I Heard A Story

Whoa chile!!! What about the ironic tragedies of life, love, and girlfriends? Last night the posse went out under the guise of celebrating a birthday. I was the second person to get there so I ended up chatting with someone I rarely chat with one-on-one. We both went to Howard and know a lot of the same people. But what I keep forgetting is that she used to be the live-in girlfriend of a guy known around campus as nothing more than crazy. I don’t know why I always forget this, but I do.

Last night I got the story about how they ended up married to other people. It seems that, as most couples do, they had problems. And as most younger women do, she confided in someone. Not only did she confide in someone, she confided in a chick her man worked with. And you know what that chick did? She married my girl’s man!!! They have a kid right now!

So let me say it again. My girl confided in her man’s co-worker–who I guess she’d befriended. This chick was my girl’s ear. She’d tell this girl all kinds of stuff. And the girl turned around and used it all to her advantage. So I asked my girl, “How’d you not end up beating her ass.” I don’t remember the answer. I mean my girl had been drinking last night. But then I also told my girl, “You gotta stand back and admire her work. I mean she was focused. And you also had to be pissed at yourself. Right?” Still I don’t remember the answer. What? I’d been drinking too.

We have all these shows on TV with women confiiding in one another all willy-nilly. All these shows where women have one another’s back! Bullshyt!!!! Those shows that come on in primetime where a group of women, usually four, share their inner most secrets and some drama doesn’t pop off is some straight bullshyt!!!! If you want the truth of how things really go down, you need to watch the soap operas. I’m not saying all women are shade-y. But I am saying that if you aren’t sure, assume her ass is! Especially a stranger.

Look, I’m old enough to have more than enough friends. Any woman seeking to force a friendship with me this late in life causes me to immediately raise a brow! Matter if fact, if she’s even tryna get invited to a posse funtion, I’m looking at her cross-eyed. We had a case where someone re-friended some chick she’d lost touch with years ago. This broad came around one or two times and even the guys were like, “Da hell is wrong with this ass-hungry hoe?” And if men are undone, then you know she had to have been a handful.

For me, I’m not even trying to discuss my business with too many actual friends. So I’ll be damned thrice over if I discuss anything with my man’s female ‘friend’. Uh no! Really, even when I do share, I share with extreme caution!! Paranoid? Maybe but I know what people ar capable of. Not because I’d do anything like that but because I’ve seen others get burned!

I’m really running out of things to blog about.

Can You…

NO!

So look y’all, I have been known to go out of my way to help people. I have been known to get sick but do the things I said I was going to do. Occasionally, I even volunteer to help people out. Well boyz, girlz, and squirrels, it stops here.

Goldie, who won’t likely read this because she’s on a blog-fast for LYNT (I know that’s not how you spell it), mentioned how she ended up reading the Bible yesterday. And she read about forgiveness. For a long time, I thought in order to forgive people, you had to be able to be pleasant to them. You had to get to the point where you could interact with them without there being any anger. You had to accept that s/he was/is a shadey bastard and not be pissed about it. I don’t know how I came to believe this. Because for real, I don’t think I’ve ever done anything to anyone where they had to ponder forgiving me. And in the slight chance that I did, it was only in reaction to what they did. Let me not even count the times I have been guilty of actually forgetting what a person did to piss me off.

Y’all I’m almost there. Almost to the point where I can’t write anymore. Why? Because I can’t write what I want to write. It’s like I want to still have the interactions and do the silly stuff but I want to write how I feel. And because so many people I know read this page, I can’t. I will say, however, that this morning, as I lamented to my good friend J, I sat reading her IM’s and erased every single number of every friend, frociate, and associate who I’ve not spoken to. Every single one who I’ve called and they haven’t called me back or haven’t ever called to just check on me! Every single one who I’ve excused over the years with, “____ never returns a call but I love ____ anyway.” All the MF’s who call cus they’re coming to town and need a place to stay. Or call me at the last minute when they get here because they’re bored. Or call me when shyt it messed up in their lives but when I call them for the same support, they try to force the conversation around to them and their issues.

So if you’re reading this, and you’re one of those people, please don’t up and call me now. It’s over. If you’re one of the people who will occasionally call when you want something, don’t. Really, nobody will win. If you are one of the people who has wronged me, and you KNOW you have, don’t try to rectify the situation now. Please refrain from sending me invitations to your shyt. No birthday parties, weddings, or baby showers–cus my ass won’t be there!

Neck Punch

I’m starting this on Friday afternoon. I’m still pissed at the world. But I just went back to O’s page to read the latest comments. Then I realized I didn’t answer one of his questions about what I’d change about myself. I wrote how I would like to be able to lose control. To go off on the deep end with little regard for logic and retribution. Truth is, if I thought I could get away with it regularly, I would just walk around punching people in the neck. Square under their chin.

I’m not a tall person. I’ve given up on getting taller. And wearing stillettos every single day does give me a little lift but I usually end up not taller than anyone. Yet, I am tall enough that with or without shoes, I’m the perfect height to punch someone in the neck.

Skip to today–Monday and I realize that I have lost control before. And that most of us have. Is there a woman reading this who hasn’t? We have ALL been in our cars, walking, or whatever mode of transportation we use, convincing ourselves that what we’re doing or about to do isn’t crazy. Whenever we have to tell ourselves we’re being logical, we probably aren’t. When you are on your way somewhere but you have the mind to leave you spare ATM card and code in plain view on your coffee table because you’ve calculated the odds of needing someone to have bail money to get you out of jail, you probably aren’t thinking clearly. When it’s late at night and you drive from Baltimore to DC in a pair of terri-cloth shorts, a tank top, a cardigan sweater, house shoes, with your hair up in pin-curls, and sunglasses on because you want to NOT look crazy, but then get to your destination and realize you can’t find a parking space and don’t want to walk any long distance from your car to his house because you don’t have a coat on, just know, you probably have lost it.

I don’t blame women for doing these things. It’s damn near second nature to a lot of us. I blame men. Grown men know ALL women have the potential for crazy. Just because she has behaved logically, hell been the picture of logical behavior for a solid year, don’t think if you piss her off and the moon, stars, and sun align right, she will not flip off on your ass. Why chance it? What you should be doing is thanking your lucky stars for every time you do something slightly wrong and you sleep peacefully that night. Further, you need to look at your woman’s friends and thank them if you get away with something because they might be the voice of reason that stopped her from shutting off all of your utilities in the winter!

I would also suggest you guys try to figure out exctly what might make her go off and not do it. For me, it’s actually the smaller things. Back in my youth, I was dealing with a guy who was less than nice. And one night we were on the phone, the conversation got heated and he thought he was going to hang up on me and have a peaceful sleep that night? Hell-to-the-naw! Nevermind that it was late. Never mind he lived a considerable distance. He knew I didn’t play that. But he did it anyway. I could: a) turn over and go to bed and deal with it the next day; b) call him back; c) get up, get dressed, and drive down to DC so he could get a full understanding of my pissivity. If you guessed ‘C’ give yourself three points. We dealt with each other for years after that. He never hung up on me again. Small things!!!

There are some things that you men do and you just have to know there’s going to be hell to pay. Lying about kids and wives and addresses? Come on. Do you really think any woman worth her weight in salt is going to let those lies slide? Even if she just drops your ass with just a harsh cursing out, you should know that you deserve so much more. And maybe the only reason she didn’t completely go off is because she didn’t like you that much to begin with.

Am I condoning bad behavior from women? Not really. But I completely understand being mad! We would even have to deal with such ugliness if men didn’t feel the need to show out. See?

Multiply Me

Make no mistakes about it. The After Party Hostess wants to get married and have a team of babies. I’m not one of these modern women who spout out things like, “If it happens it happens.” Because when you put that out into the universe, that’s what you get in return. My personality is such that I want what I want and I don’t want to share. I’ll share my sandwich. I’ll share my last ten bucks. But I am incapable of knowingly sharing my man. But that’s just me.

Everythang really isn’t for everybody. There are things that I’d not do simply because knowledge of self tells me it would end with me punching someone in the neck. But I don’t shake a stick at anyone else because they choose to do something I wouldn’t. I almost ordered HBO last night. Yes, I have basic digital cable. But hey, I’m frugal, and unemployed. Anyhow, there was an advertisement for a new show about polygamy. Like so many other things I wouldn’t do, this fascinates me.

If you were to bring this type of relationship up to a group of women, most would raise their hand to Jesus and say, “Oh hell naw!” And you know what? Most of them are full of it. Most of them have competed for a man. Most of them have knowingly shared at least one. Most of them assume their husbands are going to cheat at least once. Most of them would turn a blind eye to a child concieved outside of their marriage. So then what’s the problem with a polygamous marriage? Everything is out in the open. If you have the luck to be the first wife, you still get to pretty much run everything. And shoot, you don’t have to deal with the husband that much.

So when I hear about Utah type situations, I don’t trip. Because as long as all parties involved are cool, good. Those women knew what they were getting into. They knew about the lifestyle. This is where some of you men are probably shaking your heads thinking this is all good! Well stop it! Why come men get to have multiple wives?? Is that somewhere in the Utahian Bible that polygamy is only good for men? Where are the women with a team of husbands??

I had a friend justify the ploygamy thing by saying that back in the day, there were horrible wars that left a lot of woman husbandless. And since women couldn’t do too much to provide for their families, it was best that they find a new husband. But there really weren’t enough to go around because of wars. But I said that already. Anyway, that’s when polygamy became acceptable and got written into religions and stuff. The thing is though, that man was responsible for taking care of all of his wives and their children. Now tell me if today we can find a man who is willing to be the sole supporter of several wives and all of their kids! Men, polygamy isn’t so good when you think of it from a financial standpoint because so many of y’all can’t wrap your minds around being the sole supporter of one woman and set of kids, let alone multiples! *eyeroll*

I never researched this myself. I much more enjoy random speculation on my blog. But if what he said is true, and we are beaten over the head with the Not Enough Black Men To Go Around statistic, then it’s just a matter of time before polygamy becomes acceptable in our communities. Wait, it already is. They just don’t get married.

I Would Stand By You Like A Tree

And dare anyone to try and move me. Or at least that’s what Tony Toni Tone ‘nem promised in their first CD album Who?, song #2. I heard a bit of a discussion on the radio a few weeks back. It was about standing by your significant other while he or she is in jail. As I listened I thought back to what a comedian had once said on the subject. She said if her man went to jail, she wouldn’t break up with him. The judge would be breaking them up. So I guess she doesn’t stand by her man.

Until my fit of fury last week, I was one of those people who’d stand by you through damn near anything. I have two relatives in jail. I’ve never visited, but we write and one I speak to very often. No collect calls. Y’all know they have ‘bank accounts’ in jail right? The one I speak to, he’s been in for years. Years I tell you. I don’t even ask when he’ll get out. Why bring down the conversation when I can go on over to Offender Search and just look it up myself? Could The After Party Hostess really stand by a boyfriend or husband? Y’all like how I referred to myself in the third person?? I’m not one to bite, but does that make me sexxxy? I don’t think I could get my ’stand by’ on. Not because of the sodomy and liklihood that he’s getting his hot man lovin’ on in jail. Not because I need a greater level of companionship. But because…Well I can’t put it into words right now. But follow with me.

When most folks think of standing by their mate, they think of jail and illness. But today, I’m going to put a different spin on, “Will you wait for me?” What if you were with someone, not married but committed. One day this person said to you, “YOU, I’m really concerned that you don’t know how to drive. It’s really bothering you and me. Not only that, it’s affecting the quality of our relationship. I have done all I could to motivate you to drive. But I feel I’ve done enough. I think we should part ways for ___ amount of time. At the end of which, if you’ve learned to drive, we can visit the idea of reconciling.”

My first inclination isn’t that this is a stand-by-your-mate issue. Sounds to me like an I’m-tired-of-being-with-you issue. But for the sake of fodder (Oh how I love fodder.), what if your inability to drive was really affecting the relationship? And you want to learn to drive. What if your significant other drove you everywhere just by the nature of your relationship? Therefore, you had limited motivation to pick up the skill. Would you be OK with getting your Jiffy-Car Driving school on and getting back with the person at the end of whatever pre-set amount of time?

What about the ease at which your significant other sent you off to learn to drive? This would be the bigger issue for me–especially if the person claims to be really into me. If this person has never lied before, I might-could believe that this was all about driving. And if both parties haven’t agreed that not only will they revisit the driving issue in the pre-determined amount of time but that they share the same goal of reconciliation, then what?

Unfortunately, time doesn’t stand still. Even if both parties agree, while one if off getting driving lessons, either party could meet someone else and get swept up in a wave of lightening fast love. Wait, this actually happened to my girl-sorta. Her guy acted up. They broke up. Six months later, he finds out through mutual friends that she’s married to someone she’d been with before him and is pregnant. Sadly, she lost the baby. But now the ex who messed up is going crazy because he thought he could come back when he got himself ready. And that she’d wait.

When presented with the possibility that the woman it took him months to court could meet someone else in the driving-lesson-taking period, most men will let, “Oh well…” roll off thier lips. All the while knowing full well they don’t feel that way. So why let the words loose? Anyone? Anyone? Just kidding. I know women do this too. But no entry would be complete without something to fan the flames/comment section.

On some level The After Party Hostess (Third person AGAIN!! Sexxxy?) is a romantic. And on some level she hopes that the couple’s connection, love, or whatever the kids are calling it these days, is so strong that they could come back together stronger and happier after the time apart. But the logical person who ran The Show wonders if either person should, or is capable of, waiting until one learns to drive. Do you just go off to your little driving school believing your significant other is ‘waiting’ for you? Do you owe it to the other person to wait the agreed upon amount of time before you officially move on? And does the person who insisted the other learn to drive understand the risks?? To me, if you’re really into someone, you wouldn’t risk sending them off into the world to learn to drive.

Hey Ice Cube!

I shall admit that last night when I realized I’d be away from home this morning and wouldn’t be able to post by my normal time, I though tabout Glory and Beloved. Then, I rolled my eyes, and went to sleep.

Anyway, last night I watched Black and White on FX. First, who knew that the same man who brought us Amerikkka’s Most Wanted, would being us this. Ice Cube has come a long way or has he. I’d like to believe that if I were put face-to-face with either passing group, I’d be able to tell their skin just didn’t look quite right. But I have been known to give me imperfect vision too much credit. I watched the show. If you aren’t familiar, it’s a six part series where two families, one Black, one white live together and funtion outside of the house as members of the other’s race. Oh the hilarity. I know it sounds like a Dave Chappell sketch. As a matter of fact, I bet most of us remember when Eddie Murphy did it on Saturday Night Live.

Every person had their own issue with race. The little white girl seemed to be waiting for her parents to mess up and say something she knew better than to say. The Black man was pissed because the white guy seemed to refuse to see racism. The Black boy was clearly just there because his parents made him do it–talking bout he doesn’t deal with racism. But I’ll get to him later. And the white woman, well I just don’t think she’s ready for what’s in store. Oh and lest I forget the Black mother who told the whites that Blacks don’t need coaching on how to ‘act white’ because we have to learn to function around them. Amen.

From episode one, I agree with Bruno to a degree. If you look for racism, you will find it. But everything single thing you see as a slight can’t be attributed to your race. If you walk into a store being an ass, you’re going to be treated as an ass. At the same time, I think Bruno (the white guy) thinks that racism only comes in the form of being called a dirty-filthy-nigger-bunny while a band of klansmen rape your Black wife and virgin daughter. Not so much. For the Black guy, I still think he sees racism everywhere because he’s super aware of it. I find it interesting since he grew up in Detroit and lives in Atlanta. How much racism could he have experienced where everything that happens to him, he can attribute it to race?

Then the Black boy said he doesn’t really deal with racism. I think for him, he’s on the same page as Bruno. If it’s not some lemme-violate-your-civil-rights-and release-dogs-on-you type racism, he doesn’t see it. Or maybe, since he is being raised in Atlanta, around whites and others who are used to Blacks and where Blacks are in positions of power and success, he isn’t nearly as affected as his father.

I don’t deny racism exists. Gawd knows it does. However, after I watched this show I was talking to someone about it and once again realized that I’ve lived my entire life and never had a white person, or any person say or do anything malicious that I could contribute to them being a racist. There was a case where I thought a boss was a raging racist but she never came at me with impunity. I have had friends say they have been called nigger here and again or had white folks use the word in reference to them. Me? I’ve heard white folks use the word to think they were cool but not in a derogatory way to me or any other Black person. I’ve never felt a white store clerk didn’t want to touch me because I was Black. Maybe because I just don’t like strangers touching me anyway. Or maybe I don’t hang around enough white people to see that they are treated differently.

How could this have happened? I live in America. I interact with whites. How could I be this old and never expereinced the things most Black people say they have experienced? Is it because I was raised in Detroit? Where Blacks were the majority. Is it because I went to a Black school? Is it because I live in an area where Black people are in positions of power and success and where whites are used to interacting with these types of Black people? Yes.

What I realize is that I don’t really have to navigate my way around someone I know has it in for me just because I’m Black. Nor have I ever had cause to learn. I’m not saying that I’ve never encountered racism, I just wasn’t fully aware of it. I guess. I have had whites say things that let me know they acknowledged that I am Black. Was it done to be mean or to set me apart from anyone else? I don’t think so.

I guess I’ve been places where I didn’t get good service. And it might have been because I was Black. But it was never such a big deal to me to even waste time wondering why someone else got seated before me. I spent my time turning on my heels and leaving the establishment. Have I lost jobs because I am Black? Eh, I don’t know. I probably got more than I lost because of my skin. I don’t have one Earth-shattering moment where I can recall someone else’s views on race affecting me–to the point where I can say the incident(s) impacted my development. No loss of innocense moment here.

Maybe I’m lucky in that on a day-to-day basis, I don’t have race to affect how I view my options in life. There’s a part in Plum Bum (Fauset, 1929), someone says, with regard to race, “You’ve gotta decide whether or not you’re going to let it interfere with personal development and to what extent it may be harmful or it may be an incentive.” I guess somewhere along the line, I don’t think I knowingly made a decision either way.

I think back to the scene in Crash, after Terrance Howard and his wife get back home. He tells her she doesn’t know what it’s like to be Black in America. Some could say maybe I don’t. Except that even though I’ve never experienced the ugliness, I know it exists. I don’t sit and say, “It’s never happened to me so it’s not real.” But I wonder how many Me’s are out there? Anyone? Anyone?? And how will the Me’s handle the race issue with their kids and what will we do if/when undenyable racism hits us in the face?

Have at it y’all. I should have some type of disclaimer here, but I don’t. Just know that this was written partly as truth and partly as discussion fodder.

Oh Dear

My reality dreams would come true if Flava and NY were to marry and Santino of Project Runway fame was charged with designing her dress. Alas, life isn’t fair.

So uh, today is Monday. I have a list of things I could’should be doing. I’m debating if I will meet a friend for lunch in the city. Don’t you just love how I called DC ‘the city’? Doesn’t it make it sound like such a delicious place. The city.

I was talking to someone I’ve known forever. Someone whose number I’d erased. But since I’ve known him for so long, I know his mother’s home number by heart. And that’s where he was calling from. The first time he called was Friday. I was out with friends. Then on Sunday this guy called me again. I told him where my friends and I had been on Friday. Was it wrong of me to tell him that he needs not ever step a Timberland covered foot in any of the establishments I frequent? Was it wrong of me to tell him that he and I don’t travel in the same circles because he likes to go t places where the patrons have nothing to lose? You know the types. Baby mommas? Men whose only concern in life is paying their cell phone bill?? Naw. I can’t be around those types. Simply because if some shyt can go down, when it does, they often show limited restraint. Why? Beause they have nothing to lose.

On Saturday I overheard a conversation between a girl in Detroit and her ex. To make a long story short, he called her every name but the one her mother’d given her. She did the same to him. While she spoke to me on her cell, she played the numerous messages he’d left on her home phone. She’d assured me she’d left just a foul messages on his. She thought it cute. I thought it funny but in a sad way. It would never occur to me to speak to someone that way. Especially someone I’d been with. And it occured to me that nobody I’d ever been with would string together such filth and fling it upon me.

I find some people need ‘urban’ drama in their relationships. They need to curse eachother out, break cell phones, and punch holes in drywall. That’s not how I roll. As a matter of fact, I admit to being intrigued by such behavior but absolutely unwilling to participate.

Humh. I have absolutely nothing to write about. I am going to just log off and go do what I’m supposed to be doing. Gosh knows the list is long. How was your weekend?

Maybe I Was Wrong

I guess it’s been hitting me for a while. After the first month when he didn’t come running back and now even more today. Maybe it really is over. Maybe when I believed the things he said, how if ever we broke up he’d do everything in his power to win me back, maybe I was wrong. I don’t see how someone can be an integral part of your life, then BAM! Nothing! Like they never existed. This wasn’t what I agreed to. How I thought it would be. What was supposed to happen? We were supposed to date. He was supposed to not be able to get along without me. Not tell me he’s keeping busy. Especially when things aren’t going so well for me. I mean, IF he cared, wouldn’t he be here for me? Wouldn’t he have a hard time going through his days without checking on me? Checking for me?

And I wonder if I was right. Maybe I was just an accomplishment for him. Like so many other things. The cars, the house, the clothes. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe we were never really as connected. Maybe the talks of us having children and our life together were all in my head.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I can’t go more than three days without hearing his voice. Maybe I was wrong and he can go hours, days, weeks, and months without hearing mine. Maybe he can go without seeing me. Maybe I will forget what he smells like. Maybe I won’t forget his numbers as I’d predicted. Maybe…

Fear of the Bobble Head

Here’s my dilema. Y’all know I’m all over this health kick right? Before I started, I kept weighing myself and telling anyone who’d listen, “I just don’t get it. The scale isn’t moving, but I know I’m bigger.” If/when this happens to you go on over to Target and buy another scale. My old scale was, dare I say, appoximately 15lbs off! Fif-teen! Sure my clothes pretty much still fit–all the newer ones. I cleaned out my closet. Even patted myself on the back for giving away the Welfare-to-Work worthy items! I’m always pleased when I feel like I’m doing stuff for other people.

Just wait. We’re going to get to my dilema in a moment. I hate washing clothes. It’s not so much the washing as the folding. *looks over shoulder at clothes yet to be folded* I hate folding clothes much like I hate short men. Except if they are arrogant. The men, not the clothes. Arrogant men of all shapes and sizes like me. And the men, the short arrogant ones love me. But I only love them back because I only love those that love me. It’s all in my hand-book–on Amazon-dot-com b*tches! Wait for it. It’s coming.

Here I am washing my clothes. I have on jeans and a long-sleeve v-neck tee from Banana Republic. Viva la–or should it be ‘le’ because even though he’s gay he’s still a man–Santino of Project Runway fame!!! I’m sifting and toting. Reminded of how I was taught it’s always best to have too many pairs of undies and towels. Anywho, my top falls off my shoulder. As in the shyt is too big. I’d been walking around with my cell phone in the back pocket of some fairly new jeans. Think I got them in November or December. Damn phone starts ringing. I reach back there to get it and dammit if my pants didn’t slip down…As in off! As in below my waiste, over my hips–which are still in proportion to my waist. As in I could have very well had this happen in Target early yesterday morning as opposed to the comfort of my home. By the by, why is Target full at 10:30 on a Monday? Huh? Anyone? Anyone? Isn’t the economy on the rebound? Shouldn’t mofos be at work? Oh wait. I wasn’t at work. Nevermind then. Don’t worry though. I should be back at Acme Plantation by mid-April at the latest.

Here’s my dilema. I’ve lost over 15lbs thus far. I’d been planning to loose about 12-18 more. All the while, the way I’d been marking my progress was by trying on items that I’d grown to ’round’ to fit but that I couldn’t bare to part with. If you ever see a homeless woman in a pair of gold, yes I said gold, leather pants, size 2, you can thank me in drinks! It will be quite the sight Not for sore eyes but that will likely make your eyes sore. I could fit my yellow pants. The last time I remember comfortably wearing those pants was about two years ago. Not butter yellow. More of a butter cream yellow. Yes, I own creamy yellow dress pants! What of it?! I do not however, own any neon green ones. Yes, I own a couple pair that are green but I assure you all, they are not neon. Nor do I own any shoes with clear…Oh shyt! Yes I do but I only have them from a wedding I was in. Really, I’m not ghetto. Nor am I a stripper.

Now that we’ve gotten all of that out the way. If I loose anything else, I will be forced to buy an entirely new woredrobe. Which would be cool–if I got a job and all. But, I bought one last spring! Entirely new. All size 6 Long or 8 Regulars–which are the exact same size!!!! I’ve eased back down to a 4 Long/6 Regular and still feel like I can tighten up the midsection and work on these breeding hips a wee bit more. I’ve lost approximately 3.5 inchest from my waist alone. I have always had an issue gaining and maintaining weight when I did even the slightest bit of regular excercise. When I used to party all the time, it was even diffifult for me to keep weight on. I even had a doctor try to check my teeth to make sure I wasn’t anorexic because I was so under-weight. So, how do I tone–which requires excercise, continue to eat healthy, control portions without ending up looking like a bobble-head? Because I’d hate to meet some people for Ethiopian only for them to be all up and through IM asking Honest, “Is the Hostess OK? Is she eatting? Is she on the Nicole Richie air diet?” Look at all these rumors surrounding me everyday…

When you think about it, it’s not really a serious dilema. Especially when you consider the special on TLC called the Half Ton Man! Those people, they had weight issues. Me? I’m just trying to be cheap, not buy an entire woredrobe, and not fade away. But at the same time, I don’t want to get all my stuff altered. Real quick. Pre-break-up, Manfriend had five suits done. FIVE. FIVE that had been sitting idle, brand new waiting to be worn. I remember taking them to be altered. A woman who seemed to know what she was doing had the chalk out. She marked them all. Wouldn’t you know it, according to him, she did a piss poor job. I can’t risk that happening to my stuff!

It Weighs A Ton

I used to say that I didn’t know how anyone my age could get strung out on drugs. Specifically crack and heroine. I used to think that people who did that had no regards for themselves. I used to think there was no harm in smoking a little weed here and again so long as it stopped at that and you didn’t turn your life over to it. Recreational weed usage got a pass in my book. But one day I learned the hard way that everything isn’t always what it seems. And if I just shut up and listened, I’d understand so much better. I wrote about that the other day. Remember a few entries back I wrote about my neighbor being a pill-head? Little did I know.

I’ve had (actually HAVE because I do think they are still partaking.) two people in my family be on drugs. One, he never let anything in his life slip. In my mind, he’s the absolute example of a recreational drug user. One summer he visited us in Detroit. I was 15. I remember it being very hot, mid-day. He used to call me Princess because I wore no less than three outfits a day. Right after my mid-day change, I went into the kitchen to get a snack. Nobody was there but me and him. We started talking. This guy has personality for days and was/is always dropping gems.

I’m standing at the microwave and he’s sitting at the table watching TV. But we’re still holding a conversation. Then he turns to me and his hand starts up towards his face. In his hand is a plastic bag. Without stuttering on one word, he sniffed something from the bag. I never told my mother what he did. And a few days later, he left. Deciding not to move to Detroit afterall. How I saw him changed from that point on. Sure back in his hometown he was active in his community. But at 15, after really only knowing him for 7 years, he became less of a man to me.

The second person has always been a habitual bad decision maker. If there was an option between seven good decisions and one bad, she’d always choose the bad. At 40 years old, she got on crack. And lemme tell you, the shyt wasn’t at all sudden. She’d been a weed smoker for years. You hear weed is a gateway drug but on those commercials, they never tell you the why’s and how’s. For this woman she’d been smoking weed supplied by a new man in her life. Little did she know, it was ‘tainted’. It wasn’t long before he admitted that the weed was ’special’. And it wasn’t much longer after that that the ’special’ weed high wasn’t enough for her. She was ripe to be introduced to something better. A crackhead is born.

There’s been something on my mind since one Thursday night. So much so that when I heard, I cried y’all. But I never let on to the person on the other line. And then when the conversation was over, I tried to put the issue to rest but I couldn’t sleep. I spoke to one of my dearest, oldest friends. I wonder if she knows her place in my life. And maybe her not knowing is why she was just revealing to me something that was going on with her. But I really love this person like a relative. Really I do. She’s good people.

He family is the model of ‘good family’. Her parents are sweet people, as are her siblings. They’ve all pretty much done everything right. In fact, if we were to teach third graders what a family looks like, feels like, smells like, they’d present a picture of this family. My girl and I don’t talk that much. But when we do, it’s customary that we ask about the other’s family. She remembers when my brother was 6 and now he’s a grown man.

This last time we spoke she told me her father waited until he was retired from his first career and well into another to start smoking crack. Da hell? He raised wonderful children, has a completely perfect family situation, very Cosby-esque and he admits to ’smoking dope’ for the last four years. As most know, when someone admits to smoking, they have usually been smoking longer. This is so sad to me. I told her it’s a good thing that he waited until his kids were grown and on their own. Because otherwise, imagine how shattered she and her siblings would be if this had happened when they were still depending on him to be their Cliff Huxtable.

Then the next day, I started wondering: What if what we are destined to be, we shall be? What if this man was supposed to get on drugs and the only thing that detured him was his wife and having to raise kids? I have friends who came from situations where statistics said they should be someone’s baby’s momma. These girls went to Howard, pledged, got a few degrees but at the end of the day, they still ended up being some losers baby’s momma. And participating in all the drama that goes with it.

But most importantly, I was reminded that bad things don’t just happen to ‘those people’. You know the ones who live places we’d never drive through let alone live. We can shake our head and wonder, “How do people that old get on drugs.” But the answer is simple. Shyt happens. And can happen to anyone. Even you. Statistically, someone reading this will end up on drugs, HIV positive, with cancer, etc. So be careful and smart.

Jet Blues: Vapors’ Crazy Potential

My girl Vapors, gotta love her to death. This is her story…

Vapors used to date, be the girlfriend of, a guy called Crazy. Vapors and Crazy would break up every so often. And during their spats, she’d ‘kick it’ with another guy– Potential. Unfortunately, whenever a time came where she had to decide if she’d spend her time with Crazy or Potential, she’d choose Crazy. Ya see, Crazy was in school. Crazy was ‘on her level’. Nevermind that he was crazy and the whole campus knew–hence the nickname CRAZY.

Vapors was cold. She’d do stuff like call Potential and have him come visit her. But before he’d get there, Crazy would show up. So when Potential would buzz her to let her know he was downstairs, she’d ignore him. In fact, Vapors confesses this is the only guy she’s ever done wrong. And why did Vapors dog Potential out so much? Lemme see, when they were seeing each other, when he was at her beck and call, she was wrapped up in Crazy. Also, Potential hadn’t gone to school and was a car salesman. He was good as a play thing but not good enough for her to seriously date. Which is amazing considering he was around even after she and Crazy were done. A good friend. Met her family and even helped pack her stuff up when she moved across country. Unfortunately, by the time Vapros was done with Crazy, she was in law school and Potential had a girlfriend. Then again it didn’t matter that he had a girlfriend because Vapors still wouldn’t have dated him. She was in law school and he was but a car salesman.

As the years went on, they lost touch. That’s Vapors and Potential. Vapors and Crazy still stayed in touch even though he was crazy and would eventually go on to marry and divorce but maintain his craziness. Through out the years, Potential would cross Vapors’ mind. She tried to contact him but her e-mails bounced. She tried to use her access to databases to find him. But nothing.

Jump to NYE 2005-ish. Somewhere during the first week of 2006, Potential crossed Vapors’ mind hard. She sent another e-mail but it too bounced. For some strange reason, Vapors ended up looking in her junk e-mail box. What did she see?? An e-mail from Potential. Not just any e-mail. The e-mail contained pictures. Pictures of how he celebrated NYE 2005. Those pictures included: a driveway where two Bentley’s were parked, three married women sitting on a couch, and some other fancery. She checked the pictures and saw that Potential had on a wedding ring. Could this possibly be Potential’s home? His wife?

Vapors–can y’all tell why she got the name?–e-mails him telling him how she’d been trying contact him for years. He writes back and somehow the two end up talking. On the phone. Next thing you know, he’s calling her ‘Baby’ and letting her know he’s open for a ‘hook up’. Vapors must’ve knew she was wrong because she neglected to mention this resurfacing to one of her clostest friends–Hostess *eyeroll*–for months! Vapors did, however, mention it to another friend who told her, “Oh well his wife is Hispanic. That doesn’t count.” Da hell?

When Vapors told me this, I was shocked. Sickened even. Because the way Vapors put it to me, her focus was on, “That could be my Bentley. That b*tch stole my life.” But me, being the level-headed, not racist (the chick who said a Hispanic wife doesn’t count is white), good friend told her to get over herself and not be a gold digging whore. Yes, those words exactly. I think I hummed, “Back then you didn’t want me…” Cus it’s super appropriate.Not only that, but had she taken Potential seriously, even saw him as something more than something to do when Crazy was acting, uh, well CRAZY, there’s still no way to know he’d have gone on to gain such financial success. Further, if he’s willing to cheat on Conchetta with Vapors, he’d do the same thing to Vapors if she was the wife.

But this all brings me to my main point. No, it’s not that gold-digging is bad. My point today, boyz and girlz, is that you don’t date potential. You don’t deal with someone based on what they might-could be down the line. Like them now. Like them now enough to be with them now. Sure it would be nice if your car salesman with no degree gets into real estate and blows up. But don’t be with him just because you think that’s going to happen.

My other point is that people should be judged by their character. Had Vapors not been blinded by his lack of education, she would have been able to see other good things about him–which probably would have been over-shadowed by his wandering penis as he had tried to get with her a few times even when she was done with Crazy and he had a girlfriend, who he was living with and eventually married. So really, everything worked out for the best, as God would have wanted. Vapors didn’t end up with Crazy or Potential.

The moral–cus I’m all about morals this week: Don’t date a persone because of what you think s/he might grow up to be. Pursue, date, marry, breed with, the Hostess based on the person she is. That’s all I’m saying. Oh and Vapors, when you read this, stop trying to be a gold-digging whore. It doesn’t suit you. And I am one to judge considering I’m from Detroit–home of the Sack-Chasers. I know well of what I speak.

It Continues So Long As You Let It

Remeber Fran and the Slow Talker (ST)? If not, go back and read. I’ll wait.

You would think it would end there right? Wrong. Life doesn’t work like that. As it would turn out, ST kept calling. Eventually, he chipped away at Fran’s resolve not to ever go out with him. They went out. Nothing special. Drinks and chatting. In this meeting, Fran realized she’d really-really forgotten what he looked like. Can y’all believe he met her months before finally getting her to go out?

Fran won’t say she had a good time–which means she didn’t. But remember how ST said no man would want Fran if she didn’t humble herself. Always up for a challenge, Fran made sure to be ’super’ herself when they went out. Anyhow, the evening went along swell–and I can absolutely use SWELL because I hand out at Target. When it was said and done and they parted ways, Fran smirked and thought, “Well I won’t be hearing from him again.”

Wrong!

I told Fran by allowing him to pick away at her resolve to never go out with him and going out with him, in his mind, he thinks she’s interested. What she needs to do is just tell him she’s not interested. Otherwise, he will keep calling saying things that lead poor Fran to believe he thinks they are officially dating. And that she has some intention of ever going out with him again. One date outting does dating make.

And yes, there’s a moral. Honesty is the key. Persistence is bad. Persistence can wear a person down but what you get is someone who is always a bit shakey about why they are even dating you. We here at The After Party have heard that most people won’t be persistent if they aren’t being encouraged. This is not true. Some people have laser like focus. And no matter how much DIScouragement you give them, they have a goal in mind and s/he won’t be ignored. Honesty! It’s all the rage for 06.

I’ve been here. I’ve fallen victim to the persistent man. Lawd knows. But today, the Hostess that you guys know and love like read wouldn’t fall for it. I recognize it for what it is–someone trying to force their will upon me. Not gonna happen. At the same time, it’s a concept I don’t much understand–especially when you’re getting no encouragement. If I’m trying to get something but I get no encouragement from the holder of what I want, I don’t want it anymore. I know some people would want it more. But not me. Maybe I’m lazy.

I have told Fran that if she can’t come out and tell ST she isn’t interested, she will continue to get called. Is it the attention she likes? No because she usually cuts him off after about two minutes. And, he’s not her only suitor. Can’t she use her caller ID? Fran’s addicted to answering her phone. Am I missing something? He hasn’t paid attention to her lack of interest, the fact she doesn’t call him, nor that she’s never really even bothered to ask him his basic stats.

Y’all like how even though I’m not at home, I cared enough to set this to post in my absence? See y’all in the afternoon-maybe. It’s St. Patty’s Day. And well, I support the Irish in all their four leaf clovery and drunken fun.

Trivial Pursuit - Part 1

First, I’d like to thank the wonderful group of lobbyist who sponsored my friends and I as we celebrated our Irish heritage!!! Man, I tell ya, if not for them being married with kids, I’d probably make an effort to party with them more often. But what would it look like? Me being seen about town with married men so many years my senior? Second, I’d like to thank them for reassuring me that I am indeed ‘Hawt’ and have nice teeth.

This week, we’re going to talk about the pursuit. I don’t know how many parts, but I’ll try to make a whole week of it. Strangjazz is even going to guest blog.

Just from reading the blog, you probably can tell I like Type A men. It could be said that I like them because they like me. Fair enough. I choose from the men who have already chosen me. Aside from giving encouragement to their advances, I’ve never been one to pursue. In fact, the men I attract aren’t the types who would want a woman to pursue. They are tried and true hunter types.

A long time ago when Beloved allowed comments, she wrote about wanting a spokeman. A man who would take his place as his family’s spokesman. Sure she’d be on the board. Sure she’d be his right hand. But at the end of the day, he’s out front. I don’t think this is a role best filled by a man I have to pursue. This doesn’t mean he can’t. It just means I fear having to nudge him toward the podium for the rest of my life. I’m not really wanting to take that on.

In the book I’m reading for book club (I won’t tell you the title again because I don’t want to ruin the twist.), the main character decides she loves this guy. She goes to him and after a rather predictable revelation, he sends her away. When she gets home, she thinks to hersefl, “Damn. I have turned into one of those women men hate. The ones that pursue them. If I’d gone there and it worked, I could forget I ever behaved that way. But it didn’t work so now I can’t ignore what I did.”

In the book, she knew this guy loved her. Yeah the chips were stacked in her favor because she knew he already has said he wanted her. But still a year had passed. And if women are said to be fickle, men are even more fickle. I remember a time when I tried to pursue someone who I knew wanted me…Or at least I thought he did. He’d wanted me before. I sincerely thought all he needed was to know that I wanted him back. So I tried a subtle pursuit. He responded in ways I thought were encouraging.

The problem with that thinking was that I’d seen him go after things he wanted. Not sit by passively responding favorably every so often. Further, I decoded his responses to mean the same thing they’d mean if it were me in his shoes. At the end of it, we never really got back together. Why? Because he didn’t want me enough to take the lead and pursue me–like he’d done before, like he’d done with everything in life he truly wanted.

I don’t know if it’s being old fashioned or what. But I don’t feel the need to pursue a man. Maybe it’s in my definition of man. Maybe it’s in my belief that how things begin is how they shall be. If we start the relationship off with me pursuing, am I going to be charged with constantly being the spokeswoman? Or will he even be strong enough to take on the role–even occasionally?

Maybe Tuesday I will share some appropriate pursuit techniques–at least when trying to gain the favor of women like me. Hee-hee.

(Not So) Trivial Pursuit - Part 2

Someone like me? How does someone like The Hostess like to be pursued? Tis simple…But before I get to it, lemme say that I’m wondering how writing this is going to affect how men pursue me. I’m finding many of them are pretty sneaky and stumble upon my page. Which brings me to this: The first thing a man doesn’t want to ever do is freak me out. Seems rather simple right? Sure in books women like for the man to go the extra mile. However, in today’s stalker-tastic society, and with all the technology we have at our fingertips, some things go far beyond toeing the line. If I don’t give you my home number, don’t call me on it. If I don’t tell you where I work, please do not send anything there or call there. It will freak me out. If you must google me, please, for the love of all things right and good, don’t let meknow what you find. I will be freaked out. And I will end up having to tell all of my closet friends, “Look, if I go missing, ____ probably has me.”

I was up at oh, I don’t know, 3-ish in the morning watching TV. Did y’all know Jay Leno was on the VD episode of Good Times? Bet y’all didn’t. He even had a speaking role. That is all. Now back to the topic at hand.

I want to come right out and say exactly what a guy should do. However, with technology being as it is, I’d hate for a suitor to stumble upon this Hostess 101 entry and do things he normally wouldn’t do simply to gain my favor. In short, treat me the way you’d want a guy to treat your daughters. Sounds pretty simple right? YEAH it does. But when I was younger, I must have been emitting some type of treat-me-crappy funk because men, even after seeing the type of person I was, would still try to take the laziest approach. Though I do think this was a reflection of how I felt about myself deep down and not the image I was trying to project. Can I get a point for honest self-reflection?

I try not to come right out and tell a man “______ I like blah, blah, and blah.” And it’s not because I want to keep him guessing. I just want him to be himself. And if his being himself meets with what I want/need/like, then we’re good to go. But nothing bothers me more than a man obviously trying to impress. If his ass doesn’t know anything about wine, don’t take me to a winery because I will ask him questions. Y’all know I’m always tryna learn things from new people. And shucks, if he doesn’t know, he should just say, “Hostess, you like wine right? I’ve never been to a wine tasting. Want to go?” Fine but don’t sit there and pretend you know a merlot from a chiraz. Just be you!

Another thing I absolutely love is dates. Real dates. Any man who has been with me for more than a year or so can tell you, I look forward to the 50th date with the same glee as the first. I like the whole feel of it. I like preparing. I like doing my hair and make-up. I like the look on the man’s face when he sees me. I like seeing and smelling him. I like looking forward to what we’re going to talk about. This next part starts to go into the actual relationship and I realize I’m only supposed to be talking about courting. But I’m going to leave it here anyway. Even if we only go ‘out-out’ once a month, I still look forward to it. Even if our date is nothing more than me cooking dinner and us putting in some serious couch time, I look forward to it. I know you can’t date forever. But even years after getting together, I have been known to look forward to catching glimpses of the very things that attracted me to him in the first place.

It just dawned on me. I like to be pursued in much of the same way a man pursues his mistress. There seems to be an extra layer of thoughtfulness. Maybe it’s because he has to make every moment count. That does sound dreadful doesn’t it? Especially since I’d never be a mistress. Not that there’s anything wrong with it if that’s what one chooses. Some see it as an opportunity. I see it as a burden. My conscience wouldn’t let me do it. I’d drive myself mad waiting on karma to catch up with me. But that’s just me.

I don’t know why, but when I think of a man puruing his mistress, well first off, I think of the name Richard. I don’t know why. But I equate that name with a man who takes a mistress. I think of a man who goes out of his way. Who appreciates everything about her. A man who sees her as a definately adult choice and not just a childish whim that got out of hand. Because if I hear another man tell me he married his (first) wife because it was the right thing to do, ugh, I won’t screem but I might barf. Someone get me a bucket (Hoopz, 2006).

Yeah if you’re wondering, to some degree I am a romatic. But not in the Hallmark kinda way. Please no flowers here. But it’s the thoughtfulness that goes hand-in-hand with romance.

Getting to more of the specifics. When pursuing The Hostess and women like her, you might want to be on time. I know it’s a big thing to ask. You’d be surprised how many people can’t get a grip on this one. But be on time because you respect her time. Be a man of your word. If you tell The Hostess you plan to die a horrible death on Friday, please do. Because she’d hate to waste a trip to buy new black thigh highs to go with her new fancy funeral suit! Remember her name. Y’all remember that episode of Seinfeld? Mulva? I rest my case. Above all other things, if you are a late man whose word means nothing, be that. Because even if you pretend to be prompt and steadfast, eventually, before the second moon appears, your true colors will show.

Take your time. Don’t go trying to insta-girlfriend me. This nervouses (NY, 2006) me. Yes, I know I’ve been known to hit family functions early on. Hell, I’m even in some dude’s family’s portrait. I think I’d known him about a month. I might go to family events but it’s really just to see what you come from. Just the same as if I go to something with all of his friends, I’m interested to see how he interats with them.

A big one, one some Black dude living in Japan might say is gay, COMMUNICATE. Tell me what’s up. If you have questions of me, ask. Not just ask but LISTEN to my responses. Not the responses of you so-called friends, your nosey family, and your need-to-get-their-own-lives co-workers. And don’t base anything you say or do with me on the interpretation of what you think I said the first time we went out three weeks ago. *eyeroll* What I say and do isn’t an artistic expression and doesn’t need to be figured out. Take it as it is. Nothing more nothing less.

Really though, all of these things I’m suggesting a man do probably describe the type of person he is…Not necessarily tasks he needs to do to pursue me. Still, Jay Leno was on the VD episode of Good Times.

Trivial Pursuit - Part 4 (Reading the Signs)

There’s a certain blogger who believes Starbucks is out to destroy the world. I’m not going to disagree. But I think he’s ignoring the huge Earth destroying force that is Walmart!!! I just heard, from a rather reliable source, upon returning from Oklahoma, that Walmart is putting sushi bars in their stores out there. Da hell? So they aren’t happy with their small town Becky-Sue’s and Tommy Lee’s swearing by their low-low prices!!! I’m not sure if their plan is to bring the more uppity types like me and my sushi eating ilk into their web of fast falling prices OR if they are trying to introduce and start a sushi addiction for their small town patrons. Either way, I don’t like it! They must be stopped!! They already have doctors in the damned store. Now sushi! What next, schools?? I suspect they plan to combine forces with Starbucks and over-throw the federal government. As good Americans, we can’t allow that. And as Americans, can we stop being so damned lazy? Why does every brand of toilet tissue advertise these new bigger rolls? So you mean to tell me, as a country, we’ve sunk so low that changing a roll of toilet tissue on an every other day frequency over-exerts us??

Another thing. I do all I can for race relations. But when exactly did I become the white man magnet? Not that I’m opposed. But I don’t think I’m doing anything differently than I have in years. Hair is pretty much the same. Face? Same. Behavior? Same. Yet now, in a sea of Black men, the lone white guy is finding me. Humh?

But this is supposed to be the last bit on pursuit right? I’m supposed to be telling you how to read the signs. Simply put, the only sign I give is my time. Ya see, I’m very particular about the use of my time. If a man asks me out and I go and don’t cut it short, then that’s a good sign. If I miss his call and I call him back, excellent sign. But at the same time, if he asks me out and I say I’m busy, that’s exactly what it means. It means there’s something I’m scheduled to do. It doesn’t mean the thing has to be important. It’s just that I’ve already scheduled that block of my time. But if I suggest another date and time, he should take that as a good sign.

Signs I’m not interested are rather simple. I’m non-responsive. This isn’t a sign that I want the man to try harder. I think the biggest sign I can give is to say I’m not interested. You’d be surprised at how many men don’t understand this SIGN! In fact, it has been known to spur them on. Remember, arrogant men love me. Arrogant men can not believe they can’t have any woman of their choosing.

Oh and uhm, the reason why this is coming so late is because I had absolutely nothing to write about. You see how I took a huge chuck of your reading time by talking about Walmart and tissue? But if you’ve read this far, I guess I might as well go ahead and make the announcement. Jobs were/are calling my references. Yippie! I was offered a job on Wednesday–the job I really-really wanted. And this morning, I accepted the offer. I start first week of April. I don’t know what this will mean for blogging but still, I’m about to be employed!!!!

Stupid Girl

I heard Pink’s latest offering. Stupid Girls. Or something like that. I’m too lazy to look up the lyrics. But to me, it seems like she’s got it in for girlie girls, video hoes, and women who like to party. As a girlie girl, I think Pink really needs to get a grip. There are women who sincerely like pretty things and touchable fabrics. There are women who have limited interest in being the first female president. I’m one of them. But, I don’t wag a finger at any women who have that as their asperation.

What did video hoes ever do to Pink? Is she mad that her boy-shaped, hipless behind would never make it into anyone’s video as eye candy? Cus you know, people learn to hate what they will never be. I guess it’s a survival thing. She seems to ignore that for a lot of video hoes, this is all they have! All they have are their good-with-right-make-up-on looks! Or that maybe they are using being in a video as a stepping stone to get to their true goal of being 50 Cent’s next baby’s momma! Pink, lighten up!

Quietly, one of my favorite movies in Legally Blonde. Not because I’m a Reese Witherspoon fan, because I’m not. But because Elle Woods was the very girl Pink seems to hate on. Not only was Elle a girlie girl, but she was smart too. The two can co-exist y’all. Someone please tell Pink this.

Pink also seems to believe that if a little girl isn’t dreaming of being the first female president, she isn’t planning to live up to her potential. Bullshyt!! Again, I say Pink needs to get a grip. If you ask me, which technically you didn’t but you are reading MY page, so you really do want my opinion, one of the most difficult job happens to be the most import job there is and can ever be–MOTHER! And if a little girl wants to grow up and be a wife and mother, so be it. We can expose her to all the historically male professions in the world. But if her true interest is to be a mother/wife, we should still encourage her to be the best mother/wife she can be.

What the hell does Pink have against a boob job?? I mean really? Who do boob jobs really hurt? Sure they can leak but that’s the chance the wearer is willing to take. It’s not up to Pink to assume/decide that anyone who gets a boob job is a boob!!! Men, can’t y’all see? Pink hates y’all. She hates through her determination to rid the world of all things feminine. Y’all need to stop her before she gets a legion of followers. She ignores that women can be both strong and feminine. You didn’t see Yo-Yo (yeah I went all throw back on y’all) talking ’bout some, “Don’t wear make-up…Wear loose fitting clothes…Don’t shake your ass…”

A Spoon Full Of Mustard

Let me just say one more thing about Walmart. The other night they were talking about this new upscale Walmarts in Texas. Mind you this was on either The Daily Show or The Colbert Report so it was done in jest. But that’s when I realized we already have a high end, upscale Walmart. And it’s called Target! That is all!

Ladies, did your momma and grandmomma ‘nem ever tell you not to wash your hair when ‘company’ was in town?? Momma’s are funny. Always giving out their old wives tale type wisdom. I cooked broccoli the other day. I absolutely love the stuff. But it causes gas. Yeah I said it. Normally, I’d stop off and get some Beano–cus there’ll be-no-gas. But those damn mini-crack dealers were posted up in front of my CVS selling their sweet sugary goodness–Girl Scout Cookies. So I couldn’t get my Beano. I mean I could have but I would have walked away with a stack of cookies too.

A few hours after dinner, my mother calls and she asks what I’m doing. “Laying on me left side, watching tv. My stomach hurts…I have gas…Isn’t this supposed to make it go?” Why’d she tell me to eat a spoonfull of mustard? Why’d I do it? Why’d I end up still having to go to the store to get relief?

Now that I think all the men folk have been scared away, let’s get to the meat shall we? What you do in the bedroom is your business. Matter of fact, I’d rather not even know you’re having sex, let alone the frequency! But here’s one thing I don’t understand about women and sex. Why do hoes lie? I know women who can’t name the men they’ve had sex with. And while we’d all like to pretend that all of the sex we’ve ever had was protected, that’s a damned lie. Which is more of a reason why you should be able to at least name ever penis you’ve been intimate with.

Why do we lie ladies? And by ‘we’, I don’t mean me because I don’t lie about such things. Because to me, if I have to lie, that means I’m ashamed. And I’m not. I mean why do we sit around and say, “John doesn’t count because we didn’t do it three times.” Or how about, “Oh no that doesn’t count because it wasn’t good.” Please! Spare me the drama.

I’m not one to casually discuss what I do and with whom. However, if/when I do discuss, I’m honest. Not Honest the blogger, but honest as in telling the truth. Not just to whomever I’m speaking to but to myself. I remember a while back talking to a frociate. I complained that the guy I was seeing tried to have unprotected sex with me. The frociate’s response, “Well y’all have been seeing eachother for a while…” A while does not in and of itself equate to bare sex. Nope.

It all got me to thinking that if we, the ones who allegedly know better, think the length of time you know someone contributes to the willingness to have unprotected sex, aren’t we really missing the point? Sex, nowadays, is a health issue. That’s right. I know we’ve all seen those spider diagrams that show you how when you have sex with one person, you have it with everyone they’ve had it with and so one.

Ladies, I keep reading (and no I can’t cite right now a la SonnyRedd) that we are more suceptible to catching things than men. Hello!!! So then we should at least be able to remember who we’ve been with. The circumstances? But we shouldn’t be trying to put out of our minds certain mates for the sake of us not feeling like we’ve slept with half of congress.

I’ve never had a man or woman ask me about how many partners I have had. However, for my own piece of mind, I know the exact number, first and last names, birthdate, and most social security numbers. Yeah, I have a tendency to go hard and be very OCD about information.

I think women lie, not because they don’t think certain mean should count, but because deep down, beneath the oh-I-am-a-sexually-free-new-millinium-woman BS, they feel that they’ve had too much sex. There! I said it. Otherwise, why lie? If you’re so pleased with sleeping with lots of men, they why lie about it?? What do you gain?

We need to start being honest. With ourseleves. And with the few men who bother to ask–for health issues I assume. And with that honestly, what we need to do is start going to the doctor!!! Get your cooch checked on!! It’s a rather easy thing and if you need a local doctor, hit me up via e-mail. I’m constantly amazed at people asking me questions–like I’m a doctor or kidding around about how they don’t know what’s going on down there. “Bitch! I’m not a doctor. Go see one!” How can you be a grown woman, with insurance, and not have a gyn?? How? You only have to go once a year–unless they find something. But even if they do find something, wouldn’t you rather they find it now that when you go to try to have a baby and you have fibroids so big you can’t even carry a child to term?

If men are still reading this, ask your women when is the last time she went? And I know most of y’all know nothing about what happens when a woman gets a pap smear. But so what! Ask her ass anyway. I don’t care if you have to send it to her via e-mail. Just ask. And woman, don’t get offended. Don’t think he’s calling you a hoe by asking. Health is a serious thing–especially in our communities because so many of us still believe going to the doctor is bad.

First Work Trip

Tuesday I had the pleassure of dining with three of the most deliciously uppity knee-grows this side of Not-Atlanta. It was great. We had Ethiopian. And you’d think I have lots to comment on. After all we did have great discussions, jokes, and food. When we left, I scanned the spot and saw that we were the only ‘Us’ in there. Humh.

Hey, I’m going to Detroit for work. Go figure. And for the two nights I’m going to be there, I assume I’ll hang with my dad and his side of the family. It never occured to me to contact my step-family. But on the ride home Tuesday I wondered why. Sure they’re ghetto. They mean well. And really are good people once you get passed the limited vocab (As evidenced by their inability to speak one sentence without ‘muhfugga’ being in it). But I just don’t want to be bothered.

Wednesday, I was still thinking about it. And my mom and I chatted a bit about it. She assumed I wouldn’t contact them because they’d surely do something to embarass me. Never did it cross my mind that I didn’t want my new co-workers to know I knew these kinds of people. Truth of the matter is, I have nothing in common with them. I like new things. They like doing exactly what they did yesterday. I like holding conversations about current events. They like drama. I know how to settle disputes without the cops being called. They don’t. We’re just different.

Is it wrong of me to say? Is it wrong that on larger issues I can publicly stand and say, “Power to the people!”–the people being Black, but behind closed doors know good and damned well that my people are really the ones I sat with at dinner on Tuesday.

This is where people start to get super uncomfortable. Admitting that within the Black community, there are sub-groups. Some based solely on skin tone, others on levels of education, others based on familial ties. I know someone will say, “To white folks we’re all ngas.” But this isn’t about them and how they see us. See, sometimes, I have a hard time accepting that even though we are all Black, we really are different. The older I get, and the further I get from certain groups with certain mindsets, the more pissed I get that I can still get lumped in with them. I still get followed in stores because of how they behave.

It’s like how Massander wrote about his car jacking experience. What side of the road does he stand on? Afterall, it was young Black men who jacked him. So now does he walk around fearful of men who look just like him?? Would it be OK? Does anyone else ever feel this? How are people dealing with it?

Make It The Hotness

After yesterday’s discussion–in the comments–I wondered exactly how we can make getting and education, taking personal responsibility for your actions, fiscal responsibility, and pride in self, family, community, and country the hotness. SonnyRedd said we should flip the script on leaning back and walking wit’ it. But how exactly do we make the fourth grade boy not lose interest in his school work? How can we make the fifth grade girl not lose interest in math and science? It’s easy to say, “Make it cool…Make them see the value in it.” But I ask how exactly?

Every since we’ve been able to legally read and vote, seems things have changed. Seems that by giving (after we begged and rioted) us ‘opportunities’ to better our predicament, anything that looks like a step away from our opportunityless ‘norm’ we shy away from. And by ‘we’ I mean Blacks as a whole–not the ‘us’ v. ‘them’ from yesterday. My mother says they need to start charging parents for books like they did when she was coming up. Back then, her parents knew if she didn’t bring home and/or use a book they paid for. But to her I ask, “How easy is it to take something away from people who have been told it’s their right?”

Do we grab a kid to mentor?? And what about the ones who are left behind?? The ones whose parents don’t put them mentoring programs? Or the ones whose parents tell them that getting an education, or even learning a trade, is a waste of time? Thing is, can we really inspire everyone? Can everyone see the benefits of what some of ‘us’ are doing?

What’s so wrong with how ‘they’ are living?? And who are we to say that they need to be like ‘us’? We’re assuming that our lives are so great that given the choice, they will choose to live like ‘us’. Not so much. I bet we all know people who went to college, got a look at how the ‘us’ live, walked across the stage, picked up their piece of paper and couldn’t wait to get back and be the baby’s momma/daddy dropping trash on the ground and trying to find ways to get over.

Do whites even have these types of discussions? Is there some blog somewhere where whites are trying to figure out how to improve the condition and mindset of their trailer park brethren? Sure there’s crime and disease. Sure there are broken homes. But isn’t there always going to be layers and levels in society? Don’t we need some people to not ‘act right’? Ha! Doesn’t their unwillingness to ‘act right’ inspire some?? Doesn’t their frivilous spending help the economy?? I mean really, how would liquior store owners put their kids through college if there wasn’t a need for their product–liquior? *eyeroll*

Do those of us who’ve knighted ourselves or been labeled The Talented Tenth (TTT) just start with working on our homestead first? Funny thing is, we have less kids than Furonda nem and we have them later in life. Assuming all of our offspring turns out ten times better than the Black son on Black.White, we still won’t produce enough offspring to out-weigh Shawtricia’s offspring. Maybe the key is for TTT to have more kids and take parenting them seriously.

Again, what about the ones left behind? We all have that one cousin, friend, etc. that we grew up with. And they’re either where we left them or worse off. What about them?? How far do we extend ourselves to help them?? Do we try to show them the way? I have a friend who is a VP at a large bank. Not a bank branch. There’s a segment of the Black population that, upon hearing what she does, would immediately snap into hustle mode. Their only reason for dealing with her would be to try to get a hook up for one of their low-level criminal adventures. So is she wrong for being super hesitant to take someone under her wing?? Hell, isn’t it natural for her to try to protect all she has accomplished?

So again, how do we make mainstream values the hotness? How do we not leave anyone behind?

Four Words To Action

Important: Have I kept secret my fascination and likely unhealthy obsession with Oprah and all things Oprah like?? Oh Dave Chappell will be on Oprah Friday. I’m a Oprah-head! I’m no mindless drone. I don’t order her mag and do everything she tells her readers to do. I don’t watch her everyday. Nor do I tape/TiVo her. But, I do keep a close eye on her and everything she does. I don’t need to tell y’all but I will anyway. Oprah is the shyt!! She can’t be stopped. Let an author lie to her. So what! She’s still Oprah. She’s still the ka-ka-boom BOMB!

And speaking or Oprah, has anyone aside from DaWiJ, my mom, and my nana been watching PBS’s African American Lives? Fascinating stuff!!! This isn’t just something Blacks can benefit from. It’s a look into American history. Check it out if you can!!!

Today party go-ers, let’s talk about inpsiration. Who inspires you? Who is the wind beneath your wings? Who inspired me? Believe it or not. I did what I did because I wanted to do it. People helped me, that’s for sure. But lately, I’ve been needing a little more inspiration to move beyond what I’ve been doing. Now when I need a piece of inspiration, a reason not to spit in my enemies eye, I can look off into the distance, a la soap opera stars, and ask myself one question.

Some of you know the job situation. And no it’s not a personality thing. In fact, I like all of my co-workers, my boss, and my team. But whatever. For the last couple weeks I’d been sorta down about it. But now I’m springing into action like I hadn’t been completely motivated to do before.

I am also debating about doing G.I. Jane a second cycle. I definately see results but with things up in the air at work, I wonder if I should be sinking more money into this program or squirrelling away every cent I get. Humh. As I was getting my lateral thigh trainer on, I was winded and my arms were tired. I stopped for a moment, looked in the mirror and asked myself but one question. Next thing I knew, I was flinging those weights above my head and feeling the burn in my arms, back, and thighs.

My posse is all over this fitness thing. M called J to wake her up for a morning workout. After J gave every excuse she could think of, M hit her with four simple words. Words that would make her spring to action.

Before M used those four words, I had been using as my inspiration, a woman I’d met this past summer. This woman had no arms. Yet, she drove, taught, and did all her day-to-day activites. With her feet!!! WTF? I’m clearly a lazy slob because she was moving faster than my all appendage having ass. Up until Tuesday, thinking of her (and hearing Eye of the Tiger) were my go-to sources of inspiration.

Everyone needs inspiration. Where do you get yours from?? Is there a phrase you utter before you embark upon something big? Is there a Bible verse you read when you just can’t see your way out of a situation? For me, my inspiration is most often wanting to just do it. Just wanting to, I know y’all know what I’m abou to say, just wanting to do better than I did yesterday, last week, last month, last year, last lifetime!

It would be foul for me to not share those four words right? Hello. Welcome to The After Party. I am the Hostess. And I am foul! But not mean like SonnyRedd!! Ha!!! I crack me up. But for real, those four words that have been pushing me to action? Simple words. And yes, I could stretch this on longer but I won’t…Those four words? The one question M asked J? A simple four word question that made J get her ass out of bed to work out. A question I asked myself when I thought I was too tired to finish my last 5 minutes of G.I. Jane.

What would Oprah do?

Welcome to D-Troyt Sit-ay!!

Everyone not living under a rock knows, the Super Bowl is in Detroit this year. I think it’s probably good for the city. Ya see, Detroit has had it’s days. From the good stuff on Hastings Street to the riots in the 60’s. Then to it’s decline in the 70’s and beyond to the economic uncertainty and drugs of the 80’s and 90’s. It’s because of this steady decline, when people hear about Detroit, they probably think of drugs and poverty. Hell, even I fled when I got the first opportunity.

When you turn on your TV to watch the Super Bowl, you will likely see the new downtown area. The area built to attract tourist. You won’t see the neighborhoods. You won’t see the people who have lived through the high-off-the-hog days of ‘good’ factory jobs and the losing-homes-and-boats days caused by lay-off from those same factories. You won’t see the people who have lived their entire lives in the town with no hopes of moving elsewhere. You can find people like this in any ‘forgotten’ city. Right?

The thing that gets me about Detroit is that there’s so much promise. I only lived there for 12 years. As far back as I can remember, I knew that wouldn’t be the place where I’d raise a family. Not because of crime or poverty because I didn’t see too much of that. But Detroit never really felt like home to me.

I remember when we’d go to NY to visit relatives. Even as a small child, upon return, I could see that the sky was different there. Not until I came back the first time after going to Howard was I able to put into words the problem with the Detroit sky. The sun really didn’t shine the same. Everything seemed like it was covered with a layer of salt. Yep!!! Just like your car looks when it’s covered with salt after a winter snow. I’m serious.

Unlike what you’ll hear, Detroit wasn’t a big ghetto. There were some rough parts. However, there was also community. When my mom was working or in school, our elderly neighbor, Ms. Johnson, walked me to and from school everyday. I remember when her dog died and I remember naming her new one. If I was in the candy store buying too much junk, the owner would put a halt to it. If I was on the wrong side of my elelmentary school in the morning, my mom’s best friend would give me a stern look and send me to where I belonged. Then, when the widow moved away, into an assisted living community, Janice, the stay at home mother was in charge of getting me to and from my bus stop when my mom couldn’t. And when my brother was old enough for school, had he gone to the neighborhood school, his teacher would have been the same one who taught my step-dad’s kindergarten class.

When you think of the ghetto, you usually think of projects. Detroit had two or three sets. As best I can recall, they were all closed by the time I left in 1992. I once lived in a townhouse. Other than that it was always a brick house! Everyone I knew lived in a house, had a driveway, and a garage. Everyone I knew worked hard–doesn’t mean it was legal work, but it was work nonetheless. Hahaha!! And everyone looked out.

As a city that had and has so much promise, with every visit I wondered why they just couldn’t get it together. I think it’s a mentality where they believe the world starts and begins there. The way it is today is the way it was and the way it shall be. No questions asked. I always felt like most people didn’t want to even flirt with the idea that life could be different. Life didn’t have to be scratching and surviving in a place where the sun barely shines. But that’s just me. Most of my friends, once we left, we never went back to live. If we didn’t work in the shrinking automotive industry, opportunities were few and far between. Not only that but the class division is pronounced so much so that it can become uncomfortable. But I guess you have that anywhere you go. Right?

When you see all the fanciness on television, you’re probably seeing the new Detroit. One that’s catering to outsiders. I never quite understood why the post-Civil Rights Era generation didn’t pull it together and keep the city thriving. Even now, it’s not the residents who will benefit most from the improvements.

Overall though, I don’t have the worse memories of my time in Detroit. Yes, I lived in the city–not a suburb that claims Detroit. The good times I remember though, weren’t based on location. It was based on a sence of community and friendships.

Kache Moné

The real title of this post is Funeral Shoes. But I couldn’t let this whole Kache Moné thing get buried in today’s post. Remember Knee.no Brown?? Well ladies and gents, from the people who bought you such greats as Kneen.o and Flirt.isha comes Kashe Moné! Say it out loud to yourself. As you read this, mull over all the possible pronounciatons and I bet you won’t get it.

Funeral Shoes

Now look, I told y’all I knew the exact moment my mom’s best friend died, right? Before my mother even told me. Well, now I know something else. Something just as messed up. It all started last Friday. I was telling Nellie how this dude I used to date crossed my mind. What I didn’t tell her was that on Thursday night when I thought of him, it was a solid 35 minutes of unconnected memories where I didn’t even know who or what I was remembering. I just work up with thoughts of the furniture in his guest room and how the light bounces off the walls of the room in the morning and how the third step squeeks and the numbers of his address. But for 35 minutes, I didn’t think of how these things were related. About 3:30, I got up and went to a jewelry box my girl had gotten me. I opened in and pulled out one tightly folded piece of paper. It was even stapled so nobody’d read it. I ripped it open and read an e-mail sent to back in May 2001. Ha!! Then it all came together.

When people cross my mind like this, I know something is going on in their lives. Something that is probably changing them. Or, and I choose to believe this in this case, I did something, or saw something that reminded me of this person. It was Thursday. I had been at the salon. I had thumbed through Vibe. I had seen his friend in there. I don’t read Vibe. Not that I hate it but I’m just not their core audience. A few years back I was in the salon (Can y’all tell this is where I get my mag read on?), I was thumbing through Vibe and saw a picture and thought, “That hat and coat look familiar…Hey wait is that…Yeah that is.” Funny how the mind works.

A couple years ago, I was NotDating™ a guy we’ll call Jason. One night Jason came over–because that’s what people do when they are NotDating™. We were watching some movies and he fell asleep on my couch. I got up and went to bed. The next morning when I woke up, I layed in my bed reviewing the dream I’d had the night before. Stop me if you’ve heard this story before. I’d drempt that I was dressed in a black suit, with my jacket off, black shoes, black thigh highs, kneeling down in front of Jason as he cried–which I’d never seen him do before. I was very aware of my surroundings but couldn’t really focus on anything but him. We were at a funeral. He too was in black. The casket was over my right shoulder. I knew it had to be one of his relatives because of his reaction. It didn’t occur to me that it could be either of his siblings but I noticed his parents weren’t around. When I woke, I reviewed every single detail. Down to my being sure to not kneel so much that the lacey part of my thigh-highs would show. Down to the design of my shoes and how they fit. The left heel kept slipping out as I steadies myself. I put my left hand on his right shoulder.

The next morning, Jason knocked on my bedroom door. I’m super paranoid an sleep with my door closed even when others are in my spot. I told him to come in and he took a seat on my pilates ball. Then he came out with it. “My mother has cancer.” And you know what I knew in that moment? She wasn’t going to make it. And I was going to go to the funeral.

Time wore on and another of his relaitves died. I didn’t go the funeral and dismissed this as a random dream that meant nothing. That is until I looked at the mess that is my bedroom and took a look at some black shoes I bought recently. On Friday evening, I wore the shoes out. And the left one kept slipping off. I still have the dress/suit hanging in my closet. It’s been a minute since I could fit it. But thanks to this new healthier lifestyle, I’ll be back in it by spring. My girl always says, “Buy the outfit and the occasion will come.” Ain’t that about a b*tch!

I thought about calling him to make sure his mom was still winning her battle with cancer. But I can’t bring myself to do it. Because really, how would the conversation go? “Hey. How’s it going? Good, good. And how’s the mother? Because I have a feeling someone in your family’s gonna die. Let me know when it happens because I already have the outfit.” NO!

Kache Moné! I bet your dying to know!! Dying!! My girl works at a place where she’s constantly coming across these gems. Kache Moné = Cash Money! And yes, this is a child’s name. No need to thank me!!

Can I…

Can I be home sick?? I think I am suffering from exhaustion. I haven’t had seven hours of sleep during the work week since September. So I’m at home. I’m am doing some work between napping. Even called in for out team meeting. I also had a long list of things I needed to do. I intended to start last night but I was exhauste. And then the list got longer.

Anyone ever look at old picutres? This weekend, I was doing some cleaning and stumbled across my memory book from high school. I might have to scan some of the pics because they are so funny. We were so young. And I remember every picture, when it was taken, and the circumstances. I had a pretty good time in HS. Then I went on to looking at pics from college and beyond. I also remember the when, where, why, who, and how of those pics too. I am so thankful for all the good times I’ve had.

Did anyone else see Dave on Oprah?? Is it just me or did he seem high? Maybe not even illegal stuff but something was off. People who have had limited interactions with high folks want to argue me down about it. But I reflected on how Natalie Cole sat right up on Oprha’s face high and a red kite with yellow streamers!!! She even admitted to it in later interviews.

I had no entries in the hooper so I’m just typing off the top of my head. Is that ok?

I went to a Super Bowl gathering. My girl ‘Andrea’ invited me. When I walked in, this b*tch had on a robe. And other guests had arrived. Oh and it wasn’t at her house. It was at some guy’s house. Some guy she’s not known a full moon cycle and there she is, inviting people to his home and greating them in his robe. Da hell? Well she ended up putting her clothes back on. And dammit if she put on the very outfit she had on Friday night when I last seen her. Wow. Class anyone?? If I can lay up with a dude for a weekend, he can tote me down the road to get clothes–but that’s just me.

I haven’t said anything to her about it but I found it interesting. I feel sorry for her because she and her man recently broke up. She’s said she’s told this new guy she doesn’t really want a relaionship. Yet, she’s playing house. And what man is going to say no to that? No strings attached? Path of least committment?? We’re all familiar. Sure he’s said there’s nobody else in his life. But I peeped when some of his guests arrived complaining about not being able to find his spot, they said they had been calling but his phone was off. I’m always suspicious of people who keep phones off. But that’s just me.

Thing is, they all seemed like really nice people. But I have no intentions of every being around them again. Or even bringing this up to her. She’ll just say she has things under control. She’s the emotional type and soon enough, she’s going to become attached to this rebound guy and try to switch things up. I hope for the best but these situations rarely end up good.

Would you break up with your significant other if s/he decided to be celibate?? If you discovered they had a child they never told you about? If you found out they’d been married before or was still married but seperated?

I know it’s easy for people to get out of one relationship and be into a ‘filler’ relationship a week later. But I’d never seen women do it. I know it can happen, but seeing it was interesting. I guess because I’ve never done that. I’m more prone to beating the old situation into the ground, mouring fully, then moving on. However, I have been the temporary fix for a man who has recently broken up. You know the shelf life of the temp fix? Between 3-6 months. I guess this is the rebound period.

Are big ass early 80’s belts coming back in style?? I refuse to wear them! Just like I refused that who leg-warmer thing!! There’s a chick on Busta’s new video with t a big ass belt on.

Men mourn funny. Seems like initially, they use everything and everyone they can find to take their minds off the situation. While women immediately obsess. But then the script flips right around three months. Because by that time, the chick he insta-girlfriended to take his ex’s place is starting to show flaws. And he starts to miss the old chick. Or right around that time, old chick makes her presence known. And given the option of being with newly flawed insta-girlfriend and ex, he chooses the ex. Shut up! I’ve done research. Sorta. OK, maybe not but whatever!

Are y’all still working out?? A few people had comments about G.I. Jane and working out. Are y’all still focused or has it faded not to be mentioned again til the spring or next year? Oh and another thing, how about changing your diet?? Research, yeah real research, shows that if you don’t adjust the way you eat (not temporarily but for life) you can work out forever, and have the strongest muscles–under a layer of fat. I have a friend who can get her cardio on and do strength training with ease. Her ass is still huge. Why? Because she still eats football player size portions.

I think I’m done rambling for right now. Can y’all e-mail me some topics to write about?