Wednesday, November 26, 2008

first comes love, then comes...

According to 66%, if you had to choose between either never getting married or never having children, the next step is definitely the baby. It seems that procreating is way more important than forming a "perfect union." Interesting. Deep in my heart, I've always believed that true single parents (you know, the ones where there is no co-parent to be found AT ALL) are like the repo man in the hood, some of the most courageous people on the planet.

I on the other hand, like the not so courageous 33%, am gonna choose marriage sans babies.

And no, I did not choose this because I enjoy the luxury of walking around my crib in nothing more than a pair of cotton drawers on a sunny Saturday... I just think that at the end of the day, I'm not built for the whole single parent thing. I need help... A LOT of damn help. Like, therapist, nanny, housekeeper AND dutiful husband type of help. All that crying and dirty diapers and running amuck in the name of childhood- just thinking about it is enough to drive me to drink. Uh-uh, if it's gonna go down, I need the person that helped created the situation to bear his share of burden (read: a shoulder to tap in the middle of the night when the baby wakes up crying like a wild banshee. 'Cause you know Mommy needs her beauty sleep). Lord knows, I can barely get my life together, let alone raise a kid solo. No sir, we don't want that at all.

Monday, November 24, 2008

the nose knows...

I have a very delicate sense of smell. It's sensitive to the point where I tear up and act out over what might be considered to most as a barely perceptible odor. I am admittedly the chick sneaking sniffs of my own arm pits on a regular basis just because... And you know what, I'm okay with that.

Over the years, I've come to believe that my low tolerance is a result of being vertically challenged (read: short). Living life at arm pit level with the majority of folks makes me privy to a whole lotta stink that the average person at 5'7" might miss. ESPECIALLY when it's time to be upclose and personal, if you know what I mean. Needless to say, it's really interesting to me that 58% of you would prefer a partner who's entire body stinks versus the 41% who voted for a partner with a yuck mouth.

Perhaps it's because you plan keep them stocked with prescription strength Mitchum deodorant and clean shirts/ underwear.... True, I hear ya. But let me ask you this right quick- What happens at the end of the day, when they lay down on your 600 thread count sheets and get to snuggling up next to you??? EEEEWWWWAAAAA. And you know it's inevitable that you'll become guilty by association. Because how can a passing stranger tell that it's only him/ her that smells like sour milk when you're both sitting together? So what, you'll just pretend to ignore the folks when who move away from the two of you? Uh-uh, no thank you.

I think I'll just figure it out with the Mr. Yuck Mouth. Sure my purse will forever stay filled to the brim with packs of the dark blue brand of Extra gum (you know, the one that will burn a freakin' hole in your nose?) and peppermint candies. My life reduced to be scheduling trips to the dentist and internist every other week while wielding a tongue brush like a saber sword. I will even sacrifice the days of deep toe-curling kisses and instead learn to hold my breath as long as it takes to place the perfunctory pecks on the cheek while always, always sleep facing away. And even though I will also probably have to pretend that I don't see our mutual friends' eyes tearing up from the offensive stentch when my beloved one leans in to say hello; at least he will be allowed to sit near the rest of us.

i leave you alone for 5 min...

So after six wonderful days of kicking it with my girl Carmen (sans cell phone, radio or internet) in Belize, I'm back. And just what do you think is the very first news story that I read is about? Wait on it...

Some 19 year-old college student in Miami that committed suicide live on the web. Seriously? And apparently, not only did a bunch of people log on to watch this unfortunate fool pop the lethal dose of prescription pills, some of the sickos were actually cheering him on. My god. What kind of world are we living in?

But admit it, as soon as you read: "suicide", "live on the web" and "prescription pills," the first thing that ran through your mind was- "Rich white kids got too much damn time and access. They can't even kill themselves without an audience nowadays." Right? Well, don't feel bad. Me too. But don't you know, ole dude was a black guy named Abraham.... Damn shame. I blame Paris Hilton.

Monday, November 17, 2008

everybody has a thing...

And for those that know me, it's definately my birthday a.k.a Worldwide Mitzi Day!

So after kicking off my Jesus year celebration (if you don't know about that, you better ask somebody) with a fabulous night of dinner and dancing with the girls, I'm headed out of the country to keep my party going for the next week.

No worries, while I'm gone I'll be thinking of even more ridiculous moment mindset questions to leave you frustrated as all get out. And yes, when I get back we will definately discuss the 58% of you that want a partner who's entire body stinks versus the 41% who voted for a nice person with the yuck mouth.

Till then, don't forget to vote in this week's poll question! You've got seven days, make it happen!

Till then.....

Friday, November 14, 2008

time to ride out...

Well, lookee here- seems the saddlebags have it. A solid 63% would rather have (or date) a woman who bears the burden of stretch-marked saddlebags than deal with a noticeably flat butt. Mmm-hmm... I know that's right.

'Cause here's the thing, no matter how fantastic the 36% of your legs look, nothing in the world overrides flatback (just ask Paris Hilton or Cameron Diaz). There are no miracle jeans tight enough to hide the fact that your neck runs into your ankles. And I'm not even gonna go there with the bikini bottoms.... I mean what are you gonna do, keep your back to the wall your entire life? No sir. All I can do is wish you good luck and an interesting collection of thongs.

As for me and my saddlebags... Well, we'll be wearing Spanx and running on the treadmill until we straight collapse like Isaac Hayes- no offense. And if God forbid, that lifetime supply of Fatgirl Slim cellulite cream really doesn't make a difference, there's always dim lighting and dermabrasion.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

rip old dirty bastard...

In an ideal world, no one would have to choose between love and a dream career. But as we've all learned from watching TMZ- ain't no such thing as a perfect world. No matter who you are...

With that said, I'm happy to report that romance is far from dead. A whopping 76% would choose finding the love of their lives over a dream career. Wow, I am very impressed. I guess my friend Melissa probably summed it up best when she said that she couldn't imagine a job fulfilling her as much as being with her soulmate. And you know, like my very happily married homegirl who left her own fabulous life in the big city to move to a distant CT suburb so patiently explained to me when I balked at her drastic lifestyle change, "I thought I had everything until I met him. And then nothing mattered as much." Feel free to insert the ooh, ahh and sigh. Don't you just heart love?

But I gotta tell ya when it's all said and done, I'm betting on Mitzi. Like the remaining 23%, I choose the career of my dreams all day every day. And it has nothing to do with believing that being wealthy will make me happy. Simply put, I'm not willing to depend on any so-called soulmate to "complete me." Uh-uh, my nerves are too bad for that. Besides, by now shouldn't we all understand the basic science of maintaining a happy home??? "When mama's happy, everybody's happy but when mama's ain't happy..."
I wholeheartedly believe that if I'm pursuing my true passion, I can love and be more than satisfied with whomever I'm with (as long as we're err-um physically compatible). Call me a control freak but the idea of waiting for the perfect person to experience the height of happiness is crazy. I'm all about making that happen now. Whenever Mr. Right shows up, he can join the party in progress (a.k.a get in where you fit in).
Disclaimer: This time around, I'm probably a bit bias because I really do LOVE my career (note: not a job)- annoying editors, stressful deadlines, check chasing and all. If I never ever, ever, ever get to be a nuevo black housewife with my nanny, maid and therapist dream team, I'll be sad but certainly still wake up every day happy to do me.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

god don't like ugly...

You know what? Under normal circumstances, I would feel bad for any woman who is senselessly murdered by a group of strangers. But when you respond to an online KKK recruitment ad and then find yourself shot up and tossed under some bushes... well there's just not much I can do with that. No offense.

And the worse part? Investigators are saying that deranged loonies that did this aren't even a part of the "real" KKK (as if there are real and fake ways to be down with a hate group). As the Louisiana Parish Sheriff Jack Strain so kindly put it, "The IQ level of this group is not impressive, to be kind... This is not what I would call an established Klan group. Some of these guys are just crooks, sociopaths." Good grief.

Read the story and go thank your parents for the common sense they instilled within you.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

on fire...

Who didn't see Michelle Obama's fly red dress yesterday??? I swear, Elsa called me mid-shift from the hospital all excited talking about, "Did you see the dress???" I could barely say hello before she blurted her question out. And for those who don't really understand, let me put it in perspective: My mother who probably should've been in the middle of helping somebody breathe while they were sedated had to take a moment to call and cut up about how dope The future first lady looked. How crazy is that???

If Barack thinks he's under pressure, god bless poor Michelle. She has been saddled with the hopes and dreams of every fashion conscious Black woman since she stepped out in that breath taking purple sheath/ black leather belt combo. Remember her KILLING homey ass Elisabeth on The View with the black and white dress?? Act don't like I'm the only one who wanted to back slap her and Narcisco Rodriguez for that unfortunate red and black number she wore last Tuesday night!! My god if it didn't feel almost sacrilegious to say anything negative about election night, folks would have been eating her ALIVE.

All along, through the various tie-dyed, flower on the collar, bows on her neck fiascos I've been keep my head down and praying that this was simply a deliberate decision to dumb down her fashion sense and not a sign of bad things to come. I could see the side eye she was giving when Barack said, "Baby, you know the coal miner's daughter don't know nothing about those Sergio Rossi stiletos. Can you just please do this for me? Pretty please??" She definitely took one for the team.
But today sisters are vindicated. Michelle aka the Black Jackie O is back with a vengeance. When Barack helped her out of the limo, tears came to my eyes. You can't tell me that Laura Bush wasn't looking like the ultimate Washed Out White Woman next to Michelle's statuesque 'Me and Mine's Are Straight Taking Over." And I'll bet President Bush was jealous as hell. Like, damn Laura why you ain't never, ever, ever look like that!!
I'm telling you, Barack and Michelle making Black women the fire everyday all day.

Monday, November 10, 2008

next stop nursing home...

It's official- we are getting old. And yes, I said WE.
42% of the folks can't remember the last time the magic happened in a public place. Can you imagine if I'd asked this question say... five years ago? I'm willing to bet 42% would've chosen the "this week" option (and yes, I'm including myself in that). Sigh, so sad.
Of course, the mature part of my mind wants to rationalize the change in direction as a positive thing. "Oh, it's because nowadys most of us have our own homes with expensive beds-sans parents-so we don't have to act up in public places AND not for nothing, have you seen how disgusting bathrooms in the clubs are nowadays??? Hooking up in public is so dead." But then.... the little voice in my head whispers, "Yeah right. That's just a politically correct excuse for being less spontaneous. Ain't nothing wrong with a little act up every now and then. You and your crew (well almost all of my crew) are just actin' like old biddies."

The reality is, if 25% of you guys were able to figure it out at some point in 2008, then the movement can't be completely over, right?

So hats off to the 5% who were able to make the magic happen this past month. I just hope that it wasn't on a park bench, playground swing, bathroom stall or backseat of a car that I'll be on anytime soon.

And as for the 25% who have never, ever, ever... God bless your hearts. Elsa is probably disowning me and recruiting a new eldest daughter after reading this post. Hee hee. Feel free to submit your applications.

next comes the ark...

Alrighty then... It seems the euphoria three-fourths of this country continues to experience after Obama's decisive victory last Tuesday night, doesn't necessarily extend to the rest of the world. Because yesterday afternoon over in Jerusalem a big ass brawl popped off inside of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher (alledgedly the spot where Jesus was crucified).
I'm talking tear down, drag out, beat 'em up fight that only ended when the Israeli police storm the holy site with machine guns and pulled folks apart. But wait on it, guess who was up in God's house throwin Ds like they were back at The Tunnel back in 1992???... Freaking monks!!!

Under normal circumstances I would ask Jesus to take the wheel. But for some reason, I feel like he may have left the building on this one. Read the story and light a candle.

Friday, November 7, 2008

all up in my head...

You know what? Folks do not play about their hair.

Whether it's long, short, weaved, permed or even natural, 68% weren't willingly to change up the 'do for anybody besides your damn self. And I am not mad atcha. Lord only knows what I go through to get my hair looking halfway decent and here you go. Talking about what YOU like. Uh-uh, no sir. Until you start ponying up the $250 a week for Edris to work her magic on this nappy head of mine... and even then. I have one thing to say: Mind. Ya. Business.

But, I commend the 31% of you who admit that you are open to the idea of changing up your hairstyle. Compromise is an important tool in relationship building. And there's no point in denying that most men have very distinct taste in hair and often decide who they will (or won't) date based on them. I see the vision. I just can't sip the Kool-Aid.

All tomfoolery aside, for most of us it's a bigger issue than how we choose to style our hair. I am not anti-change or compromise if it's gonna make my significant other happy. After all, it is just hair. It will grow back (we hope). I just think asking me to cut/grow/weave/perm my hair feels like a sly way of saying, 'Actually, I don't like the way you look.' And if that's how you really feel, then we probably need to re-evaluate our situation.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

light a candle...

As I grow older, I become increasingly grateful for all the "hands-on" discipline that I learned from my parents. I truly believe all those close encounters with the leather belt, plastic spatula, shoe, or whatever else my mom and dad could get their hands on really made me a productive member of society. As for those who don't believe that a quick smack makes all the difference, I humbly enter exhibit A:

"Shout out to the slave masters! Without them we'd still be in Africa. We wouldn't be here to get this ice and tattoos" - Soulja Boy to journalist Toure when asked what historical figure he dislikes the most.

You see? That right there? That is a young man who CLEARLY does not respect the power of the wide leather belt or the twist and pull pinch on the back of your arm. Trust, you will never hear statements like that from those who truly understand the following equation:

"not thinking + stupid talk= big painful welts on your butt"

And to think, he said it to the press on the red carpet? I. Can't.

We have a long way to go my people...

press play...

It looks like the voyeurists have it- 57% were A-okay with being immortalized on video as long as you retained full custody of the tape (wait, are they even tapes nowadays?). And what can I say? If you like it, I love it. So by all means, go ahead and get your Paris on. I think it's fantastic that your self esteem is that unshakable. Just please be sure to try and tone those soft and squishy parts before hand to avoid unnecessary jiggle (if it's a spontaneous decision- dim the lights), DO NOT look into the camera (nothing says faked orgasm like having one eye open), and for god's sake find a safe hiding place for the memory cards (I'm thinking a bank safe deposit box is probably most appropriate).

In the meantime, until I completely forget all the hometraining that Elsa painstakingly instilled (with a very wide leather belt), I'm sticking with the 42% who don't need physical proof of our ability to turn it out. First and foremost because I genuinely believe memories are the best pictures (isn't it funny how you never remember the cellulite when reminiscing on good times?). But also because, as many of my friends know, I tend to be a bit of an overachiever. Which is fine when you're talking about work and team sports (who doesn't want to win?). But for something like this, not so much. Knowing myself, I'd wind up overanalyzing instead of appreciating the whole act. I can hear myself now: Do you think my back was arched enough? Does that color bra makes me look fat? Are my knees ashy?
Sigh, it's way too much pressure.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

the real game changer...


I can barely type these words without tearing up. For the first time ever, I truly understand what people mean when they say they are proud to be American.

I guess I'll start by stating the obvious. From now on, there are NO excuses. We are "The Man." It's time for folks to step our game up. This is the window of opportunity generations of people before us dreamed of, shame on anyone who doesn't take FULL advantage of this moment. Get focused, the time is now.

But I do think there was a less obvious but just as important statement made last night. And so let me be the first to acknowledge and thank, Barack and Michelle for single handedly redefining the face of Black love. His shout out to her in his victory speech brought tears to my eyes.

I just hope that all the amazing Black men that I know who continue to insist that it's too difficult to date/love a strong Black woman were paying close attention. The most powerful man in this country just willingly acknowledged that he needed one of us by his side to make it through. Not as a jump-off, baby mama, home girl, etc but as his best friend, wife and the mother of his kids. Michelle is Barack's first choice.

And I can't just blame the guys. I take full responsibility for my some of my bad dating decisions and a lot of the ridiculous compromises that I have made over the years. But like my mom said, it was all fun and games... until today. I'm about to pull together forreal, forreal.

POP, POP, POP!!! That's the sound of the bottles party people! See you in DC on Jan 20th!!

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

the die is cast...

After much ado, I finally made it to the poll. WOO HOO, Go Obama!!!!
I swear I must've changed outfits like a thousand times. I finally settled on my official Obama '08 t-shirt for good luck. I swear I grinned like an ass the entire 2 blocks to my precinct. BUt what made me even happier was the 7 corner boys in line ahead of me, getting ready to make the magic happen.

CNN is turned on and the champagne is now chilling....

omigod, this is crazy...

I just spoke with my girl Fatima who lives in Atlanta and decided to vote early. She went online to verify that her vote had been recorded and IT HADN'T!!! I'm DEAD SERIOUS. She's been on the phone for the past two days getting the run around from the election board about it.

And the same thing happened to her sister's boyfriend. But he decided to go back to the poll to ask what had happened. When he arrived, they told him that a certain percentage of the votes cast had not counted and that they were calling people to tell them to come back. HE NEVER RECEIVED A CALL.


If they can't be bothered, do it for them!!! And if you discover a problem (in GA), call 866-OUR-VOTE immediately.

This is too serious for us to have it stolen. Every vote counts!

this is our moment...

Omigod, I'm more anxious about voting than going on a first date! Since my eyes snapped open at 7am, all I've been able think about is what's going to happen when Barack wins (its going to be a nationwide block party popping off) and what I'm going to wear to the poll (cause you know I'm taking pictures in the booth!)
On the way to the gym, I overheard a couple of men commenting that the lines to vote uptown are off the chain. And then, this woman in my step & sculpt class said that she'd never seen so many young people come out to vote. So I feel very encouraged.

On the flip side, I passed my local voting poll twice (to and from the gym) and there was nobody outside. Which is not such a good thing. Hopefully when the corner boys and baby mamas get up around three o'clock things will change... In any case, I will be ringing Gladys's door and making sure that she and her son mosey on up the road to vote, even if I have to stay in her apartment and babysit her bad ass grandson.

Okay, okay, enough procrastinating.... I'm off to BA-ROCK the VOTE!

Monday, November 3, 2008

don't say i didn't ask...

How exhausting is this statement? "Girls from down South are nicer than girls from up north." Feel free to insert a deep sigh. But as a favor to my boy Jelani, I posed it to you guys after we spent a good hour on the IM debating whether he-who believes that Southern women are "softer" than Northern women- is in the majority.

Turns out he is not alone.
Only 30% of you think that region doesn't make a difference in how women treat a partner, etc.

69% believe women have distinctly different dating behaviors depending on where they grew up. Now whether or not "niceness" or "the ability to take care of their man" is one of them, I'm not so sure.

For the record, I've met quite a few mean ass, raggedy chicks from down south during my days at FAMU. And every last one of them claims to be a true Southern belle. And I'm willing to bet the house that any of the guys dating my girlfriends from up north have ZERO complaints about their ability to handle the business.

who's your daddy...

Last night I was having dinner with friends and as usual we were discussing the tomorrow's presidential election. Is there anything else so talk about?? It's still hard to believe that in less than 24 hours a Black man could very well be the next President of the United States? Lord, my nerves are a complete and total wreck! I'm talking light-headed, stomach in knots, taking lots of shallow breaths as I lay on the couch unable to stop watching MSNBC.

But then I started to think- I might feel bad but who is sicker than Jesse Jackson right now?

Answer: No one.

Over the course of this election, Jesse Jackson has lost all cool points with anyone under the age of 59 years old (and I'm probably being too generous with that number). Watching Jesse morph from an elder statesman into a straight-up hater was almost as devastating as the moment on the Maury show when the poor girl finds out that not one of the three guys she accused is the father of her baby. Tragic.

Whatever miniscule of political clout Mr. Jackson managed to salvage after the whole "the DNA tests prove I fathered my secretary's baby" scandal was completely flushed down the toilet when he got caught talking trash about Obama on national TV. And now look... win or lose Obama is the man.

Shoot, I wouldn't be surprised if once he gets behind the curtain Mr. Power-to-the-People votes for McCain. Mmm-hmmm, I said it.