I have borderline undiagnosed ADD, and so for me to sit down in one place and not move for the entire movie…you must know that Cover was and is the business. People sleep on these straight to DVD, full-length joints. Baybay…Bill Duke was not playing with this one. How do I talk about this movie without giving it away for those of you that haven’t seen it yet? GET THEE TO A BLOCKBUSTER, HOLLYWOOD VIDEO, or worst case… your local bootlegger (I do not advocate the bootlegger, but in the name of seeing this movie, I think we need to go the by any means necessary route here).

A native of town PA, I’ve always know that Philadelphia was the city of brotherly love, but can I tell yall how I have a totally different perspective of the notion of brotherly love post-Cover. I mean DAMN…I have yet to meet one woman who says that this movie hasn’t touched a nerve. All my conversations with my sistafriends about this movie have all gone a little something like this, “CHHHHIILLLLLEEEE IF THAT WAS ME…”

I remember when Down Low was simply another term for creeping. Twelve years later, E. Lynn Harris, J.L. King, and many others have put an entirely different twist on the whole idea of what down low means. This movie…will you make you pause and revisit the definition all over again.

What are yall waiting for…check out Vivica, Leon, Patti Labelle, Louis Gossett, Jr. Clifton Davis, and many others in a film that is sure to keep you on the edge of your seat.

For those of you that have seen it…chhhhillllle what did you think?

I know if I hear here anything about dust, and blowing in someone’s eye…LOL…let me stop before I give the movie away.

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If you would have asked me like say 10 years ago…I couldn’t have written this post.

Breasts, mine in particular are a sensitive area for me (both literally and figuratively…you do the math). As someone that went from nipples to knockers overnight (I swear I don’t remember having breasts in the 7th grade and woke up a 38D in the 8th grade)…you can’t help being aware that you cannot see your feet when you look down.

As I’ve gotten older, my lovely lady lumps have gotten larger. I lose weight, they gain weight. I think the message they’re sending me is clear, "We ain’t going nowhere." Which is fine, since I lack a rearview…I’m all headlights baby.

I think what intrigues me the most is the attention that they get. Standing in front of a class, or giving a presentation at work…I see those eyes…all around the room…zoomed in on…them. Yeah I said it. You mofos aren’t paying attention to my words…you’re paying attention to my breasts.

Don’t believe me?

I’m sitting in Marlow’s sipping on tea and writing this post, and my waiter has tried no less than 3 times to look down at my cleavage. I just looked up and caught this man (who is sitting outside with his wife and dog might I add) staring at my breasts through the window. This lady almost tripped over her own feet staring at my chest as she made her way out the door (yes sweety…they’s organic…the slight sag is evidence of that) And while I must say I’m flattered…well not really, but anywho..come on people they are just breasts.

While a lady never tells her bra size…let’s be clear…I’m not ashamed…although I argued vehemently at my last bra fitting that the lady was completely wrong about my cup size…the reality of the situation is this…being anything over a D cup, is going to get you some attention.

Going public with this is going to be hard.

Ok I’m a 50 L. Yes I said it. A 50 L and my back doesn’t hurt and I have excellent posture. And I can make these things sit up like a 36C with the right bra.

Whew..yes…that felt good. If you’ve ever asked yourself…now you know.

But in the greater scheme of things people. I’m a B.I.G. Girl…I’m 6′1” and voluptuous and anything smaller would just seem…weird. Well ok I’m used to them.

The point is this…and I say this for all of my chestfully endowed sistas…we are not our breasts. They’re a part of us. They’re not us.

P.S. I’m on to you too fellas…those extra long…super hard hugs…are to cop a feel. You can ask if they’re soft. I’ll tell you…fukouttahere. Hmmph.

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“Still…I haven’t found what I’ve been looking for, but I can’t do this no more.  I’mma just run and hide…”-Algebra Blessett

True Story.

I went on a “date” last week with this guy.  Not a new guy…we shall call him recycled goods.   I can’t say for sure why I went.  Ok.  I know why I went.  Curiosity…will now and for always kill the cat.  While I’m not big on recycled goods…I think this was definitely one of those instances where, well…

I’m not going to make any excuses.

Curiosity killed the cat. Plain and simple.

I got to our agreed meeting place…before he did…which was great because it gave me time to really think about what the hell I had gotten myself into.  It also gave me time to exit stage left if the urge hit me.  I slowly sipped on lime water and chatted on the phone while I waited for him.

I had done the  whole will we still have chemistry, what does he look like now, etc. song and dance on the drive over.  We’d messed around for 1.5 years and hadn’t seen each other in almost 3 years.

Hold on.  Let’s be clear.

I had no intentions of anything coming of this meeting.   You see the thing about recycled goods is that no matter what, they will never be exactly what they were before.

As my recycled goods headed toward me, I couldn’t help but give him a once over.  He had grown man weight on him now, but the swagger and the fresh dress was still the same.  My pretty thug.  A product of my bad boy stage.  Live and direct in Marlow’s Tavern.

We made comfortable small talk as we waited for our drinks to come.  His older brother passed away about a month ago and he was still dealing with the loss.  For a brief second, I saw the human side of him, the side of him that used to make me have second thoughts about not wanting to be right when I knew he was completely and totally wrong. The ringing of my phone snapped me back to my current reality. It was my mom. I answered and told her I’d call her back.  The moment was over and 2008 sueZette took over where 2005 sueZette had left off.

Our Rated G evening ended with hugs and “good to see yous.”  As, I rolled my window down and pulled off into the moonlight with Lil Wayne keeping me company, I got a text..”Maybe we can hang out longer next time.”

I replied, “You know how to find me.”…knowing all the while that this was the last time that we’d be seeing each other.

My mother called me again and I told her I’d been on a date when she called.

“Is this one special?”

Naw ma, he’s the past that made a temporary visit to the present.  He won’t be back.

I’m quite sure that’s not what she wanted to hear since she went into this whole spiel about me being 30 soon…and everyone needing someone.   I let her know that when I find my someone, she’ll be the first to know.

In the meantime…I’mma stay clear of the recycle bin.

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I’ve been listening to “No Idea” by Algebra Blessett on repeat…I guess you can say ole girl has hit a nerve and has made me ask all over again…can men and women…just be friends. Here’s another oldie but goodie as I marinate on this for a second….

The first issue that we need to address is why people become friends anyway. I’d like to make the conjecture that friendship is a basic form of attraction. We’re attracted to someone for one reason or another and form a bond around that attraction. When we’re younger its usually around some similarity…like yall both can play checkers…or yall like playing tether ball…or yall both like red…you know something simple. As we mature, our friendships are hopefully based on something more emotionally meaningful.

I’m thinking about the men that I’ve remained friends with since childhood and I can’t even really remember how we became friends. All I know is that we are friends and have remained that way for what feels like years. They’re all like my big brothers and I love them for who they are…we’ve grown up together and have also grown together.

Now…I guess the next step would be to address making friends with men as an adult. It is my understanding, and this is from multiple discussion with dudes, that men are first on some level physically attracted to women based on some rubric of what they consider to be attractive and then must make a decision of whether to 1. Try to cut something 2. Wife her or 3. Place her in the homegirl category because he really has no chance in hell. Look I’m not claiming this to be 100% accurate…I’m just telling yall what I’ve been told.

I can only tell yall that as an adult…I don’t recall being attracted to more than like a couple of my homeboys that I’ve made in adulthood (over 21 years old). I think they’re all great guys, but I usually know wayyyy too much about my boys because they consider me one of the boys and they tend to reserve all that tongue biting and fu fu mess for girls that they’re tryna cut or wife. Most of my boys have told me that our friendships work because I’m not typical chick…I’m not above thinking like them…lol…whatever that means. I also (as previously mentioned in Where Not to Meet Men in Atlanta note) make a concerted attempt not to get involved with my male friends’ friends…been there, done that…I don’t believe in having people in the middle of stuff..plus there’s a strong likelihood that if they’re aces, you’re gonna see his friend again…which might not be that great..depending on how things end up.

Have I crossed the line with a friend? Once. Ok 1.5 times, but we really should dismiss that .5 because, uhm…we really should. That one time only even happened because dude was tryna disguise his intent to cut with friendship. I’m like this…if you’re honest from jump…we don’t have to play no damn games. I have to do way to much thinking on a reg to have to worry about stuff like that. Honesty will usually garner you a much better reward. Am I still friends with dude? Naw…which is sad cuz he was cool, and although we tried…hey reason…season…lifetime

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Please note that this is an oldie but goodie!

So I made it through my second attempt at the BET Hip-Hop Awards…b.k.a. Bafoonery Central. Lawd. I wasn’t paying attention the first time due to some heavy dialogue being transmitted over the numeric connect…and I can’t really say I paid attention tonight, but hey…I didn’t realize Law & Order: Criminal Intent was on…otherwise I wouldn’t have helped their ratings.

Periodically, I would stop and coo over T.I., Lil Wayne, Busta Rhymes, or The Game…admiring…their edgy presence…and having momentary daydreams about..uhm…shooting pool or something…hehehe. Anyway…the point of this note is not to make the good girls like bad guys argument…that paradox is played. I’m wondering if “bad boys” are even still relevant.

At some point while climbing the education/career ladder…and sistas if I’m wrong…pleasssse let me know…I think thugs fall off of your radar all together. Some broads (self NOT included) forget that they have even read a passage from the Book of Thugs. Hoodstars used to be fresh…a hot commodity..and the idea of being a ride or die chick…nothing topped it. Sheeeet now…$100,000 in student loan debt later…if he’s not wearing Armani Exchange or if he doesn’t know what NYSE stands for…he need not apply.

Part of me wants to say…that’s some bougie…elitist bull…while the other part of me wants to say uhm…it’s a part of evolving…and wanting better for ones self. Someone once told me that bad boys don’t go to college, but academia is not the only form of education. Everybody knows somebody that hasn’t made it through the walls of anybody’s university, but knows more about the world than we could ever image. Furthermore, academia as the be all end all is a recent idea. Don’t believe me…what college did this country’s founders go to? What law school did Abraham Lincoln graduate from? He was an apprentice to an attorney, not a Yale graduate. Prove me wrong…I’ll buy you a drink.

I’m not saying there is something wrong with being educated. Clearly, I can’t feel that way, I’m working on my second masters and preparing for the day that I will enter a Ph.D. program. I just don’t agree with using education as yet another tool for “us against them.”

My quintessential bad boy will always and forever be… Huey P. Newton..

…educated, fine, powerful…I even have a mini shrine to him and Fred Hampton on my living room wall. Now I know…I know…you can’t compare Nelly to Huey P. Newton, buy they are both clearly products of their generations.

I think this Tylenol P.M. is making me start to get off topic…so I’ll stop here, but this is my question…are thugs still relevant??

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Sisterhood is an interesting concept to me.
Extremely interesting to me.
It seems that the older I get the more it perplexes me and the more I appreciate the women in my own inner circle.

Sisterhood….

Main Entry: sis·ter·hood
Pronunciation: \-hu̇d\
Function: noun
Date: 14th century
1 a: the state of being a sister b: sisterly relationship
2: a community or society of sisters; especially : a society of women in a religious order
3: the solidarity of women based on shared conditions, experiences, or concerns

I’m a naturally friendly person…not to be confused with nice…my nice days are over. I guess it just bewilders me when cattiness is extended in my direction. I rebuke you bad energy…I REBUKE YOU. Like what the hell chick? You don’t have to do the head to toe scan and then cut your eyes at me. I’m doing me…get back to doing you. I’m in the SueZettesphere..invitiation only wench.

Uh oh…I’m being ugalee…I’m not tryna be ugalee.

Is it naive to think that every woman is going to be a friendly as I am…probably, however, home training and with just a dash of respect should be mandatory. You aren’t my competiton…homegirl…you’re my equal. Straight no chaser. I don’t want to be you…I want to empower you.

Hmmm…

The other day…I attended a meeting with some colleagues from around the community and since I’m a sit near the closest exit type of chick…I picked a table in the back. As I approached the table an older white woman greeted me with a handshake and a smile and we exchanged cheerful and casual banter about our jobs and how Atlanta wasn’t as really as big as people thought since everybody knows everybody.

A sista needed a beverage, so I excused myself to go to the refreshment table and came back to see that two young “sistas” had joined our table. I turned my smile towards them, only to have them half ass speak to me. Ok cool. I see what time it is. Fine.

A few minutes later I saw another sista in the room that I knew…I called out to her and she cheerfully replied, “Hey SueZette…good to see you…” I guess curiousity murdered the cat because the one closest to me with the sourest face turned and asked me what I did for my organization. Since I’m not one to let nann wench kill my joy…I smiled…batted my eyelashes and told her my title.

In an instance clearly marked for the “not what she said,but how she said it” file…ole girl said, “What qualifications do you have in order for you to have that position?” When I say…I know I’m a professional because… seriously part of me wanted to drown her arse in my Diet Coke…
Yo…

Never letting the smile leave my lips, although I know it had departed my eyes…I replied, “I have a M.S. in Urban Policy Studies and I’ve almost completed my M.A. in Sociology with a concentration in Race and Urban Studies.” Ole girl shut her mouth. Well not before saying…”Oh because I applied for a position with yall and I was wondering what I needed.”

I batted my eyelashes at her again and in a tone that dripped wench please said, “Oh good luck with that…we’ve got tons of positions and it’s a great organization.”

Now…I’m not into being messy…but fuggouttahere…fuggIlooklike?

Chile boo. How you burn a bridge you ain’t even sure you need to cross? Needless to say…they left at the end and didn’t even say goodbye. That’s actually not a question of sistahood…shoooot…what kind of woman are you?

Oh yeah the older white woman shook my hand and bid me adieu before we departed…

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Buying a new phone forces you to do several things, the main thing for me is typically deciding who will move on to the contacts list in my new toy and who will forever be left behind never to be called again. That sounds so dramatic. I know.

I recently got my dream phone, a Pink Palm Centro and felt a techy nerd elation, mixed with anxiety. My Treo 650 was the longest that I’d ever had a phone (almost 2 years) and my contact list was filled with people I speak to regularly, people I never want to speak to again, and people that simply ended up in my phone because saying, “Hey let me get your number so we can pretend that we’ll call each other, but we’re really not going to…” seems like a decent way to end a conversation.

Pleased with the realization that I could beam numbers from my Treo to my Centro, I slowly made my way through my contacts list…

Mom…beam

Dad…hmmm…beam

Random person, can’t remember who they are…not a winner

Break Glass In Case of Emergency guy…beam

Homegirl…beam

Homeboy…beam

Another random person, kinda remember how we met…not a winner

Ex-boyfriend…hmm…beam so this year I won’t respond “who is this” to his “Happy Holidays” text

Mu Lan’s…beam

Mr. Coulda Woulda Shoulda……beam so I don’t accidentally answer the phone because I don’t recognize the number…actually don’t beam…

Mr. Unanswered Questions…don’t beam…well…hmmm…I don’t want his number so that my touch screen doesn’t accidentally call him again without me knowing and so he won’t know that his number is still in my phone even though we haven’t spoken in 8 months…

There’s something symbolic about deleting someone’s number out of your phone. While you can’t readily delete them from existence or even from your memory; deleting them frees up .0000002k in your, phone leaving space for another to fill.

If only deleting feelings was this easy…

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So I’d be remiss if I didn’t talk about one of the most important people in my life on her birthday, my Mummy (pronounced as a Jamaican would say it and not as a Brit). Today’s Ma Duke’s birthday and as she gracefully turns 54, I am so blessed to know her and so very blessed to be her child.

Mother-Daughter relationships can be quite tricky. You spend part of your life wanting to be just like her and the other part wanting to be nothing like her. It always makes me chuckle when one of my relatives is like, “…you get that from your mother…” because as much as I may or may not want to be your mother, someday we will grow up to be at least somewhat like her.

They say mother’s raise their daughters and worship their sons. I won’t refute that, I mos def think that as a mother, you have to infuse a certain set of standards to ensure that your daughter has a successful progression into womanhood; and regardless of the good, the bad, and the ugly there is not much I’d change about the way I grew up. When I close my eyes at night I know that there is one person out there for sure, that regardless, loves me no matter what.

People tease me because at 26 there are a few decisions that I won’t make without getting counsel from my mom. She may live hundreds of miles away, but you’ve got to trust the advice of a woman that moved to the United States 33 years ago at the young age of 21 and is still here to tell the story. And while we’re currently beefing over my desire to get my nose pierced (I say I’m a free spirit, she says I’m a professional) I know that she would never lead me astray.
She is the only person that I call at 6:30 a.m. and ask her to pray with me and with no questions asked, she leads the spiritual charge for her baby girl.

As I begin to think about what kind of mother I’ll be, I know that I want my daughter to still curl up next to me at 26, the way I still curl up next to my mama. I want to fondle her hair the way my mom fondles my afro puff. And as we lay their quietly I want her to know that I’m her Mummy and that she’s Mama’s girl.

Happy Birthday!!

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Note: This post is for entertainment purposes only.

Jumpoff sounds so much nicer than cut buddy, cutty buddy, or f!ck friend doesn’t it?
A friendly term for a “friendly” set up, especially for the single sista that isn’t ready to settle down, but also isn’t ready to take a vow of celibacy.

What can I say..when I first moved to Atlanta…I was on this whole…let me wait for the right guy to come along, start a relationship, and then after 6 months we can..you know do it. That whole idea went up in smoke when a sista met Mississippi Slim in the mall. GootGawd…thinking about that now has me feeling like someone just said Mufasa. Boy a whole bunch of firsts happened during that 6 am booty call (what can I say…he worked nights). Man…I lost my Atlanta virginity and lawd….what a turbulent youth I had…LOL. Let me stop before yall think my loft was a secret hoasis or something. I’ll just say that my introduction to jump offery was a wonderful one. MUFASA!

Hmmm…I know none of yall got the shit face on right now. B.I.G. Girl lovin is on another level…you better recognize.

In the last 4.5 years I’ve learned that in order to have a successful and ideal jump-off situation you must follow a code of ethics:


Please remember there are different types of cut buddies with different codes of ethics…this is for your bottom of the barrel cut buddy relationship. Batteries sold seperately.

1. Always go to his house. Shoot…there’s power in getting up in leaving..believe that.

2. Yall do not need to be friends, shit you really don’t need to talk, unless of course you’re giving instructions

3. Text messages should be limited to “I’m on my way…”

4. B.I.G. Girls always have their own protection

5. Kissing should be minimal

6. After sex dialogue should be limited to “I’ll holla” or “See you on the flip”

7. If the sex sucked, no need to go back. Feedback is optional

8. If your phone rings, answer it and speak in a regular tone. Your reponse to you caller should be “Naw I ain’t busy’

9. There is no form of communication before 9:00 p.m.

10. His real name should never ever be in your phone. Instead he needs a nickname like “Bonecrusher,” “FaceMan,” or “Head Master”

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“But if we label this…just picture what we might lose…that unexpected kiss, the whole feelin that brought me to you…”- Bilal, from “Love Poems”

I’m not big on titles. It has nothing to do with being non-conformist either…
I just think there’s pressure and obligation that comes along with titles. Extra responsibilities for peoples’ feelings and what not. For the most part I don’t mind ambiguity as long as everyone involved is clear on what the fuzzy boundaries might be…thats so oymoronic, but ah well…

It’s funny then that for a very long time…I had a label taped to my forehead that I didn’t even know was there…emotional girlfriend..

In July of 2007 after some bull went down a male friend of mine introduced me to the concept of being an emotional girlfriend. An emotional girlfriend is defined as, “…a chick you’re not in a relationship with (and may never be)…but you share a deep and emotional connection with. She completes you in a way no other woman can, BUT you’re just not with her.”

Ring a bell for anyone else?

I have no problem being a dude’s “down ass homegirl.” I do that rather well. Platonic is cool with me because it assumes nothing.

Emotional girlfriend…I’m not feeling so much. It seems so have your cake and eat it too.
Its actually an unfair situation to be in, especially if the emotional girlfriend has feelings for her “friend” that transcends friendship.

Problems arise when said “friend” knows his homegirl has feelings for him and instead of being clear that the yellow brick road is not actually yellow, but in fact a murky white…he allows her to believe whatever.

Selfish..yes..
Callous…clearly.

Maybe this post isn’t about emotional girlfriendom, maybe it’s about honesty….
Go figure.

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