I wrote earlier about how I was sad that Alicia Keys is dating a married man, producer Swiss Beats, and has made no apologies about it. Although there have been more and more postings about K.Swiss fiasco ( I dubbed this name first!), my love of her music is forcing me to try to overlook her, as Big Tiger would say, indiscretions. But when I heard about Fantasia Barrino, I just had to kick the can!
Yes, Fantasia ya'll. Our favorite homegirl American Idol winner that has gone on to put out two albums and a Lifetime movie. Fantasia- Celie of Oprah's The Color Purple stage play. Young Dro's old beau. The woman who's teen life was shaped by being done wrong by a man. That Fantasia. Well, she is now dating a married man too that she...wait for it...MET AT THE SPRINT STORE!
Ugghhh...You know, people go on and on about Gay marriage and atheism but I feel like pulling what Fantasia is pulling is what is really eating away at the fabric of this country. What the Hell happened to the girlfriend's code of conduct?
And we all know what that is whether we choose to live buy it or not ladies. Don't date your bff's ex, return things in better condition than you borrowed them and oh yeah...DON'T ENTERTAIN A MARRIED MAN! Women just don't care anymore. Blame it on a lack of available straight men. Blame it on the income gap between men and women. Hell, blame it on the alcohol. But celebs and everyday broads alike are sporting the married man like the latest Coach bag and in my o-pin-ion, it just isn't cool.
Dating a married man is not new. But I yearn for a time when the other woman stayed in the shadows and just enjoyed expensive gifts and vacations. Then if there was a divorce (very rarely) she would run off into the sunset with her beau...until he found someone else to replace her with.
Why am I irritated if I am not in the situation? Newsflash: all single women are in the situation. Each of us has to deal with what the last girl let the man get away with. Sad but true fact.
On the other hand, I guess it just boils down to that pesky need to be happy, even if it ultimately resorts in unhappiness on someone's end.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Eye of the Tiger: You have to be kidding!
If you are anything like me, you have been following the drama that is the unraveling of Tiger Woods' career. What a mess, right? I have literally been glued to the TV. Every day, another chick comes out of the woodwork to admit that she has boned the golf icon, accompanied by 20 pages of text messages, pics, and a voicemail. The only thing this story is missing is a stained dress!
I have to be honest: I have never been the biggest fan of Tiger. Something about his visible detachment with his black half has always made me uncomfortable. Yet, there is still no denial that he is good at what he does. He brings excitement to an otherwise BORING sport, and was in every other commercial I saw on prime time. The man was so squeaky clean, with his buck teeth and big head, that he reminded you of that awkward third grader that sat in the back of the class. I mean, you felt like you could eat out of his hand!
But not anymore. He has been using his hand for other things, and it has put him in some deep do-do! His wife moved back to Sweden, he has lost endorsements, his mistresses are making money off of the story, and after watching the news a while ago, I heard he has gone into hiding.
Let's be real here: men cheat. Not excusing it, but it is true. What pisses me off is that he is whack; a nerd, a lame-o. Yet somehow, he ends up with a smokin' hot wife that he, in my opinion, would never have gotten if he wasn't making Arab money. You would think he would count his blessings, right? WRONG! He then goes out and gets mistresses and cheats on them. And these chics aren't even high class- they are club girls and reality TV stars. I mean really, what did he think was going to happen?
Why am I mad? It's not because he cheated because that is none of my beeswax. I am pissed that he isn't even cool and had the gumption to play somebody! I remember a time when the corky guy was a safe bet. Now a little bit of money and some Ambian is a recipe to make the squarest boy the belle of the ball and I don't like it.
I guess there is nothing left to do but continue to watch this spiral. I definitely don't think his career is over. I mean, look at Coby Bryant. However, Coby didn't have nude photos that had fallen into the hands of Playgirl. I kind of want to see what Tiger is working with. A large winky is the only thing I can think of that had him thinking he could keep this mess under wraps.
I have to be honest: I have never been the biggest fan of Tiger. Something about his visible detachment with his black half has always made me uncomfortable. Yet, there is still no denial that he is good at what he does. He brings excitement to an otherwise BORING sport, and was in every other commercial I saw on prime time. The man was so squeaky clean, with his buck teeth and big head, that he reminded you of that awkward third grader that sat in the back of the class. I mean, you felt like you could eat out of his hand!
But not anymore. He has been using his hand for other things, and it has put him in some deep do-do! His wife moved back to Sweden, he has lost endorsements, his mistresses are making money off of the story, and after watching the news a while ago, I heard he has gone into hiding.
Let's be real here: men cheat. Not excusing it, but it is true. What pisses me off is that he is whack; a nerd, a lame-o. Yet somehow, he ends up with a smokin' hot wife that he, in my opinion, would never have gotten if he wasn't making Arab money. You would think he would count his blessings, right? WRONG! He then goes out and gets mistresses and cheats on them. And these chics aren't even high class- they are club girls and reality TV stars. I mean really, what did he think was going to happen?
Why am I mad? It's not because he cheated because that is none of my beeswax. I am pissed that he isn't even cool and had the gumption to play somebody! I remember a time when the corky guy was a safe bet. Now a little bit of money and some Ambian is a recipe to make the squarest boy the belle of the ball and I don't like it.
I guess there is nothing left to do but continue to watch this spiral. I definitely don't think his career is over. I mean, look at Coby Bryant. However, Coby didn't have nude photos that had fallen into the hands of Playgirl. I kind of want to see what Tiger is working with. A large winky is the only thing I can think of that had him thinking he could keep this mess under wraps.
Baby Bound
It is no secret that I HATE children.
People, particularly my young girlfriends that are strapped down from each limb with babies give me the stink eye when I say this, seeing that they did not like kids either before they were cornered into having them. They are loud and irritating and stinky. Children are not my favorite people.
But lately, I find the urge to have one nearly unbearable.
When I was younger, I remember watching a talk show where a teenage girl testified that she wanted a baby because she wanted something to take care of. I remember laughing at her. How stupid, wanting something to take care when you haven't even graduated high school. But now, two weeks shy of 25, I totally see what she was saying.
From ages 5 to 11 I read stories about love and from 12 to now I have been looking for it. I have seen it in my friends' lives, I have seen it on TV, I have even thought I was in it. But either it wasn't real or wasn't right. The love between a mother and child is unconditional. If I had a baby, I would be the proud owner of unconditional love...even though I would still be living with my aunt and off of pennies.
Whenever I get in this mood where I really want a bambino, I have to step back and evaluate my emotions. Am I on my period? Have I been watching Lifetime? Is it tax time and I am looking for a deduction? Yet lately, it has been neither of these things. Although I do not have a man, my own job or a good paying job, I have to say, I am flirting with the idea...even though it may be a bad one.
People, particularly my young girlfriends that are strapped down from each limb with babies give me the stink eye when I say this, seeing that they did not like kids either before they were cornered into having them. They are loud and irritating and stinky. Children are not my favorite people.
But lately, I find the urge to have one nearly unbearable.
When I was younger, I remember watching a talk show where a teenage girl testified that she wanted a baby because she wanted something to take care of. I remember laughing at her. How stupid, wanting something to take care when you haven't even graduated high school. But now, two weeks shy of 25, I totally see what she was saying.
From ages 5 to 11 I read stories about love and from 12 to now I have been looking for it. I have seen it in my friends' lives, I have seen it on TV, I have even thought I was in it. But either it wasn't real or wasn't right. The love between a mother and child is unconditional. If I had a baby, I would be the proud owner of unconditional love...even though I would still be living with my aunt and off of pennies.
Whenever I get in this mood where I really want a bambino, I have to step back and evaluate my emotions. Am I on my period? Have I been watching Lifetime? Is it tax time and I am looking for a deduction? Yet lately, it has been neither of these things. Although I do not have a man, my own job or a good paying job, I have to say, I am flirting with the idea...even though it may be a bad one.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Introducing Curious George
So just when Sorta Beau wants to show out, I get revisited by T.
Who is T? Well, he's the guy that I was talking to two years ago that expressed his interest through a message on Myspace. If my memory serves me right, which it always does, he left me high and dry, just as we were getting close, by not answering my phone calls and ignoring me online.
Fast forward backwards to last week. I was bored and decided to check my Myspace page, which, in all honesty, I usually go for months without doing. Why? Well, it's deader than the once popular J. Lo sweatsuit, and has basically become a breeding ground for horny pre-teens; a Facebook for club promoters, wannabe rappers, and talent agencies. Yet, I go on there to update every now and again and low and behold, this time when I did it, I was welcomed by a two-month-old message from none other than T.
He says he wants to catch up...blah, blah...misses me...blah, blah. After a year in the Sorta death grip, I recognized his message as an attempt to try to obtain ass. He probably broke up with whoever he stopped talking to me for and needs a rebound. However, I remembered how cool we used to be- how he would call me when he got off work to ask me how my day at my internship had been. How we could talk for hours about the direction of Hip Hop. Call me stupid, but I did want to see how he was, even though, after looking through his pics, I was reacquainted with the fact that he bears a stunning resemblance to Curious George.
So tonight we talked. It was cool, although I have to say that from hello, I was not interested. He curses a lot and I can tell he doesn't know that he is doing it. He also finds the simplest thing I say funny, and uses up-north slang even though he is from North Carolina. I found him to be annoying, yet continued to talk to him, trying to rekindle something, as my mind screamed for me to hang up.
About ten minutes into the convo, he puts on his sexy voice and starts talking about how he had been thinking about me, and just knew I had been thinking of him (NOT) and regretted that we fell out of touch. He regretted it so much, in fact, that he suggested that we skip catching up too much and just schedule travel plans to meet up. Um...hello! Get a clue! Do I look like the jump off? He totally came at me sideways, and figured that since it was in his sexy voice, my panties would drop. Something tells me our reunion will be short-lived.
Who is T? Well, he's the guy that I was talking to two years ago that expressed his interest through a message on Myspace. If my memory serves me right, which it always does, he left me high and dry, just as we were getting close, by not answering my phone calls and ignoring me online.
Fast forward backwards to last week. I was bored and decided to check my Myspace page, which, in all honesty, I usually go for months without doing. Why? Well, it's deader than the once popular J. Lo sweatsuit, and has basically become a breeding ground for horny pre-teens; a Facebook for club promoters, wannabe rappers, and talent agencies. Yet, I go on there to update every now and again and low and behold, this time when I did it, I was welcomed by a two-month-old message from none other than T.
He says he wants to catch up...blah, blah...misses me...blah, blah. After a year in the Sorta death grip, I recognized his message as an attempt to try to obtain ass. He probably broke up with whoever he stopped talking to me for and needs a rebound. However, I remembered how cool we used to be- how he would call me when he got off work to ask me how my day at my internship had been. How we could talk for hours about the direction of Hip Hop. Call me stupid, but I did want to see how he was, even though, after looking through his pics, I was reacquainted with the fact that he bears a stunning resemblance to Curious George.
So tonight we talked. It was cool, although I have to say that from hello, I was not interested. He curses a lot and I can tell he doesn't know that he is doing it. He also finds the simplest thing I say funny, and uses up-north slang even though he is from North Carolina. I found him to be annoying, yet continued to talk to him, trying to rekindle something, as my mind screamed for me to hang up.
About ten minutes into the convo, he puts on his sexy voice and starts talking about how he had been thinking about me, and just knew I had been thinking of him (NOT) and regretted that we fell out of touch. He regretted it so much, in fact, that he suggested that we skip catching up too much and just schedule travel plans to meet up. Um...hello! Get a clue! Do I look like the jump off? He totally came at me sideways, and figured that since it was in his sexy voice, my panties would drop. Something tells me our reunion will be short-lived.
100 POSTS AND WRITING!
100 posts ago you, my faithful few followers, embarked with me on the literary chronicle of my 24th year of life. Now, almost a year later, you have stuck around through the uncomfortable stories of hymen retention, man let-downs, a seemingly un-mendable broken heart, and the simple post-to-post happenings in the life of a BG living in the City. Thanks bunches, and I hope that you will continue to follow me through this beautiful nightmare I call my life!
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Boys Don't Cry, Right?
I have always had a hard time believing that men can feel any emotions, especially over women, largely due to the fact that they are such large shit heads.
Whenever one of my girlfriends went through a break-up, they went through the whole spectrum of emotions. They were sad. They were angry. They were irritated. It is almost always a nightmare. And they do all of this, no doubt, while their ex-boytoys are single again, back on the prowl. Never once had I witnessed a boy truly broken up over a girl...until recently.
My buddy Brownie just got out of a relationship that he put a lot of elbow grease into, let me tell you. He spent a year buttering her up and a year with her, yet somehow, it did not work out. What shocked me about the whole deal is that he is actually sad about it. Sometimes he's angry. I even detect a hint of irritation.
My buddy's brake-up has me rethinking what I have previously thought about males. If they are capable of feeling, then they are capable of thinking and reasoning and the whole thing. Which means they aren't as dumb as they want us to believe- which means that they really are human! Does this mean they now deserve my respect and compassion?
Man, I am truly lost on this one. I liked it better when I was under the impression that boys were just...boys: simple and heartless.
Whenever one of my girlfriends went through a break-up, they went through the whole spectrum of emotions. They were sad. They were angry. They were irritated. It is almost always a nightmare. And they do all of this, no doubt, while their ex-boytoys are single again, back on the prowl. Never once had I witnessed a boy truly broken up over a girl...until recently.
My buddy Brownie just got out of a relationship that he put a lot of elbow grease into, let me tell you. He spent a year buttering her up and a year with her, yet somehow, it did not work out. What shocked me about the whole deal is that he is actually sad about it. Sometimes he's angry. I even detect a hint of irritation.
My buddy's brake-up has me rethinking what I have previously thought about males. If they are capable of feeling, then they are capable of thinking and reasoning and the whole thing. Which means they aren't as dumb as they want us to believe- which means that they really are human! Does this mean they now deserve my respect and compassion?
Man, I am truly lost on this one. I liked it better when I was under the impression that boys were just...boys: simple and heartless.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Dress Stress
I have gained weight, it's official.
A couple of weeks ago I ordered a dress from Torrid and sat in nearly unbarable anticipation, weighting for the dress to be delivered. It got here and it fit me like a wife beater. So I ordered another one, and this one fit me like a glove and not in a good way.
I can see how I gained weight. I pretty much quit going to the gym and resorted to snacking on cookies in my room while watching hours of TV. I guess I just thought that since I was already fat, there was some invisible cap on how fat I could get. Today, I was proven wrong.
So now, I fear that I will have to wear one of the boring dresses in my closet. Needless to say, I will be going to they gym in the moring, even though I will be cranky.
A couple of weeks ago I ordered a dress from Torrid and sat in nearly unbarable anticipation, weighting for the dress to be delivered. It got here and it fit me like a wife beater. So I ordered another one, and this one fit me like a glove and not in a good way.
I can see how I gained weight. I pretty much quit going to the gym and resorted to snacking on cookies in my room while watching hours of TV. I guess I just thought that since I was already fat, there was some invisible cap on how fat I could get. Today, I was proven wrong.
So now, I fear that I will have to wear one of the boring dresses in my closet. Needless to say, I will be going to they gym in the moring, even though I will be cranky.
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