Tuesday, December 12, 2006

How can I concentrate on writing meaningful, thought provoking blogs when I have all this damn Christmas shopping to do??? Not only do I have to do my own shopping, but I have been sucked into doing my mother's Christmas shopping for her (meaning I tend to buy my own gift and put her name on the gift tag!). Maybe I put too much thought into this gift giving. But I always want the "WOW" factor when someone opens my gifts. I agonize over just the right gift for everyone on my list. Gift giving to me is not just about spending money. It's an extension of how I feel about a person. I spend weeks listening to my loved ones, trying to figure out something they want. When I used to buy gifts for my students I would start planning right after Halloween. I wanted everything to be special for them. My Santa complex is driving me crazy but deep down inside I love it!
Yes I have received some crappy gifts over the years (if you read this and know my grandmother, please tell her I am too old for neon green underwear with Tweety Bird all over them. Seriously) but nothing will ever top the gift I got in high school. My elitist high school forced us to participate in Secret Santa. We had to give a gift to the name we drew out of the hat every day for a week and each gift had to fall into the chosen theme of the day (food, something pink, etc.). The final gift could be anything under $25. All week I got nothing from my Secret Santa. There was a girl in my class who had to fly home to Brazil earlier than expected so I figured she was my Secret Santa. The last day of the gift exchange arrived and as I gave my Secret Santa a silver frame with a picture of her favorite teacher in it, my homeroom teacher is giving a girl across the room a FedEx package from Brazil. At this point I am thoroughly confused. Someone tosses a Christmas bag on my seat. I open the bag and inside there is a package of Ding Dongs from the vending machine downstairs in the bag. Yeah you read that right. DING DONGS. For the record I don't even eat Ding Dongs - never had, probably never will. My Secret Santa was a girl in my class who had been in school everyday that week. She thought the whole thing was funny. I wanted nothing more than to smush those damn Ding Dongs in her face. And I almost did it too, but I was already in trouble with the Headmistress for getting caught making fun of her outside of her office, skirt up to my chest, glasses sitting on my head and everything. To say that I was hurt by this girl's actions is an understatement. It wasn't the actual gift; it was her lack of consideration that bothered me. I kept asking myself "why would you do that to someone?" I did toss her back the Ding Dongs and told her she looks like she would like them more than me. While on the outside I didn't let it show, it cut me down deep inside.
I guess I've never wanted to give a "ding dong" gift. Even writing this blog stirs up something in me. I know what receiving a "ding dong" gift feels like. Even my grandmother giving me neon green underwear doesn't feel like how I felt that day in high school. As least my grandmother thinks I need underwear (why neon green I will never know!!! LOL) She thought about who she thinks I am (probably 10 years old) and bought accordingly. So while the "wow" I said when I opened my grandmother's gift was not the same "WOW" I said when I opened the digital camera I got from my mother (yeah I went to the store and bought it but it was her money, okay?! LOL), I knew both gifts game from the heart. The same place I give my gifts from.
Okay I gotta go. Making a list and checking it twice is hard work, mannnnn!

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

I was just wondering. Since when did men become immature bitches?? Wait, let me back up. I am not talking about most of my male friends; they are intelligent, mature, professional men. I'm glad I'm not the one dating them but they are good friends to me. Notice I said "most" of my male friends. I have a person in my life that I often have to ask myself, "when did men become immature bitches?" When I say bitch, I am referring to someone who talks behind your back, makes snide remarks, thinks everything is a joke, and can't take a dose of his own medicine when you call him to the mat on it. Our friendship has spiraled to somewhere below acquaintance. If it weren't for mutual friends I wouldn't even bother interacting with this person. It's funny. I look back and a year ago I considered this person to be one of my closest friends. We hung out often, spoke almost daily, and he sought my advice on his many conquests (which now that I look back, he never followed any of it). No, there was no hint of romantic or lustful notions from either of us. We were friends. Or so I thought. As I began to examine our "friendship", I realized how selfish he was. He would call me - day or night - to update me on some aspect of his life. The second I would make a comment on something going on in my life??? "Call you back." Click. We often went out for drinks. If he would pick up the tab, I usually had one or 2 drinks. Once when I picked up the tab, he ordered a drink for a woman that he met at the bar and put it on my tab!!!!! There are far worse egregious things that I could say happened over the course of our "friendship" but wouldn't I be just continuing the cycle? Oh no wait, my accounts of events are actually factual, not fiction.The final straw came when the immature bitch began to rear his ugly head. He began to tell people lies abut me that he "knew for a fact." How the hell do you know for a fact? Where you there? Did you see me? Did you ask me BEFORE you spoke of me as if it were "fact"? Or are you so blinded by the high regard you hold your informant that you can't see the cracks in their stories and acknowledge that this person has blatantly lied to you before? Beyond the fact that this person was telling untruths about me, I couldn't get over the fact that this is a MAN, a member of the male species. I had grown accustomed to this behavior from females. Sorry ladies, but I went to an elitist, all girls high school; backstabbing gossip was on the curriculum. But since when did men gossip? Yeah, yeah, some men brag about their conquests and may gossip about women they are involved with. But since when do men gossip about a woman to other women as well as to men? What's next? Sipping on mimosas while getting a mani-pedi? Well of course by now at this point, we are no longer friends and recently I had the opportunity to call him out on it. I told him why we had "differences". "I don't know what you're talking about" was his response to my list. Dude, are you sure you didn't wear a plaid skirt with coordinating blazer and loafers in high school? You are looking like a real bitch right now. Man up! Admit to what you said. Even if I don't like what you said, I would have to respect you for standing by your words. What's the worse I could do??? Meet you afterschool and slap the crap out of you? (Did I mention that I went to a predominately white, elitist, all girls high school?? LOL) Get over yourself. I 've already gotten over you and our fake ass friendship.

Monday, December 04, 2006

I've never played war games. I think the only "war" movie I've ever seen in its entirety is Glory. I didn't even play Battleship as a kid. So it is safe to say that I am pretty much clueless about wars and battles. However, I can safely say that when troops go into battle, morale and support needs to be high. The attitude of victory needs to be apparent before the battle begins. This is the way I felt entering The Garden on Saturday. I attended the First Annual Big Apple Basketball Classic, a tournament of HBCUs showcasing their talent and school pride in the famed Madison Square Garden. The first game was Virginia Union versus Bowie State. The energy was high even though the stands were empty. The bands played; the cheerleaders shook their asses as only we do at black colleges. To say that Bowie state was slaughtered in the end would be a gross understatement. They lost by 41 points. Looking around the stands, each school's cheering section was pumped up almost without regard for what was happening on the court. The whole time I was thinking, "Oh mann! I can't wait for the second game!!" I was psyched. Hampton versus Howard. The Better HU versus The First HU. Rivals among rivals. I wasn't so excited about the game itself. Let's face it - when I was a student at Hampton, our basketball team wasn't known for their skills on the court; more for their antics off the court. However, I was ready to yell my school pride into the rafters of Madison Square Garden. I was teaching my non-Hampton, non-HBCU attending friends all of the cheers. I was ready. About ten minutes after the first game cleared the court, The Marching Pirates filed into the arena. They tuned up, ran their scales. We were ready for battle. Five minutes later, Howard's band filed in, horns announcing their entrance. Okay, we see you coming. About 2 minutes into the game, Howard's cheerleaders were up and cheering. After they were done, I looked over to Hampton's side to hear our cheerleaders respond. Ummmmmmmm, where are the cheerleaders???? No! You've got to be kidding me! No cheerleaders! No "pump it up, go 'head go 'head! Pump it up go 'head!"? No "shake it, shake it, SHAKE DEESE!"??? "Rock the blue and white!"????? Wait a minute! You've come into one of the largest regions of alumni, and large percentage of current students' home states and you leave the cheerleaders home??? Okay, okay, but that's alright because the band is gonna have me dancing in my seat, waving my blue and white pom poms, shaking my Hampton alum bootay! No such luck. I was almost embarrassed to claim my Home by the Sea. Not only were the cheerleaders absent, the band might as well not have been there. They played one song in the first half. Yesssss, ONE FREAKING SONG. It was so pathetic because Howard's band had just played the same damn song. Then at half-time, the announcer announces a halftime show. Howard's drum section comes out in the middle of the court comes out and gives an impressive but dry presentation. "And that ladies and gentlemen, concludes the half-time performance." WHATTT??? ARE YOU KIDDING ME????!!!!! The band basically didn't play at all during the first half and then they had no half-time performance? I was disgusted to say the least. So now I had nothing to believe in but the team, who actually did very well in the first half. The score was tied at 41 with Hampton taking a slim lead throughout most of the game; Howard tied with a 3 point shot close to the end of the 1st half. So here is where my point of morale and support comes into play. Since it was non-existent, thanks to the absent cheerleaders and the should have been absent band, the players clearly didn't have the same drive they had during the first half. And the band did nothing to improve their spirits. They sat there holding their instruments, blending into the chairs. I was so tempted to get up from my seat, go over to the band section and slap some sense into somebody. Maybe that would have awaken them. But since I'm too pretty for jail, and I certainly would have been arrested in Madison Square Garden, I just simmered in my seat. My friends wondered where was all this school spirit I talked about throughout the first game. Which, by the way, just pissed me off even more. Needless to say, Hampton lost that night. Yeah they lost the game by 10. I also feel like they lost a lot of alum that night. We were all starved for that nostalgia - dancing with the band, cheering with the cheerleaders, yelling our school pride into the rafters - even if the team sucked (which I have to say, this was one of the best Hampton basketball teams I've seen). Reliving those days before family, bills, careers (not jobs) and responsibility. The team needed you as much as we did. Without your rhythmic guidance, the spirit died when you sat on your asses and no one waved a pom pom in a short skirt on the sideline. We got punked in the biggest, most famous arena you will ever play in. Thanks a lot Marching Pirates!

Wednesday, November 29, 2006


Ex of Nas: Three was rapper's big delightNas (above) and wife Kelis are targets
of a book by his ex, who claims he wanted to have a threesome with both
women.Hell hath no fury like a baby mama scorned.Nas's ex is raking her acrylics
over the rapper and his wife, Kelis, in a new tell-all book, "It's No
Secret."Carmen Bryan says he beat her, cheated on her, cut her child support,
and then invited her for a threesome with the "Milkshake" singer, just before
they married.And you think your boyfriend has lousy foreplay.Not that the
self-described "hip-hop Helen of Troy" stayed home watching Oprah when her man
was away. She found time to entertain Jay-Z and Allen Iverson while dating
Nas.She claims he beat her "with a closed fist" after finding out about one
fling. In turn, she "pulled out my pepper spray from my back pocket and sprayed
Nas down like he was some rabid pit bull," when he cheated.Miz Bryan also claims
Kelis doesn't wear deodorant, Jay-Z scrubs his butt in the shower (doesn't
everyone?), and Nas once turned down a date with Beyonce because, he said, "to
be honest, I can't take her breath."Sure.
Where do I begin? Where do I begin?? While I am not a baby mamma, and therefore have no idea about the emotional attachments between a baby momma and a baby daddy, let me be clear: This shit is ridiculous! I know Superhead was your inspiration, but why would you sit your ass down to write a book about the father of your child??? Superhead wrote about guys where the only ties that bind are the sexual kinky kind. But this is the father of your child. You still have to deal with this person on some level for the sake of your child. How do you attend your child's recital sitting next to this person and his new wife after you've told anyone with 24.95 to waste how he likes to get down in the bedroom? Children have enough problems fitting in at school. I'm pretty sure you're child goes to an elitist, college preparatory school, where her classmates come from old money. Trust and believe your fellow members of the Parents Association already look at you as a hood rat. And guess what? You've just confirmed what they have thought about you from the moment you enrolled your daughter at their esteemed institution. So how do you think your daughter feels when her classmates start calling her mother a slut?? I mean you have put it out there that you slept with all these celebrities while you were in a relationship with someone. So isn't that what a slut does? What about when the prep school boys think she can be the same kind of sexual acrobat as mommy? Does she think slutitude is inherent, some genetic mutation that she is now destined to act upon?

No one and I truly mean NO ONE wants to know about their parent's sexual escapades. Just the thought of my parents doing the mattress mambo (or wherever they did IT) makes me want to vomit. But at least I never have to worry about a friend picking up a book and reading exactly how they got down. Can you imagine someone asking your parents, "so according to page 128, you like cucumbers in every orifice; is that still true? Or have you found another enticing vegetable to use?"

While your relationship may have been volatile, it was, until now, personal. It was only between the parties involved. Well, and anyone who purchased a Jay-Z album, but still that was considered an exaggeration more that a cold hard fact. You have now opened up your daughter's life to intense scrutiny. Nothing that she asked for. "It's No Secret" that, unfortunately, this book will make you a shitload of money. I hope its worth your daughter's future.

(SIDEBAR: why is it newsworthy that Jay-Z scrubs his butt in the shower?? I mean, is he doing it with a Brillo pad?? What???? )

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

I had a dream. Not in the Dr. King sense. It was a crazy dream - more like a nightmare. What freaked me out was how vivid the dream was. I felt like I was watching a really bad "Based on a true story" Lifetime movie. I had a dream that my ex shot me. Crazy, right??? But it happens all the time. How many times have you turned on the news and seen the reporter with a grim expression, saying "Woman gunned down by jealous ex in a fit of rage. We turn to Tappy Phillips, live at the scene of this horrific murder ". (sidebar: why do reporters have such weird names? Did her mother really name her "TAPPY"??? Did they know she was going to be a reporter? Would you go to a gynecologist or an accountant whose first name was TAPPY?)

In my dream, my ex and I were at a party. It was an outdoor party, maybe a BBQ. The weather was beautiful - sun shining, not a cloud in the sky. I start talking to some friends (who now that I think about it are from different times in my life). I look over and I see my ex talking to the guy I'm currently dating. From where I was standing the conversation didn't look pleasant. So I ran over, well briskly walked over because I had on some cute high heeled open toe sandals. I step between them and say "Please end this conversation NOW! " Some words were exchanged between us and I wanted to leave. As I turn to walk away, he calls my name. I turn back, and I hear the gunshot. He shoots me - right in the chest. I can see the dazed look on my face. I feel myself fall to the ground. I remember thinking "Oh shit!" All of a sudden I feel a rush of people around me. As I close my eyes, I hear someone say "She's alright. She's going to make it."

This was the only time I have ever awaken from a dream in a panic. I sat straight up in the bed, breathing all kinds of crazy. I looked around my bedroom, so happy to see my dirty clothes spilling out of my wicker hamper. I can't front the dream freaked me out. Do I really think that fool would shoot me?? In my heart of hearts, I say no. While I never underestimate the power of crazy, he has too much to lose to go to that extreme. But the dream has made me evaluate people's sanity. There needs to be a pocket size psychological exam you give to people you meet. If their scores falls 2 standard deviations below normal, RUN LIKE HELL IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION!!!!!! They probably used to ride the short yellow bus to school and the voices they hear are not coming from their IPODS.

Maybe the dream wasn't about him shooting me. Maybe it was about me letting go. I hope so. I never want Tappy Phillips reporting live from the scene and using my name and words like "horrific tragedy" in the same sentence.

Monday, November 27, 2006

I just finished reading Barack Obama's first book, "Dreams From My Father." If you haven't read this book, I strongly suggest you pick it up. This is definitely one of the best books I've read all year. He captures so many emotions that I have thought about time and time again when it comes to family and identity in this country. While his experiences are vastly different from mine (I was born in New York to black American parents; he in Hawaii to a white American mom and a Kenyan father), the emotions and confusion that comes along with finding your true purpose in life resonated loudly within. I have been struggling for months with trying to define my purpose in life. I feel that in some capacity I am supposed to make a difference in the world but how? What is my next step? I will not say that by the end of the 453 pages, I knew exactly what I was meant to do in life. However, it was reassuring to read that such a prominent figure in our times struggled with some of the same things I am facing. I sometimes feel like my life is stuck on PAUSE. I can't press PLAY until I figure out my next move. I see people around me building their careers, starting families, and I think to myself "Ooh I want that". But how can I when I can't build a career I don't even have and starting a family at this juncture in my life would be foolish and reckless. I'm ready to press PLAY and move FORWARD. I just have to find that damn remote control.

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

This blog thing is hard man. I sat here yesterday and couldn't commit to any topic long enough to write about it. Yeah I could have written about my weekend. There was definitely enough content there since I saw my crazy exboyfriend. But I am so over him and the entire situation, I can't dwell on it any more. The facts remain the same - I've moved on and he can't get over the fact that I no longer want him. For some reason he thinks I did him wrong, even though he's the one who cheated on me on numerous occasions. So whenever I see him there is always some tension. I know longer care. I am quite bored with the entire situation.

I could write about the upcoming Thanksgiving Holiday. What can I say?? There will be a turkey and family. Actually there will be 2 turkeys - one with my biological family and one with my family of friends. I will probably have more to say after the holiday because I'm pretty sure someone will piss me off or inspire me by the end of the day! LOL

I could write about Kramer's rant. But at the end of the day I applaud him for loosing his temper. No one would have ever guessed he was the racist he showed his ass to be at the Laugh Factory. No one and I mean NO ONE could effortlessly describe lynching with a fork up the persons ass without a) certain pre-existing beliefs about people and b)making similar statements prior to his outburst. Just like the old Kodak commercial: "I see your true color shining through/ So don't be afraid to let them show/your true colors" Thanks Kramer! Bravo!

There is so much out there that I could have focused on yesterday and today but my heart just isn't in it today. Sorry folks.

Thursday, November 16, 2006

I've read the magazine articles. I've heard it discussed at length on the radio, talk shows, and even in seminars. Apparently women are finding it harder to meet "good quality men". And while that may be true for them, does that mean that times have gotten so desperate that it's okay to hit on a man while he's out on a date??? WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON? Recently, this has happened more times than I care to count, but the fact remains - these women are getting bolder and bolder. It ranges from the extra swish in the hips from the hostess that seats us to the waitress who rushes to refill his glass and leaves me sucking on ice cubes for the duration of my meal. I've seen enough women bat their eyes so hard in my date's direction that these bitches should have taken flight and flown right out the damn restaurant. And how can I forget about the girl at a lounge who stood over my date so she can fix her lipstick in the mirror on the wall above his head. Oh and what about the singing bartender?? Oh this was classic! This bitch flirted with my date HARD and when that didn't seem to get his attention, she started singing to him. Yes, singing, across the bar, some hot slut song of the week to MY date. I turned, gave her the half tilt look of disbelief, and consciously told myself to turn away from her. I instinctively knew if I didn't turn away at that moment, I was going to reach across the bar and calmly choke her with that same blank look of disbelief on my face and my head in that half tilt. And since I'm too pretty for jail, I believe I did the right thing. I have been fortunate that my date has not responded to these bold advances but I know deep down inside it bolsters his ego. It has to. I can almost hear him bragging with his friends. Regardless of what the chick looks like, he has to, on some level, feel like the MANNNN. He's out on a date with me (and I look pretty good if I must say so myself) and women are literally throwing themselves at his feet. Who wouldn't feel like a celebrity with that kind of attention? But at least in my presence, the attention doesn't seem to inflate his ego. I could understand if I was out with Chris Webber. He actually IS a Celebrity and fine as hell (and SIDEBAR: he is also my future husband. I love him! LOL)! But this dude is a regular average nine to five dude. No bling. No entourage. No Maybach. Just him. And all this damn attention.

Now don't get me wrong. I have been out and I've seen an attractive man out on a date. And yes I may glance his way. BUT THAT'S IT!!!! No winking, no singing, no blowing kisses and no...well maybe a little extra swish in the hips but THAT'S IT!

What happened to make these women think this behavior is okay? Yeah I've heard about the so called shortage but damn has it reached epidemic proportions? Do we now have to stand in a cheese line for our ration of a man?? Has the sense of boundaries been thrown out the window? Or maybe I don't look like the type of woman who would kick your ass in public for disrespecting me??? But ladies, know your role. If you see a man that you like while he's out with another woman, oh well it's just not your turn for his affection at that moment. And if you think that making his date feel uncomfortable will improve your chances with him, you are dillusional. On the off chance he does give you some play in front of his date is this really the man you want? Someone who would show a lack of respect for the person he's with?? Just remember you could one day be that woman out on a date with the blank look of disbelief and the half head tilt, asking yourself, "Am I too pretty for jail?"

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

I need to vent today. So please forgive me if I sound like a bitch. I actually feel like being a bitch today so here it is:

Have you ever wondered why you are friends with some people? Wondered what purpose do they serve in your life? I often refer to my friends as beautiful precious gems which adorn my life. However, lately a few feel like QVC diamonelles glued on the fabric of my life. I know that friendships are meant to test your strengths but damn how much can a sister take.
I have a friend who feels like its her divine right to comment on every aspect of my life. Do I ask for her opinion? Nope. I swear sometimes I just want to kick that damn soapbox out from under her. She preaches more than a minister on double collection Sunday. I'm not saying that my life is perfect but damn I never hired her as a life inspector. She is supposed to be my friend not my warden. But at the end of the day, she's my friend.
Then I have another friend who is so caught up in the materialistic and superficial elements of life. Her life plays out like a video on BET. It's all about men, money and how to separate the 2. Damn that sounds harsh but what I probably mean to say is that she wants to lead the "glamorous life" - beautiful clothes, exquisite jewelry, etc. But just like the song says "without love it aint much". I pass no judgments on her and her lifestyle but it bothers me that we can never have a deep meaningful conversation. I can never call her up just to talk about everything and nothing all at the same time. But she's my friend.
Now this next friend. Well this is difficult to say without sounding petty or paranoid. But every guy I have ever expressed interest in in her presence, she hits on them. It has happened enough that it has become a pattern. I should not have to hold back with my friends but with this friend I find myself censoring myself when we are out. I should be able to say to my girl, "Oh girl that guy over there in the white shirt?? He can get it!!!" without her being the one who runs over to get it. Now, if I see a guy I like, I express interest in the not so attractive guy at the other end of the bar. Again, despite it all she's my friend.

I am no closer to figuring out why these women along with a few others are still my friends. Some may read this and think that I allow them to walk all over me. Hell no. I embrace these friendships. They allow me to see aspects of life that I never want to incorporate into my own. I pride myself in finding the good in most people. (some of you fuckers out there the good is long gone and I gave up looking! LOL). I accept them all - good and bad. Whatever it is they bring something to my life that no one else has brought. Maybe these QVC diamonelles are there to accentuate the authenticity and beauty of my true gems. But you bitches sure do bring out the bitch in me. Thanks ladies! I needed that!

Oh and don't call me with your guess on who is who. I will hang up on your ass. And if you think it's you....well, you have some soul searching to do. Not a judgment, just an observation.

Monday, November 13, 2006

I went to see The Color Purple on Broadway with my mother last night. She surprised me with the tickets when I was having an exceptionally shitty week. For as long as I can remember my mother has always fostered my love of theater. I remember going to see Annie on Broadway when I was about 4 or 5. I became a bit obsessed afterward. I had Annie coloring books, an Annie Doll. I was Annie for Halloween one year and I even wanted a new dog, one that looked just like Sandy. While I remember going to the show, sitting on the edge of my seat, and trying to memorize everything about the show, the one thing I remember most was dressing up to go. I wore a pretty emerald green velvet dress with white trim, white tights, and black patent leather Mary Jane shoes with tiny gold buckles. I remember being estactic that I could wear my favorite pink "church coat", with the pretty gold buttons with my pink and cream gloves, being careful not to touch anything while I had them on. From the moment we stepped out of our apartment to the moment we came back after the show, I felt special and I knew that where ever we were going had to be just as special. Arriving at the theater there were scores of little girls and some little boys (hehehehe) dressed to the nines (what does that mean anyway???). Everyone had on their Sunday best. While I can't put my right leg in that emerald green dress nor can I put my left pinky in those pink and cream gloves, to this day I have always dressed up to go to see a play. So last night was no different. I wore a form fitting calf-length tan suede dress with chocolate brown leather boots. It took me an hour to do my hair and makeup. Everything was just right. My mom, the wallflower, wore a beautiful black tunic with silver buttons, over black pants. She even did her makeup; anything above a little lipstick for her is an accomplishment. Imagine my surprise when we stepped out of the taxi and I saw a man entering the theater in sweatpants. Yes you read that correctly, SWEATPANTS! I made a little face and thought that was odd but dismissed it as being the exception to the rule. WRONG! My mother and I, along with maybe 25% of the crowd, were the exception. Everyone else was dressed like they were running errands. I saw sneakers, t-shirts, jeans, baseball caps (which stayed on during the performance). Let me be clear this was not only Black people. There were white people there who were dressed like they were going to their kids' soccer game. Now the occasional tourists who got the tickets on a whim, and may not have packed anything for the theater (as my neighbors sitting next to me were talking about) are excuseable. Yeah I know I sound like a snob right now. But come on, people. Think about it: how many chances do we have to dress up in our society anymore? In the words of Katt Williams "Go 'head. I'll wait!" LOL

We don't have too many. Us average folks don't have the red carpet rolled out for us with the paparazzi snapping our pictures and reporters shouting, "Who are you wearing?" Even if we don't have Oscar De La Renta on speed dial, we can still pull ourselves together with an outfit from the Gap. Jewelry from Claire's will do when Harry Winston laughs at your request to borrow his multi-million dollar baubles. And guys, blazers and button down shirts are in style. Your man, Jay-Z has issued the decree that it's cool to dress this way. They don't have to be Armani and Hugo Boss; Today's Man is fine with me. I don't care where you're from. Whether you're from New York City, or Kissyocuzzin, Kansas, you should know how to dress on your budget and how to do it well.

Maybe my point of reference is skewed. I grew up with a grandfather who wore slacks, button down shirts with hard bottom shoes to pick me up from school. He wore a fur coat and a fedora to my 5th birthday party. Even when he wore his "dungarees" around the house he was still stylish. (Yeah I know I took it back with "dungarees"! LOL ). My grandmother used to wear makeup and pumps to go to the supermarket. I will never go to that extreme but I was always impressed by how "so fresh and so clean" they always appeared to be.

I guess all I'm trying to say is there is a time and a place for everything. If we can wear our "hot shit" at the club to show we're "BALLIN", then we can show some class and style for other functions as well.

By the way, The Color Purple was amazing. I laughed, I cried, I thought about life and its many blessing. It's a beautiful story and everyone should see it. I can't wait to see it again. And when I do see it again, you best believe I will be stepping in style on my red carpet. Paparrazzi, photgraph me on the right; it's my best side!

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

An ex called me a few days ago and left a message on my voicemail. The message was short: "Hey it's me. Call me when you get a chance." I thought nothing of it and called him back a few days later. When he answered the call, the first thing he said was: "Damn you're just now calling me back?!" My response? "Yeah" He went into this whole dissertation on how I don't value his time and how rude it was of me to wait to call him back annnnd how childish I am to play games and blah blah blah. Honestly, I forgot he called. I was scrolling though my call log for a phone number and saw his missed call on my phone. This may sound harsh but as an ex he is no longer the center of my world. He conveniently exists on the outskirts. I reminded him that his message said "call me when you get a chance" not "call me back immediately". So I told him: "I called you when I had a 'chance'." As an ex he no longer has demands on my time. His time allotment in my life has significantly diminished. He's not even a recent ex. We dated 2 years ago. So I decided to write "An Open Letter to an Ex".

Dear Ex,
There seems to be some confusion on your status in my life. When we were together you could call me at anytime, day or night, and I was there for you. You could drunk dial me at 3 in the morning, and I would groggily answer the phone. Now that you are an ex, those privileges are hereby denied. Since we parted on civil terms and there is no need to change my phone number, you have the option to call occasionally. However, don't expect me to answer. I reserve the right to return your phone call when it's convenient for me - like when I'm grocery shopping or getting my nails done. I have to reserve your former privileges for the new man in my life. And no, you can't ask me who's better in bed. Either way you won't like the answer because either I am now with someone who is 100 times better than you and now your ego and manhood are deflated; or he's not as good as you but I am still giving him the business because he is giving me something that was lacking in our relationship. Until you hear otherwise (and that's IF I call to tell you), my mom is fine, my dad is fine, my grandmother is fine, the cat is fine...well the cat died but life goes on. There is no need to call me to find out how my family is doing. They are no longer calling me to ask about your well-being and before the cat died she was not waiting by the door for you anymore. If you happen to see me in the street with someone else, please don't cause a scene. You will only look like an asshole by yourself. I will not engage in any banter. The only thing you will get out of me is "Hi!" Lastly, don't ask me if I miss you. I may occasionally miss some aspect of our previous relationship, but it's not enough for me to rekindle the sparks with you. There is a reason you are an ex and no matter how much I may think I miss you, I have to remind myself of those reasons.

You are hereby officially demoted to acquaintance. All future contact (phone, text, email) will be limited to brief and sporadic encounters. At functions or gatherings, all small talk will be superficial, no deep conversations are permitted, especially about feelings.

If you believe that you have received this letter in error, get over it. This is not a mistake. These are my terms. Take it or leave it.


Monday, November 06, 2006

I caught a friend in a lie. It wasn't like I was searching for the lie; it just appeared. Really it did. I didn't even know I was being lied to until the truth fell at my feet. (Literally, a piece of paper fell off his suitcase, I picked it up and there it was - staring back at me - the truth)! So what did I do?? Well at first, I thought I was mistaken. So I asked my friend a question based on the truth he fed me. And yes, he dished out another serving of this lie. I wish I had called him out on the spot. Something like "Are you fucking kidding me? You just lied to my face!" (Maybe a little hand on hip, neck rolling action for dramatic effect. Nah that's not me!) But I didn't. I let it go for the moment. Maybe it was shock. A part of me couldn't believe that my friend was lying to me. It's not like there was a reason for him to lie to me. I can't understand what he has to gain. Yes he's a guy but we are FRIENDS! Not the "just friends" who meet each other's significant others and then meet at his place later for some carnal fringe benefit of their friendship. He's my buddy, my friend. He's that guy I go to when I need to bitch about my girlfriends or when I need to figure out another man's motives. He's the one whose brain I pick for the male point of view. I have come to trust and appreciate him for who he is and what his friendship has contributed to my life. In that sense it hurts so much more that he lied to me or should I say continues to lie to me. I spoke to him about something unrelated and he switches topics back to his lie and adds yet another layer to the lie. So now I'm being fed heapfuls of bullshit. It's like that last spoon of oatmeal your mom used to force you to eat before you left the house for school. You know that big spoonful where she has scraped the sides of the bowl, making sure you get every last bit, every single oat from your bowl into your mouth? So as I try to swallow this bullshit, I just say "oh that's nice"! A part of me feels like an idiot for allowing an opportunity to say something pass me by but over the phone is not the ideal place to confront someone. I would much rather confront him face to face. Not only to see his reaction but also for him to see mine.
I have no idea what I am going to do. I could confront him the next time I see him. I could wait for a minute, sit back and see how long he's going to continue the lie. Either way I have nothing to gain because in the end I have lost a friendship, maybe not completely but the freedom of trust in our friendship is gone. Time of death? The minute that paper hit the floor at my feet.

Sunday, November 05, 2006

New Beginnings

Okay this is my first real venture in the world of blogs. I've read a few blogs and have become intrigued by the freedom of expressing my thoughts. Soooooo I figure I will give it a try. I have wanted to get back into writing for a while and I guess I have found my outlet. You can either love it or hate but maybe you'll respond to what I have to say and maybe you may understand who I am just a bit more.
I will try to blog daily but I can't make any promises.