Black 'n Bougie

Saturday Video Shout-Out: Novel...

onechele@gmail.com (OneChele) — Sat, 20 Mar 2010 12:00:00 +0000

Pardon my French with the video below but I'm feeling this one. Enjoy the smooth tones of Novel: F*** with my Mind.

That's real. Any music shout outs today?

Barack Obama, Sarah Connor and the De-Valuation of Black Women: A Bougie Conspiracy Theory

onechele@gmail.com (OneChele) — Fri, 19 Mar 2010 12:00:00 +0000

Yes, I'm one of those. I see conspiracies everywhere I look. There was at least one other shooter on the grassy knoll, Hoffa is on an island with Tupac, Elvis and MJ, Area 51 is named that because there are 50 other joints just like that hidden around the country. Those levees in New Orleans did not fail on their own. Something ain't right with the Mona Lisa, those funky symbols on the $20 bill mean something and folks at DirecTV headquarters are probably watching me through the satellite as I type this right now. [Author stops typing to wave: Konichiwa, b*tches]

Okay, maybe I'm not THAT bad but I know a conspiracy when I see one. And I can see no other reason for the mass media siege against the sisterhood. For those not in the know (and since I've been holding back a rant on it), two more articles on the thankless existence of the African American female came out last week. One detailing how disease ridden we all are (cuz we skanky, doncha know?) and the other on how po' we is (cuz we can't keep a job or get a man). In the wake of this bullshiggitty, I have figured out the game. Stay with me, I'm about to get deep. (Or deeply disturbed, we'll see)

Watch me work these three points: In the Terminator movies, folks in the future sent back a cyborg to kill up Sarah Connor before she could birth the next generation's savior. Next, Barack Obama swept into power on a wave of hope and change. Now, folks are losing their minds that Barack is large and in charge. What would happen if a new and improved (even more untouchable) Barry 2.0 emerged in the next generation or two? The next Barry will have a black mother and a white father because we can't go back through the Kenyan Birth Conspiracy again. So how to stop the next Barry from being born? Nip it at the source. That's right, I said it. Somebody from the future is trying to destroy black women so a better Barack Obama can NOT be born.

They didn't need to send a cyborg, they sent a better weapon: the Mainstream Media Machine. Nothing is more pervasive than that these days. We don't have to be dead, just too mentally beatdown (too broke, fat, tired, diseased and angry) to educate ourselves and procreate. Okay, I'm officially cracking myself up now. I have no idea whose cute child that is in the picture above.

But come ON… there has to be a reason for all the shade being thrown. By the way, if I mysteriously disappear – ya'll will know I was onto something and "they" couldn't allow me to keep speaking truth… LOL!

BougieMom's theory is along my same thought pattern but not quite as extreme. She says it's part of the continued fear of the angry black man. To kill a monster, you cut off the head. Black women are the head and heart of the black family. Wither they goest, the family follows. Hmm, interesting ideology marrying knowledge of greek philosophy and a dose of old school "you know what it is." So wait, am I now de-valuing us by saying it's not about us at all but our men? Aw jeez. Let me move on.

Maybe I'm imagining it. Maybe we've been catching hell like this forever. It just sure seems to be coming from the left and the right on regular these days.

Tell me, BougieLand… what's your theory about all the sad-sack Black Woman news? Or, what is a conspiracy theory in general that you absolutely believe to be true? (I stand behind my DirecTV theory though)

Grown Folks’ Romance (with a Hat Tip to Grey's Anatomy)

onechele@gmail.com (OneChele) — Thu, 18 Mar 2010 12:00:00 +0000

For those of you who don't watch Grey's Anatomy, just skip down a few paragraphs where I actually get to the point.

I used to love Grey's Anatomy. Love, love, love. When that show first came on, I felt like I had discovered TV nirvana. African-American female as Producer and writer, diverse cast, smart storylines and brilliant time slot; it was my must-see TV. The beauty of the sow was that they used the medicine as metaphors for the life dramas. This caused you to care about the stories as well as the medical crises and stay invested for the whole show. The dialogue was fast-paced and witty. The outcomes were never predictable. It was just a really well-done show… at first.

Sometime after Season 2 though, things started to take a turn for me. Izzie's character went from mildly annoying to "why can't they sedate her", the back and forth between Meredith and Derek was just annoying, Callie was underutilized and inexplicably paired with George. Preston's character lost its way and there was no understandable reason for him to be so in love with Christina. Addison was in the way, Alex fell for a pysch patient and Mark spent more time in bed than in surgery. Miranda's marriage fell apart, Callie decided she was gay and Dr. Preston Burke just disappeared. Then came a fake suicide, George/Izzie as a couple, Dead Denny re-incarnated… the whole damn show "jumped the shark".

This season started off slow. The Chef was ousted for drunk and disorderly, Mark had a daughter, Meredith had daddy issues and Christina was with some psycho dude that we are supposed to buy as sexy. And then they came back from the winter hiatus and it was as if a magic wand had been waved over the show. Gone were both George and Izzie, Meredith and Derek made sense and Christina was more worried about surgeries than anything else. As soon as they put the Chief back in his rightful place, all will be good in Seattle Grace World.

Finally, Miranda Bailey. Holding it down for the sisterhood at Seattle Grace hospital. While others lost their minds (and drawers) over interns and attending, she stayed true to the medicine. So true that her husband bailed and she had to power on alone. Enter Dr. Ben Warren, an anesthesiologist who from Day One respected Miranda but was not about to be talked down to. He brought the sizzle but he also brought the brains and the backbone. Last Thursday, we saw Miranda accept her third date with Ben. For some fool reason, she allowed herself to get whipped up into a frenzy abdout the third date being "the sex date" and the need for women to carry multiple comdoms and be waxed all to hell and back. And then she caught hold of herself. My favorite quote was when and Callie were referring to Ben visitng "her surgical field" (yes euphemism for vijayjay). Miranda says, "If he can't deal with a little nature, a little GOD, then he doesn't need to be visiting." See, Grown Folk Romance.

Later, she is at Ben's house and he is cooking dinner. Unsettled by nervous expectations, she launches into a lecture. He stops her dead. I won't paraphrase, I've embedded the scene below. Oh, I started with Mark actually trying to have a Grown Folk Romance himself. Take a look:

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I fell off my chair. THAT is how you handle a strong woman used to having to run things her damn self. Step her back, politely as you cook her dinner and pour more wine. I would like more television like this. Please and thank you. While you're at it, can you clone Jason George (dude who plays Ben) and send him my direction?

What did you think? Like or dislike? Are there any other examples of Grown Folks Romance on the television these days?

It’s Hashtag Wednesday: If you could make up a holiday, what would it be? #MyPersonalHoliday

onechele@gmail.com (OneChele) — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 12:00:00 +0000

So you can tell by my feeble effort on St. Patrick's today that it's not my favorite holiday. So I thought about it, what if I could make up a holiday of my own? Just create a day where people are celebrating where/how/when/why I wanted them to celebrate. Not a birthday or an anniversary, just a random day picked out on the calendar for the purposes of celebrating whatever I wanted.

If you haven't joined us on a Hashtag Wednesday, let me explain: On Twitter, people tend to accentuate their chatter by adding a topic or a phrase to the end. You tie the topics together by placing a "#" (called a hashtag) in front of it. For instance, when we tweet about A Different World, we would add #ADW somewhere in the statements. If enough people use the hashtag, it becomes a trending topic. Some of this week's trending topics were #HipHopSyllabus where people suggested classes that Hip-Hop artists should teach – Hammer teaching Fiscal Responsibility, Beyoncé teaching Advanced Acting, Kanye West teaching Etiquette… quite amusing.

So since I'm not feeling St. Patrick's Day… I thought I'd make up my own hashtag. So here we go:

#MyPersonalHoliday would be called Bougenificence Day. A celebration of all things bouge.
#MyPersonalHoliday would be on April 20^thor the Friday closest to it because we need a day to bridge between Easter and Mother's Day and I'm all about a three-day weekend.
#MyPersonalHoliday would have the colors of purple and green. It is MY holiday after all.
#MyPersonalHoliday would be celebrated by Mardi Gras-style parties, balls and parades. I think we will need a national step-off and Ebony/Fashion Fair type Fashion Show as well. Hosted by Oprah.
#MyPersonalHoliday would be toasted with White Chocolate Martinis or White Chocolate Mochas, drinker's choice. Grilled Salmon and Filet Mignon with broiled asparagus tips on a mixed-green salad - served everywhere (with 2 for 1 coupons).
#MyPersonalHoliday would have cable channels playing Neo-Soul artists and New Jack/90s movie marathons. A 24 hour ban on BET... just because I can.
#MyPersonalHoliday would need to be a National Holiday. I need banks closed and shops open. The joy of a Macy*s One-Day Bougenificence Sale – can you imagine?
#MyPersonalHoliday would be headquartered in Martha's Vineyard or the Hamptons.
#MyPersonalHoliday would include a traveling exhibit of bougie heroes, headlined by the Obamas.
#MyPersonalHoliday would be awesome (doncha think?)

Okay, BougieLand – whatcha got? If you could make up your own personal holiday, what would it be called? Why? When would it be? How would we celebrate? Drinks? Colors? Do share…

I don’t do green beer. I don’t river dance. But I do look good in green. It’s St. Patrick’s day.

onechele@gmail.com (OneChele) — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 11:55:00 +0000

Well it's a holiday, sort of. This is one of those holidays that started off with a purpose and ended up being a day that Americans use as an excuse to drink a lot (New Year's Eve, Cinco de Mayo, July 4^th, you know). I actually had no idea what the historical basis of the holiday was. So here we go from Wikipedia:

Saint Patrick's Day (Irish: Lá Fhéile Pádraig) is a yearly holiday celebrated on March 17^th. It is named after Saint Patrick (circa AD 387–461), the most commonly recognized of the patron saints of Ireland. It began as a purely Christian holiday and became an official feast day in the early 1600s. However, it has gradually become more of a secular celebration of Ireland's culture. It is believed that Saint Patrick's Day has been celebrated in Ireland since before the 1600s. It was also believed to have served as a one-day break during Lent, the forty day period of fasting. This would involve drinking alcohol; something which became a tradition.
Originally the color associated with Saint Patrick was blue. However, over the years the color green and its association with Saint Patrick's day grew. Green ribbons and shamrocks were worn in celebration of St Patrick's Day as early as the 17th century. He is said to have used the shamrock, a three-leaved plant, to explain the Holy Trinity to the pre-Christian Irish, and the wearing and display of shamrocks and shamrock-inspired designs have become a ubiquitous feature of the day.
In 1903, Saint Patrick's Day became an official public holiday in Ireland. Irish Society of Boston organized what was not only the first Saint Patrick's Day Parade in the colonies but the first recorded Saint Patrick's Day Parade in the world on March 18, 1737. The first celebration of Saint Patrick's Day in New York City was held at the Crown and Thistle Tavern in 1766, the parades were held as political and social statements because the Irish immigrants were being treated unfairly.
Today, Saint Patrick's Day is widely celebrated in America by Irish and non-Irish alike. Many people, regardless of ethnic background, wear green-colored clothing and items. Traditionally, those who are caught not wearing green are pinched affectionately.

Yeah, okay. I quit celebrating St. Patrick's Day with the general public since some super inebriated co-worker spewed projectile vomit in my direction ruining a gorgeous pair of teal green slingbacks. Me and the holiday fell right out love then and there.

But let me wrap on a positive note… Five things to love about St. Patrick's day…

I look good in green
Pear and Sour Apple Martinis (both being green) are in abundance
Pierce Brosnan – he's Irish, I'll celebrate that
March 17 usually means Spring is not far away
Sean Connery! Oh, he's Scottish. Um – oh! Parades! Everyone loves a good parade.

That's all I got. Enjoy the day. Pear Martini recipe below. Any St. Patrick's Day thoughts?

Reminder! Wednesday @ 9pm eastern: Blog Talk Radio – Be There!

onechele@gmail.com (OneChele) — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 02:17:00 +0000

Dying to know what goes on the mind of the Black Blogger? Tomorrow night is your chance to find out. At nine pm eastern/eight pm central, the BnB Radio Network is live for your listening pleasure. The March 2010 show is the Black Blogger Episode. I will be joined by Luvvie of AwesomelyLuvvie.com, Jay from AverageBro.com, Thembi from WhatWouldThembiDo.com and Slim from ThreeWaystoTakeit.com. We're going IN. What is the responsibility of the Black Blogger today? To inform? Titillate? Revolutionize? Or just be true to themselves? And does the responsibility increase with the more page views you get? Who knows what all we'll talk about… come through and find out. The link to the listener is here and you can call in using (646) 378-1171. See you there!

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Bringing Un-Sexy Back… When Sizzle falls flat.

onechele@gmail.com (OneChele) — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 12:00:00 +0000

I was at the Wholesale Club getting my shop on Saturday. Some days you leave the house knowing you look good. This was not one of those days. My cute game was not on point. My ponytail was of the raggedy variety, my makeup non-existent bar the shiny Carmex on my lips. My jeans had seen better days but at least my tunic tee shirt was cute and a flattering color. Oh the hell with it, I was not looking good and I gave less than a damn. Whatever, I was about business. A thirty-six pack of shrink-wrapped bottled water for $4.88 was serious business. And the fresh salmon was on sale for $3.99/lb – that's crucial.

So I was feeling up the fresh avocados when I felt a disturbance in the force. Literally, a sort of electric hush fell over the veggie section. I looked up and noticed all the women in the immediate area standing with their mouths open. Down the aisle came a fella I immediately nicknamed Chocolate Thunder. Thunder was motion-fiction fine ya'll. Not that I memorized details or anything but old boy was about 6'3", skin the color of sweet tea, he was rocking a black t-shirt and black jeans that clung to a really, really well-maintained physique. He was handsome, fine and had that "sexy thang" going on. [There's always a good reason to play some Chante Moore]

He paused to study the strawberries, seemingly unaware that every female in a four aisle radius imagined themselves feeding him those strawberries one at a time. Yes BougieLand, he was that level of beautiful. Suddenly he looked up and looked around, noticing for the first time that all eyes were on him. He smiled slowly and for some odd reason looked in my direction. "What's up?" He gave the universal black man head bob. I head bobbed back saying, "Uh you know, it's all good." [I know ya'll, #playerFAIL on my part. I told you I wasn't on my "A" game]. Anyway, after adding strawberries and blueberries to his cart he rolled off. The older woman next to me leaned over and said, "Woo, sexy!" I nodded and went about my way.

After I checked out, I loaded my trunk and hopped in my car. Looking over to the right, I saw Mr. Chocolate sitting in his car. I sat just enjoying the view right up until he started digging in his nose. [Eww and ick] And I do not mean a discreet dig. I mean mining for gold in there. And that's not the worst part… after extracting whatever he extracted, he wiped it down first on his shirt and then on his steering wheel. Ugh! The sizzle was gone. I contemplated tossing him some anti-bacterial hand gel and then decided to just go. I was a little nauseous. I've decided to call that a #SizzleKill.

It reminds me of one of my friends relating how he took this super-fine woman that he had been chasing for weeks out to dinner. Apparently she was the shit. Fine, smart, money of her own, in his words: flawless dime. He was so excited to be sitting across from a woman so exquisite and articulate. Right up until the food came and she dug her fingers into the food like the five-star restaurant was a camp site. She ate seafood linguine with her fingers, ignored the presence of silverware and napkins and had the tendency to spit particles of food out of her very full mouth when she spoke. He described the date as sitting in a sauna and having someone repeatedly toss ice cold water on you. See? #SizzleKill

I also find smart-assness (as opposed to caustic wit), bitchassness and trying too damn hard to be #SizzleKills as well. Can we agree that the fascination with fine fizzles, but smart and sophisticated sizzles? Okay, now that I'm rhyming, let me wrap it up here.

I defer to my audience… what is your number one #SizzleKill? Got any #SizzleKill stories to share? Once the sizzle is killed, can you ever get it back?

What do Dwayne Wayne, Keith Sweat and CBreezy have in common? Begging: The Good, the Bad and The Ugly

onechele@gmail.com (OneChele) — Mon, 15 Mar 2010 12:00:00 +0000

"If begging should unfortunately be thy lot, knock at the large gates only" ~Arabian proverb

I'm not a big fan of begging. It's a desperation move and it rarely works. Hence my dislike of Keith Sweat, he not only begged but added the whining which is all around a bad look. But then again, if you could craft up one really great plea to get what you want… uh, no - I still don't know if I could do it. (Yes, yes – pride goeth before a fall) Okay, it depends on what I was begging for… the life of a loved one, probably. My last dime? Probably not. Someone to stay with me/come back to me? Heckie naw. In the past few days, I've had occasion to witness begging at different levels. Take a look and tell me what you think…

The Good: Saturday night, thanks to Thembi of What Would Thembi Do, I had occasion to participate in live tweeting my favorite episode of A Different World. It was the episode where Dwayne finally grows a pair and breaks up Whitley's wedding to Byron. First, it's a really fun two-parter lampooning bougie excess. Second, there are some of the best guest appearances ever: Joe Morton, Orlando Jones, Ron O'Neal, Michael Warren, Gary Dourdan as the ever fine Shazza Zulu. Basically, this was hands down one of the best written/acted sit-com sequences of all time.

Completely depending on both comedic and dramatic timing and delivery, you move one word or chance one character's inflection and this scene wouldn't work. Great script and brilliantly actied. Anyway, witness the magnificence of Dwayne's begging around the four-minute mark.

How much do we love Diahann Carroll? "Die. just.. die!" <<>

The Bad: Bow-Tied Boy Wonder, otherwise known as CBreezy or Chris Brown broke off some begging of his own last week. Check it out from Yahoo:

The 20-year-old singer-dancer, who plead guilty to felony assault and is on probation for five years, recorded an audio message Wednesday on Say Now asking his fans to "bring [him] back." A humbled Brown said he needs his fans' help. "Some radio stations aren't playing my records," he said. "They're not being that supportive and I wouldn't expect them to. But it's on the fans...It's in your power to bring me back."

Brown said he is doing everything he can do. He refers to himself as a "better person" and said he is doing his music for the love, but added that his career is in jeopardy.

"It won't be possible for me to be an artist if I don't have support from people who give me an artist outlet," Brown said. "I can't be an underground mixtape artist."

I tried (for a minute) to feel bad for him but may I suggest he enroll in college with what's left of his dollars, get himself a degree and a profession that does not require people to like you? Cuz right now, they just don't CBreezy. They really, really don't.

The Ugly: A friend of mine, John recently split with his girlfriend of three years. So I can now be free to say… I never liked her. She was brash and loud (instead of being bold and outgoing), she was flashy (instead of having sparkle), and she was a little too familiar with a tendency to overshare intimacies (instead of being warm and inviting). In short, she was just a little bit too much of everything. But John swore we weren't seeing her at her best. {surreptitious side-eye}

Last week (post-break-up), she sat outside of his house (in the rain) waiting for him to come home. Upon his arrival, he invited her in. She proceeded to cry, whine, beg and shout for an hour before he got her back outside the door. She sat outside for another few hours (we're not sure how long she sat there, he went to sleep) waiting for him to open up and re-consider. When this tactic did not work, she took to showing up wherever she knew he was going to be and shouting at him, "You know you still want me! Just take me back and get it over with! Please! Don't you know how much I love you!?" The only reason I know this to be true is because he started videotaping her from his iPhone and sending it to me (and the police). If I wasn't afraid that she would show up here with the crazy, I would upload it and share it. It's quite frightening and ugly. And I have to wonder – does she really think all of that will work?! What about "mental breakdown stalker" equals "oh I should take her back"?

So I ask BougieLand… Is there anything you would beg for? Don't you miss A Different World (especially since they haven't replaced it)? Is it that we don't forgive Chris Brown or does his new album just suck? Inquiring minds want to know. Thoughts, comments, insights?

Sunday Good News Story: 85 years and still going strong

onechele@gmail.com (OneChele) — Sun, 14 Mar 2010 17:26:00 +0000

Some of you may have seen this story about the couple recently added to the Guinness Book of World Records. Even if you have, I thought it was worth a shout out. Herbert and Zelmyra Fisher have been married for 85 years.

In a day when marriages begin and end with the greatest of ease, Herbert and Zelmyra Fisher are a rarity. The James City, N.C., husband and wife have been wed 85 years and hold the Guinness World Record for the longest marriage of a living couple.

Banners and signs celebrating that record decorate the front lawn of their ranch-style home. They've captured the attention of newspapers, magazines and websites everywhere. And just recently, they received a signed commendation from President Obama with a promise of an official invitation to the White House to meet him.

The hoopla over their accomplishment doesn't faze them at all. Zelmyra, 101, scorns the idea that there's some secret to the longevity of their marriage. "No secrets," she says. "There isn't any secret. It was only God that kept us together."

Herbert, 104, is amazed at their longevity. "I didn't know I would be married this long," he says. The retired Coca-Cola Bottling Co. mechanic still has a sharp mind, though his hearing is failing. Revered as a hard-working husband and father, Herbert built the family home in 1942, and he and his wife still reside there. His diligence and aggressive saving paid for the college educations of the couple's five children. They also have 10 grandchildren, nine great-grandchildren and four great-great grandchildren.

When asked what the secret to their long lives and happy marriage is, Herbert said he sticks to two little words: "Yes, dear." Zelmyra said she just believes in "treating everybody right." Can I get an Amen? Now THAT's old school wisdom right there.

At this point, I would like to find someone to spend 85 straight days with but that's a whole other topic. Happy Sunday!

Saturday Video Shout-Out: What ever happened to Portrait?

onechele@gmail.com (OneChele) — Sat, 13 Mar 2010 13:00:00 +0000

Fine. I'm officially old. I recall when this song came out way back in 1992 (wincing). I used to LOVE, LOVE, LOVE this group. They were R&B, a little New Jack but could also pull off a ballad. Ah well, if somebody has a "Where are they now?" update, feel free to share. This song reflected my mood today. Enjoy Here we go again:

Anyone have a song to shout out today?

Five quick ways to get “de-friended” on Facebook (in my world anyway)

onechele@gmail.com (OneChele) — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 13:00:00 +0000

Earlier this week, we talked about a former friend of mine who "de-friended" me on Facebook. It got me thinking – what would it take for me to "de-friend" somebody? I don't know. I went through and deleted folks on Twitter if I hadn't "talked" to them in more than 90 days or had no clue who they were. My Facebook is a little different; I'm not as active on there. My account is a combination of people I know, people who have read my book and people that were recommended to me. So it would take something out of the box for me to dive in and give people the boot. The obvious answer is if that the person is not someone you want to be friends with. I thought I'd go a little deeper. After a little consideration, here are the top 5 reasons I would "de-friend" someone on Facebook:

Over-sharing: I tend to scan through status updates so anytime the only thing I know about you is how great your sex life is or who hates you at you job or when your "boo" gets paroled… no bueno. And as long as we are talking about over-sharing, let's discuss the naked, half-naked, booty-out pics. I understand some of you are very proud about the way you look wearing a feathered thong. (This applies for the fellas too. As a side note, there is no reason for a man to ever own a thong. I meant it) Moving on, if your new profile pics shows more booty than a Trina video... that's more information than I need… ever. So if you feel the need to express yourself through semi-nude photos, I'll have to let you go.
Over-inundating: Every day with the gifts and drinks and games and hearts and meals and farms and mafia invites and sorority invites… please stop. It's great if that's your thing. Good for you. If I have yet to accept one of the 20 cocktails you've sent… just move on. Everybody gets ONE suggestion, maybe two. You can suggest a friend or a post or a group you think may interest me. But not every day. And please don't suggest that I friend all 1,417 of your friends one at a time. Oh, and for dude celebrating his sixteenth day of celibacy, I didn't need an invite to his "Eff these hoes" party next Saturday. (People, I can't make this stuff up) Long story short, if I find myself overly bombarded by your games, announcements, suggestions and gifts- I'm done.
Bad Choice in Groups: Okay, this might hurt some feelings. I know folks like to express themselves with the groups they join, God Bless them. But if you join a group named "I Love Head" or "I'm Too Sexxxy For ALL You B*tches", I'm gonna have to cut ya. Sorry.
Advertising: I know Social Media is the new Yellow Pages/Classified Ads all wrapped into one but come on people. Some of you take that hustle thing a little too far. Give me a second to think about buying your book, video, CD before you ask again. And again. And again. When your hustle clogs up my feed to the point that I can't see anything else… I'm going to have to let you go.
Language: Last but not least, watch your language. You know Facebook is basically a public forum, especially with the way they have jacked up the privacy settings. Here's my rule: Look at what you've typed and read it out loud as if you were reading to a PG-13 crowd. If you have to "bleep" yourself every other word… that's too much profanity. Embrace a diverse vocabulary. Please and thank you. Otherwise… yep, I'll have to let you go.

As I was wrapping up writing this, someone sent me a quiz with an xxx-rated picture entilted "Are you a freak or just weak?" INSTANT DEFRIENDING! BougieLand, what do you think? What would cause you to give a Facebook friend the kick?

Some things I just won’t share – A thought on “open” relationships

onechele@gmail.com (OneChele) — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 13:00:00 +0000

We try not to judge here in BougieLand. (I don't always succeed but I do try) We give laser-beam side-eyes and call bullshiggity but how people choose to live their lives is their business for the most part and I say… good for them. I do, however; feel the need to share my opinions on certain things. One of those things being "open" relationships. During Mo'Nique's interview with Barbara Walters she shared that her marriage (to her third husband Sidney) is an "open" one. [The comment is around the 9:00 mark on the video embedded below]

By open, she means that both she and her husband are free to have sex with other people while still remaining married to each other. She feels like being attracted to someone else and acting on it is not a betrayal of the marriage vows and should not be considered cheating. Okay, let's pause for a minute to digest this. Let's move beyond the fact that she didn't need to share all of that with Barbara. Some things are best kept between you and yours. But again, we're stepping past that. Let me just say for the record, I call bullshiggity. It's one thing to say it but if Sidney was all of a sudden rolling random broads up and through her house on a regular basis – I have to wonder how that would work out. And what if he decided he was attracted to men? Would she still feel the same way? I'm just wondering.

Alright, I'll take it at face value. Maybe she's just that open minded and it's fine with her if her husband (with whom she took vows) shares the physical part of himself with another. Okay then.

As for me, Bougienistas? I. CAN'T. DO. IT. I cannot. Actually, I can't even conceive of it. I'm that girl who has "the conversation." The minute I think a relationship is headed in that direction, I have the "cheat on me and get cut" conversation. And I mean, I have it in depth. So there are no so-called misunderstandings later. I usually start off on a teasing note explaining that I am the third of four children and feel like I've shared enough in my lifetime. I have learned this lesson the hard way. I don't share men. Not even a little bit. Not for a weekend, a night, a mad moment of too much Sparkling Moscato. No sir. Not me. Not even the experimental threesome. I'm just not that chick.

I know sex isn't the end-all, be-all of relationships. However, I'm unable to separate the act from the intimacy. Some people can, I'm just not one of them. And if I am so blessed as to get married someday – well, I can only imagine that my intense feelings about fidelity will be multiplied. I'm old school. I still see marriage as holy covenant. "Let no man put asunder" and all of that. It seems like if you want to be in an "open" relationship that you don't really want to be married. But again... that's just me.

I'm opening the floor on this one. Would you ever have an "open" relationship? What about an "open" marriage? What did you think when heard Mo'Nique had discussed this with Barbara? Thoughts, comments, insights? The floor is yours, BougieLand…

How Truth Killed a Friendship (and I’m okay with it)

onechele@gmail.com (OneChele) — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 13:00:00 +0000

I was "de-friended" by an actual friend of mine on Facebook last week. We'll call her Angela. Now truthfully, I don't follow my updates on Facebook but I decided to check on Angela's status updates because we had exchanged "words" with a few weeks ago. So it wasn't until I went to find her Facebook page I was told she was no longer my friend. Hmm. I felt some kinda way about that. I could have picked up the phone or fired off an email but in reality, I was okay with it. We have been friends for over ten years but talked to each other less and less in the past few.

Long story short, a few years ago Angela called to tell me she was worried that her young daughter was becoming sexually promiscuous. I bit my tongue (darn near in half) but she kept asking and asking my opinion. "Do you really want to know what I think?" I asked her. She assured me she did. I told her it was not going to be pleasant but she said she really wanted to know. Finally, I just said it. I told her that perhaps (just perhaps) moving random men in and out of the house as her sexual playthings during her daughter's most impressionable years had not helped.

It's hard to preach abstinence or restraint from a "do what I say, not what I do" position. When you daughter has a front row seat to your sexual escapades, that has to have an effect. In six years' time, she had no less than twelve much younger men that moved in with Angela and her daughter for various periods of time and then left. They always left with some drama. I mean drama like Police Interventions and Restraining Orders.

We had actually argued about it back then. I thought it was a terrible idea for her daughter to witness all of that and be exposed to a string of strange men. Needless to say, she didn't appreciate my viewpoint, told me I didn't have any kids and to mind my business. Maybe I should have but since I listened to her tales of woe day in and day out, I felt I had to say it. Bearing witness to the revolving soap opera that constantly swirled around her was too much for me. I started keeping my distance a little bit.

Fast forward to last spring, Angela had met a nice man. I met him. He was extremely nice. He was decent looking, mature, employed, and refused to move in with her. He had his own house, carried his own weight, stood up for himself yet doted on her. He was great with her daughter and her mother, had a great relationship with the child he had from a previous marriage and there was no baby mama drama. He was in fact – perfect for her. She said so, I thought so and all was good.

So when she called me a few weeks ago to tell me she was thinking of breaking up with him, I was dismayed. "But why?" I gasped in astonishment. "What did he do?" She went on to explain to me that he hadn't done anything; she just wasn't "excited" by him anymore. I was speechless for a second and then said, "Wait - what? Seriously, why are you breaking up with him?" She repeated that the sizzle was gone, she had met some younger guy and life was too short to stay with someone who bored you. I tried ya'll, I really did. "So by sizzle you mean you're not attracted to him anymore?" She said she was still attracted to him but she was MORE attracted to the new guy.

Before I could catch myself, I went off. Something along the lines of, "Are you kidding me? You have what everyone is looking for and you want to throw it away for more sizzle? At some point you need to grow the eff up and do the right thing. You're like a child at Christmas only excited by the new toy, once the novelty wears off you toss it to the side for the next new thing. I mean, come on. What do you really want me to say?" She said, "I expect you to not to judge me." I told her I wasn't passing judgment but pointing out a pattern that. Something she should think about for her own good. She snapped, "I expect you to just be my friend." She hung up and did not call back. I thought I was being a friend. Or is friendship only good when you blindly support each other regardless of behavior? Maybe I was preachy but I wasn't wrong.

A week after that I heard from a mutual friend of ours that she went ahead with the break-up only to have new dude get picked up on a parole violation THE VERY NEXT DAY while they were out on a date. That's SO not bougie. That's just tragic. To toss aside a good man for what? You know the next woman that good man dates is in for some blow back. Le Sigh.

So I guess I shouldn't be surprised that she "de-friended" me – she probably thought I was going to berate her with an "I told you so" – I wouldn't have though I certainly thought about it.

BougieLand - Do you know women or men like Angela? (Never satisfied with what they have? Always thinking the grass is greener? Expecting you to go along with their decisions even when they stink?) Isn't it hard to hold your peace when you see a friend engaging in the same destructive behavior over and over again? Any "de-friending" "un-following" stories to share?

Open Letter to Bookstore Dude, we’ll call this BougieTale a #HollaFail

onechele@gmail.com (OneChele) — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 13:00:00 +0000

My twitter friend @CarolynEdgar coined the phrase "HollaFail" yesterday to describe some grown dude trying to holla out of the passenger window of a car (No Scrubs, sir. No Scrubs). For those in need of an ebonic to bougie translation – HollaFail = an epic failed attempt to pick up someone of the opposite sex for romantic purposes. Anyway, I'm stealing the term for this BougieTale about the fella I met at the bookstore on Sunday. I decided to pen him a little note:

Hey Dude,

Remember me? Sweats, ponytail minding my own business in the fiction section? You came up all handsome smiles to the magazine section next to me. And while, "Um, hey, um," may not be the smoothest opening line I've ever heard; your flashing dimples make it seem okay. It was clear by the way you grabbed the first magazine your eyes fell on and then immediately turned back to me with the dimples and eye-twinkle that this was a roll up. Even though I'm on a self-proclaimed man-break, you were cute enough for me to at least smile and chat. So I did. Your conversation wasn't all that deep but you held your own enough to recognize when I was digging for information and toss the conversation ball back across the net. Good for you.

From outside of our A-to-B conversation, it was obvious there was a flirt vibe going on between us. I smiled and met your gaze, you stepped closer. The conversation was very "you go-I go-you-go-again". All cool.

But I wonder, cute dude. What were you thinking trying to pick up one girl in the bookstore when you know you came in with your girlfriend? My, that was an awkward moment when she walked up and asked me who the hell I was and why I was talking to her man. By the way, it's YOUR job (as boyfriend) to answer that question. Not mine. Notice how I stayed silent? And when I gave you the "look" and walked away, your NEXT choice of action SHOULD have been explaining to her that you did not know me and were just chatting about whatever magazine was in your hand.

It was not wise of you to stand there next to your very pissed off girlfriend and decide to come after ME. What exactly were you thinking when you took two steps forward, reached out and tapped me on my shoulder saying, "Wait a minute"? Wait for what?

Dude, you know what kind of girlfriend you have. You have a girl that gets a) threatened when you talk to other women b) angry when she feels threatened and c) loud when she's angry. That's a bad combination, sir.

I am sorry she called you out your name and smacked you upside the head with her large and apparently heavy purse. But I do appreciate you regaining your balance in time to keep her from swinging at me. I'm not a fighter but I will dial 911 and report a crazy chick in a heartbeat. You definitively saved her from catching a case on a rainy Sunday afternoon.

In conclusion Bookstore Dude, was it worth it? I know you caught unholy hell the rest of the evening (assuming she's not still wailing away on you right now). Did you learn a lesson? Did anyone ever tell you not to dangle a rose in front of a daisy? Any of this making sense? Le Sigh, probably not. Just for your information though, we call this a HollaFail.

Best of luck to you, OneChele

BougieLand – just tell me why? Believe me, it is NOT that I was looking so yummylicious that he just had to roll up. So why? Why cause drama knowing old girl is there? Have you ever had this happen to you where all of a sudden you were in the middle of a Hot Mess you never asked for? Please share your thoughts, comments, and insights into this bit of tomfoolery. The floor is yours.

Raise your Wonder Woman Cocktail up: It’s International Women’s Day

onechele@gmail.com (OneChele) — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 18:25:00 +0000

It's been a while since we had a Bougie Cocktail Moment. But go ahead and raise them up. Today is International Women's Day.

International Women's Day (March 8) is a global day celebrating the economic, political and social achievements of women past, present and future. In some places like China, Russia, Vietnam and Bulgaria, IWD is a national holiday. Women's Day was first celebrated in the United States in 1909. Two years later, more than 1 million people attended events in Austria, Denmark, Germany and Switzerland during the first International Women's Day.

During International Women's Year in 1975, IWD was given official recognition by the United Nations and was taken up by many governments. International Women's Day is marked by a national holiday in China, Armenia, Russia, Azerbaijan, Belarus, Bulgaria, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Macedonia, Moldova, Mongolia, Tajikistan, Ukraine, Uzbekistan and Vietnam.

This year, World leaders and international organizations are calling for more rights and opportunities for women in order to help solve many of the world's problems. The calls come as many parts of the world mark International Women's Day on Monday.

U.S. President Barack Obama and first lady Michelle Obama are hosting a reception at the White House Monday to mark the occasion.

The Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe said Monday that peace and stability "can only be achieved with the participation of women as equal partners with men." At an event last week, U.N. Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon said the world body's goals "stand in jeopardy" because women are still subject to poverty and discrimination.

To find out about events in your area: click here. I'm headed to a chat about the role of Women in Media & Publishing. You can rest assured, I'm going all IN. Later in the week, look for a quiz to test your knowledge on Women's History. In the meantime, raise your glass up and toast a lady today. In the comments, feel free to shout out your favorite female. For those of you interested, the cocktail recipe is embedded below. Enjoy the day!

Oscar Re-cap: Mo’Nique, Precious, Tyler Perry and Big Girls…

onechele@gmail.com (OneChele) — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 13:00:00 +0000

Let's all join hands and sing Kumbaya for a moment shall we? We simply are not going to get on the same page about a lot of things. That's both the beauty and the irritation of the human race and the African American culture. The only thing we will ever agree on is that we all breathe air, need water and think differently.

That "think differently" thing was made abundantly clear Sunday night as I watched (sort of) the Oscars. More than watching the show, I watched the comments from folks on Twitter. Here were some of the issues where people simply could NOT agree to disagree:

Mo'Nique: Some people felt she deserved to win the Oscar, others thought she did not. There was a belief that "we" (African Americans) only win Oscars if we are pimps, abusers, victims or monsters. (I counter with Whoopi Goldberg and Sidney Poitier). There was also irritation that she mentioned Hattie McDaniel in her acceptance speech. Not sure what was wrong with that.

Tyler Perry: They panned on Tyler Perry in the audience and the Twitterverse erupted. Seriously we have to agree to disagree on TP. Some of us will never like his films, his TV shows, or him. Some of us think he walks on water. Dude is either Step-N-Fetchit in Armani or Moses reincarnated. He's either bringing us together or bringing us down. We are never going to agree.

Precious: I'll admit I have not seen it. I probably will at some point. I'm one of those people who takes movies and TV shows into my spirit… literally. I have to be careful what I watch because I will dream myself into the plot for weeks and months to follow. It's the primary reason I can't watch horror films. I've no need to run from hatchets in the middle of the night. So you can understand my reluctance to watch Precious. Yet I was told that the reason I don't want to watch it is because I cannot embrace the full scope of the African American experience and realize that life is not all Huxtables. I could counter by saying we could use more Huxtable-esque movies but I'll just say let's agree to disagree about the impact of the film and book and whether they accurately represent the African-American condition. (which cannot be defined in a single film anyway)…

Big girls: I hate that fat jokes seem to be the last acceptable prejudice in America. Even when Mo'Nique was walking up to get her award someone was tweeting "why is this big b*tch sauntering to the stage, she needs to move all that along." Someone complained that Cameron Diaz was getting thick. Give me a break, she may be in a 6 instead of a 4. I won't even share the comments on Gabby Sidibe. But I unfollowed 6 people for their complete lack of tact or couth. People please. Get off the playground and recognize the value in people beyond their waist to hip ratio.

The Oscars: They either rocked or sucked. They were either the best ever or the worst in history. Sarah Jessica Parker was either fabulous or in serious need of a biscuit and some hair gel. Gabby was either robbed or Sandra totally deserved it. Avatar was over-rated or Hurt Locker was this year's Slumdog Millionaire.

All right, BougieLand – let's get it in. Go on ahead and air your Oscar views so we can put it to bed. Who looked good? Who deserved to win? Who needs a new stylist? Do you even watch the Oscars anymore? Random thoughts, comments, observations?

Sunday Short: Urban Prep Success Story

onechele@gmail.com (OneChele) — Sun, 07 Mar 2010 22:01:00 +0000

Now here is a story I would like to see highlighted on CNN's Black in America 3 (but probably won't). In Englewood, one of Chicago's roughest neighborhoods sits the charter school Urban Prep. It was announced last week that all 107 seniors were accepted into college. Every. Single. One.

Chicago's only public all-male, all-African-American high school fulfilled its mission: 100 percent of its first senior class had been accepted to four-year colleges. Mayor Richard Daley and city schools chief Ron Huberman surprised students at the all-school assembly Friday morning with congratulations, and school leaders announced that as a reward, prom would be free.

The achievement might not merit a visit from top brass if it happened at one of the city's elite, selective enrollment high schools. But Urban Prep, a charter school that enrolls all comers in one of Chicago's most beleaguered neighborhoods, faced much more difficult odds.

Only 4 percent of this year's senior class read at grade level as freshmen, said Tim King, the school's founder and CEO.

"There were those who told me that you can't defy the data," King said. "Black boys are killed. Black boys drop out of high school. Black boys go to jail. Black boys don't go to college. Black boys don't graduate from college.

"They were wrong," he said.

The school is also going to assist the students in securing financial aid and follow up in summer to make sure they get 100% attendance. I wish this was front page news everywhere. Real life stories of snatching triumph out of adversity deserve the spotlight. So they are getting it here. Congratulations young gentlemen. Well done.

Saturday Video Shout-Out: Regret/Feels Good

onechele@gmail.com (OneChele) — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 20:22:00 +0000

Happy Saturday, ya'll. Let me take a minute to shout-out my ex currently blowing up my cell phone. [Note to Ex: If someone doesn't answer after NINE calls, they aren't trying to talk to you. The next message you hear will be from my service provider informing you that this telephone number is no longer accepting your calls]. By the way, I had no idea who LeToya was but I will download almost ANYTHING with Luda on it. Reppin' for the Dirty South ya'll. I know, I'm so very, very hood. Enjoy:

And since I like to keep it positive around these parts, let me share a video that explains exactly how I feel about hitting that "IGNORE" button on the cell phone today J:

Love Rahsaan Patterson, he's one of the most slept on artists out there. Hope you're having a great weekend. Anyone want to send a musical shout-out this weekend?

If I knew then what I know now…

onechele@gmail.com (OneChele) — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 13:00:00 +0000

"Chivalry is dead and Prince Charming fell off his charger years ago…" ~Renee Nightengale, character from Heard It All Before by Michele Grant (me!)

Okay, don't shoot me… I absolutely don't feel this way today but I definitely did during a super bitter phase I went through twelve years ago when I first wrote the opening line to my first book, Heard It All Before. As a matter of fact, reading over the book now is like visiting an old friend that you still find entertaining after all this time. Flipping through it to prep for an interview this week it made me wonder… if I could go back to Michele from early 1998 – what would I tell her? She was living in Northern California having a fine old time. It was the tech boom and everyone was making money. Even people that weren't trying to make money were making money. Life (as I knew it) was good and uncomplicated. So what would I tell myself assuming I don't want to end up exactly where I am today? (Which , by the way, is not a bad place) After quite a bit of thought… here's my list of what I wold say to myself:

Quit dating THAT guy and date that OTHER guy instead. Seriously Michele, I know you don't think I know what I'm talking about but I do. You only think you're destined to be with Dude One but you are really, really not. As a matter of fact just run away now. Change your number, don't answer the door and just say no. I'm telling you this for your own good.
Life is too short to keep friends who give nothing back. Stop trying.
Men mature when they mature. A guy may have it all together at 28 or be a complete mess at 40. That's just how it works. Recognize which is which and act accordingly.
Geeks will be rock stars, air-headed heiresses will rule the airways and a black man will be president in your lifetime. Yes of the United States. Of America. Seriously. Just brace yourself.
Quit working at telecom and technology companies. They will only break your heart. It's 1998 and it's all sexy IPO right now… it won't last. Go to healthcare or biotech or insurance or media if you must stay in Human Resources. And speaking of that…
Get out of Human Resources. Yeah it's paid the bills but you've been talking about writing since you were 8 years old. Why don't you try now? Yes, right now. Do not be wooed by consultant dollars and sexy titles. Just get published. Yes, you're good enough.
Sell all those tech stocks in January 2000. Put the money in your Rollover IRA and diversify the portfolio. No energy stocks, no hedge funds, no credit companies. Just trust me on this. Remember these: Google, Palm, Pfizer Viagra, Sony Wii. Write 'em down. Oh - and copyright usage of the word "bling" immediately, don't worry about what it means. Just do it.
That huge plastic replica of the Eiffel Tower that they fill up with daiquiri and serve poolside at Paris – Las Vegas? Don't drink it. But if you DO drink it, do not follow it up with the apple martini luge. I'm trying to save you from yourself here.
There is such a thing as metabolism, you have been ignoring yours. It will slow. This will mean more intimacy with a treadmill than you ever thought possible. Embrace it.
Last but most importantly, move home to Texas now. California will always be here, your Dad won't.

I wonder if I would have listened to me. Okay, I would've listened but I wonder what I would have changed and what I would've ignored? Intriguing questions I can only speculate on until someone builds a time machine.

So I ask you – if you could go back say 5 or 10 years and tell yourself ONE thing only… what would it be?

Blogging backlash rebuttal: I don’t hate men. I don’t know what a feminista is. I don’t know from welfare.

onechele@gmail.com (OneChele) — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 13:00:00 +0000

I didn't set out this week to write a Black Feminist Manifesto. It wasn't my intention to rally up the Sisterhood with the "I am Woman Hear Me Roar" battle cry. Don't get me wrong, we are awesome though. We totally rock and if we wanted to get matching t-shirts and cabbage patch backwards down Pennsylvania Avenue to "Sisters are doing it for themselves"… well let me know when and I'll order up the frozen margarita machine. I really just wanted to squash the negative rhetoric, get a few things off my chest and share an anecdote or two. And I kinda thought I did that, with far more impact than I expected.

But… wow! Along with the great uplifting and supporting comments came the blowback. Thanks to my readers' passion for the subject, the post calling for a halt on the Black Girl Beatdowns was retweeted and reposted all up and through the internet. Essence.com picked it up, it was "buzzed up" at Yahoo, landed on Digg, Facebook, Twitter, Technorati, Live Journals and places that I didn't even know existed. And I'm thankful, I really am. It's every writer's goal to have their work read. Of course we prefer if it is universally hailed and loved but understand when it is not. And this post most definitely was not. I read some of the comments, some of the tweets and all of the emails sent to me. And though I did not answer a lot of them directly, I thought I'd share a few of my favorites here with my thoughts. Okay, my super snarky thoughts. Ya'll know I try to avoid the super-snark but it's been a long day and I lack my usual diplomacy and tact:

Rebecca on Yahoo! said - Single black women would get more respect if they: 1) didn't have children while single. 2) didn't expect their mothers to raise their children. 3) not be so vocal about their private lives and/or lack thereof. said by a single white woman.

Hey Rebecca, thanks so much for your insightful commentary. Stereotype much? In response I say, I don't have any kids. Therefore my mother isn't raising my kids. And I'm assuming you would like black women to be less vocal about our private lives like… one of those Kardashian girls, Jessica Simpson, Paris Hilton… someone like that? They sure lead by example. Oh and thanks for letting me know you are single and white. I was really interested in that part.

Mr. PantsALot (almost enough said right there) emailed to say: Another mouthy black woman whining. Get a job, lose some weight, eat less chicken and learn to give decent head. Then you'll get a man. You and your blog serve no purpose.

Hi Mister Pants, I'm assuming from your note that if I were a size-four mute making seven figures, snacking on baby greens and swallowing cucumbers whole that we'll be cool and I will then serve a purpose? I'll get to work on that right away because you seem like a catch I'd hate to miss out on. Call me, boo!

On Twitter from a woman who proclaimed herself to be a modern day Incan-Amazon worshipper (I don't know ya'll, I just don't know): You should own your womanist, feminista standards instead of waiting for a man to define you. Men will steal your essence and block your path to the sun whose rays empower and strengthen us. Amazonian woman bask in our self-sufficiency and only ascent to their true queen status when they rid themselves of all men except the ones we birth. You are a sad excuse for encouraging women to depend on a man. Wise up before it's too late to reclaim your soul and body.

Uh Miss Amazon Chick: What? I'm confused and a little scared. There's something both condescending and Oedipal about what you spent fifteen minutes typing to me. I would ask more questions but I find myself terrified of the answers. Since it appears I will miss out on my true queen status, I'll settle for Duchess – wouldn't turn down Countessa status either. Good luck on that sun ray thing though.

On Live Journal Mark shared: So you basically can't get a man so you hate them, why share your pitiful life with the rest of us. Who cares? This is why I date white girls. Yeah I said it and yeah I'm black. What about the fellas, we catch holy hell from the media too, I don't hear your whining about that. Get a life. Peace.

Mark, No one is fooled when you flame throw and then wrap up with "peace". Um, so you have never been on my blog and didn't take the time to look around, huh? You missed my whole I Love Black Men Week? You missed me saying you should get love where you find love, if your love is a white girl – more power to you. Bouge Rule #1 – Bouge is Love… you keep it classy.

For the record, I know black men are catching hell in the media. I see an Ivy League educated Noble Prize Winner in the White House catching hell all day, every day! Let's face it – this is a media-driven society and 24/7/365 news needs to be feed. Nobody escapes the media microscope. Personally, I was a lot happier when I knew a bit less of everybody's business. I just happened to write about single black females… because I am one. We write what we know.

Good readers, do not be dismayed – in one email Tisha from the ATL wiped all the "constructive feedback" from my head. Here's what she wrote.

Dear OneChele,

My husband passed away in Iraq over two years ago. Since then I have really struggled raising our seven-year old daughter. Not financially but keeping her grounded and positive without a strong male figure. She worries about me, I worry about her. I come home from work, get food on the table, get her settled and then finally pop open my laptop with a big glass of wine. The blogosphere is where I go to unwind. I'll come back to that in a second. My daughter and I watch the morning news shows together. One day last week when I ran upstairs, she caught wind of the story about single black females dying alone. On the way to school she told me she never wanted to get married and leave me. I asked her why and she said she didn't want me to end up alone eaten by cats. You know that was a bolt to my heart to hear those words coming out of her young mouth. I told her not to worry about it, it wasn't going to happen. That afternoon she came out of the school dragging some grown man with her. My child had walked up to one the teachers, grilled him and asked him if he wanted to date her mother. You know I wanted to die when she pulled that man up to the car. Man had the nerve to be cute too. Everyday since she asked me what I'm going to do so I don't get eaten by cats. Last night I read your blog. I printed it out and read it to her this morning. She smiled and said Oh Mama you can take your time finding a new man or you can be okay alone. I said yes I could. She was happy. Unfortunately she strutted up to cute teacher and told him My mama doesn't need you anymore, she's gonna be okay. So I thank you Ms. OneChele, your blog post gave me and my daughter what we needed to make it through another day. Thanks , Tisha in Atlanta

As I dab my eyes with the Kleenex let me say – Tisha, you're welcome… and you may want to holla at cute teacher… just sayin' your daughter may have picked a winner.

Okay BougieLand, thoughts or comments? Anyone have a CLUE what an Incan-Amazonian Sun Worshipper is? Don't you just love when a post all about keeping it peaceful causes folks to go completely left and back again? Fellas, get your boys Pants and Mark… please.

Celebrating Violet and the Unicorns…

onechele@gmail.com (OneChele) — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 13:00:00 +0000

As a follow-up to yesterday, I'd like to share the story of Miss Violet – my "maiden" aunt who was in all ways my grandmother and lived to somewhere around 100 years old (no one is really sure).

My Aunt Violet was no joke. She was the second oldest female in a family of thirteen kids born and raised (literally) next to a sugar cane field in the Northeast Region of Guyana, South America. She assisted in raising all of her younger siblings, sacrificing her own schooling, ambitions and marriage options to do what was best for the family. My father was the youngest and ironically, the one who headed out for America first. He was, she often told me, the best and brightest of them all. He reached America, got worked like hell and eventually sent money to bring over as many of his older siblings as possible. My Auntie Vi came over and settled in New York City for a while. After my father moved to Texas and established his medical practice, he put the down payment on a house for her and told her to come on down.

She was in Dallas by the time I was born. I never knew her when she was young, she was already in her sixties when I came on the scene. What I always knew about Violet is that she put up with no nonsense, had a strange penchant for that lime-jello dish with the fruit and marshmallows in it (ew), loved her nieces and nephews dearly and was never married. Violet never finished high school but could quote Shakespeare and classic literature from memory. She was not great at math on paper but could not only pinch a penny until it screamed bloody murder but also tell you exactly what a $99.99 suit would cost with sales tax off the top of her head. She paid back my Dad and paid off her mortgage by running an in-house day care for years. She was a God-loving woman who loved her spirituals, never missed a Western re-run on TV and dressed to kill when she left the house. She never learned to drive but she was always on the go, well into her eighties. I recall swinging by to say hi once to find her pulling on a gold slingback shoe – "I have plans, Mich-Mich, you'll have to come see me tomorrow." I asked no questions and left.

When I was born, she told my mother – I won't live to see her walk. Then when I started walking she said – I won't live to see her enter school. Then it was driving, then graduating high school, then college, then getting a place of my own. Her last proclamation was – I won't live to see her get married… well, sorry about that one Auntie. J

It always struck me as so sad that an amazing, attractive woman like that never had the chance to have a family of her own. And I can't even recall how many times I have said, "I just don't want to end up like Aunt Vi."

I thought about my Aunt on Monday evening as I spent time chatting with an anomaly group… according to popular culture and mainstream media, they do not (or should not) exist. And yet, here they were on my phone alive and well. I spoke with a group of happy, content, successful unmarried black females over the age of 50. Not a cat-owner in the bunch, not a man-hater among them, no bitter over/undertones, just intelligent professional women. They called themselves the Unicorns.

Some had been married, some not. Some had kids, some not. What each of them had was a clear understanding of who they were and what their lives all about. Asked to describe themselves, I noticed a trend. No one started with "I'm a lawyer or Vice President of a Fortune 500 company." No one started with "Single mother of two or divorced grandmother." They started by describe things that made them each unique, they started each sentence with… "I'm a woman who-" and then they finished the sentence. An example of one I loved: "I am a woman who gardens, loves the color red, keeps family close and drinks more red wine than I should. I read voraciously and travel to Europe once a year. I need to pray more and curse less. I fight with my hair and my hips and refuse to bring work home. That's who I am."

I spoke with them at length about how they coped with the societal pressures to be coupled up and even probed to find out how some of them got to where they are professionally and personally. I asked if they still got lonely and how they dealt with it. The answer: yes and a moment at a time. Some have "special friends," some were still actively dating. One lady said, "Sweetheart, I've been dating since I was fifteen and I just turned fifty-five, I have this down to a science. Two minutes in and I know if it's a breadsticks and salad, full entrée or after-dinner drinks kind of date." Hilarity.

The other brilliant thing about chatting with the Unicorns was that there was not a life scenario that I threw at them that somebody hadn't lived with, survived or witnessed. I could write a month's worth of posts celebrating their stories. They formed this "club" about 10 years ago by accident. Three of the women regularly met for drinks and shopping, each of them brought a friend and so on and so on. One of the ladies just got married for the first time at 52 years of age; ironically to a man one of the other Unicorns had dated, not clicked with and introduced her to. Now that's maturity! At any rate, I know that my Aunt Vi would have been in regular attendance at the Unicorn get-togethers. Laughing and sipping her champagne (which she enjoyed with two cubes of sugar added in).

In retrospect… there are far worse things that could happen to me than living the life Aunt Vi had. That woman still woke up singing (in a really thready soprano) until the day she died. How can you not wish for that? Living to be a hundred (or so) and still in possession of all faculties, debt-free, secure as a person with literally hosts and hosts of people who loved and admired her. Really, when I think about her life – what a study in triumph. I hope to have a quarter of the class heading into my golden years.

Now BougieLand, I'm not prepping for eminent spinsterhood, I just thought after yesterday's rant, it would be nice to hear a story for perspective. So what if we think like the Unicorns for a second? How would you describe yourself outside of profession and relationship status? Fill in the blank: I am a woman/man who ____________________.

I'll start. I am a woman who loves all things purple but not the scent of lavender. I wear pony-tails too often and have a tendency to snipe when I'm tired. I've a penchant for fruit flavored rums and vodka but I'm allergic to fruit. I've developed an addiction to my Wii Tennis game; sometimes determined to play until I win every set. I take a spa vacation at least once a year and I hope to meet Maya Angelou one day. That's who I am.

And now the floor is yours…

Stop telling me how I think, what to do, how to look, who to date, when to exhale… I beg of you.

onechele@gmail.com (OneChele) — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 13:00:00 +0000

I get it. I really do. Bashing or even borderline bruising black women is what hot in da streetz. By bashing I mean telling us why we ain't nothing, ain't gonna have nothing, ain't gonna have nobody to share nothing with. Sure, it gets you book deals and blog views and radio shows and talk shows and photo ops and movie deals and basically… paid. I get it. You found a hu$tle that works and you only have to kick a group of people that are already down to do it.

Oh, you think you're being helpful offering up your "self-help" and "how-to" and "best way" opinions to us? Even those of you that are not directly authoring the yada-yada, do you really think you're helping by adding in your "tsk-tsk" or "co-sign" two cents response to the media swirl about all the problems with the sisterhood? You're not. You are adding to the already cacophonous wall of noise. I respectfully request that right after commenting on this post J… everyone just shut up. I am talking to celebs and so-called relationship gurus, writers, columnists, bloggers, regular folks talking in the coffee shop, women and men, young and old, black – white – and everything in between… just STOP.

STOP re-quoting the statistics about successful educated black women never getting married or having kids. Would you rather we stayed stupid and broke for the sake of a ring? Of course not, so how is reminding us of the statistics going to help? It's just going to make the desperate more desperate and the hopeless less hopeful. I can't see the good in that. Those of us staying optimistic become less so in the face of all the overwhelming evidence. Maybe we will (get married), maybe we won't but the continuous talk of a "crisis" in the community (because of our unmarried state) is just plain mean.
STOP telling me how to look to catch a man. No it's not my weight. I've been everything from a size 8 to a 22 and back again and had a man at every one of those sizes. No it's not my hair, I've been straight, kinky, wavy, weaved, pony-tailed and darn near bald… had a man at every step of the way there too. For every so-called flawless woman with a ring, I can name two so-called flawless women without one. Oh, magazines – this is for you too. Stop telling us that this lipstick, that high-heeled boot, that pencil skirt is the thing we MUST own to snare Mr. Right.
STOP telling me to date (or not to date) white men. All of you. Seriously. I'll date that blue dude from Avatar if I freakin' want to. People dating the rainbow coalition, good for you. People only attracted to a certain type, good for you. People who have given up on one type and are looking for another type to swoop in and save them, good luck with that. Either way, I'm tired of hearing about it.
STOP looking for someone to blame. It's not that all black women are mean or picky or high-maintenance – GTFOH with that. It's not that all black men are trifling or thuggish or under-employed – that's bullshiggity too. All the black men are not in jail, all the sisters aren't expecting "too much" – those are cop out answers. I'm sure every woman who is single could sit down and point to a variety of reasons (good, bad and in-between) why they are that way today. Each story is an individual one both personal and unique to the person telling it. Let them own that story, quit painting with the broad strokes...
STOP acting like we are either sitting around waiting to exhale or are gasping our last breath surrounded by 20 cats. Can we not be vibrant, complete individuals regardless of relationship status? And this goes for you too other sisters… stop giving us the "I'm so sad for you" look because you have a man and we don't (at the moment). This just makes us angry and less sympathetic should things not work out between you and your boo. We don't need sympathy, just a little support and a smile. Please and thank you in advance.
STOP acting like my brains are a detriment. I shall not be dumbing it down for the cause of snaring a man. Nor will I emasculate him by pointing out all the stuff I may know that he doesn't. Not everybody can match my Scrabble game… I'm evil with it, son… evil. Don't come at me with the Trivial Pursuit either… moving on. This whole concept of acting like I'm less than I am to make a man feel like more than he is… that's crap. That means we are not a fit. Onto the next… hopefully.
STOP judging me because I have standards. Not prejudices… standards. Sure I would date the UPS man if we found each other attractive and interesting. But the UPS man who has four kids, four baby mamas, two parole officers and a habit of blowing his paycheck on a great batch of chronic… hell no. That doesn't make me snobby or bougie- that makes me self-aware of my own code of values, tolerance and limitations.
STOP assuming we all want Barack ambition, Denzel smile, LL Cool J body, Kanye swagger, LeBron money and Idris vibe. I mean, that's nice and all but we know expecting one dude to have all of that wrapped up in one package is ridiculosity of the highest order. Most of us would be happy with someone we can trust, laugh with, talk to and ride out a crisis with your mutual affection and admiration still intact. We'll start with that every day of the week.
STOP telling us that you (and you alone) have the answer (the fix, the cure!). You don't or we wouldn't still be talking about it. And by the way, if your answer involves me becoming a completely different person than I am… you may keep that. Don't start with the argument that clearly what I've done up to now hasn't worked… er, uh – I know. You throwing Hallmark-style affirmations my way (packaged as a book of "get a man gospel") is useless and kinda slimy.
STOP helping. Really, stop offering up opinions and concern and editorials. Especially if your own relationship history is kinda suspect. I wouldn't take boat-steering advice from the Exxon Valdez captain or fact-checking advice from Jayson Blair… just sayin'.

I could go on (and on) but I'll. JUST. STOP. I'm not angry, I'm actual rather amused by all the hoopla and pronouncements of doom and gloom. I spent part of this evening chatting with a group of professional African-American ladies over the age of 50 who are not married, I'll share their story with you tomorrow. But in the meantime, you know what to do BougieLand… share your thoughts. Am I just ranting or could we use a "group time-out" on the Black Woman Are Doomed Pronouncements? And before I retire the subject for a while, any thoughts on this topic you want to share, get off your chest, get some feedback on?

Dead dogs and stripper poles? A look at The Marriage Ref

onechele@gmail.com (OneChele) — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 13:00:00 +0000

I'm not sure why I thought checking out The Marriage Ref, a new reality show created by Jerry Seinfeld was a good idea. That was a half hour I'll never get back. For some reason, I thought the concept was about helping couples solve actually marital difficulties with the help of a professional coach (which I would have found intriguing). It is not.

It is about making married "ordinary" people seem real trifling and making celebrity panelists appear witty and hip. Only the trifling part worked. On Sunday night's show, one couple fought over whether or not to allow the husband to keep his stuffed dead dog in a constructed altar in their home. The other couple fought because bruh-man (yes, they were of color) wanted to install a stripper pole in the house. Are these difficult questions to answer; are these deep and probing marital issues? And are Jerry Seinfeld, Kelly Ripa and Alec Baldwin (!!!) people you want offering their opinions on your relationship? No, no and hell to the no.

Summarizing Black History Month – It is all just a joke? (a guest post)

onechele@gmail.com (OneChele) — Sun, 28 Feb 2010 13:00:00 +0000

Today on BnB, we simultaneously wrap up Black History Month and Smart Guest Post Week. Our final contributor is a future muckety-muck somewhere in DC, I guarantee it. I call him "the Captain" but others may know him as SpkTruth2Pwr, the voice of The Apathy Remedy and a driving force behind The Younger Writers' Block. Show him some love.

As Black History Month (BHM) comes to an end, I would love to do a post-BHM wrap up.

You know- a post on how the story of our black ancestors is a story of hope in the midst of struggle and how black history month is an ode and a perpetual lesson for not only black people but also all people in America.

But instead, I can only approach the end of BHM with sadness.

Why?

I went to a Black History Month play this weekend. It was a community church production called "From the Slave House to the White House."

It wasn't a large crowd - mostly teens attending as part of a program. I was looking forward to it, The message behind it was progress and how our ancestors' perseverance made each generation keep pushing to make life better for future generations. I enjoyed myself.

But when I looked around, the picture I saw was disgusting and disappointment.

The teens, who were all black, were completely not engaged. The few that managed to view every now and then could not control or stifle their laughter.

When the actresses performed an African Dance routine, some of the teens would mimic them between a few stifled giggles and hi-fives.
When the actress on stage used the vernacular of an uneducated slave, the teens would crudely mimic the accent within their cliques.
When an actress screamed in fear of being caught by "massah" because they were sneaking off to read the Bible, the teens ridiculed her.
When the "slave child" lamented as she was torn from her mother's arms, the teens laughed and pointed.

I don't know. Maybe it's because my parents both can remember going to segregated schools. Maybe it's because I know that even though my grandparents were not slaves, they were bound by a system that left them dependent on the master who controlled them - sharecropping was just a euphemism for slavery.

But I was disgusted. To laugh at that history was to laugh at themselves. And the sad thing - they could not realize it or see past it because they were living to be "cool".

In the same way they laughed at the slaves' dance of jubilation, or the servant eager to read, society has done the same to these kids. And rather than being conscious of that fact - they have joined in and laughed as well at the notion that they themselves could actually be more than what they are labeled and expected to be.

It is an ignorance of self. I could dissect the root causes, and pontificate on the disconnect between the youth and their elders, technology, media, blah blah blah. It is important to treat the problem and not the symptoms, so making the connection to the actual problem is important.

But really I believe it all feeds in to a central theme - the Millennial Generation is ashamed of their history. I mean that past is not cool right? Slaves weren't rocking the latest in fashion were they? They were clearly some Bammas. Blacks of the past were largely a bunch of have nots, right? That's wack, weak, lame. Why keep focusing on all that trivial stuff and those largely vague themes - freedom, equality, struggle, justice, and opportunity? It's embarrassing to keep bringing up those days when we were largely uneducated, largely forgotten, and largely disrespected. We have moved on up with George and Weezy right?

Well sadly those days have gotten a bit brighter, but they have not passed to yesterday.

Those same laughing teens represent a population with a higher nationwide proportion of dropouts from high school.
Those same laughing teens represent a population that doesn't "have it all" - 24 percent of blacks live below the poverty line compared to 13 percent of the nation (U.S. Census Bureau)
Those same laughing teens represent a population where 38 percent of black teens in America live with both parents. The next lowest was Hispanics, with 69 percent. (U.S. Census Bureau)

Those same laughing teens are being laughed at for willingly keeping themselves ignorant by neglecting their own history.

The message behind the play was good. But the teens in the audience were too busy thinking "that progress thing" was for another time, another wack/lame generation.

And it is that perpetuation of the disconnect with our history that will work against the progress so many of our ancestors fought to gain.

I was disappointed because these teens had no idea that as each chuckle escaped their lips, they were slowly drowning out the very hope and struggle that had allowed them to freely sit in that theatre. That with each joke at the expense of the "slave" in the play, they were trivializing the path to progress for blacks in America.

And if it is one thing that makes us look ignorant as a people, it is removing collective progress from our vision of success, and replaced it with our own interpretation.

We have the spirituals of the slaves, the courage of the freedom riders, the honor of the Tuskegee Airmen, the teachings of DuBois, the dream of Martin, the examples of countless black innovators and originators, and the inspiration of Barack. The only thing that is lacking is the youths to take these and continue marching onward and upward in the name of perpetual advancement.

But like a lion raised in captivity - no matter how great the potential to be a proud king, the lion will never see past its cage and hand-fed meals.

The cage of these black youths I saw was the cage of their own mind, and their own lacking sense of history. And because of that, they are willing to take what they are given, rather than demanding what they have the potential to achieve. And so they sit, never knowing they should hope for more - choosing to remain as nothing more than the next exhibit in the zoo that is society.

Only when our black young minds connect where they came from with their present and where they need to go will the faith of our ancestors continue inspiring the march toward advancement and expand our black history, which in turn will add another link in the chain of progress that has been American history.

What say you BougieLand? When did you start appreciating your Black History? What's will it take to drag these Millennials towards the reality check they so clearly have coming? Any final thoughts on Black History Month?

Why this will-Spring-ever-come weather is President Obama’s fault…

onechele@gmail.com (OneChele) — Sat, 27 Feb 2010 17:50:00 +0000

Yes, yes - I have the latest. Something else for the conspiracy theorists to kick around. This crazy weather is not climate shift, global warming or environmental pay-the-piper time. It is the direct fault of the 44th President of these here US of As. You know why? Because for more than 200 years, folks of all races, colors and creeds uttered these words:

It will be a cold day in Hell before a Black Man is elected President of the United States of America.

And here you have it…

p.s. Who's in on the collection to bribe Mother Nature to kick-start spring? I am WAY over winter.