I was having a conversation with a male friend about what else, men and women. During the conversation, he showed me a picture of himself with 2 very pretty women. When I asked him about the prospects of the women for himself, he told me that one was in a serious relationship and the other only likes light skinned dudes. He went on to say that if asked she will admit it, wholeheartedly. I was shocked, initially. I mean, it's 2007, and there are educated people out there whipping out brown paper bags??? I could understand if this were an older woman from maybe my grandparents' era because that's the mentality they grew up with. But this particular young woman is 24!!! She grew up in the time where "chocolate brothers were in" and "light skinned brothers were making a comeback", so how could she discriminate???
But after a few minutes of conversation with my friend, I asked him "Aren't we all superficial to some extent?" I have a friend who won't date a guy if he doesn't have a college degree, even if he's making 6 figures as a plumber. I know guys who only date women with long hair, no weaves. I know a guy who says his woman must wear between a 34C - 36D bra size. Damn dude, do you work for Victoria's Secret??? And then of course, I have friends who will not date men with kids. But after some of the baby momma drama I have encountered in life (another blog for another day), I can kind of understand that one(didn't say I live by that one but sisters, I understand..LOL). I have never been superficial when it comes to skin color. My friends could tell you my choices in men would probably look like a United Colors of Benetton advertisement for brothers. Just like the Skittles commercial, I have tasted the rainbow (keep it clean, people). I also don't care one way or another about career choices. I've dated doctors to doormen. My only concern is that they enjoy what they do.

So what am I 'superficial' about when it comes to men??? Height. I will not date a dude who is my height or shorter. I look back at all the men I've dated and the one thing, the only thing, they have in common is that they were all at least 5'10". I don't want to walk down the street holding hands with my man, and from the back it looks like I'm holding my child's hand as I cross the street. Just the thought of the sight makes me cringe. Time and time again, I've had height challenged guys hit on me. I look down into their eyes and say "thanks but no thanks." Now, short men need love too but I just don't see them getting it from me. Somebody out there will love them. My name just ain't "Somebody".

My friend reminded me that the girl is only 24. At 24, we are all hot shit, thinking we can have anyone we want. with just a look, a flirtatious smile. We easily toss people to the side, because something about them doesn't meet our lofty list of attributes that our soul mates must have, no matter how trivial. How many times have you said, ""I don't need him/her. Look at me!"??? But as we get older and choices become slim, that laundry list becomes more like a 10 item or less express lane grocery list. I hope this woman realizes this lesson long before she ends up alone with a house full of cats.

Don't get me wrong; we are all entitled to our type - whatever floats your boat. But are we limiting ourselves to the possibilities with tunnel vision for our types only? When do we separate what we need from what we think we want? What if the packaging isn't what we're looking for but the present on the inside is everything we had hoped for? But who is taking the time to look past the packaging. I just pray that my present comes in a 5'10" or better packaging, preferably named Chris Webber. Hey a girl can dream, right???

Did no one read my last blog entry??? I sent it to newspapers. I walked across the street to Al Sharpton's headquarters and gave someone there a copy to give to Big Perm (ahem, of course editing out the Big Perm references). So it seems no one cared to listen to my idea of a formidable punishment for Don Imus, and as a result, the man has lost his job. Do I think he should have been fired?? Hell No! Do I believe he should have had some sort of punishment?? YES! I don't believe the punishment fits the crime. I think I am one of the few black people willing to say this. I was in the locker room at the gym the other night, and conversation, of course, turned to this whole controversy. When I stated I didn't believe Imus should be fired, there was a brief second where I thought I was going to be jumped in my sports bra and yoga pants by a bunch of half naked women old enough to be my mother and/or my grandmother. They looked at me like I was the one to call them jiggaboos, and were about to whoop my ass for betraying them. However, I quickly explained that the only way to truly hurt a man is in his pockets. Wanna see a man cry? Take him to court, try to take all he got (yes, I paraphrased Biggie...LOL). Losing his job with the prospect of making millions more doesn't hurt him, it helps him in the long run. I explained to them that making him pay a hefty fine, or taking a portion of his earnings to donate to the Rutger's Women Basketball Team, was the better way to go. He will never forget that chunk of change that was taken out of his bank account because of his ignorance and what he believed to be funny. He will always remember it down to the last penny, and think twice about saying some foolishness again. Most men don't like to part with their money, unless it's for something that will benefit them. After I pleaded my case (did I mention that one woman stopped putting her belt through the loops of her pants when I initially spoke), they seem to come around to my way of thinking. They agreed that we needed to find better ways of dealing with situations, instead of demanding that he be fired, because that's the easiest and quickest way to handle the situation. One woman even said she was going to call Al Sharpton when she got home to tell him my creative solution. I thought, "wow, lady. You have Big Perm on speed dial. Are you his hairdresser??" But I kept my comments to myself for fear of the belt and undermining my point.

I truly believe we needed him to stay on the air, and get to the root of why he thought it was appropriate humor. How about forcing the networks to make his programming dedicated to the heart of the matter? Force an open and honest dialogue on racial and sexist attitudes in the country? We need to stop seeking these quick and easy bandaid solutions. We have to start thinking long term. If not, it will happen again and again without any real change.

I wonder when Don Imus lands that multimillion dollar contract with Sirius or XM radio (and he can get away with saying far worse than what he said without worrying about the FCC and other "nappy headed hoes" breathing down his back), how much of a percentage is going to Big Perm's Inaction Network??? I'm just curious.

So another white man with a microphone has spouted racist views this time not only on a nationally syndicated radio program but on a national cable news network as well. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HFwdeiZaynw

His description of these women athletes is appalling. Calling them "nappy headed hoes" rolls so effortlessly off his tongue that you know that he has thought this or said this (or worse) time and time again. He not only attacked their race but also attacked their womanhood. Hey Imus, why they gotta be hoes??? Because the majority of the team is black?? Are we as black women predisposed to whoreish behavior?? In order to be able to dribble a ball up and down the court they had to dunk a few balls in their coochies?? Are you telling me that the only reason these talented women picked up a basketball was to get the attention of a male basketball player and become his basketball "ho"?

And then you call them "jiggaboos" and try to throw Spike Lee's name in there as if that makes it okay. Yes, Mr.Lee used the term in the movie, "School Daze" (not "Do the Right Thing", you idiot). But he didn't use the term all willy nilly (SIDEBAR: who are willy and nilly and why do we use their names for reckless behavior?? were they careless??). He was making a point about the self hatred amongst black people in terms of the difference in our skin color. He was highlighting how ridiculous we sound when we talk about "good and bad hair" and all the other silly, superficial attributes we use to divide ourselves. He didn't throw the term in there for what you believe to be comedy. For your information, "jiggaboo" is just as racist as "nigger", "kike", "gook" (thanks, Rashad..LOL), "chink", "spic", "sand nigger" and "African booty scratcher" (I don't know why black children say this but this right here will start a fight on the playground!!! LOL)

So now Imus wants to apologize. He says that he didn't say it with "malice". What did he say it with? Disgust?? Superiority?? What?? How else are these despicable comments supposed to be taken?? Out of allllllllll the words in the English language he chose the most derogatory words and phrases that can be used against black women??? How could the intentions behind this statement be deemed as anything but malicious? In his apology tour, he's now going to Al Sharpton's Radio Show. Is there some script out there fro this B.S.? Step 1: Offend group of people publicly. Step 2: Wait for said people to find out about it. Step 3: Issue half ass apology through publicist/spokesperson. Step 4: Go on radio show of "leader" of said group to explain yourself. Step 5: Keep job and maybe get a book deal out of the whole thing. I hate to tell this, Imus, but Big Perm, I mean Al Sharpton, does not speak for all Black people. So while you may go on his show and publicly kiss his ass, that neither excuses or condones your remarks in the eyes of most black people.

People are calling for him to lose his job. No I don't want that to happen. Unfortunately, if Imus is fired by WFAN and MSNBC, he will get picked up by one of those satellite radio stations and make 10 times more money than he is making now. You know I'm right. I say suspend him without pay for a couple of months. Make him pay a hefty fine to the FCC. Have all of his earnings for 2007 donated to the Women's Basketball Program at Rutger's University. Simply getting him off the air is not enough. Hurt this idiot in his pockets. That is the only way that he will remember to at least save such disparaging, racist, sexist remarks for home and not on a nationally broadcasted program.

Thank you, Imus, for taking off the hood and revealing yourself to be the true racist your words have shown you to be. Since we all know racism still exists (actually, it never really went anywhere), this is the type of racism I prefer. That way I know exactly what I'm dealing with. Now, I will never mistake you for an unbiased open-minded individual. Again, as I did with Michael Richards, I have to quote that old Kodak commercial. " I see you're true colors shining through/ I see you're true colors shining/And that's why I love you/So don't be afraid to let them show/ Your true colors.."

Last night, I attended a soiree at a swanky hotel in the Meatpacking District. For those that don't know, the Meatpacking District in New York used to be just that - a place where meat was packed (hence the name - no one said it had to be creative! LOL) and distributed around the city - basically, a market of wholesale butchers. But with New York being the ultimate higher power in the game of reinvention, it has now become this uber-trendy, celebrity partying, used to be a butcher’s freezer but now its a million dollar apartment hot spot. I've actually seen paparazzi lurking with those gi-normous telescopic lensed cameras, waiting for their rent-for-the-month money shot. The soiree was a birthday party for a woman I recently met, and in true sisterhood, she has adopted me and taken me under her wing. The invitations called for all ladies to wear their hottest stilettos and Beyonce-esque black 'freak-um dress". For over a month, I've been waiting for this event. Between the location (did I mention it was in the lounge in the Penthouse????) and the attire request, I was psyched. As my friends know, I am a shoe whore and had the perfect gold, "you wanna fuck me don't you?" stilettos eagerly waiting in my closet. Something about those shoes, whenever I put them on, I strut my best runway, red carpet, sexy diva strut. Not one of those conceited, I think I’m all that struts. More like one of those I’m confident, and it’s okay to watch me walk across the room struts. Unfortunately, the weather in New York is as uncooperative as a man taking up 2 seats on the subway. So the shoes and the original boobilicious dress went in the back of the closet, and out came a black pencil skirt, black sleeveless top, black chunky belt with gold buckle, paired with black knee-high books with gold buckle accents on the side (“You gotta coordinate!” LOL) Once hair and makeup were done, I thought I looked pretty good. Not the original plan, but the substitute was cute.

From the moment I arrived, I felt like I had entered Oz. From the doorman, to the guy who pressed the elevator button for me (what’s his job title??), to the coat check girl who actually assisted with the removal of my coat, I was given a glimpse into a world I only knew from watching Access Hollywood or reading InStyle magazine. Sure I’d gone to posh events before (I think it was on the curriculum at my elitist high school), but nothing quite this celebritous (yeah I made it up). As I walked off the elevator, I looked around and stepped into a Brooks Brothers meets United Color of Benetton commercial. Only in the ‘common area” of the bathrooms, coat check, and area by the bank of elevators was there any co-mingling. Black folks (dressed beautifully I may add) were in one section, white folks in another, and Europeans just hanging on the periphery. It was as if the KKK had set up velvet ropes clustering each group with their own. Maybe I was reading too much into the scene. I was there for a black woman’s birthday celebration, after all. Maybe, some white person there had a celebration for one of their white friends. Who knows? And honestly, it didn’t have any impact on my time at this event. As I sipped my passion fruit martini (sipped because I was paying Hollywood prices), I glanced around the room, and thought to myself: “This is niiiiiiice! I could get used to this!” As the photographer came around taking posed and candid shots (SIDEBAR: this woman knows how to party!! I am so happy she adopted me!! LOL), I tried to imagine myself as the celebrite du jour. The “It” girl being photographed with other “It” people, toasting the night away in some designer you paid how much for this outfit. Walking to the ladies’ room, I made sure not to stumble or misstep. Who needs implications about falling off the wagon in tomorrow’s Page Six, or next week’s US Weekly?? I mingled and played the classic Negro Game, ‘Do You Know??” You know the game. “Oh you went to Hampton? Do you know (fill-in-the-blank) from West Bubblefuck, Mississippi? He/She is (fill-in-the-current –description which is nothing like how they looked in college..lol)”. I chuckled at the right times, walked around with a smile plastered on my face just in case the paparazzi were watching. Can’t ever let them get a bad shot. I networked and took business cards with promises to “do lunch”. As the crowd began to dwindle and the music became less recognizable, I decided it was time to leave. I gave hugs and air kisses with promises of ‘we must get together soon”. I wafted over to coat check on a celebritous high (I’m hoping the word catches on). When the woman returned with my coat, a white man waiting behind me helped me with my coat. Yes, you read that right – a dashingly good looking white man helped me – ME- with my coat. Before my celebrity trip into Oz, I’ve rarely encountered white men who were so courteous, who actually treated me like a lady, and not some mutated ghetto creature that they don’t care to understand. This celebrity life works for me. I could really get used to this. I graciously thanked the elevator button pusher man (what else can I call him), as well as the nice doorman who complimented my choice of tweed coat on my way out. I walked out of the hotel lobby with the strut of a confident woman who had just taken the celebrity world by storm, who knew there would be nothing but favorable tidbits in the celebrity sightings column in tomorrow’s gossip pages.

But reality came crashing at my stilettos when the homeless man by the train station told me to “move the fuck out” his way while he’s eating. As I sat on the train, I delighted at the thought that at least I had a taste of the celebrity pie, even if it were only a sliver. But one of these days, I will have a bigger piece. I’m destined for it.