Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Still In Bed: The Hangover

"did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?"--Train

The other night, I ran into an old flame during a rare and impromptu stop at the club. It was like Ashleigh "Hash Brown" Marie Redux, and I was the me from some time ago that I often miss but wonder if I should ever capture again. I contemplated no concerns outside of the room that I was in and was totally in the moment-- I remember every song that played, every touch I felt. There was dancing, kissing, iphone pictures of my pale orange lipstick on his neck, laughter, and some other naughty bits I'll leave out. I had a ball. I woke up the next morning feeling an itch in an unexplored, unknown place I couldn't scratch if I turned my entire body inside out. Story of my life. I'd already been feeling a pull to this place lately, but I can safely say that my actions that night really zoomed in on the hole I've been trying to safety pin away for some time.

Old folks and Bible-thumpers will tell you when something is "off" in your world, it's a Spirit. There are some doubters and naysayers, of course, who think that's hogwash. One might argue that with the loss of my beloved grandfather, a few run-ins with some major exes, a ton of travel, and a career shift, a mild loss of equilibrium is natural. But being an old soul and having done my personal fair share of Bible-thumping, I'm inclined to agree with the senior citizens. This said, I'll let you know there's currently a mixed-cocktail of a spirit wafting around my bedroom. I think that my cleaning frenzy yesterday, in which I shockingly decided to organize and put away the three piles of clothes and pillows that have been posted up around my room since June, gave the spirit nowhere left to hide. Ingredients include: mental and emotional fatigue, wistfulness, confusion, and a dash of regret--which is normally indigestable and staunchly not a part of my vocabulary. But I taste it ever-so-slightly in this concoction. And I think I have a bit of a hangover.

These late 20's are interesting, because you wake up daily with a heavy sense of purpose. It's just that you don't always know what that purpose is. It can seem like one thing when you put your head on the pillow at night and another thing entirely when you lift it in the morning. I'm personally in that phase where you wish you really had nine lives, nine opportunities to live completely different existences. Where you feel like choosing just one thing might take away the possibility of something else, or that you might run out of time before something important you needed to do gets done. That phase where you're doing everything under the sun, but nothing well. Or maybe it's not a phase, maybe it's just me--I haven't ruled out that possibility. I can't even choose a nail color for Pete's sakes (so I wear three) and that only lasts a week.

Anyhow, it's one of those days I feel not just like a writer who delivers tongue-in-cheek crazy, but someone that's truly crazy. It's one of those weeks I can't decide how I like my hair, my eggs, or my love life. One of those months I'm itching to do twenty different things and not doing any one of them solidly. It's one of those days I've sent five emails, searched twelve sites, sent four tweets but haven't answered one call or gotten out of bed, because I haven't figured out why I should. These days don't come often, but when they do, they make you feel like your life is in a tailspin.

The past couple of months have been ridiculously full--I've loved, I've lost, I've been confronted with that I've loved and lost--or loved and left. And so today, I'm in bed listening to Nancy Wilson and John Coltrane and plotting my next step, just me and Lola (my pink Dell). In the midst of this, I'm mentally running through the overdose of information, pontifications, and personal thoughts I've been bombarded with lately. Among them, my best friend's father's wisdom from last week, when he offered at dinner that our generation is like an old O'Jay's tune from the '70s that sang something about "where are you going", that our generation has no purpose and no idea how to discern purpose. The basic principle of life, he said, is that you discover your purpose and how it's going to serve others, find a partner to ride with you, and God will supply absolutely everything you need to do what you need to do. He said that our generation misses out on the partner and the purpose. We treat life like it's supposed to cater to us and our egos, and since we don't treasure the gifts of life, we miss the importance of picking the partner congruent with our life's work.

Of course, this got me thinking. I think a lot of women instinctively know and embrace this need for a partner, but our cultural climate has led us, over time, to act outside of character-- which fuels men doing the same thing. When Mr. Evans--whom I've known for 25 years and I know wants the best for me and wouldn't give me wooden advice--tells me something, I listen. So his conversation left me wondering what I've missed trying to feed my ego needs. I'm not a snob, but I am picky. Chemistry is very delicate, in all areas of life. And passion is penultimate in my life. If I'm not absolutely crazy about it, I won't care. Be it a career, a man, a friend, a song...it has to strike the absolute perfect chord inside of me, or I can't commit to it. This leaves me with few options. But the right thing feels so amazing, that I can't bear the off-key notes of the wrong things.

And this takes me back to the club (how many times in life will you hear that transition?). The kissing, the laughing, the acting out, the good times...they're great. And life should be made up of moments like that, in places like that, with people like that. But those moments can and should never define your life. I know they won't define mine. And so I'm left looking for the center of life, the core, the meat and who will eat it with me. Where I'm going.

Life is too intricate a science to be able to get it all right off the bat; it's trial and error for sure. But how many errors can you make before they're no longer trials but a way of being? This question is looming in my mind with the other million tooling around in my brain about tomorrow. And yet the fact remains. This day, I'm a semi-grown woman that's still in her bed at 4PM, typing away to ears she's not sure hear, including her own.

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Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Get Your Game Up

"i want it hard, mystical, tender, and correct/without expectations but all of them met..."--Tamia

I've been a writer since I was four years old, literally. At the age of four I wrote my first short story. As such, for years and years--until I was maybe about 22 or 23--I wrote every single day. Whether it was an article (I wrote for my school paper and literary magazines in HS and college), a short story, copy for television or my radio show in college, a song, or someone else's term paper (I did everyone's work, never charged and regret it now!), I put pen to paper daily. Maybe three out of seven days in a week, I'd write a poem. Of course, my last year of college was over six years ago, and I've written approximately one poem (other than songs, which don't count) in the past six years. But for some reason, this past Sunday night I felt something tugging at me and I couldn't wait to get home to write.

I was sitting in Kitchen 24 in Hollywood, just observing. Some guy was trying to talk to me and get my number, and he was nice and cool and sweet and bright and just the type of guy I'd go for if I wasn't me. There was even something vaguely cute about him, but I looked at him as he was speaking and just thought "no, this is not it." And I felt certain in that moment, as I always have, that when it is "it", I will know. Emphatically. It won't be hard, I won't have to be sold, it won't have to grow on me like fungus because God knows me and knows I don't live well in that environment. I will just know. Anyhow, out of that thought, I wrote a poem you'll find after the jump.

"Locked Up"

He locks eyes with me

and I find it impossible to look away

I try but

there's too much promise, too much potential in the steady tremble of my eyes. This man

is speaking to someone else, but looking at me and I am looking at him and we are looking at us

He stops talking because he must know my name, and I must tell him, and when he sits close to me

I feel all the space, the air bubbles, all the invisible holes from which leaks spring in my life

being filled

I don’t know what he will say, but I know how he'll say it

instinctively

The sensation of meeting him has altered something permanent

I will give him a way to contact me

He will give me a way to contact him

And the first time I'm alone with him

All I will think of is his smell…that intense scent of cologne purchased somewhere where it's sold exclusively, that odor of care and attention and sophistication

And when I'm alone after being with him, I will smell myself over and over and I will not wash the clothes that I wore when I was with him until I see him again

This man will have a voice: distinctive, sharp, intelligent, clear, direct, solid

And when he speaks I will believe it

And when he doesn't I will trust it

This man will call me first when things go South, if they go South

because he will trust me to pick up the pieces as he always does for me

He will trust that I am able to pick up pieces and get things gone

He will trust that I will fight for him

He will admire my principles, my morals, respect the things about me that I cannot change

and do not want to

He will be uncompromising, though easygoing

He will walk the same way down the street in the hood

as he does down Rodeo Drive

And the way he walks

that walk

will make those who pay attention to those kind of things

pay attention to him

This man will be sexy

truly sexy

There will be sex in his touch and his gaze and his voice and his smell and his clothes and his carriage and his posture

There will be sex in his sex

But only when he's with me

And when he gives it to me,

I will take it

And treasure it

And give it back

And know that his is the last I ever want

For sure

And mine is all he wants

Forever

Unafraid, this man will take my advice--not just when things can't get any worse, but before there's ever a problem

This man will sing to me…softly, sweetly, passionately and on key in the dark corners of our evenings

And I will let him sing as long as he wants because he will be singing about love and loving me

And I will sing to him with his head in my lap and feel close to God when he's sleeping

Next to me

This man

This man's creativity will challenge mine

In unexpected ways and I won't always agree with his methods but

his integrity will blow my mind

over and over and over again for the rest of our lives

This man will make a decision and not back down from it

And make me feel like I've joined an exclusive club if I buy his opinion over my own

This man's mind will leave me speechless at times-

Confounded by my inability to respond and yet

I will challenge him in ways he thought impossible

And we will discuss, and comprehend, and understand each other

Better than anyone else can understand us

We will build a language all our own

That hums late at night in our bed, early in the morning in our bathroom,

in the car, in the store, in the fish spot downtown, in exotic restaurants,

in the streets of Paris and Istanbul and Johannesburg and Thailand

and the museums of Philly and DC and Virginia

in the subways of New York

and the freeways of California

in the first-class cabin of commercial airlines

on quiet islands in easily-mispronounced countries

through our neighborhood at dusk...

the harmony of which I will miss whenever he's away

This man knows God and God knows him-

they speak all the time-

and so I feel safe when I'm with him--

truly safe

He can go before me and I will never feel as though I'm walking behind him

I will feel comfortable following his lead

I will feel comfortable following him anywhere

This man will give me the greatest gifts anyone has ever given me

And we will watch them grow out of my belly

And bring them home

And teach them how to love, how to learn

How to live

He locks eyes with me

And locks hands with me

Locks minds with me

Locks hearts with me

Locks spirits with me

Locks bodies with me

He locks families with me

Locks addresses with me

Locks destinies with me

This man

locks lives with me

And I with him

And we're both

Locked

Up

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Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Daily DIC: Crisis of Faith

"wake up everybody no more sleepin in bed/no more backward thinkin time for thinkin ahead..."--Teddy Pendergrass

Guido Marini: [hissing under his breath] Pope! Pope Benedict!!

The Pope remains motionless.

Guido Marini: Are you praying?

The Pope remains in the same position.

Guido Marini: Or are you sleeping? Oh my Father in Heaven, you are sleeping. [does the sign of the cross in a small motion] I told them you were too old and too frail for this position; did they listen? No, they did not listen. For some reason, you have risen to power and I cannot understand why. Anyone else should be Pope-I should be Pope! When the Nazi story came out, I thought for sure you were going to be tossed out, but no...you managed to survive! God, everything you say is stupid, everything you do is ridiculous and still you are Pope! I'll tell you what--you might not believe me, but I hear from God, too. That's right Benny I don't have to speak to him through you; I speak to him myself! And you know what He told me? That you are no prophet. In fact, sometimes I think you are Satan himself!

The man next to Guido pokes him to quiet down.

Man: Guido, you're getting hysterical. Just poke him like we always do.

Guido: [nearly in tears; to Pope] One day...you mark my words: one of these days!

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Monday, April 19, 2010

23 Questions: A Reprise

"can someone tell me..."--Musiq

I had already started working on the first 2010 edition of my treasured "BIC Report", when I realized just how much more fun it is to do 23 Questions. So, I decided I'll continue 23 Questions in the place of BIC Report, and just do a DIC Report or Daily DIC here and there. It's important to keep up with the antics of the other team, right? Questions after the jump.

1. Has being a celebrity mistress (aka married celeb-hoeing) become the newest method of pitching for television? [TMZ]

2. After sacrificing reputation playing The Office Ho in a '70's sitcom and sacrificing public perception playing The Idiot in an '80's sitcom, wouldn't hitting your prime and becoming a comic A-lister and sex symbol in your late 80's be priceless? [HuffPost][Examiner]

3. Isn't it hard to believe that any of the women on Basketball Wives thought they could improve public perception on Vh1?

4. While we're at it, shouldn't someone attempt to out Clarence Thomas, too? I heard a rumor he was actually Black. [Mediaite]

5. Does Ann Coulter have any redeeming qualities?

6. Isn't it sad to think of the number of 40-something women who will be trolling Border's Teen section for Candace Bushnell's newest novel? [Jezebel]

7. From a spectator's POV doesn't it seem like Dancing With the Stars Cheryl Burke pulled a producer aside and demanded every hot Black dude that comes on the show be partnered with her?

8. Wasn't KFC's chicken already disgusting enough without them debuting a sandwich composed entirely of it?

9. Isn't "promiscuous dressing" in Iran probably showing an ankle or something? [HuffPost]

10. Instead of "it's a great time to be an actress", didn't Jennifer Lopez mean to say "it's a bad time to be a terrible singer coming back with a single about $600 shoes in a recession"? [HuffPost]

11. It's said often, but don't we wish Lauryn Hill could suspend the eternal search for her soul long enough to drop a new album? [YBF]

12. How long before the women's rights activists start blaming Mo'Nique's brother Gerald for her slack views on marriage? [YBF]

13. Considering how her image has devolved, is Vivica's new wig line empowering or pathetic? [Bossip]

14. Considering the remake of "We Are the World" and now "Secret Garden", is it safe to say Quincy Jones is losing his mind? [Bossip]

15. As the details of his divorce become public, isn't Shaq increasingly more trilfing than we could have imagined? [GlobalGrind]

16. How awesome would it be if younger artists took notes from Toni Braxton's sensual brand of class? [SoulBounce]

_

_

17. Does JJ Walker think he's repenting for his Good Times coonery by red carpet-ing with Ann "Hateful Skank" Coulter? [Crunktastical]

18. Why does Hollywood always trump celebs we love and then try to change the very thing we love about them? [Salon]

19. Isn't it funny--albeit tiring--to watch political pundits and columnists try to dissect and intellectualize Sarah Palin's idiocy? [Slate]

20. How excited are you for the new season of Boondocks? [SoulBounce]

21. Outside of the fact that he obviously likes high-fashion models, isn't it safe to say Russell Simmons' doesn't have a type? [Bossip]

22. Don't American journalists overuse quotation marks? [HuffPost]

23. With new movie Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus based on the 1992 book by John Gray piling into the He's Just Not That Into You and The Rules portfolio of man-shortage hysteria, shouldn't a film should be produced based on this blog since Hollywood has clearly run out of ways to say women are crazy? [Variety]

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Friday, April 16, 2010

Daily OMJ: Old Treacherous BIC

"i don't give a damn what's real/what's fake what's truth what's lies/see darlin i/don't feel it's relevant to me..."--Teedra Moses

So, honestly I normally wouldn't give the huge newsmaker that is Oprah's new Kitty Kelley-authored unauthorized biography the time of day, let alone speak on it in print. However, while reading the paper I came across a couple of articles that boiled my blood. The first of the articles was a pointedly bitter blogpost by Erica Jong, who once fancied herself a friend of Oprah's back when Reagan was in office, and then clearly felt shafted once Oprah was famous and more guarded. Erica, it's worth mentioning, is a very close friend of Kitty Kelley. Kitty, who for all intents and purposes is a glorified gossip columnist that masquerades as a serious author, has made a quite successful career out of digging up gossip celebrities and politicians would rather keep private, making it sound as salacious as possible, binding it, and doing tacky publicity tours to get onto the New York Times' Bestseller List. Erica, it's also worth mentioning, clearly feels that Oprah should have cooperated with her dear friend, Kitty, on the biography she wrote. Obviously, Oprah declined to be a part of it. Understandable and furthermore, her perogative.

Who didn't decline to be a part of the biography, however, was Oprah's father and other relatives, who unscrupulously dumped all kinds of "facts" on the table for Kitty to sop up with a biscuit. The worst of these cretins, so far, seems to be Oprah's "Aunt Katharine", who is actually a significantly-older cousin from Oprah's mother's side, and a close friend of her mother. The slideshow piece detailing Katharine's conversation with Kitty can be seen here, and should be viewed to appreciate what I have to say. For instance, in addition to the vulnerable intimations between she and Oprah that Katharine shared with Kitty, she even revealed the identity of the man she claims is Oprah's real father. Seriously? My rant after the jump.

Oprah's family is disgusting. Lies or truth, it's definitely not their place to tell Oprah's personal business. Her father, her aunt, and anyone else supplying "the truth" ought to be ashamed. With family like this, I couldn't blame Oprah if her whole backstory was a lie---who's ever been on her side enough for it to matter? If this is how they behave now, I can imagine what peeks into the dark corners of their respective consciences she got as a youth. It appears that the woman has probably had to fend for self since Day 1 being raised in a pack of bloodsuckers.

How horrible that this pigeon "Aunt Katharine" would share the identity of Oprah's real father with a New York City-based unauthorized biographer than with Oprah, whom the information most seriously affects. What a grotesque decision. It's not as if Oprah has turned her back to her family or the community into which she was born, quite the contrary. She helps and/or supports some of these people financially and contributes to their lives. So what if she doesn't come home? I wouldn't visit these arseholes, either. They're fortunate for the "three times" she's been back home to do shows--otherwise no one in their right minds would give a flying ferret about this podunk town.

I'm beyond disgusted by this display and I pray Oprah's found peace with these folks and what they have done. How can you trust anyone when you come from people who would so willfully stab you in the back? She's fortunate to be strong-minded enough to overcome this and find success. I just hope she's found peace. God bless her.

And another thing: get a bra, Aunt Katharine. Your jungle tits hanging down to your ankles while you splash your "niece's" personal business across the newspapers of the world--coupled with your comely mustache--isn't strengthening your case. Perhaps that's a childish observation, but I will rationalize it by stating that I truly despise disloyalty and disloyal people. There's absolutely nothing worse than someone you cannot trust, and when that person is your family, it's beyond horrible.

And as for the mind-phucked population saying that Oprah's purported stifling of Kelley's interview blitz proves the authenticity of what is quite possibly all lies and distortions, you're deluded. Oprah's a public figure, but it's obvious she's got major insecurities and concerns like the rest of us. True, she's a celebrity who signed up for some level of constant public indignities, but having a whole biography--lies or not--published about you by a notorious unauthorized biographer is and would be unnerving for anyone. My God, I despise stupidity and the hideous sheep/bandwagon mentality that makes people gravitate toward information like what Kitty Kelley has put into print, and I despise the urges inside of us humans that makes her print it. Lord help all of the people more concerned with Oprah's business--or more accurately, rumors about her business--than their own. Because we all know that hundreds of thousands of people will buy, read, and support this trash that haven't picked up another piece of literature, particularly anything to better themselves, all year. Sad commentary all the way around.

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Thursday, April 15, 2010

I'm Sorry

"got my back/don't think twice/when in need of your help/if i'm wrong/got your belt..."--Khia

I must apologize in advance for this. If you're not completely out of touch with current events, you've probably had the good [bad?] fortune to see Tiger Woods' new Nike commercial, in which his father mildly lectures him from the grave. If you've somehow missed it, here it is:

Now to be honest, I found the commercial somewhat heartwarming; not in the sense that I don't think Tiger is wrong and just a bit disgusting, but in the sense that he had a very close relationship with his father built on unconditional love. Undoubtedly, the words in the commercial would be akin to Earl Wood's real response, and so to share that inner dialogue with his deceased father/best friend at this time is probably a lot more heart-wrenching than skeptics and cynics can imagine. However (and that's a big however), the visual of the commercial does leave room for quite a bit comedy. With that in mind, I stumbled upon a parody. I wouldn't share this except for the fact that I laughed so hard I thought I was going to die, and I'd like to share that laughter with you. Perhaps you won't find it funny, and if that's the case you need to lighten up. Video after the jump.

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They're Baaaa-aaack....

"she gets carrie fever/but as soon as the show's ova/she's right back to bein my soldier..."--Jay-Z

Two years ago, my wildest dreams came true. Fortunately, a lot of other women's dreams came true also, at least enough to get a greenlight from New Line and HBO. Check the deliciousness of this May's best cinematic offering after the jump.

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Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Daily BIC: In My Humble Opinion

"you should hear how she talks about you/you should hear what she said..."--Melissa Manchester

There's way too much going on right now for me to post individually about each topic. So I'm doing a Vibe Magazine-esque "20 Questions" about some current news topics. But since women always have just a bit more to say, the BIC version is "23 Questions", which is, coincidentally, the highest number of times I've known a woman to contact a [now] ex in one day (might be me, might not). Should cover a lot of bases in a little time. Bon appetit.

1. Is it just me or are there a whole lot of pregnant women and women with newborns roaming the streets in the past year?

2. Doesn't Tiger Woods need to make this his last press conference concerning his personal life?

3. Don't we want to tell Beyonce that, in regards to her purported "six-month break", she needs far more people?

4. While many of us are still waiting to begin our families, doesn't it look like raising children is becoming exponentially more difficult?

5. Taking into account the current climate of the children-of-celebrities culture and her obvious love of attention, aren't we slightly terrified of how Willow Smith might turn out?

6. Isn't something wrong with a woman who doesn't see Nancy Pelosi as a personal hero?

7. Did you know some gynecologists in NYC have begun selling top-of-the-line, European vibrators? 7b. Will this mean they can write prescriptions for this? 7c. Doesn't insurance need to cover this?

8. Don't you want an iPad?

9. Isn't Classic BIC Erykah Badu amazing?

10. Couldn't Mo'Nique have kept the "you can have whatever you like" lowdown on her marriage to herself?

11. Although it was believed to be a fad upon inception, doesn't it look like reality television is here to stay?

12. Shouldn't Stephen A. Smith propose to me? (Can't really explain the years-long crush, it's just still there)

13. With the announcement of Rihanna's Summer tour featuring Nicki Minaj & Ke$ha, wouldn't we not be surprised if a publicity-starved lesbian (or "bisexual") relationship was born of the tour?

14. Don't we need Sarah Palin to go far, far away?

15. Since yet another California woman has given birth to eight babies, doesn't the fertility industry need to be government-regulated before another Octomom or Jon&Kate pops on the scene?

16. Speaking of which, shouldn't we go back to "celebrity" being constituted by talent?

17. With the mild upswing of the economy, are Wall Street bankers getting dates again?

18. Don't we need a separate planet for celebrity mistresses that overshare?

19. Aren't there currently too many celebrity mistresses oversharing?

20. Isn't She's Out of My League one of the most female-friendly (and cutest!) romantic comedies made in a very long time?

21. While much was made of their explosive chemistry when they were first elected, and although they still seem pretty close, don't you have the sneaking suspicion President & First Lady O haven't had sex since, like, last Independence Day? Sad face.

22. Hasn't the whole White supermodel-babydaddy thing worked out pretty well for Halle?

23. Isn't a Middle Eastern female suicide bomber a bit redundant?

And one to grow on: In the women-disempowering culture of the Middle East, aren't these newsmaking female suicide bombers just the new come-up for male extremists? Chew on that.

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Friday, March 26, 2010

#DearFutureWife: My Old Hoes Ain't Gonna Believe How Good I Treat You

"i'm tired of sleepin in the other room spendin them long nights/tryna figure out what the hell in my heart i ain't do right..."--Usher

Those of you that tweet (one of my new favorite pastimes), you're familiar with "trending topics", which are topics that people attempt to talk about in the prerequisite 140 characters Twitter demands. Examples of popular current trending topics are #mychildwillnever, #sometimesiwonder, and #ilove. It's a great way to take a little break from your day and in my opinion, often a fun stress reliever. That is until I logged onto Twitter the other morning to find that the major trending topic for the day was #dearfuturewife (and #dearfuturehusband). Intrigued, I posted a few #dearfuturehusband(s) of my own, a couple under @TheBIsCrazy (the blog's twitter account), and went on about my day. But of course the story can't end there.

The past few days since the discovery of some new developments in the lives of a few guys I used to see, I've admittedly (and quietly) been on the hunt for more information. In observation of said hunt, I spent a little quality time e-stalking some exes the other night. Every now and then the urge strikes me like any other woman. Don't judge me. Anywho, I started with Facebook, where I found some innocuous messages from a couple of my exes to their wives that were very cute, some wedding pics, and some baby pics of their rapidly-growing children. I caught myself up on what was going on in their lives and cheesing over their joy, sauntered over to Twitter for a look-see. Still grinning, I scanned my timeline where I saw another potential e-stalkee being retweeted. Begrudgingly (I never go onto his page and pride myself on the restraint), I clicked the link and almost immediately regretted the departure from my normal routine. The previous day's trending topic "#dearfuturewife" had returned to haunt me. "#dearfuturewife", I read, "my old hoes ain't gonna believe how good i treat you." Um...what?

Aside from the fact that I am clearly a part of the agglomeration of "old hoes", there were about five things wrong with the tweet. Let's discuss.

  • Let's start with the obvious: it might behoove you, sir, not to refer to your "hoes" when speaking to your wife. It's an insecure woman who begrudges a man his former girlfriends, girls, one-night stands, hell, even a babymama or two (yes, I said two...#dealwithit). It's ridiculous for a grown woman to think that she's the very first love and/or sex a grown man has ever had. But if she's a good woman--which men who aren't particularly good men curiously seem to feel most deserving of--she won't be too fond of the idea of you calling other women "hoes". Not that she's against calling a spade a spade, because hopefully she's a broad that keeps it real. But if she's a smart woman, she'll be fully aware of the fact that not all of the women to whom you were previously joined can possibly be "hoes". Because let's be honest: not only do you attract what you are, if everyone you've been involved with shares the distinction of being a whore, it might not be them.

  • And in fact, to belabor the point a bit, your wife would probably prefer you drop the term "old hoes" altogether, which by the laws of grammar connotes that you have a "new ho". How unfair that in choosing you, your wife has by proxy chosen an existence as a ho--not in a "lady in the street; freak in the bed" kinda way, but more of a "I married a dick" kinda way.

  • Dissecting another important part of the statement means addressing the concept of disbelief encapsulated in the tweet. The "old hoes" simply can't believe how good you treat your wife. Why, exactly, wouldn't they be able to believe it? Have you really been such a horrible person that in all of the time each respective woman dealt with you, you didn't show any moments, even fleeting ones, of the capability of being a good husband/partner/friend? I won't answer that personally.

  • Which brings us to the concept of treating your wife "good". One has to wonder what a man so close to 30 who tweets something like this considers "good" treatment. What is this "good"? Does he plan to cook for her? Get up with the kids? Always put the toilet seat down? Buy her whatever she wants? Or, who knows, perhaps the good life with Mr. Wonderful means a $4 million eight-carat purple diamond for any accidental humiliation at the hands of he and one of his "hoes". Hooray for apology diamonds!

  • Then there's the elephant in the room. If you've never treated one of your "old hoes" well, then how will you know how to treat your wife well? If your practice time is so brief that you really don't know what you're doing, how do you expect to play in the big game? My pastor always says that we should act like what we want to be. For instance, if you want to be a wife, act like a wife. If you want to be a husband, act like a husband. For someone who has been talking about how well he's going to treat this proverbial wife while using girls for sex and blatantly disrespecting them, how exactly does he expect to all of a sudden clean up his act and know how to behave towards the woman he loves?

Sure, sure, you fall in love and you want to make that person happy. Something in you changes when you decide to make it official with someone. I get that completely. But in a marriage, there are dark days, bad days, days when you could kill the person to whom you've chained yourself. How exactly do you intend to deal with your wife when she's not the perfect woman you're undoubtedly envisioning? What happens in the moments she's weak or wrong? How will you speak to this woman if you currently spend all your time pretending [pretense is key because it takes effort and knowledge of wrongdoing to purposefully mislead] to be a gentleman while objectifying every girl you deal with and groundlessly calling them all kinds of bitches and hoes behind their backs? How will you behave as a husband in anger or hurt or disappointment? Will you, perhaps, continue to approach these matters as immaturely as you always have, flying off the handle and totally disrespecting the woman you've chosen as you have in past relationships?

Or maybe not. Maybe the magic Marriage Fairy will make the selfishness, self-absorption, and infantilism the past three decades have bred a thing of the past. Stranger things have happened. Perhaps the best and biggest question of all is: what right does someone who willfully does others wrong have to demand someone who will do him right? Maybe he will find that dear future wife who won't believe how good he treats her. Will she treat him well back? Karma isn't true for Buddhists alone, after all. There are supernatural laws of reciprocity in this world, biblical principles even that speak about reaping what you sow.

Hey, who am I to say? I probably took the whole thing too seriously! Sure, he's a misogynistic, sociopathic jerk, but at least he's a funny jerk! All I know is that unpacking and questioning that one little tiny tweet has presented a whole lot of maybes, a whole lot of ifs, and a whole lot of questions in general. I get the fact that the tweet is at least partly tongue-in-cheek, and everyone knows I'm always down for a good laugh. But somehow I found it difficult to find the humor in this, particularly since it speaks to the clear delusion of someone intent on not growing or improving because he's stuck on his own perfection. And so to the #dearfuturewife who signs up for this nonsense, I offer my well-wishes, my condolences, and these words of advice: watch and pray.

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Wednesday, March 24, 2010

A Picture's Worth A Thousand Words: Unrequited Love BIC

"my heart/belongs to Tenderoni..."--Bobby Brown

Hillary: No, really. Give. Me. A. Hug.

Barack: Hillary, you're so cute when you try that scary cougar thing. Here you go.

Hillary: Is my staffer still watching us?

Barack: Yup. He's pretending not to, though.

Hillary: (muttering) God you smell good.

Barack: Huh?

Hillary: Uh...I said, gosh you did good. Well, I meant. You did really well with this healthcare thing. I'm proud of you.

Barack: Well, Hillary, if you hadn't opened the door years ago--

Hillary: Hold me tighter, Barack.

Barack: (flustered) I'm just so grateful to you for being the phenomenal person and support system you are.

Hillary: How grateful?

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Tuesday, March 23, 2010

BIC New Rules: Ring in the New Year

"why should i worry/why should i care?"--Billy Joel

All this abortion chatter lately has me thinking about how to best avoid the necessity. Well, let's be honest: I just wanted an excuse to talk about my new best friend, the NuvaRing. I honestly feel as though I should be doing a PSA. While I may be a couple years late picking up on this awesome phenomenon, I am all about the little plastic vaginal ring that squeezes against itself and rests quietly in your no-no for 21 days.

You see, even though it's pretty common knowledge that I haven't had sex since the Old Testament, I recently began using BC again in an effort to regulate my periods because, depressingly, I'm reaching an age where I should begin regulating my ovulation so as to avoid issues trying to get pregnant later. As I've learned, time is of the essence in these matters, and having to spend months regulating your period at any point over 30 can waste precious shelf time with your precious eggs in three, four, five...[or more] years. Since at this point I'm under two years from 30, I decided to speak with my gynecologist about being proactive in order to avoid being blindsided later. I had her do a whole work-up including checking out my follicle situation (eggs), my uterus, cervix, and key hormone levels to make sure I was fit to get pregnant and carry a kid to term (I am, by the way), and then I wanted to correct anything that might be problematic later.

My often irregular periods are a tiny issue, so in order to correct it, she suggested a hormone regimen...otherwise known as (dunh dunh dunh) birth control (BC). Anyone who knows me knows I hate birth control. I mean, being transparent, I can share that I disgustingly and irresponsibly went years without using so much as condom with an ex. Because I'm ultra sensitive to manufactured hormones and pills (BCP) literally make me ill, I can count on both my hands the amount of times I've had sex on birth control. Clearly, I've had sex more than 10 times in my life. So what's a girl to do? Introducing my cute, fun new little friend.

I admit I was a bit perplexed and perhaps intimidated by the ring. I mean, it's a plastic circle. How do you get it in? How does it stay up? Will it unexpectedly fall out in the toilet in the club? These are the questions that were on my mind. I have an amazing gyne who showed me how to use it, so I felt confident; but honestly, nothing prepared me for the day I started using it. It went right in, and glory be to God, when I stood up the thing stayed in place! Simply amazing. By way of directions if you're not in the know, you keep it in 21 days, take it out on the 21st day, which will bring on a period, and then seven days after the day of removal, you stick a brand new one back in.

Cautionary 'so-you-know' measures: while you're told you can keep it in for sex, several friends have shared that the ring has ended up across the room in fits of passion, so it's best to remove it prior. It can safely be out of the body for 3 hours before your body readjusts to the lack of hormones. Also, I'm not gonna lie: a couple of times, I've felt it slipping just a bit during a hard run. But it's never fallen out. Something else amazing is that it deposits its hormones directly into your uterus, instead of going through your bloodstream like other hormones, so the side effects are far less noticeable. It reduces your PMS symptoms, as well. It's also super easy to stick in and even easier to hook and snatch out. There's nothing better in the birth control industry. Let's face it: withdrawal is nerve-wracking (and largely ineffective), the rhythm method and family planning techniques are for crazy people in misguided religions, pills are too easily forgotten, and Depo-Provera blows you up like an army grenade. If you haven't try the NuvaRing today; you will be so happy you did! Also appreciative will be your sex partner and the unborn children whose lives you could both potentially ruin. Ciao!

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Friday, March 19, 2010

Shhhhh! Keep Your Abortion Down

"i wonder if i could be your miracle...i wonder if i could spare you pain..."--Whitney Houston

Some things should just be private. And of course it's possible that I'm missing the bigger picture, but in my humble opinion there are few things tackier than live-tweeting your pregnancy elimination.

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Another One Bites the Dust

"the stresses of this world/you know how they come down on a girl/i'm tryna clear my mind/but all i seem to find/is this gangsta/gangsta type-a need..."--Jill Scott

Several weeks ago, I had a dream, one of the most vivid dreams I've had in ages. In it, I was holding my daughter. She was an infant, and looked completely different from how I always envisioned a daughter of mine. The child I held in my dream, a cream-colored newborn with a cap of straight, light-brown hair, slept soundly on my chest after being fed. In my dream, I could feel her warm breath on the skin outside my heart, and I could not stop kissing her. I fought waking up for over an hour, and once my body did betray me and open its eyes, I fell back asleep as quickly as possible so as to see her again. It was pure bliss. This story of course, betrays two truths: I've never really seen myself with a daughter, as I've always wanted boys, and I've never actually felt my biological clock. I guess now I can scratch both of those things off the list of my personal truths.

This would probably all be a moot point if I hadn't held a beautiful baby girl in church on Sunday that I seriously considered bolting for the door with, and would probably be far more obsolete if yet another past lover hadn't popped up with a major life change. Context clues have probably given away what I'm about to announce.

I wonder if my blog feels like God sometimes feels about his children--ignored until there's a problem. I find myself coming to my blog when there's nowhere else to go. Perhaps that's sad. In fact, it's quite sad. But, it's the truth, my Truth, and I have to own it. Not that there's really a "problem". That is, if you don't count someone I once considered a future husband popping up with a baby. Now, there's no reason other than delusion and dickmatization that even had me considering homeboy as a future husband. Clearly, nearly two years after cessation of all sexual activity and three years after meeting, we are not married. Not only are we not married, but we aren't even really friends. Not only are we not really friends, but I now struggle to like him as a person. Not only do I struggle to like him as a person, but I had zero idea that he was even expecting a child until yesterday when the kid was delivered. Of course, I found out via a social networking site, which is simultaneously contemporary and sad. Although I haven't really unpacked the feelings about this strange evolution, I can say it comes at an odd time, a time when I'm questioning the direction of my life; a direction which includes no significant relationship nor any prospects, no children or any on the horizon, a floundering career, a crossroads, and two years working in the fertility industry where I was constantly confronted with late bloomers whose regrettable prioritization ended up costing them hundreds of thousands of dollars and a truckload of pain, struggle, and heartbreak.

I've had four significant romantic relationships in my life, each significant for different reasons, but all significant nonetheless. Of those four men, one had a small child when we were involved and is now married, the next is married with a child, Mr. Wonderful referenced above now has a child, and the last, my greatest, truest love actually remains an ignorance-is-bliss mystery since I've had nothing to do with him in two years. And while I don't really have regrets, it's only human nature to wonder if you've made enough right moves and choices not to preternaturally screw up your life. How is it that I've not yet had a relationship work out in well over two and half decades of life? How is it that, at a time when women's fertility is declining at a rate faster than ever in history, I have not one iota of an idea when I'll be prepared to reproduce? Am I gearing up to be adopt an African baby and spend his formative years surfing PlentyofFish.com for a husband and father?

Of course, I haven't had sex since Bush was in office (30 months and counting), something I'm proud of since it was a personal and spiritual decision that I've stood by, but don't think that doesn't exacerbate this emotional conundrum. Spending most nights with a pillow between my legs and bathing the last man that spent a few nights over in my own precum isn't my idea of a great time. Sure, I stand by my choices in life regarding my sex life--again, hard as crap--but of course I see everyone else moving onward and upward when I can't even get my astoundingly frustrated rocks off with a little penetration and yeah, I'm a little bitter. Of course, I was a little bitter when I was tossing it up like it was my day job, too. Maybe I'm just bitter in general, who knows? And perhaps I sound ridiculous.

Well, just know that I can't help it. I am ridiculous. I am a ridiculous woman--always have been and always will be. Not simple or ignorant, but ridiculous still. To be sure, it is ridiculous to feel jealously watching men you've had long-term casual sex with beginning their real lives and moving beyond their silly liaisons and whoremongering. Perhaps it's less ridiculous when you were in love with them, but then again, everything happens for a reason. And maybe ,when that last big love pops up with a wife, kid, or both, the emotion I'll experience will be relief, relief that the suspense is over, relief that I can finally release the bits of that love I'm still holding. Right?

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Friday, February 5, 2010

New Campaign: Michelle Obama For...Michelle Obama

"you know the things that i am afraid of/i'm not afraid to tell/and if we ever leave a legacy/it's that we loved each other well..."--Indigo Girls

Fact: I love Michelle Obama. Luuuurve her. Obsessively watch and read her interviews and realize I've been smiling the entire time once I finish. I adore her firm-but-easygoing approach to life, love, motherhood, and politics. Her brand of honesty and realism is unparalleled by any of her FLOTUS predecessors. And her Rock Mom steez is sublime. She makes it look easy, all while reminding us that it's hard as nails. She's smart as a whip, articulate but relatable, funny as hell, and refreshingly normal. She wears short shorts to walk the dog outside on the White House lawn for God's sake. There is virtually nobody in the public eye I admire more. But read my lips: I would not vote for Michelle Obama for President of the United States.

It's not a Black thing. There are a number of Black folks I'd vote for--her husband was one of them. It's not a woman thing. I'd vote for Hillary in a New York minute if she ran again. Now, I'd never vote for Sarah Palin, but it's not because she's a woman, it's because she's a sick, sad joke the MMM and Tea-Baggers are playing on the country. To be sure, I don't equate Michelle with Sarah. I wouldn't vote for Sarah because she's an annoyingly plucky climber, whom I'm quite sure could have a serious conversation with a rhino and it would walk away feeling dumber. Former President George W. wants to give Sarah a few points off of his IQ. No, Michelle is not of that class. There are much better reasons why President Michelle Obama would not work for me.

1. Michelle is a mother. A really good mother. And feeling a vested interest in Malia and Sasha's success as young women, I want her to continue to be a good mother. This is actually a two-sided negative because a) the Presidency could take Michelle's attention from the girls, which would be a travesty, or b) it could not take her attention from the girls, which is the more probable reality. I could definitely see a GW Bush-reading-to-kindergarten-class-during-9-11 moment with Michelle, a national disaster, and her children. Michelle would be just as unapologetic as Bush, too. Her official statement would probably be: "My first priority is these girls."

2. Michelle is too street. She peeps game and isn't afraid to call it out. Classily, of course, but call it out nonetheless. She's now mastered political correctness, as she's had to in the past few years, but as President she just might snap. As First Lady, she has the ability to check her emotions because she's not expected to be the initial reactor. As President, Michelle might show her ass. And I would love it, but I would hate the criticism of her that followed.

3. Barack would be a terrible FGOTUS. Barack is a brilliant man--and of late, I'm less displeased with him than I've been in some time, but everyone must admit that he, in the poignant words of Nas "love the attention". Barack isn't a bimbo, but he is a poster boy--he doesn't play second fiddle very well. Of course, that's one of the main reasons that he won the presidency, but standing by and not offering opinions and solutions publicly would be like an appendectomy without anesthesia for our Jerry McGuire-esque President.

4. Michelle is an amazing First Lady. I wouldn't want her image to be tainted by the inevitable stress, strain, tough decisions, bad decisions, and BS that comes with being President. I want to remember her as she is now: a highly effective public figure with a winning personality.

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Guest Post: 12 Red Flags of A NIC

"as i head for the door i turn around to be sure/did i shave my legs for this?"--Deana Carter

My very good, longtime friend, a brilliant writer and ad exec in Chicago, should be married by now. She should at least have a serious boyfriend. Not that there's anything wrong with not being married or having a serious boyfriend, but if anybody deserves and commands a good man, it's her. Smart, beautiful, spiritual, highly educated, hard-working, fun, funny, cultured, real, supportive, and cool. But of course, like so many other smart, beautiful Black (and not-Black) professional women, she is Single. Capital "S" single. And consequently, she is forced to [gulp] "date". Quotation mark "date".

She recently went on one of these "dates", and I'm honored that she thought enough of my lil' ole blog to document the hilarious sad-but-true tale for the rest of us in BICland. Her date was a classic DIC, so DIC that the "D" had to be replaced. You have to feel her. Her story, "12 Red Flags of a NIC", can be enjoyed in full after the jump.

I am not a conceited person. I am very attractive and very tired of guys who think that complimenting my hair, my smile or my boots are enough to make me hand over my number. So it was refreshing to hear a simple comment like, “Sounds like you had a good day”, from behind said as I crossed the street. In my mind I thought,"The least I could do is respond." So I turned and faced a guy – modestly attractive, not like my crush who sends my smile into overdrive, but still in the middle of the spectrum of attractiveness. So we chat which ultimately turns into a one-way phone number exchange. Three days later, he calls and we have another pretty decent conversation and he asks me out to dinner...

So let’s skip all of the hoopla and get right to the date (and the red flags). I meet him at the train station (it’s a public transportation kind of city) and we walk to a Thai restaurant. It’s decent, located on a main street but not much traffic inside. The waiter puts down two menus and an additional “$5 daily special menu”. Red Flag #1: The boy only looks at the $5 menu and then excuses himself. I on the other hand look at both menus and inevitably settle on the safe Pad Thai (because not every Thai restaurant is a good one). He orders an ice water and something from the $5 holla. So he asks, “Who is your favorite musician?” My mind draws a blank, I mean anyone who knows me KNOWS it’s T.I., but I decide that I will hide my crazy, lustful obsession of my little convict til I know this man better. I say, “Umm, I don’t know. What about you?” Red Flag #2: Damn near jumping from his seat, he says, "Maxwell." Let’s pause for the cause; I know guys dig our former afro-ed crooner but never in all my years have I had a man luv Max the way this boy does. He even started singing Lifetime and Fortunate at the table.

So I interrupt and say I also like 90's music. Red Flag #3: He responds, “Oh yeah, me too! Man, Tevin Campbell…” (and breaks into his rendition of Can We Talk). The conversation continues with him (in his mind and visually) thinking 'this girl is perfect, we are perfect,' while my mind wanders to the project I have due for work tomorrow. Speaking of work (Red Flags #4-7), during the course of the conversation his career changed 4 times: when I met him he said he was in advertising sales, then later it became I work at a call center, but I’m only there to save money to go to school in Florida for physical therapy, which later became, I really want to be an actor and move to LA.

So the bill has been sitting on the table, awkwardly for about 20 minutes now. Finally he says we should go. He hesitates then pulls out his wallet. Now, I know I will get flack for this but at this point I know how this non-date is going so I say, “Are you treating me?” as I go to get my wallet. Red Flag #8: He says, “Awkward!” in his best “Men on Films" In Living Color reference-voice. Red Flag #9: He says women only gesture for their wallets to make it look like they will pay, not because they really want to. I said, “Oh no sweetheart, I don’t do anything for show" and then put my $7 down on the table. Red Flag #10: Folks, let’s pause again: the total bill was only like $12 so really…you do the math on this guy. So then he says "You can pay if you want, it’s up to you." I do pay. Then the waitress says something about not being able to do both cash and card (he was using plastic) so he tells her to put it all on his card, then he picks up my money and (Red Flag #11) says, “Should I keep this?” I said "you know what, you go right ahead." He even had the audacity to say that he will always take care of his girlfriend and she will never have to pay a mortgage, car note, etc. (as he’s putting my money in his pocket.) Anyway, the next thing he does is serenade me with his own spoken word poetry for 10 – 15 minutes! As one friend put it, “Don’t you just hate that Love Jones has messed brothers up, got them thinking they can all win a girl over with poetry.” LMAO! This boy was no Darius (pun intended).

I go home (just a polite hug) and my chariot (aka the city bus) whisks me away from that disaster. He calls me, says he made it home, wants to know when we will see each other again. I say, "I’ll call you Saturday" but the more I thought about that date, the more I dreaded communicating with him again. Red Flag #12: He didn’t give me a chance to call him on Saturday. He called me in the morning. I didn’t answer. He called again 8 hours later. I didn’t answer. Three minutes after his last call he sends me a text: "Whateva, I c y you’ve been single since 2004. Peace u flake!” And so ladies, those are the 12 Red Flags of an N.I.C..

--Naturally Twisted (J. Taurin Williams)

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Unemployed BIC

"let the river run/let all the dreamers/wake the nation/come the new jerusalem..." -Carly Simon

Through a series of confusing events, as of Tuesday, February 2, I am now jobless. Although I'd grown to despise my rather impossible, frustrating, taxing job and found that it was becoming a mutant, maniacal source of a different brand of BIC, I was shocked to be unceremoniously fired on Tuesday. Misconduct? No. Not giving it 100%? Not quite. Being labeled a liability in a ridiculous lawsuit my former employer initiated against my current employer like a three year-old brat? Check.

I'm using this time and opportunity to do three things: a) revel in the benefits of unemployment and the clarity it can bring if you're prudent, b) stay up late once again since I don't have to get up at 7:45 AM, and c) rant about disgusting, corrupt cretins with Napoleon complexes...and complexes about God knows what else.

It's been quite a long time since I was jobless. The last time was two years ago; I was 26 and returning to the workforce after a gallant-but-unsuccessful stab at business ownership. I gave the business a year and blood, sweat, and tears--literally. As a sidenote (and a testament and *testimony* that you never know why certain things happen but can come to be so glad they did): it's fortunate that I learned the process of getting unemployment funds, because it's going to come in handy now.

I'm far less devastated than most people assume I am, simply because I'm prepared. I've also been through enough to know that everything that looks bad from the outside can be the source of your biggest blessings. As it stands right now, I clearly hear God saying that I'm being granted time to focus on the really important things in my life. I have a way of making a job my everything, one of my biggest flaws. It's unfortunate in the Waiting to Exhale-esque sense that a job can't keep you warm at night, but it's also unfortunate when your job isn't going the way you want it to go. When despite your best efforts, the business you're running isn't reaching the success you were hoping it would, and daily, nonsensical "bad luck" occurrences keep popping up professionally for you and your colleagues. In a climate like that, a perfectionist Virgo like me can start to go a bit mad. And mad I was indeed going.

While I was pissed with the termination--the reason for which was outlined in the letter I was faxed from my boss' attorney (I've still heard nothing from him, another potent annoyance) as "claims made by _____________ (my former employer)"--I felt an enormous weight off of my shoulders as I walked out of the door of my office 30 minutes later. The sun was a bit brighter, the air was a bit fresher (if that's possible in LA), and the world seemed quite a bit bigger. No more nights in the office until 11PM. No more harrassing phone calls from disgruntled vendors, not one more long conversation with prospective clients with zero intention of retaining our services. I was free to live my life again. And that alone is a blessing.

I'm 28 years old--20 months from being 30, in fact. And life is short; I've been acutely aware of this for the vast majority of mine. It should be grabbed by the horns and ridden like the rabid bull it is. Perhaps because I'm older and increasingly in touch with who I am, this time I'm being careful about my next steps. Who I am is a woman with a colorful vocabulary and creative writing skills I want to use as much as possible. A woman who hears music all the time, even when there's nothing playing. A woman who likes to wear three different nail polish colors on my hands and a totally different one on my feet (I make it hot, though, trust!). A woman who cuts all of her hair off and eight weeks later is at the beauty supply buying some of her length back--maybe in another color. I'm a free-spirit, but the older I get, the more shrewd I get with my Bohemian nature. I finally learned to channel it in a productive way. And it's for this reason that I'm looking up and not down following my major life change this week. It's time for me to start living my life again, for me and not for anyone else.

I realize that not all of this makes perfect sense, but I suppose I'm trying to make more sense of out everything at this time, too. The bottom line is that BIC is back, for real this time. Not saying I'll be posting every day--I've learned my lesson about those kind of claims--but with more of a life and far more colors in the life I'm living, I'll have much more to post. And not celebrity gossip crap--that's all over the web. I want to talk about the things I used to talk about on here: the search for self, fulfillment, and of course, love. Please stay tuned.

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Wednesday, October 7, 2009

I'm Back Bitches!

"im talkin bout how i used to love it when you whispered to me/tell me that you love me and those beautiful things/baby won't you come back cuz i'm really in need..."--Mariah Carey

So, I've decided that the thoughts running through my head are entirely too looney tunes to not be sharing them with like-minded broads. Taking inventory, there is absolutely no reason an attractive, single woman who encounters nothing but losers shouldn't be sharing her trials and tribulations with the masses. That said, I'm upping my posting game. I know you guys miss me--especially when I still get at least 50 unique visitors a month to a site that is hardly ever updated--and I miss you, too. And so my vow is that you will hear from me far more often, at least several times a week. Hope you're glad to have me back like i'm glad to have you! Smooches...

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Saturday, September 12, 2009

Baby Love

"as long as you're happy/i'm happy too/it's a delight/I gave you life..."--Amel Larrieux

Now *this* is what I call the real picture of a mother's love. Coming out in your red lipstick and sheer sleeves and throwing up the "Roc" sign for your daughter's husband. Have to love Miss Tina.

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Saturday, August 15, 2009

Daily BIC: Pissed Press

"you should think twice/about the way you been talkin to me..."--Destiny's Child

I absolutely love the smell of fresh BIC in the morning. I'm *so* late, but I absolutely could not let one more day pass without blessing my blog about crazy women with this wonderful clip of our Secretary of State snapping her neck at an unsuspecting African reporter. This is the stuff BIC is made of. I do this for moments like this one. And I truly love Hillary Clinton. She's just so effing reliable. I adore the little touches in her BIC--the mussed hair, the tired eyes, the "are you serious!?" look she gave the kid, coupled with her "Cita"-style flop back against her chair after she said her piece...in the words of Carrie Bradshaw: "it's too good!". It's just too good.

Video after the jump.

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Friday, May 1, 2009

Lesbian BIC

"woman to woman..."--Shirley Murdock

"I'm done with the man thing. You need to move on in life." Wish it was that easy!

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DIC Report

"****** is crazy baby/don't forget that boy told ya..."--Jay-Z

The Passion of Mel Gibson [People]

Should Something "Green" Be This Controversial? [HuffPost]

Hopefully This Won't Turn Into Kate Plus Eight Minus One [People]

Keith Lewis Needs To Be Slapped [HuffPost]

Please Show Me A Man Who Can Act Right [TMZ]

There Comes A Time When Arm Curls With A Barbell Are More Important Than Arm Curls With A Fork. I'm Just Saying. [Bossip]

Yup...Still A Tool [HuffPost]

It Takes A Real Loser To Worsen Opinion Of Yourself With Silence [WSJ]

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BIC Report

"and the girls go crazy..."--R. Kelly

Crazy Horse Bonnie Fuller Strikes Again [HuffPost]

Happy Mother's Day [YBF]

Ummm...Kirstie? Maybe...Maybe Not. [People]

Hillary Spices It Up [HuffPost]

Elizabeth Edwards Thinks The Other Woman Is Pathetic [NYDaily]

Jenna Bush Watch Out: Chelsea's Dad Is Way More Popular [Boston]

A Day Late And A Dollar Short [Bossip]

Performance BIC [Bossip]

Once A Fatty, Always A Fatty [People]

R.I.P. Golden BIC [People]

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Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Put That Ice Cream Down

"why's your back mo bigga than the usual/lil mama why you so fat/how long did it take that thang to grow..."--Trey Songz

A word to the wise: It matters not how much he hurt you--you will only be hurting your wallet if your relationship makes you spiral into morbid obesity (and you know who you are!). United Airlines is taking a hard line on this by taking some drastic measures that I personally find both hilarious and necessary. All the 'big-bone-ded' folks who can't buckle the belt in their seats, or worse, spill into yours, will either be asked to purchase an extra seat or to 'walk it out' to their destination. Tough break. But I know this will have me running a little faster on the treadmill in the morning...who wants to risk being asked to step off the plane because of the size of their ass? Which begs another question--what about the 'sistas' who aren't really fat, but whose asses are out of control?? As my father always says, "we'll see, said the blind man..."

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Monday, March 30, 2009

Daily DIC: Good DIC/Bad DIC

"****** is crazy baby/don't forget that boy told you..."--Jay-Z

Good DIC is sticking up for your friends when the whole world is laughing at them.

Bad DIC is asking another man to marry you in front of the whole world.

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Sunday, March 29, 2009

BIC Report

"and the girls go crazy..."--R. Kelly

The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From The Tree [People]

Open Marriage Schmariage [RTE]

Good Thing Jay's Behind A Desk [Jezebel]

Why Does It Seem Like Her Tune Has Changed? [HuffPost]

How Much Classier Is Padma Than Paris? [Huffpost]

BIC On A Stick And No One Can Wait [NYPost]

Little Late For The Pistol...And No One Believes You, Either [NYDaily]

Charlotte, Yes. Miranda? Ehhh..Ok. Carrie? Nooooooo.... [JustJared]

2009 Initiative: Stop Waiting Years To Tell Someone "You're The Father!" [UsWeekly]

Scary Republican Lady M.B. Is Back In Effect [TPMDC]

Kim K Gets My Vote For Not Giving A Damn [People]

More BIC after the jump...

Beyonce's Waist Is 19 Inches... [Bossip]

...And Glad To See Someone Else Thinks That's A Lie [MediaTakeout]

"Do You Like It? It's Spanx!" [Jezebel]

Keri *Is* Studying Her Haters [Bossip]

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Daily BIC: Single Asians

"all the single asians/all the single asians..."--Mixed Company of Yale 

These girls spent precious time that could have been spent studying:

  • Memorizing the choreography to the "Single Ladies" video.
  • Coming up with new, easier choreography that all of them could sensibly do.
  • Writing lyrics about slurping sushi (yulck!)....and all that jazz.
  • Locating a cameraman that wouldn't laugh at them...or would at least laugh with them instead.
  • Securing a studio in which to film.
  • Determining who was the 'strongest singer' [ole girl who sang the first verse was, I think, their best offering] and would thus open up, and further determining who was the 'strongest dancer' and would thus bring up the rear of the line.
  • Transposing their 'single asian' Ivy League-experience onto Beyonce's club anthem.
  • BIC

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