Sex and the Seven

Thursday, January 27, 2005

Chivalry: A Puzzling Hypothesis

As I perform my daily routine and trudge to my place of employment that pimps me more than Magic Don Juann himself, I can only hope each day that someone, aside from the voices of my mother, boyfriend and best friends will brighten my day with a kind word or gesture to help me assuage my eroding opinions of mankind (particularly Caucasians and of course, men). Today my job presented an orientation expecting an attendance of over 100 representatives from different organizations-an event that I had helped in organizing-and that was taking place in the office building across from my own. I decided to discard my usual casual slacks and elderly loafers for a fitted knee length skirt and one of my more presentable button downs, (and I am painting my outfit for a picture, so bear with me) in an attempt to appear as if I took pride in the job that ties me to poverty level in the societal caste system. Upon my arrival, my co workers were frantic, and to help calm the chaos, I volunteered to lug a cart with several heavy boxes of material over to the orientation building. On my way to the double doors, which, if my hands are full toting a large, heavy cart would be impossible to open on my own , a man in the IT Department walking towards me, stopped and smiled- politely moving aside while I struggled through the door to say, "Wow. You look really nice today-totally different. I love the skirt." Between the staggering minutes of my departure and arrival to the other building with the cart that could possibly cause ahernia, the only people who stopped to assist me were WOMEN. The sad part is that even when chivalry is presented to me, I do not even know how to receive it. My boyfriend opens car doors, restaurant doors, anything with hinges, carries everything, gets out in the blistery cold to search for an earring I lost in the parking lot, and although I am used to it now, the first time he ran in front of me to catch the door before I could touch it, I looked at him as if he had lost his mind. So ladies I ask you, Did chivalry ever truly exist? Or was it a puzzling phantom hypothesis that consistently floated without being acknowledged or appreciated?

Wednesday, January 26, 2005

A Beautiful Surprise...

Beautiful Ladies, it seems as though we have gotten ourselves into a lull. What happened?!?! Have we become so disillusioned with the eroding chivalry of the black man that we've somehow lost faith in who he is and what he offers. Well, I've somehow come to imbibe a new philosophy on dealing with men, and while it is a bit more unconventional than I'm used to, it seemingly bears the sweetest fruit.

I've learned to close my eyes, open my heart, and wrap my mind around something tangible. Although I have spent the past two years of my life in faithful servitude, hopelessly waiting for the return of something or someone that harbours happiness, I am learning that I'm actually not ready for that type of love. Instead, my desires are simplistic in form and I need nothing more than to have something that I can see, touch, taste, and feel.

It's amazing how unexpectedly things can transpire. Maturity has definitely been forthcoming and my expectations of life and love have also been desexualized. For once in my muted life, I've come to appreciate how a stimulating conversation can become a sensual silence, comfortable and telling. How a cerebral connection can be embellished by a spiritual one, transcending mind and body, and allowing you to not only engender indulgence but to become it. How the mere presence of someone, intoxicating and temporal, creates an energy that can heal your soul and dilute your sorrow. So to the man that is sensitive and knowing, refined yet comfortable, sexy and sweet, loves music and art, respects the spirit world and thinks with his heart-- YOU ARE A BEAUTIFUL SURPRISE!

Monday, January 24, 2005

The Man, The Negro, the Animal

At the dawn of the NFC Championship, I found myself being pleasantly entertained at a football watch party consisting of boisterous, arrogant men in their early thirties. At first, their banter was light and ordinary, the occasional eyes glued to the bubble below my back everytime I retrieved something from the kitchen, or the ever elusive wink and head nod as I returned to my seat, and my personal favorite, the oh-so-genuine comment on my choice of pants for the evening. During halftime, the owner of the house politely switched to a DVD of stripper porn, without warning and the conversation immediately changed from football to sex. One commented on a shocking discovery that a previous visitor to the house, fondly nicknamed 'Bubble Brown' had slept with five of his friends. When asked why any man or person, for that matter would sleep with someone that four of their friends had already been with, the man explained philosophically, "If I know that when she and my homeboy were chillin' and he hit, then if a couple of weeks later I have to take her home or something, I'ma try and hit, and then, if my boy knows I hit, and he happens to run into her at the club, then he gon' try and hit too." After his verbose and intellectual speech, I found myself continually having to remove the hands of a curly haired patron of the house who happened to be sitting to my left. Even after drawing and announcing a beeline on the couch of which he should not cross, he persistently rubbed my back, commenting on the softness of my skin and attempted to flash his pearly whites in exchange for his forwardness. As other friends began to arrive, we realized something: every man in the house had attempted to talk to each of us, in a barbaric attempt to stake their claim on one of the pretty females in their presence. On our way out of the door, the owner, who had previously discussed his girlfriend, winked at my friend and asked her to make it a point to come "visit" him sometime. She responded poignantly: "If you have a girlfriend, why did you just feel on my bootie?" And there you have it ladies, the man, the negro, the animal.

Saturday, January 22, 2005

A whole new level!

Picture it...a dark and crowded bar, few seats, and many many people. Two young Black women are standing with a male friend laughing, having a good time, and leisurely waiting for their opportunity to place their drink order. Alas, two young men get up from the barstools they had been occupying, and the two young women sit down and their male friend orders up the first round. Conversation is flowing, until it is interrupted by a very young, blinged out (shall we assume the bling was cubic or dare I say rhinestone?!) n**ga, who proceeds to say (if you have a low tolerance for unbelievable behavior please stop here because your stomach won't be able to take this one!) "Yo man, me and my boys were waitin' for dem seats, I'm saying tho, you gone have to tell them to move." SHUT IT DOWN! Excuse me what did he just say? You heard it here first, not only are n**ga's not inclined to get up and let a woman sit down, they now think it is ok to step up and make you get up from a seat that they were "waiting for". I almost choked on my drink when I heard that come from his mouth, and was almost convinced that he didn't say it until he pressed the issue and when our male companion refused to request that we get up, and we refused to move, he and his "boys" bounced with a quickness and in a huff. I had to share this because this is the most out of control thing that a n**ga has done in a very long time. I still can't believe that he had the gall to insist that we, TWO WOMEN, get up to allow him and his friends to sit at the bar. Had they been with other women, perhaps it would have been justifiable to state that they had been waiting for an opportunity to allow the women in their group to sit, but noooooo, it was a group of four n**gas (boys clearly because a man would never be so disrespectful as to do such a thing), AND THERE WERE ONLY TWO CHAIRS! Dammit, then they wonder why we don't want to deal with them. They are completely and totally out of control, out of line, and classless.

Thursday, January 13, 2005

Get It Boy!

So myself and Ms. Spank-it went out last night, braving the winter cold to get our afterwork swerve on. Needless to by 10pm we were done.

But enough of the "I was so faded" talk. Today I would like to talk about the soul of my people.

Have you ever been in the club and you look at a girl or a guy that is getting their GROOVE the point where you have to get up because you are in awe of the way they are moving to the bassline? That's how I felt last night watching this guy. He was GETTING it. I mean you wanna talk about get it boy, cuz thats what he was doing. Seeing him dance so freely made me smile I think because it's been a minute since I've seen a dude let lose like that, in any setting for that matter. And he was smiling...genuinely smiling. How long has it been since you've seen a guy smile to the point where he is cheesing like a little boy?

I have no idea why I am sharing this silly story with pointless details, but I guess what I am trying to get at is that black people have a rhythm and a spirit that is unmatched by any race in this world. We may not collectively as a race be running every corporation (and paying every child support bill---sorry, had to say it!) but we can dance gotdamnit! Believe that!

Monday, January 10, 2005

I Used to Love Her...

I was watching the Time Life Classic Soul infomercial this weekend, getting all misty-eyed just meditating on how things used to be, or at least on how I perceived them to be. Back in the day, when love seemed so much like a dream, and "Bonita Applebum" was everybody's favorite song. It seemed like being in love was actually in style and a lustful eye was just the cherry on top. People would walk and hold hands, and if somebody liked you, they'd give you their varsity jacket. Back in the day, you could trust that someone was with you because they liked spending time with you, simply enjoyed your company and spent every waking moment planning what they'd do and say when you next met. I remember when I actually got nervous at just the thought of somebody, would plan my outfits and fix my hair, just so I could say "I'll think about it" when he asked me to call. Things were much simpler then and love was a fathomable thing....

So now that I'm grown, I've got a calendar full if things to attend. I can't even remember the last time I wasn't traveling or waiting for someone who was traveling to visit me. Now, all I do is drop down and get my eagle on. I don't even have time for love. The mysticism that characterized the innocence of love has somehow been overwrought with lust, a challenge, the conquest, and subsequent boredom... For women like us (y'all know y'all fine as hell) that lustful illusion of love is not hard to come by. It's everywhere, and unf0rtunately a lot of us do just that-- confuse lust with love (I swear fucking and sucking has turned my mind into mush). So, ladies, I propose that we rejuvenate or spirits with love's reincarnate-- a soulful ballad and a glass of wine. It does wonders for the female psyche. Some merlot and the best of Luther, Anita, Donny, or the Duke. That's all you need to get that good stroke...

Friday, January 07, 2005

Bend Over to the Front, and Touch Your Toes

Wise words spoken by an even wiser man: Lil Jon. As I sit here and read these postings on relationship woes, trifling negroes, etc etc...I cannot help but to think about Lil Jon. Yes ladies, Lil' Jon answers all of our questions, but we do not want to listen to him. Consider the following.

You: What do you want from me?

Lil Jon: Lemme see you get low. You scared?

You: You never have anything real to say! I mean don't you ever have anything you want to ask me?!?

Lil Jon: Are you sure you wanna go this route? Let a nigga know before I pull it out.

You: I don't know, I am not getting good vibes from this whole situation...and I've been talking to my friends about it too, and they feel like I may be playing myself as well.

Lil Jon: Muthafuck that nigga! Muthafuck that bitch!

You: Yo! I can't do this anymore I'm sorry. It's over!

Lil Jon: Fuck nigga what's up hell naw you ain't 'gon buck. All that shittin out ya mouth 'gon get ya wet up. Fuck nigga what's up hell naw you ain't 'gon buck. All that shittin out ya mouth 'gon get ya wet up!

You: And don't call me again! Ever! I am taking your number out my cell nigga!

Lil Jon: I aint bout them games shawty (nah)You know my name shawty (yea)Just use yo' brains,If you know what I'm sayin'! Stop playin' with these lames. Ain't got no shame, The liquor is to blame.

So there you have it ladies. Put up or shut up. Lil Jon has let us know, so in '05 you can only blame yourself if you do not in the words of Lil Jon again (and Snoop) "step yo game up."

Why do fools fall in love?

We all do it! At least everyone I know does it. You get all mad, you get geared up, your girls fuel the fire and give you the support you need to do it, and then didn't do it! Why is it that a man (or woman ;) ) can make you so damn're crying, or at least screaming, into the phone with one of your best girlfriends, proclaiming with everything in you, except of course your heart, that this is it, you can't take it anymore. You get all revved up to tell him to get his (her) shit, and don't come back. BUT...when he comes to get his talk...he looks at you with that pitiful look...and the ice queen slowly starts to melt, and that jellyfish that you were when you first fell for him starts to emerge. Now your mind is spinning, and you are wondering if you should really walk away from this...I mean remember that time he brought you flowers for no reason? Or that time you were sick and he brought you soup and medicine? I mean he can't be that bad can he? So you kiss and make up, and you tell him, "Next time I'm really leaving you!" with a big ole koolaid smile on your face, and he says he promises not to do whatever it was that made you threaten to leave him again, even though if you asked him to tell you what that thing was he probably couldn't tell you to save his life. So why do we do it? I mean I can probably only name one of my friends who has never really been in this situation...for all of the rest of us this seems to be a recurring pattern. What is it about relationships that make them so damn hard, and so much harder to leave? I keep hearing, "We have a connection and that is so rare to find." But if that is true then how come this pattern really seems to happen in most all relationships? Well, we're really not going to get to the bottom of this right, but if you have any suggestions send a comment or two...peace and hairgrease.

Wednesday, January 05, 2005

Baby Mama Drama

Ok, so I'm back. What do you mean that another person in my age group, though not necessarily in my friend circle, recently had a baby? At first I thought that this meant that we were getting older....but when was the last time someone I knew had a baby and was actually already married? So maybe they are not surpassing those of us who are proudly proclaiming "Um...I am NOT about to let some little parasite ruin this body!" (yes, while they are cute and cudley, yadda yadda yadda, kids are parasites...they take you for all you are worth and then the suckers have the audacity to move out and get their own lives!) So is this the way of the future? Part of me certainly hopes not, but shit the other part feels like "Hallelujah", because clearly my love life is not in order, and I have no particular potential husbands to speak of, so if illegitimate kids are the way to go, sign me up for about 5 years from now. Well the comp is about to I'll finish this post tomorrow.

Asshole of the Year Award

The Asshole of the Year Award goes to a guy that I met on the street the other day, and the many others that are just like him. His clearly unsuccessful attempts to holla, translate into an economic overview of 2004, as a whole and led to my resolution for the New Year.

1) No Investments: Basically, niggas were whack. It didn't matter who they were, suit and tie, the FedEx Guy, the homeless man on K St., or a fat cop walking his daily beat- niggas want what they can't have. So why don't they just stop trying. I know there's somebody for everybody, but I guess I need a t-shirt that says "That Somebody Ain't Me."

2) President's Failed Plan: The "No Child Left Behind" Proposal was a big deal, especially with all of the turmoil surrounding the presidential election. But, for real, can we hook something up for the brothers ages 18-32 that still say things like "conversate," and "recommendate." That crack in the system must've evolved into the Damn Grand Canyon because I feel like I'm in the "Amazing Race" trying to find a nigga that can conjugate the verb "-to be."

3) Consumer Index Flourished: In short, "Women be shoppin'... You cannot stop a woman from shoppin', baby!" Shopping became my therapy, allowing me to deal with the misadventurous plights that I have had with men this year. Although, 2004 wasn't the best for love or sex, my closet looks great.

So the Asshole of the Year Award for 2004, goes to the man that satisfies 1) and 2). He's not as cute as he thinks, is probably my height, complains about living life at the bottom of the totem pole, but has yet to set a personal fucking goal. He licks his lips like he's sexy, screams out "GOTDAMN" when he sees my ass, and is irritated when I pass on sharing a cab (I don't want that nigga to know where I live). Yet he can't afford the shoes that I wear, the clothes on my back, the gold bracelet on my wrist, or a diamond ring that blinds you when I make a fist. He tells me that I think I'm too good, when in actuality he's just not good enough and will bust a nut when I give him even the slightest touch. He ain't ready for this Chocolate splendor that he sees! He's got no idea about the Platinum Plus in between these knees. So fuck the bullshit, if he wants to smash, I'm gonna tell him to KISS MY BLACK ASS! And that is my resolution for 2005...

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

Ho ho ho and a bottle of rum

In light of the year of 2005, I think it is a good time to reflect on the mistakes and the choices made in 2004, to improve on ourselves and our character and to learn never to make the same mistakes twice. Upon my embarkment on self-discovery in the launch of a new year, I vowed to learn new things about all of my dear friends whom I love so much. I learned entirely too much about Baby K and her sex life, I already knew that Yasantwa had run into a steel wall as a child, I also already knew that India suffers from mild bouts of control neuroses, I learned that Samantha could indeed disappear for long periods of time, I learned that Pankett seemed to have fallen in love with the liquid that makes you forget all of your problems (temporarily) , I learned that Marie could officially be labeled "bout it", a far cry from the shy Jersey girl we knew freshman year.

Monday, January 03, 2005

Be True and Do You...

I don't know if everybody's seen this, so I'll post it again. It's from ...

I would like to say that God works in mysterious ways. Do you know that I lost my cell phone on the bus on Dec. 21st and then I lost my purse yesterday. Somehow, I managed to get them both back, both fully intact with all of my credit cards and the numbers of my favorite pasttimes (Ronny, Bobby, Ricky, Mike, Ralph... Johnny too). But it just goes to show that God manifests himself in the smallest ways just when you question whether or not he hears you. It also goes to show, that too much time without some dick in your life just makes a woman delusional. So make sure you have both, God and some good sticky icky. All I got to say is, love yall, serve yall... Hard rock foreva...

"Be true and do you."