Talkin' 'Bout My Gender-ation

Hellooooo! Oh, how I've missed you. Although I had a wonderful time on our vacation, it's nice to get back to the land of the living. There's only so much drunken debauchery a girl can handle! I'll share some of the pics from our jaunt over to the Big Easy another time, but for now, let's just jump right in.

Surely by now you've caught wind of the Canadian hippies* who have spontaneouly spiraled into their own fifteen minutes of fame because of their choice to "raise their child without regard to gender." No, really. They are only releasing its gender to a handful of people and they are sticking to their guns. Now, I'm not a parent, so I probably shouldn't judge, but . . . I'm judging. In fact, I'm doing so much judging, I'm almost speechless. Forget all of the psychological and sociological theories that say that gender identification is a very important part of child development. Those quacks obviously don't know what they're talking about! Right? I'm rolling my eyes. Profusely.

Do they really think they're doing their child any favors? Ok, so perhaps it isn't such a big deal now. The kid is four months old. I'm sure (s)he could give a shit at this point. However, they are seriously just setting poor Storm up for failure. All the weird developmental issues (and most likely, eventually even sexual issues) aside, this poor kid is going to go off to school and won't know what bathroom to use (or how to use it, for that matter), or what peer group to seek out. It's hard enough being a kid nowadays in our shallow society, having to worry about popularity and wearing the right brand of clothing . . . do you really want to add to those existing burdens by giving your child a gender complex? Not to mention the name choice. Storm? Listen, I hate to break the news, but your child is not a member of the X-Men with the ability to control the weather. I'm not sure if that was the inspiration, or it was the most popular stripper at their local titty bar. Either way, this poor child is destined for a life of merciless teasing. Trust me. I got teased just for being mixed. If I got teased because I didn't "talk black enough," this kid is definitely going to get teased for not knowing if (s)he's a boy or a girl. Talk about unnecessary confusion.

The best part is the mother's response to the immediate wave their story caused:
"The strong, lightning-fast, vitriolic response was a shock," said Kathy Witterick in a letter. "The idea that the whole world must know our baby's sex strikes me as unhealthy and voyeuristic."

Really?! Unhealthy? Voyeuristic? Um, I beg to differ. What's unhealthy is self-serving parents who force their radical (liberal or otherwise) philosophies on their defenseless children who have no say in their upbringing. What's unhealthy is swearing your 2 and 5 year-old children to keep the family secret. Voyeuristic? Maybe she should have looked that big word up before she used it. I know I'm not getting my rocks off, worrying about this poor baby's gender issues. Naturally, people's curiosity have been piqued - you were in The Toronto Star!  Everybody knows that millions of people subscribe to that publication. Haha! This publicity and interest is obviously just what the midwife ordered for these hippies - if they wanted their story to be private . . . they probably shouldn't have told their story to the world. Additionally, she's giving her family a lot of credit here. "Must" was a strong choice of words. I don't have to know the gender of your baby; I want to. Furthermore, I wouldn't even give a shit if you hadn't paraded said baby around greater North America with its cherubic little cheeks and sweet, little, blond curls. Screw you, lady. With your self-importance and hippie superiority.
That said - again, I'm not a parent. I guess it really isn't my place to judge. So instead of pointing fingers and namecalling (which I've already gotten out of the way), I will instead follow Southpark's lead and just simply "Blame Canada."



*I don't mean to use the term "hippie" derogatorily. In fact, I mean it in the truest sense possible. Come on; they're obviously hippies! She gave birth to Storm in a bathtub. On purpose! I'm sorry, but no amount of Clorox would help to erase the memory of afterbirth floating in the garden tub. No, thank you. Sign me up for the epidural drip in a nice and cozy maternity ward, please.

Becks' Favorite Things

I had a bit of an epiphany this morning. I realized that I spend a good majority of my time on my blog bitching about my dislikes and pet peeves and things I hate. In honor of Oprah's last show, maybe it's about time to give you some insight into the things that make me happy. I'm going to start with baby steps and just give you a little peek into some of the things I almost can't live without...maybe you'll find some stuff that piques your interest. Without further ado...

...these are a few of my favorite things...

(Don't worry, my list consists of much more substantial shit than raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.)



Gadgets

Like most women, I'm not all that big on gadgets. (Okay, that was a gross generalization, but most of the women I know would much rather spend their money on clothes and shoes than gadgets. That's what men are for.) That said, there ARE a few that I would be lost without. Starting from top, then clockwise:

(1) Original Chi flat iron - Call me old school, but I'm still using the original chi. I'm not quite sure how I lived without it. But my hair and my ego both thank Farrouk (and fun Kristie for letting me in on the secret years ago).

(2) Kindle 3G - A bookworm's dream!! This is by far the best gift I've ever received. An endless library of books at my fingertips? Yes, please.

(3) Scrabble app for Kindle - (Not sure if this can be considered a gadget...but it's my blog and I say it does. End of story.) I don't know if you know this about me, but I love words. Big ones, small ones, bad ones, silly ones. Thus, Scrabble is probably one of my all-time favorite games. The convenience of having it on my Kindle never ceases to amaze me. It's very satisfactory to beat the computer. I'm not bragging, but my stats are pretty great.

(4) Blackberry Bold - WHAT DID I EVER DO WITHOUT A SMARTPHONE? Enough said. I like mine the best because of the leather back. It's classy.

(5) Motorola T325 Bluetooth In-Car Speakerphone - Another great gift from the hubs! Alas, my car didn't come with the bluetooth for my phone and my car is pretty much the place I do the most chatting. This little gem is the perfect solution! It works just like the handsfree in most cars and even offers voice command dialing. Score.

Snacks n' Shit

Okay, okay. These aren't all snacks. Hence the "n' shit." But these are some foodstuffs that make me happy.

(1) Haribo Gold Bears - Hands down the best gummy bears EVER. Trust me. Gummies are my favorite candy and I've pretty much tried them all. This brand smokes all the others. They rate perfect on the chewy, fruity scale. Get some. They're delish.

(2) Ketel One Vodka - I totally used to be a Grey Goose girl. I mean, rappers used to write songs about it; it must be good. But then I did a blind shot taste test...and Ketel really is just better. It has a smooth, sweet finish that is music to any martini's ears. If you haven't already tried it, please do. I'm spreading the news.

(3) Truffle Oil - Quite possibly the most decadent type of oil, this stuff is amazing. I'm convinced it was sent to us from the gods (who dined on nectar, ambrosia and truffles, as far as I'm concerned). I had my first experience with the truffle fries at Maison Dupuy in New Orleans and I was hooked. Try drizzling some of this amazing indulgence in a bottle on french fries or macaroni and cheese (I think it goes best with gruyere mac and cheese, personally). You'll want to dive into a pool of it, roll around and stay awhile. Do it. This rates right up there with Nutella and Limoncello.

(4) Caramel Apple Sugar Babies - You might lose a tooth eating these, but I promise it's worth it. These chewy delights are limited edition and tough to find, but keep an eye out around Halloween. They seriously taste like a caramel apple and it's a party in your mouth. (TWSS?) They also have them sometimes at Cracker Barrel.

(5) Don Julio Blanco - The hubs and I did a tequila tour, where we tried different brands to determine which we liked best. This is probably my favorite tequila to shoot. Super clean finish and no scrunchface at the end. You can barely taste it (which could be dangerous)!

(6) True North Pistachio Crisps - I love all things pistachio. Pistachio pudding, pistachio cake, pistachio icing, pistachio ice cream, plain ol' salty pistachios...I could go on. But these little crispy wafer thingies with the bits of pistachios are a winner, winner, chicken dinner in my humble opinion. This brand is a little uppity and can be difficult to find but you can likely find these in any hoity toity grocery store. It's worth the trek out to the 'burbs for these little salty snackeroos.

Tunes

I love music. All genres. I think music is the perfect cure-all. There's something to suit every mood and songs can even trigger memories (good or bad) and transport you back to the exact moment you filed that song in the memory bank. In fact, I'm pretty sure I have a tiny DJ in my head with super eclectic taste in music that keeps me bobbing my head to some beat every second of every day. My love for music probably came from my years slaving away at the piano...but either way...Loves it! I have such an affinity for such a wide variety of music, it's damn near impossible to pinpoint my favorite albums...but here are several of them (in no particular order). In the interest of time, I had to cut myself off; I could seriously go on forever.

(1) Kanye West - My Beautiful, Dark, Twisted Fantasy - Uh...SO good. It was a relief to have the old Kanye back. I'm still pissed about 808's and Heartbreak. Welcome back, 'Ye. You were missed.

(2) Nina Simone - Ze Best - Simply put, I heart Nina Simone. She sang of a time of oppression and pain and overcoming obstacles. Total class act. Don't be surprised if one of my children ends up named Nina. I've been coveting that name for years.

(3) Coldplay - Parachutes - "'Know how I know you're gay?' 'How?' 'You like Coldplay.'" Gay or not, I love me some Chris Martin. That voice! It's so haunting and I love it. This cd is one of my all-time faves. Perfect cd to zone out to.

(4) Jay-Z - The Blueprint - Sick album. Period. I've loved Jigga since Reasonable Doubt...but this cd really did it for me. That love ballad (haha) with Eminem, "Renegade"? Ridiculous.

(5) N.E.R.D. - In Search Of... - The song "Lapdance" will never get old for me. Ever. The DJ in my head keeps it on heavy rotation. What a great theme song.

(6) Erykah Badu - Baduizm - All-time Favorite. Her voice is SO soulful and rich. Her concert was actually one of the best I've ever been to, also.

(7) Devin the Dude - Waiting to Inhale - I heart Devin. He's a rapper after my own heart. Pretty much all he raps about is smoking weed...but what's wrong with that? I've been hooked since "Doobie Ashtray."

(8) Nirvana - Nevermind - Come. On. Classic!

(9) T.I. - Trap Muzik - The best T.I. album is debatable, but this is my personal fave. I love most things T.I., but this album was (and still is) the shit.

(10) 2Pac - All Eyez on Me - Okay. I LOVE TUPAC. Always have; always will. I'm a sucker for a sexy guy with a bald head and Tupac did not disappoint. I loved that he was so deep and poetic. I know he's dead (and what a shame), but this album will never die.

(11) Outkast - ATLiens - This might be the best overall album ever. I'm just saying. These guys are spittin' knowledge at you and you don't even know it because of the dope beats and the twang. Well, let me tell you - I've owned at least 5 copies of this album and they've all been stolen. That's saying a lot.

(12) Jay-Z - The Blueprint 3 - Maybe I'm being a bit redundant, but I loved this album from front to back. I can't say that about a lot of albums. Venus vs. Mars is my track. Who am I kidding? I love them all.

(13) N.E.R.D. - Seeing Sounds - Pharell wasn't kidding. This album made me really see where he was going with his beats. This one stays in heavy rotation, too.

(14) John Mayer - Where the Light Is - I don't typically love live albums, but this one is a killer because it's just an amazing compilation. Two thumbs up.

(15) Juvenile - 400 Degreez - Another classic. Any hot girl/boy from the south would agree. This cd was the joint when it came out. Still is, in my humble opinion.

(16) Adele - 21 - I am currently obsessed with this cd. Adele's voice is retarded amazing and it seriously gets in your head. I recently posted on Facebook that driving while listening to this album is detrimental to my health because I always want to close my eyes and get lost in the music. I wasn't exaggerating.

(17) Kanye West - Late Registration - Another all-time favorite. Hands down my favorite Kanye cd. This album was one of the first "just because" gifts the hubs ever gave me when we were dating. I loved it so much, I put all the homies on it. This cd will always remind me of some of the best times of my life. Thanks, Kanye. You're not so bad, after all.

**(18) Imogen Heap - Speak for Yourself - Okay, I neglected to add a pic of this album...but it's uh-mazing. The clarity in her voice is out of control. Hers was another one of the best concerts I've attended. She actually sounds that good in real life, too.  

Beauty Products

Now that I have your attention, I'll close with the beauty essentials in my life. These are the things I el-oh-vee-ee...

(1) Blowdryer Comb Nozzle Attachment - This is the newest addition to my beauty essentials. Gets your hair stupid straight and sleek. Not sure if they're available for retail purchase, but if you know a stylist - they can probably order it for you.

(2) Gucci Perfume - The original. This stuff smells so good I want to gobble myself up. The only downfall is that it's lasting power is kind of subpar. But it's worth it to smell like heaven, even if just for a few hours.

(3) Fantasia IC Hair Polisher Heat Protector Straightening Serum - This stuff is, simply put, the BOMB. It makes your hair feel all silky smooth and adds a nice shine without weighing it down. It smells yummy and has the added bonus of protecting your hair from all of the harsh heat of blowdrying and flat ironing. (Thanks AGAIN, fun Kristie)

(4) Dr. Scholl's Insteps for High Heels - Are you gellin'? If not, you should be. These things are a Godsend for girls like me who insist on punishing their feet with 4"+ heels. Ladies, if you haven't already, buy some. Right meow, please.* Thank me later.

(5) Pedi-Egg - This is the perfect solution to keeping your feet soft and supple (Giggle. Words that end in "pple" make me laugh.). Use this little wonder after showers and you'll notice an immediate difference. Promise.

(6) Kiwi Color Reflector Deep Treat Masque - I don't even have color in my hair, but I swear by this conditioner. I use it with every wash and it leaves my hair soooo soft and silky. This stuff is seriously amazing. I found it at TJMaxx once for $5 (!) and I bought 5 of them. Just because. That just goes to show how much I love it.

(7) MAC Studio Fix - Best compact ever! I love it because it can be brushed on for lighter coverage, or you can use a sponge for heavier coverage. Good stuff.

(8) NARS Lip Gloss in Striptease - I have looked high and low for the perfect nude gloss. This is it. I think I'm in love.

...and thus concludes this episode of Becks' favorite things. Do you feel like you know me better? At the very least, I've introduced you to some things that you just might want to give a whirl, right? Then my job here is done. Besides, this turned into a novel of epic proportions and I really only did it because I thought it would be quick and mindless. I was so wrong. But see - I'm not all thorns and razorblades. I like some things...I just also happen to dislike just as many things. I'm going to try to post something more substantial in a bit, but no promises. I'm headed to NOLA in the morning to laissez les bon temps rouler!!  

Statistics

Welcome back! Hopefully none of you raptured on Saturday...because from what I hear...it didn't happen. I don't know about you, but I hate to be the first to the party! Don't fret, I'm sure Harold Camping will have a newly revised date for us soon. I betcha he's regretting that decision to put his pets down right about now. But that's enough about that. Let's move on to something a tad bit more...consequential?

So I was reading this article last week about how Psychology Today published a piece last week by Satoshi Kanazawa, entitled "Why Are Black Women Less Physically Attractive Than Other Women?" and honestly, I was just appalled. You would think that in this day and age, any publication with any type of clout would have the sense enough to weed out the riffraff and only publish articles of true substance. This story brought about several questions and points for me. 

What demographics do you think his focus group consisted of? How many women were rated in the study? What did these women look like? Was there a control group? How can a person qualify something as subjective as a personal opinion regarding attractiveness? And most importantly, what was Psychology Today thinking?? I think my favorite part of this whole study is that black women on average are "heavier than other women" AND that black people on the whole are "less intelligent." 

Really? Less intelligent? I beg to differ. At the very least, I am intelligent enough to know when smoke is being blown up my ass (and not because it feels good). Furthermore, I am intelligent enough to realize a half-baked moron who just needed a platform from which to spout his cockamamie racist bullshit ideas. Hmmm...but I am half Korean. Perhaps my Asian half is the top half. You know, the half with the brain? Yeah, that must be it.

This brings me to a point that I have always screamed from the rooftops, but no one ever seems to listen. Statistics are stupid. They can be manipulated to yield pretty much any end result you're looking for. Especially when you're a racist "psychologist" who is more interested in stirring the proverbial race pot than reporting true findings. You can't just introduce study results as inflammatory as these without giving hard facts to back them up. It's a little fishy to me that he never really gave any real information about his interviewees or the people they judged. I don't know about you, but I'd like to see what they look like. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, after all...and if the beholder isn't so beautiful...their standard for beauty may be skewed. 

Luckily, Psychology Today woke up and realized how bad this article was really making them look (and received a ton of irate hate mail in response to this idiots ignorant musings), and they have since removed it from their website. Too little, too late, as far as I'm concerned. I don't know if this was a terrible attempt at playing devil's advocate, but all they did was succeed in pissing me (and hopefully everyone else who wasted their time reading this malarky) off. The funny thing is, not five minutes after I finished reading about Shitty Kanazawa's article, did I come across this article, singing the praises of the beauty of women of mixed race. (I can't say I disagree. *toot toot* That was my horn being tooted.) Apparently this survey was given to a very different focus group that Kanazawa's. 

In lieu of leaving you with my typical biting wit, I will instead leave you with a piece I wrote several years back that I feel relates perfectly to this topic. I don't often share my poetry, but this seemed as good a time as any. See you next time!

Statistics

The colored girl is not known and hence not believed in;

She belongs to a race that is best designated by the word “problem,”

And she lives beneath the shadow of that problem,

Which envelopes and obscures her.

For years, I have possessed the spirit of men –

Bold and enterprising,

Fearless and undaunted.

Statistics (your statistics)

Show a people (my people)

Bound by their own ignorance.

Ignorance?

Do not sit up on your flowery bed of ease and attempt to bury me

Under something as simple as your statistics.

Do not waste your time attempting to suppress me

Because my intelligence is boundless and my knowledge is infinite.

For an eternity, you will find yourself trapped

By your own jealousy and hatred.

Shall it be said any longer that the daughters of Africa,

They have no ambition,

They have no force?

Any individual black woman who is forced to

Remain motionless on the outside

Will develop on the inside, a changed consciousness as a sphere of freedom.

The Rapture

Happy Friday! Well, maybe not so happy. "Why is that," you ask? Well, besides the fact that I'm nursing a well-earned-weeklong-birthday-celebration hangover this morning, today is May 20th. Do you know what that means? That means tomorrow is May 21st . . . aka the Rapture . . . aka Doomsday (if you subscribe to that Harold Camping mumbo jumbo, that is). So does that make today Doomsday Eve?

I have mixed feelings about this. Well, not really mixed feelings. I'm really just less than enraptured with the Rapture. Let's discuss.

• Who is this Camping guy, anyway? What makes him a prophet? What else has he prophesized? I'm not convinced I want to leave the prophecy of the end of the world as we know it in the hands of someone I've never heard of before. Wait. What's that? He's a Christian radio host? Oh, ok. That explains it. Not so much the prophet part, but definitely why I didn't know who the hell he was. I'm a little confused, though. When I Google his name, I keep seeing the word "false" in front of prophet. Hmmmm...must be a typo.
• Has anyone else picked up on the fact that May 21, 2011 is actually Camping's revised prophecy for Doomsday? Since a prophecy doesn't sound much like something that requires revision, this prompted me to do a little research (since again, I know absolutely nothing about this guy). I know he says that he knows "without any shadow of a doubt" that it will happen . . . but I'm not convinced. Apparently, he's been wrong before. Several times. I feel like I need a little bit more confirmation before I go bananas with my AmEx. (Don't judge; a girl needs to look pretty for an apocalypse, right? That sounds like some kickass survival instincts to me. They never let the pretty girls die in the movies.)
• According to Camping, massive earthquakes and other natural disasters will begin on May 21, 2011. Being that I have never lived in a state that actually experiences earthquakes, I have what may be considered an irrational fear of them. There's something about the concept of the earth shaking beneath my feet that I can't quite wrap my mind around. Furthermore, these natural disasters are predicted (by the ever-reliable Camping) to last until October??? I don't understand. Am I expected to stand in a doorjamb until October? That's just silly. What if I have to potty? This is giving me anxiety.
• Ok, so how exactly is this whole Rapture situation going to work? Apparently, approximately 200 million "righteous" will "Rapture into heaven" (I didn't realize it was also a verb), and the sinners will be left behind? Although I like my chances a tad bit better with these numbers than with the 144,000 that the Jehovah's Witnesses believe will make it to heaven . . . I'm still a little worried. How do I know if I'm righteous or a sinner? Is there some sort of Rapture manual with a checklist to help identify whether I'd be one of the ones left behind? If so, I imagine it to be something like a Cosmo quiz - "If you answered 'yes' to more than 4 of the questions . . . sorry for your luck. Enjoy the earthquakes." I don't know what to do. I have to have some sort of guidance to help me quickly determine if I need to go buy enough Doomsday supplies to last me until October, or if I just need to buy something pretty for my rendezvous with St. Peter. (Side note: I've always wondered about the wardrobe situation in Heaven. Will I have an endless closet, filled with all of the latest fashions I can't live without, with everything fitting me perfectly and looking amazing...for all of eternity? Or will I be stuck wearing whatever I died in or was buried in? Wearing the same outfit for...well...ever, sounds more like hell to me. I'm just saying.)

Well, at this point, I feel like I should stop typing. If tomorrow truly is the beginning of the end, I probably shouldn't waste any more time blogging. You certainly shouldn't waste any more time reading. What will you do on this Doomsday Eve? How will you ring in the Rapture? Will you spend it clutching your rosaries (although I'm fairly certain if you're not on the guest list by now, a few extra prayers today probably won't do you any good), or will you party like it's 1999? I think I'll just go shopping. Nothing like some retail therapy to make you forget the end of the world (I guess this means a trip to the mall. It seems a little nonsensical to pay for shipping if I'm never going to receive my goodies). Besides, I've done enough partying this week, remember? I think my liver is secretly glad that the Rapture is tomorrow. I don't think it knows that the end isn't scheduled to start until about 6 p.m. That leaves plenty of time for cocktails.

Good luck, kiddos. Grab your hard hats and keep an eye out for zombies. I'll catch you on the flip side.

R.E.M. - It's The End Of The World As We Know It (And I...

Vezi mai multe video din muzica

Hasta La Vista, Baby.

Uh oh, kids. It looks like we're going to have another Tiger Woods on our hands.

Hey, hey - easy! No need to throw your clubs, T! You'll always be near and dear to our hearts as the lovable philanderer whose adorable little blonde, Swedish wife beat him into such a panic, he crashed his car...in his own front yard. (Remember that? That was awesome.) However...I've gotta say, I think The Governator might be trying to steal a little bit of your shine. 

Unless you live under a rock, I'm sure you've heard that Arnold Schwarzenegger and Maria Shriver have [finally] decided to call it quits. I can't exactly say I'm surprised. Actually, I was probably more surprised when they announced that they were going to get married. Right?! It's no secret; the man married up. She's a Kennedy, for Pete's Sake (There goes that damn Pete, again)! But have you heard the latest and greatest??  Apparently, the housekeeper wasn't enough to satisfy this Austrian adulterer. Yup, you heard right. Another woman came forward this afternoon with guns (i.e. Gloria Allred) blazin'!

 At least this chick didn't live in the house with the family...she's just a washed up actress (read: star effer) who allegedly did the grownup with Arnold for the first time in 1975 when she was a young and impressionable SIXTEEN YEAR OLD (not so grownup, after all). Then, there was apparently some sort of loooooong hiatus (called the eighties - they were probably both extra busy doing hookers and blow or whatever people did for fun in the 80's), after which, they picked up where they left off...just three years after he wed Shriver.

I'm a little concerned that this really is going to end up like the whole Tiger debacle, where one unattractive woman after another comes forward with stories of debauchery and deviance (with a side of douchebaggery). Although, Arnold did trump Tiger with the love child. Love child? Have you seen this chick? Um...yikes. Definitely not the type of woman to conceive a love child with. See below...

Yeah...probably not Arnold's shining moment. What is it with these celebrities and their attraction to back-door broads? You know, the kind you have to push out the back door in the morning? Oh, wait. Did I say morning? Let me amend that - back-door chicks are really the ones that guys refuse to stay the night with and sneak out the back door right after relations. Because let's face it, if she looks like THAT with her makeup on, what must she look like in the mornings?? Would you want to wake up to her? Right. I didn't think so. I happen to think she bears a striking resemblance to Elsa Patton, the infamous creepy-looking mother from The Real Housewives of Miami.

No??? Come on! You can't tell me there is no resemblance there. Ugh. I just don't understand what the trend is with all of these celebrity couples recently where the not-as-good-looking husband cheats on the beatiful wife with a much less attractive homewrecker. Look at Sandra Bullock and Jesse James! What better example?? WTF? I must have missed something here. I just don't see it. All I know is, Arnold really messed up on this one. His career is obviously going to be over and now he's old (and still not very good looking). The chances of him reliving his Terminator days are slim to none. Now he's just going to have to retreat with his tail between his legs, without even so much as an "I'll be back," because sadly (actually, not so sadly), he probably won't.

Hasta la vista, baby.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Tiger, Tiger Woods, y'all! Image found here
Mistress #2 glamour shot discovered here
Baby Mama Drama featured here
Creepy Elsa Patton voici

Helloooooo, Thirty!

 It's a Celebration, Bitches!

IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!!!!!

Source

This post is dedicated solely to me. It's MY day. If you don't like it, piss off.

Happy Birthday to Me!!

I think I deserve a little shout out for making it to 30 without having ever been impregnated OR overdosing.

Whichever you think is more of an accomplishment.

Today, we celebrate. All day. No excuses.

Ta-Ta, Twenties.

So, in case you missed the memo, tomorrow is my birthday. My THIRTIETH birthday. I'm not really having the pre-birthday jitters. There's no third-of-the-way-through-life crisis to be had over here; in all actuality, I don't feel all that different. I guess as you get older, birthdays really do become just another day. I mean, I guess I'm looking forward to it...I'm definitely looking forward to the party part of it...but the getting older part, I could probably do without. Still, there's that little part of me (that apparently never grew up) that is looking forward to my special day - the one day a year where everyone puts up with all of my shit and is super nice and complimentary and tells me how pretty I look and gives me presents...all just because I was born on that day! It's a pretty sweet concept, you know? Truth be told, I love the idea of birthdays and everyone having a special day to celebrate themselves. I'm already daydreaming about the amazing, wonderful delights that I no doubt have in store for me tomorrow because not only is it my special day, but it's my THIRTIETH special day...IN LIFE! I've already informed the hubs (he's such a good sport) that it's time for us to synchronize our cell phone clocks so when our IT'S BECKS' BIRTHDAY! alarms go off at midnight, they go off at exactly the same time. How else will he be readily available to place the birthday girl diamond-studded tiara on my head the minute it turns my birthday, à la Lily, on How I Met Your Mother?? That girl really has the right idea on how to celebrate a birthday. So, instead of waxing poetic about how much I'm going to miss my twenties and all the things I've accomplished thus far and hope to accomplish in the future, I'll just leave you a visual so you can feel like you're there with me (and the hubs) at the stroke of midnight. My fingers are crossed for the Spanish guitar player and breakfast in bed. Well...maybe not the breakfast in bed part. I have enough trouble getting to work on time as it is (Um...hello...a girl has to look her best, right?). Until tomorrow, my dearies. I'll catch you in my thirties. xo

HIMYM clip found here because our stupid Websense blocks YouTube at work. Hmph.

Message in a Bottle

Have you ever been so pissed off by some random person's thoughtless and inconsiderate actions that you wanted to write a nasty note? Sure you have. For instance, there is one particular inconsiderate jerk off that parks in the garage at work in such a way that his extra-special Rav4 or whatever shit he drives is taking up TWO primo pieces of parking garage real estate. Really?! I mean, the obnoxious sense of entitlement there is just astounding. No joke, when I pull up the ramp in the garage in the morning and I see his hunk of junk taking up an ENTIRE CORNER of the parking garage, my blood boils. Nobody likes seeing the inevitable dings in their door when they walk up to their car. Trust me; I know. I sometimes think that the people parked next to me must have tried to hit my door. I mean, how else do you really ding a car door to the point that the paint is gone all the way down to the primer? Ugh. But even still, I refrain from such blatantly obnoxious action as parallel parking my car across three spots to avoid the dings. One morning, the sight of his ridiculous SUV set me off so badly that I was rummaging madly through my suitcase of a purse, trying to find some scrap of paper to really tell him about himself. But alas, no paper. Just my luck. Well, I had a receipt, but it was a credit card receipt. I'm not against leaving a note, but to sign it with my full government name so the Rav4 owner can hunt me down and terrorize me? Yeah, not happening.

Anyway, my co-worker was called on an unexpected business trip the other day and had to rush to the airport. Apparently all of the spots in the garage were full and she saw everyone around her creating makeshift parking spots, so she decided to do the same. It was only a day trip, after all; she would only be gone for a few hours. So she parked her car as best she could, in her opinion leaving ample room for the surrounding cars to still navigate their way out if need be. Well, upon her return, imagine her surprise when she found this little love note waiting for her on her windshield:



Hahahahahahahahahahahaha! This note seriously made my day. I told her that I needed to make a copy and keep it in my purse so I could place it lovingly on the windshield of my garage nemesis' car the next time he pulled his douchebag move. I'm pretty sure this is the best nastygram ever. At least that I've seen thus far. I feel as though the author did a very good job of expressing their frustration and anger. Note the usage of the capital "F" and "A" for emphasis. Genius. To the author of this delightful little morsel of hilarity, I say this:

Dear Parking-Garage-Love-Note-Writer,

I salute you. Sure, my co-worker did nothing but laugh at the content of your note(and bring it into the office for show and tell)...buuuuuuuut I bet it made YOU feel better, now didn't it? And really, isn't that all that matters? Here's to standing up for yourself (albeit anonymously) and for inspiring me to put a pack of Post-It® Notes in my purse so I too, can help to rid the world of inconsiderate pricks, one hateful nastygram at a time. Thanks, guy.

Becks 

Happily Ever After

Okay, so I promised you some sort of post regarding the Royal Wedding and all of its fashion glory. I know I'm a little late, but better late than never. My impression can pretty much be summed up by one photograph:

Hahahahaha! Joan Rivers, I am not. Happy Friday, folks!

Fun with Nicknames

Happy Hump Day, kiddos! I’m not sure if anyone else takes note of the Google doodles on the Google homepage every day, but a couple of days ago, Google posted a series of different doodles inspired by the Hargreaves Mr. Men and Little Miss characters in honor of Hargreaves’ 76^th birthday. 

These were some of my favorite doodles, because I love those characters! (Side note: have you seen today’s Google art? Man. They really outdid themselves with that one. If you haven’t already, you should definitely check it out. I was impressed.) One thing about me that you may not know is that I love nicknames. Pretty much everyone in my life (especially the important peeps) has some sort of a nickname. The Little Miss characters hit especially close to home because a few years ago, I worked at a well-known mortgage company that shall remain nameless (good riddance), and two of my good friends and I (Think along the lines of the office Mean Girls crew. My life soundtrack always skipped straight to Milkshake when we walked through the office. Don’t judge. You would want to eat with us at lunch, too. Trust me. We were funny. Still are.) decided that we all needed Little Miss nicknames. Missy was Little Miss Bossy, Mokel was Little Miss Chatterbox and I was Little Miss Trouble. Fitting, right? It’s interesting how you somehow at least one Hargreaves character is the perfect illustration of someone’s personality. At my current job, my co-worker clique already has code names for everyone else. How else can we talk about them freely without fear of repercussions? Good ol’ Marcy put together a diagram so everyone could keep track of all of the nicknames and avoid confusion. Click to view the details of the diagram.

Everyone’s name came about for some sort of reason. For example, Dump Truck was so named because of this instant message conversation:

So, anyway, the recent Hargreaves characters inspired me to try to determine which character best suited all of our ridiculous characters at work. I’ll have to report back with the details. In the meantime, which Hargreaves character are you, and why? See below for a list of characters to choose from, or click here to take the quiz. I’d love to hear back from you! This can be my first official interactive blog. Fun!

Please excuse the brevity of my last two posts. I am currently playing the avoidance game with my final but alas, I have procrastinated until the very last minute and have to take the dreaded test tonight. I should be back to normal by tomorrow. Promise.

All Google Doodles courtesy of Google

Mr. Men & Little Miss Poster image courtesy of this site

Diagram courtesy of Marcy Magoo

Thanks to Kelis for Milkshake - still a great song and yes, still part of my soundtrack.

Husbands Say the Darndest Things

Over the weekend, the hubs and I were watching the wall-to-wall coverage of all of the Osama bin Laden videos that have surfaced since his death. Well, not really watching, per se...I was actually reading the good ol' Kindle (much like news radio, I'm not really one for CNN), but I digress. So we're "watching" the coverage and all of A sudden, the hubs just started cracking up. I couldn't imagine what OBL (Or as an old friend called him, OSB...which obviously spurned a slew of giggles between myself and the illustrious Marcy Magoo...O. Sama Binladen? Um, ok. Good thing he's cute, 'cause he ain't that bright.) could possibly have to say that would illicit such a response.

Me: (Concerned that my hubby sprouted terrorist wings overnight) Um...whatcha laughing at, honey?

Hubs: Bahahaha - have you - hahaha - seen this - hahahaha - video - hahaha - of Osama bin Laden??

Hubs: Bahahaha - because it reminds me of this video (Yes, he really did pull up the video for my viewing pleasure. He's pretty cool like that)...

Osama Bin Laden- Family Guy
Tags: Osama Bin Laden- Family Guy

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! He was so right. I knew I married him for a reason. Good times.


OSB (haha) video clip found here
Hilarious Family Guy clip (which, incidentally, happens to be one my all-time faves) found here

fridaze funk

i woke up this morning in a funk. i can't seem to get it together - which could be attributed to any number of things, honestly. but i have no energy and can't seem to focus on much of anything. what better time for a blog? i definitely do not have my wits about me enough to put together an intelligent post, so i'll start the day with a few random pet peeves. i'm boycotting capitalization today, too. deal with it.

i hate it when i am at the elevator and i have already pushed the button...and then some dummy saunters up behind me and pushes the button again, EVEN THOUGH the button is obviously already illuminated. not just once, but repeatedly. as if pressing that damn button is going to somehow magically cause the elevator to skip all of the other floors that have already pushed their button and come barreling straight down to us because some asshole won't stop pushing the call button. yeah. 'cause that happens all the time.

i hate it when i do my good deed for the day and let someone into line in front of me in traffic and they don't wave. listen, i didn't have to let you in. i did because i'm not a jerk. so don't swing on in here like you were entitled to my place in line. you weren't. quit being a dick and wave. have some couth.

i hate it when people don't know how to give constructive criticism. telling me you don't like something and then not being able to articulate why is super annoying. oh, ok. so you don't have any suggestions for improvement; you just don't like it? duly noted. you could have kept that to yourself.

i hate it when i have a typo, but my typo changes the intended word into another existing word, so spell check doesn't catch it. hug pet peeve (exhibit a).

i hate it when i find the perfect item of clothing on unbelievable discount online and they no longer have my size. it's just not fair.

i hate it when people change their Facebook profile pics to those cheesy self-portraits of them holding up the phone in the bathroom, or in front of the refrigerator, because they just had to share how fabulous their ass looks in a tight little skirt, or how amazing their new fake boobs look in their bikini, or how they're racking up 12-pack abs. if the goods are that fabulous and you are that vain, perhaps you should invest in a tripod for your camera so you can take all of the self-portraits you want without looking like a total loser. everyone is guilty of taking a self-portrait or two, but it's so much more gratuitous when it's to solicit parts of your body that you should perhaps keep to yourself. or at least, would keep to yourself if you had any class. additionally, how many self-portraits is it truly acceptable to have without looking like a jackass? everyone should love themselves. it's rude to expect everyone else to love you that much.

i hate close-talkers. you know the ones. the people who stand uncomfortably close when you're trying to have a normal conversation and then you can't even concentrate and you lose your train of thought because all you can think about is how said close-talker totally just popped your personal bubble and everytime you try to take a subtle step back, they take a not-so-subtle step forward. we really only need to be semi-close if i'm telling you a juicy secret, or catching you up on the latest chisme. otherwise, you should keep a respectful distance. you don't need to sit on my lap to hear me talk. i'm very good at projecting. if you can't hear me - i'll speak up.

i hate paper clips. especially the useless ones that are coated in colored paint that leaves marks on your paper when you remove them. there's just no need for paper clips when there's such a thing as gem clips and binder clips. let's start a movement to render them obsolete. they can join the ranks of typewriters and dial-up internet connections.

i hate it when people shoulder check me out in public and don't excuse themselves. oh, ok. so not only could you not be bothered to shift your body half a step so as to avoid bumping into me, but you also can't be bothered to excuse yourself? you suck. at life.

that said, wanna know what i do like? fridays! so...happy friday to you! hopefully i'll snap out of this fog and have something more substantial to contribute later.

Yelp Nazi? Geh weg! Ihre Art ist unerwünscht sind.

Buenos dias! Feliz Cinco de Mayo, folks! Hopefully everybody has some fun plans tonight to drink too much tequila and/or Dos Equis. ("We're going streaking!") If you're planning on doing tequila shots, I highly recommend Don Julio. Goes down like a dream (TWSS). I would also recommend getting a designated driver or a cab. DUIs don't look good on anyone.

Moving right along, let me get crack-a-lackin' on today's post. I joined Yelp several months back just for shiggles. Funny thing is, I think I've written a total of three whopping reviews. What's even more interesting is in those three reviews, I already had a little run-in with someone on Yelp that really soured the experience for me. Do I manage to piss people off randomly with everything I do? That's gotta be some kind of talent. So anyway, correct me if I'm wrong, but Yelp is a lot like this blog - an opportunity for people to honestly express their opinion about things...right? Yeah, that's what I thought, too.

Well, I happened to post a review about a less than stellar experience I had at a local eatery in the Heights, talking candidly about the terrible service and shitty attitude of the cashier. I personally thought it was kind of funny (not to mention helpful and informative), but whatever. (You can read the review in its entirety here, if you so wish.) To my surprise, the next day, I had a message in my inbox from Emily Z, who in my opinion must either be the owner of this place, the abovementioned cashier with the shitty attitude and perma-stink-eye, or some random cheesehound groupie chick who considers herself to be a foodie and is probably sleeping with the owner for free skillets of sub par mac and cheese. See below for the maddening morsel:

...wait, what? Did she seriously just tell me to re-think my review? Trust me, I thought about it plenty in the 3 months it took me to finally join Yelp just so I could write a bad review about this pointless restaurant. But thanks for your concern. I didn't realize that there was a Yelp content Nazi who sat around, reading all of the reviews of the day, and inboxing contributers with suggestions on improving their posts opinions. It's almost like she's threatening me! "Really, I would re-think your review." Ok, let me get this straight. YOU would rethink MY review? It sounds as though you already have. Maybe YOU should rethink YOUR review. How about that? Or better yet, here's a thought: instead of spending so much time and energy making sure I know that YOU don't approve of MY review, how about you just move on with your life? Write your own reviews! I don't recall asking for anyone to review my review. It's my opinion. If you don't like it; piss off. I know I'm not taking your message "serious" because you don't know when to use pronouns appropriately. Furthermore, you must have taken my review pretty seriously if you felt the need to send me a personal message, telling me to rethink my opinion.

Hey, Emily Z - get back to your über important job of slingin' plates of macaroni and cheese and mind your business. You're probably hovering over the lunch counter right now, pointing your gnarled, warty finger at any customer who (heaven forbid) wants to substitute ingredients in their order of jus' crap; yelling and going on about how THERE ARE NO SUBSTITUTIONS and how they should seriously rethink their order or "no soup mac for you!" Meanwhile, I'll be over here - NOT rethinking my review. But thanks for your input.

The Soup Nazi
Tags: The Soup Nazi

A Thin Line Between Love and Face Planting

I decided that since I already gave you a list of some of my neuroses, I may as well keep with today's theme of telling you various embarrassing endearing details about myself. We'll call today Humbling Hump Day.

So, you may or may not know this about me, but I'm pretty clumsy. You'd think that a girl who practically lives in 4 inch heels would be limber and light on her toes...but I'm not. I'm actually like a graceful bull in a china shop. I often wake up with random, inexplicable, bruises that I can never quite figure out. It looks a little bit like my good ol' hubs uses my thighs for punching bags. Hmmm, that's a thought. Maybe he does. At night. When I'm unsuspectingly sleeping like an angel beside him. That would explain a lot...but I doubt it. I think I'm just clumsy.

Beyond my clumsiness is my love-hate relationship with stairs. Actually, if I'm honest...it's really more of a combative relationship. I hate stairs...and they hate me. In the almost thirty years that I have been alive, I have fallen down flights of stairs several times. Maybe even more than several. Whatever that would be quantified as. Let's see...I'm gonna say maybe somewhere between 8-10 times. No joke. A few of those times were down the same flight of stairs, so I'm not sure if those count...but I often find myself grabbing frantically for the banister as my life flashes before my eyes. Hell, I've even tripped and fallen while going up a flight of stairs. I'm just talented like that.

The first time I ever fell down a flight of stairs was at Club Park Avenue (us regulars called it CPA) in Tallahassee (RIP). This used to be the spot. In fact, it eventually was shut down by the fire marshall for going way over capacity (and underage drinking, most likely). So, needless to say, this place was always packed. My friends and I knew the bartender so we used to double fist LITs all night long. Did I mention that CPA had two flights of stairs: one in the front, one in the back? Right. Two. I fell down each of those flights of stairs at least 2-3 times apiece. I'm happy to report that I managed to never spill a drink, though. Priorities! When you're 19 and drinking illegally, apparently saving your cocktail from its demise is much more important than preventing yourself from tumbling down a flight of stairs to your death. Go figure.

Another time was when I was on vacation with my good friend [at the time] and we got this cool hotel room that had a loft-type setup with a bedroom upstairs. Why would we do such a thing? Yeah. My ass definitely made contact with those stairs. It wasn't pretty. I had a pretty good momentum going and my feet slipped out from underneath me and I catapulted down the stairs so fast that the wall had to stop me. Picture me, sitting against the wall with a surprised look on my face, feelin' all embarrassed and butt hurt (in more ways than one). She had a great laugh over that one, believe me.

Perhaps the worst time was about six years ago on Thanksgiving Day when I was rushing out of my apartment to head to the 'rents house for some turkey and fixins. That's right - rushing. We all know I had no business doing that in heels. So...yeah. Cue frightening tumble down the stairs. This one was the worst because I actually went head first...and these stairs were concrete (and really steep!). My life definitely flashed before my eyes. But I had the wherewithall to actually grab the poles in the railing and use my momentum to propel myself in the opposite direction (practially ripping my shoulder from the socket in the process), and I turned my body to where I was able to save myself from an untimely demise. Before you laugh, I twisted my ankle! Seriously. Like, legit twisted it. It was swollen and I walked with a pimp limp. My whole family took great pleasure in teasing me mercilessly all day until I finally gave up and went home to pout...in my heels.

I'll leave you with a visual. I'm pretty sure that this girl can totally empathize with my hate-hate relationship with stairs. To quote Aaliyah, "If at first you don't succeed, dust yourself off and try again." Happy Humbling Hump Day, folks!

Home Alone

I haven't always lived with someone. I actually lived alone for several years...so you would think that it would be no big thing when my hubs is out of town...but it kinda is. Not sure why, but our place feels a little less safe when he's gone. How cliché, right? Is this some sort of innate rite of passage for married women? The dutiful little wife scared spitless when her husband isn't there to protect her? I'm rolling my eyes. Anyway, the other night, I realized I have these weird rituals that I don't do when he's in town, but I always do when he's out of town. See below (please).

1. My very first stop when I come home to an empty nest is the kitchen. Obviously. To grab some sort of weapon to ward off any possible attackers, of course. Then, I check all of the rooms in the house (with said weapon in hand) . . . and the closets . . . and the laundry room . . . and the bathtubs . . . basically anywhere my future attacker could be laying in wait. Oh yeah, and I close all the doors behind me. I like to think that I would be hear the doors open if security was compromised. See #4.

2. Check and re-check (then triple check before bed) all the locked doors. I am already a little neurotic when it comes to locking doors (especially my car door), but when I’m alone for the night, it borders on obsessive. I have to make sure I’m locked into a room (after first investigating all of the possible hiding places), or I get nervous. I also typically like to have my back to a wall. People in the movies always seem to miss the fact that if they would just sit in a corner or up against a wall…nobody could sneak up on them. Interesting concept, right? I even have to double-check the bathroom door lock while I’m in the shower. I have no desire to go out like Marion Crane. Not this girl.  

Source

3. Sleep with my car keys within hand's reach. I guess I figure if I need to make a mad dash for my life, I'm probably gonna need my keys. Better to have them readily available than to waste precious minutes searching for my damn keys.* Let's be real: this isn't the movies. I'm small, but I wouldn't exactly describe myself as athletic.** I mean, I'll run...I just wouldn't want to base my escape plan around my chances of out-running any potential attackers for an extended period of time.

4. Sleep without my ear plugs. Although the sounds of Houston are soothing (if you don't mind construction noises and sirens and motorcycle engines revving), I much prefer the sound of my own breathing when I'm sleeping. The sounds of the city are way too distracting and Lord knows I don't need a reason to not be able to sleep. But when the hubs is away, I feel the need to be able to sleep with both ears open, just in case I need to hear someone lurking in the dark or sneaking up on me.

5. Blast Pandora in the morning whilst getting ready. Complete with the singing along, etc. I don't usually do that because the hubs is still asleep. Also, he likes to listen to boring news radio in the morning when he’s getting ready for work. I prefer Lil' Wayne Radio. I’d much rather drop it like it’s hot in the morning than awake to the abrasive sound of Rush Limbaugh, any day. Wouldn’t you?

Thus concludes my list of crazy, neurotic rituals I feel obligated to complete every time my hubby goes out of town. Last night when I was in bed, trying to make myself go to sleep, I thought of at least three different topics I wanted to blog about. More to come soon. Promise.

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*Read: I can *never* find my keys when I need them; it never fails. It would be just my luck that a murderer would be chasing after me with a meat cleaver and here I am, unable to find my keys. No, thank you.

** It's a little embarrassing. Remind me to tell you a story about that sometime.

Potty Peeves

There is a long list of things I hate about public restrooms. Randomly, I realized today that I was mentally compiling a list of said things. What a great opportunity to share! See below.

1. I hate it when I wait too long and I run into a stall, hurriedly remove my pants, breathe a sigh of relief as I begin to empty my bladder...then glance over and realize that the stall is out of toilet paper. 
2. I hate it when I get to the bathroom and there's pee all over the seat. Where were you raised; a barn? Clean up after yourself if you can't seem to get it into the giant hole waiting there specifically to catch your excrement.
3. I hate it when a public restroom door makes you 'push' to enter and 'pull' to exit. Why don't they make all of them push to exit? Doesn't it bother anyone else that they just washed their hands and now have to contaminate them with other people's fecal matter? Ugh.
4. I hate it when I wait too long and it becomes an emergency situation, so I run to the bathroom, only to be subjected to an assault on my olfactory senses because some unthoughtful hag is having kittens in the handi-stall...but because it's an emergency situation, I run the risk of wetting myself if I turn around and come back later...so I have to just commit and make it happen. I've come to realize that I have a pretty great lung capacity. I can hold my breath longer than you would think. I would like to post a sign for all of the inconsiderate poop machines on my floor to next time, please use a restroom on a different floor. I shouldn't be able to determine what you ate for lunch by the severity of the fumes coming out of your butt. Thanks.
5. I hate it when #4 happens (Well, that could be misleading - it's always a #1 for me in public restrooms. Real ladies take care of business in the privacy of their own home. I'm just referring to Potty Peeve #4...and what could a #4 possibly consist of?? Yikes.), and I'm forced to subject myself to the abovementioned noxious fumes in the bathroom...and then the poopy perpetrator finishes, flushes, and leaves super quickly to avoid any awkward sink conversation after declaring war on the bathroom...and then someone else comes in while I'm still in the stall. I feel obligated to shout through the door that it wasn't me - but would they believe me, anyway?

Dear Osama bin Hidin’… Run Tell Dat, Homeboy.

Wow. Pretty eventful weekend, eh? First, the Royal Wedding (snicker)…then, Saif Al-Arab Gaddafi was killed in a NATO air strike (I’m assuming they meant to hit Muammar, but apparently, his son and grandchildren were good enough)…and finally (in more ways than one), President Obama announced last night that after almost ten years, Osama bin Hidin’ was killed in a covert ops mission in Pakistan.*

As per usual, President Obama swaggered up to the mic (I'm convinced that Geto Boys' "Damn It Feels Good to Be A Gangsta" is his mental theme song in life) and eloquently delivered staggering news to the American people, and emphasized (like a G) that he was the one responsible for making the call. I like how he even brought up good ol’ W – to low-key remind people that even though his predecessor wasn’t able to take care of business…he’s got this. He stepped in, grabbed the reins, and handled that shit. In two years, Obama did what Bush couldn’t seem to do in eight. (Although I’m sure the Republicans will say that it was like an opening an extra tight lid on a jar of jelly – Bush just loosened it for him, right? Riiiight.)

…and then the celebration ensued. This almost feels like a bittersweet ending to a long, drawn out story. Almost ten years of build up and then it all ends in a gunfight? It’s a little anti-climactic for my tastes. I think I would have preferred some sort of fanfare and pomp and circumstance, where the Navy S.E.A.L.S. marched his terrorist ass through the streets of D.C. (or better yet, NYC) and let the American people toss stones and chunks of concrete and metal gathered from ground zero at his dejected, defeated body. Is that too much to ask? I know that shots were exchanged and the S.E.A.L.S. returned fire and he was inadvertently killed…but…I’m just saying…it would have made for a much more interesting ending. Instead, they tossed his ass into the sea? I’m just waiting for the wave of conspiracy theories to commence. (If you want to talk conspiracies, you should maybe read up on the first President Bush, the C.I.A. and their connection to bin Laden. Just a suggestion for some light reading that just might blow your mind.) Obama should probably keep some pictures of OBL’s body readily available in the drawer where he keeps his birth certificate. Oh well. I’m confident that if Tupac’s autopsy pictures were leaked so quickly years ago…with the developments in social media today, we won’t have to wait too long to see someone’s Facebook profile picture has been updated with a grainy mobile upload of a guy leaning over bin Laden’s body with a Koolaid smile and a thumbs up.  

Then there’s this little, tiny, part of me that wonders if all of America celebrating the death of this monster is the right thing to do. I mean, I know that he was a terrible person who was responsible for the death of thousands…but I still feel a little uneasy celebrating his death. It feels as though an entire nation rejoicing over the death of one individual makes us seem a little foolhardy. Yes, the death of Bin Laden symbolizes the end of an era of terrorism…but does it? I’m a little loath to be dancing in the streets over this just yet. Remember all of that footage after 9/11, allegedly showing the people of Afghanistan partying in the streets and how enraging that was? What if that’s how the Middle East interprets our joy over the death of OBL? Make no mistake about it; terrorists are serious in their plight against our culture and our country. Where one bin Laden dies, there is a new bin Laden in training to take over. OBL’s death closes one long chapter in an epic novel of global relations…but the story doesn’t end here. There are many chapters to come and many wars to be fought.

That said, in this moment, I don’t want to overshadow this obvious victory. I have to acknowledge that this is one step in the right direction and an immeasurable victory for America. It halfway validates the American lives that have been lost fighting a war that seems to have gone forever. I’d like to offer my appreciation to the troops and intelligence personnel who made this possible. Good job, guys. Way to get ‘er done.

To any remaining terrorists or dissidents that think they can eff with America, the death of Osama bin Laden sends a clear message: think again. In the words of Antoine Dodson,“You are really dumb – for real . . . We’re lookin’ for you. We gon’ find you; we gon’ find you. So you can run and tell that, run and tell that, homeboy.”

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*On a lighter note, how much ass do you think Pres O got last night off this victory? We’re talkin’ championship ring ass; green jacket-wearing, Masters winning ass, war on terror goal crossed off the to-do list ass.