Jack and Bob Make Babies

Here it is, almost 9:30 and I don't know where the day went.

First of all, school needs to be out, like yesterday. My kids are so over and done with this school year. They don't want to go anymore and they for sure don't want to go to sleep. So what are they doing? Right now, they are in bed and have been (off and on) since a little after 8:00.

Unfortunately though, thanks to Daylight Saving's Time, it's still nice and light outside at 8:00. Why go to sleep when the sun's not down? And since they don't want to go to sleep, they get to fooling around.

First there was an itty bitty spider on the wall in their room. I had to stand on a chair to kill it and then they were scared it was going to come back from the dead like a zombie. Next they were hungry yet again. Trust me though, I believe them when they say they're hungry because these growing boys are like bottomless pits.

How bottomless pit-ish? Well, we went to the Los Feliz Street Fair yesterday, and I watched my seven year-old, "O", sit on the sidewalk in front of Skylight Books and devour one large Jamba Juice and one slice of cheese pizza from Palermo. Then he started begging for my bowl of Channa Masala and rice from Electric Lotus. I felt sorry for him so I went on and gave it to him. Twenty minutes later, he wanted a hot dog. As I sat there watching him scarf down the hot dog, I couldn't help but think, "10th percentile for weight. 90th percentile for height. He's gotta have tapeworms."

Anyway, back to tonight. Their second "dinner" got served to them around 8:45. Then folks had to go to the bathroom yet again. Now they're in their beds pretending that one of them is Robin Hood and the other is the Sheriff of Nottingham.

There's no point in going in there and making some sort of threat like, "If you don't go to sleep I'm gonna throw out all your toys," especially since the acting is so entertaining. Oh wait, they must be finished with Robin Hood and have clearly moved on to scientific inquiry because "O" just yelled, "Hey Mom, what are Jack and Bob doing?"

Remember those silkworms, Jack and Bob, that we picked up at the Bug Fair a few weeks ago? Yeah, if you don't, I don't blame you. I forgot about them too because Jack and Bob spun cocoons and have been chillin' inside them for over two weeks.

Well, today after school, O discovered that Jack and Bob, finally hatched from those cozy cocoons. Our two newly hatched moths then proceeded to have sex with each other all afternoon. Wait, let me go check... yep, still having sex with each other.

Gosh, silkworms. I had no idea the moth Kama Sutra would be going on in my house.

The most awkward moment of the evening was during their second dinner (peanut butter and jelly) when "O" just had to put their little plastic box next to his plate so that he could observe Jack and Bob. He was watching them intently and then he narrowed his eyes and asked, "Why are their butts stuck together like that? And why does Jack keep moving like that?"

Um, er, um. Mommy really doesn't know how to answer those questions without freaking both of us out, so that's why she said, "Because that's what moths do, so eat your sandwich and go to bed!"

Clearly I'm just as unprepared for the animal sex talk as I am for the human sex talk. Eek!

So, yeah, my kids will both be total zombies in the morning. This could work in my favor if Jack and Bob haven't detached from each other by then. The kids might not even notice if they haven't. And if the boys are little tired, hey, they only have a few days of school left. "T" graduates from Pre-K on Thursday and "O" only has till the following Thursday and then we are DONE with this school year!

Have You Read This Before?

Today is my lucky day. Not only did May Gray come back, killing the 90 degrees at 8 AM craziness that's been frying my brain over the past week, I also got tagged by Joy over at The Sweeter the Juice. This meme is book related and the rules are:

1. Pick up the nearest book.
2. Open to page 123
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people, and acknowledge who tagged you.

The problem is that there are several books around me that are equidistant to my hand. Wait, let me count for accuracy so that you know exactly how many books. Counting, counting... there are nine books that I could pick up off of my coffee table.

Yes, I know, that's a lot of books. But, in my house, there are books everywhere. When my sister was visiting, she got a total kick out of teasing me over how many bookcases I have.

So which book should I reveal?

Hmm... I know some of you are literary snobs so you're going to say, "She reads what???"

I know how it goes. It's like when you ride on the subway and you spy on what folks are reading, and then you make total judgments about them based on their book choices. For example, you arrive at one particular set of conclusions if someone is reading this:

And you arrive at another set of conclusions if you see someone reading this:


It also reminds me of the time I was at a work conference in DC and a colleague from New York was all, "You've never read Zane before?"

No, I hadn't, so this colleague helpfully gave me her Zane book as we said goodbye at Dulles Airport. She promised I'd looove it because it was a real "action-packed" pager turner. It was titled "Addicted" so I figured it was about drug addiction. Or maybe shopping addiction. There wasn't much on the back cover and I didn't have time to leaf through it, so I quickly stuck it in my briefcase and rushed to my gate.

On the plane I was in the window seat next to an older African-American couple that was sitting in the center seat and the aisle. Once we'd taken off, both husband and wife pulled out their Bibles. The wife asked me, "Are you a Christian?"

"Um, no ma'am. I'm not." Crickets were chirping at this point so I helpfully added, "But I do read the Bible sometimes."

She smiled politely and got back to perusing the Good Book. I decided to get my book out too. I was excited to check out what Zane was about so I dug in my briefcase and pulled out this:

I felt Wifey's eyes checking out the cover and, trying to make small talk, I asked, "Have you read this before?"

She was quick to say no. Suddenly it seemed like she was sitting a bit more stiffly than before but I figured she might just be hating the super uncomfortable middle seat. Or at least, I thought that till I started reading. That's when I discovered that the addiction in "Addicted" is, wait for it -- sex addiction.

The main character goes buckwild and develops nymphomania.

I wanted to say to the wife sitting next to me, "Honest! I had no idea! It's not even my book!" But it was too late. She was giving me the serious side eye so there was nothing to do but tuck the book back in my bag and go to sleep. I'm telling you, if that woman had had a bucket of holy water, I'm sure she would've turned it upside down on my head. I was sooo embarrassed that I probably would've helped her!

Oh, and later on after I'd shared this horrifyingly embarrassing incident with a friend, I found out that the author Zane is known for writing, ahem, erotica. I still can't believe I asked a church lady if she read erotica.

Anyway, crazy erotic airplane/book stories aside, let me pick the The Autobiography of Malcolm X off my coffee table for this book meme. I pulled it out yesterday since May 19th is El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz's birthday. He would have been 83 years old this year.

Now, according to the meme rules, I need to turn to page 123 and go to the 5th sentence. Here we go:

"In all of my time in Harlem, I never saw a white prostitute touched by a white man. White girls were in some of the various Harlem specialty places. They would participate in customers' most frequent exhibition requests --a sleek, black Negro male having a white woman."

Let your mind marinate on that for a moment. Harlem has changed a whole lot since Malcolm was a young man. But is this observation (and the sentiment behind it) still true?

Now I get the fun task of tagging five lucky people with this meme. I'm going to pick:
1) Kari at If I Only Had a Blog
2) Miriam at Black Fire White Fire
3) Shelly at Boring Black Chick
4) Anali at Anali's First Amendment
5) Jen at A2EatWrite

I hope you five have a wonderful time choosing which book to share with the rest of us!

Polygamist Diversity?

Until today I hadn't really paid attention to the whole Texas FLDS polygamy ranch scandal. The minute I hear the word "polygamy", I tend to think of some controlling men who have brainwashed some poor women so that they can have lots of sex and get waited on hand and foot.

Watching some of the wives from the ranch on the Today Show this morning did nothing to change my assumption. My goodness, these ladies need some serious deprogramming, not to mention a few hours alone with Tim Gunn.



At the 2:14 mark, I was totally talking to my TV:

"Do you hear the craziness you're saying? Is your hair for real? Why are you dressed like you're on Little House on the Prairie? Do you know you sound like a robot?"

Even if they want to claim that no abuse happened with their kids, wowzer, they seriously need help in the mental department!

And another thing, I'm just wondering, are there ever African-American polygamists? Asian-American polygamists? Latinos? Or do white folks in these United States have polygamy on lock down or something?

Even on that TV show, Big Love, it was all white ladies as the wives. And instead of the husband looking like the Grizzly Adams we urban elite snobs clearly think they look like, Bill Paxton gets thrown in there as the husband.

Is America just not ready to see some black guy from the 'Sip being stressed by having to manage his relationships with his four wives? Don't we want to see the Chinese guy from the outskirts of San Francisco getting his freak on with Wife #1 on Monday, Wife #2 on Wednesday and Wife #3 on the weekends?

I know some comedian somewhere has probably told a joke at some point about how no real sistah is gonna tolerate being Wife Number Two, let alone being Wife Number Twenty. But at the fine university I went to, there were black women who lived on the south end of campus and tolerated their boyfriends having another girl on the north end of campus. True, the two ladies may have eventually had an ugly altercation in the Tech building over this situation, and said altercation may have ultimately been blamed on one of them being ghetto since she was from Gary, but you get where I'm going with this, right? And in the many years since college, how many times have I heard someone say, "He may creep with her but he comes home to me at night."

So why don't black folks, Asians and Latinos just full on go for the polygamist route? Not saying it should go down like that, because I don't, but why don't we have a little more diversity in our polygamists?

Voices Carry

Sound really carries in my neighborhood at night. I don't know if it's an effect of the hills around here or if smoggy air has more sound conducive properties, but I'm constantly overhearing the most random conversations.

I just heard one of my neighbors talking to a guy right underneath my living room window. She and her roommates aren't particular favorites of mine. I readily admit they aren't as bad as Crazy Claudia, the compulsive vacuumer who used to live across the hall. Claudia hated Black people and loved to stomp up and down the stairs as loudly as possible. Nothing can top Claudia's madness.

But, these current neighbors just have that vibe that they're really trust fund brats who run a meth lab out of one of the bedrooms. One of the guys spends a lot of time hanging in front of our building in his wife beater t-shirt. The other guy always looks totally wasted and only grunts when I say, "Hello".

The girl who lives with them is the type that thinks she's hot because ages ago some delusional soul told her she was the stuff. Oh, and her favorite outfit is a pair of cowboy boots with bare legs and a baby doll mini dress. That goes over really well when she walks by my sons.

I imagine she had on one of her baby doll dresses while she was having her little chit-chat right beneath my living room windows. I wasn't 100% paying attention to her inanity about some audition she screwed up and how depressed she was about it. What did catch my ear was that there was a weird pause where they suddenly weren't talking. I hadn't heard footsteps walking away or heard the door to our building slam shut.

Hmm...No one walked away. No one went inside either. No one was talking.

I don't have to be Sherlock Holmes to guess they must have been kissing because the silence was broken when I heard him say, "So can I come in?"

Ladies and gentleman, it was a classic case of a guy trying to charm his way into a woman's apartment so he can get some!

I couldn't help but think, gosh, is that how easy it is? I guess straightforwardly asking works because next thing I knew, I heard her seductively ask,"What about your girlfriend?"

He had the decency to pause before he chuckled and replied, "Well... she's not really my girlfriend anymore."

Whoa! Hold up, neighbor gal! Come back down to earth! He's LYING! If you ever hear a guy say such a thing, you know that his girlfriend is probably sending him unsuspecting text messages like, "Do you want me to pick up some flowers for your mom on my way home from work tomorrow?" That's why his phone is on silent and why he was gone in the bathroom for 10 minutes while y'all were out to dinner. You see, he was talking to his "not really my girlfriend" girlfriend! Besides, if you need to ask about a man's girlfriend, that's a sign you need to repeat three times, "His girlfriend may be crazy, track me down and slash my tires!"

Not scary enough for you? Okay, how about, "His girlfriend might be crazy and try to cut up my face with a razor blade!"

Before you say that sort of stuff only happens in the movies, trust me, I've known people it's happened to. So I'm just saying, it's something to think about. Is 10 minutes of fun worth getting your face scarred up?

Obviously to Tramp-o-La it is. She upped the booty call ante with some more purring. "All you want to do is talk?"

Eww! But that's when I heard her keys jingle. He started giggling like a goof ball and so did she. I heard the downstairs door open and slam shut and then they tramped through our hallway.

I think I might shut my windows and throw on my iPod so I don't have to accidentally hear any other, ahem, noises tonight.

Politicians and Prostitutes

Oh, Mr. Spitzer, thanks for once more drawing us all into the scandalous mix of prostitution and politics.

Sometimes it seems like prostitution and politicians go hand in hand. Almost 100 years ago we had the courtesan Mata Hari trying to take out the French for the Germans.

Fast forward to the debacle of Marion Barry, the prostitute and a crack pipe. Then we had Bathroom Gate with Larry Craig and his toe tapping escapade.

And now we've got Kristen, the call girl from the Emperor's Club having a hand in the downfall of New York Governor, Eliot Spitzer.

I know you've read ad nauseum about how Spitzer was "Client 9" (which to me sounds sort of like it should be the name of a British electro-pop boy band). But instead, Client 9 is, governor or not, just another skeevy guy who's been catting around on his wife with a prostitute.

He looked so unrepentant as he "apologized" yesterday, the wife he wronged standing next to him looking like she'd just been hit by a semi truck. I really do feel terrible for her. I wanted to take off my earrings and grease my cheeks with Vaseline on her behalf. And she must know that since her husband's a politician, not a ball player, there's no $4 million dollar Kobe Bryant guilt ring coming her way.

Unfortunately, I think we're used to politicians cheating. In the past year, L.A. Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa cheated on his wife with a Telemundo reporter. His wife left him, and he subsequently broke up with the reporter. And no one in L.A. is vocally calling for his resignation. In fact, Villaraigosa's been out campaigning for Hillary Clinton.

If we skate up to the Bay Area, we have San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom cheating with his (now former) campaign manager's wife. I think folks up there were a little tougher on Gavin, but he's still in office.

In case you think it's a California thing, let's not forget that the King of Political Infidelity, Bill Clinton, cheated multiple times. Yes, Clinton got impeached, but he finished his term. No one said, "Step down in 48 hours or else."

I really think people are really in an extra tizzy because Spitzer's infidelity is with a hooker. We don't like the idea of anyone paying a woman $4000 for sex.

And can someone tell me what exactly you get when you pay that much money to a prostitute? That must be some gold-plated sex right there.

Actually, don't tell me. I think it's better if I don't know. I'll just content myself with wondering how many of the outraged love the film "Pretty Woman".

Before Eighteen

I am on thought overload this evening.

I seriously can't focus on any of the things I want to blog about. You can expect some posts in the near future about: why almost all of the black men in my family are dead and the women aren't, lynching, the latest zogby poll questions I got in my email, Stanford University's tuition changes, recurring dreams and whether you'd stay with someone who cheats... but it's just not flowing tonight. I can't focus my writing because I have too much to think about.

My saving grace is that I have been tagged by I Am Not Star Jones (love that name btw) over at The Unemployment Cafe. Here are the rules:

1. Post these rules before presenting your list.
2. List 6 actions or achievements you think every person should accomplish before turning 18.
3. There are no conditions on what can be included on the list.
4. At the end of your blog, choose 6 people to get tagged and list their names.
5. People who are tagged write their own blog entry with their 6 suggestions.
6. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged.

This is a hard one for me because my main focus from ages 12-17 was doing really well in high school so that I could get into a top college and get enough scholarships/financial aid to attend. I didn't think accomplishing much else was absolutely essential. Everything else was a nice to have. I still think doing well in school and getting into a top college is the job of a teenager. But, I'll give this a go:

1) Read a book a week: I know, it sounds daunting but being literate is one of the best gifts you can give yourself. And heck, you have no kids, no rent or mortgage to pay, and if you tell your mom you can't wash dishes right now because you're reading and right at the exciting part of the story, guess what, your mom isn't going to complain. She'll be too busy saying, "Thank you, Jesus! My baby is reading instead of messing around with boys!"

Oh, and try to pick up real books instead of the "street-lit" type books. And if anyone tries to give you a book by Zane, run!

2) Be Child and Disease Free: I know some of you might be saying, "Turning 18 and not being a teen mother and not having chlamydia is an accomplishment?"

Um, I hate to break it to you but in some parts of the world it is. I was one of a handful of black girls to graduate from my high school without a baby and I 100% credit that to keeping my legs closed. Do I think white girls weren't getting pregnant? Nope, I think they were. I just know they were having abortions. Black teens didn't have the money for that though. And so they had babies, put off dreams of college, and on and on.

Maybe teens nowadays are so much savvier and know all about safer sex and so are not worried about this at all. But then again, there's Jamie Lynn Spears. Oh and let's not forget about "Juno". I hate how Juno makes it look like a friendly white family (or single mom) is going to adopt your baby. But guess what, if you're black, your baby probably isn't getting adopted if you give it up. Nope, unless you can find a way to make "South Side of Chicago" sound like an exotic African locale, your baby will be in that orphanage or foster home for a long time.

And I don't know why folks try to sugar coat it for teenagers but I can't tell you how many folks I knew in high school that had to get treated for gross stuff like gonorrhea of the throat. You show people a picture of that mess and they will not even think of having sex. Yeah, maybe #2 should have been called keep your legs closed and your mouth off of people's privates... trust me, you will have plenty of time for all that later.

Anyway, now that we're all grossed out, moving right along!

3) Eat, Pray, Exercise: When you're a svelte teen you never think you're going to turn into a contestant on the Biggest Loser. But you will if you eat junk and don't exercise. So learn to eat properly and learn to love exercise because both will keep you from leading a life where you're either fat or constantly yo-yo dieting. If you can pick up a sport that you can stick with, that's even better. Gosh, there's so many soccer leagues in LA, an adult could play every day of the week if they wanted to. But it's hard to come into it as an adult and say, "I know nothing about soccer. Teach me!"

And the prayer will help you your entire life, so connect with God early on and figure out what it is you believe instead of blindly following tradition.

4) Volunteer and be of service: I think all teens should have to volunteer in a homeless shelter, a home for the elderly and with kids younger than themselves.

Teens need to learn compassion and understand that they could end up in the homeless shelter or in an old folks home. Plus, working with kids younger than themselves gives them the chance to be a responsible role model and learn how to develop leadership skills.

5) Develop organizational systems: Learn to keep a schedule with a to-do list. Learn how to prioritize the things you need to accomplish. Develop the habit of doing the "big rocks" first instead of putting them off till later.

There are so many disorganized people in the world and it just makes your life more difficult as you get older. This doesn't mean a teen has to get married to a Franklin Covey planner or spend a ton of money on some big binder. I used Chandler's assignment notebooks for years and they only cost $6.

6) Never have a drink: I know every teen movie has the scene where everybody's having a blast and is trashed. But those teen movies don't show the addiction, the fatal car crashes, the rapes and the violence. There's too much of that with teens.

I remember in high school I walked in on a friend about to be gang-raped by a group of guys we both knew. She was completely drunk and passed out. They tried to force me out of the room but I raised hell and got her out of there. I always thought about how if I'd been drinking too, those five guys would have raped her and maybe me too.

I think the reason they didn't try to rape me was because one of them was a third or fourth cousin of mine... He could never hold his head up around me again.

So that's my six things. Now, to pass this on to six fantastic bloggers:

-1969
-If I Only Had a Blog
-Jali's House
-Gunfighter
-Healthier, Happier You
-Bygbaby
and...
-Black Fire White Fire

I can't wait to read what they write.

Telling All Your Business in Public

Dear Blond in a Brown Sweater, Orange Pants and Red Boots,

You shouldn't tell all your business in public. Especially not at a busy cafe in LA.

I know we have a confessional culture, where folks just slit their wrists and let all their business bleed out to everyone and anyone.

I am a participant in this because, after all, I'm a blogger. For three years I have told my business to complete strangers. But I only tell some of my business, not all of it.

Never all of it.

It is a free country though. I cannot stop you from sitting in a cafe discussing the amazing sex you had last night. But at least, if you're going to tell it, whisper. Lean across the cafe table so that you don't have to shout to your friend about how you've, "Never been f***ed like that before. Ever."

I get it. Your mind was blown. Your world was rocked. You can't stop thinking about it. Or talking about it.

You're three tables away from me and I can hear every word. Judging from the smirks on the faces of other customers in here, we are all listening.

But you see, it's only 9:30 in the morning and I just want to enjoy my chai, not throw it up all over the floor. I'm not trying to hear anything that starts with, "And then he flipped me over and..."

On the other hand, you go right ahead and keep talking.

Trust me, I'm not the only person in here writing down every word.

Assassins and Child Molesters

I didn't sleep last night. I had too much on my mind.

I was distracting myself from myself with the early morning cable news when the first report of Benazir Bhutto being assassinated came on. It's heartbreaking to see such a thing happen because she didn't deserve it. Who could think that God would bless such actions? And true, lots of people are "assassinated" by rival gangs every single day in this city and none of them deserve it either. But it matters in a different way that such a thing would happen to her at this time in history.

I still don''t know what to do with the story, what to make of all the political fallout from it. There's certainly enough political jockeying being done by those currently in power and those who are running for President in this country. But I don't know what to make of it, and so I will tell you about something else that's been on my mind, something I can not necessarily make sense of, but it's not an unfamiliar topic. In fact, I've seen it too much.

Do you remember the group B2K?

You probably don't if you aren't one to keep tabs on the ever-revolving door of pop culture, but B2K was a boy band from LA that had a string of huge hits a couple of years ago. All the teeny-bopper girls on both sides of the pond were crazy for them and they seemed to perform on every music awards show under the sun. They even made one of those dance movies that come along every once in awhile, "You Got Served".

They weren't the most stellar singers on earth but they could dance and had great production, so it worked. Here's the video for one of their biggest hits, "Bump, Bump, Bump". I remember when this song came out it was definitely a banger, and it went to #1 on Billboard, but the video creeped me out for a few reasons.

First, it features Sean Combs, also known as P.Diddy, Puffy, Puff Daddy, etc. He's creepy in his own right, but an additional creeptastic vibe was created because he's like twice the age of the teenage B2K boys. It's a really weird dynamic to watch him performing such a sexually suggestive (written by Chi-town's finest, R. Kelly) song with them.

Second, the female "dancers" in the video also seemed to have a few years on the guys. It could just be the power of makeup and hard living but the women definitely didn't seem to be 17 year-olds. Everyone wants to talk about older men and young girls, but a wink and a nod is given to younger guys and older women, like being 17 and able to pull a 21 year-old means you're some sex stud.

Third, I got to thinking about how I'd feel if those were my sons. It made me think about how I wouldn't want my sons around that industry, with all the predatory people who just seem to be absolutely morally bankrupt and just pimping folks for profit.

And then suddenly, kaput. B2K was over. The lead singer, Omarion, ended up going solo but the rest of them disappeared...until now.

A few days ago, two of the former members alleged via a YouTube video that their svengali-like manager (and cousin?), Chris Stokes, molested them and other members of the group beginning when they were pre-teens.

Many people don't know that 1 in 4 girls and 1 in 6 boys are sexually abused in this country. When I was a teacher I'd look around my classroom and know that statistically, sexual abuse had happened to at least two or three of my students. I'd look to see which ones still sucked their thumbs when they thought no one was looking, which ones danced a bit too suggestively on the playground.

When I was supervising teachers, it was always heartbreaking when one of my teachers would call and ask what they should do to work with a student they'd recently learned was being abused. It never was an easy answer.

There are a lot of folks who have had some relative, family friend, coach, pastor or stranger sexually abuse them. But folks don't talk about it. And we damn sure don't discuss how it happens to boys. I find that there is so much abuse going on that sometimes there's a "just get over it" kind of message sent to victims. Plus, there's a vibe that boys like the abuse if it happens with a woman.

But what if the alleged offender is a black male? And it's not Michael Jackson? And the victim is also a black male?

What does it mean for these young black men who were the object of a million teen girl fantasies to put a video of themselves on the internet where they allege such crimes? And one explicitly references having had anal sex performed on him?

For the young men, making such allegations is the equivalent of giving up their mythological status as a heterosexual, well hung, black male sex stud. The word "gay" rapidly started to fly around the sites that were reporting the story. LAPD began an investigation...and very few doubted that the claims weren't true. Because what black male in his right mind would want to go down the path to being considered, as the term goes, "suspect"?

Today, one of the young man from B2K recanted his allegations.

At least 20% of abused people recant so what are the adoring B2K fans to believe? Especially now that the other alleged victim has stated that the recantation is due to being rolled up on and threatened by Compton Bloods.

Yes, gang members. Sounds crazy but that makes it all quite believable to me...remember the story of Suge Knight hanging Vanilla Ice off a balcony? Yeah, not so far-fetched anymore, is it?

Al Queda or the Bloods. Take you pick. Because whether someone is an assassin or a child molester, surely both are killing someone, even if for the victim that remains alive, it's all a figurative thing.

Jamie Lynn Spears: Statutory Rape?

Wowzer, 2007 is really going out with a bang!

If you haven't heard by now, Jamie Lynn Spears, Britney's little sister is pregnant.

I didn't see in the news how many soldiers died in Iraq today but I know all the sordid details of her pregnancy, particularly that Jamie Lynn is 16. I guess they've had Madonna's "Papa Don't Preach" on heavy rotation in that household.

I'd love to know where the condom was but good for Jamie Lynn that's she's decided to keep her baby. Really, I don't know why some in the media are acting like the girl's life is finished. I'm sure there are thousands of other 16 year-olds out there that are pregnant and they don't have the resources Jamie Lynn Spears has at their disposal.

Right now, I'm watching MSNBC where they're buzzing about whether Jamie Lynn's TV show on Nickelodeon, Zoey 101, is going to be canceled because of her pregnancy. After all, her image is supposed to be squeaky clean. They're debating whether or not Nickelodeon can legally fire her from the show and if they do, wouldn't that be some sort of wrongful termination or discrimination on the basis of her being pregnant?

I don't know about all that. I'm just waiting for these talking heads to bring up the fact that the father of her baby, her boyfriend, Casey Aldridge, is 19.

She's 16. He's 19.

So, isn't Casey having sex with Jamie Lynn statutory rape? Shouldn't someone be rolling up to handcuff him and cart Casey off to the big house? Or do laws like that only apply when black teenage boys like Genarlow Wilson get teenage girls to give them blow jobs on New Year's Eve?

Yes, 17 year-old Genarlow got ten years for having consensual oral sex with a 15 year-old girl. Just imagine how many years prison he would have gotten if that 15 year-old had gotten pregnant. Heck, he might have gotten life in prison or something.

Genarlow just got released this year, at the age of 21.

Since America is the land of equal opportunity, shouldn't Casey Aldridge get the opportunity to make friends with a jail cell?

I'm sure it'll never happen. After all, Casey's a nice boy from her church. No way he deserves to go to jail with hardened criminals, right?

That Old Black Magic

I got up bright and early this morning and finally got to uploading some of the video I took at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe last Friday night. The time I spent listening to the poets was really good for me, really artistically nourishing. I'm so glad I got a little footage to remind me of the experience.

On the night that I went there, I was having such a good time that I didn't leave till around 2 AM. I gave my husband a call right away so I could rave about the experience. And then I asked him how his day had been.

He didn't want to tell me because he said he didn't want to put a dark cloud on my evening. I made him talk though and he told me a story of complete and total insanity. So crazy, in fact, that it made me feel a little sick to my stomach. Okay, maybe that nausea was just the lurching of the taxi I was in, but still, I'm completely convinced that out here in LA, we definitely do crazy much better than anyone else.

Let me tell you about it:

My eldest son has been friends with a girl we'll call "Emily" for the past two years. He's had an innocent crush on "Emily" since they met in Pre-K and he sometimes tells me he's going to marry her. She's a sweet little girl and they get along really well. They mostly see each other in school but occasionally, since she lives right down the hill, we run into her and her family at our neighborhood park.

Since she's my son's friend, he wanted to invite her to my other son's birthday party a couple of weeks ago. No problem, right? Her entire family came and they had a great time, etc. Emily's mom, "Lucy", suggested that we all go trick or treating together and the kids were psyched about that. Sure enough, the entire family did indeed come along on our annual trick or treating jaunt through Los Feliz.

Emily's father, "Nate", seemed to be in a weird mood on Halloween but I didn't pay too much attention to him because I figured he was either tired or didn't really want to be there. Either way, there was nothing I could do about that. Besides, I spent most of my time talking to the mom about family, balancing life, the neighborhood...you know, "mom" type stuff.

Well, Friday morning, my husband ran into Nate when he took our kids to school. Since they were going the same way, my husband walked home with Nate, and Nate decided to drop this bomb: Lucy cheats on him with other women and has done so for twenty years. She practices the "dark arts" and casts spells on other women so that they're attracted to her. Once Lucy's cast a spell, there''s nothing the target can do because the spell's so powerful.

I'll admit, when I heard all this, I laughed a little because it just seemed so ridiculous. Clearly, someone's been inhaling too much car exhaust. I have never gotten this kind of vibe from Lucy at all. She seems like a nice lady and I've always felt like she was just genuinely friendly with no kind of weird, dark arts type stuff going on. But my husband assured me that Nate is dead serious.

And guess who Lucy's latest target is? Um, yeah. Yours truly! Great, just great.

I said to my husband, "Did you make it clear that he has nothing to worry about since I'm not down for that kind of thing?"

Apparently that doesn't matter because according to Nate, Lucy's going to put me under her spell by cooking for me. She'll cook and then create a situation where it'd be socially rude for me to not eat her food.

What's she gonna do to the food, you ask? That's a GREAT question!

Here comes the NC-17 part so you can just skip to the next paragraph RIGHT NOW if you don't want to know the "how" of this. But for those of you who are like me, the train wreck watching type, Lucy apparently cooks these special dishes using some "juice" from "down there". (Eww. I'm grossed out just typing that.) Then once the victim eats this doctored up food, they go bananas for Lucy!

I'd be more inclined to believe that her secret ingredient is some of that date rape drug. But that's what Nate claims she does. In fact, Nate talked to my husband for quite some time and told my him all the sordid details of Lucy's past exploits. I'll spare you all the graphic details but it apparently started after Lucy began investigating Scientology. Apparently, she got extra close with her Scientology teacher but finally decided not to become a Scientologist when she moved on to someone else. Nate says he stays for their kids but he just wanted to warn us because he's seen this happen for 20 years and really doesn't want me to fall victim to Lucy's spells.

So after turning this over in my head, I've decided:

Option One: Nate's crazy and making it all up because he's a weird controlling type, and doesn't want his wife influenced by me. After all, when they were over here for the birthday party, I did tell them how I don't really do dishes because my husband has two hands...maybe he's abusive of her and doesn't want her to have friends that don't believe the woman's place is in front of the sink.

OR

Option Two: Lucy's crazy and really believes she has some sort of dark magic power. Yeah, maybe Lucy truly believes she's going to turn me out. This is just so laughable on so many levels, but you never know what fantasies folks can cook up in their heads.

OR

Option Three: They're both crazy and are hoping me and my husband are swingers or something. Maybe Nate was trying to feel out my husband to see how receptive he'd be to some sort of threesome, foursome type ish.

Regardless, the first thing that ran through my mind is that there's no more of my kids hanging out with the little girl, Emily. I don't know what the heck is going on in their house but my primary responsibility is to protect my kids and all that dark magic mess is just a little bit too out there for me.

Like I said, we clearly do crazy really well here in Los Angeles. It's going to be really interesting when I see Lucy and Nate again. I'm sure it'll be this afternoon.

Trash, Cosmotrash and Glamourous Trash...Thank God It's Friday

I don't know about you but my week's felt seriously long. Dealing with trash, bees, a lock down at my kids school yesterday afternoon right at dismissal...ugh!

If you're unfamiliar with lock downs, that's what happens when an armed bandit is running around the neighborhood. The cops call the school and tell them to lock all the doors so that no one comes inside and shoots anybody.

Helicopters were circling overhead as I sprinted to the school. Fortunately, I got to there right when they were about to shut the doors so I got locked inside instead of outside.

We were locked up for a good twenty minutes before the "all clear" was given. I went and got my son who wanted to know if I'd seen the bad guys. Um, no. Fortunately not. Of course, on our way home we strolled our way past trash and bee central -- and suddenly, I heard a voice behind me. It was the assistant principal at the school and he was talking to someone about getting everything cleaned up! Whoo hoo! Is that good news or what? See, all y'all who checked the "keep dreaming" option on my poll just needed to have a little more faith.

Happy about this development, and eternally grateful to Alejandra in Eric Garcetti's office, I came home and got to talking to a friend who suggested that I take that Myers Briggs personality test over again. She wanted to see how my personality's changed since I've been working from home and being the neighborhood vigilante. Last year, I was an INFP - an "Introverted Intuitive Feeling Perceiving" person. This meant that I was supposedly a "healer" type. And my, "tranquil, reserved exterior masks a passionate inner life". I could also find the good in anyone and devote myself selflessly to a cause.

I guess all that's over since I'm now an ISFP , an "Introverted Sensing Feeling Perceiving" person. I've also switched from being a "healer" type to being an "artisan" type. Now I'm lighthearted, easygoing and completely in tune with all my senses. One site told me that essentially, I've gone from being Mother Teresa's apprentice to being Jacqueline Onassis. I guess that's a good thing. But, then again, yet another place said that this is the "crackpot" personality. Great.

Or maybe someone is trying to turn me into a crackpot. For example, did you know that the October issue of Glamour magazine is it's "1st annual figure flattery issue"?

Yeah, I didn't know that either until a copy of the 340 page glossy mysteriously arrived in my mailbox yesterday. My name and address are on the label, but I have not subscribed.

Perhaps it's a gift from someone? Yeah, someone who wants to turn me into a dumb bimbo! Someone who thinks I need to learn, "101 Ways to Dress Your Body Better" and, "39 Sexy Things To Do With Your Hair".

I'll admit, in my efforts to get bees removed and trash cleaned up around my neighborhood, I have probably been slacking in the hot, sexy hair department. Yes, maybe the owner of the corner store down the hill is sick of seeing me with my hair slicked back into a granny bun and so decided to gift me with a subscription.

Or maybe someone somehow found out about the bowl of Breyer's Triple Chocolate ice cream that I ate the other night and now thinks I need to brush up on, "The Secret Reasons Women Gain Weight and How to Stop". Or maybe someone figured I needed to lighten up a bit and read all about, "The Guys Who Can't Stop Fantasizing About You".

Really, are women supposed to care about stupid crap like this? Just imagine, if I was focused so much on fantasies and the, "12 Things No One Ever Tells You About Sex," then there might not be people cleaning up the mess by my son's school right now.

**Update: It must have been wishful thinking on my part. I just came back from the school and nothing's cleaned. But they put some pesticide on the tree where the bees came out. Oh, and my son's teacher only got paid $10 because LAUSD screwed up the checks. Nothing like working for a whole month and then getting paid $10!**

So yes, after all this "trash" I think I'm going curl up on my couch tonight, watch some movies and order some red curry with tofu from my favorite Thai restaurant in LA, Leela Thai.

Yum.

I'll leave you with a song that's appropriate given the week I've had. I used to have quite a lovely collection of techno records. One of them, "Cosmotrash", was by an artist called Trashman. I have fond memories of dancing to this back in '92/'93 at the old Kaboom nightclub in Chicago. Unfortunately, someone stole the record from me in '96 and I've never been able to get another copy. So, imagine my surprise at finding it on YouTube last night! And isn't it a wonderful thing that I'm tech savvy enough to know how to rip the audio?

Take a listen - don't be scared, it's a great record to dance to. It's a very Friday night record. Back in the day I used to speed it up considerably on my turntables. Hmm...I wonder what my personality type was back then?

Plan of Attack! NyQuil + Garlic = Defeating the Cold Virus

I'm sick.

I'd take a picture of myself to prove that this is not just some hypochondriac episode but I don't want to scare you. Although we are rolling up on Halloween, you might not be quite ready to witness this fright-fest.

Instead you get the photo of my friend, NyQuil.

Why did I get sick? Is it because I haven't hosed down my bathroom sink with Lysol? Is it because I don't wash my hands enough? No, I think it must be the extremes in temperature here in Los Angeles that really did me in. This past week, we went from a high of 65 degrees on Sunday to a high of 90 on Friday.

Ah, yes, Friday morning...was it only yesterday that I woke up feeling like death warmed over and then went ahead and got in my car and drove out to a school in Huntington Park?

Yes, I suppose it was only yesterday that I proceeded to sneeze so frequently that people stopped saying, "God Bless You" and probably started thinking, "Bitch, go home before you make me sick!" -- Go home? Nah, I needed to save the world and so I still worked till 6 pm.

Big mistake.

By the time I got home, I was dragging and my bouncing children were not particularly sympathetic.

"You look like the Corpse Bride, Mommy!" my eldest said.
"Mommy the Corpse Bride!" my youngest repeated.

Great. I look like a dead character from a Tim Burton movie.

"I'm not feeling so good." I replied.

"You don't feel good, Mommy? Ok, well do you want to throw this football with me? I'm sure that will make you feel better."

A day later, memories of barely being able to toss the football seem so far away. I'm reclining on the couch, propped up by some pillows, typing while a thermometer is sticking out of my mouth. Wait, the thermometer just beeped and it reads 101.4. This is progress! We're down from our afternoon high of 103!

I'm also eating my share of chopped up garlic. Last night, I woke up at around 2:30 in the morning because I couldn't breathe, even though I'd already downed NyQuil. I ate a couple of cloves of garlic and ta-da! Miracle of miracles! About ten minutes later, I could breathe again!

I may have burned a hole in my stomach, but at least I could breathe.

Think about it: If it wards off vampires, surely garlic can kill a pesky cold virus. That logic makes sense, doesn't it? It does to me, but for all the doubting Thomases out there, the science behind it is that garlic kills a cold because of it's antimicrobial properties.

It'll also kill your sex life --unless the person you're trying to have sex with is turned on by that sensual garlicky smell. But if you can't breathe and you have tissues hanging out of your nostrils, do you really care about sex anyway?

In fact, if you do not want to have sex anymore, you could just pretend you have a cold and then eat tons of garlic to keep folks away.

Hmm. I'm going to go eat some more garlic and ponder that.