Urban Sista's Adventures

It's been a while...

2009-09-17T13:41:00.001-04:00

It's been a while, hasn't it? A good few years! I've recently started another blog - The Accidental Natural -- over at Wordpress.com. Come by and visit!

Urban Sista

The Urban Sista Review: Playing My Mother's Blues / The Coldest Winter Ever

2006-11-12T15:15:00.000-05:00

Back again with another book review. Until someone out there publishes me, I'm going to express my views and opinions of the books out there -- the good, the bad and the stupid. Luckily, this book, Playing My Mother's Blues by Valerie Wilson Wesley, was not too bad.

I finally finished the book this week after starting it about six weeks ago. It didn't take that long because the book was dry or stupid, but because it's hard as heck to find time to read. This past week, I've been on the bus and subway non-stop, so I need something to do to stop the crazy folk in the TTC from conversing with me.

Anyway, to the story. The plot revolves around Maria Dells and her two daughters, Rose and Dani. Maria had run off with some no-good scoundrel, Durrell Alexander, when her daughters were younger, leaving them to be raised by their rich and influential father, Hilton Dells and his sister Lucille.

Now, Maria, after a short love affair with Durrell and many drugged out nights and parties, killed Durrell and is sent to prison.

Fast-forward to today. Hilton Dells is on his death bed, Dani married with a child and Rose is mothering, generous Rose... but it can't just be like that. No one really accepts how much Maria's leaving affected the family until Hilton dies. Suddenly, we learn about the cracks in everyone's armour: Dani has been cheating on her cheating husband and is planning to leave him. Rose is in the arms of a married man because she just can't let anyone get too close to her. Lucille is not the battle axe auntie, but a loving woman who gave up her life to raise her brother's children.

At Hilton's memorial service, Maria comes back into their lives and we find out what the truth is about Durrell's death and how that death set them all on their individual life paths.

Honestly, it took a bit to get into. While I was reading, I was like, 'ok... so?' I didn't feel the connection between myself and any of the characters until Hilton died. I guess that was the author holding back. She didn't want to give us everything about the characters until the scene was set.

I like jumping right into a story, but I can respect a nicely crafted story if the author gets to the point and the point is a good one. The author made me wait -- I don't know if it was worth the wait, but at least she delivered on an interesting, sometimes too jumpy, plot.

Ultimately, I found out what really happened in Maria's love affair with Durrell and how his killing was so integral to her life, but to the lives of her daughter.

I wouldn't say it's the best book that I've ever read, but it was good enough to keep my attention.

*******************************************************

With Nas' baby momma (read a chapter compliments of Crunk & Disorderly) coming out with a new tell-all piece of smut and Karinne Steffans is now a New York Times bestselling author with Confessions of a Video Vixen (which I'll read if someone will lend it to me 'cause there is no way in HELL that I'm going to put down hard earned cash on that tripe), the mother of street lit has got to be reviewed.

The Coldest Winter Ever, by Sister Souljah, isn't a tell-all like the two I mentioned, but it was certainly the start of this genre. Unfortunately, The Coldest Winter Ever, which is a wicked book, spawned copycats which spawned this crap of the hoochie spilling her guts about who she had and calling it literature.

Shame on y'all publishers! When folks are trying to create decent books, you will publish any piece of crap describing how some girl is getting laid by celebrities across the States. Chupse.

But to the review: Winter Santiaga is a bad bitch in her own words. She and her father, drug dealer, Ricky Santiaga, run things in their Brooklyn neighbourhood. Winter is the princess of projects and you better do as she wants or all hell is going to break loose.

Ricky, not wanting his family to be in the crossfire of some underhanded criminal dealings brewing in the projects, shuttles Winter, her mom and her sisters, the twins, Mercedes and Lexus (ghettofab, folks, ghettofab) off to the 'burbs. Winter is vex. How is she gonna get down with her people if she's in Long Island?

Well, she doesn't have to wait long to get back to Brooklyn. Her mother is shot in a drive by and the Feds catch Ricky and Winter has to show everyone that she's a survivor.

Honestly, I love this book. I love the realness of the story. I'm saying, how real do I know it really is? I've never grew up in the project with a drug dealer dad, but Sister Souljah definitely made me feel like I was an insider into Winter's life and the life of bad gyals all around who are ready to slice someone with a boxcutter.

It's a cautionary tale of living the high life with no respect for self or the law and that even if you're the baddest bitch, you can and will come to a bad end if you don't get your life straight.

I haven't read another street lit book that captured the essence of the street... or a tell all book that just didn't smell like trash and corruption from the moment I flipped through it. The problem I have with many of the new street lit stories/tell all bios are that: a) they aren't well-written; b) they are out and out smut with no redeeming qualities; and c) they don't emphasize the cautionary part of the tale.

But they sell, that's why they are out there. If not one cared who Karrine Steffans screwed or who screwed her (literally or figuratively), we wouldn't have these books.

Happy reading!

False airs: I’m not fond of pretentious people

2006-11-10T09:24:00.000-05:00

I am back. I am! Work, sigh, is keeping me away from the blog. But I will get more regular, trust :)

I consider myself a pretty laid-back kinda chick.

Some things people do annoy me to death and make me want to pimp slap them into submission.

Other things make me throw them a side-eye glance and shrug my shoulders. One thing that makes me seethe with anger and annoyance are people who think they are better, greater or smarter than the rest of us. The ones who wear their ‘false airs’ like a badge of honour.

Over the years I’ve learned a few things about people in general:

Some people truly believe their own hype, thus making them think that they are all that. Although most of them don’t know a damned thing, but, of course believe they know it all.
Some people want you to believe their hype to make them feel better about their station in life. A lot of times, these people don’t know a damned thing either, but they’ve managed to fool a lot of people with their ‘false airs’.
Some people are downright igrunt (yep, that ain’t a typo, that’s how I wanted to spell it).

It’s a damned shame that more people aren’t transparent and just themselves. No, they have to go on about what they know, who they know and how much they know about everything.

There is a particular party promoter in Toronto whose e-mails, laden with adjectives, adverb, synonyms and all kinds of things is quite pretentious. Pretentious to the point that the so-called ‘beautiful’ people who he’s catering to can’t be bothered to go to a jam because everyone’s trying too hard to be all that.

Granted, I did attend a party this summer and it was nice. I think, more than anything, having Starting from Scratch deejay was more the reason for the amicable crowd than this dude pretending that he’s the representative of the upscale, sexy people.

And there are the people who can tell you about the latest couture outfit, hottest club or restaurant or the do’s and don’ts of networking, but chew with their mouths open.

Chupse.

False airs are not cool. You don’t have to pretend that you’re the s**t and try to make other look/sound/feel foolish. That’s igrunt behaviour right there.

So if you're getting uncomfortable or agitated reading this blog entry that because you are a pretentious fool. Stop it. It's not cool and it's annoying as hell and someone will call you out just now.

On another note, I read that 60 Minutes reporter, Ed Bradley, died of leukemia. I enjoy watching 60 Minutes, I think they do a good job reporting the issues, but I was enormously proud, especially as a child, to see a Black man doing his thing. He was a great journalist and will be truly missed.

RIP, Mr. Bradley.

The Urban Sista review: Do You Take This Woman?

2006-09-28T12:35:00.000-04:00

I’ve decided to do something a little different. While I was on blogging hiatus, I did quite a bit of reading… not just other folks’ blogs, but real books. Some were great. Some weren’t so great.

Being an aspiring novelist, the not-so-great one definitely brought out my ire. Why should you [INSERT POOR NOVELIST] get a book deal and I’m still praying, wondering, waiting and begging.

Chupse!

But, alas, reading what is terrible is just as good as reading what’s excellent, ‘cause the terrible ones show you exactly what not to do.

Case in point, my first review Do You Take This Woman?, by RM Johnson.

Now, this book has an interesting premise. Carla is married to Pete, but was once engaged to Pete’s closer-than-a-brother friend, Wayne. Back in the day, Wayne cheated on Carla and Pete spilled the beans. Carla, in her anger and disgust broke up with Wayne.

OK, so far so good.

Carla, in her loneliness and vengeance, married with Pete. Yes, Pete did notice Carla first the night all three met, but if Wayne is your bestest friend in the world, how low are you to get with his ex-fiancée?

That’s not too unrealistic. Maybe a bit skangy, but, some folks are lawless like that.

Anyway, Pete and Wayne continue to be boys although the both want Carla.

Now, this is when things get odd and I wanted to throw the book through the window.

Wayne decides he wants to connect with Carla again and they start seeing each other unbeknownst to Pete. There is no sexual contact because, I guess, it would be wrong, but Carla does begin to neglect her hubby Pete. Pete does try to get Carla to communicate with him, but she turns the cold shoulder.

So, what does Pete do? After two years of marriage to the woman of his dreams?

He goes the club, finds some chick and has sex with her.

This is when I screamed, ‘dammit Pete! I thought you loved the chick! How did it change so fast??’

Anyhow, to make a long plot short, Carla finds out that Pete did the exact same thing that Wayne did and she demands that he let her sleep with another man to even the score. If Pete doesn’t allow her to have her way with some dude, she would leave him.

Pete, guilt-ridden and ashamed, agrees. After a few weeks, Pete decides that Carla will sleep with the man he chooses.

And guess who jackass chooses?

Wayne.

Obviously, Pete didn’t know that Carla and Wayne had been seeing each other on the low, but, good grief. Now, you know Carla and Wayne were going to be married, so that would tell me that there were some feelings and physical attraction between the two of them. So, why the hell would you grant them permission to have sex?

‘Cause Wayne is your boy? Chupse!!!

All the relationships disintegrate into mayhem with Carla and Wayne planning to deceive Pete by pretending to sleep together… but then actually sleeping together. Pete, blinded by jealousy, anger, guilt and only the Lord knows what else, attempts to rape Carla and attacks and kills Wayne in a crime of passion.

By the time I finished the book, I was disgusted. I wanna know if Carla was all that, ‘cause if I was a man, I’d be like, ‘you ain’t fine enough for me to kill my boy over. Bump that!’

Really, it descended into unrealistic foolishness. Pete seemed to be a stable person -- a doctor at that who shared a practice with Wayne -- so, at some point, wouldn't Pete have said to himself, 'guy, you're going a bit insane. Maybe I need to chill the hell out.'

Carla knew she had been deceiving Pete all along by seeing Wayne. And Wayne knew he was screwing his boy Pete by seeing Carla. Why didn't anyone use common sense?

The book ends with Wayne dead and Pete even more grief-stricken and guilt-ridden. I mean, he just killed his best friend over trifling Carla. Carla, knowing that she was the cause of all this confusion, decides that she wants to be with Pete.

WHAT!!!?!??

Gimme a break. Your ass was just planning to leave Pete for Wayne, but now that Wayne's dead, Pete's your fallback guy? By the way, Carla's pregnant but doesn't know who the daddy is.

I wanna know where the police are and why Pete's tail wasn't locked up for second degree murder.

Now, I know RM Johnson is a best-selling author and this is my first time checking out his work. But, dayum! brother! This can't be the best plot you could come up with. The readers at Amazon.com dug the book for the most part, so maybe I'm out of touch.

Meh, what do I know... I'm still trying to get my book published.

I'm back :)

2006-09-26T14:57:00.000-04:00

Hello all… or just me, ‘cause I haven’t blogged in a minute.

I’m back and it feels good to have a place to vent or just talk a bit of foolishness every now and then.

Hope everyone’s had a great summer and is settling into the fall.

Summer for me was great. I got so much wedding planning done that now, it’s really just the details. I took a hiatus from writing as well – I heard you weren’t supposed to do that, but, hey, I do my own thang, you done know.

But now that the air is getting crisp and the leaves are turning glorious reds, golds and oranges, it felt like time to get back into it.

Besides, there are so many things to talk about: books – I’m hoping to do some book reviews, wedding stuff, life in general…

It’ll be nice to be back.

Talk to you :)

Farewell... for now ;)

2006-05-01T15:09:00.000-04:00

Hi folks!

I know it's been a dog's age since I've posted last. It's been a super-busy time and I've wanted to update the blog, but... I've been busy. I'm trying to spend more time writing book #2, I'm planning my wedding, organizing a new house.

It's great, but time-consuming. And the extra hour to blog in a coherent fashion can be used to write a chapter or research florists or compare paint swatches. So, I'm going on a blog hiatus -- I've already fallen off hard.

I've really enjoyed the blogging experience and all the bloggers that I've met online. The ability to drop into someone's life and read their thoughts and opinions is still so cool to me. I'll miss adding my two-cents to the fray, but sacrifices have to be made so that I can achieve

I'll be visiting everyone's blog and saying 'Wassup!', but for the next few months, I'll be incognegro ;)

Bye for now!

Thoughts from all over

2006-03-28T14:03:00.000-05:00

It’s been a while – I’m not on hiatus, just busy. These two stories stuck out for me over the past week:

'All-ages' incident sparks concern

Who else heard about the little 12 year old that was sliced in downtown Toronto at three o’clock in the morning? It was after an all-ages dance at a nightclub. Yes, a full nightclub. A nightclub that I would take my 30-year-old ass to if I cared to.

Chupse.

Sparks concern? It should spark giving the child and her parents some hard lashes. Not to mention the girl who cut her and the people who own the club and the party promoters. All of them need a tail cutting.

Man, I’m so disgusted by this story. Back in the day when I was a preteen, we had all-ages parties. They were at community centres and they ended by 11 or 12 o’clock. I don’t believe anyone over the age of 18 was allowed in, but some nasty guys would wait outside to pick up the youths when the party was over.

Now, I couldn’t even twist my mouth to ask my parents if I could go to a school dance when I was 12, furthermore any all-ages party. My mother would have shredded my tail if I thought to ask her to go to party at a nightclub that didn’t end until the wee morning hours. Although I’m an adult who pays my own bills, my mother still doesn’t approve of me going to clubs.

At these new-fangled all-ages things, it truly is all-ages. So, a 15-year-old girl could be grinding up on a 30-year-old man or be propositioned by a 25-year-old and it’s all legal.

Something just doesn’t sound right about that.

The fiancé says that kids are more mature these days and, while it’s not right, go to clubs and want to act like adults.

I believe kids think they are more mature and yes, they want to act like adults. But they are children and they think like children. A 12-year-old doesn’t know what to do when a grown man tells her exactly what he wants to do with her in the bedroom, although she may think she knows from all the Teirra Mari and Li’l Kim songs she’s heard.

So, this little girl is out at the club and has a run-in with another little girl who slices her.

Bare foolishness.

My question is: where the hell are the parents of children who are out at two and three o’clock in the morning? I don’t have any kids yet, but believe me, at two o’clock you better have your little tail in your bed. If you want to dance, turn on your radio and listen to the live-to-air shows like I did. If you’re out at that time, I will be with you and if I were to catch you somewhere you weren't supposed to be...

Well, it wouldn't be pretty.

Child Protective Services needs to look into that family, because if her parents knew where she was and were OK with it or they weren’t at home to know where this preteen was they need serious help.

Nightclubs need not hold anymore all-ages parties. Children are children and should be treated as such, not like mini-adults. So at school on Monday – if they’re little tails are even there ‘cause they may be too tried from partying all weekend – they can talk about “Ooh girl! You missed the jam at the club this weekend!”

Please.

And we wonder why kids are so messed up.

****************************************

Caribana group angry over funds

Now, Caribana is coming up in a few months and already confusion has started over funding. The City of Toronto is refusing to fund the festival because the Caribbean Cultural Committee (the group that runs Caribana) cannot give the city an account of how it spent taxpayers’ dollars last year.

This is not the first year that the group couldn’t show their audited books to the city.

So, Toronto has refused to hand over the cash and the Caribbean Cultural Committee is fretting. My take?

It serves your backsides right. I have no sympathy for them. The group put themselves in this situation by not doing the right thing.

How after almost 40 years of putting on the largest festival in North America, you can’t get your ish together and show the City your books? I am a taxpayer and whether it was Caribana, the Greek parade, St. Patrick’s Day parade or the Santa Claus parade, if you are using my tax dollars to put on something, I want to know where the money is going and it better not be lining your pockets.

I love my Black people, but sometimes they get me down ‘cause it makes all of us look as if we can’t do anything.

What the Caribbean Cultural Committee needs is a good purging and an influx of some business-minded young people. Trying to do things the way you did them back home ain’t gonna wash. Do you know those clowns got on TV news and cried racism.

Chupse.

Is it racism that someone expects you have clean accounting books to show how you’ve spent money? Or should money just be given to you and you do with it what you want without any accountability? Man, I hate that crap. Black people face enough prejudice without this bunch blaming their incompetence on racism.

I understand you’ve been under-funded, but this is how things work: You show the City your books and your budget and they can figure out whether or not what they gave you last year was enough.

If you can’t tell them what the hell you did with the money they gave you last year, what makes you think they’ll give you money this year? Because Caribana brings in plenty money to hotels and restaurants?

Don’t fool yourself. The festival will and is going on. Toronto is not trying to give up those tourist dollars -- oh no, that's hundreds of millions of dollars coming into the city. The mas band association is taking over and will put on a carnival this August.

So maybe next year you’ll get your act together and have a good financial plan for the city officials. If not, too bad for you. Get your stuff together ‘cause you’re not ready – after almost 40 years – yet.

Man, did you hear about what’s going down in South Dakota?

2006-03-07T14:21:00.000-05:00

This morning I was listening about the potential changes to abortion laws in South Dakota and I really started thinking about both sides of the argument.

You have your pro-life folks, who believe abortion is wrong for various reasons. Some people like to put all of us in the crazy Christian category – you know, the folks who blow up abortion clinics? – but most times, that is not the case.

I am a Christian, but that is not the only reason why I don’t agree with abortion. And I do know that my beliefs may not mean much to Jenny Smith who’s pregnant today and not happy about the situation.

You also have your pro-choice contingent that focuses on the rights of a woman to choose whether or not she has a child. I agree with that in theory. It is my body and no one should be able to tell me what I can and cannot do with it.

So, South Dakota Governor Mike Rounds signed legislation Monday (March 6) banning nearly all abortions in the state, setting up a court fight aimed at challenging the 1973 U.S. Supreme Court decision that legalized abortion. The only women who could get abortions would be a mother who’s life would be in danger if she had the baby. Women who have been raped have no recourse.

Wow.

Now that’s some serious stuff. It got me thinking about what I truly believe in terms of abortion.

Reading the comments at the Globe and Mail, I read many pro-choicers saying, a fetus is not a baby, just a collection of tissues. A fetus cannot survive outside of its mother, therefore it does not have rights and the rights of the mother are paramount. Abortion is not murder.

Pro-lifers said that a fetus is a baby and has a right not to be murdered. It has a right, as the most vulnerable member of society to live.

Of course, you have idiots on both sides who do not know how to debate an issue without calling people names. I ignore them because they have nothing meaningful to add.

My question is: if it’s not murder to have an abortion, then is it murder to kick a pregnant woman in her stomach and kill the baby?

Don't get all bent out of shape -- the question is extreme, but so is what South Dakota’s governor wants to do. The only difference in the scenario is that one mother wants her baby and the other didn’t. So, after you calm down, what do you think using that definitions of fetus used by both pro-life and pro-choice.

Another facet of the argument is rape. A lot of people commented about the number of raped women who would suffer because of this new law. I thought it was a really good argument… but how many women who want abortions are rape victims?

I would bet the majority are women who had consensual sex – protected or not – and got pregnant. As an adult, you make your decisions, some good and some bad, some wrong and some right, but they are your decisions. You have to take responsibility for them.

Look at it like this: any man who you have sex with is potentially your baby’s father. Any woman you have sex with is potentially your baby’s mother. And if you have sex, you just may get pregnant, whether you use a condom, the pill or nothing at all.

I’m saying, some people will spend three weeks choosing a car and one night choosing the man or woman who will be their child’s parent.

It’s your right to decide what you do with your body, but it’s also your responsibility to make choices that won’t adversely affect you.

If more people took responsibility for their behaviour, this wouldn’t be an issue. Plain and simple.

But we don’t live in a perfect world where everyone makes well-thought out decisions about who they sleep with. Many times we act before we think and we end up in a whole lotta trouble because we didn’t take 10 minutes to really think about what we’re doing.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think that any woman who made the decision to have an abortion has made an easy decision. I doubt she’s happily jaunting around somewhere on a beach. I think that it would tear a lot of women apart, but they just don’t see any other way. They may be encouraged to keep their children but there aren’t enough social programs to help them raise these children.

How do decide to keep a child if you’re struggling to survive yourself?

Herein lies the problem: if pro-lifers want women not to have abortion, there has to be help for them. Real help, not lip service. So, real help meaning affordable housing, daycare, training programs, education and more to give women with children an equal chance even if the baby wasn’t planned.

But even then, some will still demand that this little bag of cells and tissues sucking the energy out of you be terminated. We don’t live in a perfect world and this situation isn’t black and white.

Everyone has their reasoning for making the decisions they make. It’s certainly not my job to judge anyone because I know I’m not perfect and, thank God, I've never been in this situation. But sometimes, you have to see the situation from all sides, then you’ll really see what the truth is.

Five things…

2006-02-15T14:28:00.000-05:00

Ms. Becky Banton tagged me earlier this month and here I am to answer all the questions you wanted to know about me ;D

Remove the blog in the top spot from the following list and bump everyone up one place. Then add your blog to the bottom slot, like so.

1) ScienceWoman
2) Professor Me
3) Mon
4) BeckyBanton
5) Urban Sista

What were you doing 10 years ago?
Getting into the swing of university and figuring out what I wanted to do with my l ife.

What were you doing 1 year ago?
Writing and working.

Five snacks you enjoy:
1. Chocolate chip cookies
2. Chocolate mint ice cream
3. Chocolate cake
4. Coco bread
5. Doubles

Five songs to which you know all the lyrics:
1. I Like the Way (The Kissing Game) – Hi-Five
2. The Most Beautifullest Thing – Keith Murray
3. ’93 Til Infinity – Souls of Mischief
4. Silver and Gold – Kirk Franklin & The Family
5. Be Happy/Real Love – Mary J. Blige

Five things you would do if you were a millionaire (can it be mulit-millionaire? A million doesn’t go as far as it used to):
1. Pay off my mortgage
2. Pay off my parents’ mortgage.
3. Set up a college fund for the cousins
4. Buy a serious condo in Miami, a townhouse in Toronto and a bungalow in Barbados
5. Stop working and write books

Five bad habits:
1. Cracking my knuckles
2. Buying too many purses. Sigh. I love them all.
3. Worrying about things I have no control over
4. Trying not to ever hurt anyone’s feelings
5. Questioning my ability to write

Five things you like doing:
1. Reading good books
2. Writing
3. Cracking jokes
4. Watching reality TV
5. Shopping when I’m not on financial manners

Five things you would never wear again:
1. Fluorescent clothing
2. Hammer pants
3. Cowboy boots
4. Platform shoes (when you try to look too cute you fall down the subway stairs and shame yourself.)
5. Banana clips

Four favorite toys (couldn't think of the fifth one):
1. MP3 player
2. My computer (although it’s bruk down and needs to be replaced)
3. Pen and paper
4. DVD player

Where's the outrage?

2006-02-09T11:31:00.000-05:00

Chantel Dunn was an upstanding girl -- she wasn't involved in any trouble and she didn't keep poor company. She had just received a promotion at work and, according to the Toronto Star, Chantel dreamed of attending law school.

She had dreams.

Unfortunately, she won't be able to achieve them because earlier this week, the 19-year-old was shot to death after a basketball game in the north end of Toronto.

My question is: where are all those loud talking politicians who had gun violence as part of the election campaigns? They were up in arms about how violent thugs were toting illegal guns and killing innocents in the heart of the city.

When 15-year-old Jane Creba was killed on Boxing Day while shopping with her family on Yonge St. it seemed that all of Toronto was angry and on the warpath to end gun violence.

Things are eerily quiet right about now.

Stephen Harper's too busy to say anything because he's organizing his new government. Paul Martin's quietly licking his wounds. Where's Jack Layton, champion of the urban dweller? Well, he's congratulating himself and his cabinet for winning those extra seats in the election. Where's police chief Bill Blair vowing to take down the criminals? Where's Mayor David Miller? Oh, he's at the TTC press conference telling me that I'm going to have to pay more to travel by stinking bus.

Where are the throngs of concerned citizens creating makeshift memorials at the site of the murder? Where are all the protests and marches?

Where's the outrage?

Man, Chantel's death wasn't even one of the top stories on last night's news. I think that's when I really started to get angry about it. Jane Creba's death was a hot topic for a good three weeks -- Chantel's been dead, what? Three days? And already it's archived as murder #3 or 4 for 2006?

Last night on CityTV, I heard about the Grammys, the young woman and child who drowned to death in Bradford this past weekend and the TTC fare hike before mention of Chantel's death.

It's kinda eye-opening.

I know I shouldn't be shocked or surprised that Chantel's death is now a footnote and didn't create the public fervor that Jane's death did -- although it is the same situation: innocent teen gunned down in public because she was at the wrong place.

It feels like people don't give a damn when a Black youth is killed. Maybe it does take a young white girl to die to make people care about what's happening. Maybe it's alright when it's only our children and young people being killed. Maybe Jane's death stayed top news for so long 'cause it was election time.

I hope not.

I hope no more Jane Crebas or Chantel Dunns have to die for people to remember.

I remember you, Chantel. And I remember you, Livvette. And I remember all of the people who are being killed over ignorance in this city -- that includes you, Jane.

Rest in peace.

Our children aren't puppies, madam.

2006-02-08T13:09:00.000-05:00

I don't know if this woman's decision to feed starving African children dog food was based in racism -- maybe I'm being naive. There must be some kind of innate racism to make her say that because would she have offered dog food to starving children in Denmark?

Let me not trouble the Danes too much as the militant Muslims are wildin' out on their backsides right now over so-called blasphemous cartoons. That, my friends, is another blog.

But while some people are screaming racism, let's take another look at the situation: millions are dying. They need food. This woman, who owns a dog food company, offered something -- which is a lot more than some other people have offered. The way she sees her dog food -- nutritious, vitamin-rich, filling -- is, obviously, the not the way others may see it.

Now, should she have offered dog food? Eventhough she says she eats it herself? Hell no. That's just insulting. Maybe offering feed to the cattle in Kenya to help fatten them up so the Kenyans could have a meal would make more sense... it would take more time and more people would die, but it would make sense.

Offering money to buy food would have been better, but I don't know how this woman's pocket is. She may not have the extra liquid cash to donate.

What I do know is if you are starving, your pride won't stop you from eating because your survival instincts will kick in. I've read about people drinking urine to quench their thirst because they just wanted to live.

So, this is a blog about life or death. If no one else is offering, do you eat dog food and live or do you turn up your nose and die?

Grrr...I'm frustrated

2006-02-06T12:52:00.000-05:00

You better believe I'm frustrated! How do you get a book published in this so-and-so country? I think I'm a good writer, but so does everyone else, so I knew it was going to be difficult. But I've read a lot of the crap out there that's either chick lit or African-American fiction and I'm not impressed.

But, damn! When you don't even hear back from people saying, 'dog, it sucked,' it really makes you question your ability to express yourself using pen and paper. I'm saying, send me a so-and-so format email saying my work should be used in kitty litter, that's all I'm asking for.

Dang it, I just need to put something out there before I go crazy or something. This is part of one of the chapters... Am I crazy or does it read like something decent?

After 15 minutes of fighting, we came to a compromise, we were going to spend two hours at the flea market, then we were going to Jamaica Ave., then we, said troublemaking children, wanted to go to a mall.

We arrived at the flea market and it was just that, a flea market. We got some good deals, but I had come to New York to spend time at Victoria’s Secret, Express, Limited and Forever 21. Those were my stores.

I loved them.

I wanted to spend some quality time perusing the wares.

But, no. As we took our purchases back to the bus at noon – we were all supposed to return to the bus for 12, I had a sinking feeling that we weren’t going to be leaving anytime soon.

Why, you ask?

Well, maybe because there were only six people one the bus. The rest didn't waltz back until 1:30 pm. I was blazing mad ('cause the bright bus drivers opened the sun roof and the noon-day sun was baking me like chicken wing).

Finally, everyone was on the bus with all of their parcels and we went down to Jamaica Ave. But the bus drivers didn't know which part of Jamaica Ave. to drop us off at. Oh, the smarts those two had -- instead of flirting with us at the hotel, maybe they could have looked on a map or asked the hotel concierge a question.

So, we spent a good half an hour driving aimlessly up and down the road. Finally, at 2 pm, we parked and they let us out. At first, I was pleased. There was an Old Navy and a Gap -- we thought, "mall!" But, alas, I was disappointed again. I spent three hours walking up and down Jamaica Ave. I got a pair of $5 shoes and some hair products for my sister.

It's now five pm on a hot, summer afternoon in NYC.

I should be cursing myself for spending all of my American money, but that wasn't the case. The bunch of unruly, disgusted, own-way brats we were rolling with wanted to go to Pitkin Ave.

What happened to the mall?

It's after five pm; the stores on the street are going to be closed. But a mall will be open until at least 9 pm. No, no one listened to my voice of reason -- that would make must too much sense. Off to Pitkin Ave. we went and, as we predicted, every darned thing was closed. So, now I'm tired, unwashed, vex and sour because I couldn't get to a Victoria’s Secret -- the one store I was dreaming of doing some damage in.

“Everyone!” Jane stood up at the front of the bus. “We’re going to stop for dinner.”

My face lit up because all I had consumed for the day was a hotdog, a Special K bar and some lemonade and I knew Debbie and Monica hadn’t eaten much more. The bus pulled up to a gas station and a Popeye's and we're told: "go get some chicken and come back to the bus."

I almost died.

Rudy and Co. had already called us 'posh' and I really don't think I am posh, but Popeye's at a gas station? That's just not right.

After the trip down, we couldn't go to proper place and have a bite? I had to get greasy chicken after I spent the entire day hungry and tired? You don't do people like that – especially people who paid good money.
The best part, the Popeye's was in the projects -- at least as project-like as I've ever seen – some rough looking guys were standing outside the restaurant watching the bus.

Oh no.

Not my little posh tail. I wasn’t leaving that bus. Sorry, if I sound scared for my skin, I am, but I ain’t trying to mess with no mean looking men outside of the Popeyes’ in the projects, OK. I don’t care who calls me posh, stush, too nice, whatever.

“This is crap,” said Debbie. She pulled out her cellphone.

“Who are you calling?” I asked. I was starting to feel faint from a hunger headache.

“My cousin. I need a proper meal. This is foolishness – I know this wasn’t a good idea.”

I can’t say that I disagree.

It's election day!

2006-01-23T09:51:00.000-05:00

Good morning, bloggers.

Today is election day in Canada. So, those of you who are eligible to vote, get off your booties and cast your ballot. To see where to vote and the candidates in your riding, visit www.elections.ca and enter your postal code.

I know, all the candidates are jackasses, but it's your responsibility to have a say in choosing your government. Do like what I intend to do: vote for the less evil of the three parties.

Regardless, the sun will still rise tomorrow and our country will continue chugging forward -- but if you don't vote, it may not go in the direction you agree with. Happy voting!

Damn Whitney

2006-01-18T15:28:00.000-05:00

I’m sitting at my desk listening to Whitney Houston’s greatest hits. Songs like I Will Always Love You, The Greatest Love of All, All The Man I Need and more.

Whitney had talent. Serious talent.

That girl could sing her tail off. Not like some of the girls now who have record deals and have no business standing up in front of a microphone.

But what hurts me is that we will never hear Whitney’s crystalline voice again. I mean, even if she cleaned up her act, my girl’s voice is raw. The last time I heard her sing was at the BET 25th Anniversary show and I honestly wanted to cry. What a waste of talent – her voice had gotten richer with age and now it’s sad.

I surprised myself, ‘cause I know most of her songs and I was singing along in my cube. Whitney needs to get off the drug (crack is wack, my tail, she’s on the pipe) and try to salvage what’s left of that incredible voice that made us sing over the years.

Whitney came out hard in the '80s, powered through the '90s and went straight downhill in the new millennium. Chupse.

So, I will continue to listen to Exhale (Shoop, Shoop), I Have Nothing and You Give Good Love 'cause I will be surprised if she ever comes back with anything worthwhile.

Damn Whitney, why does it hurt so bad?

Our lives mean just as much

2006-01-04T11:31:00.000-05:00

I’m sad about the state of things in Toronto.

How many young Black people do these little thugs need to shoot before the politicians do something? None.

It takes a young white woman.

Now, the shooting of Jane Creba was disgusting and, really, whoever did it needs to be buried under the jail, but did Jane Creba’s life mean more than Livvette Miller’s? Livvette was completely innocent, trying to have a little fun one night to get over her husband’s death from an illness.

And she was shot to death. Livvette left behind four children.

The politicians talked.

Then it got quiet and life moved on.

OK, not that it makes a difference, but Livvette was in a club, while Jane was just on Yonge St. Maybe Livvette should have known that she could possibly get murdered while tapping her foot to some tunes. No one would expect to be gunned down in a public shopping area like Yonge and Elm.

So, what about 11-year-old Tamara Carter who was shot in the face on a TTC bus in November 2004?

You don’t get anymore innocent than being a child traveling with her mom on public transportation… which is supposed to be safe. I'm sure neither Tamara nor her mother thought that she would have been a victim of gun violence on a bus.

But, you do take your chances when you leave the house.

Oh, what about 4-year-old Shaquan Cadougan? He was playing in front of his house when he was shot in December 2004.

Well, both Tamara and Shaquan are alive, thank God.

I really wish we could say the same about Jane and Livvette.

This is to prove no one was more innocent than anyone else. You have four innocent people who are victims of gun violence. We're not talking about a drug dealer who knows what his business involves -- although, that drug dealer is still someone's child/brother/uncle/father. But you make your decisions and you live or die with the consequences.

These four were are equally innocent, going on with their lives, doing nothing that should have put them in harm's way.

So, why are people more upset about Jane Creba? Maybe it's because a federal election is coming up and Paul Martin/Steven Harper/Jack Layton all want to seem tough on guns and violence.

All three can kiss muh ass, to tell you the truth.

Tragedy is tragedy regardless of who the victim is and I know I shouldn’t be shocked or surprised that people are up in arms moreso when a white person is killed in gun violence which, lately, has targeted Black people.

But just because we’re used to hearing about Jamal/Omar/Kadeem or whoever being killed in the streets of Toronto doesn’t mean people should get used to our suffering.

That doesn’t mean that politicians should have meetings about gun violence once a white person is gunned down, but could have cared less and only paid lip service when Black people are at the receiving end of a gun.

The politicians should have had their summit when Livvette Miller caught a bullet and her kids were left orphaned. Or when Tamara Carter face was blown through last winter. Or when little Shaquan had to fight for his life at Sick Kids' instead of going to school.

And don’t anyone tell me Black people are playing the race card – this society is based on race. It's very easy for someone who doesn't live in this skin to make comments about how we should feel or what we, as a community, should do without taking into account what has been done to our community and the disadvantages we still face as a group.

Many of us have done very well for ourselves, but as a collective there is a long way for us to go.

My thoughts and prayers are with Jane’s family and friends. I don’t know how they will – if they will – get over her killing. It was just so senseless.

But so are the killing of innocent Black people or innocent Asian people or innocent anyone.

Don't we look...

2005-12-05T16:26:00.000-05:00

... so fresh and so clean?

This weekend, I attended the Black T.I.E. Charity Gala to raise money for the Toronto Argos Stop the Violence - We Are Toronto campaign.

The gala was put on by the ladies of the Black Pearls, the volunteer branch of Toronto's Alpha Kappa Alpha sorority.

It was a lovely evening and, I must say, I was a hot girl... too hot for me to post a picture of myself up close and personal ;)

Well done, sisters!

Every day is World AIDS Day

2005-12-01T13:20:00.000-05:00

December 1 is officially World AIDS Day.

You would think that AIDS rates were declining, but from some of the news reports I've seen, it's not.

According to CNN.com, about 40 million people worldwide are now infected with HIV, the virus that causes AIDS. About 3 million of them are expected to die of AIDS this year.

And, it's not just affecting people in the developing world who may not have the money or medical establishments to fight AIDS in their communities. No, my friends, it seems like AIDS rates are rising right here.

About 56,000 Canadians are living with HIV/AIDS and about 17,000 don't know they have it, says The Globe & Mail.

It's not a shame -- it's unnecessary. AIDS is a disease that only knowledge will stop. We all know that have unprotected sex means that you're putting yourself in harm's way. But we still do it. We all know that if you're sexually active, you need to be tested regularly, just in case you've been infected. But we don't want to know.

We're willfully killing ourselves with our behaviour, because we know what the repercussions could be. My mom always says, God isn't a respecter of persons. Anyone who partakes in risky behaviour can get the HIV virus. Just because you're strong, young and healthy doesn't mean a damned thing to this disease.

We expect someone who's suffering with the disease to look sickly and disease-ridden, but what, really, does someone with HIV look like?

Although everyone turns up their noses, abstinence really is the only way to safeguard yourself against AIDS and other sexually transmitted diseases. If you wanna get yours, at least, at the very least, protect yourself and wear a condom.

Stay safe.

Dang it, Black people!

2005-11-30T14:23:00.000-05:00

I’m back reading BlackPlanet to get some interesting point of views about life in the States as a Black person. Today, I was reading about some Black Muslims out in California who looted and vandalized an Arab man’s liquor store saying that he had no right to sell liquor to Black people.

Now, I’m assuming that this liquor store was probably one of many in an underprivileged neighbourhood and these Black Muslims were saying, enough is enough. It may not be ethically correct to go into a poor neighbourhood where folks are suffering from alcoholism or drug habits and set up shop to sell something that your own religion (from the article I read, the liquor store owner is Muslim as well) prohibits, but that’s between you and the God you’re serving.

But, is that a good enough excuse to ransack a man’s store?

Unfortunately, a lot of the posters in the BP forums do think it’s enough to be passionate about the Black cause to commit a crime. I mean, are we not bright enough as a people to make our own decisions?

Rosa Parks broke the law just as others did back in the civil rights movement to send a message.

How are you going to compare destroying a liquor store to Rosa Parks standing up for her rights as a human being? No one is pouring liquor down anyone's throat – we’re going and getting it… in droves.

I was in Detroit a few years ago with a friend and we were driving down the street. I saw a big line up of people and I thought, oh, the bank must be opening. Bank? Bank, my eye. Those people were all lined up to go into the liquor store.

Chupse.

so black people cant fight for respect??? we all churched up that we cant see the obvious??? we cannot turn the cheek no longer......its horrible a lot of you live your american dream thats cool congrats on your success but there are those amongst you that look like you skin dark or brown like yours and you let them suffer????... its a sad thing and a lot of you sit in your offices and act like you are holier than thou...put all of them in jail! wow.....you people kill me, i wonder when we are finally gonna stand together…

Well, I guess I’m a sellout, ‘cause the people who ransacked that store, regardless of race, need their asses thrown in a detention centre for a while to think about their ways. I refuse to say foolishness makes sense and sense is foolishness because I'm standing together with my Black brothers and sisters. I'm also not going to feel bad because I've made good choices and I'm well. We need to support each other, but we also need to be man or woman enough to say, 'yo, guy, that was not a good choice.'

So, only Black people should be allowed to wild out for a cause? Anyone see the movie Crash? All people have their own issues. What happens when the white folks next door decided they don’t want my little Black booty living in their neighbourhood and loot and destroy my home? Should I just say, well, you know, they’re fighting for respect?

Hell no.

I’ll be calling the police, CityTV, CTV News, CBC, The Toronto Star, The Globe and Mail and every other media outlet in the country to talk how I have been treated and demand that someone be thrown in prison.

Everyone has a reason – in their own mind – for doing stupid things. But the bottom line is: you can’t arbitrarily make laws to suit your purposes.

Man, we as Black people need to take responsibility for ourselves. Yes, we’ve been given a hard row to hoe, but not all of our shortcomings are the fault of someone else, like the liquor store owner or the white man. When you decide to walk into that liquor store and buy a 40 ounce instead of taking your backside to school or work, you've made your choice. You've decided what's important to you.

It's just like when people say, the devil made me do it. Nah, sir, that wasn't the devil, he ain't bothering with you anymore 'cause you're doing a good job screwing yourself up without his help.

I agree with these Muslims taking a stand against something they disagree with, but how they did it was stupid, plain and simple. There are laws. The law says you can’t go into a man’s establishment and break it down because you don’t agree with him.

Lawd have mercy! Yuh at work!

2005-11-28T10:56:00.000-05:00

Hello everyone!

Yes, after four months of work turmoil, I'm back to blogging :) Yay!

So, I work for a pretty big company and we have a really relaxed dress code. I roll up into work in jeans and t-shirts because I don't deal with any clients. It's me and my computer along with my co-workers typing away at various documents or Web pages.

I understand relaxed dress code, but some people are taking it too well and far. My sister (who also works for the company) and I were rushing out to get some lunch when she stopped mid-sentence and said, "lawd have mercy!"

"What?" I asked.

"Look at that!" There was a weighty woman ahead of us wearing a pair of dark blue jeans, but the material on her backside was bleached white. So, all you saw was this huge white bamsy with dark blue sticks holding it up. My mouth dropped.

"They need a dress code up in this place--"

Business casual is cool. That means I don't have to spend a big set of money on business suits. I can wear khakis, t-shirts, button down blouses, jeans -- pretty much anything that's tasteful.

Tasteful, folks. That's the operative word.

I've seen people busting velour tracksuits, blouses cut down to their navels, t-shirts with Bob Marley's big head on them. Heck, I've seen camel toes all up and through this place of business.

That's right, people, this is a place of business. This isn't the club. This isn't the jam on Saturday night. This is work. This is where you make your money.

Chupse.

There's a young woman who works at the company, I just shake my head. I have nothing again looking young, fly and flashy at work, but don't be a slave to fashion. She's a bright girl -- if she wasn't, she couldn't have gotten the job she has, but she looks like a H.A.M. (thanks, Fresh, for the terminology). For those of you who don't know what a H.A.M. is, it's a hot ass mess.

I met up with said young woman during my comings and goings at work and I could barely speak. She was wearing a huge, wavy black weave (which was an improvement from the heavy weave with the caramel highlights) and light brown contact lenses.

I love my Black people, but please, stay away from the coloured contact lenses. (I saw another chick wearing ones that were supposed to be light brown. They looked red and I felt like I was looking into the eyes of Satan. It's wrong. Don't do it.)

The weave and the contacts weren't necessarily ghetto, the outfit was. My girl was wearing a white fur jacket that covered her to her navel, a pair of tight jean capris and calf-length white boots with slits up the foot that exposed her skin.

Where do you even find boots like that?

Work is not a Lil Jon video.

For Halloween, some co-workers dressed up. Fine. I saw witches, princesses, etc., but of course, someone has got to take it too far. That would be the girl who dressed up like a Playboy bunny, bustier and all. Did I mention she was wearing tight sweatpants that had 'JUICY' on the back of them.

Good grief.

I mean, my work wear is quite conservative (today, I'm wearing a black pullover sweater over a black and white striped shirt, jeans and high heeled boots), but come on. Wear the crazy outfits on the weekend. When you're at work, try to look professional.

Here are some tips, in case you aren't sure if your attire is appropriate for the workplace.

Urban Sista's Work Attire Guidelines

If your belly is exposed, your shirt is too dang short and not appropriate for work.
If your jeans look like someone painted them on you and you have a camel toe or everyone knows the exact dimensions of your booty, crack and all, don't wear it to work.
If we can all tell that you've breastfed children 'cause we can see the stretch marks on your breast, 'cause your shirts too low cut, it ain't for work.
'Stop snitching' and anything that has to do with weed consumption is not appropriate for work.
Do not dress for the club and bring your tail into work. No one wants to see you look like a reject from a Sean Paul video. Pack a bag and change when work is done.
You are not Melyssa Forde or Vida Guerra, you're backside should not be the main attraction at your workplace.
If you're pants are sagged down past your knees and you can't walk properly, it's not work attire. And while you're at it, comb your dang hair -- how are you going to walk into work looking like ODB or Meth, with your head looking messy and unkempt? Chupse.
If you have to re-arrange yourself so that your bra isn't exposed, it's not for work.

Why are these things not appropriate for work? Well, you want your supervisors or managers to recognize you for the great work you're doing, not for how your ass is falling out of your batty riders.

It's great to be back blogging folks. I'll talk to you later.

Life without Black people

2005-11-03T09:20:00.000-05:00

Well, I can't picture life without my people. Enjoy and think about it...

A very humorous and revealing story is told about a group of white people who were fed up with African Americans, so they joined together and wished themselves away. They passed through a deep dark tunnel and emerged in sort of a twilight zone where there is an America without black people.

At first these white people breathed a sigh of relief. At last, they said, no more crime, drugs, violence and welfare. All of the blacks have gone!

Then suddenly, reality set in. The "NEW AMERICA" is not America at all-only a barren land.

1. There are very few crops that have flourished because the nation was built on a slave-supported system.

2. There are no cities with tall skyscrapers because Alexander Mils, a black man, invented the elevator, and without it, one finds great difficulty reaching higher floors.

3. There are few if any cars because Richard Spikes, a black man, invented the automatic gearshift, Joseph Gambol, also black, invented the Super Charge System for Internal Combustion Engines, and Garrett A. Morgan, a black man, invented the traffic signals.

4. Furthermore, one could not use the rapid transit system because its procurer was the electric trolley, which was invented by another black man, Albert R. Robinson.

5. Even if there were streets on which cars and a rapid transit system could operate, they were cluttered with paper because an African American, Charles Brooks, invented the street sweeper.

6. There were few if any newspapers, magazines and books because John Love invented the pencil sharpener, William Purveys invented the fountain pen, and Lee Barrage invented the Type Writing Machine and W. A. Love invented the Advanced Printing Press. They were all, you guessed it, Black.

7. Even if Americans could write their letters, articles and books, they would not have been transported by mail because William Barry invented the Postmarking and Canceling Machine, William Purveys invented the Hand Stamp and Philip Downing invented the Letter Drop.

8. The lawns were brown and wilted because Joseph Smith invented the Lawn Sprinkler and John Burr the Lawn Mower.

9. When they entered their homes, they found them to be poorly ventilated and poorly heated. You see, Frederick Jones invented the Air Conditioner and Alice Parker the Heating Furnace. Their homes were also dim. But of course, Lewis Lattimer later invented the Electric Lamp, Michael Harvey invented the lantern and Granville T. Woods invented the Automatic Cut-Off Switch. Their homes were also filthy because Thomas W. Steward invented the Mop & Lloyd P. Ray the Dust Pan.

10. Their children met them at the door-barefooted, shabby, motley and unkempt. But what could one expect? Jan E. Matzelinger invented the Shoe Lasting Machine, Walter Sammons invented the Comb, Sarah Boone invented the Ironing Board and George T. Samon invented the Clothes Dryer.

11. Finally, they were resigned to at least have dinner amidst all of this turmoil. But here again, the food had spoiled because another Black Man, John Standard invented the refrigerator.

Now, isn't that something? What would this country be like without the contributions of Blacks, as African-Americans?

Martin Luther King, Jr. said, "By the time we leave for work, Americans have depended on the inventions from the minds of Blacks."

Rest in peace, Mrs. Parks

2005-10-25T10:09:00.000-04:00

There were many before her and many after her who all fought for freedom.

Some fought by sneaking slaves through the underground railroad. Some fought by learning how to read although it was illegal. Others fought by giving up their lives. Rosa Parks fought by not giving up her seat in Jim Crow Alabama.

Thank God for all the people who came before us and fought that we could be equal -- whether you live in the United States, Canada, the Islands or wherever.

Don't forget what our foreparents have done so that we can feel free to work where we want, live where we want, marry who we want, be friends with who we want.

Rest in peace, Mrs. Parks. You lived a long life and you've done much good for your people.

Say a prayer for Kathleen

2005-10-07T10:51:00.000-04:00

Today, I read about an 11-year-old Aboriginal child, Kathleen Beardy, who hung herself in despair because she was being bullied by neighbourhood thugs. (Read the story here.)

Her father was arrested and beaten in front of her by plain clothes police officers the day before Kathleen took her life. From the news stories, a gang of neighbourhood bullies stole the child’s puppy and threatened to sell it.

Kathleen couldn’t take it anymore and climbed up a gravel pile to a half dead tree where she hung herself with the dog’s leash.

My God.

My eyes started to tear up after reading the story. I can’t imagine the desperation that a baby… she was barely alive a decade, was feeling when she made the decision to kill herself. She must have felt like there was no other choice.

And a lot of people in Canada’s Native communities feel like that (The Canadian Task Force on Preventive Health Care study found at here ):

Suicide rates in the Canadian Native population are more than twice the sex-specific rates, and three times the age-specific rates of non-Native Canadians (56.3 per year per 100,000 persons for Native males and 11.8 for Native Females).
Among Aboriginal males, the rate for the 15-24 year age group was 90.0. This is more than double that for all Aboriginal males: 39.0.
Suicide among northern Native youth has reached epidemic proportions. In Alberta the rate in the northern region was 80; in the central region, 71.2, and in the southern area, 35.3.
An extremely high overall rate of 80.2 has been found for 10 - 19 year-old Native males living on the northern coast of Labrador.
The 1991 Aboriginal Peoples Survey indicated that 41% of Inuit, and 34.5% of Native Indians on reserves, report that suicide is a problem in their community.

Wow. This is a group in terrible need of something – the way our society has pushed these people one side, off in reservations or barely eking out an existence in urban centres is ridiculous. Add to that the seeming hatred and disgust that some have for Native Canadians it’s not surprising that suicide and alcoholism are destroying the community.

People in Kathleen’s hometown of Winnipeg, MB are sick over the situation, but, of course, you have your rednecked Canadians who have to their ignorance and hatred of the Aboriginal community, which is one of the most marginalized groups in Canadian society.

One bold and very ignorant person from Winnipeg wrote this at theglobeandmail.com:

Nancy Stokell from Winnipeg, Canada writes: I feel very sorry for the family at this time.And for them to lash out at the police is natural so they don't put the blame on themselves for not being better parents.I know this sounds harsh at this time, but if they hadn't gotten in trouble with the law they wouldn't have been arrested.

Newsflash Nancy: when you’re a person of colour – whether you are Brown or Black – the police don’t necessarily need a reason to arrest your ass. Especially when you’re living in very white communities like part of Western Canada (which you would never catch the Sista in – I like to see my own people. I like to deal with my own people. Work with my own people. I like multiculturalism.)

Nancy thinks in her lily-white life that she can understand how it feels to be targeted. Nancy, I don’t think so. I don’t think that I can understand how marginalized the Native community in general feels. Man, I turn on the news here, I will see a Black person. I walk into work, I see Black people.

How often do you see a Native person on TV? And I ain’t talking about that crap Corner Gas? How often do you work with Native people. I’ve worked with one Native person my entire life and he gave me a completely different outlook on a group of people that I did not run into on a daily basis.

I don’t really know what to say on the whole bullying thing except parents have to be really involved in the lives of their children. And if the school is telling you your child is a bully or is being bullied, don’t say, ‘oh well, they’re just kids.’

Kids are cruel. And what one child can shake off can affect another child for life. Back in the day, my older sister was bullied. A big, lawless boy punched her in the face and broke her glasses when they were in Grade 3.
My mother made a beeline for the school and threatened to fix everyone – including the child – if she didn’t get satisfaction.

Well, my sister changed schools a while after that and went on to be bullied again, but she made it to high school where it got better. That little boy who punched her and broke her glasses (my mother wasn’t pleased, buying glasses wasn’t cheap back in the ‘70s) was killed in a prison brawl.

Now, who says that bullying isn’t something that needs to stop?

I’m feeling really heartbroken for this child who didn’t see another way.

Rest in peace, Kathleen.

Things that make you go hmmm…

2005-09-26T10:14:00.000-04:00

Good Monday morning, bloggers.

Maybe you guys can help me out with this: why is it as soon as you’re in a relationship, guys are all up in your grill trying to chat? But when you were single nobody had any time for a sister?

I’ve been noticing it more and more. And, I know, if The Boyfriend and I were to part ways, every darned thing would dry up and there would be a drought. Not an eligible, decent man would be found for miles and I would gripe and fret.

Hmmm… What do you guys think?

Romantic Realism: Notes from all over

2005-09-23T09:20:00.000-04:00

Over this summer, I've seen and heard so many good pieces of advice, I feel the need to share. Enjoy!

Give him a chance to miss you
Put down the phone, ladies. Stop typing that email to that hot guy that you met three weeks ago who hasn't had a chance to email you back yet... although you already emailed him six times... just to say hi... 'cause he may have lost your email address...

No, he isn't too busy to talk. No, he's not dead on the side of ditch (although, I've been in that predicament -- the brother wasn't dead, just being a jackass). He's just not into you! I know that's a big catchphrase, but it's soooo right! The big problem here, was you didn't give the man a chance to miss you and figure out that he wants to talks to you or be with you.

Last night I had a rousing discussion with The Boyfriend, Big Sister and Marlo Girl after we watched the premiere episode of America's Next Top Model (go, Nik, go!) about relationships and what happens when women become the persuer.

Sisters, it doesn't work.

Well, it may work for a hot minute.

Men, by nature, can be a lazy bunch and if a woman is blowing up his voice mail and showing up on his doorstep every other night, he's certainly not going to put in the effort to woo her. Why would he? She's doing all the work. She's taking the fun out of the pursuing and she's not giving him a chance to miss her tail. She's always there.

If a man is truly interested, he will make all the effort in the world to let you know he's interested. He will never be too busy to call, email or go out because he wants you. He will call in between meetings, just to say hi. He will return emails quickly. He will want to plan dates or outings, just so he can see your pretty face.

If you're doing all the calling, emailing and wooing, girl, he doesn't want you. He may tolerate you. He may even think you're kinda cool. But trust me, when you decide you're not calling him, you won't be hearing from him.

Some women will say, "but wait. Am I supposed to sit here and just wait for a man to call me? Whatever, Urban Sista, I'm a strong, powerful woman and when I see something I want, I go and get it!"

Go 'head, star, but I'm sure that things aren't going to work out the way you think. Now, no one's saying not to approach a guy you're interested in if that's your thing. I can honestly say that I don't do that mess 'cause it just doesn't work for me. Everyone does things differently. But once the digits have been exchanged, it is time for you to hang back and see where he's coming from.

I heard this saying about relationships: men take time to get ready; women are always ready. Man, 90% of the time that's correct, 'cause most likely than not, if you didn't like his backside in the first place, he would have your number. A man will take a number of almost anyone in a skirt if he's mildly interested. Ladies, you can't convince a man to like you or even to ask you out. If you force the issue, be sure, he's going run the other direction and you'll be wondering, "where did Pookie go? We were getting along so well!"

Yes, we're independent, millennium women who don't wait by the phone -- we have things to do -- but as Marlo Girl said, it's the laws of the universe that are in play. If you chase a man, you're not going to catch him, 'cause "dog chase cat; cat nuh chase dog."

How you find your man is how you lose your man
I'm sitting here at my temporary cubicle, looking for things to do when I go to thestar. com and read an article about Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. It seems that these two are now a real couple and Angelina's little boy, Maddox, is calling Brad 'daddy'.

Chupse.

Hopefully, Angelina knows that this fun is only for a time, 'cause how you get your man is exactly how you lose your man. Now, we all know Brad Pitt's MO. He was dating Gwyneth Paltrow and all of a sudden, my man dashed her backside and married Jennifer Aniston.

So, now Brad and Jenn get married in this elaborate ceremony with flowers and doves and the entire Friends cast and everything is happiness, love and roses.

Until Brad went on Oprah and pretty much said, if things work out for a while... A while? My man was already sounding like he was looking for something better. A marriage is not a leased car -- you can't drive it for a while then take it back to the shop. My man Pitt has a roving eye -- it roved from Gwyneth to Jennifer and now, look, Angelina is all in the mix.

So, history would tell us, that Brad is going to be all involved with Angelina, Maddox and Zahara for a bit and then, some other young, hot thang is going to catch his eye and off he goes. (Hearing Ms. Jolie's relationship history, she may jump ship before he does.)

But this is a great lesson for us, ladies. This man has a history of loving and leaving -- if that's your man, don't pretend you don't see it. If he left his former girlfriend/wife/baby momma for you, that means it won't bother him in the least to dump your tail for some other young hottie.

Old habits die hard, so if Pookie was sleeping with you when his wife was at home looking after the kids, think twice before you accept that ring, 'cause he most likely is going to do the same thing to you.

That's it for today, folks.

Enjoy the weekend!

Am I my brother's keeper?

2005-09-12T08:45:00.000-04:00

Over the course of a week or so, my little blog has been blowing up with people commenting on my thoughts and the thoughts of others about Hurricane Katrina.

Personally, I'm Katrina'd out -- I've overdosed on CNN and I'm ready to concentrate on something else. Not because the flood victims are no longer important, but because I'm hearing such drivel from some people.

So, these are my last thoughts on the matter, then I'm done.

I am my brother's keeper, no doubt, but my brother has to learn to take correction and look in the mirror to see what others are seeing. The same way my brother would ask me to be introspective and look at myself. As someone who doesn't live in the United States, I see the U.S. very differently than someone who calls the States home.

The world sees things very differently that those of you who live in the U.S.

I am my brother's keeper? Of course I am, but I'm certainly not my brother's yes-woman, agreeing to everything he says to keep him happy.

We need to call it how we see it and address the inequalities globally -- I'm not just my brother's keeper because we share a border. I'm my brother's keeper 'cause we share the same skin, regardless of where we live.

A tragedy is not moreso a tragedy because of where it occured geographically, but we fool ourselves into thinking so. Jesse Jackson said that Black suffering is accepted and ignored -- I'd say that we as Black people in North America have taken on that same attitude when it comes to Black people in impoverished nations around the globe. The U.S. certainly isn't impoverished and the horror that was Katrina was because of a rich government who could care less -- not a government who couldn't afford to care.

Many a comment was made that 'we didn't ask for your help!' What, are we six-year-olds who want to do everything for ourselves? Only an arrogant fool thinks he can survive in this world by himself.

And that's the point: we can't survive without each other. We've proven that once we start thinking we can things go to hell and we still need to ban together. This isn't Canadian vs. American vs. Caribbean vs. African -- hell, people, when other people see us they see us for the colour of our skin, not our nationality.

If we are to be our brother's keeper, we need to truly be our brother's keeper. We need to help Black people across the world. We need to tell our brother when he's acting the ass. And we need to accept and learn from constructive criticism.

You know, I was watching CNN Headline News and they had some crazy white dude saying that Black people in New Orleans brought this situation upon themselves.

Obviously, the man's an idiot.

These are the people, we as Black people need to come against, not each other. I still haven't changed my point of view from my first post on the topic, but this has surely changed my outlook.

Anyway, this is my last two cents on the subject 'cause it has completely tired me out.

Let me tell you about yourself...

2005-09-03T08:35:00.000-04:00

Lord, I needed to write about something a little less serious than what I've been writing about. So, MarloGirl is running this meme on her page and I'm joining in on the fun! Here are the questions:

1. I’ll respond with a random thought I have about you.
2. I’ll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. I’ll pick a flavor of jello to wrestle with you in.
4. I’ll say something that only makes sense to you and me (or so we think).
5. I’ll tell you my first memory of you.
6. I’ll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7. I’ll ask you something that I’ve always wondered about you.
8. If I do this for you, you must post this on your blog

Who wants to play?

Just drop me a line and I'll post what I think about you... I promise, it won't be rude. Maybe snarky, but not rude :)

********************************************

Here go, Ms. Marlo:

1. I wonder about the power you yield with those eyes. "Excuse me, Mr. Doughnut Man, there are only 12 doughnuts and there are five of us. **Blink, blink** Do you think you could give us some more?" And the man, in a trance, dropped about 85 doughnuts in the bag -- didn't charge an extra cent. Marlo smiled, blinked and bounced. I was jealous -- I blinked and nothing happened. But my belly was filled :)

2. That Hoobastank song -- I can't remember the name -- I remember that you had a love affair with that joint. Every time I hear it I wonder, "Marlo loved this song?"

3. Why we got to wrestle? I'd take you though, I've got about 20 pounds on ya. I'd say lime jello 'cause you're a tart.

4. Huggy. Tee hee. Well... there are a few more people who may know... (about 47 sisters are going to read this and gasp, thinking, "they know him too?"

5. Seeing this small, big-eyed, bald, brown sister at a café on Bloor St. Girl, it shocked me, 'cause I was expecting a tall, light-skinned girl with big, bushy curls.

6. A peacock, 'cause you can strut when you're ready.

7. Hmmm... this one's kinda tough. Let me think about that one and get back to you.

Who's next?

Haves vs. Have Nots

2005-09-02T11:01:00.000-04:00

So, the boyfriend and I had a little argument this morning about the whole situation in New Orleans. Now, I’m absolutely horrified by the suffering and mishandling of the situation – as is he. We have different points of view, though, concerning donating money. I just don’t see myself giving money.

Not because I don’t care or because I believe the United States is some evil empire. Suffering is suffering regardless of where in the world it takes place.

I won’t donate for the same reason I didn’t donate during 9/11 – the States doesn’t need my money.

You may think I’m cold, but this is my reasoning: The U.S. is a super rich nation and there is more than enough money to help the people in the Gulf of Mexico. Right now, the U.S. governments are going a piss poor job of getting aid to the people and evacuating, but it’s not due to a lack of money.

It’s due to a lack of planning, maybe some uncaring people – I’ll get to that in a minute (see the quote below) – and more than not, it's due to an overwhelming natural disaster. I've got to big up the mayor of New Orleans, Ray Nagin. That brother is stressed out trying to help the people in his city and he's telling the truth, the feds need to "get off their asses" and help the people.

I would expect and encourage the Canadian government to do all it can to help: send troops to aid in evacuation, peacekeeping, food and water distribution, etc. That’s what it looks like the people in New Orleans need from the images I’ve seen on CNN.

News media was another part of our heated discussion. Before I say anything, I do believe it’s a terrible situation, for real and because it’s on TV all day and all night, it’s really affecting viewers. Unfortunately, when disasters aren’t on TV, we don’t remember and little help is given to those people. Case in point: the famine in Niger where millions of people will die if foreign aid is not secured to buy food.

One of my girlfriends who works as an editor at a newspaper said that we expect disaster and disease in foreign lands, so when we hear about it, it doesn’t really affect us. And it's not shown on the news -- there may be one story, but then, enough is enough.

I think I may have seen a line on CNN’s ticker and one story from the Toronto Star.

The boyfriend said New Orleans is in our backyard and of course it’ll be the predominant story in the American news media. He makes a good point, but it’s no more horrible or important than millions of people starving whose suffering is pretty much ignored by the global community because we aren’t seeing it.

Yes, there were the Live 8 concerts, but those were to raise awareness, not money, for poor countries and to have rich countries forgive debts and give more financial aid.

Sigh. It’s a terrible situation all around. I'm not comparing disasters, I'm comparing media coverage. It's sorta like when a white woman goes missing (i.e. Natalee Holloway) we hear about it day and night. When a Black woman goes missing, it's no big deal. Wise Diva wrote a great blog about that. When something terrible happens in a developing nation, it's no big deal -- that in itself is wrong. Humanity is humanity regardless of geographics.

The boyfriend and I did come to a conclusion: Black folks are the ones – at least from the images we’re seeing, whether it’s Niger or New Orleans -- who are suffering and it’s a constant thing.

I don’t want to make this a race issue, but if the people dying in the streets of New Orleans were predominantly white, would the U.S. government have been so slow to respond? If the people going hungry in Niger were white, would the global community have ignored them?

Somehow, I don’t think so.

The boyfriend dug this up from a link a friend sent. I don't know who the comment came from, but it's a good one:

It’s obvious both racism and bias exists and was very evident tonight when the director of FEMA was asked why the refugees in the Superdome had not gotten food/water. (There was film footage and verbal testimony showing people dead, lying on the ground, in wheelchairs, etc, covered in sheets, from DEHYDRATION of all things-right outside the doors of the Superdome.) He stated that he thought all "they" where doing was looting and so there was basically no hurry to get those necessities to them. He then says that they are doing "the best they can" even though they've apparently known about the Superdome situation for days now. I'm disgusted with his racist statement but not surprised because whenever it is black people needing help, whether it be here or Africa, the request is always put on the back burner and there's always a crappy "valid" explanation.

That’s not because of no money, that because of ignorance and cold-heartedness.

Sigh.

Praying for you folks down south and in Niger – hopefully, help gets to both places fast enough to stop the situation from getting any worse.

Lord Have Mercy

2005-09-01T15:16:00.000-04:00

It's amazing to see how civilized people can turn mad in a matter of days during a crisis. This only serves to prove how human we all are regardless of where we are and how fast a criminal element can take hold.

Stealing electronics when you have no power and no where to put anything of value makes no sense -- but people aren't necessarily thinking sensibly.

Tell me that you stole some bread and water 'cause you were hungry. Even tell me you stole shoes 'cause yours were destroyed and you needed to walk to safety. But why are you stealing a Sony P2P? How is that going to help you? Who are you going to sell it to?

Idiots.

From shooting at rescue helicopters to stealing the damned generator from a hospital, I have a feeling that things are going to get worse and worse before they get better as people become more and more desperate.

My prayers and thoughts are with the folks in the Gulf states trying to get through this disaster. Hopefully, common sense rather than lawlessness will win out.

I will be blogging again in the near future -- it's been a crazy summer.

Stay safe this long weekend.

Jump up! Jump up! Caribana 2005

2005-08-02T20:38:00.000-04:00

I love Caribana.

Not necessarily the parade or parties, but the energy that flows through the city. From earlier last week, something felt different. There were more people in the city (read: American tourists -- you know you can pick them out real easy); there were more cars blocking up traffic in the downtown core; there was more American money flowing into hotels, restaurants and shops.

Unfortunately, none of that money goes to the Caribana planning committee but that, friends, is another story for another day. It wasn’t going to be a rundown, dragged out parade weekend like back in 1997 when I was just young and lawless – no, there was no drinking or carousing that year -- we were just out every night until the wee hours of the morning.

But this was still going to be a fun-filled, joke-filled weekend, starting on Friday night with the Steve Nash Charity Game and culminating yesterday with a little shopping trip to beautiful (ha!) Buffalo, NY.

And, of course, Caribana is another place that I can conduct social anthropological studies, while enjoying the foolishness. Last time, I documented the dating rituals of Black people at Blingles and this weekend it was all about the mating rituals of people enjoying the 38th annual Caribana parade.

But when you have seriously hot men (check Soli’s blog for some pictures of Ren and Aringe aka Chris) – scratch that, when you have thousands of men and thousands of women converging on a city for a weekend of fun, there is going to be some serious mating rituals that create hundreds of fashion disasters. There were many fashion ‘oh hell nos!’, pure hateration going on and some things that just made me start to laugh because they were so lawless and disgusting.

Anyhoo, let the jokes begin!

Sexy does not equal scandalous

Now, I’ve never been a person that liked to expose skin. Even back in my younger days, I’d still wear something I thought was sexy, but let’s not beat around the bush – I looked like someone’s little sister who snuck into the club.

I knew if I wore the little top that showed my chest and the micro mini skirt, I’d feel comfortable at home. But as soon as some guy sized me up, licked his lips and proceeded to proposition me, I’d fold my arms around myself and want to wear my sweater. So, I may show some leg or a little cleavage, but for the most part, I like to be covered.

And I feel sexy.

Some other ladies feel no way exposing some booty or breast but it’s in a classy way – maybe a tight tube top and jeans or short shorts with a long top. Like this girl, who looks great in her tank and mini skirt. Her friend, on the other hand, needs some help. Why is a panty and clear heels acceptable? It is not.

The word is balance, ladies.

But, you know, there are some women who don’t understand that sexy is not a synonym for “I’m going to wear as little as is legally allowable.” Honestly, I think it’s too much BET and MuchVibe that is encouraging the lawlessness that I saw this weekend.

So that I don’t have to go through this next year and have Soli the photographer catch you on film, here are some fashion tips:

1. Just because it's in your size doesn't mean you should wear it. I'm a relatively small girl, but there are some outfits that I just won't wear (see the picture above). You see, just because you can fit yourself into it doesn't mean that it's appealing to the eye, you know. But some people don't know when enough is enough.

Like this young woman. Don't get me wrong, I love to see people embracing their bodies and not trying to be a size 2. But, lawd, some things should just be stopped. Yes, she's big and there were plenty of big girls at the parade who were wearing shorts and tank tops and they looked good.

If you are falling out of your clothes in rolls or you look like a stuffed sausage, it isn't sexy. You are a hot mess and it's not necessary. I understand that everyone wants to be in hot girl clothes and thing, but c'mon.

I blame the friends. This young woman was travelling with a companion, why couldn't her friend say, 'yo, that doesn't look good'? No, the friend encouraged it... but then again, maybe she didn't want to hear it...

As I was writing this, I started to feel bad -- as if I was being unnecessarily mean to people. I mean, some folks just don't know what is and isn't appropriate. I'm certainly not the most fashionable person in T-Dot -- I try to hold my own and I try to wear things that look good and are sexy without being offensive.

But then I thought about the young lady who wore a panty to the parade. You read it right, she was wearing just a hot pink panty and a bright pink thong. Attention whores, that's what it's all about. These people wanted this attention -- just like the dude who was drunk and was screaming 'water! beer! weed!' Chupse. Idiot.

They are looking for people to look at them, that's why they get dressed up in some of these outrageous outfits. My guilt is quickly fleeting...

2. Undergarments are meant for wearing under your garments -- not as your garment. Now, the girls and I were walking the parade route just looking around and enjoying the sights, when three young ladies -- as loud as they wanted to be -- busted through.

I was in shock. One was wearing a fuchsia pink panty as shorts with a pink thong.

Lawd have mercy.

All I hope is that she bought this panty for Caribana and that it wasn't one that was in daily use. God knows I didn't want to view her hard, musty, used panty in my eye on a hot summer day. Solitaire said she didn't think it was a new panty 'cause it was all 'easy breezy'. LOL!!

This was the first of two times this weekend that I saw underclothes masquerading as clothes. Sunday night I went to a party with the boyfriend, his sister and their cousins. One young lady decided to park in front of me. I was horrified. My girl was wearing a lovely blue crocheted tank top... and a G-string.

Just a G-string. Oh, and some heels.

All of her hard, gibbly booty was smack dab in my eye. Chupse. The sad thing was, girlfriend obviously did this for attention, right? Dudes would pass by, take a quick look, call a friend over, laugh and keep moving. She had to feel dry, 'cause when you're dressed like that, I don't care what you tell me, you're not doing it because you like the outfit.

Please. You are totally doing it because you want guys to carry on and whoop and holler behind you. One of the girls I went to the parade with said it succinctly, "sexy doesn't equal slutty", but a lot of people don't understand that. You can show some skin and still look like a lady doing it. But when men on Yonge St. are pointing to their crotches and saying 'I have something sweet and tasty for you right here', you really have to reassess your image.

So when no one seems too interested in what you're sporting and you're naked, you've gotta feel dry. I actually felt sorry for G-string girl, because she was pretty. No one knew what she looked like because all attention was on the naked booty. There was no reason for her to look like that -- trust, she would have gotten more attention if she was wearing some booty shorts with that.

Too bad I don't have a picture... but this is a G-rated blog anyway.

3. I don't need to see your cellulite, I have my own. Let's be real, 90% of women, regardless of how big or small they are have cellulite. It's part of being a woman. But I don't know why some people believe that your cellulite needs to be shown to the world.

Why?

'Cause it doesn't look good. It looks bad. It looks wrong. And it's unnecessary.

I was going to give this woman a bly, 'cause she had looked good from the front. But then I saw the back and all hell broke loose. Really, all she needed was a bigger size and the problem would have been solved.

There were many more fashion blunders, but to document all of them would take me until next week. So, this was just a high-level study of some hot, horrible messes that people feel that they can pull out just because it's Caribana weekend.

So, next year, make sure that you look proper 'pon de road or else it may be you on this blog. Wuhloss!

Jump up 'n wave!

2005-07-29T13:35:00.000-04:00

Happy Caribana, folks!

Have a good, safe time and we'll have to exchange blogs next week.

Enjoy!

Love, Island Style

2005-07-20T15:58:00.000-04:00

This one is for you Solitaire! I know you’ve been asking me about this for a couple of years…

**************************************************

The sky was already dark when Winston pulled up to Beverly’s parents’ home. He turned off the ignition and got out of the car and she instantly remembered how she felt the first time they meet.

“How yuh doin’, Bev?” he asked. She was sitting on the front porch in a t-shirt and shorts.

“I’m alright. I heard from Pablo this afternoon. He emailed me – he’s coming back next week.” Winston cringed slightly when Beverly mentioned his brother’s name.

“Next week, huh?” He sat beside her. “Boy, you, I’se surprised he remembered to say anything to you—“

“He just gave me his flight information,” she said sadly. Pablo and Beverly’s relationship had changed so drastically from when he proposed to when he got on the plane and headed off to New York last month for business. He used to buy her gifts, take her on day trips to St. Lucia or just go to the movies.

Now, if he wasn’t too busy with his job at the bank, they may go out for dinner.

“Winston, I don’t know if this is right,” Beverly said gently. She caressed his hand. “I don’t know what Pablo would say if he knew I was with you.”

“Let’s tell him, then!” Winston said. “Beverly, we can’t go on like this. I want to be with you, but we’re here running around and hiding. Man, Pablo ain’t even minding us!”

He got up and walked to the front gate. Flowers climbed the trellis that decorated the wrought fence. A soft breeze blew his white linen shirt, exposing his hard stomach. She could tell that he was frustrated with the situation. He knew the lies that Pablo had told -- all the young women he had picked up at the Boatyard and After Dark. But he couldn't bring himself to use that to get Beverly to commit to him. He wanted to tell her, but he knew that would hurt her too badly.

“We have to talk about this, but this is not the place.” Beverly joined him, her dark hair swirling seductively around her face. Winston grabbed her hand.

“I love you. That’s all I know… that’s all I care about.” He kissed her under the starry Bajan sky.

“Winston!” Beverly exclaimed, her breath coming in short pants. “I can’t believe you would do that! Suppose Hyacinth or my mother was nearby? My mother would cut my tail!”

“I know, I know.” He grinned and caressed her cheek. “So, when can we talk?”

“Tomorrow at two. I’ve got ta go into town tomorrow, so meet me in front of Cave Shepherd.”

“OK.”

“I’m sorry I dragged you all the way into St. Philip,” she said.

"Man, don't worry about da' dey." He kissed her forehead. "I'm goin' by Ricky to watch some cricket. He's just down the gap from you. I'll talk to you tomorrow." He opened the gate, jumped into his Mitsubishi, honked the horn and left.

"Beverly! Who was dat?" Her mother asked through the window.

"Just Winston. I told him that Pablo was coming back," she said, returning to her seat on the verandah.

"OK. You doan stay out dere too long. The centipedes out and biting hard."

"Yes, Mummy." Beverly didn't know how to handle this situation. While she loved Pablo, she tired with his foolishness -- she knew about the women at the clubs near town. Pamela had seen a lot and reported a lot back to Beverly. He thought she was some silly, naive country girl because she was out in St. Philip, but that was certainly not the case.

Beverly was not silly at all -- just too trusting at times. She had recently finished her studies in England and landed a job as an accountant at a top financial company in St. Michael. She had bought a piece of land and was planning to build her own home – until Pablo proposed last year.

Her mother, Ms. Brathwaite, was so excited that her daughter was marrying the Forde’s oldest son that she practically pushed them together.

Then Winston came back from Florida. He had been a quarterback during his studies at the University of Florida. He came back to Barbados, muscular and more handsome with an Engineering degree.

She reminisced about the night they first met. Just before Christmas, Pablo's mother, Ms. Forde, had decided to have a holiday get together at the house. The food and drinks were flowing and Beverly had just finished helping in the kitchen when Winston walked into the room. She stopped in her tracks and ran her hand through the drop curls she had painstakingly created in her hot bathroom.

“Ooh goosh!” her Trinidadian friend, Pamela, said. “Is that Pablo?”

“No, girl, dat’s not him.” Winston looked in her direction and smiled, revealing perfectly white teeth.

“Well, move aside, ‘cause he’s liking what he sees and I’m a single girl.” Beverly smiled back at the good-looking man in the red dress shirt and black pants and wondered who he was.

Winston immediately needed to know who the woman with the ringlets was. She looked like an angel in the white dress she was wearing.

“Man, you mudda know some good-looking women, man,” said his buddy, Ricky.

“Fuh troot, looka dat one in de white dress. Boy, you!” Winston said. “American girls look good, but nobody doan fill out a dress like a Bajan woman.”

“Fuh troot.”

The evening went on with Winston and Beverly checking each other out, but not speaking. Beverly looked at her watch – it was minutes to ten and Pablo still hadn’t arrived. Why did the blasted man invite me to this ting to not even show up? she thought. This was happening more and more and Beverly was getting more frustrated and annoyed by it. She picked up a piece of sweetbread and began to nibble at it.

“Beverly, sweetheart, I want ta introduce you to Pablo’s little brother,” Ms. Forde said. Beverly turned around to see the same young man in the red shirt. “Bev, this is Winston.”

“Hi Winston.” She extended her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said, shaking her hand.

“Millicent! Dem boys out front drinking Banks and carrying on foolish!” An older woman yelled from the front.
“You two get to know each other and I’ll be right back. These blasted thrilden does make me sick, I tell you.” She sucked her teeth and went outside to chastise her two youngest children.

“So, you’re the girl my brother’s been telling me about,” he said. Boy, Pablo does know how to pick ‘em, he thought.

“I guess so,” Beverly said shyly. “Why haven’t I met you before?”

“I was away at school, but now I’ve finished and I’m back home. At least for the summer – I don’t know what my plans are just yet,” he said.

“What did you study?”

“I’m an electrical engineer, so, man, the sky’s the limit. I can stay here and work for the government or I can go back to Florida. What about you? I know my brother isn't dating a sweet woman!" They laughed.

"I'm an accountant for Ernst & Young. I just started a couple of months ago."

"Do you like it?"

"I do." She began to describe her job and Winston seemed interested. He asked her questions and wanted to find out more. Beverly was in shock -- Pablo never seemed to care too much about what she was doing. As long as she looked nice for his company events and got along with his parents he was happy.

"Man! So, yuh finally meet de wife!" Pablo bellowed walking towards them with Pamela.

"Wife? Bosie, I don't see neither a ring, so she 'pon de market!" Winston said, hugging his brother. "And iffen you doan hurry up and marry ta she, I gwine tek she off yuh hands." Both were very attractive men, but total opposites. Winston took after his mother with skin that looked like it was covered in chocolate, while Pablo was his father's child -- a golden complection with light brown eyes.

"How you, sweetie?" Pablo kissed Beverly on the cheek. "Sorry I'm late. Tings at the office ran late."

Beverly smiled. "No problem." The group chatted for a while as the party started to thin out. Pamela yawned and stretch out of the chesterfield.

"Pam! Sleep catchin' up to yuh?" asked Pablo.

"I'm tired. You Bajans can fete--" she began.

"I know you, a Trini, ein sayin' nuffin' about Bajans and feteing," said Winston, laughing.

"Come, Pam, I'll take you home." Beverly checked her watch, 1:03 am. The men walked Beverly and Pam out to Beverly's small red hatchback. They were saying goodbye when Pablo's cellphone started ringing. He looked at the screen.

"Business calls. I'll talk to you later, Bev." And he headed back into the house.

"Business, my ass," said Pamela getting into the passenger's seat.

"So, Ms. Brathwaite," said Winston leaning into the car window. "I know I'll be seeing you again real soon."

"It was nice meeting you," she said as she turned on the car's ignition.

"Nice meeting you too. You take care, alright? Bye, bye, bye!"

Pamela was grumbling as they shot down the road. "You know dat was no business call, right?"

"I know. I know." But Beverly didn't want to talk. She had Winston on the mind. Beverly Brathwaite! You are a disgusted woman for thinking about your boyfriend's brother! But Winston was all the things Pablo certainly wasn't. She sighed and drove quietly through the roads of Barbados.

Today, though, Beverly was not chastising herself about Winston. She went inside the house and heard her parents bickering over some trivial thing. That's what she wanted in 30 years -- just to squabble over painting the cabinets. She didn't want to worry about whose bed Pablo's shoes were under.

What was she going to do? Pablo was coming back next week. She looked at the one-carat diamond engagement ring on her finger and she began to weep.

What will happen next? Will Beverly declare her love for Winston? Will she stay with Pablo? Look for the next installment of Love, Island Style.

More women delaying motherhood until 30s

2005-07-15T16:39:00.000-04:00

I certainly didn’t need Statistics Canada to tell me this.

I’m almost – scratch that, just call me 30, ‘cause my birthday’s around the corner.

When I was younger, I totally expected to be married by 25 and a mother sometime after that.

I’m a little late.

I’m not married and I have no children. The majority of women I know are in the same place.

It only makes sense in today’s society to wait to have children. If you want a career, you need a post-secondary education, so that’s another three or four years just for a bachelor’s degree.

After the degree, you wanna start the career. My first job in journalism was a contract that paid minimum wage. I was the working poor. How in the name of peace was I going to support a baby if I could barely afford to buy subway tokens?

Really.

When I was about 25 or so, a study came out saying that the optimal age for childbearing was 21 and after that age women were going to find it harder to conceive and have healthy, normal children.

I could hear the weeping in the streets by all the professional women who want kids, but needed to start their careers first in order to support said children. Factor in finding a decent man, 'cause it's pretty easy to have children with a worthless man, a little more difficult to have a child with someone who will help you support the baby.

At 21, I was in a university lecture hall, not a birthing centre. I was in no way ready to have a child. And who was I having this child with? If I wasn’t ready to have a baby at 21, the young men I knew would have been taken away by Children’s Services.

And even the women who weren't in university, they have reasons for not having a child at 21. For those of you who did have kids early, that's great and you're probably better women than me, 'cause I don't know if I was even emotionally ready then to sacrifice myself for a child... but that's another blog.

So, now, Statistics Canada – and all these media outlets – are telling me that women are waiting until their 30s to have children.

Duh.

Tell me something I don’t know.

Tagged again…

2005-07-15T11:26:00.000-04:00

MarloGirl tagged me on this one. Here goes:

Ten years ago, I had finished my first year of Concordia University and I was tired. That was about it for 10 years ago. Met Mr. Heartbreak, who swept me off my feet, literally only to drop me on my tail, figuratively, a year later. Eight years ago was much more interesting…

Eight years ago, I was going into my last year of university. I started my first summer job ever (the Quebec economy was no joke and jobs were hard to come by) at Mr. Rapps’ factory in St. Laurent, Quebec. Suffice it to say, Mr. Rapps was a disgusting, mean brute who, if slavery hadn’t been abolished, would have chained me to a table and forced me to stuff athletic knapsacks with hard brown paper.

Wretch.

That year, I cut off all my hard and rocked a short, Halle Berry style for the first time. I asked my friend, who accompanied me to the salon, “so, how does it look?”

“It looks good, girl! I love it!” she said. I was on a happy high with my freshly shaved and shaped hair until I waltzed into my parents’ house.

My father was horrified. “I had two girls! Not a girl and a boy! You had good hair, why did you cut it off? Then you’re going to want to put someone else’s hair in your head!”

A few months later, when I reached the uncomfortable ‘in-between’ stage (and I was well too poor to go back to the salon bi-weekly to get it shaped and cut again), I was wearing someone else’s hair. Braids.

Saw Mr. Heartbreak again and while I still was smitten with him, I didn’t let him know how I felt. If he wanted to be with me, as an acquaintance named Tracey told me, he would be with me. He flirted, I smiled. He left with his girlfriend, I left with my pride.

Five years ago, I was working at the Toronto Star and I had a love/hate affair with the place. I loved the fact that I had the opportunity to report for the largest paper in Canada, but I hated the fact that for all the talk of diversity and giving young people a chance, the only young people getting chances were the ones who didn’t look like me.

I had been offered, verbally, a job in the Life department earlier that summer. My contract was almost up and it would have been an amazing experience to work in the Life department. Some of my best stories had been printed front page, I had gotten plenty of positive reader feedback and commendations from veteran reporters who liked what I was doing.

Well, ain’t nothing set until it’s in writing. When I approached the then Life editor about her offer of a job, she sat me down.

“I was meaning to talk to you about this,” she said as she sat at her desk. “Ummm, this is very hard to do.”

“What’s going on?” I squeaked out. I hadn’t even tried to look for a job because I thought I had this in the bag. I started to get nervous.

“I’m so sorry. I can’t give you the job. We (the editors) have had discussions and we offered the position to [INSERT NAME].”

Well, ain’t that a *bleep*?

Mr. Man who was offered the job to didn’t like to come in to work at all. He would use the taxi coupons they gave us to run around the city while reporting to carry his drunk tail home after a night of drinking. He would give in about one feature a month, if they were so lucky. I had numerous stories on the go with a bunch in my head that I hadn’t started on.

Boy, success isn’t about merit, is it?

I got up, trying to be professional and I walked out of her office. I got my purse, and, although it was only about 11 o’clock in the morning, I was done for the day. I called my mother and cried. Then I headed over to my friend’s apartment and proceeded to bawl.

I learned a lesson that summer, if you haven’t signed the contract, the job is NOT yours.

One year ago, life was good. I was dating a nice blockheaded boy and enjoying hanging with my friends. The job was kicking my tail, but I started taking a writer’s course at University of Toronto and I realized how much I missed putting my thoughts down on paper. So, I picked my manuscript back up and started writing again… and finished my book earlier this year. The end of the year was hard, RIP auntie.

Yesterday, big sis and I went shopping for her birthday accoutrements and some stuff for Pops. We went home and watched an interesting ABC News documentary series, Hooking Up, which followed 11 women who were searching for love online. There are some… unique people out there.

Today, I’m at work. It’s pretty quiet here this week, so I can entertain y’all with a blog.
Later today, the boyfriend and I are doing some shopping for a baby shower and we’re going to watch some movies and eat pizza. Yum.

Tomorrow, it’s the birthday of big sis. We’re gon’ celebrate in style, crack some jokes, get our hair did, go out for dinner and be merry.

*********************

Five snacks I enjoy

Summer ripened cherries
Strawberries
Chocolate truffles
Starbursts
Baby carrots

Five bands/singers that I know the lyrics for MOST of their songs
(I’ve only got two for you…)

Mary J. Blige
Fred Hammond – I know a lot, most would be stretching it.

Five things I would do with $100,000,000

Give most of it to charity – what the heck am I going to do with all that cash? I can’t possibly spend it. Some good upstanding children’s charities, the Humane society, the Canadian Cancer Society and the Heart and Stroke Foundation would get most of it.
Pay off all my debts, my mortgage, the mortgages of all my family. Start college funds for all my under-aged cousins.
Take all my friends – the friends I have right now – and do an all-expenses paid 14-day cruise.
Travel – touch every Caribbean island, go to Africa, South America, parts of Europe. Heck, I’d go anywhere I wanted to.
Buy a house in Barbados, a condo in Miami, a townhouse in Toronto and a bungalow in Montreal and decorate!

Five locations I’d like to runaway to

South Beach, Miami
Puerto Plata, DR
Tahiti
Bahia or Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
My own little island that I'd buy with some of the $100,000,000

Five bad habits I have

Cracking my joints
Sucking my teeth at everything (especially at work)
Not returning phone calls
Not realizing that it’s not always about me
Shopping when I know I shouldn’t (and the Lord has chastised me about that, so I’m on a shopping embargo. Sniff. And STC is having sidewalk sales.)

Five things I like doing

Writing
Reading
Hanging out with friends and family
Being outside in the summer
Doing new things, like the chocolate course I took last Saturday. Fun!

Five things I would never wear

A fur bikini top. Laugh, but I saw someone wearing a pink one at Warner’s Denim event two weeks ago. It’s just not right.
Clear heels. Need I say more?
Booty shorts.
Any pair of pants/shorts that have ‘juicy, booticilious, sexy, hot mama, cherry’ or anything of that ilk on them.
Navy blue. Just not a fan of the colour.

Five TV shows I like

America's Next Top Model
Law & Order: SVU
The Apprentice
Girlfriends
American Idol

Five movies I like

Malcolm X
The Best Man
The Harder They Come
Bram Stoker’s Dracula
Dancehall Queen

Five famous people I’d like to meet
(This one’s hard too, ‘cause I really don’t love off any celebrity to the point that I want to meet them.)

Oprah. She’s cool and I’d beg her to feature my book in her book club.
E. Lynn Harris and Omar Tyree. I wanna pick their brains about writing and publishing.
LL Cool J. He’s hot and he’s got staying power.
Michael Jackson. I wanna slap some sense into him.
Alicia Keys. She just seems like a cool young woman.

Five biggest joys

Summertime
Knowing that Jesus has my back
My parents and family
Writing
Knowing that I have people around me who love me

Five favourite toys
(I only have three…)

MP3 player
DVD player
A pad and a pen

Five people I’m tagging
(I can only think of four - KJ and MG tagged the rest ;))

SepiaDreams
Campfyah
Lady Abena
Letetia Nicole

Romantic Realism - Bag lady

2005-07-13T14:13:00.000-04:00

Man, I haven’t done one of these in a minute. Let me dust off my mic and clear my throat. Welcome to the Urban Sista Show!

I love reading other Black women’s blogs.

I guess getting a glimpse of what people are thinking, doing, living is kinda cool. And knowing that these sisters span the globe, one in Venezuela, one in Atlanta another in New York…

It’s global, but our issues, drama and joys are so much the same.

Today, I was reading a young woman’s blog – she had been at the Sugar Water Festival with Erykah Badu, Floetry, Jill Scott and some others in her home cit. Ms. Badu must have done her Bag Lady song because this person was commenting on her own baggage.

We all have baggage and it’s so similar: the person who broke your heart when you were young and vulnerable… or old and vulnerable. I remember the day my outlook on love changed… and the day that I saw how I could be treated and how I should be treated.

When he broke my heart I was young and impressionable. I didn’t know what real love was. I mean, I had watched enough Beverly Hills 90210 and Melrose Place, read countless romantic fiction novels and listened to enough R&B love jams to think I knew what love was about.

When I met said dude who drove a stake through my heart, I thought it would be all sunshine and roses.

It wasn’t.

And I carried that pain around for years. He was young, just like I was and I don’t think he truly realized how his actions would have hurt me. I mean, he didn’t know me or what I was going through emotionally. I sure as heck didn’t know him (a few conversations and being carried to a car does not a soulmate make).

So, instead of thinking, he’s just not that into me, I internalized all that mess and became bitter and depressed. I only know realized that I was going through some serious changes and probably should have spoken to a professional.

For a few years after that, I dealt with some questionable characters. No one too shady, but I was looking for love without loving myself and all that Oprah, self-help stuff that gets to be corny after a while.

But it was true.

Baggage? I had some Samsonite and Louis Vuitton cases up in the mix.

The biggest one? Are you talking about the big, red, steamer trunk over in the corner? That was my self-hatred. And if I couldn’t love myself, which decent guy was going to want to love me? I was going to continue attracting the losers until I realized what I was worth and unpacked that luggage.

So, now, I’m not baggage free, but I've only got some carry-on luggage.

I opened every piece of baggage and took everything out, piece by piece, examined it and gave it to Goodwill, ‘cause I had no more uses for it.

It’s hard to cart that baggage around and it’s hard to meet someone who wants to deal with the stuff you’ve got strapped to your back.

Two weekends ago, I saw Mr. Heartbreak at a Warner event I went to. I was kinda shocked to see him there; I didn’t know that was his thing. When he saw me, his lips folded into a smile and he hugged me.

And you know what?

I didn’t feel a damn thing: no anger, no excitement, no sadness. It was like running into someone I used to work with.

“You look amazing, as always,” he said, turning on that same disarming charm that worked on me before.

“Thanks,” I said. I knew I looked good, tell me something I don't know.

We chitchatted for a couple of minutes and my girlfriends and I decided to make moves to another part of the venue.

“OK, well, I’ll see you,” he said, still smiling. I smiled back and walked off with the girls.

And left that piece of luggage right by the bar.

Spicy and hot are two very different things

2005-07-11T13:59:00.000-04:00

This afternoon, I went looking for lunch at Scarborough Town Centre. I didn’t feel like Bourbon Grill or Mrs. Vannelli’s. I wanted something different… something homecooked… something… yum, West Indian.

I hurried over to Calypso Island Grill.

Usually, the most I buy from this restaurant is some fried plantains, but today I felt like some good West Indian grub.

So, I got some chow mein, Calypso chicken (spicy) and plantain. I should have turned the other way when I saw ‘calypso’ in front of the chicken. The last time I dined on ‘calypso’ chicken was years ago on an Air Canada flight to Barbados. The so-called calypso chicken was stewed chicken with pineapple and almonds.

Now, really, any West Indian reading this would know that we don’t use pineapples in cooking unless we’re making a sweet and sour chicken dish or pineapple upside down cake. And almonds? Unless you’re making a marzipan for your black cake, almonds are snacks, not ingredients for a meat dish.

But I digress.

Anyway, I began to eat the chicken and slowly the heat began to blaze in my mouth.

Lawd’a’mercy! De fire burnin’ troo my mouth! Lawd call de fire brigade!!! Dear Lord, my taste buds are exploding one by one from the intense heat!

Now, I’m not one who is scared for a little heat, but I understand West Indian cuisine to be flavourful, not just plain hot.

Scratch that, it wasn’t even hot; it was causing first degree burns on my tongue, lips and down my throat.

I leave that foolishness to the folks who make hot sauce with skull and crossbones on it. I don’t deal with that mess. I like food that has flavour, not food that’s blistering your tongue with scotch bonnet peppers.

So, when I read spicy, I’m thinking of some yummy West Indian seasoning – you know, the green stuff your mom/grandmother/auntie keeps in a glass jar in the fridge. It’s onions, thyme, garlic, salt, pepper – a dash of pepper, not an entire set of hot peppers – and slathered on everything from red snapper and flying fish to roast pork and fried chicken.

It’s what makes West Indian food ‘spicy’ as opposed to people who jook a big set of pepper in the food and try to pass it off as West Indian cuisine.

I’m vex, ‘cause I’m sitting here with $8 (yes, $8, chupse) of food that I’m scared to eat for fear long tears start to roll down my face because the heat is too much for my poor belly. It burn me going in and I pray it doesn't burn me coming out.

From now on, I will stick with my plantain and leave all that so-called ‘spicy’ meat to those with flame-retardant tongues.

I only wish I could get my so-and-so money back.

Chupse.

Every action has a reaction

2005-07-07T14:53:00.000-04:00

My sister burst into my bedroom this morning asking me if I heard what happened in London.

Half-asleep, I said, “what? Something happened?” I checked my alarm clock, 7:38 am. Yes, I like to sleep to the very last second before getting up for work.

“Turn on the news,” she said as she hustled out.

I flipped to CNN to see pure confusion in London. Bloodied people, a double-decker bus that looked like King Kong ripped it in two to see inside. I saw images of commuters covered in soot who were trapped underground in the subways.

And I said to myself: Damn. What the heck is going on?

What is the world coming to?

I sound like my mother, but you would think sometimes there is no safe haven. Everyone’s on edge ‘cause you don’t know when it’ll be your country’s turn for some terrorist action and you’ll be running from a burning building or trapped on an exploding subway train.

Someone on BlackPlanet said something very interesting… and very truthful: every action has a reaction. For years, countries of the Western world have invaded other nations and killed hundreds of thousands of innocent people. Now, we’re seeing what it’s like on the receiving end.

But we’re dealing with a different type of terrorist/soldier – ‘cause, remember, after the U.S. blows up a small village in Iraq, those folks think that Bush and Co. and every fresh faced soldier in that platoon are terrorists. So who’s a terrorist depends on whether or not you’re standing in the rubble.

When you’re dealing with people who aren’t afraid to die, you’ve got a problem. If Prime Minister Blair can find and prosecute the people who bombed London today, great! He can arrest them and throw them in jail…

Unfortunately, there will be about a thousand or more people waiting to take over and be the next suicide bomber. Our countries need to think differently about why people – these “Islamic extremists” – believe that bombing innocents is the only way to incite change.

And why we think invading sovereign nations is OK, while bullies like North Korea's Kim Jong Il – who is plotting to put a nuclear bomb in Bush’s backside – run free.

Five things...

2005-06-30T12:10:00.000-04:00

... that are most important to me.

I'm gonna do five now and five later, 'cause I'm at work and I actually have to do the people's stuff, you know?

There are a lot of things that I thought were important, but after my Dad getting sick, a lot of stuff were put in perspective. It's not that those things aren't important, it's just that they've dropped down on the scale of importance and other things have moved up.

1) My family. Yes, the entire family. Last November, my aunt was killed in Barbados and I found out that I had a bunch of family living in Toronto that I never knew about came out of the woodwork. We always considered my mother's side of the family pretty small, so when I was meeting this cousin and that cousin, hearing about this cousin and that cousin, it really lifted my spirits. Out of something horrible, something good -- meeting my family -- came.

My parents have always been very important to me and I've grown to appreciate them more and more as I got older. I always thought they were way too strict: school ended at 2:57 pm and I had to be in my house by 3:45 pm 'cause Mom would be calling. You'd better have a pretty good reason why you missed the bus and were waltzing up into her yard at 4:15 pm. Daddy was quick to discipline -- sometimes a little too fast -- but he's mellowed with age.

I know understand at almost 30 years old that my parents, like a lot of parents, did the best with what they knew. They were strict because they believed it was the best way to raise children in "Norf Amurica". They didn't want my sister and I to get involved in anything that would stop us from being the best that we could be... and that included my sister's first boyfriend, who my father could not stand. For better or for worse, I don't know who I would be if not for my parents.

My sister can be a pain, but most older siblings are pains. They always think they know better than the younger one. Even though I'm hitting my third decade on the planet in a few weeks, my sister always thinks that she's right and I'm wrong.

She's so wrong.

But I do like the fact that we are getting along better now than how we used to. Back in the day, I don't think she liked me too much. I must admit, I was a troublemaker and a bit of a crybaby. Our age difference made it kinda hard for her to want to really hang with me. Now, she lurves me :D She'll never admit it, but I know it's so.

2) My relationship with God. God is good, all the time! And all the time, God is good! I would never say that I'm an overly religious person... actually, I don't really believe in religion. I believe in having a personal relationship with Jesus.

Don't get it twisted -- I'm not down with the smorgasbord of religions that some folks subscribe to: a little of this and a little of that. But I do think when you concentrate so much on the religion (i.e. Christians don't wear makeup, etc.) you lose out on the real important stuff. But that's another blog.

I don't really know where I'd be if I didn't have that relationship. Yes, I have loving parents and good friends, but sometimes that's just not enough.

Sometimes, there needs to be something more.

Sometimes you need guidance from somebody more all-knowing than your good girlfriend. For me, that's when I turn to God and that relationship.

Some folks may deem me old-fashioned and maybe a bit goody-goody. If that's who God wants me to be, so be it.

3) My friends. Big up to all the friends dem massive! I've never had a lot of friends. I was never the popular girl in school. It did annoy me when I was growing up, but over the years, I've learned that friends -- true good friends -- are more important than hanging around with a gaggle of people.

Heck, the one time I had a big set of friends, I couldn't stand most of them.

I pour out a little liquor for those friends who've parted ways and gone on -- not died, just lost touch and thing.

To all my friends -- whether we're close, just acquaintances or virtual -- I raise a glass of cranberry juice and Sprite to you!

4) My health. The thought of being sick scares me. Aside from minor aches and pains, a bout of asthma here and there, I'm healthy (at least I think I'm healthy, I won't know for a fact until I go to the doctor sometime next month). I'm always surprised when I see people taking their health for granted: smoking (nicotine or weed), drinking excessively, having unprotected sex. Why in the name of peace would you chance your health like that?

Your body is a temple and it's the only body you've got. It's easier to take care of it than try to heal it.

5) My job. I fret, fuss and complain about my job like no one's business, but I have to give them some respect. When I had to jet out of T.O. to go see my father at a moment's notice, my manager and VP were totally cool about it. I'm gainfully employed, I have money in my bank account and RRSPs and I can afford to travel. It may not be my ideal job, but I could be worse off.

And I've some wack azz jobs over the years...

So, those are the first five. I don't think I have five more... maybe three... I'll keep thinking about it.

Today is a good day :)

2005-06-28T10:29:00.000-04:00

It's amazing what a good night's rest can do for your mood :)

The building maintenance turned off the vent over my cubicle, so blasts of icy cold air aren't freezing me. The weather is still glorious -- sorry Big N, still we're still in the 30s. My big sis treated me to dinner last night to lift my spirits. The boyfriend and I discussed the sadness which is R&B music (with few notable exceptions like John Legend, Beyoncé, Alicia Keys -- you know, folks who can really 'sang'.)

I went to bed at a good hour and dreamed I was a movie star on the red carpet with Brittany Murphy. Yes, I even have dreams of grandeur ;)

And Pops is doing a lot better! He's doing physiotherapy and, hopefully, will be out of the hospital this week or next week to start his real physio at the rehab centre.

Today is a good day.

Tired...

2005-06-27T11:50:00.000-04:00

I'm such a grump today :(

It's beautiful outside, but the darned office building is too cold -- if it were this cold outside, I'd be wearing a coat.

I'm not feeling motivated: piles of paper are growing on my desk and, while I know I should be sorting through them and prioritizing, I so don't want to.

And I feel like whining. Is that so wrong?

If I could, I would go home right now and take a nap. Alas, I can't.

Sniff.

It must be PMS.

3 Bajans and a Trincy

2005-06-23T11:07:00.000-04:00

(Yes, that's not a typo. I meant Trincy -- one of us is a Trini/Vincy mix.)

We were at church last night for the 3rd Annual Volunteer Appreciation Extravaganza. There was food, dessert and plenty jokes to share.

Don't we look cute and stylish?

I'm back :)

2005-06-20T14:57:00.000-04:00

Hey blogger friends,

I'm back in Toronto after the longest two weeks of my life in Montreal. My dad fell ill and my sister and I hustled down the 401 to be with him and my mother.

Let me tell you, you don't appreciate your parents until you think you're going to lose them. Now, I love my folks and I love to hang out with them -- they have their dysfunctions and I have mine -- but when I thought my father was going to pass away... shoot.

There's so much stuff we have to do: he has to walk me down the aisle and tell two foolish stories at my wedding (whenever the event takes place); he has to crack jokes with his grandchildren (if I ever have any kids); he has to tell the grandkids stories about me as a youngster and all the disgusting and funny things we did.

My dad has too much to do to leave me yet.

I guess he realized that too, 'cause, thank God, he's on the mend. The road to recovery is going to be long, but he's a stubborn one. He's already getting better and cracking jokes on my mom.

I really have to praise God because you never really know when you'll have to say goodbye to someone you love. You never know when you'll get that call. The call we got was bad, but not horrible. My Pops is still here -- with his sense of humour, memory, practicality and spirituality that makes him who he is.

Anyway, I don't have all my thoughts together for a long blog, but I have to thank all of you who sent your prayers and thoughts to me and my family. I really appreciate it and I'm happy to be a part of this community.

Keep praying and thinking about us. Talk to y'all soon.

I'm it!

2005-05-30T16:04:00.000-04:00

So, Marlo tagged me and I have the musical baton. Cool – I’ll let you know what I have in my digital crates…

Total volume of music on my computer

Well over 1600 songs. Some of these are from CDs I bought, downloaded music from questionable sites and downloaded music from pay-per-use sites. I’ve been burned enough times over the years to not want to buy any more CDs.

Nowadays, I am very happy shelling out a few dollars for virus/spyware-free music from MSN.ca or getting the hookup from my co-worker who always seems to get new music before it’s released.

No way am I going to buy Jennifer Lopez’s entire album for Get Right. No way in hell.

Waste of cash: Last CD(s) I bought

It has been a long time since I’ve bought a CD, but like Marlo’s situation, HMV was have a two for $30 sale and I decided to buy Kanye West’s College Dropout and Jill Scott’s Beautifully Human, Vols. I & II.

Sigh.

With Mr. West’s album, I loved Jesus Walks, Through the Wire and All Falls Down – three songs that, I assumed, set the tone for the rest of the CD. Well, I made an ass outta me, ‘cause the rest of the album sucked. Maybe it didn’t suck, but it certainly wasn’t the hip hop that I’d been looking for. I loved Jill Scott’s first two CDs, so why wouldn’t I like number three? I based my purchase on that and was disappointed. I enjoyed one song, Golden, and that was that. The CD is sitting on my CD rack collecting dust.

Amerie could have been one of those sad purchases. I loved her first album All I Need, so when I heard her sophomore album, Touch, was going to drop, I wanted it. I almost bought it. Yo, when I heard it at Marlo’s place, I wasn’t impressed. Every song sounds like 1Thing – cool if you’re a Go Go fan. I, as you probably know, am not.

What sucks is that I can’t return the CDs because HMV will only let you exchange – obviously because of the thousands of thieves who will burn the CD and take it back.

So, those were the last CDs that I bought – why should Kanye make money off of me and I don’t even get a good CD out of it. This is why I will buy Omarion’s Touch online and he can keep the rest of his CD.

Song playing right now

Actually, I’m not playing anything right now – my MP3 player is sitting snugly in my handbag in my desk. But, if I were to be listening to music, today feels like a Bobby Valentino day and I’d be listening to Give Me A Chance, Bobby Valentino feat. Ludacris.

There’s something about that song that just makes me think about beaches, aquamarine water and resort life. I feel like dashing on a white bathing suit when I hear that song and strutting by the pool... unfortunately, I doubt the folks at work would take to me sitting at my desk in a bikini while I create stories for our Intranet.

Dang, I need a vacation.

Five songs I listen to a lot or mean a lot to me

I Can’t Make You Love Me – Bonnie Raitt (1991). I’ve loved this song for a dog’s age. It’s the wanting… the pining in the song that makes it just so sad, yet good. It reminds me of all the times I’ve loved off some likkle frou-frou boy only to have him not like me. High school was very much like that…

I Like the Way (The Kissing Game) – Hi Five (1992). This was my joint way back in 1992 when I was in my last year at Lachine High in Lachine, Quebec. I hated high school – no fun stories like Starfoxx – mainly pain, suffering and gnashing of teeth. But in 1992, I knew the end way nigh. I was going to get my tail the heck out of high school and go to CEGEP (our version of junior college) where I could reinvent myself. My prom was cool, ‘cause it was the first time my parents’ let me go to a school dance and they played my song. And I couldn’t wait to be finished with all those wretches from LHS.

One More Chance – Notorious B.I.G. (1994). First things, first, I, Sista, freaks all honeys, dummies, playboy bunnies, those wanting money… I know I’m a nerd. I so wanted to be in this video. My young girlfriends and I would daydream about going to the club and hanging out, just like folks in Biggie’s video did. Then, recently, I heard El Debarge’s Stay With Me and I made the connection. Both of those songs are still hot. Juicy and Big Poppa were also tight tracks – made even better when I heard the originals that were sampled.

Silver and Gold – Kirk Franklin & The Family (1993). This is one of my favourite gospel tracks. I was working at Mr. Rapps factory (the summer before my third year of university, I worked for the evil Mr. Rapps at a factory in west-end Montreal. My job was to stuff athletic knapsacks – Michigan, UNLV, Grambling – with stiff brown paper. This was a wakeup call to me that I needed to finish my degree and get the hell out of Montreal before this became my life...) and the people there were about to drive a young Urban Sista to drink. So, I pulled out my Kirk Franklin cassette and played that song all day long. Suffice it to say, I finished my degree, moved to T.O. and never stepped into Mr. Rapps factory again.

Pump Me Up – Krosfyah (mid ‘90s). This song reminds me of my beautiful island, Barbados. When I hear this song, I’m transported to Bridgetown, Barbados and I’m standing in front of Cave Shepherd watching the people go by as my sister receives no service from the disgusted salespeople in the jewellery and fragrance departments. Or, I’m chilling at my aunt’s in St. Philip, listening to my cousin’s girlfriend tell me stories about the evil steel donkey and duppies all around. I love BIM and I can’t wait to go back.

So, who to tag? I’d like to hear what Ms. Solitaire has to say about her music as well as wild child Starfoxx15. If Lady Abena checks in, I’m sure she’d have some live choices as well.

Blingles: A social experiment

2005-05-27T13:52:00.000-04:00

So, last night my friend Janette and I decided to go to this relatively new singles thing in Toronto, Blingles.

Now, one of my co-workers had gone to a Blingles event a few months back and he wasn’t too impressed, but being the social anthropologist that I am, I said, ‘what the heck? Lemme go and see how Black singles mingle.”

I broke it down to the boyfriend that I was going to be Janette’s wingwoman while I did my research. I’ve never been to a singles’ event before. The closest I’ve come to an event like this was First Fridays which is supposedly based on professional networking, but really is a way to meet men or women. I owe one doomed relationship and one bad date to the First Fridays’ gang.

But I digress; this is not a blog about bad dates… that will be done another time. This is a blog about how single Black folk are meeting up in the big city.

Black and single looking to mingle: The rules

Janette sent me an e-mail with the Blingles’ rules. Yes, folks, they have rules. I thought I was going to have to sign a waiver before I got through the doors. But, anyway, read on:

Rule #1: In order to attend Blingles you must truly be single and must not suffer from girlfriend/boyfriend or wife/husband amnesia. Well, I had to fib a little – but I don’t mind suffering for the study of anthropology.

Rule #1a: YOU MUST BE ON TIME!!!! Things start at 8pm Sharp. Don’t try to be fashionably late, (or you’ll miss everything). Ha! We’re dealing with Black people here. And, as much as I love my people, if you say 8 pm, the folks will waltz in a 9 pm.

Rule #1b: TRY TO LOOK GOOD, CUTE, you know spruce it up a little ... Remember this is a single's event.

Rule #2: You should leave your business cards at home, but be ready to have good conversation, and not hide behind what you do for a living.

Rule #3: You should come with an open mind and ready to have a good time. Leave all attitudes at the door and whatever else happened to you that day. Janette and I had a good belly laugh about this one. Only at a Black singles’ event will people have to be told to ‘leave all attitudes at the door.’ LOL!

Rule #4: You should not wear your heart on your sleeve and throw all caution to the wind, in hopes of finding your soul mate, but come looking good, feeling good and have the attitude of if it happens it happens, but I’m going to enjoy myself in the process.

Rule #5: You must take part in the interactive games. There will be interaction from the time you enter the door, and we have some fun contests… What Song Is This? Funny Dating Stories.

Rule #6: There is a dress code for Spring Bling, it’s look good be comfortable and wear spring colors if you can. But bearing that in mind, make sure you are comfortable enough to walk and and have a good time. Yo, if a woman is putting on this event, she should know that looking cute and wearing comfortable shoes don’t always mix. So, make sure there are enough seats.

Rule #7: Don't be afraid of Blingles, and if it's not the event for you, still help us spread the word, as it may be the event for your cousin, sister, brother, parents, close friends or someone else you work with.

Rule #8: If the people at Blingles aren't cute enough for you I'm sorry, remember this is all for fun, make the most of your night!!! Is this a warning? Janette said ‘no refunds or exchanges – what you see is what you get!’ This is a little scary to me: forewarning your clientele that the people you meet may not be attractive. Hmmm…

Rule #9: If any of these rules offended you in any way, then this may not be the event for you... and if they didn't... SEE YOU ON THURSDAY NIGHT AT SUGAR NIGHT CLUB 8PM SHARP!!!!

OK, so those are the rules. Let’s get started.

Looking for love…

Janette picked me up at Scarborough Town Centre – (side note here ladies: while waiting for Janette at STC, I saw ‘nuff sisters wearing summer gear: light coloured pants and skirts and hard white panties. I understand that sometimes you don’t feel like wearing a thong or G-string, but, for heaven’s sake, put on dark-coloured underpants) -- around 7:35 pm and we headed down to Sugar Nightclub on Duncan St. in the heart of the Entertainment district.

Seems like Urban Sista’s summer is starting off fast and furious – I’m not a woman who likes to be out of her house on a weeknight. But, hey, I stood around in a line for two hours waiting to see Faith, why not go to a grassroots singles event?

We got to Sugar at around 8:10 pm and we paid $20 each to get in. Twenty dollars of my hard earned cash. Chupse. I had been promised in the e-mail finger foods, so I didn’t stress to hard. At least I’d have a belly full. The hostess handed us each a piece of paper with icebreaker questions and we went in.

There were about 20 people there and guess what? Fifteen of them were women.

Janette and I looked at each other. “If you want someone, you gotta jump on them,” she said as we looked around.

But the evening was still young. “We’re here to meet people, not necessarily men,” Janette said as we spoke to female after female to get the answers for our icebreaker questions. At 9 pm, there were about 19 women to six men and Janette and I both knew one of the guys there, it was really 19 to 5.

The odds were clearly for the men. There were 3.8 women for every man. We were fed up with the questionnaire at this point – I’m saying, it at 8:30 pm there is no one with a last name that starts with B and no one new has shown up by 9, there will still be no one with a last name that starts with B.

But there was a rush of men at around ten after nine. OK, not a rush… maybe a drizzle. About six or seven new guys arrived, along with about 10 more women. When we were ushered into the next room, we were at 30 women to 12 men.

There were 2.5 women for every man.

Sigh.

We went to check out the finger foods. I was expecting some hot snacks – Swedish meatballs, some wings – and the usual, chips, shrimp ring, etc. Well, imagine my surprise when I saw two Girl Guide cookies, some peanut brittle, corn puffs and two measly shrimp rings.

“Two man hands in there and the food is done,” said Janette as we surveyed the food sadly. “My parents always told me to eat before I went out and this is the reason.”

The guys – and girls – were pretty friendly. Janette and I were told that we were some of the friendlier ladies at the event. You know how some women do: five girlfriends in a corner waiting for guys to approach. We weren’t any different, just that we were standing at the bar and smiling at people when they walked by.

This was a singles event. We were trying to meet people. So, what’s with sticking up in a corner cracking jokes with your girls? Janette already knows me; this was the opportunity to meet other folks… to meet men. Sheesh.

I met some really nice guys who, on a regular Thursday night, would probably be at home watching sports or playing video games. None of them were Boris Kodjoe look-alikes, but they were decent, well-employed guys who really wanted to meet someone. They may not have been the guys for me, but the 10 or 11 guys seemed nice enough… at first meeting anyway.

Welcome to Blingles!

At 9:15 pm, the event started.

“Welcome to Blingles!” said Blingles’ founder Anne-Marie Woods. “We’re going to get started!”

“Wait? Welcome? We’re going to get started?” I checked my watch. “So, what have I been doing for the past hour?”

“They’ve only used about $5 of the $20 they took from me. So, things better get started fast,” said Janette. I sucked my teeth and hoped for the best. The venue was nice, but it was a club only the Blingles folks had opted for the lights on rather than off. Everyone was holding up the walls: boys at the back, girls at the sides.

The night got started… started, I’ve been there for nearly an hour and a half and things are getting started. Chupse. Anne-Marie made everyone move to one side of the room to watch her lip-synching, dance presentation.

Right...

So, explain to me how that is conducive to meeting people? It was fun to watch, but being the social anthropologist/scientist I am, it seemed that having people watch something and not mingle detracts from the actual talking to one another.

There was a lot of stuff like that, including a lip synching performance by one Cocoa Bean. Cocoa Bean was one of the Blingles' girls dressed up like Madonna who did a little dance to Holiday. I think that’s when Janette said, “I feel like I’m in someone’s basement.”

LOL!!! Gasp! LOL!!!

It was a sad Grade 8 dance with a weird interpretative dance thrown in. I looked at my watch – it was 10:15 pm. Cocoa Bean did another dance to Janet Jackson’s Lonely and I didn’t know what to think, besides, this portion of the night was definitely NOT worth my $20.

Let’s get the party started

At 10:30 pm, we had to dance with someone and when the host said, “switch!” we had to find another partner. That was the most enjoyable part of the evening – people were loosened up and ready to joke around and get down.

I danced with most of the guys who were there. Some I danced well with, some I didn’t dance so well with – a metaphor for the relationship possibly? But no one was slimy or gross. Men showed their interest, but in a very respectable manner. Not by presenting a dance card or anything like that, but not by doing anything stupid, like throwing a rock at me or tripping me in a dark club (that actually happened to a friend of mine at the upstanding establishment of Epiphany).

After a shy smile, a man would approach and strike up a conversation while dancing: “How are you? Are you enjoying the night so far?” A few guys hung back, holding up the walls, but I chalk that up to shyness or they thought they were too nice. Whatever, some of the women were doing the exact same thing.

The conclusion

Well, we danced for about half an hour and that was the highlight of the evening. Janette and I left, after she met a nice young man.

Let’s be honest, Blingles is definitely not worth the $20 that I had to pay to get in. If you’re going to charge me $20, I better see more than Cocoa Bean carrying on or Anne-Marie dancing.

There should be dating stations, where an interested couple can go and chitchat quietly and privately if the mood strikes them. There should be Blingles branded cards that you can write down your contact information so when Mr. Man pulls out your number or you pull out his, you remember where you met each other. Maybe even a little speed meeting component -- that way everyone gets to meet everyone else.

And don’t even get me started on the finger foods – some more thought should be definitely put into that.

Little things like that will make me feel like I’m at a real live singles’ event, not someone’s basement party, starring Cocoa Bean and Anne-Marie Woods.

But, all in all, it was a very interesting way to meet new people. I don't think you need to pay so much for it, but since everyone is there for the same reason -- to meet someone -- there are no uncomfortable moments. You may not meet your soul mate, but you will meet, if you’re willing to, some interesting people.

Oooh, Lord Vader

2005-05-23T19:37:00.000-04:00

I went to see Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith this weekend. It's a pretty good movie and I'm no Star Wars fan.

The story was interesting. The special effects were crazy. And Hayden Christensen makes one hot Darth Vader.

I saw Episode II and, really, the boy did nothing for me. Attractive enough, I guess, but nothing special.

But, dang, the boy's grown up over the past three years. I can't blame Desperate Housewives' Eva Longoria for trying to get with the young buck.

As Anakin Skywalker, Christensen is good. As Lord Vader? Wow. He was all dark eyed and menacing -- it was all good until he totally lost it and was turned into the Darth Vader that breathes heavily and wants to rule tings.

This time, my celebrity crush is of age -- a little younger than me, but totally legal.

**********

On another note, I was watching 106 & Park this afternoon on BET and my illegal boyfriend, Omarion was on. The child is the same size as Free. The dude is tiny -- not short, but tiny. So, while I'm short myself, I can't daydream about a little small pint-sized man.

Sigh. At least he may have a couple more years to grow.

Memories: From Toronto to New York with Love

2005-05-20T15:58:00.000-04:00

I was listening to my old school jams and Nu Shooz's I Can't Wait came on.

Gasp!

It's been exactly one year since my disastrous New York bus trip. Twelve hours to New York and twelve hours back with a bunch of rag-tag disgusting brutes on a bus with no shocks or suspension. The washroom wasn't equipped with running water or working lights. Definitely not Urban Sista's style.

I didn't get to see Times Square or the Statue of Liberty (well, I saw that in the distance). No shopping at Victoria's Secret or Express. No Chocolate Sisters in the City as I had hoped.

Thank goodness for my MP3 player and some good old school tunes.

So, in homage to everyone who will be subjecting themselves to a long distance bus trip this long weekend, I've decided to highlight my From Toronto to New York with Love blog.

Have a great long weekend!

I had Faith the concert would have happened…

2005-05-19T12:51:00.000-04:00

…but as far as I’m concerned, it didn’t. I didn’t see Faith Evans last night and not for lack of trying.

Maybe Faith did come on stage at Tonic, but after nearly three hours of waiting and standing – thank God for comfy, cute shoes – I realized, I don’t like Faith that much. Besides, would Faith have stood up for three long hours outside on Richmond St. waiting for Urban Sista to appear?

Heck, no.

I swear I have no luck with this whole live music thing. Actually, I have no luck with Flow 93.5 FM. This radio station is forever screwing things up when it comes to concerts and events. I should have named this blog, ‘I hate Flow 93.5 FM’.

Because I do hate them.

Every time I go to a Flow event – Flowfest in 2002, the sadness that was the New Edition concert and now Faith’s intimate and exclusive appearance at Tonic Nightclub, which was neither intimate nor exclusive.

MarloGirl and I headed downtown yesterday evening – Marlo, being the superstar she is was invited to this event and I was the lucky person that got to go with her. We were looking cute and stylish and I was looking forward to hearing Faith live. The invite said 7 p.m.

When we got to Tonic, we saw a large group of people just lollygagging at the corner of Richmond and Peter Sts. Hmmph, I thought, it’s just after 7 p.m. why aren’t they letting anyone in?

The last time I had been to an event like this was when I saw Craig David at Indian Motorcycle a couple of years back compliments of Solitaire. When I arrived at Indian Motorcycle, I was quickly ushered in to the lounge and went upstairs. If the event started at 7 o’clock, Craig David was onstage by 7:45 pm the latest. He performed about five or six songs and was done by 8:30 pm.

But that event wasn’t put on by Flow.

So, we’re waiting, waiting, waiting and at around 7:45 or so, we’re told to line up. For anyone who’s never gone to Tonic, there’s a little alleyway beside the club where you line up.

And while we’re on the topic of Tonic Nightclub, why in goodness name would you book Faith there? While the place isn’t a pit, it surely isn’t a live music venue. There is no ambience and there are maybe seats for 30 people.

Marlo and I lined up along with two of her friends and we waited. And waited. And waited some more. As if the crowd wasn’t getting annoyed enough, an irate pigeon was randomly pooping on people.

In situations like these, it makes no sense to get tense and vex, so I people watched. And, Lord forgive me, people in Toronto have the most jacked up weaves ever. I have nothing against weaves – I have worn a couple in my lifetime – but if you’re going to get a weave, get the best weave in the store. Enough with buying the $5 a pack hair, girls. It looks like crap.

And when the weave mats together and is one big clump, that’s when it’s time to pull that bad boy out and start afresh.

I’m not leaving the brothers out. Guys, I don’t know a lot about razor bumps, but if the back of your head is a collage of bumps and blisters, please go to a dermatologist and get that mess checked out. Until then, wear a hat.

But back to the line.

A homeless person decided to scout the line for people to hit up money from. Lucky we were a line of kind hearted folks, ‘cause a few people donated to his cause. I learned in the line that tall men have no manners when they reach their big arms over top the heads of small women and mash down the sisters' hairdos. And you know how long it takes for a Black woman to do her hair.

Overall, it was a good crowd – no bad-behaviour and for the most part, people with good manners.

The four of us are waiting and finally the line starts moving. It’s about 8:30 pm when we got inside Tonic and it was packed. There could have been at least 300 people in there. I thought this was going to be an intimate and exclusive thing with maybe 70 people or so in the joint.

Ha.

It was like was Saturday night at a club. The music was bumping and we made our way through to crowd to the washrooms – which were already nasty and half-clogged by the time we made it in.

Marlo was griping that she was hungry. I wasn’t hungry, but I was getting miserable because it had been an hour and a half of my time wasted. I could have been at home watching the finale of America’s Next Top Model or getting ready to watch American Idol. Time well spent is not time hitched up in a dark club on a Wednesday night.

I had to work in the morning.

And if things didn’t get started soon, I was going to bounce. Marlo looked as if she was ready to hit the door after we used the ladies room.

Marlo and I are short. No two ways about it. Even in our high heels, people were towering over us blocking our sightlines. So, we were manoeuvring through the club trying to find the best place to see the stage, in hopes that Faith would come onstage soon.

But there was no good place to stand, because, like I said before, Marlo and I are short. We ended up in the back by the deejay booth, arms folded, heads bopping to Digable Planets, A Tribe Called Quest and Sweet Sable. That’s all fine and dandy, but I didn’t leave the warmth and comfort of my place in Scarborough to travel downtown on a weeknight to go to an old skool jam.

It was almost nine o’clock. I wanted to see Faith.

Now.

“You ready? ‘Cause, I’m ready to go,” said Marlo in her girly-girl voice.

“Whenever you’re ready,” I said. When the ride is ready to go, you go, right? Right.

Marlo’s friend, Bashy, objected. “Why are you going? They said she was going to be on in 15 minutes.”

I never heard this announcement. But I was willing to wait the fifteen minutes – if she was really going to perform in fifteen minutes.

I don’t know why I believe these Flow people’s deceitful announcements anyway. In February, they were trying to convince me that at 11 pm, New Edition – although they were circling Buttonville Airport in Markham – were going to perform at the Hummingbird Centre.

Chupse.

I should have learned my lesson then. But because I didn’t know that this was a Flow sponsored event, I schlepped my backside downtown.

Nine-fifteen came and went and still no Faith. Marlo looked at me. The girl was famished and I think she turns into a mean hungry person.

“If nothing happens by nine-thirty, let’s go,” I said.

More old skool joints. People were squeezing by in the rammed club with plenty of drinks. I know Tonic made some good money last night on the drinks alone.

No announcements. No statements. No live music.

No nothing.

I looked at my watch: nine-thirty. No Faith. Not even a backup singer onstage.

“What time is it?” Marlo asked.

“Nine-thirty.”

“Alright. It’s time to go.” I agreed.

I mean, it had been almost three hours standing with nothing happening besides waiting. Let’s put this in perspective: would Faith wait three hours for Urban Sista to go onstage? I like Faith, but I don’t like her that much.

“You’re leaving already?” asked Bashy, surprised. Ahhh, to be young again. When I was in my early 20s, I may have hung around. But I have no interest in just waiting around to possibly see a singer.

Marlo and I bounced. By the time we left downtown, it could have been around 9:45 pm.

Three hours of my life wasted.

Now, Faith possibly went on at 10 or 10:30 or 11 pm, but I didn’t care. I wanted to see her perform until about 9 pm. At nine, I lost all interest in Faith, her singing and everything else.

If an invitation says, 7 pm, I expect something to happen at 7 pm. Not three or more hours later.

As Marlo said, it’s just plain rude. Have I not anything else to do with my night? If Faith couldn’t make it onstage until 11 pm, have the invitation for 10 pm so I can choose whether or not I want to be out of my house until all hours of the night. Don’t have me waiting around like an idiot for three hours plus.

But, damn that Flow, that’s their modus operandi.

I am boycotting any Flow event from now on. I’m disgusted with them and their lack of organization and planning.

Chupse.

What about your friends?

2005-05-13T13:25:00.000-04:00

I was at home by myself yesterday evening and an old friend popped into my mind. I haven’t seen or spoken to her in about five years, but for whatever reason, I started wondering what she was up to. I guess it’s because my dad pulled out my high school yearbook and I started to reminisce.

I miss my buddy, but I refuse to contact her.

Maybe it’s my pride… it’s totally my pride.

Her actions hurt me so badly – this was the person I had been best friends with since I was 12. I always thought that she would be in my wedding and godmother to my kids. We went to our first Carifiesta party together. We went to Caribana together. We did pretty much everything together.

Things don’t always work out how you think they would.

When I took the long drive down the 401 to Toronto in 1998, I didn’t think my friend and I wouldn’t keep in touch. We had started to grow apart – she was focused on a boyfriend that I couldn’t stand. I was focused on getting my tail out of Quebec. But just because we were concentrating on different things didn’t mean that we couldn’t remain strong friends.

She said to me, when I told her I was leaving, “I can’t believe my buddy is leaving me!”

I was already soured by some of her antics: being too busy to talk or forgetting that we made plans because she was hanging out with some dude. But we were like chalk and cheese or batty and bench.

In the beginning, she would visit – well, she would visit her boyfriend in Toronto and stay with me. We would hang out, but she was here to visit her man. When the man treated her poorly and I said something, she said to me: “You’re not in a relationship. You don’t understand. That’s why I like to talk to my friends who aren’t single.”

Why don’t you slap me in my face? Good advice is good advice whether you’re in a couple or not, but a lot of women just don’t want to hear about their men.

Once she and the man broke up, she wouldn’t visit as often, but we’d talk.

Then she hooked up with a blasted idiot. He refused to let – you read it right – her wear makeup. He would drape her up in public talking about ‘you’re disrespecting me!’ and try to bang down her parents’ front door when she had had enough and broke up with him.

He said after meeting me, my sister and some other friends that he didn’t like university-educated women. Friends would tell me they didn’t understand why she was with him. I had my ideas, but when I broached the subject, she told me: “He says that you’re jealous of our relationship.”

I met the man once and he tried to rough me up at Harbourfront. Jealous of the relationship? No. A big, dirty, dislike for his black ass? Yes.

After that conversation, the friendship started to drop off.

I’d call, she’d be busy. I’d e-mail, she wouldn’t respond. When I went back home to visit, I’d call, but she wouldn’t call back until it was too late to make plans.

When I visited Montreal about a year or so after I moved to Toronto, my best friend, another friend, Corey and I were supposed to meet downtown for dinner. I got to the restaurant to see a grinning Corey, but no best friend.

“She said she had something to do,” Corey said sympathetically. Maybe she did have something else to do, but she couldn’t take a few hours out of her Friday night?

One thing made it very clear that she wasn’t making any effort to be my friend: Easter Weekend, she and Corey decided to visit Toronto.

Corey called me and said, “Hey Urban Sista, we’re in Toronto!” It was Good Friday.

“Cool!” I said. “What are you up to?”

“We’re going to visit my uncle in Mississauga and then maybe we can hook up.”

“Is [INSERT NAME] there?”

“Oh, she’s in the bathroom.”

“OK, well, I’ll be home. Give me a call and we’ll do something.”

Friday, came and went. Saturday, came and went. Sunday came and went. Late Sunday evening I got a call. Not from my best friend, but from Corey. They were heading to Mississauga and wouldn’t have a chance to visit me.

I wanted to cry. I missed my parents – I couldn’t go home for Easter and my so-called best friend couldn’t even pick up the phone to call and make plans to see me. Folks, I waited by the phone not wanting to miss the call.

I was hurt. If the friendship was done, why couldn’t she just say something? What you would say, I don’t know, but something. I don’t know what I did to offend her – if anything.

It wasn’t the first time she had hurt my feelings, but this time it was blatant. How are you going to visit Toronto and not visit me? I could understand if you were here for a wedding or something and just didn't have the time, but you’re just coming to visit.

That’s when I smartened up.

Friendship is a two-way street, not me trying to be your friend and you choosing when and how you’ll be my friend. I stopped calling. I stopped e-mailing. I stopped trying to make an effort to see her.

Like I told my friend Steve, I make an effort to see someone who makes the effort to see me. She never made the effort to see me. So, why would I go out of my way to see her?

She let a man get between our friendship – it wasn’t the first time. The dude in Toronto also said I was jealous of their relationship. I was annoyed by how he treated her (if a man ignores you all night, then at 3 a.m. wants to take you home, that isn’t love. It’s a booty call), but she preferred believe that I was envious of that she had a boyfriend and she didn’t.

Maybe because she had been envious of other people having boyfriends when she was single.

This experience has taught me a lot:

I always make time for my girlfriends. I have a boyfriend and I love spending time with him, but I love being with my girls. I balance my time – sometimes to the point where he complains that I have to schedule him in between my outings with friends.
If a man is constantly telling you that your friends are jealous of the relationship, dash the man, he’s up to no good.
Never want a man so desperately that you put up with mess from him.
Appreciate your girlfriends.

Anyway, Corey and I are still friends, she’s moved to Toronto and we hang out every now and then. I’ve become friends with some wonderful women and we have pure jokes when we’re together.

I don’t know if I’m going to try to get in touch with my ex-best friend. Every now and then I hear that she’s with/not with the man and I know I don’t want that drama in my life.

But that being said, if she was to reach out to me, I’d definitely reach back.

West Indians vs. African Americans vs. Africans

2005-05-12T18:57:00.000-04:00

I saw this article at BlackPlanet and I thought it was quite interesting. Well, I don't know if it's interesting or just... divisive.

The author, Dan Woog, obviously makes a point, but I think many times Black people are looking for reasons to divide themselves. Dr. Craig Polite makes an... ahem... interesting point about the relationship between West Indians and African Americans.

He said, "It's more like an undertone of conflict, particularly between those born in the Caribbean and those born in the US. It doesn't surface a lot, but people from the islands have the impression they're a little bit smarter, a little more superior. It doesn't get talked about, but it's there."

Mr. Polite is most likely African-American because while he readily points out the ills of everyone else, he doesn't say anything about the attitudes of African-Americans, 'cause if you're going to say one, you better say two. I'm sure that African-Americans have their own set of issues that unnerve West Indians and Africans, but Mr. Woog forgot to mention any of them -- subjective journalism at it best.

Yes, I'll agree that West Indians have a certain self-confidence. A lot of our parents taught us to believe in ourselves -- whether we were born on an island or in North America. But there is something to be said for the West Indian work ethic. Many times people from the Islands come to North America with absolutely nothing but the desire to do something for themselves and we're condemned?

Chupse. That's a load of ignorance.

Larri Mazon most ignorantly says, "(Islanders) don't know an employer may stab you in the back, whereas American-born blacks might see that willingness to work so hard as a 'yes, massa' attitude."

But wait *anger starts to build*.

We 'Islanders' are a pack of idiots? We don't have trouble at work back in Barbados, Jamaica, Trinidad or any other island in the Caribbean? Maybe back in the day we thought that the streets of North America were paved in gold, but we aren't fools. We know that we are the minority in North America. We know that we have to work twice or three times are hard as a white person to get as far. It's annoying that someone would make it seem like these little backwards, fresh off the boat Islanders don't know what the hell they're doing.

Sigh.

You see, these are the things that cause division in the Black community. Whether you are from St. Lucia, New York, Toronto or Ghana, the first thing that white people will see is your skin is Black. They could care less about our intracultural arguments. We are all the same -- we were just taken off the boat at different stops.

It's divide and conquer -- why is this article even necessary? It sounds like the African-Americans in this article are acting 'superior'.

Anyway, read for yourself. I'd love to read comments.

Intracultural Conflicts
By Dan Woog, Monster Contributing Writer, 05/09/05

In the world of 21st-century demographic descriptors, "African American" seems straightforward: If your skin is black, you trace your ancestry back to Africa, and if you're in America, you are American.

But society has never viewed race in such simple terms. Today, recognition is growing for the historical and cultural differences among US-born African Americans, those who emigrated from the Caribbean and recent arrivals from Africa. As foreign-born blacks grow increasingly common in the workplace, intracultural conflicts may also increase.

The percentage of those with black skin who are foreign-born in the US rose from 4.9 percent to 6.7 percent between 1990 and 2000, according to Census Bureau data analyzed by Susan Weber of Queens College, as reported in the New York Times on August 29, 2004.

An Undercurrent of Tension

Dr. Craig Polite, a clinical and industrial psychologist, calls it "tension with a small 't.' It's more like an undertone of conflict, particularly between those born in the Caribbean and those born in the US. It doesn't surface a lot, but people from the islands have the impression they're a little bit smarter, a little more superior. It doesn't get talked about, but it's there."

Cynthia Swift, who teaches multicultural issues in the Graduate School of Education and Allied Professions at Fairfield University in Fairfield, Connecticut, and is coordinator of the Academic Advantage program, agrees. "The legacy of colonialism impacts each group, along with how people are introduced to and have access to work," she says. "People born in Africa have a different perspective on opportunities and rights at work than those who were born here, who have their own perspective on this country's history of discrimination."

All three groups share "misinformation and a lack of understanding of each other," she adds.

The Historical Legacy

When African Americans living in the South moved north in the '30s and '40s to fill low-paying jobs, they fought for their rights, demanded access to better jobs and were often unwilling to continue ill-paying work under poor conditions.

When recent immigrants reached the US, some with good educations and willing to start at the bottom and work several jobs to achieve success, some employers viewed them as "better workers, with better attitudes" than African Americans, says Swift. It worsened in hard economic times when more people vied for fewer jobs. And the situation is exacerbated in communities where young American-born blacks think, "it's better to be cool than smart," she explains. Comedian Bill Cosby decried this phenomenon when speaking at a college graduation in spring of 2004.

Majority to Minority

"People from the islands grow up as part of the dominant culture," says Larri Mazon, director of Multicultural Relations at Fairfield University. "They come from a country run by people who look like them. They don't understand what it's like to be seen as not a valid contributor to society. When they get here, they may pick up on the stereotypical attitude toward blacks and think, 'I'm not born here. I'm not like them.'"

African-born immigrants also come from countries where people are physically homogenous. Because of visa requirements and immigration restrictions, they often arrive here with skills that immediately vault them into the upper echelons of business.

Mazon notes that he is talking primarily about African-born men. Their male-dominated culture can mean chauvinistic attitudes. "I've heard many complaints from black women about male African supervisors," he says.

Resentment also extends to immigration policies that allow Caribbean islanders to work what Mazon calls "16 jobs."

"Employers gravitate toward people who will do that," he explains. "(Islanders) don't know an employer may stab you in the back, whereas American-born blacks might see that willingness to work so hard as a 'yes, massa' attitude."

Common Ground
So can a black community exist in the workplace? Yes, says Polite, though it is "in the background, not up front."

"A lot of black folks get together in part for support, and perhaps as a reality check against what they think they see and feel (from non-blacks)," he adds. "We like being able to speak a common language and let our hair down. Our conversations have a slightly different slant. In the end, no matter where they're from, when black folks get together, we're all in the mix."

Culture of Fear

2005-05-05T12:36:00.000-04:00

I was reading thestar.com and I came across this headline: Prepare for pandemic, expert warns!!! (exclamation points added).

I started reading along and I came to this quote from Dr. Michael Osterholm, director of the Centre for Infectious Disease Research and Policy at the University of Minnesota. Dr. Osterholm said:

"Frankly the crisis could for all we know have started last night in some village in Southeast Asia. We don't have any time to waste and even if we did have some time, the kinds of things we need to do will take years. Right now, the best we can do is try to survive it. We need a Manhattan Project yesterday."

I don't know how many of you watched Bowling For Columbine, but Michael Moore did a bit on how American news media is encouraging a culture of fear. Fear of this and fear of that -- fear of the Africanized bee that was supposed to attack and kill everyone. Fear of food, every day something we've been eating for years is now going to kill us: carbs, meat, cholesterol, sugar, caffeine, salt. Fear of Black people, I know the brothers can attest to this one.

Now, fear of the pandemic. Some horrific influenza virus is going to lay waste to the globe, it'll be like the movie Outbreak... or SARS.

Gasp.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not being sarcastic because I don't believe that this won't happen. I'm not saying that a pandemic may not be in the future of humankind, but I'm am saying that I'm tired of people trying to scare me about every damn thing. Don't use solid deodorant, it causes breast cancer! Don't eat McDonalds, it'll turn your liver into fat! Don't perform on American Idol, Paula will sex you up!

Really *rolling eyes*.

Yes, most of these fears stem from fact. SARS could have killed off a big set of people -- it pretty much killed tourism to Toronto for a year or so, but we live in a place where news isn't news unless it scares the pants off of you. Don't drive through Malvern, you'll get shot! Toronto is rampant with gangs! Ray, ray, ray.

Don't get me started with Dateline, 20/20 and Primetime -- those shows will have you agoraphobic and scared to use your microwave.

This is all about exaggeration. Have you been attacked by an Africanized bee? I've been hearing about these bees since I was a wee child of five or six. You would think they would have reached Canada by now.

Let's put this into perspective: the world is a scary place, but you can't be scared of everything. All this fear is making us anxious and nervous and worried of every damn thing. Scared to travel -- you'll get Hepatitis C. Scared to meet new people -- dem could be axe murderers! Scared to go out late at night -- you could get attacked!

Come on, now.

Be cautious, but don't be an idiot. The news is not as factual or truthful as it would seem.

Now, stop shivering, come out from under your bed, put on some clothes and enjoy life.

sigh...

2005-05-03T13:17:00.000-04:00

...am I a disgusting wretch because I think this boy is hot? I know that I'm on the dark side -- the very dark side of 20 -- but Omarion looks like he could be a full grown man.

I swear, young men did not look like this when I was in my late teens and early 20s. Them boys were jacked -- we had All 4 One. And All 4 One were not hot boys.

Chupse.

These young boys are destined to get grown women in trouble. I must turn away from the Touch video. Just turn off the TV, 'cause it not worth it, Urban Sista.

It just ain't worth it.

Sigh.

Hallelujah!

2005-04-15T09:50:00.000-04:00

I looked out the window this morning and I smiled.

I have to thank God for today.

It’s spring. The trees are budding. The birds are chirping. My family and friends are happy and healthy. I’m employed.

It's Friday and the weekend's supposed to be glorious.

God is good.

Hallelujah!

Have a great Friday!

Bathroom Broughtupcy - Part II

2005-04-12T12:03:00.000-04:00

I am always amazed when people drop their tails onto public toilets. I loathe touching the door handle to get out of the washroom, furthermore to place my backside on the toilet and expose myself to numerous bacterium, viruses and other little nasty things that live on toilet seats.

But some people just don’t care.

They haven’t learned the stoop technique, so their parts are all over the public toilet seat.

Let me put it like this: you don’t lick the tables in the mall’s food court, why in goodness name, would you sit on a public toilet seat?

Good grief.

Another thing that pisses (hee hee, some bathroom humour) me off are the nasty ass people who don’t wash their hands after using the washroom. I’ve blogged on this before and some people still have not taken heed.

Don’t dampen your hands with a drizzle of water. Use the darned soap that is there and wash your hands properly. Do you think the soap is there for decoration?

Then those same people want to come and sit and your desk and touch up all your things, infecting them with what ever dirt they just picked up in the bathroom. Thank God for anti-bacterial hand sanitizer and Lysol wipes.

One more set of people I must blaze before I’m out: those who bring food into the washroom. Why are you bringing your muffin, apple, cup of coffee into the washroom where all manner of bodily functions happen? Honestly, I saw someone put their muffin – only protected by the muffin cup -- on the floor of the bathroom stall.

I wanted to vomit. The poor muffin even looked disgusted with itself.

Just drop your sandwich, cookie or plum off at your desk before you go into the washroom, because, as much as I’d like to be delicate with this, it’s NASTY. It’s just disgusting and gross and unnecessary.

This is my rant for today.

Take heed.

A girl, her shoes and a wedding

2005-04-11T15:53:00.000-04:00

For my cousin’s wedding in Barbados, I needed to find a pair of silver shoes. Now, unless you have a true shoe fetish – or you’re a dancehall queen – how many people really need silver shoes?

Exactly.

So, I didn’t want to spend a whole lot of loot on a pair of silver shoes that I may only wear once, maybe twice. You guys know how much I like discount shopping, right? I went to Bata and got a pair of silver high heeled sandals for… guess.

Nope, lower than $20. Guess again…

No! Lower than $15. Guess again… OK, I’ll tell you.

I paid $11! Of course I bought them. Yes, the soles were a little hard, but for 11 bucks, how can you go wrong?

Well, I would find that out the day of the wedding.

I had never been in a wedding party, so I didn’t know what was expected of me. I was excited and I thought I just had to walk down the aisle, look cute and go to the reception where I would enjoy some Bajan delights.

Hmmph.

We got ready at Casuarina Beach Resort and I proceeded to stand around for the next two to three hours on the hard tile floor taking pictures. I would have taken the shoes off, but the dress was a bit confining, making it hard to bend over – if I didn’t want to burst one of the spaghetti straps.

Finally, we were done with the pictures and we headed off to the church. Another first in the Urban Sista’s life, I drove in a limousine. Sitting was problematic ‘cause of the spaghetti strap issue, but the dogs were happy to relax.

We finally made it to the church – zipping through the bumpy Bajan roads and we entered the St. Bartholomew’s Anglican Church looking fabu… but, as the bride and groom walked in and the minister started the ceremony, I wondered where my seat was.

I started to sweat.

My foot had gone from uncomfortable, to sore, to hurting, to excruciating pain. I tried to hop inconspicuously from one foot to the other to alleviate some of the pain, but, guy, that didn’t work.

Still, no announcement for the bridal party to sit.

And if it wasn’t bad enough that my feet were yammin’ off, it was hot. Now, I’m not like the tourist who will go to a Caribbean island and say, “oh my gosh, Marty, it’s so hot!” I understand that it’s going to be hot. That’s just the nature of the climate.

But, lawd, when the Bajans who live in Barbados are sweating buckets and saying, “Lawd’a’mercy, man, de sun boring a hole in de mole of muh head. Look, pass me that Banks, do. I goin’ long inside, ‘cause I gon’ ketch cold in all dat heat,” you know it's hot. It's hot until the mongoose don't want to venture outside. Hot until the Milo boils in the sunshine. Hot until the flying fish can fry themselves... you get it, it was so-and-so hot.

One of the bridesmaid – a born and bred Bajan – was getting light headed and sweating buckets like she lived in Iqaluit. It got so bad, she was begging me for a tissue to wipe her sweaty brow. The only thing I had available was one piece of ratty tissue that I had hidden in down the front of my dress -- because we couldn't walk with purses. I had to give the girl the ratty piece of damp tissue -- I was sweating all over it.

I just prayed that the videographer didn't pick that up in the wedding video.

And, although I was suffering in beautiful, but hot as heck, dress – it had three layers and it gave me heat rash for days -- and my feet were being destroyed in cheap and beautiful, but deceptively evil, shoes, I was made to stand for the entire 45 minute long ceremony on the hard tiled floor in this centuries old Anglican church.

Finally, my cousin became a wife and her fiancé became a husband and we were all gleeful and Urban Sista praised God because I was going to be able to sit down – after another 30 minutes or talking, grinning, and happiness – in a car. But, we had to go back to the resort to take pictures because we were running late getting to the church.

Tears of misery ran down my face… not really, but I was miserable. I contemplated taking the damned shoes off and walking barefoot along the paths at the resort, but my sister was throwing me nasty looks. To make matters worse, the gold-toothed janitor decided to try his luck with me – I guess the misery in my face looked like desperation to this brother.

“Bwoy, yuh look real sweet in dat dey dress,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said in my very Canadian accent.

“So, yuh married?”

“No.”

“Bwoy, yuh ain’ married? Chupse. I’se goin’ ta marry you.”

Like hell, buddy.

Tings ain’ dat brown in Canada – don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against Bajan men, but I attract the gold-tooth wearing, ‘Boysie, you mussie got ‘nuff money in Canada’ types.

I couldn’t see my feet in the floor length gown, but I thought I was leaving behind a trail of blood. There was no way my feet could be that sore and not be bleeding. And the blood would have been mixed with sweat, 'cause there were torrents of water running down my legs from the heavy dress.

Finally, at around six-thirty that evening, we got to the reception hall and I could take my seat at the head table.

And, of course, you know what I did.

I whipped off them shoes and hiked up my dress. Boy, the feeling of sweet relief when the cool sea breeze floated up my skirt. I nearly cried from joy to have those two torture devices off my dogs.

The rest of the night was fun. I got to remain seated for a couple of hours. I danced a jig with my dad -- on the sore feet, but you can't ignore a chance to get down with Pops, he doesn't get down very often.

At around midnight, I got to put my flip flops back on and headed back to St. Philip to rest my tired, sore feet.

The morals of this long tale?

Being a bridesmaid is a lot of darned work. I had a great time and I would do it again, but no one told me it wasn’t just grinning and looking cute. And no one said, Urban Sista, buy a pair of proper shoes.

Bajan dudes come up with the best pick up lines. When someone thanks your father for creating you, you gotta give the man props.

Last but not least... Don’t buy cheap shoes if you’re in a wedding party. That’s just pain looking to happen – even if they are silver, invest in a pair of comfortable shoes and, you never know, you may wear them again.

I must say, I’ve worn the evil silver shoes since. To another wedding where I wasn’t part of the wedding party. They still hurt. I was still miserable and it served me right.

Eleven dollars just isn’t enough money for proper shoes.

The random thoughts of Urban Sista

2005-03-30T11:00:00.000-05:00

“If it doesn’t fit, you must acquit” - RIP Johnnie Cochran
Since Johnnie got OJ off, I always said if I got in trouble with the law, I wanted Johnnie Cochran to be my lawyer. For real, because people were ready to crucify OJ and Johnnie got him off, playing what some people call the ‘race’ card. But, Johnnie knew that race always played a part in North American criminal justice.

Johnnie used the common sense card with ‘if it doesn’t fit, you must acquit.’ If the glove couldn’t get on OJ’s hand, no matter what Marcia Clark or Christopher Darden said or did, the fact remained, the glove didn’t fit. And as a critical piece of evidence, the prosecution was done.

Johnnie defended a lot of celebs – Sean ‘P. Diddy’ Combs, Todd Bridges and Michael Jackson – but he also defended the everyman, Abner Louima, Geronimo Pratt and Reginald Denny. And if Urban Sista was ever locked up, I was going to call on Johnnie. Now, me and all the rappers, gotta stay out of trouble ‘cause Johnnie’s not here to defend us.

Johnnie Cochran was one of the most feared Black men in America – not because he could beat you, but because he could and would beat you up in the courtroom to defend his client.

R.I.P. Johnnie, you will be missed. You can read the obituary, here.

What’s best for Terri?
This past weekend, I’ve talked and listened non-stop about the Terri Schiavo case. I pray that I’m never in a situation like the one that Terri’s parents and husband are in. It’s easy for people who aren’t involved to think this is a black and white decision – let her live or keep her alive.

It’s more than that.

The media is obviously siding with the parents of the brain-damaged woman and I see their point. She is their daughter and they want to keep her with them for as long as possible. Really, who wants to put their child in the ground and bury her – they prefer have some semblance of Terri than nothing at all. At least in this state, they can hold her and feel something… even if Terri doesn’t. Maybe that is selfish, but who can’t sympathize?

I’ve heard that the husband’s a scoundrel for getting involved with another woman or that he just wants the money. People, it’s been 15 years. Fifteen years of seeing his wife wither into a shell of herself. That’s hard. If it had been 15 days and he said, ‘remove the tube,’ I would have said that’s kinda cruel and quick. But 15 years? I guess he doesn’t see her getting any better and he thinks he’s doing what’s in her best interest – just like her parents think they are doing what’s in Terri’s best interest.

It’s very ironic that the very thing – starvation that made Terri’s body shut down 15 years ago – is what they are using to end to her life.

I don’t know if there is a positive outcome for this.

Why does the sister even bother?
I watched The Bachelor on Monday night and the sister was voted off. That’s not a reason to blog because I don’t know why a Black woman would go on these romantic reality TV shows because we don’t get that far. And that isn’t a bad things, ‘cause those relationships don’t work anyway.

But the reason for this blog isn’t that the sister was sent home on Monday night. I was at the ABC Bachelor forums and I read the reason the Black woman was sent home was that sisters are [INSERT EVERY VILE STEREOTYPE ABOUT BLACK WOMEN]. You can read some of the foolishness here and here (The one I really wanted to share I can't find and I can't be bothered to look any further, 'cause really, the show is ignorant and the bachelor is busted and smarmy.)

A Black person has a better chance being in the top two on The Apprentice or America’s Next Top Model, than hooking up with an all-American guy or girl – although it happens in every big North American city.

It’s one thing for interracial dating to happen in private, quite another for it to be on your TV screen each week. Could you imagine the uproar if Jen had been taped tonguing down a Black man in the limousine? Or if Andrew Firestone (white and with some dough) had proposed to a Black woman? As the boyfriend said, people were ready to riot when Terrell Owens and Nicollette Sheridan were pretending to have a tryst in a locker room.

Our society can’t handle the intermingling of races in their face in real life – or as real life as reality TV is. That’s why the brother or sister gets sent home early on in the show – not because they aren’t attractive or intelligent, but the networks know they’re will be hell to pay if that gets too far. Yes, it is about personal choice -- maybe the Bachelor or Bachelorette isn't down for interracial dating, but then, don't put the Black people on the show.

Meh. I'm putting too much thought into ol' dried up Charlie O'Connell and The Bachelor and their stupid rose ceremonies. FYI that boy is lying to us if he expects us to believe he's 29.

That's a hard looking 29, guy.

Urban Sista’s top 10 list of celebrities who are annoying as heck

2005-03-23T19:35:00.000-05:00

I can’t sing and I’m not a celebrity, but I am subjected to them on a daily basis. Who left whom? Who is sleeping with whom? Who has beef with whom? Enough already! I don’t care what Gwyneth Paltrow named her baby as if she’s the only person who has ever given birth to a child or who’s Tom Cruise’s new woman. So, in honour of my annoyance with celebrity worship, here is my top 10 list of celebrities who are getting on my last nerve and need to go on with that mess.

Urban Sista’s top 10 list of celebrities who are annoying as heck (in alphabetical order):

50 Cent/The Game/all ‘gangster’ rappers. Stop being hardcore for a minute, sheesh. I’ve never seen a bunch of men look so cruel all the time -- look at Lloyd Banks, his mouth is forever pushed up. Whatever. Everyone has beef with everyone else, so we think, to sell records… until someone gets shot. What’s wrong with you guys? Really, I think they all need a good West Indian cut ass, because they get on as if this crap is really serious. Enough with the ignorance -- shooting people, perjuring yourself (you know who you are Li'l Kim) or starting coastal beef because you want to sell two records. Chupse.

Ashanti. Oh Ashanti, when will someone tell you that your narrow behind can’t sing? Now, on a faster track, and when she stops with all the ‘baby, baby!’ foolishness, she doesn’t sound half-bad. But when she tries to do a ballad, it’s over. She’s had a few decent tunes, Rain on Me and Happy, but the latest song, Only U? She should be slapped for that one. And how she’s using the song to hawk Herbal Essences shampoos – that’s only as bad as Beyoncé selling L’Oreal hair colour seeing she doesn’t have any hair… did you see the picture?

Avril Lavigne. Avril is a talented singer, musician and songwriter and I really don't have many problems with her -- except the child is always down about something. Brighten up, nuh? But, I would like to know why this little rich rock star is always complaining about the talents of others and ready to fight with Hilary Duff and the rest of the young’uns? She’s too hostile, that’s what the problem is. Always wanting to say how she’s more of an artist because she writes her own music – and? So? Does anyone besides you and a bunch of angry, angst-ridden teenagers care? It was just like back in my day when people where listening to Ani Di Franco vs. Spice Girls or something. Your audience of little people are the only people who care about your beef with Hilary or Lindsey Lohan. Hush your mouth and stop being so blaguardish.

Britney Spears. My Prerogative. Why? I was in shocked when I saw that mess on MuchMusic. We all know that Britney -- as pretty as she may be -- can't sing. So, why are you trying to remake a hit song? Next thing you know, Britney's going to be busting out The Weather Girls' It's Raining Men like poor Geri Halliwell (and you know girlfriend sounded like she needed a good meal). Britney, here's a word to the wise: don't try to remake any songs sung by people who sing better than you. That means, you can't sing anyone's songs beside your own... and maybe Ashanti's... and J.Lo's. I'm not going to even get into the marriage... but how you can tief way a pregnant woman's husband? And Kevin, how you can leave yuh girlfriend, big, big, big pregnant? Wunna deserve each other.

Cameron Diaz. Why are magazines trying to force me to think that Cameron Diaz is pretty? She was good-looking in The Mask, I’ll give her that, but girlfriend is busted. There is nothing attractive about her, nothing. And then hearing that she is one of the smelliest celebrities out there? Cameron needs more than designer clothes, she needs soap. I just heard that HDTV is going to mess up her career -- supposedly her skin isn't so hot up close and personal. Shame. Girl, you don't have to be drop dead gorgeous, just be a good actress. (And let me tell you how difficult it was to find a good picture of Cameron online -- one that isn't too far away.)

Jennifer Lopez. Sigh. J.Lo. If it’s not enough that people had to go through the whole Bennifer thing, we’re still being subjected to you and your excuse for singing. I like Get Right and I’ll dance to that bad boy, but the girl has only had two songs that sounded like anything. Every other song has had to have some rapper (Ja Rule, Fat Joe, Big Pun) all up in there to carry her no-tune having big booty. Dancing, yes. Acting? Hmm… yes. Singing? Please Lord, no. Did you hear Hold U Down? My Lord. That is the worst song in the history of song making.

Mariah Carey. Mariah has gone from bi-racial, to white to Black in less than 15 years. When the girl first came on the scene with Vision of Love, you couldn't hear your ear for her Venezuelan daddy and opera singing mom. Then, suddenly, Mariah went from being powerhouse singer with a little soul, to Celine Dion with a few more pounds. That was all good, Mariah could still bring down the house with her eight octave range. Suddenly, my girl started singing wack, breathy songs, sexing up her videos and doing bad movies (does anyone remember the name of that movie?). What happened to the music? The music became secondary to all the other nonsense and then, the breakdown. She never lied to Bone Thugs 'N Harmony. Mariah, stop with all the foolishness ('they're ash and I'm lotion' bit -- the boyfriend thinks it's a tight line. I think it's.. well, thank goodness the rest of the song is good) and get back to singing or just shut up.

Paris Hilton. This woman is the poster child for someone who has too much money. Paris’ face is all over the TV, tabloids, and the Guess? store at Scarborough Town Centre and she is annoying the heck out of me. Really, what can Paris do – what is her talent? Why do people spend so much time caring about what and who this woman is doing? I gotta give it to her, she’s smart. She is milking those 15 minutes of fame and dragging Nicole Ritchie along for the ride. Do your thing -- although you are working my nerves. But Paris, for the love of all things holy and decent, don’t make an album. I don’t think my ears could take it, especially after hearing Britney, Ashanti and J.Lo.

Russell Crowe. I don't usually have any issues with Russell Crowe -- he's a good actor, but I heard some news a couple of weeks that warranted Russell being on this list. Supposedly, Osama bin Laden and Al-Qaeda, wanted to kidnap poor Russell to destabilize the Australian cultural economy. Russell divulged this top secret information only a few weeks ago. [Rolling eyes] Look, what would bin Laden want with Russell Crowe? If bin Laden is so foolish to think that tiefin' way Russell Crowe was going to 'destabilize Australia's cultural economy' do you think he could have masterminded the 9/11 attacks? Why not steal Mel Gibson? Or maybe... the darned Prime Minister of Australia? Russell, don't believe your own hype. And if you do, don't tell the media.

Tiger Woods. Tiger and I go way back with this dislike (I have an old school dislike for Wesley Snipes as well, but I can't waste my time blogging about his tired behind). I really don't like Tiger and all of his 'cablasian' foolishness. The man is mixed race and that's cool, love who you are, but to hear that he said (and people said that his words were taken out of context) that he is 90 per cent Asian and 10 per cent Black? Tiger, you disappointed me. His dad told Oprah that he raised Tiger to be a part of the human race. Sigh. Mr. Woods, in a perfect world, that would be just fine, but in a world like the one we live in a person needs to know where he/she fits in whether you like it or not. When they don't know where they fit in, you start hearing them throw around made-up words like 'cablasian' or being shocked and unprepared to deal with the N-word (then again, who is ever prepared for that?). Both Tiger and his daddy need a slap -- moreso his daddy, 'cause Tiger didn't raise himself. One hard slap. Brother, you are bi-racial, accept yourself for who you are and stop talking foolishness.

101 things you should know about me

2005-03-16T12:10:00.000-05:00

I just read SepiaDreams 101 things and I wanted to see if I could come up with my own list. I'm saying everyone's got a list but me, so here goes:

101 things you should know about me

I love to read
I love to write even more than I love to read
I’m still a nerd
I’m a nerd who knows about makeup, hair and the right clothing
If MAC was to cease existing, I would shed a tear
I like being a nerd
I refuse to go camping
I like four-star plus hotels
I would never backpack through anywhere
I like dogs
If I had one, I’d name him/her Barkleigh
I really do like my parents – but they do harass me sometimes
My family’s from Barbados
I’se a Bajan at heart!
Although I can talk a lot, I’m uncomfortable in many social settings
My sister and I are very different
But we’re more alike than we’d ever agree about
I am the cuter sister ;)
I sing in the shower
I would love to dance like Jennifer Lopez
I would love to sing like Whitney before the crack
I would love to fight like Buffy the Vampire Slayer
I like bothering my boyfriend
My belly is rounder than I would like it to be
I still look good in a tight top though – gotta hold that badboy in
I do admire my booty in mirrors
I like my legs
I don’t like to exercise
I love to eat
This sometimes causes a problem
I finished writing my book
Writing a book is a lot harder than you would think
I’m going to get it published
I’m a little worried that it won’t get published
I’m a fan of America’s Next Top Model
I do model poses after every episode, i.e. “This is what I would do if I was on ANTM!”
I’m too old to be on ANTM
I’m going to be 30 in five months
I used to think 30 was grown up
I’m looking forward to being 30
30 is the new 20
I’m still a child at heart
I miss some of the friends that I don’t talk to anymore
But I remember why I don’t talk to them anymore and the missing evaporates
When I was younger, I didn’t like a lot of my friends
I hated high school with a passion
I loved my late 20s
When I’m done with you, I’m done
I’m very sensitive
I used to cry a lot
I don’t cry as much anymore
I’m a lot stronger than I appear
I love to laugh
I put on 106 & Park and I dance like I’m in a music video
I’ve always believed that something fantastic is going to happen in my life
I’m a Christian – meaning, I believe in Jesus Christ and I follow Him
If I ever get married, I don’t want a huge wedding
I want a huge ring, though ;)
I love yellow roses and peach roses
My bridal bouquet will be three calla lilies tied with a white ribbon
I don’t like spiders
I don’t mind snakes
I want to have babies
I want to have babies, but only if I’m married to the right person
I’m scared to actually birth a child
I pray that my parents live to see my children
Sometimes I fixate on death
I’ve never had surgery
I’ve never broken a bone
Which is surprising considering how clumsy I am
I’m forever hurting myself on something
I wore braces for two years
I nearly sawed off my thumb cutting a bagel back in the day
I’ve crushed on one guy for 10 years and never told him
I didn’t like my first boyfriend
I’ve been in very few romantic relationships
That fact use to bother me, but now I actually like that about me
I own rollerblades, but I don’t know how to use them
I miss my pet turtles Mel and Murphy
My contacts are sometimes more trouble than use
My belly button is pierced
It took forever to heal
I like it – it’s very much me
My favourite number is 7
I love Saturday afternoons in the summer
I watch too much reality TV
Summer is my favourite season
My dream vacation would be to spend a month in West Africa seeing where my foreparents lived and dreamed
I’ve never dated a white guy
I’ve had crushes on a few when I was in high school
I became quite militant in college
I was down with the Nation of Islam back in the mid ‘90s
One of the dudes at the Nation told me wanted ‘dark soil to plant my seed in’ – I stopped going to NOI meetings
I didn’t think The Da Vinci Code was all that it was cracked up to be
I know I’m smart
I never liked my first name – no one could spell it
It’s grown on me and it’ll look good on a book jacket
I’m learning to accept myself as is -- God isn't finished with me yet
It’s still hard because I’m not perfect (see #3 & #24)
I believe life is too short, but can be danged long if you make bad choices
I thank God for each day I get

Let's talk about race

2005-03-11T10:03:00.000-05:00

I saw this article at Newsweek and thought that these guys are looking at race and race relations in a very interesting and honest way. No 'we love the world' business, they are cracking on Kanye West, Fred Durst and just talking about what's going on the way that you and I would. Check out the article.

Dang, I wish I had VH1. Guess I'll have to wait until it's on MuchMoreMusic.

Sigh.

Jetsgo's dead

2005-03-11T09:22:00.000-05:00

See, I told you guys. After the Christmas fiasco (Part I & Part II), there was no way that Jetsgo was going to stay alive. Urban Sista is always right.

And, of course, during another one of the busiest travel times of the year, Jetsgo decides to ground their planes and strand passengers across the country.

No Real Cancun for poor Canadian spring breakers. I mean, how are people going to carry on bad in Miami and Cancun if they can't get there?

Chupse. I was watching CityTV and they had footage of airport employees going into Terminal 3 and taking down the Jetsgo signage. Imagine that you're at the airport, ready to board a plane to take you to your destination and you see that people are pulling down signs? Boy, if they thought there was ruckus at Christmas they're looking for a war today.

Any Jetsgo employees reading this blog, don't wear you uniform near Pearson -- there will be problems. Truthfully, I do have feelings for the employees of Jetsgo. Hopefully, they knew what was going down and were able to find employment elsewhere. Keep ya head up, folks!

Anyway, I guess it's better to be grounded before you leave than when you're trying to get back. Here's the Canadian Press story from the Toronto Star...

Grounded Jetsgo strands passengers
Westjet offers help after Jetsgo ceases operations, tells travellers to make other plans
CANADIAN PRESS

Discount airline Jetsgo announced early today that it is grounded, effective immediately.

Jetsgo advised customers to make alternative arrangements before heading to Pearson International Airport this morning because there will be no Jetsgo staff or planes available.
Travellers who are already away were told that their return tickets are no good and to make other arrangements to get home.

To make matters worse, it's the beginning of March break.

The company issued the stunning announcement shortly after midnight today.

The shutdown comes at the start of March break for many school systems across Canada, when hordes of families flock to Florida, Mexico and other sunspots served by the airline — one of the busiest travel times of the year.

“We deeply regret that this had to happen. The decision to cease operations was only taken after difficult deliberation,” said Jetsgo president Michel Leblanc.

Jetsgo said that difficult market conditions and competitive pressures led the company to discontinue operations and ground all of its planes.

“We are very concerned about our customers and the significant hardship that this action causes. In the meantime, we encourage our passengers to contact their travel agent or an alternative airline.”

A spokesman for arch-rival WestJet said the carrier would do its best to take care of Jetsgo passengers.

“I’m sure there’s going to be some who are a little upset, who bought Jetsgo tickets, and I certainly think we’re going to do whatever we can to make sure we accommodate everybody we possibly can,” operations vice-president Tim Morgan said from Calgary.

“We would hate to leave people stranded anywhere, so we’ll do what we can.”

Air Canada spokeswoman Laura Cooke said the timing of Jetsgo’s failure would make it tough to find seats for extra passengers.

“Obviously, the problem at this time of year is that the aircraft are already flying rather full because . . . of March break,” Cooke said.

Air Canada cannot honour Jetsgo tickets but said it would try to make more aircraft and seats available for Jetsgo passengers to purchase.

Jetsgo had at least 18 flights scheduled to leave Toronto’s Pearson’s Airport — Canada’s transport hub — this morning, including domestic, U.S. and Mexican destinations.

There were at least 10 flights scheduled to land at Pearson on Monday morning from Canadian cities coast to coast.

Hours after the company issued its release, its website was still active with no note to travellers on the situation.

The company said in its statement that consumers who have paid for Jetsgo tickets should communicate with the Canadian Transportation Agency or provincial consumer affairs ministries.

Recent problems at the discount airliner built up something of a backlash against the company, even leading some travellers to launch a website — www.jetsgosucks.com.

The site documents one person’s bad travel experience with Jetsgo and has a section with discussion forums, with more than 200 topics dealing with the airline.

The airline had several problems with cancellations this winter, stranding hundreds of passengers during one heavy snowfall.

And the federal Air Travel Complaints Commission said that while the gripes it received about all airlines had fallen last year, Jetsgo bucked the trend by disappointing its customers more than it had in the previous year.

Air Travel Complaints Commissioner Lacroix Kenniff expressed doubt about how the company was handling the criticism.

“I . . . have some concerns about the way in which Jetsgo deals with the complaints it receives,” she said last October.

Jetsgo also had problems with Transport Canada last month over deficiencies in its flight manuals, which led to it having an operating certificate revoked.

That forced the airline to fly at 28,000 feet instead of between 29,000 and 41,000 feet, a costly move that made flights less efficient for fuel consumption.

In today’s statement, Jetsgo said it would be asking that Quebec Superior Court immediately grant it protection under the Companies’ Creditors Arrangement Act.

Leblanc founded the privately held company in June 2002 from the ashes of Canada 3000 Inc., which collapsed after the Sept. 11, 2001, terror attacks battered its business and it faced rising competition.

Leblanc had run a successful charter carrier, Montreal-based Royal Airlines, but he sold it to Canada 3000 and became a senior executive with the expanded company before leaving in a dispute with Canada 3000’s management.

She's a bad mama jama

2005-03-07T19:12:00.000-05:00

Right on, daddy! Show you right! Don't mess wid these here bad mama jamas -- they're a whole lotta women!

Be Happy - Mary J. Blige

2005-03-07T17:02:00.000-05:00

Lawd, people, it's been a while, huh? All this training and ting, has made me a lethargic blogger, but, thankfully, I'm back at my desk, enjoying my regular job. Back to blogging I go...

How can I love somebody else

If I can't love myself enough to know

When it's time,

Time to let go

Sing

All I really want

is to be happy

And to find a love that's mine

It would be so sweet

- Be Happy, Mary J. Blige

Ahhh... Mary. That's my girl. Back in the day, I would rock her My Life cassette on the way to work, school and home. Poor Mary was always going through some kinda drama -- K-Ci terrorizing her backside, drug abuse, emotional abuse...

My life was never as dramatic as Mary's, but I could have rivalled her misery -- at least in my 20-year-old mind.

At the beginning of my 20s, I was totally and only concerned with what people thought of me. Was I cool enough, pretty enough, funny enough -- I spent so much time worrying my head about being what someone else wanted me to be, I was miserable constantly.

I dated guys I wasn't really, truly interested in. I tried to be the person they wanted me to be so that they would stay interested in me. And everytime I did or said something that was out of my character, I would feel like I lost a piece of myself.

And my misery would grow and become consuming.

At about age 26, after a couple of so-called romances -- if you could even call them that -- lord, the things you learn after you stop talking to someone. Ladies, if you mention a man's name and three out of four women bawl out, "You were talking to him too!" or "I know him!" or "Good grief, he gets around!" You understand what I'm saying.

I was tired of being tired about the state of affairs in my love life (it's always about the love life, isn't it?). I had a good job, I was travelling, I had friends that cared about me -- so what if the man wasn't there? Maybe I need to work on me, 'cause if all I'm attracting is bigheaded boys, something has got to change.

I needed to change. I needed to become the person who I was and get rid of all the other crap that was crowding me out. So, I was on a man embargo for almost two years... it's not to say the brothers were knocking down my door trying to get to me and I had to wave them off. It was nothing like that.

That didn't even matter.

I wasn't thinking about romance -- I was thinking about me. I was happy getting to know myself. And yes, it may sound corny and Oprah-ish, but I learned to love me and appreciate me. I figured out who I was and I wasn't going to compromise for anyone because I loved myself more than I loved the idea of being with someone.

So, going out and not having someone check me wasn't a big deal. Hearing my girlfriends talk about their relationship drama was ok because I didn't want to be with anyone until I met the right person. I wasn't stressed out about what other people thought -- I took myself out to dinner at a nice Japanese restaurant. I stayed home and watched movies, not 'cause I was alone, but because I was happy hanging out with myself.

There were some days I did feel alone and wished there was that special someone for me to go out with. But thankfully, the misery only lasted a day or two, not for weeks.

All of this chatting to say, at some point, you have to come to love yourself and the state that you're in. Because, unfortunately, you can't make someone love you and you shouldn't base your feelings on what anyone says or does. Never let anyone else control how you feel about yourself. Once you learn to truly love the person God created you to be, someone else will love you.

I'm going to be 30 in a few months and I say "Hallelujah!" I thank God for getting older and the little wisdom I've gained over the years. I should say, the little wisdom God has bestowed on me, 'cause I was really a hot mess back in the day... heck, I'm probably a hot mess now, but I know how to hide it better. Maybe it isn't age -- maybe it's maturity... whatever. I'm just glad that I'm not the chick I used to be.

And now, I am happy ;)

N.E. Heartbreak

2005-02-21T20:56:00.000-05:00

As I'm writing this blog, my boyfriend's sister is planning to go to the Guvernment tonight to see New Edition's make up concert. As for me, I'm staying my tail home -- I'm gon' watch Girlfriends and 24 and call it an evening.

But, this is a blog about yesterday's events.

If It Isn't Love

Yesterday, I was hyped -- actually, I had been hype all week long knowing that I was going to see one of my favourite groups, New Edition. Now, I have wanted to see NE in concert since 1989, so when I heard they were coming to town last night, I said, 'buy me a ticket!'

Sigh.

If you didn't already know, New Edition was supposed to perform at the Hummingbird Centre yesterday evening. 'Supposed to' is the most important term in the previous sentence 'cause my boys didn't arrive due to the weather.

Now, the concert was supposed to start at seven o'clock, so when I arrived at the Hummingbird Centre at minutes to seven and I saw one of the opening acts, In Essence, pulling up, I knew something wasn't quite right.

I just assumed that, like many concerts, this one was going to start late.

Unfortunately, I assumed that it was going to start.

The doors never opened until well after eight and once everyone was seated, with no help from the Hummingbird staff, Farley Flex of Canadian Idol fame said, "Sorry about the delay, but I've got good news: New Edition is in the air."

I leaned over to my boyfriend's sister and said, "Did he say they are here?"

"No, Urban Sista, he said they are in the air."

Air? In the air? What are they doing in the air? At eight-thirty, an hour and a half after their concert should have started, all five of their backsides should have been backstage chilling, warming up their voices. Not in the air. Chupse.

"Because of the lateness, you can get a full refund or you can wait. The opening acts will be on stage shortly."

So, we stayed -- we were angry and annoyed -- but we stayed. If it wasn't love for New Edition, I would have packed up my georgy bundle, like a lot of people who couldn't be bothered to hang around, and headed home. Rumours were flying: New Edition was on their way. New Edition wasn't coming. New Edition had been beaten up by Boyz II Men 'cause someone had beef with Biv... nah, that wasn't one of the rumours, but the thought of that made me chuckle ;)

At around nine p.m., Canadian content Ray Robinson was excellent. That boy can sing and he did a good job getting the crowd, that was already miserable and riotous, to calm down and enjoy themselves. Next up, about forty-five minutes later was more Canadian content, In Essence. Those boys were jokes and they livened up the audience for real. Their personalities and their rendition of Sam Cooke's A Change is Gonna Come, made up for the crowd's dryness.

Folks like myself had arrived at the Hummingbird Centre on time and were still waiting for NE to arrive -- not perform, just arrive -- almost three hours after the concert was supposed to start.

So, the promoter? host? whoever the heck that idiot was came out to inform us that New Edition still had not arrived. But he told us not to worry, Case was in the house and we'd have a performance by Jemeni. If Case's four hit wonder backside could make it to Toronto in plenty of time to perform, why couldn't New Edition? Then again, what has Case done in the last three years? Really? He probably had plenty of time to spare. Tee hee.

Around 10 o'clock, with many boos and hisses, Jemeni came out on stage and told us: "I saw New Edition backstage."

Riiight.

That's why this morning, she and Mark Strong were telling us why they didn't arrive. Jemeni performed a great poem -- she's still in my bad books for getting my hopes up. Sista, why'd you have to deceive the people like that? Huh? Why?

Jemeni came off the stage and we sat. It was about 10:15 pm and I was getting tired, miserable and frustrated. I wanted Johnny Gill to stick his head out from backstage and say, "Don't y'all worry, we're here." Then, and only then, would I feel happy and content. But, no, that didn't happen. We sat, the boyfriend made friends with some people around us, I chatted with Lady Abena who was also at the concert. And we waited some more. I ran to the washroom -- I don't know why I ran because the way this concert was going, I knew I wasn't going to miss a darned thing.

At 10:34 pm, I called my sister to blaze the promoter, because obviously buddy didn't know what he was doing. One of the most important parts of event management, is keeping your clients informed, so they can make informed choices. The promoter continued to wave the promise of NE in our faces and we, like fools, believed and stayed.

Touch Me, Tease Me

Finally, at 10:45, Case came on stage.

Case: Toronto! How y'all feeling!
Toronto: Booo!!! Hisss!!!
Case: What can I do to make y'all feel better?
Toronto: Bring New Edition!!!

Shame.

Case looked sad -- and bony, the man dropped off 'nuff weight. "Well," he said, "I can't do nothing 'bout that, but I can make you feel good!" Or something equally as corny.

He did one song, Happily Ever After, and the crowd started to warm up to him. I was singing along, enjoying myself, until he called up some poor young woman up on stage. No word of a lie, Case is one nasty ass Negro.

The girl looked like it was her first concert... ever. She was wearing her glasses and some sequined top and tights. She was cute, but she looked like she was out of 1989... maybe that's why she was at the concert. Nevertheless, someone hoisted her up on stage and Case put her to sit on a stool.

So far, so good. The music started and he started singing, cool, and getting really close to the woman. Fine. Suddenly, the man dropped to his knees and put his face in her crotch and started simulating things that should not be simulated in front of an audience -- unless you're an adult entertainer. I couldn't bare to watch, must be my conservative, Christian beliefs, but many of the concert goers started carrying on bad. Lickin' shots.

Lickin' shots in the Hummingbird Centre.

Sheesh.

Case couldn't end it there. Oh no, why stop now? He put his face in the woman's backside and started simulating some more things that really, I didn't need or want to see at minutes to 11 o'clock.

Once the dirt was over, I had to give Case props. My man jumped off the stage and ran through what was left of the crowd, 'cause it was dwindling, guy. Lady Abena got a hug up and a picture (which, unfortunately, didn't turn out). He did get the crowd on its feet and he did a good job with his portion of the concert. But, I don't think I'll ever, EVER, see Case live in concert. He too well and nasty.

Can you stand the snow?

Waiting, waiting and more waiting.

Finally, we don't see anyone, but we hear someone. Toronto began to boo vehemently and with much passion and hatred.

"You can boo all you want," said the promoter.

Excuse me? Boo all you want. What kind of rude announcement is that? We didn't sneak in the concert. People paid good money to be here. I'm finding more and more that when dealing with these situations, people think that you're begging them to be there. No one begged, people pulled out their credit cards and paid Ticketmaster anywhere between $50 and $100 to see New Edition.

And, seeing that it's 11:30 pm, I'm believing less and less that NE will make an appearance.

And if they do, I will be fast asleep in my home in Scarborough, 'cause this is getting ridiculous.

"New Edition will be here tonight. The are circling at Buttonville Airport, trying to land. The weather is really bad."

Circling Buttonville Airport? At 11:30 at night? To perform that same night? You must be mad! How is that going to happen?

Buttonville Airport is in Markham! A good 45 minutes away from Hummingbird Centre, downtown Toronto. Look, New Edition didn't just hear they were performing in Toronto yesterday. They knew since time they were going to be here. So, why didn't they plan to be in Toronto by one or two in the afternoon? Aren't there sound checks, lighting checks, etc. etc.?

I knew the weather was going to be questionable, don't you think New Edition's people didn't realize the weather was going to be bad? And wouldn't they plan accordingly? So, I believe that was a load of crap.

I understand the weather's bad, but if you are scheduled to perform somewhere at seven, don't be on a plane at eight-thirty trying to get to your destination. And, if where you were coming from was a hot mess due to inclement weather, wouldn't the promoter be advised early in the day that the weather conditions weren't conducive to travel and the guys were going to have trouble getting into town?

"You can go if you want, but New Edition will perform tonight, whether it's 10 people or 50."

That's when people got really vexed and began to curse the promoter.

There comes a point when there's a situation like this -- when you have to decide if it's worthwhile to chance it and stick around or cut your losses and get home in time to get a decent night's rest before work? I voted for the decent night's rest and bounced.

When we got outside, the snow was up to our ankles and, in true T.O. fashion, no snow plows were on the streets. So, we slid, skidded and crept home in some of the worst weather I've faced in Toronto. So, I can understand that NE couldn't get into town because of the weather, but the attitude from the promoter was disgusting.

Let's say NE had landed at Buttonville at 11:30 pm, by the time they got off the plane and cleared customs, on a good day, it would be 12:15 am. Then they would have to head down to Hummingbird Centre -- from Hummingbird to my place was an hour, tack on another one because of weather -- that would have us at 2:15 am. Next, band set up, let's say it's 45 minutes -- I know it's longer, but for the sake of argument -- that's 3 am Monday morning. Sound and lighting checks, 30 minutes. That's now 3:30 am.

So, what was NE going to do at 3:30 am? Chill out with some groupies and catch a nap, 'cause these guys aren't amateurs and they weren't going to perform at 3:30 in the morning for the 10 people who hung around.

Whatever.

This morning I listened to Flow 93.5 for an update. Well, it seemed, surprise, surprise, that NE did not perform this morning at 3:30. I wonder why?

This afternoon, I was sent an e-mail announcing this free make up concert at Guvernment. I hope they actually make it to the venue.

Fired for blogging?

2005-02-14T18:20:00.000-05:00

I read this weekend and this morning about a few people who had been fired for blogging about their company and co-workers.

What?!?

I have a real problem with that because I believe that I should be able to write whatever I would like about situations I experience, whether at work or outside of work, without worrying about losing my employment. Personally, I don't believe that these people were fired for blogging, I think their companies were looking for reasons to show them the door and their web logs were convenient scapegoats.

My question is what happened to freedom of speech? My right, as a human being, to express myself as I want to? Especially if I'm using my computer and my personal web site? If my company has an Internet policy and I'm not permitted to blog at work, let me know the policy and I'll keep my blogs for the comfort of my own home. But if there is no policy -- and I doubt any upstanding company would have enough guts to create a policy that says that you can't speak/blog ill of the company -- let people blog in peace.

As long as I don't mention any names or defining characteristics about my workplace or anyone there, I shouldn't be penalized by losing my job. What kind of mess is that? Will it go from me not being able to blog about my work life to not being about to gripe about [INSERT PROBLEM/SITUATION/PERSON] downstairs when I get a cup of coffee.

Employers who are threatened by complaining bloggers are silly because blogging, like venting, is a great outlet to get all the pent up frustration out so that you can be a productive employee. If I'm mad about a situation at work and I have no outlet to release my anger, what's going to happen?

I'm going to have a meltdown at work.

I prefer blog about whatever vexing me than go to work sour faced and belligerent and, after I've cussed out an offending co-worker, have to deal with Human Resources because I've spoken out of turn.

So, if any employers are reading this blog, don't punish your employees who blog about work. Read what they have to say and take it under advisement... or just ignore it.

It's healthy to blow off steam.

What songs would be in your MP3 player if you were on a deserted island?

2005-02-12T11:25:00.000-05:00

If you were trapped on a deserted island and could only take 25 songs with you, what would you take?

Mastersuite - Johnny Gill
The Never that You Never Know - Mint Condition
The Truth - India.Arie
I Wish I Wasn't - Heather Headley
Eye on the Sparrow - Lauryn Hill & Tanya Blount
God's Grace - Trin-i-tee 5:7
Can't Make You Love Me - Bonnie Raitt
Saturday Love - Cherelle ft. Alexander O'Neal
Ms. Stress - Floetry
Silver & Gold - Kirk Franklin & The Family
No Weapon - Fred Hammond & Radical for Christ
Differences - Ginuwine
Beauty - Dru Hill
Let's Dance - Hezekiah Walker
I Like the Way (The Kissing Game) - Hi-Five
Making Love in the Rain - Herb Alpert ft. Janet Jackson
No One's Gonna Love You - The SOS Band
I Can't Wait - Nu Shooz
Outstanding - The Gap Band
If It Isn't Love - New Edition
Makeda - Les Nubiens
It Never Rains in Southern California - Tony Toni Tone
Spread My Wings - Troop
Faluma - Square One
Joyful, Joyful - Sister Act II cast

BET's College Hill could be the most ghetto reality TV show on air

2005-02-11T19:50:00.000-05:00

I'm flipping channels and I came across College Hill.

Lawd hav' mercy!

The people are talking about who licked who's booty. One girl is swearing up and down that her ex-boyfriend (who is also part of the cast) licked her. He, of course, is denying it. Personally, I think the girl is trying to stir up some mess 'cause she still has feelings for the ex, but he's dating another girl. Typical drama.

But, my question is, why does the viewing public need to know who licked who (whom?)? And it's not like you're just telling your girlfriends, you're telling the world and brawling about it for a good five minutes.

Reality TV can be, by it's very nature, trash -- heck, look at Paris Hilton and Nicole Ritchie carrying on like idiots. But, those two are probably getting paid decently to act stupid. The kids on College Hill are airing their dirty laundry for, maybe, $2000, if they're getting anything at all.

Remember, this is BET and BET doesn't really pay. No one performs challenges or tasks. There is no $1 million prize... no real incentive, except to have your face on TV and maybe that's what these people are looking for -- a little exposure.

And let me tell you, one exposed himself to the world last Thursday.

Anyway, it's strangely intriguing -- it's like watching an accident. You know you should focus on the road ahead, but you wanna see, so badly, what's going on.

I'm a mess.

But, thankfully, it's Friday, the house is quiet and I don't have to wake up at 6 am tomorrow morning.

Thank God it's Friday

2005-02-11T18:40:00.000-05:00

Thank God it's Friday,

Party lights, Friday night feelin' right,

It's a party!

Thank God it's Friday,

Party lights, Friday night feelin' right,

It's a party!

-Thank God It's Friday, R. Kelly

I'm especially pleased that the work week has ended. I'm usually happy for weekends, but this week, well, this week has been trying.

I'm trapped in training and dry training at that. I'm cross-training -- I'm a communications specialist in Marketing and I'm learning about Client Account Management. I'm sure it'll help me do my job better, but can I be honest?

Heck, this is my blog, I can be whatever I want.

I really don't care how the company works and how I can apply payments using some antiquated system. I don't care about the five account levels and I don't care how to handle clients who refuse to pay their bills.

I do care that I can no longer use the phone as I like. I do care that my lunch has been trimmed down to a meagre half an hour. I do care that my tail has to be in that blasted classroom at eight am. I can only hope that this will help me in my career somehow... how? I'm not too sure about that yet.

I'm sad.

I have nuff respect for people who work in call centres, but I didn't sign up to be one, so I'm annoyed that I have to spend two and a half weeks in a classroom learning how to be one.

And it's only day 3.

Sigh.

I miss the days of writing content for our Intranet and Internet, leisurely blogging on issues that sparked me after sipping my coffee and reading through thestar.ca and cnn.com. Coming in at a few minutes after nine and cracking jokes with my co-workers. I actually, GASP, miss meetings.

I'm really falling off the deep end if I'm missing meetings, 'cause we all know that meetings accomplish nothing.

Until March, I'm trapped in a windowless room, with only the hum of the projector to keep me awake...

Sigh.

Da Kink in My Hair

2005-02-04T11:45:00.000-05:00

[Ed. Note: Da Kink in My Hair is an excellent production by Trey Anthony now playing at the Princess of Wales Theatre. Support Black theatre in Toronto!]

I've learned to embrace and love my kinky, nappy, sometimes unruly Black hair.

Trust me, it took a good 25 years of my life for me to reach that revelation and see my hair for what it is: an extension of my Blackness. And, if I'm proud of my heritage, I should be proud of every roll, kink, knot and pepper that grows out of my scalp.

When I was younger, I always wanted long, silky hair -- like Tatyana Ali from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air. I would fry my hair with hot combs and curling irons, chemicals and soak it in gel with the hopes that it would spring, long, luscious and straight from my head and I would be the pretty, long-haired Black girl.

That never did happen.

So, as I got older, I learned to love the fluff on my head and work with it -- not against it. I'll still drop some chemicals in it to smooth out some of the curl (and so I can comb it). I'll pull out my gel and slick it back into a ponytail. I'll blow it out straight, for my R&B diva look or I'll drop some weave or braids in it. And some days -- like today -- I'll let my heritage take control and go happy and nappy.

Ironically, white people are enamored by the same hair I wanted to trade for their flowing tendrils.

"I wish my hair could do the things yours does!" one of my white co-workers said this morning.

Funny.

Fifteen years ago, I would have gladly traded in the hair I fought with in a heartbeat. Today? Not a chance. I don't think I would or could have as much fun with anyone else's hair.

So, I just smiled at my co-worker and ran my hand over my bushy, curly 'fro, thinking about the next style I was going to try out.

Enjoy the hair you were blessed with - thick and kinky or long and silky and everything in between.

Thank God for Black hair.

Michael Jackson's on trial... again

2005-02-03T14:06:00.000-05:00

I was just visiting BlackPlanet.

Yes, for all I cuss BP, I still visit because I do enjoy reading what's said in the forums. There are some intelligent people -- and some not-so-intelligent people -- discussing their views and opinions.

Today, I was reading about MJ being on trial for molesting a 13-year-old child.

Personally, I don't know if he did or didn't do it. I'm not going to proclaim him innocent or guilty at this point, but Michael needs to wake up. This is the second or third time he's been accused of interfering with someone's boy child. And now the ex-wife, Debbie Rowe, is getting involved. Supposedly, Michael stopped sending her money and she now wants custody of the children.

OK, so here's the Urban Sista take on Michael Jackson:

Man! What was yuh tinkin'? - Honestly, if you got off once, why would you allow it to happen again... unless there is some truth to what's being said.

People are saying that Michael had a hard life and, from what I've read and heard, that's true. But enduring hardship doesn't allow you to continue to make bad choices. Putting another child in your bed to sleep with you -- whether it's innocent or dastardly -- a few years after you've been accused of molestation is just stupid. Michael needs to surround himself with some people who will tell him the truth.

People like me.

'Cause I would say, "Mike, yuh know dem people want to throw your crazy backside in jail. Why yuh lettin' dere chil'ren up in yuh house? Are you foolish? Leave de chil'ren alone! You have three chil'ren of yuh own, why you bodderin' someboddy else pickney?"

MJ: But, Urban Sista, I love the children!

US: Man, I know you does love de chil'ren, but that ain't de point. You gon' love dem chil'ren right inta prison! And yuh know how de media does like to mek a big lotta sport concernin' you.

MJ: There isn't anything wrong with sleeping in the same bed as a child... is there?

US: Come Michael, yuh turnin' stupid or what? Yuh's a big 40-someting year old man, you tink um is right? If da is de case, you may need your tail throwin' in jail, fuh troot...

What's wrong with the parents? My sister always likes to say that she blames the parents of these allegedly molested children and I agree. Some of the blame falls on them. If you know that someone -- the nasty guy who lives in the basement apartment or Michael Jackson -- was accused of sexually assaulting children, would you allow your child to be in their presence?

Hell no.

My child would be lucky to watch Thriller -- he always grabbin' himself anyway.

So, why are people letting their kids spend the night at Neverland? Because they are smart and they are looking for a little... scratch that, a lot of money. The parents of those children need a lawsuit against them: reckless endangerment of a child.

Michael, you're getting what you deserve with Debbie Rowe - Any woman who will sell her children for a pre-arranged amount of money is definitely a gold digger. So, when Debbie Rowe agreed marry MJ and to have his three children for a specified amount, he should have known things were going to go downhill the day he stopped shelling out the dough.

It's totally ridiculous that this woman will come out of the woodwork now and want to make Michael's legal troubles worse. De man have enough on his mind without you trying to get in on the money windfall.

Go get a job and stop looking for someone to support you mangy backside.

Brother, you really don't wanna be Black anymore, do you? - Michael can make great music. Human Nature and Butterflies are two of my favourite songs. He is talented, but he is struggling with one of the worse cases of self-hatred I've ever seen. I'm not going to crack any jokes on him, 'cause I think he really needs some help and blaming a skin disease ain't going to cut it.

I'm tired of Michael and the rest of his family saying that vitiligo (you can find more information about the disease here: http://health.yahoo.com/ency/adam/000831/0) is the sole reason for Michael's... ummm... transformation. If he has the disease, I'm sorry to hear that, but that in no way explains the the way his face has changed over the past 20 years.

Tell the truth and shame the devil -- Michael's surgeries, skin bleaching or vitiligo, and his white children (a person on BP made a good point -- plastic surgery does NOT change DNA. If one of his so-called children looked completely white, sure. But all three? And that led into another discussion about if those kids are really his anyway.)

Anyway, time, and a jury, will tell if Michael is found guilty of molesting that boy. If he gets off, I hope he learns the err of his ways... but then again, look at O.J. Simpson.

A quick aside: I was watching some news magazine and they said the Michael Jackson's court case is the biggest one since O.J. I always wondered how O.J. Simpson's case was the case of the millenium, when Jeffrey Dahmer was eating folks. To me, that's the bigger story, but, hey, I don't run NBC.

Buffoonery on American Idol

2005-01-25T20:40:00.000-05:00

I'm embarrassed.

Leroy Wells, Li'l Jon's broke, tired brother, made a horrific appearance on American Idol tonight. Leroy believed he was the new king of crunk and decided to showcase his... umm... errr... talents, and embarrass every Black person in every country that gets American Idol.

Honestly, the only thing I understood was, "can you dig it!" [INSERT SKIN TEETH]. While Simon, the only voice of reason on that show sometimes thought Leroy was a fool (a correct assumption), both Randy and Paula thought Leroy was the greatest thing.

"Your energy is great!" gushed Paula -- we all know she's pretty much useless.

Sigh. The man is a buffoon -- a buffoon that needs subtitles.

If that wasn't a modern minstrel show, I don't know what the heck is.

The Myth of Sexy

2005-01-21T14:36:00.000-05:00

[Ed. note: I'm a lot peeved 'cause Blogger crashed as I went to publish this. Can you say pissed? Anyway, hopefully it'll work this time.]

The guys at work were discussing CBC's Marketplace last week. The topic was buying into sexy -- how media and marketing are encouraging little girls to want to be sexy. Both of my co-workers have young daughters and they are concerned that their little girls are going to be influenced by all the images that are broadcasted and printed.

Look at any magazine rack at Indigo or Shoppers' Drug Mart. Ashlee Simpson -- a 'singer' (I had to put it in quotations, have you heard her live? Nails on a chalkboard, boy) marketed to young girls -- on the cover of Cosmo. Cosmopolitan. Sigh.

The magazine that's goal is to give me 25 ways to drive my man wild in bed. Good grief. If it floats your boat, go ‘head, I ain’t mad at you.

But really, when Ashlee Simpson is on the cover, who the heck do you think is buying it?

Not me.

I think that girl’s at minute 14 and a half of her 15 minutes of fame. But, then, she’s not marketed to me.

Girls who adore her are probably buying that issue up in droves. Girls who have absolutely no life experience and consider The Simple Life real life.

These children, 10- and 11-year-olds, are buying a magazine that focuses entirely on sex and sexuality.

Yes. Yes. I know, we can't blame the ills of society and the degradation of youth on media alone. I’m not trying to do that. Parents do play a huge part in influencing their children, but let's keep it real. Did you have any long conversations with your parents about sex and sexuality over hot chocolate like in some old school ABC Afterschool Special? Neither did I.

Parents can and should talk to their children about sex and sexuality and make sure the lines of communication are open. But many children learn about sex and sexuality from their friends and the media.

BET, MuchMusic, TV shows like The O.C. and Degrassi influence young teens about what is and isn't sexy and cool. And it seems like right now, hoochie is cool. So, what kind of message is Cosmopolitan and all these other images sending to little girls? Being sexy rules! And being sexy means wearing as little as you can and having a lot of boys like you.

Ashlee is also the spokesmodel for Candie's shoes. In the CBC documentary, they asked the boys what they thought of Ashlee Simpson's Candie's ad. Do you know what they said?

“Damn she’s hot!” says one. “Look how hot that girl is!” “She has nice legs," one boy whispers to his friend. "She’s horny!” another says with a giggle. The message is everywhere – in their favourite music, sports, and video games. Boys are consuming a bimbo image of women.

The girls thought that Ashlee looked confident and pretty. The little boys thought she looked horny -- two very different messages coming from the same ad. So, when these girls dress up in Ashlee Simpson’s outfit – the bra showing, the knee high fishnet stockings and the high heels, they believe they look confident. The boys that they interact with are going to think they are horny.

Back in the day when I was a teenage in Montreal, I was wearing a cut-off t-shirt and my belly button was exposed. Some guy in the metro started talking to me and getting really fresh.

“Excuse me? I’m not interested in that.”

“So, why all your navel exposed?”

I thought I looked cute, like Janet Jackson in the That’s The Way Love Goes video and wanted to show off my flat stomach. He thought I must be a girl of ill-repute because my stomach was out.

So, to hear the discrepancy between what little boys and little girls think of sexy images doesn’t shock me, seeing that I consume a helluva lot of bimbo imagery of women.

And it still affects me – yeah, I’ve tried to perfect Beyoncé’s booty shake in the privacy of my home. But I'm a grown up -- I have my own definition of what sexy is and it isn’t coming to work in a tube top and hipster jeans. I know if I walk the streets of Toronto with my ass at the door, I will get unwanted comments, not from LL Cool J, but from some random, gross, toothless man.

I think women -- not little impressionable girls, but hard back women, in their 20s and 30s -- are totally buying into the myth of 'sexy'. Some of us are totally objectifying ourselves because we want that attention from men. That's what it comes down to, does it not?

Some women say, "I’m wearing these thigh high boots because I think it's sexy, not because someone else does!"

I say, "That's a load of crap."

We have to wear clothes, yes. And many of us wear nice clothes because we like nice clothes and we think we'll look good in that dress, pants, skirt, whatever. But when I see a woman wearing a micro mini skirt, stiletto heels, a tube top and a small faux fur jacket to a club in Toronto's frigid -20 winter weather, don't fool yourself.
You ain't doing that for yourself.

You're fully doing that to get some attention.

People, men and women, do things because we expect to get a reaction from other people. Why do you think Lil’ Kim showed up at some awards show in just pasties? Why do you think Britney Spears is forever half dressed in her videos? What about Janet Jackson (really, Chris Rock had it right when she cussed her for exposing herself at the Super Bowl), Christina Aguilera (who can sing for real, but resorts to being dirty), Christina Milian (dripping in mud in the Dip it Low video. Come on now. If that’s not a cry for some attention, ‘men look at me! Don’t worry that I’m absolutely drop dead gorgeous and talented, let me be your sexual fantasy!’ I don’t know what is.)

My biggest question: why do I see people’s hard pubic bone in Brazilian cut jeans? (I swear, some of those same people must have to shave areas to wear those pants.)

The objectification of women is so blatant today, and it's not just the teenagers. Grown women, slaves to hoochie fashion, are trying to make themselves into every little boy's dream and are accepting stereotypes of sexy. Men have obviously bought into the myth of the bimbo.

Big booty video model (I don't like the term video ho, it's just so... tasteless), Vida Guerra was featured in FHM a couple of months ago and the same guys who were watching CBC Marketplace nearly fainted from heart palpitations looking at her. They were pretty much acting like the little boys the CBC interviewed.

The picture I chose was probably one of the tamest on the girl's site. But Vida and her co-video... umm... errr... ho... mies (Melyssa Ford who has done turned respectable as a show host on BET), help to fill out your random hip hop guys video wet dream. Not to disrespect Ms. Guerra, she's a beautiful woman with a banging body, but, heck, is that the only image of sexy out there?

There is absolutely nothing wrong with being sexy. Embrace your sexiness – it’s a part of you. But, if I see another girl walking down Yonge St. wearing pants with cutouts in the backside, exposing her butt cheek, I ain’t lying, I saw it on Caribana Friday night, I will slap her.

The sad thing is, when a women buys into this myth of sexy, men think she must be horny, slutty and nasty. If a man embraces society’s definition of sexy for himself, he’s a hero whose had a lot of women. The double standard still exists and we’re totally buying into it.

No matter how much Sex and the City you watch and how great you think Samantha is.

No matter how sexually liberated you think you are.

Meh. I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.

CNN.com: UK's Brown: Write off Africa debts

2005-01-17T13:06:00.000-05:00

As I sit here burning CDs for a product launch -- late and disorganized as usual -- I journeyed to CNN.com to read what's going on in the world. I actually prefer CNN.com to CNN on TV -- print journalism is always less sensational anyway. I saw this story: UK's Brown: Write off Africa debts.

It seems like someone is using some common sense when it comes to African debts to the industrialized world. The same industrialized nations that raped Africa for years have slapped the continent with a heavy debt load.

Heck, borrow money to buy grain or let your people starve -- what would you choose?

"British Treasury chief Gordon Brown on Monday called on wealthy nations and international financial institutions to write off Africa's debt, saying debts incurred by past generations are keeping the continent poor," wrote CNN.com.

It's not the complete solution, but it's definitely a start. Africa's been beaten down since the 1600s, it's time for a change for the entire continent, not just some countries.

I woke up to a windchill warning this morning -- I had to leave my house at 6:40 am because of this dyam product launch. Lord give me strength, we still aren't ready and the press release is on the wire... But I digress.

We thought we had it bad with our -10 degree weather? Think again. Read this interesting story from CNN.com, Embarrass, Minnesota, hits 54 below. Not celsius, they are experiencing minus 54 below Fahrenheit -- that's about -65 Celsius.

And I don't think that includes windchill.

That is sheer madness.

Embarrass, Minnesota is no place for people to live. That is the Arctic and no one should be forced to live in the Arctic. I bet the residents of Embarrass would cry, but their tears would freeze and that isn't worth it.

I don't like winter -- but I prefer Toronto's semi-mild winters to a cold ass winter in Embarrass, Minnesota. Believe that.

Anyway, back to this blasted launch.

Hurry, hurry done fast, never done right.

BlackPlanet sucks

2005-01-15T16:58:00.000-05:00

I have a page on BlackPlanet.

I've had that page for years -- probably since 2000. And every so often I'm shocked by the jackasses that call that place home. Honestly, I'm tired of telling off these strange men who think they are allowed to be rude, nasty and uncouth because they are online. Don't get me wrong, I've met some decent folks, but for the most part, they've been idiots.

I've been asked to join a threesome. I've been asked to pose in the raw. I've been propositioned a number of times. I won't even tell you about the bisexual sisters who want to make a connection. When I tell these people off, they get all offended and vex because I wasn't happy that they messaged me with dirt.

The latest idiot, who goes by Teflon (yes, Teflon. Sigh.), wanted my MSN address to harass me more frequently. I don't give my e-mail address out to strangers because it's hard as heck to get some of these fools to stop talking to you.

If Teflon had read my page, he would know that I'm involved with someone. But, unfortunately, that doesn't stop the legions of fool-fool guys (you know, the ones who'll message, 'holla shawtie' and then get rude when you don't respond) from trying to drop some pathetic lyrics.

I told him that if he wanted to talk to me, he could feel free to leave me a note at BlackPlanet. Sorry, I'm not encouraging any little wutless boy to instant message me during the day when I'm at work to talk nonsense with me. I think it would go like this:

Random BP jackass: Yo shawtie, what's gwanin'?
Urban Sista: I'm at work. What's up with you?
RBJ: We should hook up and spend some time.
US: I think my boyfriend would probably take offense if I said yes.
RBJ: What he got to do with it? I ain't trying to get with him.
US: I'm busy. I'm going to bounce.
RBJ: C'mon girl. You know you want to get with me. You've seen my pictures on BP.
US: Whatever, guy. I have a boyfriend and I'm not interested in anything romantic.
RBJ: You one of them kinda women that thinks she's too nice for a nigga.
US: Excuse me?
RBJ: Beeyotch.
US: Who do you think you're cussin', you little vagabond...

Then I would just get ignorant and forget I'm a child of the King. Besides, I'm a girl who doesn't like drama -- especially drama from strange men who think I should be grateful their little 50 Cent wannabe backside wants to talk to me.

When I told Teflon to give me two good reasons why I should give him my personal information, my man got huffy and told me I was a waste of his time.

Hee hee. Reminds me of guys who hiss at you on the street and when you ignore them, they want to cuss you out and tell you that you aren't that cute in the first place.

Whatever, negro.

And if it were only Black guys. If the number of white guys who hit on me virtually were to talk to me in real life, I'd be shocked. The white men are crawling out of the woodwork trying to get with sisters online.

Guess it's cool in the privacy of your home, but not so much at the workplace, church or restaurant.

It's amazing that white guys are totally into you on BlackPlanet, but can't twist their mouths to speak in public. Of course, they can stare and leer, but that's acceptable behaviour.

So, I'm thinking of getting rid of my BP page. I mean, it's interesting to see how men and women interact and I do enjoy reading some of the comments in the forum. But from the number of sorry, disgusting people on BlackPlanet, my first online home is getting seedier and seedier.

Brainy women face handicap in marriage stakes: British survey

2005-01-14T09:52:00.000-05:00

Morning, y'all,

One of the Bajan Girls sent me this news story that says the same thing smart women have been saying for years: it's darn hard to find a man, much less marry a good one.

I didn't need a news agency to tell me that. When I was in university (raise the roof for Concordia U. in Montreal!), I was chatting to some dude in my usual hangout, Eaton Centre.

"So, what do you do?"

"I'm in school," I answered, probably waiting for Marianne's tail to stop giggling under some guy.

"What school do you go to? Dawson? Vanier?" Dawson and Vanier were two very popular CEGEPs in the city. You attend CEGEP first, then you go on to university. Unfortunately, a lot of the young Black people in Montreal would do one year of CEGEP and deem it too hard. They'd go off and work for the hospital making $19 or $20 an hour. A lot of money when you're 18, not so much when you're 28.

"I graduated from Dawson in May. I'm at Concordia."

"University?"

"Yes."

"Really. So, you think you're smart," he said smugly, like he knew something I didn't.

"Think I'm smart?" Why would he ask me that? "I know I''m smart."

That was the end of that. He wanted nothing more to do with me -- maybe it was my snarky response... Maybe he was a jackass... I don't know.

As one of the Bajan Girls said, "ahhh....so that's my problem..... If I had known, I would have saved some money on the BA : )"

No girl. It was worth it -- heck, you could be single and working at Walmart. And then you'd feel REALLY dry.

More than smart women finding men less interesting, I think some men find smart women intimidating. And that is where the problem lies. When a man believes that he should be the smartest person in the relationship and can't appreciate an intelligent woman, of course the woman isn't going to find him interesting. She's going to find him to be an idiot.

Women have found ways around this for years: "Smart women (especially smart, BLACK women) have known this from time. But i have learned a trick from my mother--just let the man THINK he's smarter than you, and it's all good. his fragile, silly little ego is kept in check, and you have the relationship you've always wanted. certainly not talking about dumbing anything down, but really, men don't like women smarter than them," said Marlo Girl.

Sigh. That's just too much work for me.

Anyway, read the article. All comments are welcome!

Brainy women face handicap in marriage stakes: British survey

LONDON (AFP) - A high IQ is a hindrance for women wanting to get married while it is an asset for men, according to a study by four British universities published in The Sunday Times newspaper.

The study found the likelihood of marriage increased by 35 percent for boys for each 16-point increase in IQ.

But for girls, there is a 40-percent drop for each 16-point rise, according to the survey by the universities of Aberdeen, Bristol, Edinburgh and Glasgow.

The study is based on the IQs of 900 men and women between their 10th and 40th birthdays.

"Women in their late 30s who have gone for careers after the first flush of university and who are among the brightest of their generation are finding that men are just not interesting enough," said psychologist and professor at Nottingham University Paul Brown in The Sunday Times.

Claire Rayner, writer and broadcaster, said in the article that intelligent men often prefered a less brainy partner.

"A chap with a high IQ is going to get a demanding job that is going to take up a lot of his energy and time. In many ways he wants a woman who is an old-fashioned wife and looks after the home, a copy of his mum in a way."

ANTM vs. SI Swimsuit Model Search

2005-01-13T10:04:00.000-05:00

I don't like to be critical, but aren't the women on Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Model Search busted compared to the last bunch on America's Next Top Model? The judges are eliminating the best looking women and keeping the so-so ones (and that doesn't say much 'cause even the good-looking ones we're questionable.)

Last night, when they jacked up Betti's (now the only Black girl on the show) hair, I couldn't help but laugh. Her hair looked so dry and yammed out. It wasn't a cute, stylish 'fro, it looked like when you need to go to the hairdresser, but you can't afford it, so you try a likkle ting, but that doesn't quite work out, so you try to add some hair grease, but your hair just looks greasy and dry at the same time.

Remember those days?

Tee hee. Eva, Yaya or Kelle wouldn't have let anyone mash their hair like that.

I miss ANTM so -- I can't wait for it to come back.

Federal tsunami aid hits $425-million ... as cash woes hurt African AIDS fight

2005-01-12T10:35:00.000-05:00

Every morning, I get an e-mail from the Globe and Mail with the stories of the day and this one really caught my attention: http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/LAC.20050111.TSAFRICA11/TPStory

Suffering is nothing new in the world. Every other day there is a story about some natural disaster destroying someone or an illness wiping out thousands. Unfortunately, when it happens in Africa we either turn a blind eye or expect others to do something about it.

People are going above and beyond the call to help our brothers and sisters in Southeast Asia as they try to rebuild after the tsunami, but there are also other places in the world that need help -- places especially hard hit by HIV/AIDS.

I read the article from the Globe and Mail and this paragraph caught my attention: "Mr. Lewis expressed frustration at the issue of debt relief. The Paris Club of donors met and decided only days after the tsunamis to freeze all debt repayments from the affected countries (many of them prosperous middle-income countries such as Indonesia), and is considering cancelling many debts outright. Yet there has been no large-scale debt cancellation for countries such as Zambia, where more than a quarter of the population has HIV-AIDS and life expectancy has dropped to 33 years of age."

Thirty-three years of age.

I'd have three and a half more years to go. My sister wouldn't be here. Neither would a lot of my friends. That is the prime of your life and if Zambians are dying at 33, who is working in this economy to pay these world debts?

The children? The majority of them have lost their parents and are just struggling to get by. So, they definitely aren't paying off the debts. And who's taking trips to Zambia? I haven't seen it in any of my travel brochures. It's not like they have a tourism industry to look to. What about all of the Zambians in North America? Well, it's probably easier to stay in Zambia than it is to get refugee claimant status in Canada. In my travels, I've met two -- only two -- Zambians. So, it's not like there are thousands of Zambians to pull some cash together here and send it back home.

Folks, this is a hot mess.

The suffering in Africa is just as great -- maybe moreso, because HIV/AIDS is one slow way to die. Your life is sucked out of you minute by minute. A natural disaster wipes you out and then goes away, leaving survivors to clean up, but it's not drawn out. But we see the suffering in Indonesia and Sri Lanka every night on TV. Those of you who have travelled to Southeast Asia want to help and rightfully so. We all banded together to help -- but help is needed just as desperately elsewhere and CityTV isn't sending Gord Martineau to the Sudan to report on the warfare. Heck, we've barely heard about the 200 dead in Somalia because of the tsunami.

"The outpouring of tsunami funds has Canadian aid agencies astonished. After an intensive fundraising campaign in Canada last year to raise money for the crisis-torn Darfur region of Sudan, where 50,000 people have been killed and 1.5 million people have been driven from their homes, Médecins sans frontières (Doctors Without Borders) collected just $350,000 (Canadian) -- much less than expected."

I was going to donate some more money to the tsunami relief, but I changed my mind and went to Médécins Sans Frontiers to donate money to HIV/AIDS relief in Africa. The world has responded en masse to this tsunami, it's time that the same is done to help everyone suffering and dying in war-torn, AIDS affected regions in Africa.

So, as to not forget about my people in Africa, I went to www.msf.ca and tried to do my part.

How I almost didn't get home for Christmas: A comedy of errors brought to you by Jetsgo - Part II

2005-01-11T14:16:00.000-05:00

The situation was getting worse and worse. It was getting out of control. People were starting to curse, fret and carrying on and I can't say I blamed them. It definitely wasn't the fault of the frontline Jetsgo workers, but people's nerves were frayed. Jetsgo wasn't doing us a favour, we paid good money for a seat on a plane to Ottawa or Montreal or St. John's. If that's the case I EXPECT to be on a plane, not in an airport on Christmas Eve 'cause the airline has no darned planes.

Foolishness.

One lady lost it and began to lambaste two Jetsgo reps: "You have destroyed *BLEEP*ing Christmas for all of us, you *BLEEP*er!" she screamed, causing the terminal to go silent. The police arrived promptly.

Wow.

I may have thought differently after 24 hours of being at the airport, but Christmas, for me anyway, wasn't ruined. We were stuck somewhere we didn't want to be and we weren't with our friends and family and we were frustrated as all heck, but we were alive. I'm saying, two days later a tsunami devastated Southeast Asia and kills hundreds of thousands of people. We were unhappy, but there were still options.

Of course, everyone likes to commiserate, so we asked the very angry people what the story was. Two ladies explained to us that they had been scheduled on a flight the night before. They were at the correct gate, their luggage was on board and suddenly the flight was cancelled. Why, you ask? Jetsgo decided to send the plane (and you know they were in short supply) to Cancun (remember the Cancun people in Part I? The ones who got the riot police?) because Jetsgo makes more money on packaged vacations. So they cancelled the St. John's, Nfld. trip and got the plane ready for Cancun.

That's just disgusting. The airline had a plane for these people to go to Newfoundland and they removed the people's luggage. That's pure wickedness. Some people were in transit from other provinces -- if my flight was cancelled, I could take a taxi or call my boyfriend to take me home. If I'm coming into Toronto from Edmonton and have a connecting flight, I'm screwed.

After the Jetsgo people gave us some funky excuses, my sister and I tried to cut our losses. I called Westjet and, praise God!, they had flights available to Montreal. Our friend Susan and us booked seats on a 7:30 pm Westjet flight. The next issue was getting out luggage. They Jetsgo rep told us: "That's no problem. Just go downstairs -- I've radioed the baggage handlers and your bags will be ready in a few minutes."

Susan hustled over to Terminal 2 and told us she'd tell the Westjet folks that we'd be over there in a minute. My sister and I hustled downstairs to baggage claim, but security wouldn't let us in the back. Supposedly, a Jetsgo rep had to come downstairs with us -- we were told that after about 20 minutes of running around.

That's when Urban Sista lost it. Tears welled up in my eyes because I was convinced that this was a conspiracy to make this the worst Christmas Eve EVER. If a rep is supposed to escort us to the luggage claim area, how am I, as a traveller and not an employee of Jetsgo or Lester B. Pearson airport know that? Someone had to tell me this before I rushed my backside downstairs, stressing and fretting, to get my luggage.

Someone was gonna get it. I was tired. It was quarter to seven -- I should have been at home... no, actually, I should have been at church singing Silent Night or Joy to the World. But no, I was stranded at the airport with a bunch of angry strangers who wanted the same thing I did: an airplane that would take me to my destination. I went upstairs to cuss the Jetsgo representative. I finally understood the frustration that people were feeling. No one was communicating with us and when they did talk, we were given wrong information. My sister was chasing behind me, but my temper had the best of me. Angrily, seething with venom, I waited. I was going to drop some hot lashes in him. Believe me.

I guess seeing the fire coming out of my ears, airport security approached my sister, who was trying to catch up to me, to ask what was wrong.

"How can I help you?" he asked. He had been dealing with angry passengers all day. He had to handle us with kid gloves -- a wrong word could turn the mob on you.

"Maybe you can help," my sister said. "I just booked a Westjet flight and I need my luggage right now so I can check in. I was sent downstairs, but I can't get to the back to get my stuff..."

"Yep, you need a Jetsgo rep."

"No one told us that. If we don't get our luggage, we're going to miss our flight." And at that moment, I began to cry. I cried like a six-year-old who just wanted her mommy and daddy, some juice and a blankie. I didn't want to spend Christmas Eve at the airport. Lord, it was like Die Hard 2 -- without the terrorists. Actually, if things didn't get better soon, someone was going to bust a cap in a Jetsgo person's tail. We heard that the day before two reps had gotten pushed around by disgruntled passengers.

A Black woman put her arm around me, "don't cry, honey, we'll get home." Aww heck, they think I'm 16 or something.

As I'm having a nervous breakdown, a spare Jetsgo rep (really, there were only six of them at best, so, I don't think she was really a spare) came out of the back room.

"Excuse me, miss?" said the security officer. "Could you escort these young ladies downstairs to get their luggage?"

"Sure. Follow me." Wiping the tears off my cheeks and trying to regain the semblance of being a 29-year-old woman, we followed her downstairs and through a back door. Some luggage was sitting off to the side. I looked through it, but none of it belonged to us.

This is just ridiculous now. It's been at least 40 minutes. For luggage that was supposed to take 15 to arrive, I don't know why it was taking so long. The luggage was somewhere in the airport -- obviously it wasn't on a plane, seeing they didn't have one. So, what's the hold up?

Fast-forward, we were down in the luggage pick up area for a good hour and not piece of luggage was found. It's about 7:30 -- I called Westjet and they told me that the flight had been delayed to 8:30, so we had more than enough time. But if we realized we couldn't get there in time, to call them back and cancel, so we didn't lose any of our money. I was seething again. If you have no plane, where the heck is my luggage and why should it take over an hour to find it?

My sister made friends with the rep who had brought us downstairs and she got the real deal information from her. Jetsgo has planes scheduled to leave every hour, but supposedly, not one plane had left going to Montreal Christmas Eve. Two planes weren't able to get to Toronto for whatever reasons and had to go back to Vancouver and that screwed up the entire schedule.

"They don't tell frontline staff anything -- and we're not allowed to update the board to inform the passengers of what's going on," she said. "I've only worked here two weeks, but I don't think I can take it anymore." The airline has 20 planes and had scheduled 50 flights that day.

Jetsgo, from what she told us, isn't affiliated with any other airline. So, when something happens -- like a plane is grounded in another city, they don't have any agreements with any other airline to get passengers to their destinations. Things are cool when they're on schedule, but Lord help them when they aren't. Unlike Air Canada, they don't have any extra planes at hangers at the airport. All their vehicles are in service, so if something happens to a plane, there isn't one to replace it.

I'm a writer, do you think I only have one pen? So, if that pen runs out of ink, I can write anymore? Common sense, folks. Wouldn't it make sense, if you have 20 planes, to have 18 flights leaving two planes available? While you won't make as much money because you don't have as many flights, you will build customer loyalty 'cause passengers would ACTUALLY GET where they wanted to go ON TIME. Not eight, 12 or 36 hours late -- if at all. The VP of Operations for Jetsgo needs a good hard slap and to be fired because obviously he/she has NO idea how to run a business properly.

As sis was investigating, I was trying to get my luggage and time was running out, 'cause Westjet wasn't waiting on my backside.

"Excuse me?" I corner a Jetsgo rep. "I've been down here waiting for my luggage for more than an hour and it's no where to be found. I have another flight leaving in less than an hour -- I need my luggage now."

"Oh, I'll radio them and get it to you as soon as possible."

Hmmph. At ten to eight, there was still no luggage, just an angry Urban Sista with a sore back. I sat on the luggage carousel and just felt annoyed, irritated, sore and disgusted. By ten after eight, I still hadn't received my luggage, so I called Westjet and cancelled my flight -- I wasn't going to be able to get to Terminal 2 in time to check in, clear security and find my gate.

At 8:15 pm, two baggage handlers came with my sister and my luggage. Sigh. Because it was so late, we wouldn't have enough time to catch the Westjet flight. So, I called and cancelled and slunk out of the baggage claim.

"Don't stress," said my sister, who was the unusual voice of reason. Usually she'd be the angry one ready to tell someone exactly what she thought. "There may be a reason why we didn't get on that Westjet flight. God doesn't make mistakes."

True. But I wanted to get home. We went back upstairs to the Jetsgo counter to recheck our luggage. Ain't that some foolishness?

Of course, there was a line. There were only about six people in line -- all of them looking for a refund. I thought we'd get through and I'd go in the back and try to figure out what to do next. Well, that didn't happen. After twenty minutes of waiting in line, we finally got the luggage rechecked and we cleared security. Went back to Gate B19 and waited.

The Jetsgo rep had told us a plane had left Winnipeg, flying to Toronto and that plane would take us to Montreal.

Right.

Until the plane gets to Toronto, then instead of having a lack of planes, they'd have a lack of personnel.

"We'll just get up early tomorrow morning and drive to Montreal," said my sister. She had given the Jetsgo folks until 10 pm to figure out what they were doing. I sat down and pulled out my copy of The Da Vinci Code and started reading. As I started getting into it, my cell phone rang.

"Hello?" It was the boyfriend.

"Hey. Is everything ok? Why didn't you call me?"

"I'm still in Toronto."

"What do you mean that you're still in Toronto?"

"Sniff. The plane's been delayed. We're scheduled to leave at 9:15, but I don't think that's going to happen."

"Urban Sista, why didn't you call me? I'll come get you."

"No, don't worry about it. We're going to hang around here and see what happens."

"Well, let me know. If the plane doesn't leave, I'll come back for you."

"You're such a sweet boyfriend. I'll call you back when I hear something."

"Ok. Bye."

"Bye."

My sister had updated our parents, who were on they're way to church. They felt better just knowing that we were ok. The area was quiet -- the irate Cancun passenger weren't gone, but they were out of the terminal, sitting on the plane, waiting. From the time we left Gate B19 at after 5 or 6 o'clock to minutes to 9 pm, those people were sitting on the plane. Just waiting. The hot Mexican sun beckoning them, but it was not to be so -- at least not until the early morning hours of Christmas Day. They had been announcing the final boarding call for the past two hours.

So, my sister and I sat and cussed.

And the nice Black lady who had helped me through my teenaged moment, came with her young daughter and niece and sat with us.

And we all cussed Jetsgo and their lack of organization together.

I think I lost track of time then. It was late and the more I looked at my watch the angrier I became.

About an hour later, we were informed that the flight from Winnipeg had landed at Gate B17 and to make our way over there. The crew was going to clean and refresh the plane and we should be on our way by 10 pm. Eight hours. I had been at the airport for eight hours -- thankfully, it didn't stretch into 36. So, we all moved over to the correct gate and waited.

After another hour -- probably around 10 pm -- the French Canadians started to get riotous. We were all on edge and tired. The airport restaurants had long since closed down 'cause it was Christmas Eve and everyone just wanted to go home and spend time with their loved one or just take it easy. Guy, I couldn't even get a mouthful of water to soothe my dry palate. I was thirsty and get hungrier by the moment.

The Jetsgo rep who was manning the counter said that the plane just had to be cleaned and refuelled... but why is this taking so long? The flight crew wasn't even on the plane yet, they were standing around with us.

"Good grief," I mumbled. "Mark my words, by this time next year, Jetsgo will be out of business."

I called my parents to let them know that the flight had been, obviously, delayed again. We were supposed to leave at 9:15, then 10 pm. It was now probably 10:30 or later and we were all still sitting at Gate B17. (Me sitting at gate is a running theme in this saga, huh?)

The boyfriend's sister called to see if we were ok and if we had managed to get a glass of water. No, unfortunately, we hadn't. My mouth was dry as if I had crawled through the Sahara Desert and there was nothing wet to quench my thirst. Darn it. Darn it all.

"Excuse me! Excuse me!" said the Jetsgo rep through the PA system. "There has been a slight problem."

Grumbling and cursing was heard. The French Canadians cussed in loud Quebecois French.

"We accidently refuelled the wrong plane. Please be patient with us while we rectify the situation."

Good Lord. Lord give me strength. How, in the name of all that makes sense, do you refuel the wrong plane? It's not like there were a bunch of Jetsgo planes just knocking about. Why is this so difficult? You would think that Elmo and company from Sesame Street were running this operation. Every other airline had their mess in order and passengers were leaving and arriving at proper times. Only Jetsgo was embroiled in this abject confusion and foolery.

So I had to ask myself a question: was the cheap $1 or $20 fare worth all the misery and confusion of spending Christmas Eve at the airport without the certainty of knowing I would be flying out. Because, when we went back to the Jetsgo counter, the rep there couldn't tell us for sure if a plane would be able to take us out of Toronto that night. What's the point of planning if an airline can decided to give away your plane or cancel your flight. You're better off seeing what you can do the day you want to leave -- go by plane, maybe train or possibly drive.

The crew was throwing us nasty looks and saying, "don't ask us anything, we don't know." I learned afterward, those flight attendants had been called in off their vacations to shuttle us to Montreal. While I felt bad that they had to come to work on their own time, I know I've spent many times working when I should have been at home to get the job done. It sucks, yes, but that's what you signed up for.

At around 11:30 pm, we were told the plane had been refuelled and we would be boarding in a few moments. A cheer went up -- about 65 people were still at the gate.

Check this, if this is the only plane leaving Toronto for Montreal on Christmas Eve and a plane leaves every hour, how does that equal a mere 65 people? If one plane holds about 120 people and there was supposed to be about 15 flights, that's... ummm... 1800 expecting to fly on Jetsgo. If, on average, everyone paid about $150 for a ticket, that would be approximately, $216,000. Now, if 65 of us actually got on the plane, we represent a mere $7800 dollars. That's a loss of more than two hundred thousand dollars.

That, my friends, is NOT a profitable business model.

At midnight, we were finally on the plane and buckled into our seats. I was exhausted, but finally, I was on my way home. The plane took off, after de-icing, at close to 12:15 am. Once we were in the air, the flight attendants gave us complimentary soda or coffee (thank God, 'cause I was about to dehydrate), but were charging $1 for cookies and chips.

What de ass? Keep wunna dry up food goods. I should have been at home eating a proper West Indian Christmas Eve meal.

We touched down at Trudeau International Airport at 12:45 am. I had my bags and a conversation with lawyer who had gone through, pretty much, the same heartache as my sister and I. She was contemplating a class action suit against Jetsgo. I haven't heard anything yet.

By minutes after one o'clock in the morning, I was smelling the rich Christmas smells in my parents' kitchen. Hallejuah. I made it home -- missed all the Christmas Eve festivities, but I made it home.

"You know Ann and Lisa drove and they were home by this afternoon," said my mother making stuffing.

"I'm sure they got home a long time ago."

Next year, I will not fly home for Christmas -- well, hopefully, next year, I'll be in Barbados for Christmas. I wouldn't encourage anyone to fly home at holidays. It's too much confusion and tears and sorrow -- weather delays, overbooking, lack of aircraft. Christmastime is supposed to be a time you spend with your friends and family, not at the airport wondering and waiting for something to happen so you can get your tail on a plane.

In the morning, merry Christmas, we heard that Jetsgo had added a new flight to St. John's, Nfld. Great, but not a lot of help for those poor folks who had cancelled their flights and tried to find their way back home to salvage their holiday.

The way back to Toronto on the 28th was uneventful. The plane was have empty and left on time. They gave us the dratted Jetsgo buttons with the happy face.

The stupid thing is still in my luggage.

I think I'll burn it later today.