Lady's Laughables: The Swagga Wagon

Just Enough for the City

Back in college, I used to lay down in my dorm room with my slow jams playlist in the background. It seems so long ago now that I used to just stare out the window, listening to "Nothing Even Matters" by Lauryn Hill, and feeling just like that.

That feeling made me so high. I often wonder...where did it go? What was the transition point that I stopped having inner peace and started not just caring about things but worrying about them? I always used to believe that you can't stress over what you can't change. But it was so different then. I was living for me.

It's like I woke up one morning and realized I was a grown ass woman, sitting in a grown ass world, paying grown ass bills, and that thing...that high feeling... it disappeared.

How do you go from living in a dream to living beside it?

Nothing even matters. Such a beautiful, carefree song. But so much matters now. I'm no longer living for me.

I think I'm living just enough for the city.

The Blogger Business Gap

At PBS....here.

Why Don't You Love Me

I often don't take much time out of my day to wonder about celebrities and their marriages, divorces, or children. I spend even less time analyzing their behavior or the he said, she said that's dragged into the fire long after the drama stops and scene ends.

But for certain celebrities that I have a lot of admiration for, it makes me sad to see their personal disputes served up as a public forum, draped with the opinions of a charged mass media.

So when TMZ recently reported that she and Gabriel Aubry are splitting up, and with all this talk about black women being the last-women-on-Earth-to-never-ever-in-life-have-a-man, I wondered how Steve Harvey and the rest of the "experts" of "single woman-ness" would dissect a woman like Halle.

After all, she's Halle Berry right? So she must be playing some other role. You know, the one that doesn't involve the opening scene of a black woman as the down trodden female.

(*cue* Halle Beerrrry, Halle Berrrry)

I can see it now... Steve Harvey and the gods of singledom gathering around their throne if singleness, spewing knowledge... Think like a man, Halle, act like a lady.

Oh boo.

I have long given up trying to figure out the secret to a healthy relationship. There are an exorbitant amount of people doing that already. But I wonder about the discussion that comes along with a twice divorcee, talented Oscar award winning actress, beautiful woman, and mother of one.

Is she considered a different quality of woman than let's say, the average Jane? Does that give her reason to be excluded from the discussion? After all, Berry and Aubry were never married. Am I to assume now that she's just another single black woman who can't keep a man, and moreso, that she's just Aubry's baby momma? Perhaps it's just a black thing, and Halle just ain't wit it.

After all, there are many people like her who have it all. See Leah Rozen's recent piece in the New York Times about Julia Roberts: Mother and MegaStar: Happily Balanced.

And here we have Halle Berry - MILF, Oscar award winning actress, independent woman, Angela, Ginger, Nisi etc. An over achiever that's still under appreciated.

She's been through 2 divorces already. The first to Atlanta Braves player David Justice, followed by R&B singer and alleged sex addict Eric Benet, after who she made the decision to never marry again.

And that's OK.

But I wonder sometimes. Where's her forum? Where's her happily ever after? At night, when she's sitting in her PJs, fingers cupped around a mug with tea, curtains closed, and she's lost in her thoughts, I wonder how she deals with all her emotions.

I wonder if she listens to Beyonce's, "Why Don't You Love me?" and asks herself that very question.

"Why Don't You Love Me" - Beyoncé from Beyoncé on Vimeo.

Occupational Hazard

Bill Moyers, a journalist who has been knocking down the doors of fabrication for years, had his last show on Friday night. To say I cried my eyes out would have been an understatement. What that really means is, I cried my heart out.

Full disclosure, I've been privy to work with Bill for the past two years, and in that time I've learned a hell of a lot. The word "remarkable" comes to mind, but it doesn't even come close to the word that describes him.

He's a legend. And a legend died today.

As I screened his last farewell page that he was recording in the studio, I took the time to take it in. I wondered about his feelings in the days up until this point. The people he had met, the interviews he has done, and the people he's touched. I thought too about the toll it had on him, the thoughts he might have had for an essay he started, but then abandoned when he realized that there would be no personal forum for him, and how much it must take out of him to dedicate much of your life to informing others.

And because he was in the business for so long, I wondered about how others viewed his departure. Would they see him as staple in the journalistic community? Or did they just assume that he was supposed to take his stripes with pride and just leave the arena?

It’s bad enough that journalism is flailing in the arms of political shock jocks looking to use their mouthpieces to ravage the remains of journalism. But thinking about all those hours our team spent researching, disseminating information, fact-checking, and truth-telling, it really feels like it's what my mom keeps saying it is, "the end of an era."

I can imagine how he feels.

Though I've only stepped foot in the White House for a holiday tour with my mom several years ago, Bill was Lyndon Johnson's Press Secretary in 1965, and has lived through all the drama that comes with being a man being the voice of reason. So it must seem surreal to go from fighting off the sharks in the deep side of the pool, to someone wading in the shallow end. Call it an occupational hazard if you will, but once you start working and doing something that you truly love, it's hard to stop and just succumb to the pressure of the forces that be.

For only a moment, I sat there and understood what it felt like. As I stared at him, I realized that he must feel like he's in limbo, one foot in the journalism world and one foot out. Much like myself on a more basic level, because like him, I struggle with the same thing.

I change my mind about everything everyday, I wonder what the hell I'm doing with myself and my life and where I'm headed. I think about what I have to do to be like Bill. The steps he took to get where he is today and the foundation he built for himself in the process. And then I think of failing, flailing my arms in the air like a maniac, giving up, and the idea that I might not be good enough for anything, Oh, and if by the grace of God, if one day I am actually considered "a legend", I will totally suck at it.

It would be an understatement to say Bill was the best. He really was. Not to mention, he was the sweetest person EVER. I fondly believe this isn't the end for him and it's just the beginning for me. So we are both kind of in this limbo. But if I learned nothing else working there, I've learned that failure is not an option.

We just have to suck it up, overcome our occupational hazards, and keep going.

Maybe it's time to be Honest

"Even the sun goes down, heroes eventually die, horoscopes often lie, and sometime Y', nothin is for sure, nothin' is for certain, nothin' lasts forever" - Outkast

I'm stressed. I have a good job, a nice apartment, a solid car.. all in Brooklyn no less. All of which I'm a. struggling to manage, b. struggling to pay for, and c. struggling to keep clean oil in.

Maybe it's time for a change.

This morning I was shuffling around on my playlist, and Aquemini came on. For the first time since hearing this song years ago, it hit me as to how painstakingly true it is. Even though I'm happy, lately my happiness has come and gone in short spurts. Even the sun goes down.

Maybe it's time for a vacation.

The other day, I took the 4 hour trip home to arrive in the beautiful suburbs, surrounded by fresh air, trees, and a laundry machine at my disposal. Ah, the good life.

While home, I reflected on my new job that I just got. I think of my old job. The show is going off the air, and the host is heading into retirement. Heroes eventually die.

It's a weird contradiction, because I'm blessed to be given such an opportunity. And when people ask how it's going, I'm all coke and a smile. But I know that I am surrounded by people I cannot relate to, whether it be because I'm the youngest, or because I am the "brownest."

It's wrong to feel this way at such a young age. I mean, the rhetoric plow drives through my head everyday. Be the change you wish to see in the world! Our youth is the hope for the future! I can lead the way! I'm a Leo after all...Yea. Horoscopes often lie.

In the course of chasing my dreams, I never realized I would just want to stop and have my head in the clouds.

I'm struggling no doubt, but maybe this is all a process of growth. Maybe I need ro revaluate where I am and where I want to be.

Maybe it's time to be honest. Nothin is for sure, nothin is for certain, nothin lasts forever.

How Am I Supposed to Write?

I was watching Love Jones the other day, one of my favorite romantic love movies EVER. Like second to maybe Brown Sugar and Love and Basketball. And though the premise is like those of all other romantic movies, I totally fell in love with the idea of Nia Long, the photographer, and Larenz Tate, the "Renaissance black man" who recited poetry, quoted Bernard Shaw, and effortlessly romanced Nia to the sounds of Miles Davis.

I'll never forget one of my favorite parts of the movie: They are on their first date and they're walking down a secluded street at night talking, getting to know each other. He's talking about his book and what he reads. She says what she reads and admits she wants to burn her notebook. Larenz Tate's response:

"Oh no. Your notebook is your notebook. It's about reaching your potential. No one else's."

I started scribbling in my notebook in second grade. I had to write a short story about a family. Since then, I just wrote whatever, whenever I got to the urge too. Poetry, short stories, essays. I didn't know what I wanted to be, but I know I wanted it to involve some form of me telling a story.

If any of you follow me on twitter, you know that I've been posting a few articles on Clutch Magazine over the course of the past few weeks. Each post has received a small amount of commentary, nothing extraordinary for Clutch, who I've seen receive up to 90 plus comments on one post.

I see plenty "good job, great post" comments, but I also see a fair share of criticism. All well and good of course, everyone is entitled to their opinion. But everytime I write something I always have to repeat in my head that these are my thoughts, feelings, expressions, etc. and no matter what, they are original. Not only that, but they mean something.

But then the question becomes - how am I supposed to write? I mean, how is anyone supposed to write. Noun, verb, object. Basic grammar. Sentence structure. Construct a story. Keep the audience interested. Oh, and make it good! But don't sound like a fool. Read and write. Often. Matter of fact, everyday.

I did that and still do, so it really becomes more of a subjective question. I'm slowly becoming more analytical about what Larenz Tate says. Because he was right...it is about reaching my potential. And that's all that matters.

Baduism at it's finest: Window Seat

Erykah Badu's new video, "Window Seat", has set off a series of criticism from both angles. It depicts a fully dressed Erykah Badu stripping down until she is completely naked, walking down Dealey Plaza in Dallas, and getting shot. It was the same block where JFK was shot. When she falls down, the words Groupthink falls out of her mouth.

I loved it.

Badu is one of those artists that can just do it. The symbolism in the video is powerful: We are a society that has become complacent to the Groupthink mentality, and very simply, we must evolve. As written on her back.

Real. But clearly the symbolism was lost among the fact that she was walking down the street. Naked.

Love it more. Not just because I'm a nudist at heart. I digress.

I find that most of the criticism coming from the video is the fact that she was naked. And even in a society that is so accustomed to implied nudity, we just aren't ready for nudity in its very rawness, sans apology. Unless it's behind closed doors of course, then...all hands on deck!

But out in the streets? Oh no! Cover the children's eyes! Arrest the nudist! Condemn the stripper!

Are we really a society that conforms to a groupthink mentality? Perhaps. If it were white guys stripping down the street in Times Square would it make any difference? Probably.

Because that's who inspired the video. Matt and Kim, who stripped down in the "Lessons Learned" video. So it's possible that because she is beautiful, bountiful, and black walking...no...stomping down the street. Unashamed. Promoting a revolutionary idea....to evolve...is not as easily accepted.

To hell with everyone else. I'll take that window seat please.

Watch the video below:

RIP BIG

Today is the 13th anniversary of Christopher Wallace aka BIG's death. One of the greatest rappers. RIP.

Miguel Jontel, a "sure thing"

"You could be the lover, I'll be the fighter baby,

If I'm the blunt, you could be the lighter babe, Fire it up

Writer baby, you could be the quote

If I'm the lyric baby, you could be the note. Record that"

What's that you say? I could be the quote? Deal. Is this the prerequisite for a date? Dinner or movie, perhaps? Because after listening to "Sure thing", I've realized that you might just be the man for me. You, Miguel Jontel, are a man after my own heart. And if this was speed dating, you would get points for originality, content, and smoothness.

To whoever is reading this, forgive me, but Miguel made me fall almost instanteneously in love with his flow, and I've latched on to his style. A mix of Maxwell, Tank, and a bit of Babyface, when he blows, his music is going to caress the airwaves so much that we won't be able to get enough.

Miguel Jontel has written songs for Mary J. Blige and Usher among others. As well as collaborated with Neyo. His debut album is said to drop soon, entitled "Gravity".

Listen to some of his songs: "Sure Thing", "Hero", and "Pick up the Pace".

Thoughts?

Settling

I had done it. Or at least I thought I did. I had dutifully scoured all paragraphs, quotes, punctuations, anomalies, similes, and anything else that could have been in incorrect in the essay. I sat with the editors and producers slumped over stacks of papers infiltrated with red ink and yellow highlights absorbing the material. I was the first to arrive and the last to leave.

Not only that, I made copies, organized tape databases, refilled printers with ink, brought the producers their lattes, fraps, mochas, grande, venti whatever-type-they-needed-when-they-needed-it coffee, ran out to the library in the freezing cold and sleeting rain to get a 1970 yr. old book for the writers, and so forth.

So when I heard our show was ending, I believed a promotion was well deserved.

It was a Tuesday. In January. 7 months from birthday. I brushed off my pants, straightened my collar, patted my curly fro into place, spit out the gum that I had been chewing all morning to help me from munching nervously on snacks, and walked into my exec's office. I sat down quietly to gather my thoughts.

"I want to be considered for an associate producer position," I said.

She looked at me.

"I've been working as a production assistant here for the past 2 years and I’ve began applying for jobs. I don't think that with my current job title employers are really able to take me seriously. I want them to know that I'm knowledgeable of the position. My title doesn't say that."

The exec looked at me. She nodded slowly. "It's reasonable. I'll let you know."

That was it. I expected more, but nevertheless I walked out of the office feeling empowered, mentally toasting myself with imaginary wine.

It's now a Thursday. In March. And I’m 5 months shy of my birthday, which means I'm 5 months shy of failing at my goal to get a promotion at 23. And there is still no update or reassurance that I'm actually being considered.

The other day, I got a call back about job I had applied to a few months back. But not just any type of job, oh no, the job that I've been doing...for the past 2 years. So if they offer me the position, either I take it, or I don't.

The question becomes then, do I settle to keep my career in full gear? This means abandoning my goal. Or do I pause, wait until my job ends and see if I do in fact get that promotion which will put me in a better bracket for applying to jobs in the future?

Frederick Douglass said, "Without a struggle, there can be no progress." But is settling part of the struggle?

My Love Affair with Sade

It takes me only a few seconds to remember when I sat by myself in the dark and had a heart wrenching cry after breaking up with my ex, while "Somebody Already Broke my Heart" crooned out of my speakers.

Later, I strolled down Brooklyn's Promenade, looked out at the beautiful Manhattan skyline, and hummed "Smooth Operator".

Not to mention I've waltzed around in my pajamas to "Hang onto Your Love".

And then she disappeared.

Now 10 years later, she's back. Sade is back. And of course her timing is impeccable. Just when I was worried that R&B music had become something to the likes of auditory porn- full of sexual innuendos and rompin shops- the "Soldier of Love" hurls a fastball, knocks me over, and drags me back to the cocoon of real R&B.

I've got a real love affair going with this lady. Probably to the extent that no one knows. When I hear her music, it's as if she notions me over, whispers "I'm still alive" in my ear, and leaves behind a scent of saxophones, strings, and jazz accompaniments for me to remember her by.

It’s like a movie. I’m living on Lovers Lane, itching for my next fix of…well…love. And here she comes to sell me a dream. “This is no ordinary love,” she says. “No ordinary love.”

I’m hooked. I wake up and realize that I’m a love junkie, and I've been strung out for awhile.

I've forgotten how old I was when I first heard her music. But I imagine my mother was listening to her when I was still in her womb, and as I grew up, I would hear her music coming out of my sister's room. And even then I knew she would have a hold on me.

I wanted to know why she was getting attention over Whitney Houston, Stevie Wonder, and Patti Labelle. It’s like, who could rival Whitney? So I listened to her one day. And I cried. I didn't even know why. Her words sparked something in me that I was, and still am, incapable of letting go.

The undeniable talent comes back with her new CD, "Soldier of Love". She covers the new issue of Ebony Magazine.

Conversation with My Brother, the Drug Addict

A piece of me died over the weekend.

*Note - This blog is probably going to be scatterbrained because I'm trying to get myself together still and haven't been able to really organize my thoughts. Just follow me.*

This past Friday I took a trip down to my hometown of Maryland to get some much needed things done. So among my list of things to do, I made time to go visit my older brother who has been dealing with a lot of things lately. What I saw, devastated me in more ways than I imagined, and I've been crying on and off for the past few days. Writing this is making me tear up now.

My brother is a drug addict. He's been addicted to drugs for, I believe, the past 5 or probably more years. I didn't realize it was so bad until I went to see him, and a normally bright, upbeat, smiling person was pale, defunct, out of it, weary, etc.

As soon as I saw him I pulled him close to me. I wanted to peel any piece of the old man I once knew. The guy who is obsessed with Wonder Woman, the guy who I could go to for advice about guys, the boy who has always struggled with his sexuality, and can sometimes be too honest, the man who I learned to love through all his ups and downs.

I picked him up at the motel he was staying at, (he had been kicked out of his house numerous times, but apparently his mother said this was the final straw). We went to Burger King, I bought him food. We talked. I asked him a series of questions and he was straightforward.

Me: Are you in rehab?

Him: Yes, I've been in and out of drug rehab. It isn't helping. But I go on Mondays when I can.

Me: You know everyone wants you to get better. We're worried about you. What do you need?

Him: All I want right now is drugs. Will you take me to get some?

Me: No! Are you crazy? (in retrospect I know that of course he indeed was)

Him: I know, (smiling) Just thought I'd try.

Me: Oh my god, that's not ok.

Him: I know. I'm not ok.

Me: I think you need to get out of this area. Why don't you come up to NY for a weekend?

Him: I love you, but I'm an extreme burden. I can't do that to you.

Me: Wait...so what exactly do you do? Which drug?

Him: PCP.

Me: (frantic) What??? That's one of the worst ones! No! Oh, my god. You hallucinate with that don't you?

Him: Yea. I feel sick, chills, all that. But it's nothing I'm not used to.

Me: I'm praying for you. You know I love you right.

Him: I know. I love you too.

Me: Why can't you stop?

Him: I just can't. I just...can't.

Me: Is your mom going to let you back in the house?

Him: No. She made that very clear. I'm on drugs. She put all my stuff out the house.

Me: (pause) Are you scared?

Him: Yea. I'm scared of withdrawal. I've been there, I don't want to go there again.

And so went our conversation. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do. I still don't. What do you say to someone who can admit to doing drugs, but is scared to stop because he's scared of the side effects from the withdrawal process? How do you help someone like that?

There's more.

He wanted to pick up some things from his mother's house and asked if I could take him. Sure I said, anyway I could help, I would. We drive to his mother's house and he asks if he can buy some cigarettes from the gas station. 'Sure, better cigarettes than drugs,' I thought. I pull over and he gets out the car. What happened next will forever sit in my memory.

He gets back in the car. "You're gonna hate me" he says. Immediately I wanted to punch myself in the face for stopping. He lit up a cigarette and the smell of PCP, filled my car. Frantically I rolled down the windows, pulled out of the gas station, and started screaming at him. He didn't hear anything I said. He went from a seemingly normal state to completely blank. His eyes glazed over. I had to pull the car over so he could spit up. He leaned forward. Leaned back. And just sat there zoned out like a zombie.

I knew this was the end of our interaction. I couldn't be around him. As much as I wanted to help, I realized first hand what everyone in my family had been saying, and it hurt me to the core. 'All this time I had been thinking, this is me, I'm his little sister, he won't take advantage of me. We're so close. I was wrong. Every bone in me aches just thinking about it. It hurt me to the core.

I drove him back to the motel, stifling tears and anger both of which I didn't know what do with because if you know anything about PCP, you know that the person who is on it, can get extremely EXTREMELY violent so you have to choose you're words carefully.

I dropped him off and needless to say, I had to struggle to get him out of my car, and ultimately coax him by saying I would walk him upstairs. His eyes were still glazed over. He looked like death. As soon he got out, I slammed my door and sped off leaving him standing in front of the motel. Driving down 495, hot tears flowed down my face.I called my boyfriend crying hysterically and he tried to comfort me, but I just couldn't be comforted. I still can't.

I found out later that generally people lace weed with PCP, but in DC they lace cigarettes with it. I told my father about our run in, and all he could do was shake his head. 'We've tried to help him. Repeatedly. But you can't help people who don't want to be helped', he said. 'Just pray that we don't get a call saying he's dead.'

What more can I do? I asked. "Put it God's hands," he said. "And pray the devil doesn't win."

Emotionally Needy Part 1

"I tried to so hard to please you, but I just can't seem too, baby" - Musiq Soulchild - Mary Go Round

Sometimes when you're in a relationship, you have to be single.

I'm an extremely emotional person, that's just how I was created by default, and how I've always been. I need men to understand that and work with me. Some have done it better than others. I'm not emotional in the sense that I cry or whine a lot, but rather, I am what one of my best friends would call, "emotionally needy". I need to feel appreciated, I need spontaneity, I need concern, I need friendship, I need you to act like you care in more ways then one. You know, because that's what a relationship is.

But I've realized that by default, a lot of men, just aren't like that. They're very simple creatures. It's no one's fault, not his, nor mine. We're just wired differently.

My feeling is this. In a relationship, you choose to share yourself with your significant other. A relationship is taking an oath saying, I'm on a hiatus of my single-hood because I choose to be with you, and I am going to forfeit some of my personal space so that you and I can make this work.

Now there are exceptions: If the person you're dealing with is a stalker, up under your armpits so much so that you can barely breathe, then that's a completely different problem. One that needs to be addressed sooner rather than later. But in most normal cases, it's just never that real. I'm a working woman who works a full-time job, has a life that involve friends, parties, and social gatherings, so damn if I just want to cuddle at night. That's pretty normal relationship behavior. Selfish? I really don't think so.

So the idea arises that in order to make your significant other happy, you have to simply, give him/her space. You have to stamp your temporary single card on your heart, emotionally detach yourself, withold your feelings, woo-sah, and just let the sh*t go. It hurts. But as I've mentioned before, compromise is a two-way street.

I posted the above Musiq Soulchild quote because I thought it was relevant to this discussion. Ladies, what percentage do you expect to receive in a relationship? How much do you give out? Who does more compromising, you or him? And most importantly, when does the option of pleasing your mate become so frustrating that you can't seem too anymore?

Discuss.

Nicki Minaj Gets Faded

Her weave has little girls running to the nearest beauty shops to cop pink extensions, her barbie doll candy image fools you into thinking she's sweet, until she opens her mouth and the gritty Queens native nearly attacks your senses. With a jolt of animation and lyrics to boot, if you're not left bobbing your head at the end of her verse, you're crazy.

I've been a fan of Ms. Harujuku Barbie since she signed to Young Money. Her song, "Itty, Bitty Piggy" had me hype. Finally, I thought, a female rapper who's talent might rival her looks. Lord knows, it's been awhile. Since then she's collaborated with rappers such as Ludacris, Trina and Gucci Mane, to music icons such as Mariah Carey.

She might as well have bad bitch stamped on her forehead, with seemingly no competition in sight, she's been riding the wave of fame for a little while now, clutching her Louie V and signing boobs. All in a day's work.

Nicki Minaj covers the new issue of Fader Magazine.

Lady's Laughables: Old Spice Commercial

LMAO! Look at your man, now back to me, now at your man, now back to me. Classic.

To the Other Brother..

Frequently, I treat relationships like traffic. I’m the traffic conductor, and men are the cars. So when I tell them to stay in their lane, they do. When I flag them down, they yield to my attention and pull over. When I think it’s time for us to put on the brakes, we stop.

Many of my girlfriends adhere to these rules. So you can imagine my confusion when, while chatting it up with one the other night over some wine, she tells me about this brother she is seeing who just can’t seem to stop at red lights.

It’s as if she was flashing her hazards to get my attention!

“Give me details”, I say. I’m ready to read him his rights.

"I'm just not that into him. You know, like that movie?” she begins. “I've got a man already, so he was just there as a perk. He was the other brother. I thought it would be fun."

She looks a little frazzled. I mean, who wouldn’t be? This guy is in clear violation of all the rules. And beyond that, she’s annoyed, her hair is falling out, and her new fresh minx manicure is chipping. “All stress,” she says. The game is getting to her.

I’m immediately concerned. I act accordingly, and run down a list of questions.

“Name?”

Let’s call him the other brother.

“How’d you meet”?

Out one night with the girls.

“Did you tell him you had a man?”

Yes! Immediately. I didn’t think he would stick around.

Sex?

Yes.

Good sex?

Eh.


What’s he been doing?

Ugh. Bothering me. Emails, texts, phone calls. I told him to stay out of my way when I’m with Mr. Man. He doesn’t get it. He’s an emotional one. Momma’s boy.

Agh. Emotions. Those suckers always put a glitch in the system. Ok, so his violation is obvious. Girl has guy. Girl meets another guy. And guy oversteps his boundaries. A compulsory violation.

And then I do what I have been known to do in the past. I issue a citation for her to give to him. It goes like this:

Subject: Breach of Contract
Background: No priors. 1st Offense

Dear Mr. Other Brother,

I simply cannot wrap my mind around why I kept you be in my life for oh so long. Though your strong back, chiseled physique and flirtatious smile kept you on my list of cuties for quite some time. You simply do not make the cut.

Your constant calls and texts annoy me. It's like I have another man, and I really just can't deal with your emotions. Let's make one thing clear, you are not, nor will ever be, my man. That title is reserved for the one who has it now. Besides, why would I leave my large caramel frapachino with extra whip cream, for a mere black coffee? It doesn't make sense.

And please remember, you are the "other brother". I thought we discussed that you were going to play your position accordingly. My man fulfills my every need, and on your best day, you're simply mediocre.

And I'm not talking about the sex; it did what it was supposed to do. I guess. But, it's 2010 and I think you need a reality check. These little games you play are wack at best, and in reality when you think you've won the checkers game, you find out we're really playing chess.

And please spare me the macho shit about how you got in my draws. Here's breaking news: I let you. Nothing went down that I didn't want. Game recognize game brother, and dare I say that you men have been messing with us sistas for years. So, how's it feel to be my bitch? Trust me, I won't be sad without you, I won't even pout when you're gone. Now that it's over I'm completely content.

Mr. Other brother, excuse me a minute while I throw on my Marc Jacob glasses, dust off my sundress, pull on my 6-inch stilettos and kick you out of my life. You never deserved me anyways. An educated woman like me definitely makes mistakes, but some days I don't even know why I let you stick around. It's sad that it took me so long to discover that I'm way more fly than any girl you will ever encounter. And to the girls you pull in the future, good luck chuck, hope they can do what I did. Ugh, the mere fact that I had you on my roster for so long would make any mother roll over in their grave. Twice.

I hope you're not salty brother. I do and always will wish you the best. It's just that when the shot clock has 15 seconds on it and you're faced with what could be the last play of the game, you do what you think is best for the team. And quite frankly, as the coach of this team, I pick the star player. And you already know the bench warmer never gets MVP.

It was fun while it lasted, I suppose. But let's wrap this up. Don't call, don't write, don't text, don't BBM, don't send me a message, don't follow me on twitter. No need to say you’re going to lose my number; I'll be changing it in the morning. Believe me, I'm over it. I'm over you.

Dueces.

P.S. -- I hope we can remain friends. But, well... you know how it is.

A Motivational Moment: Jacque Reid

Uh. Can we say girl crush? I aspire to be like this woman! Jacque Reid is a hard-hitting journalist who's worked over 15 years reporting in different media outlets such as CNN's Headline News and BET's Nightly News. She is now starring on the new show, "Let's Talk About Pep"on VH1, where she shows the side of herself that doesnt generally get past cameras, hangs up her business suits, and storms the city in stilettos with her fellow girlfriends Pepa, Kittie, and Joumana. A woman after my own heart.

I met Ms. Reid a couple years back at the NABJ's Conference in Chicago and I loved her! Not only does she have the brains to completely take over the world, she was also very sweet, beautiful, and effortlessly stylish. The entire package! Plus, she gave me tips on getting ahead in my career. I remember thinking, this is me in 10 years!

Now if I could just have her level of expertise and Tanika Ray's big Hollywood hair! Life would be sweet.

Check her out on the latest enstallment of "Let's Talk About Pep:

VH1 TV Shows Music Videos Celebrity Photos News & Gossip

On Cheating Fathers and their Daughters

I grew up in a loving home. Mother, father, sister, brother. I was raised by two strong parents who I love dearly. I went to good schools my entire life and was educated by great teachers and my peers. I've been in good and bad relationships, all of which I've learned a lot from. I've seen my parents relationship at it's best and at it's worst. But there is something I think I should touch on, part of a discussion that I had recently.

A lot of times, women want to believe that all men have the same tendencies toward women. All men cheat because there are just so many options in the world.

Let me be the first to say, that's not always the case. I've seen many times, a good man with good intentions be honest in his feelings, and give his heart and women walk all over it. We'll use him. And ultimately we'll break him. Leaving him wounded, lacking trust, and half-ass loving for his next relationship, which will be with a woman whom he will ultimately cheat on.

My father is a great man. Great provider, great dad, etc. When I was younger, I used to have a I want to be like my daddy t-shirt. I was positive that he could do no wrong. As I got older, changes started happening. My father would go out on Friday nights with "friends" and wouldn't come home until Sunday. He would take trips out of town, for a few days, sans my mother, and wouldn't tell us where he was staying or who he was with. That kind of thing. And note, it's important to know that my father is an adult, not a boy, not a young man, a GROWN 60-something year old man.

I ignored it. After all, he is a great dad, and that is my relationship with him. I am not my mother, so I will not tell him how to live his life. I digress.

I began wondering about the cycle of cheating men, cycle meaning the length of time that a man or woman will cheat until he/she is satisfied. I know my parents had their issues as in all relationships, but they were solid. How long does it take a man/woman to get the cheating gene out of there system?

I always remember chanting this mantra: I will never let a man cheat on me. I will never let a man cheat on me. I'll be damned if I'm the one getting hurt. If anyone's going to cheat it's going to be me.

And so it began. I got into a relationships with a good guys, and I cheated. Leaving some new woman to pick up the pieces of my insecurities. Most women when seeing their parents infidelity determine that they are going to do things different, they are either going to do anything in their power to make their relationship work or they are just going to accept the fact that men cheat and that's how it's going to be. I was different. I was the one who let the good guy go because I feared them cheating on me. If my father, who was in a marriage for 20 some odd years and is well in his golden years was still doing it, then of course it could happen to me.

I've since then, analyzied my behavior, and rethought my actions. But I don't think that I'm alone in this idea, nor do I doubt that many of you will agree that the role of a father to their daughters lives are beyond important.

So, a message to cheating fathers on their daughters. Take care of what you do and who you do it with. Actions speak exponentially louder than words and even if we say nothing, we are always watching. You can preach until your blue in the face about respect, honesty, faithfulness, etc. But as writer and philosopher, Elbert Hubbard once said, you have to "live truth instead of professing it". We are far more affected by the decisions that you make then you might realize.

Valentine's Day - Why It Matters

My boyfriend and I have a bit of disagreement this time of year. Valentine's Day. He doesn't celebrate it, I do. I don't know how many of you all have this problem too, but if you do, solutions are welcomed, because as much as I try to sit back and forget Valentine's Day exists, the more it's in my face that it's coming.

Now I do believe Valentine's Day is a holiday designed to make Hallmark rich. But you know what? I really don't care. So are all the other holidays. There's a day for family, there's a day for Presidents, Veterans, mothers, fathers, etc...why not a day for love. I'm a romantic. I love love. It's probably one of the more girlier things about me. So just like other holidays, Valentine's Day is special too. It's more of a "reaffirm your love day", then a "I'm going to buy you something just because I'm supposed too" day. And honestly, I would much prefer to receive something as a surprise randomly, then on a day when I know to expect something.

I'm willing to compromise. After all, I see his point of view. But... compromise is something meant for two parties, right? Happy Valentine's Day all.

Discuss.

Rihanna: Rude Boy

Cute video!

Before Your 20s becomes your 30s

I ran across this article over at the website, Yeah... She said It... 13 Things I Wish I Knew Before 30. The title is pretty self explanatory, so here are the first three excerpts that I found interesting:

1. If a man wants you, really wants you, there is nothing you can do to keep him away.

Contrarily, if a man is not that interested in you, there is nothing you can do to make him stay.
Years ago when I was much younger I would stress out about a man not returning my call or not doing what he said he was going to do. Sometimes I would blame myself and wonder was it something that I could have possibly done to perhaps upset him. When in actuality, it was never completely up to me. If a man is sincerely interested in you or getting to know you then he will make the effort. There will not be an array of excuses for him to pull out of his bull s**t bucket. His actions will show what he is feeling and if he is being honest, they will line up with what he is saying. On the contrary, if a man is not that interested in you, then his actions will also show that as well. It is not your job to constantly chase after him.

2. Credit Is A Pathway To Financial Security

When I turned 18 everybody and their moma was offering me a credit card. The temptation became too much for me and I could not resist the credit card monster. I made the decision then that new sneakers, and jeans were more important to me than my credit score. So, I charged, charged, charged, and ended up never acquiring the finances to pay it all back. Years later, I am still suffering the consequences of those decisions. Clothes and looking fly are important, but not as important as being able to get your first car or apartment without begging a family member to co-sign for you. It is a beautiful feeling to be able to get your own, on your own.

3. Some Women Are Petty, But There Are Good Sistas Out There

We are often taught as little girls not to trust other little girls. My mother installed in me from a young age that women can be sneaky and petty. Sure this is true. There are some women who lack the ability to be a good friend. There are also those who possess those qualities. Unfortunately, my distrust for other women, often led me to be defensive and socially awkward in female oriented social situations. It took many years for me to be able to fully trust other women and to want to develop a strong friendship with them. I am lucky enough now to have true friends and life long bonds.

For the Full article...click HERE

John Mayer: It's Not Ok

Talented singer, guitarist, and entertainer John Mayer has the internet in an uproar over his remarks made in an interview with Playboy magazine. In the article some of the most outlandish things to come out of his mouth yet:

#1 -Mayer on dating black women:

"I don't think I open myself to it. My dick is sort of like a white supremacist. I've got a Benetton heart and a fuckin' David Duke cock. I'm going to start dating separately from my dick."

#2 - Mayer on "being black"

"I come on very strong. That's why black people love me. Someone asked me the other day, "What does it feel like now to have a hood pass?" And by the way, it's sort of a contradiction in terms, because if you really had a hood pass, you could call it a nigger pass. Why are you pulling a punch and calling it a hood pass if you really have a hood pass? But I said, "I can't really have a hood pass. I've never walked into a restaurant, asked for a table and been told, 'We're full.'"

Ok, Johnny. Why am I not surprised. It's my realization that given enough interviews and time in the limelight, most people will always expose themselves. Unfortunately, most times, it's not for the best.

First, Why do we as African Americans, put so much stock into certain people, and then when the person is caught being candid, we're suddenly appalled?

Case in point: Bill Clinton. I remember when comedians like Chris Tucker would joke with him saying he was inducted as the first black President because he wasn't from a high income family, liked soul food, etc. Fast forward years later to when Hilary Clinton was running for President against Obama. He was caught talking about Obama with Ted Kennedy saying, "A few years ago, this guy would have been getting us coffee."

Or remember how Jay-Z embraced and promoted Cristal, the expensive champagne that artists made huge by putting in their songs? Well along comes Frederic Rouzand, the managing director, who was asked by the Economist whether associations with rap stars could affect the marque, he said, "That's a good question, but what can we do? We can't forbid people from buying it. I'm sure Dom Perignon or Krug would be delighted to have their business". Jay-Z later dropped the label.

And now John Mayer, who compares his cock to David Duke, the founder of the KKK, and thinks that because he and his music can relate so strongly to black people, he too, could make a pun using the N word...and get away with it.

It's just not ok.

Second: I can't say that I've listened to a lot of his music, but there are a few key songs that been added to my various playlists over time. But I know many people who are die hard John Mayer fans, and a few who have wooed themselves into the idea that he's a black guy in a white boys body. Similar to the likes of Eminem.

Call me crazy but personally, I think John Mayer portrayed typical white people behavior. It's the idea that when you're sitting on top of the world and you have a lot of fans or followers etc., you tend to feel as if you're invincible, you can do and say anything. But I've found that with a lot of people, especially white people...this is when the honesty shines through or in other words, this is when the innate racist come out. Black people are guilty of this too.

Now just to be clear, to my knowledge, John Mayer is not a racist, he misspoke. And before you throw the computer on the floor, I believe that John Mayer was making a JOKE. His whole concept was just misconstrued by the use of his language.

My solution is this: African Americans need to stop giving white people a "black pass" and saying things like, Hey you! You seem cool enough! You get a hood pass! Because with honesty comes reality, and reality, is a wolf in sheep's clothes. Also, the use of the 'N word' needs to be banned, from any party, black or white. Permanently.

John Mayer has recently apologized in a series of tweets, saying

"I am sorry that I used the word. And it's such a shame that I did because the point I was trying to make was in the exact opposite spirit of the word itself. It was arrogant of me to think I could intellectualize using it because I realize that there's no intellectualizing a word that is so emotionally charged."

Eh. It's not the end of the world, just a blemish on his record. Sad to say this stuff happens all the time and once something else of notoreity happens it will be forgotten. It's just upsetting that he initially thought it was ok.

It simply is not. And it never will be. Discuss.

Why I like Wale...

"I don't wait for a handout, I just go out and get what I get" - Wale talking about his encounter with Kanye West on Rap-Up TV

I've been meaning to do a blog about Wale for a long time since he stepped into the hip-hop scene. Wale, a DC native, who has come out with his first album Attention Deficit, reps for the DMV, (DC, Maryland, and Virginia respectively), and totes gogo on his back like a lifeline. He, simply put, has garnered a lot of respect from me.

Wale has come out of a city, where rappers are few and far between to leave. I should know, as a native of Maryland, I've seen my share of singers/rappers/music producers trying to get "put on", sent back to the drawing board as if their style of music wasn't even a contender in the worldwide competition.

So you can imagine my intrigue when one day I got in my car, and "DC Chillin, PG Chillin" sounds through the speakers like it belongs in the mix. To even more of my shock, when I see the video he and Lady Gaga are posted up in front of various stops I used to frequent... Ben's Chilli Bowl, Madness, etc. It's like I was transported back to high school, where I wasn't teased for my pronunciation of "uhrea" (area), and go-go music was commonplace.

Wale doesn't appear to be about the glitz and glamour, typically donning a polo and a fitted, what attracted me to him was his persona, that "I'm a regular guy" mentality with a hustler's spirit to match.

I'm glad there's someone who can finally represent for the DMV, I think it's long overdue, and there is plenty talent to be found. Wale might just be the first to kick through the door and stomp in... still in his Nike Boots.

Peep his latest video for Pretty Girls:

Girl... Where have you Been?

Life and Times of an Entry Level Blogger...Part 3...

I have been Busy. Busy. Busy. Or as many of you know, just extremely focused. So many things have passed, and in an effort to try to keep up , I realize this blog had fallen behind.

So, first off,

It's 2010! Happy New Year! Personally, this new year comes with a plethora of blessings, responsibilties, and tasks that have to be completed. I've made a committment to myself to get more financially responsible, be a bit more demanding with my goals, and just get it together personally! I have so much living and learning to do, that I realized I simply need to tackle it head on. But one thing I did not do this year? Have a resolutions. Nope, I set goals.

Now, if you are like me, you are the type of chick that wants to do everything and BE everything. I've taken tumultous tasks of trying to do a million things at once. Update this blog, write my own tv show, work my 9 to 5, (which really is more like a 9 to 9), try to be the best girlfriend, live the life of a 23 year old, travel, meet up with friends, eat healthy (or not so much), get my career together, see family more.......you get the picture. I'm bogged down with LIFE. So needless to say, I'm forging ahead on my path to greatness.

I intend to keep this blog rolling, but please just bare with me....