B.I.C.:: She's Worth The Trouble.

Fun With Wordle

2012-02-08T08:25:00.000-08:00

"who are you when i'm not looking..."-blake shelton

I decided to plug this blog's RSS into Wordle in order to discover my most commonly used words since I began the blog. "Love" ranked higher than "orgasm". Good thing I'm not a betting woman.

Daily BIC: Birth of A Nation

2012-02-01T15:51:00.000-08:00

"let's go half on a baby..." -R.Kelly

Have I become psychic? Because I see a whole mess of ~~unwanted~~ unplanned infants and a plethora of bitter lawsuits against Pfizer Pharmaceuticals in 2012.

The Daily BIC: Welcome Worn

2011-12-29T11:09:00.000-08:00

"you better tell her, tell her, tell her..."--Teedra Moses

It's not going to happen, boo. Time to go.

It's been forever since I've done a political post since by and large I don't really care anymore, but this warrants it. Typically when a woman hangs in there, I champion her. But Michele Bachmann's BIC transgressions transcend simple persistence. The fact that she's even cast her lot amongst the Amityville Horrors that is the composite Republican Presidential candidate camp is the first in the line of lunacy she's drawing. The bigger issue is that, ideologically speaking, she's one of them.

Love For On Sale

2011-12-15T07:00:00.000-08:00

I'm in the process of killing a friend of mine. It's been a slow, brutal death of this dear, longtime companion. We've been together for decades; we've loved, lost, thrived, and survived. I'll miss my old buddy, but all good things come to an end, nothing lasts forever. My friend had a beautiful name, Wishful. Last name Thinking.

I'm definitely not a pessimist--in fact, I'm on the optimistic side of pragmatic. It's just that from a very young age, I was made intimately aware that things just don't always shake out the way we wish they would. And more recently, I've realized that life is sometimes about the hard decisions and sacrifices one has to make for the sake of the bigger picture. I'm too brilliant a woman to wait for something that's never coming, consequently giving up the chance to have everything else I want. I spent a great portion of my childhood and my adult life waiting for my breath to be taken away. But I haven't stopped breathing yet. So I've given up the ghost. I've given up on love.

It's not that I don't believe in "LOVE" the romantic concept; I do, deeply. I get emotional at select weddings, I love those black-and-white silhouette commercials for anniversary jewelry, I can't stop grinning at old people who adore each other after decades of being locked down, and I absolutely live for those freaking Google Superbowl commercials about moving to Paris and siblings and putting together a crib. I regretfully tear up at movies in the new American cinematic genre known as "Films Like The Notebook", and I wish I had two more hands to give four thumbs up to Love Jones'-esque Black Love. I love love, and I passionately believe in it. I just don't believe in it for me.

While I enjoyed the book years ago, I'm no blind devotee of what I now recognize as the insidiously sinister 48 Laws of Power; but there's one law that comes to mind when I think about my decision, and that's Law #36: "Disdain the things you cannot have". When I think of the things I want a man to bring into my life, a fairytale romance is decidedly low on the list. Years ago, I wrote a 64-point list detailing what I was hoping and waiting for, and while I stand by it as an amazing amalgamation of qualities in a really primo dude that I'm sure exists somewhere for someone, reading it again feels tired. I want a man to do the things men do--someone to protect, provide, and defend, to check out the things that go bump in the night, take care of my car and take out the trash, lay the pipe consistently, make babies, and be a great dad. Someone I can give my great qualities to who'll generally appreciate them. Maybe specifying that the sound of his name or his touch or really anything about him offers pleasure or even evokes a genuine smile is weighing my list down. Real talk: I've had mind-blowing sex with several people that I didn't love (a couple I didn't even particularly like very much), and honestly, I could and would do it again (not the several, just the whole loveless bit--in the interest of clarity). An orgasm is an orgasm is an orgasm, and the only thing I ask is that it regularly come from something without a motor. I'm easy. My loveless sexual experiences have been some of the better ones of my life, actually. Add to this that the optimistic side of me feels that in the right circumstances with the right guy, a kind of love might evolve. Hey, it could totally happen.

Men have come along. It's not like I've been in desperate unrequited situations time after time. When I think of some of the ones I let slip through my fingers on principle, guys I couldn't bring myself to "fall for" for various reasons over the years. What was really wrong with them? Some concerns were valid, but some were just honestly me, waiting on the upgrade. Thinking that something was better somewhere. Waiting on the devastating love, waiting on the soulmate.

My point? I'm training myself to live without. I used to think I needed romance and passion, but that totally imagined need is exhausting. Taking inventory and deciding that's it unnecessary feels like a breath of fresh air and a weight off my shoulders.

The beauty is that I don't really have to live without. I'm a writer, a creative who can conjure worlds with a pen, with music, with my imagination. I draw worlds lyrically all the time, and I live in those worlds while I'm creating them. Perhaps a white bread real life will strengthen the muscle that fuels my brush across that proverbial easel. Perhaps when I really need a fix, I can make one up.

My friends who know me don't think I can do this, give up. But those who doubt me might underestimate the power of my desire for other things. I really want children. I really want a sense of safety in this earthly realm. I really want to truly focus on my career and not worry that I'm swimming against the current, wasting my best years. And while I'm addicted to change, adventure, and new experiences, sometimes I just want to sit still somewhere with someone and not feel like every change in season will bring a 180 degree change in my life. I imagine having the peace, the chill of having one constant, one thing that's true. I used to think that thing was love. But I realized that it doesn't have to be. It doesn't have to be.

Wish me luck.

2011-10-07T10:12:00.000-07:00

To my subscribers: Apologies in advance. This site is currently undergoing some change, and a result, over the next couple of days you might receive emails of old posts, much like the one you received a moment ago. If you notice, that was an old post written in August 2010 and it will not be featured on the current homepage, as all posts are chronological. Just wanted to assure you that I will try to avoid any communication that doesn't include new posts. Thanks again, as always, for actually subscribing.

That's all.

The B Is Bitter

2011-10-02T06:11:00.000-07:00

"it's about time for a miracle..."--Beverly Crawford

bit·ter/ˈbitər/:
1. Having or being a taste that is sharp, acrid, and unpleasant
2. Causing a sharply unpleasant, painful, or stinging sensation; harsh: enveloped in bitter cold; a bitter wind
3. Difficult or distasteful to accept, admit, or bear: the bitter truth; bitter sorrow
4. Proceeding from or exhibiting strong animosity: a bitter struggle; bitter foes
5. Resulting from or expressive of severe grief, anguish, or disappointment: bitter tears
6. Marked by resentment or cynicism: "He was already a bitter elderly man"

They say that everything you need to know you learned in kindergarten, and while that sounds cute and sells a lot of t-shirts, it's not true. Because as I closed out my twenties several weeks ago on the morning of my 30th birthday, clinging to one of the 12 pillows on my bed long after my daily automatic 8:30AM coffee brew had gone cold, I realized that the most important thing I've learned was taught to me by the unmistakable brutality of my current geographical location on the map of life. Latitudinal: decidedly unemployed. Longitudinal: decidedly unsexed. They meet at a little point named Malcontentment in a swarmy region I like to call Childless in Rapidly Declining Fertility.

There's a decades-long argument in the faux-feminist stratosphere (read: the place where otherwise eloquent women fill voids in their lives by writing books and essays rife with rhetorical questions) about whether or not the female sex can have its cake and eat it too. Regarding which, I've guilelessly believed that I would be a part of the vaginally-gifted population declaring "yes, we can". Why not? Can we have lives and children? Can we have children and jobs? Can we have careers and fun? Can we have husbands and sex? Can we have protein with carbs? There are just so many un-answers to the question of whether or not women can 'have it all'. But the crudity of my late twenties, markedly void of the elusive pot of gold the motion picture industry's been pushing since the early 20th century, has taught me a woman's most important lesson: not only can you not have it all, sometimes you can't have any of it.

Just one would make a difference. The dream job. The kid. Of course, at this point in my life, one actually would preclude the other--get the dream job and it would push babies even further down the line; have a kid right now and I'm almost guaranteed to end up on some sort of government assistance--unemployment excepted. I can't even take a man into account without chuckling at this point because even in my wildest dreams I can't imagine who would sign up for this freak show. And so, from the vantage point of my stunted, sexless, sexless existence, I have had to stop and realize I'm not alone. Many women are at a crossroads; other chicks are, like me, being tossed around by their circumstances and their hormones like a shrimpin' boat in a tempest.

So I've been toying with the idea of writing a book. Nothing else has panned out, so why not? I've tossed around a couple titles and decided to share a list of books I'm thinking of pitching, the titles of which are lines many women need to hear or have already heard and ignored, no matter where they are in life.

Pregnant Bridesmaids Make People Uncomfortable: When Your BFF Gets a YES on her EPT

I Might Not Even Let You Babysit: A Guide To Picking Godparents God Would Actually Pick

You're Too Old To E-Stalk, But If We Do It Together It's Normal: Supporting Your Friends' Unnatural Fixation With Exes Who've Moved On

Cool Aunts Wear Skinny Jeans: Co-opting Other People's Children When Personal Options Are Few

You Know You Couldn't Afford That Wedding: Putting on Airs While Putting Off Home Ownership and Draining What's Left of Your Parents' Terminal 401K

The Vibrator Makes Me Cry: The Myth of Masturbation As A Viable Substitute

Is This A Joke: A Daily Journal with Guided Meditation

Cheers!

The Process of Elimination

2011-07-31T03:18:00.000-07:00

"you worried 'bout the wrong thing..."--Kanye West

Let me first say that I believe and fully support a woman's legal right to choose. God gives us the right to choose; the least the government can do is follow suit. And I, for one, could live without the litany of fetus legislation that's constantly being proposed. I also think it's the dumbest, red-herringest argument in the world to propose defunding Planned Parenthood, which happens to provide abortions in some of their nationwide clinics.

But. Having established legislative loyalties, I am also a person who does not believe in abortion personally, even while remaining dedicated to legally supporting it as an option for American women. The issue I take is simple, and it delivers a message to the larger culture: Stop trying to coax 'the sexy' out of abortion. It's not going to happen.

I am not one of those nutjobs who advocate endlessly counseling pregnant rape and incest victims about 'the right to life'--if you get pregnant by your father, counsel concerning the right to life is probably one of the last things on your mind. And, really, who among us but women who have gotten pregnant by rape or incest understand the level of trauma it results in, and who else but someone who had personally suffered that trauma could truly measure the weight of it on her shoulders? Every woman should make her own choices regarding what's right for her, her family, and her body. That's different for everyone, for a myriad of reasons. I want abortion to be, as Hillary Clinton once put it, "safe, legal, and rare". Incredibly rare.

But.

Even being "pro-choice" (not, as right-to-lifers put it "pro-abortion"), I am also not one of those people who think it appalling for there to be some rules and prerequisites for an abortion or for an order to be observed once the choice is made. I don't think it's some shockingly intrusive imposition for a woman to be shown a video of what's going to happen once she's on the table, and I don't see any harm whatsoever in having the process described in detail by the administering doctor. In short, I don't think we need to be fighting so hard to protect the delicate sensibilities of those who have opted to end a pregnancy, because, hello: An attempt at deterring a woman from having an abortion is not a bad thing. I am, however, obviously in the minority of choicers with this position, evidenced nearly every time I log onto my favorite "girly" blogs, at least the ones with fairly liberal feminist sensibilities. Which is pretty much all of them.

It seems as though every time I enter the blogsphere I come upon an angry feminist rant about how disgusting the attack on the 'right to choose' is, and I get it--sometimes. I believe in a woman's right to choose, mainly because it's dangerous to take that right away. The legality of the choice of whether or not to eliminate a pregnancy is a slippery slope, legislatively speaking. There's a such thing as the concept of giving the government too much power--let them legislate restrictions on whether or not a birth happens, for instance, and next thing you know birth *options* are on the congressional chopping block and natural births are suddenly mandatory except where medically impossible. And then the next thing you know, not breastfeeding is against the law and the tax on Similac mirrors that of the tax on nicotine. It might sound crazy, but you know it's not. All I know is: No one better try to force me to deliver anything naturally or I'll be having an Epidural and/or caesarean section with each of my beautiful little Canadians.

There is most certainly a war on women's bodies across the globe, and if we're truly going to be the land of free and home of the brave, that freedom has to include a woman's right to govern what happens in her own body in the same manner that will always be true for men. That said, we don't have to champion abortion like it's the automatic reaction to pregnancy. It's almost as though a portion of the population wants women to consider abortion no matter what their circumstances. The advertising campaign would go something like this:

"Pregnant? Happily married and wanted to be a mom your whole life? Consider an abortion!"

"Pregnant, 35 and in a committed relationship with a man who wants more kids than the Duggars, but not yet married and don't want to bring shame on your family who doesn't really care because you're almost 40? Consider an abortion!"

"Being pregnant sucks. Have an abortion."

"Worked really hard on your six-pack this year? Consider. An. Abortion." It's as though babies have become some type of feminist burden, as though they're no longer viewed as a gift from our Creator.

Well, they are. And it really boils my blood to see people wasting precious time picketing about parental notification, waiting periods, procedural education, and all the other legal rigamarole surrounding abortion debates. Let's keep it legal, but let's not make it akin to getting a pedicure. Let's not get so coarse as a society that we lose sight of the weight of ending a life. Children are God's most precious miracle. Yes, I believe in a woman's right to choose because I believe choice is a gift. But life is an even better one. Treasure both.

Make It Stop.

2011-07-20T05:04:00.000-07:00

"you go back to her/and i go back to black..."--Amy Winehouse

Scott Adams, the creator of Dilbert, once famously
said, "Reality is almost always controlled by the people who are the most insane." And yet not even Adams could have possibly foreseen just how applicable that statement would be to greenlighting execs at the American Broadcasting Company, more famously known as ABC, who have broadcasted the decade's #1 most appropriate Talk Soup fodder in their unfortunate "reality" hit, The Bachelorette.

I've never even watched The Bachelorette, but I have followed the development of the show since its inception in the blogsphere. And honestly, in this dumbed-down culture, you don't have to bite the lemon to know it's bitter as hell.

This season's "bachelorette", who appears deeply insecure and self-loathing, is supposed to be looking for a husband--even as she invites previously-dismissed contestants back who have called her "ugly" and a "loser" on [inter-]national television and clearly have no interest in her outside of "playing her with head" (his words, not mine).

Then, some geniuses writing for the show thought it would be a good idea to have the contestants pose for wedding pictures with this chick to see how their wedding photo would look? I can't.

When I started this blog four years ago, I said that The Bachelor, with it's insipid "rose ceremonies" and track record of completely unsuccessful relationships (even to this very day), was the height of BIC. That assertion must now be amended as the seemingly matchless lunacy of Bachelor has now seeped into its relatively successful sub-franchise. Hopefully, ABC will soon stick a fork in both of these shows. Although, that might be a moot point since it's pretty clear that television will continue to find new and uniquely disgusting vehicles in which women can put the underbelly of finding "the one" on full display for the kicks of the viewing public. Heavy sigh.

That's all.

Single.

2011-07-18T01:39:00.000-07:00

"and so I sit at home and just pretend/love is not for me..."--Tamia

Recently, a friend's friend suggested that I see a "Christian" documentary by the name of Soulmate.

Okay.

Now, let me preface what I'm about to say about this film with the fact that it's presumptive and not based in fact, since I haven't watched the entire thing, and refuse to do so. But as the friend's friend raved about it as a ministry for single women, I was simultaneously curious and incredulous. For my part, I'm just not one to sign up for "single" things: singles' groups, singles' clubs, singles' parties, singles' events, stampeding to the dance floor when "Single Ladies" comes on like somebody rang the dinner bell in an 19th century orphanage--it's all a bit ridiculous to me. I have never thought of myself as a "single" person. I'm Ms. Brown and one day I'll be Mrs. Brown-____________. "Single" connotes something I don't see as my truth: that I’m not whole somehow, or less than. It's not that the actual word says that; it's what society has attributed to the word that I don't receive. I'm not "single" because I'm not a part of that community of people who revel in the ability to whine about being alone. I'm just a young woman--a whole person-- who is not yet married.

In any case, out of curiosity and at the bidding of the friend, I watched the trailer for the documentary. And afterwards, I had to rebuke what I saw in the name of Jesus. First of all, the trailer opens on the statistic that 47% of Black women are unmarried, which is the first of several major downers in the three minute piece. What about the fact that 53% are married? Glass half empty much? Then come the interviews. [Paraphrasing]: "I'm 52, I've never been married and have no children." "I'm 47 and people ask me if I even want a man because it seems like I'm having so much fun without one!" "My husband contracted HIV in a homosexual relationship and gave it to me."

None of this was sounding particularly sexy.

It's not that the information isn't valid. And not that I begrudge anyone somewhere to go to feel a part of a community and to get a better understanding of their circumstances as they see them. But as for me and my house...nuh-uh.

Bottom line: I refuse to commiserate with sad, lonely people. All that does is create an atmosphere for that loneliness to metastasize and fester, mildew into depression, and effectively block blessings because one is too downtrodden to see the light from the dark place they've fallen into. This might not be true for everyone, but it's my view of the vast industry that caters to "singles", "singles", of course, connoting 'people who would rather be married but just haven't gotten lucky yet'.

I would much rather focus on being joyful about where I am now and celebrating where I know I'm headed--and one place I'm fairly sure I'm not headed, by the grace of God, is 52, childless, and unmarried. Not that I'm better than that or above those circumstances, but it's just not what I feel is the promise over my life. I think it takes understanding what God is doing in your life before you get to the point of desperation, the point when watching a documentary about menopausal women who've always lived alone seems like a good idea.

No one is saying that procuring that level of wisdom is easy, but the fact is that it's more than likely that a huge portion of women are missing the point. I don't believe that 47% of these women are meant to be alone; I just don't buy it. And the changing of this dramatic statistic takes the changing of a mentality of a bloc of women that have become mired in their marital situation, or lack thereof. For instance:

Black men aren't the only men on earth. Not saying I don't want one myself- -God knows I do (*Color Purple Sophia voice*) --but if that wasn't my destiny, I'd have to find a way to live with it. I know; I hate to hear it, too, because frankly I feel like I'm entitled. But no one can deny that joy and pleasure can come in many colors.>/i>

We need to start thinking about these things at a younger age. Too many women put their entire focus on their career (believe me, I'm guilty too) and make their whole young adult life about status and professional advancement and then want to put the rush on the husband search when the snooze button on their biological alarm is on its last ring. We need to be more focused on family building and partnership potential when we're younger. Of course, that means less promiscuity and more wisdom in dating when you're young, which is an entirely new conversation, and one I'm not willing to engage since that clearly wasn't my mindset when I was younger.

Coupled with the idea of a new mindset is the subject of choices. When I was a little girl, my father used to tell me that too many women date married and/or totally unsuitable men for 10, 15, 20 years, and then end up alone and past childbearing years. Yes, he really told me this as a child. I'm grateful now for his mildly inappropriate conversation with me, because I see what he meant--simply that we are often the sum of our choices in the area of partnership. Dating married men or waiting for men who are simply ridiculous for a myriad of professional, criminal, cultural, spiritual and plain practical reasons has to stop. We can't hitch our wagon to losers for decades and then think that dreams will come true the minute we step to the side of right. Some men just don't deserve a chance, and desperation isn't going to help any girl's cause. We need to be looking at the big picture with everyone we date if we intend to be partnered. "I'm just having fun right now" can easily turn into 52, childless, and alone--or worse, 42, divorced, and alone. Last year, when I was trying to decide if I was going to break up with someone I'd been dating for a month who was certain I was his wife, I called my father for advice because something didn't feel right. I told him my issues with the dude, the pros and cons, and my dad gave me the best advice. He said, "Just don't let him waste your time, babe. That's the only thing a man can take from you, is your time." We need to stop letting guys who aren't going to make the cut waste our time, energy, and resources. Every day they take is a day we're not in position to receive the good that's actually coming. We retard our own progress by filling up our time with the undesirable. Black women know that trimming the ends of our hair is essential to growth; you hang on to an inch or two for "length" and pretty soon you're cutting off five inches of split ends. We should apply this lesson to our partnership search and cut the dead weight.

I'm the last person to jump on the bandwagon of that societal bottom-feeder mentality that attacks Black women for not being perfect as a group. It's disgusting how a lot of folks [Black dudes] say Black women are lazy, dumb, fat, ignorant, selfish, materialistic, willful, bossy, mean, don't want to go anywhere exotic, don't like to hike, scared to swim, don't want to kayak, have too many kids...and a lot of the other nasty things thrown around after being exposed to the delectable cultural delicacy that is your typical White or Asian woman (I mean, let's face it). Check it: I don't ever want to deny White, Asian, and/or White Latina women their positive cultural stereotypes (see Jay-Z's "Girls, Girls, Girls" for footnotes). But I reject negative classifications of Black women. Yes, there are plenty of dumb, morbidly obese, lazy, ignorant Black women just as there are plenty of dumb, morbidly obese, lazy, ignorant White women. [I left the Asians out because, to be honest, I've never seen a dumb, obese, lazy Asian; I just haven't. So sue me--but you probably haven't, either.] And, as most people with half a brain know, there are plenty of gorgeous, brilliant, adventurous Black women in all shapes, sizes, and colors, each bangin' in their own way, who are not partnered. Now admittedly, some of them are crazy (see name of site)--but that's another topic for another conversation. All this said, I implore Black women to take care of ourselves, live outside of the box, try different things, really live life. Big ups to Tyler P, but he is not a cinematic genius. Turks&Caicos and Barbados are lovely--and many thanks to LisaRaye and Rihanna for their respective tourism development efforts--but there are some islands on the continent of Asia that would make the entire Caribbean look like Jones Beach. Sit-ups are not a workout. Perhaps these are things about which those of us who know better should be spreading the word.

And last but not least, God is not your man and has zero desire to be your husband. It's everything to be in relationship with God, but know that He called us to partner. So for all the women who haven't had sex in 20 years or a date in 15 steady talking about "all I need is Jesus" but laying in bed every night watching Tyler Perry films, salivating over the strategically placed hot guys: It's pretty safe to say you're not living up to your potential.

Not that there aren't some things that need to be changed about the corresponding men as well, but I'm not going to get into that for two reasons: one, because we'd be here all night (you wanna talk about a soapbox…); and two, because I truly believe that women changing will force men to change. In fact, I think women changing is the only thing that will cause a change in men. Nearly everything men do is because of the 'power of the p-u…'(more Jay-Z; not sure what's wrong with me right now), and women need to re-learn to harness and leverage that power for good.

I have several best friends: one lives here in Los Angeles, two in the NY Tri-State Area, one in the San Francisco Bay Area, one in the Washington, DC area, and a first cousin who's like a sister that lives in Pittsburgh. I've really loved two men in my life romantically, and been quite fond of a great many more. I live in a courtyard-style Melrose Place -esque Hollywood Hills apartment building with over 30 units and many friendly neighbors. I live in a city of millions. I have family all over the globe that loves me, and I love them. I have a father I adore in Texas, a dear stepmother, and a not-so-little-brother and sister I can't live without. I have a mirror-image mother resting in peace that I carry in my heart everywhere I go.

So let it never once be said that I am "single". What I am is simply not married. Yet.

High Maintenance: Naked and Unashamed

2011-07-08T01:03:00.000-07:00

"if you stay ready/you ain't got to get ready..."--Suga Free

There are few less humiliating positions than naked from the waist down and spread eagle in front of someone's face with a mini desk fan blowing in between your legs, but earlier this week, Nadia, my 60-something Italian brazilian waxer (yeah, unpack that), managed to make it slightly more uncomfortable. Maybe she thought she was enlightening me; maybe she was just bored. Whatever her reasons for re-introducing one of her favorite topics as she ripped wax strips from my butt, she did it with gusto.

"When you have a man," she explained in her just barely comprehensible Northern Italian accent as though I was a new-school Corky, "you want to look nice." This from the woman who had declared on my last visit that it was clear, judging from how far I'd let things go, that I was currently unattached.

"Well," I explained less feebly than the last time I'd seen her (and much sooner than the last time I'd seen her as well), "I do this for myself. I like to look and feel nice for me."

"Right. I understand." She always sounds as though she doesn't believe me, as though I get myself waxed praying that someone will pick my name from their little black book that very night and change my life with some wild monkey sex. Which is clearly a joke. Not that I'm down on wild monkey sex. And not saying I'm above temptation...but I'm above temptation. At this point, it's kind of frivolous to, uh, throw away my confidence, so to speak. "But you will have a man again, and you will need to make sure you look good. Still look good," she added hastily, surely noting that my intention was never to not look good. Even in my workout clothes on my way to my exercise class, I was sporting mascara and concealer, a fact that the former beauty queen (not really, but maybe) wouldn't have missed.

But the fact is that nothing can convince Nadia--a woman who, even leathered by years of European sun, is still absolutely gorgeous, with huge, thick, ethnic waves of mildly graying blonde hair and a twinkle in her pencil-rimmed brown eyes that says she has always known how to have a good time--that a broad, specifically me, isn't just waiting on a man. Why else, her tone surmises, would we keep it all together?

I agree...and then I don't.

When I was younger, I never stepped out ungroomed under and over my clothes because I honestly didn't know whether or not I was going to be having sex with anyone when I left the house. But at this point in my life, there's one thing I know for sure about each day when I wake up in the morning: That under no circumstances am I going to be having consensual sex at any point before the Brookstone alarm clock next to my bed reads 12:01AM. One might expect with all the time and money and effort I've spent over the years keeping myself up that I have a surplus of those resources while I'm on somewhat of a pause, waiting for my life partner. But one would be frightfully wrong.

It's funny to me now to think that I spent a better part of my 20++/30- years defending myself from the "high maintenance chick" label. Even though I house a bit more than the average amount of female vanity (a gift from my lovely and amazing, self-conscious, critical mother), still I shunned that classification. It stung a bit to me, and when I was new to young adulthood, I desperately wanted to be known as a low-maintenance girl. I felt like I was easy; I wore sweats and t-shirts a great deal of the time (mostly a 6'6" ex's oversized XXL velour sweatpants that took three tight drawstring knots to keep up and tight souvenir/message tees),went makeup-free all of the time, and wore my natural hair out and curly most of time. I drank beer in lieu of cocktails. I fried chicken in my pajamas with my hair wrapped up for my boys from the basketball team when we kicked it. And despite these things, even those same guy friends would inevitably admit that they found me "high maintenance". No matter how little primping I appeared to do, for some reason I could never escape the characterization.

Fast forward some years. I've gotten increasingly comfortable in my own skin--and yet that's not to say that I do less to keep myself up. Getting comfortable in my own skin has been more of a coming to terms with who I really am and embracing it. Recently, my BFF/sister Kimberly began a revolution in her life that she calls "naked and unashamed". Like Eve in Genesis--before the fall--Kim aspires to feel totally comfortable in her own skin, oblivious to the things proverbial fig leaves and trees can cover up. I admire her resolve. She's a beautiful girl who doesn't need the trappings the female beautification industry stuffs down our throats and convinces us we need. And honestly, I feel the same way about myself. My ex used to tell me that I looked the same with and without makeup. He didn't understand why I bothered, and he always insisted I was sexiest just chilling at home in my sweats and glasses. I appreciated the sentiment, but there were certain things I just couldn't go out into public without and without doing back then.

The same is true for me now.

I can embrace "naked and unashamed"--to a point. My "naked" is a bit different than the "naked" one might expect. My "naked" is immaculately groomed. You're not going to catch me without my legs, armpits, and arms shaved (yes, arms) or my eyebrows shaped, because I shave every other day and I have my eyebrow lady on speedial. You're not going to catch me on bush-mode, because Nadia is written into my bi-monthly budget just under groceries. If I can at all help it, you're not going to catch me with major breakouts, because my skincare regimen is tight. Yes, I'll go without makeup on any given Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday--but the glowing, clear skin it takes to do that requires consistency and dedication from which I never waver. You're not going to catch me without my hair done too often; and you're not going to catch me without a fresh mani-pedi on too many occasions, either.

I know that everything I do, put together, is a bit too much for some people. The truly "low maintenance", especially. The women who can fall into bed unshowered at night and then hop up in the morning, brush their teeth and then go out into the streets for the entire day without so much as looking into a mirror--I'm not that girl. I have to shower before getting into my bed, even if I already showered and then went just stepped outside to run to the store or take garbage out. When I get up, there's a whole routine that has to be followed--and I have to allow myself enough time to do the entire thing, or I just can't make it through my day. I used to be embarrassed to admit it. But after years of getting familiar with my true self and accepting who I am, I no longer care about people's judgment regarding my choices. It's especially rich to know that I don't do it for anyone else; I do it for me, because ultimately, I have to live with and look at myself. And I need to like what I see. Because what's most significant to me is not that I'm "naked" in the sense of exactly how I came into this world, but that my insides are naked and my intentions naked, and that anything manufactured about my character and personality have fallen away. When others encounter me, what they see is what they get. I don't have to put on airs to please or comfort others, and I don't have to pretend to have interests and desires beyond what I'm doing with what I've been given. At this point in my life, it's refreshing to look at the big picture and truly be pleased with the stripped version of myself.

I think every woman goes through a period in her life in which she compares herself to others, looks at what other women do to themselves as a guidepost for the things she should be doing. But there also comes a time in most women's lives where concerns about others fall by the wayside and suddenly, like a lightbulb being turned on, the only opinion that really matters is your own. Sometimes when I look at my life and feel a twinge of regret that things didn't go differently in one area or another, I remind myself that this time and place in my psychological development is the perfect time for promotion. Because I'm no longer interested in being anyone I'm not, and only interested in celebrating what I'm working with, as opposed to hiding.

I identify with pre-judgment Eve, a woman who was clearly looking for meaning and identity without feeling like the keys to either were to be found in her physical circumstances. Though cautioned by the fallout of her choices, a large part of me identifies with Eve's quest for self-fulfillment and her willingness to strike out and try something different in her journey, unencumbered by pesky self-consciousness. Though it's far from completely insignificant, my physical self-image is an increasingly smaller part of my life as I embrace all life has to offer me and all I have to offer it. The way I look is important to me, but there are so many other things about myself that I put before it, things I would choose to hold onto over anything physical, were I given a choice. I wouldn't trade my talents for my looks; I wouldn't trade my natural kindness or my generosity for anything. My grandmother always said that it didn't matter how pretty you were on the outside if you were flat out ugly on the inside, and I agree. The natural fruits of the spirit I've been blessed with that grow with every passing year are far above anything I see in the mirror.

So yes, I keep it all 'fried, dyed, and laid to the side', and I probably always will. But I'm also not burdened by secrets or extensive self-criticism, and the comfort I feel in my own skin physically translates to confidence professionally and spiritually and emotionally.

I keep myself up, and no one can disgrace me by pointing that out. Because what's paramount to me is that literally and figuratively, when I stand naked, I truly feel no shame.

BIC Redux: B.A.P.S.

2011-02-28T07:00:00.001-08:00

"well i guess i'm tryna be nonchalant about it/and i'm going to extremes to prove i'm fine without you/but in reality i am slowly losing my mind..."-Mariah Carey

"Uh uh... you need to scoot over cuz I ain't got no problem sleepin' on this expensive white carpet, cuz I know its poodle hair." Who said it? Click for the BIC, and enjoy this last day of BIC History Month. 'Til next year!

BIC Redux: Uncommon Thief

2011-02-26T06:00:00.000-08:00

"diamonds are a girl's best friend..."-Marilyn Monroe

“I didn't have high goals and high ambitions, and that I was going to become the world's greatest jewel thief. It just got out of hand.” Who said it? Click for the BIC, and Happy BIC History Month!

BIC Redux: Nasty Girl

2011-02-25T07:00:00.000-08:00

"if you ain't scared take it out/i'll do it like a real live nasty girl should..."-Vanity 6

"He used to come to my house when he wanted to play around; now he goes and finds his pleasures on the other side of town. Honey, your husband is cheatin on us. I know you thought you had a good man, a man that you could trust." Who said it...and why? Click on the trifling quote for the historical BIC background and Happy BIC History Month!

BIC Redux: Going Postal

2011-02-24T07:00:00.000-08:00

"i have no intention of paying for my crime don't fear...and i don't feel about it..."-Macy Gray

"I walked up to him and I said to him, you have been annoying me a long time trying to get this children. I have no objection of you getting them in the schools at all, but why torture me? Why torture me? I’m no help to him by killing me. Don’t mean after all Congress is signing anything. By torturing me, don’t mean Congress is going to sign. I can still get a blood clot from this aggravation today. After that day, Congress isn’t going to sign anything, and I’m just dead.” Most BIC is harmless...but every now and then it's certifiable. Click on the quote to get the full scoop from one of the most under-discussed attempted murderers in BIC History, and Happy BIC History Month!

BIC Redux: Slippery When Wet

2011-02-23T07:00:00.000-08:00

"that's why i'm easy...easy like sunday morning..."-Lionel Richie

"I said to one member of the press, 'Let me ask you a question: Would you have liked it the other way if it was said 'Lionel Richie Beat Up His Wife? Does that sound better?' The guy said 'no.' Then I said when a couple has an argument and it gets physical, wouldn't most guys just not throw a punch at all? I didn't do anything to Brenda. And that sounds better than I knocked her out." I suppose it's pretty obvious who said it, so just click through for the BIC backstory and see why Lionel might still watch his back in hotel rooms. And of course, Happy BIC History Month!

BIC Redux: The Honorable Cynthia McKinney

2011-02-22T07:00:00.000-08:00

"i'm not ready to make nice/i'm not ready to back down..."-The Dixie Chicks

"It looks like the Republicans wanted to beat me more than the Democrats wanted to keep me." Who said it? Click for the BIC. Happy BIC History Month!

BIC Redux: Ooh Baby Take It I Don't Want To Tease You

2011-02-21T07:00:00.000-08:00

"nothin to be shy about/nothin we got to lie about...."-Aretha Franklin

"..all you got to do is make sure he stop at the drugstore and handle some business...don't be comin 'round here with no big belly talkin' bout you didn't know what to do." Who said it? Click on the red quote for your daily BIC History Month redux. By the way, I must say I love the way I wrote these posts ages ago and yet they're new to new folks and still entertaining to the old folks. Happy BIC History Month!

BIC Redux: Dr. Feelgood...Again

2011-02-18T23:02:00.000-08:00

"visiting hours are nine to five and if i show up at 10 past 6 well i/already know that you'll find someway to sneak me in that door..."-Alanis Morissette

"We must stop this love affair with the fetus." Who said it? Someone BIC, that's for sure! Click on the red quote to walk back down memory lane. And of course, Happy BIC History Month!

Oh, and by the way....the photo to the left is one I took myself of a massager at Brookstone. That's right, a massager. Now get your mind out of the gutter....;)

Stir, Reheat, Serve

2011-02-01T19:56:00.000-08:00

"cuz i know that you're gonna tear up the place/punch me in my face and pull the hot grits out..."-Usher

I kind of just realized that Black History Month began today--sue me; I've been crazy busy and unless the US is giving out reparations for slavery as a gift for this huge commercial "holiday" *sarcasm*, it's not exactly at the top of my list of priorities. In any case; I digress. It's Black History Month, which means that it's also BIC History Month, the monthlong celebration-of-sorts of crazy Black women, which this blog has observed since 2008. As a third anniversary celebration (and because I have no time to research), I'll be serving leftovers until I have time to cook something up. That said, feast your eyes on the very first BIC History Month post, featuring the tragic fate of Mary Woodson, tortured side ho of R&B/Gospel legend Al Green.

Happy Holiday!

Motherlovin' BIC

2011-01-10T18:50:00.000-08:00

"i got a story to tell...."--Biggie Smalls

Today is the 18th anniversary of my mother's death and while I've done a BIC tribute to her before, I've never done it on this day.

It's odd: I miss my mother every single day, though the pain has no doubt lessened year by year. In laymen's terms, now only sad movies--or let's face it, commercials--tear me up.

My mother was a rare kind of woman they really don't make anymore--and I say that sincerely. She was born in December 1949 and graduated high school at the age of 16. She moved out of her parents' home at 18 to "the city" and took care of herself, working hard, until she met my father ten years later. All she wanted in life was to be married and have children. She was the kind of woman that women today look down on because they don't have any goals outside the home, but when I think of my mom I think of how awesome she was at her job of being a mother. She breathed, ate, and slept it and was phenomenal. She loved God. While she'd been raised Baptist, when I was small child she took an extra interest in the Bible and started taking a ministry class at church for greater understanding. She had great faith. We prayed together every night.

She took such ridiculously good care of my father and I--cooked every meal we ate (and was an amazing cook), meticulously washed and pressed all of our clothes (even the underwear), was the library volunteer parent at my school, my room parent who organized the holiday parties and birthday celebrations, my girl scout troop leader, and in the PTA. She and my father were faithful volunteers with the homeless ministry at church and my mother also with the Border Babies ministry she loved, where a group of women would go hold the abandoned babies at the local hospital while they were waiting for homes to be placed in. She kept our house spotless and beautiful at all times--it was a big joke in our extended family that Bonnie would be up until midnight cleaning her house every night and would start calling people at 11 to entertain her while she cleaned, not caring whether they were sleep or not. She cultivated my love of music by starting my piano lessons at the age of six and making sure I got a gorgeous upright piano. When I went to camp every Summer, my mom would start mailing letters before I left so that I would get letters every single day I was away, including my first day there ("My Dear Ashleigh, you're still here and I miss you already. Your dad is laying here sleep while I write this letter---and has the nerve to be snoring. Loud too!!"). She encouraged me in everything I did and put everything she had inside of me to make sure I had all the opportunities in the world and the confidence to back them up. My mom and I spent most of our waking moments together. We ran errands together, we read at night together, we made tacos together every Saturday night while watching the Golden Girls on the TV in the kitchen. We made Christmas desserts for people on the holidays while playing Nat King Cole. We even took baths together. We made each other laugh and I never, ever doubted that I was the absolute best thing in her life. She was the best thing in mine.

As a last resort in 1990, my mom had a then-highly experimental bone marrow transplant at Duke University about 18 months before she died. She and my father had to move away to North Carolina and leave me with relatives for four months because the surgery and the subsequent process would leave her without much memory, strength, or immunity. She would be in ICU for months afterwards. I begged her not to leave, but I remember my mother bursting into tears in the TCBY parking lot and telling me that she wanted to live to see me get married and to see my children and that's why she had to go. I went to visit them in North Carolina one time, over Christmas. My father was living in an apartment not far from the hospital. They'd let her out of ICU for the holidays on a trial basis. My mother looked like a totally different person--her gorgeous hair was gone again, she was about 10 shades darker from radiation, and she was painfully thin. She went with me to the lounge on her floor and I played the piano for her because that always made her happy at home. When I was done, I turned around and she looked surprised. "You play the piano?" she asked.

My mother died in 1993 after a very long illness that began when I was 18 months old with a mastectomy. The fact that she was able to be the woman, wife, and mother that she was while heavily battling cancer for 9 years is astounding to me. I have tried to put it into words, my feelings about her, many times--through song, poetry, and prose, and I can never quite express just how peerless she was to me. She wasn't perfect. I don't ever want to make her a saint because she *was* super BIC like every other woman in my family--she had a temper, she was dramatic, and she would curse you out on a dime over her family--or on a bad day, over a parking space (in the parking lot at the mall). She habitually lied to my father about her shopping habits and made me lie, too ("don't you tell your dad we were at the mall today"); sneaking out to her trunk to bring in bags after my dad was asleep. She doled out whoopins like candy to her only child who struggled with a major 'backtalk' jones. But, she was my best friend. No one has ever and I don’t think anyone ever will love me like she did.

My father and I were always close, but of course we got much closer after my mother's death. We were a new team with new starting players, and we had to get to know each other without my mother in the middle making everything perfect. But one of the most amazing things my mother ever did was choose my father. Everything from the time she married him to the day she died, she did for me. I consider it the highest blessing that the only things my mother ever wanted that she didn't get was to see me grow up. She had an incredible life filled with love, travel, joy, romance, family, and faith.

And still, I can't wait to properly honor the woman she was. Not just with the family I raise myself, but in the world. This is only a start.

Fight or Flight

2010-12-30T08:30:00.000-08:00

"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.

Sisters Are Doin It For Themselves

2010-11-24T06:00:00.000-08:00

"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."

New Rule: Stay In Your Lane

2010-10-18T08:08:00.000-07:00

"sex so good..do 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 h 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 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 casual sex path indefinitely. For a woman, who was created to give life, and who, societally speaking, is more expected to settle marry than a man, even opting out is a decision. Men can be bachelors until they're 50, and it's odd, but not 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 jacked and 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 valiant 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, and even one 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 often beyond trying to navigate. It 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 without the dickmitization I faced in the past, and I can't be mad at that. No, I don't think celibacy is "hot". But I think it's cool.

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

2010-10-13T07:45:00.000-07:00

"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?

One Last Request

2010-09-23T02:40:00.000-07:00

"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 me...you 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.

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

2010-08-27T09:48:00.000-07:00

"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?

Still In Bed: The Hangover

2010-07-20T17:20:00.000-07:00

"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.

Get Your Game Up

2010-04-21T03:27:00.000-07:00

"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

Daily DIC: Crisis of Faith

2010-04-20T02:34:00.000-07:00

"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!

23 Questions: A Reprise

2010-04-19T21:52:00.000-07:00

"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]

Daily OMJ: Old Treacherous BIC

2010-04-16T02:21:00.001-07:00

"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.

I'm Sorry

2010-04-15T00:56:00.000-07:00

"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.

They're Baaaa-aaack....

2010-04-15T00:29:00.001-07:00

"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.

Daily BIC: In My Humble Opinion

2010-04-06T11:14:00.000-07:00

"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.

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

2010-03-26T05:06:00.000-07:00

"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.

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

2010-03-24T01:19:00.000-07:00

"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?

BIC New Rules: Ring in the New Year

2010-03-23T01:48:00.000-07:00

"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. 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 drastically reduces your PMS symptoms, as well, which has been amazing for me. 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 (*cough*Mormons*cough*), pills are too easily forgotten, and Depo-Provera blows you up like an army grenade. If you haven't already, try the NuvaRing today; you will be so happy you did. Also appreciative will be your partner and the unborn children whose lives you could both potentially ruin. Ciao!

Shhhhh! Keep Your Abortion Down

2010-03-19T16:22:00.000-07:00

"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.

Another One Bites the Dust

2010-03-19T02:54:00.000-07:00

"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?

New Campaign: Michelle Obama For...Michelle Obama

2010-02-05T16:56:00.000-08:00

"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.

Guest Post: 12 Red Flags of A NIC

2010-02-05T14:27:00.000-08:00

"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)

Unemployed BIC

2010-02-05T01:38:00.000-08:00

"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.

I'm Back Bitches!

2009-10-07T00:16:00.000-07:00

"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...

Baby Love

2009-09-12T12:07:00.000-07:00

"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.

Daily BIC: Pissed Press

2009-08-15T01:24:00.000-07:00

"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.

Lesbian BIC

2009-05-01T19:07:00.000-07:00

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

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

DIC Report

2009-05-01T18:40:00.000-07:00

"****** 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]

BIC Report

2009-05-01T17:09:00.000-07:00

"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]

Put That Ice Cream Down

2009-04-15T17:39:00.000-07:00

"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..."

Daily DIC: Good DIC/Bad DIC

2009-03-30T02:00:00.000-07:00

"****** 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.

BIC Report

2009-03-29T20:01:00.000-07:00

"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]

Daily BIC: Single Asians

2009-03-29T02:00:00.000-07:00

"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

Daily DIC: Unforgivable

2009-03-26T01:27:00.000-07:00

"in tight jeans/chinese eyes/indian hair/black girl ass..."--Memphis Bleek

It's possible that Diddy is still in character from A Raisin in the Sun because his attitude on color is purely 20th century. Although I'm sure he'll have an "explanation" for it, Diddy's having a casting call for a new Ciroc Vodka ad on Friday that specifically requests "white, hispanic, or light-skinned african-american" women. Apparently, no darkies need apply. And since everything Diddy does is about the almighty dollar and/or attention, there's little doubt that he feels tossing some chocolate chicks in the mix might hit his wallet--or his ego--too hard. Oh, it's fine to use your average gorgeous dark-skinned woman with a big, fat ass in tomfoolery like your club banger music videos--in which he never seems to lyrically leave the strip club--but in the fly, classy Ciroc ads with the Sinatra music and perfect lighting, he wants only the 'light, bright, and damn-near-white' to apply. As usual when dealing with Diddy, I'm offended as a Black woman. But what I'd be even more offended by is if he re-releases the casting call Yung Berg-style, asking for only dark-skinned women like we're all stupid. In the timeless words of Kat Williams, "Don't be sorry, ho, be careful!"

More evidence of Puff's color complex after the jump.

When Mr. Wonderful first debuted the name "Diddy", he made a video of the same name, featuring a pretty darker caramel-colored chick we were to assume was "Tondelea", the "hot girl" because "everybody wanted to slay her." Oh, but here's the kicker: sweet, brown Tondelea wasn't "fond of players." No, no, she only wanted "ballers to spoil her." In laymen's terms, Tondelea was a gold-digging groupie that would spread 'em wide for anyone driving a Bentley down "1-2-5 and St. Nick." And as Diddy instructs women to do in the vast majority of his songs, "Tondelea" shook her sweet, brown ass to the phat Pharrell beat, rubbed up against Diddy suggestively, and simulated an orgasm. Classy.

Around the same time, Diddy did a tender Hip-Hop Soul ballad that was widely assumed to be about his lost love, Jennifer Lopez. Featured in that video was a beautiful, yet certainly fair-skinned Eishia Brightwell. Rhyming about his lost love, Eishia spent the majority of the video swathed in blankets and in Diddy's arms being kissed and caressed. Then, more recently Diddy did a little ditty with Keyshia Cole by the name of "Last Night." Featured as his love interest in that video is racially-ambiguous redbone Dena Cali, whose absence tortures him as he tearfully abuses a larger-than-life wall hanging of her face. I know, I know. It always hurts to lose a good light-skinned chick.

Fast forward to this coming Friday, when yet again, the classy, sweet, beautiful visuals will be saved for not only light-skinned chicks, but White and Hispanic girls as well. Spit in our faces, pleeeeaase, Diddy! We don't mind! Even in the age of Michelle Obama, we'll accept you denying every opportunity to showcase the diversity of beauty of the Black woman. We'll accept you making us look small and divisive as a people, even though someone of your stature and clout could have made great strides in this area by now. No, we don't mind you selling us short. We'll drink your vodka and watch your MTV shows, accept you dropping the mother of three of your children for a racially-ambiguous 10 year-old whose first music video featured her fellating a random dude on grainy 33 mm, and we'll line up around the corner to be exploited in your music videos as money-grubbing strippers. We'll still love you and we'll still support you. Which, ironically, comes from ages of degradation just like your little casting call. But it's possible I'm just being a killjoy. So I guess all I can say is...cheers! BIC

New Rule: Mandatory Racism Disclaimers

2009-03-26T00:39:00.000-07:00

"my president is black/in fact he's half white/so if you got a racist mind you be aight..."--Jay-Z

I hold these truths to be self-evident: that there is currently an abundance of right-wing media

junkies with radically racist ideas masked as "political views." I have no problem with Ann Coulter, Tammy Bruce (who recently classified Michelle Obama as "trash" and Rush Limbaugh (who has consistently classified both President and Mrs. Obama as "angry") being radically racist, as they most certainly are. I just feel that it would be wisest and more comfortable for us all for them to out as racists. We live in America and it's 2009! People are open with their struggles in this age of psychotherapy and Dr. Phil (mutually exclusive, yes). Let's just be open with our prejudices! I think we'd all be shocked how much more understanding and open people are when we're just honest about who we truly are and how we feel...

Wouldn't you agree, Rush? Oh, I'm sorry--I'll wait while you take your pills...................................Better? Oh, sorry...................................................okay, you good? Great, okay, so listen: you seem like the type of guy who values honesty. So let's deal with some facts. You don't like Black people. You don't like Black Democrats and, exemplified in your recent scuffle with Michael Steele, you don't much care for Black Republicans, either. You probably adore Justice Clarence Thomas, but sorry, that's really not saying much. Rush, just be up front: you love your good, old-fashioned heartland White folks with their old-school, backwards ideas of progress, and their disdain for sharing any small portion of whatever wealth they've been able to accumulate with others. And that's okay! Everyone is entitled to their opinion, their likes and dislikes. It's just not right--and very unfair to those who have already valiantly outed themselves as hatemongers like our beloved countrymen Jesse Helms, Trent Lott, and David Duke --for you to go on pretending that your views are entrenched in your deep love for country and capitalism.

Oh, and Tammy. Really? You? You're so nationally insignificant that you had to hijack Laura Ingraham's radio program to get attention for your racism. And if your views were even the slightest bit important, you'd have had more of a voice during the election and wouldn't be finding yourself in this matrix-esque conundrum with this unbearable "trash" in the White House. Let this be a lesson for you moving forward: Carpe Diem. Life is short and there's so much hate to go around. Why wait? Declare it today!

BIC Report

2009-03-22T18:08:00.000-07:00

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

Say It With Me: "Shut Up, Camille" [Salon]

When Keeping It Real Goes Wrong: The Debbie Allen Edition (Far Left Of Pic) [BlackSnob]

Aww...First She Twittered Her Childbirth, Now She Twitters Her Stalking [Bossip]

Surely You Didn't Think It Was Her Idea [Slate]

Whoopi, Are You Trying To Fool Us Into Thinking You Care? [ContactMusic]

More BIC after the jump...

Don't Get Too Close To The Candles [Bossip]

Well...We Should Just Glad To See She Has A Song In Her Heart [ThatBlackGirl]

How Much Can You Not Stand Those Black Women? [Bossip]

Would You Abort Someone Else's Baby If You Could? [Slate]

Angela Davis Is Up To Her Old Tricks [Bossip]

Oh Sarah... [AnchorageDaily]

Does This Look Like An Heiress? [SignOnSanDiego]

I Feel Like Ellen Wrote This [HuffPost]

Apparently, The World Really Isn't Enough [HuffPost]

Go Off On Bush And Officially Out Yourself In One Fell Swoop[WWD]

It Can't Stay This Good For Long

2009-03-22T16:22:00.000-07:00

"just as Christ was a superstar/you stupid star/they'll hail you/then nail you/no matter who you are..."--Lauryn Hill

I know I'm just one among the throngs of Black American--hell, Black women internationally--thoroughly enjoying the laser attention and wild praise being lavished on the US' new First Lady, Michelle LaVaughn Robinson Obama. Even as Barack begins his first cycle of character skewering at the hands of the establishment, Michelle is not only being handled with kid gloves but is being all but french-kissed by the media. Yes, it's a wonderful thing to watch. I'm all about Mrs. Obama--never have I been so proud and so honored to be represented by someone and to have someone go before me in this manner. And although I ultimately found countless reasons to vote for Barack Obama, his better half was my very first reason for jumping into his camp. Michelle is everything I ever dreamed the first Black First Lady would and never thought she'd actually be. She's poised and articulate, authentic and genuine, stylish and self-deprecating, completely confident and utterly humble. She makes it look so easy when we all know it's anything but. She's an amazing and dedicated mother and wife, an educated professional,a tireless friend, daughter, sister and colleague, someone who takes life firmly by the reigns but never, ever too seriously. She is truly the embodiment of the long list of invaluable qualities about Black women, and I absolutely adore her. And yet, I cringe every time I pick up a paper or go online to find glowing commentary like this, this, or this. My heart just whispers "this cannot last for long"...

I genuinely think Michelle is in a class all by herself--never in my lifetime have we been privileged to employ a First Lady this amazingly fierce. Hillary Clinton came close, and I don't think for one minute she lacked one bit of the fire or juice Michelle has while her husband was in office. But it must be said that by virtue of Hillary's race--and the genuine disdain the Right had for her involvement in policy affairs, particularly her healthcare initiatives--she was far more widely despised, and ultimately muzzled. Michelle represents Black women, who do things a little differently. First of all, we're not easily silenced or easily offended by vilification, particularly once in a power position. We're used to being told to sit down and shut up, and we got real tired of acquiescing a long time ago. This has led to numerous watercooler-bound SNL and MadTV skits replete with shaking necks and snapping fingers, which inevitably spiraled into fundamental societal indoctrination. For the most historically oppressed of both the race and gender classifications, we know intimately what it's like to be on the bottom and we generally have little issue going back there for something we truly believe in. This is particularly applicable when we're in a solid power position (see Oprah's revolutionary ethnocentric evolution over the past five years).

Whether anyone likes it or not, Michelle will be the First Lady of this country until at least 2013. And I believe that she will work her way up to some very important and poignant work in her role. Clearly, in fact, because she's already begun. And yet, though I sense that she really doesn't care much about public opinion after the ringer of a campaign that dragged her through the mud and labeled her an angry, emasculating, race-mongering terrorist, a bad mother and a worse wife, I am bracing myself for the windstorm turning of the tide that will inevitably hit her.

We know not the day nor the hour and we have no idea who will throw the first punch. But it is almost as certain as the sun will rise and go down again that at some point, the media's affair with Michelle's toned arms, brilliant parenting, garden-planting, and history-celebrating will cease and she will once again be subject to attacks for any little small thing she opts to do or say. I have faith that Michelle can take it, I just don't know if I can. After growing up in a world where myself and other young Black women were victims of random attacks and painful stereotypes, I want us to be able to settle comfortably into a life where we're seen internationally as elegant, intelligent, and progressive enough to transcend all the negativity and rise to the position of not only the spouse of the Leader of the Free World, but the Leader of the Free World, period. But there's a natural fear in getting too comfortable with that position. There's nothing as certain as death and taxes, but almost just as certain is the old adage "they'll hail you/then nail you." It's something of which anyone that's celebrated must be acutely aware: with the sunshine comes the rain. I am enjoying Michelle's--and by proxy, the Black American woman's--day in the sun, but I don't kid myself that the honeymoon will never end. Let a passing comment of Michelle's appear too "angry" or too "militant " and the Ann Coulters, Peggy Noonans, and even the Maureen Dowds of the world will take up arms and begin to throw spears again. And oddly, the only thing I can think of in response to that is the final lines of a letter that Star Jones wrote to Bill O'Reilly when he was shooting off the gun of his mouth in a blatant character assassination of Michelle during the Democratic primaries last year--"Be clear Bill O'Reilly: there will be no lynch party for that black woman. And this black woman assures you that if you come for her, you come for all of us."

Throwback BIC: Lovergirl

2009-03-15T22:10:00.001-07:00

"i just want to be your lovegirl/i just want to rock your world..."--Teena Marie

We all know that too many renditions of "I just want to be your lovegirl" leads to "I need your lovin" which leads to "fire and desire" which bursts into flame and culminates in "every little bit hurts" and finally leaves you "out on a limb". So the lyrics, as with all Throwback BIC jams, qualify this diddy alone. Add to that the overuse of the gauzy lens and the fact that Teena was clearly not playing that huge guitar she strapped on. And of course, 80's BIC is the best BIC because of the hair. Enjoy!

Twitter BIC

2009-03-15T22:06:00.000-07:00

"do you know/what it feels like/for a girl..."-Madonna

I think that crazy women everywhere are rolling around a bit in the burgeoning popularity of Twitter. Finally, a play-by-play outlet for your craziest thoughts and moments. Erykah Badu twittered the birth of her newest daughter, M.I.A. twittered just after the birth of her son. Solange twitters every crazy thing that happens to her (getting sick on the plane, fainting in the airport, tour bus accidents) and also uses it to tell people what's on her mind about various news items and trends. Rihanna even twittered a response to Oprah's show about domestic violence. But isn't it a little scary to have a place where women can talk about all the crazy mess that's on their minds? Obviously, this is the new wave. In my mind's eye, I see a future of the internet flooded with tweets about breakups, birthing tweets, tweets about men, and pms rants. Which is sexist, but do you really put it past us? I mean...really. Do you?

Lesbian BIC

2009-03-15T21:46:00.000-07:00

"please have my baby/yeah i'm talkin to you..."--Lloyd

This brings a whole new spin to the old "he got me pregnant so I couldn't leave" trick.

Stop The Madness

2009-03-15T21:23:00.000-07:00

"when the drama starts to hit the fan/raise your voice but not your hand..."--Keke Wyatt

I've actually had enough. Add to the DIC list of women-abusers Joe Torry and (collective gasp) Minister Bebe Winans. Add to the BIC list Rihanna, who twittered how much Oprah doesn't know about what's best for her when we all saw this. Add to your mental rolodex the fact that almost half of 200 teenage girls interviewed about violence said Rihanna was responsible and 44% of them said fighting is routine in a relationship.

DIC Report

2009-03-15T20:32:00.001-07:00

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

Nervous Laughter: The Bane Of His Campaign And Still Kickin [HuffPost]

Maybe Barack Should Be Nervous [CNN]

I Still Haven't Quite Decided If We Should Laugh [HuffPost]

I Feel That By 2012, He Will Be Thoroughly Inappropriate [HuffPost]

It Must Have Been Good [Bossip]

Someone Please Tell Him The Election Is Over [Politico]

"Had You For Eighteen Years" [Google]

Added To The List Of Things To Never Utter On The Radio [Bossip]

BIC Report

2009-03-15T16:32:00.000-07:00

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

Yeah, I Said It: Kristen Wiig Is Too Funny For SNL [Jezebel]

And Apparently So Is Andy Samberg's Mom [Jezebel]

Laura Ingraham Needs To Get Laid [HuffPost]

Jessica Simpson Begs American Public Not To Call Her Fat [HuffPost]

I'm Starting The Rumor: Elaine Wynn And Ruth Madoff Are Lesbians Together [HuffPost][NYPost]

Seeing How The Jig Is Up On The Whole Virgin Thing... [People]

Just Like Mama, Bristol Palin Really Knows How To Pick 'Em [HuffPost]

Michelle: "Just Want To Make Sure: I'm On This Cover Alone, Right?" Oprah: "Michelle, Please Don't Ask Dumb Questions" [BlackSnob]

Pack Your Bags! In Atlanta, You Can Be A Housewife Without Being A Wife Or Having A House [Bossip]

More BIC after the jump...

Ummm...Let's Not Get Carried Away [Slate]

My Grandmother Warned: Marry An Ugly Man And It's The Children That Will Pay [Slate]

Yet Another Way To Ensure Your Daughter's Life Is One Long Walk of Shame [Jezebel]

Meghan McCain: Unafraid To Not Be A Featured Speaker At The 2012 Republican Convention In Guam [HuffPost][HuffPost]

Hayden Panettiere Does Outwardly BIC [UsMag]

More Powerful Than A Locomotive [ChiTribune]

Accepting Bets That This Won't Prevent Tyra Telling The Contestants They Don't Want It Bad Enough [HuffPost]

Oh, Dana... [HuffPost]

Throwback BIC: My Man

2009-03-12T23:14:00.000-07:00

"two or three/girls has he/that he likes as well as me/but i love him/i don't know why i should/he isn't true/he beats me too/what can i do..."--Diana Ross

Backstory: 1979, and Diana had just started divorce proceedings with the father of her children, Robert Ellis Silberstein, after a particularly rocky marriage and it's written all over her face. Apparently this song hit a bit close to home. I honestly don't even think I'm Coming Out is a good enough actress to strike this much of an emotional chord and it not be mostly authentic. Classic, and classic BIC.

Daily BIC: Great White Weave

2009-03-12T05:11:00.000-07:00

"i like a girl with extensions in her hair/bamboo earrings/at least two pair..."--LL Cool J

The comedy--and the BIC--in this is not that Katie Holmes went and got herself some brand spanking new hair, but that White girls have *finally* gotten with the 21st century and traded in the tired old "extensions" label for what it really is: a weave.

With the influx of White women adding hair to their heads, both well (evidenced by Katie) and very, very poorly (evidenced by Britney Spears and Paris Hilton--exposed tracks are a no-no), it's nice to see that our melanin-challenged sisters are finally joining the OT's (Original Tressologists, Black and Latina women) and calling a spade a spade. If you add pounds of someone else's locks to your head, then that's a weave, plain and simple. I'm glad we're all in agreement!

Daily DIC: Def Poets

2009-03-12T05:04:00.000-07:00

"she said/she'd prefer a broken neck/to another broken heart..."--Amir Sulaiman

The Truth....

Crazy Baby Lady Update

2009-03-11T00:06:00.000-07:00

"damn/i think i wanna have yo baby..."--Salt N' Pepa

Already Nadya's BIC is turning into something less humorous or interesting and more creepy and disturbing. That said, all she deserves at this point is bullets. Updates include:

Victor Munoz, Nadya's publicist, publicly dumped her, calling her "nuts". Um, yeah!
Nadya's dad bought a house in La Habra with for the clan.
The older children are depressed...in other news, no one blames them.
Nadya's children are beginning to wonder who Daddy is. If she knew, maybe she would tell them.

That's all, folks. I can't...I just can't.

Daily DIC: The Saga Continues

2009-03-10T23:14:00.000-07:00

"cuz i'm her ex-friend/ex-homie/ex-lover/so stop the phone calls/voicemails et cetera..."--Yung Texxus

He's been outed and disgraced, spent 99 days in jail, and been relegated to a sales job in Texas, but Kwame Kilpatrick's public shaming is far from over. This week, the flogging continues with the release of even more texts--only this time they're not just between he and his mistress/Chief of Staff, Christine Beatty, but a whole new cast of characters.

The new players include his sister Ayanna, who calls the Kilpatrick's constituents "idiots", and his wife Carlita, who speculates that he's having an affair(ya think?) and insults Eminem (yes, that Eminem). [HuffPost]

The RiBICulousness of Bonnie Fuller

2009-03-08T03:23:00.000-07:00

"but i don't mind if you come and play with us/just don't talk too much..."--Colby O'Donis

She's been named "Editor of the Year" by Advertising Age twice. She's served as the editor-in-chief for such huge American publications as YM, Cosmopolitan, and Us Weekly. She is the former Vice-President and Editorial Director for American Media, and now Bonnie Fuller is CEO of the sure-to-become-a-conglomerate, Bonnie Fuller Media. Bonnie Fuller is an incredibly accomplished woman. And yet, she's one of the most ridiculous women I know. To see what I mean, simply go to Bonnie's page on Huffington Post and read some of the headlines she's posted over the past year. Now, I know that she's a master at spin, a master at stoking the fires of celebrity and fully plugging the American public knee-deep in gossip veiled as pop culture news. But honestly, you would never know that she's an accomplished writer and publishing executive by the Tourett's Syndrome-esque headlines she's made her mark. You would never guess the breadth of Fuller's influence by what she deems reportable from day to day. And here's why.

Bonnie Fuller makes rash, broad, sweeping generalizations about absolutely everything. She's like an SNL character that's only slightly--albeit painfully--funny. When Anne Hathaway's very longterm romance was interrupted by the fact that her boyfriend was a liar and thief who might be headed to the clanker, Bonnie's response to the situation was "Anne Hathaway--It's Time To Get Smart About The Men You Date!", as though Anne had spent the past 15 years on a never-ending trampfest. That particular romance was actually, if I'm not mistaken, Anne's first and only public relationship and she seemed to be deeply in love. That Bonnie minimized it to such frivolity while maximizing it to a federal case made her sound like an idiot. Then, after John Travolta and Kelly Preston's only son died suddenly earlier this year after injuring himself during a seizure, Bonnie quickly published "John Travolta Tragedy: Why Are Celebrities Cursed?", in which she trotted out John and Kelly's ultimate misfortune and plastered it alongside freakshow deaths like Anna Nicole's and Michael Kennedy's. She even asserts that celebrities have disproportionate amounts of tragedy because they drink-and-drug too much and have too much vacation time. Of course, this was wildly inappropriate for an article posted under the pretense of being about the horrible and unfortunate death of an innocent, sick 16 year-old boy.

Bonnie Fuller also sounds like a sloppy mix of a twelve year-old mean girl and a bored 76 year-old stoop-ridden grandmother in the vein of Miss Benita. It seems she sits around thinking of the silliest things that women can think of--why Michelle Obama absolutely MUST get pregnant, like, now, and why Jennifer Aniston needs to shut up and stop "dissing" Brad and Angelina and the press (which, it must be said, she was not doing repeatedly). Giving voice to such drivel makes women look dumber than ever. And since women's stock is quickly plummeting in the society's eye (degrading amounts of violence against us, He's just Not That Into You/Tough Love, Sarah Palin) I think we should take all the smart we can get right now.

Bonnie Fuller is also, for someone who is supposed to have their finger on the pulse of pop culture and hotness, consistently and tragically wrong. Some gem headlines from the past year include "Obama! If You Want To Win--Boot Biden Now And Bring Back Hillary!", "Michelle Obama Pregnant? Why The Nation Needs Her Bundle of Joy". I must add that shortly after Bonnie's "Shut Up Jen!" article about Jennifer Aniston "dissing" the media and her ex and essentially alienating her public, her new film Marley & Me made a disgusting amount of money at the box office. Apparently, the public didn't agree with Bonnie's assessment.

Bonnie also has the perverse habit of linking just about anything she can pull out of her hat together without any real concern for how the two things are interrelated. Prime example is her recent post on Rihanna titled "Tina Turner to Rihanna: Leave Chris Brown Now!". Of course, while this implies that those words actually left Tina's mouth, the entire article is instead about how Rihanna should read Tina's book and then leave Chris Brown. Riiiight. Because 21 year-old girls will read Tina Turner's biography and see the next 20 years of their life the way Tina's was right before she broke away from Ike. And plus, they're two Black entertainer couples, why not? Not like Bonnie could have said "Loni Anderson to Rihanna: Leave Chris Now!" I suppose, and yet, Bonnie never really makes her case for the connection.

The last thing I want to do is dog a woman who's made such a name for herself, so much so that she wrote a book called The Joys of Too Much: Go For the Big Life--The Great Career, The Perfect Guy, and Everything Else You've Ever Wanted. But Bonnie Fuller is probably one of the biggest things wrong with pop culture today. Her sweaty, gossipy tone that never really coherently makes any important statements, chips away our nerves. And so, I'll say it how Bonnie would best like to hear it: "Wow! Bonnie Fuller Is Super Annoying And Always Talking About The Dumbest Stuff!!"

Daily DIC: Song Cry

2009-03-07T17:39:00.000-08:00

"but deep inside a ***** so sick..."--Jay-Z

The other day I found myself thinking about the house that I found so beautiful in the 2002 Jay-Z video for "Song Cry". I was in love with the bedroom back then. Well, I went to Youtube to catch the video, and to my surprise the bedroom was no longer so beautiful to me. Bygones. I did, however, spot a comically interesting comment from a Youtube-er, "Lil J"*...clearly a male. The quote read "How was I 2 kno u was plain sick of me? Dats wat im askin now", which lead me to the hilarious conclusion that "Lil J"*, invariably feeling a bit despondent as he reminisced on how badly he'd mistreated his now-departed girl, logged onto Youtube to see what Jigga had to say about his state of sorrow. In my mind's eye, Lil J sits in front of his Mac, head in palm, slumped across his desk watching the video repeatedly to numb the pain. Sound familiar? Maybe we're not alone, ladies. There's life on their planet after all.

Daily BIC: McMeltdown

2009-03-05T03:55:00.000-08:00

"just one of dem days..."--Monica

I need someone to interview this woman and confirm my sneaking suspicion that she is pre-

menstrual. I have personally feared that I would end up behind bars for some of the stunts I've pulled during my own special time of the month. On top of unexpected tears, debilitating sexual urges and an angry, senseless outburst at someone who was just trying to help, my PMDD usually involves some type of chocolate, but I suppose I can see where a 10-piece McNugget would drive one to call the Feds. The other notable BIC in this equation is the cashier who refused to refund homegirl's money once the McNugget fiasco was uncovered. Since when can you not get a refund for an item that was out of stock and in what part of America do employees still take such ownership over food at McDonald's? When I was in high school, anyone I knew that worked at McDonald's got fired for giving away so much free food. Things to think about. In any case, this is clearly BIC. Cheers.

Daily DIC: Tough Love

2009-03-05T02:56:00.000-08:00

"in a relationship and faithful to a ***** so whack..."--T.I.

I'm not quite sure how to feel about this, and I don't want to judge it too prematurely. But since it's produced by the wonderful folks who brought us He's Just Not That Into You, I'm pretty concerned. This new show is called Tough Love, and a male matchmaker--son of a veteran female matchmaker--is 'giving it straight' to your regular old, run-of-the-mill crazy, desperate chicks. Listen, maybe I'm the clueless one and what I really need is some guy to tell me what all men are thinking about me, degrade me, and break me down to "build me up again" the right way. But I doubt it. Video after the jump.

VH1 TV Shows | Music Videos | Celebrity Photos | News & Gossip

I feel really strongly about a few things concerning women and "finding Mr. Right" that this show overlooks in the name of ratings:

While there are some pure idiot women who deserve to be paraded around like zoo animals for their behavior during their "search for Mr. Right", there are just as many if not more women with their heads on relatively straight and that deserve some respect if their journey is a bit longer than the next girl's.
There are honestly some of us out there who are NOT SEARCHING FOR MR. RIGHT. I suppose we're not very interesting, though, unless we're bitter bitches. People love to perpetuate the "desperate single woman" stereotype and exploit single women's dating escapades as though unmarried women are constantly playing the "Searching For Hubby" game like men play Madden. It's not every woman's number one goal and the first thing she thinks of when she wakes up and the last thing she thinks of at night. Some women are content to let love come to them when it comes, and those women deserve to not be exploited at the expense of heartless assholes who find it amusing that women so desperately need to be loved.
Women don't need to know what men are thinking. Women need to know what *they* are thinking. Focusing on what men are thinking has gotten me and a whole lot of other women into some pretty deep...holes. Women need to know themselves for themselves, because one of the things I "know for sure" as Oprah would say is that every man in my life is attracted to women who know who the hell they are and don't compromise it. And that's when women feel their sexiest anyhow. We don't need to know what men are thinking. We need to know what one man is thinking, when he's that one man. But paying crazy amounts of attention to what every dude on the street is thinking when he walks past is exactly what makes women act the donkey that men love to point out.
I'm concerned, in the current societal climate where women are literally under attack (see vast and increasingly disturbing violence against women), about any show that uses electric shock therapy to help women find a husband. Particularly since there is a clip where he shocks a woman for bringing up her ex-boyfriends. True, it's kind of a no-no and more true that women need to understand that things need to be laid out and not just passed out freely, but could we not just get some feedback after the date instead of spending the entire meal being electrocuted? I worry about a situation in which women are forced to develop some ridiculous Pavlovian responses to sharing their thoughts and feelings.

I will say that I'm comforted by the fact that the token Black chick in the equation seems to be relatively sane, although she apparently consults her cat on her love life. Of course with Black women's reality television history on VH1, I think that someone talking to a cat is incredibly mild. All in all, it looks like it would be entertaining but I'm not sure I can support it. At a time when women need to be feeling empowered, I feel that this whole He's Just Not That Into You-Tough Love-Bachelor epidemic that's sweeping the nation is making women even more neurotic than ever. What happened to encouraging women to "relax/relate/release" or "let it go"? What happened to feel-good -isms and encouraging self-love as a means to getting the love you want? In an increasingly greedy ADHD society that's obsessed with instant gratification, women expect to be able to find the love of their lives on the turn of a dime. It's possible, but not probable. And it's even more probable that watching some dude ~~criticize and belittle~~ correct other women won't make you a better a lover, girlfriend, or date. It will just make you another woman watching other women get corrected for being themselves, and being kept from men who can get to know and love the real them because of, not in spite of. And maybe that's not Bad DIC...but it sure doesn't feel Good to me.

Good DIC/Bad DIC

2009-03-05T02:34:00.000-08:00

"if you really wanna work it out then stop denyin/quit livin in the past it's time you faced the truth/if it's ever gonna work it you gotta stop lyin/stop blamin her when it's you..."--Usher

Thank you Usher!

Negativity will not ruin this moment, therefore you will find Bad DIC after the jump...

Umm....Rush Limbaugh is officially smoking crack. Not that anyone is surprised. Crack is actually probably a step up.

Daily DIC: Two Republicans Go Into A Bar...

2009-03-03T23:13:00.000-08:00

"it's so good/lovin somebody/when somebody loves you back..."--Teddy Pendergrass

In light of his "hip-hop" escapades over the past week, buzzing about the media circuit drinking the Kool-Aid and using every tired urban slang word he could scrape up in an effort to make the Republican party home to the hip and cool (c'mon man), it's unsurprising that Michael Steele dribbled a little truth serum down his chin in his appearance on D.L. Hughley's D.L. Hughley Breaks The News on CNN. He called Rush Limbaugh an "entertainer" (classic!) that said some "ugly", "incendiary" things. All true. He forgot self-indulgent, self-absorbed fascist pig that sweats profusely, but I'll forgive him the omission. In any case, that was the good DIC. Bad DIC after the jump.

Michael Steele, who calls himself the "Man of Steel", went "hand in hat" (as Keli Goff so poignantly pointed out) and apologized to said fascist pig, Rush Limbaugh. I really don't need to go into it, but Keli's article is worth a read. Michael, if you're going to be super Black Republican, please grab your nuts. We are aware that you have common sense. Please use it. The end.

Daily BIC: I'll Give You Something To Cry About

2009-03-03T22:47:00.000-08:00

"i'll be more than a woman/more than enough for you..."--Aaliyah

I think we can all agree that Nancy Pelosi is the definition of ballsy. In fact, I think that if Nancy Pelosi gave Hillary Clinton one of her cojones, they'd both have two. Majority Leader Pelosi, quickly tiring of the Republican whining reverberating all over Congressional Hill, laid down the law in order to let everybody know what it is and what it's gonna be. It was said in classically crispy Nancy language, but translation was that she's tolerated the complaints long enough so shut up. Although we all know what Republicans think of Nancy, no one can deny her power right now. As long as she continues to use her BIC for good, we're behind her.

Not Just Another Celebrity Perfume

2009-03-03T22:02:00.000-08:00

"you kick it like me no exaggeration necessary/livin revolutionary/nothin less than legendary..."--T.I.

Although Britney, Celine, J.Lo, Beyonce, and Paris have largely ruined the celebrity fragrance market for moi, I must say that I am muy, muy intrigued by Halle's new scent. I am really not ashamed to say that this is the only celebrity fragrance I would wear. First, because it's Halle, the OB[IC]--who doesn't love Halle (David Justice excepted)--and secondly, because for some reason I'm already convinced it smells amazing. Mas fotos de promocion after the jump.

BIC Report

2009-03-03T01:02:00.000-08:00

"he want a fight/well now he's got one/he ain't seen me crazy yet..."--Miranda Lambert

Unlike Some Artists, That Solange Knowles Is An Open Book [Bossip]

New Unceremoniously Fired Hall Of Fame Inductee. Somewhere, Star Jones Is Nodding Approvingly [DailyBeast]

Contrary To Popular Believe, Morgan's Sidekick Says She Wasn't Going Down In The Delta. In Other News, Gloria Allred Is An Opportunist [HuffPost]

Disturbing On At Least Five Easily Recognizable Levels [HuffPost]

When Will She Learn: There's A Fine Line Between Adopting A New Diet And Adopting A New Tailor [CelebSlam]

~~Nipple~~ Fountain Of Youth Alert: Let Us All Aspire To Such Flyness At Fifty [Huffpost]

More BIC after the jump...

The New Hot Ish: Quit Then Tattle. This Way, You're Broke And Despised. [LemonDrop]

Who Agrees That One Is Enough? [UPI]

The Flip Side Of BIC: Afraid To Be Too Crazy? [Forbes]

She Get It From Her Mama [LemonDrop]

Self-Esteem. It Does A Body Good. [LemonDrop]

I Think Women Living In The Islamic Republic Deserve A Drink Every Now And Then [HuffPost]

Just Imagine: 250 Years Earlier and TJ Could Have Been Sasha and Malia's Dad [HuffPost]

Character Actresses!! Gross! [HuffPost]

DIC Report

2009-03-03T00:06:00.001-08:00

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

I'm Trusting Spike For This Rebuttal [Bossip]

I Rarely Say This, But Kanye: Shut Up [Bossip]

Odd How The Conservatives Are So Often The Most Embarrassing To Their Race [HuffPost]

All Of A Sudden I Wish I Was Dumb [Slate]

Little DIC [NYDailyNews]

I Really, Really Wish A ***** Would [LemonDrop]

DIC Or BIC? You Decide [NYDailyNews]

More DIC after the jump...

Tyler, If You're Serious, I Will Pay You [HuffPost]

This Is Why He's Getting The Big Bucks [HuffPost]

Prayerfully, Louis Pulled Him To The Side To Nix Any Thoughts Of Dog Leashes In The Mosque [HuffPost]

Diddy Is Disgusting [People]

Crazy Baby Lady Update (and Daily DIC)

2009-03-02T04:30:00.000-08:00

"baby all i wanna do/is spend my life with you/have three, four kids by you/and have some more if you want me to..."--Brandy

Presenting: Denis Beaudoin, former boyfriend of Crazy Baby Lady (I refuse to use "Octomom" since it implies that she only has eight children) and possible babydaddy to the entire Suleman brood. Even though Denis is a cutie, and admirable for stepping up to the plate--even as a married father of two--to try to handle his possible responsibilities (and even offering to help if none of the children are his), I have some issues with him. The first major thing that comes to mind is that he seems to be a little on the slow side. Because to the naked eye--however cynical it might be--it really appears that Suleman pimped him for his little soldiers. She got the poor guy to do a "sperm donation" three times (i.e. jack it in a cup in her master bath), which she subsequently "put between her breasts" for warm safekeepings and sped over to her lunatic physicians' office to get IVF. Denis dear: did you ever consider that it was a bit irregular that she didn't hike you over the doctor's office for, um, a consultation? Did you not feel just a bit silly yanking in the bathroom for someone who claimed cancer as the cause of her infertility? And, using your words, why were you so concerned with "starting a family" with someone who told you she had cancer? Since when is terminal illness an appropriate catalyst for the initiation of family-building? Better ideas abound.

In other crazy baby lady news...

Nadya was offered $1 million to do a porn. Honestly, I can't vehemently say that her choices in the past have dictated that she wouldn't take them up on it.
She's also gripped with fear that after she distended her belly to alien proportions, the hospital won't be releasing her children to her. Apparently, they think her living situation isn't sufficient or appropriate for eight infants. Wonder where they got that idea?

Daily DIC: Are You Gonna Eat That?

2009-02-24T00:18:00.000-08:00

"respect the game/that should be it/what you eat don't make me s***..."--Jay-Z

Man, I'm really not a huge Schwarzenegger fan. I don't dislike him, and I think he's done some good things for the state of California, but I didn't even vote for the man. So trust me when I tell you that even though I'm a Californian (carpet-bagger, yes, but a Californian for what it's worth) I'm far from being a Schwarz-groupie. However, I definitely respect that man's hustle right here. All the Republican governors who are trying to front on the stimulus by turning down funds? El Terminator dice "dame su dinero". He's partially joking but mostly serious. And I love him for it. Plus, I want my state income tax return, stat.

Naked Ambition

2009-02-23T23:13:00.000-08:00

"all you catty creatures/i got my better features too/so step aside you leeches/i'm gonna teach a trick to you" --Donna Summer

Here's the deal. No words are really necessary, but I will point out the Obama picture painted on her thigh.

Throwback BIC: Walk It Out

2009-02-23T03:08:00.000-08:00

"do it how you do it/g'on and walk it out/i said/do it how you do it/g'on and walk it out..."--UNK Ft. 3000 & Jim Jones

This is was what went for fly in the 60's. Not bad. Remix after the jump. It's my new favorite thing. I had to share...

I'm Just Not That Into It

2009-02-23T02:18:00.000-08:00

"met him on sunday/loved him by tuesday afternoon/woke up on friday/changed my whole life to make some room..."--Esthero

A couple weeks ago, on opening weekend, I went to see a film that a lot of American women went to see: He's Just Not That Into You (HJNTIY). The theater was packed--with women--smacking on popcorn and sipping on Coke Zero as we tried to be enlightened. At least I was trying to be enlightened. Others had clearly come to a) get angry(-ier) about their current situation or a past instance of someone not being that into them, b) cry about every man who had ever hurt them, c) laugh at the stupidity of other women because they had clearly given up on men themselves, or d) spend their Saturday night seeing a star-studded chick flick because they [erroneously] felt nothing in the movie applied to them. Although the film was, by most accounts, fluff that fundamentally portrayed women as incredibly dumb and desperate creatures, there was some unpacking to be done. So instead of being able to fully enjoy the film, I found myself scribbling notes and questions into my PDA. For your pleasure, the major themes I noticed unpacked after the jump.

Why Are Unattainable Men So Sexy?

We all know that men with attachments are sexy, but why? I haven't ever quite figured this out, even for myself. In my opinion, formed by years of wondering what my own attraction to the spoken-for or otherwise occupied is, it's that women that have trouble with true, naked intimacy are relieved to find someone for whom they don't feel obligated to bare all. When a man is so obviously holding such a large part of himself from you, there's no compelling reason to be an open book for him, and so while your reasons for not wanting to be open may have nothing to do with other relationships or commitment issues, some women just aren't convinced that a man won't disappoint them once they've spelled themselves completely out. Attached men are virtually risk-free, because even when things fall apart, one only has herself to blame, which can be a welcome relief from pain that ebbs from another [uncontrollable] source. In HJNTIY, Anna (Scarlett Johansson) is sprung over very married Ben (Bradley Cooper). While obviously attracted to Anna, Ben does share with her towards the end of their first conversation that he is married--happily. Anna is so disappointed that she finds herself bitching to her friend, Mary (Drew Barrymore), about it. And Mary does what so many women do, issues a slight admonishment and warning chased quickly by a bevy of stories about women who found their true love while he was still married to another woman. Her mild encouragement of the situation gives Anna the free reign and courage to pursue a married man, and her friend doesn't feel one bit bad about it. Which leads me to the next point.

Is Most Of Our BIC Organic Or Does It Come From The BIC Of Others? Is BIC Transferred, Like Energy?

One thing HJNTIY makes clear is that female relationships breed a lot of the delusion and misjudgment about romantic relationships. During the course of the film, desperately single Gigi's (Gennifer Goodwin) relationship with her co-workers Janine (Jennifer Connelly) who is coincidentally married to Ben, and Beth (Jennifer Aniston) who's been trying to egg her live-in love of seven years to marry her, is the source of constant comedy. And yet, Gigi is a sad case--a woman constantly on the prowl for her eternal, perfect love. She obsesses over every number she collects, waits anxiously for men she just met to call, thinks every date is the beginning of the rest of her life. And while it's comical and over the top, it's real. Many of us live our lives this way, biting fingernails waiting for the love of our life to show up. And if he's not the love of our life, we like to try to make him it anyway. It's troublesome to see these larger-than-life issues up on the larger-than-life screen, because it makes clear just how dysfunctional female relationships can be. We never want to hurt each other's feelings, and we want to be hopeless romantics for our friends and sometimes ourselves as well. The cold, hard truth--which we all too often see and don't want to speak--sounds too harsh, too mean and the times when we should say "he's just not that into you" we say "you guys would have such cute kids". Of course, I should add the caveat that men often add exponentially to this conundrum by sending such conflicting messages. Just when women begin to feel that they should move on, a man will step back into the picture and accept more sex (those advertising posters talking about "breakup sex still means you're broken up" really piss me off, by the way--where is the self-control from the male side of the equation?!), or generally begin acting more interested. This is often, of course, just long enough to get the attention they crave back.

BIC transference often comes down to the simple truth that girlfriends never want to be on the wrong side of history. If we say "move on, he's not feeling you" and he is, then silently there will always be a side-eye situation from our friend and possibly even Mr. Conflicting Message. If we say "girl, i think he really loves you, you should give him another chance" and he leaves her a broken shell of a person, there's always a bit of guilt for encouraging your friend to shoot for the moon and then watching her crash violently to the Earth. Thus, a vicious cycle is born. All that said, I think women are naturally a little off-balance. After a deep depression coupled with a hysterical laughing jag that suddenly morphed into a horrifyingly long sobbing session in front of my best friend and a drive-thru cashier on Friday, I'm all too aware that the hormones coursing through our body ensure that we are going to have our fair share of unbalanced thoughts, ideas, and half-baked plans. I mean, Tameka Foster Raymond, who my best friend and I have decided is suffering from severe postpartum symptoms, is a prime example of the fact that women don't always make the best decisions. But our friends too often contribute their own hormone-driven craziness into the fray, making bad situations worse.

With All Of This Intel, Op/Ed, Pontification, and Discussion Are Women Getting Smarter or Dumber?

The scariest part of HJNTIY for me came after the film. As I was waiting for the bathroom (you already know how long to wait was with all those women and their 32 oz. diet sodas), there was a group of three young twenty-somethings in front of me, talking about the movie. "No, you don't even understand that I am totally dating [that character]! I mean, on Tuesday, we went to lunch, and then he didn't call like, for like two days. But then he totally sent me a text and I'm like 'okay'..." You get the drift. This exchange went on for several minutes, during which she listed at least two blatantly disrespectful slights from this guy. And the entire time I wanted to shake her and ask if she had seen the same film I did. She sounded exactly like the crazy, desperate character in the film--and neither she nor her homegirls were able to see or were willing to acknowledge this. It frightens me to see so many chicks sitting in the theater for 100 minutes watching a film about how insane and ridiculous women's behavior concerning opposite-sex relationships can get, and then to bust out of the theater thinking about how to apply those same insane and ridiculous tactics mocked satirically on-screen to their own dating life. Don't you get it?, I wanted to ask. You sound like an idiot!! "He totally likes you, too," her friend said, and sad, desperate girl seemed happy with this assertion. But when she caught my eye (and sight of my horrified, incredulous gaze) and said "she understands!" I fixed my face and smiled. I nodded. There was no hope for this girl. Why not just give her what she wanted? It would either fall on deaf ears or she would get what I was about to say. "Oh, yeah," I said, "he's totally into you." In a flash, she had her cell out, texting her dignity away.

Surely No One Believes That Black Women Don't Struggle With HJNTIY Issues

Which brings me to another point. It's pretty glaringly obvious that there's not one substantial Black role in this film. There is a random Black woman being sexed up on a couch by a wormy White womanizer, but that's about it. I see the logic in that, and I see the prejudice in that as well. There are certainly Black actresses who could have carried, and even added a substantial amount of depth to, one of these roles. But I also see the point that having a Black woman would make it an entirely different film. In the interest of being true to who the characters are, it would have been something of a detour to begin unpacking the neuroses of Black women in relationships, as our cultural allowances and hinderances are vastly misunderstood and misrepresented already. It's not that we're not just as delusional and insane, but our delusion and insanity is demonstrated in much different ways. That said, it wouldn't have hurt to throw Zoe Saldana in Jennifer Connelly's role or something. But bygones.

My fear for women is deep-seeded because honestly, if you sit through an entire film that tells you your way of relating to men is wrong and gives you a fairly comprehensive picture of what doesn't work, and you're energized by the dont's and disregard the do's, where can help possibly come from? The silver lining is that this site isn't going anywhere for a long, long time because clearly, BIC will never go out of style.

Daily DIC: Stop The Madness

2009-02-22T22:40:00.000-08:00

"soon as i let my guard down/ooh there you again/in my grill/til i call the cops and then..."--Tamia

Look here, now. This is getting to be pretty incredible. First, Chris Brown. Then Terrance

Howard's no-brainer domestically violent past was mysteriously exposed. Now, ridiculously-large-to-be-putting-his-hands-on-a-woman Suge Knight--who's curiously had his ass beaten by two different men recently--not only gets out of pocket in Sin City with his girlfriend, Melissa, but skates because LVPD currently cannot locate Melissa (which should be a top law enforcement priority when dealing with Suge Knight). I think we've all had enough. Do we need to have another Million Man March? Because apparently fools need some serious reindoctrination. And just because I'm quickly getting fighting mad about this, a list of celebrities I can readily think of that have ridden the 'Is Wayne Brady Gonna Have To Choke A Bitch' Train after the jump. To be fair, there are some mentionable women as well.

DICs That Hit

Billy Dee Williams
Brian McKnight
Don Cornelius
Robert Van Winkle (Vanilla Ice)
Bishop Thomas Weeks
Mike Tyson
Dennis Rodman

BICs That Hit

Hillary Clinton has been known to assault her husband, former President Bill Clinton, on numerous occasions, by hitting, severe scratching/cutting, and striking with objects such as a lamp and an ashtray.
Whitney Houston was widely acknowledged as domestically violent towards her ex-husband, Bobby Brown.
Brenda Harvey-Richie was arrested for the assault of both her [now ex-] husband, Lionel Richie, and his mistress in their hotel room prior to their 1993 divorce.

A Picture's Worth A Thousand Words

2009-02-21T03:48:00.000-08:00

"you're lying/cuz you're stuttering/now where were you..."--Joe

Young Chris Brown could learn a thing or two about anger management from Usher. After a week of trying to figure out why exactly Tameka Foster Raymond was in Brazil, of all places, having a tummy tuck and liposuction two months after giving birth and why her husband cosigned, we find out that Tameka's super-BIC ass didn't tell him a) she was even headed out of the country and b) about her impending surgery.

Unfortunately, not only did she lie to her husband, but she lied to the doctors about how long it had been since the birth of her son Naviyd. Maybe if she had been honest, the doctors might have been able to prevent her subsequent heart attack during anesthesia, which snowballed into Usher having to cancel his Grammy performance plans to rush to her bedside escorting a surgeon from Cedars Sinai. Usher was none too happy, probably far less because of the interruption of his plans than because of his wife's shocking omission of the truth about her whereabouts, the fact that she left their children to have the surgery, and lastly because of her lies to have the surgery which could have left him a widower and his sons without a mother. I think his expression going to visit his wife in the hospital the day he arrived says it all. He looks like he can't imagine talking to, touching, or looking at Tameka. In fact, he looks like he wants to slap the dog food out of her for getting them both into this predicament. But, like a good partner, he sucks it up and shows up like he's supposed to--all without physical violence. Sure, he's probably seriously contemplating divorce, and he might light all her stuff on fire when he returns to Atlanta, but he refrained from boxing her about the head, which in this case might have taken actual rational restraint.

Meanwhile, even Tameka, who nearly died last week, doesn't look half as bad returning to the States as Rihanna did in the LAPD after whatever spat her teenage love affair turned into last week. Chris: take notes. Tight jaw, cool. Silent treatment, cool. Contusions, notsomuch.

NBA All-Star BIC

2009-02-21T02:40:00.000-08:00

"oh they're weird and they're wonderful/oh benny she's really keen..."--Elton John

[Lossip]

Beyonce: Eva, girl, that sweater is too cute.

Eva: (blushing; giggles) Thank you, Beyonce!! So is your...hair.

Beyonce: Girl, I wasn't even thinkin when I got dressed today. You know I been MIA for everything else this month; people just oughta be glad I even showed up. You see I got my shades on. I'm tryna get in and get out.

Eva: You make me wish I had worn my shiny pantyhose with cutoff denim shorts. In February.

Beyonce: For real?!? Thank you, girl! Jay was tryna talk out his neck about it earlier, but you know I clipped that real quick. Sheeeeeet, we married now! (looking around) Girl, how do you do this? I mean, Jay has groupies, but these basketball hoes are somethin else, hunny!! They get so crazy at All-Star! Ole' raggedy heffas.

Eva: Yeah...I really love your shades, too, Beyonce.

Beyonce: Oh, thanks girl. What you doin later?

Eva: Yeah...remember when people thought we were going to be playing lesbians in a movie? That was funny.

Beyonce: Yeah, that was a nice PR move. You know the kids love me! (snaps and laughs)

Eva: Oh, who doesn't love you Beyonce? You're so awesome.

Beyonce: Oh....girl, thank you. You know I try to be fabulous for the kids. (snaps and laughs again, nervously) Anyhow, girl, I'm bout to skate before these people start takin more pictures. I really don't know what I have on.

Eva: You're leaving? Wait, you can wear my sweater if you want!

Beyonce: That's really sweet, Eva. But what would you wear?

Eva: Oh...I don't know. It doesn't matter! I'll make Tony give me his jersey or something.

Beyonce: Eva, you trippin girl. Tony playin in the game! What would he wear?

Eva: Oh, stop. You shouldn't have to worry about things like that! Here-- (begins to lift her sweater over her head)

Beyonce: Eva, girl, I'm finna leave. You actin crazy. If you want, you can find my sister somewhere around here. She like all that tradin clothes and stuff. I'ma catch you a lil later.

Eva: Okay, Beyonce. Call me! (yelling after her as Beyonce scoots away through the crowd) Call me!!!

Daily BIC: Can't Hide Love

2009-02-21T02:11:00.000-08:00

"it wasn't me..."--Shaggy

Although it's clear Carrie Underwood is doing it more to protect her privacy from the press, I think we've all been here:

Yup, last time for me was slowly sliding down in the corner of a restaurant booth...

Daily DIC: The World Is Not Enough For SJC And His Ego

2009-02-21T01:12:00.000-08:00

"you can pay for school/but you can't buy class..."--Jay-Z

Bossip reports that Diddy is releasing a new album of "train music"--a "new movement" in music characterizing a blend of electronic, hip-hop, and funk. I have several problems with this information.

Does anyone need any new "movements" from Diddy? The last few "movements"--Danity Kane, Day 26, Making the Band, Fonzworth Bentley, and impregnating wifey and side chick at the same time were quite enough, thanks.

~~Puffy~~ ~~Puff~~ ~~P.Diddy~~ ~~Diddy~~Sean Combs says that we're going to see a new side of him, as his new release is a "profound love story". Love of who?? Self?? Cassie? Kim? Ever-growing brood of children? Cristal? Ciroc? Sell us another one, Derek Luke.

The title of the album, Last Train to Paris, is probably way too hot for what Diddy will actually put in the streets. If I purchase an album with the title Last Train To Paris I don't want to hear "can't stop/won't stop" anywhere on it. I also don't want to hear the words "bad" and "boy" together anywhere on it. Oddly enough, I wouldn't mind the same thing from Roc-A-Fella. *shrug*

Best of luck to him. Maybe it'll be hot. I put nothing past Diddy's business prowess or his ability to self-reinvent, albeit temporarily. But my breath is hardly baited and I doubt I'm alone.

Crazy Baby Lady Update

2009-02-20T15:08:00.000-08:00

"pressure on me/but the seed has grown/i can't make it on my own..."--Erykah Badu

Although I had words for the silly folks who have been watching her every move and criticizing her for doing little things like getting her nails done and going to Starbuck's (although I did raise an eyebrow when Miss Thang hit up Nordstrom the other day to get some MAC lip gloss), this new news goes slightly beyond. Apparently, Ms. Suleman is looking for new digs--largely because her complete and total drain of her mother's personal finances has landed her mom's house in foreclosure with an auction date of just over two months away. With homelessness and care for 14 children (11 of whom have special needs) looming over her head, she's looking for a place to post up. She thinks she might have found it in a $1.2 million spot in Whittier.

Nice place. The marble floors and stairs will be terrific for teaching eight premies how to walk, the theater should entertain the older kiddies and their ADHD at least most of the day, and best of all, Suleman and her extra 30 pounds of skin can take a jacuzzi out in the back while 14 kids splash around in the pool with little-to-no supervision. Overall, I'd say this crib is particularly useful for raising a ~~basketball team~~ children. Add to that, the 2.5 bathrooms should really come in handy the handful of times when only two out of 16 inhabitants (1/8th) have to use the bathroom at the same time. Sadly, though, it *still* isn't enough space for the 14 kids, Suleman and her mom who will likely have to tag along out of both duty and necessity. Plus, while Suleman can fork over a downpayment by selling her story a few more times, she has zero chance of keeping up payments on that house unless she can find some means of income outside of her mother's Social Security. A collage of the prospective ~~audacity~~ Gingerbread House after the jump.