this is for the cool in you...

so Ebony magazine has reached the top of my 'favorite things to read' list this month for dedicating their august 2008 issues (issues because they have shot EIGHT different covers) to The 25 Coolest Brothers of All Time. how hot is that? the eight covers are all expertly shot, black and white, and very cool. denzel, jay-z, barack obama, sam jackson, prince, marvin gaye, muhammed ali, and billy dee williams are literally oozing swagger off the covers. loves it. you can see all the covers HERE.



now, if i'm to guesstimate, i'd say that i have a pretty good idea of who else will be on the list. or at least i think they should be. here are my predictions.

will smith- coolest funny man

idris elba- coolest sexy man

andre 3000- coolest crazy man

michael jordan- coolest baller

terrance howard- coolest butterscotch man

diddy- coolest metrosexual man

tupac- coolest thug genius

ludacris (maybe)- coolest got a hot new grown and sexy look man

morris chestnut- coolest chocolate man

don cheadle- coolest juuuust up under denzel in acting man

lawrence fishburne- coolest ike turner man

malcolm x- coolest activist man

quincy jones- coolest composer man

i'd add kanye for coolest asshole rapper man, but no one seems to think he is cool. haha. i do though, that's all that matters. lol.

i know there are four left, but i have no clue who those would be. lol. one thing is for sure, there is no man on the planet that has as much style or swagger as the black man. not a one. they can imitate... but never duplicate (cliche i know. lol). really though, i think this is the reason why i could never seriously date a man of another race. just something about the way a black man walks, talks, carries himself, and dresses that is just so ... omnipotent.

they are simply, too cool.

who would be on your list?

sixteen ... at war

i heard this song a while ago, but i actually listened to the lyrics yesterday. so true. but so sad. makes me wonder what kind of world is going to be left for my daughter.

whew.

lyrics:


Aint no Daddy’s where I’m from, Its just mad mothers
And eyes that still seem they can’t look past colors
Why am I disrespected by someone I should called brother.
And why girls feeling pretty and constantly hate each other
Bad air in my lungs.. Man I can’t breathe…
My eyes burning from all the dirt in the debris
And its 3rd degree, motionless on the scene.
Its like a disease the way ya’ll killing me

I’m 16 and I shouldnt have to feel like this
16 every young boy out here wanna kiss
16 and me and my momma going through it
16 on the Block ... 16 on the Block
I’m 16 ( at war) 16(at war) 16(at war) 16(at war) I’m 16(at war) 16 (at war)
I’m 16 on the Block 16 on the Block

Around here cool is another word for fool
If he smoke, then she smoke, I gotta smoke too
Now what would I do if I didn’t have a clue
I’m 16 y.o. Asking God oh why oh?
If my clothes ain’t tight then he ain’t gon' like me
Eyes on the prize so the next girl dress just like me
I’m so full of promises but why promise if promise just be rewarded by bad actions
To him I’m just a transaction

I’m 16 and I shouldn't have to feel like this
16 every Young boy out here wanna kiss
16 and me and my momma going through it
16 on the Block 16 on the Block
I’m 16 ( at war) 16(at war) 16(at war) 16(at war) I’m 16(at war) 16 (at war)
I’m 16 on the Block 16 on the Block

I want you to love my mind, my smile, my style
I want you to know the best of me
I want to belong without being treated like property
Why does this feel like fantasy

I’m 16 and I shouldn't have to feel like this
16 every Young boy out here wanna kiss
16 and me and my momma going through it
16 on the Block 16 on the Block
I’m 16 (at war) 16(at war) 16(at war) 16(at war) I’m 16(at war) 16 (at war)
I’m 16 on the Block 16 on the Block
I’m 16


... i think this just inspired a story.

the envy of the world

"To be born a black male in America is to be put into shackles and then challenged to escape." -Ellis Cose - The Envy of the World



we complain.

yell. harass. drag their name through the mud and dog them out to our friends and their children.

when we think we've been wronged, we get bitter. angry and outright mean.

then we wonder why they don't trust enough to open up to us.

"girl... you know he ain't shit. never gon' be shit."

... then we wonder.

i am saddened by the phenomenon that is the whole black women against black men thing. i just don't get it. why are we one of the only communities that can't work together? can't love. grow. heal. together?

and i know, i know the rebuttals of 'well black men don't respect black women' and i know that this is a major problem in our society of 'shawty get loose' and 'bust it baby' mind sets, but i for one, can count on one hand the number of times i have been disrespected by a black man. and i know a lot of black men. and furthermore, most of them are simply brilliant in their own right.

if a man treats a woman with respect and she tells him he is 'soft' or completely takes advantage of him, while the dudes that call us b*tches and hoes get love, how do we expect them to act?

a black man is one of God's greatest gifts. i truly believe this. second only to a black woman ... of course. lol. and call me crazy, but i just believe there are far more problems for black men in america to be worried about in this life than coming home to the one person who is supposed to be their helpmate constantly telling them how much of a failure they are.

maybe if we tried to uplift. maybe if we tried to encourage. motivate. love. push. guide. make them better.

maybe if we tried believing in them. just maybe.

and yes, barack obama is an exceptional feat. but does anyone think he would be where he is without michelle in his corner, telling him "yes you CAN, baby" far before that became america's mantra?

no.

they are looked at as 'threats' in america. a threat to what, i am still trying to figure out. i will never forget my white male professor at an historically black college standing in front of a room full of black women, telling us how black men are considered a 'threat' and nothing more than a sexual being, with no real skills besides providing a pleasurable reproduction experience, even as he stood in a building no more than a block away from a whole school of intelligent, profound black men.

yes, he said that.

the sad thing is that half of the room agreed with him.

... the other half of course, got him fired. lol.

but why is this stereotype so strong? why do we not place a value on black men?

we live in a world where black men are being exterminated. and yes, i know that is a strong word, but that's how i feel, and it just makes me sad. a world where black men feel they have to rob, kill and steal (or perfect the rhyming or hooping skills) to get money ... to get women who will treat them like a man.

we live in a world where they literally barricade you in a ghetto, place drugs and guns inside that barricade, make you feel like you can't do anything else by giving you a grossly inferior education by teachers that don't care, and then lock you away in jail for doing exactly what they expect/want you to do. then we wonder why they have a 6 in 10 jail rate by the time they are in their mid-thirties.

we live in a world where even the most intelligent of black men are still considered to be inferior. still considered to have slipped into that ivy-league school on an affirmative-action pass. still not considered 'good enough'.

we live in a world where black men are considered to be the worst fathers. the missing fathers. the ones that drop their seed and leave.

the thing is ... i know a woman right now who REFUSES to let her ex see his daughter without a court appointed visit. refuses. why? because he moved on. because he told her respectfully that it wasn't working out and she didn't want to accept it. her daughter is only three but every time she sees her father or his twin brother, she sees her mother cursing them out and calling them every name under the sun except the one their mother gave them. it just isn't right. why would you plant that doubt in her head at such a young age?

there has to be a change in mentality. has to be.


... so who will save the black man? who will be his backbone when the world gets heavy? who will tell him that's he not bad ... that he CAN do? who will believe in him?

cause from what i see, it sure isn't most black women.

then we wonder.

things not to say in a room full of white people.

the recent case of susan lefevre has sparked some very interesting conversations.


frolicky gay white man: "see, i totally don't think she should go to jail. i mean, come on now, she's like, a total model citizen now."

young white lady: "i totally agree. she has been rehabilitated. she was nineteen. she is a model citizen now. raised three lovely kids, contributing member of her church and community, i mean, she's basically me in twenty years."

i'm standing there, saying nothing. minding my business. listening.

frolicky gay white man: "you should like, totally be a judge. some of these crazy people are saying she should go to jail. that's so stupid. this lady is no harm to anyone."

young white lady: "yeah they are so stupid to think that. why would you put her in jail? that was ages ago. and you wouldn't even get that sentence now a days for that crime."

i look at the black man in front of me, minding his business, yet quietly shaking his head as he listens. probably thinking the same thing as i am. i can't take it any longer. maybe i shouldn't say anything, but if i don't, it will eat at me.

me: "so, can i ask a question? what about all those people who got the same sentence for the same crime who just got out of jail ten years ago?"

young white lady: "well ... too bad for them. i mean, i'd be pissed if i was them, but it makes no sense to put her in jail and spend money on jailing some innocent, harmless lady."

me: "she's not innocent. she escaped from jail. she trafficked drugs. she stole some dead person's identity for thirty years. so do you think she should get a fine at least?"

young white lady: "umm no. why would they do that? she's paid her debt to society. she has become a good citizen."

me: "so did tookie williams."

young white lady: "who?"

me: "exactly. so you're telling me if this was the same story, but it was him" (pointing to the young black guy in front of me) "you telling me you would feel the same way? be honest."


uncomfortable silence.


me: "there are few things a black man can do in america and get away with it. even if it isn't something wrong. sometimes he's just going to a friggin bachelor party the night before his wedding. i just feel that, if it was a black man, there would be a very different headline. maybe something like 'dangerous drug dealer found after thirty years! made to serve rest of sentence at age 50.' there would be no pondering of what should become of him. his ass would be in jail. that would be the story."

frolicky gay white man: "wow ... i uh, never thought about it like that. i still wouldn't think he should go to jail though. honestly."

me: "sure you wouldn't. i say fine her ass 500,000 dollars and put it towards these broke down schools in detroit. that could at least buy some up to date books. make her do 5,000 hours of community service, 'rehabilitating' young black men who were caught selling drugs. since she knows so much about turning your life around."


uncomfortable silence.


the black man in front of me smiles. nods at me. looks over at them and shakes his head. then takes his money.

me: "you have a wonderful day, sir."

true story: i'm not a player ... i just crush a lot.

i have a friend. let's call her tiffany. tiffany is a sweet, pretty, twenty-something woman. doesn't have a man and is trying to get used to the idea of 'dating'. the last time she had a boyfriend, things ended horribly, so she promised herself that this time she would take her time, feel a man completely out before she allows him access to her heart.

with that said, she doesn't really enjoy 'dating' either. too many intentions to shift through, too many unknowns, too many ... dates. what most people enjoy about being single, she despises.

the preliminaries.

the 'getting to know' someone beyond shallow phone calls and awkward movie dates. she likes comfort. resting her head on a man's shoulder and knowing that he is on her team. that is more her speed.

which is why she sighed with relief when she met Donnie, the cute, sensitive poet who had just recently completed his first novel. he was perfect. tall, built to perfection, with dimples that added to his sensual smile.

the first time they talked, the conversation lasted for three hours. he wasn't shallow, seemed to be quite sweet and sensitive without being soft, he loved his mama, and most importantly, he was looking for a girlfriend.

... then there was malcolm. the smooth-talking, suave, teacher. the handsome mans whom she met on a whim when picking her little cousin up from school. he was nice, and she enjoyed hanging out with him most of the time.

one day malcolm called, wanting to hang out. she didn't have any plans, so she figured why not. she got dressed and left the house to meet malcolm.

on her way there, donnie called. "hey what ya doing today?"

she told him she was busy at the moment, but pretty much had no plans for later. which was true. she and malcolm would be done by two or three.

"well you should come through. we can chill tonight. get something to eat."

donnie made her smile. his voice alone was enough to make her pearly whites gleam. "okay."

had she really just made plans for two dates on the same day? wow. she'd never done anything like this. but there was no harm meant. and she was no one's girlfriend, unfortunately.

hanging with malcolm proved to be a waste of time.

he was a bickerer. if she said it was black, he said it was white. she said it was this, it just had to be that. after one too many disagreements, she decided she wasn't going to continue their date. he had the same sentiments. so after they left the store they had been perusing, they parted ways. she'd have to try again another day with malcolm.

on her way home, donnie buzzed in again. "hey, i'm at the wendy's by your house. my car just got a flat. you can meet me up here if you want though, i have someone on their way to help."

"okay, sure. i'll come keep you company."

she made a u-turn and headed towards wendy's. she was almost there when her phone rang again.

it was malcolm. apparently he felt bad about the way their morning had ended and wanted to make amends.

"i'm sorry about earlier. you want to hang out later? let me make it up to you."

her plans with donnie already on the table, she had to decline politely. "i'll call you later. we'll see." she said.

there was a tinge of disappointment in his voice, but he agreed. "okay. well if i don't answer in the next hour, it's because i'm helping my boy. his tire blew out. i'm on my way to wendy's by your house to get him."

her heart skipped a beat. she was pulling up into the wendy's by her house, donnie smiling as he saw her drive up.

this had to be a joke. were they pulling some kind of scheme on her? did he really just say the wendy's by her house? his boy? with a blown out tire?

damn.

she made a quick decision to bite the bullet. come clean. hey, men did it all the time. it wasn't like she knew that these two men knew were friends.

"is your friend's name donnie?" she asked.

"yeah, why?"

"cause i'm up here too. we are supposed to hang out later."

there was silence. followed by a chuckle. then, "riiight. i'll hit you back."

when she finally got out of the car, she had to come clean to donnie. he laughed. couldn't believe that this was happening.

"man, this is some straight movie ish right here." he lauged again.

but he liked her. and he knew how malcolm was. he called his friend. told him that he was straight. thanks anyway, but he had gotten other help.

saved her from complete embarrassment anyway. she appreciated the effort.

"oh, so that's why you couldn't hang out earlier, huh?" he said, shaking his head.

she felt too bad. couldn't continue this date. couldn't believe that this had actually happened. there was no way she could date either one of them now.

she left donnie after taking him to get a new tire. called a girlfriend who only added salt to the wound by telling her that she definitely knew a girl that donnie had been dating for a while now. that they were supposed to be 'serious'.

she rushed home, pissed and feeling like her life had reached complete craziness. so much for her being a player. the one time she tried, it blew up in her face. she found her roommate as soon as she closed the front door.

"mannnn, let me tell you how effed up my life is."

March for Babies

if you aren't familiar, the March of Dimes is a U.S. health charity that hosts WalkAmerica (now March for Babies), a annual five-mile walk that has helped to raise more than $1.7 billion to fund research and programs to prevent premature birth.

as it stands, african-american women are more than twice as likely to deliver prematurely.

on october 20 2004, i became one of those women.

Briyanna Aari was born three months premature, weighing 1 lb, 1 oz.



she could literally fit in the palm of our hand.

except, we weren't able to touch her. we could only look on and pray, and whisper to her how much she was loved and how much we wanted her to grow and get healthy.

she got up to 3 lbs, 12 oz. and almost two months old before God decided her little lungs couldn't take it anymore.



to this day, it is the most love i've ever experienced.

last year, i did the 5 mile walk here in detroit for the March of Babies. i raised $200 dollars. this year, i'm walking again, but i'd like to raise more. i'm a little late starting, seeing as though the walk is on april 27th, but better late than never.

the march of dimes has affected your life if:

-your baby has received a vaccine to prevent polio.

-your baby received newborn screening for dangerous but treatable conditions.

-you took folic acid before and during pregnancy to prevent birth defects of the brain and spinal cord.

-you had a healthy baby due in part to good prenatal care.


because i've been told that i am prone to have difficult pregnancies, premature births, and am to be regarded as a high-risk pregnancy in the future, i am probably going to benefit from the March of Dimes again.

so, thanks all in advance for the donations and well wishes. no matter how big or small, anything helps. if everyone donates what they can, i can reach my goal.

if you wish to donate, you can click on the badge on the right or this link right here. if not, thanks anyway.

hope all is flyy and fabulous!

leave it to detroit...

... to have a thug for a mayor. i can't believe this. it's like a lifetime movie unfolding right before our eyes!

he has thrown lots of stripper and alcohol filled parties at the manoogian mansion. cheated on his wife with the loose chick in the office (she was the chief of his staff alright). then, proceeded to lie about his relationship with her on the stand. one of the said strippers (tamara 'strawberry' greene) came up dead after his wife busted into one of his stripper-laden parties and beat ms. strawberry to a pulp for visually (and more possibly) pleasing her man, so bad that she was unconscious and was in the hospital for a day.

can you get ANY more cliche kwame? i mean, really.

when i saw him at the club a couple years ago i knew we had a mayor that was not like others. he was 'cool'. the young, hip mayor that could relate to the younger crowd. still, i felt that people in public offices should not be out late clubbing it up. more so, they should not be at the club humping on some woman that is clearly not their wife. knowing now how gangster his wife is, i'm kinda glad i passed up the small urge to go dance with our 'city's sweetheart' mayor just to say i did.

and now, the smooth talking, young pimp-daddy mayor of ours has been charged with not only perjury, but conspiracy to obstruct justice, obstruction of justice, and misconduct in office.

eight counts homie. eight. up to fifteen years. whew.

and the lead homicide detective in detroit is investigating the death of tamara greene, who's son wants to know what the hell happened that day at the manoogian mansion.

i wanna see how mr. slick is gonna talk his way out of this one.

offensive or enlightening?

Hank Willis Thomas. love his work. some people find it offensive, but i can see where he's coming from. he is definitely not lying.

the project Willis Thomas is most known for is Branded, a series that uses popular advertising images to highlight the myriad ways that Blackness has been commodified. In a piece called Branded Head the ubiquitous Nike swoosh is emblazoned onto the side of a young Black male's bald head. In the image Jordan and Johny Walker in Timberland circa 1923, a Timberland logo has been altered to show the lynching of a Black man whose body takes the shape of the classic Michael "Air" Jordan stance. The popularized image of Scotch-maker Johnny Walker "keeps walking" away from the lynched man. In a third piece, the American Express card becomes Afro-American Express with images from the Middle Passage embedded in the card's emblem.

The idea for Branded, Willis Thomas writes, came from "thinking about Black men as free billboards for corporations, giving any brand instant street cred." This, he adds, was happening during the 1990s, when people--Black men, in particular--were literally being shot for Air Jordan sneakers and Triple Fat Goose jackets. It's not the brand itself but the lack of critical thinking about the consequences of engaging in branding that's problematic, he notes.

"I do all my work on an Apple computer and use some of the same brands my work criticizes," he writes. "In this day and age, I think it would be hard for any person living in the Western Hemisphere to avoid branding themselves in some way." But he insists: "By buying and wearing many products, we are validating many of these corporations, so we should think twice."

Do we foolishly allow this to be done to ourselves, or are we victims? Hank’s images explore the complexity of this question and the fact that there is no simple answer, yet this serious problem continues to plague the black community. In the late 80s it was Adidas, in the 90s it was Nike and, as the new millennium approached, Lil’ Kim had sights set on high design; Versace, Dior and Kate Spade bags.Thomas says, “I want to investigate the really strange or curious relationship between African-Americans and the cotton trade, then and now. I think that’s it’s interesting seeing that the descendants of slaves are now, in a lot of ways, especially in sports marketing, the cash cow in that industry.”

am i THAT old fashioned?

what's so wrong with getting married?

no, i'm serious. i'd really like to know.

having conversations on this matter with friends both male and female has caused me to think that something is wrong with me for actually being in a healthy, normal relationship and looking forward to getting married.

the general consensus is that marriage is for suckas. the relationship climate for black men and women is especially dire. the women have started to say eff marriage in the same rates as black men have been.

am i really the only romantic one left out of my whole group of friends? when i smiled and was describing how i'd like my future wedding to be, my friends had a collective look of 'she's so stupid' plastered on their faces. i mean is the single life of clubbing, random guys, and random hookups that great that you would NEVER want to get married?

the men look at marriage as a 'ball and chain' or like my ex used to say, "having a wife is like having a parole officer that you have to check in with every day." jerk. lol.

most women think it's old fashioned and even unrealistic to expect to be happily married and have given up hope in men, so therefore vow to have just as much single fun as men have.

"i'll date, i'll even have a semi-relationship with someone, but seriousness is not what i'm looking for right now." is what one of my friends told me. she is 29 and has one child, which is fine, but how old are you going to be when you finally decide you want to settle down?



so what's the point of being in a relationship with someone when you're in your late twenties to early thirties if you have no intentions on marrying that person? maybe i'm just old fashioned. that would be news to me. lol. have i been thinking i was cool all this time when i'm really just an old-fashioned loser? wow.

well i guess it ended good.

new year's eve 2007

5 pm: while i await the cashier at Charlotte Russe to give me the total on the fabulous green and gold, and black dress i'm purchasing for new year's eve, i absentmindedly tune into a conversation going on between two girls standing in line behind me.

"girl, we gotta get to the club before nine. we get in free free before then."

"yeah but that snow ain't gonna be no joke. ten inches? i can't where my hooker heels in that shit! i'ma have to wear my hooker boots. got this damn pedicure for nothing."

i hear this and think to myself, 1) why in the hayle would she think she could wear some toe-bearing shoes in michigan in december? and 2) ummm where the hayle did i think i was going in ten inches of snow?

no where. that's where. dangit.

i smile at the cashier and take my dress and earrings but secretly grimace to myself. now i will have one more dress in my closet that will probably go unworn.

7 pm: two hours later i'm all dressed. the mini dress, hair big and wavy, new guess Gold perfume dazzling my nose, gold beaded necklace dangling down my bosom, and 3 inch knee-high boots i've been dying to wear. boyfriend said he still wanted to do something, so i went into operation get-beautiful. i think i've finally got the smoky eye thing down. yay!

8 pm: little sister JUST getting around to picking up my digital camera i stole from boyfriend. i am so graciously letting her use it for the night. i make a mental note to borrow indefinitely the shirt she is wearing. gosh i love little sisters. lol.

8:15 pm: the first white flakes start to fall as we make our way towards the city. boyfriend realizes he left his wallet and i didn't bring mine. (annoyed sigh). we have to turn allllll the way around and go back to get it or we won't be having any fun tonight.

8:35 pm: we finally make it back home and snow is definitely starting to pick up. i come inside to check on my smoky eye when my cell rings for what seems the hundredth time today. it's little sister. she is lost. a-half-hour-in-the-wrong-direction lost. i wonder what on earth made her and her equally bad-with-directions boyfriend decide to go to a club an hour away to bring in the new year in ten inches of snow. whew. i waste yet MORE time mapquesting them back to safety.

8:50 pm: boyfriend warns me that he is not feeling too well exactly ten seconds before he hauls ass to the bathroom and spews up the sub he had for lunch. NOT sexy. yuck. since i have my sexy smoky eye, stiletto boot, fass-tail mini dress, big hair thing going on, i am very reluctant to aid him. finally after confirming that he isn't just playing sick, i slip out of the dress and boots and run, well walk, to his side and play the good girlfriend role. ga-ross.

9:30 pm: cell call one hundred and one.

"hello?"

"heyyyy my baby. what you doing for new year's eve?"

it's my father. he sounds perky and excited, so i know an invitation to make the 45-minute ride out to his house to celebrate is nigh.

"i was gonna go out, but i don't know now. boyfriend is sick." i say, not at all enthused at the change in plans.

"well i'm having a couple of friends over, and your aunt and cousins. you should come over. we have the guest room if you guys can't make it back home in the snow."

this sounds fun, because when it comes to parties, or what he calls 'a couple of friends over', my dad is that guy who always wins. the one party you remember weeks later and probably the only one that you'll hear a girl's father telling stories to her and her boyfriend about how he got busted that one time when his girlfriend walked in on his threesome in session. yeah. that's my dad. lol.

9: 40 pm: i hang up with dad and sit my victoria's secret clad bottom down on my sofa and turn on mtv for some entertainment. boyfriend is sleeping, all decked out in the sweater, button up shirt, and nice jeans that he picked out all by himself. HUGE step for him. i'm proud of my sick baby.

not two seconds after the tv chimes on, i hear a woman screaming. not blood curdling screaming, but i'm bout to kick you mutha****** ass screaming.

"no! tell that BITCH you were with to let you in! oh ugly ass...had to go pick up that horse looking bitch. kiss my ass!"

ummm yeah. i live in a quiet, suburban apartment complex. on the brochure it even says, "a quiet, tranquil neighborhood great for single and married professionals." we don't even have a pool cause kids would make too much noise in it. that is until the neighbors in 201 moved in. lawd jesus.

"look now, i told you she don't mean nothin. damn! what you want me to do, beg? stop trippin and open the door!"

this is followed by a loud bam! repeated several times as he tries to get into her apartment.

finally the door opens. out flies what looks to be his whole wardrobe and a couple pairs of air force ones. by this time all the neighbors, most of which are white or indian, peep out of their doors in horror. there goes the neighborhood.

the guy, apparently embarrassed and tired from all the bamming he's been doing, grabs what he can and stalks off, pissed.

the door opens one last time. "and i hope that bitch knows you just gave her HERPES! yeeeaah nigga!"

10:00 pm: after all that excitement, i abandon my hope of getting tonight's use out of the hott green dress with the gold detail. i make a bowl of freshly cut pineapples, strawberries, apples, and grapes, grab the dipping bowl full of whipped cream, and lie down in my new vicky's secret on the pallet i've made on the living room floor. have myself a grand ole' time eating fruit and cream and flipping between different televised parties.

boyfriend was pissed he missed it. lol.

chocolate gods and missing moms....

okay, i know male strippers are all the craze nowadays with the ladies, but at some point you should be able to realize that the 'fun' you're having is a bit much. a LOT much. how can you explain the white, milky substance on your clothes to your man when you get home from a night out with the girls?

i mean, maybe i'm old fashioned, but how is it okay for some random dude to be humping your face in a room full of people like no tomorrow and you laugh about it? that's gross. they're probably breeding STDs at this joint. i know this was (well hopefully was) some kind of private 'engagement'....but still...dayum. see why i love urban chocolate?

***and on another note..... poor kanye. i wish i could give him a big hug. i think maybe a week after your mother dies is not a good time to be kicking off a whole european tour. so sad. so sad. poor thing. here's the vid to the link:

a nip here, a tuck there....

okay i'm beginning to worry about my fellow black women. what is up with this new obsession with cosmetic surgery in young black women? in light of the recent death of dr. donda west, i am wondering if anyone has chosen to sit back and evaluate some things before they let someone cut them open all in the name of beauty.

i have had more than a few friends in recent months actually go to consultations about doing some face and body augmentation procedures. i mean, really, at 24, how can you possibly get lipo? or a tummy tuck or any of this other nonsense.

now i'm not saying that there aren't things on my body that i am not 100% happy with. if there was a magic wand that erased imperfections, i'd be first in line. but i have to sit back and be honest with myself. are these imperfections worth the pain and risk of getting surgery done? are my B cups THAT bad that i have to get saline put in them to feel good about myself? or would it just be easier and a whole lot cheaper to get a push-up bra when i'm feeling the need for cleavage?

i just don't understand why we can't just be happy with ourselves. i think black women are some of the most beautiful women God created, why can't we just be happy with that? we perm our hair, which i don't totally have a problem with, but when you have a super perm and dye your hair blonde as jessica simpson, that is ALOT of damage you're doing to your hair in the name of looking like....whoever. the noses that are typical of african-americans aren't considered 'beautiful', so we make them smaller. our hips and thighs are too big...time to get lipo. we don't have what is considered a 'black girl booty', or big enough breasts... time to get some implants.

i just really wish we could be happy with ourselves as is. i mean, if you don't like your thighs, do some exercise...they WILL get smaller, it's just the natural way of things. if you want long hair, take care of YOURS, it WILL grow. want a flat stomach? crunch your way to it.

i'm just saying... if you have had some traumatic accident or you were born with some sort of disfigurement, then fine. go for it. do what it takes to make you feel normal. but when you're already beautiful, (as 2 of my friends are) i just don't see the point or logic in adding another scar to your body.

lessons from the teller line

working at a bank has taught me a lot. a whole lot. just doing my everyday duties is like doing a case study on the financial habits of african-americans, caucasians, and indian and arab communities.

and that's where this post comes from.

here's the scenario: a young (maybe 30 years old) indian guy comes in the bank and makes a deposit from the business he owns like he does every day. usually it is between $1,000 and $5,000. we usually talk about the weather and what team is doing good and yadda yadda. but today i was feeling particularly inquisitive and wanted to know what i have to do to be 30 and showing considerable profit in my own business.

me: "you handing out any applications, cause you're clearly having a better day than i am." i smile, of course. always have to have good customer service.

mohinder (yes, like the Heroes character. i always ask him if he caught himself on tv even though i know it is a common name. lol) : "can i tell you something? i want you to remember this. never again ask for an application for a job. jobs are for people who are satisfied with others telling them what to do. instead, ask for advice. ask for a copy of their plan."

this caught my attention seeing as though i was expecting the standard half-laugh and polite smile and in not a real answer.

me: "well then, bring on the advice."

mohinder: "see, people make mistakes in wanting to be rich but not having a plan. people want to work a little and party a lot, and be rich. it doesn't happen this way. if you work really hard for one or two years and party very little, you can achieve this. keep your credit good, and work together. it is much easier to gain wealth together than by yourself. my family and i all worked together. lived in the same house for one year, and after that we all could afford whatever we wanted, and where ever we wanted to live. if you teach your children how to make money instead of how to receive money, you will be happy to see them grow up and do it."

this really got me to thinking. i was sitting there counting his $7,000 deposit and thinking about my own pitiful check stub and i realized he was right. i was never taught the importance of good credit. never saw an example of good money managing. never knew the importance of having a savings account. none of that.

i can't help but notice in my every day work that the lowest bank accounts belong to blacks. that most of the overdrafted accounts belong to young black people. i mean in general, we don't have parents putting money in our accounts on a monthly basis. nor were we taught the importance of saving and keeping our credit tight, until there is some upset creditor calling us 50 times a day.

in my observations, however limited they may be, black people are the only people that don't build wealth as a community and keep it in our community. we are a people of starkly individual mindsets, which is fine in some cases. but when i look around at other races, they do seem to have a more community mindset. and higher bank accounts. even my coworkers, the white ones have inherited businesses or money or some kind of asset to their financial life, like their parents paying for college, or buying them their first car so that they can save their money for college. the indian ones have the same thing, except it is extended to their whole community. the chaldean one, her whole family, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, all live together splitting the mortgage until all of them have a nice car that is paid for, then they branch out.

the only time i've ever witnessed this being done by black families is when i was in school in atlanta. there were several successful married parents that made life a lot easier for their kids in college. not spoiling them, but lessening the load so that they could concentrate on being successful themselves. and they did this all while showing and being good examples of money managing and saving so that their children would learn to do the same. (one of my friends, both of his parents are doctors. living in a beautiful house, they could have easily bought him a car to get around, but they didn't. he had to work and when he saved up enough his father surprised him and matched the money he had. when i asked him about it he said his parents always did things like that to teach him the value of money and the importance of knowing how to save and invest. now, at age 24, my friend owns his own company and OWNS an equally beautiful house of his own, that he had built no less.

all because he was taught right and was offered support. it's amazingly simple and yet we can't seem to get it. i know one thing, my children are going to be okay. i mean, really okay. i guess it starts with one family at a time.


in other news.... okay seriously, there is a new chapter up now on the fiction blog. link to it on your right. please check it out. it was supposed to be up friday, but the stupid editor wouldn't let me post it. then i was busy all weekend and so now...here it is. sorry for the loooooong time in between. promise it will be weekly from now on. if i could just quit everything and write, promise i would. whew!

adios!