Sweet, Dark and Crazy

Monday, August 24, 2009

People Please...

Recently, an acquaintance came back from a trip to see her family. She brought back pictures and was eager to share them with everyone. "Okay," I thought to myself. You can gain some insight by seeing people and their families, what harm could there be in looking at a few photos?

So she whips out her camera and proceeds to share over 100 photos. 100! And, she expected us to look at ALL of them. It wouldn't have been so bad if there were 100 interesting pictures - but, in all honestly, she could have easily whittled that batch down to 15. Okay, I saw her brother waving, so I didn't need to see seven other pictures of him waving. I saw the photos of her mom, one was clear but why did I have to endure five more blurry ones? And who can forget the series of some poor relative shoveling food in his mouth. He puts the food on the fork. He lifts the fork to his mouth. Now the fork is closer to his mouth. The fork is in his mouth. The fork is out of his mouth. Finally, he sees the camera and smiles fork still in hand!

Then there is my stepbrother, he and his wife just had a baby, their first. I'm sure, if I every have a baby, or a husband or something signficant that has two legs instead of four, I'd want pictures. But, come on. Really.

He sends us photos of the new baby. Okay, I want to see the cute little baby, so I log on to the photo album. There are over 70 photos. And it starts with five photos of his pregnant wife showing off her belly from every angle imaginable. Then we have to photograph the car ride and the hospital room and the nurse in the hospital room and another series of him mugging for the camera in the hospital room with the wife showing off her belly while the nurse lurks in the background.

And then ... BAM ... after I've been lulled into a semi-sleep state by the utter boredom of these mundane pictures, the very next one ... BLOODY BABY!! What in the hell! I don't want to see that! No one wants to see that. Show me the crappy, poorly lit, scrunched up baby photo with the blue or pink hat. You know the one that's taken AFTER the kid's been cleaned up.

Don't show me live-action, birthing drama. These are baby pictures not the Discovery Channel or TLC. Who wants to see that? As far as I can tell, the only use for graphic baby photos (or God forbid a birthing video) are for use as punishments when the kid gets older. "See what you put me through! Look at it! And yes, that's my va-jay-jay getting all distorted and stretched out. Things haven't been the same with your father since. And this is how you repay me? Look at what you put me through! Look at it! And you better think twice before you cut class again, Mister!"

Then again, I suppose they could be used as a deterrent for teenage girls thinking about having sex. "It's real simple, Meagan. The dick goes in and nine months later, this comes kicking and screaming out. The truth hurts, darlin' and so does childbirth. Plus, you don't even want to know what that can do to your va-jay-jay."

Back in the day, when we used film, and it had to be developed and processed and paid for, people used a little more discretion when it came to snapping photos. Not anymore. People, just because you can fit 500 pictures on a memory card doesn't mean you should. And it definitely doesn't give you the right to inflict those photos on unsuspecting people. Delete damn it!

This is a longer post than I intended, but getting back to the point, the moral is simple. Don't just snap pictures all willy-nilly. Edit. Make judicious use of the Delete key on your camera. And for the love of all that's holy, if you absolutely must take the live-action baby photos, don't share them with the rest of us. We will be polite and look at the them if you shove them in our faces, but we really don't want to see that. We really don't.

Labels: People Please, Rant, Sex

posted by SDC @ 7:58 PM 0 comments

Friday, August 21, 2009

Just a Tease

I am about as far from marriage as Antarctica is from Alaska. However, should I ever get married; I know one thing for sure; there will be no stripper at the bachelorette party. I don’t want a stripper and I will make that fact made clear to my maid or matron of honor (Deni and/or Tikki).

I had a surprise stripper at my 21st birthday party back in college. Not a good move. Not only was it non-sexy Terry from the 5th floor (imagine a K-Mart version of Chippendales) but I just don’t get into some guy gyrating in next to nothing rubbing his junk up on me. Ewww! I’ll pass.

A few years later, I was invited to a bachelorette party at a strip club in the hood of my home town. Basically, it was a bunch of hard-up big girls slipping dollar bills down g-strings and copping a good feel in the process. Clearly, this was about as close to some dick as some of these women were going to get. Me? I sat there looking like the Black June Cleaver.

Basically, it’s like this. If you are going to be all oiled up and sweaty and rubbing up on me, you need to be putting out. Otherwise, what’s the point? What are we doing? And frankly, some of the strippers … like Terry from the 5th floor … I wouldn’t want to put out anyway. Then, if you are a stripper and you are putting out (I know all of them don’t put out but the one in this example does), and you’re putting out for me, then you are probably putting out for EVERYBODY, and that’s just nasty. I might as well grab a banana out of the trash can.

So Tikki and Deni, if you are reading this: no stripper at the bachelorette party. Hell, what am I talking about? Bachelorette party? I need a date first.

Labels: Friends, Men

posted by SDC @ 3:26 PM 1 comments

Joey

I needed to come up with an anonymous name for my dog and it’s actually been pretty hard to do as I wanted to find something that suited his character as much as his real name does. I came up with one … Joey. Joey, as in short for Joe Pesci, the short Italian-American actor known for gangster roles in films like Good Fellas, Casino and A Bronx Tale.

Joey is a toy poodle. We live directly behind and next door to Rottweilers. Joey, weighing in at a completely unimpressive 10 pounds, wouldn’t even make a decent snack for either one of those dogs, yet he has no fear. He’s the Joe Pesci of the neighborhood.

The dog behind us is fenced in but if Joey is ever off-leash when that dog is out, he’ll run up to that gate and bark and get that damn dog all riled up. He likes to do this, apparently, as he’s wagging his tail the entire time. The dog next door however is scarier to me. He’s not behind a fence and Joey will step to him too. The only think that stops him from going toe-to-toe with that dog is me shouting his name at the top of my lungs (which usually stops him dead in his tracks).

But what makes Joey a real tough guy is his signature move – a well-placed, in-your-face, ‘fuck you’ of a move: a leg lift.

Joey lures the dog behind the fence all the way up to the fence and when he can’t get any closer, he lifts up his leg and pees. There are a couple of dogs in crates on the street behind us; they love to bark as we walk by. Joey, goes up their driveway, as far as his leash allows, turns around, so his butt is facing them, lifts up his leg and pees.

Heaven help us if any of these dogs are ever able to get out of their confines and come after us.

He’s a Good Fella alright. A real tough guy … at least in his own mind.

Labels: Dog

posted by SDC @ 11:23 AM 0 comments

Gee, I Didn't Know How To Do That...

Who among us doesn’t know how to use voicemail? We’re 10 years into the new millennium; even old folks know how to leave a message. We’ve been leaving messages since the 80’s. So why is it that every time I want to leave a message for someone in addition to having to hear their voicemail greeting, I also have to hear some woman instructing me on how to leave a message? Why not tell me how to open a door or put on a shoe?

I tried to get smart and press 1 to by-pass the horribly inane and condescending instructions, but that doesn’t work all of the time.

I think I figured it out. Since a lot of us still pay for minutes on our cell phone, the voicemail instructions are part of an insidious plan by The Man to suck up our minutes. It’s a conspiracy.

Well, I beat the man at his own game. I don’t leave messages. Ha! Most of the time, if the phone has rang a few times before going to voicemail, I know that whoever I’m calling has Caller ID and they see that I’ve called so I just hang-up. No need to leave a message. Besides, I hate people who leave, “Call me,” messages. I know that you’ve called because I have Caller ID too. It is going to take me longer to get to the message than it will take me to listen to it.

Later on I'll come back and do a rant on business queing systems and their endless menus (Press 1 for customer service, Press 2 to check on your order, Press 3 for the disgruntled customer service rep who will place you on indefinite hold and only to finally pick up and give you the wrong information).

Labels: Rant

posted by SDC @ 10:22 AM 0 comments

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Revoking My Black Card

I am an African-American. I am proud to be an African-American. I don't want to be anything else. Having said that, I'm not a cookie-cutter AA. Ihave interests and proclivities that set me apart from your stereotypical AA. In fact, if this wasn't an anonymous blog, the NAACP might come after me and take my black card back!!!!

Music: If you were ever in my car, you’d hear just as much Classic Rock, 80’s pop, and jazz standards (Ella, Sarah, Billie) than you would R&B. You’d definitely would not hear a lot of rap. I think the rap thing has more to do with my age than anything else. I don’t know what Lil’ Wayne and Soulja Boy are saying and … I don’t care! I also have no desire to do the stank leg or whatever that dance is!

Charlie Daniels Band: One of my all time favorite songs ever is Devil Went Down to Georgia. I can sing it word-for-word with the Charlie’s same Southern twang and have been known to dance a jig and play air ‘fiddle’ while I do it. And, I have no shame about it!

Grits and Chitterlings: Never had either one of them. Whenever my grandma would make grits, she would drop a big dollop of butter in them and I HATE butter. So, I never ate them. As far as chitterlings, my dad grew up on a farm and has, on occasion, removed the intestine from the pig, so he had no desire to eat them. My mom put it best however, when she said, “Anything that smells that bad doesn’t need to be eaten.”

My Voting Record: I am not a Democrat but, I’m not a Republican either. I am a registered Independent. As such I vote based on who I think would do the best job. Period. Sometimes it’s the Democrat. Other times, it’s the Republican. I have no blind allegiance to the Democratic Party. I feel as a group, they look down on African-Americans. They don’t expect us to succeed. They treated us like we are the ‘developmentally-challenged’ little sister – praising us for every little thing but not really expecting big things from us. “Oh look! Katie just ate with the fork!!! Oh, you’re such a big girl!!!”

The Burbs: True, I lived in the city until I was 4. But that’s when my family pulled a Jeffersons and moved on up. I grew up so far out in the suburbs that it would make your nose bleed. The suburb I grew up in has a healthy number of blacks NOW but back in the day, I was the only black female in my class. By the time I graduated, there were 3 of us (and 9 boys). Of course, I was the designated Smart Black Girl so I was the only one African-American all my classes in high school. I know nothing about ‘The Hood’ or government cheese, or avoiding gangbangers on my walk home from school. However, I know more than I ever wanted to know about bar mitzvahs, tanning salons and how to tell legitimate designer jeans from knock-offs.

King of the Hill: By far, my favorite show. I watch it nightly on Cartoon network and then again on my local Fox affiliate while I’m going to sleep. Outside of guest appearances by Bernie Mac and Chris Rock this is probably the whitest show out there. I don’t care. I love it and I refuse to apologize or justify it. Just let me end my day with the exploits of Hank Hill and his family and his crew.

Morning Radio: Most of my people are driving to work listening to Steve Harvey, Tom Joiner, Russ Parr or Big Boy. I listen to them to, but I'm a hopeless station changer, and as I cruise the set of presets on my radio, I find myself, more often than not, listening to John Boy and Billy - who are just about as Southern redneck as you can get.

As, I review this list, Charlie Daniels, Classic Rock, John Boy and Billy, King of the Hill, is it possible that I was a white redneck in a past life. It would explain a lot.

Having said all of this, remember that I also got lost in West Virginia looking for a KFC ... that should count for something.

Labels: Music, Politics, Television

posted by SDC @ 11:03 AM 0 comments

Monday, August 17, 2009

Rantings From the Road

Well, I'm back. I haven't been hungry since Wednesday and I'm back. Yesterday, after having breakfast with family and friends, I headed out for the 8-9 hour drive home. I had some good CDs and a new book on tape so the trip was mostly pleasant but here's my beef.

When you place a sign on a highway regarding gas or food or lodging, that sign is not there for the benefit of the locals. They already know what's there. It's there for travellers and people just passing through. Speaking on behalf of travellers, we want to get where we are going. We don't want to get off the road and sight-see. We want to get off quickly - gas up, get some food, go to the bathroom and get back on the road. Period.

I remembered seeing a sign for a KFC Buffet when I was coming up the road on my way to the hometown. I made a note of it and figured I'd stop and have dinner there and gas up when I headed back down the road. That was the plan anyway.

So I'm driving down the road, almost on 'E' when I come up to the exit. I get off and the sign says that the KFC is 4.5 miles down the road. Okay, I pulled off the road because I thought the restaurant was at the exit. Almost 5 miles away is NOT the exit anymore!

Anyway, I have to take not a street but another highway and I drive more than 5 miles and I still haven't seen a KFC or, and because it's more important than food now, a gas station. What I have seen is a scary guy in a mud-covered old SUV in a camouflage jacket and a trucker cap driving by me looking like he walked out of that old movie Deliverance.

So finally I get to a stop light at a divided highway surrounded by lots of nothing and ask an equally scary-looking biker guy where the closet gas station is. Luckily it wasn't far and I was able to find my way back to the highway.

This whole excursion cost me over a half hour which is precious time when you are spending the better part of your day on the road.

What I really, really, really hate is the fact that it all started over a quest for fried chicken. Talk about a stereotype!!!

Labels: Hometown, Rant

posted by SDC @ 8:40 AM 0 comments

Friday, August 14, 2009

I Know What Boys Like

Remember that song by the Waitresses? "I know what boys like. I know what boys like. Boys like me!" Well, on the cusp of 41, I think I can safely say they don't like me. Yes, I've dated but never much. Sure I've had boyfriends but with long periods of dateless, boyfriendless time in between.

Last night at dinner with my cousin, he assured me that I wasn't ugly. He also said the women on Maury who are obviously sleeping with many men (since they are on their for paternity) are the lowest common denominator and there are lots of them. Besides, he asked, would I really want that caliber of men? Of course not, but damn.

Is it too much to ask for a guy with morals and values who has a career and realizes that if he loses a job, his new job becomes finding another one? A guy who laughs at my jokes and has a decent sense of humor? Someone who knows how to balance a checkbook?

Anyway, on the drive home I thought about why men just aren't attracted to me.

I'm not the needy girl: I work. I own my own home. I pay my own bills and when I can't, I deal with it. I have never asked a man to pay my bills. This doesn't mean that I don't have needs that a man could fill (and I'm not just talking sex). I have a need for companionship, good conversation, somoene to eat what I cook, ... but I don't need help in the traditional way.
Men like needy. I think they like to feel like the man who can come in and save the day. Paying a bill or coming through for a woman on a superficial level is easy for a man. I need a man who is emotionally secure and able to communicate, those needs are harder to fill.

I'm the smart girl: I speak in full sentences. I use multi-syllablic words. I watch Jeopardy and the History channel. However, I don't wield my intelligence like a weapon and I never use it to cut anybody down. But I come across smart and most guys get turned off by that. I hate to say it but I've become a Sabrina. There were three Charlie's Angels Jill (Farrah), Kelly (Jaclyn Smith), after Jill left there was Kris (Cheryl Ladd) and the third was Sabrina (Kate Jackson). In all the episodes of CA, she helpedc solved many a crime but she NEVER got the guy. I'd be the Dorothy (Bea Arthur) if this were a Golden Girls analogy.
I think men like to be smarter than the woman they are with and might be intimidated by the fact that I can beat them at Scrabble or Trivial Pursuit. And I can! LOL!!!

I'm the funny girl: I got jokes! Lots of em! I can't tell you the amount of times that I've watched truly good material bomb as I sit across the table from 'bland serious' guy. Lighten up!
I don't think men think funny girls can be sexy but we can be both. I know I can be.

I'm the nice girl: I'm nice. I will help a guy with a PowerPoint for work or read over a report for him. I don't mind cooking for a guy or doing the airport run or paying for a movie or a dinner. I'm not a pushover but I am nice.
I don't really know why men don't like nice girls.

I'm not the high maintenance girl: I am fine eating at Applebees or going to a dollar movie. I don't expect a man to pay for my bills or for me to get my hair done or my car fixed. I'm not demanding.
Kanye West can rap all night long about a golddigger but the fact of the matter is that men like women like that. I've gone out with plenty of men who love to wave a wad of cash around and why would he do that if he didn't want to attract a woman interested in his money. I think high maintenance women help men feel needed and important.

I'm Not the Drama Queen: Let me clarify. I have my moments. Lord knows, I do. I cannot, honestly, say that I never ascent to my own Drama Queen throne complete with tiara and regal robes. HOWEVER, I have dramatic moments. I don't make drama a way of life. I'm not going to sleep with my man's friends or hook-up with random men at a club (I'm a nice girl!). I'm not going to get mad at a guy and vandalize his car or call the police just to get him in trouble.
I don't care what men say but there are a lot of Drama Kings out there! And those men like the Drama Queens.

I've said a lot here today people and I'm curious to hear what YOU think. Let's have more than 1 comment on this post.

Let the discussion begin.

Labels: Foot In Mouth, Men

posted by SDC @ 9:38 AM 0 comments

What the Fudge???

Yesterday, I went by Whitmore's! Mmmm! It's far from a fine dining establishment. You go up to the counter and wait for someone in the back to notice you are there, you place your order and you wait. While you wait, you can get a drink from the vending machine. Sure, the machine says Pepsi but the truth of the matter is that they fill it up with whatever they can get on sale.

I put in my 70 cents and tried for a Mountain Dew - sold out. Next, I tried for a Orange Slice - sold out. To no avail, I tried for a Grape Slice - sold out too. In my desperation, I hit the curious No Name option and out popped a Tahitian Treat by Cotton Club. It's a local soda from a local bottler.

Anyway, after I get my pop, I move over to the bench where, at the end they have a bunch of free local magazines and fliers advertising different events. My friend Tikki is chattering away about why this latest guy is not and could never be "The One" and I'm listening, I really am, and I care, I really do; but all thatstops when I see the cover of one of the free magazines and my post-college boyfriend is on the cover.

Had I finished eating when I saw it, I'm sure I would have thrown up a little Whitmore's in my mouth. I mean, I'm glad he made good. Cuz, Lord knows, I never thought he would. Because he was in college FOREVER, we'll call him Ol Skool.

Ol Skool back in the day, ...

He was the kind of guy who would say, "Let's go to the movies" and then walk up to the ticket window, ask for 2 tickets, then step back and expect me to pay. He did the same thing in the concession line.

He expected me to come to him - all of the time - whether that was making the 45 minute drive to his off-campus housing or across town to his mama's house on school breaks.

He wouldn't ever come around my place and avoided meeting my dad at all cost because he knew that my daddy has immpeccable radar for lazy, freeloading men who fancy themselves 'players'.

He also told me while I was spending all my time after I graduated looking for work in my oversaturated field (which I eventually got) that maybe I couldn't find work because I wasn't good enough.

We crossed paths a few years after we broke up and he tried to woo me back with free Internet 'bouquets' of roses and my personal favorite free e-cards from the Coach store of bags he was too cheap to ever buy (I mean if you can't buy a flower, if not a bouquet and you can't come off money for two movie tickets, you aren't going to drop a couple of bills on a Coach bag). Oh yes, and I loved the graphic XXX porn pics that he would sent to my work email!

Oh, and did I mention that he slept with the girl who used to be my best friend?

Why did I spend over a year with this character? I'll sum it up in two words (well three because one is hyphenated) low self-esteem. Anyway, we've both moved onward, and obviously upward, but that doesn't mean I want to see his face staring back at me while I'm waiting for my Whitmore's and enjoying a cold Tahitian Treat.

Labels: Food, Men

posted by SDC @ 9:09 AM 0 comments

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Good Eats!

I come home to see friends and family but I also come home for the food. Not the home-cooked variety, but the greasy, tasty fast food options that we only have in my home town. My goal is to hit all of them at least once. Seriously, I woke up this morning full. Full!! I'm stuffed ... here it is the next day... and I'm not even a little bit hungry. Yet there are two places on my list today and a sista has to do what a sista has to do!

Mr. Hero: When I try to explain the Romanburger to the uninitiated they look at me in queasy confused horror. But hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. The Romanburger (I had it on Monday) is a cheeseburger sub, topped with American-Swiss processed cheese and then topped with a few cold cuts warmed up on the grill. On top of the cheeseburger and the cold cuts is tomato, lettuce and a tasty oil and vinegar mixture. I wash down with a Pepsi and a side of waffle fries. If you are feeling adventurous, you can dip those in a thick and tasty cheddar cheese sauce.

Ho-Wah’s: I’ve had the pleasure of eating Chinese food all over this country and I still come back to Ho-Wah’s for shrimp toast and Hunan Chicken. I was there on Tuesday and tried to branch out and get the sesame chicken. Good but not memorable. I have to make another trip back before I leave and go back to what I know!

Manhattan Deli: I don’t know why in some of the places I’ve lived, places insist on making a Reuben by melting the cheese on the corned beef (the cheap corned beef) in the microwave. You cannot microwave corned beef, people! It makes it chewy and salty and nasty. Basically it just wrong!!! But I had a good one yesterday. Thick, lean, real corned beef grilled and not microwaved. Mmm, good!!!

Mr. Chicken: Good bless, Mr. Chicken! Every Wednesday, they have a 3-piece special with two sides for $5.19. I’ll be honest. I wasn’t even hungry when I got to Mr. Chicken (still had half of my Reuben in the back seat). But it’s Wednesday and it’s tradition and damn it, it was good!

Whitmore’s: Just the name sends me into Homer Simpson mode “Whitmore’s” I say as that glassy look takes over my eyes and drool runs down the side of my mouth in yummy anticipation. In my younger years, I went for the polish boy (white bread hot dog bun lined with cole slaw then topped with a barbequed kielbasa and then topped with fries and then covered in Whitmore’s BBQ sauce. Nowadays, I go for the short rib dinner. This is on tomorrow’s menu.

Arabica: It broke my heart when I drove by and this coffeehouse had changed names (and I assumed owners). This was an independent coffee house that put Starbucks to shame!

Yours Truly: My Fast Food Feast ends on Friday at Yours Truly, a quaint and cute little café that does an amazing Fish Fry every Friday. Gotta go at lunch because it’s first-come-first-serve and a lot of times it’s gone by dinner time.

Looking at this list, it’s no wonder one of the best heart hospitals in the world is located in my hometown. As for me, my heart is fine; I’ll get back to counting points when I’m back home. For now I’m on vacay … and planning another visit to Mr. Hero before I leave.

Labels: Hometown

posted by SDC @ 11:39 AM 0 comments

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

I Come By the Crazy Honestly

I had a talk with my cousin the other day and well, I fear for my future. Yes, the blog is called Sweet, Dark and Crazy but my father and his mother have put the C in crazy. Both of them have been consumed by a multi-level marketing venture. In fact, in my father’s case, it’s all he can talk about and I mean ALL he can talk about. I’m sorry except when he stops long enough to give you a sermon about what you are doing wrong or why the people on whatever TV show are going to hell.

My father started his fascination with MLM’s back in the early 80’s with Amway. He’s done several others as well over the years. Now he’s retired and he is committed to making his millions from this latest venture. Can money be made through it? I’m not sure. Is this his key to his financial freedom and the answer to all his financial woes? Unfortunately, I doubt it.

Here’s what I do know:

I am not a multi-level marketer. I understand it; but I don’t want to do it. It’s not who I am. It’s not what I want for myself. I have absolutely no interest and I mean, zip, zilch, zero, nada, interest in it. I don’t need to see another presentation to change my mind, because it won’t. I don’t need just one more diagram outlining how much money I make by ‘just showing other people the opportunity.’ A pep rally-filled with impossibly (and suspiciously upbeat) people isn’t going to do the trick. I don’t want to do it. Period.

Yet I’ve been here for 2 days and I’ve been assaulted with The Opportunity both days. In fact, he even suggested that I use my one week that I’m here to ‘show the opportunity’ to several of my friends. I don’t want to do it. I’ve tried to be polite. I’ve listened. I’ve nodded. I’ve helped him with his PowerPoints and his computer.

My father is one of those people who will talk to any and everyone about the opportunity and will not take no for an answer. Busboy, bellboy, hostess, waitress, mechanic, customer service rep calling on the phone, guest visiting the neighbor next door, man running from a house in flames as everything he owns goes up in smoke, soccer mom in line at Starbucks on the way to picking the kids up from practice, no one is immune.

I’m working on project that I am very excited about and am working very hard on. Guess what? He doesn’t care. He can’t give me 5 minutes to discuss what I’m excited about or passionate about without completely ignoring me and going back to the MLM and why I should do it. The only thing worth passion and excitement is his precious MLM.

If I ever did get married, he wouldn’t see his daughter happy and finally getting something she’s really wanted. He’d see a room of 200 prospects. He’d probably use his toast to ‘introduce’ the opportunity and rush me through cutting the cake so he could show a PowerPoint and video on the wall.

Excitement can be contagious but this is just ridiculous.

Labels: Family

posted by SDC @ 7:20 PM 0 comments

Did I Just See What I Thought I Saw?

Okay, the rest of this week’s blogs will be written from my hometown. I’m here for a week visiting – it’s my annual visit. I’m almost never here and as I alluded in an earlier post, I will not be back for the holidays. Yet, as much as I complain about them, I actually like my family and enjoy visiting with them. But let me tell you what happened last night.

I had visited my best friend and I wasn’t quite ready to go home. The sun was going down and I decided to do a little nostalgic trip down to 142nd Street and drive by my grandmother’s house. She raised my mom and my uncle there. I spent many an afternoon there enjoying a hot chicken pot pie or some of her yummy gingerbread (truly the stuff memories are made of).

Anyway I turn down the street and do two drive by’s because her once immaculate home is almost unrecognizable. I remembered the address which is what I used to finally make a positive ID.

Feeling kind of sad, I drive to the corner of 142nd and XXX. The light is red. As I stand there, I spy, out of my left eye, a black woman pacing on the corner wearing a short synthetic wig and hot pants. I turn and look. As I look at the corner, I say to myself, “Could she be waiting for a bus? I don’t see a bus stop.”

Then, as the light turned green and I turned right, it hit me like a trash can through a storefront window during a riot. She’s a prostitute, a woman of the evening, a ‘working girl’, someone who charges $15 for a blow job in the front seat of a car (or whatever the going rate is for oral services in an automobile). And, and, she’s doing it at the corner of my grandmother’s street!
For real???????

Wow! I mentioned it to several local friends and they weren’t surprised. But I was. Boy was I surprised.

The stroll, Pimps Up, Hoes Down, and it’s all in walking distance from Gram’s house. I guess you can’t go home again. And if it’s Gram’s home, you don’t want to go home … unless you’re turning a trick there!

Labels: Hometown, Sex

posted by SDC @ 6:43 PM 0 comments

Monday, August 10, 2009

I'm Not a Parent So...

I don’t have kids; but I often wonder, if I did, would I be able to view them objectively or would everything be colored with a big ole pair of ruby red rose-colored glasses.

Take for instance, American Idol. It amazes me when I see all those people, many with parents in tow, who are hoping to be the next American Idol. Then they get in front of the judges, open their mouths, and dogs in neighboring communities begin to howl! They're terrible! Yet, their parents stand outside with crossed fingers hoping to see that yellow ticket.

Come on. You mean to tell me that they didn’t know their child was tone deaf. You mean, it never occurred to them that the kid could carry a 100 lb bag of fertilizer farther than he could carry a note?

Then, we have the parents who give their children ‘vanity’ names: Precious, Beautiful, Pretti, and so on. Looking at that little angelic face after 9 months of pregnancy and countless hours of hard and painful labor, I’m sure the kid really does look beautiful; but fast forward 7, 14 or 30 years later and it could be a completely different story.

Back in the day, I spent a hellish year as a substitute teacher. I remember trying hard not to get that shocked look on my face when calling the name 'Cutie Jones' during attendance. In the back row, the unkept, smelly girl with the perpetual scowl on her face and the unmistakable and off-putting masculine air about her raises her hand. She's no cutie - not even close.

Don’t these parents know what they are setting their kids up for when they name them? Think about it, when you think about beautiful women, you think of names like: Halle, Angelina, and Tyra. Notice you don’t hear of any of gorgeous women named Gorgeous.

Could it be possible that they are just blinded by parental love? Maybe those ruby red rose-colored glasses keep them from seeing the truth. Is this the case when Mommy’s Little Angel acts like a Hell Cat on Wheels? She simply can't believe that her little chunk of Heaven on Earth could ever act like the Devil's Spawn. In fact, at the parent teacher conference, Mom gets mad at the teacher when she's told that her adorable, angelic offspring put the class guinea pig in the microwave.

I guess that's what they mean when they say, "It's a face only a mother could love." Because your mom will love you regardless of what you look like, sound like and act like.

Labels: Family

posted by SDC @ 7:33 AM 0 comments

Friday, August 7, 2009

Guilty Pleasure ... and I mean, Guilty!

I love Snapped - the show on Oxygen where they profile women that snap and kill their spouse, their lover or their lover's wife or girlfriend. The guy I'm kind-of, sort-of dating (that's a whole nother gaggle of posts) was over one Thursday evening when I was watching my weekly mini-marathon of Snapped. The conversation went like this...

Guy: (with curiosity) "You watch this all the time?"
Me: (a bit too enthusiastically) "Yeah, they do a mini-marathon on Thursdays and some time if I'm lucky, I catch it on Sunday mornings too!"
Guy: (with a little nervous laughter) "Should I be concerned?"
Me: (incredulously) "About what, me, snapping?"
Guy: (seriously) "Yeah."
Me: (logically and with reassurance) "Oh no. I mean I would never! Sure, I might have gotten away with killing you in the 60's or 70's but now there's just way too much forensic technology. I'd never get away with it."
Guy: (with hesitation and not completely convinced) "Oh, ... okay..."

Wow ... now that I read that back, it could explain a lot ...

Anyway, just in case I ever do snap, here are a few things I will definitely not do:

1. Get a boob job immediately after the death of my husband and start sleeping around.
2. Wear shorts to the funeral and then laugh and act really relaxed and happy afterwards.
3. Take out a major life insurance policy a few weeks before killing my spouse.
4. Check out a bunch of books on absused women syndrome or google poisons and different methods of murder.
5. Ask any and everyone I know whether they know someone who I could hire to kill my husband.
6. Make a bunch of cell phone calls from around the crime scene near the time of the crime while insisting I was home all along.

7. Call 911 calmly and explain that someone had just shot my husband -then act completely unphased during the interregation.

Then again, maybe I should start watching more of Dance Your Ass Off...

Labels: Television

posted by SDC @ 3:44 PM 0 comments

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Me and My Big Mouth

I recently responded to a request for an interview. The reporter wanted to know if people preferred working for male or female bosses. Since I have an opinion on about just about everything, I jotted off a quick email about why I tend to prefer working for men.

Men tend to keep things more professional, and at least to me, they are easier to read. They also don’t hold grudges as long. In my experience, although I have had several really good female bosses, most of them tend to mix the personal with the professional. If they have a problem, you never really know if it is work-related or if something else is involved. Also, I’ve had several female bosses who just can’t make a damn decision. I mean seeking the input of others and trying to build consensus is a good thing, but it has its limits. After a while, somebody needs to make a decision and stick to it! A feeling or two might get hurt but that’s part of the business.

So I rolled off this rant and promptly forgot about it. Several days later, I get an email from the reporter. She loved my answer and wants to put it in an article … on ABC News’s web site. So I’m excited. I’m happy. I’m going to be featured in a story on a major network news website.

Woo Hoo!!! Yeah, Me!!!

Oh shit …

Wait a minute…

My boss, my boss’s boss and my boss’s boss’s boss are all women. Yikes. So here I am, about to be written up in a major publication and I have to use an alias.

Damn. Damn! Damn!!!

Part of me says “What the hell, use your name. Your real name. Your real full name!” But then the rational part of me says, “Anyone can see it and if they do, it only takes one person to show one of my cabal of female supervisors and managers.” Great.

I do have an alias. I just didn’t want to use it for something as frivolous as an article. I’ve been saving it for something big - just in case I ever had to go on the run or move to another country to evade taxes. Did I want to share it to the world now?

The crisis however, was averted when the reporter offered to make up a name for me. Sure, I’m bummed that I can’t share my name with the world and the entire ABC.com audience. But, on the bright side, my secret alias is still a secret … waiting patiently for the day when I will really need it.

Labels: Foot In Mouth

posted by SDC @ 7:20 PM 0 comments

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Ten Questions

1. Is it vain of me to hope that when I have a child he looks like me?
2. Is it self-centered of me to see a therapist so that I can talk about myself for an hour without having to return the favor and have to listen to someone else talk about themselves in return (especially when their talk really isn’t as interesting as mine … or important)?

3. Is it superficial of me to not date men that I don’t find physically attractive?
Is it self-indulgent that I celebrate my birthday for the entire month of September?
Is it wrong that I look at unattractive, crass and ghetto-fabulous people on Maury getting paternity tests because they clearly had multiple partners and wonder why I can’t even find one partner?
Am I narcoleptic if I fall dead asleep after three hours of a boring ass meeting? (we’re talking head back, mouth open, dreaming asleep - while sitting across from my boss)
Is it selfish of me not to want to buy Christmas and birthday gifts for the kids of relatives that can’t even bother to send me a photo once every couple of years?
Am I a weather wimp because I refuse to go home for Christmas because of all the damn snow?
Is it selfish to expect a gift on Father’s Day because if it wasn’t for me, my dad wouldn’t be a father?
Is it weird that I am not a musician but I dream of music that I’ve never heard before?

Labels: Me

posted by SDC @ 10:03 AM 0 comments

Monday, August 3, 2009

Old Professors and Archaic Slang

Okay, the fervor around Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates is finally dying down; but, I just had to just throw in my two cents. First of all, I realize that we black folks have issues with the po-po. I get that. I also realize that racial profiling is very real and D.W.B. (driving while black) occurs all too often.

I don't know if the cop in this case was actually racist, but let's look at the bigger picture. It amazes me that knowing that there are racist cops out there and knowing the reality of racial profiling that we insist on getting loud and indignant with the racist/racial profiling Man. Is yelling and being belligerent going to make the racist cop less racist? Is it going to make him rethink his position? Isn't it just going to make him even madder? Did I mention he's packing a gun? A loaded gun?

Yes, it is terrible to be accused of breaking into your own house. Yes, it is inconvenient to have to show several forms of ID to prove who you are and where you live. But all of this could have been avoided if he would have put up with the inconvenience and then later, after the cop had left and all was said and done, called his friends with the police department and filed an official complaint.

But what really bothers me is what Gates allegedly said. When asked by the officer to come outside of the house, he responded, "Ya, I'll speak with your mama outside."

Really? He reached way back into the 70's and pulled out, "your mama"? Gates is a Harvard professor, but I think he needs to spend a semester or two as a visiting professor at Hampton or Howard so he could get up on the lingo and the latest slang.

Or at least watch an hour of BET.

Gates, you are a Harvard professor, act like one and show your outrage the way Harvard people do, discussing it over Scotch and cigars at the 'club' with the police chief and a couple of judges. You are not 'hard'. You are not from 'the streets'. You are not fluent in Ebonics (okay maybe 70's era Ebonics but we are now well into the new millennium).

Your mama? Really?

Labels: Politics

posted by SDC @ 7:46 PM 0 comments

About Me

Name: SDC
Home: United States
About Me: I'm a youthful 44-year old, who is infectiously funny, dangerously smart, wildly creative, hopelessly math-phobic, tactfully honest, occasionally politically incorrect, and cute to boot!
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