Got milk?

Started off my Saturday going back and forth to Iowa in a day for a funeral. Met more cousins, relatives, etc… that I had never met in my life. I did the obligatory, “Give me call when you come to the Chi and we’ll hang out!” I don’t expect any of them to call. I know its terrible, but it is much easier to put the onus on someone else to call that you really don’t want to talk to. This way at the next funeral or family reunion I’ll see them at, I’ll be the one that can say, “You never called me!”

The funeral naturally had it's share of drama. First of all, in the process of trying to track down cousins, uncles and stuff we found out 2 family members were currently in jail. One is in for tax evasion, another on a misdemeanor drug charge. I know my family is inherently country but eating chicken and watermelon in the funeral home parking lot with a napkin bib on to keep your church clothes from having grease stains on them is just taking things a bit too far. I mean can’t you eat a watermelon Jolly Rancher and be straight for an hour?

Apparently, my great Aunt had been going to this all white Lutheran church for the past 18 years and they had their way of doing things and handling these types of services. It became apparent in the planning of the program that there would be some cultural conflicts with the service. My dad got into it with the pastor who was residing over the service before things began. Apparently the pastor didn’t appreciate my dad’s request that he save the sermon for the Sunday crowd. Then my dad had requested that his Aunt’s favorite song be added to the program, and the pastor initially refused because he didn’t think it was ‘religious enough’. So my father, who is no purveyor of theology, made the preacher grab a hymnal so he could break it do! wn for him. Needless to say, ‘Eyes on the Sparrow’ was part of the program.

Then, he didn’t want to allow the ‘black’ funeral program into the church. I’m not sure how many of you have been to a Southern funeral (I’m talking Mississippi southern), but there is a certain culture or graphic consistency to the funeral program. It always has that old school photo on the front cover that is usually oval and fades out around the edges, it has like 19 pages of bible verses inside, a copy of the page from the hymnal of the song that will be sung, and it always lists EVERY relative’s name the person who died ever had and their grandkids, nephews, nieces, etc… Well, he said we couldn’t hand them out and had to use the standard church program that has that same waterfall that appears on every little Jesus handout ever made.

Maybe this speaks to some of study that proves the inattentiveness of black people in general and is somehow related to why little black boys don’t read.??? But the big southern funeral program definitely serves the following three purposes.

1. It creates a good solid base for a fan because those Southern churches don’t ever have enough air conditioning to accommodate a funeral.
2. It gives people something to do while waiting for the funeral to start since it will inevitably start late. (you know black folks)
3. Since everyone will take home 5-6 extra programs to give to relatives that ‘couldn’t make it’ to the funeral because they had to work, you know it has to look nice because black folks will talk about the damn program later on.

After six hours in a car, getting up and down to get more pink lemonade, potato salad and jello for old ladies, and helping folks steal the table centerpieces and putting these lovely flower arrangements in the trunks of cars that were sitting in 95 degree heat, my back was feeling like a boy scout knot-tying convention.

My brother and I decided to end the evening with a little middle-class surf and turf (Filet Mignon & Shrimp). After consuming a couple glasses of wine, and getting ready for bed, I get a call from a lady from my past who had lots of potential, but the timing just wasn’t quite right for either one of us. But she wanted me to meet her out, so I got dressed and headed out.

The last correspondence I had with her was about 7 months ago when I called to see if she was still interested in going with me to the circus. She gave me a resounding “No”. When I asked her why not? She told me “I wasn’t pregnant when you asked me before.”

…….. okay.

Now she has her little 3 month old baby and the baby’s daddy has left, she’s trying to rekindle old flames or something and I had supposedly ‘appeared in a dream’ of her’s recently. Anyway, she was out with her girls for the first time in a while so I met her out. We hit it off real cool and were talking and talking until she started fidgeting and shit, so I ask, “What’s the problem?”

So she tells me, “I’m not trying to make you feel uncomfortable, but I’m currently breastfeeding and I haven’t pumped in about 4-5 hours and I feel like I’m about to explode.”

………….. okay.

I decide to walk her to her car and she offers to drive me to mine. We ended up talking for another 30 minutes or so when she finally says. “I’m sorry, I can’t take this any longer, can you hand me that backpack.”

I pass this Gucci-esque leather backpack to her and she reaches in and pulls out what looks like some sort of bong or something and I say “What are you going to do with that?”

She lifts up her shirt and bra, takes this stun gun looking super soaker thingy, and starts pumping milk out her titty.

…… okAY!

So we sat there for the next 35 minutes and talked about philosophies of breast feeding, how wet and horny she was while she was pregnant, sexual positions for the 8 month pregnant woman, and the sensitivity of her nipples before, during and after pregnancy. All the while, I’m listening to milk squirt into this glass container.

Since she’s obviously pretty open about things I decide to ask her the question I had been thinking throughout the entire pumping process: “So, um, …… uh, can I have some?”

She says, "You are a gotdamn freak!" , pauses, smiles and hands me the bottle. I hold the bottle in my hand and I say, “No, I want it straight from the titty.” She says, “We haven’t even kissed yet, and you want to suck my titties?” I say, “Well, yeah.”

So she tells me, “Maybe another time.”

After that she drove me to my car, I gave her my number, a kiss on the cheek and haven’t heard from her since.

-c

CD of the moment: Jazzanova – “In Between”

Plastic couches revealed!!

So I stop by my aunt’s house last week. She’s getting old, just turned 80 something, a little senile, but she’s got it together for the most part. She can remember to go to church 5 days a week and remember what night is choir practice, usher board, women in Christ, cake club, etc…, so she’s pretty sharp for an older lady, but every once in a while one of your elders will drop some shit on you that you think is funny, but they’re dead serious.

We were having a Soul Foodesque Sunday brunch. All the players were there, Vivaca Fox, Vanessa Williams, the dirty uncle, the single uncle, the parolee, the person recently out of rehab and of course lots of bad ass kids. These occurrences are so interesting because everyone feels a little out of place because no one relates to anyone else in any capacity other than the fact that my great, great, great grandpa had some game and convinced some unsuspecting country girl to let him ‘put the tip in’.

After a meal that would make Emeril or the Iron Chef blush, we sitting around cleaning when I hear one of my ‘cousins’ ask my 83 year old Aunt,

“Why is there plastic on the couches?”

We all have theories about why the plastic is on the couches in the ‘good room’. You know, that room you can’t go into that has white carpet, etc.. There are historical references that state this was the room that a man asked a woman’s family to grant their daughter his hand in marriage. We know that is the expensive furniture, and back in the day it was a big fucking deal for black people to have a room in their house that they didn’t use!

I had always assumed that this room was somehow related to older generation blacks expressing their wealth in a time period when blacks didn’t have much. (Not much different than it is today though hmmm?) So when they would have company over, that is the room that the adults would go and sit in, but I NEVER saw anyone in that room. The only time I was ever in that room was for Christmas! And all this related to the plastic on the couches. I had always believed they embraced the philosophy “I finally have some good shit. There is no way I’m going to let all the ignorant ass rehab cousin’s kids, the folks from down the block, etc… come in and fuck up my shit!”

I think I was way wrong and it is was so simple and so matter of fact, that I don’t know how I didn’t see it. So when my Aunt bent over to explain this to my little cousin, she got on her knees and looked him straight in the eye and said,

“I have the plastic on the couches, in case Martin Luther King stops by.”

……………………… in case MLK stops by. You know how folks think Tupac is still alive, my aunt feels the same way about MLK. Now you have the secret as to why black people leave the plastic on their couches. JUST IN CASE the Dr. is in the neighborhood and swings by the South side of Chicago for some tea and a donation for the SCLU, she leaves the plastic on the couches……

-c

CD of the moment - "70 minutes of Coldcut"

"wife cute" vs "girlfriend cute"

So I'm having a conversation with a friend of mine the other day and we're
discussing the logic behind the comment, "she's wife cute, but not
girlfriend cute" and it became apparent to me that there is a certain level
of ridiculousness, but loads of truth to this comment.

There is clearly a difference between women that you would marry and women
that you would have sex with. The ironic thing that came out of the
conversation was the notion that men don't expect their wives to be as cute
as some of their past girlfriends and I was having difficulty supporting the
argument, but I think I've got it now.

By the time a man is ready to get married, external beauty is not as
important as all of the other intangible aspects of a woman/person you want
to spend the rest of your life with. (I occassionally like to be politically
correct for my homesexual readers!) It's IMPORTANT, but it becomes LESS
important as you become older.

Then issues such as would this person make a good mother, how will she be 10
years from now, is she doing anything with her life, or how crazy is her
family start to matter. So maybe this is why men end up losing their sex
drive as they get older because they've underestimated the importance of
physical attraction??? Of course, ideally you would have all of these
things together, but as I get older, I think of the above-mentioned
qualities that I could do without, an extremely attractive wife would
probably be higher on the list than I might think.

I can admit, I've been with some women that were up there on the
fugly-meter, but I obviously didn't plan on making them my wife. Then there
are women who I've thought were absolutely beautiful, bodies were bangin',
the sex was out of control, and they had rich parents too, but were dumber
then a bag of rocks! Obviously, they were 'girlfriend cute', or they were
there to satisfy certain needs, but not be taken home to meet moms, ever.

So now that I'm single again at 27, I find myself looking for a woman who is
'wife cute'. But the problem is, when I find her, I can't help but compare
her to those from my past who were extremely 'girlfriend cute'. For
example, girl A, masters degree, loads of common sense, fun to hang out with
and all, but she's got a damn crooked eye! Definitely wife material, but I
don't think I can get past that shit.

I was all set to try the internet dating thing. But can you believe
this...... they REJECTED my profile! I couldn't believe it. They told me
that I used language that was inappropriate and I need to state what I want
instead of what I don't want. I think it was the following line that made
them reject me:
"I am looking for a woman that has common sense, doesn't wear bright red
lipstick, is able to lie about how we met, can't name one folk song, is
pretty but not narcissistic, knows what narcissistic means, can speak
intelligently, and won't crush me in bed."

I suppose in this case honsty isn't the best policy

There is no way you'd be able to tell if a person has 'wife-cute' qualities
through an online dating service, which leads me to believe that trying to
find someone this way would be futile. I guess I could always use a couple
more girlfiends though.

-c

CD of the moment: Miguel Migs - "Nude Tempo vol. 1"

No love from above

God is trying to teach me a lesson. I just haven't quite figured out what
it is yet.

I never made it to Jamaica.

About 9 hours before my flight was scheduled to take off I bent over to pick
up a CD on the floor and could not get up. The pain dropped my ass to my
knees and my lil bro had to help me get into the bed. I thought it was
muscle spasms, but that shit didn't go away, just got worse. About an hour
later, I finally decided to go to the hospital, but I could barely move, so
I had to dial 911.

Yep, sirens and all, carried out of my apartment on a stretcher. After
waiting 4 hours for my HMO to approve a CT scan, I finally had the test done
and got the results:

Protuded disc between L4 and L5.

To make a long story short, my ass was in the hospital all drugged up with
pain medication from Wednesday night to Friday morning. I did a little bit
of walking on Saturday and it wore me out. So I'm relegated to laying down,
and that's it!

If I stand it hurts. If I sit it hurts. I was feeling good yesterday so I
went in to work today to get a laptop and work to bring home, but I overdid
it. I should've stayed my ass at home. So I'm even more hurt up tonight.
But at least I've got some work to do now so I won't be laying around using
up my precious 5 days of annual sick time.

I'm all drugged up waiting for the disc to heal itself and going to physical
therapy three days a week (I hate western medicine by the way) I think what
I need is some sort of voodoo shamen to swing by the crib and rub some
garlic and bats feet on my back and make it all go away.

I can't sit and type any longer so this is ending here. I'm going to have
to change my damn e-mail address too. All this junk mail is getting out of
control. I don't check my mail for five days: 183 messages. About 14 of
them were from people I know. This shit is out of control.

later.............

-c