Skeletons in my closet

A speech and a message that needs to be heard!

2006-08-30T06:43:00.000-07:00

"I am a New Orleanian."
LRA Chair Norman Francis' Address at the Mass Commemorating the First Anniversary of Hurricane KatrinaAugust 29, 2006St. Louis Cathedral

Archbishop Hughes and Leaders of the Diocese, President Bush, Governor Blanco, Members of Congress, my Colleagues from the Louisiana Recovery Authority, federal, state and local officials and other Distinguished Guests,
I think you will all agree...it's been a long year.
Three hundred sixty-five days of disbelief ...and anguish ...and determination ...and faith...and hard work ...and hope. It's still hard to comprehend the scope of it all.
So many days, we-the victims of hurricanes Katrina and Rita-have felt like Job of the Old Testament. We've questioned our faith, our neighbors, our leaders, and our levees.
We witnessed this great city's vibrancy and energy being replaced overnight with devastation.
Our losses are incomprehensible.
Fifty-seven days under water. 200,000 homes destroyed. Our economy ground to a halt. Our families dispersed across America.
It's tried our patience and our faith.
It's sometimes difficult to remember that with so much at hand, we have to focus our efforts one step at a time and pull as one-all of us together.
This is the test of our lifetimes.
My colleagues on the Louisiana Recovery Authority were honored and privileged to accept Governor Blanco's invitation to serve our state in this unprecedented recovery task. These dedicated volunteers have spent hours, days, nights and weekends addressing our fiduciary responsibilities. With the Governor, Legislature and all Louisianians, we have pledged to make this region a better place than it was-with safer homes and businesses, stronger levees and restored wetlands, and smarter approaches to rebuilding our neighborhoods, our public schools and health care systems.
We will do this, and we have begun this difficult journey.
The signs of progress are not always easy to see, but they are here. Schools are in session, people are rebuilding, businesses are reopening and the music of life has begun to return.
So much of the hard recovery work rooted in the first year will take off in the second.
Reforms in education, in governance and in health care hold great promise.
The generosity of the American people and their elected representatives has given us substantial resources for rebuilding.
But there are many challenges ahead.
In the case of New Orleans, our charge is to rebuild in a short amount of time what our forbears took 300 years to create-with our culture intact and our doors of opportunity open to all who want to join us in this City's rebirth.
I was not born a New Orleanian.
I moved here in 1948 as a young man, an entering freshman at Xavier University, eager to learn, ready to see what I could bring to the world and what the world could bring to me.
There was no better place to be.
This city was a beacon of opportunity-just as it has been for so many others since its founding. And though I did not grow up here, this is my city.
I am proud to be a New Orleanian.
New Orleans has become a part of me, as our jazz and art and architecture and cuisine and families have become a part of the soul of everyone who has ever lived here or visited.
New Orleans has now become a part of the soul of every person who was touched by Katrina.
Every person who has ever felt grief, helplessness, or vulnerability knows what we suffered in New Orleans.
Katrina has made New Orleans a symbol of the devastation that wreaked the Gulf Coast, a symbol of man's vulnerability to Nature, a symbol of our society's weaknesses, a symbol of human resilience.
Katrina also made New Orleans a symbol for heroism, compassion, human decency and generosity of spirit.
That's why I'm honored to be able to express our gratitude and thanks to all of God's angels in Louisiana and elsewhere who gave unselfishly on our behalf.
When the first responders and other volunteers pulled our families off roof tops, out of attics and out of trees, their actions said for each of them: "I am a New Orleanian."
When families in towns and cities in every state of this nation opened their hearts and homes to our evacuees, the sound of their doors opening spoke for each of them: "I am a New Orleanian."
When nurses and doctors and orderlies carried their patients to rooftop evacuations and hand-ventilated those who needed it, their actions to honor their profession called out: "I am a New Orleanian."
When college students, church groups, and retirees chose to spend their vacations gutting houses and rescuing family treasures, the sound of crow bars and hammers hard at work rang out: "I am a New Orleanian."
When gentle hearts and warm souls lent shoulders to cry on, their compassion spoke quietly: "I am a New Orleanian."
When President Bush stood in Jackson Square in September and pledged to help us rebuild this great city, he joined our founders by symbolically staking his future to ours, telling the nation and the world: "I am a New Orleanian."
When Governor Blanco comforted victims at the Superdome and across the region, when she shared their grief of the loss of loved ones as only a mother who has lost a son can do, when she spoke to unite us and not divide us in a time of terrible tragedy, when she stood strong and fought for the resources Louisiana needs to rebuild, she didn't need to say what we already knew: "I am a New Orleanian."
As Mayor Nagin communicates his optimism about this city's triumphant rise from the depths of despair, his determination and commitment say, "I am a New Orleanian."
The City of New Orleans will once again be a beacon of hope.
The Gulf Coast will once again be a beacon of hope.
We will rebuild our communities safer, stronger, smarter.
We will rebuild them with opportunity for all.
We will rebuild them with confidence, vision, and energy.
We will rebuild them to realize the hopes and dreams of all who have lived here and all who have helped us in our time of need.
And we will rebuild them for the tens of thousands of Louisiana people, scattered throughout the nation, aching to return home.
That is our sacred obligation, and with God's Grace and the help of "new" New Orleanians from across the country and around the globe, we will succeed by honoring the memory of those Katrina took from us with our City's and Region's rebirth.Mr. President, we express our thanks to you for supporting our requests for funds. We are grateful to the Congress for appropriating this financial assistance and to the American people for their loyalty. To all who have provided support around the globe, we say thanks. To Chairman Don Powell, we owe a deep debt of gratitude for his tireless efforts on our behalf and for listening so very well.
In light of the difficulties we all must make in our future recovery efforts, we pray this morning that God will
"Give us the courage to change the things that must be changed;The fortitude to accept the things that cannot be changed;And the wisdom to know the difference between the two."
May God bless us all!

I could not have said it any better myself. That speech almost moved me to tears. It truly has been a year that I will never forget.I was saddened and then angered by the medias commemoration/celebration of Katrina. I listened to networks from CNN to Tom Joyner, comment and toll the one-year anniversary of the most devastating event in U.S. History. I really worry the direction this thing is going. Public sentiment is fickle. I don’t want the moment to get lost in FEMA or Global Warming, or even costal restoration. But I don’t want America to forget, people still need help.

Forgetting Katrina is forgivable. Hurricanes on the gulf coast are a part of life. There will be another one, someday bigger, more devastating (hopefully not in my life time). But, what we can’t forget are the people. What we must not forget is what this storm showed us. We can never forget how much we can open our hearts in compassion even in this day and age. What we should never forget is that people are what make this whole thing work, not the government. Where our elected officials failed us, where our appointed officials failed us, we never failed ourselves. This speech is so honest, because homes were opened, cities were opened and people did their best.

I don't ask the often replayed and trite question, "Where were you when Katrina hit?" I am more in favor of the more revealing question,” Where were you before Katrina Hit, and where are you now?!" New Orleans, south Louisiana for that matter had big problems before Katrina, so the storm was neither the source nor the solution, merely a catalyst. So forgive me if this sounds absurd, Thanks but no thanks, if you are here to help as long as the Cameras are here go home. We don’t need self-aggrandizement. If you are here because Congress in their infinite wisdom sent 10 billion dollars to the area, go home. We don’t need carpet baggers.

We need people who really care, because the problem doesn’t stop with the levee, or the floodwaters, or the Hurricane...Hearts and minds need to be repaired.

Yesterday.I watched and listened:
as Al Sharpton complained about the treatment of evacuees,
as Jessie Jackson drove buses to get STUDENTS from Xavier out of the storm ravaged area.
as people merely hampered by a hurricane but utterly broken by the governments apathetic response wondered from whence there salvation would come.

One year later nothing has changed.
Al is still complaining, and demanding justice, now it’s for trailers to be provided (and re-keyed).
Jessie is still driving buses, except these buses are to get black voters to vote again for the black mayor.
People are now recovered from the hurricane, but still broken by the government’s apathetic response.

I don’t complain.

I bare witness.

Truth is you are never prepared for life, life happens and you withstand, conquer, become overwhelmed, rise yet again.I am still sad today. I will probably get sadder after I watch Spike Lee's joint on Katrina. Our government failed us this i now know. I can no longer sit piously by as other countries violate the morals, cultures and high standards of the good ole USA. I can no longer tisk, tisk, tisk, Ethiopians as they eat rice and bat at flies, or slight the failures of foreign countries to protect their children from sweat shops and pedophiles. I too have seen the third world and it is 60 miles from my door. I sat in disbelief as I watched friends and family share corners of my home as their homes were destroyed. I cried as I watched children on rooftops for days begging for rescue. I anguished as I watched mothers caring for despondent children underneath interstate overpasses with no food or water. I grew angry as those rescued were further subjected to harm as they were shuttled and disbursed throughout the country.

I wonder have I witnessed a modern day genocide caused by a Hurricane but enabled by failed government inactivity.

But, I can say without fear of contradiction, human spirit, American Spirit, and compassion, can conquer even this!

Tuesday

2006-08-16T10:17:00.000-07:00

I think I need at least one more day to get warmed up.

The idea of writing again has me juiced, but work has stymied my flow. Seems like I do my best when I should be doing something else, but that is for another time and posting.

I went out last night.

From where I am sitting that statement just caused the heavens to rejoice followed by the tolling of several bells. Yes, I WENT OUT last night. Not just a stop-at-party-grab-a-drink-then-head-home-to-the-lovely-wife. I went out for a night on the town and it was Tuesday.

But what did amaze me is how pitiful everyone is. For the record I have not been out for at least 6mths…give or take. In going out terms that is a lifetime. I have missed several new dances; a whole season of clothing; and the new spot is now the old spot.

SideNote:
Going out for real involves a few things.
1.I took a nap. (So I could be ready to stay out late… any one over 30 should develop this practice.)
2. I got dressed. (Not just jeans and a shirt. I put on some gear!)
3. I left the house late. (Other sign of coming home late… If I leave at 10:00 and come back at 3:00, I only been gone for 5 hrs.)

A good friend of mine does a party on Tuesday. A party for the “Grown and Sexy”. That is a term that is being overused in my neck of the woods. Every party is only for the Grown and Sexy. I could go on about this but I want to tell you about my night. But quickly, the terms Grown and Sexy are not mutually exclusive. I saw many that were sexy, but not grown, and some that were grown and definitely not sexy.

I came early so I could grab me a spot in the corner furthest from the door, and start my drinking session. The new drink of choice is Crown/Tonic/Soda/2 Lemons. I watched as the lambs came in, bahing all about me. Not one individual, not a single solitary person who decided to come dressed as themselves. Cepting for me and these three flaming homosexuals, who were so over the top it was entertaining. Not the point of the story either, but yall shoulda seen these dudes and they was jamming they azz off.

Back on point.

I saw bout:
43 Kanyes.
22 Jay Zs.
25 Russel Simmons
50 Christina Millians
50 Christina Millians at 40+ years of age
15 Christina Millians who needed to drop bout 15 or more pounds.
4 Guys who wore suits, cause they think that is dressing up
No doubt about it. TV can be deemed a success. We are now officially a Cult of Personality. I getting more thoughts together, so forgive the lack of focus on this post.

Starting Something...again.

2006-08-15T09:11:00.000-07:00

My first day back.

Checking the seat, little snugger than I remember, they just don’t make stuff like they used to! (Or failing to keep my New Years resolution of riding that bike is coming back to haunt me!)

My fingers still dance nimbly around the keyboard. These ergonomic keyboards are the stuff of legend, and it was worth the looks as I stole it from the office supply closet.

My typing is disturbed by the constant banter from the secretary. Now that I am deep in thought and creation, my silence seems to invite discourse on her part. I keep typing, it looks like work, so maybe she gets the picture.

The world is such a different place from when I last conversed with all of you. I am sure we have all spent time laughing and crying, watching children grow and loved ones go. The Circle of Life.

For some reason my own mortality rises continually on my level of conscience. I have not left my mark in this world. Yeah, I don’t knocked plenty of heads off, experienced some of the things that life has to offer. But, from a life that has given me so much I have given very little.

So my mood and my tone are somber. The black and white of the monitored type reflects my reality, my mood, and my life. The black and the white.

My mind is swimming with topics. Some are old and now history, some are new and current; some are still on the outer boundaries of my mind waiting to be coalesced into thoughts, ideas, words, sentences, paragraphs, stories or diatribes.

Where should I begin, do I want to provoke thought, OR help someone’s significant other get some tonight.

You tell me, I am back!

The Trouble With Blogs

2006-03-17T09:44:00.000-08:00

I always look at your eyes. They give it away…all the time. If you are mad, happy, or disgusted, your eyes will let me know. Beautiful brown subtle eyes. I watch them for affirmation, I watch them for acceptance. I knew something was wrong.

I sat there that night oblivious, I held the baby as he continued his frustrated attempts to communicate. I babbled right along with him, I figure if my babble sounds like his babble he might think we are talking. I look at my wife, her eyes dart to miss my gaze. Oh shyte what have I done!

The baby boy distracts me with a less than baby like fart. I laugh and try to catch my wife laughing also.

She isn’t!

She sits with the laptop carefully studying the electronic images, or words… not distracted.

“You want a movie tonight, we can all sit up and eat popcorn and watch a movie?” I ask out of desire to watch a movie, but more so a medium to gauge the situation.

She barely opens her mouth to mumble, “No…”

“Okay, well, lets put the baby to bed and go through some old CDs!” my effort is good, the follow through a tad bit shallow, “What is the name of the last song on Bell Biv Devoe’s album? That shyte was my jam, I know I have the CD down here somewhere.” I hold the boy football style as I move towards the set of built-ins.

“Nope, I’m not in the mood” Her words are, pale if words can be pale. Not transparent though, I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Her eyes followed the lap top brightly lit screen.

I watched her a moment longer. No outward signs of inner stress. She was ice. She was cold. I was in trouble. Not that I am suggesting that I could ever get in trouble. I am a grown man, independent, except for the love I feel and need to feel from my family. However, I am not stupid enough to think that getting on someone’s bad side does not have repercussions, so in other words, I was in trouble.

“How about we sit in the atrium, drink some wine?” My suggestions have now turned to begs, I am not pleading to do anything, I am pleading for her to talk, do something. Don’t be mad, or tell me why you are mad, the impending doom, is killing me. I marshal this comment to myself quietly.

“No! Give me the baby, I am going to put him to bed!” She shoves the laptop onto the coach beside her as she marches towards me. I offer him up, as a sign of peace and she jerks him from my arms and moves toward the baby’s room.

I can’t break the thoughts running in my head. What did I do? Why is she mad! I hear water running. Damn, she is pissed. I hear the boys brief but vocal displeasure at getting his nose cleaned. Phuck, I don’t get her, never do, never have. We have a tight friendship, a close bond… a bond that…bonds….bonds…BONDS!!!!

It all comes together for me; the images flash in my mind kinda Usual Suspect, Momento, Sixth Sense and Frailty like. BONDS! The Laptop, her displeasure!!!!
MY BLOG!!!!!!

I had been checking comments on the laptop earlier. I guess I left the screen up! Damn, she had been reading my blog. My inner most thoughts, my private confessions, my stories of the past. Stories and words crafted together to bring out feelings, urges, understanding.

SideNote:
Well, truth is it wasn’t like I was hiding it. I mean I wasn’t trying to keep it from her. I explain, and explained it like this. I didn’t like my writing at first. It had no style or appeal. My funny wasn’t funny, and my serious was…not funny. I even stopped writing for a while. But I never did this blog with the intention of hiding it from her. I just didn’t think it was good enough, it didn’t merit conversation. Well as of late, I think it has been getting better. I think I found my stride, and I started walking. I fully intended to present her with a compiled somewhat redacted version of my work here. One day, don’t know when but not too far off in the future.

So instead she tripped up on it instead, by herself, with no explanation, no story context, no foreword by the author. And of all the post she had to read, she had to digest bonds as the first one…damn!

She was mad!

I walked into the bathroom and hugged her. She rejected me! I hugged her again, she pushed me away, as she pushed away tears. I reached for her but again I was rejected.

“Do you love her” Softly between quite sobs, “Do you have feelings for her, things I need to know…anything!”

She wasn’t angry she was hurt. I single handedly sabotaged myself, my life, my relationship. How would she ever trust me again?

SideNote:
No, don’t get confused, stay focused. The blog is/are stories, romanticized recounts of past events. My life before her, and some of my life with her. They show, or should show in the end a growth, and better yet a reason for growth. Why I changed, and what changed me. My despair was not that she was reading the stories, the entries, my issue was…well keep reading.

“No absolutely not, that isn’t even possible. I wrote that trying to express a feeling, trying to show how a great/good friendship can develop from a volatile past. I wrote that to discuss bonds and explore that one.” I explained, with passion and fluidity, I felt shyte was on the line and my words were my only refuge…solace…rescue.

She motioned for me to be quite, she didn’t want my daughter to her us talk.

Again, you got to see why I love this woman; she is still more concerned about my daughter than she is about jumping my azz. I continued none the less, mostly because I was scared not to. Silence and time drives weeds. Yeah, weeds can be removed, but they never seem to really go away, when you least expect it, and are at your most vulnerable, the weeds will sprout up and take shyte over.

So I talked, we talked. I explained and she listened. She spoke, and I heard her. Then I truly got it. I truly understood what was in her heart and in her mind. So now I post!

I hurt her! I dissolved a little bit of the trust we have between us.

I sit on a wealth of talent called creativity, humor, and incite. I very rarely take full advantage of this gift. If you know me, you know that personally I am this person you read when I write. But most people don’t know the layers beneath that. The layers that never feel accepted. The layers that pride themselves on making it alone. The layers that stand steadfast and turmoil and despair. I never let those layers out. I usually turn on a joke, quip, or banter instead of suggesting that something more goes on underneath. But when I write, if you read carefully, I am in essence expressing much much more. Those stories are there for a reason, and they all mean something, even the raunchy ones. It is more than merely laying bones to rest. On this blog I have expressed layers of me that most people have never seen.

All save for one. One who knows my layers. One who accepts me for who I am and who I could be. One who admires my independence but can embrace and nurture me despite it. One who stands beside me in turmoil and despair, without fear or trepidation. My Bond with her starts at my heart and ends with my soul. Nothing replaces that.

So, I erred. I screwed up. I did something so silly and simple. I discounted first and then withheld an interesting and now important part of my life from the one person that is my life.

Yeah, me and wifey are okay. We sit in understanding a mutual respect. And honestly she probably wont read this blog ever again. But when I write she gets the first edit.

My Life Part VI

2006-03-16T12:58:00.000-08:00

My Life Is Done For Now.

Thought I would end this segment on that last note. Give you guys a chance to get yourselves together as we head further into my journey, my blog, my past.

But for the sake of really finishing a story, I must add the falling action!

Yes she called my Mom,

Yes she handed me the phone in the middle of my drunken rage,

Yes, I declined to talk to my mother at that juncture, and decided my better move would be to just go home.

And that is what I did I went home. With my tale between my legs. I was no longer shamed by Ms. 29. I was shamed by my own actions on this night. I said to myself never again would I let someone run me.

Yeah right yall got to know that the X-wife, the bane of my existence, tested…no destroyed that self admonition.

Nuff of that…moving on…closing that chapter and starting anew!

Say can anybody tell me about motivational speakers.

My sister and a good friend of mine are trying to push me in that direction. I don’t know to much about it, but think it sounds interesting. Give me some information if you got any.

Flava the End Part 1
Yeah, he chose Hoops. And she deserved it! Or did she.
She seemed real, genuine, and nice in a hoodie girl sort of way. But her body was banging so I was hoping she would win.
Because she did seem real, how in the hell does she kiss Flava on national TV, one of the JJ Evans kisses, damn.
How in the hell do you say you love Flava on national TV.

I just don’t get it folks; maybe yall can understand and shed some light!

Saints got Drew Brees, now we bout to do some big things. Play-off bound!!!!

Southern plays Duke in basketball. We made it to the big dance baby, and we not trying to go home early. Can yall say…..SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS…..U……S.S.S.S.S...U.

Freaky Friday on tap for tomorrow.

My Life Part V

2006-03-14T10:06:00.000-08:00

Wig splittin time!

Yeah, I was on that kinda mission. My friends were unaware, some had passed off in drunken stupors, and others had gone on their own puzzy salvage missions. But I was mad, hurt, and unable to express my feelings in a mature and logical manner. I was still a teenager, what did you expect!

My knuckles gnarled and tense, held the steering wheel in a passionate grip. I wasn’t driving, I was being driven. I was filled with a macho vibrato that was akin to running through hell with gasoline draws, from bad beginnings come bad endings.

Second thoughts momentarily arrested control of my truck. What was I doing, or what was I going to do. This wasn’t me, this wasn’t feeling right. This shyte was defiantly not my style. Man, just let it go, turn around sleep off this high.

Man you crazy, dis bitch phucked ya boy, claiming to be having your baby, you need to get her straight, sorry we cant let this ride! (Tell the boys downstairs to amp up the testosterone)

I am not sure if I am driving slowly out of fear, a sense of loathing, or a drunken high. I had no plans once I got there I guess I was going to have to play this one by ear. I goto keep my two tenants in mind.
Don’t get hurt!
Don’t go to jail!
As I pulled into the driveway my last bastion of common sense failed me and allowed me to proceed further. I began to get angrier as I walked up stairs, I was mad as hell and I wasn’t going to take it anymore.

BAM BAM BAM! I knocked before I realized.

The door opens slowly, its her sister, she closes the door quickly and loudly announces my presence.

I beat on the door again. It opens slowly this time, with the latch chain attached. From the cracked door pursed lips suggest I leave because Ms. 29 has company.
“I aint leaving I want to talk to her and clear some shyte up” I controlled drunken slur, as I tried to sound commanding.

“I told you she got company, why don’t you just leave…call her tommarrow” Her sisters advice fell on deaf ears. Ears deafened by rage and righteous indignation.

“I aint leaving, whoever that nigga is he got to leave, I aint leaving”
Background time…well, let me tell you more about me and less about the story. Even as a teenager I professed to be cool. I have always been a “lay in the cut kinda nigga”. But I do handle my business. TO that end, let me suggest that I am not a big dude. Even at my ripe old age I am still slightly less than imposing. Now, don’t get it twisted I never lost a fight, and I been in a few, I am able to handle my own. I don’t back down, don’t run, and usually the willingness to fight gets you out of positions of fighting. Now imagine me as a teenager. I was full or vinegar but very light in the azz. The bellows of my tenorish baritone weren’t scarring shyte.

But here is the scene:
12:20 am, A light weight azz nigga beating on an apartment door in a drunken rage. Anger for being showed up by a chic. Angry cause he lost face with his boys. Confused by his feelings of hurt and distrust, added with testosterone-laced pride. Yeah it sounds like an episode of COPs and but for the grace of god it would have been.

“I promise I aint leaving, she phucked up and she know it. I thought she was pregnant and she phucking my boyz. Whateva nigga you got in their need to leave cause “shoogh got some splaining to do.”

The door busted open as a huge back to Africa, former Mandingo Slave, knuckle dragging, ex-convict, construction working black man stepped out. I tensed up and surely let out a groan. I braced up, unafraid but scared nonetheless. He paused as he passed me. I refused to move as all alpha male style as he walked by. He laughed as he passed me, “You live in TallTimbers, in them first set of apartments?”

AWH Shyte, if I survided this night this mutherphucker is prepared to stalk me.

“YEAH! And?”

“You don’t remember me…me and my podnuhs were at your crib bout two months ago. The party where yall broke into the swimming pool. That shyte was off the chain” He laughed as he recounted the story. “Yeah for sure, handle yo business little man”

Let me add at this time with the violent nature of nigga today, Somebody would have been dead from that conversation. But the hood used to be good, and I believe in my heart that god protects babies and fools, and I wasn’t a baby!

Feeling dumber than ever, I a turned back to my mission. “Open the door, now!”

Again the chained door opened. “CO go home, I am serious, we have nothing to say to each other” Her eyes were cold to me, dead, no more love, no more sex, no more relationship. Was she having my baby?!?!?

“Why would you phuck my boy…damn…why would you run that shyte on me! You are so phucked up, bitch…damn” I couldn’t help but let my pain out. I was hurt more than anything. I wasn’t cool, wasn’t smooth, I was a little boy who couldn’t express feelings and who had had his feeling hurt. I didn’t want her, but I didn’t want anybody to have her?” WHAT IS THAT ABOUT!!!

My anger again gained control. I beat widly on the door! “I cant believe you bitch!”

The door closed again and I was left with my furry and my hurt, and silence.

The door opened again, I pushed forward full throttle.

Ms. 29 stood defiantly in the door way. I stopped to gauge her as I planned my next move. Should I hit her, should I…..

She handed me the phone!“Its your Mom!”

MY LIFE PART IV

2006-03-10T08:44:00.000-08:00

I stood with my hand on the doorknob. I was steel and ice ran through my veins. A dull distant thump repeated somewhere in the distance.

My gaze narrowed, I intentionally focused.

A dull distant thump repeated somewhere in the distance.
What do I say, hmmm...what do I do...better yet what the fuck?!?!?!?!.

The distant thump maintained its syncopated rhythm. Where is that thumping coming from? Its mellow timbre further invaded my mind. Panic quickly replaced my calm. The thumping increased, in both rate and volume. My eyes flit but for a moment. Seconds roll like minutes then hours. The distant thump now moves close and begins to dominate the landscape, towering over my empty mind searching for thoughts. What the fuck Thump, thump, thump, its on me now… my heart beat!

I unconsciously briefly focused on a bead of sweat as it traced the ridges of my spine before disappearing into the area between my left and right ass cheek. This was how shyte was going down. This is how ya boy would end. I was new to the game but not that new. I figured that a carefully chosen phrase, mixed words, a glance and a quip could skillful retract me from this impending situation.
I CHOSE TO DO THE OPPOSITE!

"Well, who is it for, it aint mine. Shyte you are tripping, I’m OUT"

Was that it…was that all I had to say. Hell, hath no fury like a woman scorned. Well, I just burned this bitch beyond scorn. My sweaty hand failed to turn the knob quickly enough. She pounced!

Okay….maybe I should give you a little background at this point. Long time ago, I started writing about my life. The voyage was a long penned one so I decided the clever thing to do would be to break it into bight size morsels for your entertainment. This is the fourth part of that series which as of now has six parts. As I write, I remember more things, and the story gets longer, but I guarantee each portion sheds some crucial light on ya boy. So if you are lost please catch up…. My Life Part I, My Life Part II, My Life Part III.

I drew back, franticly clawing at the doorknob. Oh shyte, I just new I was going to have to peel this chics wig. (Yeah, I know, don’t really sound like me but it was a different place, a different time, a different me.)

“Please Closet, think of us, think of our future, think of our family” she begged as she sprawled on the floor grabbing my ankles.

Oh how far the mighty have fallen, this shyte was pitiful. Nevertheless, still passing on an opportunity to be chivalrous I kicked her off and defiantly strode out the door. Next came my biggityness!

“Damn girl, I said stop tripping. If you are pregnant it aint for me. What I look like having a child with you. I am way to young for kids. See, its that kinda shyte that makes me not want to be with you! Dangone!” I amped up my performance as her sister entered the room. I was an ass for sure, I know…I knew it then, but I was young and foolish.

I stood over her as she lay on the ground sobbing. I continued my rant with showmanship and style. I was an azz.

Towards the end of my torrent, the environment changed. The temperature seemed to chill quite a few degrees, the source of this climatic change? During my tirade, and macho performance it appears a calm and peculiar demeanor had settled over Ms. 29. Her icy glare sent me back. She still cried but her tears turned from anguish to anger. I had over stayed my welcome and overplayed my hand. Now it was really time to bounce.
I hit the door and jumped into my auto. I peeled the drive with laughter in the bottom of my throat. I had dodged a big one. Or so I thought. I looked in my review mirror as that little set of trouble fell into the distance. I still didn’t get it. I wouldn’t allow my mind to ask me the questions that needed to be asked. What if she is pregnant? What if it is yours? What the hell are you going to do?

I had about two weeks of trouble free days. I say days because my nights were racked with dreams and fitful sleeps. I saw my child with her in several different settings. My dreams depicted a handsome son being natured by his mother to visit harm on me. The dreams were evil. I had to do something, but I didn’t know what. But I should have known that Ms.29 had the game afoot the whole time. She could and would get me back I just didn’t know it.
I was good. I mean my life was good. I was in an apartment with my best friends since middle school. We were all in school on the yard. We all considered ourselves big pimpin. We smoked big weed and drank. Life was good! We threw parties every other weekend, parties that eventually devolved into weed smoking sessions. During these sessions we often had open, frank, and weed induce conversations. Truth had a way of coming out.

My BOY: Say whats up with you and Ms. 29. She aint be calling are tripping lately. You finally dropped her or what.
Closet Owner: Something like that. We had a falling out. I put her on probation. She got to earn this dick!
All: Laughter
Associate: Well, I am glad yall not kicking it.
CO: What difference does it make to you! NIGGA!
ASSOCIATE: I am just saying, she called me up and well, I been banging it for like a week.
All: Silence

Damn, she had done the unthinkable. She phucked my partner! That bitch! How could she. That is the worse thing you could do to a man, is secretly let his friend hit. That shyte has the tendancy to make a young nigga uncool. I was on the spot. I needed a reply. The room was quite waiting for me to redeem myself.

CO: Shyte, that’s cool. Like Snoop and Dre say…It aint no fun if my homies cant have none nigga. Shyte I open the top so all my nigga can get a drink.

ALL: Hell yeah, CO is the man.

My Boy 1: Say dawg you think you could hook me up!

MY BOY: Shyte, I know I am next.

Associate 2: I would love to get at that too damn.
General discussions ensue about wanting to; trying to; hoping to; fuck my Ms. 29. Okay, I was done. This bitch had pulled the final straw. But I had to keep my cool. I had to maintain my grip on this situation.

CO: Yeah, it’s all good with the puzzy. But watch she claiming to be having this nigga baby. The more the merrier. Shyte that baby might be for one of all niggas already.

ALL: Silence

Shortly thereafter all the many offers to fuck were replaced by declines. I had regained my perch as top dog, even if my perch was tainted. I had managed to hold my anger in check, but that wouldn’t be for long, dis bitch would pay.

SideNote
Part V...Monday I promise! But for now I got something really improtant to tell you guys. Okay, I aint ready to tell you all yet, give me a day or two. I am not trying to tease, its just sometimes I have to practice getting my words out.

I will say this, I do love getting your comments. I think that your comments, more than anything else, spur me to write, well other than this really strong desire to express myself. I have always been creative and looking for an avenue of expression. Maybe this is it! Maybe more is instore. So thanks for the kind words. I will say when you like my writing all I can do is give a big ole cheesey grin..brother is a little to dark to blush.
So though you hate to hear it.... Stay tuned!

Coming Soon!

2006-03-09T09:01:00.000-08:00

Coming this Friday.

A story that needs to be told.

A story that must be completed.

A story of one mans life.

Read in horror and disbelief at the shocking revelations that will shake you to your core.

Read in admiration as one-man triumphs over the natural forces of evil, natural forces that must sit down to pee!

Read in pity as one man falls victim to the trappings of femininity only to be utterly laid to waste by those very same trappings.

Ask yourself, “How can one man be so pitiful and ingenious at the same time!”

John Segal of GMA said, “ It was a celebration of life, and love, and living again, a definite must read!”

Mike Porter of Seattle Times said, “I never thought a story could move me that way…I was wrong!”

Jean Landry of the Sugar Ditch Express exclaimed “Kudos!”

Adrian Helter of the Detroit Free Press announced “A true story of a boy becoming a man then that man becoming THE MAN!”

Mike Smith of the Lafayette Plain Dealer proclaimed, “I just can’t wait for the movie!”

Alfred McComb of the Baton Rouge Times, “That shyte was long, so I stopped reading. But later I read the rest.”

Greg Stein “Dat nigga was a bitch, but he cool now…what story yall taking about”

Stay tuned, all questions will be answered, all mysteries solved.

PART IV MY LIFE,

THE UNRATED UNEDITED EUROPEAN CUT.

Here I Be!!!

2006-03-08T10:30:00.001-08:00

Theories regarding my demise are greatly exaggerated.

Like Cool Hand Luke…one of the greatest movies of all time… I shall endure the hardships that have been placed upon me.

I SHALL WRITE AGAIN!!!

Stay tuned, I promise this load of shyte will be worth every fragarant fraction of fecal foulness.

P.S.
Blockbuster online is a joke…Netflix is the bomb.

P.S.S
My wife is the shyte…more on that later.

Quick Hit

2006-02-27T09:36:00.000-08:00

The bitch spit on the girl at the end of the Flavor of Love Episode Eight. You have got to check this shyte out. The shyte was so real, and I know yall done heard me say it before. The worse you can do to a black woman is spit in her hair.

SideNote
I don’t know what post I had that discussion. I tried to look it up but well, it is a holiday technically down here in south Louisiana….

MARDI GRAS

Get like us.

Anyway, I just had to talk about the spitting incident. This white chick got bumped of Flava’s show and she went off. She spit in a black womans faces. Not a surface spit either. This was a back of the throat, flem action. I was like dang!!!!!!

Three points:

1. This Hoes are really flipping for Flavva. If not they are the best actors in the world, and woman can never be trusted.
2. Flav seems wild-n-out, but I bet if you calmed dat nigga down he would be kinda cool. By the way dude is 46, c’mon, that is so sad on so many levels.
3. Hoops body is so killer. Dat chic would get some of this.

And I am out; I will send you some beads and shyte. Mardi Gras is war on the parade route.

My life continues after the parades. Oh and how somebody going come to the house for a get together, then leave before telling the host she bouncing. Man that kinda hurt ya boy....I will give you details later.

Need to get some practice in...

Throw me something mister!

Throw me something!

Hey, hey, hey, please throw me something.

BITCH GIVE ME THE DAMN BEADS!!!!!!!!

Bonds

2006-02-24T09:47:00.000-08:00

Break in the Story….Sorry but you guys will have to wait for the continuation of My Life IV. This came to me two days ago and I had to flesh it out. Its some true shyte, hope you enjoy. Be back on Monday to complete the story.

I held her. I marked the passing moments as I lay there holding her. I am not much for tender moments during lovemaking but I think she needed this more than I needed the sex. Her breath was even now, and I could feel the tension leaving her body. I didn’t know why she cried or why I cared but both events were true. So I laid with her in my arms and I contemplated…

How I got there…
You ever run across your match, or someone who believe they to be your equal. A person who can give and get just as much as you can dispense and receive. Well, I was lucky enough to run across this during a much-needed time in my life, someone who had the ability to care for and about me without being consumed by me.

We met at one of my fraternity’s functions. A casual meeting that almost went unmarked. In hindsight it appears that we both employed the same dating strategy. In a crowd of people I mesh in, never draw attention. First appearance is that of a shy person or loner, someone introspective and aloof.

When I saw her she was standing away from the crowd. Cutest little hair cut, with prim and proper eyeglasses. She looked as though she was in a constant state of contemplation, almost a worried look on her brow. The only thing that gave her away was her body. She was cute, almost girl-next-door kinda cute. She had a very sexy figure, nice breast small waist followed by ample ass and thighs. She could almost go unnoticed until that ass came into to view. But never the less I held my cards and continued my morose ploy.

Later that night as the boys hung until the wee hours of the morning between a bit of player hating and obvious adulation I discovered that this young lady had inquired about me, and wanted me to take possession of her number.

I gladly accepted the number, and called to see if she had needs I could meet that night. And frankly I cant remember what happened that first night, I am not sure if we connected or not but I do recall many hours spent in each others arms making love to one another. For the continued evolution of the story we will call her Squeaky. Her voice was highly pitched on the verge of being annoying but at the same time sweet.

SideNote:
The is such a huge difference between making love and phuking. If anybody disagrees then chances are either you aint never been phucked, or you have never been made love to. Further I don’t believe one has to be in love to make love, people can be at the same place and time in their lives and shyte just works. That is what we had, we worked.

I will add that we were very dumb in as we had unsafe sex. But for the grace of god no children were produced of our many unions. Nor did we transmit or receive any communicable social diseases. I will admit that I suffered one malady that all brothers can identify with, ‘Brush Burn’. I contribute that malady to our frequent bouts of grown buck-naked sex fun. Her appetite was insatiable, and I was likewise unrelenting.

SideNote:
TMI moment, I have been blessed or cursed with no refractory period. Look it up.

There was a feeling out phase that I escalated for some reason. At the time I was damn near homeless, driving a raggedy automobile…with no air…and a door that didn’t work. She was a focused and intelligent college student. That summer with her and my friends was one of the best of my life. I spent most of my nights with her. Shyte was lovely. I really think I opened her mind up, a proposition that she will never own up to even till this day.
Squeaky was a tad bit controlling. When she didn’t get her way she could really put on a display. We started out as typical boy girl relationships do. We ended as typical boy girls do, in a fight.

At the time of our kicking it, I was still married. Okay, I know that comes as a shock to all of you, but allow me to explain. I was married technically! I had filed for divorce and hadn’t been living with my wife for 3-4 years. We were separate and apart. I had filed my divorce papers with the help of a friend, but I couldn’t pay to finish the deal, so that shyte sat in limbo. If you read My Life, I will supplement this divorce story in greater detail.

I neglected to inform Squeaky of my quasi-marital status. How did she find out?

Well, let me tell you, the shyte was a classic embarrassing moment, the likes of which I have yet to surpass even to this day.

One morning, after leaving my current abode, with Squeaky in tow, my ex-wife just happened to pass in front of my driveway. I made it a point to stay out of her way cause she was a bit crazy…. violent…and crazy. My poor Squeaky never saw it coming. My ex-wife/current wife at the time jumped out of her car and raced toward us. I braced for impact unable to predict from where the blows would come. Like I said she was violent.

I short shoving match between Squeaky and the X-wife ensued. Followed by the deafening words:

“Did he tell you he was married!!!!!”

SideNote:
I really wish I completed my life for you so you could have a better frame of reference, but I needed to get this story out of my head. Further, I really don’t know why my X went there. She may have wanted me back, I don’t know. We hadn’t communicated for months. I just think she was hating on my sexy little companion.

At this point my X came after me. My training in blocking wife attacks was a little rusty, but I could still get the job done. The trick is to block without counter attacking. (Because if you counterattack the police will arrest you!) I was able to fend of her blows and separate her and Squeaky. Somehow, and I promise it was unintentional my X ended up falling over a pile of trash while Squeaky and I made our get-a-way.

That ride in my broken door, airless, hooptie was even more unbearable. We sat in silence, until she cried. I hurt her, I knew, it, my apologies were mere words. I would never repair this damage. All the “I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell yous” in the world couldn’t fix this mess. I knew from that point on our little summer love was over.

Fast forward a few years…

Somehow I managed to keep my foot in the door, and keep myself wedged somewhere between her legs and her heart. I ended up at her door that evening. She invited me in as coyly. The few years had been kind to her. Actually amplifying her natural gifts. Her, azz was tadow! Her look was even sexier. She was a woman now, all traces of little girl and been bleed from her by men with there lies, and women with their sorrows.

I reached for her and we embraced. My excitement was already evident and she understood. However, we still played the game of being social. A game of TV and drinks, game that only raised the level of stimulation. I was chomping at the bit to start chomping at her bits.

She finally invited me upstairs to do grown folks stuff. We played and teased until the moment was right. And it was right, right were I left it, feeling oh so incredible. Our magic was still there in my mind, no matter where she and gone and what she had done she was still my Squeaky.

Her, softness and curves I touched, remembering thighs that still danced through my mind. Breast that caught my attention, still commanded my attention. And the last enabler, her wetness. How could one not sin when presented with this taste of beauty, this morsel of devils delight, all that with manna from heaven between her thighs, inviting ,,,nah enticing me forward. As I made love to her, I felt that oneness again!

Then she cried. Her tears flowed down my face firstly being mistaken for sweat. She cried!

I want to leave you with the story at that point. But I am such a fan of closing right. All I will say is I never was told the reason for her tears. I just take it as it was given to me.

We had a really close bond though for some reason. A bond that continues to this day…maybe not so close but still a bond.

My Life Part III

2006-02-23T09:30:00.000-08:00

I met my ex-wife. She walked in my job with a smile and a pair of shorts. Her, cuteness was only matched by her sex appeal. She spoke with such attention, and focus I was destined to be locked in.

I was in the process of getting my own apartment with the fellas at the time. So she fit right in. Shyte was bliss. There was only one little problem that wouldn’t go away. And true to the letter Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Scorned.

My 29 year old dalliance was somewhat flustered at the recent turn of events. She remarked often about the decrease in QT. As true as that statement was, I offered no apologies or solace and continued doing me. I was a brash young dude with my mojo on swole, handling any chick that popped up on the radar screen, so I knew no, did no, wrong. And I was dead wrong.

On one visit to Ms. 29, I was tricked into a discussion about the future. She started with the casual open ended question, ”So what is this we doing?”
Oblivous I repliy, “We kicking it, right…Straight Chillin, you my girl and we good to go…Right?”

There forth issued the litany of seemingly prepared responses.

Ms. 29:
“I am not getting any younger!”
“I thought we had a future!”
“I am to old to just kick it!”
“I have just wasted my time with you and this relationship!”

Her preparation for this conversation was in stark contrast to my unprepardeness. My whats?…I-don’t-knows…You tripping…ChillOut… did not serve to better the situation, or slow her boiling roll. The next torrent of questioning became more and accusatory and more demanding, and more demented.

Ms. 29
“What do you want that I’m not given you?”
“You don’t care about me!”
“Who else are you seeing?!”
“I thought we were planning our future!?”
“Who else are you seeing!?
“Why are you doing this to me..to us?
“Why do you hate me?”
“I was planning our future…OUR MARRIAGE!”

SAY WHAT… this bitch must be crazy, how the hell, why the hell, who the hell….never mind that just hell-to-the-no! I was not feeling her like that. Didn’t she know I was “Still a Young Man” (insert horn section blowing…know your musical history) Shyte was getting to deep for ole mister non-confrontational here, so I knew of only one thing…”Time to shake the spot”…So I bounced.

I decided it would be best if I steered clear of Ms. 29 for a while. Her phone calls and pages went unanswered. As her calls subsided I assumed that shyte was getting better, but inactivity from any female is a sign of some master plan being hatched. I didn’t have my level of women smarts that I have now so what happened next totally floored me.

It appears that women on the wig-out have some pretty standard operating procedures. First she started calling my friends.

Homeboys1: Damn man whats up with ya girl calling asking where you at! Nigga, what you running from the chick.

Homeboy2: Dang bruh, you scared of the puzzy. Man up nigga!

Associate1: What she tripping about?

CO: Yeah dog, she crazy…I am just trying to let this shyte blow over. She tripping cause I aint really trying to go there with her…like that.

Then she started calling family.
Mom: Closet what is up with this girl calling this house. Is everything okay?
Co: What! Are you serious? I can’t believe it! Sorry Mom…don’t worry I will handle it.

Then next she pulled out the last resort!
Caught me in the club and pretended everything was cool, even convinced me, in my buzz, to follow her back to her place. I resisted slightly but in need of a good lay, I gave in and swallowed her bait.

After a serious thrashing (ie make up sex) I attempted to gather my things and bounce.
I heard her cries, and tears as I turned to leave the room. Between the sobs and snot she spoke, “I cant believe you are leaving, like this, right now. It really is over!”

I hesitated and foolishly replied, “Nah, we always going to be cool, you my girl…right?”

Shyte didn’t work, never has, but I peddled that smack at her anyway. She jumped on me with both feet, “I didn’t want to tell you like this, but seeing as how we are over, I guess it is better for you to know now better than later.”

My heart stopped, I stopped, the world froze. Aids had just jumped big at this time and niggas was the last to know about. I was one of the last of the last, so I often played unprotected. I just knew the words coming next would be some form of acronym for some shyte that would kill me.

SideNote:
I wrote this shyte when I was on a creative tear…So I cant really incorporate responses into the next post…it would phuck my flow.

So to answer so of your comments.

Mwabi asked: What kind of balls did you think you had to be talking to your Pops like that? damn!

CO: Big ones. Ms. 29 had done a good job of inflating my ego.

Serenity Said: I'm dying laughing at you getting "them blows" by the old man.:)

Co: Shyte wasn’t funny, shyte hurt!

Tam Said: I think those were my stepdad's last words to me...lol...or was it, "Oh since you're leaving...I'll take my keys back - you won't be needing them."

CO: You know the funny part is my Mom never took my keys back. After all these years, I still have the same house keys I had since I was like an 11 year old latch key kid.

Serial Said: That was just like the animal kingdom.

CO:true

Dee Asked: How about you??? Regrets????

CO: Nary a one! It made me a man, it grew me up quick. The best lessons I ever learned came from being on my own at a young age.

Missy Remarked: Its called Survival and other people can't relate unless they been through it themselves.

CO: True…But on the real many people couldn’t go that route. IF being good, and finishing school is your thang, you may not need to get put out. But many of us make choices that require us to learn the hard way. Some of us it is just thrust upon, those are the people I feel badly for.

Mwabi inquired: I hope you called your Mama and didn't leave and not call out of spite!!

CO: Hell yeah I called my Mom. Shyte, she the only nigga that will love me from sperm to worm.

My Life Part II

2006-02-22T08:38:00.000-08:00

Sorry for the delay....but I was off Monday...

My need was shelter and food. So I hopped in my father supplied automobile and headed to the source of my arrogance. Of course I was accepted with open arms, as I am sure many prey are welcome before the pounce of the hunter.

My new family consisted of my older woman phenomenon, her sister (who had just split from a matrimonial regime), her sister’s two kids…and me. Not exactly what I expected, but I was dealing with a no turning back now situation.

Breakfast was lovely, everyday in the beginning. Dinner was just as cool. No quips whips or problems. I even hung with my boys most of the time. It was unbearable doing the family thing with this group of characters. Just imagine the generational overlapping going on in this house. I was 18 so I have all kind of issues going on with myself, from being a man to my daddy didn’t hug me enough. The older sister was 30 something and her husband just left her apparently after years of physical and mental abuse. The son was14 going on 9 with a stuttering problem. A complete introvert and rarely accounted for in the house, he followed orders well, so that is what they gave him. And last but not least, the coup de grace of the apartment, a 120 pound eleven year old girl, with issues out the ying yang.

The older sister didn’t have the looks are the body of my fem fatale. Plus she had two responsibilities. Her past abusive relationship left his scares, and she was searching for attention, a man, and sex. For the record, I didn’t go there. And for the record, I was amazed at the number of catz that crawled in at the wee hours of the morning. I would sit from my window perch smoking a Newport in solitude, watching as someone I probably knew, darted from his car to the lower stair case, check the address verifying the location of his target, and then stop as the motion censored lighting popped on in the doubled halogen stare of disbelief. The Lights were on some steroid, krypton technology so the shyte was too bright…damn near disturbing. Kinda like the truth would hit a nigga right before he hit the door. I had been in that spot before and that light did put shyte in perspective, a last chance to do the right thing.

The most troubling thing about the whole new family was the little girl. Okay, she wasn’t so little, but it was obvious that her eating and her weight were request for attention. However, her eating and her weight were the obvious reasons for her mother’s rejection. I wasn’t as sensitive to this back then. It took my own dealings with an ineffectual mother to realize that abuse can be as simple as neglect, and neglect can be as simple as failing to hug and love…unconditionally.

I spent most of my time in the field. Running and gunning. My hustle was on full blast as well as my social. I was hell to tell the captain that is for shore, but every night, or every other, I would sink back into the comforts of this woman, who new how to pull me into the thicker parts of the web.

I swear if she had money I would have been a goner and not here with you guys today. The only problem she had was what she had for living arrangements. Now I wasn’t paying a dime. I was just there for the puzzy. Whenever I came over we stayed locked up in her room, phucking and eating ice cream. Life wasn’t too bad.

Sexually, she schooled me. Before I was shooting piss water, after I was performing. She had a snapper. Yeah an old Richard Pryor term. She could make it talk, jump, and bite you back. Phucking her was like learning to read. At first it was constant correction and cries for help, but as I got better, I advanced well ahead of my grade level.

One of my fondest memories revolves around Hurricane Andrew.

That was the last Hurricane that hit my city before Katrina. And as I recall it was a killer. It shut the city down for a week, but it was not anything on the scale of Katrina. During the night that the Hurricane hit we laid in bed with a bottle of Crown. We phucked from the bed to the bathroom, and back again. I did some things she did some things, we did some things. All we had was candlelight, Crown, and a young mans sex drive, oh yeah two gallons of ice cream. A palatable combination.

SideNote:
I was working at Baskin Robbins at the time. I have always had a serious jones for the cream. Every house I have ever resided has been full stocked with ice cream essentials.

She woke me during the initial deluge of Hurricane Andrew, to teach me about anal sex. Yeah I know…gross…perverted…some may even say it lends me to homo-erotic tendencies. Well sorry to disappoint. Nothing but cutting going on in this camp. And I ask you this, IF some gorgeous young female is lubing the head of your penis with copious amounts of Astro-Glide, then softly, eagerly, erotically inserting said penis into her ass…You going to complain. Thought Not!

SideNote:
How-some-ever, I will tell you this after the romance, excitement, tension, is gone (aka after you cum) doo-doo dick is not a pretty site. I am not trying to say don’t do it, because the shyte his highly erotic and I have been told that women experience the most intense orgasms via this method of intercourse. I back door action BDA and having sex during the rainy season are kinda on the same level for most guys. Its kinda tough to wrap your mind around it in the beginning. After you get started you really enjoy the ride. But the after the party, clean up is a bitch.

She had toys, lube, and a self-deprecating ability that knew no bounds. She would get the job done no matter what it took, how long it took, or how bad her jaws hurt. I would not be surprised if she suffered TMJ because of me.

Well, I had never had that much constant, private, worry free sex in my life. We finished the crown, ice cream and each other every night, and started again each morning. Then my life opened changed and fell apart at the same time.

My Life Part I

2006-02-17T08:23:00.000-08:00

Sorry to stop the freaky Friday, but I have a post that I was working on and it got too long so I decided to post it in parts. It kinda shows where i am coming from. Once again Freaky Friday will be avaiable next week!

I spent the better part of 4 years trying to recover from one mistake I made. A simple mistake that I was forewarned about, but a mistake I made nonetheless. Nineteen is a hard age to decide to begin adult life. Meaning most people start adult life after college, after they start their first career, some even wait until they get married to officially begin living as an adult and throwing away childish things. I was not offered those opportunities.

Now before I start the pity party let me put things in the proper perspective. If you ever read my blog in the past you might have heard about my harrowing decent out of my child hood. I ran into women problems at an early age and older women do so much more than just give you worms. They can give you joy, pride, confidence, and arrogance if you lucky. The bitter side to that coin is that can also leave you with woe, humility, insecurity, and a broken spirit.

The head was up on this particular set of femininity. And I swaggered and boasted like any 18-year-old laying serious issue on a 29 year old stallion. Not only did my shyte not stank but it was so clean that I didn’t see the need to wipe my ass. And this arrogance showed.

I finished highschool with offers and scholarships to go to 5 schools, Hampton, Xavier, LSU, Southern, and USL. At the time my father was heavily involved with Southern so I whittled that choice out the bunch. Hampton was rather expensive even with my academic scholarship, and I was heavily of the mindset that I didn’t want to my daddy to pay shyte for me to go to school. Xavier was more practical but it still required money from my father so it was a no go. The choice fell between USL and LSU. The choice really came down to this old woman giving me pussy every day in Baton Rouge or starting over from scratch. I chose puzzy and said fuck you to scratch.

The dye were cast and I started my collegiate journey. My weeks started simply Monday night and Tuesday I spent at my parent’s house. Tuesday night through Sunday I ran dem city streets.

I ran them hard too. I spent many nights with friends or with “the older woman”. Life was fun. School suffered! Work suffered! My family suffered!

SideNote:
Yes, I had a job at the time. I have been on the grind sense I was 14 years old. I have been making money in some shape of fashion since I was a niglet.

Finally that shyte drew a head, and that head had the shape of my father.

One night as I was leaving my parents house with my change of clothes and a toothbrush, my father confronted me.

“Say Son, where are you going, or better yet, when are you coming back” his eyes pleaded for a confrontation that I was happy to give him. As sorted as our history was I still loved to receive the punishment he dished out.

“I told Mom that I was leaving!” I replied smugly, not answering a question directly was the easiest way to stoke the fire.

“That wasn’t what I asked you son. Look, you leave here all times of the day, you don’t respect this house, hell you don’t even call your Mom, and you know she worries about you. IF you don’t want to tell me where you are going, then just tell me when you coming back”

My reply was sift, eloquent and so apropos, that it fell softly and gently from my lips,” I will be back when I get here”

The rapid succession of punches could only be described as a flurry. The Black gods of ass whipping granted speed and strength to my pops for the singular purpose of beating my ass. I was pinned to the door, heart racing unable to breathe. I starred down out this man whom I had misjudged for sometime now and feared for my life.

All I could stammer between winded breaths and bruised ribs “Are You done!”

From the hall I hear my mother scream as she raced to protect her oldest son, she grabbed my fathers arm that was in the process of delivering a knockout blow.
My father dropped me from my perch on the door, and with a bellow of rage, exhaustion, and despair, “Get out, get your shyte and get out!”

With that I was a full-fledged adult. From that day to this I have never spent more than one night at my parents house. And that begins my real life. A say real because before that point every thing I did had the co-signature of my Mom or my Pop. My behavior had little reflection on me, they always had my back. But being kicked out, all-be-it deservedly, I was forced to fend for myself, and rely on myself. Oh, the subtle winds of change often blow cold and against you. This is also called learning the hard way.

Comming Soon....PART II

On some different shyte!

2006-02-15T08:28:00.000-08:00

V-Day went nice.

Thanks to Mary it didn’t end with a bang, but ode the well. I shall not linger on things in the past.

I thought it would be a good idea to do New Years Resolution Update. I know it has only been 2 months but one must be a student to get the best grades.

SideNote:
I don’t know what that meant. I went all Confushas for a moment.

Speaking of grades, my daughter’s friends are all lummoxes. Not a smart one in the bunch. This along with other things is a reason to put my daughter in private school. One of the girls was telling me that her mom was happy that she pulled an ‘F’ up to a ‘D’!
WTF!!!!

First off who is happy with a D in any circumstances? Isn’t a D still like failing! Second, what the hell happened to the ‘E’? I mean really, A, B, C, D,…..F. What gives? Why did the E get left out of the grade scale? This shyte bothers me because I have no real answer as to why! I mean if you know please tell me!

Did E have a bad agent, a bad PR team who failed to get him in? E needs to fire his people cause that shyte is really a mix up. Imagine a scale of 1 to 5 but don’t include the number 4. That shyte just would be strange.

Besides do we really need a ‘D’ and ‘F’? Aren’t both considered failing. ‘D’ just means you aint the dumbest, and ‘F’ mean you are a failure. To much going on with that.

Okay I am setting the caffeine down now!

The Job Hunt continues, I realize that what I am attempting to do is a long and arduous process. Keep wishing me luck, and keep in mind that my demands are reasonable.

On the boy front, he grows and prospers. He has my wife and my daughter, and no one is left too give me the attention that I need and deserve.

I am still riding the bike and I am trimming the belly nicely. It is time for me to up the ante a little in this regard. I have hit a wall and I need to push my self past it. My weight isn’t really dropping but the good note is I put on a pair of my old boxers this morning and they fit without being skin tight.

The Guitar has suffered a little. I think I got a little bit to complacent with my awesome progress and eased off the practice. But I shall turn that tide again starting this week.

I have been wrapped up in this computer DVD thing. The information on this shyte is unbelievable. Technology is moving quickly. From mobile phones with MP3 players to Blu-Ray the next step in home video technology.

I joined NetFlix and I get the 3 movies at a time…. But I can’t think of any good movies to get. I am a movie collection person and I love to collect movies. Not saying that I am copying DVDs from NetFlix because that would be illegal. But if you were trying to do it, try AnyDVD and Clone DVD to get you started. And Cdfreaks.com has a lot of information for people to absorb and use.

I need the names of some good movies people. I can't think of any right now! Action drama, thriller, please post a list of movies that you liked. Old and new!

Oh well Got to go…holler!

Women make it so hard!

2006-02-14T09:20:00.000-08:00

Valentines Day

Okay, here is the deal…my wife almost fooled me for V-Day.

She stated in earnest that she did not expect a gift or anything for V-Day.

I almost bought it! I was almost suckered into not getting anything but a card. But luckily I am the master of the last minute comeback. I set reservations for Ruth Chris, commandeered a dozen roses, and set to spring my trap, early this morning.

SideNote:
Ruth Chris was a job in itself, but with some friends help and a certain charming smile I got my table at 7:30pm, in the most romantic corner of the place.

I wake this morning to spring my trap, and low and behold my wife cancels my plans from the start.

Closet Owner: Happy V-day, baby here is a card with instructions for this afternoon.

Co-Closet Owner: Oh, thanks baby…(30 seconds later) oh baby, we cant go the baby isn’t feeling well, and I don’t want to leave him with someone else when he is sick.

CO: Well, maybe your Mom can watch him for like an hour or so?

CCO: I think they are going out for 7pm. Don’t worry we can do something next year!

CO: Dangone!

Okay, so I scrapped those plans, called canceling my dinner reservations, and reset them for lunch. I am on my way to pick her up with the 12 roses.

Holler…. oh and let me know what yall did on this pagan, commercial, expensive gifting day just for women.

Thursday Hits

2006-02-09T08:57:00.000-08:00

I was wondering how long it would last, but finally white folks took the Grammy’s back.

This was the first time in a while that I watched the Grammy’s and didn’t see a majority of Hip Hop and R&B and Pop dominate the awards and the performances.

The last three or four years the Grammy’s have been a showcase for new Hip-Hop/R&B talent, with the Rock song at the beginning and the Country Song in the middle and the allstar crazy sounding tribute at the end.

This year Started White and stayed white with a couple of sprinkles of black, and ended with a white interpretation of one of the coldest New Orleans born music creators in history.

With that said, yall can understand why the Grammy’s was so boring. Yeah I like Kanye and Jamie, and John Legend was cool, but overall I give this year a ‘C’ on the five point letter scale.

Speaking of Grammy’s

Isnt Madonna like a Grandmother at 50 or something. Why does she have an ass of an 15 year old boy. Nah, I mean for real, I get being in shape but that shyte was scary…money will do it.

Okay, did somebody tell Ciara(sp) that she could sing. I thought she was hip-hop rapper type. Trying to lay vocals with MFs that can sing. That shyte was funny. But I have to give her props on dressing like a girl for the first time. And lo and behold the broad is fine. Model look with black girl thighs, my absolute favorite.

Okay and last hit on the Grammy's, Fantasia is fine...yeah she a straight chicken head but girl body is nice.

Okay really last hit on the Grammy's how the phuck U2 winning shyte off an album that old. Come the phuck on people. Well anyway, I didnt dig most of the people nominated. Where was GreenDay, Gorillaz, Maroon 5, Bun B, Little Wayne, Javier, and the list goes on and on.

Okay...sorry...this is freedom of thought writing...last hit on the Grammys...who would believe an American Idol winning 2 Grams...damn AI representing. Gives Paula, Simon, and Randy some cred..I guess.

Really the last cause I got to go. Did yall see Randy, Patrice Rushin, I forgot the black guy on lead guitar, and some other really famous musicians playing in the band all night.

I have been on a download binge lately. I am feeling this new or old Torrent download system, the shyte is quick. I am not really scared of being caught because I have my defense all mapped out.

I just started burning movies also. Yeah, shyte is a little time consuming but I figure in the long run it beats buying them out the store. My only prob is I like having the case and the collection. It just makes me feel good to have the jacket and the info. I guess I am just a collector.

Don’t really have much to say, so I will holler atcha later.

Tuesday Hits

2006-02-07T09:46:00.000-08:00

I just want yall to note that I had the option of doing work this morning but I chose to blog.

With that said let me get to blogging.

Topic 1:
Man the Muslims puzzle me. And yes I am stereotyping a group of people based on the actions of some. But on further examination, I don’t think it is a stereotype any longer. The Muslim world is deserving of a lot of the negative reaction they are getting and will get for many years to come.

I can start at the latest example of religious extremism that is sweeping the Arab world. I am not one to be fooled easily by propaganda or the media; this “sweeping the Arab world” is real! I didn’t believe it at first until one of my trips into blog land discovered an underground support of these religious zealots. An underground support that got me to thinking, “Is it so hard to believe that all these Muslim people are crazy.”

Some poor dude from the Netherlands did a cartoon that got published. I have seen the cartoon, its not even that good, not even really funny or poignant. However, this poor guy, I think he was from the Netherlands which means he is probably some pale pasty nerdy guy sitting at his desk at home scribbling feverously on a sketch pad no doubt smoking a joint.

SideNote:
Again some Netherlands People stereotyping…I am on a roll

This simple cartoon has lead to deaths, injuries, arson, and decrees of murder. What the hell? (Purgatory, Third Life, Reincarnation as Roach and whatever your religious flavors judgment of hell is!) I am aware that free speech is not a universal privilege. And I am even more aware that religious tolerance is dispensed in increasingly smaller amounts, but a damn cartoon. Is that a reason to take to the streets, throw rocks, set fires and further increase the price of oil.

Wow, lets take a journey through time and see a little more into the Muslim world.

2005 Subway Bombing…England gets kicked in the face for… I guess masterminding the whole global imperialization thing back in the 1500-1600’s

2004 Train Bombing… Spain gets kicked in the face for….I guess discovering the new world and placing it in a position for global dominance.

2003-2001 Hotel Bombings…Indonesia or some 3rd World Country gets kicked in the teeth…I guess for being a bastion of indulgence for the infidels.

9/11 A Terrorist action against the Good Ole USA, first time we were attacked on our own soil during a time of peace… I guess for being a bastion of infidels.

1998 Embassy bombings in Africa 1998.

1988 Pan Am Flight 103 Blown Up

1983 US Embassy bombing in Beirut

Olympics Hostage Crisis in 1972

Pan AM Flight Hijacked into Cairo in 1970.

Various Street Bombings, Roadside Bombs, beheadings, … Destructions of their own people, destruction of their own land. I could go further in History back to ancient times, and we could discuss the Armies of Muslims that participated in Genocide Wars across eons of time and miles of land. But most religions have participated in some actions that are less then favorable in more uncivilized times.

SideNote
Except maybe Black Southern Baptist. Maybe its because we are relatively new, or not in positions of control. Maybe white Southern Baptist had a hand in increasing the prevalence of slavery, but us black southern Baptist have had little hand in wholesale worldwide destruction. Shyte, 3 hrs of church on Sunday in the summer in full regalia ought to considered acts of torture. Throw in BTU (Baptist Training Union) and VBS (Vacation Bible School) and that might well be a declaration of war!

I will admit that my terrorist timeline was brief, just a snapshot into the history of a rich a varied culture and religion. And I am aware that I am missing a vast and generous culture that brought trade, commerce, and many customs and traditions to the world…but like Janet Said: “ What have you done for me lately!” To suggest that this religion could be boiled down to several hundred acts of cowardice of the last few years is a laughable presumption. For the Media to portray the Islamic people in that light is unfathomable. It just aint right…Or is it?

I watch in horror as people celebrated in the streets after 9/11. After bombings and beheadings, I watched people step forward and pronounce a hatred against me and a love for a god that I don’t know and don’t want to know? (These Towel Head Sand Nigga don’t know me!)

Not one time did any Islamic Country or group take to the streets in out-right protest over the actions of a FEW RADICAL EXTREMISTS. Too the contrary they were exalted and rejoiced by the majority.

After these continued images of jubilation, exhalation and joy by the Muslim world inundated our homes, at our most trying depressed moments, expect to be hated. Expect to be despised. Even I, in full knowledge of the atrocities that this country is capable of, hold this country far ahead of the continued cowardice, arrogance, and ignorance that the Muslim world displays. The fact that a cartoonist depiction of the Islamic God is a greater source of anger than the death of thousands of people over the years at Islamic Fundamentalist Hands speaks volumes of Muslim people.

Then I hear the back and fourth in blogland about religion. I hate to say that I see some intolerance on a lot of peoples parts. After reading a few of you guys I imagine I could one day see you in Walmart with 12 lbs of C-4 strapped to your chest.

I love tollerance. Yeah it leads to some luke warm people, but is shore doesnt lead to Hijacking Planes. And Scaring the shyte out of some nerdy, pasty pale dobbie smoking guy from the Netherlands.

NPP II

2006-02-03T09:28:00.000-08:00

If you want to know where I am coming from please check NPP for the background.

I kneel in front of her admiring my prize. Her soft tender breast, her smooth skin, her wet and shaved… I had just realized what prize had befallen me. This girl was freshly trimmed. Oh an attention to detail that deserves much gratitude and admiration. I love me some shaved ___________(insert your own descriptive noun here)

I tease her and enjoy her at the same time. I pause with each move to gauge reaction and prolong the agony of anticipation.

She enjoys my attention to details and swims off into her own mind and flesh.

SideNote
Which is a problem often encountered with younger women. My official view on sex is “You got to work”. Whenever you commit to the act of sex do so with all intents and purpose. The worse thing you can possible do is to lay back play dead…or talk too much. Both of those actions will make me ask you to leave as soon as the deed is done. However, a little cooing in my ear action along with a show of aggression goes a long way.

EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT

Last night I realized something.

It was around 10:00pm, a pretty good episode of ER had just ended. I stretched and pulled my numb arm from underneath my wife’s head. I watched her as she slept with my son in her arms. I kissed her forehead and tried to quietly wake her without waking the baby.

I walked into the kitchen and checked all the doors in the back.

I turned off all the lights as I walked through house.

I stopped to kiss my wife’s forehead again, still trying to wake her without disturbing the baby. She stirred this time and like a pro lifted from the coach without waking the baby. She stumbled toward our bedroom in the now dimly lit house.

I turned off the TV, the DirecTV, the receiver, and the subwoofer. I am an audiophile…I love my gadgets.

I checked the front door and turned off all porch and front lights, which my wife insists on turning on every night.

I walked to my daughter’s room, just to look at her sleep. I tuck her in every night, been doing this for years. She sleeps like a champion, if getting your sleep was an Olympic Event my daughter would be on the cover of a Wheaties Box. I mean you ever look at somebody sleep and just want to sleep to curl up next to them and get some zzzzz’s.

As I am headed to my bedroom, my dog whimpers and I realize that I need to take him out to do his business.

SideNote:
This dog is so smart that when he does bad shyte I know that it is intentional. But last night I was in luck as he did his business and walked right back inside.

I pause to look around the house and I realize at that moment I am my Dad.

EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT

I grab her hair and tug slightly. I get the desired response plus extra. She comes out of her pleasure induced coma starts talking a bootleg gang load of shyte. Her mouth rambled of profanities including vile depictions of sexual acts. It escalated from full filthy sentences to harsh abrupt words. I continued my performance, unable to laugh out of fear, unable to stop out of fear, unable to finish out of fear.

I didn’t know if she was afflicted with Tourette syndrome or what. Then almost on que she chanted the word phuck repeatedly. I held my laughter and my fear in check. I seriously was unprepared for this sweet young lady to behave in such a manner.

Then as she yelled near the top of her lungs (into my ear I might add) it all ended just as quickly and strangely as it began.

The silence was deafening as I tried to gain my composure. I didn’t move as I tired to determine by best coarse of action. She interrupted the silence with a sudden “Whooh”!

I took that as my chance to jump in.

CO: What the hell was that!
Tourette Girl: What was what?
CO: That hollering, that filthy tirade that came from your mouth?
TG: Oh, nothing, I was just enjoying myself.
CO: Enjoying yourself, shyte sounded like you were fighting somebody.
TG: Nah, I just get kinda loud I guess when I come.
CO: Loud aint the word, down right vulgar is more like it!

Needless to say, that we went at it again. She rode we and the results were worse. I couldn’t do me cause of her distractive vocalizations. Even later when I “Mounted Her” she bit my hand…hard…like for real.

Dénouement
My continued interactions with TG got a couple of people interested in me. Most importantly my next-door neighbor. That story next Firday.

From refugees to evacuees to refugees.

2006-02-01T09:21:00.000-08:00

Please everyone, take note, the world as we know it has changed and we don’t realized the ramifications of the changes.

I often admired the sheer devastation of Mother Nature, a force that knows no equal. Cepting’ for maybe the devastation that man can bring upon himself. I can claim among my experiences that I lived in the life and times of Hurricane Katrina. I was a mere 60 miles away from a city that was inundated with floodwaters on a biblical proportion. I witnessed the mass exodus of New Orleaners escaping a mortal onslaught of wind, rain, and tidal surge.

Mother Nature is a force to be reckoned with. With wind and force of waves she was able to destroy a city of history, culture, and class. Mother Nature has no conscious, no worries, it does what it must to keep itself in balance. If a wall must fall then the wall must fall.

Seeing the impending doom was amazing. Watching the interstate fill to the brink of collapse, as Contra Flow evacuation measures failed to anticipate the uncounted population. How do you evacuate an area of over 1million people?
Short answer: “You Don’t, you just ask them to leave and hope they do, and can.”

However, even faced with devastation of all we hold dear, human kind has a strange ability to combine faith, and will power and fend of the natural forces to succeed again. To hold on to what ones most treasured and decide to make new.

The Human spirit is a prized and valuable thing. It only knows one foil. It is a natural foil too, a menacing presence, Sloth, Greed, and Duress. The landscape at large has suffered more by the hands of these enemies than any measure of Hurricane Force winds.

Take in point, New Orleans Refugees.
Refugees
One who flees in search of refuge, as in times of war, political oppression, or religious persecution.

Evacuees
A person evacuated from a dangerous area.

And because I hate to define a word with a word,

Evacuated

To relinquish military possession or occupation of (a town, for example).
To withdraw or send away (troops or inhabitants) from a threatened area.
To withdraw or depart from; vacate.
v. intr.
To withdraw from or vacate a place or area, especially as a protective measure.

When the people of New Orleans first left their beloved city, the Media made a Freudian Slip. They referred to all the people stuck and attempting to leave New Orleans as evacuees. Of course everyone was in an uproar. The moniker didn’t fit and they strongly cautioned the public on the use of that word. Almost overnight the reports changed from refugees to evacuees.

That name stuck. For the last 5 months these evacuees have been eeking out an existence among the their fellow Americans. Shuffled between evacuation centers, hotel rooms and mobile homes, these Americans have been promised much and given nothing.
The problem is, to most people this aint news. The storm was news, the life of the people after the storm wasn’t. After the storm news was boring, depressing, and anticlimactic.

Did anyone stop to think about what will happen to these people…sorry did anyone think about what will happen to US?

Let me give you a little incite into this growing and developing situation. New Orleans was 80% Black. Blacks occupied every strata of the economic system, from the extremely wealthy to the poor and impoverished. Unfortunately Blacks inhabited over 90% of the areas that were severely damaged.

What does that mean in clear language?

Today over 80% of the severely damaged areas of New Orleans have not been rebuilt. Today a city that once thrived on a population around 450,000---600,000 (ya know black people are not a part of the census), is now struggling with a population of less than 150,000.

What does it mean? Why have they not gone back?

Simple answer…there is nowhere to go. New Orleans, especially East New Orleans, and the Lower 9th Ward were destroyed. These same areas are several feet below sea level. These same areas surrounded by Lake Ponchatrain ( A source OF Tidal Surge), the Mississippi River (A continuous flood threat save for levees), and various canals and estuaries. These same areas are were black people were living. Areas were black people have lived for several generations.
SideNote:
New Orleans has enjoyed one of the richest histories of free people of color. It also enjoys the status of being the most Africanized City in this nation. The street names, schools, and traditions, speak to a culture rich in African, Spanish, and French heritage.
Because several answers have been devised and several problems have been identified with each answer no one does anything. The Feds are waiting on the State and the Local government. The State and the Local Governments are crying uncle, suggesting that the problems is too big for them.

Mean while, no one can get permits to rebuild because no one knows if the areas are going to be protected by levees. Will the homes have any value once rebuilt? Will homes be insurable once rebuilt? Will defaulted loans be forgiven and allowed to be repaid so home owners can continue their lives as homeowners?

Insurance Companies have remained conspicuously quiet.

Realtors have bumped up prices on all land in South East Louisiana, expecting a windfall of profits, and remained conspicuously quiet.

Banks remain conspicuously quiet.

Closet Owners Take on this Shyte:
The straight truth is that the lack of action by the federal government is doing more harm than their lack of action during the Hurricane. We cant expect people to rebuild without certain assurances. The Feds wont give those assurances. They are still having fucking hearings on what went wrong. Shyte a Hurricane is what went wrong. Now its time to fix the fucking problem.

All the rich and powerful are waiting for the American public to forget about New Orleans. To forget that there are 4 separate areas in and Around Baton Rouge that are housing people displaced by the Hurricane, several thousand people. Insurance Companies are going to wait until they can suck this land up at 1/3 the value and then rebuild it with their kind in mind. Rich people. Notice I didn’t say white, because economics have out paced race in this country as the dividing line. Just so happened the middle class, and the wealthy are predominately white.

Now Shrub sat his stupid azz on National TV last night for damn near 2 hours and spoke about some 400,000 displaced people for 42 seconds. Bitch please, we rebuild a goddamn country full of American Haters so that Exxon can post record profits again off our backs, and yet he refuses to help our own people. We have been lead astray again by this MutherPhucker, and I for one am tired. IF it is determined that we need a Trillion dollars to rebuild every single inch of New Orleans, every blade of grass, every damn Mardi Gras bead, give it to us. I would much rather spend a zillion dollars on my state and New Orleans, than spend a phucking cent teaching Mohammad how to read, rebuilding his country, and insuring a constant supply of oil for Exxon to make money.

SideNote:
I am aware that statements of this nature will probably get my phone tapped or get me audited by the IRS but owe well. With this new Supreme Court he does have unlimited power, Well consider this Free Fucking Speech…look under the bill of rights…amendment 1!

So let me tie it all back together for you in one little paragraph. The people of my great State and the City of New Orleans were evacuees/refugees fleeing a war between the forces of Mother Nature (aka Hurricane Katrina). These same people were evacuated to other cities, states, and regions of this country after the dangers of this storm made their city and homes uninhabitable. Now with no homes, no plan to rebuild and a less than effective federal government, these same people are refugees, victims of economic persecution, victims of the United States of Corporate America, Victims of Greed, Sloth and Durees, victims because they are being ignored by the very country sworn to protect them.

Your Honor....

2006-01-31T13:09:00.000-08:00

You want something boring!

I got it in spades…double spades…triple spades!

You can take your pick from the boring azz nature of my job. I can’t discuss cases that are ongoing. But you wouldn’t want to hear about them anyway.

I am being sabotaged. In fact I think I think my wife is the saboteur. I offer to the Blog Panel the following list of facts on which to properly judge my charge of sabotage.

Exhibit 1
At approximately 5:30pm Monday, my wife arrived home. I was outfitted with my bike riding gear. Mp3 player in hand, I head for the door.

Wife:Oh I need to go to the store before you leave.

Closet Owner: Well, its 5:30. It gets dark in 30mins I kinda wanted to get started.

Wife: Oh well, I just needed to pick up a prescription for me and the Baby from Walgreens.

CO: Okay, did you already call it in, did the Dr. Call it in for you.

Wife: No I was just going to drop off the script and wait for them to fill it.

SideNote:
Every since the Hurricane pharmacies all across south La have adapted a strategy of delaying a prescription as long as humanly possible, continually suggesting that you pick it up the next day or come back in a couple of hours. The poor fools who choose to wait are subjected to constant looks of scorn from the pill provider (everybody behind that counter aint pharmacists) as well as being forced to wait so long that the disease has run its course.

CO: Shyte that will take hours, can’t you do it later.

WIFE: Well I guess this stuff for the baby can wait.

That move is called the trump card. Usually reserved for big issues but sometimes used a used in a low priority case.

CO: Oh well, I guess I will ride harder to tomorrow.

Exhibit 2
Later that evening I was subjected to a barrage of temptations of the culinary kind.

Wife: Are we out of butter? I am thinking about making some oatmeal raisin cookies. I need butter not margarine.

CO: I don’t know, but why are you making that. I shouldn’t be eating that, especially since I didn’t ride today!

Wife: Who said I was making them for you. Besides if you don’t want them don’t eat them.

CO: It aint that simple, but never mind.

SideNote:
Oatmeal Raisin Cookies are my favorite!

Exhibit 3

Wife: I think we ate that last bit of homemade ice-cream the last week, so I picked of a ½ gallon of Blue Bell Vanilla.

CO: What?….Blue Bell….serenity NOW!!!!!

SideNote:
Ice Cream is my favorite desert, bar none, but I like them even better with oatmeal raisin cookies, and a glass of chocolate milk.

You decide. I trust your judgment. I trust your reasoning skills. I would also like to add that there have been a sudden proliferation of Hershey’s Kisses, and Reese’s’ Peanut Butter Cups.

I know, include her in my exercise plan! Yeah right, I have attempted to get my wife to exercise with me on several occasions. She aint having it…and I am cool with that…I mean don’t get me wrong, I am not suggesting that she needs to loose some weight or anything. I mean how insensitive would I be to suggest that a woman who had a baby 4 months ago may need to shed a few extra pounds. I may be a man, but I aint no fool!

I am determined to drop this little gut that was forming around my middle. I am working on squaring these shoulders back up after hours of computer and court have rounded them down.

I even have a little goal in mind for yours truly. Adventure Racing! Yeah I know it is 100% white boy type stuff, but it is a challenge that looks like it will be fun. So I am in training.

Yeah BOyiiieeee

2006-01-30T09:07:00.000-08:00

In court today. May try to post later.

Just got this over the email. I reviewed it but I don’t think it applies to our little niche of the BlogWorld.

http://2006.bloggies.com/

For the record. Why yall aint tell me that my blog looks like shyte.

Could I please get some help in putting this blog on proper footing? I look like a dangone third grader. My daughter could do better than this. I focused more on the writing and less over cite.

Any help would be recognized and shouted out!

Further, since I promised to only post hot mess on Fridays, you will have to wait for the next installment.

I like the idea of 3-part post.

Be on the look out for the story of my first wife/marriage. That is a damn story to tell.

Lastly,
I am addicted to the Flavor Of Love…yeah I know the show is a traffic accident, yeah I know it is reality TV at its worse…But Dangone that show is hard to turn off.
1. How much money does Flav Have?
2. Is that his house?
3. Do the girls on that show get paid for being there?
4. Does the winner get a monetary award?

I can’t find this information anywhere. I wonder because these women really seem to like this dude. They kiss him get naked for him, compete for him, all of that. Is this just an extreme from of I wanna be famous disease. I mean c'mon. Flav looks a like a frog playing the banjo. He looks like a burnt roach! Sorry I aint hating but boy do look torn up. Damn! What the hell is going on!

SideNote:
I went to Galveston Beach Party back in 1995 or so. The weekend was a straight ball out phuck-fest of awesome proportions. I did all right and I have had a hard time destroying the pictures. Please destroy any pictures you happen to find that depict a young African American male, slapping the ass of a African American/Asian girl on the back of a motorcycle. But that aint the point!
It rained the entire weekend so me and the boys dropped by a local Wal-Mart on the strip to get some raincoats so we could walk outside in the rain like damn fools.

While purchasing said gear, I happen on the subject in question...Flava Flav!!!! Public Enemy was still a little famous at that time so we participated in a little paparazzi action. We dapped ole Flav, and continued shopping. Flav was in the joint by himself. No body gaurd no entorage, and dude was looking grimy. Serious, I thought brother was broke and doing bad!

True Story

NPP

2006-01-27T09:34:00.000-08:00

Every now and then a man needs to feel good about being himself. Some of that can be done internally, a closer connection, a deeper understanding, meditation and exercise. But honestly the easiest most effective (for the short term) ego booster is an external natural remedy. New PUZZY!

Now all new pussy aint good puzzy, but all new puzzy is…well…new!

Now a discussion of this nature has to be framed with these things in mind.
I am not saying men are dogs and have to have new puzzy.
Most men can wean themselves from the new pussy phenomenon with a little maturity and the help of some consistent good puzzy.
New puzzy does not equal good puzzy!
And you all been with or been new puzzy before!

Ok, now that you have that in mind lets press on!

The mystery New Puzzy Phenomenon (NPP) has yet to be explained by scientist. But you best believe in some lab under the desert in Nevada they are working feverishly to break down the genetic formula that makes new puzzy so powerful. What is it about new puzzy, well maybe it’s more of the feeling of conquest. Maybe it’s the level of acceptance and love/like a woman must feel in order to let you near the puzzy. Either way it’s something magically delicious.

When I was a younger man I could only escape the blu-blahs of life with one thing, NPP.

This time being like most others I found myself in Da Club. I ran across a young lady whose name was adoring, loving, zealous, and fanatical. But she was so new, so inexperienced, so unprepared for my onslaught. Oh, but she was a young stepper, a seriously ridiculous body, with a cute innocent face. She actually approached me and told me to buy her a drink.

SideNote:
The upfront strong woman thing doesn’t really work. Yeah it takes balls to come up and ask me to buy you a drink, especially with her being so new, but I will tell a nigga hell no, and not even sweat it.

I obliged her and asked what she was drinking. She responded by proclaiming that white zinfandel was her ‘drink’.

I watched her after several rouge stained sips from her glass. Her eyes followed all the action around her while still making furtive glances in my direction. I decided not to push the issue; I would let this girl develop her own comfort zone with me. The hunt was on!

I motioned her onto the dance floor and gauged her rhythm. I really wanted to get a full look at her body this crowded dance floor was vexing my every attempt. By that point I wasn’t really feeling the place or the crowd and the attempt at competition from the other brothers was filling her head faster than the cheap drinks.

SideNote:
I don’t compete. Either you roll with me or you don’t. I don’t beg, or ask twice.

She watched me from the dance floor as she participated in some brothers vain attempt to impress. Making sure her eyes were on me, I stood and moved towards the door,

She quickly excited the dance floor and met me near the entrance/exit.

“You leaving me!” She asked this while subtlety exposing her delicate cleavage.

“Yeah, my time is done, besides its to packed in here already, and getting worse.” I yelled my reply as the DJ found this the opportune moment to suggest that there was no party like this party cause this party didn’t stop.

As she pondered her next move I slipped her my phone number and walked out the club. That move was a calculated risk. Some more impressive brother could step in and steal my prize. But from the looks of the brothers coming in on my way out, I had nothing to worry about.

I reached clumsily for the phone, anticipating an emergency or an old flame booty call. The mysterious voice on the other end puzzled and delighted me. My adoring, loving, zealous, and fanatical girl had chosen me to call at the end of her night. The red flash LED of 1:30am shined from my nightstand. Umph, she even left the club early and I was her first choice out of all the numbers she received that night.

She requested a visit. A visit at 1:30 in the morning. As tempted as I was I wanted to put more into this than a night after the club thrashing. I needed her to be impressed by me. I had more planned than the one night stand.

SideNote:
I really don’t like one night tryst. I prefer to develop intimacy. Intimacy allows women to let the freak out. Intimacy changes turns a girl who wont give head to a girl who will swallow.

I invite her over the next night, but I happily talk to her well into the night. I am not usually a phone person but I had to make sure some other guy didn’t pollute these waters I planned to swim in the next day. So I talked well into the night/early morning hours. We agreed to meet at my place that next night, so I could cook for her. In her sternest voice she cautioned me that no sex was going to happen. I assured her that that was the furthest thing from my mind.

SideNote:
There are 3 things about me that I am really proud of, one is my ability to cook. I can really cook up some dead shyte in the kitchen. I can be fancy with plate presentation, candles, and napkin rings, to paper plate and white bread to help catch the gravy. Yeah I know I left out the other 2 things but that is for another post.

She arrives early, with a bottle of white zinfandel. I thank sit her down thank her and quickly place the white zen in the bottom back of the frig. I wasn’t really into wine back then but I knew white zen wasn’t my gig. In fact I think we either had tee or kool-aid with my menu…brother aint perfect.

My Menu:
Beef Tournedos
Cream Potatoes
Asparagus Tips

The meal and the conversation flipped her. We sat long after dinner and talked. I gave her a tour of my small apartment. I stopped short of going into my room, suggesting that it was dangerous.

“Why, is it that junky?”

“No”, I replied, “The lights just get a little dim and the music plays just right. It is too easy for things to get started in there so it is off limits.”

She stepped back in disbelief but accepted my warning. Proclaiming with unmitigated gall, “We not doing nothing anyway!”

SideNote:
Sorry for all the sidenotes but some shyte has to be explained. Anytime a girl comes to you house and explains repeatedly that sex aint on the agenda that means that she has been thinking about sex the whole day. She has thought about how it would be. How good or how bad. She has planned strategies to thwart attempts at sex. So after a day of planning and thinking about sex, she is easily excited and any good reason to have sex can be legitimized in her mind.

We go back down stairs and listen to music and try to drink her bottle of zinfandel. Her posture relaxes and opens up to me more and more. Her conversation is good for a young woman and I am able to stand her for some time. Music is her interest and she expounds massively on the topic.

Eventually conversation falls to my mystery room and sex. She ask about particulars, of course which I can’t discuss. I calmly explain I don’t brag, not for fear of disappointing, but out of common decency and respect. Her next statement was as expected just a little early.

“SO … Lets go into your supposed mystery room of doom!”

With feigned objections I oblige her. We plod upstairs and sit expectantly on the bed, each with a glass of white zinfandel. I laugh as she imitates being overcome with passion. A poor imitation, of lust and passion is soon followed by the real thing.

I settle her clumsy kisses and ease her onto the bed. She whispers to me, “I thought we should get this over with so we can be friends.”

I pause, and ponder this admission, but continue with my orchestrated plan. Her smooth skin feels almost silky in my embrace. I kneel over her enjoying her smell, her scent imbues me with additional desire.

SideNote:
Not her puzzy scent but her smell. Females have a scent, a subtle feminine scent it is a wonderful thing. Smells humanly clean and neat. Fresh yet feminine.

I tease her breast with my tongue, enjoying their response to my attention. Her soft moans urge me to continue but we stop at the stomach. At her urging I release My Man.

I relax her vice grip on My Man, and explain to her the joys of slowly making love. As she kisses my body she sings/hums softly. I am going to enjoy this! I relax and float on the NPP.

She lies on her back and invites me and My Man. I remember uncharecterisctly fumbling for a condom. This fumble creates tension in the air, and causes that most dreaded conversation. The “Are We Really About To Do It Conversation”, is only seconds as I finally find a condom. She accepts me and we go at it in earnest.

TO BE CONTINUED:
Sorry my interview is at 12:00

Quick Hit!

2006-01-25T09:27:00.000-08:00

It is Secretary Mad Day in this office. She starts spitten vinegar and its hell to tell the captain. Okay so I didn’t get to the office until 9:45…like I aint been a little late before.

My work load has increased dramatically.

SideNote:
The boss musta seen me blogging and is trying to stunt my artistic growth. Dangone.

I am swamped, no time to post, will post on tomorrow. They can’t keep ya boy down!

BLOG till I die!

Quick hit!!!!
Had a good friend over with my god-child last night. I love rough and tumble boys. I don’t like to hear them but I love to play with them. My god child is a future football player or something like that. He is rough and tumble. He runs my daughter for shyte.

SideNote:
I hope my son don’t come out soft. I am going to start putting salt in his bathwater. That is what they did with slaves that they used for fighting. Constant exposure to salt toughens the skin to a leathery consistency, or at least that what masta thought. Yes, I am a cornucopia of useless information.

I need to get more involved in this little dudes life cause he will need to learn about being a man from a man. Yeah, besides little kids are fun at his age. I think I will get permission to knock him on his azz first. He a little light skin nigga so he might mark up easy. But I need for his mother and my wife to become friends. Dont no woman want someother strange unmarried woman bringing some little dude in her house. Shyte might be casting aspersions.

Back to the grind. I got lunch today at Ruth Chris, and I dont plan on coming back, and yes I still hate my job!

The Other Side Of the Coin

2006-01-24T08:29:00.000-08:00

******************EDIT************ EDIT************** EDIT**********
I promissed to post yesterday twice but I got caught up! Sorry!!!
************************************************************************

I have to say something that might not go over all that well.

I don’t live my life in the corner. I am kinda a balls out, full on type of dude, You may have noticed. Well the truth is the truth.

Yesterday, after work:

I dealt with baby girl who is still on punishment. Every afternoon when I get home I spend a portion of my evening dealing with how unfair I am. I go over the basics wash dishes, clean your room, and “Why is your TV warm if you haven’t been watching it!”

I pulled out Sundays Masterpiece a Seafood Gumbo that is seriously slap yo momma then try and find her in the pot good. I am so domestic it is alarming.

I picked up my Guitar and started practicing for a while.

It was too cold to ride my miles on the bike, but I did an inside routine that gave me a good sweat out.

After dinner, I went from the most outrageous episode of Trading Spouses. My wife loves this show, it is the worst example of reality TV on the network few exceptions. To a show that I am growing more fond of every week, “24”.

The little boy who has no name, has a version of my cold, and the congestion makes my wife and I worry…No fever just congestion. He still laughs and smiles, and talks incessantly. I wonder where he got his loquacious nature?

SideNote:
I think nicknames are created not given. But the entire family has been searching for names to call the boy. He shares his name with two other people so all the good versions are taken. So he will have to have one all new and original. So from Trey to Tripp (my favorite) he has been called everything.

UFC, Celebrity Fit Club and Flavor of Love, ended my night.

Does anybody see where I am getting with this!

Yes you guessed it Boring!!!!

I have settled down into my Pops and it don’t really feel like me just yet.

I woke up this morning with a strange craving…maybe urge is a better word for it. I couldn’t shake it all morning and it is on me hard right now as I type this.

I NEED TO GO TO THE CLUB!!!!

I need to shake my ass. I need to buy expensive drinks, I need to look at some chics, and be looked at by some chicks. I aint going to do nothing but I need to feel lusted after ya dig.

The Clubs and me have a long history. I been balling since about 16 when I the only way I could get in was if my podnuh was working the door. Back then Clubs were a place were everyone went to have a drink and socialize. You had ya group in the club that sat at the bar and tables and drank. Then you had ya other group that danced from the time they walked in the door, until they walked their sweat infused, hair fallen, feet hurting azzez out the door.

On occasion you had the rare few who parlayed back and fourth between both worlds. I was one of the rare few. I have always been able to dance, my first moves being The Bump and The Robot. I grew up in the real Mc. Hammer Bobby Brown Dancing days. You weren’t shyte if you couldn’t really move. Dancing was how you made a name for yourself and how you attracted the opposite sex. Dancing was appeal. Dancing was a calling card. You didn’t need Bling or the Ride… It helped, but it was not necessary, game and ability was all that was needed.

Now the Club is reserved for the young hard heads. Go figure.

I don’t miss the club so don’t get it twisted. I just miss certain aspects of the club. I miss my little club friends. I don’t miss trying to hook up with young ladies that caught my eye. I do kinda miss the thrill of victory. Yeah I know it is said to say, I love my life but there are still two sides to every coin.

SideNote:
Oh, and before yall jump my azz, I was thinking Way Back Wednesday. A lot of people have been posting about childhood memories and stuff over the last couple of weeks. I figure we all post about the way back memories of childhood and youth on Wednesday.

HER

2006-01-23T07:10:00.000-08:00

Quick hit since Monday, as you should know is a bad day for me. I think I will have a two-part post today, as both will be quick hits. And the first is just for me!

I did something that I have not done in a while.

I LOVED my wife.

No, not made love to her, get your minds out of the gutter, I LOVED HER.

LOVE:
A deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness.
A feeling of intense desire and attraction toward a person with whom one is disposed to make a pair; the emotion of sex and romance.
I woke early, mind already preoccupied with my day, and of all things I was disturbed by a normal event: Her sleep. I drew closer examined her stilled countenance. It had been weeks maybe months since I last realized why I exist.

She stirred slightly. I pulled away her dark locks and kissed her forehead. She sunk deeper into her pillow, and further into her dream.

I have no ability to understand what my feelings are for her. I love her, she makes me better, she makes me patient, she makes me willing to change. Sappy as it may be, I would give all of myself for her.

She struggles quietly with her dreams, acknowledged by her brief frown and furrowed brow. I kiss her forehead again, and she relaxes.

She gives me what I need, even when I fail to ask out of ignorance. We were friends long before we were lovers, so friendship is so much easier, which makes loving so much better.

I loved her.

Her eyes open, adjusting to my gaze and between morning lips she responds, ”I love you too.”

SideNote:
I wish everyone could get with this, really...this is the real dope, straight grade street smack. I aint complaining.

Creeping

2006-01-20T10:34:00.000-08:00

I closed the car door lightly. I was unfamiliar with the neighborhood and I wasn’t trying to attract “The Ropers”. Nah, no one could witness this mission I was about to go on. I was not unhappy with my current situation, hell sometimes you have to adapt to succeed or persevere.

BackGround

I was in one of my drought seasons. We have all had them, even the best of us. A time in my life when my old cast and crew no longer favor me, nor have I started taping a new season. I was on hiatus if you will. But I had been given an offer that was hard to turn down, “String Free Puzzy”. Now I know all puzzy comes with strings but this was a time when I was positive I could quickly cut any ties.

Ole Girl wasn’t all that bad. She just didn’t seem to try hard enough. Her hair was think and long. Most of the length was unhealthy split ends.

SidNote:
Don’t ask me how I know this kinda stuff, but I really love long pretty hair…its my thing.

Her body style was thick, not juicy hit that thick, but pick some cotton, toil in the field thick. I imagine that when the whoppers went on sale for $0.99, it just took whatever figure she had left. But her breast, her full, ample, nurturing, suckling breast. She had an ample bussom and that may have been all that was needed to push me over the edge. She was not a full time star, she wasn’t that material, she didn’t get the hair done enough, or keep up with the latest style in clothing. She had a very “accept me for who I am” attitude and it just wasn’t working for her.

We had several brief introduction type encounters before she actually struck up a real conversation. We frequented the same establishment at happy hour on Thursday so I imagine she had been working her scheme out for quite some time.

Her approach was basic and upfront. I appreciate that, tell me what you want, woman up!
“Its kinda slow in here tonight” She grinned and leaned forward as these words and her chest fell towards me.

“Yeah, it’s the rain of the threat of rain, but the drinks are still wet, so I am good.” I countered, but I couldn’t tell what or where she was coming from, so I played along with light conversation.

“Hmm, you coming home with me? Seeing as how you don’t have anybody else to occupy your time.”

My heart fell as my libido rose, I didn’t want to do this but the girl had a point. I stumbled forward quietly into her trap.
“Home with you, tonight, why?… “I couldn’t bare myself, the thought but I knew what I was going to do.
She countered not to eager to press her advance, “Just think about it, talk to me before you leave tonight”

She left me an avenue of exit that would save both her pride and my reputation. If I stayed longer than she did, then I wouldn’t have to take up her offer, without not taking her up on her offer. But My Man, with the help of Mr. Crown, got the best of me. I softly approached her a few hours later and motioned with a head jerk and a nod that I would follow her.

Now I was in front of her place. She was already inside, as I had to leave once already to pick up some essentials. I walked slowly as I reached her door. Before I knocked the door drifted open and I stepped inside. Her apartment was small, but fully decorated, pink and green was everywhere. I noticed the big screen TV in the corner and I was instantly pissed.

SideNote:
What does a broad need with a big screen TV. Damn, I mean but for bad credit, a drinking habit, and an indulgence in women I would have one too.

The front door opened directly in front of a small stairway. I stood there as my eyes adjusted to the darkness and unaware of the chief occupants location. She called out to me coyly, “If you scared say you scared!”

“I just don’t want to step on none of these dolls and figurines all over the place, what is this a shrine to AKA.” I stumbled forward removing my jacket as I located the source of this now husky sinuous voice. I glanced up the stairway and paused, she stood at the top of the stair way in a sheer robe, and pumps.

I admit the effort was appealing, but I was still having doubts. What if someone found out, what if she told people? It was a classic battle, my ego versus my libido.

Somehow I ended up in her bed talking. Not surprisingly her conversation was good, she listened reacted laughed even showed some humor herself. My ego was winning and I was turning this sordid scene into a friendly cuddle session. Then she and he struck.

During a break in the convo as I attempted to drift off to sleep, she popped out one of her mammoth titties and placed an enormous nipple areola combination into my mouth. What could I do I was obligated to suck it, and I did, and once that happen the My Man took over. I went through all the fly positions, my head under her leg under her arm under her toe. I was ready, and her moans seriously upgraded a otherwise untenable situation.

She pulled me to her, plunging her tongue into my mouth, sucking my lips otherwise engulfing me. It was way to much, those kinda kisses should be reserved for your man. I pulled away and laid on my back facing her (the universal sign for ‘give me some head’). She followed the contexts clues and positioned herself in front of me, a flick of her tongue made me fearful and anxious at the same time. I had not noticed before the length of her tongue and well it was scary. On top of that her tongue had no fear, it traipsed through places I often fear to tread. I was so impressed and told her that she was doing an outstanding job.

SideNote:
It may have come out more like, “Oh, shyte…baby…damn” Can you blame me, okay, you go home to your man and performing the following: DeepThroat while your tongue is displaced licking balls at the same time.

I pulled away not wanting my excitement to sputter fourth. I repositioned her on the bed and pulled out one of my essentials. (see above) In a one hand move I was set and ready for action. She lifted her legs and spread her lips. (The universal sign for ‘eat my puzzy’) I ignored her request and steadied My Man for his work. My Man steadied himself and began his dance.

SideNote:
One of my favorite beginning moves is the slow entry. It requires skill, patience and a certain amount of guile. You better know what you doing if you pull the slow entry move, because if the longest part of your performance is the entry you will get talked about.

So as I kneeled in front of her essence and slowly, deliberately delivered My Man, she threw a galvanized, steel, 8” monkey wrench in the works. She swallowed. That is the best way I can describe it. Somehow through tantric powers undiscovered by mere mortals she pulled me forward. Yes her ‘cunt’ (ooowww, yeah I know gross) pulled me forward. I resisted, I held my position. I engaged in a sex organ tug of war. But two swallows later I was inside her.

1 minute and counting:
How dare she change my style. I run this not the other way around. My visage of anger quickly changed to worry as I realized that tug of war not only served as a climatic battle of wills but it also had hastened my own climatic end. I grimaced, I fought, I steadied my self against the callings of MY MANS request for sweet release. It was good puzzy. It was great puzzy. It moved, and grinded, hiccupped, spun, vibrated. It was magical. I had never met anyone with that kinda puzzy control. I was impressed and disappointed at the same time. Why couldn’t the chic be a damn knock out? Further if things continued at this fluid pace I wouldn’t be getting any second chances.

2 Minutes and Counting:

My ego popped up and set himself smugly on her pillow.

Ego: Now you done it!
ClosetOwner: Done what, I done nothing yet…if you not going to help, leave.
EGO: You fucked a fat girl and you did so pathetically.
ClosetOwner: First she aint fat, second, it aint over till its over.
EGO: Yeah, its over, now you goin have a fat girl telling people you aint got no skills…I tried to warn you.
ClosetOwner: Well, so its your damn fault anyway.
My Man: Excuse me, but you two bitches need to stop arguing…I have an idea…

2 minutes and 30 seconds and counting.

I felt the rush of my impending doom. I gave in! I thrust and parried Olympic style. I was there in mere minutes. But I didn’t shudder, or grunt, I didn’t fall out, or exclaim. I stopped in mid thrust and recited a classic line that I heard often in my youth.

“We Shouldn’t be doing this!”

It was classic. I sat on the edge of the bed hiding any signs of my premature actions. She went through the usually, “whats wrongs”, and the “we grown”, and the “You don’t find me attractive.”

I left her with another classic line that I have never been able to use again.

“I am trying to about more than just sex, sometimes it leaves me feeling empty, and I don’t want to associate you with that feeling”

I walked quickly to her Hollywood bathroom and cleaned up the evidence. I lay down next to her and continued our conversation. It was a good thing I had the 3pack cause once Ego, My Man, and Me are on the same page we are hell to deal with.

Under Quarantine

2006-01-19T09:28:00.000-08:00

Day 2

Under quarantine!

Yesterday afternoon, I left work early because of my illness. I informed my wife that I was headed home and she immediately issued instructions.

I slept off and on for the remainder of the afternoon.

I did continue my downward spiral into television addiction. LOST, and American Idol were the latest eightballs on my nervous sweating junkie low trance.

LOST
I don’t really get this show. I have been watching it off and on for the last year now. My Mom really tried to get me into it, so for her sake I begrudgingly watch. The acting isn’t all that good, the characters are not all that interesting, I really wonder why I watch this show. Then it dawned on me. It is so confusing, so mixed up, so perplexing, I watch it to see how it ends. That is the sole reason that I believe most people watch the show, to see what the hell was going on in the final analysis.

SideNote:
Never watch a show just because you want to see how it ends. It is a waste of an hour or so out of your life. Just think, if we were watching porn and the people were unattractive, and the sex scene was blasé, would you skip to the next scene of would you fast forward to the money shot. Okay, bad example, I am tripping on this medicine.

American Idol

I have never like this show. I do not care to watch hours of footage of people who cant sing. What is the point, to laugh at people, to participate in some mean spirited TV heckling? My wife and daughter love the show. I hear their laughter and cheers from the other room.

Alas, I am done with network TV for the night, I am off to either sleep or some soft porn on Cinemax.

PSS.
I wrote that post last night, sense that time I have some new developments.

I am 90% at full health. Don’t ask me, I guess it was a bug or sinuses. I never had sinus problems before but a Dr. told me that you can develop them at any time. Then combine that with the fact that I live in South Louisiana, aka the Chemical Corridor, aka Cancer Alley. How do you tell the difference between sinus problems and a cold.

Oh well I feel better, I am at work, but I think I will milk being sick for a little while longer.

As I was getting dressed this morning I realized, that my son stares at me a lot and smiles. It is the cutest thing, and I am not a neegro that recognizes cute. He chews on his hand, slobbers, and stares at his Dad, with the occasional smile. I think he is a keeper.

Hotness for the press on Friday.

Freaky Friday. So anyone with a religious conviction, or on the abstinence wagon, you might want to steer clear on Friday.

Sorry.

2006-01-18T09:24:00.000-08:00

Damn, I am not sure what is going on. I was sick as a dog last night, fever, sweats, congestion. I woke up this morning and damn near felt like myself.

So I decided to bring it on in to work! Mistake number 1. I am still sick. My fever is gone but man I am not 100%.

I had the flu last year and this feels remarkably similar.

As I lay in my partial vegetative state last night my mind flowed freely from dreamscapes to reality, I realized something. I have it pretty good.

I really should be more thankful and expressive. I was laying here feeling miserable. Yet, I was propped up in a nice queen size bed, 600 thread count sheets, with way too many pillows for a grown man to deal with. My daughter made me a card, and yes she is 11 but she still loves me. Even my son seemed like he was concerned for my health. He stared blanckly at me from across the room. In his mind I just know he was saying "Stay up Pops"
I was under quarantine until the exact nature of my illness was determined. My wife would flit in and out checking on my health. She loves me.

While awake I spent my time watching DirecTV, and listening to the sounds of life just outside my door. I am a new addict for that show 24. It was edge of your seat action. Nice! That show The Shield seems like it could be good also.

I am doing so much it is really hard to find time to watch TV.

SideNote:
A YEAR RECAP
Even though I was feeling bad, I still got my exercise on. I think that is what pushed me over the edge. However, my stomach is going down, and my stamina is going up. I really feel a sense of accomplishment. It is really something addictive about exercise.

I completed lesson 5-10 of Play Guitar Today. I am getting better everyday. By this summer I will be able to play for real. Or at least play Happy Birthday for my wife and daughters on their respective days.

The job hunt is really showing promise. I have an interview next week with a big firm. A boy bout to get paid…Drinks on me once the job is a done deal.

Monday Rant

2006-01-17T08:30:00.000-08:00

I really hope everyone did something Kingish to celebrate the holiday.

I mean we all have an obligation to continue the struggle for civil rights, justice and equality among all men and women.

Hell even stupid people have a right to be heard and allowed to be a important part of America.

Take for instance:

On a day that speaks of acceptance, humility, diversity, and a erasure of color and class barriers, the Mayor of New Orleans Louisiana was quoted with saying the following;”

“It’s time for us to rebuild New Orleans — the one that should be a chocolate New Orleans. This city will be a majority African-American city. It’s the way God wants it to be. You can’t have New Orleans no other way. It wouldn’t be New Orleans.”

This future Mensa candidate goes on to drop these pearls of wisdom.

“Surely God is mad at America. He sent us hurricane after hurricane after hurricane, and it’s destroyed and put stress on this country. Surely he doesn’t approve of us being in Iraq under false pretenses. But surely he is upset at black America also. We’re not taking care of ourselves”

Sadly, some people really truly think this way. However, none of those clowns are mayors of major metropolitan cities. Of all days on the calendar, how do you “fix yo mouth” to say something so racist, so divisive, so controversial, so against what MLK had in mind. Dude is a damn fool. Better yet a damn fool Mayor.

Now, I know the argument that the hand god had in all of this will continue for years to come. I am even pretty sure god is upset with America and black people in general. Hell, all his children who turn away from his teachings probably get him a little perturbed. But if God is surely mad at America, and Blacks in America more succinctly…It is time for ya boy to move to another country and hurry up and get some Micheal Jackson treatment.

Wow, poor New Orleans. Now how does the mayor suggest that federal dollars poor in to help American citizens as long as those citizens are black. Yeah, I can just see all those republican congressmen chomping at the bit to poor dollars into a black New Orleans.

Further, for those of you who don’t know, New Orleans was a great place to visit, but between the struggles with corruption:
1. Several of the past Mayors,
2. Several recent Judges,
3. The City Court and the Mayors Office System,
4. The Orleans Parish School Board,
5. The Orleans Parish Assessors Office
Police brutality, teen pregnancy, failing Healthcare System, disenfranchised, and impoverished African Americans, it might not have been the ideal place to raise a family.

But I digress; because every apple has bruises, and New Orleans can turn that impassable corner and set there ship to right. If they can get this latest yoke from around there neck.

In the most needy of times, after the most trying of circumstances, a city of people, a city of Americans, must be lead from a biblical disaster into the future by a damn idiot savant. A savant whose special talent is sticking his foot in his mouth.

Boyz to Men...How to tell the difference.

2006-01-13T09:26:00.000-08:00

In my travels and times, and most recently my travels on the Internet, I have been a strong supporter of men’s rights.
To properly put it, I defended the sanctity of man-hood while womankind attacked it on all fronts. The media fueled myths and stereotypes that women and the main stream bought as a whole. So me, being the champion of lost causes, would always stand up for men whenever and wherever they were lambasted.

I didn’t nor do I now suggest that all men are good. I don’t know all men so I cant speak for them all. What I can say is that all MEN are different and if he is truly a MAN he will have outstanding character traits that are embedded in most men.

So why do I still see such prevalent accusations of wrong doings and outright lunacy. The culprit usually being some guy who is reported to be a man.

Men…the men that I grew up with, the men that I knew were responsible, upright, and strong. Who the hell were these nutz that women often refer to as men?

Closer inspection and hindsight focused the wide pandemic into a narrow spectrum, suitable for causal analysis. I discovered what the problem is. MEN are getting blamed for what our woeful younger counterparts on the chronological time scale are doing. I imagine that once its been said it seems so apparent. And the really clever part is that all MEN were once boys, so it becomes even stickier to differentiate. But don’t feel bad if you messed up in the past. People have made this time and time again in the past, mistaking boys for MEN, the problem is that it is happening on a much larger scale than ever before.

Blame not yourself. After I discovered the real problem, boys pretending to be men or women not recognizing boys, I turned to my old categorizer of all information (aka the Internet) to see if something was available to help sort the two. To my dismay not a single book, website, or blog was devoted to this topic. I could not find a University funded study, or privately financed research that shined even a glint of understanding in the direction of this menacing problem.

So to that end I have come up with a list to aid all women. This is list is designed to help you determine if you have a man or not. This list is also helpful for men who may be in doubt and need to tighten up there game.

*This list is not foolproof, and so use at your own risk*

You know he is a man if:

1. He gave his momma back her house.

2. He has a child that he publicly claims as his
a. He pays support
b. Or he is the Primary care giver.

3. He has more than two pair of shoes…(not tennis but shoes)

4. He listens when you talk
a. Or he acts like he listens when you talk
b. Or he at least looks in your direction when your mouth is moving and
sounds are coming out.

5. He calls his friends, “friends” and not “His boys”

6. All his friends have real names and real jobs
a. Pookie and Ray Ray should be Paul and Raymond by now.
b. Hosting First Fridays is not a real job

7. He understands that to you can be a hustler and have a real job too.

8. He can hug you without grabbing your ass.
a. He must still want to grab your ass!

9. He brings you around his friends
a. He must still show you affection, and not treat you like one of the gang.
10. He does not turn his cell phone off or on mute
a. Not at night, not at all…

11. He slowly makes love to you.
a. With the TV off, music up, and lights low.

12. He has told you the following at least once or twice without raising his
voice.
a. “I am not going to say this again”
b. “Don’t worry, I will handle it”
c. “I am not interested in what your friends, mother, or my boys think”

13. He “Handled it”, and you didn’t have to worry.

14. He holds you at night without trying to have sex.
a. He must still want to have sex!

15. You can go out with your friends and he wont call more than twice.
a. One call every 3 hrs…but don’t come dragging your ass in at 3am.

16. He can cook and clean for himself but he does it for you and your
children.

17. He reads the Dailey Newspaper
a. Not just the sports section.

18. He has hobbies outside of watching TV and drinking.
a. Nothing wrong with drinking.

19. He reads or has read books
a. It takes commitment to read a book.

20. He has at least two suits.
a. And they both fit.

21. He looks you in the eyes.

22. Your life is better with him.

23. He never asks you to perform oral sex.

24. He never stops until you are finished.

25. He loves you and you know it!

Please add more if you like. The best examples of manhood will be highlighted in a future blog.

SideNote:
A brother need not have the entire list.

I have worked out a scale, please judge accordingly.

25-20 Real Man!
19-15 Got some Man in him!
14-10 He thinks like a player or he is whipped!
09-05 Mommas Boy!
04-00 He pees sitting down!

At Home

2006-01-09T10:29:00.000-08:00

The boss is gone for two weeks.

My wife asked me if I was going to work today. I told her maybe for a little while. (A little white lie) Then she asked if I wanted to watch the baby?

Silence fell in the dimly lit morning air. The tension was thick, I was aware that my entire week of freedom depended on my answer to this politely posed problem. I wiped the remaining Cat Dukey from my eyes and retained my stoic pose and responded, ”COOL”

Then in a complete 360 my wife says, “No I better take him, I don’t trust you.”

I should be pissed or mad by that statement, but alas it is the truth. I am a hell of a dad…with children that can speak, walk, and follow orders. Man my skin crawls with the thought of little man balling and me not knowing what the hell is wrong, or what to do. Nah, I will save the parenting until little man is much older.

In the mean while, the boy is going to play! Anybody at home for the next two weeks, I will drop buy and we can get drunk in the middle of the day. All I will do is sit back and kick it today.

Okay maybe I am not going to play all day; I have made a “To Do List”.

1.Rake up the leaves… I live in South Louisiana, so yes the leaves are really just falling off the trees.
2.Call Mr. Smith…He is looking for lawyers; I might be a good fit at his firm.
3.Call Mr. Blanche…see above
4. Find some of these new damn stamps…..I think that they should honor the old stamps until brothers run out. I can’t find 2 cent stamps anywhere, and I am to ship to over post my mail.
5.Mail some bills
6.Balance Checking, Savings, and side account that is still a secret…Shhh
7.Cook Chicken Soup…I never told you guys that I can cook, I am a real renaissance man feel me!
8.Buy Groceries…See above
9.E-mail the boss…keeps her busy…I e-mail her and I establish the tone of the 2 week trip.
10.Pay Cell Phone Bill
11.Call on settlement in a case in the 18th JDC…My little side hustle.
12.Call Troy about settlement on case for Ms. J….My little side hustle prt 2
13.Send in Baby Girls Private School Application…No time to explain!
14.Return light bulbs and get new ones that fit…I got the regular base instead of the candelabra base.
SideNote….
I hate Wal-Mart…trailer trash, condescending, sever periodontal dieses having, 6th grade education, employees treat me like I stole some damn $1.67 light bulbs. 15.Buy Batteries…???
16.Scrubber for kitchen sink
17.Get Hole in tire plugged
18.Practice my Guitar… I am teaching myself to play. See I told yall I was a renaissance man.

With this list I hardly think I will have time to relax. Besides sense I am writing this blog yall know I am swept up into blogverse and I aint going to do half this shyte.

Holler.

******EDIT****EDIT****EDIT****EDIT****EDIT*****
OKAY, SORRY, I GUESS SOME PEOPLE THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO DISCUSS THE UNDERWORLD TODAY... IPROMISE YOU IT WILL BE THE MAIN TOPIC OF ON TUESDAY...

To that end if anyone wants to share a tantalizing, tid bit, of a titty getting bit please feel free to share... ClosetOwner@yahoo.com

Black Cinema Time

2006-01-06T11:39:00.000-08:00

I happened to be doing a little blog traveling yesterday and I happened to hit on a couple of blogs that seemed to reading my mind. I have to give props to both
That Girl, and My Sista who is Supa they both turned a dime on this topic. I also read it on a few other blogs sorry if I didn’t give you your props. I had a little sideways discussion a while back.

Yall know I was up late the past couple of nights doing my “Black Cinema Thing”. I was trying not to get interested in some crazy Spike Lee type joint, “She Hate Me”. I honestly drifted back and forth through various stages of sleep during the first hour or so of this movie, but eventually the plot thickened.
SideNote:
There are only two ways to keep a brother up late at night.
Sex.
The promise of sex.
Even in movie from this holds true. But ol spike had a little something up his sleeve… Lesbian SEX!!!! Jackpot….ding ding ding…..

It wasn’t just the sex thing that was interesting; it was a comment that Spike was making. A reality check if you will.

The main character is a brother (a soon to be up and coming actor) who is big time, smart, handsome, and culturally refined. He begins to loose all his status and wealth for trying to do the honest and right thing. As his financial situation worsens he is propositioned by his ex-girlfriend to provide a much needed service. The service is Baby Making.

See homeboy found his ex-girlfriend in bed with another woman some years back. He was enraged and heartbroken at the same time promising never to forgive her. She appears back in his life for the second time as a full blown lesbian, asking that he provide her with sperm for her impregnation. This aint the clinical doctor approved baby-making procedure. This request is a straight up fuck me and give me your seed type of arraignment.

Ex-Girlfriend has new girlfriend who aint to hype about home boy impregnating her girl “The Old Fashioned Way”. By the way the lesbians have decided to become pregnant together.

Ya boy is getting paid $10,000 to drop his seed. He is not bound to care for any of the kids, and all sells are final. His ex-girlfriend puts his name and job title out to the Lesbian underworld.

SideNote:
This underworld really does exist, I have been there, and seen things… It is true counter culture society.

They had real name stars and excellent acting in this movie. Kerry Wahsington is HOT!!! Anthony Mackie is the next black star.

Anthony Mackie,
Kerry Washington
Ellen Barkin
Monica Bellucci
Jim Brown
Ossie Davis
Jamel Debbouze
Brian Dennehy
Woody Harrelson
Ling Bai
Lonette McKee
Paula Jai Parker
Q-Tip
Dania Ramirez
John Turturro

Paula Jai Parker titties are a mess. She always flow them niggas everywhere and this was my first shot at them full frontal and dagone…Tighten the up, shyte!!!
It was really funny watching these lesbians either experience dick for the first time, or relish the dick again after a long hiatus.

SideNote:
I really think that all women could be lesbians or bi. Strictly dicklies included. Women are so much more sexual, so much more complex. Understanding that sex is about so much more than just genitalia contacting, women are able to reach a deeper level of trust and expression. Besides women are so much sexier, prettier, and better smelling than their male counterparts.

All of the obvious plot twist and complications arise. The story wraps up each individual plot lines with some hockey kinda nonsense, but what I pulled from the story was a simple and a beautiful depiction of the conflicts presented to men and women in our complex and evolving society.

No matter what our sexual persuasions, perversions, or proclivities, some things like baby-making have to be about a woman and a man.

And also no matter what the understanding is, a man cant spread his seed and not consciously neglect, deny, or ignore his children. He has a biological, moral, and lastly society obligation to be a farther to his child.
At least that is what I got out of the whole thing.

HELP Mommy addition!

2006-01-05T10:04:00.000-08:00

My poor wife went back to work today, and for some reason I feel like I have let her down.

She has been off since the first week of October. The baby was born on October 10th and the two of them have been attached at the (nipple LOL) hip since that day. I have enjoyed watching them grow and form their bond. She saw his first smile and giggle. She gave him his first sustenance. She has clothed, fed, and cleaned him for the past 3 months with care and adoration. He is my son, my child, but he is her baby.

Unfortunately life continues on. New babies are only excuses when they are new, so life has to go on. Bills, debts, JOBs, start to rear their ugly heads.

What other choice do I have? I want her to stay at home and be happy, but I want to eat too. SO here comes mister bad guy with the day of reckoning. She is to return to work on 01/05/06.

I could only hold her as she cried. I didn’t understand, how could I, my role, as parent doesn’t really start until little man misbehaves, or until he can play with some of the toys I have for him. Besides my bond with him his not nearly as tight as he the bond he has with his mother. I went to work soon after my man was born. I am well adjusted to seeing him only during my no working periods.

If she stays unhappy, brother-into-the-night will have to fix this shyte quick. Shyte rolls down hill!

What I need are words of encouragement. Maybe a card, maybe flowers.
Any ideas?

HELP!!!!

2006-01-04T09:08:00.000-08:00

I open this morning’s message with a simple cry for help.

I am aware that several females read this blog. In the past they have offered advice and opinions (some unsolicited).

I am calling on the powers of the wise and venerated female:
Oh Solver of problems,
Oh Giver of life sustenance,
Oh Maker of new people,
Oh Source of Joy,
Oh Creator of dissatisfaction,
and Great Spender of money!

Please send down to me your wisdom and knowledge before all is lost!

I am having a problem with baby girl!

Maybe a little background will help…click here for background.

So I am the PCG for my daughter. Now that I am married I guess PCG is no longer correct. But saying she lives with me seems to leave so much out of the story. How about I am her Daddy. Okay that sums it up right? Well anyway.

The problem is the baby is growing up.

My daughter is 11 about to be 28. Her styles are a changing. I cant keep up. Demi-Bras, shirts exposing the belly, rings, and grown women shoes seem to be the latest tools amassed in an effort to kill her Daddy.

Am I old fashioned?
If by that you mean do I expect my daughter to respect herself and dress like it… well yes! Yes I do butt heads with the source of my constant frustration? (see ex-wife) SO my ex…supplies my daughter with her tools for my destruction. My daughter has my ex-wife’s taste. A style that lies somewhere between hoochie and she-know-better-than-to-wear-that! It all stems from a body image problem that my ex-wife didn’t get until we had long departed company.

Normally my daughter doesn’t dare to bring those close to my house. She understands that her daddy treasures her youth and innocence and wants it that way until she is either a 42yrs old CEO of a fortune 500, or I am dead. Preferable she will wait until I am dead.

But lately I have had to buy clothes of a certain style. Certain colors. Certain stores. Little girl is developing her style…or so I thought. Her mother had laid the seeds of hoochie sometime back when I wasn’t looking. Now the damn hoochie weeds are growing everywhere.

My only defense (because Dad is style challenged) is the new wife. The new wife is more than adequate to the task, but every weekend visit to the ex’s house we are set back two months.

My real problem is I am scared of boys. I was such a menace, such a sneaky devil, such a hoe, and I know I was a much better person than all these little niglets running around today.

Two weeks ago I came home from work to a nice a quiet house. My wife was next door at the inlaws…
SideNote: I never did finish telling yall what happened after the hurricane. I will give you details later but the short of it is my in-laws moved in next door.

My daughter was quiet. Too quiet. I opened the door to her room. Her little Glamour girl lamp is on and she is lying on her bed with a slow Mariah Carey song gently accenting her room. She pressed the Glamour Girl Phone I bought for her last Christmas to her chest and questioned my presence.
“What Dad?”

“Nothing baby, I was just checking on you.” I closed the door and headed to my room to undress (aka throw my clothes on the floor).

No sooner than I released the trying grip of my tie when the images that just occurred flashed back in an eerie Usual Suspects, Memento, Sixth Sense kinda way.

Music, bed, phone, the quick dispatch of her father…OHHHHHHHH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

I grabbed the phone in my room and listened with restricted breath. The sound nearly crushed me, IT WAS A NIGLET!

In my gruffest meanest voice I yelled, “GET OFF THIS DAMN PHONE”

I ran in her room as she still was busy trying to save face. I snatched the phone from her hand hand explained to the Niglet that my daughter did not receive calls from little niglets and don’t call my house again.

Of course I didn’t handle the right way but to hell with all that. And I was guilty, in my daughter’s eyes, of ruining her life, and being dumb, and old fashioned. But I was loosing my daughter. To hell with that!

I calmed down and explained to my daughter that we hadn’t talked about this enough, but “UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES WAS A NIGLET TO CALL THIS HOUSE!”

After a long conversation she understood and agreed to limit calls to her girlfriends only.

Two days later, as all suspicious, untrusting, overbearing (also know as good) parent would do, I picked up the cordless phone and pressed the faithful redial button.

SideNote:
Yall know I had remembered that niglets number, and his name…I got his address and his parents place of employment. May sound overboard but…okay its overboard!
I am not trying to be the crazy parent that refuses to let my daughter live. I just think 11 is to young for any talking to boys. It aint happen under my watch.

My daughter had called this niglet again. I waited until I discussed it with my wife to determine a plan of action.

When I brought my daughter in and asked her if she called that little boy, she responded with a resolute NO! Then she went into five minutes of “Why I don’t believe her? and “Why I always think she is lying?”, and “Why don’t I trust her?”. Meanwhile my heart is sinking lower and lower, at 11 I can still count the number of times my daughter has lied to me. This is the first time she has lied to me for some boy!

I exposed her ruse, and explained to her how hurt I was, more so from the lie.
”All children make mistakes, disobey, do foolish things, but lying to your daddy. I am just disappointed baby, I just thought we were closer than that!”

I still hurts me a little to think about it. So tell me what yall think I should do? As of this writing all phone privileges are gone. I wanted to do more but it was Christmas, and aint nothing worse than a pout mouth child at Chirstmas.

I Resolve!

2006-01-03T07:12:00.000-08:00

Hello, and welcome to the New Year!

I was contemplating my last year’s resolutions and attempting to form new ones when I realized that I never wrote down last year’s resolutions.

I probably subconsciously did this to prevent me from failing, or to give me ability to alter them as I progressed through the year. However, this year shall be different. I shall record them not only in the finality of the written word, but also in the electronic archives of the BlogVerse.

Not really sure if you are supposed to tell your resolutions. I think if you tell them they don’t come true… Or is that birthday wishes?!?!

Well in any event, let me get these few pieces of my insecurities out for all to review, analyze and respond. Why insecurities you ask? Well isn’t that what new years resolutions are, our attempts to dedicate a year to a thing or area in which we are not 100%. Aren’t resolutions clear glimpses of soulful mirrors that may just need a little polishing?

My resolutions for the Year 2006!

Love more.
I have to stop spending so much time angry about what I dislike and spend more time enjoying what I love. IT is so easy to get caught up in this instant demand society that you forget to enjoy shyte. Well I am going to enjoy it all more. Including my family. Including my wife ;-)

Work on Daddy detail!
I have got to pull this area of my life up to the number one most important! The new baby is WORK! My daughters getting older and I have to be everything she needs right now. Can’t explain other than that.

Take that chance.
I have 2 kids, a wife, a mortgage, a car note, student loans…etc… It is so hard to put those things in jeopardy. Can I do what I want to do in life without taking chances that might cause some hardships on my family or my way of life? If I don’t take chances will I effectively handle my responsibilities? Is it possible to be happy trying/failing/succeeding at what you love to do the most?

Get organized!
That does not mean neat! So slow ya roll. I just want to put things in a format to better get at 1-3.

Exercise
I have gained damn near 20lbs in the last 5 years. I can’t keep that up. I got the bike; I got the YMCA membership; I got the tapes at home. It is time to use the damn things. I will keep you guys posted on my progress. Maybe we could do the exercise blog to help everyone out.

Read books
I would have said read more, but I chose to say read books. Something about reading a book that brings in itself a feeling of accomplishment. A feeling you don’t get from magazines or newspapers. Besides books are written with more attention to detail and more thought than those two lesser mediums.

Play the guitar.
Yeah I have one…And I am trying to teach myself. I will let you know the progress.

Spend time with my brother.
(Please see previous post)

My ex-wife.
I don’t even know where to start. If you want to give me some input please do. Here is some background! Oh and some more!

Expand my blogging!
Nothing needs to be said in that area. I enjoy sharing. I enjoy expressing. Thanks for reading, commenting, and listening.

ON TO 2006!

Christmas Confession

2005-12-23T08:50:00.000-08:00

Don’t call me Scrooge, or Francis Xavier Cross for that matter, I just have some small minor issues about Christmas that I would like to share.

When I was a child I loved Christmas. I planned my gift list out in detail. I was prompt in sending my list to Santa right after Thanksgiving. I wanted to give him and his little elves plenty of time to find Ram-Man, Skeletor, and Man-At-Arms action figure. I was aware that Destro, Dialtone, Monkeywrench, and Shipwreck were popular characters and in high demand. I didn’t want to miss out so I got my list in early.

As I got a little older I wanted to believe in the big guy but the logistics were getting in the way. I was bright for my age but childhood innocence kept me a true-believer. I opined that with the combination of different time zones, and a really fast sleigh, Santa could possible get these gifts all done in one night.

We all remember the first true realization that Jolly Saint Nick was really Moms and Pops. Standing outside during the Christmas break, (which lasted like a month when I was a kid) you and your podnuhs talking about what you getting for Christmas. All it took was one dude to question Santa’s existence.

“You know there aint no Santa Claus right?!”

“The rest of us would chime in no duh, man come on, only little kids believe in Santa.”

When I first uttered that faithful statement, I quickly said a pray under my breath, asking Santa to forgive me if he was real. I don’t know why but I used to equate Santa with God… But that is another long story.

So once my belief system was shattered, I didn’t quite make my list with the same wanton abandon. In fact my Mom stopped asking me for my list, and just started asking me what I wanted for Christmas… Bah-Humbug!

I was older and I moved to more acceptable choices in gifts. I reviewed what I needed, and what I could do without. My selection moved from toys to clothes and electronics. I didn’t want to bankrupt my peoples so the list got smaller and smaller.

Then as a young adult, before I made my own family, I went some Christmases with out getting a thing. A mean, yeah some little booty I was with at the time would make the attempt, but lets just face it, Christmas was not what it used to be.

Now fast forward to me and now! My little one still makes the list, even though at 11 going on 27 she doesn’t believe in Santa.

SideNote:
In fact I know she don’t believe in Santa thanks to her mom, and this next door neighbor who was hot!!!

And my wife! Well, last year we were in Jamaica missing Christmas because of a snowstorm, this year between the Hurricane, the Baby and her not working because of the aforesaid, we decided to not exchange gifts for Christmas. Just make sure the Little Miss gets what she wants.

SideNote:
Now Closet aint no fool! Of course I got her a gift. Two in fact! Shyte I do want to get some for Christmas!

But now on to my confession. I hesitate to say this, again just in case there is a Santa, but Christmas the Holiday is for women and kinds.

I know that is a shocker but I really stopped getting what I wanted when I learned that there was no Santa Claus. My gifts have been monitored from that day to this. I never really ask for what I want because I know:
I will be paying for them anyway.
I can’t afford the shyte I really want!

Okay follow me on this. I aint mad about it, I just have come to realize that the true deal is to give. That is enough for me. I love to see the smiles and the joy when my loves get what they want. That is really enough for me. But I will tell every woman out there stop even asking your husband what he wants for Christmas. Get him a tie and some cologne, or a robe. You really don’t care what he really wants. You are just asking to be nice.

You still not feeling me on this one. Okay, go home and ask you Husband, boyfriend, Man, significant other what he really wants for Christmas and promise that you will get him whatever it is he ask for. Just don’t be calling me mad, or broke when you get your answer. And if he don’t say:
52 Inch Plasma Screen
An Airplane
BMW 545I
A Threeway with one of your sexy friends!
A trip to Vegas with his boys.
Between 28 and 368 thousand dollars.

He is lying!

Merry Christmas everybody! See yall on the other side of the Holidays.

Love dont cost a thang!

2005-12-22T09:26:00.000-08:00

The topic of the day!

The source of my mid morning rant resulted from my listening to the radio personalities on my local urban music station. The “Question of the Day” was:
SHOULD WOMEN EXPECT TO BE PAID!

I will let that one sink in for a moment.

People actually called in saying some crazy shyte!

What is the world coming too? Have we gotten so bad to where a relationship can’t survive if I am not leaving $200 on the dresser every week? Do I have to buy you a car, or pay your rent?

CRAZY!

Am I wrong to think that women should elevate themselves higher than the level of prostitute or does everything cost?

Dagone, maybe I hung in the wrong circles. I will buy you dinner, a movie, a nice bottle of wine to put us in the right mood, but I draw the line at paying the rent.

I almost dealt with this once before in my life, someone assumed I was a john so the propositioned me.

After a glorious and fulfilling night of grown folk stuff I attempted to drift off consumed in my afterglow when;

“I am so mad at my baby daddy” she interrupted the silence inviting conversation.

I glumly replied “For real, that is to bad.”

I anticipated that this would end the conversation but to my disappointment she continued, “He knows I don’t have any money but he refuses to help!”

“Hmmm, to bad… Maybe he will change,” It was all I had, besides I was trying to drift off before her next sentence.

“Nah, he been doing me wrong, I shoulda known the nigga was no good, he aint nothing like you. I just don’t know what I am going to do about this cause if I get kicked out how am I going to take care of my kid?”

It was about here that I was becoming aware of the devolving situation. She didn’t want to talk and cuddle, she wanted to push an agenda, she was after something.

“Yeah, things is kinda rough all over” I was fully awake know, and my desire to hit again was being replaced by a sinking feeling that this chic was looking for change. Not the I realize where my life went wrong kind, and not the kind that jingles but the kind of change that folds.

SideNote:
I am not a sugar daddy, a john, nor a sorry azz nigga. I am pretty quick on the uptake and the chic was starting to sound like she was trying to fleece me!

Her next mouth sounds confirmed my suspicions, “I was thinking, maybe you could help me?”

“Help you how? I can help you find a good lawyer, but I don’t loan money to close friends!” I was trying to be as quick with her as possible; my sexual desires had been replaced with visions of my wallet being pilfered, (I like that word…it sounds like what it means) and I was preparing to make a quick exit.

Her mouth contorted and a flash of rage and despair crossed her visage. “Well I wasn’t thinking loan, I was thinking gift!”

“Baby you need 5-10 dollars I am your man, but unless you living in a box or got a hellava “Section 8” deal on this apartment 5-10 dollars aint going to cover it.” I said this as I sorted through the sheets to find my boxers. “Besides, we not even on that kinda level, if that level exist!”

“Well I just thought since I was giving you something, you could give me something” she replied unabashedly.

“Damn girl, if your something aint worth more than a couple of dollars then I don’t want no parts of it. Besides how you coming at me like that now, is this what you had in mind from day one” My brevity didn’t work, so honesty was my only out, I coulda lied and made promises I wasn’t going to keep, she only had the cell number, and no address, I could have vanished.

“I am surprised and kinda disappointed, I thought we was cooler than that.” My last statement was made as I finished dressing, and ambled out of the door.

My love don’t cost a thang so puzzy should be free!
Ha…just a quick hit for your holiday

Did I do that?

2005-12-20T08:50:00.000-08:00

Where did I leave off?

This past weekend was a blast. It was my one year anniversary. So To put all proper things in perspective lets examine this last year of my life.

07/04 I made the single largest purchase of my life. I bought a home. Wow! Never thought I would really see the day. But it is here. A mortgage is a bitch!

People will tell you “Home buying is a great thing!” TRUE, but niggas forget to mention that buying washer/dryer, refrigerator, lawnmower, additional furniture is a bitch!
Cutting grass is my meditation and relaxation time. I like the labor; it lets my mind free up. Why did my in-laws as a gesture of good will cut my grass, and hook it up!!!!
Painting rooms is some real home improvement type shyte. Now my daughter and the baby have the tightest rooms in the house. (Murals and all that!)

12/04 Pissed on the fire, called the dawgs in, and put the guns up. I did the damn thing, AGAIN!

People tend not to realize how much goes into a wedding. It was months of planning a preparation that I had to exhaust all my resources to stay out of. I could right a book on how to dodge planning your own wedding.
I really do believe that I had the most fun at my own wedding.
Women please believe that bachelor parties are only good in the movies. Real bachelor parties end up being homie reunions and continuations of old arguments that never got settled. If two of your good friends don’t end up hating each other all over again you are lucky. (I hoped that worked fella, yall owe me one!)

12/04 Honeymoon in Jamaica was the bomb.

Getting back home during the baggage handlers strike for US AIRWAYS was the aftershock!
Getting back to New Orleans after the first Snow in Christmas History was the Terrorists Attack.

SideNote: I never told you my honeymoon coming home lost in America story? I have got to tell yall about that shyte later, right now I am in a zone!

01/05 Your Pregnant!

How the hell did that happen?
I blame American Airlines. (see SideNote above)

02/05 Happy B-Day to me!

02/05 My Dad has been sick!

No balance, nausea…no appetite!
Yeah it’s the inner ear…but no body knows exactly what!

03/05 The FLU

It almost got me. I had never had the flu before but I almost died. I don’t usually take medicine but I doped up this time. I was in bed for a week. I never felt worse in my life. (Please See Month of April)

04/05 Stay away from Benadryl

I thought I was getting a little congested or something so I took Benadryl.
I am one of a million people who apparently cant take Benadryl.
I hallucinated for 12 hours. It was like an acid trip. I thought I was dying. My skin was crawling, my hands were not mine. I was straight up Chris Tucker on Friday!
Read the label on that shyte careful like before you take it. All that small print is real.

05/05 Happy B-Day to the Black

I still don’t really know the date, so I steal a look at her DL every April so I wont get caught off guard.
She is not really getting big. But she was sick, and she is pregnant…again how did that happen!

06/05 On my way to making some History in the Largest judgment in Louisiana Civil District Courts.

I didn’t get none of the money, but I helped form the decision
Come to think about it, that sucks.

SideNote: Still trying to make the Career Change! Anyone know a headhunter I could employee.

07/05 Getting ready for baby!

It is official my wife is crazy and I am an enabler. My baby’s furniture cost more than mine!!!
No we still don’t know the sex of the baby…don’t want to know…let it be an old school surprise.
The fight about the name has reached its zenith. He shall be the THIRD, III, Trey..damn the world.

08/05 Storms a brewing!

Can you say Hurricane Katrina!
My boss’s grandson died in a car wreck two days before the hurricane.

09/05 Trying to keep shyte together!

My world is on its ear for several months!

10/05 The III is born.

Nuff Said.

11/05 My baby girl needs surgery?!

Every parent’s worst nightmare! I cried alone from fear. I couldn’t share my lapse of strength with anyone. I cried from fear of losing her, from fear of her pain. I cried for all that my in-laws had lost. I cried because my family was spared their lives. I cried because I could help and I did. I cried for the first time in years.

12/05 Celebrating the Birth

Celebrating Life
Celebrating Love
Merry Christmas Everybody!

The White Gene!

2005-12-16T09:41:00.000-08:00

They found the white gene!

Thank god now we can finally explain why white people exist.

Well just imagine all the far reaching implications that this can have. I predict that genetic sampling and testing will now hit a standstill. Some expert is going to come out and say that all genetic stuff is incorrect and just plain voodoo science.

Furthermore the President is probably going to issue an order banning any further research into genetics and DNA. Mass book burnings will be held bent on destroying all knowledge gained from such wicked science.

People all over the modern world will be in an uproar. Opponents will be at the fore front challenging genetic research as an abomination before God. But no rioters will take to the streets. Eventually it will all quiet down and we will continue as if genetic research was an aberration.

Why you ask?! Why would people, scientist, the President, the world go to such lengths to stop cutting edge research and medical advancement?

The answer is simple and two fold!

We have long sense suggested that the white race was some unnatural mutation. An unwanted genetic defect that disgraced a group of people who could no longer consider themselves people of color. I myself scoffed at my Muslim brothers and their counter parts who drew these illogical conclusions.

“White people are mutants, the devil, a blight to human kind” they would proclaim to any ear unable to flee their preaching’s.

Damn looks like they might not be 100% wrong. This research is suggesting that White people are a genetic mutation. Cells that just don’t want to act right! I can draw several parallels to mutations in the human genome…but all have negative effects: cancer, sickle cell, every birth defect has genetic origins.

The second reason, the real reason that this research will be suppressed is this…..

IF A GENE CAN TELL US WHO IS WHITE, CONVERSLY THERE IS A GENE THAT WILL TELL US WHO IS BLACK!

Take a second to wrap your head around this one.

What happens if Joe Whiteguy happens down to his bank to get a loan? He walks in and is greeted warmly at the door. He tells Tom W. Bankowner (the W stands for white) that he needs 50 thousand.

Tom W.: “Sure Joe No problem”

Joe W.: “Thanks Tom”

Little does Joe know that that little handshake at the end of the meeting was actually a skin graft sample. A sample that will be used to run test to determine Joe W. true background.

Two hours later, the phone rings at Joe’s Home:

Joe W. “Hello?”

Tom W. “Mr. White Guy?”

Joe W. : “Yes”

Tom. W.: “Sorry, we have to deny that loan application”

Joe W.: “Hey, what do you mean buddy! Why?”

ToM W. : Well Joe, I don’t know if you know but you are a nigga, we ran the DNA test! I ran it myself twice. Sorry my good man, but you are black” Hanging up the Phone

JOE W.: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Banking industries would crash over night. Millions of people’s credit would fall into ruin within weeks. Mass suicides would take place all over America. The world would end as we know it.

The good new is: Several Affirmative Action bills would pass both Houses of Congress.
Billions of dollars would be paid out in reparations.
And finally Bill Clinton could come out of the CLOSET.

No Gnus is Good Gnus with Gary Gnu

2005-12-14T11:02:00.000-08:00

Did anybody else watch a TV show called the Great Space Coaster.

Man my child hood was the bomb! I have to remember to post on that later.

I don’t have a lot of time today. I am feeling really expressive and artistic. I think I am going to stop by a poetry reading tonight. I think they do some slams on Wed. I wrote some stuff so I might have to get on stage.

I just finished watching my Gov. on the TV in front of Congress on some Hurricane Katrina shyte. She got handled badly. I just don’t get the purpose of those hearings. Do they want to stand in judgment of the response, or fix the damn problems? They need to call my azz and I will set that shyte straight.

They were so condescending to her, I got upset, and after all she is my governor. These MFs from other parts of the Country staring down at her like she is so beneath them. Shyte she might be incompetent but so are all politicians. Beside incompetence is what politics are about.

Gov Blanco is better than me cause I would have razzle-dazzled that whole hearing.

Senator Jack Ass from the state of White America: “So you mean to tell me Governor Cunningham all the bus drivers evacuated.”

Gov. Closet Owner: “Yeah doc, it was a huge as Hurricane headed our way, so niggas was getting outta dodge.”

Senator Jack: “So why didn’t you evacuate all those people left behind.”

Gov Closet Owner: “Shyte, man I told everybody to leave. I was on the radio, on the TV, I told everybody leave now. I would have put it in the newspaper but you know niggas don’t read.
I told them it was going to be they azz if they stayed behind. Then I broke north. I got family and people so I was good. When I found out people stayed behind I was kinda like Florida on Good Times.”

Senator Jack: “What?!?!”

Gov. C.: “Damn Damn Damn. Never mind, I called my boys and even two wayed the President.”

Senator Jack: “But what did you do to rescue the people.”

Gov. C.: “You going to let me talk, cause if you not going to let me talk, I just aint going say nothing at all.”

Senator Jack: “ Sir, we are trying to get to the bottom of this!”

Gov. C: “The bottom, okay…Hurricane Katrina came and fucked up my city. Niggas was everywhere. Hanging out of windows, jacking cars, lootin Wal-Mart. Because they were black we couldn’t get the Feds to come and rescue shyte. Ya boy George was sitting with his thumb up his azz, as usual, trying to figure out a way to turn a dollar on this whole issue.
Look my state is poor, to begin with. We didn’t have the resources to save our selves. We asked for help and it was like a fart in the wind, every body heard it but nobody was affected.”

Senator Jack: “So you couldn’t save your own citizens.”

GOV. Closet Owner: Awe too hell with this!!!!….(Grabbing the table and flipping it on its side as he darts for the main door, papers fly everywhere. The senators react with shcok and horror. From the hallway you hear Gov Closet Owner defiantly yell.)

IM OUT BITCHES!!!!!!!

And that is called the razzle-dazzle!

A point for Tuesday!

2005-12-13T11:16:00.000-08:00

I don’t believe that men are from Mars and women are from Venus. We are from the same planet, and we enjoy a symbiotic relationship. A give and take, a quid pro quo, a you scratch my back and I scratch yours.

I have spent the majority of my life dealing with the fairer opposite sex. I have come with up with 5 tenants. The first is:

Women are prettier.

All this may ruffle a few feathers but listen I have concrete opinion to back all of this up.

WOMEN ARE PRETTIER
This is a no brainier. God saw fit to make women more physically appealing. I am not going to go into the whole evolutionary discussion as to why this is so just realize it is so! Don’t say it depends on the side of the fence you are looking on, because that isn’t the truth. Women recognize beauty in women just as fast as men do. I think some of this may have to do with our male dominated society but most is just the natural way of things.

In all societies in the world women adhere to more beautification rituals than men. Most adornment for men suggests rites of passage, or some other bravado. Women all over the world, wear makeup, rings of all sorts, piercing, clothing, and hairstyles for simple beatification. The only society that doesn’t fit this mold is the Muslims, but that is a whole other story. And a couple of cultures in Africa that require men adorn themselves to certain degrees, but for the purposes of this argument we will leave both groups out.

Still don’t believe me.

Okay there are a few things that people naturally find appealing babies, pretty women, nice full breast, and AZZ! Maybe those last two were for me but I stand by the first two.

Babies are designed to look cute. Large eyes and smooth skin with large heads, on adults that would be down right scary, but not on babies. Even with bald spots and toothless grins babies as a whole capture the hearts of parents and germy toxic death spreaders alike. It’s hard to just straight up find an ugly baby. The big man did this purposely so babies wouldn’t end up in the dryer. (Sorry, I had to mention Lakeisha Adams and her god-forsaken actions but that aint the norm).

I believe the original intelligent designer put the same spin on women. Still don’t believe me. You still want to say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, still want to believe that beauty is a figment of your sexual orientation?

You ever notice that we recognize a standard of beauty that is uniform in women. We know without a doubt which women are pretty and which aren’t. No matter the age, the race, the size, we all know pretty in women when we see it.

Now men are attractive to women in different ways for different things. There is no standard for beauty. Women like men for different reasons.

Okay, you want examples. I don’t really know how to do the photo thing but it took me all morning and I pulled together something with YAHOO.

Click on this link and cross your fingers!

Now after you look at both groups, and without looking at your neighbors paper tell me which one is in the pretty group, and which one is in the ugly group. Just looking at appearance alone. Not fame, body, personality, just appearance.
Tell me who is attractive among the men and women and who is unattractive among the men and the women.

Drunk by 1:00

2005-12-12T09:07:00.000-08:00

Christmas lunch!

Going to eat drink and be merry!

Be back tomorrow!

I dont have a drinking problem. I have learned that drug addictions are very big in my profession. I consider alcohol to be the most prevalent destructive drug in our society. Maybe most destructive because caffine is the most prevalent.

But I digress. I am bout to go get drunk!

Truth is!

Sorry in Advance

2005-12-09T09:09:00.000-08:00

Please accept this with my humblest apologies as I begin my Friday rant. But to contain my anger and frustration any longer may cause harm to my own person. I hope it all comes out right, I am disturbed and it effects my writing, so to that end Consider all of this a SIDENOTE!

Why do women continue to be the weaker sex? It is not flattering, it is not feminine, it is just plain disturbing. I meet so many strong dominating women only to peal back the multitude of layers and discover naiveté, depression, self-loathing, fear and anxiety. We all posses these less than favorable human traits, we all get down every now and again, But I will be damned if I get down because of some other person or some other event that is far beyond my ability to control.

I am speaking from my own experiences, as a member of the ex-wife/crazy bitch club. I blamed myself and expanded my faults to encompass all of the worlds problems as well as my own. Shyte I literally fell into disarray.

See my ex-wife knew how to get to me, she broke me down I allowed her to break me down. She expected the world of me and I tried to provide it, at 20! Then when I couldn’t provide it, she ridiculed and derided me. She went after my most vulnerable spot, my attempts to be a man as I defined man. I wanted to be the great lover, great provider, and great father. She cut off access to one, mismanaged the other, and removed from my life my only joy during my most difficult time. The girl made me weep. Seriously I wept.

I visited a really good friend of mine during my darkest days. He took one look at me and said I was pitiful. Not pitiful for the circumstances in my life but pitiful for letting those circumstances destroy me. Letting those circumstances control my actions. Letting life whip me, was unconscionable in his eyes.

I was mad at first, I wanted sympathy and he gave me honesty. After I left his crib, I withdrew again into my woes and misery. But the bitterness had lost its sting. The darkness revealed first shadows and then light. Soon I realized that no matter what I had options simply because I did. I threw off her yoke and came to my own sense of who I was. Not measured by her or life, measured by my own mind, and my own actions.

Do what you feel is the best you can do in your heart and mind; if it doesn’t work, or if bad things happen, oh well, move on. Don’t get mired in self-doubt and misery. If you get lost, get a map and find your way. Don’t just rumble the streets hoping that chance and good fortune will smile on you. Self-empowerment is a gift that God gave us all. Not just men, not just single women, not just older women. We all have it.

You want something in your life to change. Change it! IF you can’t change it let that shyte go. But before you truly say it is beyond your control, exhaust all your remedies. Including getting your brother and his boys to visit that clown with a baseball bat. Never change who you are because of a desire to impress, or a desire to fit in, or a desire to be accepted. You are perfect the way you are because that is who you are. No outside opinion by any individual or society should change that outlook.

Just as you accept your hair as short or long, straight or nappy; your body as thick or heavy; your lips, your eyes, your nose, accept too, that you are! A desire to change should come from within. A desire to be different is personal not public.

So don’t be moved by the subtle winds of change. Design your own winds!

Just a little advice from a Closet Owner!

GOOD TIMES AGAIN

2005-12-08T08:38:00.000-08:00

It finally happened. I saw a new episode of Good Times

I was watching TVONE this weekend.

SideNote:
For those of you who don’t know, TVONE is a new or one of the newer black televisions stations. I have been watching this joint sense it came on the Direct TV programming schedule. I really do try to support all thing African American/black, so I spend at least one hour of the day with my TV tuned to this station. No, I am not a Neilson family but man you never know if big brother is watching.

When TVONE first came on it had really some bare bones programming. They started with some black design chic show. They usually ran two shows back to back. Then they had a cooking show with this black guy, G.Garvin, who looks like LL COOL J. Then the next 4 hours would be Living It Up with Patti LaBelle, a show featuring her talking and cooking and hanging with her girls.
SideNote:
I have never heard more babies, and chiles’ in all my life.
Lastly around prime time they would show some ole school black movie. Not the good ones but the really low budget old flicks. But it was black so I watched it.

Luckily the Station is getting more dollars and the programming is improving. They got Martin, Apollo, and Good Times reruns. Better black movies. Tabloid shows like Access TVONE. Plus they still run that home girl show with Patti LaBelle. They even have two long forgotten black shows Amen and 227! The station declared that they would access a market that Bet neglected, the adult Black television market. I watched that channel all weekend and I did not see one Video, or rap interview. Thank God we are about more than just the Minstrel Show!

But back to the point of this whole discussion, I ran up on a Good Times episode that I had never seen before! Or at least it wasn’t very familiar. I was dumbfounded. I have often prided myself on having seen every episode of Good Times at least 10 times. When I was young that was the only black programming we had outside of Video Soul. So my sister and I watched Good Times when we got home from school, and when we went to bed at night. I had a nice 13inch black and white TV in my bedroom, and I drifted off to sleep many nights listening to the dulcet tones of “Not Getting Hassled not getting Hustled.”

But this episode was new to me. Some of the storyline seemed vaguely familiar but it never matched up. See Willona didn’t want to go to a wedding because she was single and didn’t feel like getting hassled. James warned Florida about trying to be a match maker and we all know Florida was determined to hook her good friend up. I guess it is obvious as to why the story was not one of the Classics like JJ getting shot, or Michael on that VitaBlue, or even Thelma and and number of her BoyFriends (Ebea (sp) comes to mind. But I didn’t get to watch the end so I don’t know how it ended and it has bothered me to no end.

First off, why doesn’t Good Times have a web site? What kinda shyte is that? That show beyond all others is a cultural icon. Many brothers grew up into puberty with Thelma. (When I was young Thelma just pissed me off for f@cking with JJ, but as I got older she became very useful…) We learned about Black Power and the proper purpose of education from Michel. We learned about hard work, perseverance and pride from James. We picked up strong womanhood and faith in God from Florida. We didn’t really learn shyte from JJ, he was truly comic relief, but he did love his family. So I think that Good Times deserves a website. I will even go further. Good Times needs a reunion show. Damn could you imagine the profit a show like that would derive? Everyone in America has watched Good Times at some time or another. The damn show is on somewhere in the world every hour of the day. We need a reunion show just to get some closure.
What do yall think the whole Good Times gang is up to? Is Micheal a mayor, is JJ a famous artist, what do you think?

PS
Does anyone know how that episode with Willona ended?

Just a question?!

2005-12-07T09:00:00.000-08:00

Things fall apart!

That is a true statement. But as they fall apart they fall back together. It is all part of HIS grand plan. If you believe in the Big Man or some form of the Big Man.

But what is this all about if you don’t. I shudder to think. I have never been a Christian that lives up to the total call and burden placed on us. I guess I am just lazy on that point. I don’t do much to bring others into fellowship with the Big Guy.

IF every asked I will quickly vocally support my chosen faith; but door to door, on the corner of Bourbon Street during the Bayou Classic, or cooking rice for some small village in a faraway uncivilized land…well I just haven’t had that calling.

Sometimes I sin. I do things that I know are sinful. Alas I am human. I strive everyday to be Christ Like.

I look at the world today. It scares me. It really feels like everything is getting worse. Crime, violence, environment, sexuality, government, disease, natural disasters, man-made disasters are just the tip of the iceberg.

SO my solution is to pray. I ask for strength. I humble myself, and move forward knowing that he wont give me anything I cant bare. However, I also know he has empowered me with free will. I make decisions that direct me life and the consequences of which I fully expect. Every now and then I sit in disbelief at my misfortune, and alternatively at my fortune. No matter how bad the situation I know that HE is still with me, and that without his shield it would be much worse.

For those who don’t believe, how do you survive? What is your reason for going on through the bad times? How do you do it? Just a question.

One the Hard Way

2005-12-01T13:27:00.000-08:00

I don’t know what I am doing wrong on the home front. Maybe my tendencies are just what they are. I have a plan on how this baby boy of mine will get his manhood. And to be frank it will be hard.

SideNote:
I have controversial topics of discussion with my in-laws. It is probably not a good idea, but I do it anyway.

A little back ground on this whole matter may be in order.

Nothing speaks of holiday cheer like a discussion between close families about gender bias. I was speaking only under severe wine overload but I continued. Before the night ended I alienated my wife, pissed off about two in-laws, and flustered myself out of my wine buzz.

SideNote:
I think a wine buzz is the best intoxication there is. It rolls on you slowly and maintains its presence for several hours. It never really drops you over the top but it keeps you feeling nice, warm, and well never mind.

Let me explain my position. I think, as a general rule, boys should be raised harder than girls. I mean boys should get fewer toys, do more work, and definitely at working age get a job. Conversely I think girls should focus on academics alone, and be spoiled a little more.
Why do I think this way? It is all a part of my male chauvinistic tendencies. Girls by nature in my book are more respectful, fearful, and more mature. Boys by nature are ungrateful, disrespectful, immature, and challenge authority. These are generalities painted with board strokes, but I think it all remains true.

Every female I have ever been in contact with on every different level had three things in common:
Self preservation
Will Power.
Unselfishness
This includes doctors and hoodies. (I like that term). See women will survive. No matter what women do, they will eventually succeed. IF she starts working at Burger King, sooner than not she will be the manager. IF she starts college, she graduates in four years. If she works HR at a manufacturing company she eventually will run the company. If she has a sick mother, she takes her in. If her man is lazy she takes care of him. She will give of herself before she will let her kids suffer. I just have seen to many evidences of this to discount. We all have! Now I am speaking more of old school type chics. I still see this evidence in new school, but It is obvious in women my age or older.They have an innate mechanism that places them in a no fail zone.

SideNote:
I used to say that because women have "SEX" they should always have something in life, but after my daughter was born I quickly revised that philosphy.

Now on the other spectrum guys share two traits.
Selfishness
Sense of grandeur.
We guys have a “me first” philosophy as a whole. We have to mature into men before we can let it go. Still it is hard to choose between that private school tuition and that 42 inch plasma screen TV. But selfishness leads to ones own demise. It doesn’t foster strong relationship bonds and it’s really a set up for a false payday. We tend to want what we want when we want it. We can even get aggressive about it.
We have to be taught patience and a work ethic. And that lesson begins at an early age. If not you unleash a spoiled victim of society. Look to our prisons for many who never learned important life lessons. They still want everything for nothing. They still expect others to do for them

SideNote:
My daughter will get a care financed by her father. She will have a job, but her work schedule will not interfere with school. She will have a curfew.

My son will get his own car or pay a car note, and definitely pay his insurance. He will have a job, and he will have to handle school and work. He will have a flexible curfew.

All the mothers can really appreciate this by looking at their young children. Girls usually have strong social skills at an early age. They show more concern for the feeling of others. And when told no, for the most part that listen and understand. There are exceptions but for the most part that is the case. Men-children generally test mothers first. How much can I brazenly get away with? Boys soon learn not to fear whippings, or punishment. It is necessary for a boy to be a man to have some of these traits. He has to be strong willed and somewhat disobedient. You tell a boy no, and he may get angry and do it anyway (damn the consequences). He has to have that time to learn.

Every young male defendant I have ever been involved with spoke through his mother. He was spoiled to the point where his life expectations still come from his mother. She still defends and protects him. TOO LATE!

You have to be rough on a young nigga. He won’t appreciate sacrifice until he has sacrificed. He wont be respected, until he learns to respect. Especially in this society that values bling bling, and big asses. The best example I have is my neighborhood as a kid. We all grew up middle class. We all graduated from high school. The ones who had jobs and grades and did more for themselves, are now doctors, lawyers, working in the plants, educators, etc. The ones that were spoiled and coddled are calling me now trying to have their record expunged. True to life.

My son will never fill the master’s whip, or Jim Crow, or separate but equal, or segregation, or racism to the extent that any of his forefathers did. He might even think that life is supposed to be fair. One day he may believe that life owes him something.

Unless I teach him to be his own man, to face challenges head up, to work hard for everything you earn. And you have to learn those lessons the hard way.

Rumbling

2005-11-29T09:30:00.000-08:00

I am worried. I am worried about where I am in life.

Not really sure if I am as successful as I should be. I think I am lazy.
I think I am so on the verge. I think I think too much, and act to little.

Maybe opportunities abound, and it is up to us to take advantage of them. I hesitate to think of how many opportunities I lost out on for my being unprepared. Yeah, I guess God just didn’t have it meant for me to do those things.

Now I am getting antsy. Now I have got to make a move or I will flip out.

But I have to put some brakes on my move situation. I have a wife, 2 kids, a mortgage, car note, and a varied sorted amount of bills to pay. I can't make them suffer because I am feeling antsy.

Better just play it safe. Let my opportunity come to me, and be full able to take advantage of it when it comes. Meanwhile everyone gets the mean mug.

And the winners were not!

2005-11-23T08:22:00.000-08:00

Quick Hit

Did anyone see the AMA?

I like Lindsey Lohan better when she was heavier with nice breast, I think yon girl was fine, back in the day, now Hollywood got her skinny ass. (I think I said that before, damn am I hiding in the bushes on a white girl?!?!)

Hillary Duff is the most Vanilla white girl I have every seen. She looked overly medicated, or she had been crying.

I hate the little sporty hat on brothers. That shyte is only cool on women and Justin Timberlake. But the sporty hat and big brothers just aint clicking! For one take Cedric the Entertainer for instance. We all know he a round dude, right? So you know brother head is swollen. So the little sporty hat is probably pretty huge. Titled to the side or sitting on top it still looks like some little Tinkerbell, Peter Pan type gimmick. Get you a Dobb and give that little sporty hat shyte a rest.

How does Will Smith win a Music award. Now dont get me wrong I would rather my child listen to him than Laffy taffy but...well lets just say music is having problems right now.

How was 50 in a pop rock category?

I think overall, with the obvious over inclusion of country music, this was the worst award show I have every seen in my life.

PS. Why are these little strung out, medicated, intoxicated white girls singing at a music awards show? We all can sing, but it doesn’t mean we should do it in public. It was pathetic. Sorry Lindsey, my love!

Old School Frame of Mind

2005-11-22T10:14:00.000-08:00

Guess you can consider me old school. Not just based on the music I enjoy, or the clothes I wear. I really have a methodology that lends it self to a less than modern way of thinking. I don’t feel bad, or out of touch, in fact I think that holding on to these old tenants put me a small step above average/normal society.

During my morning commute, I turned off my Kanye West Late Registration get crunk session, (that brother makes you feel better) and flitted through the local radio stations. I settled on the black/urban station and laughed quietly to the banter ongoing. The topic of the day dealt primarily with the roles that people play in their relationships. The call-ins ranged from women who expected to be taken care of to men who expected to be taking care of.

Now, I did preface this conversation with an overview of my way of thinking, Old School, but now let me break it down. When I speak of old school I am not talking bout James Evans “Kitchen and the Bedroom, Kitchen and the bedroom kind of mentality. I truly believe that the more we recognize the different needs and natures of men and women, the better we get along. I guess it sounds almost like the cultural diversity argument. The more we know about the opposite sex the better we relate. Hell the more we know about people the better we relate.

To that extent I was disappointed with almost every call in.

Some women proclaimed to detest dependence and suggest that a self-sufficiency is the only way to be. This is also called the “I don’t need a man” argument. While it is true that being self-sufficient is a desirable trait, I could think of several more traits, that if achieved would defiantly best sufficiency. Loving and open comes to mind, smart, and intuitive comes to mind. Accepting and honest tops the list. Besides who wants to be alone, man or woman. So while you don’t need a man to live, you do need relationships to make living worthwhile. Not a slam on single woman or men, just my honest old school opinion.

Some men actually called and insulted themselves by suggesting that women are only good for sex and domestic duties. Both are important, but why do blind men profess to see the most?
“Give you an example, what would be the point in having Target if all I purchased was soap. I never even search the else or spend idle time viewing the latest gadgets. I go in and buy soap. The Target remains a shopping marvel but I limit myself by only purchasing Soap. Other analogies include having a Corvette and driving 40mph, making love with the lights off, only listing to the first track of a CD.
Women are so awesome, truly more so than men. Taking aside my natural bias, look at the facts. Women can have babies and feed them!!!! That in itself is, “Nuff Said!” but I will add, they nurture us. They accept us, and only require our love, loyalty, and fidelity. (Shyte like that aint everything!). Their complexity beyond their sex is what makes women, women. Any brother that doesn’t see that is probably immature or merely disguising some less than masculine attributes. Funniest thing I heard last night was a comment by a Doctor of some sort, who suggested that the sexual fantasy of being with two women really speaks more of a mans desire not to disappoint, and less than true sexually prowess. I guess if two others are in the bed it aint his fault if shyte don’t end in orgasmic delight.

The rest of the callers equally disappoint. Women who believe that their sex is enough to keep them paid and pampered. Yeah right, Juicy abounds just look around; every woman you see has one. Now if you are suggesting that all you will have to do is whatever it takes sexually to please your man, doesn’t that just make you an ordinary ho.
And right along with this misinformed cadre are the men who think dollars will get her and keep her. Just be forewarned, unless you are Bill Gates or some Sheik Abdul in the Middle East, you are destined for failure.

Then the brother that professes to be a PIMP. Laughable at best. I have never seen anyone that is more proud of mistreating people than a Pimp. I guess that is why most publicaly recognized Pimps attire themselves so lavishly. These Dap daddies cock and strut with the best of them, them that have self loathing, and no self esteem. Yeah you a pimp allright brother usa pimp.

Well, I gave up on listening to these poor lost souls. I cranked up my Mr. West and called my Momma and apologized for acting ignorant for all those years. See track #16.

I'm In Love With A Stripper

2005-11-21T08:27:00.000-08:00

“I’m in love with a stripper!”

Not me, really not me. It has been years since I hurried to Walgreens and bought a pack of gum with a hundred dollar bill.
“Could I get 99 ones please?”

That is the title to a song I heard on the way to work this morning. Can you believe it? Does this bottomless pit have no end?

No?, okay it is bottomless, right. Anyway, I listened in disbelief as the young cat blasted verse after verse about his love for a certain glittered clad overly perfumed club performer. He had one of those Akon sounds. I don’t know the names of any of the wave of singers but a lot is left to be desired. When I hear a record now I don’t know if it’s a Rap or RB, I don’t know if the record is for the rapper or the singer. But this love ballad was straight RB.

This dude was in love with a stripper!

SideNote:
The past is a hard thing to live down so most people push it way back deep into the closet…ie skeletons. As I write certain things I intentional pull these old bones out make room for new ones, and to express and cleanse the soul. How-some-ever, my sordid history contains many chapters…One Could be labeled STRIPPERS. I never was a big stripper fan. I always felt that a smooth azz brother such as myself should not pay for or want for the affections of females. I had podnuhs who would throw big money at these impressionable young ladies in some vain attempt to win their affections. This hard headed bunch failed to realize that:
1. If it took money for her to notice you, it would take more money
to get more noticed.
2. Somebody always had more money than you.
3. IF she was really that tight, she probably just wants your
money.
4. IF she was really that nice she probably wouldn’t be strippen.

Nothing against strippers, but man what a way to make a living!
So I was pulled into this murky underworld by the first older woman I dated. She was about 10 years my senior. She was a Budweiser Girl, a pro at presenting her body. I met her at a club that had just opened. The club was trying to drum up business so they had models perform. She was a lingerie model, she never really got buck-naked but I think a little clothing is just as sexy as nudity. No popping, just a sultry walk and swagger. She commanded attention. Ms. Lady pulled me in like a fly into the spider’s web, and at 18, I was happy to die. Ms. Lady was good, she would make it known that I was the object of her affections and all the other cats would pour on the dollars to try and buy her from me. I was still shy and uncomfortable, not ready for all of this. But I manned up.
Lets just say that we left with both our lives in shambles. I still say till this day she taught me everything I know about women, sex, and relationships, everything. After writing this I realize that I still romanticize her, and that time…but I didn’t love no stripper.

But this song!!! C’mon people. How far will we slide? I mean I thought “My Neck My Back” was the bottom of the barrel. Now we have moved on to such gems like:
“My MilkShake”
“The Whisper Song”
“My Hump”
“Shake That Laffy Taffy”
We sing/rap openly about formerly taboo sexual acts, so blatant is the sexuality that we hardly even notice. We actively don’t listen to the words and like the beat. Yeah right, half of yall know way more than the chorus to David Banner’s “Don't Play With Me” song,

Now we select balladeers to croon our scantly clad performers. Lest I speak to quickly for I have never truly been in that situation, I do understand. I don’t fancy the glitter, the musky smelling perfumes, the less than explainable makeup that accompany these pole top performers. I respect the craft. I respect those who do it well. If, you just go out and sweat, “Pop that Thang”, do a split, open your legs and pick up dollars, you are a different breed than which I refer. I am talking to the skill set that makes it clap. A skill set that balances on the pole and performs acrobatic feats previously reserved for the Cirque du Soleil. A skill set that rises or lowers to any occasion to meet and exceed the demands of it varied clientele.

Besides all of that, how many strippers have actually broken up happy homes?

Maybe I judged them to quickly and if is okay, someone has to love Luscious, Mercedes, Porsha, Strawberry, Dark Chocolate, Honey, Lexis, Devine, Destiny, Super-Thick, and Lady ‘T’.

Life can go on!

2005-11-18T09:18:00.000-08:00

Quick word or two.

Sorry if I am all over the place...but I feel happy today

My daughter had surgery this morning. Everything went fine. She is at home resting. No surgery is minor, especially if its your child, and I have a real issue with doctors that tell you it isn’t anything to worry about. If it was so minor she wouldn’t need surgery…right?

Well now that that large stress inducer has been taken off my back, I feel 20lbs lighter. I don’t look it I just feel it. I have got to drop about 10lbs in the gut area. But diet is out of the question. Further, I am just not disciplined enough on the exercise. I was small all my life. Thin bone structure and everything. Bout my mid to 20’s I started filling in. Now that I am in my early 30s I need to stop filling in. Some is spilling over the edges. I really think that it is harder for people who have never really had weight issues to drop pounds. The concept is foreign to us. My whole life changes from eat as much of whatever I want to…well let me eat smaller portions and watch the white starches. Dangone!

A good friend of mine lost 50lbs in like 2months. Dude is on a serious hospital recommended diet. I didn’t know he needed to drop some weight, I mean I knew dude was big but some cats are just big. He is one of those former offensive line playing bruhs. He really looks much better though. Healthier, he doesn’t look as if he might pop. Plus his clothes look like they fit better. Good for dude! Of all things he looks shorter, maybe dude had fat under his feet.

Last but not least, I was so disrespected today. Every nurse, doctor, administrative employee, and receptionist spoke to my wife in regards to my daughter’s surgery and care. Not one person addressed a comment, or question to me. They did address me when they asked for the co-pay. But I was pissed a little; we really do live in a chauvinistic society. Everyone assumed that I was just along for the ride. Shyte, I been mother, father, and friend to this little girl her whole life. It really bothered me. I mean they even brought in a bunny suit so the parent could accompany the child until she was sedated. The bunny suit was sized for my wife.
I told them, “I don’t think that will fit!”
They told me, “It’s for the parent that goes in the surgery room.”
I told them, “It doesn’t fit!”
They told me, “It’s for her mother.”
I told them, “That’s fine, but bring one for me because I am going in with my daughter!”
The looked puzzled and apologized. But c’mon.

Was it the male thing, of the black thing, or the black male thing? I get the same kinda hassle at her schools and her events. If you deal with parents please include the father as much as the mother.

Some of us are still daddies.

2005-11-17T13:02:00.000-08:00

How real is the Electroverse? I mean how far does the web intricate itself in our regular lives, our real lives. How much of our live have become email, instant messaging, blogs, newsgroups, forums, and even online game play? I wonder if a study is out there that could shed some light on this subject?

How many electronic realms substitute for real communication?

I spend an inordinate amount of time on the computer. My work unfolds as the delicate clatter of keys mark time. In the not to distant past my home was a refuge from the constant computer age we live in. I would come home and devote my life to my family, friends and the other electronic demi-god, The Television. Now I rush home devote the necessary time to family, friends and TV then spend the remaining twilight hours lurking the electronic boulevards and byways of cyberspace. I might play a game online (Solcolm III is a Beast). I spend time searching for music (Legal Downloads Only). I diligently search for information on my favorite football team (Da Saints). Sometimes I fire up the ole messenger and wait for my electronic compatriots to join me!

I can’t remember not having a computer at a job in some form or another. I can’t remember life before e-mail. How did we communicate those oh so important thoughts?

I spend time in this realm devoting time to needs that are not real, to a device that will never return my favors. I have developed a cyber community that exists only through my computer. Would these people I share my thoughts and opinions with be my friend in reality? I can never answer that question, I never met an internet person in real life.

SideNote:
Okay there was this one time when chat rooms were the rage and I ended up meeting a internet person in real life, a meeting that lead to some of the wildest shyte I have ever done. Okay maybe twice. Both times were, kinda off the chain, kinda never again, kinda I cant believe its not butter moments. I will not ever go into those stories.(sliding a femur and radial joint back into the closet)

But how real is this internet? Are these relationships with internet people real. In most cases we have never heard them, seen them, smelled them. We communicate through typed word. A typed language that has an ebonics all to its own. Without the electroverse would we still connect?

Do you are I really care across this keyboard, through this screen, or do we just like getting e-mail and knowing other peoples business. Why is it easier to communicate with people we don’t know, is it because we will never really know them. If I get mad at you I can just block your e-mails and ban you from my blog. If you get mad at me you can do the same.

I guess we need to prepare ourselves for what the future is. We are growing our kids with computers; we use them now like our parents used TVs. They are for education, and entertainment. They can absorb an afternoon, and make you forget to do homework.
But at the end of the day, when the power is off, the computer is there but it has no charm. No personality to make us laugh. No attitude to piss us off. At the end of the day we have shared our lives with a pop up screen, and compose/send button.

Nothing

2005-11-16T12:02:00.000-08:00

No Soup for you today, comeback tomorrow.

Sex.

2005-11-15T09:33:00.000-08:00

Sex in the morning sex at night,
Sex in the afternoons all right,
But aint a man on Earth that could stay alive withouta…
SEX DRIVE

Shyte Ice Tee hit the nail on the head when he penned that verse. What would life be without the glories of sex?

Problem is sex really aint all that simple. It is one of mans most natural responses but it is mired in so much puesdo philosophical bullshit. Cant a brother just get some!? Damn.

Okay just kidding, but I will tell you this. I think life would be a lot easier if men weren’t captivated by sex and women weren’t in charge of its distribution.

I used to say that if you don’t water your own grass don’t get mad when it dies, and please don’t get mad if it rains. That really works on both sides of the table. When I was in the that World…

SideNote: I hate when people say that. It is so disingenuous. We still live in the same world we just choose to do different things.

I really lived my life with a “got to get some pussy” frame of mind. Yeah I worked and handled my responsibilities but underneath it all I was really trying to get some from some one somewhere.

Before you twist what I am saying let me break my methodology down.
I truly believe that you can get any woman you want:
1. Say the right things
2. In the right way
3. At the right time.

Sounds simple but it isn’t. My method took time and serious listening skills. You cant run in the store hollering “THIS IS A STICKUP GIVE ME YO SHYTE”
You wind up with $29, a video of yo dumb ass on Americas Most Wanted, and a 10-20 year bid.
You got to stake the place out. Find the problem area and work on a good solid plan. Find the safe in the back, rob the store before deposit day, and make sure no one else knows about your plan. That way you end up in the Bahamas.

You used to have to work to get some. My slow jam tape had to be perfect, it always started with Tender Ronnie, and ended with Moments in Love. If you don’t know you better ask somebody. I am interested to know if those slow jam tapes worked?

You had to bring something to the table. I thought all you needed was clothes and a personality. I always strove to be cool. Then I realized that girls really want the dude with the car. Then I moved on to the apartment being the ultimate aphrodisiac.
Sometimes the prior suffered for the latter, but such is such.

I longed for the day when if two people liked each other, connected, they could freely have sex. No boyfriend girlfriend drama. No need to meet the family lets just f%ck!
Now quite as it is kept, I know a lot of you was secretly sexually active and freaky with yours. Yeah…I am talking to you!

But now the world is on its ear. Who would have believed that in the days of Aids sex flows from the mouth of babes like a fountain. We are living in some sort of new sexual revolution. Women are as open as men about there sexuality. It is really kinda refreshing...I think???.

But alas this new sexual freedom potion with the power to make women drop them drawers is lost on my generation. I grew up during the Aids epidemic. I grew up when girls in High school didn’t have sex, much less middle school. Hey, I knew some were but it was not like talking bout.

I remember fingering a girl was reason enough not to wash your hand for a couple of days. Now these kids having orgies and gangbangs. I grew up during a time when blow jobs were tabu. Go figure that one out. I would have said oral sex, but every brother knows that he was eating pussy long before he was hittin it. That was just "settin the table". Still if a brother asked, you denied while puling pubic hairs from your teeth. (YEOW...GROSS)
I grew up when people were just coming out of the closet now they flipping out, swinging out, jumping out grabbing six others and jumping back in.

Maybe a sexual revolution isn’t what we needed. Maybe a responsibility revolution would have hit the spot.
Maybe sex shouldn’t be the focus of so many lazy minds. Maybe it aint okay to be open about your sexuality.

Sex in the morning, sex at night! (With the same partner of the opposite sex)
Sex in the afternoons alright. (See above)
But aint a man on Earth that could stay alive withouta…
SEX DRIVE (See above in conjunction with the proper use of condoms, and a thorough review of all local state and federal laws and statutes, cause that sex can kill ya, put in jail, make you broke.....)

2005-11-14T12:15:00.000-08:00

On to the next.

Trying to wrap my finger around a little issue that is unfolding in my home.

To set the background:
I am a 32 year old, recently re-marred father of two. One child is product of a former wife; the other is of my present union. Both children live with me. I am a professional, and work professional hours. I have high expectations from women and a low tolerance for suspect behavior (aka foolishness).
Want more read some past blogs that’s all I have for now!

More to the point, I have realized that my wife hates me. I don’t know when it started but I am catching on quickly, I am not her favorite person. I think it started sometime soon after the new baby was born.

Okay if you don’t believe me I will give you a few examples.

Yesterday, I am watching the Falcons loose to the Packers. NFL games are about 3 hrs long and this one was headed into the second hour. I’m munching on some Doritos, and drinking a beer when I feel an icy chill over my left side. I turn quickly to my right and barely register the glance…no, more of a stare from my wife. She is sitting breastfeeding the baby, her hair dishevel, her clothes frumpy, I turn and face her directly and ask what’s wrong?

SideNote: Every cat in here can attest to the next five minutes of conversation.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!”
You sure?
“Yeah, finish watching the game!”
“Okay, but what’s bothering you?”
“Nothing, I am fine!”
This conversation can only in three ways:
1. If This goes on for five minutes you are in the clear, go back to watching the game, are to the Playstation 2, or too your nap.
2. If it stops abruptly, you have screwed up, watch the rest of the game or finish whatever you are doing, and beg to be forgiven later at the moment you choose.
3.IF she starts talking…you are screwed, now you cant even finish the game.

Of course she said nothing but I insisted and still got nothing.

But the look spoke a thousand words. She might want me dead.
Okay, she does want me dead. My problem is I don’t know why.

Three nights ago, I was stirred from why restful slumber by the icy stare. I sluggishly opened one eye, the Stare. I closed that one eye quickly. I heard the baby cry for I while, I was too scared to open my eye again. When I finally opened it again I had apparently been snoring for two or three hours… it was morning. She was breastfeeding the baby. I quickly got dressed and went to work.

As soon as I got to work I called to see if everything was okay. She said everything was fine, not to worry.

My wife wants me dead, and I have no idea why.

Last week, when I got home from work, I merely asked what was for dinner. I got the icy stare.

Eight days ago, when I told her the house looked in disarray, I got the icy stare.

I wonder what it is that is going wrong. Maybe taking care of the baby has pushed her to her wits end.

Please watch your local news, pay close attention to the missing persons reports.

IF I turn up missing, well, just keep watch.

Not another Rant!

2005-11-11T11:40:00.000-08:00

I am on a different tip today.

I am having a hard time understanding the evacuee phenomenon.

I live in a city that is probably second only to New Orleans in suffering from Katrina wrath. Now the city itself suffered minimal storm damage. Lights out, some things damages but nothing major, or at least nothing on the New Orleans scale.

Our problem came the months and the weeks after the storm. A city of 300,000 suddenly has 400,000 additional citizens. Overnight we became the largest city in Louisiana. And attitudes were horrible.

Traffic was a mess. Normal roadways were beyond congestion. Traffic clog the city bringing Baton Rouge life to a virtual standstill. Rush hour traffic stretched from 7am-9am and 3-6pm to the unforgiving 6-10am 2-7pm. Every venture from home was met by back to back traffic for miles on every major corridor in the city. Attitudes were horrible.

Shopping was horrible. If you made it to the mall, or toWal-Mart, or to Albertsons, you were adversarialy met, and then defeated by blows of shelves absent the necessities of life. Could not even find Camilla Redbeans….THIS IS SOUTH LOUISIANA! Attitudes were horrible.

Weak Schools were subjected to an influx of unprepared, unwilling, and disenfranchised students. Classes were added, class rooms already at the brink were restructured reinforced, and added to. We change testing requirements! The sentiment was there buut the attitudes were horrible.

SideNote:
For the uninformed: New Orleans is a proud culturally rich city. Run back blacks, populated by blacks. The major economy is tourism. The majority of the people employed work in the service industry. The working poor abound. But se bon ton roulette.

Further more the arrogance that comes from New Orleans is astounding. Some people in this city have never left their burrow, or city. Some have been to Africa and Europe six times but couldn’t tell you where or what Shreveport is! It is kinda “I would rather be poor in New Orleans than just be anywhere else ”.

So to make it short, New Orleaners are simply contemptuous about every one else in Louisiana. We the sticks they the city, the state would not exist but for New Orleans.

A truer statement is the state would exist, but we would be more like Idaho, or Nebraska.

Over time, with improvements to the roads, traffic got better. Plus people left the city, or went home. Our population dropped.

Over time the stores, managed their shelves better, increased orders, and hired additional staff.

Over time the schools did what they always do, respond to the needs of the people. They struggle but always manage.

Attitudes stayed a mess. The only thing that has stayed if not grown is the rival nature of the people of these two cities. I don’t get it. Baton Rouge hates New Orleans more than ever. I hoped, envisioned, dreamed of a new day for SouthEast Louisiana. I envisioned southeast Louisiana with a united stronger economy. I envisioned a southeast Louisiana with a united diverse populace.

SOS….Same Ole Shyte!

Flags, Freedom, Slavery, All that!

2005-11-09T10:18:00.000-08:00

This started as a response to a post by a friend, http://serenity23.blogspot.com/and it ended here.

Well, freedoms, rights, hmmm.

I understand your point, but I beg to differ. For a person to use the freedom of speech argument to thinly veil a racist agenda, I have a problem.

Everyone has to recognize the truth for what it is. It is not a freedom of speech argument it is racism. These people who suggest wanting to have ties with there Southern past, their “Roots” (pardon the pun), are lying to our faces.

How can you want to relieve your past and hold on to your Southern roots when those roots include vile and disgusting acts. The confederate flag merely marks a time when the South refused to honor the covenants of the Union of America. There were many issues that caused this split and dissension, but one main area was Slavery.

You want to claim your rich a glorious southern past. Claim it all then. Claim your ancestors part in Slavery. Slavery is as much if not more a part of the South’s History as gentleman charms, sweeping oaks, and an agricultural legacy. If that is what you claim, then cool pay reparations bitch! In fact I will go further to suggest that but for slavery the South would not be half the civilized, productive, and influential region of the Country that it is today.

SideNote:
Before the industrial revolution, large areas of land could not be maintained without large workforces. However, farming is not the most profit intensive venture, especially staple farming. In order for commercial farming to succeed there had to be a different set up. In essence farmers could only succeed in one of three ways.
1. Have a large family (to work the farm)
2. Grow items that could be directly consumed to support
the farmer himself.
a. vegetables, and staples would fall in this category,
3. Garner a large workforce, pay them little to nothing in
wages, and secure their employment through legislation, and
torture.

In case you missed it that last one is also know as SLAVERY. Also could be called Migrant workers, but that is another story.

So if the freedom you wish to express sets heavily on the torture, rape, inhumanity, then please don’t be offended by adjectives like, cracker, racist, red neck azz bubba.

I will for the record admit that I didn’t attend the march. I well believe that Marching had its purpose, and achieved many goals. But if you want to show people you mean business, if you really want to make these kinda people understand, hit them where it really hurts. There pockets.

Leave LSU. You were never wanted there in the first place. But now that the cat is out of the bag…leave. Spend your going to college dollars elsewhere. Dont by LSU stuff, dont support the LSU Alumni. Go to a black university, or at least a university that respects all of its students. They don’t respect the black student population at all. Yeah they need ya for football and basketball, but you pose no force academically. You non-atheletes are expendable.

Don’t believe me, try making a flag demonstrating anti-Jewish sentiment (swastika). Or better yet, start a group and flag for people sympathizing with the Muslim Arab plight in the World. Tell them your original people where from Muslim religious areas and you are just supporting your true heritage.

It is kinda a shame though. Even blacks confined to a small area, with similar purposes, for four years lack solidarity. The least you could have done, even if you didn’t support there cause, is not display acts that show your non-support. BBQ, Hip-Hop music, in the face of protest to protect your rights. Well I guess yall gave them that round. Wonder why they call ya nigga? See above!

Friday

2005-11-04T09:01:00.000-08:00

My life changes.

Okay, I do stuff to effect these changes. Ya know, having babies, getting married, graduating from school, buying a home, general stuff like that kinda puts you on roads of no return. I have been pulled into adulthood kicking a screaming.

One day I was setten back blowing one with my boys, next thing ya know, I am getting ready to pay for some eleven year olds private school education.

SideNote:
I never thought I would do the private school thing. I went to private school myself for a few years, but I spent my highschool days at a top of the line public school Scotlandvile Magnet High(represent). We were smarter, more integrated, more exposed, and more prepared for college than any private school in my city. So back in my highschool days there was no need necessarily for private school education. Well, times have changed, people change, and public schools, well they appear to go to hell.

Why did I pickup the paper this morning and read about every school in my Parish failing. I mean every public school in my parish received a bad report. All save 3-4 schools that received excellent ratings.

How in the hell does every school fail except 4. Please!!!
Lets analyze this.
Who is in charge? Mr. Buck-buck.
Who goes to the public school? Blacks, and poor whites.
Which schools still have success? The schools in white districts.
Which schools fail the most? The schools in Black districts.

I am so glad that racism and its effects are gone. I am so happy to live in a intergrated society free from racial bias and stereo types. Where is Jessie when you need him (serious facetiousness)Back to the point of this topic. Because I was not intending to rant. I just lost it little on that point.

I am slowly rolling up on middle age. I can see my stomach, but not my belt, unless I suck it in. I am not graying…but before you congratulate me please note that I am balding. I pay a house note. I pay a car note, which will soon be worth more than the car. I care for a daughter, a son, and a wife, who all look to me without fear of failure. And I worry every day about letting these cats down. I do yard work and honey do’s. I cook dinner and drink a beer and watch a movie.

No swinging from chandeliers, no rotating door with women of all and any ilk. No late night drinking, no blowen trees.

I guess what I am saying is…I would not have it any other way.

A Night in Compton

2005-11-02T09:17:00.000-08:00

I have got to tell you about this.

I saw a movie last night; you know the 1:30am, homemade, black movie. The movies that for some reason always star Tiny Lister, two of the comedians from BET Comic View, and a chic you recognize from the local university (down here we call it the Yard).

The movie was ridiculous. It ran the gambit of black storyline characters;
The drunk guy,
The player,
The good girl,
The over protective Dad “that don’t take no shyte”,
The weed smoking homeboys,
The crack-head,
The hardcore gansta,
The drunk girl,
The lesbian.

The only thing it was missing was the black fag…(oops sorry, homosexual).

SideNote:
My wife thinks I have a problem. She believes that I will watch any crazy movie that comes on if it has black people. Now She has a point. I won’t watch Titanic, but I have seen Black College Spring Break 2. I know that I don’t have a Neilson Box, I don’t affect ratings or anything, but I just think that these movies should be supported. Would I buy it on DVD, probably not! Would I suggest that somebody rent it, hell yeah, specially if you still smoke.

Now the premise of the movie was typical: Black guy trying to get some from his girl before she leaves town. Antagonist include girls father (remember he don’t take no shyte), homeboys who cockblock and just want to drink and smoke, angry pregnant sister serves as a hater, and girl friends who just block.

I wouldn’t even comment on this movie under normal circumstances. The acting was poor, the cinematography was wanting, the directing, well it suffered. But somewhere through this 1hr 45min farce, this movie got really funny. Not only that it started hitting on real issues. I was like damn.

Teen pregnancy, abortions, adoptions, drinking, homosexuality, trust, love, forgiveness. It really tried to bring a point home at the end. Or maybe I was just sleepy.

I would like to start a black movie library. I don’t want the mainstream hits. I want the laughable, low budget, underground surprises. Not the really sorry ones, but the ones that do offer some entertainment. Any suggestions!

My brother.

2005-10-31T03:52:00.000-08:00

My brother made his 26th birthday this past weekend.
We celebrated.

Truth is my family isn’t really big on Birthday celebrations. But we tend to do a little extra for my brother.

It is a funny thing having siblings, older or younger you realize that they are the best friends that you will ever have in your life. They really will be there till the end.

So what’s bothering me is this! I feel like I am not being a good a brother as I should or could be. I go through he motions and facts be believed I am busy. I don’t hang out, I don’t go anywhere. My main responsibility was my daughter, wife...nix that now it is the new baby. But nevertheless I don’t have the type of quality time that I should to spend with my brother.

Maybe more of a back ground will properly put this problem in prospective.
In 1989 my sister, my brother, and I were in a serious motor vehicle accident. My sister was not injured physically. I escaped with severe lacerations to my face, 3rd stage concussion, and amnesia.. My brother was injured the worst. He had severe brain trauma.
The brain is an awsome piece of machinery. If to much goes on the brain will shut down. Small stage is called shock. Large severe brain injury shut down is called coma.

My brother was in a coma for 6 months. The miracle practitioners of modern science suggested that my parents give up and release his organs for transplant. Going so far as to suggest that my brother would not survive, and if he did, it would be in a vegetative state.
Talk about bed side manner, hmm, well the big man had a different plan. So my parents resisted the doctors attempts to "help others" and requested that the Doctors help my brother.

Houston was the scene of many grueling days for my family. My mother moved to Houston Tear Center to be near my brother. My Dad left every weekend to be with my mother. My sister left for college, and I was left alone.
SideNote:
Still have big issues with that till this day. But that is another story.

It just so happened that I was the person whom recognized that his reflex response behavior was an actual attempt to communicate. It just so happened that God chose to answer my prays on that day, six months and several hundred miles from the scene of the accident. That was the first day of the rest of my family’s life.
Things happen to everyone. Usually dramas end, and everything returns to normal. Or should I say normal with a loss, or addition. This drama started with the addition of loss. My brother was still here but his life, would never be the same.

His struggle to be normal, his therapy, his hard work, his acceptance of unyielding eyes, and obvious whispers, only he can pen. But I can tell you this, never in my life have I met a tougher SOB. Pardon my crudeness but this would be organ donar, future vegetable, is now a college graduate. He has bested a bleak future.

My brother is unable to walk. He talks with slurred speech, and he has severe permanent scarring to his head. He gets stares. Points. Ignorant inquires. He is so much more than I will ever be. He wakes up every day and meets life’s challenges, he sleeps every night, knowing that they will have to be faced again tomorrow.
My stories point falls to this. I am not a good brother. I obsess over my life. I am selfish with my time. I spend but a marginal guilt laden moment with him. Each day I know that I must do better. But everyday I find it harder to face the future he will have to deal with.
I am not a good brother.
I resolve to change, but often my resolutions fall hollow as if it were already the 1st of February. Simply put, I allow my life to consume me.

I am not a good brother. But I do strive to be better, do more, give more.
I write this for him. Maybe one day he will come across it, and know that I don’t offer excuses. I know were I fall short.
But please know that I am trying... to be a better brother.

Wait till next week!

2005-10-28T11:37:00.000-07:00

I really am getting back rolling, just dont want to give it to you all at one time!

Friday Mini Rant

2005-10-28T11:02:00.000-07:00

Nothing really new for the faithful few.

I was working too hard on something that was pointless. A rant that would only serve to alienate others. I have noticed that cyberblogspace is dominated by females. I say females cause “All people that sit to pee aint necessarily ladies to me”.

SideNote:
Something crazy my Pops used to say. Old people have some wide-open little colloquialisms.
“See you later alligator; After while crocodile”
“Hell to tell the Captain.”
“Colder than a witches titty in an iron lung.”
Many little other sayings that I fail to remember because I am writing about it.

I love to read what women write. I love to believe I am truly getting inside the female mind. But then after reading the Post about:
“The baby daddy”,
“The Booty Call”,
“Raising Kids on My Own”,
“Men Aint no Good”,
“Women friends aint no good”
I start getting nervous.

Do females really think this about their lives, about men, about other women? I can feel emotion in the lines; I can sense the heartache, heartbreak, anger, depression, and sorrow.

It worries me.

Lets just face it, if you have a computer, if you are savvy enough to use it, if you are literate enough to publish blogs, you really have it pretty good. That means you are educated, creative, probably employed, and mentally sound. You are so much better off than most people. But we tend to not get outside ourselves to view the world.

The hardest thing for any person to do is to step outside of themselves and view a situation from other aspects. Once it is no longer personal then a clear mind makes clear decisions. I am not even saying that in your subjective views you are incorrect.

My Pop used to tell me, “Subjective minds find the problem; Objective minds solve the problem.

The Dark Side Wins Again

2005-10-27T10:21:00.000-07:00

Okay homophobes, what is the damn deal.

Sheryl Swoopes is gay!

First thing I have to say about this is no f*cking joke!
Look at the chic. Look at her profession. I hate to say it but most of the chicks on that level probably been there and did that.

Now that I got your attention let me explain my reasoning.

Remember the female Physical Education teacher back in Elementary, Middle School, and High school. Let me if any of these names sound familiar, Coach Jo, Coach Stein, they never had flowery pretty names. I think they even had a little group that always hung together. She had short hair, she wasn’t married and she barked orders like a drill sergeant. She had an obvious disdain for the male knuckleheads in the class. She always took a special liking to the best female athlete in the class. In fact once she took some young girl under her wing, all the girl every did from there on out was hang in and around the gym.

I think it was a little more to all of that than just the standard mentor deal going on.

Plus that athlete, once recruited, kinda gave up on the rest of being a girl. Showed up at parties barely putting forth the effort to even look feminine. She had obviously been inducted into the cult of lesbianism.

Now fast forward to adult hood. Here is the same girl/woman who gave up on dudes years ago. Woman athletes, all raised in generally the same manner surround her. What choice does she have?

So again what did you expect! Besides the truth of the matter is all woman have that very same ability to go to the dark side. It is not that big a deal to be a lesbian. I am not just speaking as a man on this one.

SideNote:
Maybe I am, maybe it is my secret desire that all woman are closet lesbians. Maybe I am the typical man that thinks that woman having sex with each other is some hot shyte. Maybe I still long for the days long past, wherein my freedom allowed me to experience all the rich and vast sexually offerings currently acceptable in today’s climate. Maybe I am just a freak.

More the point of this whole issue; Sheryl Swoopes now says that she chose to be a lesbian. Finally, someone who isn’t scared to truly come out of the closet.

See, I am a nurture kinda guy. I believe it is environment and upbringing that contributes lots to a person’s sexual makeup. I don’t believe we are born with sexual tendencies hetero or homo. Little kids are at most asexual. They learn what to find attractive from observing their environment and relating to it.

My thinking is that 80% of all people with gender identity issues have been subjected to some form of deviant sexual behavior at some point in their young lives. As a matter of course as our society relaxes more and more of the restrictions we place on behavior, we create a more oversexed population. Which eventually leads to deviant sexual behavior.

I may be wrong but I doubt it!

Last thing, I have noticed a trend lately on my web travels. Some people blog reverently. Suggesting that conversations on topics of certain natures are well beneath their blogs. Cool, its your blog, do what you do!

Then I happen to run across comments on other blogs by the “Holy Bloggers” that well simply put are really “gully”.
Damn is that what they call contradictions.

Don’t get me wrong. Please feel free to express yourself. Let it all hang out or in. But don’t liter cyberspace with your riff raft and expect your yard not to contain debris. Plainly put!

So if I have offended again, I IS SORRY! I hope you can take a little banter with my electronic offering this morning, if not please let me know.

Closet Journal

2005-10-26T10:07:00.000-07:00

Closet Journal.

August 26, 2005.

Went to New Orleans to see the Saints play the Ravens. We got blasted, but it is only the preseason, we will get it together, this will be the year. Got to have faith.

SideNote:
Never understood why people will sit in seats that they are not ticketed for, especially grown folk. Then when the rightful seat owner arrives, you check your ticket as if to indicate that somehow you were mistaken, or there has been some mix up at the ticket office, or I must have the wrong seat. Go ahead, look at the seat number, its underneath. Yeah, I know you are sorry, now move.

Jackass only moves two seats over, shyte I know them aint your seats either.

Also went to the Casino. Not much of a gambler, but they have a new club in the Casino, live dancing and singers. Almost feels like Vegas.

Doing my fantasy football draft Friday. Can’t decide if I will try and grab, T. Owens, or R. Moss maybe even M. Harrison as my top receiver.

Staying at the in-laws house in New Orleans East.

Watched the weather last night, mentioned something about a Hurricane, killing 2 people. Hmmm.

August 27,2005.
Draft day is here. Got to get my drinks together, my food. I left the directions in BR.

9:30am
Just got a call from my Pops.
“Hey son what you got up for today”
“Draft party, should I get T. Owens or M. Harrison as my first WR?”
“You Coming by the house to me and your brother are going to the movies”
“Nah, draft party dude”
“What about later?
“I’ll see, I am in New Orleans”
“What?!?!?!?! Son, get the hell from down there, there is a Hurricane coming”

Okay, so I was sleeping on the hurricane, but damn looks like it is headed this way. But I got plenty of time, still going to my draft.

12:00pm
I grab D. McNabb as my QB and D. McAllister as my RB. C. Johnson is my WR. Oh well sounds like a start.

12:10pm
Nother call from my Dad, I don’t understand why he can still call and cuss me sometimes…I better get my ass out of N.O. This storm is looking crazy.

5:00pm
Finally got home, My father and mother-in-law are 2hrs behind me. I took 1-12 out of Slidell (the Back Way).

10:00pm
My father/mother/bother/sister-in-law arrive. Traffic was a beast. This Storm Katrina is looking kinda serious. I think we might get a direct hit. Nothing new for us though, we are used to preparing for Hurricanes, this is just par for the course.

The total in my house is 7.

My in-laws were headed to Houston but somehow the reservations got gummed up. I offer my spot “because they is family”.

August 28, 2005
2:00am
The rest of my in-laws call, they are just making it out of New Orleans. They Will need to stop by my house for a little while.

3:00am.
My in-laws arrive and the siege is on!
Grandfather/grandmother in-law
Aunt/uncle/and their 2 kids in-law
Cousin and her 4 kids in-law
Second Cousin and his wife in form Kentucky on Vacation in-law

All total that makes twenty people.

SideNote:
I don’t have a twenty-person house. I don’t have 7-person house. Luckily my Mom gave me some garage sell air mattresses a year ago that I hid from my wife to keep. Luckily I had stocked up on water and other supplies. Luckily….

Okay, here is the real. My in-laws from New Orleans talk about me so bad cause I am from the “sticks”. Well, well, well luckily for them, their son-in-law lives in the sticks so they could be high and dry, out of a shelter, saving money that would have been spent on a hotel. He who laughs last….

The storm really looks bad. We are going to take a direct hit. I have been around for direct hits but none of this size and magnitude. I am worried for those who are still in harms way. News reports show people in cars on the interstate.

August 29, 2005
The storm hits!
More on that later so stay tuned!!!!

I is BACK!!!!!

2005-10-25T12:28:00.000-07:00

It has been a number of weeks since I last posted. I really have not had the time or the energy to post. What can I say; my life has been a roller coaster of a ride for several weeks now.

Where to begin:

Made some history. 10-10-05 at 10:01am the world was treated to my progeny. That’s right a bouncing baby boy. A monster. A huge little tit sucker. I can’t wait to get dis dude trained in the art of cutting grass. More on that later!

Hurricanes, Hurricanes, Hurricanes, my gosh my god. Not sure if it is the end of days or good ole global warming. What I do know is this! The devastation was on biblical proportion. More on that later!

I did not win the Powerball! I know some of you are not shocked. But I just knew I was going to win. I even bought lotto tickets for the first time. Damn my luck.

My Saints, my glorious Saints, what become of thee. The shyte is hitting the fan on that one. More on that later.

Now a quick little moment, in my time to discuss. My hands awkwardly hover over the keyboard. My jumbled thoughts filter into sentences as words change, meanings are explained. My pauses only interrupt my pauses. What do I say!

My first time was so new to me, so long ago. I forgot what it feels like. I need only to be panicked once or twice for my new Daddy instincts to resurface. I get to experience this miracle again.

We chose not to determine the sex of the child so our nervousness is heightened. I want a healthy baby and that is all that matters boy or girl.

SideNote:
Okay I really want a boy, but God might put the ole one two on me if I make that kinda of request. Just make it healthy. Whatever the baby is it will just have to love the football bottom line. I messed up on the first one.

After much hard work and cutthroat deals it is decided that if the child is a boy, he will carry his father’s name. My chest rises.

Truly a miracle, an 8lbs 7oz miracle. Instantly I like him. Immediately I love him. In his new eyes I see all the possibilities. He is a beautiful boy.
My chest rises.

This boy has one hellava “Johnson”!
My Chest rises!

Through all of this please don’t believe that I have forgotten the other important part of this dynamic duo. This dude is my nigga for life. She was unbelievable in her calmness. Amazing in her strength. Plus she made me a little me, got to love that.
Now we are dealing with the whole breast-feeding thing. Is it okay if I get a little jealous. I am so ashamed.

Dangone Friday

2005-08-19T09:19:00.000-07:00

Not really much to talk about today. I have not been posting lately because I am fighting with the ex-wife, work is getting a little complicated, on the hunt for a new gig.

Filed my custody petition, set myself with legal custody until our hearing in September.
Don’t really know how I feel about all of this. I don’t like conflict. I know it sounds like I am in the wrong profession, but legal conflicts have rules. Parties are named, positions are taking, legal procedure is followed.

Personal conflicts have no rules. Don’t really name who all will be affected. You never ever really know why are the what for things happen. Ever person involved is affected. I bite my tongue, I scratch my head, I sleep lightly. I have held limited and dedicated talks with Baby Girl in regards to this matter. I am careful not to cast any negative light on my EX.

SideNote: My ex has fully involved Baby Girl in this on her end. Asking her to make decisions that no little girl should be forced to make. Her skill at casting a negative shadow over the last half of baby girls life are quickly eviscerated. She aint fooling anybody.

Moving on it is official, MY job is easy, it does not challenge me anymore, I can do this in my sleep. I like it but don’t love it. I like the people I work with. They encumber my time. In a nutshell it is time for me to move on. Just finished making history and now its time to move in a new direction.

What do we do next. When I finished school I just wanted to practice. Didn’t want to work for anyone. I wanted to do my own thing. But even a wise man may have once been a fool. Wisdom comes from learning, life. I jumped in the deep end of the pool and realized that this shyte is deep. Damn, let me get to the shallow end, learn on someone else’s dime. Not make mistakes that will get me in trouble…trouble…trouble.

SideNote: Less yall know, my profession aint really loved by one and all. We are kinda like dentist; everyone hates us…until they need us…then they want the best one of us they can find. They want us to have the exact qualities that they loathe in public, but crave personally in private. They cracking heads around this piece. AND it is real. I didn’t come here to be sent home.

So my next move will truly be the other side of the fence. Hang on, it promises to be a interesting ride. I promise to keep you posted. The change is on the horizon.

Quick note….That chick Ciara was on good GMA. Dang! That’s straight up mainstream. Has she jumped tracks? Okay I know that black America mean platinum, but white America means movie deals.

Is it just me, or is she a taller version of Aaliyah. Same kinda dance moves. Same kinda “can she sing voice”, hooked up with the same production crew.

SideNote: I think she cute, but dangone does she ever show her legs. What’s up with dem army pants joints. Hey, lets see some legs. Plus her hair seemed a little shot.

Hotter than the Crack of a Fat Mans AZZ!!!

2005-08-17T06:50:00.000-07:00

I actually literally played hooky yesterday (Monday). Yes I went fishing. First time in years. Did pretty good in fact!

Only things of note were:
It was the hottest I have ever been in my life. (I wanted to die between 12:00-1:00pm)
If I am not available by cell phone 24/7 the world will fall of its axis and spin into the cold reaches of space.

Speaking of the heat. I have never felt that kinda heat. I used to think I was a pretty tough dude. Thought I could withstand a little harshness. Shyte, I am a straight B I T C H when it comes to that South Louisiana Summer Sun. Damn. I soaked through my clothes, and I am not even a person that sweats. I was dehydrated. I was tired. I thought my heart was beating too hard. I was ready to die.

I did catch some fish, a couple of Bass, and a lot of Perch aka Brim and White Perch aka Paper Mouths. I think these were all the names of the fish at least that is what my guide aka my Barber.

SideNote: My Barber tried to kill me out there I think. He was laughing while I was dying. The Shyte wasn’t funny! I doubt he will take me fishing with him again. In fact on the way home he said, “You aint never coming with me again, huh?” I told that I would holler at him in October.

Speaking of the cell phone issue. Okay, it was my fault for not telling everyone in advance, but I did call the office and leave a message on the voice mail at 4:13AM. No one checked the voice mail.
My cell could not catch a single out in the vast wilderness. I mean I was really back to nature. So since I never miss work, everyone thought I had been kidnapped or I was dead in the ditch somewhere. Calling my wife and shyte, damn! My Wife knew i was going fishing but she didnt know if I told The Office. So she was watching my back by playing the dumb role. She said they sounded pissed because she wasnt worried.

Even my dear ole Dad was searching for me, and I told is forgetful azz that i would be out of pocket on Monday.

SideNote: Since I been doing this gig (2 years), which was supposed to just be a temporary stop on the career highlight reel, I have been here at least once everyday. I did miss 2 weeks for my wedding and honeymoon in December. Oh and I had the flu for a week in February. Other than those two times my ass has dotted this door, this seat, this office for two years. Damn I miss school.

No real point to this story. Except please note that I am not a Viking when it comes to the HEAT.

Oh, and who knew that there are still places in the Northern Hemisphere that don’t have cell phone coverage. I am switching to Verizon.

Ps.If I don’t answer my cell just leave a message. I AINT DEAD!!!!

Hoes and Bitches Obviously

2005-08-12T12:59:00.000-07:00

Meant to post early but the day flew!
Saw some really crazy issue on TV last night. The Cat House!!!
Its an HBO joint! And once again the HBO has shown that they make the best programing on Cable. It all started with OZ and the Sopranos. Hell, Real Sex was some real shit to deal with. Now they roll Six Feet Under, Entourage, The Wire. They will not be stopped.
Anyway this Cat House shyte is a trip. They actually behind the scenes in a brothel. Do tell.
Now all I really have today is a question?

SELL YOUR SEX!!!!

1. Would you?,
2.Have you? ,
3.Should you?,
4. How much would/did it take?

If the answer to #1 is no, then go to # 4.
If the answer to # 1 is yes go to #2.
If the answer to #2 is no, then go to # 4.
If the answer to #2 is yes, then give us some details and go to # 3.
If your answer to #3 is yes then go to #4 and give us details, plus you ought to be ashamed.
If your answer to #3 is no, then explain your answer to #1, and #2.

That’s all I got and I am out.

Have a good weekend.

i will be at the Saints game tonight. My boys going all the way this year!!!!

MY LETTER TO MY EX-WIFE

2005-08-11T10:39:00.000-07:00

You know the saying, When It rains it pours!
Well the truth is that when it rains I get shyted on.

Been out of the office a lot also. This won’t last long so I am trying to enjoy. Someone told me I hadn’t been posting long enough to take breaks

Ex-wife/baby-momma is delivering blows left and right. It is I all I can do to dodge and stay afloat. So I decided to write her a letter.

SideNote:
I know this sounds crazy but this is therapy of sorts. I write a letter expressing my feelings. I never mail it; just get it off my chest. I have from time to time written letters to politicians and others to express myself. I usually leave my number and suggest that they call me if they have any questions. I think I will start writing letters to George W. I am serious about that. That may reflect some kinda inflated ego or something but it really is all about therapy.

MY LETTER TO EX-WIFE:

Hello.
I hope you are well.
Understand that this letter to you is something of a last resort. I truly understand that we will never be friends or civil to each other. To that end I am sad.

See my thing is this I don’t hate you! You have caused plenty of problems in my life. The fact of the matter is I probably have been the source of many problems in your life. But I don’t hate you. I can say without fear of contradiction that you do.

If ever I offended, I apologize. If ever I erred, I apologize. Thirteen years ago I did not intend to cause you harm and thirteen years later I have held to that covenant. We are just different people. We don’t see eye to eye, and never will.

Whether what we were was love, or youth, or just foolishness is not the point. What we were produced one of my main reasons for living, my light, and my joy. You helped bring into this world my daughter. I can never repay you for that blessing. I hope the feeling is mutual.

But know as time distance and differences have turned our once exclusive love into this… this… this that begs for reason…this misunderstood existence that places us squarely at odds.

At odds for what we feel is right. For what we feel is best.

The question was asked of me, “Don’t I think people can change?” Yes people can! But unfortunately I cannot risk my light based on that belief. I can’t cast my daughter into those waters based upon your assurances that they are shallow and calm. I will test them for her. That is what daddies do. I am happy that you want to be involved now! I am excited about those opportunities that you will soon share with this young person, as she becomes an adult.

To my fault I may guard her selfishly. I may consume her time and attention to satiate my needs. But for so long it was just she and I. I suffered for her grace alone. I tended her needs alone. My life became a dual existence. I was at once a grown man, and a child with special needs. I learned to be both a mother and father. I learned to temper mercy with my hardness. For all of that I really do thank you. That beyond all other things as made me a better man.

Now it turns to this. Now you make demands and expect me to capitulate, as if you are the light exposing unfit and unworthy creatures that scuttle away into corners and creases in fear.

No, I doubt that is the case here.
If we can agree we will. I will try. We can both come to an understanding. But for the last 9-10 years we have not. I don’t anticipate that happening but for the presence of God.

She lives with me. She will stay with me. I am her father. In my book it holds just as much weight as your status. And in the end analysis, we are parents by the grace of god, and I am a father by my actions.

I want you to have every experience with Chelsea that you can, But not at her or my expense.

With much appreciation,

Closet Owner

2005-08-05T08:08:00.000-07:00

Well, well well I’ll be damned, I might as well tell you who I am!

When I was young, I loved comic books. My cousins introduced me to them during long summers in the country. I would spend the entire day reading and rereading the marvelous adventures of the Avengers, WonderMan, and the Uncanny X-men. I would relive the stories in my head adding characters and plot twist. That is when I first fell in love with reading.

I learned about race relations in Luke Cage Hero for Hire. A black ex-convict super hero who was determined to get paid for his power but always did the right thing at the end of the day.

I learned about tolerance and equality in the X-men. Mutants being different and all, they were shunned and exploted in society.

Thor was all about honor and and values. His brother was evil, dad was an ass but he was expected to and did give his life for all of them.

My favorite had to be the Incredible Hulk. The comic book Hulk is so different from the TV Hulk, and the Movie Hulk. The main premises is the same though, you make this simple muther f*cker mad and all hells going to break loose.

After the Hulk, I would move to SpiderMan and then the X-men. Both comics have turned into great movies. I really like Spidey-2, especially that one scene where he stops the subway train from careening off a bridge. Man I almost cried on that part. Okay maybe I did a little. Just a sign of solidarity ya-know.

Comics were and probably are still a reflection of modern day events. Comics serve as a mirror of our world with a few super heroes added to deal with heroic problems. Not just super villains, but problems that result from simple human elements.

When I would get back to the “Big City” I would ride my bike to the nearest Stop-n-Go or 7-11 and spend hours standing in air-conditioned comfort reading.

SideNote: Now all corner stores are run by them Yang-Xis or Abudul and they have a strict “U-no read yu bi” policy. Sorry I had to add that in!

I made a promise to myself that the day I became employed I would buy whatever $1.25 comic I wanted.

Switching to almost present day, I began buying comics in 1987. All different titles all different characters. I stopped in 1999 when I ran out of time and money. I couldn’t kick back and read a book I had to study. Plus the price had increased to a dramatic $3 or more. So I lost my jones for the habit.

Fast forward to present day. I bought a house. I moved all my apartment stuff over. I got a call from my mom.

“Well” she said in an open tone, suggesting that I knew her meaning.
“Well, what ma!”
“Well, come get these damn comic books out of my house!”

SideNote: I have not lived in my Parent’s house since I was 18. I was put out by my Dad…long story. But every time I moved from one apartment to another I would store all my comics back in old room at my Parent’s House. So basically I ended up with a room full of boxed sealed comic books.

No real idea on what to do with them. My daugther doesnt get it, she says they are for boys.

I just hope one day I will have a son and be able to pass on my first love affair with reading.

Size Matters

2005-08-04T10:09:00.000-07:00

Watching GMA this morning, in between ESPN and NFL Access, and I noticed the chic Monique was giving an interview. Ya know that chick from “The Parkers”. Well her new claim to fame is hosting a beauty pageant with a twist. It is going to be a beauty pageant with all fat women.

SideNote: I spent 10 minutes trying to decide if I was going to say fat women or large, or heavy, or plus size. But if you saw it on TV this morning the wealth of those women fell in the fat category.
I have nothing against big girls. Been around that road before. Around that road.

Now I will tell you this much I know to be true. It just aint healthy. If you are big, you can be cute and sexy. But you can be subject to heart disease, diabetes, and high blood pressure. I think it is such a lie to suggest that fat people should feel comfortable being themselves. That is just being lazy, accepting, trifling.

I am on this little gym kick right now. It will probably last another month or two, just trying to cut some pounds, loose the gut. The problem is that I very rarely see young sisters in the gym. See sisters don’t realize that you fine from 15-26. If you don’t work it after that it will be thick (27-34) Then fat (34-on up).
I see plenty of white women in the gym, they all about getting fit. God did not give them what black women have naturally. So they go to the Stairmaster, treadmill, squats, lunges… anything to shape or tone up…they want that ass, those thighs, that waist that black women take for granted.

But back to the women on this show. I mean damn. And Monique is trying to sell it hard. I think really the only people that will watch the show are those guys that have a fetish, and the people who are watching to say “Damn look at her fat ass".

Either way I don’t think that is the point of the show. Maybe I am wrong maybe I miss the point. I just don’t think you can force people to accept you by putting it on TV and saying shame on you for not accepting.

Now Dove, is doing some adds with regular women. The ads are real. Real women of all sizes. That is positive body imaging.

Closet Porn

2005-08-03T11:39:00.000-07:00

Okay just to clear my head and make some positive suggestions for a few of you out there in the Webverse.

Sex is some cool shyte.

Not just sex but most of the things connected to sex is some really cool shyte.

How did I stumble upon this tid bit of crucial information?

I just found out that porn is a 10 to 14 billion some-odd-dollar a year business in America. Just in America!!! Sex is more profitable than almost every other entertainment business. Including Football!!!!!

Okay let me give you a little back drop on why this has come to a head. I was an observer of porn. I did not make it a habit but I would or use it to spice up an evening amongst friends with the accidental introduction of a video.

SideNote: Now I didn’t watch porn with my boys, believe it or not once you get past the discovery age, sharing porn amongst male counter parts is an admission of sorts.

When I first discoverd Porn, I was at the tender age of 12 maybe 13. Now I had come across some old PlayBoy Mags but nothing can compare to people actually f*cking on TV.

So when I first discovered Porn I was destined to be a Porn star. I though it would be a great job. But as I got older modesty killed that dream and I moved on to thinking the Porn Camera man was the coolest job in America because you got to watch and you didnt have to appear on camera. Then as I matured and realized how the world worked I figured that the director would be the best gig cause you had that control, and woman love control/power. Know in my ripe age i figured that the star, camera, and director all stood a distanst 2nd to the best porno job/ the best job in the world. The Porn producer.

SideNote:The the Producer gets to cast the movie...hello Casting Couch.

But you guys would be amazed at how many shocked cries of dismay would eventually turn into lustfull gazes and thoughtful comments. Pointers, and suggestions, tellalls in a sense.

"Oh I hate that position",
"I never tried that"
"Guys dont mind when you do that???"
"I thought I was the only one that did that!"

I mean that shyte used to work on some women. If you want to get something moving in the right direction simply pop in a porno, add some unmitigated gall, and you eventually have a spicy night.

But for some reason we all (women more so than men) pretend that porn is just not our thang. Now I aint saying you need to have a large collection, or that the names Mr. Marcus, and Jenna Jameson should be familiar to you, I am just saying that it is a 14 billion dollar a year industry and those names probably are and you probably do.

Picture this:
You invite me to your crib. We sit we talk. We have a nice night. Now I used to believe that if A woman invited you to her house it meant she wanted, on some level, to have sex with you.

SideNote: I don’t want yall to dwell on that comment. I will get into my sexually exploits in some later post but lets try to focus on this porn topic.

Maybe I just ran with some hoes. Maybe these were just some sexually liberated females. Maybe they were closet porn lovers! But I would have to suggest that in conversations woman, now subject to this research, all would detail some brief knowledge of the porn world.
IE…
My brother used to leave that laying around.

My boyfriend used to watch it.

My found porn in my parents room once.

My girl had a video once.

Those admissions always are followed by true candor…
“BUT I NEVER REALLY WATCHED ONE!!!”

As if to suggest that porn is vile filthy little habit, akin to masturbation, and sex toys.

So if the night is going along nicely, it was up to me to push it in that direction. So when I ask for the tour of the place I am taking mental notes. Hmm, SURPRISE, lets just press play in the VCR.

SideNote: Okay, now they have DVD players but back in the gap everyone had VCRs in their rooms.

So sure enough 5-10 times there would be some manner of filth in the VCR. See unlike DVD when you turn off the ole VCR it stops where you climax …(cough) I mean finish …(cough) I mean stop.

So I press play. Watch the video. Gage the freakiness. And move on.

SideNote: Some women do not like to watch other black women. Some only watched black couples. Some showed a penchant for the adventurous with gang bang videos and female on female. I once made a rather hasty departure after viewing some male on male action.

The point is no one ever admits to watching porn. It’s a 14 billion dollar a year business. Even after being cold busted most would say they friend was showing them that tape or some other lame excuse. Then I would have to look under the bed, or check the closet for the “Sex Shoe Box”. Check the nightstand for an unusual number of “AA”’s. I would eventually hit the jackpot.

SideNote: Never mind…you get it.

But I never understood why in such an open society, women are still so taboo about sexually gratification.

If you don’t have a flick hit me up and I will send you one…I huh, borrowed it from my cousin.

I love her

2005-08-02T09:47:00.000-07:00

I still don’t know if I am trying to maintain anonymity in writing this blog page.

I imagine that everyone that reads this may be able to follow the “Blues Clues” to determine my secret identity. But until I am outed I remain somewhat mysterious about my true Identity.

But in an effort to keep you as head up as possible let me tell you about one of my prize possessions. My wife! Yes, I said possession. Deal with it.

SideNote
Let me just tell you that every married man should look at his wife with pride. He should be proud and happy to treasure her. She is mine…I earned her. And believe you me it took years and years of hard work.

Now I will try my best to describe her:
Her most dominating feature is her skin color. I have never seen such an even and fluid tone. She is the original color brown that god intended black people to be. Just sweet deep chocolate brown… damn!

Now I will have to describe her hair. It is the source of the NickName. It flows, and she works it. Imagine me lying under her as it floats like whispers over my skin. It brings both silk and savagery to mind. Yeow.

She is a woman; she is soft delicate, feminine, a lady…Juicy.

What else can I say, I truly love dis creature, from her laugh to her scowl.

Let me give you a little background.

We met in school. As friends, we hung out with a group of our classmates. But as likes find their likes, we eventually spent that friend time closer and closer. I think that is what makes it so extremely special. We are friends. We respect each other. We respect each others opinions.

SideNote: I am still always right!

Our friendship blossomed into a relationship. A mean our whole little beginning could have been scripted straight from LifeTime Network. We fell in love. And it was good.

We developed our love over years not months. Never got mad at each other even if we were angry or upset. We did not fuss, cuss, we always talked. We decided what we were doing, developed a plan on getting it done. We built our relationship, we developed our bond, and we nurtured our love.

Its funny, I have so much I want to write but it is not coming out. Maybe I am having an off day because I am really having problems expressing myself.

Holler.

A point

2005-07-29T08:29:00.000-07:00

Busy making history.

Now that I have a moment let me trip ya out on this one.

Some unlisted site banned me from posting a comment.

Ha, it was kinda funny at first. Then it was hilarious later on. I eventually chided it all to a poor misguided female. Hence the topic of the day was going to be poor misguided females, but out of an exercise of caution, a feat formerly not practiced by yours truly, I defer that whole matter to the merits.

Instead I think I will tell yall about my little trips into blog la la land. Most of you may have seen my responses posted all over the blogscape. I spend a good portion of my “writing time” reviewing and checking the blogsphere for good writers, interesting topics, and blogged out pages.

Now in an effort to protect the easily offended, I shall not name names or point fingers. Some people truly can write. I mean I can read something about absolutely nothing and enjoy the five minutes of idle thought time. To the converse I can read a maddening rant so far off the mark that it simply bares a response. To which I respond.

Now, the meat of the matter is this. Don’t blog if you can’t accept responses.

SideNote: Damn, I said I want going to get into this…changing the subject.

I have to suggest that if A person is not truly familiar with the subject matter pure conjecture is pointless. I like to read, and I will read post after post of story, history recounted, daily journal, and the original rant!

If you write a story, good. I enjoy a good read. Make sure you got ya spelling worked out and your tenses and everything is everything. These blogs are good for passing idle time. The responses are seldom controversial even if the story is.
A “Good Story”…or “ROFL” are the comments one is likely to receive.

SideNote: I especially like those f*ck stories written by women. I believe it lets me into the female mind for a second, and believe you me I am taking notes.

If you post a little history recounted, great. Those reads are cool too. See, most of us in this portion of the blogworld are of the same age. Now we do all come from different backgrounds but we all share summer Dixie Cups (aka hucka bucks…aka frozen cups), pickles and peppermints, kool-aid (favorite flavor is RED) and jellies, G.I. Joe, HeMan, Care Bears, and the Smurfs, the A-Team, Nintendo, Vanessa Williams, and the Rainbow Coalition.

SideNote: I named Vanessa because when she won that Miss America or whatever, that shyte changed how most of us looked at each other. People really need to recognize that slight achievement, because even more important was the “fall from grace”. That was just letting yall who forgot know how them folks will do ya. Besides that was the first time I made a conscience effort to get a playboy magazine.

The daily journal aint really my thing. You have to live one hell of a life to make the daily journal really interesting. Now I will give it to some of you whos lives are so “CONFUSED” that the journal thing actually runs Soap Opera-ish. Truly a stay tuned for more kinda deal.

Now for my favorite post. THE RANT!

It is nothing like reading some angry blogger on a tirade. The better the writer the better the rant. The angrier the subject matter the better the rant. The rant is designed and does bear the sole of the writer. It exposes all the foibles and the eccentricities of the writer. Highlights the writers own weakness in dealing with certain issues that naturally occur in the environment. Whether its fear, anger, rage, helplessness, hopelessness, depression, or stupidity…We Rant!

One thing a rant will do is garner a fair share of responses. I understand that the blog world seems catered to the feminine expressive side of our minds. And I truly believe that women tend to be the majority shareholders in this altered electronic reality. But…
If you can’t deal with responses don’t post.

SideNote: I said I wasn’t going there…I wont…I want to but it will serve no purpose. I am resigned to understand that persons, even those who portend to be open and expressive, are really just electronic bullies suppressing the truth on their blog pages as they suppress the truth in their lives.

Nuff for today. The good news is…The Saints start preseason practice TODAY!

Holler!!!!!!

Excuse Me While I Bleed!

2005-07-22T09:02:00.000-07:00

Excuse me while I bleed.

History is so kind. History is a great spin-doctor. History, understandingly, looks at the end result and not the turmoil that proceeded.

History polishes.
History spit shines.
History glosses.

Everyday, history continues in around and amongst us. But why do we not recognize? Why do we not see our actions and/or inactions as the history that they will become? Butterfly effect…

How many people die at the hands of man? How many people die because of the inaction of man?

How many lives are changed by simple nominal acts? Ask yourself that question.

Rwanda…

Excuse me while I bleed!

Darfur

Excuse me while I bleed!

Niger

Excuse me while I bleed!

Brazil

SideNote:
Yes, even in a Mecca of lust, and excess, the majority of the population is gutter poor. Children live on the streets, form gangs to survive, not just to be cool, but to eat, not just to organize the sale of drugs, to live.

Excuse while I bleed!

Aids a world epidemic!
Famine all across Africa!
Haiti
Wars, warlords, terrorism, Patriot Act...
Pollution

We need to do something. We have to act. In some way we have got to do something.

Millions were raised for persons that were the victims of an act of nature. Good deed job well done.

Lets do more. We can’t just let people die. We can’t just let people suffer.

I cry!

I don’t cry in sorrow.
I am not helpless.
I cry for anger and rage.
I cry for my failure to recognize the history that I live.
I cry because so many are hopeless.

I cry and my tears blend with my blood as I bleed. Excuse me.

I wont get into the history of it all not today. I will not discuss the role of Europe and their destruction of the world.

I will not mention the evil motives; that invented racism, which invented disparity among races themselves.

White Mans burden, has been Brown mans Curse.

We have to do something! Give me something. Give me Ideas. I have some, but I want to hear from you! This blog shyte is worldwide. What can we do?

Yesterday Correction

2005-07-22T09:00:00.000-07:00

The line is: "Your hair is so nappy, it looks like ants on salt meat."

All GIRLS HAVE SUPER POWERS

2005-07-21T09:12:00.000-07:00

All Little Girls have super powers!

Had to admit I loved reading a nice story by Gunner, not much of a techie so excuse me if I fail to post it all nice and smooth.

A simple link will have to do http://chasingbasquiat.blogspot.com/!

Now this forced me to relive several moments in my mind that easily support my theory that all little girls have super powers.

My sister was easily the favorite. She was never far from being perfect if she was not perfect in fact. She was always diligent, thoughtful, and attentive to whatever my moms and pops were about at the moment. SHE COULD DO NO WRONG!

SideNote: My sister and I had a great relationship until she turned into a girl around 12, and then we didn’t get along for our remaining high school years. She is a little older than I, and she was much more aware so to speak. She never hesitated to point out my errors and her triumphs. Fast forward to the now, we are really good friends again. Funny how life works. Sometimes you got to grow apart to grow together.

Now, back when we were kids two random cultural events coincided to eventually bring about my sisters necessity to use her super powers.
Carpooling &
The Dozens!

Now for those of you who do not know at a couple of points back in USA history we had these oil shortages; some company getting rich, why are we still driving gas guzzlers, moments. So people carpooled. In the somewhat rural south, everyone owns a car. It is the chief mode of transportation. We don’t have subways in my city, and mass transit busses are a joke. So everyone has a car. Well to save money, environment, and time, my family along with several other families formed car pools.

Now carpools are a jungle, true Darwinism at play. The strong survive. The strong make it to the front passenger seat. The strong get to choose the radio stations. The strong get to bring tapes they made at home and play them all the way home.

My sister was the strong. I was the heir to the throne. She won hers with civility, manners, and batting of eyelashes. I earned mine through backseat confrontations, wrestling and the dozens.

Now for those of you who don’t know dozens, dragging, fronting, driving, are all Ebonics for talking about someone. Not just “ya momma” jokes, these drives always contained enough truth to be far more damaging than just jokes. It wasn’t a good drive if at the end someone didn’t have his or her feelings hurt or a fight didn’t break out.

Now when it comes to driving, I was good. I could take a lot of punishment and wait. Cause all it would take is one zinger.

One “Your so nappy it look like ants on salt meat!”

One “Your breath smell like ass pops”

SideNote: Man that was hard to pull some of them out, anybody remember any good ones”

If you got one in, it would cause so much laughter that your opponent feared to come back, and usually countered with a f*ck you.

Well, as it happened one day my sister, occupying her lofty front seat perch decided she would interact with the dregs in the back. I was in my usual role being challenged by some upstart, defending my flank, fretting all attempts to overtake me. My lovely sister interjected at the most inopportune moment. She sides against me! She tries to drive her own brother.

“Well at least he took a bath last night unlike some people I know!” She chimed in excessive exuberance.

SideNote: For some reason her exact statement fails me upon recollection. I am not sure if that was the exact quality of the comment. Whatever it was I do remember that the drive was weak, but it was enough. It was a superior party trampling over a peon. All of the climbing and fighting I had done would be lost by her one statement.

I could hear the low murmur of laughter as it built its strength and courage to project itself. I watched as my subjects whom I lorded over with a righteous hand suffered in holding back their laughter. My sister had betrayed me, et tu Brutus, et tu…..

I had but one moment. I had but one chance to save my kingdom. I had to strike.

“Well, So…” I started off unsure. What were my chances of success, could I do it?

“Well, so…even after you bathe you still have black rings on your butt” It was the dagger for which I searched. I cut to the meat of her soul.

SideNote:
For those of you who don’t know, some women have a slight discoloration right underneath the buttock. Under each cheek. I say some because I don’t want to say all. Light skin women have it also. I even think the few other ethnic groups I have dealt with have some version of this booty patch. It is caused by friction, and other natural phenomenon, I am sure the answer guys on “Myth Busters” have some theories.

At any rate, she opened herself up and I got her. I got her good. She shrunk down in her thrown almost as if she knew her reign was over. I smiled with victory. Eagerly awaiting my throne. I was king of the car now…the queen is dead.

We pull in my driveway. My sister scuttles out, and heads straight in. I laugh and enjoy the cheers from my adoring public. I promise them more tomorrow, but know I must leave them. I enter through the back door; we were latch key kids after all. As I turn the corner next to the refrigerator, I hear the swoosh. I turn just in time to see my sister swinging a broom handle towards my head. Her stance was perfect, she was the mighty Kacy, it was a Sosa, Bonds, and McGuire, home run all rolled into one.

I tried to duck. To late. CRACK!!!! I am hurt and dizzy all at once. The true queen had risen to take back her thrown in the private halls of the Castle. She stood over me as I lay there with her fist balled, and lip snarled.

She proclaimed, ”You will never talk about me like that again!”

I wiped the blood and tears from my eyes. She had hurt me, but I was not wounded. I would survive, and vengeance was mine. She recoils realizing that I am not staying down. I jumped up, as she retreated. She runs for the inner fortress (her room), I am right behind her. Yards turn to feet, feet turn to inches, inches later I have her in my grasp. I spin her around, she really still looks angry. I pull back and “KaPow” punch my sister in the stomach. She falls to the ground in tears, crawling to her room. I stand over her happy to have my revenge.

Then she says, “Ima tell daddy on you!”

I fall to my knees, still bloody, still dizzy. I fear the reprisal.

My dad gets home at 6:30pm.

I hide in my room.

My dad places his keys on the kitchen table.

I hide in my room.

My sister runs to report my act of aggression.

I hide and try to make my small head wound worse. Damn my mother for her EMS like training at healing wounds.

My dad voice rumbles as he calls me.

I hide in my room.

The door opens to my room. DANG! Don’t he see this head wound. Don’t he see this blood. Don’t he see she started it first. Don’t he see her standing in the door with a menacing look of glee.

SideNote:
My dad almost broke my spirit with that beating. I ran into belt straps, I jumped into open handed slaps, I even think I dived into a fist in the chest.

Well let’s give you a little dénouement.

She kept the front seat. She remained the queen.

I never hit a girl again in my life. Not even “Baby Momma”!!!

I understood then that girls have super powers. My sister had a mind trap on my dad stronger than the force field by Jean Grey, or Sue Richards. She was the tempest of Storm. She could control the actions of us mere mortals.

My daughter has that same super power on me.

More on that later.

Where we all begin

2005-07-20T10:06:00.000-07:00

I read a post yesterday that was sad and funny at the same time.

I wont put a link or even name its whereabouts because, like racism thoughts of this nature should fall into the dark abyss of a time long forgotten.

The topic in a nut shell was “Can men and women be friends?”.

This article, to paraphrase, suggests that women and men cannot be friends. Men are only ever out for one thing, from the beginning, ASS!

After some investigating I discovered that a man wrote this drivel. Some brother decided that he was going to lay the tell all end all on what we think and how we act.

First let me just say that the thought of men being dogs is so unoriginal and clichéd it is past giving it recognition.

B. Men are different at different points in their lives. (uh, just like everyone else)

III. If you women really think that it is always about your sex, well let me just tell you as good as pussy is… Okay pussy is good. But it serves as all mans beginning and never the end.

SideNote: Ha, that was funny but true. Holler if you get it!

Back to the point. I have friends that are girls. I have worked with them, chilled, and had drinks with them. I have even dated their friends, cousins, aunts, and sisters. I have never had some diabolical underhanded plan to conquer or subdue all these women. With all the shyte I have to think about and do doing the day, I can’t possible be that occupied with sleeping with every attractive woman I meet. Oh, and let me add that most of these women are attractive, very.

So women still believe that their pussies define US.
WAKE UP!!!!! Please.

Women are imbued with so much natural power, strength, and intelligence, I laugh when I hear someone degrade themselves by saying all men want is pussy. That is exactly how I view it. You are degrading yourself. You suggest that what god gave you, that which makes you woman, is the sole thing of interest some lame ass dude happened upon. And the only reason this same lame ass dude left happens to coincide with you giving up the ass.

If you got issues with that little thing, don’t give it away.

In my life experience I learned that not wanting pussy usually brought it to your doorstep, in droves. Of course all these women believed that pussy was the solution to everyman’s problems. They figured that once this nigga get a taste of this here, he goin want me for his ol lady.

Sorry I am a little more complicated than that. Oh, but thanks for the piece of pussy. Holler!!!

Oh, but women don’t chase men.

SideNote: Not only did the blog suggest that men only want pussy, it later suggest that women do not chase men, that’s why women can be friends with men. The more I think about the dude that wrote this foolishness had to either be a chic masquerading, or a 18 year boy who had just gotten his first piece of that Juicy.

I have to suggest that women chase men and relationships just has hard if not harder than men chase pussy.

I hate to say it but women have only wanted me for what I have to offer:
Friendship
Laughter
Charm
Sex
Intellect
Wisdom
And the list goes on and on…….

Points on being Pointless

2005-07-19T09:54:00.000-07:00

Anyway, I am trying to get back on a regular schedule for writing. My life has been so about me lately, that I haven’t had a chance to peek above the ongoing fray.

Right now I am trying to understand the point of doing pointless things. It appears that pointless things only serve to frustrate, alienate, and further exacerbate a tense situation.

My ex-wife, more properly my “BABY MOMMA”, has always been my only source of drama in my life.

Before Her (BH), I was drama free.
During Her (DH), I was drama.
Post Her (PH), I am drama free except for the portions she manages to inject into my life.

Let me try to give you an example.

My wife looks upset or uneasy.

BH: ”Well I am out, headed to Hooters, or the club, be back.”

DH: “WHAT THE F*CK IS WRONG WITH YOU!!!! I AM OUT!!!!

PH: (also new wife) Well, I was going out, but you are not telling me
something. Get dressed and let’s go get a meal and some drinks and
talk about whatever?

My job is giving me the blues

BH: “Well I am out, taking a sick day. Headed to Hooters, or the club,
holler.”

DH: “MAN FUCK THIS SHIT, I AM OUT! BASTARD ASS MUTHER
F*CKERS

PH: “Well, I have other offers on the table, and this job seems to not
fit with my career goals, so…I am offering my two week notice.

Yeah, I have read a lot of women’s post concerning being a single parent baby mother, yadda yadda yadda. I have never felt the same as most baby mothers, even though we share the same distinction as single parents. I can’t even relate to the lives yall profess to live. I have been talking care of my daughter for most of my adult life. She is 11, I am 32. Why, How am I different? I am not; I just act different.

Case in point.

My “Baby Momma” decides last week to start raising all kinda hell with me. She calls me out of the blue; says “I want to pick up Chelsea from Camp!”

Cool, Its Thursday, she will be by my mother’s house after camp.

Oh, its on, I get days off. I get some me time. Oops, almost forgot about wifey. I get some WE time.

Weekend comes and goes I don’t get a call, which is strange.

SideNote: My daughter calls me everyday when she is not with me. She calls to tell me hello, what she is watching on TV, to inquire about my activities, and to tell me when she is bored.

I call “Baby Momma”, and get the ole phone disconnect. I try the cell, and I get voice mail. Okay, its getting late, maybe she will drop baby girl off. I call again until well past 9o’clock. No answer.

Phone rings at 10:10. Its baby girl, telling me to come pick her up. I tell her politely to put “Baby Momma” on the phone.

ME (PH mode):“Say uh, “Baby Momma”, I cant just pick up, go, leave, and return at a whim, it is far to late for baby girl to be out, and I am getting ready to lay it down myself.(Mondays are my hardest days)”

“Baby Momma”: Well, I been meaning to tell you this anyway. I want baby girl to live with me now.”

My jaw hit the floor. My heart raced wildly. Damn, damn, damn, what to do? Baby girl was already over there, so I better be cool.

ME (Slowly switching to DH mode): Well, we will sit down and discuss this. Its late now, and Baby girl needs her sleep. Meet me at your mom’s house.

“Baby Momma”: Well, I have pretty much decided. You knew that the living arrangements weren’t permanent. So she needs me now, she is becoming a little lady, and she needs her mother.

ME (slowly switching to DH mode): Well, look let’s talk; I can give ya more time, Maybe Friday through Monday. But lets not discuss this tonight. It’s late and I don’t want Baby Girl up to late, she has camp in the morning.

“Baby Momma”: Nah, I have pretty much made up my mind, this is how it is going to be.

ME (Switched to full blown DH mode) What the *$%##$@$%, you %#@#%, cant just come up and decide that this is what you want to do. Are you out of your %^#$# mind………………..

I went on and on and on. Back in fourth, Ya boy had a melt down.

SideNote:
My Baby Momma, is 29. She now has 2 other little girls, from different fathers. She is currently living with some dude. Not judging her for judging sacks, just trying to determine the best mode for my daughter. Besides, I have lived with her before. I was married to her before. I know what she is capable of. I feel akin to every person who innocently entered something only to realize that there was an entrance and no exit. Now you are trapped, in a bizarre, tortured, fractured mind state. I am not going to say my BABY MOMMA is crazy. I will give you a diagnosis. Paranoid psychosis, psychasthenia, schizophrenia, with delusion tendencies. Plus she is an habitual liar.

Sorry, not trying to make her sound bad. But she has been bad for me, and my daughter. No doubt about that statement. I meant this as an objective overview of a situation/problem. It is not meant to be a one-sided onslaught. I still have anger about this whole issue.

I managed to convince her to bring me baby girl because of camp, and a previously arranged slumber/birthday party.

Then "Baby Momma" has nerve enough to tell my daughter to ask me if it was okay to attend her birthday celebration, scheduled at my house.

Of course I said it was okay. Never seem like you are the unreasonable one in your child’s eye.

And she came!!!!! Acting as if nothing was wrong.

SideNote:
Even my Mom said she had Brass Balls.

So why, why I ask you, why create this drama? Why foul my mood? Why send this fractured tenable relationship into a tailspin.

For jollies, for a baby sitter, (the basic reason most family and friends feel caused this latest episode), out of Spite, or because you are crazy!

I am trying to understand the point of doing pointless things.
Pray for me! My battle has not ended.

A Friday Ramble

2005-07-15T09:06:00.000-07:00

Have not posted in a minute. My life kinda got turned on its ear but I shall persevere.
Oddly enough, I don’t even want to write about it. I am sure that once I get past this “mildly” emotional phase, I will be able to objectively view this entire event, and learn, and grow.

But I really have a quick issue to discuss for Friday.

Dancing

I dance. I like to dance. . In fact I will say, “Without fear of contradiction” that I dance well. I go from the old man two-step, to dropping whatever, swing-out, hand dance, whatever I can do it…well.

Now it has sadly come to my attention that a trend is sweeping this nation.

I was watching Good Morning America this morning and I stumbled upon the exact new object of my growing frustration. GMA decided to have a competition to find America’s best dancer. Similar to the “Dancing With The Stars” show on ABC.

Out of the entire country they came up with 4 finalists, all of which were white.

Come the f*ck on! In all of America all you could find was a bunch of white people to showcase dance in today’s culture. I beg to differ.

Obviously I understand that aint to many of us watching GMA to enter, but still. I could have taken a video of the little dude who stayed two apartments down from me in my old complex, during their last apartment held family reunion.

SideNote: They held “Family Reunions every other weekend, or at least they seemed like it, cause ever nigga in Louisiana was out there… Calling each other cuz, taking my parking spot, cussing in earshot of my daughter, leaving bottles, and the tobacco remnants of Black/N/Mild cigars, and other charred vegetable matter... Oh, and asking me whatever legal questions that came to their mind, centering around how to get they cousin out of jail.

Anyway, this little guy must have been about four or five at the most. I think someone was slipping a little MD in his juice box, cause this little dude would breakout into a dance routine combining hip hop, gutter south, break dance, and whatever the cats was doing in “You Got Served”. Even though all he was ever dressed in was a pair of shorts and a dirty white t-shirt, which really looked like a onesie.

But for this latest dance craze that is sweeping America, this repetitious, choreographed, hip hop rip off, I blame Janet Jackson.

See she was the first one to reduce dancing to a series of hand moves gestures and prop manipulation. I blame her for making dancing boring, or at the least un-spontaneous. Next time you watch a video, or a TV show with some “dancers” don’t watch the shoulders, the hands, the heads, watch their lower body. No movement, I guarantee.

SideNote: I admit that some of that stuff on “Served” was kinda wild. But was it dancing. They were feats, stunts, contortions, but was it dancing?

Case in point,” Justin Timberlake” the coolest white boy on the planet. Maybe Jamiroquai could fit in but definitely Justin. He can dance a little; I give him a little on that. But could you see him doing some Hammer dance moves. I mean for real. Poor dude would not know what to do with himself.

Dance moves can be taught but dancing, rhythm is internal.

MJ was at his best when he was walking down a lighted sidewalk with a sparkle glove on.
Prince did his own thing, which we all loved, even if them ass-out pants were a little bit questionable.

Kid-n-Play, Kwame, a lot of them kats from “Served”, Even that dude at your local club who is just dancing way to hard not to be getting paid.

So back to GMA. The little kid that won was a 12 year old tap dancer. And ya boy was getting off.

It was the best SAVION GLOVER imitation I have ever seen.

See what I see!

2005-07-07T12:18:00.000-07:00

Very rarely do I get riled up these days. It seems as if maybe a little of everyday life has zapped some of my:
“I SAID WHAT I SAID,
AND I SAID WHAT I MEANT”

I will admit to being a little more lenient about issues that are hot button with me.

In other words as I was dealing with some of this history I was making for the last two weeks ole Mister Buk Buk reared his head.

SideNote: Mr. Buk Buk is a term similar to Ole Mister Charlie, or Boss Man depending on where you are from. It is the term associated with the slave master on a plantation, or the local control of the police system. Any white man in power recognized by them towel head Negroes!

You would be amazed to hear the negativity in their comments and attitudes when it comes to Blacks.

SideNote:
I still call us Black. I never really got into the whole African American thing; I really think Blacks are the epitome of the American Way of thinking. (More on that later)

Now at this point and can tell you guys without a doubt that I have experienced some hardcore bouts with the Greys and their way of thinking. But I scratched my head in writing this and realized that we are as much the victims as we are the culprits. So I changed my focus from them to us. I have experienced the severe effects of racism as a child and continue to deal with the new racism as an adult.

The new racism that has convinced our youth that it is okay…scratch that…cool that:

They practice ignorance, because only nerds and white boys do their schoolwork and excel academically, you might even end up talking white.
They pride themselves on looking slovenly and wear ill-fitting clothing.
They are more concerned with what you have and not who you are and what you are about; so advertise your worth/value on your arm, neck, feet, ass, or teeth.
It's okay for women to be just as aggressive as men even at the tender ages of twelve and fifteen. (Promiscuity) And if you get pregnant don’t worry mommy, grandmother, and Auntie will help, they’re not going to be mad.
A man measures his self esteem by the number of women he can impress, cajole, fool, trick, order, and take into his bed.
Al and Jessie represent all us black folk.
Women should be so proud of our god given bodies that we should be prepared to show them off in the most revealing way possible.

The New Racism that has convinced our adults that:

It is cool to be smart so you can distance yourself for other dumb niggas, and patronize others not as smart as you, oh and get a job working for some good white company.
It is socially acceptable to wear clothing that fits as long as it is a name brand that people can recognize.
It is really what you have not who you are and what you are about; so advertise your worth in the car you drive, the suit you wear, the restaurants you frequent, and the neighborhood you live in.
It is perfectly okay for women to raise that baby on your own, cause men are deadbeats and you can’t expect them to do right anyway. Besides I know a bunch of women who don’t have the father of their children in their lives.
It is okay for men to have random sexually partners without protection because we all have this understanding. Besides she don’t look sick. Hell if she gets pregnant I will pay for the abortion. If she don’t want the abortion then its on her.
It is okay for men to “handle their responsibility” in the form of a paycheck. Never having to be the daddy that the child needs. (don’t fool yourself, she wont let me is not an excuse!)
Al and Jessie represent all us Black Folk.
Women are so eager to find pleasure and acceptance that they settle, settle for average and then expect greatness.

The New Racism that has convinced our elders that:

Education is not the end, or the answer. Opportunity is what is lacking, and we must create our own opportunity.
All young people care about is status, money, and sex.
These young people are fools for calling themselves a hated word and then dressing the part.
That Al and Jessie represent all us black folk, and we really miss Malcom, and Martin, and Dubois…
I hope I wont have to spend my retirement years taking care of my grandchilds babies like I took care of my grandchild.

We are such a divided people. First it was the color of our skin. Then they divided us economically. Now the last frontier for division falls along the time line.

How could a group of people come through 400 years of oppression with our minds intact; only to fall victim to the very freedom we fought for.

Sometimes I just need to get it off my soul, the Soul that we Black folks Share.

My tortured SOLES!

2005-07-05T13:32:00.000-07:00

I was really on some different stuff today but I had to give you a little recap of Essence.

First this is an official warning to all black women in America!

IF THE SHOES HURT DON'T WEAR THEM!!!!!

I don’t care if they match the outfit.
I don’t care if they just look so cute with the bag!
Don’t wear them!

It is not cute for you to hobble into the club, concert, movie, restaurant, party. You look crippled!

It is not cute for you to pull out a pair of slippers, flip flops, socks, (tucked in your purse) sit down to put them own, carry your cute shoes in your hand until you reach the destination, then put the hurting shoes on again.

At the end of the night poor babies feet all hot, red, and angry. Where the laces cross, or straps buckle, purple bruises have formed. Hours of abuse have left their former manicured soles lost in a tortured embrace. They huddle together, often overlapping. They pay the ultimate price for fashion. Then most of ya feet kinda rough to begin with, this don’t help.

Just please don’t wear the cute shoes. By the time you hobble to your seat, the damn show is over anyway. I don’t know if all cute shoes are two small, or that they are just designed to hurt. But the reality is someone is playing a cruel joke on all members of the female persuasion. Maybe you need to have a federal probe, some indictments, somebody needs to go to jail.

It just doesn’t stand to reason that all cute women shoes hurt.

Not to leave the guys out:

See Bruh, when you buy the Hen Dog, that Grey Goose and tonic, that Scotch and soda, any number of alcohol containing mixed drinks, it comes with the five things:
Cup
Ice
Liquid beverage
Garnish
Stirrer

I didn’t say straw (arrow pointing to number 5) I said stirrer. The item in your cup that is thin usually red in color, and has one or two holes is not for the consumption of your beverage, it is to stir your beverage, to chew, to catch ice at the end…anything other than drinking. It is not a straw. Liquor was not designed to be consumed that way.

Besides bruh you telling on your self, nice suit, nice shoes, nice watch; drinking Hennessey from a straw… Like school in the summertime.

Now, back to Essence. Sat 2nd Row center saw Kanye West, Destiny Child.

I have a rule that I usually follow; I don’t see rappers in concert because it is usually boring. After watching Mr. West for 20 minutes, I realize that my general rule is still applicable.

SideNote:
Saw the chick from Girlfriends at Essence. (the show that comes on UPN, but my Direct TV service does not carry UPN as a local station, I am writing letters). I don’t know her name, but her character is the spoiled black chic, who is married to the doctor (I have not seen the show in one year so sorry if I am out of date). She sat three seats down from me. Da girl needs to eat some bread, some biscuits, with gravy. Girl was Poe! I hate to say it because on TV she is BAD, real nice, slim but nice. But in the real, damn she skinny. And that lip thing she got, well real life makes that lip thing look serious. And to top it all off she can’t dance. I mean it was some Elaine Benis from Seinfeld type shyte she was doing. EMBARRASSING!!! Then she was wit some white chic…never mind moving on.

Anyway, Destiny’s Child was on point. Dem girls can sing. I have a debate raging about who is the prettiest. Kelly just looks cute to me, and pretty, still Beyonce is sexy. Right now it is a draw.

Last but not least, why are women in this habit of leering at a brotha. They stare, then look ya ole lady up and down then stare some more. It is similar to what I have seen some dudes do. It is just rude! Now I don’t want tot get it twisted, Maybe I had a booger in my nose or on my cheek, but man chics is just as aggressive as men.

More later.

And I am gone!!!!

Huh Bruh!!!

2005-07-01T06:56:00.000-07:00

Man,,,, it is Friday.

No post today. Been heavy at work making history.

Aint going in today.

See Yall at Essence.

Side Note:Had a white woman I work with ask me how long it take to do black womens hair?

First of all why ya want to know that?
Second how the hell should I know?
Third I think it takes like 8-10 hours on a Saturday.

"Oh" she replied, "I was just wondering, cause you leave work for like 4hrs to get yours cut and you go every week."

I really dont know if I was insulted or not. Was she checking my timesheet?
Or was she just "I am white and I dont get you niggas!"

But I will hip yall to the whole black barbershop story. Later!

And I am GONE!!!!!

PS. Be on the look out for Mr. Manners for the Bloggers, in Blog World.
(YA know BlogEtiquette)

HopeFully I will have some Essence Stories too.

Juicy II

2005-06-29T11:31:00.000-07:00

Now just to start Juicy is as Juicy does.

I will try to put Juicy squarely in frame for you to reference.

Juicy is more than just a “moomoo”
SideNote: It is a term shared between myself and my daughter.

Juicy is more than just a body shape, height or weight. It is a combo of all those things. You can’t be too juicy. You can be too thick, too thin, but you can’t be too juicy.

Juicy
Halle Berry (Last Boy Scout)
Selma Hayek (Dusk To Dawn)
Vanity (The baddest woman to ever live circa de 1986)
Rosie Perez (Fight the Power)
Faith Evans (Before she lost that weight)
Amarie
The Girl who popped her thong at the end of the Nelly video.
This Chic who lived next door to me. (And believe I did)
YOU ( and You know who You are….are used to be)
And of course my one and only, she is truly the juiciest. (Yeow)

So it aint just a body style, it is a softness, an appeal. A feminity (is that a word?) that cannot be faked and it does more than come and go.

You can’t be ride or die and be juicy. You can’t be a gutter girl and still be Juicy.

In order to be Juicy you have to be a; pull the chair out, open the car door, ply with wine, expect to meet my mamma, make me meet your daddy, educated (not just schooled), travel at leisure, enjoy dem Saints, sexually open, sexually driven, have to whisper in your ear kinda woman.

Juicy Ramble

2005-06-28T14:43:00.000-07:00

I am coming up with my writing style. I ebb and flow from writing on my life’s experiences or my day to day…or a combination thereof.

Every now and then something happens that trips me out and I just have to put this shyte on paper. I read a blog that put much wrong shyte on my mind.
Damn: Thanks to reading Muffin.

I will make a revelation today. I will reveal something that may or may not be apparent. I like women. I love women. Now don’t get it twisted, I love my girl, but I really like women. I would never step beyond them bounds under penalty of death. Ya dig?

SideNote: Except for maybe that chic Amarie, man she does damage. If I ran that race you know a nigga would win.

I am standing next to my one of my girl friends, Ms. V. It is raining, and it appears that every car drives closer to the curb in an attempt to splash us. She comments on this, and I agree. We head back inside; I offer to buy the next drinks.

We are waiting for Ms. V.’s friend to appear. Her friend pure and simple, not trying to hook up just wanted to introduce me, hang out. If you ever been in the situation where a girl introduces another girl you can bet the first questions asked always pertain to looks.

SideNote: The Rules

If a girl is not attractive, her friend will say she is cute.

If a girl is cute, her friend will say she is attractive.

If a girl is attractive, her friend will not bring her around to meet you.

Oh, and I am not trying to say this just didn’t want to leave anyone out!
If a girl is ugly, you probably already met her; she was at the club hanging in the beginning.

Now, I was told this girl was attractive so my interest is peaked. I knew according to the rules that I was in for at least a good piece of eye candy.

In bounds this perky little girl, cute, pleasant, and maybe even attractive. We hung out drank drinks, and chilled half of that night. Ms. V, got work the next working early and she aint about to leave nobody to they own devices, declares the night over. I am cool with that because other things need to be done. I walk both ladies to their cars. Ms. V’s friend hopes in her Camry and as she speeds off she hollers an opened ended we should hook up again later.

I smile, “Ima HOLLER”.
But I am not. Ms. V turns to me declares she knew I would dig little girl. Wrong, hold up, shyte girl I thought you knew me. If you want to know what I like I will try my best to break it down simple, open, and honest:

I like a juicy little chic. Juicy is the best way I can describe it. See thick is one thing, fine is another, and juicy is the middle ground between thick and fine. To describe juicy lets start with the fact that it does shake. It jiggles, it moves, but it doesn’t ripple. It does not loose its form. It stays put. It may have a little roll, but it does not cauliflower. (Used as a verb).

It is wet on demand; it might be wet all the time (got to do the research). It will trickle down your chin. Its best when eaten lying down, but will not suffocate you if eaten from behind. It always taste like puzzy, not strawberries, not melon, not Vicki’s Secrets.

If you lay it out, it is not as flexible as fine, but not “as out of breath as thick”. It reacts with you and it moves on its own accord. It lusts, it thinks, mutherfocker might wink atcha if you get it excited enough. It stays hidden, it aint all busted out tongue wagging.

When you lay on juicy, it welcomes u in. Makes you smile and giggle, maybe even say damn. You will snuggle with juicy, juicy will make you miss curfew. Juicy niggas know they got the juice. Juicy drive you crazy.

When you get it there you are rewarded by it letting you come.

I will expound on this a little more later, and I’m gone!!!!

Baby Daddy a part of Lyfe

2005-06-27T13:26:00.000-07:00

I was listening to this new artist, Lyfe. He has a song that really tripped me out. The song itself was unmemorable but one line particularly got my thinking.

In the song he basically tells some woman that he might not be able to be in a relationship with her because she got kids.

I have seen all the Maury, Oprah, Jerry type shows. Heard Fantasia and some others speak about the struggles of being a baby momma. Spoke with plenty of friends who bemoan their plight as unwed mothers.

SideNote: Bemoan, it’s a word I like to use but it means more than just to lament. In my dictionary it is a person who be moaning about shyte that they caused, situations they helped create, and never plan to do anything to create, control, or change their poor pitiful circumstances.

Now I have the extra benefit of being on the other side of the fence. Yes, I am a baby daddy, a father, a dad, the old man, and a pop. I proudly boast of my situation. And just to shut most of you down early my lovely daughter lives with me. Yes, you heard it here first; I am the primary care giver PCG to my seed. Have been handling this for years in fact, most of her young life.

The story starts at the end of a really bad tumultuous relationship with my ex-wife. I made one of those change your life moves and started law school. Now anyone who knows about law school understands that it aint easy. In fact looking back it was some of the toughest shyte done. So I did the adult grown thing and asked my ex to oblige me this for 3 years. Now She agreed and politely waited till my first year law school exams to drop my daughter off and bounce.

Shit still makes me laugh because that same week I got booted from my place of dwelling. Life was hard…but fair.

Moving on to taking care of a child. First things first. I don’t know how to do hair. I tried many times, but I just couldn’t do it.

I remember my best effort fell far short. I combed her curly locks for hours on end and finally got it right! I stop by the K&B down the street and rush in to buy something. We are in the store for five minutes when some older woman seemed to be admiring my handy work.

“Baby, who combed your hair?” The woman enquired. Not with a smile or a frown but a stern look of concern.

“My Daddy”
I thought the lady was really admiring my work until I hear her response to my daughters reply.

“I can tell. Where is your mommy?” Now she said this right in front me. In one fell swoop she belittled my hard work, and affirmed my preconceived notion that only woman can do hair.

SideNote: See when my angel was an angel she was truly daddies heart. She really did no wrong. Even the way she said daddy made most of my life worth living. Now she still is my sweet loving heart, but yesterday, her eleven-year-old ass mumbled under her breath, something to the effect that her daddy was stupid!!!! And mean!!!! But alas she is still my heart and can do no wrong.

It is really very little difference between the hard knock lives of baby mommas and baby daddies. I guess they may just have been fewer of us then them.

I still would get the most peculiar stares from people when they learned of my status as a single parent and PCG. Most either assumed the mother was dead or otherwise unfit. I shall hold quite on that issue, it aint the point of this blog.

Dating: Hmm, well I can say that it was not harder to get to know the opposite sex. For the most part being a baby daddy helped me in that department with a certain kind of woman.
SideNote: Now, I never let most women meet my daughter. IF you got that high up, you must have been really special. And if you did get that high up the visits would not prove long for fear of attachment.

Certain kinds of women were looking for that strong responsible man, it showed character and worth…value. Once they find out you have a baby they turn cold. Once they find out you are the PCG they heat up considerably. Their plans change from meet me at the club, to let's go bowling or the movies. *Family Dates*
“I’ll stop by and comb her hair”
“I cooked a little extra, I will bring it for yall for dinner”
And my favorite…
“If you need me to I will take her somewhere or pick her up if she needs a ride”

DAMN: How the hell does any chic think I am leaving them to care for my child, shyte I wont even trust you at my crib by yourself, much less trust you with my daughter.

Needless to say the other end of the spectrum was not solidly impressed.
“Look, I don’t date men with children, because I think I should come first”

SO I would tell them that if they are looking for the same attention I give my daughter, they need to grow up. I take care of my daughter because she needs me and she is my responsibility. If a woman is that needy, shyte she can’t play anyway…. Holler.
But even miss “I cant compete with your baby”, had a soft heart when I spoke of PTA and Brownies, or dance class. And yes, single dads do run their mouths about their children. Especially when they are the PCG.
Only really bad drawbacks came during the late night hour. Booty calls always meant you had to come to me, don’t knock, and don’t make to much noise. Oh, and you had to leave before morning, cause my daughter would be up.

Now, I aint goin’lie, that worked really well for me. Even if my daughter was not at home I would act like she was so I could get that good home delivery.

Yeah its hard, and it probably effected how I lived from then on in a major way. But, I never got child support, and the mother was free to run the streets.
DAMN: And get pregnant 3 more times, huh bruh!!!!!!! and none by me mind you!

So I don’t have a song, a TV show or nothing, I think in fact that we are a new phenomenon, Men as PCG.
I would like to hit ole Oprah show and tell the other side of the story. IF anybody knows how to get on that show, please hook me up, I need some of that free stuff she gives out.

TivBro

2005-06-24T13:53:00.000-07:00

Okay, I will admit it…. I see how this blog thing could be addictive. My good girl friend turned me on to this blogging stuff, and she insists that I will become addicted to publishing my thoughts on to the web.

SideNote: More on her later. If I forget somebody remind me. Cause dat nigger is a blog by itself.

I spent part of my night planning this next post. I may have to set up a plan so that this shit wont take away from my LIFE.

I was flipping through the TV channels, as I was getting ready to be late for work. I flip past several strings of women programming channels. You know them as Lifetime and such. The programming is the same, the story always starts with some good average type woman, some times she is married with a good family or she is single with a great career. Then something goes wrong; she gets cancer, her husband leaves, she gets hooked on drugs, its one or the other. Then we watch her hit bottom, only to rise up again and struggle through to find another form of happiness. Women love these stories, these little 2hr mini drama; I think they just like to see someone’s life screwed up worse than their own.

See I know the woman television market is big time, but damn why brothers don’t have a channel. I mean there are stations for every demographic except for black males.

I would probably say blacks in general but I am going to focus on what I envision the first black male television programming station would contain.

SideNote: Don’t think that sports channels are Men's channels cause every brother has his favorite sport and team, and unless that channel is dedicated to that team and sport I aint watching it all the time.

Okay lets see I will start with morning programming.
6:00 Brother News
In depth analysis of things that affect brothers. Information on who is hittin that chick on the movie you saw the other night. All the sports scores, and boxing matches. Then like a weather forecast type deal. All the local brothers in trouble, any local chick that’s been run through, city social information. Important stuff. Shit that you need to be up on. Plus some shit on how to fix your credit.

6:15 Cartoons
Some old G.I. Joe type issue, some transformers, and Fat Albert for sure.

8:30 Ass Out
That Chick from OutCast Video, and Serena Williams walking around doing shit in they’re panties. Washing cars and having pillow fights.

9:30 InterNext
A computer show that gives u all the info and critiques on good blogs, sites, and places to get cheat codes on some video games. Spots to download some good porn, good albums, and ways to fix your credit.

10:30 GoodTimes, Sanford and Son,

11:30 The Videos
Play the videos on BET Uncut or After Dark…what ever it is, that shit is tight.

1:00 Old School Wrestling.
That new shit is truly gay. I am talking bout Sting, the four Horsemen, old Hogan, SuperFly Jimmy, and JunkYard Dog.

2:00 Movie Hour
Now I got to run Scarface, Sugar Hill, New Jack City, Goldie, Action Jackson, some Star Wars and Indiana Jones type movies.

SideNote: The real killer movie…and you heard it here first…. King Of New York…. If you haven’t seen it pick it up and check it out.

4:00 Back to them after dark or uncut videos

5:00 Kung Fu movies
5 Deadly Venoms and them type, not this new Jet Li shit…. which is good but I want to see Drunken Crane Style KungFu

7:00: Naked Hoes
Any pictures of some bad bitches that somehow always seem to get on the Internet. Maybe interview with the dudes that put them out. Especially the non-famous chicks. How do they end up on the net?

8:00 Afternoon Sports

8:30 The Wire
Nuff Said

9:30 Dave Chappel Show
Nuff Said

11:00 Talk Show
Bring back Sinbad…or maybe That first dude who did the Vibe talk show.

12:00 Some girls gone wild infomercials the ones with Snoop.
Plus some infomercials on how to fix your credit.

My first entry

2005-06-23T12:27:00.000-07:00

My first entry, my first discussion, my first dabble into the publishing realm. I will attempt to start a conversation with the public at large about the ramblings, musings, thoughts, ideas, plus the veritable cornucopia of useless information contained in my mind.

Some of this blog will be real life true none fictional accounts of the day-to-day operations of me. Some discussions will be my past. Others will be slightly redacted versions of my past to protect the not so innocent and the truly guilty. And honestly some of this will be straight up 5th grade made up.
SideNote: Man starting this thing off is really hard. It’s kinda like the first paragraph of that term paper. Oh, if you know me stop reading now!

Who am I?
Simply put I am a 30+ year-old black male.
Handsome (matter of opinion), smooth no doubt, intelligent, humorous, and quick witted.

Father of one and one to go.

Husband of one beautiful black woman,

Middle child of a two-parent middle-income family. Older sister, younger brother.

SideNote: Yes I need a hug… .and attention.

High school, college, law school. Done, done, and done

Had a job since 14 and hustled jobs before that.

Enjoy good food, music, and drinks.

Baptist random church attendee.

Frat

Why should you or anyone else read this blog? Hmmmmmmmmm? Good question! Lets say it this way, I am not trying to write a book, I don’t profess to be deep and poetic, and I am not overly artistic. But, man my life has been up and down and around, some real highs, and some outstanding lows. But it is all pretty funny by my recollection. So that is why I write, to entertain.

One note of caution, you will see SideNotes, and Damns throughout all of my writing.
Let me explain:

Sidenotes:
They are kinda hard to explain. You know when a character in a movie turns and talks directly to the camera….like in Hitch….or old school Ferris Bueller, it is like a direct communication with the audience.

Damns:
If I spill the beans are screw up bad, a damn will appear to explain my actions without directly interrupting the story. Like the narrative guy from the Dukes of Hazzard, you know….

Quick Story to start it off:
I boo when I don’t like stuff. I vocalize, I let it be known. I don’t care if you are the president or a Baptist schoolteacher, if I don’t like it I am subject to boo.

I am sitting in a really urban, neo soul coffee shop. The atmosphere was really what poems are meant to be recited in, its dark, shadowy, enticing environment. Hell someone could fuck in the corner and not get caught. Once you walk in you immediately feel cool.

So me I am already feeling cool, two scotch and sodas in the last 10 minutes cool. I rest in my chair waiting for my senses to be subjected to verses and methods…skills. Of course since it is a black for black production, the music is humming helping create the vibe. My attention diverts from person to person. I fidget in my seat, shouldn’t have worn these sandals, they don’t look right.

I look up just in time to see a less than artful entrance onto a makeshift stage.

“Welcome, are you ready to have a good time?”

SideNote:
Stupid question, see I came to be miserable, upset, and bored! Would somebody please for the sake of the entertained public, stop using tired old contrite phrases:
YALL READY TO HAVE A GOOD TIME!
SHOW SOME LOVE!
PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER!

Not to be to cocky but I think I know talent. I know how to be entertained. I know good shit when I hear it. Needless to say I didn’t hear it this night.

The first brother stood up and did his best Lorenz , I am smooth sexual Blackman, Tate. He rattled on about sex, and hot and wet and blah blah blah. Nothing new, nothing original.
But no boo from me. The parties is just getting started, don’t want to make snap judgments.

Next….Next….more and more of the same. I hold my tongue, it takes a lot to get up there and do this, so my expressed opinion should not be rushed.

Brother Angry stands up and does his oppression poem, with his tats, his gold, his $150 Tennis, $50 T-Shirt, and $100 jeans! I have to wonder that the major symptom of his oppression on the outside appears to be him. I silently agree that this dude needs to forgive the white man, forgive "DA MAN" for puttin the foot on his neck, and forgive me for not buying this ridiculas statement. How are you oppressed if you wearing over $300 in fads and fashion. Forgive Sean for forcing you into that shirt, Forgive Nike for placing those shoes on your feet, Forgive Jay-Z for making you put those jeans on. You are your own worst enemy....but moving on!

My luck is not failing me because next Sista Angry steps up, baby daddies, orgasm less sex, no good men that can handle a upwardly mobile sister with education and it going on....Uh just a guess, maybe you shouldnt have slept with them dudes without protection, maybe you need to open that mind up and the legs will follow (blink from the black eye), maybe just maybe they dont like your opinionated azz....but moving on.

I held it all in check, just an observer, no need to reply to any of this assualt on my sensibilities.

“To the stage I would like to welcome….”

Hot garbage!!!!
Her hair wild, untamed. Her eyes stark, troubled. Her clothes loose, baggy, unkept. Judging by her garb she was either an urban poetess, or a homeless wanderer. Or she was posing!

She starts into to her black woman, strong, powerful, sexual, alive, the birth of civilization from her womb….blah blah blah…..boo!

It just popped out. The first came from the top, a surprise, unexpected. Almost unintended. The next was more from my soul. It oozed out like black ink staining the entire scene. It rumbled in from all sides and crowded the poor woman to the single lit safety of the spotlight.

Between Stares and Glares, I got glares. They could have been stares but I was caught up in the moment of expressing my displeasure with the performances. I thought it was funny but I am not sure if everyone enjoyed my free form of expression.

My significant other first adjusted her seat, then excused herself to the bathroom.

SideNote: I hate bullshit. I hate copies, unoriginal, lambs, and leeches. The tone of your voice switching from high to low, pitch floating, staccato breaks. All bullshit. Express the real. Poetry should be as individual as the soul that produces it. Oh but I forgot, this society strives on copycats, unoriginal, followers. Everyone aint Tupac, or Maya Angelou. Everyone doesn’t have struggles, some of you grew up in a middleclass, three bedroom, mommy and daddy at home, childhoods, right next door to me.

I would like to say that when the dudes who were running the show asked me to leave that I responded with some witty retort. I would like to tell you that I graced the stage and flowed poetic. Hell I wish I could say that they allowed me show my displeasure, but succinctly they did not.

I paid my tab, waited for my ole lady by the door, and thumbed my noise at the whole affair.

SideNote: A first read of this story by a friend makes me think I missed conveying my point. So I add this to pull it all together for those of you who were home schooled.

I have been back to the poetry spot, too my shock I was not well received. Never the less I stood up and gave them my idea of poetry. This by no surprise was hard but fair. And I was good, not great but good. I was me, I sounded like me, expressed me, even laughed out load at the funny parts like me. But like it or not it was me, no apologies, no excuses, just real…..me!!!!!