Tell Me Chris: Is it "Nappy AND Pretty?" or "Nappy OR Pretty?"

It's almost midnight and for the past hour, I've been busy writing and listening to an online radio station. They just played Chris Brown's "Kiss Kiss" song and hearing it again got me thinking again about something that started bugging me a week ago.

First off, I tend to like Chris Brown. I think he a very talented dancer and an alright singer. But, despite the comparisons, and his own imitation, he's no Michael Jackson. I was watching when Michael Jackson performed "Billie Jean" on Motown 25 and Michael's dancing was effortless. Michael debuted the "Moonwalk" on that show and it was just fantastic. It looked deceptively simple but it was hard to do.

Chris Brown is not effortless in his performance. His dance moves scream out, "I am hard to do and your old ass ain't cuttin' it." But, Chris has had a string of hits and "Kiss Kiss" is just the latest one. I think it was the number one song in the United States a couple of weeks ago so it's very popular. The song is catchy, danceable and it features flavor-of-the-year, T-Pain. If you haven't heard it, here it is:



Yes, the video has a few of the usual idiotic depictions of women (what's with ogling women's behinds like that?), but indeed, there's some great dancing in it as well.

So, what's my problem? Well, last week I was jumping rope to "Kiss Kiss" and it hit me that I was sort of bothered by the lyrics at the end of the song. Not that any of the lyrics offer anything profound, but the final lines really made me pause.

Chris sings the following a few times: "nappy boy and pretty boy". In the video, it's pretty clear that T-Pain is the "nappy" boy and Chris Brown is the "pretty" boy.

The way they sing it, the listener could infer that you are either nappy OR pretty. To me, nappy, natural African hair is a beautiful thing. But Chris Brown has his hair cut so low he might as well be bald. So is that why he's the pretty boy? Or is Chris Brown the pretty boy because he's lighter skinned than T-Pain?

I thought I might be reading too much into this so I called my sister and she agreed that she was also bothered by the nappy/pretty juxtaposition. Again though, maybe I'm just reading into this. Maybe Chris Brown really means that he is both nappy and pretty, and so, cough, is T-Pain.

What do you think?

And, by the way, who the heck calls themselves "pretty boy"? Michael Jackson has done some off the wall things over the years. But at the height of his female fan girl insanity, back when folks had posters of him on their walls and buttons with his face pinned on their jean jackets, Michael surely never called himself "pretty boy".

Ending NaNoWriMo, NaBloPoMo and NaExerMo

I can't believe NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo are both almost over. Oh, and my self-imposed NaExerMo, also known as National Exercise Month. (Except it's not really national because I just made it up!)

How did 30 days pass so quickly? You want to know how I did on:
1) writing a novel in a month,
2) posting on my blog every day and
3) exercising every day in the month of November?

Alright, here's the roundup!

NaNoWriMo: Sadly enough, I did NOT get to 50,000 words. I am at 37,941 right now. I've tried to figure out some way I can write 12,059 words in the next day but I am really tired right now and I quite simply lack the time to be able to write all day tomorrow. I don't even know if I can write that much in one day.

I was quite depressed yesterday when I realized that I wasn't going to get to my 50,000 words. When I think about what went wrong, I think there were two main problems: I didn't write too much when I had the flu and I didn't write too much over Thanksgiving weekend.

I told someone about my melancholy today and her response was, "Well, that sounds crazy anyway so I wouldn't worry about it." Yeah, except that once I set a goal, I do everything to achieve it. I can't go through life not doing the things I say I'm going to do.

The glass half-full perspective is that I have 37,941 words written and that's a lot more than I had 29 days ago. I'm very proud of myself for getting that much done. And I'm loving my story.

NaBloPoMo: Guess what? One more post tomorrow, 11/30 and I did it! I posted every single day in the month of November! I've gone from writing on this blog three times a week to posting every single day.

It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, even if there were those days when I was brain dead about what to write about. That's when I found myself writing about strippers and Rock Star Energy Drink. But, I managed to get through it!

Now I'm debating whether to keep posting every single day? If you did NaBloPoMo, are you going to keep the daily posting going?

NaExerMo: In exactly one month I turn 35. And I want to be smokin' hot on my birthday. I'm not kidding. Not that I want to cause another car crash or anything like that, but I want to enter the mid to late 30's getting a jump on my slowing metabolism. So I figured it would be a great thing if I could actually work-out every day in November.

I've jogged, jumped roped, hiked, gone to the gym, done push-ups and lifted weights. But did I do something every single day? Nope. Again, I didn't exercise for almost a week when I was dying from the flu. I tried and it just didn't work to run around the trail in my pitifully feverish state.

I'm going to do my best to keep the exercise thing going now that these 30 days are over.

So, that's the update! How about you? If you were doing something for the past 30 days, how'd it go?

Dress Buying Drama

A really good friend of mine is getting married on Saturday and I've been stressing out about what I'm going to wear to her wedding.

I've spent some time standing in front of my closet, thinking that nothing in there looks remotely attractive to me right now. Everything screams, "You've worn me to million events!" It doesn't matter if it's different people at each event since when I look at the pictures I see the same darned dresses in every single one.

I know I must sound like a spoiled brat acting like I can't wear the same dress. After all, most of my ancestors back in the day probably had one or two good dresses that they wore, hemmed, repaired and wore some more.

But this ain't 1875 so I took myself to the mall. This is cringe-worthy in itself because I sort of hate shopping. There's too much stuff in stores, too much crap to sift through, and things are waay overpriced for what they are. If only I had Tim Gunn along with me to check my sense of style and help me sift through the racks and racks of clothing.

Let me tell you, after tonight's shopping experience, I feel like I need some sort of sedative. Ladies, we need to start a petition to have our clothing sized just like men's clothing. I am sick of vanity sizing. I am sick of every designer having a different fit. I'm sick of having to drag three different sizes of the same dress into the dressing room because I don't know if a six, eight or a ten is going to fit me.

If I want to try on four different dresses, guess what? I'm taking TWELVE dresses into the dressing room. That's just ridiculous!

The dress I really wanted was only available in sizes four, six and eight. It looked like it ran a bit small so I picked the eight. Unfortunately the eight was too tight in the chest.

I contemplated going on and getting it but I want to be able to breathe comfortably while I'm dancing at the wedding reception.

A size ten is available at Fox Hills Mall but really, there's no way I'm driving all the way across town for it.

Dress number two, a size eight, fit but I wasn't crazy about it.

Dress number three, the six was too tight, the eight too loose. I decided to pass.

The last dress, the eight was too loose but the six was comfortable. I ended up trying on the size four just to check it out. It fit better in the bottom but again, tight across the chest. Like I said, vanity sizing is out of control. I am no where near a size four. I highly doubt I'm a size six either. To tell you the truth, I don't really care about what size I am. I just want my clothing to fit!

Ladies, does this kind of ridiculousness sound familiar to you? Guys, are your eyelids starting to twitch just thinking about what it would be like to have to shop like that? I'll bet, because guys, here's what you do:

When you go into as store to buy a pair of pants, all you have to know is that you wear a size 30 x 34. And it's going to fit, no matter what store you're shopping in. You don't have to drag a 32 x 34, a 30 x 36 and a 34 x 34 into the dressing room with you just in case.

So I bought a dress. I like it. It's pretty...but I want to be psyched about my dress.

Unfortunately,. I 'm starting to think that the trip to Fox Hills might be worth it.

Premonition, Intuition, Coincidence

The first spring I spent in Los Angeles, I got into a serious car accident.

If you've spent any time driving here in LA, you know we don't believe in left turn signals out here. Instead, a driver has to pull into an intersection, wait until the light turns red and then turn left. This little left-on-red game is really fun now that they have red light photo tickets out here, but that's another story.

That spring day, I was hit by someone who ran a red light. I don't mean "sort of" ran the light either. I mean, really ran the red light. Like it had been red for at least five seconds and I was the second car turning on red. I was going south, turning left (east). The van was heading north, speeding at like 50 mph.

I remember the instant I realized that the van was running the light and was going to hit me. I grabbed onto the steering wheel really hard and leaned back because I knew the airbag in my car was going to really hurt. I remember praying for God to protect me. I also remember thinking,, "I knew this was going to happen!"

Twenty minutes earlier, I'd given a report to the Compton school police since someone had keyed part of the hood of my brand new car in a supposedly secure district lot. The officer was nice but clear that I'd probably never get reimbursed the cost of fixing the hood.

I calmed down and tried to see the bright side. I remember telling him, "Well, at least it's just the hood. The whole car could get totaled in a car crash. Thank goodness that hasn't happened yet."

I got in my car and drove away. I remember feeling such a weird energy. I remember thinking that I should pull over somewhere and just take some deep breaths, get my equilibrium back, but I needed to be somewhere else and I didn't want to be late.

The driver hit me so hard that it cracked the engine of my car. The front and passenger side were completely crushed. I thought I was dead and I vaguely remember being pulled out of the car, wondering if this was heaven or the other place. The paramedics just kept trying to get me to talk. I don't remember much but I know they had me laid in the back of an ambulance, wrapped in something because I'd gone into shock. I know I had to be restrained after I said things like, "I'm gonna beat that bitch's ass! She killed my car!"

They didn't take me to the hospital because I refused. So they left me on the sidewalk and told me I should call someone to pick me up. I didn't have a cell phone back in '99. Almost no one I knew had a cell phone. But a pretty large crowd had gathered and a kind stranger had a phone and let me borrow it. I called my teaching supervisor who was also a friend. He dropped everything and came and got me off the curb.

He took me home with him because he was worried about me and didn't think I should be alone. I remember that it was the night the Phantom Menace opened up and he was nice enough to somehow give me one of the tickets he had for the midnight show. So there I was in the theater, completely out of it, sitting around with people dressed up as Wookies and Darth Vader. There were folks play-acting light saber battles in the aisles while waiting for the movie to begin.

As I replayed the sequence of events in my head, I wondered if I'd somehow put the accident in motion by saying that at least my car hadn't been totaled yet. I wondered if it was some sort of premonition on my part, or if it was just coincidence. I sat there watching the beginning of the downfall of Anakin, bothered that I hadn't been listening to my intuition.

Indeed, my car was 100% totaled. I walked away with cuts on my feet from the clutch and brake pedals, a busted lip and some bruises on my face from the airbag. I would find out later that the driver had a full-sized van full of children, was here illegally and had no car insurance. No one in the van was seriously hurt, thank goodness.

She later disappeared. All the information she'd given the police at the scene of the accident was false so there was no way to track her down.

All these years later, I still think about that accident every single day. I wonder if I could have prevented it if I'd just listened to my gut, pulled into a Rite-Aid and gone to buy a pack of gum.

So what do you think? Do you believe it was a premonition on my part to have, twenty minutes earlier, talked about my car not being totaled, or just coincidence? Do you think the weird feeling I had that I should pull over was my intuition ?

NBC Will "Educate" You About Black Women

For the past few days my email in-boxes have been bursting with reminders from my fellow black women to watch NBC Nightly News every evening this week.

No, black women haven't suddenly gone all fan girl on Brian Williams and his uber-orange Mystic tan. Instead, folks have been alerting me that this week NBC News is doing a five part report on the state of black women in America.

The emails have had a tinge of excitement, a little bit of the, "Hallelujah! The mainstream media is paying attention to us!" kind of vibe. I can read between the lines and sense that there's the hope that this will be the start of our nation sitting up and paying attention to black women even when some clown like Don Imus isn't spewing his venom.

Will crimes such as the disappearance of college student Natasha Norman suddenly be reported at the level of the Stacy Peterson story? Will the atrocity that is Dunbar Village be taken up by Nancy Grace and reported on every night until justice is served?

There's also hope that maybe the NBC News series will move beyond the stereotypical. After all, we'd like to think there's only so many times it can be debated in the media whether we're video hos, nappy-headed hos, or just hos who are so controlling and demanding that our men leave us for white women the minute they get a degree and an American Express card.

The emails have also had a little bit of dread to them, a little bit of, "I'm going to watch so I can see what b.s. they say." There's been a concern that NBC News is going to screw this "in-depth" reporting up and reinforce the countless stereotypes about black women. Why? Well since the little two or three minute segment is presented as the key to understanding what makes black women tick, millions of people will go to work thinking they know a little bit more about the one black woman in their office.

And what do black women have to worry about America thinking of us:

1) We're promiscuous.
2) We're bitches with attitudes and chips on our shoulder.
3) We're superwoman. We cook, we keep our hair looking fly, we throw down in the bedroom.
4) We have really big butts. And we like to shake them. And pose on the cover of King magazine.
5) Actually, we're big all over, not just in the behind, because we're drowning our superwoman sorrows in food.
6) We're church ladies.
7) We had a baby as a teenager and our mom is watching it. OR
8) We're single mothers with a gang of kids by different men.
9) We were dateless and bitter in college because there were no black men on campus.
10) We refuse to date or marry men who are not black because we don't want to be race traitors.
11) If the black man we're with doesn't have a degree, we're settling because we don't want to be alone.
12) We talk really loudly and dress in bright colors. And we know how to pop our gum and our neck.

So would these stereotypes be reinforced and rehashed by NBC News or would they be challenged?

Well, tonight's episode started out talking about how there's an "achievement gap" between black women and men. Here we go with the statistics on how 64% of black college students are women and at some schools black women are outnumbering men seven to one.

First of all, aren't there more women in college then men, period? Second of all, isn't it a good thing that so many black women are going to college only a generation or two after Jim Crow officially ended? We'll never know because NBC News isn't going to get into that right now.

Next, we meet the black woman who went to Stanford and she talks about how a degree from Stanford's a "stamp of approval" when she's out in the working world. But forget about asking her what's underneath that comment. Gosh, this "in-depth" news report can't even pause and talk about how she got to college, whether she was the first in her family to go to college or whether her people have been going to college since Reconstruction. NOPE!

And then the story shifts to explaining the low percentage of black males in college. Elementary schools are giving up on black boys. Hip hop reinforces bad boy images so many black males get the idea that it's okay to drop out.

Ahem. Wasn't this story supposed to be about black women?

I'm thinking, hold on, we only have like two or three minutes so why are we rehashing the same media voodoo about how no black men are educated? Do I really need to see another slow-mo rap video and a bunch of pants sagging teens hanging out on a street corner?

Oh, but let's go back to another stereotype: The black woman they profiled is a single mother! No explanation if she's widowed, divorced...just another single black mother. I guess they couldn't find any black women who are married.

The good thing is that this sista's started a business. And she's putting her daughter through Stanford. But suddenly the story launches into how many billions of dollars black women control in our economy.

Hmm. I wasn't thinking about the economy. I'm wondering if this woman feels like superwoman. How does she deal with the stress of doing it all? (Or is she doing it all?) Is she proud that she's putting her daughter through college and that her daughter is going to Stanford just like she did?

But we'll never know all that because "ding" time is up. Didn't you just learn a whole lot about black women?

Thank goodness I don't need to watch NBC News to find out how black women are doing. I can read the blogs of the many black female bloggers and find out more about what's going on with black women than what NBC News told me tonight.

I can pick up the phone, call some folks up and ask them, "Hey girl, how are you doing?"

If you don't have any black women you are close enough to do that with, guess what? Find some. We don't bite. We're friendly, normal people. So, before 2007 ends, get some black female friends and really be friends with them. I'm not talking water cooler friends. I'm talking about you know her drama and her joy and she knows yours too.

Heck, I could go stand in the mirror and talk to my reflection and I'd know more truth about black women than NBC News shared.

So, trust me, don't leave your education about black women to NBC.

I'm Weird, I'm Random. And You Are Too!

It's been a hot second since I've been tagged with any memes. But, thanks to Mes Deux Cents, I can once more reflect on the myriad ways I'm weird and random.

Come take a trip down the path to oddball central:

1) One of my childhood nicknames was "Batwings". My mom would braid my hair into two cute pigtails on the sides of my head. Inevitably, some hair in the front on both sides would escape from the braids and it would flop up and down as I moved. My siblings decided it looked like batwings, so I became "Batwings". Lucky me, right?

They also sometimes called me "Hefty Trash Bag" -- but I don't remember how that one got started so I can't tell you that story. Sister, dear, if you're reading, care to chime in?

Hmm. Speaking of sisters...

2) I had a pet worm named Henrietta. She was slimy. She was fun. I chopped her in half just to be sure that both halves really would stay alive. (They did.) One day my family was doing yard work and I was happily playing with Henrietta. My sister was bending over, pulling weeds and the back of her jeans was gaping open. I just couldn't resist: I dropped Henrietta down the back of my sister's pants. My sister screamed, she wriggled, she grabbed a broom and tried to smack me with it. In my quest to elude the broom, I ran, full speed, into the clothesline pole and knocked myself out.

I was, of course, savvy enough to momentarily "come to" long enough to lie and say that my sister pushed me into the pole. I suppose that lie could be where my moral failings for always wanting to have the last word and get revenge first began.

3) I kept a bug box. As a child, I liked to catch bugs and observe them in the box. I wanted to know what exactly would a spider and an ant do in the box together? I knew, but I had to see the ant get eaten to really believe it would happen.

I particularly liked catching Japanese beetles because my mom told me they were killing her rose bushes. I wanted to be a helpful child so I'd catch the beetles and then set the box in the hot sun. It only took an hour or so for them to burn to a crisp. I'd document the various stages of roasting in an "observation notebook".

Oddly enough, I'm now terrified of bugs and can't even stand seeing them.

4) I once ate an entire box of Twinkies. My brother was acquiring money through nefarious means and bought a gigantic box of Twinkies with some of his loot. There must have been two dozen Twinkies in the box and he hid the box in his room. My eight year-old self was rooting around in his stuff and discovered the box. I'd never had a Twinkie before since my mom was a health food nut. We didn't have anything with sugar in our house at all. So, I decided to try one. And another. And another...and another.

Before too long, I'd eaten every single Twinkie and felt like I was going to throw up. But, the best part was that even though my brother was furious that I'd eaten all his Twinkies, he couldn't tell on me since that would have raised questions about what he was doing to get the money to buy the Twinkies in the first place.

I've never had another Twinkie since then.

5) I paid $75 to live in a filthy Phi Kappa Sigma frat house for a month. Between my junior and senior year in college I moved off campus with a girl that I thought I knew. But I quickly found out she was sort of psycho.

She'd compulsively pull her hair out, eat tons of food and then announce that she was going to go make herself throw up. I just could not deal with watching her devour three boxes of ice cream sandwiches and then hearing her retch into the toilet. She'd even say stuff like, "Excuse me, I have to go throw this up!" After a month of that, I was desperate! I had to move out!

I knew the one black guy who was in Phi Kap and he said he'd give me a room for $75 for the rest of the summer. It was a total deal for my broke self. But, that frat house was so filthy that I'd walk a mile to the 24-hour Burger King to use the bathroom. Needless to say, I never ever took a shower there. Instead, I showered at the gym...which also meant I was exercising every single day. Damn, I was in GREAT shape that summer.

6) I used to interview strangers on El platforms with a mini-cassette recorder. I developed a "Question of the Day" and then I'd go ask random strangers these questions. I'd record their responses and write down random facts about the person. I'd ask about everything from favorite eateries to views on OJ Simpson.

I always planned to make a book out of it all. I've actually thought about doing something similar here in LA, but I think I'm a little more safety conscious nowadays. Yeah, these days I'm more wary about rolling up on random strangers and asking them, "If you had to choose the way you'd die, what would it be?"

7) I can make myself dream about people I'm very close to. If I concentrate on the person I want to dream about when I'm saying my prayers before I go to bed, I'll dream about them. Sometimes I'll just see them somewhere but I can't talk to them. It's like I'm watching them just do the things they do in their day to day life. Other times though, I can have conversations with the person I'm dreaming about. Sometimes I can't remember what we talked about, but when I can, it's always stuff I later find out to be true.

I found out that a college boyfriend was cheating on me through one of these dream conversations. He told me all about his cheating, told me he was planning on having breakfast with this other girl the next morning, and told me the location of the rendezvous.

So, I got up, went directly to the restaurant and guess who was there!

Yep. Busted!

So, that's seven weird and random things about me. Hopefully you haven't been scared away from reading this blog. I know you have at least seven things that are weird and random in your past.

I haven't tagged anyone in awhile and I'm supposed to pick seven people. So, I'll pick:

1) Mamita Umita
2) Nerd Girl
3) Ian at Or So I Thought
4) West
5) Dena at Ready, Set, Blog
6) Jess at Under Construction
7) Jameil at Unabashedly Me

I look forward to coming over to see how you all are each weird and random!

To Strip Or Not To Strip? That Is The Question.

One of my dearest friends is getting married next weekend and her bachelorette party is tonight. I'm really excited because she moved to New York four years ago and I don't get to see her too often. I'm so happy her wedding is out here in LA.

I was telling another acquaintance about how excited I was to go to the party tonight and this guy, obnoxiously said to me, "So are there going to be strippers?"

"Um, no. At least I don't think so," I replied. I highly doubt there 'll be strippers since the shin-dig is at a restaurant.

My friend was unimpressed with my response.

"Y'all girls are boring. What's a bachelor party without strippers?" He then launched into a tale of how the strippers got things, "On and crackin'," at his cousin's bachelor party over the summer.

I started to wonder why I talk to him every once in awhile. I remembered why he's single with zero prospects. I explained that I thought strippers, whether male or female, are completely degraded individuals and not what I'd call entertainment. And I told him that I would feel upset if my soon to be spouse had some other chick's hoo-haa all up in his kool-aid right before we got married.

"So your husband didn't have strippers at his bachelor party?"

"No, he didn't. He went out with his friends and that was it."

"Oh yeah, that's only what he told you!"

Once he started going on about how he knew I didn't have strippers at my bachelorette party because I'm too goody-two-shoes, I decided to hang up. (Seriously, call me next Thanksgiving when you get your brain back, homie.)

So, I'll ask you: What do you think about strippers at bachelor/bachelorette parties?

On the Phone With Mama

I have a deep, dark confession to make: I'm one of those annoying people that talks on their cell phone while grocery shopping.

This morning I woke up and realized we had no fruit in the house. So, I went over to our local supermarket and got sticker shock when I discovered that a box of clementines was $9.99! I was really annoyed but I wanted those clementines!

I decided to call my mom. And, then I wandered the aisles, talking on the phone to her and complaining about the overpriced clementines. I'm sure I must look like I'm a crazy lady talking to myself since I'm using my hands free device. I didn't care though. I heard about my mom's Thanksgiving, complained about the clementines even more and stuck almonds, tea and chocolate in my cart.

I wandered back to the produce section and stared at the clementine display. Seriously, that's a whole lot of ducats for a box of twenty or so little oranges. Seems like they should come gold plated or something for that kind of money.

My indecisiveness about buying clementines was abruptly ended when a heavily tattooed guy with a shaved head, wife beater t-shirt and sagging pants walked toward me, made eye contact and mouthed, "You're so f***ing sexy!"

Yes, it was clearly time to stop complaining to my mom about the clementines.

He proceeded to try to spit game at me. "What's your name?"

Time to get out of dodge and go home.

As I hope you know, guys don't take rejection too well. If women don't smile and giggle at their stupid lines then some of men want to call women a bitch (or worse). One minute a woman is hearing, "You're sexy," and the guy's all, "Lemme talk to you for a second".

But the next minute, after it's clear that being called "sexy" is not being taken in a complimentary manner, sexy can turn into, "Well f*** you then, you bitch ass ho!"

With that in mind, let me tell you: shopping while talking on the phone came in handy today.

I've learned a thing or two while living out here and working in the neighborhoods I've worked in. I've learned that certain types of guy, particularly those from a certain LA background that sport shaved heads, tats and the whole nine, well those guys, they love their mamas.

Mama is up in the church praying for him. Mama still makes him breakfast. Mama listens to his problems and gives him advice that he knows he should listen to. So, do whatever, say whatever, but you don't mess with mama.

I winked conspiratorially at this guy and, whispered back, "Yo, I'm on the phone with my mom."

His whole demeanor changed. He was instantly contrite, apologetic even. "Oh, sorry. Sorry!" And then he scooted off toward the bananas.

Ladies, if you're ever in a similar situation, and I'm sure you will be, make sure to tell those guys you're on the phone with mama. As for me, I put my clementines in my cart and headed for checkout!

Tooth Fairy, Wherefore Art Thou?

I got home about 20 minutes ago from my friend's magnificent Thanksgiving feast. Gosh, I am SO tired. I just want to put on some Maxwell and go to sleep. Instead, I have the enviable task of transforming myself into the tooth fairy.

My six year-old lost his first baby tooth today. It's been a really long time coming. I feel like he's been wiggling that tooth for ten years or something. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating. Maybe he's been wiggling it for a mere five years. -- Regardless, it's been a long time!

Anyway, the tooth finally came out and everybody's happy. This morning the tooth was suddenly hanging from a string. Finally!

Of course, my son is all about business so he immediately ran around saying that the tooth fairy was coming and leaving some money for him under his pillow.

Kids are delusional these days because I asked him how much he thinks the Tooth Fairy should leave, and he said $10! Clearly the look on my face told him otherwise, because he immediately back tracked and said $1.

I remember back in the day how I was lucky if I even got a quarter for my teeth. The word "dollar" didn't even enter into the conversation!

So what amount of money do you think is the right amount for the Tooth Fairy to leave under a pillow?

Gratitude

Oh, Thanksgiving! You're almost here! There's too many things I'm thankful for but here's a short list in no particular order. I'm thankful that:

1) Depeche Mode exists. The other day, I was trying to picture a life without Depeche Mode...and I failed. Plus, they're a good barometer for whether someone is truly a friend. Other people don't have to like them but I have nothing to say to you if you try to ridicule me for liking them.

2) I don't have the job I used to have. I enjoyed what I did and know I made a difference for lots of teachers and kids but...

3) I got my first freelance writing job. Some of you all know what it is. Some of you don't. No, it has nothing to do with anything illegal or pornish so if you went there, get your mind out of the gutter! -- Okay, I'll tell you all what it is.

4) I get to spend more time with my kids. Today I got to watch my youngest re-enacting scenes from the Wizard of Oz. And then I realized that the lady who watched him for the past couple of years used to get to see that fun stuff instead of me.

5) Barack Obama is running for president. I've liked him since I heard him speak at the Democratic convention four years ago. He inspires me pretty much every time he opens his mouth. Will he get the nomination? Will he be president? Who knows, but he adds something. And his wife is the bomb! If he gets elected, she can take his Senate seat in Illinois and then run for president in another eight years.

6) My neighborhood is so fabulous for walking. It's got enough hills to give my rear a workout and there are tons of flowers growing all over the place so it smells wonderful. Will housing prices ever come down enough for me to buy a home here? I don't know, but in the meantime, it's fun to walk by homes with creative front yards like this! I took this photo last weekend. Is that a pumpkin nest?

7) I have connected with so many wonderful bloggers. I appreciate all of you but I particularly appreciate all my fellow intelligent ladies! You all are amazing. I love reading what you write and I love reading your comments here. When I first started blogging, it seemed like the blogosphere was really dominated by guys who thought this was the aggressive, testosterone remix version of "Meet The Press". Ugh! So ladies, keep it coming. Okay, I'll stop gushing.

8) I have friends who encourage my writing. It's so nice to get emails from a couple people in particular that are so encouraging because I need them! They always seem like I get them when I'm most down.

9) I have a creative muse. Every artist has things or people that inspires them and I do too. So to my muse, thank you for inspiring me. You're unflinchingly honest and you've pushed me a whole lot to just keep saying what I need to say. I'm not fully there yet, but, I'm closer, thanks to you.

9) VH1 Classic exists. Where else on TV can I watch videos that don't make me feel like I just stepped into a strip club?

10) Project Runway is back on. Make it work. And vote off the art school brat with the crazy haircut. Please!

11) Fedde Le Grand keeps making great records. From "Put Your Hands Up For Detroit" to "The Creeps" to his latest with Ida Corr, "Let Me Think About" -- if he stops making records, what will I run to?

12) Everyone in my family is healthy. Knock on wood that they stay that way. But I will say, some of you folks I'm related to just need to stop smoking the cancer sticks. For real. Like yesterday.

And, I could go on and on. But I won't because I'm going to go pop a pumpkin pie in the oven.

Tomorrow, I'll be very grateful for the pie, I'm sure! I wish I could share it with each of you.

Boycotting Black Friday

Dear Retailers,

I regret to inform you that the hundreds of TV commercials you have hit me over the head with over the past day have had zero impact on me. Or rather, they've had an impact on me, but not the one you were probably hoping to have.

Honestly, I don't want to see anything about Macy's, Kohl's, WalMart or Mervyns while I'm watching the "Charlie Brown Thanksgiving". Your commercials with fake Santas, fake snow and Christmas trees are all making me feel rather ill. You obviously could care less about any true meaning of Christmas because it's clear that your religion is materialism. You just want me to come into your store and shop so you can have some decent 4th quarter earnings.

I don't care if you're opening up at 6 AM on Friday morning. I don't care if everything in your store is going to be 40% off. I've never gone shopping on your so-called "Black Friday" and I never will. I refuse to run into a store and engage in snatch and grab tactics, just so I can get "stuff". It's not that I don't want the stuff because I sort of do. It's just that I know your CEOs are already wealthy enough as it is. I'll just opt out of lining your pockets any more than is absolutely necessary.

But if you decide to hand out free gas cards, I might change my mind and come by your store. I paid $3.65 a gallon yesterday! So, think about that as a marketing tactic. I'll bet you'd have lines around the block.

Warmly,

Los Angelista

Do You Believe in Soul Mates?

It's so foggy outside that I can barely see out my window. It's the kind of weather that has me wrapped in a blanket, sitting on my couch, channel surfing. I just caught the tail end of "The Bachelor" finale and a brief snippet of Tila Tequila on the Tyra Banks Show.

There's a whole lot of supposed searching for love happening on TV these days: Flavor of Love, Rock of Love, I Love New York, A Shot at Love With Tila Tequila, and of course, the aforementioned Bachelor.

The guy on "The Bachelor" didn't pick either woman. He decided he wasn't "in love". Both women cried and sobbed about how they didn't understand how he could be walking away from what they have.

Are they for real or just hoping they can get their own reality shows and extend their own fifteen minutes of fame? I just don't get what these women think they have. To me, you've got a guy who's been busy making out with a bunch of women. You've got a guy who's been laughing to himself over the cat fights the women have been having. You've got a guy who's asked a group of women to disrespect themselves, all for him. All for love.

So girls, thank God that he decided he didn't want you because not one of these "relationships" has turned out.

And why haven't they panned out? Well, if I was a guy, I'd have a hard time respecting any woman who let me roll like that. "Go ahead and kiss all on a bunch of other women but I'll be waiting right here for you honey!" Yeah, if I'm a guy, I'm programmed to believe that only hos are cool with stuff like that.

And as a woman, could I respect a guy who's also whoring himself out in pursuit of some sort of "true love"? Would I really believe this man was in love with me? Heck no!

I know, these shows are not about love, but are instead on some level about the search for fame. I get that. But they perpetuate some of the stuff we believe about love.

For example, do you believe that everyone has only one true love, one soul mate? Because these shows are all supposedly about helping someone find their soul mate.

The young lady who babysits for me asked me on Saturday night what I thought about this whole soul mate thing. It was 2 AM and I was driving her home. She's beautiful, single and highly frustrated with finding "true love" in Los Angeles. She didn't even have to go into details about the clowns she's meeting. I was able to list them out for her:

1)Men who are really only interested in sex but know women want love so they front like they want love too.
2) Men who want to act like they own you and you need their permission to breathe.
3) Men who act like they have to be super successful in their career before they can commit.
4) Men who think you're lucky they're even talking to you because they're such a good catch. And they let you know you're lucky.
5)Men who are so insecure that they can't stand it when you're more successful than they are.

I could tell I sort of disappointed her when I told her that I didn't know for sure about the whole soul mate thing. I told her how I think we've gone overboard in our culture with believing in the lightning strike, highly romantic ideal of true love, that I've tried to be much more practical and level headed about Love with a capital "L".

"Practical?" she asked. "As in you don't really love your husband, it's just a practical arrangement?"

Um, no. Not that. It's just that that "spark" thing isn't enough. That spark isn't going to keep anybody married. After all, I'm sure everyone Pam Anderson has married has really believed they had that special "thing" with her. And then, kaput. Divorce.

I told my babysitter how for me, I learned it was just too easy to get carried away by that instant spark of attraction. I'd then forget to ask the tough questions surrounding who that person really was, what they were really about, what did they really care about?

No, the lightning bolt sort of thing never turned out well for me. To tell you the truth, it made me feel mentally ill. Then I'd ignore all sorts of big red flags because of that magical lightning bolt... and then I'd find out some sort of insanity about the person and before you know it, I'd be plotting my revenge on a guy. My motto was, "You make my life miserable, I'm gonna make you wish you were dead." But that takes a whole lot of energy and wastes a lot of time.

So I had to learn to be more level headed, get to know someone as a friend first and see past the mirage of that chemical reaction that happens when you feel that spark. I had to take a step back and learn to analyze men very carefully. Grill them like nothing else and grill myself too. After all, it's really difficult to figure out who you are as a woman and what you really want in a world that has so many jacked up images of women and men...and "love".

What do you think? do you believe in soul mates, true love, following the spark? Or no?

Vinyl

I must be one of those relics from an almost forgotten age because I actually have a record player on which to play this glorious cicle of wax.

Yes, records. Remember them?

Well, this is a DJ double set 12" of four Depeche Mode songs and it was given to me last night by the DJ for the shin-dig, Daniel Barassi. He also happens to be Depeche Mode's webmaster. He's a nice guy and I often feel like he has a somewhat thankless job.

So, BRAT, thanks for the record.

As for the rest of you, I know. You're sick of hearing about Depeche Mode. Just be happy a tour isn't going on right now, okay?

I'm the "Happiest Girl" Since I'm Going to Dance to Depeche Mode

Um, yeah. The addict is about to get her fix.

Oh yes. In a couple of hours I'll be at The Grand Star Jazz Club dancing to Depeche Mode. Hopefully I'll hear one of those great remixes of my Depeche Mode Song of the Day, "Happiest Girl".

My favorite part? When Dave Gahan sings, "And I would have to pinch her/Just to see that she was real/Just to watch the smile fade away/See the pain she'd feel."

This is not an official video if you want to take a listen, but it really fits the song:



Hope you all have a lovely Saturday night. And, like the song asks, why do you smile the smile you do?

The Myth of "Pure" Whiteness

Have you ever thought you might not be who you think you are?

For example, maybe your curly hair isn't from a "Jewish" grandmother? Or maybe your skin that tans so easily isn't really from Sicilian heritage? Could it be that you're really not related to some Spanish Moors despite what your mama done told ya? Could it be that you actually have some, God forbid, African ancestry?

Go look in the mirror. Look at your lips, at your nose, at your hair. Are you thinking what I'm thinking? 'Cause I'm thinking you're part black!

To confirm this, maybe we should do a little digging into your storied ancestral past.

Oh my goodness! It seems that some folks back in the day suspected your granny was maybe part Negro!

Yes, America, if we dig up even ONE black relative, whether that's your grandma, grandpa, a great-grandpa, or even great-great-great-great grandma, guess what, party people, you're black! It doesn't matter if you've been living your entire life wearing Peggy McIntosh's invisible knapsack of white privilege. Nope, now we've got you! You're black and you'd better acknowledge your blackness or else we're going to stone you in Ebony and Jet like we did Mariah Carey back in the early '90s when she went around claiming she was Venezuelan, Irish and a bunch of other stuff, instead of just saying she was black.

Get used to the idea that you are going to have to check all those other ethnicities that make up your DNA at the door. Who cares if identity is a fluid construct! That one drop of black blood is mighty powerful! It's so strong that it's going to trump everything else.

In case you're worried about what this means for you, we have some new perks coming your way. Your "I'm Black So Racial Profile Me" card is arriving in your mailbox tomorrow. Dancing lessons are on their way to you so that you can learn how to get crunk -- because you know every "real" black person knows how to dance, right?

We can also get you in touch with the Holy Ghost at a black church this Sunday so that you're getting the "real" black religious experience. Oh, you've also been signed up for soul food cooking class because all "real" black folks make greens and cornbread for dinner every Sunday after church.

Okay, okay. I can see you're crying now. You'd better stop that or else I might have to also label you as a tragic mulatto. You definitely don't want that to happen because now that you're black, you should know one thing about black people: they don't like tragic mulattoes.

Sure, keep on insisting you're a half Russian Jew like Dinah Shore. Whatever. I'm not buying your lies anymore. In fact, I think the real reason Dog Chapman didn't want his son hooking up with a black woman is that Dog's actually secretly black.

What? You thought that was just a really dark tan or really extensive sun damage on Dog Chapman? Puh-leeze! He should have come clean and told the media he's black because then he could have gotten a pass on using the n-word in reference to the woman.

Blame a woman named Bliss Broyard for my eyes being opened about how white folks aren't as pure white as they claim. Yes, thanks to her, I'm now looking at everyone as suspect.

Even George Bush could be a possible "You're Really Black" candidate. And you thought he just got Condi and Colin Powell into those roles because they were the most qualified. Hah! Bush was merely doing what black people do: hooking up his people!

Now that white America's big secret was exposed by Bliss on the Today Show this past Monday when she was talking about her book, "One Drop", our racial classification system has been turned on it's ear. Bliss wrote about her family and her father, Anatole Broyard. Yes, you guessed it. Bliss didn't know that her daddy was part black. It seems that Pops was passin' for white! He had tons of relatives that were of French and Spanish descent. But, he also had relatives that were of African descent. And, oops, he conveniently forgot about them so he could get ahead in his literary career in New York City.

Turns out, her Scandinavian mother knew about her husband's black heritage, but only revealed this secret to Bliss right before her father passed away. And, as Bliss explains here, her mom went and consulted a priest when she first found out she was married to a man with black ancestry. Wowzer.



All sarcasm aside, I'm sure this sort of thing is more common than we all realize. It's sad that her father felt that he had to abandon his relatives in order to make it in America. Why'd he do that? Hmm....could it be that he didn't want to feel racism anymore? I mean, gosh, Arthur Ashe died of AIDS but he still said, "Race has always been my biggest burden."

Maybe her dad wanted to get away from that. Besides, what if her father was actually genetically more French instead African? Could he have then said that he was French? And is that the point anyway, to create some sort of system that operates on percentages? Oh wait, that's sort of what the one drop rule is, right? Except that it's if you have any percentage of black blood, you're black.

Let's face it, most black people in America have white ancestry. We're all "mixed". So, logically, we'd have to be idiots to assume most white people are just "pure white" (whatever that means) without even one drop of "black blood".

To be crystal clear, I think being black is a wonderful thing. It's not something to be ashamed off. But the rest of the world clearly doesn't agree. It was SO telling how when Bliss was on the Today Show, Natalie Morales actually said about Bliss finding out about her father's heritage, "Was it just a complete blow to your identity?"


Her father hid his black heritage

If you're not black, would it be a complete blow to your identity if you found out that one of your ancestors was black? And if you did find this out, would you then start telling people that you are black?

Why do we insist on believing there's such a thing as being pure white? And why do we cling to this idea of one drop of black blood makes a person black?

I'm Never Too Sick For Depeche Mode

Come and have some fun. I am going to will myself to feel better by then!

Being Sick Is A Lonely Endeavor

I don't know how it's possible, but I feel even worse than I did yesterday. And that's physically as well as mentally.

My little family is one of those LA conundrums that has refused to buy a second car. My husband and I have always managed to work it out so that one of us is working either in the neighborhood or in a location that's easily accessible from the subway. We've managed to work it out like this for eight years and even though it's sometimes a true headache when our schedules get really busy, it's not so bad and we're saving the environment that much more.

Last year for my job I used to easily spend 2-3 hours a day in the car, driving to various schools. So now that I'm lucky enough to be writing from home and doing some PR for a local band, also from home, my commute time has been boiled down to a ten minute walk, give or take a few minutes depending on how slowly the little one drags his feet.

Yes, my "commute" is walking my sons to and from school.

I like getting the exercise and it's a good time to talk to my boys. It's weird how they open up about things in a different way when we're walking together.

I do this walk three times a day: I walk my kids to school in the morning. I walk to pick up my youngest from pre-k. Then I walk to pick up my eldest in the afternoon. What is that? 50-60 minutes of walking in this lovely city? Yes, it's definitely good exercise.

Lately though, my youngest has refused to walk. He says his legs get tired going up and down the hills. So I let him ride on my shoulders. And that's normally cool...when I don't have a fever and it's not 87 degrees out.

Today, short stuff just could not understand that if he rode on my shoulders we might both fall over. My eldest son was so concerned that he offered to carry his 35 pound little brother on his back. They actually tried it too. I would have laughed on another day but today, I just couldn't see the humor.

Today it just made me profoundly sad. Here I am, sick as a dog, and I have no one I can call and ask, "Hey, can you please go drop my kids off at school?" I have no family here. My closest friend is five miles away and she barely can get herself out the door in the morning, let alone come over here to get my kids.

Besides, the dropping off isn't the biggest problem. It's the picking up piece. The school will not release kids to someone who's not on the emergency card and I seriously felt like if I called any of my friends and said, "Go pick up my kids for me because I have a raging fever and I feel like I'm going to die," they would have been like, "Huh?".

Fevers are just not that big of a deal in our world. You get your ass up, take some DayQuil and go to work. I took the DayQuil and surprisingly, it had almost ZERO effect. And my husband, you ask? He gets the fun task of leaving the house at 5 AM to be at his job by 6:00. He works a good 25 miles away and is driving with traffic.

Yes, I'm whining and feeling sorry for myself.

Yes, I actually cried over this earlier tonight.

But truly, being sick is a lonely endeavor.

America: Home of the Fatal Tummy Tuck

I just ate a clove of garlic and downed some NyQuil so this is going to have to be the most quickly written post in the history of this blog.

I took my temperature and it's 100.1. My body aches. I have a headache. My eyes are red... no photo of my jacked up state is gonna be posted. I'm not trying to "keep it real" to that sort of level.

In fact, I wouldn't even be posting except for Nablopomo. Yeah, I'm just competitive like that so I've dragged myself into an upright position and I'm sitting here typing. Ugh. I hate getting the flu.

But I have to just say that I feel so horrible for Kanye West. I was talking to my mom and sister earlier today about his mom's death and it's just awful. I'd be a wreck if that happened to my mom.

I keep thinking about how in pictures his mom wasn't even big. She looked just fine. She didn't look like she was in her teens or 20's. Nope, she looked like a distinguished black woman in her late 50's.

But nope, even educated, capable women are made to feel like they're nothing unless they have a flat stomach and some perky boobs. We're all responsible for that, not just that allegedly crooked surgeon she got caught up with.

I'll tell you, I've thought about getting a tummy tuck. And then I think about getting my badonkadonk up to run instead. If that doesn't get me the flat stomach, then guess what, I guess I'll just have to learn to live with control top panty hose, corsets, girdles... seriously, I would not want to die and leave my two kids and husband alone.

Plus, I've never had the $$ for plastic surgery so that's always squashed that idea.

And with that, I have to go keel over and wrap myself in a blanket. I hope I feel better manana and I hope you don't get sick too.

Could You Tell It Was Veteran's Day Today?

I sat in a cafe this afternoon and wondered if anyone in the place was a veteran.

After all, today is Veteran's Day.

Something like 25% of LA's homeless population is comprised of veterans. Clearly though, not every veteran is living over on Skid Row in abject poverty. Those ones that decided they didn't want to rack up the savings at Macy's awesome Veteran's Day Sale were probably getting all the recognition they needed at trendy little cafe's with profound names like "Intelligentsia".

I'll admit, there were no signs in the cafe proclaiming, "Thank you, Veterans, for risking your lives so we can enjoy our $4 lattes."

There weren't even any, "Free coffee if you got a cap busted in your ass somewhere overseas!" signs.

But maybe a couple of vets came into the cafe before I did and told them to take the signs down because they didn't want to draw too much attention to themselves. They probably wanted to sip that $4 latte and discuss the writer's strike in anonymity.

Yes, they must not have wanted to call too much attention to themselves, even though it's technically Veteran's Day.

I'm sure the tattooed up guys sitting across from me poring over photo shoot proofs probably just got back from Iraq.

The woman who seemed like she'd forgotten to put on a bra had to have been chasing Osama in Afghanistan this time last year. She was probably risking her life in barren terrain, so she should have the luxury to yap into her cell phone about how her boyfriend is an, "F-ing cheater," but she can't leave yet because the, "Sex is sooo hot. Like every night!"

Yes, even though I couldn't tell at all that it was Veteran's Day today, that doesn't mean the veterans around me felt at all slighted or unappreciated.

I'm sure they just were glad to have a day off to relax, shop, sip coffee and be cool...just like me.