Thursday, July 31, 2008


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 during the early evening I’d probably be wide awake shortly after midnight and that just wasn’t going to work for me.

Staying awake however proved to be more of a challenge than I anticipated and so I did the first thing that came to mind to keep myself up and moving. I went shopping. A word of advice. Never shop when you’re at the brink of complete exhaustion and subsequently a little punch drunk. It really isn’t pretty.

My first favorite haunt went fairly well. I actually found a great Bali bra for a dirt low price and not only does it pick the girls up and hug them nicely, it doesn’t have any annoying underwire. Feeling much confident I proceeded to my next favorite haunt. And that’s where it all fell to pieces. End-of-the-season sales were in full swing and despite some serious bargains I refrained from buying just to be buying. But of course I had to browse the lingerie department just in case I found a partner for bra #1. Instead, what I found was a new addition to the Delta Burke lingerie collection.

For those of you who don’ t know who Delta is, google her. I ain’t got the energy to digress a second time. Any who, Delta now designs lingerie for full-figured females. And there they were, pretty in deep blue and ruby red. Boy cut panties for wide hips and waist lines stenciled in these adorable floral patterns. So what was the problem? They were GLOW IN THE DARK! Had I not been punch drunk from lack of sleep they probably wouldn’t have moved me at all, but no, in my state of mental dysfunction, those bad boys floored me completely.

As I examined a pair I kept trying to imagine the man who wouldn’t be able to find my oversized ass in the dark where raging neon would actually come in handy. I kept thinking that even a blind man wouldn’t miss all the bells and whistles that follow me into a room so why would I need flashers to lead the way? Then I started laughing. And I couldn’t stop. It was that hysterical kind of laughter that just got worse the more I tried to contain myself. I was literally doubled over with tears streaming down my face I was laughing so hard. Then Ben Beautiful made his move.

Typically I’m on top of my game but this night I was so far off the court it was a crying shame. Ben Beautiful was this drop dead gorgeous hunk of man who looked like he’d been carved from decadent dark chocolate. This boy was the perfect cover for a romance novel and he knew it. He was overly confident and exceptionally arrogant and he smelled like heaven! The man reeked of pure, unadulterated sex. That sex you had back in the day when you weren’t supposed to be having sex at all and it was so damn good it made you lose your mind. I mean really great sex that curled your toes so tight it’s a wonder you can still walk kind of really great sex. That man absolutely reeked with that kind of sex!

I suddenly stopped laughing and started drooling. Then he opened his mouth and the voice was smooth cognac, deep and dark. I’m fairly certain that I was standing there with my mouth open, my eyes bulging, and every perverse thought I could imagine raging through my mind. That beautiful man talked for ten minutes and the only thing I can clearly remember him saying is that “I looked more like a black lace kind of girl”. Without a doubt my response to anything he said was everything but coherent. When he finally walked away I realized I had a death grip on Delta’s panties and I was still stuttering and stammering like I’d lost my mind. I’d also broken out into a full sweat and moisture was puddling in places I didn’t know moisture could reach.

I can’t begin to tell you some of the thoughts that ran through my mind as I was leaving that store, three new pairs of black lace panties in hand, but after a cold shower and a stint in a cool tub of water, I’m still having a “hot damn!” moment and I still haven’t been to sleep yet.

Monday, July 28, 2008


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.

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.

Monday, July 21, 2008


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 pleasure of a kitty treat every now and then. The man at the table next to ours found the conversation as amusing as I did. It became even more entertaining when he leaned over, pressed his business card into Deidra’s hand and told her to give him a call. “I’ll even buy dinner first,” he said with the wink of an eye.

As he walked away, Deidra shook her head. “Damn, that’s too bad,” she said, dropping the card to the floor. When I asked why, she simply said, “Brother’s got small feet!”

Wednesday, July 16, 2008


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 Jay, and Amber and Josh, I wish you much success. Enjoy each and every moment that you have with your new bundles of joy. This will be an experience like no other.

Now that I’ve had my baby fix I can move on until the next time baby fever hits!


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 her life recently, jumping from a NY bridge to her death. I cannot fathom what had happened that could have brought her so much sadness that the only solution she could see was her death. Our last conversation haunts me. She’d called me from parts unknown. I could hear it in her voice that something wasn’t quite right but in the course of the conversation I never learned what was wrong. I was giddy with my own good news, excited to be sharing my accomplishments with a friend. I’ve since learned that she was homeless and destitute. A marriage and subsequent relationships had failed. A child had been miscarried. My dear sweet friend didn’t feel she had anywhere to turn and I wonder if she had been trying to turn to me and I failed her.

I recently sent my son a text message to tell him how much I loved him. He thought my timing and my message was random. And perhaps it was, but I worry that time may fail me and any opportunity to tell him how much I love him may pass me by. I’m sharing my accolades for friends and family every chance I get. Some of them think I’m crazy. And I may very well be, but I’d much rather send my flowers now than risk not being able to do it later. Later may very well be too late for us all.

Tuesday, July 08, 2008


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 good ole’ boy who believed that only white, heterosexual Americans had a right to expect opportunity and justice. The rest of y’all could go straight to hell and right up to the moment he took his last breath he didn’t have problems with telling you so.

    I’d give my life savings to have a little Mexican woman surface and claim to be Jesse’s long lost love child. I’d give even more to have the DNA prove it to be true. Wouldn’t that be some fodder for all them Jesse-lovers out here acting like the man was the next best thing since the coming of the Messiah!

    I should have turned off the television and burned my newspaper right then, but no, Deborah had to keep watching and reading, this little ditty sending me right over the edge!

    • New Orleans now has themselves a brand new, state of the art, insectarium. It’s a right smart 23,000 square foot bug museum to entice some tourism. This brand new home for 35,000 dead and mounted critters and another 50,000 living insects and arachnids (some touchable and edible!) cost $6 million in private donations and another $20 million in PUBLIC funds. $20 million in public funds approved by some brain-dead committee and dick-less politicians who’d think housing bugs was far more important than housing displaced citizens.

      Hurricane Katrina delayed the museums opening by some two years. It seems that 80% of the original building was flooded and damaged and they had to start all over again. It didn’t cross anyone’s mind though that maybe since Katrina did happen that $20 million might be better spent elsewhere. New Orleans has folks living in tents on contaminated land and no one had the common sense or the decency to say, hey, let's reallocate that $20 million and spend it on some lumber, drywall, and aluminum siding for two-legged folks!

      Maybe it’s me but I would have preferred to see PUBLIC money that those displaced tax payers funded, be spent on 2,300 homes with 1,000 square feet of living space. But hey, what do I know. I like people. In my opinion, bugs, insects and anything else that crawls with antenna, multiple legs and more than two eyes, deserve nothing but a short trip to hell on a cloud of RAID.


    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 annoyance, pursing her lips so tightly together that she looked like she might have swallowed something more bitter than her disposition. With her eyes rolling skyward as she dismissed him with a toss of her head, it was clear that there was something not right with him as well. I questioned what, and then became annoyed at the response.

    “He’s too nerdy looking. There’s no attraction. If it’s not there now it never will be.”

    I say, never say never. Never is a long time to forever be searching for what might be sitting right under her nose. She’s had no luck with Wall Street Wally or Beefcake Bob. The pretty boys who cling to their good looks and GQ intellect like it’s their ticket through the pearly gates rarely make it through dinner and a movie before falling from grace.

    I tried to explain that true love may come in a package not as pretty with dollar store paper and no Hallmark card. She refused to understand that Mr. Right may seem all wrong because she never takes time or energy to know the man beneath the ribbon and bows whose box may be slightly dented. Perhaps, Mr. Right is only wrong because she’s so quick to pass judgment before bothering to even learn a brother’s name.

    I'M FAT

    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 crunches start to poison my spirit. I can think of better things to do with my time and there is absolutely nothing fun about breaking a sweat that doesn’t involve a hard man and a soft bed.

    A friend’s brother called me “thick”. I found myself wishing that he was referring to my brain and not my butt. The scale groans every time I step on. I am horrified by what the mirror does when I step in front of it.

    A friend told me to embrace my beauty and learn how to love me. Loving me isn’t the issue. Loving me with seventy-five excess pounds, however, is proving to be a challenge.

    Thursday, July 03, 2008


    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 it left in my Dumb Dora Databanks. I keep preaching subtle to her but she’s not getting it. But how hard is it to figure out that if a man can’t see under your blouse he might be interested in exploring those regions later. When him, his brother, father, uncles, and best friends can all see the goodies there isn’t much left for any of them to get excited about and she has made showing her goodies a fashion statement.

    I had a friend once who was head over heels in love with a business associate. Problem was he had a wife and a few mistresses. In fact, I actually lost count of the number of women he was banging at any given time. But them picture-perfect baby blue eyes and that blonde boy swagger had the females swooning like they’d lost their minds. This friend went to some serious extremes to get his attention. One night we were all attending a business function at a hotel the company’s sales staff was staying in and girlfriend books herself a suite to the tune of some $689 per night to get the last available bed so she could at least be three floors away from him.

    Excited, she calls up to his room on the house telephone to give him the good news. Boyfriend smiled politely into the receiver then asked to speak to me. I knew we were all in for trouble when the first question out of his mouth was whether or not my friend could hear our conversation. Of course I said no as I tilted the receiver to her ear so she could eavesdrop on whatever it was he wanted to tell me. And what he wanted was to tell me I had an open invitation to his room and his bed anytime I wanted. Once they both understood that wasn't an invitation I was interested in, her desperation kicked in. An hour later girlfriend knocks on his door in the sheerest lace teddy she could strap her double-D’s in. Unfortunately, boyfriend had already found another playmate to entertain himself with and since he couldn’t convince her to enjoy a threesome the moment didn’t go over well. Did she catch a clue? No. Desperation had her foaming at the mouth and barking like a bitch in heat for weeks after. I still don’t know if he ever added her name to the lengthy notches on his belt but I’m banking no. She didn’t give him much of a challenge and the smell of desperation had clearly turned him off.

    Jenna needs to catch a clue and quick. But if I don’t know anything else, I know this. I ain’t hanging out with her no more!

    Wednesday, July 02, 2008


    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 established a nice bond that seems to work and even when they bump heads and are challenged, they still seem to make it work.

    In the state of North Carolina couples must be separated and living apart for one full year before a judge will grant them a divorce. Johnny and Denise were acquainted before her separation from a man she clearly had no emotional ties to. Initially, the common thread that drew Johnny and Denise together was commiserating over relationships gone wrong. Months after Denise’s separation the duo found themselves becoming fast friends. But now, still being just a few months shy of Denise’s divorce and despite her living in her own home with her ex-hubby miles away, Johnny will not move their friendship forward. Denise understands his moral compass demands the ink be dry on the papers first least he feel himself intruding on someone else’s relationship but her heart is yearning for much more.

    Pretending that nothing but friendship exists between them has suddenly challenged Denise’s own boundaries. Understanding Johnny’s reluctance is one thing. Accepting it has been a whole other beast. But Denise is moved by the man’s steadfast commitment and has found herself questioning her own. It suddenly made sense to her that words and promises whispered behind closed doors mean nothing if they must be secreted away and Denise will not be made to feel like some dirty little secret to be hidden from view. If friendship is all that Johnny can show in public, then friendship is all that Denise will lay claim to in private.

    Time will allow them to discover what is most important to them both. Denise understands that the ink will be dry before either realizes it. The time between then and now will allow them to discover what is most important to them both. If their friendship perseveres, then maybe what’s in their hearts will as well. And maybe when the papers are signed and sealed, Johnny will reconsider those boundaries and let his moral compass and his heart step into the colors Denise is dancing in.