Saturday, August 06, 2016

Soulful Saturday - Kid N Play

Annnnnnnnnnd, I'm back. It was fun taking the summer off. Baby K is getting big and sleeping through the night... mostly. Thankfully. I was a little crazy there for a while; it was like having a Betsy Wetsy doll that cried and slept in 15 minute intervals. But here I am... hopefully on the other side of that craziness. So what have I been doing this last month? Watching the news, watching the clusterfuck that is politics in America and listening to good music! We have also been galavanting all over the city... and hopefully those adventures will be covered in a "what I did on my summer vacation" post a little later.

Baby K and I were on our way to a meet up this morning and early 90s music was on the radio. Since I still remembered ALL the words, I figured that maybe I should feature some early 90s music on this Soulful Saturday. Here we go... Kid N Play. OMG. It is so weird to post videos from Kid N Play because they are so... mature now. Mature, meaning they are older than hubs in real life. Mature, meaning they are now above the age of 50. Holy shit! LOL Regardless, back in the late 80s, early 90s Kid N Play were EVERYWHERE. They had records, movies (House Party, anyone?), cartoons and clothing lines. I do mean they were everywhere. I had the LARGEST crush on Play. Like, whoa. Mrs. Christopher Martin. HA! Remember when you used to write your name like you were married to someone who didn't even know you? Oh, just me? Moving on...

Their music was fun. The House Party movies were hilarious... the girls were cute, hair was big, lycra clothing was... abundant. Their music (now and then) is exactly what you need to get your Saturday moving along-- and that is exactly what it helped me do this morning. Enjoy!!

Rollin With Kid N Play

Ain't Gonna Hurt Nobody

Back to Basix

**Just in case you missed the infamous House Party Rap Battle...**

Wednesday, July 06, 2016

Dear America

Dear America:

Hey girl. It is your favorite caramel colored girlfriend. Originally, I was going to wish you a belated birthday, but honey, we have some things that we need to talk about. I am feeling some type of way about you. I mean, you just turned 240 years old on Monday and you are not adulting well. I mean, I really think that you are too old for these ongoing problems that you have. These last few years, our relationship has been strained and so now, here I am, with an ultimatum.

Listen. You gotta stop lying to yourself and others. America, you keep telling folks that everyone is welcome and that you are friendly. Ma'am, nothing is farther from the truth. We all know that everyone isn't welcome. Why do you keep touting that line of thought? History tells us that it isn't true... What you allow in your house shows us, every day, that you don't want diversity here. Within your borders, people (of color) are ROUTINELY marginalized, CONSISTENTLY demonized, REGULARLY disenfranchised and HABITUALLY murdered for simply being. You don't have love for us, girl. And when one of us stands up to tell you just how unfair the treatment that we are receiving is, the clap back is swift. You aren't nice, chick. You allow our children to be murdered; our husbands to be taken. You don't blink when our elderly die in poverty, unable to afford the drugs that could keep them alive. It doesn't bother you that our neighborhoods are falling apart or that we are overlooked for jobs and promotions. You are not surprised and often find excuses for police who brutalize your citizenry. I mean, why do you keep inviting folks to your house if you don't want to straighten up first? You know what I mean? I just don't understand. Why invite family over, only to spit in their faces? That is what you are doing. You are spitting in our faces-- and we have had enough.  

You pretend to love us, but that love is only good if we stay in the boxes that you have picked out for us. You want us to make you look good. You want us to entertain you-- on tv, at the movie theater, through sports and at concerts. But, you don't want us to ever think that we are more than that. We are here to entertain you and the moment we stop, you turn on us like an inebriated spouse. Often you use us for entertainment then for target practice. We are targets for your abuse-- in which you want us to suffer silently. Stay in our place, save face (for you) and do it all quietly. America, girl, that is not how this works. That is not how any of this works.

Look, I want to take this time to let you know that you wouldn't have your house without us. We have been here from the beginning. Actually, darling, now would be the time to remind you that you brought many of us here against our will. And now you are systematically, emotionally and physically, killing the same folks you enslaved all those years ago. America, girl, you are too old for this! Since we just celebrated your birthday, I feel the need to remind you what happened 240+ years ago that brought about your birth. America, YOU are the result of the ultimate protest. Your founders were tired of being shit upon, so they left the game and started YOU. Now, darling, let's use some common sense here... If you have spent all of your years shitting on some folks, what, exactly can you foresee them doing? Are you trying to get history to repeat itself? Are you trying to make an uprising happen? Do you think that we will allow an extermination of certain folks just happen?

America, I am writing this letter because I love you. I love the idea of you. I love being a part of you. Now I want you to love me back. I want you to respect me and other Brown and Black folks. I want to be able to be proud of you when I leave your shores for vacation or business. I want folks to be able to look to you for guidance... not just military or monetary help. I want to be able to tell my daughter that her life will be respected because she is considered a gem in her own country. A gem... not a burden. In short America, I need you to get your shit together, sis. I mean I can't keep writing you warnings about this fucked up behavior. If you keep disrespecting your citizens they will rise up-- it is inevitable. We are not expendable. Our children are not to be used as kindling in the streets, America. Our fathers and breadwinners are not to be brutalized as examples, America. Our mothers and daughters are not here to be assaulted by you, America. We are not expendable. Saying that doesn't make us ungrateful, or selfish or racist. It makes us citizens and it makes you accountable. Stop murdering us. Stop excusing our murders. Just stop it.

Sunday, June 19, 2016

Soulful Sunday - PM Dawn

Damn, the deaths that have happened in 2016 have been unrelenting. Y'all. I am not going to get over losing Prince and the deaths just keep coming. I think that one of the reasons I am so affected is because these folks are so close to my age. Like, I grew up listening to them... going through formative years TOGETHER with them. Take, for instance, this latest loss: Prince Be. Lead singer for PM Dawn. He was 46 years old. My husband is older than that. I am dangerously flirting with turning 40. These are my peers that are passing away. That shit, by itself, is disturbing. Scary. Add in that his music guided me through high school, y'all can see why I am extra upset.

Most folks know about PM Dawn because they were on the soundtrack to the movie Boomerang. That soundtrack made lots of folks famous. I remember when I heard "I'd Die Without You" when watching that movie... man. I had to find out ASAP who was putting out those melodies. Hearing these three featured songs always takes me back to 1991/1992. I was a freshman in high school... and trust me, that is enough explanation. Fourteen years old, trying to figure out love songs. Hot mess.

Music is funny, right? It allows the musician to put themselves ALL THE WAY out there. You don't have to accept who they are-- that is the beauty of differing musical tastes. Prince Be totally flew his "freak flag." I mean, this was the early 90s, folks were not wearing silk hoodies and lace over their eyes, making slow jams with their brother AND the guy whose music they sampled. These songs are beautiful. This is real R&B. Real hip hop. Here is to hoping that Prince Be rests peacefully.

Set Adrift On Memory Bliss I'd Die Without You Looking Through Patient Eyes

Father's Day 2016

Late night contemplations. It is 4:14 am. As I lie in bed with my daughter, listening to her deep, sleepy breaths while running my fingers through her curly hair, I wonder... what makes a dad? I mean, I know what makes a woman a "mother" - carrying a baby to term and delivering said baby. But does that make her a mom? Does that make her do the job of raising a child? Does it make her do that job well? I had a child, so I am mother, but do I embody the idea of being an active, fully participating/functioning mom? Likewise, what makes a dad? Some people in my family have a saying... anyone can be a father, but not everyone can be a daddy. Being a father seems to be merely biological, while being a daddy-- that is where the work is.

A daddy takes care of his family; wakes up in the middle of the night to tend to a sick kid; breaks his back to make sure his family doesn't go without. A daddy works multiple jobs (if necessary), is a cheerleader in all aspects of life-- on the field and in the classroom. A daddy always wants to see his children have better than he did. Selfless. Hard working. Sensitive (even if it is secretly). A daddy is not faultless. He battles with his demons daily so they don't interfere with his ability to care for his family. He swallows his pride almost daily. And that is not an easy pill to swallow. It is like eating two thick ass peanut butter sandwiches on whole grain bread and then realizing that you don't have anything to drink. But he does it.

A daddy cries when his kids are hurt-- hurt by a bully, a love or by a fall. His heart breaks when his child can't be understood. He would take the pain for his kid, if he could. He teaches lessons that he had to learn the hard way. He takes the memories of all the times he felt lonely or unloved, and tries to make sure that his child never feels that pain. He is there to softly soothe the heartbroken, comfort the crying, discipline the naughty. He is everywhere without being (terribly) overbearing. He gives his all. He gives his all-- over and over and over again. His sons use him as a measuring stick to determine how to be men. His daughters use him as a gauge to determine what kind of treatment they should be looking for. He demands respect... and he has more than earned it.

I know the qualifications... because I have seen them met first hand. There have been times- many times- when I wished I had a dad that would lay off, not be so demanding or at least not demand my best, 100 per cent of the time. But where would I be if he was lax about his expectations? Truly, I would not be the person that I am today without my dad. I may be a heathen, y'all, but I thank God EVERY day for my parents. I thank God that he gave me a dad that showed me that I never had to settle to be in a relationship; that I am in charge of my own life. I am thankful that I have a dad who respects my mom. A dad who taught me that loyalty to family is the most important thing someone could possess, a dad that brags about me when I am not around... but never lets my head get too big. I'd be lost without him. He is an answer to all prayers for a caring dad. I am glad that my daughter has hubs and Pops to look to for an example of good men. I am glad that my siblings know that when everyone else is against them, mom and dad will always be there. Thanks for everything you do, Poppa Hot, Black and Bitter. We all appreciate you more than you will ever know. Love and hugs!!

Wednesday, June 08, 2016

Coddled Children, Horrific Adults

You know, things have changed in my life. Dramatic changes. Three months ago I was a housewife, now I am a stay at home mom of one tremendously adorable, chunky baby girl. I still run a household, but the mother part... the mother part changes everything. As a parent; a new parent, I hold the best wishes and thoughts for my daughter. She is not yet two months old and I already tell her that she can do and be anything. And I believe that for her. Hell, I believe that for me. I will raise her with all the insights that I have picked up, all the grace I was raised with, the sassiness, elegance, etiquette and chutzpah I can muster. I will do all that I can to provide her with a proper example of how a LADY is supposed to act. That being said, you never know how that will turn out. I mean, parents don't have a manual. Shit, I wish we did. There is no way to guarantee that your child will be a responsible, caring, empathetic adult. There is, however, a very easy way to make sure your kid will be a terrible adult... coddling them even when they display despicable behavior. 

By now we have all heard of Brock Turner, the former Stanford swimmer that was convicted of raping an unconscious woman. This "man" will serve six months in JAIL, not prison, three years probation and will have to register as a sex offender. For RAPING an UNCONSCIOUS woman behind a dumpster. So a judge totally kissed Brock's ass with that sentence... possibly because he also went to Stanford. Maybe it was because he wanted the victim to feel some sort of shame. Most likely the judge gave him that sentence because he doesn't have a daughter and/or he is a douche. Just when you thought that the shit pile was as tall as it was going to get, along comes a letter written by Brock's dad, Dan. Dan says that Brock's "every waking moment is filled with worry, anxiety, fear and depression." As they should be, Dan because your kid violated someone who could not say no or fight back. Dan goes on to refer to the rape as "20 minutes of action" and says that "incarceration is not the appropriate punishment for Brock." He knows this because he is his father. Sir, have a stadium full of seats and shut the fuck up. Immediately. 

Also, much has been made about the amount of alcohol that was consumed by the involved parties. Sincerely, I don't care if a woman or man drinks from sun up to sun down. The act of taking advantage of an intoxicated person is criminal. I don't care if a man is drunk and walking down the street naked, if I proceed to have sex with that man I am a rapist. He cannot consent. If there is any situation which precludes someone from saying (and meaning) "Hot, Black and Bitter I am an adult and I want you to do naughty things to me" then I am guilty of a crime. Point blank, period. And, truthfully, my parents would never let me do something as heinous as rape someone and then give me excuse after excuse after excuse so that I could get out of it. They taught me right from wrong, so, if ever I decided to do the wrong thing, my dad would let my ass sit in jail... and I would deserve it. 

Maybe if Dan was more of a hands on father his son would not think it was ok to rape an unconscious woman. Perhaps if Brock had some "appropriate punishment" at some point in life then he would not be in the situation he is in now. Listen, I said it above, I am going to break my back to make sure that my child has everything she needs to be a productive member of society. That said, I will NOT play the ultra devoted parent when my kid admits that she has done something wrong. I am not going to coddle her when she does something wrong because the world will not coddle your children. Well, if your kid is not a white male or a professional athlete the world will not coddle them. My child is neither, but even if she were... I would need her to know that while I love her, I will not cosign horrific behavior. Now Dan wants his son to be able to "give back to society in a net positive way." How about you raise a kid that is not a rapist? Maybe that is how Dan should have given back to society? Whatever happened to parents being parents? Disciplinarians? Moral compasses? C'mon, y'all- make sure your kids are people that we all want to share space with. Make sure that your kids know that bad behavior equals consequences. 

Sunday, May 29, 2016

Soulful Sunday - Divas of Rap

I often say that I don't like rap music. That isn't necessarily true... I don't like rap music of today. Because it sucks. The end. LOL. No, really, rap music of today does not hold a candle to rap of the 80s and 90s. As Momma Hot, Black and Bitter would say, I'm just not into that "slap your momma, kill your daddy" music. I also can't be down with music where the n word is thrown around, every other word. Can.Not.Do.It. That isn't just nostalgia or my age, honestly. I like(d) the empowerment of the early rap... and the ability to actually UNDERSTAND the lyrics. It was about beats but mostly artists wanted you to be able to HEAR and get what they were saying. Generally what they were saying was 1. get your shit together or 2. they were the best in the business-- and I can get behind both sentiments. They regularly sampled from GREAT music, often touched on pertinent social issues and (generally) had clothes on in videos. Miracle, right? The window for good rap music was the 80s through the year I graduated from high school (1996). After that, the decline was fast and real (sad face). Here are a few rap divas from a time when rap was played on my discman-- that was not that long ago. If the discman was long gone before you were born, sit back and listen to some real rap!

YoYo - You Can't Play With My YoYo

**So listen to my Y-O, here's my bio and next to me, you're not fly, no!**

Monie Love - It's A Shame (My Sister)

**You've been kissed, dissed, listed as a dumb one-- I hope he likes sad songs, he's gonna hum one** NOTE: I want to post this song for some of y'all after I read your Facebook posts... let it go, girl.

MC Lyte - Poor Georgie

**If you love someone you should say it often. You never know when they'll be layin' in a coffin**

Salt N Pepa - Expression

**I'm not a man, but I'm in command; Hot damn, I got an all girl band**

Queen Latifah - U.N.I.T.Y

**Since he was with his boys he tried to break fly. I punched him dead in his eye and said, "Who you calling a bitch?"**

Sunday, May 08, 2016

To Moms Everywhere

Wednesday, May 04, 2016

The Death of an Icon - Prince

It's been seven hours and thirteen days... since you took your love away.

Almost two weeks ago the world lost an icon and I have been unable to process that loss or write anything about it until now. I don't use the word icon loosely. I know most people do, but the title belongs to Prince. A music icon that legends are written about. An all encompassing beautiful force. A true work of art. I knew it would happen, but it pisses me off that in less than two weeks most people aren't talking about him anymore. Well, they are talking about the fact that he may or may not have had a will. They are talking about whether he had a drug problem. But not many people are talking about what he would want us to talk about... his music. A catalog UNMATCHED.

On a personal level, it wasn't JUST the music that made me love Prince. It was that supreme confidence that he had. Listen, maybe it was because he was short. Maybe it was because he was so unapologetically himself. I'm not sure exactly what it was but from the first bar of the first song that I heard, I was hooked. Age 8. 30 years...the love grew. I mean how could you NOT love a man that is secure enough to wear eyeliner and mascara (after the 80s)? How could you not love a man secure enough to give whole concerts in heels taller than ones that line my closet/whose hairstyles put most women to shame? How could you NOT love a man that routinely featured women in his groups-- as lead singers, lead guitarists, saxophone players, keyboard players and drummers? How could you NOT love a man that was (by most accounts) a self taught musical genius and was a perfectionist about what represented him? How could you not? A man that gave us the most beautiful love song ever (it is Adore, by the way, and no... you don't want to argue with me about that). A man that exuded self confidence (hello, ass out chaps); a man that was Black... and proud.

You know how you can figure out who a true fan is? It is actually easy-- they know more than just the top 40 (popular) hits by a person. They know more than the first album. They know the B-sides that most people have never heard of. They aren't mad that his songs aren't on youtube because they have already PAID for them. These are the people that will remember exactly where they were when they heard that Prince was found unresponsive at Paisley Park. Those same people will know where Paisley Park IS and what it IS. Those same folks will have silently shed tears for their lost friend. Friend... because the music made you realize some shit about yourself. Friend... because the music got you through some shit. Some tough shit. Some world ending shit. Or some new love shit. Or some new beginning shit. Friend... because we realized a long time ago that all of Prince's songs weren't about sex. And some of the ones about sex were about so much more. Friend... because he helped orchestrate the soundtrack of the life you continue to live. Friend... because he lives on through you and the music he left behind. Friend.

How do you say goodbye to a friend?

Saturday, April 02, 2016

Soulful Saturday - Songs For My Daughter

Ahhh - things around the Hot, Black and Bitter Palace have been in full swing as of late. We are officially on Baby K watch. She will be born during the month of April... like we have 10 days until our scheduled c-section. From today. Holy shit. Ten days, ladies and gentlemen. Say more than one prayer for your girl. And for Lefty. He will need it.

I really haven't been a crazy pregnant lady. I swear. Really. I didn't crave weird shit. Lefty works second shift so when I was hungry (which was not that often) he could pick up food on the way home from work- no biggie. And with the exception of the last couple of weeks, I have been even keeled. These last few weeks though- attitude like whoa. I have not been sleeping well. My feet and hands are swollen and this "little" baby is crushing my bladder like she is in a full blown professional wrestling match. Like, ma'am... I have been offsetting the craziness with music, mostly. Now, Baby K has been subjected to car concerts since her hearing developed (what did you expect) but even now that I have been more house bound she has been getting concerts while I elevate these swollen potatoes I call feet, or shower, or do housework, etc. It calms her down. It does!! I started out with some daughter centric songs-- but I have to say, she is going to have fantastic taste in music. In honor of her birth (whenever it is-- babies don't generally wait... even if they have a surgery date) all of the Soulful Saturdays in April will be songs that I sing to her on a regular basis. There are some classics. Yes!!

John Mayer - Daughters

Note: Generally, I think that John Mayer is a douchebag... but he is a talented douchebag and I like this song (and a few others). I still kinda want to punch him in the face. While singing his songs. Is that weird? LOL

Stevie Wonder - Isn't She Lovely

This was one of the first songs that I sang to Baby K on a regular basis. Every little girl should think this song is about her. Every one.

The Temptations - My Girl What can make me feel this way? :)

Donny Hathaway - More Than You'll Ever Know

Seriously, one of the most beautiful songs ever - and yes, I know it is a love song, not like a daughter love song... I don't care. PS. The Marc Broussard version is pretty fucking awesome. You know you want to hear it now...

Sam Cooke - A Change is Gonna Come

Because in 2016 this song is still relevant. More than relevant. And I have to prepare her... already.

Sunday, March 06, 2016

The Political Race - An Endorsement

It has been a while-- and that has mostly been on purpose. Things around the HBB household have been in full swing. We are preparing for a baby, including getting a nursery ready, being generally uncomfortable all day long and enjoying (not) extra doctor's visits and tests (that is what happens when you are old... no fun). Most of my social media presence has been on Twitter and Facebook so I have seen what has been going on. And, honestly, most of it I have ignored. Vowing that the last few months of this rough ass pregnancy would be drama free. Ah, but it has all come to a head the day after Super Tuesday, or so it would seem. 

So much has happened in the last week-- and we haven't even gotten to the Ohio primary. It seems like American politics are a dumpster, filled with highly flammable shit, next to a warehouse full of matches, with no extinguisher in sight. People who can't decide what cereal to buy at the grocery store now have social media Ph.Ds on the best route for the American people to take and who can get us there. That crazy uncle that your family routinely hides away at holiday dinners is now front and center, giving you the full extent of his racially/culturally insensitive rhetoric, making you question the gene pool you are a part of. And let's not forget the cute little millennials who are hell bent on telling you how to vote, although you have most definitely been of voting age longer than they have been alive. Dumpster fire, y'all. 

Since I am a voter-- a serious voter, like I do not miss anything; if the polls are open, I vote-- I find all the hoopla surrounding this next election super annoying. Like most gyms the first week of January. People come out of the woodwork, they don't know how the gym works and most of them use the machines wrong and get hurt before they see results. I mean, I get it... for several reasons people are super pissed off and want to see some change in how our government is ran. I understand. But how much of these extreme measures are actually helping them get their points across? How many memes FULL of misinformation will float around and actually change someone's mind? How much physical abuse is going to happen before we say enough? How many shitty debates and false promises do we have to sit through? 

Make no mistake, I absolutely speak my mind. I have a favorite. I know who I am voting for on the 15th in the Ohio primary. But I am not actively trying to change people's minds regarding who THEY are voting for. I have republican friends. Lovely, wonderful, misguided republican friends (I kid, kinda). I have friends who love Bernie Sanders. Lovely, wonderful, misguided Bernie fans (I... am not kidding). I don't lose sleep over who my friends are going to vote for. They have their reasons, I am sure. If they become fanatic about posting misinformation, I just delete them from my feeds-- self preservation is what I call that. So all you social media Ph.Ds, crazy uncles and sweet faced millennials should know... it doesn't matter how long we have know each other, or if we are related or if you are really, really cute... I will delete your ass with the quickness if you bombard me with "my candidate is the best, yours is a liar, America is so bad, only so-and-so can make it great again" nonsense. Just like before. Pregnancy has not lessened my ability to press delete rather quickly. (Yay!!) 

For whatever it is worth, my pick? Hillary Rodham Clinton. Lefty and I were talking about her about a year ago and I told him the one reason I didn't think she was going to get elected: people don't LIKE her. She has never been painted as a likable person. Ever. She has always been seen as a woman who constantly oversteps her boundaries, pushes for more than she should, demands so much from people and thinks she is the smartest person in the room. Essentially, I told Lefty that she sounds like me. I like her-- as much as a layperson can like a politician. She has more experience than anyone in the field and she pushes for improvements (things that can ACTUALLY happen) without blowing smoke up my ass. She is sassy and I don't care if you like her or not, Hillary is BRILLIANT. She knows how to work the system-- and we need someone like that. She is JUST enough of a smart ass-- she is not a self entitled billionaire or a crotchety old man. She speaks to the needs that I want addressed and that is why I am voting for her. 

All that said-- there is a debate for the democrats tonight... sweet baby Jesus, I pray that I don't have to hear anything about the size of someone's genitalia, like I did during the last republican debate. 

Friday, January 08, 2016

Fed Up Friday - Caping for the Villians

Ah, 2016. Here you are, just over a week ago some of us were ringing you in with the hopes and promises of being better people-- more awake to everything that goes on around us. Ah, some of us are liars. Horrible liars. Social media tells all. It lets us know who continues to bring the close minded bullshit from previous years to our mental doorsteps... and let me just say, there are a lot of you assholes. You haven't dropped the shit that holds you back. You still spend your day talking shit about situations/people/places you (still) don't understand. You post memes-- misspelled memes-- that espouse your ridiculous stance on whatever your cause of the hour is. Making me sick. Like, more than morning sickness... making me physically ill.  Prime example: the events of today.

Today is R. Kelly's 49th birthday. How do I know this? Because a radio station in Columbus told me so, several times. Listen, I cannot even pretend that I didn't rock to R. Kelly in the 1990s. He was everywhere and his shit was grand, hear me? Grand. One of my college roommates loved R. Kelly. In the broke days of college, when you actually had to go and purchase CDs at the store when they came out, I am not ashamed to say that I stood in line a couple times. But that, friends, was the 90s. The unnamed radio station in Columbus played some R. Kelly hits AFTER playing portions of an interview where Mr. Kelly got angry at the reporter for bringing up several past allegations of sexual abuse of minors. And THAT is why I don't fuck with R. Kelly anymore. Sexual abuse of minors. Several minors. He has a penchant for young girls. Man, what?

You know who else seems to have a thing for young girls? Some dude named Tyga. I don't know what he does, but I am guessing he is some kind of musician. He looks like a weird underfed rat. Whatevs. I guess that he has hooked up with one of the young(er) KarTRASHians, before her 18th birthday, and has been caught sending direct messages to a 14 year old on Instagram. Fourteen. He has men all up in arms talking about "that girl doesn't look 14..." Tyga claims that he contacted her because she is a musician. She says that in the direct messages he NEVER mentioned music. Uh huh.

And then there is the biggest news story in all the Black world-- Bill Cosby. Cosby is STILL in the news regarding his drugging and raping women for DECADES. Fifty plus women have come forward, with stories that are close to the same, claiming that the man who gave us The Cosby Show takes advantage of women. This week his attorney, who is a Black woman, hit the airwaves to profess his innocence- on a case by case basis it seems. She is leaving all kinds of reporters in her wake, which is impressive to some. Me, not so much, but hey lawyers have to mount a good defense for their clients, right?

Let me tell you WHY these three stories are annoying. R. Kelly is getting praise for his music and people tend to forget his shady ass past. Tyga has been given a built in excuse that the girl he is talking to through direct messages doesn't LOOK her age. Bill Cosby is given a pass because he is supposedly "America's Dad" because of a show that was on the air 25 years ago. I call bullshit. Why can't we just say that while R. Kelly WAS talented but we refuse to compensate him for "musical talent" when he is abusing the future mothers of our community? Why complicate the matter? Why continue to put money in his pockets when some of y'all have seen the video of him pissing on a young girl? Why can't we see this direct message debacle as a pattern for Tyga? Instead of looking at the girl in the situation and giving him a built in excuse, why not just say he has approached and "dated" an underage girl before and he is probably trying to do that shit again? Why blame that little girl and her mama, when the real blame belongs on the grown ass man that is sliding into her DMs trying to get her number?

And then there is Cosby. Sir, I need you to take a seat. A stadium full of seats. I mean, I don't care who you are, if 50 different people come up to me and tell me you are an asshole, guess what I think of you before we even meet? I'm supposed to give you a pass because you had a hit show in the 80s and 90s? And to all the conspiracy theorists... stop it. This is not happening to Bill Cosby because he wanted to buy NBC. This is happening to Bill Cosby because he thought he was above the law and could do whatever the hell he wanted. He has said that in the past he has given drugs to women and then proceeded to have sexual contact with them. He said it. So now that he has a capable Black woman at the helm, I'm supposed to give him the benefit of the doubt? I wonder how he would have treated her 30 years ago if she wanted to be an actor? Ewww.

Why are we so easily tricked into forgiving and forgetting? Why do "celebrities" make us lose our moral compass? Why are we caping for the villains instead of weeping for and helping the victims?

Tuesday, November 10, 2015

King of the Castle

It has been a while. I have absolutely no excuse. Ok, I do. If you have been watching he Hot, Black and Bitter Facebook page, you know that Lefty and I are expecting what will undoubtedly be a super smartass in baby form. So, I have been sacrificing all my writing duties (and some household duties) to practice my superpower of growing a little human. Essentially, I nap... a bunch. I (generally) don't feel bad about that either. Tums have become my best friend. Tums and fiber pills. Yep, just in case you are wondering, I am tripping the life fantastic over here. But no worries-- this will not turn into a baby blog, mostly because even the title Hot, Black and Bitter is not the first thing you think of when talking about a loving mother. Right?! Also, this was never meant to be a baby blog. Or nice. Or a reference for coochie coos, baby milestones and lost teeth. This is where I come to drop words and phrases that I don't even say in front of MY mom. I have decided to keep this blog, because Lord knows having a baby is only going to make me MORE opinionated on some subjects AND start a baby blog that people can read... just in case that is your thing. So, yeah. I'll let y'all know when that goes all the way live. We can meet on the inter webs for play dates and shit. I'm pumped. So, before I start blogging here again-- because SO much shit has happened that I feel the need to share my fantastic sarcasm for ALL to see-- I want to send out a special thanks. Didn't I just say this was not the place for touchy feely bullshit? Eh, I blame it on the pregnancy hormones, so sue me. When I tell y'all that my husband is a saint... ok, he might not be a saint yet, but after a lifetime with me, he should be up for sainthood. On my best, non-pregnant, day I am a handful and a half. Seriously. I know it. Breaking into year 38 of life, I doubt that it is going to change much. Add to that some *slight* mood changes, swollen toes, needed naps and, in general, my uterus being on fire with a growing alien and that handful and a half quickly multiplies. Through it all, though Lefty has been a dream. He doesn't always know the right thing to say when I am having some dramatic meltdown, he just kind of lets me have my moment and then asks me if I need anything. He is just so chill-- a natural deterrent to my brand of crazy. Woo Hoo!! So, before I re-engage in this blogging thing I want to take a little time to say thanks to Lefty for getting cheese fries at 2:30 in the morning, listening to me whistle from my nose because of early morning congestion, letting me take naps when we are supposed to be having productive Saturday afternoons, rubbing my swollen feet when you come in from work, text messaging me to check in on my crazy ass, transporting the laundry baskets downstairs, letting these nutball canines in and out of the house and having very frank discussions about pooping... you know, total party conversations. I would not want to venture out on this limb with anyone else. Let's pray it doesn't kill us! LOL

Saturday, September 05, 2015

Soulful Saturday - Kwame

So way back when, when I was young, there was a music revolution happening!! Part of that musical revolution was Kwame. He was super cool, he had that blonde streak in his high top fade... he wore polka dots. As I live and breathe, he was the dark skinned candy man of my little pre-teen dreams. And guess what? He is STILL fine. YES!! And he is still in the music game. And I am still infatuated. Let Kwame have a concert in Columbus... Let that happen. Y'all will have to come rescue me from jail; the charge will be some kind of jumping on the stage and living out my pre-teen dreams, slaughtering lyrics like an asshole. And it would totally be worth it.

My chocolate dreams, realized.

Ownlee Ewe

The Rhythm

Sweet Thing

You Gotz 2 Get Down

Sunday, July 19, 2015

Wee Hours - Summer Heat, Yard Work and Baby Showers

Ahh, the wee hours of the morning. I do not normally greet them with enthusiasm, but here I am this morning, trying to silently sip coffee while my households sleeps. And snores. They sleep and snore, even the smallest dog. A pack of snorers.

Like I said, normally I would be fast asleep at 6:26 am. Wrapped up in my blanket like a little burrito, dreaming about the adventures of the upcoming day. Ok, having a nightmare about the long to-do list that I have to conquer. Dreaming about a very large cup of coffee; wishing that I could spend the day watching bad Lifetime movies and eating cake. Cake with no calories. What can I say? I dream like a champion. But here I am, wide eyed, getting a caffeine fix, listening (over the sound of snoring-- seriously, it could be an Olympic event in this house) to the cast of CSI trying to solve a murder in an hour.

Yard Work

Why, you ask? Why am I awake as the freaking sun is coming up, sitting on my bedroom floor, typing remarkably (freakishly) quiet? Easy, I was out in the elements yesterday. Listen, summer is confused as hell here in Columbus, Ohio. We went from rain every day to 90 degrees and 100% humidity. From floods to oppressive heat. From dreary to hot like hell. My air conditioner is confused. My garden is confused. Shit, I am confused. Yesterday, I must have woke up feeling invincible. My inner Billy Bad Ass was in full effect because I KNEW it was going to be hot and I still was in my "Oh, I have shit that HAS to get done" mode. Outside shit. Girl, what? Lefty had a man-date with my dad to work on one of his cars and I had PLENTY to get done IN the house, but decided to be "helpful." Lefty woke up early (for him) and was out the door by 10:40-- it was already 80 degrees out.  Before he went over to mom and dad's, Lefty told me he had some outside work to do when he got back. I knew that a heat advisory was going into effect at noon, so guess what I did? Mowed the grass. Well, in the front yard... then I cleaned up stray grass with the weed wacker. Um, so, I won't be doing that shit again. Generally Lefty does yard work. Until yesterday, I had never even started a gas powered mower. Until yesterday I hadn't noticed that our front yard was hilly. As hilly as San Francisco. I am totally counting that shit as a workout.

Baby Shower

Wait-- I wasn't done being Wonder Woman. I packed up some downspout extenders and took them to my aunt's house, stood around and shot the shit for an hour, in the sun (she was also doing yard work). Came home, fell on the bed, declared that whoever thought up air conditioning was a giant amongst men, showered and got ready to leave for my cousin's baby shower. Got in the car and headed to Target for a gift. My thought process was that I didn't need to turn on the air in the car-- I mean I rarely use it and I live relatively close to Target and the venue for the shower, so I would be ok, right? Um, that was the dumbest thought I have had in my entire life. I had on a sun dress and by the time I made it to Target I felt like I was swimming in my own sweat. It was gross. Also, I should have taken someone who has children with me, because I don't know shit about babies. I called Momma Hot, Black and Bitter from the pet aisle. Because I didn't know where the baby aisle was. It only got worse from that point on. I finally decided on two different sizes of diapers and some wipes and headed for the door.

Still no air on in the car (what the hell was I thinking?); got lost at the venue. This was turning into a preview of heathen hell. If I spontaneously burst into flames I would have only been a few degrees hotter than I was in the car. Finally got to the baby shower... was there for 8 minutes. Yeah, I am not exaggerating. Eight minutes. My cousin was super cute-- her little belly was adorable-- but when I walked in I gave her my Target purchases and told her I wasn't going to be there long. My reason? Uh, I'm fat and it was hot under that wig. Yo, I keep it 100.

I made my rounds... had a whole conversation about how ridiculously helpless I was in the baby aisle at the store, hugged my cousin and headed the hell up outta there. Made it home, again sent blessings to whoever invented air conditioning (I should really find out who that was), took off my clothes and proceeded to take a nap. A heat induced coma nap. And I slept for 5 hours. And I don't regret it for a moment. Nap time is the best time.

Oh, if anyone is wondering, I am not leaving this house today. Happy Sunday.

Saturday, July 11, 2015

Soulful Saturday - Jackson 5

I woke up this morning feeling like I ended a little something. I never know what that "something" is that I ned-- especially before I have coffee, so I had no idea what Soulful Saturday was going to look like. So, I logged onto YouTube-- trying to be quiet because Lefty is a second shifter-- and did some exploration. Much to my surprise, I have not ever done a Jackson 5 post. Where have I been? I mean, I love the little darker skin, flat chested, big afro Michael... and the matching outfits... and the dance moves. This (and the Karate Kid marathon on Spike) made my morning.

I Want You Back

I'll Be There

Dancing Machine

The Love You Save

Who's Loving You 

Never Can Say Goodbye 

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