Tag Archives: throwback
November 17, 2011 

Retro-blog: “…And We Sip Champagne When We Thirst-ay”

Time for another retro-blog! Since the NBA is currently on hiatus, I’ve resigned myself to the fate of having to get friendly with some other sports real quick. I’ve been watching a bit of NFL, but really only the Chargers games, for reasons that will become clear soon enough :) However, I’ll be keeping up with more games so that I can get my pro sports fix for the winter. 

On April 26, 2009 I wrote the following blog post on my friend and little brother Vaughn Martin, aka #92 for the San Diego Chargers! Because I will never stop being proud of this dude, read on to see my ’09 draft day reactions…

I read lots of different blogs, and I always laugh when bloggers take a photo with a celeb, then caption it by saying “Me and my good friend so-and-so”, and I pretty much figure they’re just trying to name-drop on the photo-op. But now I have my very own celebrity friend! Meet Vaughn Martin.

Vaughn and I go back to high school days…he’s been good friends with my younger brother, and we’ve all been tight like briefs in batty creases. Years later, after South Secondary, parties at Jim Bob’s, and chillin’ at the Twins’ house (lol), Vaughn decides he’s going to make history by becoming the first Canadian underclassman to enter the NFL draft. Was he crazy? As of today, not only did he accomplish that, but he was also the second-highest selection ever for a player from a Canadian school! As Vaughn is now the newest addition to the San Diego Chargers, I know which home game I’ll be traveling for when the next NFL season opens! Whether he plays in the first game or not, I gotta be there to support. That’s what friends do.

With all the hype surrounding Vaughn, none of it has gone to his head – he’s still the same Vaughn he’s always been, and I love him for that! All too often, people are quick to switch it up and start feeling themselves a bit too much, but not Vaughn. Not only am I ecstatic for him and his new venture, but he’s kind of given me a kick in the pants and reminded me that I don’t need to be complacent in my own life. I need to go out there and get what I want out of life, create my own opportunities, and not wait for someone to hand something to me – especially in the face of people telling me that I can’t do it. First Obama, now Vaughn…on so many different levels, people are constantly proving the status quo wrong, and I’m loving it!

Go Vaughn – it’s ya draft day – we gon’ party like it’s ya draft day! Corny? Yes, I know…lol!

Click here for an insider’s look at Vaughn’s story, courtesy of TSN.

October 12, 2011 

Kids Say The Darndest Things…

Do you know a child who seems like they’ve been here before? Like they just know too damn much, to the point where it’s almost scary? One thing I love about children is that they have no filter, speak their minds, and are the most honest beings on this earth. With all the friends who currently have a bun in the oven, I can’t wait to see what personalities their kids will have.  While everyone is waiting for these bundles of joy to cuddle with, I started thinking about what’s going to happen when they get a bit older…a bit wiser…and they learn how to talk. That is when all hell breaks loose. And I know, because I was one of those kids who had too much mouth. I can laugh now, but it wasn’t all fun and games back in the day…

Take for instance, one Monday morning in grade 3 where everyone took turns sharing one good thing from the weekend. “Bobby” (names have been changed to protect the innocent and uninformed) announced that he was going to have a new baby brother or sister, to which Miss Teacher stated, “Oh! The stork is going to bring a baby to your house soon!”

Here is where my young mind went “eeeerrrrrrrrrkkksssss!” My mom was a nurse (still is). For fun (don’t laugh), I would hide and read her medical books after I finished my own homework. This meant that I didn’t know a damn thing about storks, but I sure knew a lot about eggs, sperm, fertilization, zygotes, and embryos…so I went right on ahead, put my hand up, and when acknowledged, advised Miss Teacher that storks didn’t bring babies. “Really? So where do YOU think babies come from?”

I decided to start from the moment of conception. I had just gotten through the definition of sexual intercourse, and was in my zone discussing how the sperm fertilizes the egg, when I realized that Bobby was crying and Miss Teacher’s face was as red as Mr. Goudas pepper sauce. She quickly hushed me up and calmed Bobby down.

This incident led to me becoming somewhat of a young Sue Johanson. I’d hold recess sessions and answer questions about babies, pregnancy, and sex – and if I didn’t know the answer, I’d check Mom’s books that night and report back to the adoring masses the next day. My parents had no idea this was going on, until the parents of one of my friends complained to the school that their daughter was using “explicit language” that she learned from lil ole me. What was that explicit language, you ask? Just the anatomically correct terms for private parts – they were still happy with her using “wee-wee” and “down there” to describe things.

Anyways, I won’t tell you how that story ends. I will say that the incident led to a debate in my family about if I knew too much, or if everyone else just knew the wrong thing. No wonder I’ve pursued a career in health care and health promotion…

For all you parents – are you ever worried when your children open their mouths to speak? Were you a child who had your own diarrhea of the mouth like me? Did you show interest in something as a child that’s stuck with you to this day? And what are your thoughts on sex education and using anatomically correct terms with children? Speak on it!

October 7, 2011 

Suede…How I Miss You

Can I wax nostalgic for a minute? Suede Magazine was my ISH, and I miss it with my whole magazine-loving heart.

Do you remember Suede? Launching back in 2004, this was a magazine geared towards the smart, savvy, fashionable, crazysexycool Black woman – targeted to the ones too old for Seventeen but too young for Ebony.

I found my first copy of Suede on a shopping trip to the States (they have ALL the good stuff *pout*), and when I opened up those first few pages, it was an epiphany of “angels singing from the heavens” proportions. Never before had I seen anything media-related that resonated with me as strongly as Suede did. With its incredible layouts, the oversized magazine was best displayed laid out on a central coffee table. I never disrespected Suede by tossing them on a bookshelf or (even worse) in a bathroom magazine rack. It just wasn’t right.

Amazing visuals:

Interesting articles:

Intelligent reporting:

Suede had it all. Girls who looked like me? People who thought like me? Had the same goals as me? Not only did I identify with the mag, but I was able to learn from it as well. Sitting at home in my predominantly White hometown of London, Ontario, Suede let me see that I wasn’t the only Black chick who wanted to live a fabulous, unapologetic life filled with intelligence, sexiness, laughter, love, and overall flyness.

Initially released as a quarterly publication, Suede made the leap to move to monthly printing in 2005. Unfortunately, printing was put on hiatus due to a lack of advertising support. Only 4 issues were printed (of which I own three and will never dispose of), and Suede became a memory.

Even though we all know that print journalism has suffered with the popularity of the Internet, there’s nothing like flipping through the pages of a new, glossy magazine. Between various blogs and websites, I can somewhat create the feeling I got from Suede, but that magazine just had everything in one place.

I dedicate this song to Suede. Saaang it, Mr. Hall:

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Are you a magazine fiend like me? What were/are your favourites? Did you read Suede?  Did R. Kelly really swagga-jack Aaron Hall, or was Aaron just salty back in the 90s? Important questions, people!

September 30, 2011 

Retro-blog: “I’m Being Tested” (Dedicated To All The Parents)

I don’t have kids yet. God willing, I’ll have a nice little brood of healthy mini-Bees running around at some point, but for now, I’m living that selfish newlywed life. However, I have had enough experience with chirrun to know that it is NOT a cake walk. Here is a post of mine from April 21, 2009, where I detailed the stress of being “Mommy” for the weekend…enjoy!

So, for the past few days, I’ve been babysitting a friend’s little girl. I’m just in the middle of my tour of duty, and I’ve learned so much more than I thought I would have…let’s just say, I’m exhausted.

First of all, she’s a GREAT child. A very well-mannered, smart, and happy child, which I love. However, going from my “bachelorette” lifestyle to one of a temporary mommy has had its eye-opening challenges. As a teen, back when I wanted to be a paediatrician, I surrounded myself with kids every chance I could get. Working at summer camps, volunteering at children’s hospitals, you name it, if it involved kids, I was down. Since moving on from those days and those dreams, I’ve been a pretend adult faking it amongst real adults, and seem to have lost my kiddie vibe. I for sure thought this favour was going to be a disaster.

Let’s just say I never knew how hard it was to put a child to sleep. My mom had the bomb “hushing” skills, but I’m fairly rusty. Kid-friendly food portions? What are those? It’s a big guesstimate of how much will be enough to fill her, but not stuff her. And it seems like every day and every meal, that amount changes. Grr.

Add to that, the picky eater. I almost cried from hurt feelings when I slaved to cook dinner the way she likes it…not too spicy, not too hot, just right. Then, after 2 bites, she whispers to the BF: “I don’t want anymore”. Thoughts of my mother explaining “how much food costs” and “don’t think about wasting that food!” zoomed through my head. NOW I know what she was talking about all those years ago when I just pushed food around in my plate, or purposely chewed up a huge bolus until she made me spit it out for fear that I’d choke.

Why do kids always want to chat when you’re in the bathroom? That seems like prime discussion time. And kids always want to ask you to do something that you can’t possibly do while on the toilet or in the shower. Then when you come out, they don’t need you anymore. What’s up with that??

Now I’ve had a taste of how my mommy friends are livin’. I have to throw my hat down to all of them and bow, because I don’t know how they do it! I can’t just pick up and go to the movies. I’d like to go out on Saturday night, but who’s going to watch her? Shyt – can’t watch Family Guy this evening because some little eyes are too curious for their own good! Plus, I’m the “getaway” temporary replacement while Real Mommy is away. That means kids have higher expectations of you – you have to be just as fun, just as cool, and just as awesome as all those times you were in their presence for a short period. It’s hard being consistently cool to a 6 year old! I’m pooped. I’ll try to post again and document some more, but we’ll see if I can find the time :S

Big-ups to all the parents out there, and a special holla to the ones doing it on their own…phew. Y’all are good. Everyone tells me when I have my own, my personal momma instincts will kick in, and it won’t seem so foreign and hard. Right now, the BF has more mommy skills than me, and I’m kind of doubting myself. Ah well…when the time is right, hopefully I can still be a cool, bathroom-chattin’, perfect meal cookin’, bomb-azz putter-to-bedder mommy, and still be a fabulous, sexy chica in every other dimension as well :)

September 18, 2011 

Are You Transitioning? Your Man Might Be, Too…

Photo: us.fotolia.com

Last night, I attended Dinner Delights with Afrobella – an awesome event put on by Soulafrodisiac! Another post will be coming shortly on that, but I was inspired to write this entry after the Q&A session with Afrobella.

She was detailing her transition from permed hair to natural, and mentioned that she relaxed her hair for the last time for her wedding. From that point on, she made the transition to natural hair, and I wondered, what did her new husband think? Then my brain started clicking even more, and I thought, how do the men in our lives make that transition along with us?

My question has nothing to do with a man’s “say” on his partner’s hairstyle. Each relationship is different, and whether you choose to wear your hair to please your man or to please yourself, that’s up to you. However, consider the Black man who has grown up around women with permed hair. Met you when you had permed hair. A while into the relationship, you decide to go natural. While you’re scrounging the net for styling and product tips to figure things out, he’s looking at you, attempting to figure things out too. What dynamics do you find there?

Photo: thefreshxpress.com

I’ll admit, this question is a bit selfish in nature, because the scenario I just posted is what I lived not too long ago. When I met my HomieLoverFriend, I was in my relaxer hey day. Thick, luscious straight hair that would swing around my shoulders or get pulled up into a cute topknot. The most “natural” he would see is when I threw in some cornrows or braids from time to time. Years into our relationship is when I started to suffer the extreme damage that inspired me to go natural (detailed here and here), but when I started my transition with kinky twists, even then he still figured it was “break time” and I’d be back to the relaxer soon. When I finally decided to cut off the remaining relaxed ends and rock my natural, he was kind of taken aback. It took him a WHILE to like it. It was short. I’d detangle and my curls would clog the bathtub drain. He would light up when I’d get it flat ironed, and would seem slightly downtrodden when I’d go back to the curls. It was just different.

I couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just like it as much as I did. I went through phases of insecurity, then would combat that with overly aggressive statements like “Well, go getchu a permed chick then! This is ME! I am NATURAL! Hear me ROAR!” He’d look at me like I was crazy. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “It’s your hair and you’re happy with it.” And that was the beginning of the turning point.

When I really checked it deeply (word to Sean Paul), I had to look at things from his perspective. Nearly every woman in his life, from family to friends to past girlfriends had permed hair. That’s what he grew up seeing, and that’s what he grew accustomed to. Biracial girls were the ones who rocked their curls, but just a regla’ Black chick like me? I came to realize that he (like a lot of other men) was just not exposed to that. I began to see that my transition was his too – he and I were learning about natural hair simultaneously, and I couldn’t discredit his role in the journey. If we’re blessed to have a daughter, he’s already ahead of the game on natural hair care (I’ll have to teach him how to twist, though). More importantly, he will be able to instill in her the feeling that she is beautiful just as she is. Should we be blessed to have a son, he’s going to play a vital role in showing him that Black beauty is more than just what is shown on TV and in magazines. Parents are children’s first role models – if ours see Mommy rock a huge afro puff, a curly twist out, and flat ironed hair in the same week, AND see that Daddy loves her just the same everyday, imagine how powerful that could be for a Black child?

Lil Bee & fam back in the day...

Anyways, I’m getting ahead of myself. The ultimate thing I had to learn during my journey is that I had to be patient. Not just with my hair, but with HomieLoverFriend too. I thought he was being unsupportive, when really he just was getting used to a different expression of me. I’d speak up when I felt he hurt my feelings, when really he was just asking a sincere question in his usual blunt style. Patience and discussion – those were the two most important things for me. He has his preferences like anyone else, but he loves ME. Every last little bit of ME. When you’re lucky enough to get to the point where you really, truly see that, it makes it all worth it.

September 15, 2011 

Seeing Sound |aka| Musical Memories…

My iPod is my TTC survival tool.

On any given morning, I can plug in my headphones, kick back (or continue to stand), and let the music soothe me, motivate me, or at the very least, keep me awake when I’d much rather be asleep.

I have specific music to accomplish specific goals. My current musical motivator is “Who Gon’ Stop Me” off of the Watch The Throne album. Then I might throw in a li’l Beyonce, some Bob Marley, a little Rochelle Jordan and Jesse Boykins III, then as I’m walking into the office, I usually play something completely ignorant – just to have a little internal laugh before I greet people who seem to be way too perky first thing in the morning.

Anyways, this morning I was playing my usual tunes, then hit shuffle to switch it up. The first track that came on stopped me dead in my tracks:

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Ever had a song that takes you back to such a vivid memory that you remember what you wore, what the air smelled like, and what shade the sunset was at that exact moment? This song is one of those for me. Let me explain:

It was July 2002. I was in Queens visiting family, and had picked up a copy of this magazine called Honey, that I KNEW I’d never be able to get back home. Inside was a promo CD for Amerie, who had just dropped “Why Don’t We Fall In Love”. That song was a fave of mine at the time, so I was happy to pop the promo sampler of her debut All I Have in my discman (hey, it was 2002!). The songs were HEAVY on the love tip. And not so much the depressing, just-lost-my-man tip either. More like the light, airy happiness of a new love…which seriously resonated with what had transpired in my life just one week prior.

I met a dude. I met a dude who was so funny, so cool, so smart, and so unlike any other dude I had met before. This guy was official. I was too old to be doodling our joined names on notepads, but I was sappy enough to smile to myself in public when I thought of him,  and dumb enough call him from my cell phone. Multiple times. While roaming + long distance charges  were applicable. And not even care.

Anyways, when I first heard “Can’t Let Go”, I couldn’t help but link it to him. And it wasn’t just the lyrics either; oftentimes a melody or harmony will make me think of a person, place, or thing – I chalk it up to my classical violin training in my youth.  You don’t always need lyrics in music to evoke emotion.

If my life were a movie, this song would definitely be on my soundtrack. It never fails…as soon as I hear the opening notes, it takes me right back to that summer in Queens, chilling on my cousin’s porch after just hanging up my long distance call (yikes). Missing that certain dude, and anticipating when I’d be back home to see him again.

There’s nothing like a song that puts a dip in your hip, makes you smile, and reminisce on truly good times…

Siiiigh.

September 15, 2011 

Retro-blog: “I’m A Bass Girl”

Instead of getting to bed like a good girl, I’m here wandering through old blogs of mine and reading up on the various posts. I figure I’ll post a few of my oldies-but-goodies here, for no other reason than entertainment and to compare then and now.

Here’s a post from January 5, 2009, dedicated to my love for the bassline:


I was driving to work this morning, listening to some tunes, and I realized something. I love bass. Not bass the fish, but bass in music, as in that thump that rattles in your chest when the beat drops. Don’t ask me what it is, but something about a serious bassline makes a song sexy to me.

I think I’ve been this way since I was a child. My dad worked in a factory, but held a side gig as a “selecta” and would regularly host weekend dances in our basement. The laundry room held 2 huge club sized speakers that were conveniently located right under our kitchen, so when the bass hit, pots on the stove jumped to the beat and plates shook out the cupboards to join the party. My mom would rush in the kitchen screaming, and my dad and I would laugh, and in true Jamaican form would take a swig of his Heineken and say “Jus’ cool man, di music sweet, eee?” Mom would laugh too, and I couldn’t help but link bass to warm fuzzy feelings.

There’s nothing I love more than to be in my car, or in the club, listening to a real bass-heavy song and feeling the vibrations move through my body. In the car can be a bit dangerous, because I find myself banging out the bassline on the dashboard with one hand while driving with the other. Not a good look in the wintertime. At the red lightbulb basement jams back in the day though, you best believe I’d be knocking out a bassline on somebody’s mama’s furnace with no hesitation!

Go listen to Timbaland (circa Aaliyah “One In A Million” days) and you’ll see what I mean. I have to give T-Pain props for his production (and dutty bassline) on “Chopped N’ Skrewed”. Drum and Bass says it all (don’t even dare call it techno). Find some early 90s gun-man reggae tunes (Bounty Killa anyone?) and tell me if the bass in those songs doesn’t add something serious to the track. Nothing like this tinny, jiggy-jiggy crap that’s been out for a while…sounding like a song that hasn’t gone through puberty yet. I’m a grown-ass woman, I like grown-ass men, and a song with a heavy bassline sounds like grown-people music to me. Get familiar.