O, Come All Ye Flirtatious Liars

It's officially Christmas Eve.

I'm still not sure if I'm ready to believe that this is actually true, that it's really December 24th, but all signs point to yes.

Besides, there were actually carolers outside my local Trader Joe's last night. They were singing "O Come All Ye Faithful" while standing outside by the shopping carts. They were singing in Latin. And yours truly knows all the words in both English and Latin. So I took my worst. singing. voice. ever. self over there and joined in with them.

"Adeste fidelis, laeti triumphantes
Venite, venite in Bethlehem
Natum videte, regem angelorum
Venite adoremus, venite adoremus
Venite adoremus, dominum."

Gosh, I haven't sung that in ages! Love it! But, I have to tell you, five seconds into it, I began imagining other shoppers saying, "Betty, I didn't know black people knew Latin. Did you?"

Or at least that's what I thought someone would say until a woman grabbed a shopping cart and growled to her friend, "I can't stand all this Christmas-y, Jesus s*%t! It's everywhere!"

Um, yeah, because Christmas is, like, tomorrow, dummy. But whatever, I'll just blame her grinchiness on PMS. Or hunger.

No kidding, she looked like she could use a sandwich... and a Norman Vincent Peale book.

Seriously, she really does need to think on the bright side. I mean, even the most serious atheist Angeleno has to be thrilled about how awesome traffic was this weekend. It was wonderfully light because everyone's headed back to whatever hole in the wall they're originally from. They'll have a nice Christmas dinner and try to avoid awkward conversations with their relatives about how their movie career isn't quite taking off the way they'd planned but no, that wasn't them in that porn magazine, no matter what Uncle Cutty says.

Speaking of movies, I went on a date with my eldest son on Saturday morning to check out National Treasure: Book of Secrets. We went to the 9:45 AM show because there was no way I was paying $12.75 a ticket to see that film. I was all about the matinee price of $8.75 and the matinee is only the first showing on the weekends.

As far as the film itself, the best performance hands down goes to Nicolas Cage's lacefront wig. I'm serious, it was rather entertaining to watch his hair bounce and shake during all the action sequences. I honestly don't get why he doesn't just say it loud, "I'm bald and I'm proud!" After all, we all know he hasn't had that much hair since forever.

Anyway, after the movie, I dragged my son into Anthropologie. He clearly wanted to die but I gave him my stern mommy face and told him there were, "Cute things on sale."

I fingered some blue and white dessert plates but quickly got distracted by someone speaking loudly en Francais. I turned, and a few feet away from me a thirty-something white guy was talking with two very attractive black women.

The gist of their conversation was that one of the women hadn't seen him in awhile and wondered how he was doing and where he'd been. This woman did most of the talking and literally purred, "We should get together soon. I've missed you." I caught her hand brushing the lapel on his jacket. He agreed in a sly, seductive tone that indeed, they should.

I thought nothing else of this rather obvious flirtation until I was standing in the incredibly long, snake-shaped checkout line trying to entertain my morbidly bored son. Suddenly, I heard a rather harsh voice say, "What were you talking to those black women about?"

I looked up and saw a rather annoyed looking blond addressing the same guy who'd been talking to the two women.

He played it super coy with his response. "What women?"

She didn't falter though, and she certainly didn't whisper. "Those two black women you were talking to."

I was immediately all eyes and ears. This was going to get interesting. This was what holiday shopping is about: eavesdropping on people!

He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, arrogantly, and said, "Oh, those women I said hi to?"

She nodded, waiting for his explanation, her HUGE diamond ring glinting in the light.

"Oh they were nobody," he drawled. "The one was a secretary at the office and then, poof, she just disappeared one day." He waved his hand like he was a magician performing a trick.

Then he changed the subject and asked her about what she was buying and whether she wanted him to put it on his card. or not.

She did want him to put it on his card.

A part of me (the insane part) wanted to yell out, "Take it from this black woman that he's LYING and he's about to go have hot, tantric sex later on tonight with that other woman!"

But another part of me wanted to just laugh uncontrollably. Now that I think about it, I suppose it was his superior demeanor coupled with her complete inability to whisper. I wonder what Christmas carols they sing at home, "O, Come All Ye Flirtatious Liars"?

Perhaps the carolers should sing that rousing tune outside the Trader Joe's instead. I wonder if anyone would complain.

The End Of The World During "At World's End"

Thursday night found me at The Grove checking out opening night of "Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End". No need for a spoiler alert here because I'm not going to tell you anything about the plot.

I'll will tell you that it's a very very long film. Almost three hours long. Don't get the large drink, okay?

No, it's not the best film on earth, but I wasn't expecting it to be. The fact that the other two were decent movies at all was a nice bonus on top of the real reason the films became successful: the eye candy factor.

I'll go ahead and confess my sins in case you haven't guessed from the picture. My main reason for going was so I could see some Orlando Bloom.

I adore Orlando Bloom. In fact, I like him so much that three years ago, I had an Orlando Bloom themed birthday party. I like him so much that I have a full-size Legolas poster in my office at work.

No, I'm not kidding.
Yes, I completely understand if you think that's a bit freakish and extreme.
No, I don't care whether you think I'm insane or not.

Orlando is hot. He's so hot, I think MIMS wrote his "This Is Why I'm Hot" song while watching some Orlando Bloom movies. But we all know that hot isn't enough for Liz. You have to be hot and a nice guy for me to be down. Orlando's niceness always comes across in his interviews.

If you're trying to think up a reason why he's not hot, like, for example, you want to say he's a bad actor, just admit it, you're being a player hater. Besides, I know I'm not alone in my adoration. In fact, I guess the parents who brought their FOUR children to "At World's End" must feel the same way that I do about Mr. Bloom.

These idiots dragged a baby that looked to be around six months old, some toddler twins, and a bigger kid into the theater. By bigger, I mean that the boy was probably, at the most, five years old. Oh, and did I mention that the baby had a stinky diaper and the father changed it in inside the theater?

Now, in case you think I'm being overtly judgmental, I'll fess up. I let my kids stay up late. I'm not one of those parents that make my kids go to bed at 7 pm, mainly because if I did that, I'd never see them. I'll also admit that I sometimes take my boys out on a weeknight. Maybe we'll get really wild and roll by the Los Feliz Toys-R-Us.

But my kids are not going to a PG-13 rated Pirate movie at 8:15 pm on a Thursday night. Only a truly selfish dumb ass takes their small children to see a movie where there are rotting pirate teeth, monsters and people getting hacked with swords. I mean, all that might scare the children. The poor little children might start to cry.

And cry they did. Profusely. During some of the action sequences, these kids hollered so loudly that I seriously thought it was the end of the world instead of "At World's End." And neither parent got up to take the crying children out.

I get the rebellion. I really do. As a parent, you can start to feel a little resentful that pre-kids, you could go to the movies whenever and see whatever you want. No "Rated G" restrictions to have to deal with. No paying for a babysitter. No having to be home at a decent hour. Hours of Orlando-gazing on a big screen instead of your TV at home...

I guess the parents figured they had paid their $12.50 admission price per child so they weren't going anywhere. Plus, they probably thought that everyone else in the theatre would merely think the wailing was some additional sound effects at the end when Will Turner...

Oh, yeah, I said I wasn't going to tell you anything about the plot. Just know, those kids weren't the only one's in there crying. (Shh...I was crying too!)

To Enhance Or Not To Enhance...That Is The REAL Question

OK, I'm out on the town in Breast-Implant Land, I mean, LA. Did I mention that I'm on vacation this week? Well, I am! Thank goodness for vacation because I was singing DMX songs in my head last Friday. I'm at The Grove, everyone's favorite outdoor mall/pseudo community on 3rd and Fairfax. The rest of my family is next door at the theatre watching the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle movie. Yeah, sorry, but I had to pass on that one. I've been strolling around outside and I just walked by the Victoria's Secret so here's another bra-related question:

What's up with the plethora of padded and push-up bras available?

I mean, do most women really want the average man (or woman) staring at their chests? Ladies? Tell the truth. I'll tell you my truth: I think it's annoying and insulting and I wish I could use a red-hot poker or an acid-filled water-gun on the offenders. I know, I'm supposed to ooze sex appeal, have my ta-tas jumping out of my shirt, and not worry about whether or not I'm being taken seriously at work or anyplace else. --On the other hand, maybe I should try wearing a push-up AND padded bra at work. Maybe I'll get a promotion or something.

Seriously, come on. If you've got the padded/push-up thing going on, once you take that thing off, somebody's gonna know all that cleavage wasn't really you. And, since I'm married and believe that a present for my honey equals a new pair of underwear, (they really don't buy them for themselves) I know that padded boxers and briefs aren't available in mainstream department stores.

Nope, men don't roll around wearing gel-enhanced underwear to make themselves look more physically endowed. Or, if you're a man and you do that, I'm sorry, but there's a possibility that you're still mentally in the eighth grade.

We women, alas, we've drunk the kool-aid that's been trickled down our throats. We've been brainwashed into believing we are less than worthy if our breasts aren't gigantically standing at attention at all times...but, don't get me wrong, I'll be the first to admit, if you need a bra, please wear one.

And now I'm off to observe some non-undergarment related activities...like the guy sitting to my left here in the Barnes and Noble. He just dropped his half-eaten cookie onto the floor and instantaneously picked it up and started eating it. I don't even think he's aware that he did it.

It's a sure sign...he must have kids.

True Love or Trophy?

Tonight my husband and I went to The Grove to catch a movie. I wanted to see Babel. He wanted to see Borat. We ended up settling on The Departed.

I'm still not sure how we arrived at that as a compromise.

No matter, in case you haven't seen it, I won't spoil the plot at all. I'll only say it's long. Violent, too. No, I'd actually say it's very violent. I guess that's what you get when you go see a crooked cop/gangster movie these days. I kept my hands over my eyes quite a bit. Ultimately, though, I left the theatre thinking about another subject even more.

Who is loving black women?

You see, in between purchasing tickets and the show start time, we had a good two hours to stroll around, catch some dinner, be star-struck by Ben Stiller... and observe the dolled-up Angeleno masses. I saw a good number of black women. Beautiful black women. Jaw-droppingly gorgeous black women. A few were with men. But by far, if they were with someone, they were with their parents, their children or a trio of sistah-girlfriends.

Seeing all those black women tonight made me think of guys I knew at college who had one girl on the north side of campus and one on the south side of campus. There were so few black men on campus that although both black women knew about each other, they tolerated the situation because it was apparently better to have some "love" than none at all.

Non-black friends, in their well-meaning naivete, would sometimes ask, "Well, why do you all restrict yourselves? Why not date someone who's not black?"

Um...hello! It's not like we see a ton of non-black guys stepping to black women. If I think about it only from a black-white standpoint, aside from my Irish father marrying my black mother, I rarely see white men with black women. I know Sanaa Lathan had her cute movie called Something New where the white landscaper totally falls for her....but when's the last time you saw this in real life?

You hear those crickets chirping too? I'll admit, it's a sarcastic question on my part because I know that statistically, black women are the least likely to marry of any segment of the American population. On top of that, of all groups of women, if they do marry, black women are also the least likely to marry someone who's not from the same racial background.

My observances also made me think of stories my mom has sometimes shared about the cruel comments some of the black men in her high school made about her dark skin, followed by a "Why would I date you when I can get me a white girl?"


I heard the same comments when I was in high-school, almost thirty years later. Except for me it was, "I don't have to settle for a light-skinned chick like you. I can get me a white girl."

Ooh, that one used to annoy me! But in case you think I'm living in the past, let's fast forward to the present.

What do you think I saw black men doing tonight? Well, they were either:
a) holding hands with their boyfriends (mostly other black men, interestingly enough) or they were
b) walking, eating, sitting, kissing, laughing and talking with... white women.

Don't get me wrong...Even if I've personally known plenty of white girls who, while going through a rebellious phase, messed around with black men, only to later settle down with the socially-acceptable white guy, and even if I've known plenty of black men who were looking for their trophy white woman, I do believe in the inherent purity and beauty of interracial love and marriage.

Indeed, who am I to question whether what I saw tonight was true love or pursuit of the forbidden? Who am I to assume it's pursuit of a trophy?

I wish that everyone fell in love regardless of skin color.

I don't think that's always what I'm seeing around me. I think I see many people living out idle fancies and vain imaginings. Judgemental of me to think this, isn't it? Maybe. Probably.

But, if everyone was choosing their partners on the basis of love, if that was actually happening, we'd see a heck of a lot more black women with men...and they'd be from a diversity of backgrounds.