There is nothing more beautiful than a mature African-American woman. Diahann Carroll, Vanessa Williams, Phylicia Rashad, Pam Grier…have maintained a level of glamour that is unmatched. It is the richness of their skin and the wisdom in their eyes that make them sexy beyond measure. They have obtained a swagger that their younger counterparts seek but will never grasp. Our younger generation think that sexiness is wearing the least amount of clothing legally possible or the ability to make one half of their booty cheeks bounce in unison with the most popular urban noise disguised as music. Now don’t get me wrong, there are a bunch of dudes like myself who appreciate a young lady who can effortlessly delve into their darker sides but…I wouldn’t wife it. It would just be unfair to her to make her throw an apron over her thong or replace those clear 12 inch heels with a conservative pair of Enzo’s when that’s really not her calling. I never dated anyone who was not connected to the African Diaspora…not because I’m an overt radical I just never had that much contact…I mean Chicago ain’t exactly a cultural friendly melting pot. This is the same city where Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. caught a brick to the head during a march he held through Marquette Park in ‘66. The few women I have met in my journey of the “lighter persuasion” just never appealed to me. Either they looked like Holly Hobby or they tried to convince me that they were “down with cause”. A white woman trying to portray themselves as a black woman dipped in egg shell is hideous and comical at the same time. “Guuuurl, thas what I’m talkin’ bout”….what? There was one young lady that I half heartedly tried to mack to but she told me upfront that her father hated n*ggers so after that I pretty much kept it “colored”. Black women just have the ability to overcome so much because they’ve been through so much. Society wants to limit them to simple physical specimens and neglect their intellect. They can be your video vixen at night or your home gurl kickin’ it with you watching the game on Sunday. They can nurture you when you come home after a night of too much drinking then scold your ass while they make you breakfast in the morning. If you peer into their souls you can see the same scars that burden you. The same dreams and fears, wants and needs.
Where is my key to the city?
My son takes swimming lessons at CSU. This is his second term and he simply loves it. The class is for beginners and the syllabus ask for parents or guardians to join there chirrun in the pool. I was “johnnie on the spot” because the only person I trust being with my son in a body of water is ME (momma got no swim skills whatsoever) so I didn’t have an issue with it….hell, I welcomed it. Mid-way through the first session the instructors kicked the parents out of the pool and made us sit in the bleachers. I usually would pace back in forth especially when they get to that part of the class where they throw….um coerce the kiddies off of the diving board into the diving pool which happens to be 14 feet deep. Anyhoo, during class a few weeks ago (I was doing my regular pacing) the children where instructed to go to the far end of the pool, jump in and swim down to the other end. I came out to the pool area because Dougie’s mischievous ass was running down the side of the pool and I wanted to give him some “gentle guidance”. After our “talk” Dougie got in line and jumped in and was kicking furiously towards the other end looking like a chocolate pint sized Michael Phelps…I was so proud to say the least. As Dougie made it to mid-pool a young girl prepared for her leap of faith. She wretched back and went airborne into the pool with a huge splash. Suddenly my phone rang, it was my frat brother Harrick… and then I heard what sounded to be voices of concern coming from the bleachers, “help, help, she needs help”. I’m looking around like WTF….The first thing I did was to see where Dougie was….I gots to protect mine…priorities damn it. After I located Dougie and made sure he was fine I turned my attention to the end of the pool and there she was….the little girl that had just jumped in the pool was beating the water like a drum trying to stay afloat. I dropped my phone, ran to the side of the pool reached in as far as I could trying to not get wet (it didn’t help, my left side got baptized) and grabbed the little girl by her arm and pulled her to safety. I sat on the side of the pool and comforted her while she caught her breathe and then… she earled on me. The f*cked up part about all of this was that at the time the little girl was fighting for her life their was this fat mufucka in a way to snug bathing suit sitting on the side of the pool trying to holla at some broad in the bleachers. I should’ve kicked his fat ass in the back of his throat. And….not a parent or cousin or baby mama or baby daddy or big ma came down to check on this girl. Not a family member or schoolmate or best friend…f*ckin nobody! Man, I was livid and scared to death in unison. I got my Dougie and headed home wet smelling like hot cheetos, toe nails, and open ass.
Miniature Me
Dougie had a doctors appointment last night…so some sort of “Asthma Action Plan” is what the doctor called it. We’ve been pretty lucky…during the last visit the doctor scaled down some of Doug’s medication. He previously was taking Cingular and FloVent which he took daily and of course his inhaler. He no longer has to take the FloVent but as a side effect of the removal of the treatment he gets congested at night. The nurse put him on the scale…this dude weighs 88 pounds at 7 ½ years old…I felt like I was looking in a mirror of myself at that age.
Dougie has inherited his father’s good likes as well as my body type. I was a husky young fella with a big but…I got teased a lot but I was good with the “hand to hand combat” so the teasing was kept to a minimum or they whispered sh*t under their breathe. I recall my Fourth Grade year….I had just transferred to St. John De La Salle (my fourth school) from Wendell Smith. By this time I had the “new kid” lingo down pat, kind of had a chip on my shoulder. There was this cutey named Stephanie that caught my eye (fourth grade pimpin, what?). She sat a few rows from me and she was primarily the first friend I had. We exchanged numbers and would talk on the phone when we got home from school…unbeknownst to me she already had a suitor. Not knowing the dynamics of who was with who and all that I stepped on somebody’s toes…his name was Robert and he was the biggest dude in the class. He claimed to be “folks” but he didn’t know I was plugged in…my sister at the time was dating this cat that was up and coming bad ass in the “organization” …straight of the ten trey. He had a little brother named Thomas who was my age but was in the 3rd Grade and we where tied at the hip. We spent out weekends following his brother around so we got to know all the GD’s in the neighborhood and I ain’t ever seen Robert at any of the functions. Plus dude lived on the other side of Cottage Grove which was strictly Stone territory…his ol’ lyin ass. Of course he caught wind that I was macking to his philly and stepped to me. Here I am…the new kid been in school for about 3 months and already got trouble. He told me to leave Stephanie alone or else. Of course I refused…hell, I had too…I couldn’t be labeled a punk I would’ve never been able to live it down. So now it’s about 1:30 and we’re in Religion class. The teacher steps out for a moment and this dude decides to stand up and tell the whole class that he was going to kick my ass after school…y’all know the rest. A bunch of “ooooos” and “ahhhhs” filled the classroom and everyone was watching the clock.
It was your typical wintry Chicago afternoon and a cluster of kids gathered on the parking lot. Robert was already waiting for me when I arrived so I put my books down and approached the inner circle. I know everyone has seen those fights when the two participants walk around in a circle shoulder to shoulder chanting “you swing, no you swing, no swing” for about an hour. Then they get tired and head home…my approach was different. I’m sure that’s what Robert was expecting because most of the dudes were scared to fight him but not I. I ran right up to him…he was startled, took a step back and slipped on some ice. I punched in the eye as he fell….Steve 1 Rob 0. I know I won by default but hell a win is a win. I was the king of the 4th grade until the next day when Mrs. Arthur summoned us to the office. One day your king of the world the next day your on garbage detail….oh well it was good while it lasted.
I was recently involved in a conversation concerning the dynamics of a healthy and prosperous relationship. We discussed the pillars of a fruitful co-existence and the usual subjects were tossed about…respect, honesty, intimacy, finances and that ever present trust. Trust seems to be a word that is thrown in for good measure….it just sounds good with the “for better or worse” ideology. But do we really know and understand what it means to trust someone? Do we know what it feels like to be trusted?
I was listening to the Doug Banks’ Show recently and trust was the topic question of the day. A lady called in and commented that trust is something that is earned which is pretty much the generic response. She went on to highlight all the extra shenanigans she participates in when it comes to her husband…you know the ol’ checkin dudes pockets, going through his phone, yada, yada. But I was floored when she said that she had been married for 27 years. So you mean to tell me in 27 years this dude has not earned on ounce of trust? I mean she still treating him like they just met and not a husband of over two decades. The fact of the matter is we don’t have a clue of what real trust demands of us. We participate in watching for signs then actually trusting our mates. Hell, in this age of e-mail, WiFi, cell phones that damn near whip your ass if you program it right we have become spies and not partners….clusters of lost misfits who seem relegated to turning our relationships into a bunch of scenes from “Mr. and Mrs. Smith”.
If your woman is stepping out on you let’s be real….you already know why. Ain’t no need to be following her around or checking her phone records…instead you need to be getting your sh*t in order. I gave up earning trust in a relationship long ago; all I want is the benefit of the doubt which is just the precursor of trust. It’s like she really don’t trust me but I haven’t shown my ass vividly enough to be convicted. I’m cool with that. I would rather be honest with myself than to tear my hair out trying to “earn” the impossible. Trust is personal baggage that we drag from relationship to relationship. All it takes is that one neck bone eater to do us dirty and it’s a wrap. From that point on the only thing we’re doing is watching for signs (she’s working late a lot, she’s going out more than before, she’s whispering on the phone, etc…) so that we can get that “Aha! I caught your ass” moment. Then what?
What we don’t realize is that, in an effort to protect our hearts, we subconsciously convict our mates with crimes yet to be committed and treat them as such. I know many folks who come home from a long day at the gig our a night out and get that third degree (where you been?, who was there?, why you ain’t call me?). They trying to examine your clothes to check for levels of disheveledness. They get treated as if they were fresh from the “4 Hour Nap Rate” motel. What good is that? If a person figures out that this is going to be the treatment all the time then the next time they might as well go ahead and get some ass….the interrogation will be the same.
Trust is just a catch phrase that is desired but not understood. I’ve done dirt in some relationships and have been an angel in others and guess what….the trust level in both have been the same…non-existence. It is not always the actions of our lovers, boyfriends or wives that dictate our wavering level of trust but it is our past failures and our own insecurities. Instead of sweating her about her whereabouts send her some flowers. Do something to add to the levels of love in the relationship not rob it with your actions of self-loathing disguised as concern and bullsh*t.
Me and my boy E have been running the streets of the Chi since high school. We met our freshmen year during an impromptu cipher on the nuisances of House Music. I was engaged in a heated discussion over who was the best DJ on the House scene at that time. Folks were throwing around names like Andre Hatchet, Pharris “Funkin” Thomas, cats from the Hot Mix 5, Farley, Boo Williams, Armando, Terry Hunter & Frankie Knuckles. My two absolute favorite was the incomparable late great Ron Hardy & Lil Louis. When I threw those names in the cipher I shut it down. It was like smacking the big joker on the folding table in Big Mama’s basement on New Years Eve during a heated game of spades. E emphatically had my back in regards to my Lil Louis choice and the rest is history. For the majority of his adolescent years it had just been him and his mother. Although he had a relationship with his Dad it didn’t become significant until adulthood. During our senior year E and his Mom moved from 73rd & King Drive to 81st & Campbell. That was only one of the major changes made during that year.
During this time E’s Mom developed a relationship with a gentlemen caller. Pretty soon the relationship grew serious and she ended up letting dude move in to the home. Before the new guest eased his way into permanent residency we used to parlay up in the joint whenever I would visit but after that E’s ass would be waiting on the steps for me to pull up so he could get as far away as he could. I recall one visit clearly…it was a Friday and we were headed to, of course, a Lil Louis party at Leo High School. I came in and headed for the living room. E was coming up from the basement when suddenly dude came downstairs with a paper in his hand like he just took a relaxing dump. He saw E and said “you better get that garbage out if you plan on going somewhere tonight”….bad move. E was livid….he said “I don’t need you to instruct me to do sh*t around here…I got this mufucka”. Before he could expound on those remarks I ushered E’s ass out the door. Once in the whip E confided in me and said that dude been walking around his Momma’s house with his chest poked out like he run sh*t. You see E had been the man of the house way before this greasy ass cat was even thought off. This dude made the mistake so many cats make when they make the decision to cozy up to a woman with children.
The first thing dudes do is try to exert their control in the household….the problem with that is you ain’t got no control dude! The household had been running smoothly without you and if you ain’t got no chips to put on for the utilities, food, entertainment, tuition, gas, cable bill, etc…you can kick rocks with the quickness. You can’t walk up in the piece like Big Dick Willy, lay your suite cases disguised as garbage bags down and think folk just gon crown you King and slide you the big piece of chicken. Sh*t ain’t happening especially if there are sons in the picture. What you fail to realize is that after daddy left it became the sons job to protect their mother, it was the sons job to make sure the house wasn’t falling down and that the dishes were washed and the trash taken out before moms got home from work. So you need to act accordingly…sliding up in the spot the wrong way can and will get you f*cked up twice with the quickness. You need to earn their respect because they were here first and did not ask to be here. Slamming doors and barking orders will only get you a pumpkin’ head not respect.
Part of the problem is the choices made by the mothers. They want a father figure/role model but they really don’t have a clue of what that entails. Here’s a test….if dude has children be inquisitive and study how he treats them. If he treats his on chirrun like doo-doo guess what’s in store for you and yours….Sons would die for their mothers because they have seen them struggling, seen the tears when the lights got cut off or the eviction notice came in the mail, felt the helplessness because they were to young to get a job but old enough to understand the tragedy. So to all prospective gentleman callers you got a few choices…either respect the situation and dedicate yourself to earning your spot or catch a Nike in the ass or a skillet across the forehead…your choice. Whew, I sound kind of bitter don’t I??? Nah, just speaking from experience. Peace & Love
I truly understand the magnitude of what transpired last night. An African-American elected as President of these United States…mind blowing, unfathomable but a reality no doubt. I was enthralled with his classy political pimpage, enamored by his exuberance and humility, inspired by his sturdiness and honesty but those things are only a part of the greatness of B Rock….What the Obama’s did single-handedly was make the essence of the Black Family sexy again. He made fatherhood relevant and husbandry essential and Michelle re-wrote the definition for what a strong black women really means….a supportive wife and loving mother. This is the image I wanted my son to see…that the President of America looks like him and that the love the Obama’s displayed last night in Grant Park ( I could’ve sworn her grab her booty) is the same love his momma & daddy exhibits everyday. This is America or at least what it needs to be… A composite of intimate and strong family structures not just random chirrun and rotating parents.
This moment in history raises the bar for current and future generations. You matter in this world and with the proper guidance and self revelations you can aspire to greatness but ….the blueprint to victory must be followed.
1. Folk who just want to pop out shorties to random dudes and cats that treat their nether regions like seed spreaders need not apply. Your asses won’t be able to run for Alderman let alone the Presidency. A family ain’t just about paying/collecting child support checks and buying Jordan’s. It’s about actually putting in the time, effort and love and if you can’t run a family unit do you think we gon trust you to tinker with the US economy?? I thinks not.
2. Brothas….the time is now (hell, way past due). Pull up ya pants, put down the Heno and pick up a book. We have carried you way to long.
3. Sistas…if you want to be treated like a lady act like one. Michelle Obama has shown you how to be fly…her hair ain’t every shade of the rainbow and she ain’t got no tattoos of her titties or her neck.
4. My People…if you run into any one of the Caucasian or Hispanic persuasion today on your way to work give ‘em a hug because you know we ain’t do this on our one. Although it’s a lot of US but if you factor in the equation the number of African-Americans who can’t vote because of felony records and the uncanny number of blacks who are incarcerated we only made a reasonable dent in the outcome.
Change is a progression, a movement, a blessed affliction…..we stand on so many shoulders today…let’s remember to acknowledge them. From slave cabins to auction blocks to the Oval Office…
I remember the night I crossed those “burning sands” into Alphadom very well….almost too well. It was a brisk December Tennessee night and I was filled with nervous anticipation. Of course the brothers didn’t enlighten us with the fact that after tonight we would be Alpha Men….nah they weren’t that forthcoming but after 8 ½ months of pledging you learned to expect the unexpected which anyone that has every pledged an African-American fraternity or sorority can attest to. When we finally figured out what was up and after all the pageantry was over we were simply elated to say the least. Hugs, and tears (yeah a brother broke down) and congratulatory well wishes filled the room. During the celebration and older bruh approached me….he congratulated me, “gripped” me and whispered; “now the real pledging begins”.
This will be the sentiment that will spread through the African-American community come Wednesday morning. After all the “We Shall Overcomes”, the marching , the sit-ins, the Black Power moments, the assassinations, the water hoses and attack dogs, the Brown v. the Board of Education this country will have a person of color at the helm for the first time ever. The reflection of a people that picked cotton, and survived this nation’s greatest suffrage will blanket the hearts and souls of America and a new nation will be born. But after that last bottle has been popped the “real pledging will begin”. The brother that whispered those words to me was trying to open my eyes a little wider, beckoning me to see beyond what I had accomplished and to hip me to the changes that sit just above the horizon. He let me know that even though I felt relief and pride for surviving what I had gone through there was definitely more challenges and obstacles to come…more work and dedication was needed and demanded. So today I say to black folk everywhere thirsty for change…now what? I’ll tell you…now the excuses will not be tolerated. No more placing the blame for your demise on the “man”….if a brother can become president of the most racially motivated country in the world then your drug dealin’, block huggin’, baby havin’, 24-inch rim buyin’, school skippin’, gun totin’, baller chasin’, leg spreadin’, gold diggin’, fake gangsta wannebe, barbequing’ in front the house, government assisted, red weave wearin’ asses have officially ran out of excuses to hide behind…you are now exposed.
Back in high school a buddy of mine hooked me up on a blind meet & greet with a young lady that went to high school with his girlfriend. He didn’t divulge a great deal of particulars about my date which usually meant the broad probably looked like Jabba the Hut with a weave. Friday, the day of reckoning came and I spent the whole day at school watching the clock. My boy kept asking me “are you ready?”…his feeble attempts at reassurance. Finally, the bell rang, we jetted to the parking lot, got in the whip and headed north on Stony Island Avenue. We arrived at Kenwood High School a little early and decided to post up on Blackstone Avenue. I popped in my latest Lil Louis mix and proceeded to enjoy the scenery. Back in the day Kenwood had some of the finest females in the city so the odds of me being set up with a bust down were slim…but possible. A few minutes later I spotted my boy’s girl coming out of the building talking to a light- skinned female. My heart started racing as I dug in my pocket for my Tic-Tacs…can’t spit game with stank breathe! As they got closer I could see that baby girl was ½ angel and ½ Negro and 100% fine….babygurl could get it. I turned to slap my boy a hi-five and he shook me off…”nah, that ain’t for you”. WTF??!
After his girlfriend ended her convo with her fine buddy I was like “where ol’ gurl at?” She turned to scan the area, spotted her and called her over. There was just a plethora of ladies everywhere so I couldn’t make out the direction she was calling. All of a sudden a sea of students parted and this image shaped like the number 8 appeared. She was thick…um..healthy?….well, I know she ain’t miss no meals…but she was cute. Weight to me was never a deal breaker issue. I find that weight is subjective…I mean I know many slim and trim females from back in the day who look like linebackers now and vice-versa. If she has personality and is somewhat pleasing esthetically….man…I’m all over it. She approached me, we exchanged pleasantries and phone numbers and then we headed are separate ways.
We talked on the phone everyday for a few weeks. She lived in “Pill Hill” which was not to far from my grandmothers’ house so we agreed to hang out on a Friday after school. I get to her spot around 4:30…her parents weren’t home so I was in for a couple of hours of parlayin’. We talked a bit about our plans after high school and raided her parent’s liquor cabinet. After a few drinks babygurl was looking real good so I decided to make my move to see if she was with it. We kissed for a few and then she said those words that every dude wants to hear…”let me slip into something more comfortable”…word! She jetted upstairs and when she returned she had on some fru-fru robe and was carrying a purple Crown Royal bag. When I saw the bag I started thinking…what the hell is in that bag?…was it more drink?…some condoms?. My curiosity was soon cured. She reached in the bag and pulled out a small glass dish, a razor blade and a small bag of the narcotic…yes..cocaine. My eyes were not deceiving me….I knew this broad was no rookie at this because she had all the junkie paraphernalia. Most users would use a rolled up dollar bill to get busy with but not her. This broad had a small glass pipe just big enough to fit in her nostrils! She offered me some and I immediately started to dress, put my shoes on, gathered my London Fog jacket and walked the f*ck out! I got all the way to 83rd & Jeffrey before I even looked back. Man, I lost my high and was sweating like a slave on the auction block. As you can tell that relationship lasted all of 13 phone calls and 5 hours.
That could’ve been a promising relationship but I shut it down once I figured out this broads major flaw…that’s because I went in with “my eyes wide open”. This is the difference between men and women. Dudes pick their mates with their heads (yes both of them) and not our hearts. We usually insert that latter on when we have, to the best of our abilities, analyzed our victim to the fullest. Women are just the opposite….jumping into sh*t right of the back and looking past all types of nonsense and red flags. The lady in this morning Steve Harvey’s Morning Show Strawberry Letter, met a dude who admitted to be at one time addicted to crack, married him and had some chirrun. Now three years later she’s wondering why he’s drinking all the time and disappears at will. Hello!!! He’s a crackhead! And …this is the best part…he told your ass when y’all first met so you can’t pin this on him….you goofy! This situation gives other crackheads and alcoholics hope….Julia Hudson used her heart and decided that a cat who did a 7 year bid for attempted murder was the man of her dreams….that dream has ended tragically. To all you ladies infatuated with “thug love” let Jennifer Hudson’s’ family tragedy serve as a reminder that puzzy ain’t bulletproof. Julia’s decision to wrap this nut in the folds of her family was basically putting the bullets in the gun. It was just a matter of time….There are plenty of good men out here but all of the crack heads, drug dealers & thugs seem to be the only ones getting the love. In my pimping days I had a checklist that I ran down when I might a young lady. If the broad lived on the wrong side of town, had a drug habit, sold ass on Madison, had a crazy ass family, etc…I left her ass right at the club and kept it pushing. A brotha was trying to live and I’d damn if I was going to let my desire to just have somebody to squeeze end it…
It amazing that there are so many misinterpretations and mysterious notions when it comes to men and women. There are some many avenues out there geared to aid in the destruction of familiar stereotypes as well as educate men on the many nuisances of women. Those avenues do not exist when it comes to men simply because women feel that they have us all figured out. All men want are the three P’s, puzzy, pay and a place to stay, right? We just want a pretty face, a more than occasional romp in the sheets and we are all good, right? If that’s the case then it begs the question why are there are so many women who outright fail at providing these simply and basic attributes? I mean it’s that simple right? Ummm….I see…Oprah didn’t cover that on “What Women Want Wednesdays”. Women are smarter than that and should know better. Men have just as many layers as women we just scale it down to a more non-confusing format…sort of like a complex simplicity if you will.
I recall a conversation I had with a young lady a while ago regarding male camaraderie. She felt that men celebrate and support there patnas who engage in extra-marital relationships and that we rejoice when a brotha suffers the indignation of a divorce and gets his “freedom papers”. I looked at her like she had two heads. I couldn’t for the life of me understand how she developed such backward ideology. I mean, don’t women revel in the demise of an unhealthy situation? Hell…the “Real Housewives” sagas on Bravo is a show dedicated to nothing but women celebrating their “come up” via divorce. News flash: Men do not rejoice, accept or throw parties for brothas who engage in the “extra-marital Olympics”….but we understand. We unequivocally feel a sense of remorse when a relationship heads down that path and we always share our support and provide shelter and comfort to a fallen cat in the hopes that he will right the ship. We cringe when we hear a brotha in the midst of a divorce, especially when there children involved because you know the coming days will be bleak. Real men understand the importance of family and the detriment of the destruction of one. Just a week ago my “Tribal Council” got together to perform intervention services to a brotha in the fold who was thinking about dippin’ off. We explained to him that the new coochie that’s sweatin’ him may taste good but is it really worth it? I didn’t walk down the aisle so that I can later get me a dip on the side. What the f*ck is that all about? Wouldn’t it be easier to get my swerve on without the hindrance of a Mrs.’s?
To think that men are soulless skirt chasers is a concept dipped in ignorance. To understand men you have to do some research…Oprah ain’t addressing us and there ain’t no cable channel dedicated to the arduous sensibilities of being a man. Stop listening to them neck bone eatin’ ass girlfriends of yours and talk to a real dude. You may learn something after all.
Dennis Williams of Gary, IND attempted to protect the honor of his women this morning by trying to intervene in an argument between his girlfriend and her baby daddy.
…The baby daddy, recently released from prison, came to the spot where his “assumed” ex-girlfriend and his 2 year old child resided, broke up in the piece and began to assault the woman. Dennis, under the guise of trying to protect his women, argued with dude and caught the business end of a knife. The ex-boyfriend proceeds to grab his child and dash off into the night air where eventually he crashed head on into a squad car killing him and the 2 year old. Now everybody is dead except the broad…how ironic.
I know many cats, including myself, who have been in similar traps but by the grace of God are still here to tell the story. The problem is that usually the women in the scenario always neglects to be forthcoming about her situation…I mean she ain’t gon tell a subsequent suitor that she got a crazy ass boyfriend who, by the way, just happened to be the father of her child and um…they still mess around sometimes. Nah…she ain’t gon never be that honest because them sheets on her bed will stay unequivocally cold. Instead she won’t say anything or, my favorite, the old “he ain’t gon do nothing” ideology. Yeah…right…He ain’t gon do sh*t to you but probably snatch some “cakes” off ya but me…? Hell, I ain’t got no pussy to offer so my odds of survival are way low. In my situation the broad didn’t divulge that fact that she had a man, a crazy Que at that, until we got to her spot and guess who was waiting on us….you guessed it. So now me and this cat out here in the Tennessee night tusslin’ and then eventually he shuts it down by pulling out the 9 mili. It was at that moment that it came to me…what the f*ck am I doing? Why am I risking catching hot metal over this broad’s deception? And the ass ain’t even all that….I survived the streets of the Chi only to end on a Nashville back road?!?!? Hellz naw! I was like “dude, my bad it ain’t even that serious”. After that he proceeded to smack the sh*t out of her, jumped in the whip and headed down I-65. I lost every shred of respect I had for her and continued to dodge her the rest of my time in the “Ville”. The crazy thing is that SHE KEPT SWEATIN’ ME!
Now, women aren’t the only ones inflicted with this disease of silliness…men have it bad as well. You know that brotha who gave a key to the spot to his women but still chooses to bring random ass back to the flat….what a goofy. Got the nerve to act surprised when he hears the key rattling in the door while he’s in mid-stroke. What’s even sillier is that usually the girlfriend will go after the random booty piece and not the dude…WTF? If the girls are fine then they ain’t really trying to beat each other down…god forbid they f*ck up their herrrr and nails. But if they are a couple of boot-mouth heathens…man…the brawl is bout to be on and crackin’.
The moral is if you know your life is f*cked up don’t invite nobody else to your circus. If you picked up a stalker on your life journey because you got his kid or you’re stringing him along until something better comes along then you need to do the honorable thing and gone catch that ass whuppin’…it’s yours ain’t it?!? Don’t be calling Tyrone who works at your job to come by for drinks when you know your home spot ain’t secure. And if you got some crazy girl friend who you keep telling folks y’all ain’t together but continue to orchestrate trysts with her then don’t drag no unsuspecting lady into your web of sh*t.
Some faculty members and muckity mucks at the CPS have come up with a scheme….er plan to pay public school students for grades. In several interviews (albeit slanted) on the subject there were a host of teachers, parents and of course students applauding this idea. One student said that “it will make me want to go to school”. Say what??? What happened to the golden old days when it was go to school or catch this ass whuppin’? I may be a little out of touch because I attended Catholic schools throughout my early educational journey so some folks may label me an “elitist” (good!) but I do know something about paying for grades. My mother did it for my brother and I and it was called….TUITION.
The idea is to motivate the students from “lower income households” who may not have the means to reward their children in this manner. Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit! Dude, its money in the ghetto….You take a ride down to the low end and you will see so many folk wearing designer fabrics it will make your head spin. Folk invest their money on what they want and not necessarily on what they need. If it ain’t shiny, or chromed out or iced out or not name brand they ain’t feeling it. So, we just had this big pow-wow over school finance headed by Rev. Meeks and now we got extra loot lying around to pay chirrun for doing what the f8ck their supposed to do in the first place? Seems kinda shady…
Here’s a thought…most of the public schools in struggling urban areas have an enrollment that is made up of students from single parent, low-income households. Which means that there livelihood is more than likely subsidized by the government which also means that they are not going to nobody’s job in the morning which means they are not paying into the tax pool…which, follow me now…in turn funds are lovely public school system. So, basically, what had happened was…we want all the glamour and sparkle of suburban schools but don’t want to contribute. You get what you pay for…
During a recent “catch-up” session with a close friend of mine, I discovered that a close relative of hers was battling the scourge of drug addiction. The pain and worry in her voice was palpable…she always claims to be a “tiger” but I know better. I couldn’t help but think of how the misguided sexiness of drugs has infiltrated and changed my own family. One thing clear about drugs is that it can touch anyone from anywhere at anytime.
My hero (besides my mother, Jesus, Farrakhan, Malcolm X, KRS-One, etc…) growing up was my cousin Mike. He had a congenial personality and a smile that lit up the room. At 6′4 he stood above the fray and always had a kind word. He was several years older than me and was a star ball player at Mendel Catholic High School back in the early ’80s. He and Andre Banks lead Mendel to the state playoffs in ‘82 with my big cuz Mike hitting the game winning, damn near half court shot to beat Quincy in the 3rd place game. I was playing a little ball in grammar school at the time…I played the center position (that should give you an idea of how sh*tty we were) and he would give me some pointers and then I would bust they asses at the next game with my special moves….not! After his high school career was over he attended Howard University in DC. After Mike left for college I didn’t see him for the next two years and when I did I knew something was wrong.
Me and my posse were making are usually rounds in our Roseland neighborhood when I spotted this tall ass dude walking with two raggedy looking broads on 103rd & Calumet. I didn’t think nothing of it until a voice called my name. I peered closely and to my shock it was Mike. I was happy to see him and ran up to greet him. When I got closer I could tell something was different. The smile was gone and he had this strange look of nervousness. I gave him a hug, exchanged pleasantries and he continued on his way. That was in 1985 and since then it has been a constant and painful journey downhill. Dude, broke into my grandmothers house, kidnapped his mom and made her get cash from an ATM, been involved in numerous armed robberies, joined the Navy only to get kicked for your guessed it…drugs….he has spent the better part of the last 20 years in and out of prison and half-way houses. When I see him at family gatherings I am filled with so many emotions…disappointment, worry, hope….but most important…love. I’ll never give up on him…because I can’t…but mostly because his fate could have easily been mine.
The Bears beat the Colts! WTF?!?! Matt Forte is the truth…for now.
Why are we still talking about Sarah Palin’s speech??? She basically shitted on all grass roots organizers and people like you and me steady on the grind.
Marion Jones…sad…she was destined to be the next Flo Jo. Now she’s sayin’ “may I take your order?”
Kwame Kilpatrick…Dude, for real?? And to think we share the same fraternal colors…damn.
That broad that put the baby in the microwave needs to be beheaded in Millennium Park and have it aired globally on the Lifetime Chanel,
The Seattle Supersonics are now the Oklahoma City Thunder?????…..sounds like a USBL team.
The boycott was a bust! Only about 1,000 students participated and they still ain’t get no extra dough….
Oh damn!! They done went and closed Soul Queen on Stony Island….WTF?? No more chicken with mice dropping seasonings??!! I am saddened.
How in the hell is B –Rock (Barrack) and Father Dirt (McCain) in a virtual tie according the latest polls? It is simply unfathomable!!! According to McCain advisors the tie is a result of former Clinton supports throwing there support behind McCain and refusing to support B-Rock because their girl Hilary caught a beat down in the primary. To chose to survive rather than thrive, to risk losing your home, your job, get the Chevy Cavalier repo’d, to have to go to the county because your company has ceased and desisted on the HMO benefit, to have to finance your next gallon of gas just to make it up the block simply because your desired candidate lost?!?!?!…That is the ultimate display of foolishness.
A while back I watched a documentary about Saddam Hussein and his rise to power. He was a member of the Ba’ath Party and participated in a coup to overthrow Abdul Salam Arif also a member of the party. When dude assumed control he had a special session with the cabinet members. He asked all the cats that supported the former President Arif to stand and be recognized. He had each one them dudes taken out and executed. Hmmm…..So, to all those ex-Clinton supporters who now think McCain is a more worthy choice than B-Rock…either get on board or bounce. Y’all f*cking up the rotation…
I was eager to drown in your infinite afternoons…
Yearning to merge into your revolution, your mutiny, your rebellion, your god-like design…
Your silent hush, your whispers of distress, your moments of levity, your bouts of despair…
Your triumphs, your failures, your morning routine, your midnight slumber, your morning rejoice…
Without you there is only a broken me…
‘Tis the season for learning! The smell of new shoes and erasermate pens fill the air coupled with fluttering hearts, excitement and hope. My son Dougie started school yesterday…just looking at him filled my soul with such pride and joy (lemme wipe the tears from my eyes). He’s a big time second grader and he’s got a lot of pressure on him. He ended the first grade on a high note…made the honor roll the last three quarters of the school year so I ain’t accepting no foolishness. He’ll be alright…he inherited his mother’s intellect and my ability to create mischief…what a combination…pray for me y’all. His progress amazes me and I can’t help but reminisce on my small days in school. I attend four grammar schools before I reached the eight grade. Not that I was bad (well not exactly) we just moved around a bit…from 77th & Yates to 75th & Kingston to 101st & Rhodes. From St. Peter Lutheran to St. Peter & Paul to Wendell Smith to St. John de La Salle. Sister Mary was my 1st grade teacher and she was no joke…quick to pull out that big ass ruler and go to work on that ass. I traded a girl in my 1st grade class one of my silver crayons (I had that big ass 24 pack of Crayolas with the built-in sharpener) for infinite peeks up her skirt…yeah I was nasty even back then…it’s gift.
The current turmoil surrounding the Chicago Public Schools spear-headed by Senator Reverend Meeks is, to me, good natured but way off base. Placing the entire blame for the demise of public education squarely on the shoulders of the government is naïve and irresponsible. The allegation that schools in the inner city receive less government funding then those in the suburbs is saber-rattling and is only half the truth. Schools are funded based on enrollment so if Ray Nathan an ‘em would rather shoot dice than carry they asses to school then there’s a good chance that particular school will be short. This impending boycott doesn’t take into effect or refuses to address the real problem and then to encourage folk to enroll the children at the more affluent New Trier High School in Winnetka?!?!?!? Why punish them? What is not addressed is the fact that most of the suburban schools such as New Trier receive funds from private donors that are used to enhance the schools. Their capital is not subjugated to what the government hands out and they actively seek outside funding sources which is something the CPS does not do very well. Also, and most importantly, New Trier ain’t got to dole out extra dough for beefed up security, metal detectors, surveillance cameras, etc…The teachers ain’t spending half the class time breaking up fights between the 5th grade Folks and the Moes or deal with silly ass parents who are just as bad. Maybe if we acted like we gave a f*ck about education by setting examples for our children instead of whining for another suck of the government’s teet maybe things will change. A friend of mines son graduated from high school last year and I asked him what college he had picked out. Before he could answer his momma chimed in and said, “He gon get him a job…hell, I didn’t go to college and look at me”. Yeah, living hand to mouth is very exciting. I was like what the f*ck kind of job is dude going to be able to get? You got folk out here with Masters’ Degrees working for temp agencies and he’s going to be a success because of what? It is exactly that type of defeatism we feed to our children because we have parents who are to afraid to see their children out-achieve them so we instill them with mediocrity. WTF?? So instead of reaching for stars our children reach for 40 ounces because momma and daddy ain’t never amount to shit and they want some company.
“Mixed – Income” housing has taken root in major cities all across the country. It’s just gentrification with a smile but is deeply flawed. The general idea is that by placing Ray Ray an ‘em next door to the Huxtables it would inspire them to want to pull themselves up by their bootstraps and become participating citizens in the circus of humanity. Mayor Daley has and still is leveling the projects in Chicago (one of the largest in the nation); displacing the former inhabitants and sprinkling them throughout the city into areas where they ain’t got no business being. For them, it’s basically like winning the lottery…instead of concrete walls, pissy stairwells, roaches, and dirt now they have inherited hardwood floors and manicured lawns through the magic of section 8. The problem is they have obtained the same things that took most people many years, degrees, late nights working, sacrifice and struggle without having to do shit but manage to stay poe.
So Ray Ray n’em ain’t doing shit but laughing at Cliff Huxtable when he leaves his house at 7:30 AM to drop his children off at school and try to make that 8:10 AM Metra train to make it to WORK. All the while these dusty n**gas is plottin’ on breaking into your crib that your paying a $1,800.00 monthly mortgage on, braiding each others hair on the front stoop, barbequing on the front lawn and inviting some more dusty ass n**gas from the old stomping ground to see how they came up. Now I’m all for the upliftment of folk trying to better themselves but my problem is with the method. Just allowing folk to make a living by suckling on the governments teet without no course or plan of action is irresponsible and the working class folk are the ones that have to suffer… just ask anyone living in the once affluent South Suburbs of Chicago.
Instead of checkin’ the folk who have made a living stretching out their vaginal areas with babies or despicable boys’ skeeting on everything that moves and leaving US to take care of their responsibility we reward them. If I could bone, watch TV all day, sell nickel bags on the block and still get a voucher to move to Evergreen Park, money to by those tri-colored Nike Air Force Ones I’ve been eyeing and use the purple card to by enough food to feed and Army….man, I wouldn’t do shit either.
It was Monday morning and I had just arrived at the gig for another long day on the “plantation”. I plugged my laptop in and checked some emails from the night before. It was approaching 9:30 AM which is usually the time I make my daily trek to Dunkin’ Donuts for a medium coffee, cream and extra sugar. I dropped my loot on the counter, retrieved my concoction and turned to go when I ran into a cat I had worked with several years ago coming in the store. He was one of my running buddies from back in the day when I worked for Citigroup back in’95. He was one of 3 brothers who worked in the Accounting group with me….we were the only colored men that didn’t work in the mail room. He was accompanied by a female co-worker and they seemed to be in the middle of a deep convo. Introductions were made and we indulged in a little small talk. His co-worker seemed pretty eager to include me in on whatever conversation they were having previously. Normally I don’t get involved in serious convo with folk I just met. I have a no-nonsense approach that sometimes comes off as abrasive….folk that know and love me understand…folk that don’t…well…I could care less.
Apparently she was in the middle of some relationship drama and was thirsty for some guidance. She had been conversing with her girlfriends (first mistake) who helped her with a plan of action that failed horribly. Here is the gist: She’s been married for about 7 years and was currently enduring a separation from her husband that has lasted well over 2 years. She had a hunch that her husband was cheating on her, and with guidance from her girl homeys, decided to extract dude from their place of residence to teach him a lesson (second mistake). Now I don’t know if dude was really stepping out and neither does she. You see, having a hunch don’t amount to shit unless it leads to a discovery of evidence. Dude working some late nights ain’t enough to conjure up a guilty verdict. She admitted to some sexual neglect on her part in the marriage which I determine led to her inventing shit in her mind about how her husband was dealing with the “lack of draws”. It is true that most men and women in this situation choose to cure “lack of drawsitis” with “extra drawsitits” but I can’t call it in this situation.
During the separation both parties had been on dates and were seeing different people. According to her, the plan was to take a breather for a while and then start the rehabilitation; I knew then that her elevator didn’t go all the way to the top. That type of shit never works…. The problem was she never filled her husband in on the plan….she just continued throwing “fuck u’s” back and forth and shiting on his advances for reconciliation. Apparently, the straw that broke the camel’s back came in the form of a mutual friend that told her of a “star quality” female that her husband had begun to take a liking to. She took this back to her whack-ass, all female tribal council and they proceeded to put a plan in motion to throw some salt in the game. The group came up with a plan of seduction to reel the husband in. She got a room, drank, rose petals, smell goods, lingerie and some chocolate covered strawberries and invited the husband to a night of debauchery. Guess what….dude was no show. Of course dude was all types of bastards and mofo’s but she had totally missed the boat on this one.
The problem was she simply used the wrong bait. I’m sure in the seven years they had been together the husband figured out that sex was at the very bottom of her list of priorities which she already admitted to. It was already confirmed that she was not passionate and could care less about sex and/or intimacy in any way, shape or form so when she made that phone call inviting dude to the freakazoid session he probably thought she was straight full of shit. He was supposed to believe that she had all of a sudden made the transformation from a sexual dud to fucking Vanessa Del Rio!!!?!? Broad pleeezzee… He had spent 7 years sweating you for a sexual morsel and now you’re ready to give it away freely?!?!?! Naw Boo…he wasn’t falling for that knucklehead move and she should’ve known better. What would I look like trying to entice a lady with a gourmet meal and I can’t even fucking boil water?!?!?! You need to work on the shit your good at and start from there. To use the very issue that probably lead dude out the door in the first place is not only disrespectful but also patronizing. Now he’s questioning your purpose and if he wanted to reconcile he’s definitely not feeling it now. Bullshit and trickery only leads to a string of ladies nights with your other lonely, manless friends. Good luck with that… As you can guess the broad looked at me like I had just spit on her grandmother…oh well…I guess we won’t be having lunch anytime soon…LOL.
For the ones baptized when the levees broke…
Lord we ask you for your unending comfort.
For the ones thrust into the battlefields on foreign soil…
Lord we ask you to keep them and give them everlasting courage.
For the ones thrust into the battlefields of or cities and urban jungles….
Lord we ask you to give them unchanging perseverance.
For the misguided…
Lord fill them with your mercy so that they may follow a path of righteousness
For the voiceless…
Lord we ask you to lift them up and let their voices soar.
For our broken families…
Lord reminds us of our past struggles so that we may understand the fullness of love
For our young brothers choosing jail cells over college lecture halls…
Lord give the wisdom and infinite sight so that they can see that a real man is one who accepts responsibility and helps push us forward not impede progress.
For our young sistas who chose to find their worth in materialism and disrespect…
Lord give them the vision and understanding of true womanhood.
Lord you have guided us through tragedies and chaos, bleakness and discontent. We ask that you continue to bless us, comfort us, love us and fill us with your mercy and grace as we continue our journey to peace and prosperity.
Amen.
Kissy Asplund
Lalah Hathaway
Eric Lau
Al Green
Dear MadP – A girlfriend of mine sent me the link to your sight and as a result I’ve been an avid reader. I haven’t commented much but I have a situation that you may be equipped to help me with. I’ve been in a relationship for the past three years and I am ready to take it to the next level. The problem is my boyfriend is dragging his feet so I gave him an ultimatum. Do you think this was the right thing to do? My girlfriends say I did they right thing, what do you think.?
“I chose you baby and I’ll tell you why…” This is a verse from that amazing soul classic created by the late Willie Hutch back in 1973. Mr. Hutch also gave us “Brothers Gonna Work It Out” which is still a Chicago Deep House classic. This melodic ode to a man captivated by that certain women set to music embodies the angst and joy, the struggle and victory of the supreme love affair. Never mind the song was the critical aural soliloquy from The Mack, never mind the song really was about a pimp wooing a young lady into being apart of his “hoe stable”….love is love dammit! To be chosen is to be selected by an individual free of any and all emotional and mental bribery, assumptions and ultimatums. This is the main and most important ingredient for a successful union…but unfortunately it is the most under appreciated.
In my opinion I really don’t think most women know and truly understand what it really means to be chosen by a man and the few that do ain’t sharing the knowledge. Here some clues… (1) If you’ve beat the dude over the head with that “when I’mma get my ring” drama for the last year a so and he comes through on your birthday with the hardware…you didn’t get chose (2) If you come up pregnant and y’all got to make a mad dash to the altar before you start showing…you didn’t get chose. (3) If you gave dude until St. Patrick’s Day of 2007 to sh*t or get off the pot and as a result you get a little box on the exact day…guess what…you didn’t get chose. In these scenarios dude didn’t choose you he just simply accepted his situation. This is not always a bad thing…some cats may need a little push to make the decision but it’s what happens after that which will decide if the union will be successful or not.
Anything short of “dude was inspired by you enough to feel that he can build a life with you and made that decision based on his own free will and love for you” means y’all got some real work to do. Anything other than this scenario means y’all coming into the game with glaring defects that must be addressed. The hindrance to this is that most women have the “knight in shining armor” complex which puts a choke hold on reality. I mean…when women who get to the altar based on ultimatums or because they are expecting or any other arbitrary scenario are confronted by there gal pals on the how’s and why’s they never say “well, I told dude he had until such and such date and viola!”….nah, they ain’t never that truthful…instead they’ll keep it real short and leave out all the actual and grimy truth. But you know, sometimes unions such as this are more successful than the traditional ones. Struggle brings folk together and unbreakable bonds are formed as a result whereas couples who seem to slide into matrimony so effortlessly are usually the ones that take it for granted and don’t fight as hard to make the union successful.
The reality is it doesn’t really matter how you got to the altar…if you had to beat dude over the head, issue an ultimatum or bear chirrun…what matters is the struggle after and whether or not you can grapple and except the fact that you may never know if he would have chosen you on his own free will without all the extenuating circumstances or not. Whether your journey was traditional or not you will be faced with the same challenges, obstacles, jealousy, envy, struggle, joy, victory, set backs, tears and smiles that every one else goes through to survive the battle of love and honor.
