May(hem)

So, been busy doing civic duty and no time to whine about affairs of Black importance, but I will say this--folks we're in big trouble. Government workers are an interesting bunch and out of work folks just happy to have a job, may not always be the best choice of go-to help. I'm just sayin'...

So speaking of work and working together, lending a hand, looking in your own 'hood for quality work and vendors--what's with "us" and our innate inability to work together, for each other and help each other out? What's with folks wanting you to take a chance on them only to turn into the worst nightmare of a paid relationship EVER?! The cousins are just a mess. And they say women can't get along?! Bullshit! We as a group trying to do business can't get along to save our lives. But let other folks offer us work, then we're bending over backwards to help, skinnin' and grinnin' and in full coon mode to prove we're Super Negro on the case. Sad, just sad. Take a lesson from our other colored clans who stick together, will live 14 deep in a 350 square foot apartment just so they can share resources and build a village that all can prosper from. We get greedy, start hatin' on each other and why the person in the hiring position has more than we do, bring all our issues to the project, cryin' broke, have every excuse in the book and can't complete the job on time-if, at all! I'm done. Niggerance and Negronomics are killing us softly, if not swiftly. No doubt, I'll continue to help and hold out hope for a Afrocentric partnership of any kind, but until then--I'm done with the cousins. See you at the reunion and I'll be that uppity recluse of a cousin who found a new and more inviting extended family.

Ah, hot weather is almost here again and the heat ushers the return of winter bodies in tight clothes. Make that big booties in shiny stretch pants. Make that muffin top in jeans meant for Anorexic Annie. And we're talking wife beaters and more plaid boxers and butt cracks than I care to see. Walked the dog last night before the fight and under the glow of the street lamp was the biggest butt and widest hips and perched on cankles and poured into glistening, purple leggings and shiny, cheap white shoes than my eyes have ever seen. Shirt tucked in, lip gloss shining, wig in place and damn-if-I-don't-look-good attitude. Again, not mad at your self-confidence, but you have to know that there's voluptuous, there's ample, there's curvy and then there's just freakish. I will never complain about my shape, again. Ever. Washed my eyes and I was good to go.

And speaking of fights--last night's Sugar Shane vs. Money Mayweather farce was a waste of my PPV money. The under card bouts were more entertaining and, I suppose, made up for Mayweather's not wanting to fight anyone that could remotely challenge him; He's no great fighter, just methodical, fit, fast and strategic in the sense that he picks his battles--literally and figuratively. I loved the fight-corner banter and the commentators (Larry) are a hoot. What I found ironic-- Chris Brown chosen to sing the national anthem at a boxing match, by a fight team who's trainer is going away for allegedly assaulting a woman, a fighter with multiple baby-mamas who dates a woman who had a hit called "No Scrubs". Oh the irony. And then they were all just hanging around the ring pre-fight. Sing and get on with your business. Scrubs get on with your business. Money get on with your life. Poor Shane, maybe there's a hint of sugar in your tank, but you're done.

And then we get Basketball Wives...Oy.