Weapons of Self Distraction

At the bottom of an empty shot glass lies splashes of gold Tequila, remnants of bitten lime and mounting disaster where quiet was once poured.

Liquor makes you quicker. By then, it matters little that you are slow to anger...which I am not. Fists are balled into avalanches that will not stop. Shafts of white heat stab in and out of cognizant thought. My chest is warm now. My head, God help it, is expanding and contracting like malcontent rubber bands hellbent on violent release and revelry. Eager to snap. This is personal. This is physical. This is liquor making it quicker. Bringing all the unsightly things to the surface like lesions. Not even the bouncers want to get involved.

If the enemy of the enemy is my friend- why is it so hard to be good to my friend? Could it be that I am my own worst enemy? I am spoiling for a fight in which no one can be crowned victor. We are unworthy opponents waging war in ignoble battles.

It's burgundy now where glittery, sand colored shadow was brushed on earlier. The lid, wanting ice but puffing up defiantly, tells on me. There is no make-up to conceal my shame. My wanton ways, temper now tame.

A reminder that a shot glass, let alone four, need not be drained into an empty stomach and heavy head.

Out to Lunch

"Don't get down about the blog, its powered by your life, go live it then come back to your writings."

I stared at my screen, reading those words and blinked back tears at my job just a few days ago. I was lamenting via email to a friend that I've been all over the place mentally and emotionally, and that my blog was suffering. Those words came right on time. A friendly reminder that This Bug's Life is my own. That I shouldn't pressure myself to write if I don't feel moved to do so. It has to come from a genuine place and I understand that now more than ever. So for those of you who have stopped by to see what has transpired lately, just know that This Bug's Life is being lived and I'll be around to relay all the naughty, sordid, hilarious or mundane details in a few. In the meantime, check out my archives of blogs gone by. They are my prized possessions that I shared ever so lovingly with all of you. That should hold you over for a spell. Deuces.

Superheroes, Eskimos and Hookers, Oh My !

"Happy Hoe-La-Ween!"

So some of you may remember how badly I wanted to dress up for Halloween last year. It had been quite some time since I put a costume together and just went all out for the festivities. Well, I finally got my chance to dress up as Holly Golightly from Breakfast at Tiffany's but that's not entirely what this post is about. I want to talk about the spooky, scary things I witnessed this past Halloween night. I know that holiday in particular gives people a chance to release their inner child freak, but I had no idea how much freak-a-leek most people have pent up just dying to bust out. Damn!

Not too long ago, my girl in the blogosphere, Happy Hour Sue lamented that the only costumes left for her tween daughter were slutty little get-ups that she found inappropriate for her child. Check it out here. Well it seems that most of those costumes were snatched up by the ladies (and I use that term ever so loosely) who attended the Masquerade Party I went to on Saturday. Lord have mercy. When my good friend mentioned that females jump at the chance to let out their dormant whore, I balked until I witnessed it with my own eyes.

Okay, let's start with the more tame outfits floating around that night. Disclaimer: Before anyone gets all up in arms over my posting the photos, let the record show that these women willingly posed for these pics- knowing full and well that they would later be posted on a social website for local parties. The eyes aren't blocked over there, by the way. I looked out...big time.

"BOO!! tylicious"

From left to right we have what I believe (the jury's still out) is supposed to be a Super Hero, a German Beerfest Girl, a Can-Can Girl and an Eskimo. Honestly, the only one I'm really sure about is the Eskimo. She was the most reserved one compared to Bumble Bee Super Chick who felt the need to bend over every 2.5 seconds for the photographer. I just sat there wondering....does she know any other poses? Yikes. Beerfest Girl seemed to turn the other cheek more than a few times as well. But maybe if This Bug had a whole heap 'o ass, I might throw it all up in the camera, too. Riiiight....

Let's move on to the lowdown dirty shames. A prize to those of you who can guess what these females were dressed as. And... Go! It's okay. I'll wait.

"Trick or Treat?"

Alrighty then... A big bag of candy corn to those who figured homegirl in the middle was a Leprechaun. At least, I think she was. She stood about 5'10 and was built like a brick shithouse. She may be sittin' on a big ole pot of gold, yahnahmean? Or perhaps she's Robyn Hood. She looked kinda 'hood to me. My third guess was that she was from the valley of the Jolly Green Giants. (Insert Ho, Ho, Ho jingle here) The other three just slapped on some Frederick's of Hollywood, hats and a mask and were good to go. No mystery there. No creativity and absolutely zero left to the imagination. But fun was had by all and I suppose that's all that really matters.

"My thigh. No lie."

To be fair, I have to say that I didn't just let my inner prude shine this Halloween. If you know the back story on Holly Golightly, she was a small town country hick who reinvented herself as a New York high society girl. She made her living coaxing dollars, jewels, et al out of rich, older gentlemen. In my book, you can't be a gold digger and not be coming up off a little somethin' somethin' by way of the goodies. But she made it look classy. Tasteful. Something the aforementioned ghouls girls forgot to employ when they put on their glad rags that night. I had a naughty side, myself...complete with (hidden) thigh highs and a suggestively clenched cigarette holder between my teeth all night long. Anyway, I'm not judging. This Bug knows all too well you can't judge a book by it's cover or in this case, lack there of. For all we know- those were good little church girls who run the bake sale at the end of every month. I'm just saying that there is an art to being sexy... and using all the subtlety of a jackhammer isn't necessary. I guess the freaks really do come out at night.

The End

Flawless

People love you like
a diamond in their hand.
In awe of the brilliance they hold
but can never possess.


You appear to them
like daybreak in a dirt tunnel.
Like lightning in a clearing.
Like high noon to a drunkard.
Sudden.

People love you like
a diamond in the palm
of a pauper.
Unable to believe
their good fortune.
Astounded by
your clarity.
Priceless.


Cutting through glass and
closely held beliefs
with involuntary ease.
And a hardness known only to those
who grip fearlessly,
desperately.


I know that diamond all too well.


A girl's best friend.
Superlative in qualities.
Blinding all who lay eyes on it
as you reflect their own light.
Sparkling.

The only way to love a diamond?
Hang on tightly.
Let go lightly.




Inspired by Dame Shirley Bassey

Two Steps Forward, Ten Steps Back?

Jim Crow Laws Circa 1963 Sit-In

When is a book release party not a book release party? When several of the guests are denied entry to said party for no explicable reason. That's what happened to writer Teri Woods a few months ago in August and it's the reason that a trendy NYC club is being slapped with a bias lawsuit to the tune of one billion dollars. Woods is the author of the "urban thrillers" True to The Game, Dutch and most recently Alibi. She booked a party to celebrate the release and signing of the last title at Club Greenhouse in the SoHo area of New York City. Reportedly, some guests came from as far as the state of Virginia only to be snubbed at the door. While the nightclub is already known for it's strict door policy- what happened that night looks mighty peculiar upon further observation.




Check out the entire story here. Now, let me be the first to say that I'm a Black woman and am not an avid fan of her genre. Personally, the stories just don't do it for me. But Woods is not a bestselling author for no good reason. She has garnered quite a following with her hip-hop stylized writing and gripping storytelling. She writes about hustlers and sharp women who are more street than corporate. The woman has an impressive fan base where numbers are concerned. People relate to her fiction. Those same people deserved the chance to show their appreciation and support that night, but were turned away. It may be just a coincidence but I don't really believe in those too much. Maybe they looked a little too thugged out? Or perhaps a few sprinkles here and there would have been cool but an entire sea of Black faces on line or inside is not the look Greenhouse is shooting for. Who knows? I'd love to hear their valid reason for supposedly turning them away indiscriminately.


Either way, Teri claims to have text messages from the club owner questioning her party promoter about the guest list. He didn't want the place to be associated with certain people and apparently 300 lb. women are a no-no. This incident can really be seen from two different perspectives. On one hand, you can say that "doorman discretion" played a huge part in who was not allowed in that night. On the other hand, there's the possibility that racism is alive and well and stinkin' up the joint. It doesn't have to be an overt display. There's more than way to skin a cat to hurt Blacks. One billion sounds ludicrous even to me, but chances are that an out of court settlement is the aim. More than likely, the amount won't be disclosed. I'm not overly concerned with those details. I only hope that justice finds its way into this non-fictional tale of unfairness. If you ask me, this one smacks of modern day bigotry. So Fox News found a smug way to make light of the hurt feelings and what some may consider a violation of civil rights. (Surprise, surprise...) You decide. For the most part, people know when they are not wanted. That doesn't mean they have to take it sitting down.

Cigarettes And Whiskey And Wild, Wild Women

(from a song)

Perhaps I was born kneeling,
born coughing on the long winter,
born expecting the kiss of mercy,
born with a passion for quickness
and yet, as things progressed,
I learned early about the stockade
or taken out, the fume of the enema.
By two or three I learned not to kneel,
not to expect, to plant my fires underground
where none but the dolls, perfect and awful,
could be whispered to or laid down to die.

Now that I have written many words,
and let out so many loves, for so many,
and been altogether what I always was—
a woman of excess, of zeal and greed,
I find the effort useless.
Do I not look in the mirror,
these days,
and see a drunken rat avert her eyes?
Do I not feel the hunger so acutely
that I would rather die than look
into its face?
I kneel once more,
in case mercy should come
in the nick of time.

words by Anne Sexton

Throwback Thursdays

What up, Peoples. This Bug is back with another treat for you. I could wax poetic on the evolution of Common but we'd be here all day and I have shit to do. So let's take this stroll down memory lane real quick. One of my favorite years of all time was 1992. I was young, wild and loving me some Hip-Hop. I can reach in a pluck various memories from that time with ease. Lots of trees to twist. Lots of brew being guzzled. Lots of partying. It was... what it was. And I had the perfect soundtrack to do it all to. Just when I thought it couldn't get any better- Can I Borrow A Dollar? is released. The critic in me wants to go in on what a classic album this still is but I just want you to vibe on your own. And if you had this tape, you'll feel me on this one. Fortunately, This Bug never needed to borrow a dollar. I was straight with only $5 lunch money for a Dutch, an Arizona Iced Tea and a tre bag for self. Yeah, those were the days. Ahh... Soul By the Pound. First of all, any song that samples the voices of Grand Puba, Q-Tip and Redman with such finesse deserves a standing ovation. And the beat... What?! Few and far between are basslines that knock like this one. This joint proved that Common was a Chicago-getter from the gate. There are so many witty lyrics in this that I can't even nail down one for a favorite. He spoke the truth, though. I didn't bother to see CB4 back then either. "Do you even know where I'm goin'? " It doesn't even matter cuz now I gotta go-go...






Author's Note: Today's Throwback is dedicated to my homie for life. He was there for that raw Hip-Hop shit. Slick Nick- you are the truth. We lived it, my dude.

This is Bug's Raging Bile Duct

I'm sick of cars that don't do what they're supposed to. I'm sick of people talking when they should just shut the fuck up and listen. I'm tired of parting with hard earned money when unavoidable misfortunes arise. While we're at it, I'm tired of seemingly well meaning old ladies who I can't trust as far as I can spit. Just because I'm new on the job doesn't make me wet behind the ears with corporate politricks. I'm sick of phony bitches telling me I look cute but could cut me with the side eye they give as the compliment is delivered. I hate Moby even though he hasn't made a song to annoy me in over two years. I'm sick of not having enough time, money and energy to not do what I want. And if one more asshole insists that I take his number anyway even after I tell him I'm not interested- I just might get myself arrested. Well, I'm too busy biting the heads off baby bunny rabbits right now. Come back when I have something constructive to say.

Seething,
This Bug

So...What's It Like Down There?

I consider myself a fairly reasonable gal when it comes to fashion. I won't part with an obscene amount of money for the "perfect" pair of jeans. I refuse to freeze my ass off for sake of looking cute. I'm older and wiser now. But there is a part of me that simply cannot conform when it comes to shoes. In my humble opinion there is nothing flattering about flats. I hate them. To put it bluntly: I was born in heels. This Bug happens to have a mean shoe game. I'm not sure when it happened exactly but it's been the case for some time. I am deceptively short. But I walk around in 4 inch heels 70% of the time. So much so- that when I am seen in sneakers or Tims, most people who think they really know me often marvel at my actual height.


I do just about everything in heels. 3 and 1/2 inches or better. To the right is an actual photo of me changing a fuse for my niece quite comfortably in a pair of my signature stilettos.

Well lately I've been reconsidering flats for practical reasons. I stood for the better part of five hours in my trademark stilts the other day and was cursing the day I ever put them on. Why I was standing for that long is another entry. Anyway, I started kicking the idea of flats around. But there's only one problem. They suck. My friend suggested I take baby steps. A kitten heel. A kitten heel? Are you fuckin' kidding me? Unsexy.



How hideous is that shit? What is the point? I just can't do it. So I might as well step all the way down to those ballet slippery thingees. But when I looked into those I was only turned off more. There is something about heels that compliments my ankles, my calves and my runway walk that I can't resist breaking into when I'm faced with a long corridor. It's not entirely my fault, either. This Bug happens to have a considerable arch in her foot. My feet need to be on an incline. Where most people would be pained wearing heels, flat shoes tend to bother my instep after a while. And they just look plain awful. I'm sure there are some women out there that can make a flat shoe look fabulous. I'm just not one of them. When I made this point to her she then asked me a very valid question. "You want hip replacement surgery like Prince?" It gave me pause. I vaguely recall the Purple One needing an operation some time back- but I always charged that to the endless splits he did during his electrifying performances. The fact that he rocked heels for the past 20 plus years contributing to the problem never occurred to me. I don't want no damn hip surgery. Ever. So this weekend I'm going shopping for some more (gulp) pragmatic albeit matronly footwear. Pray for me. I may need a chaperone. You know, just to make sure I don't come back home with these...

Throwback Thursdays

Riddle me this: What happens when a genius producer ropes in an all-star line up of talented emcees and sets them loose on some ridiculous beats? Only one of the most brilliant concept album Hip-Hop has ever known. Prince Paul outdid himself back in 1999 with A Prince Among Thieves. The album tells the story of an aspiring rapper who needs to put together a demo quickly to present to Wu Tang. But there's one problem. He has no dough. His man hears his plight and offers to help by putting him on to the crack game. Just some quick cash to make his ultimate dream happen. And the adventure takes off. The entire album carries you through his start-up and the characters he meets along the way. There's a sociopath gun dealer (Kool Keith), a velvet tongued pimp (Big Daddy Kane) bug-eyed Crackheads (De La Soul) a dirty racist cop (Everlast) and some inmates you don't want to fuck with, just to name a few. It always irked me that this video wasn't released as an entire short film on DVD to promote this exceptional album. Prince Paul is criminally slept on. I can't say much more. Every last one of them flows instinctively over beats that seemed tailor made for the individual spittin'. To This Bug, they're all thieves. They take the cake and come back for the plate. Pshhht....The nerve of these dudes. It was straight fire and ten years later it hasn't lost any of its heat. Believe dat.

A Prince Among Thieves (Long Unedited Version)

Old Bones

When I first saw the bones in all of their magnificence, I had no idea I'd be burying skeletons of my own from that day. Tall as the ceiling and so arcane. I took it all in like a wide-eyed child. Those bones. I wondered how many had worlds existed since heavy flesh wrapped around them eons before. For me there was only one. A world that disregarded all space and time. Even blinking took on a new meaning. When I look back on that day one thing becomes clear. Flesh fails. It fails those who touch it...and it fails itself. I would never make it to White Sharks and Pina Coladas. The dinosaurs in their extinct but infinite wisdom knew it before I did. All of the secrets creaked in those old bones and said nothing.

Z-land Makes Me Feel So Alive!

This Bug has yet another movie recommendation for you, Folks. It really won't surprise if this is the top box office movie in the country this weekend even though the stats are not yet out at the time of this post. Every now and then you need a flick like Zombieland to reach in, shake the shit out of you, make you laugh and smack you cheerfully on the ass as you leave. And this film does it all.

The story surrounds a twenty-something milquetoast who is afraid of virtually everything but by some fluke can hold his own against the bloodthirsty undead. When he meets up with a loner who has perfected his talent for zombie slaying, they begrudgingly pair up and hit the road in search of safer ground. This is no easy task. There are rules to surviving Zombieland. And by the time the movie is finished, I can almost guarantee you'll know the three most important ones by heart.



Woody Harrelson shines as the expert zombie killer who happens to look damn cool while handling his biz. Jesse Eisenberg is his cowardly sidekick who curiously resembles John Cera's character from Superbad. Soft-spoken and hilariously timid to a fault. Which is ironic because Emma Stone stars as the tough girl object of his affection. You may remember her as Jules who got the eye jammy from a drunk Seth crashing into her in Superbad. Abigail Breslin rounds out the cast as her younger sister. She's grown quite a bit since Little Miss Sunshine (and way cuter than that odd looking Dakota Fanning) The cast isn't very big unless you count the thousands of ballistic zombies scrounging for the next mouthful of fresh meat.

This movie is a rollicking good time. If you can stomach blood and guts and can giggle at someone being bashed one good time, you'll enjoy this one. I haven't delighted in a film like this since Shaun of the Dead. Memorable one-liners and excitement for days. You may even have a hankering for a Twinkie when all is said and done. So... go see it. The intro alone makes it all worthwhile. I'm dead serious.

Throwback Thursdays

Today's Throwback is dedicated to all the fly guys (and fly girls) out there. This one comes by way of Superlover Cee and Casanova Rud. I don't have a huge background story for Girls I Got 'Em Locked. What I do have are countless memories from having this video on VHS. Do me a favor and just peep the hairstyles, the dancing, the outfits. There was nothing like it and there won't ever be anything of the kind to compare to that time. I remember dudes around the way doing 'The James' in MCM suits. Rockin' two cuts in the eyebrow. (It was fly when Kane did it.) I hear this song and instantly recall dookie rope chains and asymmetrical Salt 'n Pepa haircuts with one side shaved. My Pops was not having the gold spray designs even though he financed my weekly hair appointments. Nefertiti earrings where the jewel was her earring and two-finger rings. I was there, yo. It was a feeling. An era like no other. Either you lived it or you didn't. So what have we learned today, Boys and Girls? Short and sweet: Fly is a lifestyle. Nothing beats confidence. These dudes had it on lock. "Now c'mon. Get on. Get some. Stop yellin' it."

It is real if it's only in your mind

It was a marathon of a conversation and I quickly lost track of time. That's how it is with us sometimes. For what seemed like an hour, I read aloud the zodiac traits and characteristics pertaining to myself...and then to him. Water signs are so peculiar. So alike and so different. We talked about these things. Positive vibes and what we invite. Knowing yourself before attempting to deconstruct others. Warding off negativity despite being surrounded by it. It's what we do; relate and debate. And then a beep. I move the phone away from my ear to glance at the Caller I.D. The name on the tiny lime green screen has become excitingly familiar in just one week. "That's the firm! Lemme call you back." I don't think I waited for a response before tapping the flash button. Her voice was calm with a hint of merriment in it. I assume she was happy the hunt was over. She can safely assume I was happy to be caught. "We narrowed it down...If you're still interested..." Formalities ensue. Where. What time. She signs off with the same whimsical tone. I. Am. Ecstatic. I hit the last number dialed and hear seven notes chirp in rapid succession. I take a deep breath. "Baby. I got it!" And humbly speaking, this one felt like mine from the giddy-up.

Blameless

The truth is
you cannot fault
the maelstrom
for doing simply
what comes naturally.

Cannot address the sky
in accusatory tones
for being overhead.

You shouldn't hate
the serpent
for striking.

How can you not love
the purity of a child's laugh
meeting the air?

Because all of it
is right as rain.
And we laugh
at unlaughable things.

Bear up against the swallower
that is time
while it has its way
with us.

We unlaugh our murderous thoughts
and stand in the rain
that feeds the maelstrom
under the sky
overlooking the serpent.

Loving the children
whose laughs are so different
from our own.

Yes, It's Getting Clearer

Yes, I see it. My weekend will consist of putting away laundry that has been folded for week now. Eggs scrambled with cheese. Salmon cakes. Whole wheat toast. I see Grey Goose and Cranberry in stocky, masculine low ball glasses. Pizza. Skinny jeans. Cute heels and a heavier jacket... because it's cooler these days. Patron shots. A fight party. Mayweather winning. Yes, it's getting clearer. I see...I see...I see my kind of weekend on the horizon.

Throwback Thursdays

What up, People. I'm kicking off Today's Throwback with a little story from left field. Bear with me. Last night I was on the phone with my homegirl. We were chopping it up about the regular things when I paused to ask her, "Yo. You know anyone that was ever fired by letter sent via FedEx?" When she finally got the laughs out she responded with an emphatic "Hell NO!" Laughing. I replied, "Well, you do now!" More laughs. It's true, People. This Bug's brief stint at an office came to a close by way of letter saying there was no need to return. Truthfully, I was planning to make moves anyway. And I'm actually glad I didn't have to go in- only to be told there was no reason for me to be there. So they did me a favor by saving me gas. But I can't get over the amount of bitchassness it took to execute this move. No sit-down meeting. No phone call. Nothing. Just a Fedexed letter. Hilarious. Peace Bitches! Anyway, that leads me to the Throwback since one line in particular applies to the move they pulled.
I always felt Channel Live. They dropped the LP Station Identification in 1995 and achieved gold album success. (Still a notable feat back then.) The single Mad Izm featured KRS-One and is still a classic spin in its own right. The beat is melodic but maintains that tough feel that you savor in a Hip-Hop joint. Plus, I could relate when this came out because I was sparking a whole lot of it myself back then. This Bug's ever-so-appropriate line? "That's what I'm smackin' you wit, cuz it's easy. Like Lionel Richie- your whole style in BITCHY!" This one's for you, fake-ass FedEx firing, dirty Dentist Office having punk. Deuces!

2009 VMA's: Sweet Dreams or Beautiful Nightmares

If you don't know by now, This Bug doesn't usually report pop culture. But when I see something as noteworthy as the circus that was the 2009 VMA's, you know you're going to hear about it. Understand that this is just about what caught my attention. Okay...where to start.

How 'bout that Janet?

She killed it. Like I knew she would. Pardon me if I'm still a little sentimental off the loss of Mike but this made me emotional. There's something about siblings when they do the same thing with finesse that has no comparison. Blood's thicker than the mud. It's a family affair. They are born entertainers. I remember that Scream video so well, that it broke my heart when the screen was blank behind her; because that was the part where they playfully nudged and poked at one another in the original, the way only brothers and sisters do. Outstanding performance. I felt her.


Next up, Kanye Was. Oh, I mean West.

Your boy is officially washed. We all know he's not too proud to be the biggest asshole in the room, but C'mon already. Grabbing the mic from that poor little girl to proclaim that Beyonce had the best video? Taylor looked like she was about to shit a bus. That's just attention seeking at its lowest. Aight, we know you throw tantrums. We get it. Okay, your moms passed and you lost it for a little while. We even overlooked a wack-ass Auto-tune album because you supposedly got your heart stepped on. But a no-class move during Taylor Swift's acceptance speech only shows what a real douche he is...and that's reaching because at least douche is granted access into the most prized nether regions. I mean, when ODB did it at the Grammys, it was to say that Wu Tang was fo' da kids. Kanye might have just sealed his fate as a social pariah with that dumb-ass move. He better watch out before a kinder, gentler Madonna really snatches Amber Rose's ass up while he's busy being such a dick.



Let's move on to the real star of the night, tributes and rudeness notwithstanding. Lady Gaga:

This is MY GIRL ! There is no limit to her over-the-top act. A true artist in every aspect of the word. She's not afraid to shake out. She could give a fat frog's ass what people think, and it shows. Add that to her natural born talent and that makes her unstoppable. Her performance was edgy as always. The choreography wouldn't have been complete without the bloodletting, exposing the Paparazzi for the relentless, parasitic scum that they are. Let's not even start on the fashion. Clad in a red lace get-up topped by a mask that resembled a burning building, she let everyone know she's on fire. She makes pop tarts like Brittany and Christina Aguilera look stale in the toasters of yesteryear. "It's my first f---ing Moonman." I suspect it won't be the last. After last night, the world has officially gone gaga for Gaga. She's Beautiful and Dirty Rich!

And last but definitely not least...

Welcome to New York...except for you L'il Mama a.k.a The Accidental Tourist. What. The. French Toast? The only one to be successfully ripped to ribbons on Twitter, Facebook and other online mediums simultaneously and faster than Kanye's stupid ass. This girl did not get the memo that she is simply tolerated in the industry. The look on Alicia and Jay's faces were priceless. On some... is this bitch serious? What ever she smoked before jumping her silly ass on stage with them...I want to stay far away from. She is supposed to have someone on her team to tell her to be easy. To tell her that it's not the best idea to run up there as if you're part of the performance. Someone, in short to check her. But no one came to her rescue and she wound up playing herself to the umpteenth degree. I have no sympathy. She's a bird. Matta fact, she looked like a bird that flew out of that nest Lady Gaga was rockin' on her face.

Some honorable mentions include:

• Russel Brand's apparently painted on trousers. Sorry, that might just be me. He's a trip.

• Pink's acrobat lessons finally paying off. She's another one that doesn't give a whut!

• The trailer for New Moon in the Twilight series actually got my attention- even if I didn't see the first one.

• Beyonce's classy option to bring Taylor back up on stage. Great PR move if nothing else.

Anyway, like Forest Gump said: That's all I have to say about that. All you cool hunters and taste makers, be sure to swing by again for some reviews of the outrageous, fabulous and senseless. It's not often I do a 'stop and chat' on these matters. Later Gators.

Nothing to Prove

It's been a difficult miracle, but I can honestly say that I am more than okay with who I am today. I like me. I've accepted my flaws and shortcomings and I've learned to embrace the talents and gifts that I was born with. But I'm not here to talk about those. Today I'm going to talk about the things that I couldn't do and didn't have. Things that made me think I wasn't a real Black girl while I was growing up. Things that I can look back on and chuckle at- now that I love the skin I'm in.


When I first came to this country from my native Trinidad and Tobago at six years old, I was completely out of my element. I spoke with an accent and was quickly made a spectacle of. The kids would surround me and ask me to say things like water, bird or Connecticut and break into paroxysms of laughter at my intonation. The worst was being called on to read aloud. I could barely hear myself over their snickering. Then came the issue of the hair. My mother had never cut it since she overcame her Arthritis that caused her to chop off the flowing manes of my two older sisters. With a solitary plait down the center of my back- I was told by the other girls that my hair was long and pretty, but I wouldn't be so cute without it. "Coolie Girl, Coolie Girl" they chanted. They swung it as if they wished it were detachable. I begged my mother to cut it but she refused. Their taunts would cut deep. I wanted to explain to them that Coolie was as bad an insult in my homeland as the N-word up here. That I came from a place where most little girls had the same texture and length of hair as me. That it was the norm- not a novelty over there. But what good would it have done? They were hell bent on making me feel low. And for a while they succeeded.



Part of the acceptance you can achieve on the block is your ability to jump Double Dutch. I could never jump Double Dutch. The nonstop whipping of the rope against the pavement always beckoned me but I was afraid. When I finally made my attempt, I was slapped in the face by the wiry rope and I can still feel the sting. I tried to redeem myself by turning for whoever had to run home- but soon showed myself to be "double handed" and was told not to bother. I admired the skill that it took. It had a rhythm all of its own. I wanted to learn so badly but no one had the patience to teach me; and so I quickly lost interest. But something always nagged at me. Real Black girls jumped Double Dutch. I couldn't.


A few years later I was starting to come into my own but there were still some things I couldn't do. I could not braid hair. Cornrows or even more intricate styles were definitely not my calling. To this day, I cannot even do simple twisting of locks or a French braid for someone. It wasn't for lack of trying, either. I practiced tirelessly on my dolls but never quite picked it up. This was a longing like no other, and probably the only one that still somewhat haunts me to this day. There is a sisterhood so innate to that act. It lends itself to an intimacy and caring that I have never been able to extend through nimble fingers. Even as a teenager, I hated it when a boy I was seeing had to sit between some other girl's legs to have his hair done. Hated it.


Since we're talking about adolescence, I don't have to relay how much body image can wreak havoc on your peace of mind and self esteem during those formidable years. I was a twig. A whopping 97 pounds soaking wet while wearing a tool belt and holding a brick. Once, in high school I was sent back to class during a blood drive for not weighing enough. No big deal, save for the fact that everyone else seemed to budding in places I wasn't. The girls I went to school with had bodacious booties and full breasts. They commanded attention but to the boys, I was invisible. I grew to despise the word "Thick" since that was how they described the sexier, more womanly physiques that walked by. "Damn, yo. She is thick! " I tried everything to gain weight. I drank a milkshake with every meal and even ate grits right before going to bed. Because I heard that made you...thick. And real Black girls were. I wasn't.

As I said before, I've come to accept a lot about myself and learned to love who I am. I understand now that women of color come in all shapes and shades. I no longer grapple with being the quintessential Soul Sister. I don't have any hang-ups about not being Black enough in the eyes of my peers. Life has steered me away from toxic people and self deprecating ideas. For that I am grateful. I'm not the little girl who was scared to speak for fear of being laughed at anymore. It's not so bad that I don't jump (or turn) Double Dutch. I outgrew that game. One of these days, I'm going to learn how to twist some hair and make it look presentable. And honestly, I have a pretty nice chassis for those who've ever been lucky enough to steal a glance. It feels good to be me. A mixed up cocktail of exotic Caribbean blood that spans the four corners of the map. All in all, I'd say I have nothing to prove.

Throwback Thursdays

In the wake of creating a new blog strictly for my Hip-Hop heads, (see below post) I've decided that Today's Throwback will have nothing to do with a video you might have recorded back in the day. There was no video but thanks to the glorious innovation of Youtube, somebody put one together for one of my favorite joints of all time. Also, I'm paying homage to the original Purple Tape because 1. Only Built for Cuban Linx Part II dropped two days ago and 2. This Bug was at the album release party at Santos Party House. Oh. My. God. Raekwon has done it again. It's like '95 all over again. He has not lost an ounce of ruggedness. Let me tell you, he has officially cooked up something marvelous to get your mouth watering. Makes me want to walk backstage to the kitchen and give my compliments to The Chef personally. Bottomline: Go cop that right now! But wait a minute. Not so fast. You can't leave without engaging in some Verbal Intercourse which by the way served as inspiration for my new Hip-Hop blog, Dope Beats & Door Knockas This track is nothing short of magnificent. From the first verse, which in my humble opinion is one of Nas' finest moments to The Emotions' sample of If You Think It, this song is the flyest. Once again, Ghostface does what he does best alongside Rae. They are truly the Dynamic Duo. This Bug's favorite line? It's a combination of Nas entire verse and Tony Stark's declaration: "Sharpened toothbrushes. 190 mixed with Baby Oil and shit. Your man's in the kitchen stashing ice picks. Well I'ma end this with a big red cherry on top. Me, Nas and Rae got the best product on the block!" Whooo! He ain't never lied. Keep your eyes open and your wallet in your front pocket...

Allow Me to Reintroduce Myself

It was recently brought to my attention that I have readers from various walks of life. Or, at least the Narcissist Blogger in me would like to think so. I have no way of knowing anymore since I removed the traffic monitoring device. It just felt a bit..oh I dunno...stalkerish? Anyway, those who have been following know that I can swing in any direction on my blog depending on the day. I can go from current events to poetry to mad-woman ranting in just one week. But anyone who's been reading knows that This Bug loves all things Hip-Hop. So in an effort to concentrate those interests while still staying true to my Hip-Hop roots...I bring to you (extended drum roll) Dope Beats and Door Knockas. This way, all my true heads who want the treats going straight to the main vein without the other stuff can just peep me over there. Throwback Thursdays will still be featured on This Bug's Life, but if you want a dose that hasn't even been stepped on...Dope Beats and Door Knockas is the way to go. All previous Hip-Hop related posts can be found over there. Anyway, I'm just expanding those Pretty Wings, you know? Hope I didn't lose anyone. This is also a move to keep the focus on all the other topics you guys seem to appreciate on Bug's Life. Thanks for the continued support and readership. We now return to your regularly scheduled blogging. Deuces!

Left Hand Write

What a map of confusion that leads nowhere. Lines crossing in and out of one another on my tan palm. Digits that are too long for such a short base. "Neverow Fingers" are the definition given by my clan. We all have them. Nails that are too jagged to be considered ladylike top them off. Rings show up occasionally and resemble a polar bear in the Serengeti. No matter how deft or skillful it should be, there always an awkward gesture at work. Perhaps out of nervousness or just plain idleness. There are tiny burns on the back of it. Hot oil from a frying pan before the Tilapia made it in. Another near the wrist from pulling a frittata from the oven too hastily one Father's Day. This hand would write if it didn't lack dexterity. It fumbles mostly. Runs absently over premature frown lines hidden by carefully coiffed bangs. This hand with only the ring finger possessing what could pass for a well shaped fingernail. Peeling polish in Mauve Sunset, but well shaped nonetheless. Slight hairs on the index and middle finger are all but singed off from smoking Marlboro Menthol Lights down to the second green line that dares you to cross it. This hand is falling asleep under a heavy head. A head that rests on the arm of the couch, eyes blankly staring forward. Tingling sets in. I have not moved. This hand, begging wordlessly to run down the side of a kind face. It will come to pass, but not tonight. Tonight when the pins and needles sensation recedes, that same half dead hand will wipe away tears tasted at the corners of a mouth. The right hand steps in...dutifully takes the pen.


Author's Note: This piece was written at Gotham Writers Workshop after being given the following exercise prompt: Examine your less dominant hand and describe what you see while simultaneously writing.

Throwback Thursdays

Okay, I have to the throw the disclaimer out there early before proceeding to Today's Throwback. If you're sensitive about Mommas, I suggest you come back next week. Alright. Let's commence. Bizarre Ride II the Pharcyde is still one of my all-time favorite albums. It quenches like a red Gatorade after three hours on the basketball court. When I started writing Throwback Thursdays, I had a mental list of videos I would never post because they seemed to obvious or generic by throwback standards only, of course. Passin' Me By was one. Common's I Used to Love H.E.R. and Souls of Mischief's '93 til Infinity also join the ranks. So if you're ever in the mood to vibe to those- head over to Youtube for yourself. But The Pharcyde has some other noteworthy gems including Ya Mama. Snappin'. The Dozens. Whatever you call it where you're from- they take it to a new level with an entire song devoted to dissin' Mothers. And it's hilarious. I always loved how they repeat the last insult before starting the next verse, just in case you forgot that she was naked on a mountain top tootin' on a flute. Ridin' on a horse, drinkin' whiskey out a boot. With the wings and the teeth of an African bat. Did you know her middle name is Mudbone and on top of all that...

Ah...they took it back to days of the playground where you were only as good as your last snap. That is of course unless it cut so deep that it escalated to an ass-whoopin'. Yes, even This Bug rumbled with a boy at school by the ice cream truck for talking smack about my mother. It took three heads to pull me off of him and oddly enough- people still remember that schoolyard scrap decades later. He'll never live it down. Shout out to McCoy Boy. You gave it your all but still got yo' ass bust, Homie. Love is love. Anyfist, this may seem ironic since I have nothing but reverence for Mommas but when it's funny- you have to give credit where it's due. Now if you'll excuse me, I gotta run. Quinton's On His Way....I'm about to order some food.

Today

"Send me something real to ignore or explore
And I'll show you all the things that I saw."-Zero 7

I discovered this song in the most unlikely of places. It's from a bugged out, hilarious movie. But when it plays, it's one of the most visceral and reflective scenes in film that I've ever witnessed. I'm in a sharing kind of mood so...don't say I never gave you anything. Today.

"Today... the words don't mean enough for us to say."

Author's Note: The photographer in me loves this video.

Just past the horizon...

“Faith... must be enforced by reason...When faith becomes blind it dies.”- Gandhi

No one said it would be easy. I'm not too far gone to think it was ever going to be. All I want...No. All I've ever wanted was some balance. Something that makes everything else that happens seem worthwhile. The trials, the tears, the hardships all repaid with moments of peacefulness. That's it. Nothing more. Nothing less. Sometimes I think there is no end in sight. Other times, in my more philosophical moments, in my more positive moods- I conclude that it is all a part of what is supposed to happen. Some fantastic weaving of the most delicate fabric of life, made stronger and more beautiful with each challenging stitch. Who knows? I know there is more in store for me. There has been too much survival for it to simply be a nondescript existence. I've crossed paths with too many dreamers and sages not to hold it all close to me and walk the good walk. Or swim the good swim since that's when I'm most in my element. Faith is such a peculiar thing. It's not always blind for me. Sometimes I need a reason to believe. Something tangible. Something that says, "Jayne. This is yours. Meant for you and only you. Finally." Once I feel that, I'll know that my ship has finally come.

Throwback Thursdays

By now it should be common knowledge that This Bug will never post a video that she doesn't like. But every now and then, I have to post one that I absolutely love. There is so much to say about today's Throwback. First of all, it's from a soundtrack that ultimately got more shine than the film it accompanied. It was comprised of some of the most talented artists of all time. Oddly enough, I could listen to this straight through without skipping any tracks. That's saying a lot considering my attention span. I don't have A.D.D. or anything..it's just that (Oooh look! A bunny !)...I lose interest early if something doesn't grab me and hold on, musically. Well amid some of the nicest emcees on there- these dudes stood out. Call them what you want. Coco Brovaz, Smif N Wessun, whatever your preference may be; there is no denying how hard they rep on the Soul in the Hole soundtrack with Won on Won. This video came out in 1997 when I was really not feeling all the shiny suits and disco that was passing for Hip-Hop. I always loved how silly it was without them making buffoons of themselves. It just looked like fun to be there. And there's so much entertainment in this one. If I ever meet Tek or Steele on the streets of BK, I have one question: Did ya'll really invite Ahkmed from the store down to the video shoot? He goes in with the dancing too, which makes it all the more bizarre and hilarious. Sidebar: Why the hell were they soaking in twin bathtubs full of red Kool-Aid? Well, at least it wasn't grape. I won't even give a favorite line from this joint since the whole song is crrrrack! But I can't front. As Tek slips off the Avirex while spittin' "Son, hold my AV- lemme rock this Nobody. Comin' out the closet tryna stop my money?" I feel a brimming respect for cats from the thoroughest borough. Brooklyn Stand Up!

COCOA BROVAZ - Won On Won
by homhom

This Bug's Randomness

I'm back with more randomness because when all else fails, when inspiration doesn't feel like visiting... I can always fall back on the trusty random list. Some quick hits- if you will. And away we go.



Yes, This Bug had the exact same metal Muppet lunchbox when I was a little girl; which my father instructed me to swing relentlessly at anyone who dared fuck with me on the playground. They didn't want it with Kermy and Piggy, though. I might just cop this from Ebay for posterity's sake.




Banksy has fast become a staple of my interest in art. Check him out. Thought provoking to say the least.




If variety is the spice of life, I personally know a few men who could benefit from a blander diet for a hot second. It's good to be friends with them though. Nothing like inside info.




I have to admit, she's a such a tragic and beautiful disaster that I can't help but relate to her when I'm at my worst. Everyone wanted to look; no one cared to truly listen.




What can Brown do for me? They can start by delivering my shit on the day they promised in a timely fashion. How 'bout that, Ups? Been waiting all friggin' day for my new phone. Bastards.




I went to a Luau the other day. Wasn't in Hawaii. It was still kinda fly even if I didn't "get leied".




It's a damn shame these limited edition Big Daddy Kane kicks don't come in Ladies sizes. Damn shame...





And while we're on the topic: Kane killed it at a free concert in Brooklyn a few weeks ago. That man can still hop over Scoob Lover's head and not lose his breath. What is he now? 40 something? 'Nuff respect due!



Who wants to see This Bug cry? Just place the above stuffed toy in a bag within my view, allow my heart to soar and then report that it's not for me. It's just being held for a friend. Some people can be so cruel.



This Bug was recently selected to be an officer of a Hip-Hop discussion board on Facebook. It doesn't sound like a big deal, but if you know how true my love is for the art form, you can just picture the inner cartwheel I did when I got the news.




On the To Do List: I'm gonna remix Trey Songz LOL Smiley Face to NRL Frowny Face...because I'm not Not Really Laughing each time I hear this corny little ditty. In fact it pisses me off more and more.



That's all, Folks. Stop by again sometime for more utter randomness.