A day of gratitude

This year is the first year, possibly since I've been a blogger, that I didn't write a Mother's Day post.  I had every intention of doing one.  I woke up, wrote two different drafts.  My friend Mo sent me Read more

Diversification of Bonds

The year is 1981.  My four year-old self had just watched Superman kick Zod's entire ass and it was glorious.  In 1981, Superman was THE superhero movie to see.  It had action, conflict and even romance.  The Christopher Reeve Read more

Ooh, Child...

Yall. I cried for Alfre Woodard dyin. I cried for Delroy Lindo as a single dad. I cried for little black girls who have to grow up too fast. - @MeLaMachinko Crooklyn was a movie that I loved from the first time Read more

Action Mel

Today is one of those days that I don't feel like being the life of the party or having a clever quip.  I don't want to be the unstoppable force of nature that I am 95% of the time. Read more

There comes a time in every man's life

"I think I want to live with my dad." I always knew that the day would come where he would need more than I could give him as a mother and a mentor.  I'm glad it happened before he was Read more
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Afro-dite

Single and Not Dating

OMG!  Men suck so bad.  No.  Really.  Yall do.  I was talking to my big bro this past week, and I told him that dating would be easier if I met guys that interested me. I tried being the girlfriend type, and it’s really just bogus.  I think that in the age of secret internet lives, the concept of loyalty is lost, so I’m just not inclined to play the good girlfriend role, when basically, I know how you dudes act on the net.  Don’t front.  You know what you do.

Now, I’m not saying that chicks aren’t living foul too, but I’m not fucking with chicks, so discussing what they do in this post is a waste space and time.  I’ll leave that to some annoyed dude to do.  I can’t do EVERYTHING you know.

So, I’ve been going out more lately, and according to 5’5, I’ve been on fire.  Eh, dudes like me.  Throughout my whole life, I’ve NEVER seen my issue as being unattractive to guys.  Even though I seem to have the perpetual screw face (I can’t help it.  I look like an evil feline/rodent hybrid), dudes dig it.  I’ve got the spark and I definitely know what to do with it.  That being said, dudes tend to not know what to do with me.  And I think it’s partially because they don’t know how to act.

Case in point, last weekend I was out, and as soon as I walked in the door, I was spotted.  He was cute, not a bad dancer, good times.  We occasionally chatted it up, so when he asked me for my number, I figured, “What the hell.”  “I really want to see you tonight.  You’re saying all that is for me?”

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!

Into what parallel universe did I stumble, where giving someone your number means you’re fully prepared to do the butt naked pole vault?  I’m no dummy, I’m sure he didn’t approach me for my mind.  I also don’t expect to make meaningful connections while I’m “singing about balls in the club.” But because I told a joke and danced with you, that don’t mean we fuckin.  Not even close.

My booty call/late night hook up dues have been paid in full, I’m I have no interest in regressing to that.  I’ve been the reactionary girl who acted out due to hurt, or generalized fear of loneliness.  I’m honest enough with myself and others to say that is not what I want for myself.  There are women that do, and I don’t knock their hustle.  Different strokes for different folks.  Additionally, people have to find their own way and what works for them.  But don’t turn up your lips when I tell you that you’re barking up the wrong tree. The drama and generalized extra that comes with it is really not what I’m trying to get involved with at 32.

I’m not going to ask why he has to go there.  I think that’s silly question.  I won’t even ask why it happens to me.  I’m acutely aware of the fact that I look like I enjoy to get down (much to my chagrin).  But I will say it’s a sad state of affairs when the only way people know how to express themselves is through their genitals.  And if you’re stepping this way with that mentality, I hate to break it to you, but I’m above your pedigree.

Posted on February 21, 2009 by Beauty Jackson in Afro-dite 5 Comments

A funny thing happened

Every Sunday morning, I take a jaunt to the *Bux for a macchiato or latte of some sort.  It’s wintertime, so now they have all their delicious coffee flavors.  The egg nog latte puts me on the express train to Yumsville.  so this morning, I threw on my workout clothes and my hoodie, pulled my hair back, and dragged myself out the crib. Evidently it was wall to wall fine ass man day and I missed the memo.  And here I am, unplucked eyebrows and not even a dab of lipgloss.  No matter.  I’m on some spiritual journey of some sort.  But still.  You at least want to people to think you’re cute right?  So, despite that, I still maneuver because lipgloss or no, I am most definitely what’s hot in these here Rockville streets.

So after I leave the barrage of fine men in Starbucks, I head to my car where yet ANOTHER fine man is pulling up.  At this point, I accept the fact that I’m getting punked and get in my car.  He pulls up alongside me, and hops out his car, standing on my passenger side.  I figure he’s waiting for me to pull off, so I tell him to go ahead first.  So then he leans down and taps on my window.  To ask for my phone number.

Yeah.  That’s right.

Like I said…lipgloss or no…

Posted on November 9, 2008 by Beauty Jackson in Afro-dite 8 Comments

The New Wednesday Thing

So last Wednesday, I posted a video by a sexy man, and I thought to myself, “Wouldn’t it be nice to post some of my favorite male singers to help us ladies get over the hump?”  Today’s gift is Lenny.

Posted on October 22, 2008 by Beauty Jackson in Afro-dite Leave a comment

Broken windows, flat tires and EZ Off on your car

Jazmine Sullivan’s voice is delightfully hypnotic.  So when I heard her latest song and its beat, vaguely reminiscent of a hip-hop tango, bobbing my head was inevitable.  Then, I paid attention to the words:

“I bust the windows out ya car…”

SCREEEEEEECH!

Ms. Sullivan is not the first songstress to sing about destruction of property.  Jill scott has a song called “Insomnia.”  She’s singing about her man not calling, and not coming around – that old chestnut.  She then launches into a diatribe about how her man turned her from a “woman of substance” to what adds up to a crazy ass stalker ho.  She ends the song, “You reduced me from a woman of substance to this.”

Breakups are emotional times.  It takes us places that we don’t want to be and brings us face to face with things we don’t really want to see.  Nobody likes the rejection or feeling of failure that comes with the breakup territory.  It’s hard to issue proper “protocol” for dealing with such a situation, because every person is different.

HOWEVER, what you do not do, what you must not EVER do, is lash out in violence.  Breakups happen for a reason.  Maybe you suck.  Maybe the guy sucks.  Maybe you both suck.  Maybe neither of you suck, but you don’t have anything in common and no interest in compromise.  But whatever the reason, if the first place you go when something doesn’t work out, is a place of destruction, humiliation or drama – then that’s not what you were driven to, that’s who you are.  A petty, spiteful female, that still sees a tantrum as a viable means to get her way.

I don’t buy that “woman on the verge” shit.  I’m MAD ROWDY.  I don’t like being played, played with, or having my intelligence insulted.  It’s not unheard of for me to be  galactically pissed when a dude plays me for the herb.  I may be hurt, and I will voice my hurt.  I may want to know why.  When all is said and done, I cut my losses and keep it moving. Truth be told, I tend to feel at odds in a girlfriend capacity.  It’s really not keeping with the way of the Maverick.  When it’s nice, it’s nice, and when it’s not, eh, it’s not.  I don’t purport to be perfect.  I’m brash, and slightly crass and cuss too much.  I talk more than I should and can occasionally be something of a broke ass elitist.  On top of all my other bullshit, it’ll be a hot minute before we’re fuckin, which I don’t think is in for 2008.  Go figure. Despite that, I’m still a solid chick.  So, I might not be a total “lady,” but I’m definitely a grown ass woman.

Oh yeah, and I don’t fuck people’s shit up, so…yeah…that’s kind of a plus.

Posted on October 3, 2008 by Beauty Jackson in Afro-dite, Jewels 4 Comments

Celebration of My Soup Coolers

Can I just say that my lips are pretty much, what we may refer to colloquially as, “the bomb.”  I remember being 13 (for some reason, this was my year as a teenage hottie), and one of my classmates opined exactly what my lips were meant for.  I was as uncomfortable with that as i was with the rest of my body (I did my best to hide my adolescent C cups until senior year).  I had somehow convinced myself that everything about me was vulgar, so I hid as much of myself as possible.  I wasn’t allowed to wear makeup until I was 16, and even then, if I wasn’t with my parents, I wore very pale shades.  It was as though i feared the power of my own (yet untapped) sexuality.

Then one day, I decided to get my face done at the makeup counter for shits and giggles.  When she went for the bold lipstick, I stopped her. I asked for something paler, softer.  “More, natural.”

“Well, honey, what kind of makeup artist would I be if I didn’t play up your best feature?”  I acquiesced and allowed her to apply the faintly scented creme to my lips, and looked in the mirror.  My lips looked like satin bed sheets, only twice as bold and inviting.  A few guys entered the mall as she applied the finishing touches, and one walked directly into a pole.  I stepped, nay floated, off the chair with an extra strut in my step, my head held high, fierce as hell.

it was no coincidence that i floated out of the mall that day with my first push-up bra and pair of daisy dukes.

The moral of this story?

Fuck what ya heard.  I’m the shit.

Posted on September 28, 2008 by Beauty Jackson in Afro-dite 1 Comment
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