Monthly archives "May 2015"

Hot glue and pussycats

Last night- me, Lisa and Francey were laid out on the floor laughing hysterically as we looked at the new men’s  fashion in swim wear and it appears as if they are channeling strippers and if I see any man I know out in public or private wearing them, he’s never going to live it down.

As our laughter turned into high pitches like sirens Lisa took it further by showing us pictures of blinged out vaginas. Claiming it is the newest hot trend in waxing. I spilled the glass of sparkling wine I was holding on the floor, trying to comprehend what Lisa was saying. ” I’m like wait… after they rip all the hairs off your vagina they do an arts & crafts project on your vagina? Do hot glue, rhinestones and your vagina go together?” Now we’re all screaming as I tried to wipe the wine off the floor.

Do you guys remember when Paris Hilton, Nicole Richie-one of them got mad at Lindsay Lohan one night in a drunken stooper, Nicole or Paris I can’t remember which one- was screaming, ” Crotch Fire!” over and over again at Lindsay. I can’t help but believe that ” Crotch Fire!” will be the new term for whatever bad reaction this trend is bound to cause. And does this service come with one of those please consult your doctor/your OBGYN before beginning services?

Group thinking is so dangerous! Waxing your eyebrows is painful enough, now I’m suppose to endure the pain of trying to send my vagina back to its prepubescent years. Some like to think of our pubic hairs like blankets that keep you warm cuz it gets cold down there when your bald! And others rave about the Co-jack look and experience waxing provides.

To each-is own-you love it-I like it but I cannot get over the feelings of feeling violated when I get a pap smear. When I think back on my pregnancy with my son with my legs in the stirrups during a prenatal check-up with Dr. Cox skinin and grinnin as he looks up and says, ” Do you know you have the vagina of a 19 year old?” I went home crying to my husband.

So could I- no would I- sit still for a color me mine vaginal experience-I’m going to have to say-No! But if you’re wild and brave enough to bling your pussy out like a 64 on datins, then I must say you’ve got chutzpah!





If you don’t like- you who will?

My girlfriend Nicole called me about a week ago explaining that she had been verbally and spiritually attacked by her choir members.  She was blindsided by the words, ” You got a spirit on you-you think you something!”, from leader of the let me bring you down a peg or two chorus line. Nicole hadn’t realized she had entered the lions den in a pair of hot sauced draws!

As Nicole talked I interrupted her with and asked her, ” Are we having a discussion about the mental illness disguised as projections that I have coined- “she thank she cute!”-with women who are 30 and over?”  “Yes, girl!”, replied Nicole. I wanted to escape this conversation, so my mind drifted off and I saw myself coming out of the communication’s department standing outside the lobby talking to smug ass Professor B, who seemed all too delighted about my frustration in trying to grasp the APA writing style and format.

Professor B tried to make me feel inferior and as I struggled to regain my resolve, I noticed bright brilliant red cloth flowing like the bright fabrics in the field of flowers at the end of the Color Purple movie when Nettie comes home. My eyes followed, the bright red fabric and enclosed in it -was a tall, slender, curvy, lady-the color of coffee after you pour a dab of half & half in it. She looked like she was going to the Oscars-that’s just how glamorous and flowing the dress was.

I stared at her -even harder, and I noticed she had deliberately dressed down her gown with a stone washed denim jacket that stopped above her waist and as my eyes traveled down to her feet, in that instance, I looked into Professor B’s eyes and found the power to kick him in his teeth. ” So what you’re trying to say, is that the APA format does not care about what you think about a subject and it does not necessarily have to be true the only thing that is important is that it has to be verified by other people?.”

Professor B’s eyes started following mine and although I was talking to him, I kept my eyes on Mocha Late Going to the Oscars. I followed up with, ” Let me get this straight- don’t nobody want to hear what I think, it’s all about what somebody else thank?” Professor B cringed as he held his invisible pearls as I code switched on him and started using African- American Language. ” So if I say the sky is purple, I just have to git 10 other people to say the sky is purple, so basically I’m gettin so-called experts to validate and verify bullshit! Why you didn’t just say that from the git-go-APA is really about doing research?”

And with a swift kick in the ass from the energy I harnessed from the combat boots Mocha Late was wearing Professor B and the APA format were never a problem after that. Who would ever wear a dress, fancy enough for the Oscars, dressed down with a denim jacket with real untied combat boots? Trina, that’s who, Mocha Late and I eventually became friends and I learned that she had served in the Navy for over 15 years at the time and was returning to college after joining the reserves.

Once we became friends I asked her why she dared  wear combat boots with such a formal gown and she said, ” You always have to stay ready!” A girl after my own heart, anybody who knows me-knows my -philosophy is ” You always got to keep your boots on!” Thinking about those boots on Trina’s feet made me wonder why Nicole hadn’t kicked the leader in her teeth with her own personal testimony of the so-called spirit on her.

Did you tell that silly bitch that the spirit on you is called, ” I like myself! That my voice is different and strong that I walk like I got gold, diamonds and honey dripping from my feet despite the fact that I done ben through so much shit I should be dead!” Did you tell her that Nicole?

I would have told that bitch in the sanctuary-I walk like I’m being loved by a man, who dicks me down with long strokes, who can stand up in it and make me release and explode with europhia from his Dick Healings that leaves me in an after glow as if I were the North Star- while you hold your pussy every night witch yo ignant ass!

Nicole fell out in laughing. Did you tell her you instantly dropped more than 20 pounds when you got rid of that RatBastard camouflaging  as your husband who yielded the power of a wizard with the ability to unwittingly  to turn a Dime Piece into a Mud Duck and how your sexy sensuous self returned with youthful bounces to your steps, with the rhythmic flow from your wise hips that rock babies to sleep once you declared you would never go within yourself and disappear to please others!

Speaking of wise hips, my Yeye used  to read me Nikki Giovanni’s poems and Antoinette who you would over look any other time would mesmerize you and you would become awestruck from the Beauty she possessed as if she were a Goddess come to life when she performed and embodied my favorite poem by Nikki Giovanni Ego Trippin. Boys who normally ignored and dismissed Antoinette became intrigued with her-she had womanly beauty in her teens and power and she wheeled it with perfection. Bravo Antoinette. I wonder where Antoinette is today and if she knows that she was one of my earliest teachers on how we all have our own unique gifts and beauty.

And as much as I love Ego-Trippin, I love the memories Stetsasonic’s song Sally created when Ife said, it reminded her of me.


Mrs. Roper- A fashion icon?


I used to be a fashionista and my hair was always tight and right however, after the many fights with the ” you thank you cute bandits”, I started dressing down and returned to the rebellious 4-year old who hated getting her hair comb so much so when I was 4-I started secretly cutting my hair. It wasn’t really a secret my Yeye took notice with each missing chunk -I took off. I kept lying about cutting my hair until she found my hair behind the dresser.

I hated getting my hair combed and after many battles, it was decided by our clan that on one of the moon cycles I would get my hair cut off. How does a 4-year old know it’s time for a radical change, you’d be surprised we all probably knew ourselves better at 4 versus being an adult. Who knows what was driving me to cut off my hair, I just know to listen when my spirit begins to speak loudly.

On the on-set of my  marriage I had an overwhelming sense of urgency to chop all of my hair off. I had to beg the barbers to cut my hair. My hair looked like a gigantic chia pet blowing in the wind and neither barber could bring themselves to cut my hair. Finally, after more than 30 minutes of sitting in the chair with both off them trying to talk me out of doing it, my large bush of hair was gone and I felt at peace with my spirit.

My wild and unpredictable nature has gotten me labeled a weirdo, my children frequently laugh in harmony, holding their bellies saying, ” Mom you’re a weirdo!”  It doesn’t bother me, I think it’s comical. Speaking of comedy, folks are dubiously shocked to find out one of my fashion icons is Mrs. Roper from Threes Company. I usually get looks of shock and confusion. People’s shock turns to respected intrigued with my profound ability to break down her fashion sense and why she has had such an impact on some of my favorite fashion staples.

I down right loved that character for having the gall to rock those outfits and as off the beaten path her clothes and accessories were was her personality, she was pure comedy. My most prized influence from Mrs. Roper were the mumu’s and kaftans she wore. Don’t knock it til you try it-I love wearing mumu’s with side splits in the summer and or rocking a flowing caftan that causes unexpected affections from  breezes  fondling you- with the potential mishap of an onlooker possibly catching a glimpse of  your goodies- with the right pair of shoes and accessories, heads will turn!  Mumu’s and Kaftans are the closest thing to feeling naked yet softly covered.


You can have my husband but please don’t mess with my man

Three people on wedding cake --- Image by © C.J. Burton/Corbis


I got a phone call from someone I hadn’t heard from in a while.  I knew the only reason they were calling was because something was wrong. The bottom line for this call was the person found out their boyfriend was cheating on them and had been confronted by the other woman. During, the conversation of high pitches, moans, groans and deep sighs, she informed me that the two of them had heated conversations that was leading up to violence.

My associate felt betrayed because the woman had known all about her and knew all of her business, including her secrets, yet she didn’t feel as if her boyfriend had violated her  and she took issue with the female. As I listened, it seemed like a scenario from one of the Housewives reality shows. I had the strong feeling she called me for back up for the rumble that was bound to happen between these two females.

What the hell was I supposed to do, everyone had warned her for years about her cassonova lover, it wasn’t as if he did a good job of hiding his  other women but I can only assume she assumed she was his main woman until she was smacked with the truth. It’s one thing to be cheated on and another thing all together when you are informed by another woman as she lays next to your so-called man that in fact-she has known about you the entire time and has been his woman for over 10 years.

During the next few months, there were more terrorist threats, arguments back and forth between the two women with the man present, stalking of one another and eventually a brawl -again -with the man present during our second conversation.

“So we grown grown and we fighting over a dude?”, is what I said to her. She replied coyly, ” No, I wasn’t fighting over a man, I was fighting because she was talking about me and my business!” I asked her, ” How does she know your business?” That was a rhetorical question- why on earth was she be mad at this woman and not her boyfriend?

The rest of the conversation went like this…….”I asked her why are either of you fighting because both are you are still sleeping with and seeing him despite the fact that you both now know about each other? Neither of you is willing to give him up so I am confused as to what the issue is-she has known and accepted the fact you were his woman so what is the fighting all about? You both have silently agreed to share this man -so why not just make peace?”

I have grown up around polygamy my entire life so I am used to seeing women share the same man and get along perfectly and not so perfectly however everyone knows their role and position. So many woman pretend that finding out about another woman is a deal breaker when in fact-it is not. So let’s stop pretending it is.

It is a known fact that women cheat just as much as men do, but for some reason both sexes would rather keep their extra lovers in the shadow, primarily because no one wants the added responsibility of what it would mean if they were transparent. I am not necessarily advocating for polygamy however, I am advocating for open discussions as to how we address the issue of the strong desire to be with other people besides our mates.


How not to be disappointed when love doesn’t show up the way you think it should

When you pray to God for a cup be specific in details, make sure to ask for a cup with a handle- Baba Alade

I was sitting on a soft sunken in couch mean mugging because I did not want anyone to talk to me after being dragged out of the house by Janine. She insisted that I go to a get together with her and my anti-social ass reluctantly went, although truthfully speaking, I needed to get out of the house.

I looked up with my head leaned to the side the way my Baba does when someone is asking him a question and this mocha skinned tall dude with the most perfectly faded fluffy afro called- my name again, this time with authority. I couldn’t believe my eyes, it was Reggie. He picked me up, spinned me around and hugged me so tight. My heart sank with relief. I had not seen him since Mark got killed and we said our good byes-his mother -was sending him down south so he could live.

As he spinned me around, he was telling me that he just graduated from college and had moved back to L.A. From that night on, we spent so many days and nights together drinking, eating, hanging out, playing games and spooning. Everybody used to tease us because we would get hotel rooms and fall asleep on top of the covers with our clothes on spooning. One of the last times we were together before violence and death once again interrupted our innocent love fests. We fell asleep in each others arms-with Janine and Stacey looking on shaking their heads.

Not to long after that night, Stacey got shot and killed. It made no sense, he had just graduated from college also. Rumors began to swirl about Stacey’s secret lifestyle. I phoned Reggie but instead of Reggie answering- his mother picked up the phone and her words were, ” Is somebody after my baby?” What was I supposed to say-I told her the truth, ” I don’t know!” Not to long after I tried to reassure his mother- Reggie would be fine, he called me- going off for talking to his mother. I couldn’t believe the way he was acting and treating me. He moved out of his mothers’ house and it would be years before we would speak again.

Maybe, Reggie forgot  about the events that led to his mother sending her youngest son away to live and now she was reliving the nightmare again in-which he almost lost his life years before- after someone shot up the car, him, Mark and -I can’t remember -who else was in car. Did Reggie remember Shannon screaming at the top of her lungs once we found out that Mark was dead, her boyfriend was gone and they had been deeply in love.

I guess he forgot that at 13 we had made plans to live our lives together. Reggie is one of the only men in my life who has kept a promise to me. We didn’t speak for years after Stacey’s death. We had both been working in the community doing our parts to make Los Angeles better and eventually after we had reunited and rekindled our friendship-one evening as I stood in the doorway of the W hotel, telling Reggie I was leaving after a party he had given for a friend. He said, ” You’re leaving, you’re not going to stay?” I said, ” No, I’m going home.” He looked  at me for a long moment and then said, ” I love you, I love you-no I really do love you!” I softly responded, ” I love you to!” and left.

We’re so passed the age of spooning how we’ve managed to keep our relationship sweet and innocent- God only knows. Although are lives have taken us in many different directions it seems the promise that we made to each other is the glue that keeps our lives connected. As our lives progressed we both married and divorced and have had children by other people, yet our marriage vows seemed not to be able to carry the weight of the promise that two 13 year olds made. He is the part of my youth that remains in innocent love.

I am so proud of Reginald for his commitment to improving the lives of the youth in Los Angeles. He is a reminder that all of our friends death were not in vain. He has always been my safe place to land.