gotta be a British commentator chick?)) These competition shows are fun because you get to latch onto the personalities. After five minutes you’re pretty hooked on the crew from Boston who ain’t know how in the hell they were getting back home. Son, the Skate Crew! And of COURSE the Asian one is everyone’s fav. Other than that though, the judges blow (Shane is cool, but Lil Lip Gloss and JC “Sashay,” boo. Ok Lip Gloss isn’t bad.). But what could be better than hearing AC Slater talk all hip hop (and sometimes Mexican).

I’m in!

Now, celeb reality shows?? *SIGH* Just a piece of heaven here on earth. I mean, when was the last time you made a Jonie L0ves Chachi joke, huh?? But put Scotty in front of a camera, add the brother from Wonder Years, a few other lackeys, some bitter exes, and frankly, it’s enough to hold my attention (every week). There is really nothing extraordinary about this show, except that he’s sarcastic, anti-social and neurotic as fcuk, is literally almost 50 and without child or wedding and lost his virginity to Erin Moran. But there’s something to be said about these narrated Look at Me shows (I’m also slightly enamored with Life 0f Ryan). I Heart Them.

But REALLY…it’s the precursor to one of the best things to happen to me in 2008. Celeb Rehab! Lucifer, where to even begin! I guess the obvious place to begin is with Kinicki, but then you’d have to also end there. What a tool that one. But I prefer to remind everyone… because it’s easy to forget that there’s anyone else there besides him, that blond whore one, and the Baldwin… that the little sister from offa Urkle is on it! Yes! The one who went upstairs one episode and never came back downstairs! No, not the cooning cousin lil Richie (who’s now on Young&the Restless and deaf ,or can he hear now??)). The little girl who turned out to be a porn star!! Apparently she’s a weedhead (son, ALL my friends smoke every morning. *shrug*)

I actually did pop in a dvd this afternoon. I had to catch the first two episodes of the Wire. DatNucca and I “watched” episode 3 last week, but I had missed the first two, so my homegirl slid them to me (which I watched out of order. Genius.)

So if you’re not watching this show it’s probably because you don’t have HBO. What can I say? It’s brilliantly written and has the best cast on tv. I’d say easily one of the best I’ve ever seen. I’m partial to Seasons 1 & 4, but as a media head this one intrigues me. LOVE the Sun editor cat. He’s old school yet on point and in touch. And it’s impossible not to watch wide eyed every time Snoop is on screen if for no other reason than that she is so gotdam BMore it’s sick.

People marched in protest outside the BMore premiere, saying it was a negative portrayal of the city and of the black folks here. It is. There are lots of negative folks here from what I can tell. But what that opinion ignores is the human face the Wire puts on them. You protest this piece of art but don't say shit about the other mess on tv and in movie theaters?? The hood has a story. The city has a complex history. And the show is fantastic about showing the layers and multi-dimensions in a human and authentic way.

Plus McNulty’s effing hot. (he grabbed my ass in this pic...and I liked it)

Speaking of hot…how come every straight woman I know is in love with Shane?

Frankly, I’m not into the stringy/skinny/white/chick…but I get it. Either way, the L-Word is my shit! Jenny’s a plum mess…and I can’t WAIT for her psycho assistant to flip out. Max is like, the quiet brooding genius that keeps getting provoked. I’m patiently waiting for her/him to shoot up the Planet. Tina blows. Alice is too wack for the black chick. And why do I find “Flashdance” and “Hear No Evil” to be the best couple ever…except the worst and I’m ready for them to break up.
I still haven’t forgiven them for killing off Dana.

I kinda wish MTV would kill off Real.World. I can’t watch. I know it seems that I’d be all over it, but I’ve just about aged out of the franchise. I just cant (anymore. i was obsessed as recently as Philly ...and kinda Denver) But I CAN however get with the Challenges. My word. See, the whole thing about reality competition like I said, is that once you hook me I’m in. And these are built-in people I’ve seen drunk, vomit on each other, make out, fight, and cry. (Am I the only one who loves CT in all his drunk-violent-brutedness!) And all I have to say is it’s about time they start showing the hook ups. Who cares about the games anyway!

I could go on and on and mention ProjectRunway, anything on Style, etc., but I’ll end with probably my most anticipated show of the “season.” I need to write MTV and ask them nicely to stop promo’ing shit 4 months ahead. Cuz by the time Making.the.Band comes on I’m sure to perish. I cant wait. I was hooked on the last season (1969, are you ready?!) This season's concept is brilliant...Fine ass Will, my hometown boy Q, plus the chicks and the Don?

Golden!

[Here's their single...http://streamos.atlrec.com/wmedia/atlantic/mtb4/gotmegoing_popradio.wax]

BETTER OFF A HOLIDAY

I just think we’re thinking about this all the wrong way. As usual.

I’m not saying he’s better off dead (per se), but I just think the legacy of M-L-K is much stronger than the man himself would have ever lived to be. AND we got a day off out of it. AND there are black commercials on TV. AND parades. AND black actors standing poised against black backdrops and King speech video loops, chin raised high amongst the clouds, espousing of our greatness as interpreted by the Black Jesus. Ngga, he SAVED us. He is worthy.

However, why do we always hear, “Dr. K. would have been 106 years old today.” It’s an absurd notion. It’s a sad shame that brother got popped out on a balcony by a sniper and shit. That a family was without a father and husband. That the negroes were left without a savior. And so young. And in his prime.

I think the man was remarkable, and I say that, for once, without the slightest hint of sarcasm.

I just think that his legacy today is far greater than his life would have been if he lived to be 106.

So explore with me if you will…What might have been, if he had not been murked...

1. Inevitably, he woulda did a Cadillac commercial. Without a doubt. And the African American Image purists woulda been LIVID.

2. American history would be robbed of the legacy of 1968. After King’s death over 100 cities across the country were literally on fire, from Watts to my town of BMore. That year is widely considered the most volatile ever. But let’s be real for a second. How many black folks CAME UP during the riots?? Looting and whatnot. This was more of a shot in the arm to Black American Economy than any Civil Rights policy EVER was. Dr. K would have wanted it that way.

3. He would have knocked up the white chick.

4. He would have run for President, I’m guessing around ’76. He would have lost miserably during the primaries to the man who would become the least significant President ever. What kinda moron are you if you lose to J. Carter?!

5. He would have done a horrible cameo on Diff’rent Strokes. It wouldn’t even be a 2-parter or a Very Special episode. Just some lame Peace in the Streets plea btwn Arnold and the Gooch.

6. He’d have gone through an afro phase. And Lord knows he didn’t have the forehead for it.

7. (If you were born after 1984 cover your ears) Remember back in the early 80s when award shows were super glamorous, and it was a big deal who the stars brought with them? Like when Michael Jackson brought the chimp that one time? Why do I have a feeling ML would have accompanied like Paul Simon and them African singers he be having with him. Then there’d be pressure to go on the Soul Train awards and shit… NAACP… Vibe…Source…Downhill.

8. His megachurch empire (cuz you know he’d have one), would be under scrutiny and uncover some demons ala Swaggert and Baker.

9. He’d refuse to take sides in the MJ vs. Prince debate and would lose credibility with black folks.

10. …But he’d be front and center in a protest against NWA & Eff the Police.

11. Hello! No January 3-day weekend. And we wouldn’t have my fav commercial of all time… “If you light a candle, for everything he’s done…”

12. He’d be a lock for a guest spot in the ‘Welcome to Atlanta’ video.

13. The gratuitous Puffy remix and subsequent Russell.Simmons power summit appearances.

14. Media showdowns with Farrakhan. No one EVER wins those.

15. Who would we name all those MLK Blvds in cities across the country after? Nipsey Russell Way just doesn’t have the same ring.

16. Oh Black Jesus! Not the MLK book tour, daily Peace & Equality text msgs, late night talk show on TBN, Fitness March dvd box set, Civil Rights action figures (all of this on the brink of personal bankruptcy, you see), nonviolent record label. I can’t.

17. An avid and loyal Atlanta Falcons fan, he’d throw Mike Vick under the proverbial (Montgomery) bus.

18. LBJ mighta pursued re-election, which mighta put Nixon’s presidency in question…and what on EARTH woul journalism students study if not Woodward and Bernstein?

19. There’d be no place for Al.Shaprton, and I sincerely HEART him! (If you’ve never heard his radio show, it’s fanTAStic! Comedy abound)

20. Punching the shit out of a white kid without repercussion after seeing Eyes on the Prize would be a hard sell.

*Bonus...Did you not HEAR me mention the 3-day holiday!! Hope yours was as amazing as mine. :)

[Hey Joy...I really did write this before I left, but my phone wouldnt let me post it. No "intense reprimand," pleeeeease. And Jameil, I totally appreciate your new passive-aggressive approach. Nice touch:)]

YOU GOT MAIL

I’m pretty sure my mom is about to bail on me.

So I call her last week and she says, “You’ll never guess what just happened...”

Miss Jean from across the street calls her and tells her that some she saw some kid take the envelops out of my mother’s mailbox and run through her back yard. She said she saw it through her window. The kid came to the door like he was offering to shovel her driveway (Damn, I miss old school kids who used to HUSTLE out in the cold. Not these new Xbox young fucks!)…but um, my nephew’s old school. He took care of that snow as soon as it stopped falling.

Now, we’ve lived in this same house for 30+ years, and my mom is in fact, old school. Ever since she retired and is home during delivery times, she could tell you the names of damn near every mailman in order of employment. She still believes in greeting and asking about the kids and leaving him gifts at holiday times and offering him tea when it’s cold out. She’s accustomed to leaving her mail out for him, secured with a clothespin, even when she doesn’t have stamps. He always got her. Her mail doesn’t even need an address. It’ll get to her, as long as it has her name on it.

So my mom goes outside and checks the mailbox and sure enough, it’s empty. On that morning she had run to the bank and thought he had already come through while she was gone. She walks down the paved driveway and peeps the footprints dotting the snow through the back yard.

Miss Jean had immediately called my nephew to go find the boy, but he was at work. (Neighbors having each other’s phone numbers…how old school is THAT!) Luckily, her grandkids saw the boy. Knew where he stayed.

“What kind of mail did he steal, Mommy?”

“My credit card and car insurance payments.”

Wow mom.

By the time she had called the jakes (sn!tching runs in the family??), Miss Jean’s grandson was knocking on my mom’s door. He’s an Xbox kid for sure. About 15 or so. Him and his younger brother are like my mom’s little mentees. Their daddy’s in the bing, and their grandma can’t control them. But they STAY stopping by Mama Wise’s crib before school every morning, and whent hebus drops them off after school, and even spend the night when my mom’s in the mood for noise in the house.

Young Xbox hands my mother her mail. He went running around the block, like a tough old school maverick, and got my mom’s shit back.

“I swear, I’m so ready to be out!” I’ve never heard this conviction from my mother before. Tomorrow she’ll board a plane home to Jamaica and she’ll be gone almost a month. My siblings and nephew will man the crib. The neighborhood will provide an extra set of eyes.

She’s finally gonna start work on the house down there that she and my father had been plotting for the last 30+ years. They’re old school immigrants. Come here, hustle, raise and educate your kids, go back home, ball out. I always knew she’d do it. But I never quite believed she’d really dip. But there’s really nothing stopping her. Her children are grown. She's a widow. Her grandkids the only real attachment now. She’s outgrown her community. She uses the word ‘ghetto’ now, often.

I laugh, cuz it’s funny, cuz that’s a word she’s learned, or conceptualized from incidents like the Mail Fraud. The kid who stole her shit was 12.

When her house is done, she will move. And I’ll be lost. But she’s earned it. She’s weathered 30+ unforgiving winters. Made her connections. Raised and educated me. She’s left her mark. She should go and I should be happy.

And that suddenly opens up the possibilities of a whole world with my name on it.

RIP 2007

Double deuces go out to '07.

And this wrap up is ganked from and posted in honor of my fav ex-Harlem neighbor that I never met.


1) Was 2007 a good year for you?
Ya know what… I haven’t failed out of school yet, didn’t get shot, didn’t go broke, no alcohol poisoning that I know of. Great year.

2) What was your favorite moment of the year?
Toss up btwn seeing my oldest nephew graduate from my alma mater...
Blacking out at the US-Canadian border...
Boy watching and drinking at the Hard.Rock pool in Vegas...
Or the first phone convo with DatNucca.

3) What was your least favorite moment of the year?
A phone call with my brother, Boss Of Me, in the middle of Mar.shalls.

4) Where were you when 2007 began?
I honestly cant remember. Musta been somewhere good.

5) Who were you with?
Again…??

6) Where will you be when 2007 ends?
Ask me the day after.

7) Who will you be with when 2007 ends?
The Fam and some uninvited special guests *sigh*

8) Did you keep your new years resolution of 2007?
I did pretty well with achieving goals this year. Did pretty well with failing miserably at achieving goals as well. It’s all about the balance, yo.

9) Do you have a new years resolution for 2008?
I do. But I wont speak them. Cuz I’m lame like that.

10) Did you fall in love in 2007?
“Love is a losing game.”

11) If yes, with who?
Amy W!nehouse?? ;)

12) If yes, do they know?
Until we’re drunk and in bed, it appears. :(

13) Are you still in love with them?
*sigh*

14) You regret it?
No regrets (I HATE when people say this shit. Are you kidding me?? NONE?! That’s absurd.)

15) Did you breakup with anyone in 2007?
I did. Though I never actually uttered the words. Sometimes silence is all the convo you need.

16) Did you make any new friends in 2008?
I did. I told yall about a few that are still cool.

Question is, how many will stick?

17) Who are your (most memorable) favorite new friends?
I’m currently very excited about my new neighborhood drinking buddy!

18) What was your favorite month of 2007?
The entire summer was fantastic! August in particular.

19) Did you travel outside of the US in 2007?
Canada and Mexico

20) How many different states have you traveled in 2007?
9 states.

21) Did you lose anybody close to you in 2007?
Thank God no one died. But I lost a very good friend and lover.

22) Did you miss anybody in the past year?
Don’t I always? Distance blows.

23) What was your favorite movie that you saw in 2007?
Didn’t see very many flicks this year. But did catch Notes on a Sca.ndal at the top of the year and LOVED it. Also enjoyed Gone Ba.by Gone and Amer!can Gangst.

24) What was your favorite song from 2007?
Absolutely anything that my youngest nephew learns the words to (which are of course songs I HATE in real life), including (*gasp* Soulj Boy, Beaut.Girl, Duff Bag Boy (ok this my shit! dont let it come on at a party!) and his little school songs)

25) What was your favorite album from 2007?
Mick Boogie/Lil Brother
Alicia.Keys
Wine.house
Common

26) How many concerts did you see in 2007?
LB (twice)
Ghostface
The Roots (twice)
Public Enemy
MC Lyte
Kane
KRS One
Sean Paul
Lupe
Barrington Levy
Black Sheep
Stevie!!

27) Did you have a favorite concert in 2007?
Ummm, did you SEE that I saw Stevie this year?? Hands down best show of my life. In tears, singing every word, burning hot despite being out in the freezing cold.

28) Did you drink a lot of alcohol in 2007?
Except for that one week of sobriety.

29) Did you do a lot of drugs in 2007?
Drugs schmugs. Lame.

30) How many people did you sleep with in 2007?
Intercourse or …?
My Hiatus was well documented. And well over.

31) Did you do anything you are ashamed of this year?
Kind of.

And only a bit ashamed that I didn’t torch this muhfucker... yeah the effing bar I got kicked out of.

32) What was the biggest lie you told in 2007?
That I was somewhere I wasn’t.

33) What was the worst lie someone told you in 2007? (ok, I read this wrong at first)
"Damn, what time's your flight? Cuz, I mean, it's just, my place is such a mess, and I gotta study..." Booo!

34) Did you treat somebody badly in 2007?
Not purposely.

But on second thought, I was less than a friend to someone who’s always been a great friend.

35) Did somebody treat you badly in 2007?
*shrug* Fcuk em.

36) How much money did you spend in 2007?
What are you the Eye Arrah Ess?? (name that female bank heist movie)

37) What was your proudest moment of 2007?
Jena.

Loc’ing.


38) What was your most embarrassing moment of 2007?
A particularly bad night out. A few drunk texts and a photographed penis included.

This wasn’t exactly a good look either.

Not being able to face my mom at a time I know she needs me.

39) If you could go back in time to any moment of 2007 what would it be?
The massage on the beach facing the Caribbean Sea.

40) What are your plans for 2008?
Last year I was on a plane all but two months out of the year. In ’08, I’d like to run the table and be out all 12! And...

Take another step into the world of academia.

Write a kick ass thesis.

Blog better.

Love fearlessly.

*Bonus question for anyone who decides to jack this...

"What were your fav posts of '07?"
This one makes me laugh for so many reasons.

Be easy!!!

XROADS

It's almost the end of the year? Are you effing kidding me?

I'm hard pressed to summarize '07, because so much happened and didn’t happen. I got a lot accomplished, I wasted a lot of time, I grew up, I stayed the exact same, I moved on, I got stuck, I was rewarded and punished, devastated and overjoyed. Mother has lived...

Looking back at some posts from a year ago, I'm struck by a couple things. I was at Love (the club) not long ago ago...right around the same time I told you guys about last year.

Then there was Thanksgiving. Went home. Enjoyed the fam and friends. Had pretty much the identical routine that I had Thanksgiving '06...travel on Thursday, get home at dinner time, making a pit stop at the liquor store. The crew gets together to cook tacos and drink and ponder our places in the world. Old School party at the one grown and sexy club in town. Face off with him...

---
In Tha Club, Thanksgiving '07...

My cousin and I walk over to the bar and immediately see a few folks. My camera's out and the smiles light up the dark dance floor. Then I see Best Friend Guy across the way, with his girl in tow. I sneak over, lurk behind their backs, turn the lens to me, reach my arms in front of them and snap a picture of the three of us. They turn around confused and erupt in excited 'Oh Shit!s'. I'm only slightly buzzed at the moment, and yet it doesn’t occur to me that Best Friend Guy's BBF (him) is probably also in the building. When it does, I order two drinks.

This year, today, he exists in my life only in memory and hidden photos, exponentially more miles apart than his city is from mine. And while I let go of him in '07, the weight of '05 and '06 float to the surface like the ice in my drink. Like the bodies always do.

When one of my BFFs arrives at the club, he's drunker than I care to mention (let's just say he got kicked out of the party 3 times, and each time managed to find his way back in), and he wants me to be where he is.

I oblige. And no sooner than I do (to the tune of back to back to back Gooses), someone stalks over to where I'm dancing. The presence is familiar... and annoying. He reaches for the tight hug, and I respond with the knuckle tap, unable to make eye contact.

"Wise & Him!" Before I can retract, my boy has his lanky, drunken arms around both of our shoulders, announcing our names as the title it once was. My face gets hot, and I walk, almost stomp away, embarrassed as hell.

The rest of the night I'm extra aware of being watched. And when he finally walks up on me for a dance, I know without turning that it's him. His body still fits on mine the way it always did.

But what's different is that it no longer matches. It's so... last season. Outdated. Unwanted. Old.

As '08 looms, I'm thinking I need to change up my routine. I need to be in different places with different people, instead of always with the familiar ones running into familiarly unfamiliar folks. I can say that judging solely by what is documented on this blog, something's changed with me in '07. As so many of you have commented, I write different. I don't talk nearly as much shit. Who the eff AM I?

I vow that in '08 there will be more of the same... only different.

Hollerrrrrr!

...GET STITCHES?

Thugs and me, we just have an understanding.

And apparently there is no shortage of them on my block. Y’all remember this guy, the one who helped me “put together my dresser.” Yeah, Thug Love, about that…

So anywho, what can I say? They like to confide in me, tell me their life stories and plans. Maybe they sense that I may one day immortalize their shit for all the world to enjoy. I doubt they were expecting this bullshit ass blog.

So there’s this guy who lives in my building, and by lives, I mean he staying there with his peoples. We bonded one evening when we were both parking our cars on the block. Did I mention he drives a cab, but kinda didn’t seem like he was a cabbie, you feel me?

“You from NY?” he asks, eyeing my tags. “I didn’t know you were from NY.” We had always said hi and byes and chit chatted before, but nothing formal, and I was only familiar enough with him by face. No name.

“Lemme guess, you’re from the Bronx,” I respond. “By way of Puerto Rico.”

“Ya know it. That obvious, huh?”

“Lucky guess.”

From that day Papi and I have had many convos, mostly in the stairwell of our building, or him calling down to me from his apartment window. He’d hear me trudging up the stairs with grocery or shopping bags and he’d always come out and help, or just say hi, or ask me how I’m living.

I learned that Papi just got out like 3 months ago (this would explain the random letters left on the common mail area from the Dept of Corrections), and he’s working and just staying out of trouble. I never ask what they did to go in, cuz aint it always the same shit? Plus they usually tell me anyways. I don’t recall Papi ever going into detail about anything past tense. Mostly just future.

I did ask however, why he left the Bronx, and he just said, “Too much shit up there. But I do miss it though.”

He told me about how he got in a fight the weekend prior, how some big dude (Papi’s kinda thick, but only like 5’8” or so) punched the shit out of his homegirl at some BMore club. So Papi stepped in and did some heavy lifting. I admonished him not to get into shit. He shrugged it off. He regretted it, but had no qualms about defending a woman, and definitely none about the bruises on his knuckle.

“So what y’all be smoking down there?” I ask. “I be high as shit up here from the contact.”

“I don’t smoke nothing.”

“Yeah right.”

“Straight up.”

“They make you piss?”

“Twice a week.”

“Damn. I don’t even go to the gym twice a week. And there’s probably not two days a week that I walk by your door and don’t smell weed.” I’m incredulous. But Papi appears so damn well adjusted, if not thoroughly apathetic and detached.

“Be good. You better stay out of trouble.” That’s always my parting word to him.

“Stay beautiful. And eh, don’t forget I got this Dominican rum for you.”

So the other day I’m sleeping real hard right? And my buzzer goes nuts. This happens sometimes, like when the door is locked and my neighbor Barnyard is passed out and his people can’t get in. They buzz me. Or once a month or so my editor Fed.Ex’s me some shit…but wait, I’m not on deadline. And…hold up, it’s 7 in the effing morning. At 7 in the effing morning on a weekday, I am subconsciously clinging to my last moments of pass outedness. Anybody who should need access to my crib at this hour either has a key or has my damn number. I check my phone. Nothing.

But whoever is downstairs is laying on the damn buzzer. I open up my window to look down onto the sidewalk below and it’s a chick who looks like her…

“What is it!?!” I yell down.

“Police. Come open the door.”

I get real humble real quick. My ass is AAAAAWAKE!

I go splash some water on my face, and with every step I’m running in my mind what the hell I done did that’s finally caught up with me.

Omg, what I do? What I do!

My license?? Did I not pay my taxes?? I KNOW I paid my damn taxes! I ain’t steal nothing. I aint run no red lights on the blocks where they have the cameras. I aint beat nobody ass. I aint even got no internet porn in my possession! Ok, whatever it is I hope to God in heaven that it’s something I can explain. I hope they just here to talk, not cuff. WTF?!

I get downstairs and look out the window. Standing next to Kima is a look alike of this guy…

I nearly collapse to the floor. To make matters worse my eye catches his sleeve…

WARRANT POLICE

So uhhhhh, NO, they not here to do no type of talking. SHIT!

“Ma’am, do you live in apartment C?”

“Y-yes.” [editor’s note…it’s actually #3, but whatev. I was neither coherent nor equipped to be a smart ass]

They ask me this at least 5 more times. Then they both step inside the building and pull out a file. My head is spinning and my stomach tightens, afraid of what transgressions are held within.

“Do you know this gentleman?”

Papi’s gentle face stares back at me from the bad boy bin. My heart sinks.

“No.”

“He doesn’t live with you?”

“No he doesn’t.”

“Do you live in Apt. C?” again, they repeat the inquiries as if about to conclude that 2+2 is obviously 4.

“Yes! My name is So Wise Sista and I live in Apt C. But I live there alone!”

“Have you seen him in this building?”

“Yes.”

RECORD SCREECHES…

*sigh*

“Where have you seen him?”

“I don’t know. He just looks familiar.”

“Who else lives in the building?”

“A kid Barnyard lives on the second floor. Tall light skinned kid with long dreads. And I don’t know who lives there anymore,” I spill, pointing to the apartment ahead of us. “Used to be a white kid.”

My ears are clogged, my heart is effing pounding in them. All I could hear was that they thought I was housing a fugitive and I couldn’t believe they were gonna try to pin this shit on me.

So I spilled. Not on Papi (per se)…but definitely on the Barnyard muhfucka on the second floor with the Psycho White Broad girlfriend who be yelling and crying at all hours of the night, and who moved my effing laundry one time too many.

“Thank you.”

I sprint back up to my crib and slam the door behind me. Confused as shit.

I hear the jakes knocking on Barnyard’s second floor apartment door, but I can’t make out the convo. I also can’t recall if they smoked the night before. I know Papi’s not there, but still. Who knows what the Psycho White Broad might tell. Shit, I kinda told, didn’t I??

I crawled back into bed, got under the covers and called my sweetie, (who will from here on be affectionately known as DatNucca). I hung up feeling reassured that I didn’t sni.tch, but still sad. Dammit Papi…why!!!!

STILL

[We now interrupt the regularly scheduled programming
(and by programming, I mean my unfortunate hiatus due to the end of the semester.
Jameil has however, graciously granted me some leave time without penalty)...
to bring you *gasp* a post!]

I woke up this morning and the other side of the bed was still.

I still smell you there.

I followed the trail of clothes strewn about the crib, from the bedroom to the kitchen. My bra and coat near the front door. Jeans with a sock still stuck in the foot. The fuzzy one still MIA. I’ll be rocking the fly track jacket you left. It’s still on the floor of the closet.

The movie is still in the player, still unplayed. The photo album still unopened on the couch. The book I wanted to show you, still unread.

There is still a pool of Calgon blue water in my tub. I won’t shower for an hour or two, cause I love that your scent is still on my hands and neck.

The bowl of pineapple still where we left it on the bathtub edge.

Tea candles burned down to the tin casings still line the sink.

The loc gel and clips are still there too. My freshly twisted hair now a sweated out mess. Don’t feel bad, I’ll fix it good as new like you like.

You know what I still feel every time I walk into the kitchen. I spent considerable time washing dishes this morning, yeah cuz we left behind too many unfinished drinks (how DARE you!), but because I just wanted to be in there, ya know?

I still can’t believe I let you, us, smoke on the couch. The scene of many crimes.

The silence is still. No shuffled soundtrack of your ridiculous laugh. I.tunes is still on shuffle though. Prophetic and well-timed as ever. My head still kind hurts...mostly from busting out laughing every few minutes. The one-liners, yo.

I started writing this while you were still here.

It’s still cold in here. Heat still not working. And though now I have no recourse but the covers, I’m still warm.

I’m not used to this, still.

[We now return you to my absense...already in progress...]

SEPARATE BUT EQUAL

“I understand that he needs to get his shit together," I say. "I’m proud of you for not wavering on that cuz you, pre-Mommy days wouldn’t give a fcuk. But I also think that it’s a mistake to try to front like you don’t have real feelings for him. On a very personal, important level.”

Curly scratches her scalp hard, as she tends to do when someone is talking sense into her.

“But do you really think he would fit in here?” She nods her head over to the center of my living room. “Could you see him chilling with us??”

This time I turn. My body hangs halfway off the couch, an errant beer bottle cap imprinting my back. An ice tray filled with green specks, remnants of our jello shots, a mere memory. One overturned Rasheed Wallace sneaker with a gleaming white sock still in it. A pack of Newports that won’t see the light of day inside my crib. Three dudes huddled, tossing dice against a wall of my school books.

“Drink the CARD-eye (Bacardi…they have a nickname for every fcuking thing), son.”

“Yo B. Ali.cia Keys…you’d eat the box straight no chase?”

“Yessir. Roota AND toota, kid. No question.”

I turn back to Curly, my contemplation complete.

“Does ANYONE fit in with us besides us??”

We’ve all done it before and it just doesn’t work. I mean, I LOVE these kids. Couldn’t get rid of them if I tried. And at one time or another we’ve all figured that this MUST mean that EVERYONE will love us.

So we bring the occasion signif other around. Introduce them in the flesh to the names they’ve heard in countless stories. They already know the faces bec they’ve stared back from photos that dot all of our cribs. Not to mention our distinct differences and personalities make it impossible not to know who’s who.

And it usually looks the same. We’re all together, cooking, eating, drinking, smoking, laughing. If we’re feeling particularly nostalgic the yearbooks come out, or better yet the video from Greekfreak ’96, or a yellowing invitation from the party at Club Baja in ’99, or the cups stolen from the dining hall, or the orange traffic cones copped that one night after…"wait, when WAS that??”

And the signif other, sitting dutifully beside their respective mate, does just that. They sit. And listen. And probably yawn a million bored yawns. But we never notice.

Every once in a while someone will engage them. But 9 times out of 10, and not even out of spite or rudeness, just out of sheer urgent hilarity, someone will interrupt with another inane inquiry. Even my ex, who went to high school with us, and knows these kids well, was overwhelmed every time.

So without discussion or consensus, we all just one day stopped bringing outsiders around. For no other reason than that it’s painfully obvious that without having lived our history it’s just not nearly as comical or heartwarming or entertaining to hear us recall it, no matter how animated and Oscar-worthy the re-enactment.

“I think the days of rating a potential mate based on compatibility with our friends are long gone. I mean, it’s one thing to get your friends’ opinions of the person, but that’s about it.”

“You guys told me not to fcuk with Peter.”

“Unanimously.”

“I shoulda listened.”

“Should have. But I’m sure every one of us would tell you the same thing about 8 Mile. He just doesn’t necessarily need to be dragged kicking and screaming to hang with us when we all get together.”

“Weazy, feel this beat! You aint freestyle all night, ngga!” My attention, again, pulled to the center.

“You beg me to get with it/to spit it/I stay committed/and get more head than Coop’s fitted”

“Ayyyyy! Wise, remember that time I walked in on you and…”

*

Is this a universal misconception? That your friends and your mate must be compatible or all bets are off?

Some people have Mate-Friendly friendships. You know, the kind of friends who are multipurpose. You can effortlessly bring around a mate, a boss, whoever.

Others, like me, have a core group of friends who are perfectly suitable and welcoming one on one, but impossibly (but never intentionally) exclusive in a group.

Or maybe no friends at all.

What say you? Do you bring your SO around your friends? Is it a litmus test of sorts?

What about when around theirs? Do you feel alienated?

Does it even matter??

THANKS, BUT NO...

As so many of you have so eloquently pointed out, we oughta be giving thanks every day, not just on another fraudulent government mandated holiday. I totally agree. And every day I give thanks profusely for all things big and small, good and even not so good.

But I don’t know about yall…I’m all about the balance. I’m allotting some time tomorrow to all of the things I’m not thankful for. I mean, maybe speaking them out loud will make them go away or something. Damn, I aint seen Oprah in a minute but I know she’d say it some kinda way to that effect.

10 Things For Which I’m Not Particularly Thankful…

1. Gas prices. Are you kidding me, Hess? Didn’t it cost me like HALF of this to fill up just a month ago?? And am I really paying the same each month for gas as I am for car insurance??

2. The Programming/Scheduling down at Viacom. I don’t know who figured the demographic that is obsessed with The Hills (as I am), wasn’t also the same folks who grew up with ‘Push It’ and ‘What a Man.’ I’ma need you people to do some retooling so that I don’t have to choose btwn LC vs. Heidi or Salt vs. Pep. Thanks! (Monday night TV is however among my many give thankses!)

3. Punk ass Sprint. Been their bitch since ’99, and I’m STILL battling their asses on the regular. But I draw the line at the egregious call drops. My sweetie can’t be driving home (kinda drunk) without being able to reach me!

4. Pneumonia weather. Need I look like the asshole when it’s damn near 60 degrees outside in November no less, but I’m wearing a wool coat, scarf and gloves. But I KNOW it’s pneumonia weather, so I aint chancing it…but I still get sick!!

5. Rakim for his no show on Saturday. I mean, maybe he did show up sometime after 1:30 when I bounced. But damn, God, the show started at 8!!

6. Safeway, for discontinuing the pink chip breast cancer cookies. Don’t you KNOW I’m emotional eating right now?!! Where are they…I neeeeeed them!

7. Baltimore, for so many reasons, but particularly for not sharing in my lifelong tradition of autumn apple cider. I miss Upstate!

8. I’m not exactly thrilled with airport security either. Instead of packing a light carryon I gotta check my shit in if I plan to wear any perfume or lip gloss while I’m at home. And do you mean to tell me I can’t bring a flask??

9. Notsomuch thankful for the random post-30 moles, pimples, hairs, and light spots that pop up in unnecessary and unexpected places.

10. Living in a city close to almost 300 murders this year…but oddly enough not one of the Top 10 most dangerous cities in the country?? (ok it's #12, but still)

Enjoy the holiday everyone!

TEXTSTYLES

You Know You Text Too Effing Much When…


You can go days without ever actually putting the phone to your ear.

You have two phones, and one’s JUST for texting.

You sit down at a computer and are baffled when there’s no T9 word recognizer popping up (bonus if your thumbs rest on the home keys).

Instead of going over to say to hello to a friend you see at a bar/party/restaurant, etc…you text them and compliment their shoes.

In real life convos you forget that not everyone speaks (texts) in song lyrics and patois.

You have the ringer off but you instinctively know when a text is coming (and look at your phone at the precise second it arrives).

You begin to speak in 160 character sentences.

You text someone who's in front of you just for fun...OR...whoever is in front of you when you text, sends you a text that is the equivalent of 'Call me on 3-way.'

You send intervention texts on someone's behalf.

Driving doesn’t stop your conversation. Nor class. Nor business meetings. Nor being on another call. Nor grocery shopping. Nor sleeping.

You get pissed when someone says, “Here’s my home phone number.”

When Text Sex is sufficient.

You convince yourself that sending a Happy BDay text is akin to an ecard.

Friends add unlimited texts to their cellie plans just because of you.

Your stylus is like a fashion accessory...and when you lose it *gasp* it's like losing your car keys.

You accidentally hit CALL while texting and when it reverts to calling the person you were texting you PANIC and damn near power it off just so that you DON'T call them instead of texting.

You carry your phone charger in your bag cuz you KNOW all that texting eats the hell out of your battery.

Your fingers are crossed that you can use it to cast your vote for President by 2008.

You hear the phone call ringtone and it takes a second to register what the hell it is.

You input certain names in your phones as DO NOT TEXT.

You let the voice mail pick up and respond to the call with a text.

Some friends only require one-word responses.

There are people you text at specific designated times every day...like you're taking the pill or some shit.

You get a series of texts Saturday morning “lol’ing” about whatever the hell you texted the night before.

You fcuk up and send the wrong person the wrong text, but shrug it off, as if it’s normal to mix up conversations in any other communicative medium. (except maybe call waiting)

Instead of carrying a wallet, you just tuck cash into your phone case.

You can type in the dark of night.

You’re fluent and literate in not only drunk text, but also text sarcasm.

You wish you could text your professor or boss to tell them you’re gonna be late.

You consider getting your young relatives cells phones just cuz it would be easier to help with their homework that way.

People text you first to ask permission to call.

DREAMGIRL

I’m a dreamer, I admit. It was a way of life as a child to sit and dream my way out of my circumstances. Imagine independence and all its spoils. Dream myself a suitable identity and moral character.

Today, all these years later, I can recall so many of those dreams in colors as vivid as a day ago. Maybe because so many of them have been realized. Or perhaps it’s because so many still linger.

Even if you don’t subscribe to the notion, we all harbor desires for one dream or another. The dream job…dream car…dream crib…dream guy or girl…dream vacation…those dreamy shoes.

But do we always accept or even appreciate the dream when it arrives?

In the past week I’ve used the word ‘dream’ to describe two separate circumstances. One of them a writing assignment. I wouldn’t exactly call it the Dream Gig, but I do get to scratch another item off my ‘30 Things I'ma Do Now That I’m 30’ list. But why when confronted with handling up on the assignment, I froze. Couldn’t do it. Looked the gift horse directly in the mouth, down the throat, whole 9 yards. (I have since managed to soldier up, thanks to 90 Millas and My Muse).

The other…*sigh*. I actually called another effing human being a Dream. Come. True. (I know, I know... I’ll pause here for a second so you can join me for a quick vomit). The thing of it is, I meant it, still mean it…but I have no clue what the hell to do about it.

If you’ve ever been called The Dream Girl/Guy, then unceremoniously abandoned like I have, then like me, you're probably a lil dead inside, and you might feel me on the irony and absolute absurdity of it all.

But the fact remains…

A wise (blind with microbraids and a underlip mustache genius musician) man once said…

“So... If it's special...
Then with it why aren't we as careful?”

Theoretically, shouldn’t we be going to the ends of the earth to chase our dreams? Or are dreams fundamentally not meant to come true? Is the subconscious mind a much more liberal and whimsical force than the conscious?

Or is there a dream slayer? Fear.

RESPITE

I have a friend who used to live in Miami. One who just left Chicago. Another bounced from Vegas, then LA. One packed up and left Germany.

And every one of them muhfcukas is back in NYC.

I'ma need my friends to fan out again, please. I'm not spending my monthlong school/work winter break on the A train. I need a steady surface for my pen and notepad.

If you live in an exotic locale (and by exotic I mean not northeast US), and you have a comfy couch...I got liquor and grocery money. Hollerrrrrrr!

~Management

RIGHT TO BE WRONG

I could be wrong about this one...so y'all please let me know if I am. Lemme just talk my way through it...

Today, I used the word 'cracker' at least twice via text message. It's offensive. It's inappropriate. And most of all, I know better. Yet, if someone were to fwd said texts to the Deans of my school, let's say, should I be fired? (and never mind that I go to a black school, and that they might just chuckle and have a 'cracker' story of their own)

I regularly employ questionable language, judgment and content on this here blog. Imagine if a hater were to rat me out to a client, or an editor or some other check writer...are my offenses egregious enough to warrant a pay cut??

This is where I get tripped up. Because maybe my offenses really are as harmless as I think. But what if they're not??

What if for once I am NOT the one "with all the answers" (that are sometimes wrong)...and it's far above my head to understand just how bad my words might be?

Which really freaks me out because I fancy myself fairly balanced and decently educated and politically aware.

I am of the belief that people have the right to be racist. There's plenty wrong with it, but I don't see anything wrong with using a racial term when provoked. PRIVATELY. Where the problem lies is when you are racist and intimidate, discriminate or otherwise taunt or subjugate a person based on race. Where it's also a no no is if your racism is on display for public consumption, like via the (!mus) media.

The first time I heard about Bitch the B.Hunter's tape recorded rants about the son's black girl, my first thought was...well, IS she a trife nig? I might be wrong for that. Probably am.

But am I also wrong for thinking that a private nigtastic convo shouldnt end this guy's career? Particularly when you listen to the content and hear the context for him saying it. (He was basically telling the son that he couldnt work with him if the chick was gonna be around because they use the word ngga and he didnt want the chick to record it and sell it to the media).

I do know that I'm not wrong about the media having some nerve to keep trying folks in the court of public opinion. That shit is wrong. Wrong because the media have an unresolved history of failing to explore and understand race and racism with any type of critical analysis, nor responsibility. So to see Bitch on CNN tonight, to hear the tapes online, to see his face on every news program I watch, feels so hypocritical and wrong.

I might be wrong, but I know I wouldnt find it fair to be out of a paycheck for calling a cracker a cracker.