Monday, November 19, 2007
Atlanta was, to me, the proverbial buffet: plentiful and satisfying. So, like the fat girl at a smorgasbord, I was piling as much as I could on my plate at one time. And I was going back for seconds.
The first few months were a heady experience. I spent my time being courted by various and sundry men, I stayed up until sunrise taking walks and talking, I played cards and could talk trash with the best of them. But I noticed something strange as time went on. The guys that I was spending time with seemed to like me, in fact, they were downright giddy. But after a couple of weeks I would see these same guys spending their time with women that were . . . how can I put this delicately (Janice Rossi) WHORES. When I finally got up the never to call a potential suitor on his BS, he revealed something that I believe led to the eventual revocation of his Playa’ Card.
“I really like you. And eventually, when I’m ready to settle down, you’ll be the girl I’ll want to marry.”
I was stunned. It was then that I realized that the home training, my good girl demeanor, and everything that my parents drilled into my head (keep a quarter in your bra in case the boy gets fresh and you have to find a ride home) had brought me to this point. I was a dedicated, loyal, and creative girlfriend. I was as wholesome as whole wheat bread. I was the kind of woman that a man would be proud to call his wife. A woman that a man would be proud to have bear his children. I was the kind of woman a man would want to settle down with just as soon as he stopped fucking everything in sight.
I was on layaway.
Much like the shopping system of the same name, relationship layaway has a simple, but ingenious premise. You meet a girl. She fits you, looks nice on your arm, and you know that she is a timeless piece that will become an integral part of the wardrobe of your life. She’s also really expensive: mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. Dating her would require personal sacrifice and some serious reduction in the other cheaper women that you’re life closet is currently cluttered with. Unwilling, or unable, to pay the price there is only one real solution for the horny, teenage college male: layaway.
So, like that winter coat that you want in the summer, sometimes the best thing is to have the nice store people to put it on hold. Payments are still made, but they are nominal at best. The item in question languishes in purgatory until you return to retrieve it. Or not. But, as any savvy shopper knows, things on hold have a tendency to disappear from one day to the next. Similarly, a woman sitting on the sidelines watching the man she loves behave like everyday is Madi Gras (show us your tits!) will eventually tire of being unable to join in the festivities. For me, the culmination of this was an embarrassing little incident involving my standing in the college square screaming into the sky in frustration (both sexual and emotional).
And so it went. I was unwilling to become “that girl” and they were unwilling to give up a diverse dating life. In the intervening years I’ve been put on layaway by the best of them: doctors, professors, and at least one Secret Service Agent (the secret: he couldn’t commit). Years later, I still get phone calls from those old beaus of college past. Some have settled down and found a partner. Others are still looking. I know what they’re doing; it’s just like old times: they’re still checking to see if the piece they left is on hold, still waiting to be claimed. But I know I’m worth more than they’re willing to pay.
I’m worth more than layaway.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
So, I was watching Desperate Housewives and the whole Carlos, Edie and Gabby thing is killing me. They are hilarious.
I can't believe Carlos actually thought that Edie wouldn't have a plan B. All women have a plan....and a plan B. We've seen too often what happens when you don't have a plan B. Exhibit A...Bernie (Angela Bassit in Waiting to Exhale). I know...you're thinking...that's just the movies, not real life. Think about...they get that shit from somewhere. What's a plan B anyway? Well, It can be anything...... revenge (hell hath no fury like a woman scorned), success (nothing says i'm better than you...you LOSER! like focusing on being the epitome of success), THE MONEY STASH (money won't make ya happy but will sure comfort you through a depression), THE ESCAPE ROUTE (for those that feel trapped in a relationship, so much so...they have to plan and execute a getaway), roots (we've all heard the stories about what NOT to eat), a lover (because, the best way to get over someone is with someone else), people fake illnesses or pass them...as a plan B, and...i've even seen some women go all out and get knocked up...as a plan B. It can really be ANYTHING! That's the beauty/evil of it....you never know what's eating away at their brain. I only scratched the surface....because we know what Carlos has cooked up for Edie, BUT like her "staged" suicide attempt....I'm sure she'll find a way to flip the script. Can't wait to see how it all unravels.
Be careful and try to treat your loved one like they deserve to be treated. When a woman decides to break down the barriers to let you in... She loves hard. Once she falls and is forced to get up, SCATTER! because there will be hell to pay.
Ya know......I can totally relate to Edie.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
My first encounter with Club Wally came when I first moved here nearly four years ago. A newly minted girlfriend, I’ll call her “Bootie,” (due to an obvious and prominent part of her anatomy) called me at around 10 pm on Saturday night and asked me if I wanted to go to Wal-Mart. Figuring she was taking me on a pity errand, I readily agreed and threw on my jeans, tennis shoes, and collegiate sweatshirt. When I opened the door 30 minutes later, I was greeted with what I can only describe as full hoochie regalia. Bootie was decked out in dark denim, heels, and a top that damn near showed her navel. That was in addition to perfectly coiffed hair and full face. She raked me from head to toe with a critical glance and announced, “You’re going to Wal-Mart in that?” (funny, I was thinking the exact same thing).
Ten minutes later, I had been cajoled into a somewhat nicer top and a pair of heels and was on my way. Honestly, I didn’t realize what all the fuss was about until I got there. At 11 pm on a Saturday the parking lot was packed. Caddys, spinners, and hoo-rides dominated the parking lot. And when we went inside . . . Well, I’m not that descriptive of a writer just yet. I can say, however, that men had their full club prowl on. As I watched my friend preen and flirt with a gang of dudes, her cart empty, I realized that the point of this trip wasn’t shopping at all (I know, I’m slow on the uptake). Now, I’m not a huge fan of being hit up at the club. But, I at least get a free drink out of it and know when I go that I’m going to get the full-court press from a bunch of sloppy drunk black men. However, getting ambushed by the feminine hygiene section is where I draw the line. There is nothing less sexy than a guy trying to ask for your number while your cart is trapped between the Massengil and Always pantyliners (silly me, I was actually there to shop). Somehow, no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t see myself explaining to my future children that mommy met daddy while trolling for the lowest price on contact lens solution.
An hour later, she had four phone numbers and I had a headache, a Brita water pitcher, and a family sized pack of maxi pads. I also learned that this madness wasn’t limited to the local area, as the license plates in the parking lot attested to people coming from as far as an hour away to partake in the happening social scene known as Club Wally. As we headed for home, I made several mental notes to self: 1) My new friend’s boy-craziness may eventually end our association (it did) 2) My new town is really hard up for things to do (it is) and 3) never go to the Wal-Mart on a weekend. However, being the only 24 hour place in town, it has been quite difficult to adhere to that last part, particularly when when I'm bored at 1 am on a Saturday and nothing except for a browse through the cosmetic aisle and a pair of new panties will do.
When those occasions do come, I throw on a cute t-shirt and my tightest pair of jeans, slick on some lipstick, (what can I say, I’m a slave to social norms) and head out to the club.
Friday, September 28, 2007
The first candidate I met can only be described as my FGF, my Fluffy Girl Fantasy. For those of you who are not aware, mainly because you were not and never have been fluffy (damn you to Hades) the FGF is the guy that in high school you always promised that you would land 10 years later. He’s the guy that would come with your new body and massive amounts of disposable income. He’s the guy you would take to your 10 year high school reunion just so you could show everyone how damn fabulous you became! Okay, I’m regressing. Anyway, he was the brass ring. And interestingly enough, he expressed a marked interest in me. He was also in the process of a divorce, and with a soon to be ex-wife in California was on the “out of sight, out of mind” tip. He had two children (one in town, one with the soon to be ex-wife) and a determination to cut a swath through the entire female population of our fair city. Starting, it seems, with me. We had fun . . . there was plenty of witty banter, lots of alcohol involved, and at least one make-out session behind one of the many dive clubs our city has to offer.
Then came the inevitable invite home. I always assumed that divorced men would a least be a little rusty on their game. As I fought off the four hands he grew, I realized that I was clearly mistaken. It seems that the one advantage God gave the recent divorcee is an overabundance of game. I now believe that married men, like squirrels, store up their game for the inevitable cold winter they see coming. Within seconds, there was a hand up my skirt, a tongue down my throat, and an unhooked bra digging into my back . . . it was like an After School Special. After pulling myself together and belatedly lodging my objections to his still married status, he hit me with possibly the stupidest reasoning I have ever heard. He explained that he really wasn’t married due to a snafu in filing and therefore was really not in the process of getting a divorce, although his lawyer advised him to still get one. I know, I know, let the ridiculousness sink in. Now clearly, based on this interaction, I’m a complete ho, but I definitely am not stupid. I rolled my eyes and wrenched myself away with my dignity (and clothing) relatively intact and beat a path out of his lair. Needless to say, I didn’t call him again and he moved on to easier prey, specifically, an embryo by the name of Tiffany.
Three weeks later, opportunity reared its ugly head yet again. I had decided to allow my loins, not my ego, to make my next choice, and it chose a doozey. He was funny, handsome, and smart. He also had two ex-wives and four children. My loins ignored the flatbed of baggage pulling up behind him. Over the next couple of months we hung out and got to know each other; I met his friends, he tried my lasagna. But my loins urged for a faster disposition in this matter. In order to get my brain to look the other way on this less than genius choice (my loins only have a fourth grade education) I did what any self-respecting female in a similar situation would do (I got a bottle of Patron and I got sh*tfaced). The next morning, I awoke with a rolling stomach, and gum tangled in the bird’s nest of hair on top of my head. My loins sighed, content. My mind however, was horrified at what had happened while it was on it’s tequila soaked vacation.
A week later, I was getting the oh-so predictable “I’m not ready to get serious with anyone right now” speech. Clearly, the single men have been sharing their material with the recently divorced. We still speak, but now with that awkward, stilted tone of two people who have unadvisedly seen each other naked. But I have learned a valuable lesson from my first few months as a 30 year old single woman. The man may change, but the game remains the same.
Thank you, Jazz, for allowing su casa to be mi casa, if only for a little while. I'll try not to make to much of a mess . . .
And now, with no further ado . . .
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Saturday, August 25, 2007
My Dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer, had to undergo radiation. The sis is pregnant so, she can't be anywhere near him which is bummin' both of them out. On the postitive tip though.... his health and spirits are wonderful. I'm so proud of him. He's so high on life right now. I have never seen my dad like this. It's intoxicating. He kicks ass.
The job dealio is crazy. Got news coming but....for now.....mums the word. (i'm sworn to secrecy)
Oh yeah... ME ART! Well...I've been so excited...I can't eat...all that much (teehee),
HELLO, IT WAS MEXICAN!! You gotta eat it. Delicio-so!
MY WEBSITE IS UP!!
Check it out and hit me up via email. Love you guys....I'll catch up with you this weekend.
Things are looking up and as usual....GOD IS SHOWING OUT!
***DUH...can't believe I asked you to check it out without posting the url. My Bad... www.fabfunkydiva.com
Friday, July 27, 2007
It all bothers me. I'd like for the stars to be responsible. I mean everyone from entertainers (lohan, usher, rappers, etc.), atheletes, politicians, cops...everyone! to be responsible about what they say and do. I know stuff happens, no one's perfect and mistakes are made. I just wish people considered that, ...when you are in the spotlight...the world is watching.
I know, alot of famous people, that came from nothing...like to go back and bring up the people that were at the "bottom" with them. Most times...this is the dang problem. If those people had the drive and determination to come up...they would be up. Misery loves company. Usually, they tend to drag down the very people that try to help them. Whatever happened to the whole...teach a man to fish deal? I'm off the subject again...sorry.
You know...a wrestler just killed himself and his family and eventhough it got loads of press, it didn't get this kind of negative press. It's like Vicks being made out to be pure evil (when he hasn't even gone to court yet), and this man killed his own son with a wrestling move, and whatta ya know? People chose to focus on the steroids making him do it. WTF?
This is my poopy. Isn't he cute? This is his summer do...it's hot here. He's hyper as hell! I love him to pieces. I loved that PETA protects the rights of animals, but when they are going after people that haven't been convicted of anything or threatening to kill people because they wear/or design clothes using fur (J-Lo)...then they aren't the organization I thought they were. I never knew they could be so darn ruthless. I believe in hugging trees but some of you guys take it too far, like some people treat religion.
I learned lots about the chicken slaughter houses and I think twice before going to KFC. (think twice...didn't say i'd stop eating there)
Is that bad? We hear all these crazy stories about Chinese food being made with dogs and cats.....we eat it still. (well, most of us. Chinese is good, i'm sorry)
Anyway, I'm getting off the subject, again. That's what I love about blogs....I can just vent. I don't have to have a shouting match. I don't have to deal with the blood pressure rising. NADA!
I can just speak my peace via internet.
Did you know that some people are really getting into the racial issue on this whole thing? I checked out this one blog, and someone was commenting on how the animals were being mistreated and murdered. Then someone responded to that comment by comparing how slaves were treated. Then someone else responded by throwing in the "N-Word!" Saying that was all that Michael Vick was. WOW....can you believe that?
I don't believe ANY living thing or person should ever be mistreated. We belong to GOD. Well, some of us, GOD may opt to throw some of us back, like fish. (haha)
Anyway, this whole situation is something that Mike Vick will have to deal with and I hope that HE IS and IS found Innocent.
Foul thing is....even if he is found innocent, he'll never live this down. Sad world we live in. It's filled with a bunch of Self-Righteous Bastards....from the idiots that approved and wanted this war, to the ones that find it entertaining to watch animals kill eachother to the ones that wage war on the POSSIBLE innocent. SAD!
Whew...I feel better now. Off the Soap Box...Thanks!
Oh yeah...GO FALCONS!
Monday, June 25, 2007
Anyway....Things have to change. I really can't imagine being 40 and doing radio. I just don't want to be an old ass dj. Can you feel me? I've been working like crazy on my art. Marketing and working on your dreams, while holding down a full-time job is a BITCH! But...you know what they say....anything worth having, hunh?
Well, I've started and stopped, started and stopped and started again and I REFUSE TO GIVE UP! My Birthday present to myself....is to keep pushing! Somethings got to give.............
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Hidden Beach records (the label that gave us Jill Scott) is set to release a debut LP from... Dr. Cornel West! It will probably be a spoken word album with lots of knowledge. Word has it that the album is set to feature Talib Kweli, Black Thought, KRS-One, Andre 3000, Rhymefest, Rah Digga, M-1 of Dead Prez, Prince, Dave Hollister, Malik Yusef, and Gerald Levert. If you don't know who Cornel West is....SHAME ON YOU! Check it out!
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Barak Obama's wife, Michelle talking to the Chicago Tribune:
"I heard that growing up, 'You talk like a white girl,'"One of the things I hope happens through our involvement in this campaign is that this country and this world sees yet another image of what it means to be Black!
PRAISE THE LORD! Why is it that if you strive to be the best and do things like embrace CORRECT grammer, straigten your hair (fashionistas like to shake things up a bit) and hang out with anyone other than a Black person (because you are interested in surrounding yourself with quality individuals that include but isn't exclusive to Black people)...you are trying to be white? That's total B.S.! I always get this ish from Black people. Let me re-phrase that, I get that ish from Ghetto Black people and this one lady that confuses the hell out of me. She embraces the most ignorant rap songs known to man, throws around Less Brown quotes and tapes, lives in a "vanilla community," she's a minister and quick to berate and crack on people and loves throwing around that "n-word," and loves to tell me how "non-black I am. She's just a walking contradition to me but,...oh well. It's personal and she'll have to deal with he own issues. God knows I have enough of my own. You know, I never get criticized by upwardly mobile Blacks. I guess misery does love company. Anyway...I love the OBAMAS! I hope Barak wins. He certainly has my vote and I will do all I can in my community to make sure everyone is registered and votes.
Let's see, haven't blogged in a while. The neice is 2yrs old now and talking up a storm. Still can't quite make out some of the things she says but I just love to see her talk. Check out that do-do ball. Man, that takes me back. My sis, is well. She's getting her ass out of Atlanta Public Schools. THANK THA LAWD! I don't want her working with those bad ass kids. I can't wait to finally hit the lotto and make her sit down.
I entered an art show for independent artists in Atlanta last week and they rejected me. I was pissed. The boyfriend thinks we should bum-rush the show and set up anyway. I just want to go and see what made it if my work didn't. I finished another funky mug. This is my evolution of music mug and what I love most about it is my baby Prince on it. Prince is my fav. I've really taken to ceramics lately. I like that they are fired and permanent...unless the glass gets broken. That part sucks....but the process is time consuming.
What do you think? Do you like it?
Anyway,...Flavor of Love Charm School is on tonight and Celeb Fit Club debut. Can't wait. Holla back.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
While sulking in my emotional funk. God really has been working on me. A friend of mine said, A SETBACK, IS NOTHING BUT A SETUP FOR A COMEBACK! I love that.
It's my new thing. I'm on my way. I'm no longet bootleg. I'm legit. I am Incorporated. Way cool. I've got a tax id and everything. I want to make things happen. I'm GOING to make things happen.
I was watching the food channel the other day (which I never do because I can't cook and I'm dieting...it always makes me wanna eat) Anyway, they did a biography on my favorite chef/cook. Nigella Lawson. I love her. (and not because she's fluffy...by white girl standards. she definitely isn't fat....hell, I wouldn't even call her healthy)
Anyway, she spoke of losing her mom to cancer, then her sister, and then her husband. Hell, I would've thought that I'd done something terrible in a past life or something had that been me. Nope, she took it all so noble-y (if that's a word). She said she was the luckiest person in the world. I was thinking...you must be MAD (as the British would say). But nope, she said that it was such a blessing to have those people in her life. I thought,....what a beautiful way of looking at it. How "glass half full" of her? This is my new mission. I must adopt this more positive way of thinking. God loves me! Darn it, I need to start acting like it. So, here goes........
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Yesterday...I lost a friend that was near and dear to my heart. On Air, he was Ken O'Brien...any other time, I'd nicknamed him BIG PAPA! He gave my first real radio gig. He used to work for the Rock station here. He loved RADIO! He loved to ROCK OUT! Hell, he taught me. He was the sweetest guy you'd ever want to meet. He never told people NO!..even if they were asking too much of him. He had terrible taste in movies, crazy sense of humor, quick wit, and loved Steppenwolf and OZZY like nobody's business. He used to call me DIVALICIOUS! He could never get a break in radio. He busted his ass to please so many people and the minute he needed them...they turned their backs on him. His "so-called" friends...the Industry,...EVERYONE! Wounded, he still dropped everything when either of them called on him. As you can tell...I'M PISSED! The love of his life "RADIO"...shitted on him constantly through format changes, budget cuts, management changes, you name it. He always got the short end of the stick,...still....he loved RADIO! Well, in the end...he gave radio over 25 years of his life and for that he got....no money, no health insurance, no burial fund, NOTHING! Just heart break after heart break. My dear friend passed away yesterday but died a long time ago from a broken heart. He deserverd so much more than he got in life. I only hope that the good Lord hooks him up big time in Heaven. My mom used to say...LOVE THOSE THAT LOVE YOU! He loved Radio and Radio didn't love him back. Lately, I've been feeling the same way about my relationship with radio. I think it may be time for me to walk away. I don't like what this industry does to people that love it so passionately. These are people that devote their lives to 14hr days, no free weekends, no free holidays, few benefits and very little pay. The payoff? The listeners. The music. The community. You make the listeners happy, you play the music you love and you get to give back to the community. Well,...that's why we all used to do it or why we want to do it. You get sucked in, you fall in love, you get fucked, you get stuck and the next thing you know,...you are living on borrowed paycheck to borrowed paycheck. You only make money in the big cities...the top 100 most populated cities. You only make money if you are insulting or controversial in some way. Ok, there is John Tesh and Ryan Seacrest but of course...they blew up from their TV gigs.
Let me tell you about this guy. I was working with a company that replaced me on the air but wanted to keep me on payroll so the competition wouldn't snatch me up. I was unhappy and low and behold....Ken walked into my life and offered me a job with a station that would be perfect for me. A station that was the marrage of 2 worlds....r&b and pop. It was amazing. He became my boss and my guardian angel. I gave hime the name BIG PaPa because he always looked out for me. I drove this crappy car that we called The Thunder Buzzard. It was no longer a beautiful bird...it was a buzzard. He got in touch with corporate and the powers that be and told them that I had been a good employee and I needed a car. He approached me about it and I told him that I had been dating the anti-christ. A person that claimed to love me and robbed me blind. I was still trying to recover financially. He said...No Worries! I've worked a little something out for you. I had a NEW used car that I loved dearly. It was due to him. I hadn't asked...he saw a need and offered. Isn't that crazy? Who does shit like that? Big Papa. That was the fun of old school. Bosses looked out for their employees and companies rewarded loyalty.
Now, with the new wave of things,...people are turning on eachother, scheming against one another and brown-nosing...just to keep that "already spent" paycheck coming in. Companies are rewarding the highest paid that get at least 6 figures plus and laying off the people that actually got their hands dirty to make these companies the powerhouses that they are. I hate what this industry does to people now. It turns them into ruthless fake shallow impostors that will stop at nothing to step on others, keep them down and flex power.
I watch them as they fire their old friends, kiss the ass of the people that demanded they do it without a fight and morph into corporate do-boys. It sucks. I hate it and it hurts.
I want to vent more but the more I do, the more tears I shed and my head is killing me. I don't really need any comments, I just needed to get it out. Goodnight guys.
I love you forever Big Papa! Jazzy
Monday, February 05, 2007
Did you see Prince at half-time of the SuperBowl? AMAZING.
Was I the only one completely underwhelmed by FAMU's performance? I mean, they sound great, but at any point when the camera hit them...there were on the wrong foot, or going the wrong way...it was just an insult to old school marching bands. It was like they had just learned the routine an hour before game time or something. The execution wasn't there.
Check it out part 1 and part 2 They weren't tight. I'm used to FAMU bringing it.
Oh well...everyone's been talking about the commercials. That Rock, Paper Bud commercial had me on the floor screaming. I'm still giggling. teehee
Anyways...I have yet another art show coming up next month and I've been getting ready. This is before it hits the kilm. I will post a pic when it's done.
I'm also cramming Adobe Illustrater. Nikki, Nick Cage....HELP? SOS?
I have to get my ish together. I want to change careers. Crazy? I know. I have to. I can't deal with stress like I used to.