The List

It seems as though when it comes to love and life the heart and the mind like to wage war. Even though I have had those all nighter conversations with myself about certain someones I believe that I have always been sensible when it comes to choosing men, so sensible in fact I stay away from the decision altogether even have a list, I like to call it...

The kinky conundrum of why I can't have coitus with you

1. We're unequally yolked.

Spirituality and all its related activities are important to me. This includes church. If you have issues with organized religion or consider yourself spiritual and not religious then you can bet that we will be just friends. I have been raised in the church and have formed my own relationship with the man upstairs. If that seems silly or a waste of time for you believe me I feel the same way about our relationship. Catch me at Carverdale Church of Christ nicca! (Did I just do a church shout out?)

   2. You have no attainable goals.

I want to be a lawyer and a successful blogger. What about you? Men who can't finish school, can't keep a job, or have no inkling of what they want to do in life make me itch. I don't mind a brotha with dreams. If you want to own a ribbon making factory great! If you majored in dance in college cool, open a dance company and get your Alvin Ailey on, but you got to show me some initiative. I have seen too many women in my life get swindled by some man into being their sugar mama and I just can't do it church.

   3. You are with child.

I have some guy friends who are fathers. Some are great, some could use a  little work. I am more than happy to be apart of a child's life as auntie kinky, not step-mama kinky. I am still at a point in life where children seem more of a burden than a blessing, and to be honest I am way to irresponsible and/or selfish to be put into the position of rearing a little person. I have had men try to tell me that their child is not my responsibility and all I have to worry about is being their woman but I have to disagree. If our relationship is to be long term then at some point or another I will be directly or indirectly be responsible for the well-being of your child. That is a lot of pressure, then there is the chance that your child won't like me and who's to say I'm going to be head over heels about Jr? The most important issue however is the mother of your child. You are now linked forever with a woman who has seen you naked, that is a problem for me.

   4. You are to "eurocentric"

All my life I been black and all my life I been happy as heck to be it. I've had this nappy hair for over a year now and I'm not turning back. I'm trying to get back to Africa next summer and I have read the Autobiography of Malcolm X. A sista is quick to throw up the black power fist ok? If you ain't down to fight the power every once in awhile or at least have a conversation about it then to you sir I say good day.


    5. Non-argumentative

You can blame this on my highschool sweetheart. I've always been slightly confrontational but thanks to him I now need a couple good arguments a month to keep me on my toes. The strong silent type is good in theory but I need a little passion in my life. Not thug passion or anything that one may find in the urban section in Walden Books just someone who doesn't mind going toe to toe with me. Plus if we never fight how will we ever make-up? wink. wink.

There it is, the top 5 things that I look at to decided if  I am worth a man's time (I didn't type that wrong, that's what I meant to say). I suppose I should back door with a list on what increases a man's coital chances. So I guess this post should be called The List pt.1? Well join me tomorrow kids for part 2 of our segment. Same kinky time, same kinky place.

Photographs

I f*cking hate to take pictures.

Somewhere between ages 18 and 19 all the cameras in the world said "we gon f*ck this girl up." Very few pictures taken of me after my 19th birthday do I find flattering. The worst part is I hang around picture happy bishes that have Tourette's syndrome with their effing camera phones. Any random event that occurs is a photo op for these skeezers and its freaking annoying.

For instance the birthday dinner that my friend planned for me was very sweet and I enjoyed every minute of it. Except for the pictures! The fake smile plastered on my face is now plastered all over Facebook. Which means I have been tagged in these awful arse pictures for the f*cking world to gawk at.

My friends, as lovely and kind hearted as they are, simply don't understand that I don't care if they think the pictures are cute, I don't care if the entire world thinks that the pictures are top model status, I hate them and that reason alone should be enough for them to stop forcing a camera in my face everytime I f*cking turn around. In my opinion the camera does not love me, that bish hates my f*cking guts and is out to get me. I aint never ran from a nigga but I will sprint right past a camera everytime.

I realize that I am overreacting yes it is that time of the month and that my friends just want to capture our times together on film seeing as though any of us can kick the bucket at any given time, but sh!t, damn, motherf*cker I think I have a personality that will remain even in the case of my demise, I mean really we don't know for sure what Jesus looked like but we're all still talking about him. Same thing for me, I don't walk on water or anything but I do tell a mean Knock Knock joke so we're basically two peas in a pod.

I am a genius behind a camera not in front of it, I'm part native American anyway the camera steals a piece of my soul everytime someone gets a snap shot. You see what these heffas are doing to me? They're stealing my f*cking soul.

Tramps.

*Fun facts about this post*
The word f*ck was used 6 times.
I'm pretty sure I misspelled Tourette's.
I'm not part Native American.

21

Yesterday was my 21st birthday. My best friend and roommate (same person is case you were confused)planned a surprise birthday dinner for me, we went and got a few drinks and I spent the last couple of days with her and her cousin whom is also a dear friend. I had a good birthday and I'm so touched that I was thought of enough to have her plan a celebration for me.

But while I was driving aimlessly on the freeway last night I began to feel overwhelmed and even scared of what this birthday means. On one hand I no longer have to play the "I forgot my id" game when purchasing alcohol, on the other hand I am about to graduate from college. In a matter of months I will be considered full grown and it is not all it's cracked up to be.

I am not my mama's baby anymore, heck this time in my mother's life she was getting married! I breakout into hives at the mention of commitment. I'm quite confused about what to do or how to go forward. I mean I will be putting in my law school applications very soon, and I will continue this blog because I do indeed enjoy it. I fully intend on incorporating both of these passions (blogging, environmental law) into my life for ummm ever if I can.

I suppose I am not so scared for my future  in the "I'm going to be a bum" way because as cocky as this may sound I know I'm going to be successful in one way or another. Success is what I do, it's what I've always done despite the major setbacks that I've had this year. Though in the very near future I could be moving out of my mother's house, dealing with issues like relationships, sex, marriage etc. I mean basically my life is about to turn into an episode of Girlfriends.

Hell, I can't even think of a good way to end this post, so I'm thinking it's all down hill from here. See how backwards and confused I am? Good day.

Natural hair stereotypes. Is it really that bad?

These are my confessions...

1. I'm natural.
2. I have been to Africa.
3. I write poetry.
4. I don't eat pork.
5. I'm a tree hugger.

I could go on and on but you get the picture. I pretty much encompass all the stereotypes of black women who wear their hair in its natural state. A few things on the list I have done before I was natural, the others despite the fact that I'm natural. Either way I embrace all the stereotypes about natural sistas because once a person gets to know me I will either confirm or disprove the assumption.

Though while perusing blackgirlwithlonghair I read a post where some women were adamantly against the tree hugger/mother Africa stereotypes that came along with their decision to no longer relax their hair. I mean these women were mad. Neck rolling, finger shacking, in your face mad (see what I did, I played up another black woman stereotype). And I for the life of me could not understand why these women were so frustrated. Many of them gave reasons such as "I don't want to be put in a box" or "It's just hair, it's not a big deal."

The thing is, most stereotypes attributed to natural haired women are not that bad. People are more likely to assume you're educated, down to earth, politically aware, a freak, and generally an overall nice person. In my opinion that is a damn good box. Its as if these women are saying "don't be fooled by my ability to defy social stigma and wear my hair as it grows out of my head, I can be as ratchet as the girl with the blonde weave, with 3 babies by 4 different men, who works the popcorn stand at CVS."

And in all seriousness black people, we are kinda a big deal. There is rarely something happening in the black community that the world does not pay attention to. Examples? Of course?

1. The African continent.
2. Jazz.
3. The Civil Rights Movement.
4. Rock n' Roll. Yes that was our sh!t, Elvis was the king of thieves.
5. Hip Hop.
6. Booty.

And now Hair. If it was just hair, Madame C.J Walker would not have had the consumer base to amass her fortune. If it was just hair Koreans wouldn't be sending their kids to med school off our Remy weave purchases. If it was just hair there would be no need for workplace seminars on how "ethnic" hair is unacceptable for the workplace, and little black girls wouldn't beg their mothers for relaxers. If it was just hair hell we would all be natural!

I understand that with all the adversity faced by black women everyday some might find it offensive to be judged on something that should be trivial, but based on the fact that natural black hair is still an anomaly in our communities assumptions will be made, besides stereotypes do have some truth in them they may not all apply to you personally but is it really that serious?

Say my name, Say my name

I used to love this song, I still have my The Writing's on the Wall tape, yes tape. The original Destiny's Child was together, at least until the video shoot, it was a much simpler time then. Unfortunately this has nothing to do with unfaithful men who can't even control their wayward dhick's with their girlfriend on the phone.

Yesterday I hung out with two very dear friends of mine, both male, and from one I was given the idea for this post. As stated on this blog before or on afrolista, I love men. One of the things I love most is a man's voice. There have been times that I longed only to hear the voice of a man friend. And trust me when I say it is in the most innocent of ways that a man's voice can make my whole day or night feel better, but the most spine chilling word a man can ever utter is Coiette.

Whenever a man says my name my entire body perks up, and I am entirely focused or refocused on him. I don't know why I have this addiction to it, maybe it's because throughout my lifetime people have always had trouble pronouncing my name, or maybe  because when people know you they just start talking to you instead of calling you by your name. In any case while my friend was rambling incoherently about strippers I (sorry guy) drifted in and out of listening, however when my name slipped out from his vodka stained lips his story began to slightly interest me again.

My name or any variations thereof said with the right amount of bass by the right man gives me butterflies, I get nervous, and this chill comes across my body no matter how hot it is. Even seeing my name written in text by the right man produces the aforementioned bodily sensations. In fact the more times a guy says my name the more it endears him to me. I can't recall anyone else that has such an addiction to hearing their name said by the opposite sex outside the constrains of a horizontal situation, and maybe I'm just a super narcissist, whatever the case may be say my name, you won't wear it out.

My p*ssy stock is up, I don't have to sell.

I have never been the type of girl who thought her sh!t don't stink. I have physical and personality flaws just like every other homosapien walking the planet, and however many times a day, month, year, my self-esteem fluctuates I have never been so down on myself that I let a man take advantage of me.

My junior year in high school, the second day of school a young man who shall remain nameless approached in an attempt to "holla" at me. The first time he "holla'd" I politely declined, unfortunately I had multiple classes with him. He continued in his attempts and around 6th period I was tired of this ninja, so the next few times I declined were no longer polite. At the point that he began to get embarrassed he decided to lash out at me in a very public manner.

His exact words were "Oh, just cause you aight(looking) you think you can talk to people any kind of way?"

Me: Yes.

Over the course of the year he began to pick on me, I then began to ignore him. The following year he was back onto my clitoris in all manner of suck uppiness. Until one day on the bus embarrassed by my silent treatment he asked:"Are you gay?"

Me: No, why do you ask?
Him: Because you don't like me, and if you don't like me you must be gay.
Me: *blank stare* reinstates silent treatment.
Him: Or you don't like hood niggas like me, you like them niggas who tuck they shirts in and go to class everyday. (No, but for real he actually said this.)

Yet and still he made it his mission to "get" or "pull" me. Needless to say he failed.

I shared that story to bring you to my current situation. A young man I met my freshman year in college is continuously upset with me because I do not communicate with him as often as he would like. And I believe he has a girlfriend to boot. It's like he's trying to make me a ho and a homewrecker.This young man gets angry and I'm not sure if he can tell by the high levels of indifference when he expresses his anger but I do not give a f*****ck.

He is emotionally and  physically invested in me, not the other way around. Which means my p*ssy stock is through the roof and rising daily, and he is losing his time and energy trying to buy shares that are not available to the public. Foolish isn't it? And in his mind I'm the one who can't get right.

He, and a few other gentlemen callers just do not seem to understand the predicament they are in. I don't have to be kind, considerate, or even aware of ole boy cause whether I give him that becky or the finger I'm still getting the "wyd?" text the next day. Let's call a spade a spade. You want something that I have, true you could go somewhere else to get it, but you won't, which means:

KinkyWonder:1. Ninjas:0

Now good people I'm not trying to be a bish, I'm simply stating facts. If my ish was on the market right now it'd be right up there with Google and Microsoft.

5th period

This poem was written my senior year in highschool, like most of the poems I put on afrolista, obviously I didn't do much work that semester.It was origionally named after the boy in my 5th period class that I was crushing on for about 5 1/2 minutes, but I couldn't risk him finding out so I changed the name.When I first wrote this I didn't like it but 4 years later I found it in my old notebook and fell in love with it, and I was so hyped up on the reaction from Ode to the Brothas i figured why not? So there it is, and here it is....

Needless to say he’s sexy

Yeah, yeah I fell for the caramel complexion and his wavy hair

 He’s so lovely

 If I had my way in the beginning it would have been me and him

 There would have been no thought of a forbidden fruit

 Because I would never get to full from sipping and licking of the sweet taste of him

 I mean all of him

From his forehead to his toes

No rippling pectoral would escape my tongue’s blatant attack on his masculinity

 Pure sex appeal

 I would love to make love to him anytime anyplace

 His divinity is evident in each long, strong stroke

 Hmmm…with just one look the panties drop all on their own

My body moans involuntarily I’m so turned on

 I don’t think you hear me though

He is the inspiration behind hot chocolate

And luckily lonely don’t live here no more

Cause I think I’m in love

Nice guys finish last

There is really no meaningful background story to this. The joint was just funny, at least I thought it was. Enjoy...

From the title you, the reader, might assume that I, the writer, am alluding to the old adage of nice guys finishing last as in they lose out on some of life’s opportunities because they are too occupied with minding their manners when they need to be hitting the crane or the cobra on these n*ggas and doing the Obama walk on these h*es.

Nope, not that finish last.


Yep, that finish last.


As founder and proud member of V.A.P.T (virgins are people too) it might seem to the untrained eye a bit out of place for me to write a post of this nature. I can assure you though, in good conscience that it is not. You see an idle mind is the devil’s playground and well, Lucifer done set up a six flags on me. All day I dream about sex, the who, what, when, where, why, and how of it all plays in my mind at least 342 times a day, which has led me to some theories.

I am one of those silly gooses who watches to many Disney movies and believes that chivalry isn’t dead, he’s wherever Steve Francis disappeared to just in ICU, and that there are many gentlemen that do their damndest to revive him, in all stages of the dating game.

I don’t know the exact statistics but in deliver us from Eva, Gabrielle Union says that the average American couple has sex on the third date, let’s go with that shall we?
We shall.

Kadija: Thank you for another lovely evening.
Raheem: You’re very welcome, I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you these past few dates.
Kadija: Me too! And I can’t believe you paid for everything, I almost gave you some two dates ago, but then I remembered what Monica said.
Raheem: *chuckle* Well, I don’t want to pressure you or make you feel like you owe me anything, I was just being Shemar Moore’s character in Diary of a Mad Black Woman the man my parents raised me to be.
Kadija: You are such a good man. You respect women, have a good career, look like Idris Elba’s younger brother, and passed my DL test. C’mon in this house boy and let me put it on you before some white woman gets a hold of you!

Kadija and Raheem enter the house, they begin to kiss and caress one another. Raheem does all the right things, the foreplay is purposeful and sensual, and right before he gets ready to slide into home plate he pulls out that coveted golden ticket. Magnum b*tches! And it fits!

Raheem long strokes Kadija into euphoria. When she says faster, he goes faster. When she says deeper, he goes deeper. When she says keep it right there daddy, he keeps it right there, until the heavens open up and Kadija hits the Mariah Carey high note from Vision of Love. Then and only then does Raheem allow himself to join Kadija in her release.

I said that because I read to many Zane books to say this, there is a Raheem out there for everyone. He pays attention and puts his woman first. I can’t tell you where to find him, but I would stay away from the Atlanta and D.C areas.

Ode to the Brothas

*editors note*This week is favorite's week! I'll be posting my favorite post from afrolista.wordpress.com. The bonus is I'll give you the background history of how each one came about. Fun right? So let's begin.

Ode to the Brothas was  the first "poem" I put up on a blog. In actuality it wasn't suppose to be a poem it was just a post because I hadn't written in a long time. That post however, kicked off my most successful week ever in terms of page views and helped me grow the balls to write more poetry. It was also a chance for me to tell a crush I was feeling him, I don't know if he caught my drift, if he did he hasn't mentioned it and I suppose that's for the best. I woke out my good sleep to write ode to the brothas and I was and still am so happy that you all took to it like you did. Without further adieu....

*enters stage right, puts Jill Scott Crown Royal instrumental on repeat, grabs mic*

It’s the least I can do; let me cater to you-destiny’s child

The first man I loved was my grandfather; he gave me kisses and candy

The second man I loved was my brother, he was my soul mate

The third man I loved was my locker buddy, he gave me play dates

The fourth man I loved was my friend, he gave me experiences

The fifth man I loved was my uncle; he took the place of my father

The sixth man I loved was my first real love, he gave me passion

The man I love now is a king, he gives me hope

You got your Wall Street brotha, your blue collar brotha, your out on the block down for whatever brotha-angie stone

I love black men. I love them with fervor, with lust. Nothing makes my breath get shorter; my heart beat faster, my love get wetter than….

A smart man, he challenges my mind

A spiritual man, he challenges my soul

An aggressive man, he challenges my strength

A sexy man, he challenges my self-control

Watchin as he took the holder off his shoulder, fire in his eyes hands getting bolder…I take charge of the ship movin with my back and my hips like my ancestors did speaking in bantu, ronga and tonga but I gotta stop all that to make it longer-Jill Scott

Wavy hair, big brown eyes, broad nose, thick lips, baritone voice you know that James Earl Jones, Barry White, Blue from the Temptations type ish, strong chest, hard abs, that V muscle in the waist that leads to the big…ego

All these words are only frostin on my cake, feelings can’t explain or do justice to how I feel so alive so in love…he is everything, everything I want and I want it and so much more than I thought it could be-Heather Headley

*music stops, blows out candles, exits stage left*