From the annals of the extreme sport of dating in NYC comes another story from my not too distant memory.
One of the ways to avoid having to keep a pair of flats in your purse in case you need to flee on foot from the scene of a Date Gone Bad (also a reason to stay in tip top shape, see Run Forrest Run posted 01/24/09), is to date only by referral. Like, stick to house parties and getting introduced by friends and coworkers and classmates and the like. Keep it in the network so the person has a reference whom you trust and respect. This should provide some insulation from the crazies right? WRONG. Ok? Just W.R.O.N.G.
One of my dear girlfriends has a friend whom she thought I would like. And based on her description of him I thought she might be right. I was intrigued by the fact that he was a bit older because for some reason I tend to attract guys a minimum of five years younger than I am and would like to switch it up. So this guy is say, going on ten years older but supposedly in great shape partly because he’s currently not working. That would ordinarily be a red flag but since he’s a Finance guy it’s not so odd these days and the smart ones will mostly land on their feet eventually I hope. I figured hey, give it a shot. I also chose to overlook the fact that he lives in the wrong borough for me because I really should be less elitist about that, and willing to travel for lurrrrvvvee. Since he’s in the business, let’s call him Trader Joe.
Trader Joe and I got each other’s numbers through our friend in common and started texting. I know I know…I text excessively and people who grew up not texting think it’s so rude and lacks a personal touch but I have intimacy issues ok?! Leave me alone. I tend to hold folks off and start by texting before I can move on to a live conversation. Plus I like to see if the guy is corny and uses a bunch of emoticons and abbreviations such as lol and lmao and even worse, rotflmao and what not which I find to be frankly a bit effete. TJ didn’t though, he was all man and witty and sarcastic and self deprecating and just the kind of guy I like so we moved to live speaking and set up a date to have a drink.
We met at a spot in Soho after work. When he arrived I was wrapping up drinks in the same spot with a be skool classmate who was about to move to Dubai so I’m SURE the bartender thought I was a straight up pimp, because they’re both really hot guys. I introduced them to each other as my first friend was leaving. Don’t you love it??? And I was having a good hair day too.

Anyway so Trader Joe walked in and was way way way hot. I was so excited. Like I felt a little sizzle when he walked over. He was about 6′ or 6’1″, maybe 185, solid but not veiny tanning salon muscle, sparkling blue eyes (I don’t have a particular thing for blue eyes but his did sparkle), a really cute shock of brown slightly graying hair that hung over said eyes, cool glasses, and pants perfectly fit to show off his super amazing perfectly conditioned physique. Great smile, nice teeth and lips and generally like, pretty pretty pretty handsome. I held in my deep appreciation of this fact and said something cool like, “Nice to meet you in person!”

We sat there for an hour and I had another drink and we made good solid flirtatious yet virtuous eye contact while chatting. I really liked his rags to riches, blue collar to Wall Street story. The whole scenario was quite compelling and I was thinking that he is totally the kind of guy I could fall into. Mind you, I quite rarely feel this way, maybe once every few years? We had a chaste cheek kiss at the cab and I giggled all the way home, calling my girlfriend immediately to thank her for the hook up because boy was I geeked. Until I got The Email.

…Ughhh…I have to tell you something…my ex girlfriend recently had a bad pap smear and was diagnosed with [insert somewhat bad mostly asymptomatic generally not but remotely possibly fatal viral thing here]. And she was a virgin so it was my fault but my doctor can’t tell me if I have it because there is no test for men, and WebMD says this, and I’m trying to find out that, so if you never want to see me again I understand…

I’ve condensed it here but this email was maybe two pages single spaced? In that sort of crazed weirdo style that you usually find in like, letters that have baby powder in them to freak out the post office. There were so many other things wrong with this correspondence other than the disturbed rambling writing style such as:

1. How does a man over 40 end up dating a virgin? Is he a pedophile?
2. Why the After School Special Health segment, does he think I never got the memo?
3. Why hadn’t he gotten the memo before age 40?
4. Why mention it now? After one hour together? Perhaps I’m being too picky on that one…
5. Why is he unemployed again exactly? Come to think of it he was actually released before the market blew up.

So my reply, trying to be nice and avoid any future awkwardness should I run into him again, was:…Hey man it’s cool, flattered you’re thinking that way. Talk soon…Or something to that effect. Because really, what else can you say? To which TJ replied — and this is real talk, true life, no joke, I promise:

…I think I caused a misunderstanding…I was not intending to talk about the possibility of sex…

Well, what a relief! That totally cleared things up. He was just making small talk. And that’s how I always make small talk, talking about cooties. Because it’s just good wholesome polite conversation for people you’ve just met. And would you believe that the next time I saw him, maybe five weeks later, he asked me out again?
Honestly I should stick to meeting people on Craig’s List.
JK!
No seriously, I don’t do that. For real.

A box of these things has 110 calories.

Why do they exist? They’re disgusting and bad for your teeth.

I can’t stop eating them! Looking forward to Feb 15th when they will be banished for a year.

Can we talk a bit about the homothugs?
Shawty wanna thug…
So Saturday night I was out at this bar in the East Village celebrating a friend’s birthday. If you don’t know NYC, you may not know that the East Village is not necessarily where the folks who live in Harlem hang out. This particular bar was fascinating because every half hour the vibe kept changing. When we first got there it seemed like everyone was really tall. Like, is it tall night at the bar? And then it was kinda Euro, then it was a bunch of models, then it was other things. So it was a bit of a shape shifter. That is one of the coolest things about NY.

http://www.keybar.com
The most fascinating vibe running through there was evidenced by these two big brothers sucking face at the bar. Openly. Right at the end right there where you see the picture of the lit matches in the photo above. Now this is totally fine with me but these dudes didn’t look like they would be doing that at home. Like, back uptown in the Bronx or Harlem home or out in Brooklyn or Queens home. One of them was this hard looking bald guy with a mink jacket and big diamond earrings. Not in like a fabulous snap snap RuPaul gay way but in a drug dealer on the corner pushing the Range Rover with the dope rims kind of way. His boyfriend, who was actually much bigger but clearly the more submissive of the two based on their body language and the way Thug Life had his hand around his neck, was equally intimidating and um….butch. Yeah. Butch is the word I guess. Anyway I’d bet my bonus they both have women at home. Sike I’m playin, this is a recession! I’m putting that check underneath the mattress, I may never get another the way they’re talking in Washington! Why My Boo (=Obama) gotta play me like that? But I digress.

You better work!
So there was this little room in the back of the bar where they and their friends had posted up. For the next couple of hours they and a few other thuggish looking brothers passed in and out of the spot along with several other folks who looked pretty interesting. I had a little fun trying to call top vs bottom. Then they dissipated and I personally dissipated too because I just can’t pull ragers like I used to. In fact the whole next day was a wrap, didn’t nothin get done. *sigh*

Back to the homothug thing…there are openly gay homo thugs like my hairdresser. He’s actually not a thug at all but he wears a lot of urban wear like Enyce and baseball caps and whatnot and is very much a top. His boyfriend is very flamboyant, kinda pretty and model-like. In fact his boyfriend is fine in that, “Damn! Why he gotta be gay?” kind of way. Has this sort of odd energy and appeal like Gene Anthony Ray, très sexy. I knew my hairdresser was gay right away but everyone who meets him apparently doesn’t. That’s because I have the rugged gaydar skills. But he’s out anyway, because he’s a real man and not a punk. Plus I guess being a hairdresser it’s a bit easier to be out at work.

Remember Leroy?
Then there are the homo thugs (and of course this isn’t limited to men of color – think of Governor McGreevey and that preacher out in the middle of the country somewhere who was on that HBO documentary about Jesus right before he got busted) who are MSM – men who have s@x with men – but won’t admit they’re gay, and they’re responsible for spreading these deadly cooties to sisters. I won’t preach because I want to keep it light, but let’s review some warning signs because who needs those kind of problems? It’s time to tune your gaydar ladies!!!! Here are some signs your man may be gay whether he is thugged out or not, or brown, yellow, Puerto Rican or Haitian. Or white:
1) He’s real extra homophobic. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” – from Hamlet by William Shakespeare
2) He has a strong opinion about what you wear, or likes to shop for your clothes. Or he wants to decorate the crib and does a better job than you. Or he knows how to properly wrap gifts and the etiquette around giving them.
3) He has secretive phone conversations or late night texts and you pick up the phone to listen or check his texts or whatever your surveillance method is, and the person on the other end is a dude.
4) He knows the lyrics to the new Beyoncé joint. Or in extreme cases, Britney.
5) If you live in NY, and he’s a r&b/hip hop type of brother, he likes to hang out in the East Village. In Miami this would be Club Boi…but I think the cat is outta the bag with that one by now. Anyway they post candid crowd shots on their website so check it out if you’re suspicious at www.clubboi.com. Or a Flex club in Atlanta, LA, Cleveland, Columbus, New Orleans, Phoenix or Miami. For more info see www.flexbaths.com. Or in Oakland, Cabel’s Reef or Rimshot.
6) He gets in arguments with and stops speaking to his friends sometimes. This is extraordinarily gay behavior in a man implying an intimacy with said friends that he ought to only share with you and his female side piece.
7) He spends more time getting ready to go out with his boys than he does when he’s taking you out. And sometimes smells of cologne or after shave that he doesn’t own.
8) He only gets excited about relations with you when something really über freaky is involved, otherwise he may not show up for the game. And blames you for it.
9) He has spent a significant amount of time in jail and keeps in touch with his former fellow inmates. Probably a good idea to avoid dating ex cons generally, if you can help it.
10) You feel it in your gut.

I couldn’t list all the signs here but you get my drift. If you can think of more add a comment below. No one is served by any woman staying with some dude who’s in the closet. What can we do about it? Let’s make it ok for the men in our families to be gay and maybe we can coax these brothers out of the closet. It’ll be better for everybody. Ok, soap box moment over.
By the way, when Thug Life stepped out of the bar for the last time he checked me out hard including eye contact. For real y’all. Now that’s just greedy.

Ouch! That unemployment figure was ugly. And the revision downward even moreso. What surprises me is how the economists can’t figure out that we’re effed…and get the estimate right. Like, duh. Now the news is gonna talk about this all day and the market will be down and it’ll just suck. So much unpleasantness, and on a Friday! And it’s real extra cold outside too? I need a drink and it’s not even 9am yet.
Anyway on to more pleasant things. I arrived home last night after my personal trainer tried to kill me. She has a mandate to return my bum to its former glory so if that’s what it takes I guess I have to deal with it. Just undoing the damage of the “good life” (=working 12 hours a day starting at 5:30am). After the attempted murder at Equinox I plopped exhaustedly on the couch and was greeted by a DVR full of goodies last night. When I’m not off gallivanting in Manhattan and around the world having adventures to write about for your entertainment, I have some of my happiest moments at home on my couch with my DVR, remote in hand. Can we have a moment of silence for the DVR? Who invented this contraption? They deserve a Nobel Prize. Although there is probably some correlation between my bum situation and my DVR fixation…hmmmm.

Last night I burned through Ugly Betty, Grey’s Anatomy, 9021

0 and 30 Rock all in the space of like two hours. There were so many goodies last night I could hardly stand it. 30 Rock was straight comedy with the new interns. Tina Fey is a genius, I worship her. Especially that movie Mean Girls whom I am convinced I know. I’m not going to say from where because this blog is not about a vendetta. Positive energy people, let’s keep it positive! But let’s just say, it wasn’t high school. I’m cool with our Prom Queen to this day. 🙂 I’m shouting her out right now, she knows who she is and she better come see me in NYC as soon as the weather breaks! Anyway you gotta watch 30 Rock. Tracy Morgan is so funny I would have his babies even though I already know they’d be ugly because no amount of pretty is enough to make up for all he got goin’ on.

On Ugly Betty…I love those b$%ches Amanda and Marc. They are so fierce! Ugly Betty is all about the fierceness. I also like they now have Lauren Velez on the show. I know a secret about her but I don’t think I can write it here…but let’s just say I used to have this friend who hung out with her once and came back from that trip with a story to tell! That show is just brilliant through and through but don’t Betty look like her breath stink? All that metal gotta carry a lotta germs. Amanda mentioned it last night.

Then Grey’s Anatomy managed not to bore me. There were no heavy handed platitudes, no grand breathless speeches last night. The actors must love getting to deliver all those monologues. Oh oops…Lexi had one. I forgot. But it wasn’t too bad. It was also kinda cool to see Owen Hunt kirk out like that. Although I’m disturbed by his Cro Magnon brow…it just feels so aggressive and I would be scared if I saw that coming at me in the middle of the night. Reminds me of…

And 90210. Go Adriana putting yourself on blast like that – even though it was a bit narcissistic but whatevs. And go Rhonda too! I like that the nerd girl has something up her sleeve. Well played. I’m all about the sympathy trade…whatever it takes to get what you want girlfriend, I am not mad atcha!
Ok I gotta get back to work now…I got moved to a new spot on the trading floor and now I have three screens (from two) which is AMAZING and I LOVE it because now I just have one devoted to the Launchpad all day long, but it is higher beta too, just more opportunity to get busted doing something I ought not to be doing on the clock. I usually write these things at home but like I said, that employment number got me all depressed so thought I’d check in real real quick.
Adventures planned for this weekend so hopefully I’ll have some juicy hump day goodies for ya Wednesday. And check back in on Sunday, I got a story from the vault in the queue you may like. Ta!

So the Steelers won the Super Bowl for the 6th time. That’s a good look. The coach is a young brother running things too, kinda like President Obama is a young brother running things. This is good. Although in our new post racial world that I am hopeful we will create together, this ideally will matter less and less. Eventually. But it still kind of matters I think. Doesn’t he kinda look like Omar Epps though?

However I was rooting for the Cardinals for their underdog story, Kurt Warner’s former shelf stocking self and their lovely red and white uniforms. Not to mention the big play maker in the game, Santonio Holmes, went to the OSU and since I went to another midwestern school that has an INTENSE rivalry with the OSU (and in spite of their own lovely red and white uniforms) I am structurally incapable of rooting for any OSU alums.

But my hat’s off to the Steelers, it was a great game – the only one I watched all season of course despite growing up on football like most Americans – and I’m going to sleep feeling warm and fuzzy because I just saw a bunch of people give their very best and fight the good fight. But first I gotta wait for my heart rate to go down because that was all quite intense at the end there. I wonder if that counts as doing cardio?

I’m not the groupie type in any way shape or form. Not physically, emotionally, intellectually, spiritually, psychologically, philosophically – you get the point. But I can’t help but tell this tale of my brush with the lifestyle because it was just too funny. During this brush I did have a moment where I considered getting a good weave, some contacts and some enhancements to gain entree into the world. Sike I’m just playin’, I NEVER would sign up for that life if I had to wear all that fake mess. But if I could get it naturally…who knows?

So back in the day I had to go on this business trip to Orlando and a friend of mine happened to be there on business too. I went a day early to have dinner with her and a slumber party in her hotel. After dropping my stuff off we were waiting for the valet to bring the car around to go out and this hot guy struck up a conversation with me. He was cute and about 6’1″, so I had no idea that he was a ball player at first. Turns out his team was in town to play the Orlando Magic and he was just out and about. I must say, the confidence that comes with playing in the NBA is quite attractive – he just walked up to both of us like, “what y’all doin'” and totally met us at the wine bar where we told him we’d be like ten minutes later. Just invited himself along as though he was always welcome and made himself right at home with us.

The three of us each had a glass of wine and like, a slice of pizza at the wine bar and at the end he put 20 bux down on something like a 30 or 40 bux check. I thought that was interesting, and respected that he wasn’t trying to throw his money around like a big man on campus. Today I probably would not feel the same about that though. He was sooooo smart and charming and cute! At this point he had been in the NBA over 10 years and had been a solid player but plagued by injuries. So, even though he had his own character in a big time video game, he hadn’t reached Charles Barkley or Michael Jordan status or anything like that. I kind of liked this about him, because he had a humility that went with all the cockiness. Of course he had a kid but he was single, and I found myself having a little fantasy about what could be. Could I be a baller’s wife? Would I fit into his world? What would his kid think of me? 
I was so dumb.
So anyway we all went back to the hotel and the three of us were in the elevator:

Baller: What floor are you guys on?

Friend: 12.

Baller: I’m on 9.

Me: Cool.

Baller: I should probably walk you guys to your room so you get there safely.

Me: Good idea.

Friend: [eyes rolling]

We arrived back at the room and my friend proceeded to take off her makeup and put on her pjs in the bathroom. The Baller and I chatted in the bedroom, with him sprawled casually across one of the beds. I was intrigued but not overly tempted. After all, everyone knows ballers have cooties and they don’t call the next day. You either get pregnant or don’t give it up. I was young but not that naive.

Baller: So how long are you in town?

Me: About three days. What about you?

Baller: We leave tomorrow after the game.

Me: Cool.[awkward silence]

Me: I want some chocolate, I wonder if the mini bar has any Snickers.

Baller: You don’t need a Snickers, you got all this fine chocolate right here.

HA! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
I don’t know what possessed me to say that about chocolate. Back in the day I used to have a lot of trouble with my mouth filter and things came straight out of my brain through my lips unchecked. It occasionally still happens and when it does, it’s always the most mundane or bizarre random thought that has popped into my head involuntarily. For some reason the awkward silence with the Baller made my mind wander and I got hungry for a Snickers. Go figure.

But really what’s funny here is clearly his response. And the fact that he thought I would hook up with him that night! Like go upstairs to his room with him and get busy. AS IF! 

Me: Sorry buddy, I’m not that kind of girl, and it’s late. 

Baller: Really?

Me: Yeah, but I’d love to talk to you again.

So we exchanged numbers, he left, and I thought that may be it. But it wasn’t. I called him a few days before his next team game in my home town, a couple weeks later, and do you know he called me back FROM THE TEAM PLANE?!?!?! Now I was starstruck and ready to go along with his program.
I picked him up from his hotel in my very uncool American made sedan style automatic transmission company car. Hey, it was free! I sold my sleek stick shift ride when I got that gig. If I had true groupie instincts I would have rented something hot and told him mine was in the shop. I took him to a poetry reading (they were very en vogue at the time) and to a club afterwards. At the poetry reading we shared a plate of wings and he preferred the flat part while I like the drumstick part. It was a match made in heaven.
Baller also brought out the naughty girl in me. He encouraged me to park the aforementioned uncool car in the ALLEY! And he decided in the middle of the date he didn’t like his outfit so we went shopping and he changed clothes. When he stripped in the dressing room I almost fainted. Rays of light emanated from his biceps and his washboard abs. In fact, typing this all these years later, my heart skips thinking about that moment. 

When we walked up to the door of the club the girl at the velvet rope immediately let us through and whispered in my ear, “You go girl.” WTF??? And we went immediately up to the VIP area where I clearly stuck out like a sore thumb. I was so NOT ready for the big time. I was wearing Gap jeans and some Nine West shoes and carrying a cheap bag. *sigh*

You see, this is before I discovered Seven for All Mankind (and other even more serious designer jeans) and the wonders they do for the bootie. In fact I was in the dark about lots of things. I had very recently ended a really long, serious relationship and I was still frumpy and dumpy the way you sometimes get when you’ve been boo’d up for several years. I needed a makeover something awful so really it’s a miracle this guy even took a look. 

Anyway he lost interest when I wouldn’t give him any and I mentioned one too many times how he probably had lots of girls, being in the NBA. Or maybe because I was a corny ass bama? It’s possible he may have sincerely wanted to get to know me. Eh, probably not. He retired not long thereafter and I am sure, lives in some big house someplace warm with a savvy woman curled up by his side every night. But I get to live my fabulous life too, and I don’t worry about any groupies trying to take my man. So it all worked out!

Yesterday at work everybody was talking about this…links below. But if you click it you better come back and read the rest of my post.

Members of Dating a Banker Anonymous

http://dabagirls.wordpress.com/

Funny. Women who date men in Finance now rendered impotent by the Fall of the Titans.

The blog is cute. Me likey a lot. It’s funny. These women are witty. And sarcastic. Like me! And I’m going to refrain from social commentary here because who am I to judge? I’m not a hater. Not. at. all. Not bitter either. Not. one. bit. bitter.

Not at all bitter that I busted my butt getting a very expensive MBA that intimidates men so much they don’t call after I tell them where I went to school. Or start acting really, bizarrely macho or try to prove how much more they know than I do. Really, it was my choice right? Nobody told me to go to a good school so I could get a good job (which I desperately cling to these days like everyone else).

Really, I understand. Everyone knows smart, driven career women give their men too much lip.

I am also so NOT bitter that I spend so much time at my Finance job that I don’t have time to be massaged and personally trained and coiffed and styled courtesy of the guy who who sits next to me (figuratively speaking), who then goes out and dates non Finance chics exclusively. As in these women keeping this blog. I mean, why would a guy want to date a woman wasn’t necessarily in awe of his profession? Otherwise he could risk her being a bigger BSD* than he is, right?

Not bitter, not one bit bitter.

I’m not bitter that there are women out there who work 8 hours a day plus an hour lunch break at their secretarial/PR/teaching/non profit jobs who sleep at least through sunrise, never pay for their own drinks, got Cs in school, don’t have a clue what a Bloomberg terminal is, who have more diamonds and Chanel and Jimmy Choos than I do. In fact I don’t HAVE any Chanel or Jimmy Choos. Not that there is anything wrong with those jobs at all…some of my best friends work for non profits. And nobody told me to be a masochist and get up at 5am every day to go to work! I chose this life.

I am so NOT a hater. So NOT bitter.

If you’re a DABA girl, more power to ya honey. In my next life I’m gonna be you. Being smart, working hard and paying your own way is totally over rated. Plus I recognize the hard work in the form of gym hours and such that is required of a truly high post DABA girl. If this were a liquid market I’d short IQ points and go long hot points at the open and ride that trade right into some banker’s Tribeca loft. Real talk.

*BSD = big swinging d#%k, from the book “Monkey Business”. Or was it “Liar’s Poker”? Whatever. It means baller in the Finance profession. Yeah, it was Liar’s Poker. But Monkey Business is good too, very funny.

I could rant for 300 pages straight about this topic but I’m going to show restraint here, plus I’m sleepy.
What got me thinking of the dumb a$% names some people name their children is the next wave we’re going to see, which all things considered, has got to be better than “Shardunae”. At least it’s rooted in a good thing.

I’m sitting here watching Coming to America and was reminded of a long standing beef I have with Eddie Murphy. I recognize his brilliance, especially his dominance in the 80s, but I need to take a moment to call his behind out for some really obvious discrimination against sisters who look like him. In fact quite literally who look like him since he himself has played the object of his disdain. The buzz is this cost him the Dreamgirls Oscar (along with that drama with my girl Scary Spice) because people couldn’t bring themselves to vote for him once Norbit was out. That movie also brought weight into the discussion but here I’m focused just on the other issue because I can only do one thing at a time. Anyway, those awards are a popularity contest just as much as anything else is. Like Homecoming Court on steroids. 
If you take a look you will see that Mr. Murphy has a long standing pattern of strongly favoring the lighter sisters not only in his personal life but also in his leading ladies. Let’s review, starting roughly in the beginning…leaving out Trading Places since he was so new to the game and probably didn’t have any casting authority then. I’m also leaving out the action movies because the romance was secondary. But, if you look those up, the facts support my thesis.

In Coming to America, as Prince Akeem of Zamunda, Eddie rejected not one but two beautiful brown skinned sisters in pursuit of his fair queen, the lovely Shari Headley (of whom I was a fan from All My Children...y’all remember she used to date Daryl the Cop on there?). Anyway you can’t really hate because why would he want the mindless Imani Izzi (Vanessa Bell Calloway) who actually barked like a dog on request, or the loose gold-digging Patrice McDowell (Allison Dean)? 
As Marcus Graham in Boomerang Eddie famously finally chose good girl Angela Lewis (Halle Berry) after falling in lust with bad girl Jackie Broyer (Robin Givens). Call me nitpicky, but again Eddie cast the light skinned girl in the virtuous, feminine, more innocent role while the sexually adventurous man eating diva was darker. Not to mention Grace Jones as Strangé. No making sexy on screen with Miss Halle other than this hot kiss after Thanksgiving dinner, but we saw plenty happen with Miss Robin. I’m just sayin’! But again here you’re rooting for Angela too cuz Miss Halle is just so adorable and sweet, right? 

Then there was The Nutty Professor when he fell in love with Jada Pinkett. Who was in charge of that awful wig they made her wear I wonder? Because that ‘do was just blasphemy I’ve pictured her here looking properly fierce. Now I’m a fan of Miss Jada especially of the way she’s held it down after popping out all of them babies…and I love the rock band thing…but clearly Eddie’s pattern is manifest in his choice of her as a leading lady.

And the one that really sunk his ship, popularity wise, because it was 2006 and quite frankly we are supposed to have evolved beyond all that by now, being post racial and progressive and conscious and inclusive, etc, was this, casting Thandie Newton as the virtuous Kate Thomas juxtaposed against the repulsive Rasputia played by himself.

He pulled the Norbit nonsense pictured above while simultaneously publicly dissing the only kinda brown skinned woman he had ever publicly dated (Scary Spice Melanie Brown) and down down down went his star. And the baby WAS his! In the end it totally boosted her career. I think they call that Karma.

Frankly I think he deserved the Oscar because he really is super talented and brought tears to my eyes in Dreamgirls. But unfortunately he followed the Norbit and Scary incidents closely with another spectacular debacle with ex Mrs. Babyface Tracey Edmonds and the wedding that wasn’t a real wedding and a “marriage” that was over within a few weeks…and his fate in the public’s eye was sealed. 

By the way here he is with his ex wife and the mother of most of his many many children. Nicole has also held it down quite admirably after popping out a ridiculous number of babies. Smart girl. 😉

Has anybody heard from Eddie since all that mess? What’s he up to? Is he in redbone rehab?

Y’all remember perhaps the greatest of all dances, “The Bump”? (*note: tragically, the video below was originally set to “Bust a Move” but YouTube made the poster change the music to this wack porn movie soundtrack ish, which really isn’t nearly as funny as it originally was.)

As featured on iconic shows such as Good Times and also too in your wood paneled basement when your folks had friends over for grown folks parties that you used to sneak down and watch in your footsie pajamas? You always wondered why it smelled so funny down there and why mommy didn’t talk to daddy the next day at the breakfast table? Thinking about that makes me think about the glorious Thelma and my mother’s supreme afro which literally was a whole foot tall. By the way, Miss Thelma is seriously holding it down, check out this then and not-too-long-ago comparison…she’s about 55 I think:

Anyway another kind of bump was recently brought to international attention. The Fist Bump. Apparently this is some sort of militant but cool gesture that black people do to each other. Pardon me but I didn’t know that. I thought fist bumping was just in the occasionally used hand gesture repertoire. As in, without an ethnicity attached to it. But it just so happens the Obamas did it on TV at a key moment, and everyone got all excited like it was something special or even revolutionary. Really, wasn’t all that hoopla a bit absurd? I think The New Yorker captured the essence of the absurdity quite well in its cover.

This phenomenon has filtered into my personal life in more ways than one, unfortunately, with all kinds of randoms fist bumping me all over the place. Ow, that HURTS! There are several examples but the most interesting recent one is an excursion I had with a couple of girlfriends. 
I was down in the Magic City over New Years and went out to a bar/club on Brickell with a couple of my girls who live down there. One is Dominican, one is Puerto Rican. I mention that to illustrate that I was the only black girl in the group. In fact I was probably the only black person in that entire place that night. Which is totally cool for me…but makes other people act funny sometimes.
So we get approached by a young fella in town from South Dakota who had spontaneously flown in that morning after temperatures reached sub zero out there. Plus I suppose he was a bit lonely since only like 3 or 4 people live in South Dakota. Anyway he was REALLY EXCITED TO BE THERE. So he chatted us up a bit. Didn’t really offer to buy any drinks though, so he obviously doesn’t know how things work in Miami. But anyway…he starts chatting and making absolutely inane conversation which really was making me quite sleepy. Somewhere along the way as he got progressively drunker he kept fist bumping me to accentuate his sentences for a total of about 100 fist bumps at the end. It went something like this:Boy from South Dakota: Wow the weather here is great, isn’t it?Me: Yep, much warmer than in New York right now.Boy from South Dakota: Totally. [Fist bump]Me: Uh, ok.Get it?
So after we peeled ourselves away from perhaps the most thrilling evening of our collective lives we deconstructed what happened in the car on the way home…Puerto Rican friend: Aww that guy was so nice, such a cutie patootie.Dominican friend: I don’t know, he seemed a little weird.Me: Yeah and what was up with the fist bumps?Puerto Rican and Dominican friends in unison: Que? Fist bumps?Me: Yeah, he was fist bumping me after every sentence, he didn’t do that to you?Puerto Rican friend: Nope, he didn’t do that to me.Dominican friend: Me neither.Me: Wow. [pause]Me: Do you think he did it because I’m black?Dominican friend: You’re black? Let me outta the car! Puerto Rican friend: Yo, I think that’s it! [loud ass laughter]Dominican friend: What a loser.Me: Well at least he was trying to connect.The moral of the story is that fist bumping is appropriate only in very rare instances just like before. Unless I’m your wife and you just nailed your party’s nomination for President, let’s not fist bump, ‘kay?