Know About The Hook Up: (Cheap) Expensive Hair Cuts, Free Credit Scoring, Online Rebates

Getting LAID. 

You need a hook up. I'm here for you.

And I'm not talking about your boy who works in McDonalds who throws an extra Quarter Pounder with Cheese in the bag. (But if that's your connect...hey. No heat, not judgement.)

I'm talking about two very important things you need to know about like...yesterday.

1. Knowing your credit score and...

2. Not paying full price for a damn thing.


And once I put you on please...go forth! Spread the gospel! Each one teach one!


The economy... man listen. We know. We're all living here. The brother is trying his damnest to fix it. But until Congress stops acting like a six pack of Summer's Eve, here are three EASY deals I found that has kept extra dough in my pocket and out of the pocket of THE MAN.



CREDIT KARMA

So chances are...when you've tried to check your credit score, you were asked to enter in all your information, including some source of payment and the next thing you know, you were charged a grip every month when all you wanted was your freakin' score.

Rip off? Yes.  Pissed off? Double yes.

Credit Karma agrees.

Which is why they offer your credit score for FREE.

Yes, I tried it. Yes, it's actually free.


I'm usually pretty skeptical when it comes to these things, but what the hell.

Two minutes later, and NO PAYMENT INFO REQUIRED... I had my credit score.

 This is NOT my score. Mind ya beeswax.

It's safe, they are ad supported, and checking your score will not negatively affect your credit.
(They request on your behalf, so it will not be shown to creditors.)  AND they're not trying to sell you anything. Nada.

What they WILL do, however, is offer you other deals from their advertisers like, U Promise, RoadRunner & Discovery. Feel free to ignore them and just check your score.

 Then look at your life. Look at your choices.

You can get yours too by going HERE.



EBATES

If you're shopping online and you're not already using Ebates, nobody loves you.

OK. Well, that's a lie. I love you. Which is why I'm telling you about this.

You know how some companies claim to give you cash back with every purchase?

EBATES DOES! Don't believe me?

POW! Cold Hard Chedda! (I think I bought a book.)

Here's how it works. You sign up, you browse their vendors (they've even paired with Group On and Amazon), choose the rebate deal you like best (6% Rebate & free shipping are my favs...), link to your favorite vendor THROUGH the Ebates site and that's it! No more to be done!

Can it be that easy Nyree? YES. It can and it IS!

At the end of each quarter, Ebates will tally up the amount you've got coming to you and send you a check.

On Black Friday, the Rebates are INSANE. I did some Christmas shopping and got back a check for over $200! Seriously...why would you shop online any other way?

I don't care what it is. Beauty. Home. Diapers. Electronics. Check Ebates FIRST...then get happy shopping. (And even HAPPIER when that moolah starts rolling in!)

You can get started HERE.


THE FLY CUT

Nothing pisses me off more than seeing a great Group On-type deal for highlights/color/cuts for some amazing cost like $50 and then realizing that there's no way in hell I could ever go there.

Why? It's not a black salon. And if you're anything like me, you don't really trust any woman who hasn't had to deal with black hair before.

I find myself apologizing for it as soon as they finish washing like, "Sorry. My bun was just pulled back extra tight so it LOOKS like my hair is relaxed. I'm really a happy nappy. Surprise! You're going to need a bigger comb!"

And so begins to trip to the black hair care salon. And they KNOW you're at a disadvantage in terms of options and service, so what do they do? Jack up the cost.

As a result, those of us who'd rather, oh..I don't know... EAT, have decided that we'd just have to suck it up. Bring our own shampoo and conditioner, some bobby pins and let Reina at the Dominican spot hook up up.

And as much as I love being called "Mami" and having a woman stare at me blankly as I try to explain why I'll knock her lights out if she eeeeever TRIES to blow dry my edges within an inch of their life, I long for the days when I could go to a salon, sip some herbal tea and relax,  knowing I was in the hands of a master. A quite affordable master.

Well, the day has arrived.

Introducing The Fly Cut!  Finally... discount deals on amazing hair care...just for us!



Did it work out OK? 

Well, I bought my $50 Fly Cut deal to the super swank Amoy Couture Hair Salon.  in New York City.

I walked in and I'm like...AHHHHHH. The sweet, sweet smell of expensive hair products.
And not the tragic, tragic smell of burnt hair and mineral oil.

The ambience was peaceful. Holy. Tranquil.

Nobody's abuela was up in there selling bacalaitos. No Asian chick selling bootleg DVDs.

Just a friendly staff (with BANGIN weaves I must say) and just... class.

Hair Heaven

My stylist Susan didn't treat me like I had a coupon. She didn't freak out when she saw I was natural. (She did freak out when she saw my hatchet color job I got going on right now, but that's another blog.)

Two hours later, my hair was LAID FOR THE GODS!! (I don't have a picture. I know...I suck.  I would have but apparently, the gods thought the humidity was more important to bestow on the city than my blow out. The gods won that day.)

Just trust me. My hair? It's Michelle Obama type sitting.

I tipped her 20% off the actual hair cut price ($150) and vowed to return.

Needless to say, The Fly Cut did me right and I'm sure it'll do you right too.


You can sign up to The Fly Cut HERE.



So don't pay full price for a damn thing if you can help it!

 It's still hard out here in these economic streets. At least now...you've got a secret weapon.

(And tell them all I sent ya! )

-Nyree

Go To Parties Like THIS: Sir Ivan's Castle - The Hamptons

Party Animals

I know...I know.

I promised the Switzerland story and the conclusion of my "Eat, Pray, Love" tale.

And you'll get it. I promise.

But first...this freakin' party story.



O.K. So, first of all, I have no idea what I'm doing at this party. I'm sure there was somebody at home, sewing a costume for days trying to get into this party and I sorta just find my way in. And I'm usually not impressed. As a matter of fact, I'm usually a bitch about these things.

 As much as I love events, I also kind of hate them. They're full of people who are more interesting in tweeting that they're at a cool place than actually enjoying themselves.

I'm up for being proven wrong, however, it doesn't usually happen.

So anyway, Elsi asks me if I'm free last Saturday and would I go to a party with her.

Sure. Why not?  It'll give me a reason to hang out with one of my favorite girls. And it's over at midnight. I can be home and cuddled up with Boo Thang by 1AM.


....I should have known better.


You see, Elsi has a way of innocently inviting me to some shit that turns into things I can't blog about because y'all will look at me funny.

So she tells me it's  JUST a record release party for this dude named "Sir Ivan" ...and it's in the Hamptons.

FUUUUUCK. I have to TRAVEL?!! Just for a freakin' party? UGH...And for WHO??

Who is Sir Ivan?  Well... that depends.

You can call him the son of a Holocaust survivor and philanthropist.

You could call him an eccentric billionaire who likes making music, throwing parties and doing whatever the fuck he wants to do. 

Or a just a regular dude who happens to own a real castle in the Hamptons where he routinely throws the SICKEST parties ever.

Choose one.

Needless to say, whoever the hell this dude was...I wasn't happy about it.

 The idea of having to drive out two hours for a fucking party infuriated me. AND it's a theme party? Eww.


But, in the name of friendship, I sucked it up. I was just told to put on a costume, get my ass on one of the 20 Hampton's Jitneys (he had chartered to take guests to and from the city...OK?) and go to his La La Land record release party. Don't think. Stop bitching. You already agreed.  Just go.

So I did.

But first, I'd need a "La La Land" themed costume.

The rules were clear. No costume, no admittance.

I figured everyone in the world would go for a bird or a cat or some shit...so I'd go for the one thing I didn't think anyone would come as.

A fish.

Kiss de girl...

I know. It SOUNDS pretty uninspiring...but once I got the makeup down, a dress that resembled glittery gills and added some fins... I was...

Umm...A Fish-Like Black Chick Thing!!  

Or something. I dunno. It was a better idea in my head. Anyway, who give shit? My glittery, drag queen-esque ensemble and Elsi's magnificent newsworthy Peacock outfit was enough to get us a swanky wristband and access into Sir Ivan's Castle. And dare I say...I was actually starting to get into the spirit of this thing. (How can you not, when you're dressed up like a drag queen?) 

Pretty Wings..

Think I should hand these out when people come to my spot?

So once you get there, you have to cross a drawbridge, and a moat. Finally...you enter the Castle. 

(Well, the Castle grounds anyway. The interior access was for Sir Ivan's peoples only.) 

Just a humble home. 

And I swear, I wanted to scoff. I wanted to get all snooty and talk about how ridiculous this whole thing was but dude really DID turn his place into La La Land. There was a carousel, a Mad Hatter Tea Party, these Lady Bug Glow Carts, unlimited caviar, champagne and, not to mention... and the most important thing here...everyone was COOL AS HELL. 

I mean, there was absolutely NO pretension in this party. Everyone invited must have embodied the "Peaceman"'s mantra of "Love Everyone And Everything" because we were IN LOVE. We were loving each other.. loving the night... loving the champagne... loving even more champagne... and even more... you get the idea... 

Lady...in a Bug

You spin me round right baby...right round...

We are lip-syncing...FOR OUR LIVES...

The Lady Of The House...And Her Dragon

Your party should just give up.

And there's just so much more that I can't really share (like the naked...umm... never mind. Go on my Instagram: @nyree6 to see what I mean.). What I can say is,  sometime around midnight, we were stumbling to catch the Jitney back to the city laughing, exhausted and wondering...what in the hell just happened.

So... the moral of the story?

If you get invited to a party where you have to get on a bus, just go. Don't think...just go.

Get your nose out of the air...and just do the damn thing.

If you have to dress up...DO IT AND GO FULL GANGSTA WITH IT!
(The chances of you enjoying this thing increases by a bazillion when you do.)

BLACK FACTOR: The party was extremely multicultural, diverse in age, sexuality and gender. It was really La La Land.

WOULD I DO IT AGAIN?: Absolutely!! But I need a better costume though. Seriously.

A FISH? Really? What was I thinking? The jokes ALONE...

-Nye

Travel (Cheaply) To Europe...Part 1: Bonjour Paris

That ish cray.

I am Nora Ephron's non-jewish wet dream.

RIP Ma'am, because the day I realized that I wasn't "Carrie" and, instead, I was trapped in one of your novels...everything changed.  Though, I actually feel great about my neck.

If you don't have time to get all wrapped up in this tale, here's the long and short of it.

At the beginning of this entry,  your beloved yet quirky female lead will get blindsided physically, emotionally and spiritually. In the middle, she'll do something radical.  Her friends will think she's crazy. She'll spend money she doesn't have, but will do it anyway. Why? Stasis = Death. (Shout out to "Save The Cat".)

 She'll keep referencing back to "Eat, Pray, Love" to justify her travel decisions and at the end of the story, she'll realize that the one she should have been with all along was right there waiting patiently.
....And that she's gonna be 40.

Someday.


But first, a little WebMD lesson. Dim the lights...cue the slide show.

Let me introduce you to a little heart condition called "Pericarditis".

Pericarditis is a condition in which the sac-like covering around the heart (pericardium) becomes dangerously inflamed. It restricts heart movement. It hinders breathing.  It feels like a heart attack.
It fucking sucks.


And I had it.

It's actually pretty harmless if you catch it early enough, which I did. However, when you first get hit with it, you're pretty much doing a Fred Sandford impression, clutching your chest, warning Elizabeth that you're coming to join her Honey.

The pain is fucking intense and you're pretty sure death is around the corner.

 And though I tend to eat relatively healthy, I didn't think about that when I realized my heart was going batshit. Instead, I began to think about every piece of fried nastiness ever shoved into my pie hole. Every pat of butter I've ever slapped on a biscuit. Every drunken post-happy hour run to KFC. (OK. If I'm being honest, White Castle. I know...I know.)

However, at the end of my ER visit (after three EKGs, three sets of blood work, a chest x-ray, all while spending the night next to a crackhead, who was all vomit everything whenever she wasn't moaning "Aaaaiii...it huuuuurts!", ) I was given a prescription for some NSAIDs and told to cut down on the Zumba.

Shortly thereafter,  and still not fully recovered, I went through a breakup. A bad one.

...via Blackberry.

Yes, I got "Berger"'d.

It's so rare to get a hand written note these days...

And, to make matters worse, my "Call In Case Of Emergency Break Up G-Spot Magnet Guy" had fallen in love while I was all cuddled up with the dude who I thought was "The One".  (No hate. Good for him.)  So I didn't even have a Bootie Call to get me over the hump....so to speak.

And, thanks to no Zumba and crying into boxes of KFC, I'd gained 10lbs. OK. 15lbs.

And I'm gonna be 40.

...Someday.


Anyhoo...

So while I'm spending way too much time on Facebook, pouring myself another overflowing glass of self-pity, I come across an ad for Iceland Air. And as soon as I saw it...I knew. Fucking book it.

"New York to Paris - $600 Roundtrip. Taxes included."

Don't think. Fucking book it.

This was on my bucket list.  "So was getting married." said my inner Bitch.


Only one of these things at the present time was within my control.

So I bought the ticket. *fingersnap* Just like that.

And then...I panicked.

Wholly shit. I'm going to Paris. For ten days! With no place to stay...no plan... and no more french under my belt than "merci" and "au revior".  But fuck that. I deserved this trip. God wouldn't have dangled the ticket in front of me if I wasn't supposed to take it...right? Right.

Now, despite the "Ball so hard muthafuckas wanna find me..." sentiment, I learned pretty quickly,  n*ggas do NOT have to spend their life savings in Paris. You CAN actually do this trip economically and still have an amazing time. Here's how.


TRAVEL

Time of year and airline is KEY!

Like I said, my fantastic air deal came from Iceland Air . With one little (less than two hours) layover in Reykjavik, I'd find myself in the most romantic city on Earth...with a broken heart. 

Somehow, this made sense. Thankfully, I wasn't going in Spring, which would have just been ridiculous. I decided to go at the beginning of fall. Which, by the way, is just as romantic. If not more so. It reminds you that you have nobody to cuddle up with. (Cue periotte clown.)

Next step? Find someone fun to go with so I didn't just stuff myself with croissants, chain smoke in cafes and throw myself in the Seine.

So I called my usual travel buddy, who was more than happy to go, BUT he'd be visiting his boyfriend in Switzerland for a few days so...I'd be alone. Eating croissants. Chain smoking. Wondering how cold the Seine gets late October.

 I threw the invitation out to my new ABFFs (Adult BFF) Elsi and she managed to turn my tragic film noir trip into an episode of "Ab/Fab".

"Of COURSE I'll come Darling...Sweetie!"

Get you some "DownForWhatever" Girlfriends. STAT!

Awesome. Now, since the American dollar is worth about the same as a sack of magic pork and beans in Europe, accommodations (that didn't resemble a scene from "Hostel") would be tricky.

What solves this problem? BED AND BREAKFASTS!  They're cheaper and usually located in t's automatically one of your meals eliminated! Pow! But I'm getting ahead of myself.

DINING & ACTIVITIES: 

You're in Paris! Pretty much, everywhere you go will be beautiful and the food will be awesome, yet overpriced. However, you should plan your itinerary in advance.  Since you've had breakfast in the B&B, you've only got lunch and dinner to worry about! Win!

Be sure to sign up for discount deals via sights like Living Social or Group On. (The sites are in French, but hey. That's why (insert your higher power here) gave us Google Translate.) You can pre-purchase dinner and use your voucher there. Also, try to go the fancier places for lunch only. They usually serve the same menu as dinner, but the difference is, the meal is half price.

And wine costs less than Pepsi. How can you NOT love this place?

Apprendre au moins une FRANÇAIS PETIT:

The French are not rude. They just think Americans are jerks and if you pay any attention to the news, can you blame them? Oddly enough, just as with other countries I've visited, the French actually like Black people. (It's just the people in our own damn country who don't. It's mind boggling. Anyhoo...) They're heavy on respect over there, and since you're black, chances are, you're automatically going to understand them. They're really close to "Momma Rules".
For example: You don't come into somebody's without saying hello, attempting to communicate and being respectful, right? Well France is THEIR HOME. And you're in it.

How would you feel if somebody walked into your house, started speaking Japanese, yelling at you because you're not moving fast enough and acted all superior? You'd call them an asshole, wouldn't you? Same thing here. So, I urge you to at least TRY to speak French. Yes, it's true almost all Parisians speak "l'anglis" but they won't until you try to parle francais. Se va?

Best way to learn quickly? Live with a French family for a month. 

Second best way? Fluenz  

I don't know WHY this program is so damn good, but it is! I've tried Pimsleur, Rosetta Stone and patient friends and this one taught me enough to impress the shit out of some Parisians. So learn at least enough to function in a restaurant. Because you're going to need it. Why? 

Waiters And Cab Drivers Don't Give A Shit About You

Unlike in the good ole States, the waiters and the cab drivers get paid a working salary. Just like you. So they don't have to be nice. As a matter of fact, they don't have to speak to your smug American, non-French ass. You can stand there forever and a day saying "Excuse me.." and not until you say, "Pardon Monsieur.." will they even bat a barely interested eye in your direction. 
And whatever you do..do NOT call them "garçon". Despite what you've heard, it does not mean "waiter". It means, "boy" and it's a derogatory insult. Say that shit and starve.

But if they DO like you, the waiter will not hesitate to try and smash. He won't get fired. It's Paris.

Also remember, that there is no tipping in Paris. Since they get paid a working wage, it's not necessary. However, feel free to leave a complimentary Euro or two if you'd like.


As for the cabs...well, unless you're going REALLY far, it's not worth it for them. Unlike in NYC, the shorter the distance, the worse it is for them. They don't want to work very hard, so a long leisurely drive is best for them. Also... trying to get one after 1AM is fucking impossible.

No, I didn't say hard. I said FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE.  The Metro stops running and people are literally camped out and sleeping on the street until it starts up again because there are NO TAXIS past 1AM.  Especially if you can't speak French. So if you're leaving (wherever) past 1AM, you'd better have a car or a bike. OR... you can learn the bus system (which is a bit shady). Just have a back up.

Speaking of the Metro...


New Yorkers Can Rock The Metro Like A Boss

If you're from New York and you can tell me how to get from 86th and Lexington to 23rd and 8th Ave on the Subway, you're going rock this shit. You're going to rock it so hard, you're just going to lounge around and take photos to PROVE how hard you rocked this shit. 

Look at me. Rocking this shit. 

The Paris Metro is CRAZY easy and it's the best way to get around. The trains come crazy quick and they have rush hour as well. And OH...two more things.

The doors will not automatically open. You have to open it yourself. We almost missed our damn stop trying to figure this shit out. 

And lastly...the people smell. No, not the homeless people. THE people. Not everyone of course, but a lot of them. And it's going to take you a day or so to get used to it. Standing downwind from the rush hour crowd is going to burn out your nose hair. Take that into consideration when you decide to hit the night life as well. You've been warned.  

All The Touristy Corny Crap... DO IT! 

You are in PARIS! Do not spend your days doing nothing. PREPARE! Get yourself a guide book and go see it! See ALL OF IT! You won't regret it and trust me, seeing these sites in pics aren't nearly as great as seeing them in person. Well, except the Mona Lisa. THAT shit was underwhelming as fuck.

But you still need to see it.
And the Venus De Milo. And Versailles. And Notre Dame.

Seriously. What's the point of going to Paris and missing these?

Louvre? Check.

I think I farted in the hall of mirrors. 

If you're a black woman in this area after dark, they'll think you're a hooker. Go during the day.

CHURCH! 

My fav song on "Parade"...(yes, I listened to it while I looked at it. Prince nerd...hello.)

"They loved to kiss on the steps of Versailles..." 

So get yourself a guidebook and go take some epic shots.

You may have noticed my jacket. Why am there in November? Because...


Late October-Early November Is The Best Time To Go

We walked right into every single attraction in less than ten minutes because all other tourists have gone home. You can skip the "Attraction Pass" if you do it this way, since all the "speed pass" entry it affords you isn't really needed this time of year. However, if you go during the Spring or Summer...that pass is a MUST.

The coldest it got? Maybe 58-60 degrees F.  And in that case, you just throw on a scarf and act Parisian. And what's the best way to do that?

Eat On The Street, Hang Out At Cafe's, Stay in a B&B, Use Google Translate and Wear A Scarf

Our scarf game...

...was TIGHT

By Day 10, we were Parisian. I was ready to give up all my shit and move.

 Elsi and I had the Metro DOWN. We'd been everywhere. We'd met new friends. We were speaking semi-decent French. We were regulars in our neighborhood cafe. We were smug. We were fucking awesome.  A HUGE part of this was staying in Bed and Breakfasts instead of hotels. Our host Jean-Michel was super friendly, constantly giving us the inside scoop and improving our French and his place? Incredible. Breakfast was light and well..Parisian. The accommodations? Beautiful. The money saved? A lot. Think about it. That's one meal every day that's taken care of. VOILA!

Dining Area

Bed...

...and breakfast

Lastly... 

Everything Is Better In Paris. Deal With It.

They hate Americans. They're all ... "Why do you Americans act so smug when what we have is soooo much better?" And you know what? They're right.

It's hard to explain but Paris just does it better. From food, to transportation, to cafes... it just all...WORKS.
Well...it doesn't all work. Like, the people don't. Everyday looks like a Saturday in Paris. We were there for five days when I was like... don't they have JOBS? But other than that...yeah. It all works.

I just asked for coffee...and I get this. 

This is not pizza. This is orgasm with cheese on it.

See that bartender in the mask? He made me a drink with a sparkler and smiled. Then I fell in love with him.
He did not love me back. Tres Parisian. 

And Then I Came Back The &*$k Home

Sigh. I know why the caged bird sings.
I also know why James Baldwin packed up his shit and bounced.

I came home to... America. Dysfunctional yet awesome America. After the shit at the airport, the white people acting all like... American White People, I had to ask myself... "What's stopping me?"

Why in the hell am I not making plans to move to Paris?

 I'm single. I have no kids. I pick up languages easily. I felt ZERO racism in Paris and I love it. I can make a living there easily. Why the hell wouldn't I just... move?

And JUST as I'm thinking this and mentally preparing to DO THIS SHIT... I meet someone else.
And he is awesome.

And that's why I am Nora Ephron's wet dream. Because of how this story ends...(or begins, shall I say?)

Yet that... (cue Parisian accordion...) is another story for another time.



TRAVEL: Check Hipmunk or Iceland Air for the best deals. Go during the off season.  I actually flew through Iceland to get to Paris, which cost about $200 less than going through Air France (who has been known to go on strike on a whim at least once a year. Usually during the off season.)  Stay at a Bed & Breakfasts to save money.

COST: The entire trip, for 10 Days, including Airfare, accommodation and spending dough (keeping in mind that the dollar was in the toilet and the Euro was 2-1), $2,600. Splitting cost with a buddy helped tremendously, but so did the B&B's.

BLACK FACTOR: That's the funny thing about Paris. There's practically no racism when it comes to African Americans HOWEVER...they hate Africans. Heavy. Once they find out you're African-American and you try to speak the language, you're fine. Not that it's right... but that's just the way it is.

WOULD I DO IT AGAIN?:
I had a broken heart when I left. Not only was it fully in tact when I returned, but it was making music.
Would I do Paris? Again...and again...and again...


(Stay tuned for Part 2: Bonjour/Buon giorno & Guten Tag Switzerland & Milan! (And yes...I spoke all three. Like a fucking boss.  OK, except German. I spoke German like an intern.)

Love Homophobia

You have one. Everybody has one.

You know exactly who he is.

He was the cousin at Christmas who was a little TOO excited about dancing to Michael Jackson.

He always had a smart ass comeback.

He was a pain in the ass but also a hell of a lot of fun.

He carefully sat very close to his female cousins and either watched with longing as they stroked their "My Little Pony"s luxurious pink mane... or, in a self hate rage, grabbed the plastic horse and launched it across the room.

He showed you what "having an attitude" was before you even understood the term.
(And thanks to him, you got smacked for giving it.)

You know which cousin this is because, without a doubt, he was named something sorta...well...gay. It wasn't a gay name until he actually revealed that he was gay though.

 But somehow, when you all realized he wasn't a fan of self-lubricating orifices, his name sort of became feminine. 

Like Andre.

Or Terrance.

Or Londell.

He's that kid that couldn't enjoy a fucking holiday in peace because was constantly being yelled at to correct his behavior. A steady stream of being told what little boys "don't" do. Like singing the entire "Dreamgirls" soundtrack. Or turning a perfect double dutch rope rotation. Which made him a valuable asset since you had an permanent turner (SCORE!), since jumping could possibly get him hit by an adult.

Yes...hit.

He probably got hit more than any of the other kids.

Your uncle had no problem with punching in his chest (really fucking hard) and then mean mugged him.... daring him to cry.

He got called a bitch.

He was constantly told to sit down next to the guys and watch basketball when he didn't want to. He was that kid you wanted to play with more... but, because you're a girl, the adults wouldn't let you.

Then, one day, little Andre/Terrance/Londell grew up, went to college, became full on gay and comfortable with himself.

Got some awesome friends.

Got an awesome job.

Worked out relentlessly.

And despite the "faggot" label from those who weren't comfortable in their own sexuality...became pretty damn awesome himself.

And his awesomeness transcended all ill wishes. (Especially the dudes who tried to physically test him because he sucked dick. Hell hath no fury like a grown man with emotional scars of a hardened seven year old being punched in the chest with an unwavering resolve to never. let. that. happen. again. )

A man I once dated  had Ghetto Turrets.

 "Nigger, what the fuck are you talking about? Ayo, you's a faggot Yo."

Real talk, he almost didn't get a third date because of it, but he did. And I ignored it, because, aside from being a typical dude (to be read "homophobic") he was a pretty decent guy. I guess.

 I mean, who am I to change the black man's homophobia?  That's just...culture standard, right?  Besides, I'm far beyond changing anyone and if he didn't learn this lesson by now, it's not my job to show him.

...or is it?

Yeah, it is my job. Here's why.

This caused extra problems for me since my best friend is gay. And so are most my really close friends.

 And these people have been there for me when I was on my fucking knees.

When I had the flu, when I was heartbroken and down to my last thin dime.

I'd poured my heart out to them and they nursed me back to sanity.

They forced me to dance and sing when the last thing on Earth I wanted to do was celebrate life.

They fed me. Got me drunk when I needed to numb the bullshit of life and brought me joy when I needed to be reminded how good life really was in truth.

These men were my brothers.

 And I'd be damn if anybody talked shit about my family.

You know, I always wondered what my white friends did when in the company of friends or family who spewed racist bullshit. I mean, sure, when someone of  color is around, I know they've got my back. They'll burn KKK hoods on the steps of a Tea Party Fundraiser if need be, I'm sure of it.   But when there's nothing but white around as far as the eye can see, do they do the same? If  a racist spews hate and nobody of color is around to hear it, does it still make a noise?  And do I care whether they cower  under social pressure to keep the peace?

 You damn right I do.

So, how did I deal in the face of ghettoized homophobia spewed from the man I loved and his equally mind-blowing homophobic peers? Easy. I did what any woman who watches too many movie would do.

I pushed him in the pool, so to speak.

In any great "fish out of water" flick, our main character with (insert issue here) is reluctant to change  until he's thrown into a situation where  he/she is forced to deal with the very thing he/she hated. You know that movie right? Right?

Enter Nyree's Homophobia deprogramming boot camp.

I brought him to every rainbow flagged event I could.

Brunches,  birthday celebrations,  even a  funeral.

Sorry. But this is what you get when you date me Dude.
Deal, or don't date me.

*strikes a B-Boy stance*

OK. I'm trying to act all big and bad about this...but it really didn't go down like that.


There was a conversation. One where, I tried to be as understanding as possible.

"I just don't get it. How can a dude...be turned on by another dude?!" he asked. Then shuddered.

I think he may have also said "Yuk".

"Well, I understand it, because I get turned on by men. But I can also understand you not understanding. For instance, I don't understand why men like watching women spit on a dick." I replied.

Yeah.

And furthermore, I highly doubt gay men understand what turns you, a heterosexual man on.

Sure, titties are universal, but even some women don't get the fascination with us. We smell awful if we go unchecked, we're emo as shit and just plain annoying. We need attention, maintenance, compliments and care taking CONSTANTLY and if that's not bad enough, we bleed. However, the way a dick feels when enveloped in hot vagina makes men forget all of that. Thankfully.

Now I don't understand how a dick feels in a hot vagina, but to forget all of that, I'm willing to bet it feels pretty fucking good. Almost as good as it  feels in an anus. How do I know dick wrapped in tight, lubricated anus feels amazing? Because I've never slept with one straight guy who hasn't requested it.

Oh...wait. I did.

This particular ex thought anal was gross. Ahh...and now it all makes sense.

But I digress. (No pun intended.)

The point is, after quite some time in my sexual tolerance boot camp... his speech changed.

Less "faggot" and "nigger" and more "gay" and "my dude". (And he wielded "gay" like we used to say "shoot" instead of "shit" back in the day. Reluctantly, yet understanding of the consequence.  Hey...I'll take it. Stonewall wasn't built in a day.)

And then, one triumphant day he actually said, "I'm proud to say I have a few gay friends... " and I almost fell out my damn chair. Progress is a beautiful thing folks.

So that got me to thinking. If a 40 year old Bronx-Native can change,  I wondered if it's just... outdated for black folk to be homophobic. Have we deemed homophobia simply...not cool?

(And as you know, once black folk decide something isn't cool anymore...it's fucking not. Period.)

That's when I came across this video where my friend Al of  "State Of The ReUnion" fame. I don't have to say anything else about this video except that I'm hoping this shit rubs off. Because frankly, I'm tired of the ignorance.

Every year, an outdoor house music dance event called "The Soul Summit" turns Fort Greene Park in Brooklyn into the best summer party ever, and every year, I have to sit and hear heterosexuals bitch about how many homosexuals were there, and in the very next breath say, "The vibe there is just so chill and free..."

Ya think?

This Sunday, I'm heading to another outdoor dance event called "Sundae Sermon" and I'm sure the same thing ignorant shit will go down.

My brothers, all muscled  up (you mad?), smiling, happy and minding their own business will be dancing up a storm and enjoying the party, while on a lawn chair somewhere, some homophobic prick will comment how many faggots are outside. Next to that prick, some homophobic douche of a woman will talk about how she's "strictly dickly". (Cute. We're still saying that over the age of 12 eh?)

And I sincerely hope the prick and douche pack up their smuggled in Coconut infused (fill in the blank type-alcohol), while feeling so uncomfortable with themselves, they decide to go elsewhere.

Good riddance. You're a relic. You're outdated. To quote Jay-Z...we off that.

However, if they should decide to stay, have a great time and enjoy the vibe instead of spewing homophobic bullshit, may they learn a thing or two. 

Like the following:

1. Bigots SUCK. By hating people of other orientations, you are a bigot. The struggle you had growing up in a country that treats you like a ward of the state, dives to Inception like levels when you add on being gay. So if you still maintain your shit, imagine what they have to go through knowing that they can't even take solace in their racial community.

2. Outdoor events are for everyone. EVERYONE. Even you. Asshole.

3. Nobody is trying to fuck you in your precious little anus. This isn't jail, it's a party. Besides, in jail, men typically rape. Rape isn't about sex, it's about power.

4. Someone else's sexual orientation has fuck all to do with your life. It does not destroy your livelihood, your heterosexual relationships or your religion. (Jesus never said a word. Put Leviticus away unless you're going to pay attention to all of it.) But how you reject those LBGT black folks have damaging consequences. Teens turned out of their homes and onto the street are then forced to break laws to survive. Depression. Alcoholism. Self denial and a myriad of issues I'm certainly not qualified to  free style on without a Google fact check. But you get the point. Someone else's life is truly none of your business, however, when you make it your business...then socially, we all have a problem.

They have colleges. And friends. And family. And are loved.  Just like you.

They are grown adult persons who pay bills, live life, love, lose and deserve respect, not only for who they are, but ESPECIALLY for who they are.

Unlike you, that kid who could jump double dutch in the hood, the one who danced better than anyone on the block, the one who had to take that punch to the chest without crying,  the one who had to fight (literally) to be who they were grew up and, if they were your family member, probably loved you anyway.

 And no matter what you say from your high and mighty lawn chair,  they fucking deserve to freely dance  in the sunshine.

 They've earned it.

So suck it up or go home. Better yet... please try as hard as you can, to get over it.

Because you're annoying the shit out of the rest of us.  We don't understand you and how you're just ...I dunno... "like that".

You should probably go somewhere where you can be "like that" with other people, you know? So we don't have to see it. I mean, I don't have a problem with bigots. Jesus says to love everybody, but you and your bigot attitudes? Ugh. That's just nasty. Eww...

-N



BTW... The Sundae Sermon is a FREE outdoor event and is all sorts of awesome.

If you're around Harlem...bring your blanket and get ready to dance.

Love is the message at this event.

Jack Ideas From Other Black People...

So, a friend of mine came across this on Craigslist.

"We are looking for subjects to interview for our documentary web series Entitled: "Black Folk Don't" ...."

Yeah. I know what you're thinking. But don't. It can't possibly be the same thing...right? Right? I mean...this is "Black PEOPLE Don't". They're "Black FOLK" Don't".

"No...no. We're McDOWELL'S...not McDONALD'S..."

"The project is a web series for an organization called Black Public Media, which is a division of PBS. Funding is being provided by The National Black Programming Consortium. The project derived from the director's personal inquiry in her own life about the consistencies and inconsistencies of racial stereotypes that she came across in her life...."

Umm... well... I'm sure it's...a ...uh...


""Black folk don't tip!" "Black folk don't swim!" "Black folk don't go to the doctor!" Whether it's a statistical fact, a racial epitaph or a stereotype born of truth taken out of historical context, “Black Folk Don’t” is more than just a colloquial phrase; its an opportunity for this web series to look closer at the activities that Black folk typically don’t partake in and ask its community. “Why?” ...."

Look. Before you guys get all up in a tizzy... I realize that it's possible for two folks to have the same idea... but seriously, THE SAME EXACT IDEA? With the same EXACT reason behind it? Bananas.

I'm going to contact the producers of this project and see what happens.
Ya'll know me. I'm all "Can't we just all get along." And maybe, we can take this from just me and you to a larger awareness...which is what this whole thing was supposed to be about from jump, wasn't it?

Stay tuned!

-N

**BTW, I was smart enough to Copywrite this. Thankfully!**

KWANZAA 2010: DAY 2 : I'll KUJI-CHAAAAAA-GULIA ...Later. I'll Get Back To You.

"Kujichagulia or "self determination" reinforces the need for African Americans to determine their own futures, by taking control of their present circumstances. During Kujichagulia celebrations, participants teach, learn and practice values such as continuous education, physical and mental health and financial literacy."
***************************************

The corn isn't doing so well.
I mean, I took a look at it this morning and it's starting to dimple. ( I probably should have gotten that hard, brown speckled corn instead of getting the one in the pack from Foodtown, but I was in a hurry.
As for the harvest? We are now down a banana and another orange. (Hey...it was either that or bake some more cookies. I think the ancestors would rather I dig in.)
Sigh... so. Yeah. I guess you want to read how I "Kujichagulia"'d...right?
Yeah...well...um...
Here's the truth. I sorta didn't do it till about ten minutes till midnight. With about two Nyreezmos in me. (A "Nyreezmo" is made up of whatever booze I have in the house with whatever mixer I have in the house. Flavor results may vary. Intoxication results are pretty damn consistent.)
You know what? This shit is starting to get stressful. And I'm not blaming anyone but myself, but damn!
Now, when I look at that stupid Kwanzaa set up in my living room, (how quickly we go from BEAUTIFUL to STUPID), instead of feeling all enlightened and empowered... I resent the hell out of it. I didn't really like yesterday's revelation after I thought about it...no matter how true it was, so I didn't think I was going to like this one either. So I came up with the perfect solution.
Why not just...put it off! You know... play some Zumba! Deep condition my hair! Make some turkey wings! Jump on "Stumbleupon"!
And that's exactly what I did. Wasn't trying to go outside because that snow was still there and renamed me "Kizzy". (Stay put.)
So, my friends.... I bullshitted.
Magnificently.
Let me give you a background of the human you all know and love as Nyree Emory.


I am a four star Procrastinator. And I know what you're thinking... hell, who isn't?

But no...I don't think you understand. I mean, I PROCRASTINATE. And I LOVE it. I take PRIDE in procrastination and how well I do it. How everything always seems to magically work out in the end and how ALL that stress was worth it.
I will wait till the last possible second to do EVERYTHING and then complain how HARD it was because I didn't have enough time....but I got it done anyway..AREN'T YOU PROUD OF ME?!
In school, if I had a project due...the final line would be written sometime around 6:20AM on the very morning it was due.
And, I'd usually get an "A" or something really close to it. Leading me to believe that I do all my best work under the gun...and a procrastination monster was born.
At work, I fucking LOVE deadlines! Are you KIDDING? The more, the better! If I have four projects to get out by Friday and it's Tuesday...BRING. IT. ON.
However, the not so-fun side of my procrastination includes: coming home to a dishwasher full of dishes I forgot to put away, bags of laundry begging to be washed, phone calls it's too late to return, shoes all over the apartment, fuck...I forgot to buy toilet paper...and toothpaste..AND soap?! Shit. Now I have to wipe my ass with napkins, brush my teeth with baking soda and peroxide and wash with shampoo?! And I might as well watch some...what the hell happened to the cable?! Damn it...was that bill due?!
I used to glorify this bullshit with dreamy, sing-songy self righteous sayings like... "I live in the now. I live in a place where everything is amazing and the future will be amazing too, but I don't really have time to deal with planning for that ...I've got things I have to do NOW. RIGHT NOW. And isn't that where we ALL should live?"
The problem with living in the NOW without considering that what you are doing (or not doing) in the now will completely fuck up the future when that future becomes NOW. You tend to think everything will be OK on it's own, magically...and it won't.
The past two years, I learned that the hard way. It's cost me time and money, and possibly relationships.
From not canceling automated subscriptions, paying a stupid amount of late fees, not checking my mail regularly, not going to the gym, forgetting appointments & events, not cooking at home, not bringing my lunch to work...
Once or twice, sure. But do it enough and you begin to see that...it's a problem. You begin to see your life tilt on a slope and everything that was once evenly spread out, slides down to the bottom...all crushed together. You now have a big ass pile of mess you need to sort through....which you will gladly deal with.
...later. (heavy sigh...)
So, back to me bullshitting on the Kujichagulia...
So like I said, I'm on "Stumbleupon" (BTW, a shout out to my friend Dele for my new habit. I love and hate you for it...) and what should I come across but an article on, you guessed it... "Procrastination" on one of my new favorite blogs, "You Are Not So Smart"
http://youarenotsosmart.com/2010/10/27/procrastination/
Now, as I started to read this article on procrastination, my eyes glazed over, my ADD kicked in and I decided I'd read it later. You know. When I was more focused.
Yeah. Let that sink in. I'll wait.
...Did it sink in? Good.
So, you know that "C'mon Son!" look you just gave me? Yeah, that's the same look I gave myself.
So...I thought...how in the hell can I make this fun?
I KNOW! I'll pretend I'm on "60 Minutes" and read it from a teleprompter!
And so...I did.
I cut and pasted the entire article and read it aloud...from a teleprompter.
http://www.cueprompter.com/
(You probably think I'm joking...but deep down, you know damn well I'm not)
And by the end...I got, yet another "oh shit" moment. And that moment revealed the following:
If I just outsmart myself out of bullshitting, then I'll improve my quality of life. If I set up foolproof deadlines to get shit done...I'll have no choice. If hold myself accountable...with a penalty or something... SHIT. MUST. GET. DONE.
If I procrastinate because I waste time on (insert major waste of time here), I must eliminate that (insert major waste of time here), until I get it done. However, knowing me...I have to make it FUN! I have to turn it into a challenge (see "teleprompter") or I just won't do it.
And with that...I just took the reigns! I just... KUJI-CHAAAAAA-GULIA'd!!
And to prove it... I just got http://macfreedom.com/
This blocks me from the internet for a few hours so I can get my shit done. Budget balance. Clean out the closets. Return those damn phonecalls. Let's see if I can get it done BEFORE I'm allowed back on the internet.
Can I do it? We'll see!

"CH-ALLENGE!!"

And I do this...because the NOW me is way smarter than FUTURE me.
The FUTURE me? I don't trust her. She's gotten the NOW me into too much trouble. I'm in control now.

"I'll be ripping off my OWN costumes now. Thank you very much."

OK KWANZAA! NEXT UP...
(Ayo...I believe that's me...)
Ujima (Collective Work and Responsibility):
To build and maintain our community together and make our brother's and sister's problems our problems and to solve them together.
(Fuck.)

***Due to unforeseen Holiday issues I, sadly, did not complete this task. HOWEVER, I did successfully do it the year before...(and it's posted) so feel free to take a gander at that. We have since then patched everything up and are loving each other like Bobby and Whitney. Pre-crack. Happy endings all around. Well...except for Bobby and Whitney. ***