Welcome to Heartbreak

Kid Cudi, noooo! I can't say I really blame you, but no! This news has really got me Down & Out. I just put my two best friends up on you, even though I've been loving your mixtape for a minute! Your debut album hasn't even dropped yet, and you're stepping back from rapping? How can I Embrace the Martian if dude is running in the opposite direction? I guess you're questioning Is There Any Love in the industry...but since you say you've achieved your goals, do you really have to play the industry game to keep making G.O.O.D. music? You talked about 50 Ways to Make a Record, surely there are at least 50 ways to keep from being affected by the bullsh*t business! It sucks that your friends are seeing you in a different light now and all, but I guess the limelight burns sometimes. Well, as a fan, I wish you good luck, Mr. Solo Dolo, and I'll definitely be on the lookout if (or Whenever) you change your mind.

And You Ask Yourself..."Where Is My Mind?"

I'd like to preface this with the fact that domestic and sexual abuse are not foreign, unrelatable concepts within my family.

Aside from emotional outbursts and snarky comments/jokes on other blogs and with my The View-watching mother, I've tried not to address/place judgment on this whole Domestic Disturbia thing. It should be a semi-private matter, worked out between those two involved, their families, friends, and legal and spiritual counsel. But it isn't. It's a media circus, a mess, a fiasco of epic proportions, complete with "Bat Boy exists!"-esque rumors and speculation as well as interviews with Chris Brown's Sunday School teacher and the custodian who cleans Rihanna's regular recording studio, even by those media outlets with a semblance of credibility. It has in part helped me realize that when it comes to the American media/publicity machine, there is no bottom. "Can this be any more depraved?" has become a purely rhetorical musing, since the answer is always yes, all under the guise of the journalistic standby that people deserve to know everything. Who will get ahold of Rihanna's bloody dress? Who can find the most gruesome photo of her face? Will the person who called the police speak out? Will the girl who sent the alleged text message be revealed? What are Chris Brown and Rihanna doing right now? It's downright unsettling, because I am only just now noticing how desensitized the public (including me) is about these things. It's as if we think we have the right to know, to pass judgment, to demonize and analyze. Yet, things of this magnitude or greater occur with seeming regularity right in our own families, neighborhoods, and towns, and we (collectively) turn our heads, say it's not our business and that we don't want to get involved. Why does the situation change when a celebrity is involved? We are no more connected to them than a person we make eye contact with once in a hallway, maybe less so.

Anyway, I admit that I've been guilty of it as well, so excuse me if I come across as hypocritical. I've just read so many comments and opinions that I didn't get to address and really, would have loved to talk about this with those people to understand why they feel as they do.

"Rihanna's so stupid for (allegedly) taking him back. She deserves whatever she gets, because she's enabling an abuser."
I do think, provided she really did take him back, that she made a very stupid decision.
I understand that abuse is difficult to differentiate when combined with love. Both actions require emotion and passion, so it's possible and even probable to become conditioned to believe they are related, or even one and the same. However, I define "stupid" as having a wealth of information and support at your disposal to influence your decision-making away from dangerous choices (or at least those with very high risk), yet making said dangerous choices anyway. I don't think people were stupid for smoking in the 40's; they had very little information, so I'd just call them ignorant. People who choose to take up smoking or continue to smoke currently are making a stupid decision. Of course, this doesn't reflect on their overall mentality, just their thought processes for a particular decision. Same goes for Rihanna. I've been guilty of it too. I stuck with a guy who wasn't like he used to be, thinking he'd change back to the person I thought I knew instead of getting out while the getting was good, before I got my heart broken. So to a lesser extent, I am not immune to stupid decisions. No one ever deserves to be abused, however, no matter what. Violence is not an answer to a problem, because it only creates more problems.

"Chris Brown is a monster who should be put under the jail. He's sick and deserves to die/be anally raped in prison/be castrated/burn in hell/etc."
No. Absolutely not. The demonizing of this young man is downright disgusting. He did an awful thing, yes that's true. He even (allegedly) is a repeat offender. He deserves to be punished by law for his actions. Anything else is up to God. Or karma. Or whatever you believe in. None of us have been appointed as his judge and jury in this life or after.

"Chris Brown/Rihanna is an adult who shouldn't be cut any slack for whatever reason."
These two people may be adults in age, very close to my own, but I see them as children/teenagers. Think about it. Both of them witnessed some traumatizing things in their lives. Some 30- and 40-somethings are still working similar issues out with therapists or medication. I know that some people who have also seen drug-addicted or domestically abused parents have grown up to become stronger and better people for it, but everyone does not have the same constitution or emotional pain tolerance. These two became top-earners and breadwinners within in their families at an age when many are worried about acne, getting an A in sophomore biology, or going to the prom: i.e., seemingly frivolous things. From that point on they've lived a lifestyle alien to most of us. They've been primped, prodded, spoiled, and coddled for years since. How could they possibly have managed to go through whatever experiences are necessary to "grow up normally?" Even children should be punished for things that are reprehensible, but I can't imagine not feeling bad for both of them, not just Rihanna. Clearly Chris Brown has not had the time he's needed to confront his demons, nor has Rihanna had the time to build up a self-esteem that matches her public persona.

"You're stupid for criticizing Rihanna because you don't understand the cycle of abuse."
Many people were saying that to commenters, particularly those who experienced it first hand. The cycle of abuse is easily comprehended: honeymoon phase ->build-up/tension ->explosion ->honeymoon phase. That doesn't mean it should be accepted. (Some) People who criticize Rihanna's role in all of this are basing their opinions on how it should be, not how it is. Having a chart on the widely accepted abuse cycle does NOT make it all right. It merely makes it common, which is not the same thing at all. It seems as if these people are defensive because they also took back an abuser, currently or in the past, and (perhaps rightfully) feel like a criticism of Rihanna's decisions is a criticism of their own similar decisions. Well, for their sake, I wish someone had been around to talk them out of it, too.

"Celebrities are not immune to the cycle of abuse."
Obviously not, but Jesus Christ, she IS a celebrity and it is 2009, not 1969! My grandmother (as lovely a woman as she was) had 10 children, a gambling problem, an abusive boyfriend, and black skin in 1960's and 70's Mississippi. Now, tell me that ain't hard. She had very few options for herself. Rihanna is financially independent (even if she is "broke", if she would just forgo the $12,000 shoes and bags for a while, she'd be good to go), has no children with Chris Brown, has a security team (who obviously weren't on their job that night), and a support system in her family, millions of fans, and incredibly powerful industry friends (hello, Jay-Z and Kanye). Why on EARTH would she stay? Well, people would go for this garbage:

"Love is very complicated."
No, it is not. Call me a romantic, but love is the simplest, purest thing in existence. People are complicated. It is our thoughts and questions that complicate it and our need for qualifiers that muck it up and turn it into all these things that we don't understand and ruin for ourselves. One drop of pee can spoil the bucket of water, or whatever the dumb saying is. Trying to mix love and pride, love and fear, love and jealousy, or love and abuse will always leave you confused and hurt. Not that it's impossible to overcome, but to me it's really like eating a fallen souffle: it's kind of hard to enjoy when you have that constant reminder that something's wrong or off. Chris Brown and Rihanna will make their own decisions about being together, but personally I think it's a bad idea. When there is physical evidence that a person invokes that kind of ire in Chris, why would he want to continue walking that tightrope, possibly regressing and hurting the woman he thinks he loves...again? Would Rihanna ever really be comfortable with him again, or would she walk on eggshells, afraid to do or say the wrong thing? What kind of life is that? What kind of love is that? I would think love, real actual love, would be expressed in the ability to let the other go, when a relationship is that volatile, to preserve the life (biologically or socially) of that other person. Obsessive relationships should have died with Romeo & Juliet. Grrr. I blame the drippy nonsense that is Twilight.

There is so much more. I suppose because the whole subject is so taboo, yet so intriguing to the public because of the "high-profile" people involved. I can hardly ever stop myself from talking once I get going, so luckily with typing, my hands get tired. I'll just leave you with a song that's lyrics are appropriate with the situation, I think, sung by one of the better, underrated contemporary singers.

Amel Larrieux: "Say You Want It All"

Janet Jackson Deserves Reparations

She does, from the stigma of Nipplegate. Her career just hasn't been the same, all because people caught a glimpse of a nipple for half of a second. We need some Nipplegate/Penisgate shirts A.S.A.P.

Well what's going to happen to Comcast and the wagging penis guy? Clearly, if we are to judge by the footage, he was going to be the big winner of the night, not Jennifer Hudson (who may have lip-synced?) or the Steelers (who made a fantastic comeback at the last). Damn my DirectTV and its uninterrupted game footage. I missed the most epic imitation of Tyler Durden in Fight Club ever, even if it was only in Tucson. I mean, it's the most watched sporting event next to the Olympics, and this was Tucson's hometeam.

http://www.comcastsuperbowlporn.com Such a clever name. You'll have to use Internet Explorer to view it, for whatever technical reason. NSFW/church/life/etc.

I find it hilarious that last time the game had a stunning rendition of the National Anthem by a black woman (by Beyonce) it was overshadowed by soft-core porn (i.e. Janet's S&M nipple), and this time, the performance was beyond stellar (by Jennifer Hudson), and it was overshadowed by a flopping penis. My big question is what were the reaction of parents whose children were present? I mean, it was like 15 seconds. Did they cover their children's eyes, change the channel, sit in stunned silence, or try to explain it away? What do you say to little Jimmy (lol) or Dana that will change the fact that they just saw a man wag his privates?

The Hell Date Has Tentacles...

And they are reaching out to me through the phone and Facebook. I must be the the first date queen because Shaggy has called and texted me for over a week, despite my ignoring him. Just when I thought it was over, I get this lovely message in my inbox:

"I don't know what happened between me & you but oh well thanks. Life is still great for me."

What kind of fuckery is this? You must think I'm a cold-hearted witch for posting this but it's all totally anonymous. No one I know knows him or anything. We are no longer Facebook friends (that even sounds childish in typing). So, what I'm thinking is, that he searched my name just to write me this message. Why? Why? Why? Doesn't everything I'm doing or not doing say that I don't like him? Nothing since the date could be taken as the contrary. Man, he's dense.

What is he thanking me for? Putting up with his inconsiderate, David-Banner-beard-having, Kanye-plus-Neyo-minus-any-attractiveness-sized-ego-carrying self?

Life is great for me? What does that even mean? Did he think I was assuming I rocked his world, and he'd fallen in love? He's acting like I broke his heart, and he's trying to be strong and prove he's over it.

Congrats that life is great for you, really. But, I don't give a crap. I'm not lamenting on how you're doing. It was a first date, for crying out loud! Sometimes they work out, and sometimes, especially this time, they just don't. This dude is 80% cornball, and as for the other 20%, well he may want to check his boxers (or briefs?) because he is a straight up p*ssy. I'm trying to avoid the vulgarity, because I said much worse when I first read it, but this guy is just...ugh. I'm hoping this is the end of it.

Is this all Mississippi has to offer? I need to know because I have 4 years of medical school ahead of me, and I might just have to spend my summer going on a nationwide one-night-stand fest to last me throughout the drought. What's worse is today I received a scholarship that may pay for medical school (at least partially) with the exception that I must practice in MS for 5 years after. That's my whole twenties, spent in this God-forsaken state! I'm beginning to think MS is like the mafia. Just when you think you're out, they pull you back in. I need the money, but I might freak the hell out if I have to stay here for that long. I'm talking Mariah-Carey-handing-out-ice-cream-in-a-tshirt-on-TRL or Amy-Winehouse-visiting-her-husband-in-jail kind of breakdown.

So Was I on BET This Weekend?

It's quite possible I was. In fact, I'm still waiting for one of the vertically challenged devils to pop out at any choice moment (my shower, my morning stretch, etc.) and tell me I was on that God-awful BET show Hell Date. (Not that I watch it or anything...)

Jacked from The Urban Spin

I've had plenty of dates, but I guess I'll say I've been spoiled. I always have had the luck of choosing to share my time with guys who, despite their character outside the context of the date, have always managed to show me a relatively good time. I can't think of any that made me want to call it a day on single life and wrap my lips around a gun, at least.

But this one...whooo man, this one was, for me, the worst. The Best of the Worst, and yes, it deserved capitalization.

I've toyed all week with the thought of putting this up. I mean, he might visit my blog; it was on my facebook page, and he was ALL into my facebook page. But then I remember that: 1) I don't get that many visitors and 2) I don't really give a shit. Maybe he'll learn something...?

I understand that this is completely passive aggressive, and I probably should have just gotten up and walked out on the date. I think in some sick way, I wanted to go ahead and have the experience. Besides, no matter how hard I try to leave my "nice girl" past in the dust, that heifer creeps up on me now and again. And, damn it all, she was really showing out Saturday night. Or, holding it all in, whatever is appropo.

Silver lining: I learned to i.d. an asshole almost immediately. Any kind: big ones, small ones, some the size of your head...I just have to stick to my gut instead of listening to my mother's "don't judge a book because the glass is half full when a stitch in time saves a penny" lecture. Come to think of it, I don't think I own an ugly, but intriguing book. They're all directly proportionate.

Like any woman might, I have to give you back-story.

I had been talking to, let's call him Shaggy, on the phone for about a week (i.e. about 3 phone calls of varying lengths). I'd say about 50% was genuinely interesting while the other 50% was primal chest beating and ego-stroking.

I've never, ever had a guy ask: Don't you remember what I was wearing?* How many times (not partners) have you had sex? Are you as excited about our date as me?

Or

Talk about his best friend (who is a girl) incessantly. (Not ok, by the way. There's a difference between funny anecdotes and just flat out sounding obsessed/in love.)

*As far as the "what I was wearing" thing...I didn't remember, because I had been either drunk or almost there when we met (Strike 1, right?), and he sounded genuinely hurt. He said he'd been wearing a blazer, a button-down shirt, and some jeans. Uh, want a gold star? That's the quintessential 20-something guy party uniform.

It was like talking to a stereotypical girl, and in some ways, it made me feel sorry for a lot of men. Sitting through all that chatter and insecurity for a little sex? Sheesh. I spent the better part of our conversations "mm-hmm'ing" and "mmm-mmm'ing" while trying to improve my sniper rifle skills on Left 4 Dead. Not the norm for me.

Understandably I was apprehensive about our date. I was completely on the fence. Our conversations were good but bespattered with awkward moments of just saying the absolute wrong thing (usually him). Forgive my shallowness, but he didn't even have attractiveness on his side to tip the scales. (Sorry, I can't deny that physical attraction is as big deal to me as intelligence and communication and all the rest. Not a big fan of the "grow to love"/"learn to like" thing. Hey, I'm young, I may grow out of this...or gain some desperation?)

I talked to my friends about it. I even talked to my mom, and I try to leave her out of my dating anything: if she knows, my dad knows. And that leads to "talks". *shudder* Essentially, I got the "you're too picky" speech from everyone (minus the one friend who actually saw him and advised me to run screaming in the other direction - Strike 2?), and decided to be positive and hope for the best.

My Saturday culminated into the perfect storm of events all occurring at once:

1) My bffff was having her first post-partum outing, with me, to the mall.

2) My childhood besty was having a pre-birthday meetup, with me, at the mall to pick out a present for her.

3)She was also having a sleepover (it's kitschy!) that night.
4) My cousin was in intensive care at the hospital, which I found out just before the mall outing and had to postpone a few hours.
5) My parents went out of town and my brother was at a friend's so I had to find someone to babysit my sister while on my date/at the sleepover.

Shaggy called me at the mall to choose the movie (it was too cold for anything else fun), a conversation during which I relayed all above info to him. He wanted to see Not Easily Broken, a movie easily deciphered (heh) from the previews as a Tyler Perry knockoff/Church of Latter Day Saints commercial with black people. I wanted to see something - oh, I don't know - not stupid. Essentially, he decided we were going to see this movie, the star of which has been the star of about 90% of every black movie of the past ten years, Morris Chestnut. Things were sucking before the date began.

The movie was at 7:45 and I had only just arrived to drop off my friend at home at 7:35. He called and asked should he get tickets. Duh? I asked my friend to watch my sister for the two hours I'd be gone, then after the date I'd have time to take her home to get her stuff, then across town to our aunt's house. I relayed this info to my date when I called to inform him I was on my way. He said nothing out of the way of agreement.

I get there, and he makes me stand in the cold (in my day gear, I never had time to change into warmer clothes) to meet him. Then, he proceeds to tell me that the 7:45 was sold out and he bought tickets for the 10:15 showing. Where in the hell was the disconnect about all of the obligations I'd told him about? Luckily (?), my parents called to say they'd changed their minds and would pick my sister up for me, sparing my poor friend with the newborn infant from having to stay up all night watching an overly energetic 4th grader. I had to tell one of my friends, who recently totaled her car in an accident that I couldn't be her ride to the sleepover, seeing as how I wouldn't arrive until after midnight. All he said was, "Aww, now I feel bad..." as he continued talking.

Alright, so this could drag on forever, so here are the highlights:

He took me to Pizza Hut to kill the 2 whole damn hours we had before the movie started. This is what he says as we enter:
"I have to apologize in advance if a lot of people are running up to me like they know me. I used to work here."
Unbeknownst to me, I was on a date with the Pepperoni Pimp. Anyway, no one even acknowledges Shaggy when we go inside. And then, all country-like, he yells a greeting to the guy behind the counter, who halfheartedly waves before returning to his job. Shaggy then apprehends an elderly employee he knows and asks if there's anyone in the back working that he knows. The elderly man mentions someone, and Shaggy requests that he send her out. The elderly man says, "I think she's busy [i.e., doing her job, assclown], but I'll tell her you're here." She never comes out, by the way.

His iPhone is the 3rd party of our date, on which he shows me pictures of his gorgeous best friend who his parents adore for some reason (uh, because she's your best friend?) and likes him because he doesn't give her attention like other guys do (um, what), and checks game scores. Constantly. Which I hate. You can't see the action, so why not just get the final score and record the game or watch the highlights?

I no longer get relaxers, and warned him in advance I wasn't pressing my hair for the date. He touches my hair and says, "It's not that bad." Hetouchesmyhairandsaysitsnotthatbad. Hetouchesmyhairandsaysitsnotthatbad. Hetouchesmyhairandsaysitsnotthatbad.

He complains that he's such a shopaholic, as he's always in JC Penney's.

He brags about his blazer, which he got from Sears during a clearance. While there's nothing wrong with sales, here's the kicker: he still has that outer label sewn on the sleeve, the one you're supposed to remove. And, it says Dockers. Labels aren't everything, but the stain-resistant khaki people? C'mon. I didn't even know they'd branched out to blazers.

There's just two hours of him babbling about everything and nothing, and then he says "Wow, that sure went by fast." I mean, really dude...if you're gonna talk that damn much, get a blog. Between the cold, the crowd (yes, crowd, for a frickin' movie by Tyler D. Jakes-Perry), and the "conversation" (a word I'll use loosely), I just wanted to rip open my shirt and take off down the dark road, all devil-may-care-like.

To top it off, who should sit next to him in the theater, but this incredibly cute guy with the sexiest profile I've ever seen in real life who came to the movies by himself like I sometimes do and was wearing totally offbeat plaid Converse much like I might. While I was on a date. With Completely-Undeserved-Arrogance Guy. I spent the movie alternating between stealthily staring at this guy like he was my soulmate and gawking at Taraji Henson's terrifying wig.

The date ends with him telling me two things.
1) " On our next date maybe we can see that movie you wanted to see." That tells me he heard me loud and clear when I said I didn't want to watch the crap he picked. Everyone knows the one who is invited on the date picks the restaurant/movie/venue.

2)"I think our date was a success with a capital S." What what what? Who fucking says that?

To counteract any kissing action he might've taken, I went in for a hug, just to keep my face out of reach.

Then later I saw he had updated his facebook status on our date, and a friend commented, asking if he was "oiling" which for some dumb ass reason means having sex at his college.
I was squicked out beyond measure, and immediately deleted him. I have an irrational anger for people who constantly update their status, and the thought of having sex with him made my shmagina want to pucker, curl into itself, and die.

I don't ever want another date like this. I just don't get it. I'm a freaking catch, and I don't even want a boyfriend! Just a cute, funny, smart, single, healthy guy to have fun with. But, that's another post. Heaven knows this one has dragged on, much like my date did.

I wrote this on facebook like almost 2 years ago....

I can't believe it's relevant still. Dating's all well and good, can really be fun, but I just get bored. So. Damn. Easily. Same sh*t, different face, really.

Ok so...now what?
Saturday, February 24, 2007 at 2:04am | Edit Note | Delete
I have just, literally, just finished a book entitled "He's Just Not That Into You", a #1 New York Times best-seller, most likely because of the name dropping the authors do (one is a writer and the other a consultant, both for the cult hit show Sex and the City, which I adore). And I feel like the people in those nowwhat.com commercials (which I still kinda don't get) where some crazy shit happens to them and all they can do is stare. That's all I can really ask: now what?

I wouldn't really say I had a revelation so much as was finally actually able to put what I knew all along into words after reading the book. I would love to say that I felt as carefree and relieved as Sex and the City character Miranda Hobbs did when she discovered the mantra-cum-title. There are no mixed messages...men sometimes don't say what they mean, but they sure as hell do what they mean. They don't wanna say it to our faces because, well most men are total pussies when it comes to dealing with women's (or anyone's for that matter) emotions. I should take pride in the idea that I am emotionally stronger or whatever...it's empowering.

But, it wasn't really empowering...in fact it was downright depressing. Despite the fact that more than half of the book was written by a man, every page shouted at me just how much men are assholes and how desperate women can be pining away after them. This book tells me not to settle, but in the same breath admits that I won't have much luck finding my dream man because all guys are fucked up in some way or another about relationships. So now what?

All of these fucked up guys exist simply because women do settle, and accept the bare minimum in a relationship. I won't say I haven't been guilty of it (even in non-romantic relationships). I am sweet to a fault...I see some good in people and then I think if I am kind enough to them and love them enough, the good will overpower the bad, love will prevail, they will change their ways, and there'll be rainbows and butterflies and sun rays and music and buck-toothed bunnies and all that other happy-go-lucky bullshit. And no matter how often I get the cold splash of reality on my face that life doesn't work that way, I keep trying. My dad once said that was arrogant of me, and I guess I agree. What do I possibly think there is about MY love that will melt cold hearts? Open minds? Create peace? Get me loved in return? You can't force anyone into loving you, but you can't love anyone into loving you either. People rarely change, but your expectations often do. (cliche enough?)

So what do I do now? I am single and young. These should be the best years of my life. I have often been accused of being way too analytical and worried about things that are irrelevant at the time or out of my control. However, I am not sure I can categorize myself as a normal 20-year old. While outwardly I may seem to have lived a sheltered/protected life, still the things I have seen and experienced have affected me somehow...it's hard to explain, and the heart wants what it wants I suppose. Pursuits of some of my peers don't seem to interest me like I worry they should. I feel like an anomaly of my generation in some ways...like a 40-year old in a 20-year old's body or something...totally misunderstood. I am rarely attracted to nor do I attract guys my own age; not that it matters because what they are usually interested in I am not willing to give.

Well whatever, I have digressed so much that I don't even remember what my point was in the first place. I have all these thoughts in my head all the time, it's incredible that I can fit anything else into it. I have yet to meet a guy who is the Trifecta: stimulating Intellectually, Physically, and Emotionally...a man to infiltrate the mind, body, and spirit. Are there any? Maybe not...not according to this book anyway: search for Mr. Right, but remember he doesn't really exist, except in rarity? Come on... But you know what? Maybe I asked for this; maybe we all did. I have always wanted a man to be truthful...maybe the truth is "the good ones" are out there, but few and far between and getting snatched up by the second, by those both deserving and undeserving. I find myself in a paradox: I don't miss my current ex-boyfriend, but I miss the idea of him. He was a good man in theory, just not in practice. He fit a checklist, but it came together in a pretty undesirable way off-paper. I don't want a boyfriend, but I do want to be wanted. Does any of this even make sense? Well, it makes sense early in the morning...maybe not later.

Sarah Palin is like the Rihanna of Politics

Don't frown at the title. I am already ashamed of myself that I thought it in the first place, but there it is. It came to me, while watching the vice Presidential debate the other night. I sat there, wondering why the focus group's positivity towards Sarah Palin would increase with every cutesy thing she did. I kept thinking, "Do they even hear the words coming from her mouth? She's downright annoying!" (Not to say Joe Biden can't cause a nose-scrunch too, but if you want Barack Obama as your Prez, what can you do?) I swore to myself to stop being so hard on Rihanna, but I genuinely dislike her, which is confusing since I don't know her. I guess the same could be said about Sarah Palin. Whatever. I won't apologize, but at least let me try to explain.

1. Both view themselves as "outsiders" and beat that idea like a dead horse, using a specific word.
Seriously. Try not to play any drinking games where you take a shot per usage of the word "maverick" (Sarah Palin) or "edgy" (Rihanna). It's likely you would die of alcohol poisoning. Rihanna couldn't "edge" her way out of a paper bag. Being a "tomboy" doesn't make you different. Tons of hot girls play that role because guys like it, I'm told. Having grown up as a tomboy myself, I was always awkward around boys (b/c I was attracted to them) and girls (b/c I wasn't like them) and always defending myself against being a lesbian (which I have never been). Mixing prints or black and brown or metallics or wearing white after Labor Day isn't edgy either. Some of us have been doing that for ages. Edgy is not just style/fashion, it's an attitude that she just lacks. Unlike Rihanna, Sarah Palin is actually what she claims in some ways. To be a maverick is to do what you think is right, despite being alone in that idea. I don't deny that she thinks she is right in all of her views, but that doesn't make some of them any less stupid. Ok, not stupid: inane? Idiotic? Imbecilic? Global warming must be a figment of our imagination. Damn the wildlife of Alaska, right? Let's take away a woman's right to choose, even if the baby would be a product of rape or incest, or the birthing process could kill her. Ridiculous.

2. Both were initially endorsed as credible by some old guy with dollar signs in his eyes, who had known them for all of a week.
Of course, McCain's dollar signs are accompanied with visions of himself swearing in as President. Jay-Z was already President at Def Jam, if I remember correctly. Details are fuzzy. Both of these men are incredibly business minded and have been "in the game" for years. I'm sure for both that it has gotten to the point where they can spot a cash-cow/gimmick right away. McCain knew that having a woman in the White House is as much strived for by the minorities as have a Black man. Plus, the other gender seems much more encompassing than a minority race. Jay-Z knew that his girlfriend (now wife) was getting pretty old in pop star years (they are like Playboy Bunny years, actually) and he wanted to have a hand in her replacement. Plus, how many women can match up to Beyonce? Not very many. Rihanna, with her boyish body and short hair, seems less threatening than Beyonce, I imagine, even with her green eyes and cringe-inducing speaking voice. Sarah Palin has a cringe-inducing speaking voice as well. Yet, here we are. Well played, gentlemen. Well played.

3. Both are arguably hot.
I must admit, both can be ridiculously attractive at some moments, and just average at others. Some call Sarah Palin a "milf"/photoshop her head onto bikini photos and some call Rihanna "the current hottest chick in the game"/photoshop her nude, while others think Sarah Palin looks like the bitchy mom at the PTA or their own mother (shudder) and that Rihanna looks like a man or a Klingon. Regardless, part of each woman's appeal/trademark is her looks.

4. While carving a niche out of practically nothing, both dodge naysayers by crying foul.
Any disdain shown towards Sarah Palin is met with the cry of "sexism". Any shown towards Rihanna is met with the phrase "jealous hater" or the term "Beyonce stan". We live in a world where people (myself included) have blogs, YouTube channels, and/or Facebook and MySpace pages and say snarky, bitchy things so much that very little is even taken as genuine criticism anymore. Since anyone can say anything (that pesky freedom of speech), there are those people whose criticism does fall under the category of envy, but there are many more of us who feel we have legitimate reasons for our dislike. But, their avid supporters can't hear anything through the white noise of their assumptions of our insecurities.

4. Both began more or less under the radar before suddenly rocketing into such success that it leaves all of us who don't see their appeal scratching our heads.
I don't really have to clarify that further. Suddenly they are all over the place, being shoved down our throats from all sides.

5. Both have (currently) beaten out their main and obviously more talented "competitor" (so to speak) in their specific fields.
I think it's pretty clear that I am referring to Beyonce and Hillary Clinton. Both women are quite adept at their professions, at least in comparison to the current popular choice. All four women have their faults to a point; you might consider Palin and Rihanna to be Pepsi, and Beyonce and Clinton to be Coca-Cola. One type may have been around longer, but the other type has more flash and public appeal. Some prefer one over the other in taste tests and some just hate both drinks. Coca-Cola is sticking with their tried-and-true image while Pepsi has enlisted the help of celebrities to sell their wares (am I still talking about sodas?).* Whatever the case, Palin and Rihanna are preferred 3 out of 5 over Clinton and Beyonce. I mean, duh, Palin's currently closer to the White House than Clinton, and Rihanna's reigning chart queen over Beyonce.

6. Both are popular/famous for nearly anything but what their career title directly insinuates.
Palin is immediately recognized by her Tina Fey glasses, Hockey Mom bangs, and mandarin-collared, brightly colored suits. Rihanna is immediately recognized by her Prince, Kelis, or Posh Spice-inspired hairdo, Fefe Dobson wardrobe, and her misguided, eventually regrettable tattoos. Palin has yet to be complimented by the press for her political prowess, experience, or insight. Rihanna has yet to be praised for her singing or performing skills. This is the case even with fans of either, who admit that Palin has questionable political knowledge/Rihanna has questionable singing talent. Why is that so? My theory is that the public, so sick of having images in mind of women that were unappealing or unattainable, decided to support women so ridiculously flawed at their chosen careers that they would be instantly likeable and/or relatable.

Well, I neither like nor relate to either. I am at present so disillusioned with the buying and voting public - in many ways besides this - that were it not for my desire to be updated on the current events of my universe, I would limit myself from contact with all this bullshit posthaste. I can only hope that trying to create change in my own life will create some sort of trickle-down/out/around effect that will affect change all around me. I have gone on long enough, so I will leave you with a few videos to illustrate my points and these suggestions:

Vote for Barack Obama November 4th, and buy the albums of someone with actual talent. One way or another, it's time for change, people.



Hero Gone Bad


Please Don't Pon De Replay


Disturb-ya at the VMAs


From Queerty.com

Bush Doctrine? What's That?


What's the difference between a funny joke and an insult? Sarah Palin


Palin v. Biden Parody
http://www.nbc.com/Saturday_Night_Live/video/clips/vp-debate-open-palin-biden/727421/


Palin with Katie Couric Parody
http://www.hulu.com/watch/36863/saturday-night-live-couric--palin-open



Palin and Clinton Announcement
http://www.nbc.com/Saturday_Night_Live/video/clips/palin-hillary-open/656281/

*For the record, Coke kicks Pepsi's ass all over the playground, unless it's Wild Cherry Pepsi.

Relenting

Ok, ok, although I don't think he's asked for "less vocoder" on a song since his first platinum single, I dislike T-Pain a little less with this video.



Well, like 1.5% less, he's still an embarrassment. (Disregard the free promotion)

I Don't Have The Strength...

I've been doing my workout thing for the past two weeks in addition to my job, so I can barely lift my arms over my head much less focus my mind to the point it needs to fathom why this really is in existence. (seen @ Crunk & Disorderly)

So, apparently Eb the Celeb thought I was just joshing about Chris Brown's new underwear line, Big Headed. To be honest, I actually thought the whole thing was just conceptual, hypothetical, theoretical, debatable even (much like his singing ability). I was not prepared for the full-on website, complete with models, shopping carts, and MUZAK. To his credit, Breezy's face, body, and music are nowhere to be found on the site (thank God), so despite its vainglorious and (rumored) appropriate name, it appears to be no homage to his person.

My need to bitch and critique plus my desire to observe all things fashion apparently outweigh my (dearly missed) lack of interest in Chris Brown and his activities. I have to say something; my very nature wills it to be so. :-/ I will just say these things, and then no more, maybe.

1. Why are the girl's boxers constantly referred to as "Boxahs"? It makes my face hurt, for some reason.
2. These male models seem to surpass my douche tolerance level.
   
3. Imagine my horror/delight (?) in the (men's) "Breakaway Boxers" section when the models in the videos actually BROKE AWAY THEIR BOXERS. Oh, how I gasped/laughed. I was willing it to be so ("break 'em away, break 'em away, do it!"), and...there it was.
   
4. If you decide to take a look-see, keep an eye out (in the men's section) for gems like the "Condom Pocket Boxer" (convenient), "Danger - Fire Hose" (O_o), "Speed Limit: 69" (WUT), and my personal favorite: "Safety First - Clean Up Spills".
5. The girls modeling the bottoms are not wearing any tops. Just hands and tan lines. Why?
6. The "Peek A Boo Sports Bra" (there are so many jokes there) looks completely useless at doing anything but being removed by your guy...single/sexless girls need not buy.
7. I get the heebie-jeebies at the idea of thinking about Chris Brown when I put on my thong, or that Chris Brown had anything to do with the thong I would be wearing. That may be the grossest sentence I've typed on this blog. Trey Songz on the other hand...

Yeah, on that note...I am done. There is so much there, but I think I'll leave that to the hardcore Chris Brown fans/anti-fans to decipher.

Down the Rabbit Hole...

I started this post over a month ago, but abandoned it midway through. I rethought it, because it seemed kind of mean...

Eh, whatever. I'll be vague.

8/8/08
Instead of ending up in the tangible manifestation of an acid trip called Wonderland, though, I ended up in the land of the Vain & Vapid, girls who appear to be uniform in personality although they look nothing alike.

Seriously. My day was filled with the type of shallowness that can't be taught in pageant/modeling classes, imitated from movies like Mean Girls, or gleaned from hanging around (some?) celebrities. This has to be congenital. I mean, there's no way anyone can act like what I've seen here today without having honed such a singular dimension to a gleaming sharpness. And, this is from a female who has Vogues scattered across her floor, owns Sex and the City DVDs, and gabs about fashion with the passion of a political pundit covering the 2008 election. I'm not exactly (insert deep musician here), reading (insert famous Russian author) and quoting (insert famous philosopher) while donating my time to actively (stop female genital mutilation/fight genocide in Darfur/build homes in war-torn countries/etc).* As a matter of fact, just last week I said Toni Morrison wrote The Color Purple (BLASPHEMY!) when it was Alice Walker (DUH).

We all have our "blond moments" (no offense to blondes, since every hair color/race has its assclowns). However, I have never met anyone I would want to call a bubble-head before now. I can't let this happen again. My very life (and the bloodlessness of any nearby blunt objects) depends on it. Granted, the shallow never actually recognize themselves as such - perhaps this means that the fact that I question my superficiality nullifies it (in that way where crazy people never think they are crazy, because they are too busy being crazy, so if you wonder if you are crazy you couldn't possibly be crazy - ok shutting up now...)? Here are some things I have to share for anyone not questioning their possible lack of depth after observing the Vain & Vapid:

1. Oil build-up on your make-up during the day should not be discussed with the same graveness and sobriety as the events of 9/11, the "war on terror", or the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina.
2. Hair weave does not deserve the same careful planning, funding, and deliberation as plans for universal healthcare.
3. No, I don't think wearing a size 4 now instead of a 2 means it is time for you to hit the gym. If 5 pounds were all it took to get you to the size 4, you weren't really a 2 to begin with. And, that's okay.
   
4. It's not all right to hang out with "ugly girls" because they make you feel more secure.
5. No, I have never skipped class because my hair was "busted".
6. Facebook/Myspace are not as reputable as/equivalent to CNN.com, or even yahoo.com.
7. Facebook/Myspace are not really meant for you to become the Tyra Banks of your own Next Top Model competition.
8. Twenty-five is not fucking old.
   
9. Thirty is not fucking old.
10. No, I do not agree that McDonald's employees would be more pleasant if they had cuter outfits.
11. It's not the 50's. You aren't "too late" if you get married at 28. People live relatively longer, now that we (most of us) know smoking really is bad for us. And, you seem like the type to one day embrace a syringe full o' Botox.
    

*Note: I took a Russian short stories class and found it to be slightly lower on my boredom list than watching my siblings do their homework, and I do like classic novels, and participate in walks, awareness rallies, and protests, but like most middle-class "do-gooders", I have only been out of the country on vacation, not to lie down in front of tanks or bring well water to people fighting malaria. I have great respect for those who can do such serious and risky things. I am just honest about my (lack of) experience.

Remember Mondos?

I just got the earwig song from the commercial trapped in my head. How, you ask? Oh, you didn't. Well, that's all right, I'll tell you anyway.

I was looking at this post on ONTD, my favored among my guilty pleasures (they are just so deliciously ee-vull! It's like Gossip Girl, manifested in a LiveJournal, about celebs and pseudo-celebs rather than upper East-siders). I am pretty sure if you could be arsed to click the link, you clicked away immediately. I understand, it's incredibly difficult to give a shit that Chris Brown is making drawz, whoop-te-do. But please note that it's 1 am here, and my facsimile of a sham of a life has a self-enforced curfew of about 10 pm (again, I live in Mississippi, yeesh, stop having me explain that) which leaves me with about 3 or four hours of fat-ass'ed (3 syllables, like Shakespeare...classy, no? Classy, yes.) laziness. That is, if I haven't collapsed into unconsciousness from the weight of my full life (sarcasm, for the new).

So, I took the time to read about Chris Brown's panty line for dudes. It's gonna be called Big-Headed. No, really.

Yeah. (Insert obligatory Rihanna forehead joke here...I'm lazy. You understand).

Anyway, after wasting 4 minutes of my life (thank God I wasn't using those to save the world), including reading comments, I laughed, and said, "Well, Chris, it's your world."

That's all it took. I uttered those three words, and launched into the Mondo jingle, full blast. I can't even believe I remember the damned thing. Be warned, this commercial sucks big hairy ones even by 90's standards, but it would come on during every episode of Power Rangers, Ninja Turtles, Rugrats, All That, and any other kids show I was watching.



Oh, you'll see Jennifer Morrison (Cameron) from House in the commercial (weird!).


Mondos used to be the main drink in my lunch box, especially in summer and on field trips. The Kool-Aid juices were ten times better, but these were cheaper (why? Kool-Aid where I'm from conjured up images of you growing up poor in the hood), so these would be the ones in my mom's shopping cart on grocery days. These were the times of Ramen noodles, Vienna sausages, and fried baloney (sure, there was bologna, but we had baloney), so I didn't know to be embarrassed by them until middle school, when everyone was drinking Hi-C's (remember the Ghostbusters flavor?) and Capri Suns in the trendy silver pouches, or just buying sodas. Yeah, so I was ashamed of my Mondos, and my mom eventually stopped buying them in favor of the Capri Suns. Since I rarely look at individually packaged juices in the store, I have no idea if they are still around. Dumb as this post is, I just got a touch of nostalgia (sounds like a disease), when my cousins and I would drink 2 or 3 of one flavor each in a sitting just to get our tongues to turn purple or blue or whatever.

By the way, I always wondered if Mondo meant "world" in any language. If not, the damn catch phrase/jingle makes no sense.

Happy birthday, Ari B.! :-D