Thursday, December 30, 2010

Fight or Flight

"should i give up/or should I just keep chasin pavements/even if it leads nowhere?"--Adele

When my little sister Raegan (the light of my life) was a baby, we lived in a lakefront community. When I wasn't dragging her with me to the mall or Dairy Queen to meet my friends, Rae and I would walk down to the lake and feed the ducks, one of her favorite things to do. Well, in the South, if you spend enough time outside, you'll see some things--living things--you probably don't want to see. On one particular occasion, we came across a humongous black garden snake, just um, snaking, his or her way through the bushes by the lake. Now, anyone who knows me knows that I have a phobia of reptiles...a tremendous phobia that at one point caused me to not even be able to say the word "s-n-a-k-e" or see a commercial or magazine ad containing one without going into convulsions. While I'm still scared to death, I've come a long way. But back in 1999, I was still terrified beyond words. So of course, when I encountered said reptile, I lost it and broke into a continuous series of bloodcurdling screams, planted to the ground and unable to move. My two year-old sister, however, dropped my hand, turned around on her little toddler heel, and raced back though the maze of bushes and across a bridge to the street without saying one word. My family still laughs about it today--how baby Rae had never seen or even really heard of a snake, but knew that she'd rather ask any questions she had later.

Knowing this is one of my favorite stories, today my father called me to tell me that my baby struck again. Raegan, who is now a beautiful 13 year-old girl, was in the movie theater in the Bronx yesterday afternoon when she saw a rat. Although she was with a group, without saying a word my sister turned on her teenage heel and booked it outside into 20 inches of snow without one word. Nevermind the folks she was with and nevermind that she's visiting NYC and shouldn't be darting off alone. She had never seen a rat up close before, but knew she was over it as soon as she did. So she ran.

All of this running got me to thinking. My sister has always been the kind of person who avoided hurt and danger. As a little kid, when you told her not to touch the stove or oven because it was hot, she would leave the kitchen. As a kid myself, I often ended up in big trouble (not to mention the ER several times) because I had to see how hot the stove was (burns), why I wasn't supposed to hang off the deck (dislocated shoulder) or ride my dad's riding mower (allergy-induced asthma attack and a broken fence). I never trusted when someone told me not to do something; I had to try it myself. When Rae and I encountered ole Blackie-O back home at the lake, I stayed (and screamed) while she got as far as she could. And even in the situation with the rodent today, I find it unlikely that I would have just taken off the way she did. Most would say my sister is far less outgoing than me--she's naturally more reserved, cautious and mindful of other's opinions to my wild disregard for rules and regulations. However, when it comes to something that doesn't jive with her gut, she gets the hell out of dodge regardless of what anyone thinks. I tend to stay.

So as I often do, I started thinking of what kind of woman she will be. I look at her with her new little bob haircut, her brand new contacts replacing the glasses we're all used to, braces removed, her long legs and the skinny jeans she puts them in every day, that noticeable hip curvage and [insert gasp] breasts and I start thinking about what kind of romantic relationships she'll enter and how I can help her avoid my mistakes. But my sister has one thing on me: she's blessedly incurious.

Curiosity can be a wonderful thing, but then again, it also killed the cat. I've been in several relationships that I should have left, but in effect, stayed and screamed. I look at my sister and think, thank God, she will know when to say when, when to turn around and run: before things get ugly and well before they have a chance to sour or spin out of control.

I don't want her to miss out on the important lessons I learned, but obviously I pray she can find her path to the answers more easily. I don't want her to turn and run from everything, but I think it's wonderful that she hasn't inherited that morbid curiosity that made me push love's envelope so many times in the past, had me hanging on just to see how the story could or would end. What I ended up seeing instead was just how awfully we could treat each other, how disrespectful and finally, how devastating things could get. I don't want that for my sister, ever. I want her to walk away from volatile situations and to like nice guys. I want her to get her kicks from good conversation and sweetness, not from constant drama and an endless cycle of breakups-to-makeups.

I think I'm in luck. Over Thanksgiving, we talked about her little boyfriend (I say little but the kid is 14 and 6'1"), to whom I was introduced by phone and had three weeks later when I got home for the holiday been thrown to the bricks. "He's mean," my sister told me. "And he's a Republican and doesn't like Obama. That's annoying." And, at least for now, that's my girl.

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Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Sisters Are Doin It For Themselves

"i'm takin care of business/baby can't you see..."--Vanessa Williams (nee Isley Bros.)

Recently, a young football wife decided to take the matter of groupies into her own two hands--and I'm using mine to applaud her. You don't know Tia Robbins, but she is your personal hero.

Tia, who married NFL baller/St. Louis Ram Fred Robbins in May 2009 after nine years of dating, has gotten herself a day job. The best kind--the one where you're employed by yourself. Tia started a little business called Off the Market, which is a social service (read: event hosting) company for athletes and their wives. Basically, Tia decided to get other athlete wives to sign up to party together--with their husbands. Said husbands will be so busy partying with their colleagues and wives that they have less time to entertain the golddigger set. Tia signed all kinds of elite businesses to sponsor parties and activities because--genius moment--they get to advertise to a clientele that can more than afford to buy whatever they're selling. [Oprah voice] Brillllll---iaaaant!

In any case, Tia's thoughtful contribution to the art of inspiring fidelity got me thinking about what other businesses are just out there waiting to happen. Some girl-power enterprises just waiting to happen after the jump.

Business Name: Cheater 2 Keeper
Founder: Juanita Jordan
Prospective Membership: Anyone Shaunie O'Neal can help Juanita drudge up.
Purpose: Educating celebrity wives on how to draw out a marriage, even after multiple divorce filings, to maximize the ultimate divorce settlement.
Slogan: Liar, liar pants on...list of things I'm getting in the divorce.
Events: Monthly lingerie and champagne parties where the ladies fantasize about marriage to their new husbands with their old husbands' money.
Staff: Shaunie O'Neal
Based In: Chicago, but with a satellite office in LA.
Additional Services: For additional fees, Juanita's assistant will handle your initial divorce filings to scare your husband straight and then hire out her shark attorney to handle the final filing and trial several years later.
Silent Investor: Sheila Johnson, former wife of Bob Johnson
Famous Owner Quotes: "Thank you, your Honor."

Business Name: Settle to Soar
Founder: Michelle Obama
Prospective Membership: Young, impressionable girls; young adult single women….and countless golddiggers with a bit of patience.
Purpose: Educating women on relationship-building and supporting a man with potential; emphasizing the need to date smart, ambitious men with a longterm goal.
Slogan: Make that man; don't let that man make you.
Events: Mixers at some of the nation's best schools, athletic camps, and performing arts academies; workshops on spotting and attracting diamonds in the rough.
Staff: Barack's female junior staffers willing to work in exchange for Michelle's personal matchmaking hookups.
Based In: Michelle's mother's DC apartment
Additional Services: A matchmaking service, one-on-one training, and a college application service that helps young women get into great schools to meet up-and-comers. In an upgraded platinum membership, Michelle will personally put in a call to get you the job where you can meet your match.
Silent Investor: Pauletta Washington
Famous Owner Quotes: "Cute's good. But cute only lasts for so long, and then it's, 'Who are you as a person?' Don't look at the bankbook or the title. Look at the heart. Look at the soul."

Business Name: White Not Weak
Founder: Elin Nordegren
Prospective Membership: Delicate-looking white women married to philandering celebrities
Purpose: Boxing club and anger management classes for no-joke white women who married groupie-happy celebs with the impression that they would be faithful.
Slogan: Does Elin Nordegren have to choke a bitch?
Events: Weekly boxing parties where women can spar, monthly golf workshops where they work on their pimphand swing, and one annual anger management class. A workshop by special guest Brenda Richie will be conducted for the standout members who deserve extra special treatment.
Staff: All the people outraged at the audacity of Tiger to cheat so flagrantly on his good, clean white wife
Based In: Sweden, Florida, and/or LA. *kanye shrug*
Silent Investor: Hillary Clinton
Famous Owner Quotes: Don't Speak. Swing.

Business Name: SugaMamas
Founder: Beyonce Knowles
Prospective Membership: Career-focused women with little desire to procreate but high desire to marry.
Purpose: Educating women in the ways to get the marriage you want without the babies you promised.
Slogan: Promise high. Deliver low.
Events: Quarterly "An Evening of Gynecologists", a gala where women can mingle with the nation's top gynecologists and discuss integrating old-school rhythm methods into new-school lifestyles and schedule tubal ligation procedures.
Staff: No staff needed--everyone comes when Beyonce calls.
Based In: Rocawear NYC Offices and House of Dereon's offices in Houston
Additional Services: No additional services offered.
Silent Investor: Matthew Knowles
Famous Owner Quotes: "When it happens; it happens...whenever I decide to have them."

Business Name: Bundle Your Joy
Founder: Alicia Keys
Prospective Membership: Celebrities who do something foul and need to improve their self-image through procreation.
Purpose: Guides "the other woman" towards the exit from the public hot seat--by making a baby.
Slogan: First comes infidelity, then comes love, and then comes baby in the baby carriage. Oh, yeah, and then comes marriage.
Events: Private parties where married celebrity men can bring their celebrity mistresses and love freely before their divorces are finalized.
Staff: Alicia's "people"
Based In: Alicia & Swizz's home
Silent Investor: Bobby Brown
Famous Owner Quotes: "If you ask me, I'm ready."

Business Name: Men Love Bitches
Founder: Hillary Rodham Clinton
Prospective Membership: Both the powerful professional woman married to the powerful man and the everyday laywoman that Hillary really stands for. Basically, any woman who's not going to take any @&%$ off her egotistical, power and/or sex-addicted man.
Purpose: To make sure women don't take any @&%$.
Slogan: We're not taking any @&%$.
Events: "The Annual Husband Hunt" where members go in groups to catch each other's husbands in the act of cheating. Monthly shakedowns at the Watergate building where mistresses are waterboarded until they confess to cheating with a member's husband.
Staff: Chelsea Clinton
Based In: Washington, with a satellite office in Chelsea Clinton Mezvinsky's apartment
Silent Investor: Mark Mezvinsky and Bill Clinton
Famous Owner Quotes: "If I didn't kick his ass everyday, [Bill] wouldn't be worth anything."

"Put your dick up, Bill. You can't f&%# her in here."

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Monday, October 18, 2010

New Rule: Stay In Your Lane

"sex so you remember?"--Marsha Ambrosius

So, while perusing Jezebel yesterday, I came across an oh-so-lovely piece (sarcasm) about one of the topics closest to my heart...wait for it: celibacy. Surprise, surprise. Jezebel, whom I love but in all fairness treats the topic of abortion with all the weight of a drinking game, was attempting a stab at the sensitive topic of what I like to call pillow-cradling, or the showerhead sales pitch.

Well, I have some advice for Jezzy and their prize writer, Anna North. Keep your opinions to yourself.

One of the best things about topical non-fiction is the chance to write about what you know. So why get someone whose labium are probably still swollen from the weekend to handle the topic of keeping it in your pants? Admittedly I'm hating, but honestly, this journey is one of the hardest things I've personally ever done.

I make jokes, but I can't wait until this is over. It's been just about two years. Two. Yeah, yeah, I enjoy the clarity, the sureness of self, and most especially the choices I don't have to make in this time waiting; I also totally understand what is meant by the "sensuality of celibacy". Truthfully, I feel sexy all the time, and don't have to be having sex to feel that way. Sexiness is something that comes from inside, from knowing your intrinsic worth and knowing what you're sitting on (pun somewhat intended, but not quite as intended as it sounded). Celibacy is not for the faint of heart.

Anyhow, the chick who decided to pick up a pen and delve into a topic that I happen to actually live every day did a cute little piece with the appropriate jargon and the appropriate tongue-in-cheek tone that screams "just go get laid already and put everyone at ease!". Because, like it or not, people freak out when they find out that you're not riding the bone. They have a motherloving cow most of the time. And I'm not just talking about men, who are used to hearing women say they don't or have never had sex (and be lying through their teeth a large percentage of the time) that when I tell guys I'm celibate it's almost always received with the requisite "oh but wait 'til you see my dick" look of curiosity and intrigue.

But the women? The women lose their minds, like my choice is somehow an affront to theirs. I've learned to take it in stride, but I was personally never that woman. When people told me they were virgins and/or abstinent, I always shrugged it off even though I was turning down absolutely no opportunities to hit the pipe. Bygones, I suppose.

I picked my favorite phrases that North picked of the book she was reviewing, a tome on going a year (pttth, just a year!?) without sex, appropriately called Chastened and written by an author named Hephzibah Anderson, whose name sounds eerily like her sexual choices are made by a minister from the Hebrew Israelites. In any case, they are not; and I'm sure Chastened is just great, but I won't be reading it--for obvious reasons. The only time I want to hear a discourse on celibacy is when I'm commiserating with one of the many friends whose sex lives have also been put on the proverbial shelf.

On the one hand, the idea that guys will only do cute things if you dangle sex just out of reach is both clichéd and depressing — what does romance really mean if it's just an extended ploy to get laid? But on the other, maybe Anderson's year of chastity helped her focus on men who would give her what she wanted, who wouldn't leave her "emotionally frustrated."

There are several things wrong with this statement, but the glaringly obvious is the comment about romance. Um, romance is pretty much by definition just an extended plot to get laid. All male-female interaction is; and I don't mean that in a jaded, carnal way, but in the practical sense. All sexual/romantic interaction between men and women is about getting laid. Even and especially when you love someone to the moon and back, that desire for the sexual connection is always there. As humans and sexual beings, we do romantic things as expressions of that desire, which is not bad or wrong. Why else do men do what they do? The "just to see you smile" rap? Yeah, to see you smile, because your smile makes him wanna hit. We shouldn't be so coarse in mind; it doesn't change love to say "I desire copulation with you". True, when you love someone, you can deny yourself something you want in deference to what makes them happy, but it doesn't mean that your desire shrinks or goes away as a result. It's incredibly naïve to think that "cute things" are done without consideration for the oochie-coochie that follows.

The second issue I take here is that people expect far too much from plain old celibacy when they have no experience with it. North's comment that maybe the year helped Anderson focus on "men who wouldn't leave her emotionally frustrated" is idealistic at best. Celibacy isn't a magic fairy that makes you good at relationships, draws all the right men to you, and leaves everything right with the world. It helps. But it doesn't do the hard work for you. When I got off the proverbial pot, I already, as my priors will tell you, had major issues with intimacy and was notoriously horrible at interpersonal communication in a romantic sense. Therefore, my relationships always imploded after being punctuated with television-worthy performances of the dreaded "what do you want from me??" -"I dooon't knoooooooowww!!!" scene.

No longer having sex to cover up just how awful my relationship-building skills were has been a major plus, but as I found out in the three substantive relationships I've attempted in the past two years, it did not magically take away my issues. I've naturally gotten better at certain things due to age, self-awareness, and putting in the work and self-analysis. But it wasn't the refraining from sex that did that for me; it was the honesty I decided to give myself. The "emotional frustration" North mentions has definitely appeared during my celibacy--and I didn't have sex to relieve it.

Anderson leans a little hard on the notion that women want more commitment and less casual sex than men do — there are lots of women who don't want marriage or babies, who don't fall in love when they have sex, and who have only benefited from the (as yet incomplete) sexual liberation of modern life.

To this, I'll take a leap and say that there is a significantly large portion of women that want commitment and not casual sex, and an even larger portion of women who don't want to admit that's what they want because it's not en vogue in this day and age. To be fair, I can't totally thumb my nose at the "sexual liberation" argument, because I've had my fair share of casual sex. There was a time in my life when I didn't even spend the night, or allow guys to spend the night at my place. I was disaffected and uninterested and it actually felt quite good.

I was young and having a good time, trying not to think about consequences. But when all was said and done my extended teen years slammed into my young adulthood, and the screeching halt left me with a desire for the real, the grounded, and the stable. Trying to combine a casual sex life with this need was a recipe for disaster, and ultimately created a sneaky, oversexed, and overly self-concerned person I didn't like--and wouldn't want to know a woman who did.

As women, we should treasure our role as the rock. We were created to be the bottom line, and it's a valid hypothesis that men run around chasing their own dicks because we're overly concerned with freedom and project that onto them. I've learned by watching those I love that choosing the one, right person will actually free you, and that's the current goal.

But Anderson's right that women and girls are often encouraged not to be "clingy," and to act, at least with guys they're seeing, like they don't want a relationship — even if that's exactly what they want. And what they do want, whether it's love, sex, or a combination of the two, often gets lost amid what they're supposed to want — an ever-shifting standard that usually has something to do with guys wanting them.

Even though this statement is mostly spot-on, it's high time women screw the "what we're supposed to want"
or "I don't want to be seen as clingy" jive. That was my whole intention behind this website, it's time women stop apologizing for being a little left of the center that men created. We are different--we desire different things and are wired differently, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Though I consider myself a feminist, I find the movement thoroughly flawed because so many women still want to act as though there's no difference between the sexes, as though they're interchangeable. Well, they're not, and thank God for it. I love being a woman, with all the crazy thoughts, and mood swings, and complexities that men couldn't imagine. That's why they love us, too, whether or not they'll always admit it. Women need to lose the egos and concern about looking "normal". We're not men's idea or patriarchal society's idea of normal because we're not men.

Women have been writing about these problems — about the meaning of sex and commitment in a world where women are supposed to be sexy but not slutty, and to act carefree about relationships while still managing to get married before they're over the hill — for long enough that they've come to seem like exclusively female issues.

Women have always written about these issues because they affect us so much more. Even just physically speaking, we bear the larger brunt of the burden where sex is concerned. If there's a pregnancy, guess who's up to bat? Guess who doesn't have to be? And then emotionally and spiritually speaking, there are such things as unwanted attachments and there are such things soul ties. Women write about this because biologically speaking, we come to a crossroads where we are forced to make decisions about these things, even if our choice is not to engage in the discourse and to continue down a path illuminated by the bathroom light of quality casual sex indefinitely. For a woman, who was created to give life, and whom, societally speaking, is more expected to settle down (read: marry) than a man, even opting out is a decision. Men can be bachelors until they're 50, and sure it's odd, but not half as odd as a 50 year-old woman with no children. One is treated with the shake of a head, like a petulant playboy who just hasn't made a decision, and the other is treated like a sad sack, or someone whose decision was made for her. This, of course, is wildly unfair, but it's the truth of the matter, and writers are all after the truth. So of course women write about it more--the burden of truth leans far more heavily on us.

Overall, I think it's interesting and lovely that celibacy has become such a topic of discussion lately. On Jezebel over the weekend, there were five different posts on celibacy, which is more no-sexing than I've ever heard in a feminist discourse at once. There was even a post about celibacy being "hot" right now. As much as I recommend it for a number of reasons, and as much as it's done for me spiritually, emotionally, and mentally, it's not child's play. There is a physical, carnal consideration that is beyond navigation. Celibacy doesn't remove desire from your life; in fact, at times it greatly intensifies it. But the lucidity with which I can approach my decisions about love and relationships are sans the 'dickmitization' I faced in the past, and I can't be mad at that.  When I stop and look at the decisive, confident person I'm becoming and the examined life I'm living, the valorization gains a little more clarity. 

So no, as someone who thoroughly enjoys sex, I cannot say celibacy is 'hot'.

But sometimes, it's cool.

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Wednesday, October 13, 2010

23 Questions...And Answers: The Misanthropic BIC Edition

"that's why the lady is a tramp..."--Ella Fitzgerald

I usually serve my BIC sunny side-up, because, well, I'm truly a glass half-full kind of person. Let's face it: there's absolutely no other way to handle being single in this day and age other than sheer, unadulterated optimism. But, alas, sometimes my pragmatism does get the best of me. And with that said, I cannot tell a lie when I ask:

1. Aren't you praying Obama doesn't even run for another term? I'm so over the whole Black president thing; let the Republicans back in to screw shit up so they can be blamed--or give Hillary a shot. Because let's face it, things are going to improve at their own pace either way.

2. Isn't it astounding--and ironic--how much more warmly the public has embraced Alicia Keys' alleged home-wrecking since she got pregnant?

3. Now that Tyra's done us all a favor by taking her awful talk show off television, isn't it time for ANTM to follow suit? Baby steps, Ms. Banks.

4. Gaby Sidibe is fabulous as a person and an actress, but she should not have been on the cover of Elle. The experiment didn't quite work. There, I said it.

5. When are we planning to lose the feminazi rhetoric and admit this chick who authored and distributed (yes, distributed; c'mon it's 2010, what did you really think would happen if you emailed pictures of penises and corresponding ratings) the "Fuck List" (which is in fact not a "list", but a powerpoint presentation) is not a feminist hero, but just a regular, run-of-the-mill um, slut?

6. It's been said before, but isn't Jersey Shore a travesty against humanity?

7. Can't just about anybody be a "pundit" these days? Although I actually like most of what she stands for, the fact that Meghann McCain is a "political analyst" should scare the living daylights out of everybody. 7b) Has the girl ever met an interview she couldn't valley-girl giggle her way through?

8. I'm convinced that a significant amount of men are being conditioned to tweet all the wild disrespectful sexual comments they would never say to a woman's face. Way to go, Progress.

9. Didn't the Republicans let the proverbial dogs out with Palin? They opened the gate for her in desperation and Christine O'Donnell, Carly Fiorina, and Michele Bachmann ran out behind her.

10. I'm not really a fan of hard liquor and especially not a fan of Diddy, but isn't Ciroc Coconut truly a delicious and incredibly smooth cure-all? Double on the rocks, please!

11. I'm a huge Leonardo DiCaprio fan, but after watching Shutter Island, in addition to the also recent and amazing Inception and Resurrection Road, I'm wondering if it's a contractual requirement that his characters' wives be crazy as hell, and what issues he might have with playing opposite a female character that's not criminally insane and suicidal?

12. Isn't it ridic that Mel Gibson is now blaming "male menopause" for his social snafus? Newsflash: men don't get to have menopause. Midlife crisis, yes. Menopause, no. I've seen women going through menopause--they can't sleep at night and break out into intense sweats at the drop of a hat like someone's thrown a bucket of water on them. Men don't go through that, just like they don't pass other human beings through their genitalia. Sober up, jackass.

13. Are people finally starting to get that that whole "I hate homosexuals" thing is really code for "I fantasize about sex with someone of my own gender constantly"?

14. Isn't it always the worst people with the worst reputations who want to be "googled"? "Google me!" You can't possibly really want anyone to do that.

15. Has not the internet been a coincidentally and remarkably sweeter place to visit since Beyonce went on her "break" and Lil Wayne went to jail?

16. In my celibacy, I've gained a heightened awareness of celibate celebs: Gaga, Nicki Minaj, Mya, Lenny Kravitz. I try to quiet the cynical part of my mind that says they screwed someone the same night they gave the interview.

17. Somehow I missed this brilliant display (which, for once, I say without a hint of sarcasm), which I deeply regret. Two thumbs up, girls!

18. I was speaking with a friend the other day, and I think I've finally learned in my 20-something years that when a man says "I'll make it up to you, babe" it really means "deal with it, bitch".

19. While I champion celebrities who stay tight-lipped on their private
lives, doesn't Mariah Carey specifically need to announce her pregnancy ASAP? And it definitely looks like a girl...

...or two.

20. The play "For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow is Enuf" is phenomenal. By raise of hands, who believes the chances Tyler Perry screwed the whole 40 year-old legacy up on film are greater than 50%?

21. If ever there were a such thing as a baby-making necklace, leave it to Betsey Johnson to create it. That said, by show of hands, who dares me to wear this to the grocery store this weekend? The irony should sink in in 5, 4, 3, 2...

22. Speaking of Tyler Perry, wouldn't it make sense for J.Lo to be the star of his next film? Since Jennifer's ventured so boldly into the area of horrendous productions and Tyler's an expert on them, shouldn't they just make art together?

23. Is it just me or is Stacie's husband on The Real Housewives of DC more gossipy (and slightly b-made) than most of the women on the show--except Stacie?

Bonus/24. So is Toni Braxton overly philanthropic, cursed, or just an idiot?

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Thursday, September 23, 2010

One Last Request

"and you don't remember..."--Mariah Carey

Hey you? Mr. Former Lover?  The man whose last name I used to scribble next to my first all over my favorite writing notebook like I was 16 instead of 26? The last man I did Kegel exercises for? Yeah, you. Could you stop coming to my church? I mean, I know that's a horrible request of anyone, and I hope that the Lord will forgive me for what I am feeling in the wickedness of my deceptive heart, but I just. Keep. Praying. You will find another place to pretend to worship once every two months.

Because when I'm up front singing and trying to minister, trying to be in the Spirit, hands raised, eyes closed...and I lower them and open my eyes and I see you? My heart drops into my thighs. When I see you, I think of the many nights we stayed up until there was sun, the movies we went to see, the late dinners, the early breakfasts, the games we played. I think of our heart-to-hearts, when you took my hand and said "Ashleigh, just talk to me. I'm right here." I think of how you spelled my name right in the first text you sent me; I think of the night after a year had gone by when you said that even with your horrible memory, for some reason you remembered every single detail of the day you met me and told me everything about that moment, even what I was wearing. And even with my laundry list of priors, you were the first man I really talked to, the first man that invited me to be real, the first man that looked me in my eyes and truly listened to the words coming out of my mouth. The first man I trusted for real, the first man whose word felt like bond. I think that's why in so many ways I felt like you tricked me, but then again, it's more likely I tricked myself.

And all of this is why I'm asking you if you might find another place to pretend to worship once every two months?

Because when I see you now, I think of the many ways you twisted me, both literally and figuratively. I think of showers in your apartment; I think of fully-clothed conversations in restaurants where I clearly explained what our physical relationship meant to me, what it meant in my relationship with God, and I think of moments where you told me you understood and that I could trust you. And then, inevitably, I think of your selfishness; I think of your disrespect. I think of your maliciousness and your immaturity, unintentional or not. And I feel disgusted with myself. When you walk in, I feel like I have to repent again, every Sunday...and God says I'm forgiven. I asked for forgiveness a long time ago, and it was granted. And yet, every time I see you I'm reminded. And all this during an altar call.

And so, I ask if you might stop letting the devil use you and find another place to pretend to worship once every two months?

Because every time you walk into the sanctuary, the enemy has a small victory. I'm just keeping it real--in the name of Jesus. I'm a new creation, and my mind has been transformed; but the recesses of my heart, where you poured all those shiny words and false hopes like pancake batter...they're still mush. And when we were done, you left holes, sagging and dripping, larger and far more porous than you found them. God came and filled those in. And yet somehow I feel that same old sucker punch when you come swanning into the sanctuary like you're doing everybody a favor by getting to church just in time for the sermon.

I was there first; I should get custody of this place. I can't and don't want to bogard Jesus; but I can bogard my church, right? I shouldn't have to worry about being confronted with my bad choices and checkered past there, right? Or maybe I should. As I type that, I'm giving God a cautious and respectful side-eye.

You've been coming for almost two years--once every two months anyhow--and you haven't joined. Does that mean you don't love it? Because I do. There are so many other churches in LA. There are so many other places for you to go. And I used to want you to get that Word... But now I think: can I send you CDs? Transcripts, something? Do you have to show up?

And then I dare to wonder why God hasn’t brought the man that's really going to love me. Could it be because I'm still hung up on the one that didn’t?

I don't know. All I know is when I was with you, you had a bond and relationship with God that really attracted me to you. You had daily devotions; even with your crazy work schedule, you read your Bible every day. You inspired me. I had left the old me on the altar just before I met you, and I was ready to be new with you. Oh, the irony.

Picture it: the night I decided was the night, you were in the shower, and I found your devotions notebook right behind your side of your bed, propped up against the wall. And I admit, I opened it. And I read your notes, your scriptures, your thoughts and meditations, and I was so surprised and impressed. Wow, he really does read the Bible, I thought. He's not just saying that! Imagine. And outwardly, it was clear that God was moving in your life something crazy. And now, fast forward and He's really, really moved. What you came here to do has been made so real for you; He's done huge things in your life. This town is small and the business is even smaller. I know everything, every victory, and I'm so happy for you, baby, truly. You appear to have the world.

So, since you have the world, can I have my church?

Seeing you makes me think of what I gave you just because you loved Him, what I trusted you with because I trusted that He was guiding your path. Because let's be real: a sista was a little lukewarm, a little naïve about what exactly dedication to God truly meant, a little still stuck in her piping hot flesh even though she was walking around in a newly saved, reborn, and rededicated temple. And she made you wait six whole months, remember? And she wanted to trust you, and she wanted to feel like it was right and like it was okay. But it wasn't okay. What she gave you didn't have the best ROI when all the many waves of dust settled, and even though God forgave her, she still had to pay the price. She still got set back; she still got disciplined. She still had to deal with the fallout of her disobedience--but you didn't. Not in the same way.

I never told you but that last time, before we ended things, I was actually on my way to your house that evening. I didn't get sick, and I wasn't tired. What really happened was that I was sitting at the stoplight at Manchester and Sepulveda--and the light was green, but I just didn't feel quite right. And God said "open your Bible right now." And it was on my backseat, and for once, I didn't question Him, I just did it. And oddly, or not so oddly knowing the God we serve, I opened right to Jeremiah 15, a scripture I'd obviously read but hadn't truly ingested. And God said, "Who will have pity on you...who will mourn for you? Who will stop to ask how you are? You have rejected keep on backsliding. So I will lay hands on you and destroy you. I can no longer show compassion." I was terrified. And I turned my car around, and the sex--mind-blowing as it was--was over. (Except for that one time the following September when I tried to bamboozle myself into believing double-backs didn't count....but God knows I always learn the hard way. No pun intended. )

I know I was the best you ever had. I know that. It was the best for both of us. It went down so easy, and it tasted amazing. That connection, that feeling, that intensity. I remember getting up on Sunday mornings, fresh from a long night of getting it in with you, and going to church and praising God for you, and your dick. The unmitigated gall of me. The deception was just so damn deep.

And now. I'm asking you if you could find another place to pretend to worship once every two months?

Because I'm in that house every Sunday, seeking His face, trying to be a part of the body, trying to be a part of the solution, and you, you are still a part of the problem. My problem. I don't know about the larger problem; I just know that when I open my eyes and lower my hands and see you, I see something that's not God, or just not god-ly. Maybe that's wrong to say, but for me, that's what you represent. A decision that altered the course of my life, however small in measure. You haven't tried to represent anything else for a long time. At the heart of it, you're not my old love. You are just a man I used to spend time with, one who has seen me fully naked, and with whom I have done things that would make the Kardashians blush. Yes, you were that man once. Yeah, I loved you.

Of course, I had low expectations when we met that beautiful, sunny Sunday morning in March. But I was comforted and disarmed by your Midwestern flavor, fresh off the boat, wearing a real live suit and holding a real live Bible, waiting for a ride to a real live church. All those low expectations turned to slush and washed away when you leaned down and kissed me for the first time, three and a half years ago now on that unusually humid April LA night. Me in my sister's purple sweater and the skinny jeans I can no longer fit, my still-favorite cowboy boots on as I sat on the edge of your bed. I felt something shift and lock into place, like you were my missing puzzle piece, or the key that turned my lock. I left that evening knowing that even though I would fight it, I was going to give you my heart. I went home and told my sister that I'd met the man who would be my husband. That single, sweet, simple kiss, up to this very second in time, was so amazing it opened up a whole new world in which I felt so close to God. I felt like Love was real. I had never experienced anything remotely like it before. And I just knew that despite my marathon sprints from Love, it had found me. I knew in that moment I would never be the same. And I never was.

But neither were we, after all was said and done. We barely speak now, and when we do, it always devolves into something regrettably ugly; and even though I've forgiven you and pray you've forgiven me, sometimes I find it hard to look at you without wanting to slap your face. God forgive me. I never questioned your relationship with God after we were done, because I never doubted your love and your faith. But now I wonder if you even love God with the same vigor. I won't explore the evidence, but keeping it one hundred: can your prayer life be that deep when your behavior is straight from hell?

There was a time when I was moved by you. But I am no longer moved. You messed with my resolve, you messed with my head, and now you're messing with my worship.

And we can't have that.

So, I'm gonna pray on this. And I'm gonna ask God to bind this spirit of contention and cast it out. That's what my spirit says to do. But my flesh. Sweet Jesus, my flesh wants to know if you could find another place to pretend to worship every two months.

I would be eternally grateful.

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Friday, August 27, 2010

Another Reason to Run: A Reminder of the Un-Sexiness of Marriage and Other Cohabitation

"always something there to remind me..." --Naked Eyes

As legend would have it, when women think about marriage, they think about the beautiful wedding, the waking up to the same [beautiful] face every morning, the romance, and so on and so forth. Want to know what I think about? The fact that no matter how you try to avoid it, you are going to be, at some point, highly grossed out. Honestly, do you ever think about just how much hideous crap you see and experience when you're married? I know: it's par for the course and when you love someone, nothing really matters. I understand this conceptually; I was deeply in love just a few short years ago, and there were plenty of disgusting acts, sounds, smells, and sights that, generally speaking, only endeared him to me more. But we never really *lived* lived together--nor were we required to by law. Sure, we spent plenty of time together, plenty of nights together, but every once and awhile, there was a break. Ideally, a married couple lives together. Every day. And there's no way out except a courthouse jaunt and division of assets. And so, when you come across the occasional childbirth or stomach flu or menstrual accident or food poisoning, it seems like the first thought after suppressing the inclination to vomit would be, 'wow this is really not sexy...and it's all I got'. Introducing "The Kush".

Sure, I'm being mildly facetious and a little misanthropic--anyone that you marry (or otherwise shack up with) will be someone you're more than comfortable accommodating in any number of ways. When you exchange bodily fluids you might as well toss a pillow that looks like a deformed dildo in between your tits--because really, at that point, what's left to imagine?

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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 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


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


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



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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 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 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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