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.

I interviewed last week for a job I really want. It was my third interview and by far the hardest interview I have ever had to endure. In the event that my future colleagues stumble upon the fact that I have a blog, I will save my impressions of that interview for a later date. But I bring up this interview because I feel like I'm in a holding pattern, suspended in time and space. They told me that I would hear back from them this week. Yes I know it's only Tuesday but it's still THIS week. I checked my email at 3 this morning as if the recruiter couldn't sleep from the joy of offering me the position and had to let me know at an ungodly hour (sidebar: if God created the world, and time, etc. what is so "ungodly about 3 in the morning??? ). I don't know if my anxiety is because I really want this job (I really do) or if I'm just tired of being unemployed (I really am). Being unemployed is a humbling experience. I wish it on no one and everyone, all at the same time. The ability to walk away from a career as I did was both frightening and exhilarating. Frightening because I had no safety net. I had no clue what I was going to do. All I knew was that teaching wasn't for me. And I had to get out fast before I lost myself in the fundamental inadequacies of the board of miseducation. I walked away feeling exhilarating because I have never experienced walking away on my terms. Yes I've left other jobs before but it was only when something else came my way. I stayed because it was there, even if I hated it. But this time, people looked at me like I was crazy. But I honestly felt that this particular job wasn't my calling. Over those 3 years I watched all my hopes and dreams vanish. You walk into it all idealistic and with plans for change and growth. I knew it was time for me to leave when I didn't care anymore. Now those are three years I will never get back. I still believe that the right career is out there for me but I never anticipated that it would take this long. I took that leap of faith and am still soaring until I land where I am intended to be. Yes there are days when I feel like I have made the biggest mess of my life. It doesn't help when those around keep asking you "You get a job yet??" I know its out of concern and probably lack of conversation, but don't you think if I got a new job, I would have told you??? I'm not looking to work for the CIA; I'm not the next James Bond. There will be no need for secrecy when I gain employment.

So I saw my friend from the previous blog this weekend. We both attended a birthday party for a mutual friend. I wish I was the next James Bond and had one of those special spy cameras pinned to my coat when we walked in to capture her double take. I say we because I walked in with my current "ex". He was invited to the birthday bash as well so we went together. He and I have been hanging out a lot lately. But that's another blog for another day. I know she was dying DYING to ask me what was up. But I didn't say boo! Yes I was cordial. I spoke and participated in group conversation. I have to thank my ex for that. At one point in the evening the three of us shared a cab. Actually, that occurred twice that evening. But anyway, each time he initiated and drove the conversation. He knows about the fallout between us - which is weird for me because in telling him about it I had to reveal how I really feel about the breakup. Left up to me there would have been a very comfortable silence in the back of those taxis. I don't know how he did it but he got us both talking without really talking to each other and without talking about anything heavy on a fun night. It was weird, after that first cab ride, I almost forgot that there were issues between us. We all exited the cab, laughing and joking, ready to party, like there was nothing going on. I love him for that. Sigh. Well anyway.........I write all of this to say, that on some level, I realize that our friendship will never be the same. Whatever was there is gone. I've had many many many disagreements with my best friend. But despite it all, we have never wavered on our commitment to our friendship. And honestly, I don't feel committed to trying to working through this. Maybe it's because so many things in my life are up in the air, suspended in time and space just like me. maybe when other areas of my life become more settled, I can focus on repairing this friendship. Maybe not. I thank her for being in my life for the time she was meant to be here. I don't say this to shun her. If by some miracle, we come to an understanding, then yeah, we could be friends but definitely not on the same level. And I'm okay with that.

Do you know how many times I've come to this site, stared at this blank box, and have tried to will myself the courage to express my innermost thoughts, musings, and other random commentary? I'll tell you. Nine. Yes over the past 21 days, I sat here 9 times trying to come up with something witty, entertaining, thought provoking, intellectual, overall an expression of me. But as much as I try to push it to the side, the only thoughts that loom in the forefront are related to the 2 things that cause me the greatest pain and stress: my love life and my lack of a professional life. Two of the most depressing and crippling aspects of my life. Who wants to read that? Better yet, who wants to write that? I've written about it enough. Like a DVD, I wish life had the scene selection feature. Even though I know the bad parts exist and that I have lived through them, at least I could skip over them. So I guess in the meantime, I've kind of placed myself in timeout or the "alone zone" as I used to call it in my teaching days. As much as I want to be out there at participating in this thing called life, I needed to separate myself and figure out some things. I cant say that I have figured out anything to date, but at least I'm not staring at a blank box anymore. Baby steps my friends, baby steps.

How long is too long for a disagreement between "friends" to fester? When do you reach the point of "do I continue to try and revive this? or "Time of death is..... "This" being this "friendship". Obviously I'm at odds with a friend. We are at odds I think because fundamentally, we have different opinions on what it means to be a friend. This friend called me for relationship advice when I was still raw with emotion from my own relationship woes. I apologized and told her that I couldn't be that person for her right now. I was in no place ready, willing, nor able to discuss relationships. How could I when mine was blown to smithereens (what the hell is a smithereen by the way??) 48 hours prior to this conversation? I couldn't even see a couple holding hands on the train without bursting into tears (yes this did happen) so how could I be expected to give solid relationship advice? Her response when I explained to her that I couldn't give her advice right now?? She hung up on me! While I was hurt at the time, I was also numb so , I didn't fully feel the magnitude of the situation. Through email about a week later she explained to me that she thought that as a friend I should have been able to put what I was going through to the side and assist her. I replied that as a friend I feel that I should have been given a pass in light of the circumstances. So who's right?? Honestly, I think we both are. I think that as friends, we do put ourselves and our shit to the side to be there for our friends. However, I do believe that at times, our friends can't be what we may want them to be all the time. And we have to accept that of them. I think that's the part that bothers me the most with this friend. I feel that there was a lack of acceptance of the many sides of me. The one time I can't be what you want me to be or what you may be accustomed to from me, you turn your back on me. For me friendship is accepting the good, bad, ugly, and indifferent sides of that person. There are things about my best friends that I can't stand and drive me nuts but at the end of the day, I love them for who they are - all parts of them. Conversely, I KNOW there are things about me that my friends can't stand (ummm what time do I have to be there??? LOL) but despite these character flaws, they are as invested in me just as I am in them (SIDEBAR: ladies, don't even think about asking me about this because I ain't tellin'! LOL) So where do I go from here? Hell if I know! I've reached out to this friend two times after this initial email exchange and have heard NADA, zippo, zilch. I'm coming to terms with the fact that I've done all that I can and all that I'm willing to do. If she decides that she is ready to talk, then I'm there. However, if this is the end of the road then 'thanks for the memories!" That was a hard decision for me to make but in the spirit of this new phase in my life, I have to be honest with how this situation has made me feel. This is new for me but then again this is a new me. Baby steps my friends, baby steps.

Tomorrow is my 31st birthday. It's a bittersweet milestone. I'm officially IN my thirties. I look at my life and I am no where near where I wanted to be at this point. It's weird when you're like 16, 31 seems so far off and you have these visions of where you'll be, what you'll do, and what you'll have accomplished. But then life plays out and the gap between the life you envisioned and the life you're living grows wider and wider.

I called my birthday party a Celebration of All Things Beautiful: Life, Love, and Me. What a farce. From where I'm standing today, life is blah, love stinks, and me? Well, I still look good. Planning this birthday in the midst of a breakup has been the most hollow, empty experience ever. I don't even feel like celebrating. Which is strange for me because I believe my birthday should be a National Holiday. But my friends would kill me. So to avoid death on my birthday, I planned this celebration. I feel like I'm doing this more for them than for me. I'll show up, smile, laugh, drink, eat, drink, dance, drink (in that order) like I'm supposed to. But I will still feel empty. I hope my performance wins me an award from the Academy.

Yesterday on the subway, an Asian guy hit on me!! I was flabbergasted. He told me I was beautiful and asked me for my number. I kind of stammered out that I had a boyfriend, since that's been my automatic response for a while and I didn't know what else to say (yes, I thanked him for the compliment! I may be going through some thangs but I'm not rude!!! LOL). I should have given him my phone number. We could have had a tribe of video vixens or maybe even some Caublinasions like Tiger. He got off at my stop (another shock. I'm still adjusting to this new Harlem). Maybe I'll see him again.

Yeah I know it's been a while since I've posted. Considering my last post and all the phone calls, emails, text messages I've received since, I know many are worried about me. Put your fears to rest, I will be fine. No I'm not under suicide watch or eating a pint of Haagen Dazs ice cream 3 times a day. That's not to say that I didn't mean what I wrote. That was probably the most raw and unedited I have ever written. That was a peak into my true thoughts and emotions that I don't readily share unless I have it scripted and filtered in my head first. I still feel what I wrote but at a duller intensity. Honestly, I doubt that will ever go away. I am changed.

Even though I haven't written in a while, there have been some wonderings in my mind:

* Why does it take so long to bury rich/famous people??? James Brown was dead over a month before his children buried him in an undisclosed location. Undisclosed because they don't want other family members to know where he is!! Anna Nicole is beginning to look like the crypt keeper, according to the medical examiner's office, and her people are fighting over her remains. If I ever become rich and famous, fight over my money not my dead body. If I am not given an appropriate service befitting all the wonderful contributions I've made in this life, then forget about getting your grubby hands on my millions. I guess Biggie was right: "more money, more problems". At least when you're broke, your family will scramble to get you buried and make sure you look good for the wake.

**Why do people approach me to ask for directions??? Somehow on a crowded New York street, train, bus, or even in a store, people will walk up to me and ask me for directions or advice. I've told people the best way to get somewhere, pointed them in the right direction when they get turned around. I've even had a group of people ask me to choose a restaurant for them!! A lady asked me yesterday which exit is the best exit out of Macy's. Why me??? What is it about me that makes people think I would know the answer to that question??? Lets not forget about the people who strike up a conversation with me on the train. People tell me their life stories as the train rolls from station to station. Yes, I always travel with a book, or at least the games on my cell phone. But that doesn't matter. People talk to me. Why me?? How do they pick me out in a crowd??? As most native New Yorkers, I don't necessarily walk around with a smile on my face. Maybe my ice grill isn't cold enough. LOL

***Why has the Dreamgirls soundtrack played over and over in my mind for the past couple of days??? No just one song. The whole damn soundtrack. As I walk down the street, while I'm eating, trying on clothes in a store, even using the bathroom (yeah I hummed "We Are a Family" as I sat on the toilet!! LOL). It's playing in my head right now! I don't mind (at least not yet) but the funny thing is I don't own the soundtrack (at least not yet)!

Until next time folks.......

Unconditional steadfast is my love for you but all I get in return are conditions and stipulations. Like Mary said " Loving you/ everyday/ don't you look no more love without a limit." I could still sing right along with her but your words and actions are telling me the feeling is not mutual. I open up and you pull the rug out from under me. I'm empty, naked to the world, no longer confident in the woman I am. How could you caress the small of my back, infiltrate every aspect of my life, and then when I finally believe in you and what we have you snatch it all away? I waved the white flag and surrendered but you shot me anyway. I gave all that I have. There's nothing left. I wish I could hate you. It would make it so much easier to walk away. I should hate you for the person I've become but in some twisted way I blame myself. So instead of hating you, I hate me.
Omarion, can you tell me how you got this "icebox where (your) heart used to be"? I'm trying but my tears keep melting it. But I can't stand it. How much more can I take. One heatbreak after the next. I want to be cold. Cold will numb me to the outside world. Life will be easier without emotions. I can't trust my emotions. anymore. I'm through with love.

Friendship, friendship

It's the perfect blendship.

When other friendships have been forgot,

Ours will still be hot!

No I haven't taken to writing poetry. Those are the lyrics from a song from the musical "Anything Goes". These words have been playing over and over in mind over the past week. I received an email last week from a news website that I've been meaning to unsubscribe from. Usually I delete them from my mailbox but on this particular day the subject line grabbed my attention and I opened it. It was in this random piece of "junk" email, I learned that the best friend of an ex-boyfriend passed away unexpectedly the night before. I was floored. Memories came flooding back of my interactions with this person. You know how it is - you start dating someone and through that relationship you develop fleeting friendships with their friends. My ex and his best friend were as tight as I've ever seen 2 grown men in my adult years. Right or wrong, they stood by each other and to me, there was never a question about their love and loyalty to each other. My memories of them are filled with jokes and laughter - even after the "relationship" ended, he always had a joke and a smile (along with the nickname he gave me that I haven't been able to shake 12 years later) whenever our paths crossed.

But I still can't believe that he's gone. I know death knows no boundaries. There is no guarantee that our expiration dates are in the far far distant future. There's no "perfect age" to die. But when you read that someone who was 38 dies of "natural causes", it's disturbing. What is natural about dying at 38??? Natural is the way my great-grandmother died - in her sleep after 92 years of a fulfilling life. While I miss her and wish to hold her hand, to talk and laugh with her, there was a part of me that had prepared myself for what was to come because as sad as I was I knew death was inevitable at her age.

Maybe it's out of empathy for someone I care about but I've been thinking about my best friends and how would I feel if they were gone tomorrow. I don't speak to these three women as often as we used to when we were kids but I can't imagine life without them. Because of who they are, what we've been through, and the possibilities of what lies ahead, I love these women as if we were born together(I'd still be the youngest!! LOL). Yeah I could sit here and say "oh I'm going to make more of an effort to call them, hang out with them, etc., etc. " but is that out of some sort of guilt that I may be feeling because I am blessed to still have my best friends here and know that there are only a phone call away? I can't answer that and I don't know if that effort is forthcoming. All I know is throughout my life when other friendships have come and gone, falling to the waist side, ours has always been hot through horrible wardrobe choices, different hairstyles, drama-filled relationships, and all the other elements that plagued us over the past 20 years. (SIDEBAR: damn I feel old when I say I've known ANYTHING or ANYONE for over twenty years. LOL)

To my girls: I love you more than I have ever expressed. You are a part of me forever and always.

Rest in Peace, Shawn. Thanks for the memories, and reminding me of the true qualities of friendship.

I love walking in Harlem in the morning. The neighborhood is just coming alive. Children are cranky about being dragged to school (literally in some cases..LOL). People are speed walking to catch their train or their bus. Can't be late for that j-o-b. The older gentlemen from my building are holding court out front with their morning papers. During my walk this morning there was something that disturbed me. Can someone please explain to me the need for a liquor store to be open at 9 in the morning?? During my walk this morning I saw 2 liquor stores open. Not only were they open at that hour but one of them had a line of customers. Now, I understand why Dunkin Donuts is open early in the morning. Coffee, donuts, muffins and bagels - all breakfast staples. So they need to be open when people typically eat breakfast. But I'm struggling to find a valid reason why the liquor store was open next door to the Dunkin Donuts? Are people dunking their donuts in Kettel One instead of coffee? Is life that hard that you need a fresh bottle of Ripple to get your day started? Which goes better with scrambled eggs - Absolut or Jack Daniels?

So I was recently told that as usual February 14th is going to suck. This wouldn't be so bad or out of the ordinary if I weren't in a relationship. Wait let me back up. It wouldn't be so bad if I weren't in such a good relationship. Those who know me know that last year this time I was in a crappy relationship so the lack of a declaration of love and devotion wasn't surprising. What bothers me more than the fact that the man in my life has to go on a business trip from the 13th through the 15th is that I am actually bothered by not celebrating a day I have NEVER celebrated. Yes, I have NEVER celebrated Valentine's Day. EVER. Well I've never celebrated the day with a man. Getting drunk with my girlfriends and hiring a stripper for the occasion may count as a memorable Valentine's celebration but I don't think Hallmark makes a card for that. I can count on one hand how many cards/gifts I received from those who claimed to have loved me in the past. No romantic dinners, no floral bouquets, and thankfully, no boxes of chocolate. Maybe my disappointment lies in my deep down, never revealed notion that I somehow expected him to redeem all the past losers I've dated and make up for the mistakes of all of them. Not only is that unfair to him, I know how irrational that sounds. While the rational side of me says " I know he cares for me. I don't need some Hallmark fabricated day to know how he feels for me.", the irrational side of me is stomping her feet like a 2 year old having a temper tantrum in the aisles of Toys R Us, screaming. "IT'S NOT FAIR! I WANT THE BEST DAMN VALENTINE'S DAY, AND I WANT IT NOWWWWWWWWW!" With maturity comes the realization that I am going to have to slap the crap out of my irrational side just to shut her up. I am trying to be mature about this. Thankfully, I have enough sense to have not said anything to him about it. I was very ladylike when he told me: "For real??? Damn, that sucks. Oh well, we can celebrate it another day, I guess". In reality I wanted to give in to my 2 year old temper tantrums, but I realize a) nothing will change about the situation and 2) I will definitely look like a crazy woman. He doesn't deserve that. So on Valentine's Day, I will cherish the love we have (ummm is that from a song????), and celebrate all of life's blessings. I promise to stay away from romantic restaurants, flower shops, and chocolate. Unless anyone actually wants to see my rendition of a 2 year old's temper tantrum. If so, meet me in the Barbie aisle at Toys R Us.

There is a regular segment on one of my local news programs called "What's Bugging You?", where a reporter roams the streets asking for people's comments on whatever the "what's bugging you?" topic of the day is. Well, Jeff Rossen, since you've asked, there is a lot bugging me. In no particular order, the following points are what's bugging me:

* SoHa. The proposed name for an area of Harlem below 125th Street. SoHa is short for South Harlem. I have gone along with all these million dollar construction projects invading my neighborhood. I've watched a wave of different hued people moving into former crack dens. All of this "gentrification" and "community renaissance" has sparked many debates about the changing of the fabric of our community. But SoHa??? What the fuck is that? (I know...I know I said I was going to work on the cursing but damn it that's the only word that fits my sentiment right now.) SoHa sounds trendy. However we are not a trend that will be out of style next season, we are a community. How dare you come in and try to change the name of even a portion of my community. I understand that you developers in all your meetings came up with this idea to attract those with multi-million dollar bank accounts to purchase this matchbox condos built adjacent to the projects. Yes there was a time where some of the streets were considered wastelands where all you found were drug addicts and dealers, hookers and their customers. But what you money grubbing developers fail to realize about Harlem, it that we take the good with the bad. We didn't distance ourselves from those streets then and I'll be damned if we do it now that you've built a pretty building and put a few trees in the sidewalk. The old building and former residents may go but the name stays the same. It is allllll Harlem. And if these trust fund babies can't accept that, then we don't want them in our 'hood.

*People who think that because I am currently unemployed they can bug me at anytime day or night. Right now as I am trying to focus on writing this, I have an acquaintance who is bugging me on IM for some non-emergent information. When I replied back to tell him that I can't talk right now, he proceeds to continue to send me the request as if to say "It's not like you're at work, so you should answer me NOW!" My time is just that..... MY TIME. It's bad enough that I haven't been diligent enough on this blog thing but I've realized that it helps me stay focus and clear on my main objective - FINDING A NEW CAREER. But honestly, I don't care if I was sitting here scratching my ass and watching Maury tell someone he is....NOT the father, if I say I can't talk right now, then damn it, LET ME BE.

* I was reading an tiny tiny article in the paper the other day that there is a plan before my community board to rename my street, James Brown Way. Now, before I continue, let me say that I am sorry the man is dead, and I know he changed the landscape of music and entertainment not only in this country but around the world. For him to accomplish what he did as a Black man in this country is an great achievement. And I will forever be grateful for "I'm Black and I'm Proud". I think I sung that song every day in high school just to keep my head high in the face of the institutional racism I faced every day at that affluent elitist school. But ummmmmmm, did I miss something??? James Brown never lived on my street. If I'm not mistaken, I don't think he ever lived in Harlem. His funeral procession to the Apollo Theater began on my street. Does that mean my street name has to be changed???? We can honor this man in so many other ways, but let's do it in a way that makes sense - like naming a cultural center in Harlem after him.

*Men sitting on the train. Why do you insist on sitting with your legs wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide open??? It doesn't matter the race, age, outward appearance, or perceived economic status, men get on the train and sit with there legs so far apart they might as well do a damn split. Why do you need all that space?? Honestly, your dick isn't that big. The average penis unaroused is about five and a quarter inches long. (I learned that on Real Sex the other night..LOL). I don't know what the average width is but come on people, its not that wide! You're taking up 2 seats for what???? Just to let you know, women are not impressed by the fact that you think you have to sit that wide. We are pissed because you took the last 2 seats in the car and WE WANT TO SIT DOWN!!! Think about it, how many of you men sitting on the train like that have gotten any play from a woman STANDING in front of you??? How many times?? Not never!!!!

So that's what's bugging me. Thanks for asking, Jeff.

I just spent the past two and 1/2 hours talking to an old friend. It amazes me that I am old enough to say I have an old friend by the way. What is so special about this conversation is that if someone told me 3 years ago that I would have a conversation with this person, I probably would have dismissed them with my standard "shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit" (you have to say it with like Clay Davis from The Wire to get the full effect). After slamming a door in her face the last time I saw her and subsequently not speaking for over 6 years, to say that she and I were no longer friends would be an understatement. Yeah I could rehash the whys and the how comes but today, right now, none of that matters. I am grateful to another friend for forcing us into a situation where we had no choice but to speak after all those years. In the absence of hurt feelings and emotions we were truly able to communicate with each other 2 years ago. Through emails, cards, and occasional telephone calls we have both made an effort to maintain the open lines of communication. While we may never speak as often as we used to in our heyday (what the hell does that mean???), I find that everytime I speak with her I am reminded how far I have come as a person. The ability to let go, truly let go, has always been a struggle for me whether good or bad. But in this situation I had to weigh my options: I could either hold on to this grudge and keep the feud going or I could forgive AND forget and move on with my life. I realized that going with the latter option would be my best option because it allowed me to live my life as I wanted to. Carrying this extra baggage was weight I no longer wanted to carry. When I get angry at people around me I allow myself to fully feel that emotion because I know now that eventually I can and will get over whatever may come my way. The rebuilding of this friendship has taught me that. If this friend ever reads this I want her to know that even though she and I weren't always on the best of terms, she has taught me alot. More than she will ever know.
No I am not professing some Buddha-like perfection nor have joined a convent (sorry can't take the vow of poverty or chastity...LOL), but every now and then small things happen in life where I stop and figure out the blessing. And this entire friendship, through the good, the bad, the ugly, and now the beautiful, I know that I can always come out on the other side a better person just because of the journey. Thank you my friend; you know who you are.

Allow me to reintroduce myself. My name is...okay it's not Hov. But for some reason that song has been on my mind all day. Not even the whole song just this damn line. I guess I do need to reintroduce myself. It's been a minute since I've put my thoughts and wonderings out here in cyberspace. My friends have even stopped asking me when am I going to put up a new entry. But its a new year and with that comes thoughts of new beginnings and the resolution for change. So who is the new me that I will have to reintroduce in 2007? Haven't figured it out yet. Damn it's only 8 days into the new year give me a minute! LOL

So much has gone on in the past couple of weeks in my very dysfunctional family. I was so tempted to sit at this computer and write about every transgression to relieve myself of all the different emotions associated with this roller coaster ride. While I am obligated to love these people, I do not like them. If it weren't for these genetic links I probably wouldn't associate with them. I know that sounds harsh but it's my reality. No I'm not talking about my entire family. Let's just say there is a small group within my very extended family that tick me off time and time again. I would never name names or reveal their relations. I guess I care more about them then I thought. However, looking back at the sequence of events I realize that while you can't control who you share DNA with, you can control the effect they have on your life and the limit their involvement in your life. Family is what you make it.

It's 2007. I cannot allow anyone or anything keep me away from something I love. I have to apologize to myself. The words were right here but I stifled them, cast them away , violated their purpose. But I acknowledge the error of my ways and will work harder at honoring my gifts.

At the stroke of midnight New Year's Eve/New Year's Day, I was walking down Lenox Avenue on my way to a party. A group of boys, probably about 13-14 years old comes running around the corner, throwing their coats in the air and screaming, "IT'S 2007, BITCHESSSSSSS! FUCK THE HATERS!!!!! SUCK MY DICCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKK!" Gotta love the hood!!!!! LOL Now while I may not agree with their language, I appreciate the sentiment and long for that exuberance. They were sooo excited to see 2006 end and seemed to welcome whatever 2007 may bring. So in the spirit of my young neighbors I say "Fuck the haters" in 2007. If all you're bringing is hate (and negative energy) into my life, refer back to the earlier statement. Well except the "suck my dick" part for obvious reasons but you get the point, damnit! LOL

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!

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.

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!

THE FOLLOWING IS AN EXCERPT FROM A NEWSPAPER ARTICLE:

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???? )

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.

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.