thoughts when you're extremely bored at work..

damn, i need a manicure....

shit, i need a pedicure, too...

i think i'm gonna take a sick day next friday and go out of town...

let me check out amazon.com...

damn, i wish i could bww (blog while working...)

i wish my nosy ass neighbor would stop listening to my phone conversation...

white people are so corny...

tissue, laundry detergent, light bulbs, milk (my grocery store list)...

damn, i need to mail off my car payment by 8 before the last call for mail...naw, it can wait until tomorrow...

why does this ho keep calling my personal line at work...

and i didn't even give her my work number...

i want some chic-fil-a for lunch...

damn, it's only 9:30....

i think you talk just to hear yourself speak, so please stop talking to me. i'm not even listening to what you're saying any more...

i wish that phone would stop ringing...

oh, damn, i'm the one who answers the phones around here...

i could be reading my book right now...

dear abby is on point today...

i need to steal some pens and notebooks out the cabinet before i leave...

why can't we use yahoo messenger...

probably because i'd be on that shit all day...

i want a bag of doritos and a sprite from the vending machine upstairs... fuck the doritos, how about a mr. goodbar...

i think i'm smarter than my supervisor...

don't i have some work to do...

the things people say...

it's amazing the things people say when they think you're one of them.

and when i mean "them," i mean heterosexual.

at work, i'm not out. my sexuality is my business, and i don't want it to be the focus of my work or to get in the way of my professionalism. i just do my job, do it well, and keep my personal life to myself.

this also allows for people to give me their views about homosexuality. you'd be surprised, but it comes up quite often, especially when the down-low pandemic began. j. l. king and his inability to keep it in his pants started a whole lot of conversations in our small office.

most of them shook their heads in shame about how the scandalous behavior was affecting our black women, for reasons dealing with the emotional fallout and the high risk of contracting a disease.

i agreed with their points, however, i also told them how i think that if the black community stop treating homosexuality like a curse, these down-low brothers would probably be more courageous about coming out.

"well, being gay is a disease," one told me. "it's not natural."

"it's sick," another said, truly outraged. "gay people are some of the most deranged people. they do some sick things, things that straight people don't do."

at this point, i'm trying to contain my laughter. is she serious?

when i look at her face, i can tell she is. she truly believes what she's saying.

"if i knew one of my friends was gay, i couldn't be friends with them anymore," her face contorted like she breathed in something rotten.

again, a serious cloud darkened her face.

so this co-worker, who i share a talk or laugh with from time to time, wouldn't give me the time of day if she knew my sexual orientation? is it really that serious?

oh, and i've heard other dumb-ass remarks from some highly-intelligent people.

can't she tell i'm just like everyone else?

paraphrasing from shakespeare (and making it my own): "i am a {lesbian}. hath not a {lesbian} eyes? hath not a {lesbian} hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a {straight person} is? if you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?"

that revenge part sounds good. but my best revenge is simply being quiet, knowing that God don't like hypocrites.

a vacay for that ass!!

damn, a sista shole can take a break...

be back with more real soon!

pap smear anyone??

my annual visit to my doctor pretty much follows the same format every year, but the pap smear gets me every time.

first the nurse takes my weight, temperature and blood pressure (squeezing the shit out of my arm), then i have to wait the 20 or so minutes for dr. smith to arrive from seeing his other gazillion hmo patients. i don't mind, though, cause it means that if i schedule my appointment just right, preferrably in the afternoon, i don't have to take my black ass back to work.

so i'm sitting on the hard brown patient's table, reading ladies' home journal and killing time. dr. smith, i must say, is a good doctor, as i've had him since i was a child. but two things about him drive me nuts: his ability to carry a long-winded conversation (hence, the reason i had been kept waiting) and his crossed eyes. yes, my doctor has a lazy eye that doesn't allow him to look directly at me...at least his left eye won't. how does he read charts, you ask? very carefully, from what i can tell.

suddenly, the door swings wide open, and dr. smith is here in all his white-coat glory. "hi, ya doing, miss brains?" he greets in a booming voice. oh, and i also must tell you he is white. but he's okay as far as i can tell, considering i really only see him twice a year if i'm lucky.

"ok, dr. smith," i say, cause he's holding the chart. i really don't know how i'm doing till he reads the results.

blah, blah, blah...i can afford to loose a little weight...blah, blah, blah...cholesterol and blood pressure seems fine....just about everything he said last year.

now he's checking my breasts, which for me always sends me into fits of giggles. i'm sorry, it tickles. i only wish it was a woman giving me this exam, cause it still seems a little funny to have a male doctor touching my breasts.

then it's down to business...the pap smear.

the shit i hate.

first i have strip down to nothing, and put on this paper gown, that ain't made for a woman of my size. i feel like i'm about to bust out of this thing, literally, with my heaving breasts pushed against the paper. dr. smith comes back into the room with his trusty nurse, which i feel good about since i don't want to be left alone with my 55-year-old doc looking at my punanny.

schooching my butt as far as i can get it on the thin paper covering the table, i stretch my legs and put them into the stirrups. i hold my breath and wait for the metal to reach the entrance to my honeypot.

i can hear the metal clicking. then he slowly enters wit the speculum, and i'm breathing in and out.

"try to relax," dr. smith always says. "it it's gonna hurt if you tense up."

fuck you, dr. smith. you try to relax with a cold metal object being forced into your private area. let's try sticking it up your ass and see how you feel.

now i've had sex before, with women and men, but this feels nothing like that. it's a travesty. it figures only a man could think up a procedure like this, just like it was a man who created of pantyhose and the thong.

but it's not over yet folks. he's scraping my insides like he's panning for gold. i'm slowly trying to breath normally, but it feels like forever until he takes the speculum out.

then dr. smith pats my leg when it's all over. "see, that wasn't so bad?" he says, expecting me to say something like, "oh yeah, doc, do it again."

i just simply rise up from the table thinking, "see you next year. if i don't meet your ass in the street first."

what happened to girl groups: where the girls aren't...

girl groups ruled the 1990s. who couldn't turn on the radio and hear swv's weak or en vogue's free your mind. it was the jams that made us shake our booties at a high school dance or the slow jam that reminded us of our first crushes. there was a time i couldn't walk down the hall without hearing browstone's if you love me, someone trying desperately to match the harmonies of those three lovely ladies.

then, like all girl groups before (and certainly after), they all faded away. the songs of my teenage years kidnapped by three catty women who couldn't simply put their differences to make beautifuly music.

check it. think about all the girl groups that have come over the years and gave it up, turned it loose at one point or another...

en vogue. swv. browstone. jade. xscape. 3lw. zhane. changes faces. total. zhane. kut klose. 702. blaque. allure. even destiny's child called it splits.

some of them you will never see on a stage together again. happily, some of them have reunited. i hear en vogue is planning a complete reunion with all four original members, and have even been touring with new material. swv has been recording an upcoming album that will be out later this year.

other than that, my girls have been silent. sure, there have been other younger girl groups to take their places. but none have been able to hold a candle to these women.

i remember i jamming with my girls to zhane's hey mr. di or kissing you while while total's kissing you was in the air. when all i need was some of xcape's understanding after an argument, changing faces told me it was okay for your black ass to g.h.e.t.t.o.u.t. as long as you don't walk away, jade said, my love won't hurt you.

i miss these girls...music just ain't the same.

who was your favorite girl group????

black don't crack...

today we celebrated my great aunt daisy's 77th birthday, a surprise party at outback steakhouse.

it's a blessing to reach that age and still look as good as she does. she still has a great sense of style, drives around in a snazzy pt cruiser and even has a cute boyfriend that she takes romantic getaways with. go on, withcha bad self, aunt daisy.

i must say that the women in our family, especially my mother's side, has been bestowed with great genes that allow us to look a lot younger than we really are. it's the reason why my mother gets annoyed (but secretly loves it) when i tell people her real age, because they always guess a number that's more than 10 years off. and as the song goes, "she get from her mama," so i'm grateful i'll be fooling people well into my older age.

but then i thought, as i devoured my fried shrimp, black women (and men, too) really don't show their age. sure they may have gray hair and a couple of wrinkles here and there. but for the most part, we age gracefully.

every year, essence magazine does this spread of women who defy the odds in can you guess how old i am?, usually around the first of the year. the mag features women who's age ain't nothing but a number, and getting down ain't nothing but a thing. they are ladies who still dance, run companies, bodybuild and look about 20 years younger doing it all. what got me this year was a lady who was (and i'm trying to remember exactly) about 103, who only appeared to be about 60. i was mystified.

it's amazing all the things we go through as black women: dealing with black men bullshit, white men envy, white women false-worship, our sometimes ignorant-acting black children. it's a wonder why we aren't sagged with wrinkles upon wrinkles like sophia petrillo from the golden girls (my fav show).

but we manage to hold up good, thank God. because only he could make us as strong as we are and still look good. look at lena horne, at eartha kitt, or even at the late miss coretta scott king (r.i.p.). Lord knows she's seen enough for three life times, but she always looked fresh and beautiful every single time i saw her.

so, in honor of growing old gracefully....

this is for you, aunt daisy....

this time, an ode to black men...

no, i'm not turning straight...not now, not ever...

but there are some men that i do find attractive. hey, just because my libido doesn't work overtime over dick, doesn't mean i don't appreciate the male specimen. i just don't want to sleep with them or be in a relationship with them.

this is a topic of discussion me and my gay male friends love to discuss.

here's my picks...


michael ealy...cute but hard



jay-z...he's charismatic

morris chesnut...deep chocolate

t.i...smart but thuggish...a gay boi's dream (at least that's that what they tell me)

boris kodjoe...caramel cutie

i've been tagged: alphabet soup...

i got tagged my straight sistah, chubby chocolate, so of course i had to comply....can't mess wit a girl sporting double ds....i should know...

Accent: a little bit of bougie, with some country mixed in...just depends on who i'm around
Bra size: 40DD (just like chubby!)
Chore I hate: paying bills...seems like more money's going out than coming in...i don't know what johnny kemp was so happy about (ya know the tune, "just got paid, it's friday night).
Dad's name: Julius
Essential make-up: more simple--some cover girl foundation, fashion fair lipstick and eyeshadow, and i'm done
Favorite perfume: two way tie--clinique happy or avon's always
Gold or Silver? silver
Hometown: too small to name...
Insomnia: every night from about 2 a.m. to 5 a.m.
Job Title: administrative Assistant with too much damn experience
Kids: none yet, thank the Lord...but my nieces and nephews will suffice
Living Arrangement: In apartment
Mom's Birthplace: in that small ass town i live in
Number of Sexual Partners: geez, about 8 (hey, i'm selective)
Overnight Hospital Stays: none, thank the Lord
Phobia(s): tall heights, death
Quote: "Every woman I have ever loved has left her print upon me, where I loved some invaluable piece of myself apart from me--so different that I had to stretch and grow in order to recognize her. And in that growing, we came to separation, that place where work begins." - Audre Lorde
Religion: is not my cup of tea. however spirituality and loving that the Lord is my savior who created me the just the way i am is my bread and butter.
Siblings: one brother and one sister
Two I'm tagging: the unique woman known as Nikki @ Indigo Trails & the fabulous diva known as "n" search of ecstasy
Unnatural hair colors I've worn: reddish brown
Vegetables I refuse to eat: too many to name, but these immediately come to mind: okra (too slimy), green peas (too stinky), and beets (too disgusting)...
Worst habit: picking my nose in my car (hey, it's my car)
X-rays I've had: left ankle that i sprained a few years back and back from my childhood when i got hit in the head with a rock (have to make a blog about that one)
Yummy foods I make: Lasagna (from scratch), fried chicken
Zodiac sign: Capricorn

ode to black women...

for the homophobic faint at heart, please stop reading here...

you can call me a lesbian...

i thought i'd preface this blog entry by letting this be known up front.

maybe you're not hearing me...i love black women...

from head to toes (and everything in between...), i have a passion for women that is appreciated and most definitely worshipped.

there's nothing finer than her bare body draped across my bed, where her round accoutrements are calling out for my caress, her nakedness making me ache for her softness on top of mine, complementing each other like twin souls.

yes, that's truly God's greatest work of art.

especially the black woman.

there's nothing like her.

from her full, luscious lips to the swell of her voluminous hips...

from the place on her neck that makes her hot to the center of her spot that only i can make talk....

from the simple touch of her hand in mine to a delicate kiss that reminds me i'm kissing a woman...

that's why i fall in love with black women...

embracing my inner white girl...

come on, you know you have her. what i like to call your inner white girl, otherwise known as becky.

she's the girl comes out when you're rocking to the kind of music you'd let no one know you liked (ie. britney spears). she's the woman who shows up first when trying to deal politely with some asshole in your office, before you get mad, pull out the real sistah in you and cuss his ass out. she's the voice you use when talking to colleagues at a conference or a mixed-crowd function. she's the girl you saw when you were growing up be the standard of beauty in this county, wishing only once you had long hair and blue eyes.

i've learned to embrace my becky at an early age, when i was about six years old. we had just moved into our new house, where the schools and the environment were supposedly better, leaving behind our all-black neighborhood. i just was excited because we finally had cable. as i took hold of our neighbors, i began to realize we were the only black family on our block. the children had names like shelly and ryan and we friendly enough. it was then that i discovered madonna, the go-gos, and twisted sister. i began watching more "white shows," as my neighborhood friends would scurry home to watch silver spoons.

and i caught hell for it. my brother would tease me to no end, taunting me for watching "them white shows." he just wanted to watch sandford and son. but that ribbing stayed with me, even after we left that neighborhood. i was still watching "white shows," like saved by the bell and the cartoon jem (that was the shit!!). but i never saw a problem with it. i didn't want to be like them. i knew i was black. i was reminded of that when certain parents didn't allow me into their homes or looked at me funny. i always knew who i was, but the becky was there, too.

it's still there now, as i'm driving and singing at the top of my lungs to kelly clarkson or the pussycat dolls or gwen stefani (pre-hollaback girl). it's there when i'm watching an episode of friends or reading cosmopolitan. it's there when i almost pulled a bitch fit three days ago about my starbucks frappucino being wrong.

and there's nothing wrong with it. i'm a still a strong black woman. and i'm not afraid to say one of my favorite movies is legally blonde. i'm just a sistah who's learned to be a chameleon. we all are. we have to be. black people (and women especially) have so many roles to play, and as paul lawrence dunbar so eloquently wrote, "we all wear the mask."

and becky is definitely one of them.

energy is neither created nor destroyed...

this week, i've been sick. instead of being in bed on valentine's day with a sexy stud, i was in bed on valentines day with a box of kleenex. i didn't have the energy to go work, or do anything other than eating soup and catching up on the talk shows i miss every day.

but in that time, i had time to think and truly feel blessed that i can say: trifling hoes are out of my life.

in the short time it takes to pick up a phone and say "happy valentine's day," the phone never rang with loving words from a certain lady who's supposedly trying to woo me: giggles, the woman that knew the rundown on everybody in our black gay community (or at least it appeared that way). something told me it wasn't going to be much of a love connection with her. and it manifested itself when homegirl told me a while back her phone was disconnected. now don't get me wrong, i'm not a materialistic person and can understand if you are a little low on money. we've all been there.

and she would call me when she got a chance, maybe using someone's cell to set up a date after work.

but the phone was off just a little too long, and when she did get it back up, she didn't call me to let me know what the new number was. no, that would be too simple or show too much care. she simply sent me an email. oh, and along with a nice little note saying, i've been thinking about you.

right...

since then there's been no communication with her. giggles hasn't called. and i haven't called. i guess because if knew if i did, her excuse would be, "i didn't know if you have somebody or not." a sorry explanation, one that really says she's more tied up than i am. as one of my confidants explained, "you don't want her. if you really wanted her, you would have called her."

true, but why should i? this week has taught me that i don't have the time and energy to waste. to give myself to something that ain't working or i don't see going anywhere just to say i have a date on saturday night, doesn't sit well with me. all that energy can be placed somewhere else.

my potential energy for love is high, and just like the theory goes, energy is neither created nor destroyed but only changes form for the right woman.

RIP Mrs. King...

stop hate.

here's a beautiful and compassionate woman who's given her who life to the struggle of equality, not just for african-americans, but for the human race, and some ignorant-ass anti-gay group want to mock her accomplishments by protesting her funeral...

Lord, can't the woman rest in peace even in the afterlife?

but where are my sistahs...

soul sistah nikki wrote a piece a little while ago about the lack of straight black brothas in blogland and the multitude of gay brothas having no problem sharing their feelings with the world. i concur with the sistah, because besides this brotha, straight black men with heart are hard to find.

but even worse for me is trying to find a sistah for sistahs who's blogging just for sistahs.

i've been searching high and low for a black lesbian blog, and even more for one that is more than just a political soundboard for all the injustices gone wrong. most of them that i do find are so militant i wouldn't touch her pussy with a ten-foot pole. trust me, i'm all for grassroots womyn, the one's who are lobbying for change in our gay and lesbian communities. but damn, girl, lighten up. give me a sistah who can be intelligent, politically correct and have a great sense of humor. i want to hear some slam poetry about how hip-hop videos are misogynistic and lack creativity, but be able to laugh with you over an old martin episode (yeah, i said martin.)

so if there are any black lesbians out there who can march for gay rights and march in line to see big momma's house 2, holla at cha girl!

it's something about white women...

"hey, girl," said keisha.

"hey, girl," said becky.

now these are the same two greetings, but said by two completely different people. one's coming from a woman with the same cocoa complexion as me, another's been uttered by a melanin-deficient co-worker. guess which one irks me the most?

my co-worker, God bless her, loves to call me "girl." even more irksome is when she calls me "girlie." it's just something about it that bothers me sometimes. i know (or at least, i think) she doesn't mean anything by it. she's a little bit country, a little bit bougie, the kind that's one generation from the backwoods. when this white woman calls me girl, it just makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

or even still, we'll be working on an assignment at her desk (it's our monthly task). her phone will ring, and she'll tell whomever's on her private line, "can i call you right back? i'm working on something right now with the girl in the office."

excuse me? last i checked, i had a name, a first and last one at that. so now i'm just "a girl"? and i also happen to think that i'm a woman, and not a girl. damn what britney spears says. (if you caught that reference, you gotta a little white girl in you, too!)

you may think i'm being too sensitive, but hell, it would drive you nuts when you live south of the mason-dixon line and have a southern accent calling out to you, "whatchu doing, gurl?"

i got my mojo working...

blog·spi·ra·tion /blôg spe-rā shen/
1.
a. stimulation of the mind or emotions to a high level of feeling or activity to write a blog.
b. the condition of being so stimulated to write a blog.
2. an agency, such as a person or work of art, that moves the intellect or emotions or prompts
action or invention or to write a blog.
3. something, such as a sudden creative act or idea, that is inspired to write a blog.
4. the quality of inspiring or exalting to write a blog: a blogfull of inspiration.
5. divine guidance or influence exerted directly on the mind and soul of humankind to write a blog.

call it whatever, i had lost my blogspiration, the mojo that motivates me to write. coupled with the fact that i've been a little burnt out from work and it's been a little dull in these parts, i just couldn't make it do what do, baby. i would come to blogger, start a blog and realize i wasn't feeling it. oh, well try it another day. and then a few days ago, things began clicking for me again. but decided to write this first to get the juices flowing.

sorry i've been rather absent, but brains nbooty is back, ready to spread my cheeks with more.

what do you want to be when you grow up...

as i rolled out of bed this morning, simultaneously welcoming and dreading a new day at work, i started thinking about all the careers i wanted as a child.

the days of becoming a pediatrician or a divorce lawyer are long gone, but why? as a little girl i had dreams that went far beyond my wildest dreams, expectations of a life that had no boundaries. my parents always instilled in me that faith that i could do anything i wanted with an education and hard work. and for the most part (except for bloody racism), they've been right, but where has my faith gone to?

when i was eight, i wanted to be a poet. at 11, i dreamed of being a pediatrician. at 13, i knew that i wanted to be a divorce lawyer, representing women in cases so they wouldn't get screwed over by their husbands. lastly, i dreamed of being a child psychologist, until my mother crushed my fantasy by informing me that most psychologists go crazy.

by high school, i had it figured out because i had to. college applications were due and you had to make a decision. i thought i had made the right one, until i went on an internship and instinctively knew this was not what i wanted to do with my life. then another career choice had to be made.

most people i know rarely end up in the field they majored in or have the career they fantasized about. when we're young, the sky's the limit -- then life happens. can you think back to what you wanted to be when you grew up? a doctor, a nurse, the president?

did you accomplish what you set out to be?

happy fucking new year!!!

it was two days ago that i received a voice message from an old friend, asking about plans for the weekend. this was completely out of the blue, as i hadn’t spoken to her in about three months.

“hi, this is sepia, just calling to see if you wanted to do something tonight or this weekend. call me.”

now sepia was practically engaged, co-habitating with this guy she met right out of college. but i happened to know she had a freakier side.

one that involved women.

lots of women, but discretely. it wasn’t something known to our classmates, both from high school and in college, but i knew years ago.

only because of an “interest” email she sent with her full name attached.

suffice it to say, she floored me. i didn’t know she swung that way. and i didn’t reply.

but now that i had this handy little information (and she didn’t know jack about my love for the ladies), i figured what the hell. i hadn’t hung out with sepia in a minute and it might be kinda cool to hang out with someone i’ve known for almost 12 years. after we graduated college, we kept in touch through the occasional email or im, but for the most part, it would give us a chance to catch up.

i call her back and we decide to simply go out to dinner and play it by ear afterwards.

sepia and i had a great time at dinner that next night, gabbing and laughing and like reunited old chums. hell, we practically lived in the same town all our lives. went to the same high school and college. we even fucked the same dude back when i was dating dudes. (long story, but we kinda became friends after we figured out we were both be played by the guy. and one wonders how i became a lesbian!)

so now it’s after dinner, and we’re trying to figure out what to do next. We decide on a bar, where we could get drinks and kick back. nothing like a few drinks to get you all loose as a goose. it’s then that we talk about sex and men – or at least her talk about men. it’s also where i came out to her.

we were discussing the freakiest place we’ve have sex, when i was simply, “sepia, you know i date women?” sometimes you simply have to lay your cards on the table, especially when you get tired of the pronoun game: trading “she” for “he,” using “their” instead of “her,” and so on.

“oh really,” sepia says. “like exclusively?”

“yeah. the last time i dated a man was almost 10 years ago,” i say.

“oh, okay,” she says, with a little intrigue in her eyes.

that’s when we discuss her first time with a woman. and mine.

and then we go to a dance club next door.

now i must say that my girl sepia is working with a lot. her breasts are divine. she’s more endowed than me – and i’m a dd. got some booty, too, but not as much as yours truly.

so we’re dancing in a club where the crowd is mixed, but they’re definitely playing more of our kind of music: 50 cent, luke, gwen. after a hitting about five songs, we take seats and sepia lights up. we’re seat dancing, too, especially when that atrocity, “my humps” comes on. as much as I hate it, the song does make you wanna dance. this guy next to us, who had been watching us for a while, makes us both get out of our seats to dance with him. he looked like a member of (ugly) pretty ricky, sprouted messy dreads, but hey, it’s new years and i’m in an excellent mood. my cell phone keeps going off in my pocket with wishes for the new year, from people even i’m surprised to hear from.

we both get up, up on each other and this stranger, where he’s in heaven dancing with two voluptuous women. because before us, he wasn’t getting any play. while i’m unfortunately feeling his dick against my ass, i’m trying to hold on tight to sepia. i wrapped my arm around her waist and try to pull her closer to me. poor guy, he doesn’t even realize i could care less that his erection (a small one at that) is poking against my booty. i was busy looking at sepia’s derrière.

all that grinding made me wish my period hadn’t come on that morning. but alas, who knows?

we simply ended the first morning of 2006 with promises to get together more often.

making it short and sweet....

http://www.GlitterMaker.com/

things you shouldn't see on christmas eve....

i made it out alive, but it's like people lose their minds when shopping for those last minute gifts. i just don't understand. being at my sister's for christmas, we spent the day going from store to store, trying to navigate traffic, and almost having to cuss some people out. but some things i saw was just ridiculous. like...

a cop jacking up somebody: so i'm waiting in the parking lot of a local grocery store, waiting for my sister to buy that last item of the day. i'm talking on the phone to jalisa when i see a police car roll up. a female police officer runs out the car, and jacks this young girl against a wall. i couldn't see much after that, cause of course at a black grocery store, everybody went running toward the commotion like a junior high fight. but when sis comes out the store only a couple of minutes later, she tells me that these two girls were trying to fight each other, and i saw one of the girls when we were leaving the parking lot. she looked like an angry h.a.m., with her mama pulling her toward their car. damn, i hope they weren't fighting over some knuckleheaded boy, but with two black females fighting, almost 95 percent of the time that's what it is.

a little white boy looking guilty as hell: we're walking into target, when this boy walks out the store, setting off the alarms and looking like he just stole something. of course, none of the security stop him. he hops on his bike and rolls off. now if that was one of "us," the black boy would have been thrown on the ground, with guns drawn. ah, good old fashioned racism.

a chinese man trying to cut me off for a parking space: oh no you didn't. this chinese guy sees me waiting on this parking space. i got my blinker on and everything, but his ass rolls around to the left of my car, trying to cut me off. luckily the sistah pulling out of the space nodded and gave me this look like, "you want this spot?" i nodded back, and she backed up with enough room for me to get around jackie chan and take the space. good looking out, sistah!!! if i knew who you were, i'd send you a christmas card with a dollar in it.

the madness that was best buy: the parking lot is small as hell. and the parking spaces are single-sided, so that if you pull into a spot, somebody could possibly meet you on the other side to get the same space. my sister had to block off a old guy who thought he was gonna pull in front of us. no, sir. and because of the massive amount of people in the store, it took us over 30 minutes just to get one gift certificate.

too many people in popeyes: damn, everybody black and their mommas was in the chicken chain, trying to get as much yard bird as they could get. the line was back to the door. this was about 8:00 at night. i saw more chicken flying than in a chicken coop. love that chicken from popeyes.

okay, it's time for me to start wrapping these gifts. hope everybody loves what i got em. if not, take it back your damn self.

p.s. just kidding...i love xmas!

wish me luck...

it's christmas eve, and i'm headed out to the mall...

what happened to ashanti (awww baby!!)....

it was almost four years ago that we first heard the voice of ashanti. fresh faced and full of spunk, she graced us with the woman's anthem of heartbroken love, foolish. her first, self-titled cd, ashanti sold over 500,000 copies its first week, and went on to rack up 4 million sales. she was the princess of hip-hop soul (i don't care what you say, y'all was rocking her cd no matter how many times she hit the wrong note). it was like 2002 was the year of ashanti....

...then a little birdie named beyonce came with a little cd called dangerously in love, and we all somehow forgot about ashanti. her second cd, chapter ii, though it had rock wit u (aww baby) and rain on me (still my favorite), it didn't do as well. and her next album, concrete rose, fell with a hard thud; hardly anybody bought it...well, except me.

now i'll be the first to admit that ashanti is not the best sounding female voice out there. she ain't no mariah...or mary...or monica...or keisha cole...or toni braxton...okay, i should stop while i'm ahead.

but one thing she did have was a passionate voice, and she was confident. even after people petitioned for her not to win the lady of soul entertainer of the year award in 2002, she took the criticism with grace, and kept on steppin. even when she got dissed for her sideburns, she didn't let it bother her. even when murder, inc. took some hard hits (thanks to the hilarious ja rule vs. 50 cent beef), she stuck by her label.

and where did it get her? making a damn remix album, ie. collectables by ashanti. i haven't rushed out to buy it yet, and i don't know if i will. i was hoping for a greatest hits, but this ain't it. i'll give it to her, though; i do love still on it. the beat is sick.

my money's on mary right now. her new cd, the breakthrough, comes out tuesday. mary's lookin the best she's ever looked in a while, and i'm loving be without you, the greatest single i've heard from her since my life and missing you. but mary had her fall-off days too, like ashanti. anybody remember her last album love & life? i do, but after the jammin first single, love at first sight, everybody turned blind to the rest of her cd. i don't even remember if there was second single released.

and if ever there was a poster child for fall-offs, mariah carey would be crowned america's next top model. after sinking to the depths of despair with glitter, she redeemed herself with the emancipation of mimi. (but i still love the glitter cd. stop hating!) she rode her comeback to success and has deservedly grabbed enough award nominations to choke a horse. but i'm proud of her though. people said she was knocked down for the count, and she managed to prove everybody wrong.

other fall-off mentionables: toni braxton. now, i love me some toni. she's classy and got that deep voice that'll probably make you cum if she sang in your ear. but i don't know what was going on with homegirl on libra. my friend butta played it for me one night and i was not impressed. toni has a great voice, but damn if i could make out a word she says. take for instance her last single, breathe (oops, i meant, please). i like the beat, i like her smooth vocals, but if you asked me what the hell the song was about, i damn sure couldn't tell you. her breathy voice is nice, but she sings with the enunciation of a garbage disposal. and take this ring, (or should i say, 1 thing) was the last straw. maybe if it had come out before amerie's chart-topping single, toni could have had a hit on her hands. now it's like she's picking up the leftovers from people who are trying to take her throne. i don't know what the solution for toni is, but i hope she finds it. maybe she needs to hook up with jermaine dupri...look what he did for mariah.

faith evans tried with the first lady. my anthem is again, even though i can't relate to the "catching a case" part. we saw faith get slimmer, but then we discovered it wasn't kanye's work-out plan that made her so small, more like the whitney houston diet (take five hits a day, berate your husband, and you too could look like me!). but i did love her cd. i don't know how well everyone else did, though. she has a christmas cd out now, a faithful christmas (okay, when is she gonna stop with the endless use of her name in album titles?); go cop it so she can give her kids a good xmas.

who else has fallen off? j-lo of course, but i never really cared for her in the first place. she can't sing worth a damn, but i really had to put my foot down when she sampled shirley murdock's as we lay for that horrid hold u down. how could shirley sink so low? damn, i know times are hard, but selling your sample to j-ho, a classic r&b slow jam (okay, forget it's about sleeping with a married man)? not acceptable.

other people i wonder about:
sunshine anderson: we had never heard it all before until she came. then she disappeared.
keke wyatt: there was nothing in this world she wanted to do but stab her husband. and she disappeared. i heard she's making a comeback, but i haven't heard anything yet.
blu cantrell: apparently hit em up style was her only hit. sad.
112: has anybody heard the current 112 single??
brian mcknight: what we do here stays in the store, too, huh?

falling off can be a hard thing to take, especially when you've been on top for a hot minute. i just know ashanti can find her way back. cause based on what i saw in beyonce's new video, check up on it, it's only a matter of time before jigga's girl falls off, too. hope she don't fall on her ass!!

it's a small world after all...

you know how they say it's only six degrees of separation between you and any person in the world. well, in the lesbian community, it's only about two...you, your girlfriend, and your ex.

and it's even smaller when you live in somewhat small city like i do.

the other night i was talking on the phone to a new potential love (or sex) interest, giggles. giggles and i began talking about our similar experiences trying to find a woman in a town like ours, where i've mentioned that all the women you'll find here are too young or got too much drama in their lives.

so she mentions this name to me. "do you happen to know a girl named coco?"

i'm wracking my brain, but then it becomes clear she's talking about a girl i went out on a couple of dates with a short time ago. coco and i talked on the phone, got a good vibe, and we met a couple of days later. we had an okay time, but the vibe i thought was there just waned once we actually met. after that, i don't talk to her much now, but it's apparent that the love connection wasn't going anywhere.

i ask giggles, "yeah, the name sounds familiar. what about her?" i'm trying probe her for more info, see what she knows about her.

"well, let me tell you...," she says, and proceeds to tell me that coco, unbeknownst to me, has a reputation of being a bug-a-boo. apparently she has issues with being alone, and attaches herself to anybody who gives her the attention. she's tried to date giggles and a few other women, without much luck. it's kinda bad to have co-dependency issues when you're just getting to know someone, but it's even worse when people know about them before they meet you.

"mom, do you ever get that not-so-fresh feeling?"

all i went in there for was the dental floss.

i walked into hillary's bathroom, and the stinch overwhelmed me.

damn, she's on her period...

it's amazing how the four tablespoons of blood women lose every month can produce smells that make you test your gag reflexes. how only one always pad left on a little too long can make all the neighborhood cats come running.

it's always been a stigma (probably started by smart-ass men) that women smell like fish on their rags. we even had jokes in high school all about some poor girl who probably didn't change her pad as often as she should have, and didn't smell summer's eve fresh like those white girls walking along the beach with their mothers discussing "not-so-fresh" feelings. no, this girl was dubbed "stank" or "fishy." nobody wanted to sit by her.

and hillary's bathroom took me back. her lovely bouquet almost singed my nose hairs when i stepped in. i had to politely hold my nose for what seemed like eternity, fumbling through her medicine cabinet to find this small box to pick the leftover meat from dinner out my teeth. after i've breathed through my mouth about a good 10 times, i find what i'm looking for and walk out, taking gulps of the fresh air into my punctured lungs.

and it got worse. hilary's special aroma lasted...and lasted...and lasted up through the night. even when i got up in the morning i could still smell it lingering as i brushed my teeth.

thank God she has a spare bathroom. and thank God we couldn't have sex that night. how can you even think about sex after your breathing capabilities have been taken at gunpoint by the red bandit?

i don't need my "red wings" that bad (or really ever, for that matter.)

i love gay bois...

meet my three boyfriends: ant, butta, and errick...

i have three men in my life whom i can count on, who'll tell me in a new york minute when i need "to do something" with my hair or outfit, and who i never have to worry about trying to get in my panties. as ant is fond of saying, "pussy...eww..."

yes, i'm fag hag. i love my bois, and they love me. i think everyone should have a gay man in their life. it's just something about the gay man that i love, whether its their sense of style, their dramatic flair or just the way on a good day, they can look prettier than me. being friends with women is cool, but with gay men, you can get the friendship of a woman, but still know that he has the sense of a man. even being a lesbian, that can come in handy sometimes. and gay men, unlike women, aren't in competition with you. for one, their confidence is much higher than woman, in the sense that they know they're the shit and you can't tell them otherwise. and they have the gaydar of a rabid bloodhound looking for fresh meat, pun intended; they can tell you within moments of meeting a man whether he's up for dick or on the down-low.

errick, ant, and butta are no exception, and all are different in their own ways. they represent the varied spectrums of gay men.

ant is the big boi of the bunch. he's not feminine but not exactly masculine. he's what you would call a "bottom," but doesn't have a bottom mentality. ant has his own mind and wants to be equal with his partner and doesn't want to be seen as "wifey" or the typical limp-wristed, lip-gloss wearing gay man. i'm closest to him, and talk to him almost every day.

errick is the most feminine, gorgeous in a pretty way, but still has a manly persona. errick is also versatile and very intelligent, into the arts and literature but can booty shake with the best of them.

butta is the masculine gay man. if you didn't know better, he could fool you with his preppy dress and clean-cut appearance. butta's a "top," and won't allow any man to make him feel like a bitch (ie., he ain't dropping the soap).

these three provide me with absolute moments of hysteria, from telling a simple story about how he fucked some dude to just telling me about the new cute guy at work. not that i want to hear it necessarily, but hearing their tales can brighten up my day.

"girl, it's this man at my job," ant coos. "ooh, he is so fine. i'd like to work him out after work one day."

"boy, you so crazy," i say.

or, i ask, "what did u do last night"?

"i let this nigga suck my dick," butta says. then he proceeds to give me all the dirty details.

them my bois, them my bois.

my ass is like whoa...

okay, i swiped this from another blog, but it was cute...

this describes me to a tee, but i happen to think i'm a little more outgoing

and a lot less innocent.


MYA: Dont be fooled by this innocent-looking
girly, cause inside, there's a tough woman who
knows what she wants. You are a sweet girl who
is down for her friends and will also stand up
for them when needed. Your unique sense of
style shows how much you value your
individuality, only comin' out with clothes
that make you, not define you. Who can't resist
a spicy, yet sweet chica like you? Girl, you've
definitely got it goin on.

Which female R&B artist are you?
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