Celebrities. Because that's how I feel about it.

Random thoughts about famous people.

Halle Berry: I don't know anyone who knows her. I don't know her either. I hear she's crazy, mostly because most of her relationships haven't worked out. But then, whose hasn't. Say what you want, but she's almost 50. And she looks like THAT.

Michelle Obama: I love her. I get angry when people talk about her. So I only look at pictures. I don't read the articles.

Donna Summer: She was just awesome. Seriously.

I love T.I.

As much as I used to lust after Terrell Owens, we totally would have gotten divorced.

 I didn't like Destiny's Child. I do like Beyonce.

I think anyone who thinks Beyonce faked a pregnancy is stupid.

I like all 5 Kardashian sisters, their mom, and Bruce Jenner.

Kim Kardashian- Damon Thomas. Ray J. Reggie Bush. Kris Humphries. Kanye West. That makes 5 people. Some of you ladies are throwing boulders in glass houses. Some of you dudes are severely underestimating how many dudes women dates by the time they are 30.

I don't understand the African baby adoption phenomenon either. But I guess living with Madonna, Sandra Bullock, Brad and Angelina, or Charlize Theron couldn't be all that bad in the grand scheme of things.

I want to trip Linsdsay Lohan.

Paris Hilton disappeared from the news, and that is awesome. (and good for her).

I am not mad at Nene Leaks.

I am mad at Lil' Kim. And Vivica Fox. But not at Joan Rivers. Hmm.

Not mad at Tyler Perry either.

What exactly does Ashanti do now?

I wish Stevie Wonder would cut his dreads off.

I don't like Prince's afro. But I still love Prince.

Can someone start a petition to get George Clinton's royalties back for him?

When was the last time you saw a music video on tv from start to finish?

I am sad about Whitney Houston and Michael Jackson. But I hadn't listened to any new stuff from them since the 90's. So I guess I was already prepared. And yet, not ready for Donna Summer.

I want to walk up to all the people on American Idol and say "Can't nonayall sing!" Maybe one or two of them. But man, some of them are really bad.

That is all (for today)

Calgon

I took a class called "History of the World Since 1945" taught by Dr. Katya Vladmirov from Moscow. Much of the information I needed was contained in a book which, conveniently, was the same name as the class. I also had a group project, a report with a Powerpoint presentation about a genocide. Pick a genocide, any genocide, except The Jewish Holocaust. We ended up with Belgian Congo.

 Long story short: Things could be a whole hell of a lot worse. Like way way worse.

When I watch or read the news, which I do reluctantly, it worries me. What doesn't worry me is Jeopardy, Family Feud, Entertainment Tonight (unless another one of my childhood stars succumbs to something), and PBS documentaries. Last Night it was Johnny Carson.  I understand why people like to watch Real Housewives, Jersey Shore, HGTV, Antiques Roadshow, Young and the Restless... YouTube and World Star Hip Hop is full of crazy stuff people do that I probably shouldn't laugh at, but a lot of it makes me laugh. I look at babies and puppies because they make me feel better. I like people's vacation photos, or their celebrity sighting photos. It means my friends are smiling.

A smiling friend is much easier to digest than a picture of a 15 year old Black girl with a little dimple in her cheek, accompanied by the headline "Murdered".

I can't begrudge a person who analyzed data, taught children, dealt with customers, or otherwise did whatever they did all day, then sat in traffic or rode a bus or train back home, had to stop at the store, had to pick up, feed, bath one or several children, help with homework....... breath...... I can't begrudge that person an hour or two of mindless entertainment. Football, Basketball, Olympics coverage, and award shows also provide an escape from reality.

It's not that people aren't conscious of what is going on, it is that their immediate situation requires enough worriment and brain power to warrant not bothering about politics. Sure, they are concerned, as it affects their families, but it does not warrant constant discussion. They'd rather talk about their kids, or what happened on Grey's or Scandal.

So don't be so critical of the people who would rather talk about Michelle Obama's coat than Barack Obama's speech... like Beyonce... watch games, then Sports Center, then Sports Center, another game, then Sports Center... know every house wife in every city of every hip hop artist, basketballer, baseballer, mafia dude, and all the Kardashians...

Even the people who stay woke go to sleep at night.

Cousin Dot, you know? Aunt Flo's kid.

***Warning. If you're a dude, you may want to stop reading right now. This is about periods. Or, maybe you can stomach the discussion. It's about to get real though.


As if just going to the bathroom in a public facility isn't harrowing enough, having to change what my husband affectionately calls "equipment" in a public facility is far more precarious. Leaving the house on your period is daring enough, but add to that the fact that you WILL be taking a trip to a bathroom somewhere outside of the comfort of your own home. I have my own preferred method of hovering over a combination of 3 layers of toilet seat cover and sometimes extra toilet paper. Just in case. Nordstrom and Saks have the best bathrooms. FYI.

Periods suck. Plain and simple. There are two times when you are glad about a period: when you were late and when it's over. Periods hurt any number of body parts: swollen boobs, lower back spasms, leg cramps, abdominal cramps, migraines. And it's blood, which is visible on any surface that isn't black. And it's a lot of blood, way more than you feel like you should lose on a regular basis, but maybe it's not as much as I feel like it is. But it's still a lot. I usually manage to convince myself that I'm bleeding to death but I haven't so far.

You have to check yourself periodically (no pun intended) to make sure you haven't bled through your clothes, onto your chair at work, the seat in the car, the sheets, the couch. You might have to carry extra underwear with you, depending on how heavy you're bleeding that day, or just go home and change. If you work 8 hours a day, you might go to the bathroom 8 times to change. I usually use an inordinate amount of toilet paper that week as well. You can never carry too many pads (or whatever you use), but you can be stuck empty handed. We've all dug a quarter up for the dispenser in the bathroom with pads the size of twin mattresses.

You learn how to sleep to avoid bleeding on the sheets, or you just say f*ck it and put a towel down. The ugly or ill fitting panties become the panties you willingly sacrifice to your period. Dark mourning colors for the week: long black skirts, black corduroy pants, big horrible sweatpants. I doubt anyone wears a thong while they are on their period. But hey, everyone has their preference. Wings might be the best thing that ever happened to pads, even though it's not a guarantee you won't go out of bounds. Panty liners are a joke even with wings.

I read an article about boobooing in public. It's the splash of the turds that's embarrassing. I understand, I drink coffee too. The noise of you ripping your pad out of your underwear and opening the new one is as embarrassing as boobooing in public. I don't want anyone to know I am bleeding just like I don't want anyone to know I had to booboo. And then there is the used rag box in the stall where we all are expected to throw these contraptions away. I shut my eyes while I'm disposing mine because not everyone wraps their disposables as tightly as I do. I've been unpleasantly surprised by the sight of old used rags (as my Dad refers to them) before. It's mind altering.

So anyway it's a burden. If you're a dude and you got through this without throwing up, high five. Your girl is having a bad day 3-7+ days in a row. She's having a bad day a few days before that too. She's just learned how to manage it. Believe me, there's a whole lot going on when Aunt Flo (or Cousin Dot. Monthly. Time of the Month. Menstruation. She's bleeding, a lot or a little bit,  for about a week dude.

Other than that, womanhood is pretty great.

ghirardelli.

When I was 9 years old I met my best friend’s older brother. He was 15, taught us how to do the guess and the prep. He was real black. Think eggplant. I fell in love. Immediately. So inspired by love was I that I participated in a photo shoot, draping my flannel pajama clad 2 ponytail wearing self with Christmas tinsel. As if the glitter of Christmas decor would entice him to share my sentiment. Now, 25 years later, he may look at that picture and wonder why I was striking poses with a halo of green foil. It was all for you Dethrick.

The combination of darkness and muscle tone was apparently as severely appealing to me at 9 as it is now at 33. I no longer try to attract men with holiday decorations but I do plenty of painfully high heel wearing, pushing up, smashing in, plucking shaving and nairing. Christmas tinsel was easier. Either way my love of dark skin began long before Shadow and Clarke got busy on the balcony. Dulce de leche might be making a come back, dark chocolate is here to stay.

What about the midnight tint to the dark skin makes it so beautiful (irresistible) to me? If I could explain that I’d also be able to tell you why people love cheese. Who in creation knows? I just know I tend to stare. Possibly ooh, might even ahh. My lips generally part a little. I have to catch myself, because who wants to get caught drooling at this age? There is this sheen that is not greasy, more like the metallic paint on a dark Mercedes sedan. Against white teeth, linen, cotton their skin illuminates. Somehow they possess this intense stare that produces this combination feeling that is part discomfort, part lust.

There are/were seven in my life.
One I cannot look directly in the face because I will disintegrate. I almost can't listen to him speak either.
One has grey in his beard: killer. Voice, code 187.
One has eyes the color of amber (mercy). They glow in the dark.
One has the illest set of eyelashes that wrap around these huge brown eyes that I just (sigh. Head shakes). and dimples.
One has the most ridiculous pair of lips I (sighing again. Eyes roll)
One is just tall and I… (biting bottom lip. sipping coffee. damn i don't smoke cigarettes)
One is completely at fault for this whole mess. If only mom had said no to the snow trip.

Like I prefer Sharp cheddar to Swiss, I just prefer the melanin saturated end of the spectrum. I like Caramel, and milk chocolate, I like dulce de leche sometimes too. They are all beautiful. Hell I'm milk chocolate myself. And Iove the way milk chocolate tastes swirled with dark chocolate. I love the way it looks together. The shine sweat adds to the dark skin is intoxicating. The richness of the summer version is cause for intervention and subsequent rehab. I always relapse.

Terrell Owens, Kevin Garnett, Tyrese, Djimon Hounsou, [add your favorite piece of chocolate]

why do all the apartment pools only go up to 5 feet?

His teeth were crowded to the front like the floor at those hip hop shows I used to go to at Maritime Hall. He was bespectacled too. Kinda goofy, but I’m kinda goofy too. Nice guy though.

He had a big head, almost too big for his body. He had a lisp. But his lips were really nice. And he was really smart. And I like that.

He was short and kind of round. Well, he was almost 5’9”. Probably the love of my life except for one itty bitty, tiny, teenie weenie.

When I showed my mom a picture of my third high school boyfriend (or my last boyfriend. Whatever’s clever) she said “ugh. Look at his lips”. They’re still awesome lips.

He had two small children by two different women and a part time job. And he was about 5’9-10”. He had some kind of thing on his face (and that’s the only way I can describe it). He sure could kiss though.

He was about 6’ tall, maybe 275lbs. None of it muscle. He was cool as a fan for a while but things fall apart. The last day was the day I almost suffocated holding my breath…..his mouth smelled so sour.Bootsy Collins. It was just that fonky.
He was SO gorgeous. 6’5”, dark skinned, plenty of muscles. Lovely lips. Just pleasing to the eye, except for the right front tooth (it was mauve). But like Shamar Moore, his fineness cancelled out the grill. AND he was a complete jerk. The last time I saw him he asked if I had ever been hit. Dude, you ain’t that fine.

I consider myself simple, not shallow. Sure I’d prefer Terrell Owens or his identical twin cousin to walk into my life and be the nicest, funniest, most responsible and loving wonderfully fantastical lover in the whole wide world and fall head over heels in love with me. Immediately. I’m sure any man would want Halle Berraaaaaay/Halley Berry to do just the same for him. It seems natural to me to want to be attracted to your husband, physically and emotionally. Sometimes, I’m attracted to dudes who bare no resemblance to the perfection manifested by the physical specimen that is #81. Sometimes I’m attracted to dudes who have few or none of the physical traits that I dream about, but are hilarious or witty, charming or sweet. There’ve been a few who were modern day statues of David, but sometimes they are mean or stupid or both. I’ve had the experience of just enjoying someone’s conversation in spite of his peculiar appearance as well as falling in love at first sight because he was just so amazingly beautiful. I've met ugly jerks and supafine nice guys.

I will admit I probably wish a little harder when I meet someone camera ready. Yes, I know marriage is more important than the wedding album, still I want my wedding pictures to be worthy of being the fake wedding picture the frame comes with. It’s a reflex. I don't discount somebody just because he's not my ideal. I do have a hard time with the height part, but I can at least say I've tried. I don't think my wanting to be attracted to my ONE has kept me from meeting him. I've passed up lots of guys (or lots have guys have passed me up. you choose) and it was never because he wasn't the hot joint (although that one dudes teenie weenie was too much, or, well, not enough to handle). It may seem as though I'm saying I don't want to talk to you because you're short or strange lookin'. I have probably already identified a trait in you that I am not willing to accept long term....

The dude with the teeth was corny. He called himself the tickle monster. eye roll.

The dude with the big head had too many chicks. manwhore. red flag.

The dude with the thing on his face had a thing on his face, knew someone i used to mess with, had two small children with mothers he constantly argued with and had a pt job with them two kids. red flag.

The old high school boyfriend moved on years ago.

The fine dude with the mauve tooth may have ended up killing me just because I looked like I could be killed. RED FLAG.

Point is, things can fall apart with a strange looking lame guy about as fast as they can with a successful hot guy. So I might as well wait for Terrell's twin cousin.

flats.

I know two men. We'll call them Tom and Dick.

Tom is so dark his voice has to be as low as it is to match the blue tone of his black skin. He is real real chocolate. He's tall, about 6' or 6'1". He’s a nice size, athletic build. Lovely smile, inviting. Hmmm, irresistible. He’s probably a maniac on the floor. Dick is the color of Golden Grahams, perfectly cooked pancakes, fried chicken, Lisa McDowell’s suede and shearling coat. He is about 6’5”. He has muscles coming out of his elbows and kneecaps. When he speaks it is like the sound of Zeus speaking from Mount Olympus.A friend and I were discussing the two of them the other day and the question of which one would you choose came up. How do I choose between molten chocolate cake and fried chicken? I chose Dick. He’s bigger.

I love dark skinned men. Correction: LOVE. But I think I might love tall men more. Now, if you’re tall AND dark, well then pass the adrenaline injection. But the taller, bigger dude is probably going to win out …. Let me explain.

I wouldn’t call it Height Snobbery. Not at this height. Consider that at any function I am attending (club, party, wedding, funeral, art show, church, etc.) I’m going to be standing on probably 4-5 extra inches of shoe, making me a 6’+, 180 lb woman with lots of boobs and thighs and hair. I’m not a petite flower, I’m a grown ass woman, sometimes walking on stilts. Dudes I out-stand very rarely approach, dudes I under-stand rarely approach. Now, that’s not to say that my body isn’t nice to rub on or look at, but it’s a lot of body. Even my feet are big. And not everybody is in to all this. Which is fine.

One of the most uncomfortable feelings I’ve had is the feeling that I can bodyslam my date. I get that feeling the closer a man is to my size. I don’t feel feminine, or just less so when a man is looking me straight in my eye on my flat feet. It’s one of those “it’s not you, it’s me” moments. This is just standing and talking. Imagine how I’d feel standing naked in front of someone who is clearly 10-30 lbs lighter than I am, looking down at him. That don't even sound right. I’d prefer to be manhandled than conquered. And although I am comfortable with my size, there are some things, such as the accidental glance at the clubgoer whose poor rhythm dismantles your “get me bodied” routine, that throw off the balance of my nature.

I’ve tried every height from 5’6” to 6’8”, cut up to fat, close fade to dreads, coal black to sponge cake, bespectacled, braces, scars, acid reflux, snoring, drooling, stutters, hairy, ashy, crusty, stanky breathed, mean spirited, broke, boring, sweet, charming, intelligent, good smelling, funny, low stamina to long lasting, no driving or too fast driving or bass turned up way to high and dude your car is rattling dude turn that shit down!

I tried. Nothing came through at any size shape or color. The best I can do, for the sake of fidelity, is 5’10”. For the sake of my comfort level, 5’10” and some weight on ya is the best I can do. Hey, if it makes you feel better, most dudes go for the thinner, shorter models. The ones who have to wear shoes to see me eye to eye when I’m not wearing mine. So there, that’s what I get for being such a snob.

i love girls girls girls girls.

I live with a woman. Her bedroom is a half step from mine. Occasionally I will go in to her room while she's in there to chat. Most times I look out her window or poke through her shoe boxes. When we sit on the couch we are on opposite ends. We rarely touch each other, maybe a hug when someone leaves for a week or more. Sometimes she says I'm attractive. Her legs are gorgeous, especially in her shoes.

I suppose in some dudes' fantasy world we have nightly pillow fights in our lacey underwear. Or maybe he thinks that when he comes over to see her, I'll ask to join in the fun. He might get to watch us kiss and touch each other before we kiss and touch him. Maybe we'll walk around naked and intermittently slap each other on the ass and kiss when we pass each other, And at halftime we can have our own show right there on the couch, while Chris Berman goes through the most current highlights. Sounds almost like Utopia, like Shangri-La, like a scene out of your favorite porn compilation production.

I am 10,000% Heterosexual. And while I am comfortable with my ability to recognize the beauty in other women, I am not at all aroused by any part nor am I interested in any sexual activity with a woman. I love men, preferably of the dark chocolate variety, who were born men. Not women who look or act like men, not men who used to be women. A fully heterosexual manly masculine testosterone producing manly man.

I am in awe of the number of men who question my sexuality. There have been a number of idiotic reasons for me being questioned, even after I have stated I'm not in to chicks.

But it's different for women.
With women it's more of an emotional connection though.
But y'all live together.
Women know womens' bodies.
You from Cali ain't you?

To all of my friends from California, you are all gay because you are from California. To all of my friends who have roommates of the same sex, you are gay because your roommate is the same sex as you. The word "different" means "gay", but only for women. I am a woman and I know where all of my body parts are, and that means I am gay. I don't have sex, I have emotions, and emotions are what women have, and that makes me gay.

I have also had a brief conversation with a woman who thought she could talk me in to some girl on girl action. Don't knock it till you try it. I bet I can make you cum. A man can't do what I can do......... I am going to preface this by saying I am not a violent person by nature...........I told her if she tried me I'd kick her in her face. I don't take unwanted sexual advances from men either. And since I'm not a man, I don't have a problem kicking a chick in her face. You won't get close enough to attempt to make me cum. I'm knocking it and will not try it. You can't do what a man can do for me because you have no penis. The store bought kind doesn't count.

I'm not gay.

I'll never be gay. I can say that with the full knowledge of my absolute ungayness. There is not a situation that will make me want to rub or suck on titties or eat or taste another poontang. I am not attracted to women. I just am not. There are women who are attracted to women. Those women are called Lesbians. I am not a lesbian, because I am not attracted to women.

I can't explain why I am not gay. I don't think anyone who is gay knows WHY they are. We are born either gay or straight. I was born straight..........I'll die straight.

Yes, I'm from California. So are my heterosexual brother and his wife. So are my parents. They aren't gay either.
I had an emotional connection to a man once. Then we had sex and he used the penis that came attached to his body when his mother pushed him out of her womb.
Yes, it is different for women, because we have tits and vaginas and dudes have penises (although some men have tits too).
I do live with a woman, and she's not gay either.
Women know women's bodies, possibly what buttons to push and whatever other cliche' statement you can come up with to justify my possibly switch-hittedness. If you don't know where your vagina and your tits are you'd better get to searchin. I know where mine are, so does HE.

So are we clear? Don't ask me that stupid question when I tell you I have a roommate and I was born in San Francisco. Because if I asked you (dudes) if you were gay, you'd shit a cow. Hell naw I don't... I ain't... You trippin... Dudes are the first ones to cry foul when their sexuality is threatened or questioned.

So imagine how it feels for someone who is single and straight to have HER sexuality questioned. Just know that I'm not, and I never will be, and I am not interested in testing your theory about women. I do not experiment. I am not curious. I am not gay.