Oh breasts. I’ve found that there is a direct correlation to how many
synonyms or how much slang is used to describe the things that are
talked about MOST often. Breasts are no different. So, at the
well-calculated risk of sounding sophomoric, let’s run through a
couple of names for breasts: Knockers, jugs, melons, tatas, tittes,
love apples, fun bags, love sacks, and hooters (and yes the list does
go on, I know because this is the super condensed version).

Let’s face it, men talk about them, look at them, goggle at them,
dream about them, buy them, and think about them (I’ll stop there
because I want this post to be PG-13). Men just have a fascination
with breasts, it’s innate in our make-up. Can any man really pinpoint
why he likes them? Why does the thought of the tata leave you gaga?
Who knows…and frankly who really cares? We love them, but I’ll try to
explain.

Let’s start at the beginning. Men, go back to when we were babies,
they were our first source of sustenance and comfort. In
pre-adolescence, they were a source of confusion, sometimes discomfort
because we couldn’t really fully understand why we couldn’t stop
looking at them. Then adolescence they became the hot topic of
conversation, but did we ever really understand why? Manhood, well
heck most men define their manhood based large-in-part to breast and
their inter most personal dealings with them (I feel like I’m
tip-toeing).

Woman also appreciate a good boobie too, so its not just men looking.
As much as a well-endowed woman will say she doesn’t like people
staring, I think she can appreciate the admiration. I think the line
is drawn when she feels that people only see her as a nice rack.
Women also realize that they are wielding a strong weapon of
persuasion, and use those assets when the time is right. Women know
what they do to us, and they do use that to their advantage.

The love of the breast is sexual. No man just wants to look at them,
that just happens to generally be the prerequisite for getting
involved with them. You don’t take the melon home without first
looking at it, making sure its ripe, and sometimes thumping it (wow I
feel like a child). We look because at our very core, we’re just
trying to spread our seed. A nice mammary is going to feed our
children well. I’m guessing you don’t buy that…I don’t either, but
since I can’t explain it maybe going back to how God may have intended
it to be appealing is all I got left.

Shoot, I’m a butt man anyway. Signing off confused…in more ways then one.

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Have you ever done something and knew you would regret it?  Like

absolutely in the moment, mind racing telling you, "Dang, are you

kidding right now?  I'm shocked at you…I mean I'm shocked at myself,

heck I'm shocked at you, because I don't know you anymore."  When I

look back over my life, I have made some major changes in my life

based on a lesson I learned from a situation I regretted (I'll revisit

this later).  I might regret this, but here we go.

Alright, you're fresh out of a bad situation.  You have a moment of

clarity that only comes when you've completely messed up.  Depending

on who you are this comes at different times.  You could be in the

mix, out the mix, mixed in, out-mixed, heck it could be years later,

but there is something about regret that sticks with you.  Pondering

shoulda, coulda, woulda's, replaying other scenarios in your head, and

hitting yourself in the forehead.

Let's go to the play-by-play.  When the next couple of days or weeks

go by (depending on the severity of the lapse in good reason), you

think about it and shake your head, or an audible "WOW" comes out and

people ask you what you're WOWing about.  You usually say nothing, or

just say I'm thinking about something from earlier, lie and say you

forgot to do something and you were WOWing at your forgetfulness.

Laying in your bed thinking, or throughout the day you talk to

yourself saying things like:

"I can't believe I said that."

"Wow, I'm embarrassed."

"Stupid, stupid, stupid."

"I don't know what came over me."

"[Explicative]!"

"What's wrong with you [Your name here], Momma didn't raise you like that."

"I know better then that, what was I thinking."

"Man…I'm never drinking again."

It's usually followed up by a sorry, but more likely a realization

that you might need to make some changes in your decisions making

skills.  It might lead to you avoiding some place or someone because

you are reminded by that regret every time you see him/her.  Or like

most of my regrets, a contemplation on what needs to change in my life

to get back on track.  Maybe that jacked up situation is just a segue

to a new and better you.

I'm always leery of the truthfulness of people who say they don't have

any regrets.  I definitely can understand not wanting to live with

regrets and living life to the fullest, I get that.  And I'm not

saying that I don't believe people who say that they don't regret

anything, because if it wasn't for that "situation" they wouldn't have

"learned" what they did, or the "experience" was worth it.  I get that

too, but as imperfect as we all are, regret is inevitably a part of

life, and I hope I see less and less of them as I grow older.

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Perception is reality.  This is a trite and very cliché saying, but
I’ll be derned if it aint true.  The way we perceive life, the
circumstances surrounding the things that happen to us and whether we
can differentiate that from the things we do to ourselves has a great
deal with how we maneveur through life.  I’m convinced that the way we
perceive things bears heavily on where we go in life.

Or sometimes… a warped perception can just make you look like a fool.
I wrote a poem about it…wanna hear it?  Where here it go…

Its like two left shoes

They are both very important in their own right

But put together they’ll steer you funny

That wink was just a wind blowing a misconception your way

It just used my eye to do it

I was staring and smiling

But check your shoe

The bathroom gods were playing a trick on you

I bit my lip cause I had gum on it

Not the come hither look

I’m just wondering why you have on snake skin boots

That must be the slither look

Irregardless, despite, notwithstanding

My signal was crisscrossed in the mix

I didn’t mean to lead you on, or steer you astray

My frequency is off, or my wires are crossed

Because, irregardless, despite, and notwithstanding

What you thought

I wasn’t calling you

That was a cough.

Hold tight, not all hope is lost

You may find a new love

Because your signals were crossed

And although you may do your best to decipher

We are not all on the same wave-length

If you’re reading into actions too deep

Let it go, don’t waste sleep

Or be like me, and play it safe

Cause any signal that isn’t clear

May leave you picking up your face.

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I apologize for the absence last week (I was in the midst f finals), this week I’m going to speak on four different topics briefly. Depending on responses I might go further in depth.

Is Barack Obama single-handedly bringing light-skinned men back? Are the old days of Chico Debarge dodging panties on stage coming back like Member’s Only jackets? As a light-skinned man myself, I don’t believe so, however it’s something to think about. Let’s face it, we’ve been on a smooth hiatus since at least 1989 (and I was 7 years old). I hope it does because I need some assistance.

Pretty faces are like kryptonite to most guys. Heck I’ve fallen victim to a pretty face a time or two. But as I grow older I’m understanding that beauty fades, and if you rely on a pretty face (this can go for men and women, I’ve been said I’m a member of the He-Man Women Haters Club), then it can only take you so far. There is always a prettier face or a more attractive person out there.

Is it just me, or is this season of the Real World probably the worst cast in the Real World history. Let me run it down, there is a recovering meth addict, recovering alcoholic and a racist, and the show is STILL not very interesting. I know we are only in the first couple of episodes, but come on Real World casting staff. You at least came with a sexy chick or two, and someone we love to hate.

So I guess this relates to the second topic, but what’s up with the glorified video chick. I’m seeing interviews, a lot of these women have college educations and seem to have heads on their shoulders. Now I don’t want to seem like the white person, who is surprised that black people are articulate, but you graduate from college to be a video vixen? What woman really broke into the business and became successful taking the video vixen path? Sex sells, but who’s paying?

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Temptation is a beast. How you deal with temptation has a huge impact on where you go or where you may stay in life. The war with temptation is like the fighting in Israel, it is never-ending, filled with many battles, and the only end in sight will spark your own personal apocalypse (death). There are few things that are certain, most people say they are paying taxes and dying, but I think temptation is more certain then taxes (you aint gotta pay em).

What is your biggest vice, or temptation? We all have them. Some of us cope with them better then others. You can be crippled by temptation and vices. Temptation can keep you in a jacked up relationship, get you in one, get you in trouble, leave you with regrets and might keep you from achieving your goals.

One thing is for sure, just when you’ve battled that temptation to the ground, hand tightly around its neck, lurking around the corner is his clone ready to jump on your back. And what is even worse, you know there is a factory just pushing them out somewhere, and one across town in construction to churn out the next tempting thing you haven’t contemplated yet. But oh that feeling you get when you don’t let your temptation get you its empowering.

Your ability to fight temptation is only as strong as your last failure. You can learn a lot about thwarting the urge to fall into old habits by understanding how you succumbed to them. One thing is for certain regardless of what you are tempted to do, it wouldn’t be classified as a temptation if it was good for you, so think twice then act.

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You’re walking down the street and you see a character with a George Jefferson pimp walk, shades on at 9 p.m., a G-Unit sweatshirt on (when its 98 degrees outside) and pants down to his knees.  Although this ensemble isn’t my style per se, it isn’t the clothes necessarily that make this person look silly.  He’s trying to be cool, it bleeds from him constantly licking his lips, looking around to see if anyone is watching him, loud talking to be heard and this ridiculous pimp walk.

I don’t claim to be the resident “cool” cat who knows all about the nuances of being cool and not being cool.  However, being cool to me is about being comfortable in your own skin, not taking yourself too seriously and doing those things you like to do without caring about how it makes you look.  I think black men in general get caught up in the things we are supposed to like, and doing the things that we are supposed to do.  I think its imperative for us to branch out and try different things and not be defined by this phantom guide to “the cool.”

Now I don’t want hate on the G-Unit-pimp-walker, heck maybe he’s cold natured and has a clef foot.  Heck he might just be looking around because he owes someone some money who he has on good authority may be close to where he’s walking.  He probably looks at me walking down the street and thinks, man that guy is lame.  Who knows?  My point is, be you whether its traditionally cool or not. 

Being cool should be secondary. Black folk, especially men are chasing this perception of what cool is.  Handling your business, making a good life for you and your family is cool.  Living within your means and being a real man is cool.  Giving back to your community, being true to yourself is cool.  Cool is like beauty its in the eye of the beholder, so what do I know.

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All the time, on my mind, everywhere I go, I’m tryna let you know, stronger then any drug even love…Can drive you crazy, can make a baby, all night long it’s the perfect song…

- Three Letter Word by Jamie Foxx

Let me begin by prefacing this post, tightly holding onto the reigns of celibacy I probably have a skewed vision of what sex is to the outside world, but here we go.

Is it that serious? Stronger then any drug, even love? Besides the need for sex to reproduce and continue our species, I think sex is important to a relationship (preferably in the confines of marriage). And I am not one of those persons who think sex should only happen when trying to reproduce, archaic and old fashion as that may sound some people feel that way. Sex has become more like a greeting, then the meeting of two minds showing affection with one’s body.

Perhaps if you read this blog, you get the indication that I’m old fashioned. You’re right. I won’t naively sit up here and say sex won’t happen outside of marriage, heck I’ve done it myself, but its becoming like a contact sport. I can understand someone’s desire to do it, heck even a need, but under some sort of restraint. Some will as soon shake your hand as get down with you.

We’ve taken the romance, sincerity, sanctity, and all that good stuff out of sex. I don’t mean to preach, I just think that laying down with someone should be sacred. If you need a quick fix, do some jumping jacks or take a cold shower. I’m not saying don’t get down…just use some discretion when getting down.

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I’ve been having a continuous dialogue with black women as of late about how black men perceive them.  I feel this dialogue is one filled with finger pointing, sometimes bitterness, a general lack of understanding, but beneath it all a willingness to want to understand each other.  We’re rapidly approaching a fork in the road.  To the left there is this general, “I give up,” let it be, if it comes it comes.  And, to the right, sympathy for each other, trying to find a place where we can just BE together.

I personally want to drive my love bug around the bend to the right, but the issues are deeply rooted. Let me give the general gripe black women have with black men (as if we all aren’t aware).  Black men are inconsistent, we aren’t stepping up to the plate when taking care of business (taking care of kids, financially, education, etc.), we are unfaithful, and when we do take care of our business we get the big head and stray away from our black women.

Man, we sound bad.  I don’t buy it all, but I can concede to some of those things.  Black men are dropping the ball, I look around and see black women in higher education, scholars, making moves and all the while making money.  But it isn’t completely one-sided.  I think that women and men alike create these fictions for ourselves.  We come to conclusions about each other rather then take each other individually as we come.

Black men are attracted to all women for the most part.  True most black men want to be with a black woman, but we are attracted to them all.  If we come upon a Hispanic, Asian, Indian, etc., and we are attracted to them, its on and popping.  This decreases the pool for eligible black men for black women and let’s face it some black women don’t like that. Also, its particularly disheartening when our white counterparts are marrying and dating at a much higher rate.

What is wrong with us?  A question I rarely hear but lately has been popping up in this continuous “there are no good men out here” conversation. Its human nature to point the finger at other people when things don’t go your way.  Its comes down to supply and demand I think, but I’m not totally convinced that these women are really wanting to find a good guy.  So much to talk about, there will be a part two.  I need some feedback.

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I want to pay homage to the unspoken dating facilitator. The man who takes one for the team, time and time again. An unsung hero, uncelebrated for the grunt work he puts in for his friends…the WINGMAN. As a good wingman, you’re in awkward situations and awkward positions more often then not, distracting the often times, bitter, unattractive, boring friend, so your homeboy can link up with her friend.

Sometimes your counterpart is the wingwoman, so you simply shoot the breeze, and occupy each other’s time while the real date goes on. I’ve been the wingman, multiple times. I pride myself on my wingman abilities, talking about life and love, making fun of people walking by. The key to good wingmaning is trying to gauge her interests and make her feel comfortable (that is if you take pride in your job).

Are women offended by the wingman? Picture this: You’re at a party with your girl, two men approach, one goes for your friend the other goes for you. Are you getting talk to by the guy who wanted you or the wingman? Heck, maybe it just so happens that you and your girl are what each of them wanted. Maybe the one you got lost a quick game of paper, rocks, scissors. Rewind twenty seconds earlier when the friend of the guy who is talking to your friend was begging the guy talking to you to, “Just run interference, so the ugly one doesn’t hate on me.”

So I guess the moral of the story is…don’t flatter yourself ladies. You might be getting hollered at for the benefit of the next cat. Also wingmen and women out there, I acknowledge you and appreciate you because frankly I am you. Take pride in charming the ugly chick/guy (wow that’s harsh, but true), pave the way for your friend to ‘make a connection’ and stand firm while taking one for the team.

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This particular subject is near and dear to me, if any of the readers are familiar with my own personal blog, or even my fairly short stint on B.I.G.  What makes men and women tick and how they differ is very interesting to me.  Trying to figure each other out is dern near impossible, but in my opinion only because we make it that way.  We have long drawn the line in the sand, while flinging stereotypical banter, confused looks, blown kisses, flowers, nasty e-mails, chocolates, gifts, divorce papers, winks, compliments, and sometimes each other across to the other side.  We love each other and hate each other at the same time.

What amazes/perplexes me, is how two bright young individuals (man and woman), can live through the same situation, and see it totally differently.  Is it genetic make up, chromosome misunderstanding?  I’m not sure, but having this type of forum to discuss our differences, creating the Rosetta Stone if you will of male/female translation is a start (though its an arduous task).

I want to turn my attention to “Independence: The Ultimate Catch 22,” an entry made on March 2, 2008 on B.I.G.  I appreciated this post, because it sparked my interest, but also shed light on a phenomenon that is sweeping the nation: this word independence crossing the financial and relationship lines.  It seems that women are getting caught up in their own stereotypes and not understanding that, at one point a woman might have needed a man for financial stability, but just because now finances aren’t in the picture, we aren’t needed for anything else?

“I’m not going to rub your face in what I have, but I’m also not going to act like I can’t be without you, since I know that I work my ass off for all that I do have.”  Are we talking a strictly financial relationship here?  Do men take it upon themselves to invoke “You can’t live without my money” declarations?  I don’t know if I ever want a woman to contemplate whether she can live with or without my money.  In a perfect world, I would hope she felt like she couldn’t be without me because she loves me that much.

I guess my question is: Since when did it start to become all about the money?  I know my parents, like most of our parents didn’t have a dime when they got together.  I remember them getting by on their love for each other and making a life together.  A lot of women are financially independent, but aren’t emotionally independent, or stable for that matter.  It seems the focus is too much on being independent, while other things, more pertinent to being ready for a relationship lack. 

We all want someone who can bring something to the table, but the person with the most chips doesn’t always win.

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