Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Someone recently asked me what my "type" is. This is one of those questions I absolutely hate, especially because when I say "I really don't have a type" I get the "oh come on" side eye. But its true. If you put all the guys I've dated in a line up, the only similarity would be that they were all over 5'10". But everyone has a "type" right? Something about someone that draws them in time and time again. The conversation continued about types to finally I was asked "Well who are your celebrity crushes?". I guess this person thought that by revealing my celebrity crushes that this would provide insight into exactly what my type is. I will let you decide.
In the spirit of all these awards shows that were oh so boring, I'm decided to give my crushes awards. The 2008 Crush Awards Recipients are as follows:


Chris Webber. I have loved this man since the first time I saw him playing for Michigan when I was 15. It is written in my high school yearbook that I would marry him. Every guy I've ever dated knows its over if Chris Webber were to step on the scene. Yes, I met him once. He gave me a hug and I had to tell myself to step away before security was called. To paraphrase Dolly Parton/Whitney Houston: "I will always loooooooooooooove" him.


Michael Bivins. Yes, Michael Bivins of New Edition. And yes, I'm aware that he probably doesn't meet my height type. However, this crush developed when I hadn't met my height potential either. My best friends and I would stay up all night at sleepovers and plan our weddings to each member of New Edition. Of course we were all going to get married at the same time. I remember when my mother and aunt took me to the N.E. Heartbreak tour. That was the first time I verbalized my crush to an adult and my aunt said "Oh shit. Pam, she likes bad boys." Dang, why she had to tell my momma that!


Ken Watanabe. For those that don't know, he's a Japanese actor. I saw him in "Memoirs of a Geisha"(one of my favorite books/movies) and was instantly smitten. I must admit I've never seen him in any other movie. The image of him in that white suit looking oh so debonair is all I need.


Chuck Scarborough of Channel 4 News in New York. Before I loose any more cool points, let me explain. When I was about 6 years old I used to watch the news with my mother. She thought it was very important for me to know what was going on in the world and watching the news fed my overly inquisitive mind. At one point, I turned to my mother and told her I was going to marry Chuck. She laughed until I began to refer to him as my husband. I think that may be why we started watching Eyewitness News on Channel 7.

THE WHAT'S THE 411, HUN? AWARD goes to:

Okay, I have a few newsmen I crush on. So they all have to share this award.

Anderson Cooper of CNN

Marvel Scott of Eyewitness News Sports (this was the only image I could find online. Sigh)

Peter Jennings

TJ Holmes of CNN


Common. I don't know what it is about this man. Yes, he's fine. But when he looks at me (through the TV) I feel as if he is looking through me, peeking at my soul and dancing with my thoughts. How's that for intense heat???


Black Thought. Yes, I've written recently about becoming a true FAN of the ROOTS but there as always been an attraction to him. Maybe it's the confidence in his voice. Or maybe it's his message, his swagger. I don't know. But he definitely makes me do a double take.

The SUPER CRUSH OF 2008 AWARD goes to :

Did you have to ask??? Antonio Pierce. Since the SuperBowl I've come close to meeting him twice but to no avail. Now, of course if I ever were to meet him, I would punk out and not say a word about my crushy feelings. I would smile and make sure nothing about me screams "SuperGroupie". And I would never mention this blog. hahahahaha


Robin Thicke. It used to be Justin Timberlake because he makes me giggle but Robin Thicke has snatched the title. There is something about Mr. Thicke that sends a tiny shiver down my spine. I can listen to his smooth mellow soul daily and his voice makes me smile.

THE ROCK AWARD goes to...

The ROCK, damnit. hahahahaha Oh Duane, Duane, Duane. That man made me watch wrestling and I hate wrestling more than I hate lima beans. His smile, his body, his tattoos. Ohhhh lorrrd! That man makes me swoon. And if we ever met, I probably would swoon like a jackass and embarass the hell out of myself. And then fully document my embarassment on this here blog. LOL


Beyonce. Come on. Every girl has a girl crush. Not in a "I want to sleep with her and swear off men for life" kind of way. More like "Oh my gosh. I love her and I think she stole my life" kind of way. I love her music, her style, her confidence. And I swear I think I dance like her when I'm out at a club. And don't let one of her songs come on. I embody my Beyonce-esque spirit and get to shaking my bootylicious derriere. I drop down low and sweep the floor with it like a pro. Did I ever tell you about my 4 am rendition of "Deja Vu"??? Priceless.


My man, Lenny. Lenny Kravitz. I loved him from "It Ain't Over to It's Over"(and yes, I admit that song is a lil stalkerific but he was in a vulnerable place, damnit. hahahahahahah). My ultimate favorite favorit love song is by him. "I Belong to You". The dreads, the fro, the nose ring. I take all of it. I'm dying to go to one of his concert. But shiiiiit, I just might throw my Vicki Secrets on the stage. hahahahahahaha


Idris Alba. This man just exudes sex appeal. Yes I was PISSSSED when they killed Stringer Bell on The Wire. But it had to be done. I've had the pleasure of seeing him out and about in town a couple of times. This man just brings dirty thoughts and naughty smirks to mind.


Boris Kodjoe. Do I really have to explain this one??? hahahahahhaa

This list could go on and on and on. But in compiling this list I see my friend's point of asking me about my celebrity crushes. I'm interested in seeing what you have to say is my "type". I will post another post on your feedback and my wonderings as well.

Saturday, February 23, 2008

With my birthday being approximately 10 days away, I kicked off the celebrations for my National Holiday with The Roots at the Apollo last night.

Since we were going to the 11 PM show, the night started with dinner and drinks (or should I say drinks and dinner...hahahahaha) with Guy Guru and 2 new gal pals, Jo and Mo. They are actually Guru's friends but I'm claiming them now. Why do people instantly believe that women are catty? Why have we bought into the stereotype that women inherently cannot get along or will at least fake the funk like we like each other and talk about each other later?? I bring this up because I was stepping into a situation where I was meeting 2 females for the first time and was about to spend approximately at least 4 hours with them. I would be lying like somebody in that baseball steroid scandal if I said I didn't have a fleeting thought of "I wonder what these chicks will be like". However, in true Janelle fashion, I didn't get bogged down in those thoughts. Any of my friends will tell you, I will befriend anyone. I have so many circles of friends that sometimes I can't even keep up. If I can be friends with the woman an ex left me for, I can be friends with ANYBODY!!!! hahahahaha
We had a ball at dinner. Glasses raised, laughter wafting, and conversation flowing. There we were: a dude looking ever so pimptastic with 3 hot chicks looking like a girl group. Cattiness and bitchiness were no where to be found. I believe I've added another circle to my collection.

We continued our good time as we eased on down the road to the Apollo Theater. I've always taken the Apollo for granted as just a place in my neighborhood. I tell people I went to tapings of Showtime at the Apollo as a teenager with the same nonchalance as telling someone about going to the movies. It's impact never hits me until I hear an out of towner talk about going there with a gleam in their eye. I'll admit I take the magnitude of the Apollo and all of its gloried history for granted just because its never been new to me. Its forever stitched in the fabric of my history as a background image. I don't say that with any disrespect. I surmise that it would be the same as growing up in the White House. It's just a house to the President's kids while its a hallowed symbol to the rest of the world.

As we walked into the Apollo, I was stunned by the amount of white people who were in attendance. In our section we were really the minorities as we were literally surrounded by white folks. I wondered whether this was a testament to the mass appeal of The Roots or the gentrification of my neighborhood that white people from all walks of life (the grungy granolas, the wall street types, the trust fund babies, the suburban former cheerleader, former star of the football team types) were at the Apollo in the middle of Harlem after 11 PM. My astonishment was unwavering. Who knew white people were such fans of the Roots?? I think I will use The Roots as the code ice breaker when I encounter white people. Like "Hey, that new Roots CD is amazing, right?!" and gauge their response.

The concert was simply amazing. There were no pyrotechnics, no elaborate stage sets, no distracting accessories. Just instruments and their respective musicians. The musical energy was sexy, intoxicating. However, there is nothing sexy about a tuba. AT ALL. But I digress. Even the songs I didn't know had me out of my seat, shaking my hips, clapping my hands/snapping my fingers to the beat. The pungent but illegal cannabis in the air added to the intoxicating energy that The Roots gave their audience. There are very few concerts that I've attended where I leave craving more. I walked in admiring the Roots and walked out a true fan. I am now on a quest to love and absorb anything by The Roots.

I don't know who's idea it was to have The Roots play as the kick-off performance for my National Holiday but my birthday (or should I say birthseason..hahahahaha) is off to a great start.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

I had my V-day blog all mapped out in my mind until I overheard this conversation in a department store this afternoon between Negro A and Negro B.
Negro A: Yo, look at this pink shit, my nigga. Get this for yo ho, mann.
Negro B: Nah, my nigga. She ain't no pink bitch. She like black and shit.
Negro A: But this is Nautica, my nigga. Buy that bitch this shit for Valentimes Day and get it in.
Negro B: Yeah, you right my nigga. My bitch betta like it cause its Nautica. Yeah, yeah!!! She put this shit on and I'm takin' it right off dat azz TONIGHT, my nigga.
Negro A & B: hahahahahahahaaa

Now before you dismiss them as some ignorant high schoolers, I guesstimate (and yes I hate when people use this word) them to be in their early 20s. This was later validated when Negro A shouted to his shopping companion: "I'ma grown ass man, my nigga. She's been on my dick since I graduated from [won't embarass the High School named] in '03. This bitch will like whateva she get from me. I ain't sweating it." So if he graduated from high school in 2003 and actually graduated on time then that would put him at approximately 23. Correct?

I initially did a triple take. Did he just call his friend's girl a bitch (and a ho) and did his friend just cosign on calling her a bitch? And are they really having this conversation in the middle of the lingerie department of department store in the middle of the day when the soccer moms and socialites (ahem slackers ) like myself frequent this establishment? And thats when panic set in. I immediately turned around to see if any white people were within earshot of this . You can clutch the pearls all you want but I know I'm not the only one who does this. I don't want anyone to think in any way, shape, or form that I have any affiliation to this hot ghetto mess of a conversation. And yes my embarassment led me to straighten my coat slung over my arm, fix my hat to make sure it was tilted more stylish less thugnificient - all in an effort to visually distance myself from the coonery and buffoonery on display.

Once I realized that I was "safe", I walked away feeling a little sad. Not sad for myself but sad for the "bitch" getting the pink Nautica cotton pajamas for St. Valentine's Day. Sure, I could whine, complain and wax quiet poetically about how I've never had a nice Valentine's day. The kind with flowers and dinner and candy and gifts and some declaration of love and devotion from the opposite sex- the standard V-day fare. But in that moment I was grateful to never have any of it because I wasn't that "bitch". And don't give me that Nas philosophy of term of endearment fooly wag and thus taking the "bite out" of traditionally degogatory monikers. Damn if this is the shit I have to look forward to, then you can keep this love shit and I'll remain single for just a little while longer.

Most likely I will post my original post tomorrow. I'm still feeling it but I couldn't ignore this bitch shit.

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Okay so after I wrote yesterday's blog, I invited Hustle (surprised?). Via email. hahahaha. Yes I could have called him, texted him (umm is that a word??), rolled over and asked him (no wait that wasn't yesterday...hahaha). Instead I chose the punk route and sent my plus one invitation via email.

Now before you shake your head at my punkitude (now, I know that's not a word), hear me out. What had happened was.....well, we were already having an email conversation. Actually,it was more an email debate. On what? Gossip. Yeah, gossip. I was telling him about my 5 hour Sunday Brunch and he assumed that we were gossiping. I disagreed and said we were catching up on each other's lives since we hadn't had brunch together in a while and our conversation turned more to politics and money and less about who's zooming who and men. Thus started our very spirited debate on what gossip actually is. I swear this man will debate me on whether the sky is blue. My guy guru told me its foreplay. Hustle says the same thing. But I'll get into the finer points of this "guyism" later. (I'm just making up words all over the place today).

So after I wrote the blog and continued the conversation with my Guy Guru (Rashad, you've just been given a blog name. hahahahaha), I thought about inviting Hustle. Well Guy Guru put it out there. I really couldn't come up with a reason not too. Well at least not a valid reason to just ask him. Since we were already in the throws of this passionate debate I snuck my plus one request in the end of my email rebuttal. Sort of like " Hey, I got this invitation and I was wondering if you would be interested in going with me?". Why break up the email flow by calling him or texting him my plus one invitation?? And guess what??? No response. Yep, nooooo response. He didn't refute my rebuttal to his gossip claim nor did he deny my plus one request. Sure he was at work and being the entrepronegro that he is, he is always on his hustle (hence the name, people) and may have walked away from the computer at the precise moment I hit send. But still today, no response. I'm not going to call him with "hey did you read my email, sucka?" (aren't we sweet?!...hahaha). Nor will I shoot him another email about the event. In true Janelle fashion, I will wait until the end of the day and invite someone else or at least lie and say that I invited someone else if he ever brings it up. hahahahahahahaaa Hey, I'm being honest. And like the Jigga man said, "You can't knock the hustle".

4:13 pm. I received an email from Hustle. And boy do I feel like USDA Grade A asshole. He informs me that he can't make it on Friday because he has a funeral to attend. And he also apologized for not getting back to me sooner. Damn, he's such a gentleman and I'm such an ass. I responded of course with my condolences (I'm not a complete ass) and told him there will be other events to attend. If ever a time I wish I could delete a blog, its probably now. But I won't. That's one rule I won't break. I feel bad for even thinking the worse of him especially when the worse is not in his character. That is definitely something I have to work on.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Today I received an invitation to an event that I really want to go to. It's cultured, informative, and on a topic that surprisingly is of interest to me. Surprising because as girly girl as I am this is probably the most ungirliest of topics. So here's my dilemma. Do I bring a date, bring a friend, or go solo???

Bringing a date would be cool. It's a masculine topic and my interest in it would probably score brownie points. And the after event conversation would be great because it wouldn't be about my past, his past, feelings blah, blah, blah. However, the event is Friday, February 15. The day after Valentine's Day. And I don't want anyone thinking I'm trying to finagle a Vday date out of them. I would imagine that any guy I ask to this event would think "Oh shiiit. Now I have to buy her something since its the day after Valentine's Day, and she'll be expecting something." Now I could sidestep the whole issue by just putting it out there "Hey, I just really want to go to this event. Don't bring me no damn 50% off box of chocolates just because its so close to Valentine's Day". I know I'm probably over thinking this a bit but that's the inner workings of my suspicious but over-imaginative mind.

Now, I could ask a friend to go. Taking a friend would be cool. I can have someone to talk to about the event and about the people attending the event. There's always bound to be someone who does something funny/cute/ignorant/thought-provoking that I could turn to the person with me and converse with about said act without having to explain what happened. They were right there with me to witness it all unfold. Now a friend could be male or female. I know almost for a fact that most likely none of my female friends would go with me. I would get the side eye when I tell them the topic like "You want me to spend a Friday night looking at WHAT?????!!!!" or "Girrrrrl, I got a date" or "Girrrrl, don't ask me; take a date". So that leaves me with my male friends. In mulling my plus one dilemma, I realized that either my male friends live too far away to ask, have prior committments, or have fallen off because a) their woman doesn't approve of female friends and its not worth the headache to keep my friendship, b) their attempts to get at the bootay is transparent/has failed/is history or c) some miscommunication between us has led to the call only on holidays and birthdays status. I need more male friends. Wait let me rephrase that. I need mature, secure, fun male friends who are not trying to get in my boyshorts and whose significant other is understanding of my "friend with absolutely no bootay benefit" status. I realize that the older we get the harder it is to make those kind of friends. I had a plethora of male friends in college who now mostly have scattered in the wind. Sigh. Maybe I need a Will to my Grace, a Jack to my Karen kind of friend. In contemplating my plus one for this event, a gay male friend probably would have been perfect for this event, but alas, I haven't cast that role in my circle of friends. At least I don't think I have. hahahahaha

So my other option is to ditch my plus one and go solo to this event. Going solo would rid me of the "is my plus one having a good time?" guilt. I can stay as long as I want, leave early if I choose, mingle if I dare without worrying about my plus one. I can enjoy the event without distraction and get completely lost in my thoughts on said event. But who do I talk to? Who do I share a giggle with? Who will hold my purse while I get another glass of wine? Who do I give the other glass of wine to when I return from the bar double fisting?? Who do I turn to at the end of the event and say 'This was nice" or "This sucked ass"???

I thought that by the time I finished this blog I would be closer to a decision on my dilemma. This is after all "my sanctuary of clarity". Not today, my friend. I'm more confused than when I started. I turned to my guy guru du jour (Rashad) and he too could not guide me onto the path of what the hell I'm going to do either. Why the hell does two simple words, "plus one", have to be so damn complicated???? But who is more complicated - "plus one" or me? Sigh....

Friday, February 08, 2008

Today for lunch I had some delicious mini grilled chicken tacos. Which wouldn't be so bad if today wasn't the first Friday of Lent and I wasn't Catholic which means no meat on Friday for the next 6 weeks. Sigh.

People often ask how can I be Catholic. Yes, as I've mentioned before not all Black folks subscribe to the dancing in the aisles, speaking in tongues, fanning ourselves with the face of Martin Luther King, Jr. on cardboard brand of religion. I actually belong to a Black Catholic Church. When I say that people do a double take like I just said an oxymoron or something. I get that the image of Roman Catholic worship is subdued, rule ladden (when do I sit? do I stand now? now I have to kneel? we're standing again??) and dry, something no one associates with Black people when they assemble to praise the Lord.

All the rules have been ingrained in me since the age of 6, when Sr. Aidan taught me the LORD is ALWAYS watching (and that included the wooden man hanging on the wooden "t" above the blackboard). I still know every prayer, every hand gesture, when to sit/stand/kneel/stand again. So yes, I feel somewhat guilty for eating those quite delicious grilled chicken tacos on a day that I am supposed to not eat meat as Sr. Aidan taught me early on in my educational career. And the funny thing is I really wanted a slice of pizza but figured the chicken tacos had less calories. So did I just lose my religion just to lose the 4 pounds I gained over the holidays??? Sigh.

I know many will say that these are just man made rules. But we follow other man made rules like wearing clothes when we're out in public. And no, I'm not advocating public nudity (been there...done that...and thought I was going to die from laughter).

So how can I fix this??? I'm not going the way of one of those Olsen twins and handle the situation over the toilet bowl. Another rule Sr. Aidan taught me: Don't waste food; there are children starving in Ethiopia/China/public schools that would gladly eat the food you're wasting. I guess next week I will not eat meat for 2 days instead of just one. Oh, and I've updated the calendar on my Treo to remind me not to eat meat on Friday. After all, the wooden man on the wooden "t" is watching.

Wednesday, February 06, 2008

Many of you, like me, most likely have a Crackspace page. Crackspace has provided opportunities to reconnect with old classmates from high school and college. I've even connected with relatives I either never knew existed or barely remember from my youth. Crackspace has also been a deliverer of some very unkind, mean spirited diatribes spewing the hate of me to me. But even in the face of that fooly wag nonsense, Crackspace has been fun.

Over the past 24 hours I received 2 of the strangest messages EVER on Crackspace. Yeah sure I get the occasional, "hey there pretty lady. can we chat sometime?" Who doesn't??? But this shit right here?!!! Well take a look for yourself.
Message 1:

hello mighty superior Black Woman,may i please be your slave?im very obediant
and know my proper place on this earth is kneeling at your feet.i would love to
worship your feet,bow at your feet,you can even put me on a leash like a good
doggy mistress,i can do your pedicures as well

Yes that is the exact, unedited, verbatim message I received. I wish I could copy the profile picture that accompanied the message. It was a picture of feet! Yessss, FEET!!! Noooo, I am not making this up. Even my over active imagination hasn't reached that far into the bag of tricks called crazy. I laughed until I had tears in my eyes. "Doggy mistress"? Really?? This is just a prime example of the depth of the insanity in the world. Lets pause for a moment of prayer for the clearly lost individual who sent this to me - a stranger. Well I hope I'm a stranger to this person. hahahahhahaaa
Oh, and by the way, HELLL TO DA NAW is my response to those who are wondering if I responded. While I could use someone to run my errands, screen my calls, cancel appointments, etc. something about the whole "slave" idea doesn't sit right with me. Not to mention the whole sitting at my feet notion. Nor the free pedicures. I mean, are you even licensed to do pedicures????

The second message was insane, disgusting, and slightly flattering. It was an offer to work in the adult entertainment industry. Initially I was insulted and disgusted. Like: "How dare you assume that I, a college educated, self-respecting, high self-esteem having (on most days) woman would want to degrade myself and enter in to the world of the adult entertainment industry?" But after I came down off my high stallion, there was a tiny, miniscule part of me that was flattered. Like: "Oooh thank you for recognizing that I am a hot, sexy, seductive, titillating (this word makes me laugh) sex siren. And you got all of that from my profile pic??!" We all have a little porn star in us. Some more on the outside than others but I digress. I just won't be putting my inner porn star on blast. My inner porn star is for private exclusive viewing ONLY and not Pay-per-view. I deleted the email immediately. I won't be doing anything "strange for change". But thanks for the ego boost and the laughs, Crackspace.

Tuesday, February 05, 2008

My voice is still hoarse. My heart is still skipping a beat. Before I closed my eyes last night, I decided (maybe because of or in spite of these conditions) that I was going to shirk responsibility for once and venture all the way downtown to stand in the Canyon of Heroes to pay homage to the Superbowl Champs, The New York City Giants. Being a native of "the city" surprisingly there are few parades that I've attended in my life. The first was when Pope John Paul II visited Harlem and I was a 3 year old cutie on the shoulders of my grandfather standing on the street corner of what would coincidently be the catholic school I would attend 3 years later. I remember the crowds and the feeling of reverence but most of all sitting high up on my grandfather's shoulders. My mom took me to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade the following year. One word to describe it all: DISASTER. I cried. She cried. Somehow I let go of her white hand and grabbed the hand of a woman who was really white and who had the same coat as my mother. I remember not one damn float, not one damn balloon. Just tears and crowds. I never went to the St. Patty's day parade because as far as I know, I'm not Irish. Same stands for the Puerto Rican Day Parade (despite what my friends from college may say about my ethnicity...hahahahaha). I will admit I went to the West Indian Day Parade ONCE with my Brooklyn girls who are of West Indian descent. It was a night/day I won't ever forget. The unfamiliar music, "jumping up"; avoiding getting hit by guys throwing powder; my girls trying to convince me to buy a Jamaican flag because my boo at the time was of Jamaican descent; my insistence to "rep with my American flag" in the sea of all the others. It was Labor Day 2001. Who knew how signifcant that flag would be a week later. Sure I've attended the African American Day parade in Harlem numerous times. But that parade is a joke on so many levels. Every year I go, I just shake my head and say "damn this sucks worse than last year".

So why would I contemplate venturing downtown to this particular parade? What was it about this parade that drew me in? While I may occasionally watch sports and may possibly flip through the sports section of the newspaper, sports generally is not my "thing". Come on, how many sports posts have you read on this blog??? hahahahahaha
Well, first of all, I watched this superbowl game in its entirety. And that for me is an accomplishment. Usually when I attend a superbowl party, I go for more party, socializing, eating, drinking and less football. Secondly, I'm a New Yorker. I'm a fan of most things New York (Rudy Fooliani is definitely the exception). And as a New Yorker, we celebrate. It's in our genes. Maybe its in our water. Hello, have you seen Times Square on December 31??? And lastly, I wanted to go to the parade because my eyes locked on a vision of a scrump-deely-ish-ous man while watching the SuperBowl and a chance to see my vision live and in living color would definitely make my day, my week, my month! Who is my superbowl supercrush, you may ask??? #58. Antonio Pierce. Linebacker. Superhottie. Superhunk.

I woke up this morning and turned on the news. At 7:30 this morning, the newscaster was interviewing a crowd of people who began assembling at freaking 3 am. Yes, 3 IN THE FREAKING MORNING!!!! I still kind of shrugged it off as okay I'll find a spot somewhere along the parade route for lil ol' me. Then Linda Church had to rain on my parade by telling me it was actually going to rain on my parade. Oh the horror! I'm no match for fanatical fans AND raging rains. No live and in living color supercrush for me. Sigh.....but damn this man is fine!!!! You all know I'm a sucker for a smile. But I'm a punk for the rain. And my punktitude won over the lusty crushy feelings. I may not have been part of the action in the Canyon of Heroes but my heart was right there with the Giants as they celebrated their victory. And its still skipping a beat.
PS Thanks to FanNation and Young, Black & Fabulous for the SuperDelish eye candy of my SuperCrush.
PPS Okay so since my birthday is less that a month away, if anyone is wondering what they could get me for birthday, please refer to the pictures above??? hahahahahaaa

Friday, February 01, 2008

Hustle was being a real bitch this morning. From the elbow nudge at 5:45 to watch the spin on the presidential debates on various networks to his refusal to rub my very sore shoulder to his women are gold-diggers rant. Now none of this is new. Yes, he always wakes me up to watch the news at the crack of dawn despite my grunts of displeasure. Yes, he has responded no to my requests especially in the morning before work. And yes, I've heard his dissertation on the evil genetically imbedded in my half of the species. Normally, it's all in jest and we laugh and cuddle until one of us ABSOLUTELY has to get out of bed. But something about his demeanor, his tone was different. He was overly critical of everything. The nudge was a little harder. The refusal harsher. And I'm not even gonna to touch the backstabbing gold-digger theory (but damnit if he didn't make a few good points this morning...hahahahahaha).

Initially I just rolled my eyes with a "here we go" and a chuckle but after a while it started getting to me. So I retreated into my thoughts. I got really really quiet. I got out of bed and headed for the computer. Initially I thought I was being overly sensitive but I dismissed that thought by comparing my last visit to this visit. He was still cynical but in a sweet grumpy old man kinda way. This time his cynicism has more bite too it. And through the walls in the apartment we had an argument over sugar. Yes, you read that correctly, sugar. Brown sugar to be exact. And he started the argument. Its too frivolous to rehash but I kept asking myself when the hell did we get here??? We don't argue. We engage in spirited debates often about politics, relationships, being convicted of murder without a body for evidence - things like that. But sugar??? An argument??? Really???

Now the old me would have cried, pouted and screamed "why are you being so mean to me?" The new me sat at the computer in my nightie and began checking email. All the while just thinking. And not thinking. Making sure I wasn't reading too much into the turn of events this morning. Thinking about all I had to do before the end of the day.

As he was leaving the apartment we exchanged civil pleasantries: "Have a wonderful day" and all that blah blah blah but I couldn't look at him. He asked was I upset with him and I quietly said "yes, you're being mean to me." I didn't yell. I didn't roll my neck or my eyes or both at the same time. I just quietly sincerely stated how I felt. He asked me for how long. "All morning". He asked if I was serious and I just looked up at him standing by the door. I guess the look spoke volumes. He sincerely apologized. And I said okay. He asked did I forgive him and I told him I did. And I meant it. A few minutes after he left, I got up to get myself ready. When I came out of the bathroom , my phone was ringing. It was him. I answered thinking he was going to ask me to do something in the house before I left. Instead, he wanted to apologize. He said he really thought about it while driving to work and felt bad. We spoke for a few minutes and I told him that I sincerely accepted his apology before he left. He explained himself and while its no excuse, I understand exactly where he was coming from. Once again, we are in similiar places with the amounts of stress in our lives. I assured him that we were cool and told him we all deserve a pass sometimes.

I would be lying if I said his sincere apology had no effect on me. I was really touched that he called and apologized. Not saying he has to kiss my ass or anything. But his humbling sincerity says alot about him to me. I know its hard to admit when you're wrong. Sure it could have been an old player move like "gotta keep my bitches happy and in check", especially since he was leaving me in HIS apartment....hahahahahahahaha. However, I would like to believe his apology came from a pure place. Right now, he's looking more like a man and less like a bitch.

So to the million or so gentlemen who read my blog (yeah I'm still on my Kanye with my numbers...hhahahahaha), LISTEN UP. Apologies should be delivered swiftly and sincerely. Waiting too long with only intensify the side eye you get later not to mention the tension you now have to cut through. ANNND the next time you fuck up, this current incident will be at the forefront of our minds if you let it linger and some of my female sisters WILL BRING THIS SHIT UP NEXT TIME leading to two arguments in one. The actual words mean the world to us. Most times that is all we want. And maybe a hug too. LOL Whatever you have to do to make yourself sincere, DO IT JUST DON'T OVER DO IT because then you look guilty as hell!!!! Oh, and if the lady means something to you please please please don't say: "I'm sorry you feel this way." That, my friends, is a half ass apology. You're not really apologizing for what you did. You are sorry for the emotion the lady is displaying like it has nothing to do with you like "I'm sorry your hairdresser accidently dyed your hair purple. Oooh, tough break." (No, this didn't happen this morning but that has always been a pet peeve and I finally had an opportunity to express it in context. Whew! That felt good. But I am guilty of using it. Go figure! hahahahahahahahaha)

And to my millions of female readers: CUT THE BROTHER SOME SLACK. If his behavior isn't what you're accostumed to from him, CALM DOWN and wait. Approach him rationally not emotionally. Most likely, he may be going through some thangs. I firmly believe men PMS too. hahahahahaa If you accept his apology, cool, let it go and move forward. Think nothing of this speed bump (which I've now immortalized in my blog. does that make me a hypocrite??? sigh). If you choose to NOT accept his apology, that's cool too, be rational in your explanation as to why. "Because....." makes you sound like you're 5 and haven't mastered the abilty to articulate reason yet. But do what's right for you. Yes I know I am THE LAST BEING IN THE UNIVERSE to listen to when it comes to matters of the heart (did you read my last blog??? hahahahaha) but I learned something today and damnit I'ma share it. hahahahahahahahaha

And to all of my friends who are reading this and giving me the side eye about my views on Hustle and "relaysheeships": We are two stressed out dysfunctional folks who happen to enjoy each others company without stressing each other out despite our dysfunctions. THAT'S IT!!!!!!!! Got it????? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA