I AIN'T MAD!

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I ain't mad...

DANCE, DANCE, DANCE!!!!!

I absolutely love to dance! There was a time when I was in the clubs Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, dancing until I couldn’t stand up on Sunday. It was always a good time with good friends. I seriously miss those days.

The ex-hubby was not a dancer. In fact, the best that fool could do was this weird side to side sway and hand motion thing that looked like he was stirring sugar into a cup of tea. It was not pretty. To add insult to injury he didn’t think it appropriate for any wife of his to go out dancing with her friends ‘cause you know how every man in the world is desperate to just rip my clothes off and take me right there on the dance floor. Reason number #43 why we are no longer married.

Few of the men in my life have ever loved to dance like I did. Although I remember one tall, dark, drink of hot-damn-that-brother-is-foine who knew how to move on a dance floor. But that’s the only place he could move and then his foine wasn’t very foine at all. Most of the others wouldn’t bother to step out on the dance floor at all, not even for a slow drag where all they had to do was hold me close, hold me tight, and just let the music do all the work.

Of course, no longer twenty, married to a man who thought me dancing with other people was a sin, I became an Electric Slide aficionado. I could slide my butt off and be cute doing it. When I did go out I use to tip the DJ just to play the Electric Slide a few extra times. There were times I’d be on the dance floor with me, myself, and I, just sliding like there was no tomorrow and enjoying every sweet moment of it.

But, lo and behold, these young kids today have taken my Electric Slide to a whole other level. I would desperately like to keep up but damn, they sure ain’t makin’ it easy on a girl! Click HERE to see what I'm talking about. Enjoy!

NOT A COUPLE

Katherine had her feelings hurt and the man who did it still doesn’t have a clue. Katherine and Bob became involved two years ago, a sweet friendship that developed into something more. Relationships being what they are the two have focused more on the friendship than on any romantic relationship as both have been unpacking the clutter of other stuff from their lives.

But Katherine considers what she and Bob share to be very exclusive, conducting herself as if Bob is her one and only. She does so because she wants to be the one and only in Bob’s life. Friends and family who’ve know the two since forever aren’t quite sure what to make of their relationship because both have been quick to say “they’re just good friends” whenever anyone asks.

Today, a woman asked Bob if he and Katherine were a couple and Bob answered with a resounding NO. Katherine smiled, not saying anything at all but the truth of the matter is that she had her feelings hurt. Katherine is still trying to figure out why Bob saying no hurt more this time than it has ever hurt before. But it did and Katherine is still reeling from it.

I told Katherine that she needs to own her hurt instead of pretending it doesn’t exist. And she also needs to tell Bob how she’s feeling. Either they are or they aren’t and if Bob is adamant that other people not think the two are a couple then Katherine needs to move on and accept that she’s not Bob’s one and only.

DATING OR NOT?

We were having this conversation about dating. A group of friends gathered to give us newbies to the game some sage wisdom about dating while middle aged. My buddy John claims to be “dating” a nice young woman who works where he works. Now, I may have been out of circulation for a good long while, but his definition of what constituted dating didn’t mesh with what I’d known dating to be at all.

John seems to have a fairly comfortable routine with his friend. I’d bet dollar to a dime the friend isn’t as comfortable as John would like to think she is. They spend time together in the office amidst clients and other co-workers. Conversations are typically comfortable and casual, never crossing the lines to anything personal while they are on the clock. Perhaps once every other week or so John might stop by the friend’s home to sit and chat on her living room sofa, never staying longer than an hour and always going home before it gets dark. Sometimes they get together on the weekends for dinner and a movie. Ninety percent of the time the couple is joined by John’s two children from a previous relationship, the teens acting as chaperones for dear old dad. John can count on one hand the number of times the two have been alone together and have fingers left over if he were to count the number of times they’ve made love. But John swears he and she are dating.

I asked him about the courtship. Where was the companionship and the partnership of him and her holding hands, snuggling side by side in front of a television or on a park bench, conversations where they shared dreams and aspirations, laughter and playful banter that couples do as they create a language between them that is all their own? John didn’t have a clue what I was talking about and I wasn’t too keen on John’s definition of dating.

My friend Shelly told the story of her best date ever, she and the man she eventually married meeting on a blind date. A delectable dinner was followed by hours of conversation, the two finding themselves sitting on a bench at the beach when the sun rose the next morning. She and her man have been inseparable ever since.

I’ve had good dates in my lifetime and just as many not so good dates. My absolute best date ever almost never happened, the man of the moment delayed by a business meeting and then caught in bumper to bumper traffic for hours. By the time he arrived neither of us was in the mood for the meal that we’d initially planned for, him frustrated by the delays and me frustrated for having waited. And so he suggested we ride to the airport observation deck to watch the planes take off and land. The moment turned out to be magical. We talked for hours beneath a star-filled sky, the summer weather as picture perfect as one could ask for. He held my hand and held me, the warmth of easy caresses leaving me weak in the knees. It was one of the few times I ever felt like I had a man’s full attention, appreciation gleaning from the light in his eyes. We imagined ourselves jetting of together into the sunset, fantasizing about places we’d love to one day see. And then he kissed me, one of those toe-curling kisses that would have made your clothes fall off if you’d been in a room alone. That man made me feel beautiful and special and I would have given up everything for that night to never have ended. But it did. Unfortunately, I didn’t get the same happy ending that my friend Shelly did.

I may not know much about dating but I can assure my buddy John that it rarely involves other people chaperoning his alone time with his woman. Also, conversation and laughter where a couple creates a language all their own rates high up on that list labeled quality time. Clearly, John needs to think about getting out more. I haven’t had a date in years and I think I could come up with a hundred and one things to do that would make for a better date. Maybe he should start at the airport.

ONE RACIST BITCH...

In 1995 I won an essay contest sponsored by Good Housekeeping for KinderCare’s 25th Anniversary. The essay subject was The 3 Life Lessons You Want For Your Children. As part of the prize I received a makeover and an all expense paid trip to New York City to participate in a forum on issues relative to raising and educating children. At that time four of my six crumb crushers were still home causing havoc on a daily basis so I had much to talk about.

The forum was moderated by Paula Zahn, who was at that time, the anchor on CBS This Morning. Paula was an engaging, vibrant personality and I’ve been a big fan of hers ever since. Also in attendance was Geraldine Ferraro. It was truly a wonderful event and experience. I met some wonderful people who showed me much love. And then there was Geraldine.

For more times than I would care to count, I have experienced moments with people who, by virtue of their attitude and what they don’t necessarily say, have made me feel inferior, as if I don’t necessarily belong where they are. There were many males who disregarded or trivialized my contributions to their corporate arena making it quite clear that they didn’t think their place was a place for any black woman. Geraldine, by virtue of her body language and her silence let me know where she thought I belonged.

Although we sat on a panel together, all of us professing our desire to better the quality of education for all children, as the only minority parent participating I felt particularly responsible for speaking for the needs of minority children and children who didn’t have the benefit of educated, financially-stable parents to insure the quality of their education. It took no time at all for me to understand that Geraldine could have cared less about me and mine.

One too many eye rolls, the soured expression on her face as if what I’d just said was somehow too bitter for her to swallow, the avoidance of eye contact and the fact that during the course of a full day’s events the woman not only did not speak to me but on three separate occasions actually walked away as I approached a group or table where she was gathered let me know where she stood loud and clear.

I remember leaving that event with one solid impression about Miss Geraldine and that was that she was clearly one racist bitch and not only does she not make any apologies for it but to hell with you and yours for even thinking you can question her attitude or behavior. Geraldine’s racially-charged comments about Barack Obama didn’t come as any surprise to me. In fact, I’m more surprised that she didn’t just come right out and call the man the N-word.

I’m a firm believer that individuals are drawn to like-minded people. So I have no doubts that Geraldine and Hillary are like-minded in more ways than Hillary would be willing to admit. Some may refer to Bill as the first black president but I have no doubts that a black man is hardly the last man Hillary would ever want in her bed and neither she nor Geraldine want to see one in their White House.

A BLEEDING HEART

Barney is good-looking, intelligent, gainfully employed, successful and from all outward appearances would be quite the catch for the right woman. Bettye is loud, rude, obnoxious, and battle worn from her many years of drug addiction. Barney and Bettye have been an item for longer than most people remember, and through the worst of her mess Barney has been right there holding her up.

Bettye has stolen from him, lied to him, abused him and has committed some ungodly acts against the man. The two have been married for ages with four children being born to the union yet Barney is not the father of any of Bettye’s babies. He’s thrown the woman out countless times and each time she’s destitute and homeless, crawling back with promises of change, Barney takes her back. But Bettye's ills have cut the man deeply, leaving him with a bleeding heart like no other.

Barney clearly has zero self-esteem and that is truly an unattractive quality in a man. Right now I would personally like to shake Barney until his brain starts to rattle around in his skull so that some sense can be made of this mess he calls his life. Despite every indignity Bettye has thrown at the man, from baby-daddy drama to her last arrest for prostitution, Barney continues to take it. My brother, there ain’t a woman in the world worth the crap you keep going through!

I so want to know why Barney doesn’t think himself worthy of better. His friends and family surely want to see him with better! I wonder what keeps him from moving on with his life without her. And clearly, Barney needs to pick himself up and move on.

Bettye has no love for Barney. I’d even venture to say that Bettye doesn’t much like Barney at all. If the woman cared on iota about Barney she’d shovel up the last of her crap off his doorstep and crawl back into the hole she keeps trying to drag him down into. She could gladly live the life she seems to crave and she could do it by herself or with the worthless men she keeps pulling into her relationship with Barney. But she doesn’t and the hold she has over the man is beyond reason.

Barney, baby, you need to learn how to love you. Forget loving Bettye. Loving Bettye hasn't done you one ounce of good, so give that bad habit up. Not everything that is broken can be fixed. Sometimes it’s just best to throw the pieces away and start anew. Drop that bitch cold turkey. I assure you the withdrawal pain from letting Bettye go won’t be nearly as horrendous as the hurt you continue to endure trying to hold on to her.

WHEN DID IT ALL GO WRONG?

Friends and family often ask Daniel when his relationship with Sheila ended. Folks are not only being nosy but some are curious to know who did what wrong, hopeful for insight that might keep them from making the same mistake within their own unions.

But Daniel can’t tell them much of anything because he himself doesn’t know when it all came to a head and he and Sheila had crashed and burned. Daniel doesn’t know because other people and other things had been holding his attention for longer than he had realized. He was always too busy to see that Sheila needed his time and attention just as much as everything else in his life did. Daniel always figured Sheila would just know that she was important to him. He didn’t think it necessary to tell her or show her that she held a special place in his life and his heart.

But Sheila did need to know. Feeling much neglected Sheila grew weary of waiting for her man’s affections. Loneliness was a cruel enemy for the woman to battle. Waiting for Daniel to figure out that she needed to feel wanted and appreciated finally took its toll. When Sheila let go of hope her love soon followed, leaving Daniel and all his other stuff behind.

Sheila had truly loved Daniel but when she began to doubt that he was feeling the same way about her, their relationship began to nosedive faster than either could control. Sheila didn’t want a man who never held her hand. Daniel was never there to kiss her tears away and rarely told her he loved her. Sheila didn’t know how to ask for what she needed from him and so she said nothing, believing that Daniel would have been too busy with other people and other things even if she had.

Relationships can be tenuous under the best of circumstances. Both parties have to want to work at making things right between them if they have any chance at being successful. When one or the other isn’t putting forth the effort, something will eventually let go.

Time didn’t serve Daniel or Sheila well. Distance became an intruder in their marital bliss. Then Sheila finally let go of hope and Daniel is still asking the question everyone else wants him to answer. When did it all go wrong?

BRINGING PERKY BACK

At some point I woke up and discovered that my nipples were reaching for my toes. It wasn’t pretty. I’m not quite sure when this phenomenon happened but it did. Almost overnight the girls were high and perky on Monday and gravity challenged on Tuesday. But hey, no problem. They make these really great push up, underwire bras that will lift these babies sky high if necessary.

For some reason the lyrics to Bette Midler’s song “Otto Titsling” and his over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder keeps running through my head. But I digress….

Someone told me once that my breasts were one of my best physical attributes. Them and my legs. Both were big. Now they’re bigger and I’ve acquired a watermelon bottom. I surpassed an apple bottom ages ago, my butt so full and high right now that it takes my ass a full five minutes to follow me into a room. Although I get that whole ba-dunk-a- dunk thing, I can still make the argument that too much of a good thing is just too much. So, I’ve been in the gym regularly lately trying to shorten that time down to at least two minutes max. Unfortunately there’s not much short of surgery and a good bra that can widen the distance between the girls and my knees. Lifting them closer to my chin is a true challenge.

And I say all of this for no reason whatsoever other than I have to go to the gym to work out and I don’t want to. The trainer is whittling my waist away but he’s had no suggestions for my boob dilemma. Maybe if he could figure out how to bring perky back I’d be more willing to pick the girls up and get up out of my bed at six in the morning to train. We women catch hell growing older. I do hope at least one man out there is experiencing his share of dick shrinkage to balance out the scales.

(DEEP SIGH)

Oh well. Maybe Bette and Otto and the right idea.

"Otto Titsling"

This next story is a true story.
It concerns two of my favorite subjects:
industrial theft . . . and-a t-ts!
Mmm, what a combo! This is the story . . .
The inventor of the modern foundation garment
that we women wear today was a German scientist
and opera lover by the name of Otto Titsling!
This is a true story.
His name was Otto Titsling.
What happened to Otto Titsling shouldn't happen to a schnauzer.
It's a very sad story. I feel I have to share it with you."

Otto Titsling, inventor and kraut,
had nothing to get very worked up about.
His inventions were failures, his future seemed bleak.
He fled to the opera at least twice a week.
One night at the opera he saw an Aida
whose t-ts were so big they would often impede her.
Bug-eyed he watched her fall into the pit,
done in by the weight of those terrible t-ts.
Oh, my god! There she blows!
Aerodynamically this bitch was a mess.
Otto eyeballed the diva lying comatose amongst the reeds,
and he suddenly felt the fire of inspiration
flood his soul. He knew what he had to do!
He ran back to his workshop
where he futzed and futzed and futzed.

For Otto Titsling had found his quest:
to lift and mold the female breast;
to point the small ones to the sky;
to keep the big ones high and dry!
Every night he'd sweat and snort
searching for the right support.
He tried some string and paper clips.
Hey! He even tried his own two lips.
Well, he stitched and he slaved
and he slaved and he stitched
until finally one night, in the wee hours of morning,
Otto arose from his workbench triumphant.
Yes! He had invented the worlds first
over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder. Hooray!
Exhausted but ecstatic he ran
down the street to the diva's house
bearing the prototype in his hot little hand.
Now, the diva did not want to try the darn thing on.
But, after many initial misgivings,
she finally did.
And the sigh of relief that issued forth
from the diva's mouth
was so loud that it was mistaken by some
to be the early onset of the Siroccan Winds
which would often roll through the Schwarzwald
with a vengeance!
Ahhhhh-i!

But little did Otto know,
at the moment of his greatest triumph,
lurking under the diva's bed
was none other than the very worst
of the French patent thieves,
Philippe DeBrassiere.
And Phil was watching the scene
with a great deal of interest!

Later that night, while our Brun Hilda slept,
into the wardrobe Philippe softly crept.
He fumbled through knickers and corsets galore,
'til he found Otto's titsling and he ran out the door.

Crying, "Oh, my god! What joy! What bliss!
I'm gonna make me a million from this!
Every woman in the world will wanna buy one.
I can have all the goods manufactured in Taiwan."

"Oh, thank you!"

The result of this swindle is pointedly clear:
Do you buy a titsling or do you buy a brassiere?

"Ohhh! Thank you!"