GRRL RANT: Not Another Christian A**hole

Somehow, the conservative contingent is once again making asses of themselves.

Saw Million Dollar Baby last night. While I love a good girl-kicks-ass movie, and all the more anything with Morgan Freeman narrating, I've just about had it with the whole insensitive, completely discompassionate, fundamentalist, birdshit for brains and elementary level cognizance about life in general (as embodied by the well-meaning but still d***headed priest -- sorry, but the shoe fits). I can't believe the conservatives are making assisted suicide the major issue of a gutt-wrenching story about father and daughter brokenness. It doesn't help my cause that Bush has become the poster child of Christianity, either. People, if you want to know, read the frickin' Bible. Hollywood has lied to us about everything else, what makes us think they'll get this part right?

Oh yeah, and I should mention that I think Million Dollar Baby should win for Best Picture (simply because Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Napoleon Dynamite are not nominated, of course). AND I'm a Christian. How do you like them apples?


Get busy living, or get busy dying. It's so much more than the oxygen machine.

Crush, Part II

Chris wins. He wins for having the balls to say stuff like this:

"When a woman gets pregnant, it's a choice between the woman"—here Rock pauses, a mischievous grin barely restrained—"and her girlfriends." From there: "One girlfriend goes, 'Child, you should have that baby—that man got some good hair…' And the other girlfriend says, 'Child, why we even talking about this—ain't we supposed to go to Cancun next week? Get rid of that baby!' " And that, Rock says, "is how life is decided in America."

"If a kid calls his grandma 'mama' and his mama 'Pam,' he's going to jail," Rock explains. To all the women who leave their kids at home so they can pop some bubbly at the club, Rock has this advice: "Go take care of those kids before they rob me in 10 years."

I can hear the uproar of abortion enthusiasts and liberals who've never set foot in the hood. To them I say: 1. It's just a joke. 2. It's funny because it's partly true (not all true).

I live in the hood and know these kids he's talking about -- have even been robbed by some of them. They are not all like that, but the hood is full of issues because no one wants to take care of them, just as the world is full of women who are ill-equipped to be mothers because no one wants to take care of them.

Oh, I can't wait for the Oscars...

The Man Drug

There are certain women who seem to attract men everywhere they go. They release a certain pheromone that seems to draw men in droves. My roommate H-Town calls them "the man drug."

I've seen it enough to be able to detect it almost upon first encounter. I happen to live with two man drugs, and one former man drug. SL-Bug has been engaged two and a half times. A-Lyte has had three men in the last year profess their love for her, most of whom she hardly knew. Queen SK's college boyfriend tattooed her name on his leg (?) and a few years ago had two men talking marriage in the same month. Then there's me. As Molly Ringwald declared in the role of Samantha Baker, "Donger's here for five hours, and he's got somebody. I live here my whole life, and I'm like a disease."

However, years of singleness does give you some perspective. I think I'm too busy being attracted to the Woman Drug to be a Man Drug myself. The Man Drug lures in its prey by declaring in action -- not word -- expressing one of the following: "You are one hot, special guy with no real flaws," or "I need you, but not in a needy, dramatic way." Most fall into the middle category -- there's nothing more irresistible to a man than a woman who pets his ego. In addition, what men don't seem to realize is that the scent of the Man Drug is deceptive. Almost all women are emotionally needy in some way or another, even if by repression. It all goes someplace, and once the man realizes this, he moves on to a new Man Drug and the vicious cycle continues. (Isn't insanity defined somewhere as a person's continued action or impulse expecting different results than experience has proven?)

Now the Woman Drug is just as interesting a dilemma. I can now identify the Woman Drug after three years of counseling -- I've finally kicked the habit. The Woman Drug says to the woman, "Save me" or "You are the only one that understands me." Women can't resist playing Florence Nightingale to the emotionally unavailable. They think, "If only I can break through this guy, it means I'm worth something." Sad, yes. Have any of you read Genesis? It's all in chapter 3, people.

So I'm off the drugs -- too reactive. They cost too much self-respect and shame. Just find me that one man out there that knows who he is and what he wants.



Make a wish, Samantha.

Crush of the Month: The College Dropout vs. The Funnyman

KANYE WEST: Anyone who can get a non-Jesus-lovin' crowd to sing part of a hymn at the top of their lungs and chant, "Jesus, walk with me," and get Talib Kweli and Common to join him on stage and sing my damn favorite songs of recent hip-hop has what I call charisma. (What I'm really saying is that I freaked out when that happened.) Kanye scores with 8/13 of my Jelly criteria from post 1. He unfortunately misses on some of the more crucial marks -- but I bet he knows how many feathers are on a Purdue, and dude, that's hot.


Kanye: The better moves


Chris: The better mind

CHRIS ROCK: Sure to salvage a weak-ish list of noms with his charming humor and that grimace-worth-a-thousand-words at this year's Oscars. All the flack he's gotten for "not taking the Oscars serious enough" (I read: being black) only makes me love him more. I ain't mad atcha, Chris -- I got nothin' but love for ya.

My man scores 9/13 (possibly 10 -- I bet he knows Napoleon D.) on the Jelly scale. And I love a man who tells it like it is and makes me laugh at the same time. And people, he's right about the straight black man. They all laughed when he said that -- it was the uptighty whiteys that freaked, yo.

Tell Me I'll Never Have to Be Out There, Pt. II

This just in:

Penis reattached after being flushed down toilet ANCHORAGE, Alaska - Surgeons reattached a man's penis over the weekend after his girlfriend, apparently upset over a pending breakup, cut it off with a kitchen knife. A city wastewater utility worker recovered the penis from a toilet down which the woman had flushed it.

I frickin' rest my case.

"Tell me I'll never have to be out there."

Pop Question: What do you call three hot, eligible women who can think for themselves and love a good time, but have been single for as long as 11 years?
a. A scorching lesbian triangle
b. Babes jaded by the sex-to-go culture of greater America
c. Women with impossible standards and paralyzed by fear
d. Christians - me and my 2 best friends

There's a great T-shirt logo I saw in some overpriced boutique once that read "I don't date (818)." I found it hilarious, but would have amended the shirt to black out the "818" part. I don't got hate for the Valley.

So last weekend I went to see a friend's cousin's friend's band (all LA-area Sri Lankans know eachother) perform at the Hotel Cafe in Hollywood. The band was rockin', the crowd was chill, and I'm always down for some good wine bar socializing. And since I don't casually date (okay, let's face it -- date at all), it was nice to just go out and be around people who do, and then remember why I don't. I'll trade meaningful friendships where I can talk about real things and know people actually want to hear about it for, well, sex with the hopes that that will magically follow. I'll spare you the boring details of dynamics that brought about this reminder -- I'm sure you've all been there before. (Disclairmer: I'm not hating on anyone here. Just telling it like it is.)

Consider: Is companionship and physical intimacy worth the emotional scarring of statistically probable breakup, lack of real safety and vulnerability, and the constant fear that your boyfriend is probably (let's be honest here) simultaneously lusting after other women?

That might sound like a rhetorical question, but look around you people. It's not.

"Am I coming off too intense? Because I can be intensely laid-back..." (Singles, 1992)

Are you ready for this jelly?

Wanted: One 5'8" or taller grownz-up male (my ex was 5'4"... I figure shoot higher) with puppy-dog brown eyes, some rhythm in his booty and a love for the Tribe. Must be a fine, upstanding citizen -- preferably brown -- who is equal parts free thinker and lover of Jesus, "not too modest and not a lot of pride," and can answer the following questions:
- Who is the unsung hero of "Napoleon Dynamite"?
- How many times does the word "sent" appear in the book of John?
- Who is "the poor man's Matthew Broderick" of the John Hughes canon?
- How many feathers are on a Purdue chicken?

Okay, so this really isn't a blog created as one desperate effort to find that knight on a white horse -- or not white knight on a black horse -- but I figure with a name like "No Sex in the City," this anti-cosmo needs to start with all cards on the table.

Anyway, welcome to my blog.