Dear Sammy Sosa: I cant. Sincerely, KelleBelle

But I will, for the entertainment of our readers.

What in the skin bleaching hell is wrong with you?! Did you really think your new Casper the Friendly Ghost skin tone was just going to fly under the radar? If you really wanted to keep your skin bleaching game under wraps, you shouldn't have done the following:

1. Bleach your skin. What in the ef.

2. If you insist on bleaching your skin, do not choose a minority centered event to make your new light skindded debut. Why the Latin Grammys? Why? Que lastima.

3. Do not try to explain away your new fair hue by blaming it as a side effect on a "skin-rejuvenation" treatment or the flash of the cameras. No dice.

a. You don't need skin rejuvenation. You are black (yes I know he is Dominican, but I'm speaking of his skin tone here). You won't crack. Even after years of playing baseball in the sun. And you're young! 40 years young. Your PR guy told you to blame it on skin rejuvenation treatments didn't he? Fire him asap.

b. Those cameras must have a flash brighter than the surface of the sun to make you that damn light. B please.

4. The light skin coupled with the GREEN eye contacts seal the deal. It's a wrap. If you had any chance to deny a skin lightening/self-hate accusation, it went down the drain when you put those fake eyes in. You couldn't just retire quietly eh? Instead, you decide to make a run for Smokey Robinson's money. Shake my damn head.

5. I will not call you out for your konk because you seemed to rock that hairdon't pre-skin lightening. But it doesn't help your case.

Sammy joins a loooong list of black celebrities that have gone the skin bleaching route:

1. MJ.

2. The rest of the Jacksons save for Rebbie and Janet (although I bet she's emptied a tube or two of Ambi in her lifetime).

3. Lil' Kim.

Who am I missing?

-KB

UPDATE (11/11): Just as I published this here post, I read the following story of a mixed-race contestant on "Oriental Idol" (jeez) in China. Oy to the vey. See what you're doing Sammy?! Not helping this lil lady's self-esteem at all. I may take my weave out as a sign of solidarity.

Check it: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=120311417

Why'd they have to be (fill in ethnicity/race here)?!

Hey kiddos. I've written about the collective sigh of relief or heavy moan of disappointment when a tragedy occurs and the culprit is found to be a member of one's community, or not.

See: http://jakeandkelly.blogspot.com/2007/11/whyd-they-have-to-be-black.html

The D.C. Sniper (scheduled to be executed this week), Kanye West's mother's plastic surgeon, M.J.'s doctor, etc., were all the subjects of prayers by the black community hoping the suspects were not black, and then sadly, taking on a bit of the shame the suspects took on once their identities became known.

Last week, two shooting sprees occurred and both shooters appear to be minorities. Not black though. Phew! That's not funny. But real talk, they are minorities, one a Muslim Jordanian-American, and one a Latino man. One of my favorite NPR personalities, Michele Martin, talked about the ethnicities of the gunmen, and why it matters. Take a look at a few excerpts from the story:

Ethnicity Matters, Especially If You're the Gunman

"Finally, just a few more words about last week's twin tragedies: the shooting at Fort Hood, Texas, and the following day in Orlando, Florida. Both of those put me in the mind of a habit many of us had when I was growing up...We would run to the television when we saw a black person on it, literally, run and call everybody to the set to watch...

...it was considered such a rarity and of such importance, it was assumed everyone would want to know about it, unless, of course, it was something embarrassing, like a black person being arrested for something. Which brings me to the other thing we would all do when I was growing up: We would pray - sometimes silently, but very often out loud - that if something bad had happened, a crime or some other mishap, that no black person was involved. It was assumed that success was individual but failure or disgrace was collective...

...So, I think I understand how some of my fellow citizens feel right now as they watch the news unfold about a Muslim Army psychiatrist who allegedly massacred more than a dozen of his colleagues and wounded more than 30 others. And then, the following day, a Latino man shot up his former workplace. And this follows, of course, the shooting at Virginia Tech, where a student who'd immigrated from Korea shot and killed dozens of fellow students and faculty...

...I can understand how members of these groups felt then and now, a sense of anger and shame. The shock of recognition that they too might have shared some of these assailants' resentments at one point about small or not-so-small slights and then the revulsion that someone would take innocent lives because of those resentments. Then there's the wondering: How do my fellow Americans see me now?

Can I just tell you I can also see where some Americans are puzzled by all this? ...they wonder what on earth minorities in this country have to complain about. They either don't believe minorities experience these slights or wonder why those slights loom so large...

I just know that I hope when my children see that a black person does something wrong, they'll say that's a shame, not their shame."

For the entire story, either in text or as audio, go to: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=120238969

Whatever the ethnicity of the gunman, hopefully there won't be any more shooting sprees.

Smooches,

KB

My anonymity called, it misses me.

I quit facebook today.

I warned my close friends in August to not get used to me being on facebook again because I'd be quitting sometime around Halloween. Yet, I still caught a lot of flack.

"Why?!!! A stalker?"

"Nooooo!!! Come back!!!"

"Lol. A mess." (-Jake)

I even got a reply that one facebook-loving friend had, unbeknownst to me, quit facebook a few weeks ago. I asked her why and she said she was "over the lack of human contact and nosiness of it all." Which is a part of my reasoning for never staying on the 'book too long.

I find it disconcerting when people make important announcements and conduct business on facebook. What is more bothersome is when people use it as a passive aggressive tool to communicate your distaste for someone. Not that I have been the target of such tomfoolery, but I've seen it. And I too, am over it.

I've written about my distaste for facebook before:

http://jakeandkelly.blogspot.com/2008/05/update-10-things-i-dont-like-about.html

http://jakeandkelly.blogspot.com/2008/04/10-things-i-dont-like-about-facebook.html

But this go 'round I realized one positive aspect about it that I hadn't previously - reconnecting with folks from my past that I was actually happy to see again. Oh crap, I forgot to send my old junior high school pal that found me on facebook my email address so we can still hang out when I go home for the holidays. Ah well. She looked a bit rough anyway.

Anywhether, FB served its purpose: I was able to update my friends about my new location, and I made a few new friends in Pittsburgh. I found out about many events going on in the city that I suppose I wouldn't know about had I not been on facebook. But then again, I really didn't attend any of those events anyway. So...it's quittin' time. I did enough self-promotion and f*ckery to last me a lifetime. The friends I want to keep communicating with already have my phone number and e-mail address. And I can find out the goings on from the city paper. Also, I need to start REALLY burning the midnight oil at work, so the less distractions, the better.

Lastly, I am not condemning the use of the 'book by others. I know I just prefer life without it.

Fin.

I mean, smooches!

KB

Back in the Days...

Jake has smoked his fair share of reefer. Maybe a bit more than a fair share. Yesterday, I decided that it’s time for me to quit the smoking of the reefer. I am getting too old and it is getting too old. So, yesterday I took my last hit. About an hour ago I searched my apartment for any pipe, grinder or bag that might have some remaining pot dust. Epic fail. This is going to be rough.

I am sitting here reminiscing about my crack head years and it made me think about all my dealers from years past and how I came to know them. Ahhh memories.

First, let me say that I used to just be a casual smoker. Smoke with friends, smoke whatever I could get my hands on, but rarely did I have my own stash and definitely did not have a dealer. This all changed one day when my next door neighbor, a woman who I had intentionally avoided for several months in the tradition of NYC, got drunk and forced her way into my apartment and my life. We had previously wondered how the only two negroes in the building ended up on the same floor across the hall from each other, but after spending some time together we realized how much we had in common and that it was probably God and not the racists apartment managers that made us neighbors.

One thing we had in common? We both liked to smoke pot on occasion, but had nowhere to get any. So, began the friendship and the thing that would bond us for years: weed and ridiculousness. We immediately began trying to figure out how to get some reefer. Anyone who knows us must know exactly where we would start, right? The doorman!!!

It was a drunken night when she convinced me that the path to a weed man started with the doorman. Afterall, the doorman was common folk there to do whatever we wanted, so the question seemed reasonable and perfectly natural even, so long as it was me and not she who placed the call. In the end it worked. We ended up with Shabba! That’s such a fitting name for a drug dealer don’t you think? Shabba was one of those Africans that’s not really cute, but ridiculously hot? Okay, this one wasn’t ridiculously hot, but I (we- admit it bitch) wanted to bang him. He was an okay guy, but he didn’t last very long. The theory goes that he got locked up because his number stopped working.

Then came the dude after Shabba. Don’t know his name, but he was the sequel in the series of doorman supplied weed men. This time, neighbor and I decide that it’s probably best to ask the Black doorman and not the Hispanic doorman because, well it just makes sense. This guy wasn’t cute, was shotty on the delivery and didn’t last very long. The theory goes that he too got locked up.

Ultimately, it was decided that doormen supplied dealers were not the most reliable source. First, they are minorities and thus prone to get locked up. Second, delivery gets delayed by inter-borough traveling. Third, they tend to nickel and dime you and I am too classy for that.
Then one brisk fall afternoon I happened to be shopping in the city with my main gay and we found this odd woman in a thrift store. She was a Sue Sylvester, Jackie from workout looking lesbian with tattoos and under-arm hair. Real scary. But some how we ended up talking about reefer and how organic reefer is better than regular. I told her I had quit smoking for a while to prove I wasn’t addicted, but she convinced me that I did not have an addiction, but instead had a habit. I was a habitual pot smoker. Whatevs lesbian, we left.

I get back home and explain the story to neighbor and she decides that this lady is the perfect person to solve our weed man problem. Thus the story of the EPIC JOURNEY!! The journey was epic because me and neighbor never left our apartment and when we did leave we didn’t go further than the dumplings store 3.5 blocks away. We had once considered going to the Bed, Bath & Beyond that was about 8 blocks away, but thought better of it. This would require that we travel over 6 blocks, but that included long avenues. Actually, it would require more than that because I had no idea where the thrift store was. It was nowhere near wear I originally thought so we ended up walking half way and then catching a cab, but in route we encountered a man skipping through traffic, another man banging on cars in traffic and a man who we were certain was a flasher. (Trench coat and no pants is not okay). In any event, the walk/cab ride seems like it took hours, but may have only taken minutes.

We show up at the thrift store only to find the giant lesbian lady with a giant killer parakeet on her shoulder. I thought we would die that very day by that bird. It made some crazy noises directed at me and I was convinced that the thing hated me because I was a man, but it could have been the bright ass shirt I was wearing. In any event, we would have to pretend shop for 20 minutes until the bird and its owner left the store leaving us a moment to ask ma’am for her weed contact.

It works. She gives us a number and says when you call say you got the number from Jane, and are friends of Sarah Lee. To this day we have no idea if Sarah Lee is a person (there are no damn Sarah Lees in NYC) or if that was code, but we called and said exactly what we were told. Weed man was there within the hour. But, you should have seen the crtackhead dance we did when we got the number. Can you picture me and neigbor literally arm in arm, dancing in circles in the middle of Chelsea? Well, picture it!!

To our surprise it was a old white man! He would deliver to us for over a year without incident and without delay. No small talk, no BS, just business. Although, once he asked to use my bathroom. Dude is like the Tiger Woods of drug dealing. I miss him. I will always miss him.
But alas, I moved away! To a small college town, which is known for having good weed and on my second day in town…I found myself a weed man. I figured I would just go to my local gay bar and find someone who looked like a pot head and go from there. That failed, but on my way out of the bar a man asked me if I wanted to drive around with him in his car and smoke a blunt. I literally gagged!!! I was like, ummm, excuse me sir? How dare you. I am not getting in a car with a strange man! But, I’ll walk and smoke witcha!

There’s so much more to this story, but this blog is already too long. Stay tuned for the completion of this story…

Love you, mean it!

Jake & Kelly Get Preggers

Jokes.

But in real news, a post on Essence.com brought up an old idea that W.E.B. Dubois first brought up in 1903. Basically the notion that successful, educated people (black women in particular) should procreate more. You can infer why.

Here's a snippet of the post:

http://www1.essence.com/relationships/men/articles/succesful_black_women_are_we_obligated_to_reproduce/

A curious idea was posed to me, and by extension, all Black women like me. A
woman, Dominique (not her real name), suggested that it was my duty as an
educated, sensible African-American woman to get married and procreate.

DUH!

I mean hello, who doesn't want to re-create the Obamas, the Huxtables, or the Winslow clan on Family Matters (save for Judy...yikes)?

My problem is the idea that we are obligated to reproduce. I think (as does Dorothy, who makes some great points in her comment to this post) the obligation should be to support our community, and not necessarily to get knocked up right this minute. I'd love to reproduce but since that isn't happening nan time soon I will support the children that are in existence right now.

Also, there is no guarantee that successful, educated parents will raise successful, educated children. And just because someone is not educated does not mean they will fail as a parent. Not at all.

However, I couldn't help but think about a recent conversation my mother and I had. She is with our family in North Carolina and Philly this week and of course she gave me the latest family drama report. One cousin is at the age of 37 a mother of 5 (I'm not going to say how many fathers, but it's more than one), grandmother of 3, and has never held a steady job. Which isn't surprising - she has been quite busy with all them kids, and TLC ain't handing out reality shows in the 'hood. Another cousin, who as a senior in high school, just had his second child...with a different girl than the mother of his first child, born earlier this year.

Meanwhile, my mother is grandchildless and her children are arguably the most successful of the bunch.

What in the ef.

My question is, if it's my "duty" to procreate and create a more well-rounded African-American community...does that mean I have to get knocked up by a black man? Have ya seen the statistics? What about a halfer like me? Or a very tan Mediterranean man? I can't give any guarantees, but I'll try my best. In the meantime, I'll stick to being a positive role model to young sisters and brothers (of any race) and breaking stereotypes along the way.

Smooches,

KB

Kulture Klash

As y'all know, KB can kick it with just about anybody. Growing up in a black household in a white neighborhood and being mistaken for hispanic or asian on the regular, I can pretty much roll with any squad and feel comfy.

But sometimes little things remind me of our differences.

Scenario #1: Diet.

I was at a lovely "young professionals" mixer on Wednesday and as we were noshing on the delectable veggies and dips, I mentioned to one of my kickball teammates (white woman) that I never knew of or ate hummus until I was a junior in college, where it was served at a reception.

She almost fell to the floor. "What?! You never had hummus until college? How is that possible?" After a somewhat awkward pause (on my part) I replied, "I was raised in a black household. We don't eat hummus." She twisted her face, thought about it, and said, "Oh okay, I see." And then we talked about it a bit and she mentioned that as a kid growing up in Detroit she noticed that black Muslims ate hummus, but she can't recall non-Muslim black folks gettin' in on the chickpea game.

Scenario #2: The club.

A friend of mine is in town this week and we went out on Monday night. First stop was a lovely jazz lounge where the crowd was oh say 60% black, 35% white, and 5% other. We had a great time and chatted with practically everyone there, accepted a few numbers (teehee), and listened to some great music.

Then we went to a "club" on the other side of town.

The crowd was about 90% white, 6% other, and 4% black. I counted the number of black folks: me, my girl, and two dudes that clearly were NOT there to talk to black girls. Which is fine, whatever floats your boat (and they were fug anyway). But what wasn't fine was the feeling that I often feel (and my dark chocolate girls feel more often so they tell me) when I go to a predominately white venue: invisibility.

I may get a quick stare or two, but rarely am I approached. Once in a while a brave (read: liquid courage) white soul will try to holler, but I usually have to make eye contact and give the green light to approach as if saying with my eyes, "Don't worry, I'm white-friendly and only mildly offensive." But I've seen my girls really feel awkward and put in a sour mood when they walk into a joint and feel as if no one is even acknowledging their presence. And let's be real: if you're single and go to the club, you're trying to holler or get hollered at. And whether we like it or not the fact is that the majority of people date inside of their race. (KB doesn't discriminate but I do tend to side with men with whom I don't have to explain the necessities of cocoa butter and hair grease.)

My DJ friend is having a big party tonight at a new club but I know what the deal is going to be...invisibility to the nth degree. Instead, my bff and I are going to stick to the plan and go to the lounge again where they are having a more chocolate friendly crowd.

I'd go to the other party and still have fun but I know already that my friend will not, and I want everyone in my squad to be nappy and happy.

Smooches!

KelleBelle

Kurrent Events

I'm really getting tired of the disrespect President Obama has been receiving. It's one thing for gun-toting inbred hicks to throw some hate, but a congressman? Bush would never receive such rudeness. Perhaps because Dems will talk about you, but mostly behind your back via liberal media. Trash talking is going to happen but don't be tacky about it. "You lie"? That's not even a complete sentence. As Thembi put it, the correct phrasing is, "You A lie." Moron.

Drug abuse/addiction has been in the headlines lately. DJ AM's relapse and subsequent overdose and then the awful video of Maia Campbell making the rounds on the internets have made addiction a definite water cooler topic. I've always been a fan of A&E's "Intervention" and other drug related documentaries ("Cocaine Nation" on the Discovery channel is really good). I started to think about why some people are prone to addiction/abuse and some aren't. Then I thought of what was taught in school. Remember, "D.A.R.E."? I didn't learn much in those classes - except when the police officer brought in replicas of street drugs and we got to look at them. I doubt the program had a huge effect on me. But you know what did? Movies. I had a full year of nightmares after watching Chris Tucker overdose in "Dead Presidents." Tack on another two years of nightmares after watching Chris Rock get cracked out in New Jack City. That scared me the hell straight. That's what kids should be watching in health class. Bump "Breakfast Club." (I love the movie but I really didn't see the point of watching it as a 15 year old in health class and then being asked which character I identified with. My teacher was not amused with my response: "No one.")

In kidnapping news...I'm still in shock over the recovery of Jaycee Dugard. What a nightmare. She's jacked for life, as are the kids she had with her kidnapper. I'm most in shock that the kidnapper has plead not guilty. Dude, what the eff. It's a wrap.

With the recent news that those weirdos the Duggards are now on baby 19, I may have to co-sign a limit on the number of babies a woman can birth. I mean really. 19? And now that those nitwits the Gosselin's and the Octo-mom have made having a litter of children profitable, I really may co-sign a baby making limit. In fact, I think Jaycee Dugard's mother should be able to pick out a Duggard kid and get to raise one as a way to make up for the lost time due to Jaycee's kidnapping.

Speaking of stealing kids, I may steal from a kid. The swine flu vaccine is going to be made available free to new york city public school kids. I may have to pop into PS 11 and swipe a shot real quick. It's funny, I didn't really take the risk of the flu seriously until Rachel Maddow admitted on the Jimmy Fallon show that she had it. I figure if a smart, hygienic (she looks like she carries hand sanitizer in her murse), person like Rachel can get it, I can.

In TV news...Tyra, I'm so through with you. Wig, weave, "natural," jheri, just shut it and host top model. Thanks. Entourage has been predictable and boring. I still don't get the whole vampire thing - True Blood and those Twilight flicks...um, yeah, I don't really eff with vampires except around Halloween. But enjoy. It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia finally premieres next week. It's about damn time.

In sporting news...I think because I'm now a resident of one of the most football obsessed cities in the country, I'm really into football this year. NFL, College, even fantasy. I even started to learn the player's names. Can't wait to watch the Steelers, Eagles (mmm Michael Vick), and of course my beloved Trojans.

Late add (9/14): The VMAs. First off, they still have that show? I thought it was cancelled. Or maybe I just have ignored it the past few years. I've never viewed a VMA telecast in one sitting. I'll catch a snippet here and there during the gazillion replays. I caught Kanye's tackiness, Beyonce's graciousness, and a chubb rock Janet Jackson paying tribute to her bro. Um, is it just me or were her moves not as crisp as usual? I think with her added weight her dance moves just aren't as tight as when she has the 6 pack. And is it just me or was it kind of shady to release a single after the show? Cashing in on her bro's dedication...how very Joe Jackson of her.

Ellen is going to be on Idol. I haven't watched the show since the large black man beat out the weird looking white fellow, so I really don't care.

Tyler Perry has caused much melee by allegedly being interested in Beyonce to star in his film adaptation of "For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow is Enuf". Bey, please don't make me turn on you. I am a huge fan but please, please don't ruin this important piece. Keep making exercise class soundtracks and crappy clothes. I beg you.

Smooches,

KB

The Real Me

While tying my shoes for the third time at the gym the other day, I started to think about quirky little things about me that no one knows about. It got me thinking about my friends and what little oddities they keep hidden from the world. I found out that one friend has an unusual reaction when she goes to yoga class...a very sensual reaction if you know what I mean! Yowza.

In typical KB fashion, I've compiled a list of things you may not know about me:

1. I never learned how to tie my shoes. For whatever reason, I was never formally taught how to tie my laces. As a young lass, I would look over at my brother when he tied his and tried to copy his method. I don't think I copied it correctly because around the age of 12 a friend noticed how I tied my shoes and commented about my process. She said she had never seen anyone tie their shoes like I did. I shrugged it off and kept it moving. I mean, my laces were tied so who cares about the process? Like a hot dog factory, you're only concerned with the end result, don't worry about how the final product was made. However, recently I've noticed that I have to re-tie my shoes more often than I assume I should. In this day of you-tube, I may have to check out a video on proper shoe tying, and finally learn how to tie my shoes. And yes, I'm knocking on 30 years of age.

2. When I look up the customer service contact numbers for various services (utilities, etc.), I'm often tempted to call the hearing impaired number just to see what happens. I know, I'm completely going to hell for even thinking about this. I've never called but boy am I tempted.

3. I never liked peanut butter growing up until I found out, as a teen, that it was extremely high in fat. After finding out its fat content and the need to limit one's intake, I was hooked on the stuff. Do yourself a favor and check out Smucker's crustless PB&J sammiches in the frozen food section of the grocery store. Yum.

4. I'm extremely flexible. My arms can stretch back farther than most, often eliciting a shriek from bystanders when I stretch, lift a barbell, or during yoga class. The flexibility of course came in handy as a javelin thrower in college. And also when I need to grab something behind me and I don't feel like turning around.

5. I probably shouldn't tell you this since someone out there may use this against me as a torture technique, but what the hell. I'm extremely - extremely - ticklish. How ticklish you ask? During a pedicure I once kicked the lady in the chin while she massaged my foot. I have to hold onto the chair for dear life when she's scrubbing the bottom of my feet. Also, when most people cry and scream in pain during a bikini wax, I laugh like crazy. It does hurt but I'm so sensitive and ticklish just a touch on my thigh will send me into a giggle fit. Don't judge me, I'm not a sado-masochist. I swear! My mom said she was really ticklish growing up but lost it when she was around 30. So I've got a couple more years of the inappropriate bursts of laughter.

6. I'm slightly obsessed with numbers. I don't want to go really into it in this public setting, but let's just say I don't really celebrate the new year at 12:00am. I raise my glass at 12:34...and 56 seconds. And if I happen to glance at a clock and it happens to be 12:34, I grin from ear to ear and make a wish. The key is that you can't stare at the time until it turns to 12:34, you have to catch it. I've been doing this since I first learned to tell time. Also, I've felt very lucky to live in an era with so many great date sequences: 7/7/07, 6/7/08, 5/7/09, etc. Go ahead and make fun. It's my thing.

7. I had to add another item, to make the list a solid 7 (my favorite number). Can't end at 6, that's just not right. (See above.)

Your turn. What are some things about you that no one knows about?

Smooches,

KelleBelle

KelleBelle and the City

Picture it: New York, August 2009. KB heads to NYC to reconnect with her fam: besties from law school, Boston, and Philly.

We hit a few bars on Friday night and it's full of pictures, cocktails, weaves, and giggles. Between bar #1 and #2, I lose my iPhone. Tragic, right? As soon as we arrived at bar #2, I checked my ridiculously small purse and immediately noticed the absence of my phone. My heart dropped and everyone gave me a sympathetic look. My one friend told me that I better hope I left it at bar #1 and not in the cab, because if it's in the cab, it's gone forever. Absolutely no chance of recovery. We called bar #1 and no phone. I began to make mental lemonade: no biggie, I'll hop to an Apple/AT&T store in the morning and get another one; I just got this new phone so I was still missing a lot of contacts anyway; at least I have my health...yada yada.

Ten minutes go by...and my friend receives a text...from me! The angel who found my phone said he'd leave it with his doorman and he completely understands the heartbreak of losing your iPhone, as he had done so a few weeks ago in L.A.

Everyone almost fainted in shock at the turn of events. I simply smiled and thought, of course my phone was found by a good person. Why? Because I'm blessed! I've told y'all how well everything has been going lately. So well that I'm trying not to become paranoid that something awful is on the horizon. Just letting the good karma flow...so when we scooped up my phone on our way to bar #3, I was glowing like a bulb. Just enjoying the good fortune and thanking the heavens for my blessings (and leaving a note to the good samaritan that if he ever finds himself in need of assistance in Pittsburgh or LA, let me know).

Bar #3 was the best: it was as if I had stepped into my favorite hip hop lounge in Philly! Apparently it was the first night of a new residence for one of my fav Philly dj's and half the city came with. Ran into some old law school classmates...and met a cutie!

Can you say best night ever?

My bff and I were up mid-morning on Saturday to take a jog around lovely Brooklyn and afterwards headed to the MJ Birthday party in the park. I was a bit underwhelmed by the lack of "show" - there weren't any vendors or performances or entertainment...just a bunch of folks standing in a field, sometimes being addressed by Spike Lee, Ed Lover, and I believe Rev. Sharpton.

But I was really there to see my buddies, which was the best. Afterwards I parted with my BK crew and kicked it with my Philly pals who were in the city. We spent the rest of the evening kicking it with their Philly film crew folks and watched a rough cut of the film they all met on which will be out this fall. Um, I'm going to be FIRST in line when it comes out. Trust. Let's just say there was lots of shirtless pseudo teen porn (male/female; male/male; male/female/male) -- pseudo because all actors were 21+ (taking me out of the pedophile race, right? hello?); and Sandra Bernhard, Ana Gasteyer, Alan Cummings and the city of Philadephia are all co-stars in the film. Need I say more?

Sunday was brunch day with my family - bff from law school (referred to on the J&K show as "Elaine") and her gorgeous daughter and papa. The last time I saw them was in January in LA when they surprised me for my birthday. Elaine's daughter proclaimed on Sunday, "Kelly's all growned up!" upon seeing me. I think that's a good thing! Then she expressed her desire to wear dresses with no straps like mama and I. Not until you're at least in the double digits, young lady.

After brunch I returned to where I was staying and chilled out for a moment to reflect on all of the good fortune I've received, and how lucky I am to have such a vast family of friends. And the best part is I still have to visit my fam (friends and blood relatives) in Philly and DC and elsewhere. I'm one lucky Belle.

The weekend concluded with a lovely date with the aforementioned cutie I met on Friday. Swoon and a half.

I returned to Pittsburgh this morning and although I miss my squad already, I couldn't wait to get back to my life here as I begin to expand my circle of friends yet again, adding to the KB family tree.

Love y'all!

KelleBelle

Random Thoughts: Pet Peeves

In this edition of Random Thoughts, I'm going to list a couple of annoyances that have gotten to me lately. Feel free to add on.

1. Skinny b*tches on TV who purport to eat mass quantities.


Example #1: Grace of Will and Grace. Despite her collar bone and ribs being fully exposed on her ridiculously thin body, Grace constantly went on and on about her ravenous appetite and love for fatty, delicious foods. Give me a break. I bet in real life Debra Messing doesn't eat more than a morsel of food, let alone the cupcakes, bacon, and various other treats she ranted on about on the show.

Example #2: My beloved Liz Lemon on 30 Rock. Liz (portrayed by Tina Fey, above) will make travel plans based on the promise of free pretzels on an airplane, rewards herself with baked goods for planning on going to they gym later, and was once caught singing "I love my block of cheese" around midnight by her boss. B please.

Example #3: Max on Living Single. Max (played by Erika Alexander) was always up in the fridge mooching off of Khadijah, Regine, and Synclaire. Yet she didn't have an ounce of fat on her. Although she did have an athletic figure and definitely was not as painfully thin as Debra, she still was portrayed as a human vacuum and it just didn't add up.

The above characters (not so much Max) do not exercise on the show and are presented to appear lazy, lethargic foodies. However, both are extremely petite and thin (Tina not as much as Debra, but no way she indulges in real life like Liz) and I bet both of their weights are barely out of the double digit range.

This offends me as a former fat kid and as a woman who works out 6 times a week and has convinced herself that grapes are "nature's candy" and reese's pieces are the devil.

2. Fake glasses.


It really burns me when I see people who don't need glasses wearing them to look hip or "nerdy." Stop it. I know it's "cool" now to be a nerd, and some girls think it's cute to admit their nerdy side, "I'm such a nerd - just watched Bill Nye the Science guy, followed by the Simpsons." As if saying "hey, I'm more than just a girl in a bikini on facebook, I'm complex!" No, you're not.

I'm extremely tired of celebrities (specifically music folk) trying to rock the nerdy look. I will only co-sign you wearing those frames if you: 1.) Did not have a date to prom; 2) Were in the Physics club, mathletes, etc.; and 3.) Did not like high school.

Only then will you get a pass. If you don't meet the above criteria, take off those specs and be grateful that you have good eyesight and don't have to wear glasses or contacts!

Thanks for letting me rant.

Have a great week!

KB