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Showing posts from November, 2010

Free Willie (Nelson)!

Willie Nelson was busted for possession of marijuana. That's like busting Santa Claus for possessing a beard and a jelly belly.

Mind you, I don't partake of the stuff or like to be around it because it makes me nauseous, but I really feel the resources of our law enforcement authorities are better spent chasing down violent felons and sex offenders, not stoners. That's why I voted for Prop. 19.

Besides, Willie Nelson is a national treasure. He gave us Farm Aid. For goodness' sake, didn't he get high on the roof of the White House with Hamilton Jordan during the Carter Administration? Marijuana is what Willie Nelson does. Given his age and his contributions to our nation, can't we just give Willie a ghetto pass on the weed thing? Busting Willie Nelson for possessing pot is, to borrow one of his song lyrics, "crazy." Heck, we out to give Willie a ghetto pass on pot simply because he wrote "Crazy." That's one of my favorite songs. I…

No, That's Alright. I'm Good. (Save the Va-Jay-Jays)

My husband, Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB), cuts his own hair. As he stands in front of the mirror in nothing but a towel, clippers in hand, I often suggest in jest that he let me take the clippers in hand and tidy him up "down there." "You know, some man-scaping, " I say with a wink and a smile. He always smiles, shakes his head and says, "No, that's alright. I'm good." Of course he says this. What man would let anyone -- male, female or otherwise -- close to his manly parts with a pair of clippers?

This is where, I'm sorry to say, men have more sense than women.

I spent much of Sunday on the couch watching TV and recuperating from the cooking marathon that was Thanksgiving. I happened upon a documentary on the BBC America channel about women getting surgery on their personal lady parts to make them "perfect." I'm talking slicing labia, ladies, in pursuit of some idea of what the perfect punani looks like.

Ieeeuuuw!!!!! You don'…

Give Perfection The Finger

I can't make gravy. And I don't care.

I'm not fond of sweet potato pie, either, and I don't make any at all. Way too much competition and way too many critics in black families for that, which is why I don't make gumbo, either.

Chitlins? As if.

But I do make some mean dinner rolls from scratch, if I do say so myself. In fact, there's not much in the way of baked goods with yeast that I can't do if I put my mind to it. If there's yeast involved, I'm your girl.

Wait. That didn't come out right. But you get my drift.

In other words, I'm not your quintessential Martha Stewart or Patti Labelle -- women who seemed to be blessed with a multitude of talents they perform with equal excellence. Some things I'm good at; others, not so much. And I no longer care. I've given perfection the finger, and so should you.

You see, I haven't lead the typical female life in America. I didn't settle down with some guy right after college and …

Waitey Katey? More Like In-Law Willies. Ain't Love Grand?

Prince William and Kate Middleton recently announced their engagement. When asked what took them so long, Prince William responded that he wanted to give Kate the chance to witness the incredible pressure of living in a fishbowl and, if she couldn't handle it, to back out.

That may be what they told us, and that may even be what she told him, but I'm betting the truth is a little different.

What no one really talks about with marriage, especially with the newly-engaged, is this: When you marry the person, you marry the person's family.

I don't think it was the prospect of paparazzi that gave Kate cause to pause. I'd bet you dollars to doughnuts she was trying to decide if she could handle living among the royals, not as a royal.

Think about it: As sweet as Prince William may be, but for the jewels, castles, titles, and history, his family would be considered, well, ghetto. His dad, Prince Charles, brought a mistress into his marriage from day one. Not some hot babe, mi…

Take A Small Piece

For most of this year, I've been working on a political campaign. The good news is that my candidate won; the bad news is that I've neglected a lot of people and projects along the way.

For example, my house is a hot mess. I can't remember the last time I cleaned baseboards. But for my husband, the film crew from "Hoarders" would be on my front door step. And that's just the tip of the iceberg of things that I neglected or ignored during the campaign, including my husband.

Anyone who has ever worked on a campaign can tell you that it is a job unto itself. Add to that my day job, and, but for the furloughs, I'd have been hospitalized for exhaustion.

When I think of all the things I neglected and all that lies ahead, like getting ready for the holidays, I just want to go back to bed and pull the covers over my head until, say, January 2011.

To make matters worse, I'm reading Condoleezza Rice's memoir of her family, "Extraordinary, Ordinary Peo…

The Unwritten Rules of Life

I wrote these a long time ago while sitting in a boring meeting, and I recently ran across them. Mind you, I've definitely broken a few of these rules myself, like trying to raise grown boyfriends and not saving enough money, but these pearls of wisdom I've learned from my parents, family and friends might help you, too.

THE UNWRITTEN RULES OF LIFE

1. You are responsible for your children's education, not the government. If they drop out of school, they'll probably be living in your house, not the government's.

2. You are not where you live, what you drive, or what you wear.

3. Do not attend funerals of co-workers' relatives unless it is clear your presence is requested. Your co-workers are not your family.

4. Pets are not disposable. If you cannot commit to caring for a pet for its lifetime, consider gardening instead.

5. If you drive a luxury vehicle and live in the ghetto, the barrio, or a trailer park, your priorities are misplaced.

5a. Same if you have …

It's The Economy, Mr. President . . . And Some Better Communication, Too

Dear Mr. President,

You described the turn of events in Tuesday's mid-term elections as a "shellackin'." The Republicans have claimed victory and a rejection of your policies, Speaker-Elect Boehner has declared himself the new sheriff in town, and Speaker Pelosi is pondering her future.

Were this about any of you personally, your collective opinions might matter. But they don't because it's not about any of you, your parties, or the normal shift of power that happens during the midterms.

It's the economy, Mr. President, plain and simple. Oh, and some better communication, too. At the risk of being brash, let me, as the young kids say, break it down for you, Mr. President.

With all due respect, Mr. President, when people were losing their jobs and their homes, you failed to make the case clear as to why bailing out the Wall Street whackjobs was going to make Michael and Mary Middle-Class or Wendell and Wanda Working-Poor any better off. Bailing out AIG,…