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

So, I started the whole exercise and diet thing a little early. I figured there was no point in waiting until January 2nd to get started since I’m typically done and finished by January 30th. I’m thinking if I switch it up and start a little early, I might be inclined to do good for a little bit longer. And I’m really not dieting. I’m invoking a “lifestyle change”. Toward that goal I’m determined to make exercise FUN for the New Year because I hate to exercise with a passion. Sweating is only good during really great sex NOT while looking foolish on a treadmill or whatever other gym apparatus I’m inclined to pretend I know how to use. So, a month or so ago I started taking line dance classes. And I am having an absolute blast! I am whole-heartedly uncoordinated, have strained muscles that I have no business using, and have laughed until my stomach has hurt. The instructor, a delightful woman named Leigh, is incredible! She has slowly maneuvered my two left feet into a left foot and a r

Dear Santa, So it’s been a while since I last wrote you a letter. It was the early 1970’s if I recall when I asked for a pony for the third time and for the third time didn’t wake up to find one in the back yard. The third time, not that I was counting or anything. I don’t hold a grudge but I think you should know, for future reference of course, that a Chatty Patty doll does not measure up when a girl is expecting a pony. Neither does a dishwasher when you’re wanting diamonds and wool socks from Wally World when you kind of had your hopes on Broadway tickets. But hey, I’m sure with all the letters you have to read each year and all of the requests that you get, meeting everyone’s expectations is a bit of a challenge for you and some things are bound to get missed. With all the things happening in the news lately that peace on earth, good will toward men thing seems to be kind of a hit or miss for you as well and I know plenty of other folks have been asking for that too each and ever

I have the holiday blahs. I was determined that this year would be different. There was going to be a tree and decorations and the baking of Christmas cookies and all those things that I have very fond memories of. I am so far from bringing those warm reflections to fruition that it’s like a wide divide of one big ass mountain between the want and the reality. Right now I am just ready for Christmas to be over. Sitting in reflection today I realized that I am just emotionally exhausted. It has truly been a long year. So long and exhausting that I am just too darn tired to think about any holiday spirit. Fortunately, I know that this too will soon pass and me and Old Saint Nick both will be right back to our usual holiday tricks. At least that’s what I am hoping will happen. Recently I took a trip to Columbus, Georgia to see my baby boy graduate from OSUT training. I am now the immensely proud parent of a United States Army Infantryman. As a parent, there is such a sense of accomplishme

He was only days old when his father laid him in her arms. He wrinkled his little face as if he were about to cry and then he just snuggled down into her arms and drifted back to sleep. In that moment he became her world, her lifeline to something she didn’t even know she needed. They grew up together. She mothered him to the best of her ability, delighting in every one of his accomplishments. She was there for his first steps, his first words, more firsts than he will ever know. She was also there for the insanity between his father and the mother that birthed him, the duo so consumed with their own frustrations and anger that they sometimes forgot their precious baby boy and how their abuse of each other impacted the family around them. But she refused to forget. He was her heart and she had fallen in love with him the day his father laid him in her arms. He is now a man and the passing of time has not been kind to them. The baby she once held as her own is estranged from her, the tw

He gets up each morning and gives thanks for the blessing of a new day. He is grateful for each and every one because he is not supposed to be here. An airplane accident almost took him that first time. Cancer keeps trying to take him now. He’s cheated death many times and with each breath that he draws, death is reminded of its failing. He tells everyone who listens just how blessed he is and just how much he appreciates the opportunity to live his life to its fullest. He called to wish me a happy holiday. He started the conversation by telling me how much he loved me. We bantered back and forth like we have done since we were little kids. I asked about his health and if he was taking care of himself. And like always, he assured me that he has everything under control. And just like always, I knew that he probably didn’t. That he was just taking each and every day, one at a time. His zest and exuberance ignited my own. Everything I have to be thankful for flooded my spirit with a veng

You could not miss the bruise to Melissa’s face. Her left eye was black and swollen, a harsh contrast to her porcelain complexion. And her porcelain complexion was mottled black, blue, pink and red. She casually milled about the room as if nothing was wrong and those around her pretended not to notice. I don’t pretend and so I asked, others raising an eyebrow at me as if my doing so was catastrophically wrong. But I asked her what happened to her face, already knowing the answer, and knowing that her answer would be a lie. She laughed, fanning a hand in my direction. “ Teeheehee! It was so silly. I can’t believe it happened. I was brushing my hair and dropped the hairbrush and it accidently hit me in the face. Teeheehee! ” I nodded and commented. “Really? It looks like that brush was still attached to your husband’s fist.” The room was suddenly aghast 'cause heaven forbid anyone say outloud what everyone had been thinking to themselves. None of us have seen Melissa since, knowing

The ABC television show, Primetime: What Would You Do , puts paid actors in scenarios where they create awkward, uncomfortable, and sometimes discriminatory situations to film the genuine reactions of passersby. Watching tonight, one story moved me to tears. One of the actors, dressed as an intoxicated, homeless man, falls to the ground in the middle of a busy sidewalk. As he lay there pretending to be unconscious eighty-eight people walked by, barely giving the man a second glance. And then came, Miss Linda Hamilton. Miss Linda has some age on her. She is black, disabled and also appears to be homeless. Miss Hamilton’s efforts to get help for the man are unsuccessful, the passers-by ignoring her as well. But Miss Hamilton persists. She refuses to leave the man’s side. She gives him a nickname, calling him “Billy”, humanizing the stranger lying on the street. She pleads to people passing by to please call for an ambulance but no one does. Frustration and discouragement are painted all

I try not to get caught up reading reviews of my books. And although I may try hard, I sometimes can’t help but want to know what readers have to say about something I’ve written. Most especially when I’m in the midst of a series and trying to finish a sequel to a previous book. It kind of helps to know what readers loved and what they didn’t. My very first book review had the potential to end my writing career before it even started. The reviewer essentially hinted that I might not want to give up my day job. I didn’t, but not because I didn’t think that I could write or be successful at it. I understood from the review that I just needed to bring more to the table if I was going to get it right. Numerous accolades and an award later, I feel like I’m headed in the right direction. Recently I read the following review from a reader who identified herself as “Keepin’ It Real”. She had much to say about my last book, Promises To A Stallion . Her review wasn’t negative but one line struck

One of my favorite writers/bloggers shared this on his facebook page. It brought to mind some of the comments I've heard lately about Will and Jada Smith's young daughter Willow, and her new song/video - Whip My Hair . A few folks aren't feeling Willow's hairdo, feeling it is clearly a hair don't. Mama Jada let her shave the side of her head and baby girl is rocking her tresses in her own way. I've got mad respect for a nine, about to be ten -year old who doesn't feel any need to conform to what everybody else thinks her hair should look like. It's her style and she rocks it with a level of confidence that some women three, four, even five times her age have never been able to master. On one recent interview both she and her mother commented that "it was just hair". I've boo-hooed my fair share of bad hair experiences here before. Even now, I'm torn between what to do or not do with my hair. It has grown out again, just beginnin

I have been purposely enacting change for months now. Change in how I handle difficult situations. Change in how I deal with difficult people. Change in my quality of life. Change, whole-heartedly, different from what I have ever known before. It has been like a free fall, exhilarating and damn scary. Then tragedy stuck. It came on the heels of loss. Loss so significant, that I was left to re-evaluate every aspect of my own life. And then I had a light bulb moment, one so monumental that when it hit, it knocked me right off my feet. Life is short. Tomorrow is not promised to us. Which is why making the most out of today is monumentally important. And though it is so easy to say, it is not necessarily easy to accomplish because life will inevitably get in the way. I have a good friend who has invested an unfathomable amount of energy in being angry. Angry at her current situation. Angry at family and friends. Anger so pervasive that it has taken full and complete control over her entire

GOD'S GARDEN God looked around his garden And found an empty place, He then looked down upon the earth And saw your tired face. He put his arms around you And lifted you to rest. God’s garden must be beautiful He always takes the best. He knew that you were suffering He knew you were in pain. He knew that you would never Get well on earth again. He saw the road was getting rough And the hills were hard to climb. So he closed your weary eyelids And whispered, ‘Peace bethine’. It broke our hearts to lose you But you didn’t go alone, For part of us went with you The day God called you home. Rest in peace, cousin. You will be missed.

I had forgotten what that kind of fear felt like. Then I read this morning’s headlines and I was gripped with panic I had hoped to never experience again. Nine US troops were killed in a helicopter accident in Afghanistan today. Yesterday, a retired military man opened fire on two women at a convenience store at Ft. Bliss in Texas. When my oldest son was deployed to Iraq and then Afghanistan I lived in a constant state of panic. Son-shine flew black hawks for many years and every accident and bombing and loss of life absolutely crippled my spirit. There was always that wave of panic until I heard his voice and knew he was well and then that sense of relief that it was not my child who wouldn’t be coming home. For sixteen years of his military career I tried to prepare myself for the absolute worst, praying for the very best. And with every ounce of bad news that came over the airwaves I experienced fear and panic. My son loved the military. He was a career soldier, Uncle Sam his very b

Once again, I'm changing hats and shifting my attention to one of my "other" jobs. Near and dear to my heart is the Hattie J. Woody Scholarship Foundation, which I am the executive director of, and so it is with great pleasure that I announce our fall fundraising event. ONE-DOLLAR DONATION DRIVE Please take a moment to visit the Foundation's blogspot and spread the word about what we are trying to accomplish. Everyone associated with the Foundation is extremely appreciative of any and all support gifted to us. We know that without the generous support and endorsement of those who believe in our mission that none of this would be possible. I, personally, am grateful for everyone's encouragement. From the depths of my heart, thank you in advance of the love.

It is an incredibly beautiful Sunday afternoon. My favorite guy and I enjoyed a morning walk and breakfast then renewed our spirits and energy together in prayer and quiet reflection. I am in awe of the many blessings that are continually bestowed upon me. I give thanks for a supportive partner whose wise wisdom and sage advice keep me grounded and assure me of his unconditional love. Together, we are a formidable team and as his hand held mine I knew that there is no challenge that he and I cannot transcend. I am thankful for family and friends whose hearts and spirits move me to tears and laughter. They have come out in full force recently to offer support and advice and to remind me that I do not walk through any dark valley alone. They reminded me just how powerful love can be. I am thankful for my children who are all well and happy. Extremely happy! Their accomplishments move me to tears and it warms my spirit to know that with all they entertain and strive for, the foundation I

On occasion, something I write strikes a nerve with someone. One recent post in particular not only struck a reader’s nerve, but practically severed every vessel in her body. Apparently I’d held up a mirror and she saw her reflection gleaning back at her. She didn’t particularly like what she saw. When I consider the post I’m sure others don’t much like what they see in her either. This reader isn’t someone I know well, but for whatever reasons she felt violated as if I’d secreted myself into her life and had somehow managed to unearth every one of her dirty little secrets. With her dirt exposed, she attacked. It was her expectation that I would fall for the okie doke and strike back. But such is not my nature...usually. This person’s antics have put me in somewhat of a predicament. In considering my options I have to consider the impact my actions will have on those I love most. A trusted friend tells me I would be a fool to let her bad behavior go. I ponder whether or not it would be

Brenda’s having some issues. She’s not happy and everyone else would seem to be her problem. It started back in grade school, Brenda never getting to be the hall monitor. Rude and nasty soon became Brenda’s natural demeanor. Brenda was hell on wheels in high school. The boy’s by passed Brenda for the girl with the brighter eyes, longer hair, and prettier complexion. Brenda didn’t have a clue that her attitude was what actually turned the boys off. Brenda hasn’t been able to hold onto a man since and now she’s bitter. Since Brenda’s not happy, she doesn’t want anyone else to be happy either and so she’s on a mission to see just how much torment she can bring to folks who really don’t give a damn about her and her issues. She’s rude, nasty, and obnoxious to sales clerks and restaurant staff. She tends to be loud and toxic to friends and family. And friends and family have had about all they’re willing to take. Brenda doesn’t see the error of her ways. She doesn’t understand why people ar

Jena is only fifteen and shouldn’t have a care in the world, but she feels like the weight of the world is pressing on her shoulders. An unfortunate incident this past week left her feeling completely lost and now she is struggling to regain some semblance of herself. Jena’s first crush rejected her. The two had been friends since forever but boyfriend wasn’t looking to make Jena his girl. So Jena moved on with a boy who gave her attention right up to the moment she gave him some. Her very private moment suddenly became fodder for high school twitterdom, the boy boasting about his conquest to everyone within a mile of a cell phone and keyboard. Surviving that humiliation was bad enough, but Jena did. Twitterdom soon found some other young girl to tear apart. Last week Jena finally found the courage to come out from under the rock she calls a room to socialize with her peers. Heading to the movie theater, Jena wasn’t at all prepared for the barbs and catcalls her former friends blasted

So, it was one of those good days. I had no where to go and nothing I absolutely had to do and so I did absolutely nothing. Then I was motivated to cook. I haven’t really cooked in a good long while. Fast food has been my nemesis to say the least. And so I tossed on a pair of sweat pants and one of my well-worn tee shirts and headed to the grocery store. I knew what I wanted to cook, yet I struggled for thirty minutes trying to figure out how to make that meal low-calorie and healthy. After thirty minutes I gave up, figuring there was really no good reason to ruin a good thing, then I headed for the kitchen. The pork chops were pristine. I seasoned those babies up and let them marinat e in the refrigerator for a few hours. Then it was on to the gravy for the baked spaghetti. One large chopped onion, a sliced green pepper, two large jars of stewed tomatoes simmered sweetly, while spaghetti cooked al dente. When all that was done, I layered the two in a baking dish with a pound of grate

It’s become more and more apparent that when it comes to this space there is no happy medium between the personal and the professional. I am so fed up with having to pull up my big girl panties to keep other people pacified that I imagine if I have to do it one more time, the elastic is going to break and then I’ll really be showing my ass. At best if I compare my personal life to an exotic meal in a five-star restaurant, then my professional posts will simply be reviews of the bread and butter with no mention of the meat, vegetables or the dessert. One would think that if I like the dessert I should be able to say so but I’m suddenly having to bite back my words and hold my tongue and there is simply nothing sweet about that. So, what do I do? I have agonized over my options and then it came to me. I need to do what I do best. If that means tossing back an extra bourbon or two or three, then blasting the beef and lambasting the pie, then so be it. I’ll just drink good bourbon and tip

I’ve had two back-to-back, event-filled weekends. One was very different from the other but both were truly great times. Last week I celebrated a friend’s crystal anniversary. The event started early and ended late. Great food, much booze, tons of fun, and a wealth of laughter filled the time in between. I was able to catch up with old friends and made some new acquaintances and felt like quite the social butterfly when all was said and done. This weekend was a family event, a reunion of loved ones coming together to celebrate their past, the present and the promises of the future. It was family I didn’t know and had never met before. The entire weekend was whole-heartedly one of the most spiritually uplifting experiences that I have ever had. Both weekends have left me reflecting on both my personal and professional life. Once again I find myself questioning how best to balance the two, most especially when it comes to my writing and this particular medium. For some time now I have ha

I’m going to make a sex tape. I’m told that’s the in thing to do these days. In fact, most recently Laurence Fishburne’s teenage daughter announced that she has done just that. Like her, I’m hoping to fast track my way to credibility. To hear her tell it, everyone Montana Fishburne admires (Pamela Anderson, Kendra Wilkinson, and Pamela Anderson) has done the deed on film and scored major bucks and notoriety from the experience. According to Montana, it shot Kim Kardashian’s career right to Emmy Award winning-heaven. That’s why Montana stripped and spread ‘em for the cameras. To be like Kim. If that’s the case then I don’t see why I can’t just jiggle enough cellulite and shake my ta-ta’s for a film crew to guarantee myself a Pulitzer Prize. Lord knows I have plenty to shake! Do you know any other author who’s caught that clue yet? I’d be the first and I bet it wouldn’t be a hot minute before the rest of pack are shaking body parts on film to try and outdo me. To hell with great prose o

Parenting is a challenge in and of itself, most especially when the cute baby reaches adolescence and that not-so-cute, I-know-everything, you-know-nothing stage. But parenting shouldn’t be an act of devastation where the parent is more of a child than the child is. Kevin and his mother have a relationship that is riddled with nonsensical drama, most of it caused by mama. Mama’s issues run deep and no amount of rationalizing with her would seem to work. Mama has spent most of Kevin’s teen years buying his affection. Kevin pouts, throws tantrums and Mama goes on a spending spree rewarding him well for his bad behavior. Then when Kevin opposes her, doing what teens tend to do at his age, the woman turns into Linda Blair, spewing carnage as her head rotates in circles on top of her thick neck. When that happens no one is safe from the fall out, not the baby boy, the daddy, or anyone else unfortunate enough to cross her path. But the only one who truly suffers is her son. Despite son-shine

Tomorrow is the official release date for PROMISES TO A STALLION . Thanks to early shipping, many have already gotten their hands on a copy and the feedback has been wonderful. Everyone’s kind words have warmed my spirit and motivated me to keep the stories coming. PROMISES TO A STALLION is the story of Stallion cousin Travis Stallion. Staff sergeant Travis is home on leave for thirty days. An unwitting pawn, Travis delivers a Dear John letter from her overseas fiancé to the beautiful Tierra Braddy, breaking the woman’s heart. Hoping to take the sting out of her heartbreak, the rugged, caring soldier goes out of his way to comfort the incredible woman. When he finds himself falling for the love-wary beauty Travis maps out a campaign of seduction to persuade Tierra to take that fateful walk down the aisle…with him. PROMISES TO A STALLION was a fun story to write. Motivated by a real life love story I was challenged to write a believable story of a couple meeting, falling in love, and

I swear, I am the bane of all computers. I’m like kryptonite to a keyboard. In the past year, my personal computer has blown up on me no less than three times. The last time it heaved its very last breath, it took much money to recover the files that I failed to back up. Then the computer geek technician advised that it needed yet another hard drive replacement. Opting for a much cheaper route I commandeered baby boy’s computer, applying its depreciated value against my son-shine’s outstanding debt to mommy dearest. That computer is now in the shop getting what…a hard drive replacement, having blown up on me last week. Thank goodness for baby boy’s extended warranty! My very special friend has allowed me to use his computer while I am laptop-less. Then last night, while attempting for the umpteenth time to write a blog post, his electronic gadget heaved a low sob and went blank. I pushed buttons, unplugged cables, re-plugged cables into different outlets, pushed buttons some more and t

Hey there! I am finally back from my extended break. I've spent the last few weeks trying to decide what I wanted to do with my blog and my writing. I was seriously considering giving it all up for good, dejected that writer's block was becoming more prevalent and my writing career wasn't progressing like I wanted it to. The crux of this blog was becoming too depressing, reading like a perpetual woe-is-me pity party. It was more than I could take so I can only imagine what others were beginning to think about it. And then in a moment of self-reflection I made the decision that I wasn't going any place any time soon. I love doing this. Sometimes I forget just how much and I have to be reminded. And then I'm enraptured by words...words on a page...words in a song....words strung together with such precision that the emotion is all consuming and I can't help but be drawn back to what I love most...words, in all their perfection. It took a moment of clarity to remin

Despite the challenges between us I am still very much my daddy's girl. My father was the first man I ever fell in love with and set the standard for all the men who came into my life afterward. No man has ever challenged me the way my father has. Nor has there been any other man who I have wanted approval from like I have yearned to have it from my daddy. Today, we honor those men in our lives who stepped up to do what they needed to do to get us from childhood to maturity. We honor those me who paved the way and set the standards. I honor my father today and with much love, wish him a very happy Father's Day!

I got called out on the fact that for the last two years I’ve let my personal life interfere with my writing and subsequently, my writing sucks, big time. This struck a too tender nerve because I have always, in the past, allowed my personal life to dictate my writing. Some of my greatest moments have played out in black and white, the most simplistic words twisting into exquisite poetry. The ability to spin emotion onto paper has been one of my greatest gifts and somewhere along the way I tripped over the box, got all tangled up in the ribbons and bow and started writing with a broken pencil. I have to admit that lately I’ve been holding back, holding out, and just not holding down what I know I need to be doing. I’ve been so busy biting my tongue and simply ignoring what has been in my heart to release that I haven’t been writing and what I have written, hasn’t been any damn good. I have felt it with every fiber in me and I chose to ignore it, not wanting to make waves, rock the boat

For the first time I am starting to think that “Nothin’ But A Word” has finally run its course. On July 16th I will have been blogging for some four years and with a few hundred blog posts behind me I’m starting to feel like I don’t have very many more left. Doing this has begun to feel like a painful chore. I’m finding it difficult to be funny and cute when there are times that I would much prefer to be melancholy and not cute. The melancholy doesn’t much move me so I can only imagine what it might be doing to those of you who actually read my dribble. Recently, my very special friend felt that one of my blog posts was, and I quote, “an unfair distortion of the truth”. And it very well may have been. But as I explained to him, this is my space, and my truth as I see it and my emotions as I feel them. Damn the other side. They can go get their own blog and tell it their own way. The little bit of something and whole lot of nothing that I rant and ponder about here is mine to twist and

Gary had a torrid little affair with one of his co-workers. At the time Gary and his cohort were both married to other people. That torrid little affair produced a too cute bundle who became his mama’s greatest joy. Gary questioned whether or not baby Gary was truly his, ‘cause Junior’s mama also had a husband. Gary couldn’t fathom a wife not sleeping with her husband, even if she was sleeping with him. It conveniently slipped Gary’s mind that he wasn’t sleeping with his own wife which was why he was doing the do on the other side of town in the first place. Girlfriend readily offered a paternity test but Gary passed, feeling that not knowing was best for all concerned, most particularly his wife. Fast forward and not once did anyone ever ask a thing from Gary. No child support, no time, no nothing. Nada! His gal pal figured he would have to man-up all on his own, or not. Gary chose not, having neither the testicles or the moral fiber to do what was right. Now Gary’s son is all grown u

I observed an ex-wife and a current girlfriend meeting each other for the first time. The moment was amusing because although everyone was going through the motions of being mature and adult-like about the whole encounter, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that what was being said between them was whole-heartedly different than what they wanted to say to each other. The man in the middle, surprised by the unannounced arrival of his past, was clearly wishing for a hole to fall down into, his anxiety evident by him not introducing anyone in the room. And then the ex–wife figured out who the current woman was and all the fun began ( with my very loose translations of the encounter, of course ). Ex-wife: “Oh, this is Dara? This is the girl that spends the night at your house sometimes? ( So, this is your new slut? ) The new girlfriend smiled smugly but said nothing at all. But you could see her thinking to herself: ( Beyotch, you know damn well who I am and I’m neither a gir

Allow me to extend my thanks to those of you who have already made a donation. My little friend Trevon is still in need of some serious help. Won't you consider making a donation? I have some books I'd love to give away for your efforts. Click below for additional information. Thank you. TREVON TAPP FUNDRAISER at www.DeborahMello.blogspot.com TREVON TAPP FUNDRAISER @ EVENTBRITE

My father and I do not have the best relationship. More times than not I leave his presence questioning what I could have possibly done to have him hate me as much as he would seem to. It sometimes takes me months to reconcile that it’s not me that he’s detesting, but is instead, a choice I may have made or something he thinks I might have done that has him so hostile. During that period of reconciliation my father and I usually do not communicate, neither of us having one word to say to the other. My father has spent most of my adult life not talking to me. I have spent most of my adult life wondering why. It has now been a good few months since he and I have had a pleasant conversation of any kind. The last time we spoke the man called to cuss me out, calling me names that no man should ever call any woman, most especially his daughter. Daddy had not been happy about my cleaning out my grandmother’s home, discarding trash that should have been discarded years before. It would seem, a

Two years ago I reached out for donations to help send a young friend to the National Young Leader’s Conference in Washington, DC. Some exceptional people gave generously and my young friend was able to represent her family, friends and community beautifully. That young lady recently completed her freshman year at UNC-Charlotte, well on her way to a thriving technology career. I am once again moved to hold out my hand and ask folks to open their hearts and their pockets for a young man whose spirit and achievements are a true inspiration. Mr. Trevon Tapp is twelve years old. He’s from the very rural community of Roxboro, NC and he has not only exceeded every challenge and expectation put to him, but has contradicted every stereotype that exists about young, black men. Trevon is in the seventh grade at Southern Middle School, an honor student with a 4.0 GPA and in the academically gifted program. He plays football and basketball and loves to read. He is a member of the youth choir and d

I get more material listening to small town gossip than should be allowed. In this here small town of mine, folks love to talk. They love to talk about themselves and each other and every ounce of it is fuel for my writing spirit. Today alone I came home with enough material for another ten books. Downtown was crowded with news-types looking to score a scoop on the Rielle “I Can Help You!” Hunter vs. Andrew “Johnny Won’t Be My Friend” Young sex tape case. The duo was in court today and the locals had much to ponder, most especially since Johnny “I Don’t Know That Baby” Edwards has allegedly rented digs downtown and is rumored to be developing quite a cozy relationship with one of the bar stools in the local pub. Marital fidelity is a hot topic around here, Johnny’s and everybody else’s. (Everybody else got some serious stuff going on behind their closed doors!) Girlfriends stabbed boyfriends, boyfriends kicked dogs, husbands done left wives, wives done did the delivery guys, mama’

Oh, how good does it get!!!!! I am in TV-heaven right now. Just when I thought my reality TV obsession was all obsessed out, VH1 premiered their new lineup. Now I’m hooked, again, and loving every minute of it. Brandy and Ray-J: A Family Business follows that well-known duo and their parents. The set-up of the show is that Sonja (Mama Norwood) who has been managing her children’s careers for the past 15 years is now ready to reclaim her life. She’s ready for her children to run the family music business. Throw in their father, Willie’s (Papa Norwood) nonchalant attitude and “children” who aren’t necessarily ready for responsibility, plus Mama's mean-as-spit demeanor, favoritism and a serious touch of family dysfunction and it makes for some entertaining TV. Then we have Basketball Wives , the brainchild of Shaunie O’Neal, the soon-to-be ex-wife of Shaq. It follows the doings of seven women who have been or are currently linked with NBA players. Now, only one of the women is actual

When Wally and Diane have problems, Wally has seven really good female friends to turn to for advice. And like most female friends of single men, his really good female friends always have something to say about his personal life. Diane however doesn’t have the same network of support to turn to. Diane made the mistake of turning to a male acquaintance for advice only one time and she is still paying the price for having done so. Clearly, according to Wally’s seven friends, there had to have been more going on with Diane and what’s-his-name than Diane has been upfront about. And even Wally finds it hard to believe that there was absolutely nothing to Diane and that man. Convincing Wally that something was truly nothing has proven to be impossible at best. Knowing that Wally doesn’t trust Diane or what Diane feels for him breaks her heart. Knowing that any conversation about the nature of their relationship will turn into a castigation of everything Diane has ever done wrong, starting