WSBD: What Should Blackie Do

*****Author's Note: Sometimes I need you kids to knock my brain around and help me out. What Should Blackie Do?*****

As usual, I was glued to a gossip blog while I was supposed to be doing some sort of work related task, when yet another story popped up about the Alicia Keys/Swizz Beats/Mashonda love triangle that had more saga than Twilight. Seriously, this thing just won't go to bed. There's gotta be something else going on somewhere in the world. Surely, Mariah Carey has finally had a baby or Lindsay Lohan has killed her bunk mate, making her the queen bitch of her cellblock. At any rate, as usual, it got me thinking and as if kindred spirits, an IM popped up on my G-chat. It was Maria.

Maria: Have you seen the pictures of Baby Kenzo? I think I wanna eat him up.

B: No, but I'm worried about the oldest. I think she's going to have weight problems. Have you seen Kimora's neck lately? She's funny tho, so I still love her.

Maria: Do they do neck lifts? I'm sure they do.

B: Speaking of necks, where are you in the gossip blogsphere?

Maria: That has nothing to do with necks and I've got three windows going: E!, TMZ, The YBF. More crap about Alicia Hoes and Swizzy Stick.

B: Stop. Over it. Let's talk about Kimora's neck again.

Maria: I think I'm going to throw out my Alicia albums and I'm never watching Secret Life of Bees again.

B: Who still buys albums? I don't want to talk about them, you know it pisses me off. Stop acting like we know them. We don't and we've both had married men moments before.

Maria: I can neither confirm nor deny that statement.

B: Uh-huh, that's what I thought. I'm totally on this new thing: I can't say what I would do in any situation until I'm in it. No judgement unless I've been there. Does that mean I'm growing up?

Maria: I guess, but you're kicking it to a 24 year old, so doesn't that have a canceling effect?

B: I plead the fifth.

Maria: Yea, fifth GRADER...

Aside from the fact that it's amazing Maria and I still have jobs, I really felt like I was onto something with my new no judgement thing. Maria knows me well though and dug into me like a pair of Lee Press-On Nails until I came out with where this train of thought was really coming from. I've been quite vocal in my defense of Alicia Keys in the whole situation, so I won't go into it again, but I do know one thing: I don't know their situation. I know rumors, which is usually somewhere between true and false, but I don't know exactly what happened. I do, however, know my own situation. I met Tim a few weeks ago. He works in finance, is quite easy on the eyes with the exception of him being light skin and oddly resembling my dad in his young days, and is completely smitten by yours truly. I'm not pressed to talk to him, which seemingly fuels his fire to get in touch with me, but when we talk it's always for no less than an hour. Apparently two people who like to talk can run up a phone bill. Thank goodness for unlimited minutes. During our last conversation, I asked Tim why he lived out in the 'burbs. I know fishy when I smell it and I had to ask before I expelled another T-Mobile minute. Tim hemmed and hawed, but assured me he was going to tell me the truth, which was that Tim got his girlfriend pregnant during his senior year in college and "did the right thing" by marrying her. Fast forward another year and Tim welcomed another son into his suburban, white-picket fenced world. Shortly thereafter, he realized that making others happy while neglecting your own jubilee, does not a happy life make and they separated. Enter me. Here's the issue on the table: this guy has told me the entire ugly truth. The worst part being that he still hasn't technically moved out of the house they own. She lives in the master bedroom and he in another bedroom until he finds other accommodations. Now, I'm no idiot, so I told him this sounded like a horrible case of married man syndrome and that if we fast forwarded five years, I'd still be waiting for him to "find the right time" to move out all while he's still sneaking into the master bedroom to knock some boots. No, thank you. I could tell he felt badly and when he tentatively asked if we'd talk again after the big reveal, I was honest and told him I really didn't know. That's an awful lot of baggage to load on the dock, my dude. I'm not interested in being anyone's stepmom anytime soon nor am I interested in being the other woman. But what if I'm not? What if what he says is the honest to goodness truth and they are separated. I've never been in a situation like this and I do genuinely like the guy. With all the bull galloping around, it's refreshing to have honesty served straight up, no chaser. So here I am, wondering if I made the right decision. And I'm 89% sure I'm not going back on that decision, but we all know how 11% can turn into you are 99.9% not the father! You get my drift though. Anyone out there been in this neck of the woods before? Oh, and I'm not taking any comments on the 24 year old unless you've been there. What, whaaaaat?

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

&*#$/!!

Internet is down in my building. check back a bit later, sorry kids. Love you time warner...
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Top 85 Dead or Alive-but not black

Chad "Ocho Cinco" Johnson has been making the rounds to do press for his new show The Ultimate Catch on VH1. VH1 has recently decided to take a page from the MTV book of failing to have less music and more loser reality television shows like his and Celebrity Rehab. At any rate, Chad has found his place on the network and before the show even aired, women started complaining about the fact that there were no Black women on the show. Rumors started flying that Ochocinco cut all the black chicks immediately (he started with 85) and was forced to add two black girls once he'd picked fifteen finalist-the show wound up with seventeen vying for his, um, heart. In response to all the conflicting arguments and insults, Chad said, “Yeah, but I can’t appease you. I have a preference.” And honestly, he's allowed to. The question is: do we really have to care anymore? I mean, I prefer black men and if I did a reality show, I'm pretty sure it'd consist of at least 75 % men of color. But please be advised, there would be quite a few cutie white boys in there for sure. I like boys. Period point blank. At some point, we just have to stop caring what comes out of people's mouths. If anything, it's giving Ochocinco a point of platform for publicity. So if you aren't into him, stop giving him fodder. Besides, do you really care what someone named Ochocinco thinks?

I think what pisses people off more is that he doesn't prefer black women now, but he sure as hell preferred them when he made six zillion children with three different ones. Perhaps they were "crazy" so he's over that kind of woman. Before you go insane about my use of the word crazy, there's a reason I put it in quotes. I don't think people get to crazy on their own, all by their lonesome. They get there with the help of someone else driving them there, hence driving them crazy. Lord knows what an Ochocinco can do to a person to drive them batty.

But at the end of the day, I really don't care much. The show probably won't even get watched unless it's re-running in the background while I'm cleaning or giving myself open heart surgery. People, on a whole, care about things that really don't concern them, but since it's in the celebrity spotlight, they feel the need to have an opinion-I'm guilty of it at times as well. I am actually more worried about Chad's clear identity crisis. He actually said on his show (I gave myself that open heart surgery over the weekend) that he was "half Mexican" in response to one of his suitors saying she was Puerto Rican. First, Chad, you are about as Mexican as an English Bulldog. Second, remember that scene in Clueless where Cher mistakes her maid for Mexicano when she's from El Salvador and the maid screams: I NOT a Mexican? Well, while Puerto Rico and Mexico share some water, but that's about it, bruh. I wouldn't have much issue if he were a proud card carrying black man who happened to like white girls, but instead he's just lost trying to find his way in the vast Hollywood scene. I don't know if any of you are hip to the game out there, but the ultimate catch is in fact a model-esque, weave wearing, liquid legging clad exotic chick. And when I say exotic, I mean Mexican Puerto Rican, not Black.

Besides, reality dating shows are less about finding fifteen years of marriage and more about finding fifteen minutes of fame. It worked out for Ray-J, which is clearly the barometer for everything in life.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Friends Forever, Friends Throughout the Years

Author's Note: I'm having serious writer's block. Bear with me as I try and pull something out of my ass...

Years ago, I slept with a friend whom I'd known for years. We'd met at the age of fifteen, and proceeded to be friends for life. We're still friends today. Somewhere along the line in college, we hooked up. It was one of those random-can-I-do-laundy-at-your-house-cause-the-campus-laundry-room-sucks and after a bottle of Arbor Mist (hey, it was college), we took horizontal mambo lessons from each other. It really wasn't a big deal, but the time immediately following was the only time we didn't speak. I wouldn't say the sex complicated our friendship, but he pissed me off mere days after and I didn't feel like talking to him anymore. I did let him know I wasn't checking for him though, I didn't just stop calling, for the record. Anyway, fast forward a year and he and I started talking again. There's alway an underlying sexual tension, but I always chalk it up to the fact that we slept together in college, not anything current or presently pressing. Here and there a comment is made, a reminder, but for the most part, I haven't really thought about it. After all, there really isn't any point.

A week or so ago, I saw him at a party and in the middle of our conversation, he said: We've been lovin each other a long time haven't we? To which, I assumed he meant we'd been friends forever, which I think he sort of did, sort of didn't. I responded with a simple: Yep, we've known each other for decades. But then he replied: I love how you just toss off our history like it's nothing. I didn't say anything for a minute because I didn't get what he meant. How was I tossing it off? Was I missing the point completely? Does he want me to mention that we spent much of our adolescent years sneaking make outs and culminated with sleeping together in college every single time I saw him? That would just be really tiresome. It's absolutely possible to add sex to a friendship just once and then go back to normal. I'm not saying it should be a regular occurrence nor am I stamping it with approval, I'm just saying it's possible. I mean, I'm walking proof of both sides of the coin-when it works out and when the friendship ends. I've since stopped sleeping with friends. It isn't worth the risk.

But why is it that men claim they get over things, don't care, etc., but then always have to remind your ass later that they haven't, in fact, forgotten anything? To risk sounding like a cliche, "sh*t happens" and sometimes it does just that: happens. No need for further explanation or discussion. It happened, it's on the timeline, and it's over. And since they say you'll repeat your past if you don't learn from it, there will be no repeats or do-overs for this situation. One shot, one kill, that's the deal, so stop bringing it up. Friends forever though! Kisses (on the cheek)!

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Ask B. : Depressed in DC

Dear B.

I lived in the city for almost ten years. With college and the traditional NYC life under my belt, I finally decided to give an old flame a second chance. We'd gone to Columbia together and then he'd moved to DC to start a political career. After it seemed to be working out, we decided to close the gap. I moved to DC to be with him as my career field wasn't so locked into where I lived. Just after our year anniversary, we broke up and I am stuck in DC without my boyfriend and without a ring. I'll admit I came down here to get engaged. We'd had a good relationship in college and the only reason we broke up was because we both agreed long distance wasn't worth it at the time. I hate to say it, but I want nothing more than to be a wife and mother. I thought he was the one, and I am having a hard time with this breakup. I think mostly because I'm in a city that seems to do nothing but remind me of him. I guess the real question isn't how to get him back, I know that's not really an option. He seems to have moved on already. But, why the hell can't I move on? It's like I've just latched on and can't let go. How long does this dating thing go on? It's painful! Either I'm hearing about crazy, depressing stories of horrible men from my friends or yet another friend is getting dumped by the guy she thought was the one. When will the right one come my way and how do you know it really is the one anyway? I feel like I'm asking for the meaning of life or something... le sigh.

Depressed in DC.

Dear Depressed in DC,

First, let me say that I, too, would be depressed if I had to live in DC. I'm kidding, but hopefully that got a chuckle out of you. Step away from the Prozac, it's going to be okay. Look, I'm going to be honest: I have no clue when he's coming your way. And with my track record, I sometimes wonder if they even exist, but I do know that there's this little thing called hope and that while reality threatens to take it away, you should hold onto it like nothing else matters. The dating pool is more of a swamp it seems, but I've learned that just when you want to throw in the towel and chuck the deuces (Breezy), is when some guy jumps out the woodwork and forces you back in the ring.

Secondly, there's nothing wrong with admitting that you moved to DC for a ring. I just hope that by ring you mean the actual union/relationship and not a sparkly diamond followed by a bank breaking wedding. Assuming you meant the first choice, you should feel fine knowing that that's what you wanted, that was your goal. And being a wife and mother, while not some people's idea of an amazing aspiration is an incredible job to take on and knowing that you want nothing more is okay too. I think women are so quick to think about all the things they need to change about themselves; their needs and desires, just to get some guy to accept the watered down version of themselves. Instead you should hold onto those traits and wait for the man who is deserving enough to call you wife, to create life with you. Yes, the dating game can be lengthy, but if you think about it in terms of the rest of your life-it's a teardrop in a bucket.

Thirdly, if you think about what a relationship is-the union between two people-you have to think about those two people as individuals. They're make and model has to join with someone else's and co-exist. That's really hard to do successfully. Relationships fail everyday, some after two months, some after twenty-two years. It's a constant crapshoot and it takes major work. If someone isn't willing to work for it now, after just a year (and a long distance move), you can pretty much guarantee that he won't work for it in years to come. I know you aren't interested in getting him back, but as far as moving on and getting over him, well that's just going to take time. Especially given the circumstances. You've known him for most of your adult life, you uprooted your life for him, moved to a foreign city, and set your sights on spending a lifetime with him. That's not easy to get over and the feelings you had for him aren't going to disappear overnight, but they will eventually. It's just one of those things. Eat some ice cream, cry it out and when you're ready, venture back into the world.

I don't know everything, but I do know that while most men suck donkey balls, they (most times) grow up eventually and want someone to share their life with just like sappy girls. And there's nothing wrong with being a sappy girl, passionate and full of emotion-women have hearts and that's beautiful and there's someone out there that is going to love all that sap, so just wait it out, girly. Keep the faith and make sure you invite me to the wedding! I love a good open bar!

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

I Love The Way You Love Me on TV

One of my favorite sayings is: I'd marry him on national television. It's a ranking of sorts for me. Something I say when someone is so fine, I'd publicly lose my mind and follow him into the wedded abyss. Therefore it's anything but a surprise that I have always been a fan of The Bachelor/Bachelorette. I think it's amazingly ridiculous, watching those desperate-model-girls/oversexed-fame whore-men chase after an unassuming Girl Next Door/All American Boy for a full two hours each episode! It's no secret that the odds of finding love on a reality show are slim to negative 8 million, but the show continues to get renewed because the ever hopeless romantics watch, hoping the way they hope in their own lives that another Trista and Ryan will happen (the only couple to have successfully gotten engaged, stayed that way, tied the knot and have two kids). Love will always prevail. All it does is win, win, win no matter what.

But that seldom happens and the latest addition to the ABC Break Up Wasteland is Jake, the gay pilot turned actor, and Vienna, the slut bag who every viewer and contestant hated equally. The accusations started flying, stories were sold to the highest tabloid and ABC realized they had to cash in. Another Bachelor couple, Jillian and Ed, called it quits almost simultaneously, but they literally parted ways so amicably, there was no fun in that. So the same way ABC had follow up weddings or we're-so-happy-we-could-die sit ins, Vienna and Jake parked their butts on a rose filled soundstage and set the record straight. Well about as straight as Lindsay Lohan. They pointed fingers, swapped insults, and interrupted each other for just under an hour. I don't think the host spoke more than eleven words. At the end, Vienna burst into tears after Jake shouted for her to stop interrupting him (he'd asked her nicely about 4 million times during the show), claimed she was done with the interview and told Jake he was the biggest "fake liar" she'd ever met. That's gotta be an oxymoron, but that's besides the point. I don't think Vienna is known for her smarts.

So after basically letting me into their intimate relationship woes-well as intimate as it could be having played out on television- I decided that having all of the free world watching me and my soon-to-be-ex break up would be only slightly worse than being inside a meth lab when it blew up. And yet, I was riveted! It was great television. And I wasn't the only one who thought so as we've seen Jake and Vienna splashed across the gossip rags. It seems humans loves nothing more than a good come up, except a great fall. The media is known for building 'em up- Jessica Simpson- and watching them tumble in a downward spiral-Jessica Simpson in her mom jeans killing the Cowboys chances of a Super Bowl. We spent the nineties watching couples fight on Jerry Springer. We all know how much media coverage Chris and Rihanna received and need I mention "Bennifer" or "Brangelina?" Hell, I sometimes find myself frozen on the street watching a couple scream into the night! Why do we enjoy the misery of others so much? I guess how is the better question? Assuming at the end of the day all we want is love and to not croak miserably alone, why do we thrive on love lost?

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

The Tender Shepherd

I truly believe there are a series of classes every guy must take during their matriculation through life that helps them navigate their way. Life Lessons 101, 102, and so on. Somewhere in the mid-curriculum area is Life Lesson 115 (or if you're fast, 110), which is how to please a girl. Now, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that either y'all figured you knew everything, so you just pulled out your Gameboy and tuned out or you just suck. Meanwhile over at the girl's conference we were getting step by step schooling on what to do for you guys and what's more, we remembered the whole to assume makes an ass out of you and me thing and paid attention, assuming we knew nothing. There seems to be a bag full of tricks that every man pulls out in the bedroom that they think all women love, and somehow they are all just so damn aggressive and rough. What the hell makes you think that feels good right there? Sigh, well, B's here to tell you just how wrong you are. For once, pay attention.

The Bra Fiasco. Guys, when you want access to the boobs, there is a way to get that bra off. It is not by yanking it up so that it becomes noose-like, pushing our breasts out the bottom while simultaneously choking us. While it's hot to rip off lingerie in the movies, it actually doesn't feel that good when you yank or rip off a bra. Boobs are sensitive. Speaking of which...

Tune in Tokyo. I'm not sure who taught every man to do that weird forefinger/thumb nipple squeeze, but It. Hurts. You know what I'm talking about. The nipple dial. Whatever channel you're searching for, isn't coming through, so stop. I don't think I need to elaborate. Either you know exactly what I'm talking about and now know to cease and desist, or you have no clue and I don't want to further explain so you learn how to do it by accident.

Balancing Act. As I just said, breast are sensitive. And no they don't get less sensitive the bigger they are, so no you don't have to do more for the D-life girls. Kneading them like a blob of dough is not the business. Sucking too hard is no good either. Life is about balance, PLEASE find the happy medium.

Show Me Your Teeth. Does it feel good to have your dick chewed on? No? Really? Oh, okay, then what makes you think it feels good to have our clit gnawed on. Gentle nibbling is nice, but got damn, it ain't a piece of Bazooka. Chill out!

Gimme a minute. If you've done your job right, there's a grrrrreat finish line. But please don't go and ruin it by eating her through the orgasm, beyond it where she stops singing Tony, Toni, Tone's "It Feels Good" and starts crying out Jay's "Stop." I'm going to need about thirty-eight seconds of recovery time. To say the kitty kat is sensitive right after is about as big an understatement as saying Mel Gibson is a douchebag.

Miami Vice Grip. You're eating a girl out, you're really going in, in your opinion, and you feel her inching away, cause you're doing such a good job, she just can't take it. You're actually right. She can't take it-literally. If I am all but doing a backward somersault to get away that doesn't mean grab me back towards you, hold me in a vice and say something cute like, "Where you going?" Um, to give my vagina CPR, bastard.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins