i think i hate mario lopez.

he’s smarmy.
like maybe he wants to fuck you & give you herpes or that tag team of chalmydia and gonnorhea. insincere, as if he only asks about how your job’s going to find out whether or not you got paid on time (so he can get some cash). something is so very rotten about that motherfucker. and he’s so bad at delivering his poorly-written lines on america’s best dance crew. like, wow.

he sucks.

or perhaps i need more sleep and less booze?

oh, hell yes.

this is why i fuck w/ chris from SBPH.

he couldn’t be more correct. he also managed to illustrate his point without being a jerk. i love him. i know he’s probably not even reading this post, but i had to share that.


i think i’ve managed to justify my subscription to premium table channels. thanks to bill, i’m officially hooked on weeds. watching season 3 after not having seen more than snippets of the prior 2 seasons is kind of odd. but i freaking love this show.

i tried sooooo hard

to avoid reality tv. no flavor of love, no i love new york, i refuse to look at celebrity fit club or college hill. but you know what? i’ve been had, my sweet babies. felled by the most preposterous reality show yet: ego trip’s miss rap supreme. this is like making the band meets the bad girls’ club, pressed down & shaken together about 12 times. good god. it’s more drama than i care to even associate with on a regular basis.
but mc serch and yo-yo? at the same time? in the same place? giving pointers to women who think themselves the next trina, lil’ kim, foxy brown, or . . . khia? it’s the perfect formula for absolute foolishness. so, i watch it.

my other favorite is viva hollywood, the telenovela star search. i can’t even begin to tell y’all how thankful i was to see that they have a slapping-across-the-face challenge. YES. sweet! and charo is involved. what more could a girl ask for?!

my current feelings/ thoughts on thanksgiving:

i don’t feel like it.

this year, i want a turkey sammich in one hand & some sort of intoxicant in the other, while watching some kind of ridiculous film or television program on dvd (see: get a life, in living color, pootie tang, or napoleon dynamite) with some friends.

i will have that kind of thanksgiving. dammit.

even if my entire family converges on my itty bitty apartment & decides to eat candy off exu’s shrine space . . .
even if my perpetually chilly apartment lets the hawk in . . .
even if my janky ass oven puts an unnecessary coating of crispness on everything i bake inside of it . . .

i will enjoy this day off.

oh, hell no.


i’m kinda, like… flabbergasted.

please feel free to engage me in discourse in the comments, okay?

there is so much wrong here. so much.

now look, dammit

i don’t know who all on earth might find themselves browsing this blog. & i know the language or the random rants about r. kelly might throw you off. you may even feel inclined to stop reading because i talk about sex freely & don’t have any trouble discussing my occasional toke. but if there’s any one thing you need to know about me, it’s that i do not think domestic abuse is acceptable or okay in any situation. it just isn’t. i’m not hearing that “he’s a good person” shit, i don’t care if “all she did was” hit you once. i don’t give a rat’s ass. it’s not okay. the idea that your abuser has any redeeming qualities, to me, is a damn joke. they nullify all of those things once they choose to put their hands on you, once they put forth any effort to control you by using violence. i do not believe that there’s any dialog to be had, there’s no reason to try to work it out. the first thing you need to do is get away. the second thing you need to do is stay away. if there’s a need to return to a home you share w/ the abuser, have someone escort you (preferably the police or other neutral party) & get your shit. don’t negotiate. don’t let the begging & pleading & all that other hot bullshit be part of the equation, if you can help it. get out, get away, stay gone. if there are children involved, of course it’s not that easy. but there are ways out. please don’t ever think there aren’t. please.

this post was inspired by juanita bynum’s interview with fox 5 atlanta regarding her having been attacked by her now-estranged husband, thomas weeks. she had a press conference the other day. i’m really kind of ecstatic that sis chose to announce that domestic violence in the church isn’t just about the church, but something that crosses boundaries. i’m thankful that she can say that unflinchingly. i hope that she’s genuine in her stance. i hope that she is really, fully okay with taking on the mantle of being an anti-domestic violence advocate. i really hope she’s sincere. she has so many ppl who buy her books and watch her on tv, etc. she is in a position to demonstrate positive things to so many folks.
i hope she does turn this around.

for real?

i can only be so mad @ fifty cent for pushin that chick into the pool. (link and video courtesy of c&d and onsmash, respectively).

they were both dead wrong. he for thinking it was okay to put his hands on her, & she for failing miserably at understanding that he told her to bacdafucup. he didn’t laugh her off. i think he tried to be, um, marginally tactful at first. but when he made the smoke signal comment, that shoulda been it. seems like jael was too busy feeling herself to think that dude’s idea of personal space couldn’t possibly apply to her. tsk, tsk.

i think curtis tried to be nice to the girl at first, laugh off her obnoxiousness. but she was clearly grating. putting your hands on someone you don’t effin know is NOT acceptable, under most circumstances . he wasn’t saving her from a herd of stampeding hooved creatures, nor was mr. jackson’s shove intended to get her out of the middle of a fight.

he pushed her into the pool because he thinks it’s okay to do that shit to ppl. not okay. i don’t care if you’re the king of the world; that’s disrespectful.
but when you push folk & disrespect them, that’s what you get — a rash effort to shut you up & sit you down.

& while we’re talkin celebrities & their bullshit . . .

who said mo’nique should instruct the flavorettes on how to be classy? word to sister patterson, these broads are taking their flash in the pan status to the next level.

more serious items tomorrow, probably.

instead of complaing about the weather

i’m gonna post this week’s gratitude list:

oriki calendars

pretty babies



tj’s garlic naan

my cute-ass barber

big earrings

70-degree days

pretty nail polish

dr. bronner’s

almond milk

generous ppl

ppl showin their asses

celia cruz


good vinyl


honey nut cheerios

a good, hearty laugh

ghostface on 30 rock

this garnier shit i bought for my hair

vegetarian recipes







blk folk



jersey knit linens

electric blankets

my mom

my sisters

my grandfather

my ancestors

tulasi sandalwood

revelations (maferefun oya!)

i can’t name it all.
but every day i’ll try to. i just know that for now, i sit at the seat of bliss. and that’s enough.