Archive for the ‘ Friends & Family ’ Category

I Have a Problem with Joe Jackson

JJacksonI have a problem with Joe Jackson. No, I don’t personally know Joe Jackson, but in my opinion he is one of those fellas who you can smell the jerk oozing through his pours. I may be wrong, but I believe that having Joe Jackson as a father was a major contribution to Michael Jackson’s “issues”.  I know that MJ fans hate to admit that Michael had some “issues”, but let’s face facts, he did.

I think these issues began way back in the day when Poppa Joe decided that his boys would form a group and make him some money. Joe Jackson claims that the movie  The Jacksons was not a completely true picture of life in the Jackson home, but most people, myself included, believe that Joe was nothing to play with. He claims that he never beat his children  and that as a matter of fact, Katherine, their mother spanked the children more than he did, since he was away from home a lot, working two jobs. I can believe that Katherine spanked….and I can definitely believe that Joe beat.

click here to watch Joe Jackson on Larry King Live.

jjackson1Then there has been Joe’s heinous behavior since Michael Jackson passed away. At the BET Awards 2009 Joe was interviewed on the red carpet and he showed no compassion and honestly seemed as if he had no clue as to how the rest of his family was doing. Neither did he show much concern or signs of grief for losing a son. Not only did he seem detached from the happenings of the family, but Joe seemed to care more about his own “career.” While being interviewed by John Lemon of CNN Joe Jackson went on to give a shameless plug of his new record company and had his publicist to read a prepared statement.

It has also been said that  Joe has approached Michael’s children in an attempt to have them form a music group and do some touring. Joe says this is a bunch of jive, but in my opinion showing no compassion for the death of your own son is more than a  bunch of jive.

Video of Joe on the red carpet acting like a jive turkey.

Regardless of what Joe has to say, there is some underlying reason why his son would write him out of his will. There has to be some reason his wife of over fifty years lives in one home and he lives in another. There definitely is a problem and I think that problem is Joe Jackson!

Somehow we done got it twisted

8596-largeI recently witnessed a woman falling out, crying and screaming obscenities at the police for arresting her son-in-law and his brother for selling drugs and gambling.  These same two young men shoot dice and deal drugs all day, every day on the mother’s front porch.

….somehow we done got it twisted!

Now some of you may not see a problem with this, but BGT does. It has come to my attention that many black mothers have it twisted. No, actually they have it turnt upside down or bottom ways up as my grandmother would say.

Far too many black women are applauding bad behavior from the males in their family. They smile and accept baby after baby out-of-wedlock from their sons, but raise hell when their “baby boy”wants to get married. They cause all kinds of drama, hoping to save their son from marriage, BUT they had no problem when he was making those sweet little grand babies unmarried.  On other occasions they are aware of their sons criminal behavior, yet they have the audacity to get offended if the police take them to jail. They call that picking on them. Ok well maam if your son is on the corner selling drugs day in and day out, he is leaving himself open to be picked on.

It bothers me that mothers are not only gladly accepting bad behavior from their sons but they are his cheerleader and co-signer for bad behavior.  It is almost as if things have been twisted. These mothers stick up for hoodlum sons who do everything under the sun, and get upset when society labels them criminals and thugs. Maam, your son calls himself a thug in your presence, so why is it a problem when society labels him as a thug.

Somehow we done got it twisted…

I remember growing up and mothers not caring if their son was seven or seventeen. If you got out of line you would get put back in line. Nowadays grown men are living with their mothers, with their baby mama, the two children he has by her, the two children she had from a previous relationship, his best friend Clyde, Clyde’s girlfriend and their dog Rufus. They all live with the mother and she has no problem with all of these grown tale folks shackin’ at her house. She even keeps the sweet  grand babies so they can go out and party and come home high.

Again…somehow we done got it twisted….

When did it become okay to accept criminal behavior and triflingness from your children. I mean sure enough when they are grown you cannot control their actions, but you can still make sure that they know it is wrong. You can still tell them that you don’t agree with it and that you in no way support illegal activity and will have no part of it. Instead a lot of black mothers act as if society is picking on their babies and he is only doing the best he can. Oh really, is that the best he can do? Well damn, thats shameful then!

Black mothers need to learn to realize that loving your son does not mean co-signing on a triflin lifestyle. Regardless of what our children do, we love them. A mother’s love should be unconditional. But accepting and going along with mess is unacceptable mothers. Let’s quit babying these grown men as if they don’t know right from wrong. A mother should feel comfortable knowing that she taught her children right from wrong and if they choose to do wrong it wasn’t because they weren’t taught any better.

 

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My Bernie Moment

6a00d8341caa5853ef00e54f12b2218833-800wiYesterday as I was rummaging through some old photos I ran across one that made me want to immediately tear it up and do some “Waiting to Exhale” type shit. It definitely put me in a Bernie type mood. Sitting there holding that photo I could almost see myself standing outside with a cigarette not giving a fuck lol

     The smiling, or should I say smirking, face on the photo was that of my ex boyfriend James. Even from the photo one could tell that he was up to no good; so why did it take me so long to realize that this man has issues and more issues. Maybe it was his warm embrace or his soft kisses. Maybe it was the sense of security he gave me every time he was around. Or maybe it was that $725 check he wrote for my rent every month, either way I didn’t see through his web of deceit until I had given him my heart, amongst other things.

     James was the kind of man who would make you so mad, then love you so good. He had a way about him that just spoke to a woman’s heart. From the outside looking in you would say “Now that’s a do-right-man.” BUT and I say BUT sternly, because unless you got to know James you would continue to think he was a do-right-man…UNTIL you woke up one morning with a note beside your pillow like I did.

     I remember as if it were yesterday, mainly because it was James’ birthday. He had spent the night at my apartment and when I woke up the next morning he was gone. On his pillow lay a note in pretty, soft paper.  I unfolded it and the first words I saw were “its over.” The next line read, “It’s been good, but sorry it has to end.”

     I KNEW I was dreaming. There was no way in the “real” world that I had been dumped while I was sleeping AND given a damn Dear John Letter on pink stationery. This shit here was impossible. I turned over, closed my eyes and decided that I would take my ass back to sleep so that I could end this horrible nightmare.

     Of course I didn’t actually go to sleep but I did close my eyes extremely tight in hopes that when I turned over there would not be a pretty, pink You Are Dumped letter lying next to me. Of course when I turned over it was still there. Reality set in and the tears began to stream down my face. How could someone be so cold as to dump you while you are sleeping? How could he be that less of a man that he took the time to sit at my desk and write me a Dear John Letter on my own pink stationery. That was cold.

     That day went by for me in a blur. I called James a gazillion times; he didn’t answer once. By the third day my eyes went from being bloodshot from crying to being bloodshot with rage. I had called in to work all three days, so I had plenty of time to sit around the house and mope and cry and cry and mope.

     By day four I was in full crazy woman mode. I would get so mad just pacing the floor that I would need something to tear up and destroy. After I had broken one of my favorite vases and knocked a few knick knacks off the shelf I realized that this was my shit that I was tearing up. Shit that I paid for with my own money. Aww hell naw I had to snap out of that delusional state quickly. I may have been in a crazed state but I wasn’t crazy!

     After calling James a few more times and realizing that he was hitting reject each time I called , I decided I should pay him a little visit. There is nothing more up close and personal than an unexpected visit from a woman scorned who has an ice pick and knows how to use it. I decided that I would call my sister as I drove, just so she could be on standby in case I needed bail money later.

     Of course she tried to talk me out of popping up at James’ home, but this was a trip I couldn’t turn back on. James needed to see me face to face. He needed to see how hurt I was and how hurt he was going to be if he did not get to explaining. As I drove along, I thought of all the things I could possibly do to him. The first list included hitting him in the head with the big stone flower pot that he kept on his front porch, sticking all four of his tires with the ice pick and throwing a huge object that would somehow be in hands reach through his front window. That list sounded good to me until I realized that those things would land me in jail and knowing now that James was low-down, that sucker would press charges. I would be thrown under the jail all because of his pretty ass Dear John Letter.

     As I gathered up ideas for the second list of things, my phone rang. It was my mother.  I should have known better than to tell my sister anything about this. If she hears the word bitch she gets antsy, so I should have known that telling her of my violent plan was a no-no.

     Now I had my mother on the line and she was going on and on about bulldaggers in jail and how she only had $125 in her rainy day fund so I would have to sit in jail a while unless she asked the family to raise money to get me out. Which she then explained would make them want to know why I was in jail, and she would then have to tell them how her stupid daughter went and cut a man for dumping her.

     The next thing I remember is hearing a car horn blaring. I was at the red-light, it had turned green and I was still sitting there. I decided right then and there that I would not go to James’ house. I would not cut him, throw anything at him, stick any tires or burn up any cars (that was on the 2nd list) I would instead, go home, turn on some Anita Baker and accept the fact that James had dumped me with no explanation at all. I would accept the fact that even though I was hurting and angry I could not act on these feelings. I could not have my Bernie moment 😦

     That night I decided that I would watch “Waiting to Exhale.” I would order some Chinese take out, drink some good wine and cry. I would live out my Bernie moment through Bernie’s actual moment. I would allow her vengeance to be mine. Lord knows I wanted to go cut that man, I even had a particular knife I wanted to use, lol, but I knew I had to let go of that anger. I had to accept James for what he was, a pink Dear John Letter writing asshole.

Probably Not

57051-bigthumbnail“I will be married before I turn 30.”

…probably not

Sometimes when thoughts of marriage come to mind I get…what’s the word…depressed..yeah that would be it. With so many of my friends and family getting married I sometimes wonder why I haven’t jumped the broom yet. Hell after all, I am all that ..and some! So why is it that my prince charming hasn’t come along and swept me off my feet and allowed me to spread my pretty wings?

Well honestly I think it has something to do with that “and some” that I mentioned in the paragraph above. See I’m a different kind of woman. Yeah I know you guys will need me to explain that, so I will. When I say that I am a different kind of woman, I mean that I’m independent, but not bossy (even though I have been called that countless times) I have a very good sense of humor, but I do know when it is time to get serious. And I overall, I have a positive outlook on life. I also……

love to have things go my way, doesn’t always accept help, even when I need it, can and will cry at the drop of a hat, isn’t always forgiving, isn’t as organized as I should be, can cuss like a sailor who has been drinking Thunderbird

…well you kinda get the picture. The “and some” are just a few teensy weensy things I need to work on. Nevertheless, I am a work in progress and admittance is the first step towards progress.

I used to have it engraved in my mind that I would be married before age thirty, now I can shake my head and say “Probably not.”

This may sound quite ridiculous but sometimes I see married couples and I say to myself, “If SHE can get a husband I know for damn sure I should have been married at age 10.” There have been times when I have just wanted to ask a brotha, ummm how she get you because she is a hot mess. But of course I keep thoughts like that to myself.

I wonder if those kinds of thoughts have anything to do with Black Women Behaving Badly  as mentioned in the August 2009 issue of Essence Magazine. Or maybe it’s  just the women being spiteful and bitter syndrome. I think it may be, because when I heard about the split between “our” Reggie Bush and Kim Kardashian I jumped up and yelled “We got one back!”

Nevertheless, I have come to the realization that most likely I won’t be married by thirty as I had planned and honestly I may not even find a good man by age thirty.  

Then there is the question, what is wrong with black men? Why are so many of them playing the field and choosing not to get married.

….I hope you weren’t waiting on me to give an answer because I am also wondering what the problem is.

So for now I will continue to daydream about love while listening to Maxwell’s Pretty  Wings and visualize a time when I will have my own Maxwell, Idris Elba or Reggie Bush (he is off my “humph no he didn’t” list now) or even Trey Songz. He is a little young, but he’ll do!

Tata’s Bad Habit

park_benchLast night me and my girl Tata (like Pa tata) were sitting around shooting the breeze and doing everything BUT getting ready for the work week.  Somehow we got on the subject of bad habits. Now Tata is one of my closest friends, I have known her almost nine years, so when the subject of bad habits came up I immediately thought of her ultimate bad habit which is smoking cigarettes.


When I first met Tata she didn’t smoke; and even though I don’t like the smell of cigarette smoke and I truly hate inhaling secondhand smoke, Tata is one of the very few people I will allow to smoke in my presence; the others being my grandmother and a few other relatives.

As the subject came up I was tempted to tease her about why she began smoking in the first place. His name was Bobby Ray.  Around my second year of knowing Tata she started dating this guy named Bobby who I thought was the cutest thing ever. He was tall and chocolate and had these pretty round eyes that just made you want to stare into them forever.  Tata seemed to really like him too; I mean every time she talked about the man she would have this huge smile on her face. It was so teenage and cute.

After she had been dating Bobby Ray for about five months I noticed that every time she would come to visit me she would always have some reason to go out to her car during the visit. At first I thought it was nothing, but then I also noticed that when she came back in she smelled of air freshener. After she did this on about four visits I decided to ask her what was the deal with the trips to the car and coming back smelling like fresh linens.

She stood there for a minute, then she let go of the secret, she was smoking cigarettes. I was shocked because I had never seen her smoke a cigarette the entire time I had known her and I had spent entire days with her on many occasions. I promptly demanded to know when this started and why in the hell she decided at this age in life to begin puffing cancer sticks. She told me that this new habit was all because of Bobby Ray. Once she said that I knew there was going to be a good story behind this one. I just hoped the story was funny instead of upsetting.

Tata went on to say that Bobby Ray wrecks her nerves so bad that she turned to cigarettes as a way to calm down and keep her sanity. What started out as an every now and then smoke had turned into a vicious habit. I stood there in awe, because if this man had turn a woman into a chain smoker in less than six months he had to be a bad mamma jamma! I needed to know what in the hell he was doing that was so nerve wrecking that it would cause her to form a habit that she was embarrassed of.

With a sad look on her face, Tata went on to tell me that Bobby Ray was the nicest man she had ever met in her life. He was such a gentleman. He cooked for her and he was a great father to his children. He worked every day and so far she had no complaints with him…except the fact that he stuttered somethin serious.

Before I could catch myself I burst into laughter. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it. How could this sexy man, who knew exactly how to treat a woman, be a stutterer? And first and foremost how had I not noticed that he stuttered? Even though I had only met him twice, each time we met we conversed and he had not stuttered one bit. Tata’s explanation for that was that he had controlled it during our brief conversations.  He could do that sometimes. When I thought back to both times I had met Bobby Ray each time he had seemed kind of nervous and honestly Tata had seemed even more nervous. Now there was an explanation for him seeming uptight and Tata standing in the background looking as if she just swallowed a hairball. All this time I thought the man had been nervous to meet me because Tata had warned him of my witty personality. No, he had been so uptight because he was trying his darnest to control his stuttering problem and Tata was just as nervous because she didn’t want him to slip in a shhh or thhh.

Now back to Tata’s bad habit. I asked her how his stuttering would cause her to smoke. Now I could understand if he turned to smoking, but her…? I needed and explanation for this one. She said that sometimes having a conversation with Bobby Ray was so frustrating that she would immediately feel the need to smoke a few cigarettes. Not one cigarette, but a few. She said that he would begin a normal conversation and a few minutes in, it would turn into long strings of thtthhh hhhh aaa tttt is whhhaa ttt happp ennnn. She then told me to imagine holding a conversation with someone on a day to day basis and almost every time this was the result. It frustrated her to the point that she sometimes caught herself wanting to clinch his lips shut with her hands.  So instead of doing something so spiteful, she turned to cigarettes. They were her shelter in a time of storm; Bobby Ray’s stuttering storm that is.

I felt sorry for my friend. I could tell that other than his stuttering problem he was the perfect guy for her. I asked her had he thought about speech therapy and she said that he was too embarrassed to seek help. She had mentioned it to him once and in the end she felt as if she hurt the situation more than helped it. She had even offered to go with him but he stated that her going with him would be like her taking her son to pre-school for the first time and helping him pronounce his alphabet. He wanted no part of that.

Almost a year into their relationship, Tata was smoking a pack of cigarettes in two days. Her habit had become so mandatory that she was no longer embarrassed. She would fire up a cigarette at the drop of a hat. Bobby Ray was still stuttering away, but he was also still cooking dinners, still paying bills, still holding her hand, still kissing her softly and still being an overall nice guy. Tata didn’t know what to do. She felt that she was getting closer and closer to a man that she knew she could not marry unless he stopped stuttering. This burden caused her to smoke even more. The stress of having the perfect man in her life, except for one little bitty thing that wasn’t such a little bitty thing was stressing Tata out beyond belief.

But soon Tata would find out that Bobby Ray had a problem with her also. One day after dinner they were sitting at the park on a bench and Tata fired up a cigarette as they sat and watched the ducks in the pond. Bobby had taken the entire length of dinner to tell her about one of his coworkers being fired today at work. What should have taken ten minutes took an hour and a half. Tata’s nerves were frizzled by the time they ordered dessert. She could not wait to get out of the restaurant and fire up a cigarette.

As she sat there dangling her legs and puffing on her cigarette, she realized that Bobby was staring at her with a not so nice expression on his face. Before she could ask what was wrong he asked her if she remembered one of the first conversations they had which took place on their second date. He then refreshed her memory. They talked that night about falling in love, what they expected from each other and lastly pet peeves. Bobby reminded Tata that one of his biggest pet peeves was women that smoked cigarettes. He said that over the past couple of months she had turned into the exact kind of woman he despised. A woman who was stressed and instead of dealing with her problems she puffed cigarette after cigarette. He said if it hadn’t been for his love for her he would have called it quits a long time ago.

Before Tata knew it Bobby Ray had dumped her sitting there on the wooden bench in the park while a cool breeze rippled past. It took her a few minutes to gather her thoughts and realize that the man who she loved and also the man who caused her to smoke cigarettes was now dumping her because of her cigarette smoking. She was shocked.

It took my girl quite some time to get over Bobby Ray. She never even told the man why she started smoking in the first place. Had it been me he would have gotten an earful that day at the park. He wouldn’t have got the opportunity to finish his rehearsed dumping speech. Once I realized where the conversation was going I would have gave him a piece of my mind and being that he has a speech impediment he wouldn’t have had the time to finish what he wanted to say because I would have been gone. But poor Tata was on such a high from the relief of her cigarette that she never saw it coming.

Till this day every time someone talks about cigarettes it makes Tata fume inside. Had it not been for those damn cigarettes she would have known she had been dumped much earlier. After all, it took Bobby Ray almost an hour just to say it was over.