I Ain't Said Nothin' But A Word...

In the last two weeks I have been keeping some obscene hours. And I mean obscene like I haven’t been getting home until wee hours of the early morning to catch a few minutes of shut eye before I have to start my day all over again. I haven’t kept hours like these since I was umpteen years old acting like I had no good sense doing things I knew I had no business doing. I’m sure I’ve probably got no business doing what I’ve been doing these past few weeks but since I’m no longer umpteen and most certainly old enough to know better, I consider it a privilege that I’m still young enough not to care. But I digress. There is a true disadvantage to being as exhausted as I am as I proved earlier this evening. For some unholy reason I came up with this brilliant idea to just not go to sleep this afternoon. To force myself to stay wide eyed and awake until a decent bed time hour so that I could just fall out into ten blissful, uninterrupted hours of much needed sleep. I reasoned that if I napped

When the story starts, "Once upon a time...", and the writer is black, things suddenly change in the publishing world. No matter how you spin it, the truth of that fact hurts. Author Bernice McFadden articulates the frustration, and the sheer ignorance of it, here. Dear Potential African-American Author If by chance you don't know who Bernice McFadden is, then you've truly missed out. The woman is an incredibly gifted storyteller. Her writing is lyrical, moving you to dance in places you might never have imagined. Read her last book, Nowhere is a Place . Then go back and catch up on all the others. You won't be able to help yourself. Her book Suga' is one of my absolute favorites. She also writes under the moniker, Geneva Holliday, with her last book Seduction having just been released. All of her tales are great fodder for a reader's, and a fellow writer's, spirit.

I have a girlfriend who is, and I quote, “Jones-in’ for some Dick”, end quote. Damn near fell out of my seat she had me laughing so hard. Seems that it’s been a long time since Tom, and Harry isn’t on her radar yet. She had no qualms about sharing that her self-imposed abstinence from sexual pleasure with a male partner has been less than satisfying. Deidra gave up on sex some five or six years ago after a bad experience with her now ex-hubby. The experience gave her a STD that took a few rounds of antibiotics and a trip to Divorce Court to cure. Girlfriend wasn’t interested in ever being burned again and so she gave up the deed in exchange for Battery-powered Bob. But it now seems that Bob has lost his gusto, the wham bam not even worthy of a thank you. Deidra is hungry for a lover, a man who can actually walk, talk, and chew gum at the same time. “And he must eat cat,” she proclaimed matter-of-factly, because no man worth his weight in gold would dare deny himself, or her, the pleasu

I’ve had a severe case of baby fever! My god-daughter gave birth to a baby girl last week. Little Miss Emily Vanessa is the most adorable child. I had beautiful babies. I’ve had beautiful grandbabies. I know a beautiful baby and this kid is already breaking some serious hearts. She is absolutely precious and I spent over an hour just holding her and staring at how incredible cute she was. A friend recently had a baby boy. Little Mr. Adam is cute and cuddly as well. He’s eight weeks old today with the face of a cherub and the little body of a Buddha. I just enjoyed a few minutes of cuddling him close as he giggled, cooed, and blew gas like there is no tomorrow. My son had to comment on how baby crazy I am. I absolutely love them to death until they start to talk back. I also love that when I’m done with them I can send them right back to their mommies and daddies. I make a great short-term babysitter. Long-term sitting feels much too much like parenting. To the new parents, Camille and

Lately, I have become more mindful of my last interactions with people. More mindful that it may well be the last time we see each other. A friend suffered a massive stroke recently. He had not been taking his own blood pressure medication as he navigated his mother’s failing health. The last time we spoke he was fearful that his mom wasn’t going to last much longer. Now, he’s in a coma, the doctor adamant that he will not recover. His mother holds out hope, refusing to let them disconnect his life support, fighting to will him back to her. The last time he came to see me I was preoccupied with stuff. I don’t remember us sharing our usual friendly banter. I didn’t want to hear the depressing news of what else was wrong with his mom. I don’t recall myself being the good friend he probably needed. I pray that my own preoccupations and my just not wanting to be bothered isn’t the last thing he had to remember about me and him together. A grade school buddy and high school confidante took

I typically try to avoid the news. More times than not some headline or breaking news flash pisses me right off and sends me on a major tangent. Recent news has done just that. Former US Senator Jessie Helms died and folks have gone buck wild celebrating his life and legacy. Personally, I take issue with honoring a man whose entire life was dedicated to hatred of people who weren’t blond and blue-eyed like him. Jesse has been recently described as “charismatic”, “a leading voice of the people”, a “conservative icon”, and a “courageous champion”. Folks are falling all over themselves not to speak ill of the dead and to find something nice to say about ole’ Jesse. The hypocrisy has just been too much for me to handle. If Jesse’d had his way, I’d be pickin’ cotton during the day and servicing massa’ during the evening. In truth, Jesse Helms was a sanctimonious bigot, a card-carrying member of the KKK, and one of the more elite white supremacists to grace the face of the earth. Jesse was a

She complains constantly about not having a man. Her relationships last mere minutes before something is either wrong with the man of the moment or something else is just not right about him. She’ll proclaim a sexual conquest to be “the one” in a heartbeat then conveniently have the relationship end on a sour note the minute that booty call has run its course. Rarely do family and friends have opportunity to meet a new found friend before there is some problem with him. Her men are forever, too controlling, too whiney, too soft, too unpredictable, or just plain too wrong to be right. Never would she imagine that maybe the issues keeping her from a loving, lasting relationship are all her own. The man who admired her from across the room had a beautiful smile and a gaze that glistened like gold beneath florescent lights. I drew her attention to the stare that was focused so intently on every move she was making and as her gaze met his, he smiled. For his efforts she tossed him a look of

I’m fat. I don’t see myself as voluptuous or curvy. I see fat. And I hate it. I’m not a woman who is “comfortable” with her size. The girth, the rolls, and all that damn jiggling like Jell-O, has just about worked my very last nerve. My thighs look like two lumpy, whole hams. My midsection seems to have folks wondering when the baby is due. And I appear to be working my way through the entire alphabet of letters that come after a bra size. Sucking it all in has become a major chore and spandex has begun to give me a damn rash. I envy my big sisters who wholeheartedly embrace their luscious hills and valleys. I cannot seem to muster the confidence some women have about their fuller figures. As they easily flaunt what I am so desperate to hide I find myself at odds knowing that I know better. Diet after diet has left me with diet-phobia. I’m suddenly over-indulging to feel better about being morbidly overweight. Exercise is a bitch. I do well for a few weeks then leg lifts and tummy crun

Have a safe and joyous holiday!

Jenna is desperate for a man. And I mean DESPERATE with capital letters and exclamation points!!!. So desperate in fact that she is stalking every nook and cranny a man might be hiding in hoping that somehow, somewhere Prince Charming is going to fall off a turnip truck and break the sound barrier to get to her side. Some of her antics have had me cringing. She is so hungry for some male attention that one very unladylike tactic actually had me blushing with embarrassment. I mean really, riding her 10-speed bicycle up to a group of bikers parked in front of a very roughneck biker bar and asking how they liked her ride left everyone shaking their heads in disbelief. Even the toothless guy who looked like he was ready to deliver triplets in his stylish overalls didn’t want her telephone number. Men can smell desperation. And like most unpleasant funk they run fast and far from it. I can’t ever remember wanting a man that badly. And if I did I’m thankful there are no residual memories of

Johnny lives by an exceptional code of ethics. His moral compass and the standards which he conducts himself by are impeccable. But it also leaves him functioning within the parameters of principled boundaries that are sometimes difficult to penetrate. The man can be a tad rigid about some things and wound just a touch too tight for comfort about others. But it was his principled thinking and code of conduct that initially drew his friend Denise to him and it is his unwavering integrity that balances their friendship nicely. Denise’s thinking isn’t so black and white. In fact, she has had no qualms about stepping outside those boundaries to slip and slide in the gray areas as necessary. Her motivations are fueled by want and need and sometimes aren’t nearly as principled as Johnny might like. Even with her own sense of right and wrong, Denise has found herself challenged by Johnny’s sense of what is appropriate and what is not. Despite the difference in their natures though they’ve est