BrooklynGypsy

The New Rapunzel

noreply@blogger.com (Chevy) — Fri, 03 Aug 2012 03:40:00 +0000

It happened so quickly-

I didn't get a chance to say it.

I felt it so strongly-

It was hard to convey it.

It fell violently upon me,
With the strength of summer rain-

Swift, unexpected and pouring-

Leaving the potential for porous pain.

Slight disbelief mixed with irregular heartbeats-

Had me wanting to retreat at the slightest sign of promise-

For too risky is defeat.

Cold sweats and

Cold feet.

Had my drum tap-tapping to some new rhythmic beat.

Love does not cheat.

It is only true and honest.

So the movement in his feet was not a delusion of my dream-

But a dream that came to life,

A film reel that’s for the real

And,

Love can be

Sweet.

Yet turn as bitter as fermented grapes.

One sip of the potion and you’re sent swinging into a daze.

So I stay away-

Covering my heart in red tape,

So the jesters will stray away.

I cherish the day when I can foolishly say-

That he will never
Leave.

No matter how mean or how green I can be,

He will role up his sleeves and get deep in the matter-

Won’t flinch nor will he falter when my mood goes a-scatter,

Won’t wince nor will he whine when the glass falls and shatters,

He will pick up the pieces

For me.

Always pledging allegiance & loyalty,

To not only me but to the greater,
That is

We.

He would fight through the night as a knight would

For me.

Slay a small dragon and

Parade its head through the town, on a wagon for all eyes to see.

Indeed, he would make a spectacle and earn victory,
Impeccable,

For me.

If I desired a star on a dark, cloudy night,

He would shoot through the sky
To retrieve at least nine,

For me.

Oh love can be so lovely.
Yet feelings are ephemeral-
Meaning that they will flee.

So then he decides that he is bored
With me.

And throws up his hands, and runs off to chase

A new lady for the taking and her novel embrace.

A new Rapunzel.

The fair dame to take
My place.

While I weep and whine and plea for a second chance.

A cold back I address as he takes his new dame’s hands,

And leads her into a temporal fantasy,

The pleasantries and flowers and trees he used to bring for me,

He gives them to her.

All the same he does for her he once did,

For me.

Yet, like a fool with no integrity
All I continue to think about is he.

In spite of my defeat,

Completely ignoring my face, splattered upon the concrete-

Or the heart with bullet-holes as it howls on my sleeve.

My mind has been taken,

My poor Soul was mistaken,

The Prince in his armor was the villain out for my name,

For his pleasure is fulfilled in the root of selfish gain.

The root of my despair-

The ventriloquist of my pain.

I hold my head low, in disappointment and shame,
Pulling my locks in defeat and disdain.

The dragon he once slayed and paraded through town,

Is now the head of a woman who feels like his circus clown.

Oh how things can change in the blink of an eye,

All because that New Rapunzel,

Caught my man’s eye.

Let it B.

noreply@blogger.com (Chevy) — Mon, 09 Apr 2012 22:20:00 +0000

I don’t remember how it felt the last time before I fell

But before I hit the pavement, reservations, please do tell

Because at 90 miles per hour every second is moving fast

But pump a little brake, God forbid I burn and crash

I tried to resist the advances; dirty dances & fancy dinners

You call me all the time, stay on your mind like summer breeze

You express your care and commitment- and overall, I’m truly pleased

So I declare you a winner,

Because those other bums can’t hold a candle.

The inconsistency revealed- guess I was just too hot to handle.

You’re like those other guys but you’re not like those other guys

Although I’ve been fooled before by sincerity in a man’s eyes

Always starts off well; constant attention and promise of steady,

But in the blink of an eye, they disappear-

They’re never ready.

But time determines life & life is ultimately your fate

Enjoying every moment, so I revel in staying awake.

I love the shirts you wear. Love the texture of your hair.

I love the way you stare, even when your boys are near.

Yet, I am a little scared- these joyous moments, I do fear.

Love starts as sweet as pie yet tends to end in cold despair.

So I guard my heart with diligence; like a lion in a cage

Seek & destroy my feelings –only to spark deep hurt & rage

And you don’t want that to happen, like Seal, I get a little crazy

I’m either tough as nails or serene like sweet Summer daisies

So you better not fuck this up. Or I will fuck you up.

Don’t dare drink from my cup if you don’t intend to finish it up.

But on a lighter note- I admire the way you dance.

The freedom in your hips, my attention it commands

I didn’t think that I even wanted to give you a chance

Jaded thoughts of romance-

Yet optimism, sparked a second glance.

Gentle in demeanor, yet firm in perfect stance.

The intensity of hidden thoughts evokes my thirst to know your plans.

You're sensuality is settle; mannerisms; haute masculine.

Michelangelo's statue of David-the category I'd frame you in.

Like Usher here I stand.

Of your persistence, I am a fan

So now just take my willing hand & go down the trail of true

Reason, season or lifetime-

Let time dictate all that we do.

Friday's Will

noreply@blogger.com (Chevy) — Fri, 16 Dec 2011 20:03:00 +0000

If you don’t do it now,

you risk losing your chance,

and opportunity to react.

Once you miss your chance and the gift has passed,

it’s impossible to go back.

Fear is a paralyzing force; controlling your choices-

even when you know your desire is well-

Fear stops your decisions;

halts your blessings,

and can make it impossible to prevail-

Move with haste and with plenty conviction;

how it feels in the spirit, that’s called intuition-

Things are not always what they seem- at times it was merely deception-

You must create your own dreams

And call it inception.

If your reality is skewed, best change your perception-

We help dictate our outcomes for freewill is a gift-

And as the world turns,

we can feel every shift.

And when things fall apart,

we recognize the callous rift-

Can’t control the past-

can only change, today-

And what you do now can change your life along the way-

So just take the day & seize it.

Well.

You can make it like heaven or create your own hell-

All can be well, or all can be for the birds-

Happiness is your choice-

So speak your own words.

Not you but Me

noreply@blogger.com (Chevy) — Thu, 08 Dec 2011 18:49:00 +0000

We became secret lovers- but started like public friends-

A deep relationship-but no title can represent;

Or so he says..So I say 'cool.'

I’ll play the part- from start to go- long as he know,

no other lady better come between us;

don’t care if she's sweeter than Sadie –

but then I think again; second guess and question, maybe-

I’ll bend the rules, if I do choose for a man that can save me;

a man who steps up, don’t give a fuck, game is tight, his pockets right, consistent fight,

and think about me beyond the nasty we did during the night;

yes, that would be ideal-

but, let me not jump the gun,

cuz' shooting yourself in the foot is not how any victor ever won;

He says ‘girl you so special’ but he’s not ready for commitment-

I just continue to pretend - his rationale, I can't comprehend-

As we continue to swim- this pool of lust could drown Michael Phelps-

backstroke,

frontstroke,

Olympic dives for my deepest prize; the ecstasy between my thighs; the passion deep within his eyes-

I get seasick from this shit; but I can’t leave his pool so quick-

winning is never really easy and I’m just not ready to quit-

It truly fucks up my mind and distorts my reality;

but I just pardon this cuz' the word says 'as a man thinketh then so is he'-

So it must be real, he must be true, he must be the only one for me

and I continue to lose myself in this jagged complexity.

Losing sight of all that's right; sacrificing my dignity.

Seemingly slave to a cave of physical rhapsody.

But I sadly been through this be-4 –so give me an A for letting it B-

I guess at times I'm 2 blind to C because he has the most amazing D-

feels like I’m on E whenever he’s inside of me. So as we F and he touches my G-

I continue to two-step to his rhythm-

a dark twisted fantasy; I don't know how to shake it off;

if only I had strength and could- alone then I would be-

but the night time is so dark, and so chilly are my sheets-

and so empty is my house; so i call him to take off my blouse-

I cannot fight the urge; afraid of my inner capacity-

but I continue to play his game until I can come to grips with

Me.

Father Time

noreply@blogger.com (Chevy) — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 19:31:00 +0000

When the cup cannot contain

When the kettle starts to hiss

When the light has faded dim

When your happiness is in remiss

When the clock strikes 12

When the energy has diminished

When your passion starts to flicker

When the meal on the plate is finished

When the joy has gone bitter

When the sweet is tasting sour

When you are desperate for the future & despise the very hour

When movement comes to a halt

When growth is stifled cold

When the new is no longer novel

When your thoughts are no longer bold

When the cliff is at its edge

When the oasis runs dry

When the runner completes his hurdles

When the truth becomes a lie

When concern becomes apathy

When the straw is stacked too high

When the miner hits a low

When the climber is mountain high

When your sun has finally set

When your hope approaches fade

When you’re yearning for a shift and you start to seek a way

That is precisely when you know

This is the very time to go

Time is the teller of all truth-

It is the essence.

It is the root.

Time dictates all change

Wait on time-

For life, explained.

Top 8 Mistakes Single Chicks Make

noreply@blogger.com (Chevy) — Mon, 29 Aug 2011 04:06:00 +0000

So, after a pondering session about single-womanhood (yes, another one) I felt compelled to share what I have learned about men- more so, how single women fuck up when it comes to them.

I compiled this list based on my own stupid mistakes, Steve Harvey’s impeccable advice, observing some of my ‘thirsty’ homegirls that have repeatedly played themselves (mad hard), rap music, & my homeboys who sometimes forget that I am actually a woman and share TMI. And yes, I definitely capitalize on it (shout-out to Ofi).

So, let’s get started:

1. You’re Giving up the Ass (too soon)

‘Sistas' give up the ass. Bitches give up the ass. Sistas' do it slow- Bitches do it fast.'
-Jay-Z

Now, you should know better. If you really like a guy, this is the one biggest mistake you can make too early on. I have multiple girlfriends that have done this dumb shit (on several occasions) and guess what? They’re still single. This is just reckless on multiple levels. And although it may feel good- if you want to progress, then you simply cannot do this.

Think about it: why would a man want to make you his girl if you gave it up without even knowing his birthday? Of course he won't assume that he is 'different'- he will think that you easily give up the goods, on a normal basis (even if you don't). Us women are all guilty of mentally ‘jumping the gun’ when we meet a good ‘candidate’- but we must control our urges.

And let me tell you something else: ALL MEN WILL TRY. Even good guys. Even church-boys. Hell, even gay-dudes. Seriously! It is in their nature. All men will try to have sex with you, as early and as easily as YOU make it possible. Which brings me to my next point-

You can’t make it easy.

Girl, you are trippin'

Look at yourself as a prize. If you award someone the gold-medal only 30 seconds into the race, they don’t really have to work for it. And guess what- they’ll stop running. Why run if you got the medal? Vagina is literally (and sadly) the prize. Ladies- you gotta’ make him earn it. Jay-Z said it best. Be a self-respecting sister. Make that man take you out and prove that he’s ‘in it to win it’ before you go pulling down your panties.

2. You’re THIRSTY.

This shit right here will never get you a husband. I can’t tell you how many of my close guy friends (and I have several) have said:

‘She was cool..but shorty was just moving too fast..saying she ready to get married and have kids..I ain’t ready for all of that..’

First of all, why are you bringing up kids if he’s not even your man yet? Why are you so thirsty? Girl, did you even meet his Mom? If not, what would possess you to think that he even wants you to be his ‘wifey’ (let alone his wife)?

Please. Drink this and keep your dignity intact.

Of course, we all have our ‘eggs’ to worry about. Yes, I know. I have them too. But, come on- the key to scaring a nigga off is to enforce this conversation too early on in the courting phase. Just chill the fuck out. Have met his mom (at least) before you even think that you can bring up your future with him. So give it time before you start looking at Modern Bride magazine and Theknot.com. You might get dumped next week for all you know.

3. You Ignore the Obvious

' I haven't spoken to him in a week. He been so busy.'

Oh gosh. Some chicks literally have no dignity. They will hound a nigga down, looking at green-glimmers of non-existent hope, as opposed to looking to what’s real: his actions. Observe the following:

Clues that a man IS digging you:

1. He calls you

2. He takes you on dates

3. He is consistent (with the calls, texts, communication, dates)

4. He isn’t bbming when you ARE on a date

5. He makes time for you even when he is busy

Clues that a man is NOT digging you:

1. He doesn’t call you

2. He doesn’t take you on dates

3. He is inconsistent

4. He bbms on the rare occasions when you DO see his punk-ass

5. He is ALWAYS ‘too busy’

Honestly, if Barack can make time for Michelle, then any man on God's green Earth should be able to make time for you.

If you decide to overlook these clues, then, I guess you are just plain stupid.Men will do the things on list 1- and if he does things from list 2, then you need to follow Jennifer Williams’ advice and ‘keep it moving.’

Yes, YOU. Keep it movin'

4. You Have No Standards

‘Don’t make someone a priority that makes you an option.’

If you don’t know your worth, then nobody else will. Especially a man. Lack of self-esteem will lead you to the acceptance of no-good, broke-ass, two-timing loser’s bullshit. Lack of self-esteem will have you meeting dudes at 2am because he’s always ‘busy.’ Lack of self-esteem will have YOU paying for dinner. No self-esteem will have you dating a married man. Uh-uh. This is a reflection of LOW-STANDARDS.

This shit is totally unacceptable. When you have no standards in place, then you have no filter. And, with no filter, you will have a polluted population of bullshit men clouding your space. So set your bar higher, boo-boo. If he cannot pay for the meal, doesn’t call you, can’t keep a stable job, doesn’t speak to you appropriately, curses at his mom, sells dope off the iPhone, has (mad) kids, has a girlfriend, has a boyfriend , then PAUSE. Literally.

You will get choked out in just about any country for messing with another woman's husband.

You have a choice: accept bullshit or accept real shit. Get a dude that is on your level and/or higher –or else, be prepared to take off your earrings to fight his baby’s mother.

5. You’re Frontin’

‘You should stop frontin’- Pharrell Williams

So obviously, not all things that us women have are ‘real.’ (I can certainly attest to this) We do shit to enhance our beauty; appear more attractive- weave, make-up, fake boobs, girdles, false lashes, you get the point. Cool. This is all perfectly normal.

BUT- you should never pretend to be someone that you’re not. The same way that a chick can see through a fake-ass dude, a real ass dude can see through a fake-ass chick. Feel me? Granted, there is a time and place for everything. However, when you meet a man, make sure that you are being yourself. We far too often ‘curb’ who we really are and compromise our preferences, to please a man. If he can’t accept your heavy accent, your dislike of cigarette smoke, your loud obnoxious laugh, your cursing, your temper-tantrums, your taste in music then guess what? He’s probably not for you. Get a man who is willing to handle you so you can stop pretending to be ‘her.’ Be who you are and be proud of it.

I mean, how long are you going to ‘act’ like you’re someone else? – you are not Halle Berry.

Only one me- sorry.

6. You’re Too Damn ‘Nice’

‘I don’t want it if it’s that easy’- Tupac Shakur

Men need a challenge. Men need a challenge. Men need a challenge. Men need a challenge. You get the point. If you’re over accommodating then you’re not providing him with the difficulty that he needs. Men want to pursue. They need to feel like they 'won' you- kind of like a sport . They are competitive by nature- so if you're too damn nice all the time then you become a bore. It may also seem like you’re a push-over and you lack back-bone- very unattractive.

You know what we do when a guy is ‘too nice.’ We run! He could be the best man in the universe- send you roses, call you daily, nightly, and says everything that you want to hear- gives you no resistance. And you will probably end up dodging his ass like raindrops.

So, don’t be too nice. Tell his ass “NO” sometimes. If you don’t want to go to a movie, say that shit! If he was late and didn’t call, tell his ass not to let it happen again. If he turns you off when he’s too drunk, let him know. Guys respect honesty- and you can’t sugarcoat everything. If he can’t handle you keeping it real, then in the words of my favorite comedian, Martin Lawrence-

“Fuck em’ girl. Fuck em’!”

7. You’re Still THIRSTY.

‘Shawty badder than a 3 year-old.’ –Lil’ Wayne

As you can tell from the duplication and re-iteration of my frustration with thirstation, as a single lady, your vibe must be of confidence- and a confident woman is not thirsty. Because she simply knows that she is ‘The Shit.’

Let’s be clear: a man wants a BAD BITCH. A bad-bitch doesn’t have to call a guy every single day. A bad-bitch knows how to fall-back and let the man call HER. A bad-bitch has a certain mentality. A bad-bitch knows her worth. A bad-bitch is not thirsty.

So, if you want to be a bad-bitch, you can’t show too much. Don’t give too much. Excessive texts, expression of interest, photos, phone-calls- all this shit will not make you more desirable. It actually REPELS men. Guys really hate thirsty bitches. So if you’re ‘trying too hard’ then you need to really check-yourself and fall back. This forces HIM to step to the plate.

So which one are you?

Do I look 'thirsty' to you?

8. You Have Nothing to Offer.

‘Drop down and get your eagle on girl’- Nelly

Yup- drop down and get your eagle on if you’re living with your mom, you have a dead-end job, you club every weekend, you’re always trying to get tricked on, you’re solely concerned with your looks and you have no goals - then, you are indeed a BIRD BITCH. When you talk, feathers will probably come out and all you are good for is laying eggs.

Any real woman will have ‘her own.’ A job, an education, money. The same things that women want a man to have (job, education, money) a man wants YOU to have. If you have nothing other than a vagina to offer then what makes you so special?

Independence is sexy.

You are your own being- with a heart, a mind, interests, dreams, talent and a plan. A man wants a woman who has ambition or at least a plan and does something with herself.

A man only wants a bird for ONE thing. Figure it out.

You know how WE do..

Table for One.

noreply@blogger.com (Chevy) — Fri, 12 Aug 2011 15:57:00 +0000

Over green tea and sushi, he was steady on my mind.

I even order tiramisu -just to pass the fucking time.

I contemplate the glorious date that I would finally make him mine.

But I know he’s busy in New York- on his paper-chasing grind.

I continue sipping my tea- I hear extraneous table chatter.

Thinking how loose Americans can be- control of a geriatric bladder.

I take another sip of tea- dismayed by the empty seat.

Imagining how it would be, if he were sitting across from me.

I’d probably be smiling- admiring his lips.

We’d share the dragon roll & discuss exotic cuisine tips.

The purity of his smile - to me is better than the food

Such a precense is enough to elevate my somber mood.

I reflect back on that day- just about two weeks ago-

A hot and early Sunday evening. Looking hot from head to toe.

Just a chance happening- a moment suspended in time.

When we crossed West 4th street- secretly I hoped he’d drop a line.

There was something in his eyes- pure as piano chimes-

Played by an 8 year-old- like a recital at Christmas time.

I take another sip of tea. Take a survey of what they see-

My crazy hair; an empty chair

The waiter is probably thinking

‘Why is she the only one sitting there?’

But I don’t care. Is what it is. Yes, I’m alone up in this bitch.

With more than hunger for tuna rolls- a gaping gap within my soul-

I want to say his name with passion. I want him to make my knees shake.

I want to put this love on him like a seismic earthquake.

Want to hear his voice, daily. Love him hard. Love him heavy.

A lost feeling for four years. Ready to put aside old fears.

After just a couple conversations, the connection sparked elation.

He has my focused concentration- I even canceled another date.

Just the sound of his voice takes my mind to our potential fate.

And Father time will make me wait.

For our eyes never foresee. It could be a fraudulent feeling,

Like the nigga I wrote about last week.

Another pour of the green tea.

An elderly man is staring at me.

I just wonder if he wonders all of the same things about me.

Another glance at the empty chair. Again, I imagine the Prince was there.

And then a deep inhale of air

I request the check, adjust my neck,

I peace up out of there.

Driving home- enjoying the breeze. Biscayne wind blowing the palm trees.

I blast Drake just to escape, the mental blank and space within.

I try my best not to sin- I thank the Lord for letting me breathe.

Almost home.

All alone.

Wondering what He has in store for

We.

The First Night.

noreply@blogger.com (Chevy) — Thu, 28 Jul 2011 18:44:00 +0000

'I should make a move, but I won't.' -Monica

I know you see me, because I see you. I know you’re digging me-
But I don’t need you to. While you were walking up- I was coming down-before I descend further- you quickly turn around. Mr. 400. Stops me for a sec. 'I think I’ve seen you before.' In a past life? Na, it was at the spot- but not the other night.

He said he likes my swag, in so many words. I like his disposition- polished, but not a herb. We step off of the steps- to a secluded space. He’s sizing up my thighs, and I observe his face. Gentle yet pensive eyes. Dark, thick hair. Clean-cut fade. A Ferragamo pair.

Intrigued he asks me more- about my career path- how do I earn a living? What really makes me laugh? We’re at the bar now- throwing a couple back. Compared to what he’s saying, this music's sounding wack.

Are you in a rush? No sir, I’m really not. So come and go with me- to the next spot. Feeling the conversation- we reach our destination. The music is kind of loud. Fragmented crowd. Don’t really like this place. He took me to my car- and then a change of pace.

Can we go and eat? No thanks, I’m not hungry.

It’s getting pretty late- but I enjoyed your company.

Monday night came. July fireworks. He met me downtown. Dinner and dessert. Overlooking the water- we share intimate laughter. I make him smile wide- he loves the friendly chatter.

A man unfolding slowly- in his own way.

I sense the guarded gate- I steadily knock it away.

Not too much into family- but I’m close with mine. He hasn’t seen his momma
- in a long time.

We walk along the water- fierce, warm breeze. We sit along the water- talking with gentle ease. A few moments of silence- the Bay is really quiet. Exchange of current thoughts- really light words.

Then we walk back- I stop him at the curb. Don’t open my door yet- stay here for a second. I open my arms-wide, and hug him for a minute. What was that for? He asks, a little dazed- but this is why people date- so you can learn my ways.

We speed off to Sobe.-a laid-back lounge. I heard the spot was fresh- and always going down.

Approach the bar first- he buys me a strong-drink. We post up on the side- I wonder how he thinks. We watch the people walk. We hear the people talk. And the guitarist plays- some rockish-reggae jams- from back in the day. Head towards the back- it’s like a bashment- dancehall grooves- Jamaican funk style. He grabs another drink- in this tight crowd.

We go to the corner- I stand as he sits. We get a little closer- he touches my waist and hips. The Vodka’s kicking in- the vibes are full of sin- onto the Capleton- feels like he's more than a friend.

We stay a little longer- our connection is feeling stronger- some close exchange of words- he kisses me on my cheek. First time in a while, I felt a little weak. We make our way out -through a tight crowd. The music’s still blazing- but he wants to head south.

Finally he brings me home- I let him come inside. Instant comfort there- he likes my apartment’s vibe. We watch Dave Chappelle- Rick James bitch- I compliment his watch- he gently strokes my wrists.

We chat a little more- he asks ‘why are you single?’ I explain why- he looks me in my eye- I prop my legs up; he starts to rub my thighs.

We talk a little more- laugh at Charlie Murphy- Its getting close to 4- but nobody's in a hurry.

He comes a little closer- before I could remiss- he pulls my face in- and he thieved a kiss. And if you saw his lips- you also wouldn’t resist. I had to back up, attempting to dismiss. Is it ok to kiss? I couldn’t even respond. I was breathless from this physical bond. I slightly hesitated- and then insinuated- the reception was initiated- and then I reciprocated.

Very late now, I had to kick him out. Date 1: accomplished.

He should take a bow.

Femmenace to Society

noreply@blogger.com (Chevy) — Tue, 05 Jul 2011 18:50:00 +0000

I never felt this way before.

As I sat in the airport, after an extended weekend with a male friend, responding to my Monday morning ‘hey girl, so how was it?!’ texts, I realized how happy I was to get away from him. I slept about 8 hours, yet - I felt exhausted. The weekend was enjoyable- yet- unfulfilling. Shallow, ephemeral pleasures: R. Kelly’s concert being the highlight. I had no real ‘connection’ to this young man. The chemistry wasn't as strong as I thought, we're both stubborn, and have differing belief systems. And although he was a gentleman, I received royal treatment, most expenses paid, and a fly Marc Jacobs watch- I sat in terminal T, still, unfulfilled. Not floating on cloud 9. Not replaying any part of the weekend. I was just ready to get back to Miami. Truth be told, I was ready to leave before I even arrived. It’s truly ridiculous how easily turned-off I can be. So capricious- sometimes I disgust myself. In this moment it was when I realized how ‘over’ the concept, notion and even act of dating, I really am. The level of indifference I now have regarding romance, has reached an all-time high. But of course, one doesn’t reach this emotionless, cold place overnight. This has been a progressive, downhill spiral. And who is to blame? Society? Men? The alcohol?

Hell if I know.

Most women dream of fulfilling their maternal, womanly destiny. You know- big dream wedding to the man she loves, a few kids, the ‘ring.’ The notion of perpetuity, a supporting husband, kids that love you, and a comfortable life. She may work, but her number one role is the Queen of the home. Several good friends have partaken in this realm of thinking & are benefitting greatly from it. I support them- fully- however, I have come to accept that it doesn’t happen with as much ease for all women. For some, it doesn’t happen at all.

I used to think that 27 was the ‘golden age’ which I would aim to be married. Here I am- 25- and am as single as an apple in a bucket of oranges. Somewhere along the lines, my priorities shifted. Fiercely independent and guarded, I now take more pleasure in the thought of running the marketing for a Global brand, learning Spanish, and traveling to the Middle East more than a stupid wedding dress or even meeting a good man. They come and they go- and being the serial dater that I am, this I know first-hand. So why should I value men, when they seemingly evaporate after about 2 dates (on average)? They’ve become as dispensable as toilet paper: one-use and its over. The more I look at myself, in my current state, the less I seem like a woman.

‘Act like a Lady, Think Like a Man.’ Not ‘Act like a Man, Be a Man.’

My emotions are distant. I realized how ‘detached’ I have become. Partially, I believe that this is a defense mechanism to avoid pain. When you’re heart is soft, it’s easier to break, I think. So, I only seek to get what a man is willing to give- and most of it is pretty shallow and materialistic. Conversation.. nice dinners.. weekend companionship.. head on occasion- and not much else. Nobody has sustained my interest to the point of true, ‘openness.’ Sadly.

But let me not seem so..’bitter.’ People say that it (love?) comes when you least expect it- and I definitely subscribe to this theory. So I guess the indifferent, accepting frame of mind will keep my self-esteem from plummeting and free me from feeling like a societal menace to womanhood.

Oh- and if the theory is true, I’ll probably be getting a man from it as well.

Let’s see what happens.

Ms. Who

noreply@blogger.com (Chevy) — Thu, 18 Nov 2010 23:47:00 +0000

To All the Misses:

Thinking of your future is never very fun, when the ruminations are reflective of the empirical number: one.

They say you need another to make your house a home- runaway like Kanye, from the solitude and the thoughts of being alone.

It’s like a fatal disease or something bad if you contract-

A career, a home, a dog, by yourself; society told me

Don’t do it like that.

They say- he’s out there, somewhere- he’s waiting in the wing- he’s preparing to mount the white horse- he’s picking out the perfect ring.

But I don’t know if I believe that shit-

Cuz, I got friends with a house, husband, and some kids-and I don’t recall any horses involved- and the ring came after the baby was already kinda’ tall.

Society’s perception is skewed- so don’t believe that mess, at all.

Another thing I failed to mention was Mrs.Whatshername has not an ounce of ambition,

While Ms. Impossible - uses personal achievement as her ammunition.

Mrs. Whatshername, used to play the game- well enough to score a man who already had the fame.

So how could you blame, her, for living life in a skirt. With an infinite pot of riches, she doesn't even need to wash the dishes.

Just wear her high-heels, pretend to cook meals, and look sexy for the man who cheats-

He's paid out his -ass so she dare not make a peep, when his cell phone *beep-beeps* from Ms. Groupie-Bitch demanding a piece of Mr. Whatshisname's treats.

Oh, but wait- Mrs. Whatshername ain't blind, crazy, or dumb-

She has Mr. Man-on-the-side, waiting because her husband treats her like scum

Then there are a fortunate few, blessed to be hybrids of the two- putting her shit first- but making sufficient room,

Not to consume or fill any voids, distracting from life’s more meaningful joys:

Career, man, ring on hand, and 2.5 kids matching the flawless home in which they live.

Mrs. Got-it-All is a dying breed; yet even with our heroin- prototype-

Perfection perpetually remains in hindsight,

For I failed to mention, a cocaine-addiction- hiding in the bathroom - her teenage daughter,

Kristin.

Then Miss Im-doing-me; single mother with baby boy- a medical clerk, yet goes on exotic Caribbean trips

Makes a decent living, although she used to dance for tips-

Even she gets it in with several boyfriends and fancy dates; expensive dinners, on him, and penthouse one-night escapes

Street-savvy enough woman, who knows how to play-

But a stable father for her little-man is about 1000-miles away.

Supporting two lifelines should require a second-mind,

For one choice effects both-not always for the better; yet it’s not her fault that she and Mr. baby-daddy ain’t together.

And then there are the bitches that lack any balance, whatsoever.

Forgetting the natural order, like the birds and the bees-

And alone at night, after the daily fight, all she inhales are promotions, broker’s fees, Louboutin pumps and college degrees.

She might not know how to boil-water, or cook a pot of peas-

But she’s beautiful, powerful & brings these niggas to their knees.

Existing on her own path- and nobody else to please; content in her solace, un-tied

With an uber-confident stride, just going for life’s eventful ride.

Man is not there, and at every failed-attempt, the one that she likes was never ready to commit.

Or he had a shady story; or he had too many babies; or he was married for the papers- but because she's such a fucking-lady,

She won't accept non-sense. She'd rather be alone. Ms. Impossible figured she is better on her own.

She has a business trip tomorrow, she needs to dye her hair, she's penning her first memoir; so time she's reluctant to share.

Ms. Impossible dwells in her autonomy- so, there is just she-and she can just

Be.

And right now, that she, sounds a lot like

Me.

Yes- Miss. Auto-tastic can clean a house, cook a steak, fix a break, roller-skate and even bake- cookies if he likes.

Work out, go-out, chill out, speak out, think out –and when necessary, she can even let the freak-out- let him go with his boys and she don't even pout.

(Get the fuck-out-of here.)

But wait a minute- Miss. Auto-tastic comes home, and there’s nobody else in it.

So what’s a girl to do? Stuck on this conundrum like glue,

She thinks about Mrs. Got-it-All sometimes, in moments of retreat- lil’ Malik’s football games, family gatherings every week

Intimate moments with the husband and her closest of kin

The home awaiting her, daily, with honey-sweet kisses welcoming her in.

And as much as I hate to admit it, sometimes I just drive, aimlessly, to avoid the pounding silence, in the desolate loft that waits for me-

Stupid Ikea lamp; damn black-leather couch-

The lifeless white-walls constantly remind me – ‘its just a fucking house.’

Eating Taco Bell, while sitting in the car- listening to Freddy Cruz, wishing someone would ‘Send for Me’ like Atlantic Starr

Staring at the midnight sky as the stars twinkle bright in a pitch-black sea

Reflecting on the life of Mrs. Whatshername –

Wondering- what if she, was possibly me ?

But then, I snap out of it.

For matron-dom is not my plight.

God put in me a spark- an adventurous zest for the unconventional life.

Ms. Impossible is a traveler- a citizen of the world-

And if she had a 3-year old tied to her leg, how could she ever achieve the glory or any accolades-

With an impatient personality and another life that would weigh her down- or give her a snail-paced start to her ascent up off the ground.

We cannot have it all- because, we all desire different things-

Earthy mothers value the hearth & reigning as the household Queen.

Gypsy girls want to see the world- and meet everyone they can;

And society cannot define her; her world doesn’t revolve around a man.

So Misses of the world, if you still don’t understand

We all have a unique path- and God always has a plan-

And there is no path better than another- that’s like asking if you love your sister more than you love your brother.

We must accept who we are. We are who we choose to be.

You must live out what’s within- for the truth will set you free.

Reconsider

noreply@blogger.com (Chevy) — Fri, 22 Oct 2010 14:07:00 +0000

Things don't always go according to plan

For hesitancy is rooted in doubt

You thought you made a final decision

Until you faltered to carry it out

That something inside, failed to subside

A lingering feeling you thought you could hide

A consistent drip from an old faucet sink

It constantly taps & you try not to think

But there it still dwells and there it remains

Chipping at the subconscious like a wood-pecker on a pane

You try not to notice

You think its alright

Until you can't decide if your decision is right

You like the control- a consquence of the pride

Ego is live and kicking- often steering you to thrive

You thought you had it resolved; you knew that you knew

Until the time to say it; until the time to do

You prepared so long- and it all seemed so right

But the thoughts became separated, from your heart's true plight

Stopping you in the moment, in the middle of your pace

Once going for the gold, you're now indifferent to the race

A paralyzing feeling ; one of instant distaste

You are now slow to respond, disregarding all haste

The spirit takes your helms; the mind is put aside

Pride no longer leads you

Mental is ready to abide

A contemplative heart is not something one can hide

No longer is there doubt; no longer is there fear

Intuition's grip leaves you no choice- but to adhere

You wonder if it's right? But, you do not wonder long

For internal tides turn & the tap has been there too long

No longer is it a choice; its a force beyond control

You finally throw your hands to heaven- you decide to let it go

There's always an ambivalent mind before one can commit

And those who become fulfilled-

Were enlightened to submit.

Almost Paradise

noreply@blogger.com (Chevy) — Tue, 27 Jul 2010 22:24:00 +0000

Almost Paradise

They say that all good things must come to an end

But the wise ones know, it's necessary for a new to

Begin. If you lose one game, it gives another opportunity to win.

We wouldn't distinguish the feeling of joy without a dose of pain

And to experience success, there is unavoidable strain

When there's a shift in seasons, there tends to be a little rain

And as the punishing winds blow and we experience the change

We see the beauty on the horizon

Rising up

Again

The dead leaves wither away and fertilize the Earth

Behold-the flower sprouts, and in us there is a

Re-birth

As we reflect upon the past, the taciturn storms

We rejoice in the harvest from all we thought had gone wrong

We give thanks for the famine

We give thanks for the flood

We glory in the emergence out of the sticks and out of the mud

For without the harsher elements

Non-existent be the rose-bud

Difficulties yield our best growth

And optimum progression

The most abrupt death can unveil a phenomenal blessing

In the midst of the dark and sorrow, we uncover the most epic lessons.

It is not always familiar to those with untrained eyes

For, those lacking vision, will never see past the moment's cries

There is always more to a story

Beyond the cover of a book

So the next time you're dealt a harsh blow

Try to take a deeper look

For faith is belief in the things that are unseen,

And the greatest moral of a story,

Lives in the lines between.

"Random With Reason"

noreply@blogger.com (Chevy) — Sun, 13 Dec 2009 02:34:00 +0000

I'm with the baby on that one.

Last Tuesday, I was waiting for my girl to meet up with me to attend this Google Holiday party. I stood in Starbucks on the corner of Madison and 41st, to avoid the bitter winds. A random guy, in corporate attire, walking down the block, came in and approached me. He seemed a bit nervous..slightly frantic even. He said he had a 'friend' that would love me and that I was everything that his 'friend' was looking for in a woman. I was his 'type.' (ha)
'I really don't do this at all, but he's a REALLY good guy.. looking for something serious..an attorney.. good looking..' I could tell he was a lawyer as well, because this dude was seriously pleading for this phantom-friend of his..

I smiled and listened. Oh yea, to add to the randomality of it all-his 'friend' lives in Oakland California.

(Of course)

He gave me his friend's name and insisted I Facebook him. Did I do it? Of COURSE I did.
And he's actually pretty hot! You know I had to send him a friend request..hey, you never know!

For some reason, the most random things always happen to me. Not a bad thing..for the most part. I tend to attract random people, end up at random events, and random places that most people on my 'level,' don't (open for interpretation). An open-mind and a willingness to take risks I feel is what puts me in random positions. I mean, let's face it, you've got to be open to take on the random shit in order for it to manifest...

Even my job is pretty unusual. And it's amazing. But I love being unconventional. It's the only way I've ever known-even as a child. I was voted 'most-unique' in high-school. The line-name given to me when I 'joined' my sorority was 'Anomalous,' which means 'to deviate from the norm.'
I don't even look like I'm a part of my own family. People have been calling me adopted since I was a 1-year old baby. (Actually thought I was adopted for a while too, but that's another topic.)

But let me just say that stereo-types are for suckers. My Mom has dubbed me 'weird' since I was like 6 years old. And honestly, not much has changed.

But being 'different' puts me in these unique scenarios and as a result, I'm blessed with unique opportunities, as well. If I were to disclose some of the people I've connected with, some places that I've been, some men that have tried to holler at me, you might think I'm lying.

(So, I'll keep the details to myself.)

Certainly I'm not the only girl who has ever been approached by a Latino attorney, in Starbucks, who wanted to play match-maker with his tall, handsome law-school boy who lives on the West-Coast-right? But I just site this as the most recent example of randomonium.

This is also one reason I love to run the streets of NY- I always meet some of God's most interesting children. It keeps life exciting and gives me stories to tell.

On top of all of that, I feel He (God) puts these people in my path for a reason. It's never clear upon initial meeting, but it always makes sense at some point. Reason, season or lifetime, every random encounter, and random place and random person, serves its purpose.

So, dear readers, I challenge you to ponder:

When was your last random encounter and what came of it?

Rebound Girl.

noreply@blogger.com (Chevy) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 02:16:00 +0000

Yes girl, it's you.

Determined to whoop this cold, I walked into the health-drink shop. I felt his eyes following my every move as I sashayed up the block. Bald. Olive-toned. Dark-eyed. Clean-cut. Not bad-but, not my ‘type.’ (You know what that is if you’ve read ‘Type-itis.’) ‘Hi,’ he insisted. ‘Hello,’ I returned. I darted my eyes towards the menu. This cold had to go-what better way to fight it off than with an amalgamation of juice and vegetables that I never eat? My body actually craved it in its miserable state.

The shop had about two-feet of space inside so it was just the two of us.

‘Usually I don’t do this but uhh..what’s your name?’ R.Kelly’s ‘Ignition Remix’ started playing in my head when he said that, and I almost started laughing (I have issues).

I told him. He replied, ‘I’m the guy who wants to make you his rebound girl. Nice to meet you.’

OK, OK, OK, so that’s not what he really said-but he might as well have! I’d soon be associating him with the title: the Rebounder. ‘Nice meeting you,’ I said, brushing him off. I asked the cashier/juice guy ‘what boosts immunity? I have a cold..’ He recommended some fancy-named juice that contained every vegetable on the planet. ‘That’s a good one..I order it sometimes,’ Mr. Rebounder interjected. Clearly, the man was into his health, so I took a medium.

‘You work around here?’ The Rebounder asked. ‘Yea..right on Broadway,’ I followed.

‘What do you do?’ he asked. People always ask me that-especially men. Maybe it’s the hair that throws them for a loop. They always think I’m an artist or a fashionista. (I have that alter-ego but it doesn't pay my bills.) I gave him my 60-seconds job-description. He seemed pretty fascinated. Juice-man handed the Rebounder his protein shake which looked much better that what I had coming.

I could see that he either had twinkle-eye syndrome or he was simply stunned by my beauty. He was intrigued and it oozed out of his pores. Women with confidence know what I’m talking about. It’s that power you feel when you’re secure in your own shit, and the guys see it. After a little more brew-ha-ha, he insisted on exchanging information. While he scurried for a paper and a pen, I calmly whipped out a business card. Real smooth. He took it, we shook hands and he left before me.

After I got my juice, which looked like liquefied throw-up, I started towards my building. 'Cute guy,' I thought; but I didn’t trust him. You don’t always have to ‘know’ someone or hear a Shakespearean soliloquy to get a grasp of his or her spirit. It’s intuition that truly helps us navigate.

I got to work and already knew what to expect: an e-mail from Mr. Rebounder.

I was right. 'How was your juice' was the subject. I replied. We ended up chatting on instant messenger. 'Do you like your job? How old are you? Where do you live? Where are you from? Where are you going?' Boy, this guy sure asked a lot of probing questions. I'm typically not a fan of that, because I'm a pretty private person. And every inquiring soul doesn’t have pure intentions. I mean, look at Wendy Williams.

But I’ll confess-I did enjoy the ping ponging of messages. And was flattered by the depth of interest. So back-and-forth we went.

And then it came out. The ‘g’ word that women dread to hear but we all want to be.

My ‘girlfriend…’

Oh..Your girl? Really? Haha! Interesting. Thanks for that information. I will now explain how a woman processes this after she hears it from a guy who has clearly expressed interest in getting to ‘know her’ better:

First- the word ‘girlfriend’ goes in and somewhat shakes the brain. It’s called ‘the maracas effect.’ It’s the initial ‘shock,’ because although you’ll ask if the guy is ‘single’ at some point, you don’t really expect his ass to say ‘no.’ Especially if he’s clocking you and exchanging contacts.

Second- Emotions arise and they can range from:

Anger: because she feels deceived, sadness: because she just knew that this was Mr. Right, or disappointment: because she set her expectations a little too high, too quick. And lastly, excitement: because she’s kind of trifling and sees the girlfriend as a challenge that she can overcome.

For the women who know that most men are no-good from the jump, they feel- indifference. These types of women have no initial expectations, especially for random men.

Third- Judgment call.

Being a woman, I experienced the ‘maracas’ effect, as I was a bit shocked to hear. (More so because he was so forthcoming about it.) But, there were no emotions to follow. Just indifference. And above all- judgment. Not necessarily ruling him out as scum-of-the Earth, however, you somewhat know what type of man you’re dealing with, for future reference; granted, if it goes that far. He's still involved, even though it's on the break of collapse. But the principle still stands.

We carried on. It wasn’t that serious because I already knew something wasn’t right about him. Plus, I wasn’t checking for him in the first place. We actually looked like we could be related. So it didn’t really matter.

He explained how he and his ‘G’ were on the verge of break-up, but she just didn't know it yet. He was apartment hunting and it was the end of the road. Although I was able to understand and empathize..

I concluded where I fit into this scenario.

Yup…you guessed it. The rebound girl.

(Or so he thinks)

To be continued..

Let's Support Our Own.

noreply@blogger.com (Chevy) — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 16:42:00 +0000

'Comfort in a Cup'

Removed from the madness of Manhattan, sits a quaint and quiescent gourmet tea-shop in Rahway New Jersey. ‘Lay your burdens down and take a break from your journey,’ or simply put, ‘Kataluma’-a Greek term that embodies the spirit of Kataluma Chai-an E-tea-business, opening its doors for the very-first time, in mid-October.

While vacationing in Denver Colorado, friends Danielle Etienne and Aisha Thomas-Petit stumbled across and fell in-love with a gourmet tea cafe. The warm ambiance, charming atmosphere and phenomenal taste of Chai tea left such a lasting impression on the two-that it ultimately inspired a bigger idea: to bring Kataluma to the East Coast.

Unlike Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts, Thomas-Petit and Etienne’s goal is to create a communal, homely environment for customers. ‘This does not feel like a franchise; it feels more like your living room’ describes Thomas-Petit.

After one-year of being devoted customers- having Kataluma Chai shipped from the Washington based-store to Rahway- Thomas-Petit and Etienne decided to take on licensing and vending, online. Both full-time working mothers and wives, Thomas-Petit, a Wall-Street VP of Human Resources for 11-years, and Etienne, a Registered Nurse in a hospital Emergency Room, did not let their personal or professional lives inhibit their vision for bringing that same ‘Kataluma’ experience to Rahway.

After some dialogue with the owner about establishing a presence in the North East, Thomas-Petit and Etienne commissioned a friend to create the website, began shipping the packaged teas from the West-Coast manufacturers and sold the product directly from their website. With a strong emphasis on community involvement and support, they began promoting the online business through local-events, securing vending booths and selling on-site at fashion shows, bazaars, and special church functions. The Rahway Center Partnership has also played an instrumental part in supporting the entrepreneurs. ‘The demand was definitely there for it,’ explained Thomas-Petit, after realizing how receptive customers were to the product.

After nearly three-years of successful e-commerce, and as part of the original terms as a licensee, it was time to launch a store location- but, not without a struggle. ‘We found a great location-but during the worst financial times possible,’ explained Thomas Petit- ‘there were no grants, no loans, no nothing; we were two-African-American women who couldn’t get a dime.’ As a result of the credit-crunch and literally no external financing, both partners resorted to their stellar credit, personal savings and wise decision making to execute their vision. ‘That’s what makes it so personal to us; we’ve put so much hard-work and love into it.’ As partners, Etienne manages the hands-on, day-to-day responsibilities on-site; while Thomas-Petit handles the back-end functions including bookkeeping, payroll and marketing.

Their labor of love has proven effective, as supporters, city officials, and locals anxiously await their grand-opening in mid-October. ‘We already have special requests’ elaborated Thomas-Petit, including a local Jazz-musician to play, a candle-company to display their products and even a Christening. ‘It’s all worth it and we’re very pleased with the results,’ added Thomas-Petit. ‘We would like to have multiple locations in NJ & NY-with more to come.’

It's Not So Bad.

noreply@blogger.com (Chevy) — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 00:22:00 +0000

'Be grateful-for there is someone else who would love to be in your shoes.'

- Walter Hawkins

One Sunday afternoon, I was at church. I can't fully recall how I was feeling before I got there-but I clearly remember how I felt after I left that chapel. I came on time (for once) and was able to participate in praise and worship. The choir had just gotten up. They started singing and before I knew it, my body was covered in spiritual chills. ‘Be Grateful.’ I have been touched by music only a few times in my life-and this was one of those supreme times. The feeling that overcame me that day was indescribable; one that can only be achieved when you’re connected to God’s glory. If I could bottle it up and give it to you, I would. That song packed a powerful message that I feel we all need to hear time and time again.

Be Grateful.

‘Just be thankful for what you got,’ she’d always say. This was one principle that my mother constantly drilled into my sisters and I while growing up: be grateful. When I wanted new clothes but I already had some, she’d pull that line out, ‘just be thankful…don’t you know its some kids out there who barely have clothes?’ And then she’d make me feel bad for taking what I had for granted. She grew up without her mother-and without a lot of other things that every child should be given in life. This I knew-but never thought about until after she cursed me out for being a brat. Nobody on this Earth is capable of bringing you shame the way your mother can. But, I’m glad she did. That shame I felt taught me how to be thankful.

This ingrained principle is so strong that I find it pretty annoying when others act so ungrateful. Especially when I recognize their blessings more clearly then they can. A major indication of the ‘ungrateful’ people, are the complainers. Among these people are several close friends. Some are always complaining about some non-sense. ‘Oh, I’m so broke,’ or ‘I can’t’ or ‘I don’t,’ or ‘I won’t’ or something connoting some sort of ‘lack.’ To the effect that they are blinded and lose all foresight of the good. Hell, I’m broker than all of my friends, but I don’t complain. I live, I have fun, I can pay most of my bills (the important ones) and I don’t want for anything. I know where my blessings come from. Even if I have to eat crackers and grapes for dinner because it’s a rough month, I’m still blessed. The times when we struggle are when we gain a sense of appreciation. Some of my friends live with parents or relatives, have minimal bills and a large portion of pocketed income, yet they still find room to see what they don’t have.

Here are a few realities that we, particularly young urbane professionals, tend to forget:

There are adults with homes going into foreclosure because they lost their jobs. There are many who don’t don’t have a family and don't have a dime to take the train. There are grown-men who turn to crime because they feel inadequate because they cannot support themselves. There are families who live in tin-roof shacks with no heat or plumbing. There are children who wake up and don’t know if they will come home to a hot meal after school. Some children don't like going home out of fear of being beaten, mentally abused, or molested. And some of their parents do it to them. There are teenagers who runaway because they don’t have people who care about them. There are foster-children who are nomadic, and have never experienced what it feels like to have a ‘home.’ There is a man who got sentenced to 10-years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. There is a struggling mother out there who doesn’t have the means to feed her children when she goes home. There are little girls who don’t know how to be ladies because they never had a mother to show them how-so they become promiscuous. There is a 14-year old girl who is pregnant and can't even provide for herself. Many people make minimum-fucking wage and have more bills than you do. There are adults who cannot read past the second-grade level and are afraid to seek out literacy because they are too ashamed. Some don’t have the ability to walk. Others don’t have a sound mind. There is someone out there who just found out they have one-month to live. There are senior citizens who have to work their bodies into the ground, cleaning bathrooms, washing dishes, serving food and getting disrespected on a daily basis, just so they can survive another day. And in the midst of this all, so many of these people are still thankful and find the blessings in life.They keep their shoulders back, chin-up, and smile.

So why can’t we be grateful for what we have? Why can’t the ‘haves’ be grateful?

I think it’s because we need to ‘have-not’ in order to appreciate it.

Am I the most grateful human on Earth-no, I’m not. HOWEVER, there is a damn limit to my complaining, when I do partake in it. It’s my mother’s voice that resonates from my childhood that quickly reminds me; be grateful. It’s the older Spanish lady that I saw, breaking her back to clean the toilets that reminds me; be grateful. It's the prisoner-of-war who was held hostage in a dungeon, chained to a wall for 5-years, and counted each link on the chain and thought of things he was thankful for, that reminds me, be grateful. It’s the sorority sister who has had a drug-addicted mother, has been raped and still holds her head high, which reminds me: be grateful.

Let me be clear: you will never have enough if you feel what you do have, is inadequate. What I mean by this is if you cannot see the value in all that you currently have, you will never see the value in all that you can have. If you make a decent salary, can pay your bills, with money to spare, then damnit, be grateful.

If you were able to hop-up out the bed and put your swag on, then damnit, be grateful. If you ran for that train, fumbled, stumbled and still caught that bad-boy right before the doors shut in your face, the way I did this morning, then be grateful. If you went to your bank account, and had $10 dollars more than you expected, then be grateful. If you can breathe without a tube in your throat, be grateful. If you are going to school, then be grateful. If you can clap your hands, then be grateful. If you have hands, then damnit, please be grateful.These things that we think are so minute, really are a big deal. Appreciate them and you will find more value in all else that comes.

It’s so easy to get caught up in everything: getting more, making more, owning more-more, more, more. It's natural to desire; it's healthy to pursue and fulfill potential. But, we must not lose sight of what we have.

We could just not have anything.

I'd like us all to ponder on the importance of gratitude-because there is always someone who’s worse off than you. And even in your hard times-there is always something to be thankful for.

Be grateful.

Unspoken Truths

noreply@blogger.com (Chevy) — Sat, 02 May 2009 20:28:00 +0000

I wanted to tell her I missed her. The way the desert misses the sun.

If only emotions matched the head.

If only our physical could follow through with the things we think to do

If only courage would order our steps

If only the possibilities we imagined were limitlesss

It's complicated

We say one thing

Think another

and do neither.

We stop ourselves

Limit ourselves

Doubt ourselves

We don't know why

Our heart doesn't match our head.

One pumps

The other ponders.

'Now Top That.'

noreply@blogger.com (Chevy) — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 21:59:00 +0000

'Don't Believe the Hype.'- Public Enemy

Before I go into the post, let me just offer this disclaimer:

I'm BIG on quality.

Be it experience, food, clothing, nail polish..whatever. I hate cheap shit and what I hate even more is overpriced cheap shit.

If you live in the City, you know we've been having a great weather streak (finally). So yesterday after work, I took a stroll down Broadway, en route to a one-year-anniversary party for one of my favorite blogs-StuffFlyPeopleLike.com. Having one hour to kill, I miraculously stumbled across the infamous UK retailer, 'Topshop' which I had been meaning to visit. There was a lot of hype surrounding the arrival of the superstore and I was anxious to find out why...

But after about five minutes, I discovered that the British think that Americans don't know the value of a dollar.

For one, the clothes were poorly made-given that, one would think the price-tag would coincide with the cheap-ass shit that was spread over three-floors of retail space, right? Nope. I saw a light blue denim mini skirt with ruffles. Kind of funky-but nothing spectacular. The material was lightweight and flimsy denim and nothing that you couldn’t pick-up from a regular ‘cheap-chick’ store like Rainbow or Strawberry. The retail value: $60.00.

I dropped that skirt like a hot bowl of grits. I couldn't’t believe it. H&M has better quality items than this Euro-trash and they would charge about 40% less for something very similar. This was totally not my idea of a proper British invasion.

I looked at a purple spandex-Lycra blend mini-$50.00. I put that bad boy right back on the rack, REAL quick. 'What the..F?' Was all I thought in dismay. Why were these pieces so much money? I can go home and hand-sew about 85% of these clothes. Were people really going ga-ga over this crap? Some of the things I saw were actually very cheesy-like the silver sequin leggings. The waistband looked like threads were popping out!

Then there was the jewelry...(sigh). A coral-colored shelled necklace that was a ‘V’ shape and covered the clavicle- I liked it, but didn't LOVE it. Again, I'm all about quality (or at least quality looking) items. Although the chain holding it together was the fakest gold I’d ever seen, the design and the shells made it worth trying it on. It looked good on me. Actually, maybe it was me that brought out the best in it. The retail price: $85.00. You already know what I did with that piece of crap.

Yea- these people really are sick.

The styles were trendy, glam, pop-ish but nothing THAT innovative. The fabrics were disappointing, the accessories were decent but not worth the price demand. You can actually buy a QUALITY piece from a boutique jeweler as opposed to some gigantic-fake gold hoops that'll stretch your earlobes to your shoulders. Or a necklace that'll turn your skin green. Now don't get me wrong-I WILL splurge on solid items, but not a skirt that will fall apart after two-washes.

I left 'Topshop'-very disappointed. There was nothing 'Top' about that place.

Finally, I met up with my friend who actually put me on to Stuffflypeoplelike.com and we made our way inside. I got to meet the 'Fly-Guys' who own and operate the site. The vibe was relaxed, open, and sociable. The guys were very hospitable-and VERY fly.

The guys were actually flyer than the girls...(another sigh).

Good time overall and a nice way to conclude a beautiful Monday evening in the streets of Soho. New York can be such a poetic place.

The city certainly has it's share of Fly and UNfly (TOPSHOP) places to frequent, clothes to wear, and people to meet. If you're going to spend your hard earned cash, or your precious time on a person, place or thing, make it worth it your efforts.

Live well!

'The Little Big Things'

noreply@blogger.com (Chevy) — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 15:47:00 +0000

'The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.'

-Eleanor Roosevelt

This past weekend was Easter. Traditionally, like most Christian (and non-Christian) folks, I’d get dolled-up, go to church, hear the word, and go eat a hearty meal among family afterwards. This year it was a little different.

Ever since I was a little girl, I always had visions. Not really psychic visions, but visions of how I imagined the way I’d live my life. While many of these visions have either morphed into something else or were fleeting, there was always one that stuck. This modern, clean and comfortable two-story home with wall-to-wall carpeting; a sprawling kitchen; a living room with a big-cozy couch; scattered pieces of art from around the world; a few bathrooms; a Moroccan themed bedroom with an enormous bathroom and a walk in closet bursting with fabulous clothes; a sizeable green backyard with a patio; a 2.5 car garage…and a wonderful husband to share it with. For some reason, this dream in particular has been dormant yet unchanging.

The Poconos is a quaint part of Pennsylvania, roughly about 1.5 hours outside of Manhattan.
A new friend of mine (we’ll refer to her as ‘the hostess’), has a ‘getaway’ home out there; in addition to an awesome brownstone she owns and occupies in Crown Heights. She works with my close-friend, who in turn, invited me and another mutual (guy) friend to come spend the Easter weekend. This was a clear deviation from my pious routine for churchin’ but it sounded like a warm idea. Plus, I would get a decent meal, at least.

Early Sunday morning, we made our way out of the city and arrived at the Poconos by noon. It felt good as hell to get out of Brooklyn. I realized how much I missed seeing the trees and open land of rural parts of New York. (Prospect Park has nothing on the beauty of the countryside.) The Delaware Water Gap is mountanous with winding roads, connecting NY to PA (I think). My two friends and I always have a great time when we get together-mainly because we feel 100% comfortable with being who we are around each other- very important to me.

We arrived around noon. Her house was on a hill, situated in a cul-de-sac, where other property still seemed to be in development. When I walked into her house, that nostalgic childhood vision overcame me: Everything from the sunlight beaming into the kitchen and living areas, to the smell of potpourri and Glade scented candle wick and the wall-to-wall, beige carpeting. I embraced ‘the hostess’ and my eyes widened at the elegant simplicity and warmth of her abode. Even the small details like an oil on canvas painting on a kitchen wall sitting area overlooking the vast backyard, to the ‘Uptown Magazine’ I picked up among a spread of other leisurely black-interests magazines laying on various table tops, and even the three-pronged forks were what I envisioned in my future home. The simple elements made the space so warm and pleasurable.

We cooked, (well, they cooked but I washed a few plates) watched Tyler Perry movies, and shared inappropriate jokes in the spirit of Love. It’s been a while since I had a fabulous sit-down meal, so fulfilling, among friends and in a warm and welcoming place. It really was a Happy Easter.

‘The hostess’ is 42(?) established in her career, gorgeous, accomplished, married, with two boys and living her life comfortably. I’m a 23 year old gypsy that’s still climbing and in search of….something. And maybe she is too, but that’s another topic.

After dinner, I just sat on the sofa and reflected on that unchanging vision. This guy crush of mine hit me up just the day before (another highlight of my weekend) and I thought about the ‘husband’ part of my childhood fantasy. I could see myself in a place like this, with a man like him. He distanced himself from socialization (and me) in efforts to be ‘focused’ on completeing law-school-which I respect- but this visit to the Poconos just rekindled my sentimental thoughts & hopes of possibly being with him one day. I went into fantasy mode, visualizing him walking through the door like a smooth knight in shining armor, in his little business suit, giving me a juicy kiss on the cheek while I’m cooking some steak and potatoes.

I just smiled ..and sighed.

Not in love..just entertaining the possibilities.

But hey, I’m an optimist. If I can conceive it, and I believe it, then I can achieve it. (Sorry if this sounds like some fairytale book crap, but so what-I’m a PRINCESS, damnit.)

It’s amazing how some things in life one will always desire- and hopefully gain. The dreams that we have, no matter how big or small, are a preview to life’s coming attractions..they manifest if you never lose sight of the possibilities…

'The People's Poem'

noreply@blogger.com (Chevy) — Tue, 31 Mar 2009 03:02:00 +0000

When it's time to make a choice

We must choose, quick.

For in light of every decision,

Consequences are made to stick.

But when I'm faced to choose, I can never seem to pick

And when I do decide, it's never a proper fit

So at every opportunity to gain, with an open heart I pray,

I get,

The chance for my mind to shine brighter when my bulb is dimly lit

I may not always understand these shuffled papers full of type,

I may not comprehend numeric values left and right,

But eyes exposed to the world leaves nothing faulty within sight

For all this beauty I'm taking in, propels my ink on paper,

to Write.

And save these stories from the darkness

Granting these untold truths some

Light.

It has been said that art imitates life

It's the same life I see, surrounding me, while riding the 3, that inspires me

To prove this theory,

Right.

So I write about the sites-

The art of observation

Thanking my omnipotent Creator

For visual pre-occupation

So on days like today when I'm feeling irrate or impatient

I blink my eyes, and stray away from cowardly lamentation

Instead embracing my obligation

Thanking Him for not foresaking, me.

Asking for courage and duality,

To pursue my passion, with energy, still,

To wake up in the morning to work and pay my bills

But even in the very job that I curse,

There's a rare blessing each time I reach for my purse,

And run out the door, boarding, at 8:34,

I'll open my eyes, enthralled to see,

The beauty of human life all around me,

Riding the rails, with places to be,

Carrying on, with a will that's

Free.

Yet, somehow, we all feel the same captivity,

Of going somewhere we would rather not,

Be.

'One Year Later'

noreply@blogger.com (Chevy) — Wed, 18 Mar 2009 17:26:00 +0000

‘Show me a sane man and I will cure him for you.’- Carl Gustav Jung

At around 6:45 this morning, a presence in my apartment awakened me like a light tap on the shoulder. The sound of footprints made me instantly open my eyes. I felt calm and well rested for once. I knew that had to be the presence of God. ‘Thank you Jesus’ was all I could say as I blinked my eyes and yawned. This was one of those ‘feel good’ mornings. While still lying down, I was vividly recollecting last night’s dreams. On the rare occasions when I do actually remember my dreams, I’ll forget all of the details. But this morning was different. Maybe those almonds I’ve been eating were finally starting to kick in and trigger some of those memory cells that I don’t use. I don’t know what it was.

Springing out of bed, I made my way to my Mac and started jotting down everything about my dream before amnesia took over. The extra 20-minutes from my early awakening, were being put to great use (Lord knows that I am the Queen procrastinator). I was even left with some time to do some crunches! Hurray! This was turning out to be an awesome morning.

Aboard the train on my way to work, I realized it was one-year-later. One year ago, I started my job. I reflected on my first day of work and compared it to the insanely busy days I’ve been having, this year. Funny enough, I looked down at my sweater-a burnt orange colored v-neck knit-and realized: I even had on the SAME SHIRT that I wore on my first day of work! What a coinky dink.

There was a crazy man that I took note of while waiting on the platform. On the train, he stood to my left and I kept him in my peripherals. We made eye-contact and I put on my ‘don’t fuck with me’ face. That always works. I think I’ve been blessed with a certain power- it’s weird because people actually take heed to it. He was muttering profanities under his breath which was the first indication of ‘crazy.’ Naturally, these are the ‘types’ you have to watch…

While reading some research material I’d printed, some man who looked like Borat was trying to get by and damn near knocked me over. Cumbersomely regaining my bearings, I looked at him like he was out of his mind. Can’t people at least say excuse me? I just rolled my eyes and went back to my notes. Shortly after being thrown-off balance, the bonafide ‘crazy’ from the platform started showing out. There was a red-head Irish looking man who was standing in front of him, facing me. The 'crazy' told him to move to another spot (although the white-dude was not in his way). Of course, Mr. White-man actually responded-I just shook my head, watching the disaster unfold. He should have never even entertained that fool’s comment.

Then all I heard was ‘This Caucasian muh-fucka…fuck this..fuck dat..’ ‘Oh yea, he is all jacked up’ was all I thought. Just down right ignorant. Of course, it was a Black dude-pulling the most racist and ignorant shit to say out of his back pocket. ‘I asked you to move ova dat way..’ the 'crazy' said. ‘Well, you didn’t ask very nicely,’ Mr. White-man said in a surprisingly stern voice. I was happy he stood his ground. Now all he needed was the ‘don’t fuck with me’ stare, and he would be good. The ‘crazy’ started to get loud and started causing a scene. The two exchanged words and finally a white-woman who was standing near the white-guy volunteered to change places with him since the ‘crazy’ had a problem with the white guy standing there. That solved the problem-but it didn’t stop the ‘crazy’ from talking reckless.

‘For all ya’ll that didn’t ova-stand what I just did, FUCK YA’LL muh-fuckas!’ He muttered while coming near me. What the hell does 'ova-stand' mean anyways? I just hoped this fool didn’t have a gun. I thought about ways to attack him in case he tried to get at me. I would definitely be kicking him in the balls if he tried me. I was not scared either.

But again, thank you Jesus. He took his crazy-ass to the middle of the train and finally shut-the- hell up. I just looked at him and went back to reading my notes. I think we all have a little crazy in us-but that dude just wasn’t right. Some people have nothing better to do than disturb peaceful commuters.

History does repeat itself. The same way I wore my same sweater, on the same day one year later, I'm sure that same 'crazy' will go onto the next train and terrorize more innocent Irish-men.

OK, so technically my sweater has nothing to do with my train experience. But, you know what I’m saying.

Fried Corn Tamales

noreply@blogger.com (Chevy) — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 05:57:00 +0000

‘I try to pretend that I’m different but in the end we’re all the same’- Jay-Z

Everyone is special-in a minuscule way. I remember being about five years old, living in Atlanta. My mother was combing my hair while I sat on the floor, Indian-style between her legs. I looked at my skin and we started talking about color. My mother has always resembled Salt from Salt’n’Pepa-especially back in the day. She’s light-skinned, yet she still looks like she’s got Black in her. Now, me on the other hand…? Being a five-year old, with a light mother, a brown daddy, and a light-brown sister, I didn’t understand why I looked the way I did. So I asked her-wait, correction- I TOLD her, ‘Mommy I’m white.’ Of course, when you’re a Kindergartener and just learning how to spell your first name, genetics, skin-color, and ethnicity are far-fetched topics. She said ‘no, you’re Black, you’re just light-skinned-like me and your aunties. Black people come in all colors Chavonne.’ Yes, my Aunt’s were lighter toned women, but they still looked more ‘Black’ than I did. In my mind her rationale wasn’t acceptable; although she was right. ‘But my skin is too light-and Dae-Dae’s (my sister) is brown. Everybody thinks I’m white,’ I said, confused at the contradictory notion of ‘White-skinned Black people.’ Always a slight smart-ass, I was questioning my mother and she wasn’t giving me the answers that would satiate my curiosity. It just didn’t make sense. ‘You are NOT white-look at me and look at Sammy (my father). You came from us.’ I just sat there, getting the brush yanked through my scalp and getting scolded by my Mom: frustrated.

People would ask me all of the time-‘what ARE you?’ And I would say ‘Black’ and they would look at me like I was out of my mind. ‘No you’re not.’ ‘Yes I AM.’ ‘You’re a white or Puerto-Rican, but you not black,’ is what I would hear time and time again. It wouldn’t be until I was a round 10 that I’d learn the specifics. My mother’s mother was full-blooded Spanish and her father was Black. My father’s mother was Black and Creole and his father is Native-American and Black-I happened to come out with the fair-skin, sharp features, and dark curly hair. To this day people see my sister and I and will sit there and TELL us ‘ya’ll ain’t sisters.’ Today, I don’t take that ignorance to heart-but, as a young girl struggling with her identity and feeling like a social outcast to my own damn kind, being told that my flesh and blood sister ‘ain’t my sister,’ was hurtful. Why would you tell me that she is NOT my sister? I HATED being told I’m not what I KNEW I was. I HATED when people called me ‘White.’ And I HATED people telling me that Dae Dae was not my sister. It was early on when I learned how ignorant and insensitive people, particularly my people, could be.

Fried?

From my second grade classroom, to the kids on the block, I always felt slighted for not looking ‘Black’ enough. Even my cousins called me ‘White girl.’ Although it was in jest, I hated when they said that. It was another way of making me feel like I didn’t belong to my own kind. To top that off, I was intelligent and had diverse interests-so that really made people question my Blackness. People always wanted me to prove myself; but I knew who the hell I was. African-American culture was the only culture I fully identified with. I was raised on fried-chicken, macaroni n’ cheese, ramen noodles, listening to Al Green and Tupac, drank Kool-Aid, and attended nothing but public school. I slept in the bed with my mom and two sisters in a one-bedroom roach-infested apartment. I had to wear ‘Payless’ shoes. I had to baby-sit as a seven-year old so my mom could go to work. I got whoopings and I got yelled at. My aunt was murdered and hung from a tree. I lost teenage male friends to gun-violence. I’ve seen just about every male figure in my life get locked up. My father and my uncles sold drugs. There was nothing anyone could tell me about not being ‘hood’ or knowing what the fuck it meant to ‘struggle’ all because I’m ‘light-skinned.’ That has nothing to do with experience and this is something I recognized very early on.

Regardless of the way I grew up, those factors don’t define me. Cultural aspects, such as the music, food, and jargon are natural influences and I agree that many people are products of their environment. However, God blessed us all with a free will. Just because my father went to jail, that does not relegate me to do a bid. And just because my mother had me when she was 18 doesn’t mean that I’m popping one out fresh out of high-school. We all make our own choices. I chose a very different one. Seek and ye shall find. It’s unfortunate that many Black people end up making the same bad decisions that others have made. I always knew where I came from-respected it, appreciated it; yet, I also knew there was more than the world outside of my window.

Corn?

‘What are you?’ has got to be the most annoying question when put in terms of race. It’s natural to be curious, and I have no problem with being asked the specifics of my origins only when asked with a little more grace, you know? When that’s the very first thing someone asks me, it comes off as brash and small-minded. As if my racial identity will qualify me for further interaction. I always think, ‘what do you mean, what am I?’ It sounds as if they’re asking if I’m an extra-terrestrial or a barnyard animal. The answer to this question is very obvious. 1) I’m a human being, 2) I’m a female, 3) I’m a child of God. So aren’t those three factors clear and good enough? Or would they prefer me to say ‘I’m a rare bird from the northern hemisphere?’

It’s sad how some grown-ass people still don’t understand the basic concept of genetics. Genes are passed down and if one person out of 1000 grandparents had blonde hair and blue eyes, there is a chance that you’re child may have it too, even if you are honey-brown with dark eyes. If you’ve ever indulged in a little daytime TV, you would see men getting DNA tests on Maury Pauvich to determine if a child, with the same damn nose, eyeballs and ear shape belongs to them because they have a ‘different skin tone.’ They know good and well that that child belongs to them. Yet, they try to pull that 'color-card' bullshit. So sad.No matter how much you may have in common with others, even as significant as sharing the same parents, people will always look at what makes you different, and dwell on that. If you look different, you are assumed to have major differences in your internal wiring-which is simply not true. In fact, scientific evidence proves that the genetic difference between ANY two people on the planet is .2% or less. That means we are ALL 99.8% the same. Isn’t that amazing? Regardless of being pasty pale, charcoal black, freckle faced, kinky-naps or puggly-pig nosed-what we share far outweighs how we differ.

Tamales?

There are not many drastic differences in ‘White’ features per say, yet there are some. African-Americans, Caribbean, Native Americans, Latinos, Indians, and Africans come visibly in more varieties. Most of these groups, particularly the Blacks, Latinos, and Indians have negatively embedded social views of the darker-colored members. I know that’s a hard pill to swallow, but it’s the truth. And if you are a member of any of those ethnicities, I can guarantee you have witnessed this prejudice on some level. While most possess a deeper hue of ‘brown, red or yellow’ those of us who are members of these ethnicities, and lack the melanin, are often questioned, favored socially, or deemed more beautiful by the majority. This mentality stems back to the oppressions of slavery. The Willie Lynch letter was the blueprint to self-hate. Europeans had the power and made Africans, Latinos, and Indians submit, and broke down their self-value. The false ideology of ‘white supremacy’ was heavily embedded into the colored-conscious, period. We have come a long way in escaping it; yet, the esteems of our cultures are still very much affected by it. Nothing against any of my White brothers or sisters, but this is factual. It was very powerful and effective way to focus on the differences and keep us separated instead of unifying-and it still works.

And He has made from one blood every nation of men to dwell on all the face of the earth-Acts 17:26

I meet a lot of people-from various social-classes, religions and ethnicities. Many of these people, while being so different from me on the surface, after digging a little deeper, it’s easy to make a connection. What many Black folk don’t realize is that just because you may use the same damn Palmer’s cocoa butter to heal ashy skin, this does not mean that we are socially in tuned with one another. A guy I just met asked me ‘what’s your background?’ I replied, ‘educational background? Work? Criminal record?’ I had no idea what he was getting at. But of course, he was asking me my race. It’s ironic how the same qualities, once viewed as negative, that people used to separate me are now positive. Actually, they have always been positive-I simply couldn’t accept or fully understand it. But, now I do.

Our differences don’t lay in the actual pigmentation of the skin, or the texture of our hair. It’s the cultures that bring about our commonalities and help us relate and understand one another. -Food, music, jargon, fashion and the collective mentality are major aspects. Then again, as a modern society, we all can identify with the most important things. Characteristics, like artistic transcends ethnicity. There are artists from every culture on this planet. There are always going to be differences and ways to sub-categorize our similarities. For instance, 13 year-olds take interest in many of the same things because they have a similar mindset as a whole. Punjabi Sikhs recognize and bond when they encounter each other in passing- just from the head-wraps they have on. Percussionists all have a common thread. Fashion designers share a special bond and so do senior citizens. While people of Color do share that same visible reality-there is so much more to what we share with many others, regardless of that .02% difference. It is the sub-cultures that divide and unite us on micro-levels.

No matter how we dice ourselves, how many niches are carved, we all bleed red. We all feel pain when pinched. We all were conceived in coitus. We all must eat to live. We all breathe at least one breath. We all come from the Earth and will go right back in it when we die.

Even Jay-Z recognizes that he’s no different from anybody else. And in the end, we really are all the same.

'Blame It On The...'

noreply@blogger.com (Chevy) — Tue, 10 Feb 2009 00:03:00 +0000

"For every action there's a RIH-action."

I was stunned by this morning's news. R&B golden boy Chris Brown really got arrested! I'm sure you all heard about the 'incident' that ocurred in L.A. last night with Chris Brown. If not, let me bring you up to speed. He was arrested on assault charges and released on $50,000 bail. Chris done put his hands on some 'unidentified female' (Rihanna), leaving her with 'visible injuries' (keep in mind, she is high-yellow). They said Chris 'left the scene' abandoning the Ferrari along with the chick in the car (Rihanna). Apparently, Breezy was able to 'Run it' before the po-po came- but he politely turned himself in: so politely that the officers actually complimented him in bookings. What a good lil' criminal you are, Chris.

There have been mixed opinions on this developing story. Because it's so unexpected, I think many people are forgiving and even empathetic towards the pop-Prince. (I mean, we don't really know what went down, but whatever.) He has that charming, good-boy modern image and is one of the very few R&B-Pop artists that parents can let kids under 12 listen to. Then there are some people who are already making him out to be the 09' version of Ike Turner. Although Chris has never been depicted as the 'eat-the-cake' forcing type, he's already being slammed by the blogs, media etc. As a result, Wrigley's Gum, his most recent endorser, has already suspended Chris' ad-campaign. Hopefully the farmers from 'Got Milk' will cut him some slack.

I'm sure there's a lot of anger, frustration, and hurt feelings which led to the snuffin.' Think about it. They're driving in the car, alone, having one of those 'post-break-up arguments.' Their dialogue leading up to the violence probably went something like this:

(Disclaimer: for entertainment purposes only)

Rihanna: 'I'm sick of your shit Chris-why can't you just act right!'

Chris B: 'Yo, I'm dropping you off-don't call me no more..'

Rihanna: 'You so selfish-you don't care about nobody but yourself!!!'

Chris B: 'This is exactly why we not together'

Rihanna: 'We not because you always cheatin' on me!'

Chris B: 'What? I said it wasn't me..'

Rihanna: 'I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU SAID!'

Chris B: 'YOO OO OOO...you need to calm down. I told you IT'S A WRAP..'

Rihanna: 'You said you loved me! Don't these tattoos mean anything to you!!?!

Chris B: 'I'm 19 years old GIRL! You is not my mom!

Rihanna: 'I will punch you dead in your face Chris!'

And then *BONG* she snuffed him: then it was ON. Chris got really pissed and in an effort to restrain her, ended up shaking the shit out of her. I know Rihanna is a fiesty little thang and has a stank-ass attitude (I met her) plus she's Bajan, and you know how some of those West Indian women get down. I've had my personal run-ins with a couple...

We all know that Anna Mae never deserved those ass-whoopings-but this is totally different.

When most people hear about a 'man assaulting a woman' it's automatically the dude's fault. He becomes the 'bad guy.' So now everyone wants to hate Chris. Let me be clear: I'm not condoning him hitting her. No man should ever fight a woman for obvious reasons; but we don't know the dynamics. She is not an angel and I don't think she's a victim. Personally, I think Miss 'Good Girl Gone Bad' had a temper-tantrum and provoked him. We all know Chris is a 'country boy from Tapohonnack' and his mother raised him right. He's not just gonna' beat on his shorty because he feels like it. He may have been just protecting himself and she could have been throwing the bo's, you know?

Well why did he run if he was innocent you ask? Let's be realistic-who is really going to believe him if he said 'she hit me first and I was just trying to stop it.' Please. Although Chris Brown is famous, he is still 1) A Man and 2) A Black man. There was no escaping an arrest-even if Rhianna pistol-whipped him and bust his head wide open.

Something else to bear in mind is they're alleged recent break-up. He dumped her. I mean, I've been dumped before so I know how it feels Rhi-Rhi. It does make you want to fight, cry, and hug that very person.

Yes, they are kind of young to have Ike and Tina moments but, it happens all the time. Nobody is exempt from relationship problems just because they have hit records, Ferraris or dope haircuts. I just hope they don't slap my boy with a jail sentence. Or worst yet, completely snatch his endorsements. I still think that he is a very good role model for the youth in spite of this little incident.

And I doubt Rihanna will press charges-that's still her boo.

**I know a lot of you probably don't agree with my view but...

OH WELL.

'My New Addiction'

noreply@blogger.com (Chevy) — Fri, 16 Jan 2009 06:58:00 +0000

'Vince, this town loves a comeback! And since Britney f*cked her's up, it's all you!'

-Ari Gold

My best 2008 Christmas gift, next to a modern-acrylic painting of a female DJ scratching on turn-tables, had to be the complete fourth season of HBO's 'Entourage.' I swear this show is like visual crack-ADDICTING! I can watch (and re-watch) episode after episode, in my pajamas, all day. Of course, some are better than others, but there hasn't been one single episode that has disappointed. What's cool about HBO, is that they have equilibrium in their programming (kudos). 'Entourage' is like the dude-version of 'Sex & the City,' and instead of mediocre-looking mid-age, New York City divas, the Entourage boys are like a hot, young, machismo rat-pack. In 'Entourage' the film industry is the focus and the Los Angeles scene replaces New York City.

The characterization of 'Entourage' and the suspense is what keeps me glued to my screen, episode after episode. The show is about four-friends from Queens-Vince, Drama, Eric, and Turtle- who venture to Hollywood in support of Vince on his ascent to stardom. Watching them crack immature, pig-headed jokes is a major part of the allure. The random run-ins with familiar celeb faces, in regular and unusual situations keeps it pretty interesting. 'Entourage' is loosely based' on the life of Mark Wahlberg-whose also the executive producer. So, it's no wonder why 'Entourage' scored 3 Golden-Globe nominations: Mr. Wahlberg's got his hands in it.

This show has definitely become my new addiction for a few reasons:

1) Adrian Grenier's Fine-Ass.
This is 'Vincent Chase,' the humble and optimistic dreamy star that the 'entourage' technically revolves around. Even if this show was as bad as 'Gigli,' I honestly wouldn't give a fuck. I'd still watch it just to see Adrian Grenier. Lord have mercy-some men are so blessed!

2) F-ing Ari Gold!
Ari is THE MAN.
He keeps the show exciting. With Ari Gold(Jeremy Piven) always grinding as Vince's agent and playing the Hollywood game like a true G, his role is totally believable. The ultimate chauvinist who's also surprisingly sincere, overall, he is my favorite character. The energy he brings is amazing-so no suprise he won 'best supporting actor in a comdey series.' His spastic moments of cursing people out and bouts of randomness with his hyper-sensitive, gay Asian assistant 'Lloyd,' has had me laughing so hard that my neighbors heard me.

3)It's Exciting.
OK, so I'm no Hollywood agent-but dammit, if I don't want to pack my shit and drive cross-country to be an extra in at least ONE episode of 'Entourage' after I watch it. Now that's inspiration.

4) The Realism.
They always have some random celebrity showing their face in the episodes-and it's refreshing. The writer's interweave them into the plot, so it never seems awkward. It gives viewers an element of surprise. From Mary J. Blige to M. Night Shyamalan, you never know who may pop-into the next episode. Even Bow-Wow is a regular on the series. Aside from that, there are plenty of naked sex-scenes. I mean, Vince is a Hollywood sex-symbol. It's only right.

5) Variety, Variety, Variety
Listen closely to the music score. There are always hot songs playing-sometimes within the episodes, in the beginning, and always at the end of the show. The songs are always so fitting-and makes me look forward to seeing the next episode. It's never exclusive to one genre-I've heard Tupac, Santogold and even Tony Bennett. On point.

So, if you still haven't seen 'Entourage,' than you need a hit.

It's good shit-

'We Grown-Ups'

noreply@blogger.com (Chevy) — Sun, 11 Jan 2009 07:47:00 +0000

'The ability to accept responsibility is the measure of the man.'

-Roy L. Smith

A bitingly cold Saturday in December, in the middle of the ice rink at Rockefeller Center, there they were. He stood on bended knee, holding a semi-frost bitten fourth finger on the left hand of his bride-to-be. He asked, ‘shorty, will you marry me?’ And she happily agreed. They kissed, her eyes filled with a frozen teary mist, and they popped champagne to celebrate their bliss. He and his fiancé will go on to buy a house, explore the world, and birth a baby boy or girl. All in the midst of their new-found ecstasy, there is sure to be, laughing, crying, giving and relying, all in the name of the four letter word that most people hear yet feel they don’t deserve.

True Story.

As I continued to scan through the ‘My Engagement’ facebook photo album of one of my beloved fraternity brothers, it made me think: I am really a grown-up. Lately, it seems that more and more of my peers are getting knocked up, locked-down and exiting singledom. ‘Wow-he’s engaged?’ I thought. This is the life that I never thought I'd live when I was a six-year old girl, just looking at grown-ups on TV. Yea, I made my Barbies get married and shit, but I didn't know that my life-size friends would be like her and Ken. Who would have thought! This past week I heard news of about SIX women that I know, being pregnant (yes, six). My alter-ego stood there shaking her head while covering her ears.

Confession:

As much as I hate to admit this, the news of the pregnancies had me- the epitome of a 23-year old Brooklyn bachelorette, daydreaming about the idea of being with child one day. Can you believe that? Again, the alter-ego stood there, perplexed, asking- ‘What the fuck is your problem!? A BABY? Girl, you're trippin.’ That had to be a biological backlash or something because I am very ‘anti-baby’ right now. But, I blocked her out, and really sat there, thinking about babies, wondering- how many pounds I would gain if I got pregnant? Who would be my baby’s daddy? Will a ‘Mr. Do-Right’ come along and share the joys and pains? And again, my alter-ego interjected –‘ DO NOT get pregnant you fool!’

Weird.

But a woman thinking about motherhood is inevitable. The same way the sun rises in the East and birds fly South, certain things are just destined to happen. Like DNA and weather patterns, some things are simply out of our control. Men and women were put on this Earth to be fruitful and multiply-right? And, ain’t I a woman? I am-so, it’s simply natural to think about those things. I’ve always been a ‘late-bloomer,’ so maybe that’s why those ‘thoughts’ seemed so strange -at least at this point. Some friends of mine began baby-makin’ in middle-school. That was unfathomable for me at the time-hell, I didn’t even need a bra…and sadly, still barely need one.

Moving along…

The multiple marriages and childbirth among my peers are two major signs of adulthood. Back in October, I played bridesmaid in a wedding for a dear friend from high-school. As I stood at the alter, holding the red and black rose bouquet, I watched her tranquilly walk down the isle. The chapel stood still as a sea of white elegantly floated through the pews. It was one of those timeless, rare moments that God blesses us with. Even in the midst of what makes most women yearn for marriage, I had a different kind of epiphany:

Better her than me!

With commitment (particularly the lifelong ones aforementioned) comes duty. Responsibility. When you have a child, no longer are you just (insert your name______) anymore. You are

( ______), the mother or the father of your child. Your name becomes attached to your offspring. The same principle applies to marriage. Given the drastic lifelong, lifestyle change, this is not an easy task. Walking down an isle and having a child are both full-time commitments. That kid is now a life you must manage, and ensure that's properly raised. The Bible states that a man must ‘leave his mother and cleave to his wife,’ thus unifying as one being. And a child is considered the ‘fruit of your loins.’ But child-rearing is much more complex than planting apple seeds: although it takes only a couple of minutes to make a baby.

When people decide to 'take that step,' there's no more coming and going as you please. No more splurging on bullshit when you have a mortgage to pay. No more ‘dating,’ (Yikes) And long gone are the days when you come home drunk from parties and sleep in on Saturdays because those Saturday mornings now belong to ‘yo kids’ and Spongebob Square Pants. The fresh scent of a dookie-diapar and kiddy-fights over who gets to play with a stupid, broke down toy is what will now awaken you. Clearly, I’m not a ‘parent’ but I AM the eldest-child who was raised in a single-parent home for much of my childhood. Needless to say, I’ve co-parented enough to know what comes with the territory; also another part of why I don’t want children right now. I even see it with my own sister and baby niece- she simply can’t do what she wants without thinking twice. There always has to be clearance for someone (usually my mother or one of my other younger sisters) to baby-sit baby-girl before my sister can do her thing. And if my Mom has an attitude or my sisters are not in the mood..? She keeps her ass right at home with Little Bo Peep.

Now, although I’m not ‘there yet,’ I believe fulfilling the role as a ‘mommy, daddy, husband, or wife’ changes most of us for the better. For with the acceptance of responsibility comes maturity. And when we mature, it builds character. That ‘ego’ takes a backseat and we change the order of our priorities.

We grow up.

I finally snapped out of my maternal-daze and came back to my current serial-dater reality. I don’t have that magic that my friend and her husband shared while exchanging their vows, nor that urge to be on bended knee wearing ice skates with 500 people looking. Honestly, the thought of substituting myself in either one of their places scares the shit out of me. But, to my friends whose hearts are secured, with child or the love of your life-cheers. My alter-ego is still kicking and going strong; she won’t let me give into these commitments that will tame her and tie her down. She has more places to go, more people to meet and more things to discover while unattached and independent. She wants to be the best she can be before she faces the roles she’s destined to fulfill. She desires to be the best mother and lover possible. She is a ‘grown-up,’ yet she feels God has other places for her to be before finally anchoring her with a family-the act of grown-ness. She will continue to accept onus for other things in the meantime.

She knows it will happen… it’s just not her time-

Yet.