My Window Ain’t Shut!

 window(yeah, my window looks rough, even with some flowers in front of it)

We have been taught that everyone does their own thing on their own schedule. No one should compare their lives to others, especially when it comes to the monumental events that happen in life. Back in the day, everybody did things on the same schedule:

  • Dating when you’re 15/16
  • Getting married anywhere between 18-22 ( divorce never being an option)
  • Having kids at an early age
  • Women staying home, figuring out how to make a full course dinner 7 days a week
  • Men working in the city, riding fancy trains home at night back to the suburbs, like the guys on Mad Men

This was the life schedule many adhered to, and it was the acceptable way to live your life (at least here in ‘Merica). If there was a deviation from this plan, an individual was most likely frowned upon, and the town wondered what was wrong with them. A 25 year-old woman with no suitor? She must be mentally unstable, or not come from a good home. A man living with his girlfriend, even though they’re at the ripe age to marry and have 6 kids? Oh, they must be heathens.

Fast forward to today, and society is much different. Yes, we still have women who are following the old-fashioned tradition of marrying young, having babies, and staying home, but we also have the hit television show “16 and Pregnant”, so there’s that. We still have men out there who are snatching up women at their ideal birthing age and marring them, which is great. However, we also have swinging bachelors who are 44, but also have 34 children out-of-wedlock. Please, look for the latest episode of “Iyanla, Fix My Life”, and you’ll thank me for it. Now, that I think about it, you actually will be pissed off.

There has been an obvious preconceived notion of a certain “window of time” in which life-changing events such as these are supposed to happen. You date early, you find your mate in college, marry young, and have babies. And this is all done before your Dirty Thirty birthday. Currently, we have so much more freedom to do whatever the hell we want, and most people couldn’t care less. I have friends who have been divorced twice over, and just now are finding their true love. I know women who had their first child at the awesome age of 33, because they did it when THEY were ready, and not when they were “supposed to”. Although the times have changed, many people still hold on to that traditional way of thinking, assuming that everyone must find love at a certain point in time, have children soon thereafter, and never get divorced. And if anyone hasn’t done any of these things before, let’s say, 35, they may be looked upon with pity, and have people thinking they don’t have much time left. Their proverbial “window” on love and happiness is closing quickly, and it’s about to be shut, leaving them inside with 32 cats and a DVR filled with shows from the OWN network and Lifetime movies.

Now let’s talk about my hot mess life ( this is my blog’s namesake for a reason). I’m “30-whatever”, still single (thanks, last boyfriend!), and no children. I have had countless discussions about the course of my life when it comes to these scenarios, and everyone has an opinion. Luckily, my mother hasn’t given me too much flak for not settling down yet, but she did ponder about me having a baby the other day when I lay my hand on my stomach after eating too much pizza. My two very best friends are great examples of doing these on their own time, and I haven’t felt any pressure from either to follow in their steps. One has the husband, the cute ass baby, and brick house, and she did it on her own time- she rocks! The other is still single, and it’s awesome, because she does what she wants, with a rocking career and car she drives way too fast for my own liking.

However, I’ve had discussions with others who send these questions to me on the daily:

  • “How old are you?!?!”
  • “Why don’t you have kids?”
  • “You’re 30, and you’ve never been married?”

They’re usually followed up with a discussion on windows of time, some even suggesting that I don’t have much time left, because I’m slowly reaching a new age-box on formal forms, and once I reach the 35-44 box with no rugrats and a husband to annoy me, I may be deduced to a life that will be soon featured on an episode of “Snapped”.

But I have to believe that there are others like me out there, who still have their window open, even if it’s just a crack. My love/family life has gotten to this point through a series of both fortunate and unfortunate events, but I know there are men out there like me who have gone through the same crap, yet they still remain hopeful. There has to be someone out there who also went through college without a care in the world, tried dating during their early career years, and failed. There has to be a guy out there who is just unlucky in relationships, maybe even gave marriage a try, and it didn’t work. Now they’re looking 35 in the face with a cute kid and no one to call their own. And no, we are not crazy people who can’t get a date. Our windows aren’t closed, we just haven’t looked through each other’s yet.


See more hot mess at Hot Mess Life

What Are You?

My life-long identity crisis came full-circle during my most recent trip home. My mother, grandmother, and I went to visit my uncle, who is extremely territorial and will not open his front door until he can confirm your identity. When we arrived at his house, I gave my horn a quick honk, waiting for him to come outside. I see movement through the window blinds, but no opening of the door. Hmm, that’s strange. I do it again, and I receive the same peep-through-the-window treatment. Finally, he comes out of the house and says that he thought I was a “strange white girl in a red car”, and didn’t know who I was. Technically, I am white female in a rental car he’d never seen before, but I never thought I would be so unrecognizable that my family would mistake me for a stranger.

For the majority of my life, I never even had to question the fact that I was Black. Yes, I do get called Twinkie ( yellow on the outside and white on the inside), and I have green eyes, but that’s the beautiful wonder of my ethnicity- we come in all shades, spanning across the color spectrum! I thought it was absolutely amazing that I could be birthed from a woman with gorgeous, chocolate skin and have a hue with yellow undertones and eyes that sometimes scared people. Yes, the majority of my family was a darker shade than I, but that’s normal, right? Then, about 8 years ago, my granny told me I was White.

My first reaction was, no wonder my jokes are so corny. Soon after, I started to think about the underlying feeling that has always been there that just needed confirmation. I’m in a situation where I am never going to know the other side of my identity, but that fateful day I had the courage to ask if I was in fact of another persuasion. Ever since then, I’ve been wondering, along with everyone else who confuses my genetic makeup, just what I am.

Before the rest of the world ever wondered what island I came from, I was subconsciously obsessed with my own color. I remember my aunt having a checkers set with brown and white pieces. She said I would always insist on being the white checkers and would ball my eyes out if I had to play as the brown ones. Then, in elementary school, I didn’t realize that being one certain color was a big deal. There were many instances when I was told by several classmates that I was white, but it was never delivered as a compliment, but more as a verbal assault. Was it bad to be white? Was I super cool because I was Black? I’m sure my mind didn’t wonder about this too much, because there were much more important things to ponder, like boys and Trapper Keepers.

I was given this information of my background at a time where most would consider me a full-fledged adult. At this point, most people have a hold over their identity, so did it really even matter that I now find out about the other half of me? Getting confirmation that I was multi-racial created a flurry of emotions within me that I didn’t realize existed. For one thing, I couldn’t wait to tell other people who I was a Black & White cookie. I was eager to check off the “mixed-race” box on forms. I even told people I was Irish, even though I didn’t really know my father’s origin, but it sounded like the coolest White person to be. I giggled with excitement when checking both the “White” and “Black” on my online dating profiles. To say I was giddy about my newly discovered identity would be an understatement. But why? I believe that I took some sort of pride in knowing that half of me was no longer a secret, a guess, or an assumption. But then again, it was still a mystery, as I did not know my true identity, which is still evident today as I continue to grapple with just who I am.

When I cam to Miami, an entirely new ballgame was in play. Down here, if you’re tan, you’re Hispanic for some reason. You can look like one of the Children of the Corn and people will still approach you with a “Que pasa?”. I’ve been mistaken for Dominican, Cuban, and even Jamaican-Chinese. It wasn’t that these assumptions made me re-think who I was, but it made me ponder more what others thought of me. Even though I had accepted  my racial ambiguity, there were ( and still are) times when I am not so sure how comfortable I am in my not-so-new skin. I’ve had people tell me that I’m “not really black”, and even though I’m bi-racial, I get upset. What does that even mean? On the flip side, there is a guy who constantly says to me “but you’re a white woman” whenever we discuss racial issues, and it enrages me. Why is it so important for outsiders to identify who I am?

During the same trip home in which I was mistaken for a white girl in a rented Toyota, the discussion of my father’s ethnicity came full circle with my grandmother. Knowing she couldn’t’ tell me exactly where Pops came from, we began jokingly pondering his country of origin. Being in Michigan, I asked if maybe she though he was Polish. Could I be the secret heir to the Polish Cultural Center in Sterling Heights? What if I was Jewish? It would explain my affinity for bagels and latkes. After a few playful jabs at me, calling me “Mrs. Kowalski” and “Bynumstein”, I knew that it didn’t matter what my genetic makeup was. Am I proud to be Black? Yes. Am I proud to be White? For sure. I am also proud to be a Hot Mess. I embrace my ethnic confusion to others, my diverse hair, my cat eyes, and ability to tan in 30 minutes. There will always be a part of me that feels incomplete, not knowing exactly who I am. But if anyone else ever asks me again “What are you?”, I can gladly say, “I am me”.







Hip-Hop Anonymous?

There’s a reason why I don’t listen to rap music on the radio anymore. For one thing, the 2 radio stations I dare listen to play the same 10 songs, and 9.5 of them are basura. So I’m relegated to listening to sports radio and even Republican news channels, just for some humor.  Because quite frankly, there’s hardly any good hip-hop music out anymore- at least that get’s played on 108.7 JAMMZZZ. And I throw the terms “hip-hop” and “rap” out there extremely carelessly. If we’re really being honest with ourselves, the majority of this mess streaming through your radio waves and on the top of your iTunes playlist can hardly be considered RAP or HIP-HOP. Even if you feel yourself bouncing to the beat, the lot of it can hardly even be called music.  so I’m here to break it down to you and truly dissect the game, in to what I like to call the “Real Breakdown: Explaining the Difference between Hip-Hop, Rap, and This Shit” (to be known through the rest of the article as TS, as I don’t like to curse too much). Below is a general definition of each genre, so you can get a basic understanding of all three, which will help to do differentiate between them and make better musical decisions in the future ( P.S.-you’re welcome):

(picture from the Roots concert)

HIP-HOP:  Music genre consisting of a stylized rhythmic music that commonly accompanies rapping, a rhythmic and rhyming speech that is chanted (from Wikipedia- pretty accurate). This is where it all started. When I think of “hip-hop”, it’s the purest of this art form. As the music started to slowly take form in the 70’s and into the 80’s, hip-hop was a fusion of rhythmic poetry and astounding band work. Yes, there was usage of a BAND. Real instruments!  Bandz don’t make her dance, they make real hip-hop music. True hip-hop music takes control of an audience, and always sends a message. The message doesn’t have to necessarily be political or profound in that sense. A message of happiness, pure joy, fun, and love can come from an awesome hip-hop song. At the concert shown above, I never had so much fun listening to an MC spit fire rhymes over an acoustic guitar. And that’s what hip-hop is- the perfect fusion of  actual music and rhyming, with an equal emphasis on both. This love affair between instruments and lyrical flow will never be present at a Gucci Mane concert (we’ll touch on his “type” of music later). Speaking of MCs, I need to make sure that everyone understands that MCs, Emcees, whatever you wish to call them, are restricted to the worlds of hip-hop and rap. And everyone that “raps” is NOT an emcee. The term is derived from the phrase “Master of Ceremonies”. These are the guys who took control of the circus, shows, etc. These individuals tell a story- an intricate, interesting, intellectual one at that. If the whole of your album consists of a 3 songs about bitches, 2 about gold chains, and 1 about the Bugatti you rented from Exotic Car Rentals for your music video, you’re not an MC  and you’re most certainly not telling a story anyone wants to hear. You’re more like the kid who wants to tell everyone about all the cool stuff he got for Christmas, but we all know that it’ll be forgotten within the next 6 months.



(pictures from the Eminem/Jay-Z concert I went to- they were performing Renegade)

RAP: Often interchangeable with hip-hop, Rapping (also known as emceeingMCingspitting (bars), or rhyming) refers to “spoken or chanted rhyming lyrics” (taken from Wikipedia-again, pretty accurate).  I consider the world of rap to be more focused on the rhyming aspect of the art, and this is a good thing. A rap artist is very good at telling a story with words that most of us can never imagine. How Eminem was able to spit his flow on Drake’s “Renegade” is beyond me. The type of mind power you need to be able to rhyme all these words together and still get your story or point across is absolutely amazing.  Before the slow demise of the art, this is where most of the music came from, and also the most popular. Rap music has been able to transcend the entire world, and although many would like to deny it or pretend that it doesn’t exist, rap REALLY is the most popular music we have in the world today. I mean, how many times have you gone to a rap concert, and there are more White and Asian people there than Kanye’s entourage he brought along on tour? I went to the Eminem/Jay-Z concert pictured above and it was 80,000 strong, and it was like a United Nations of Rap forum in Comerica Park. It’s absolutely awesome and amazing. Unfortunately, there are also “rappers” who are giving the genre a very bad name, and many who shouldn’t even be called rappers at all. Don’t get me wrong, many are very talented, but they are hovering over a faintly drawn line between the art-form known as “rap” and just complete bullshit. Which leads me to…


(lyrics from a 2Chainz song-because I wouldn’t be caught comatose at one of his shows)

This Shit (aka “TS”): Real human beings will never mistake this for hip-hop, but TS is often disguised as rap music. In actuality, it is the product of extremely lucky producers and”beat-makers” who are forced to join forces with asinine figures who claim to be “artists” and sort-of rhyme  a few words together, knowing that a million-dollar hit is on its way. Sadly, TS has completely taken over your radio, MP3 player, The Cloud, BET, and really bad All-Star Game performances. Hidden behind ridiculously sick and catchy beats, TS will sneak up on you when you least expect it, and next thing you know, you’re chanting the words to a Trinidad James song. “Gold all in my chain/gold all in my ring/gold all in watch/don’t believe me just watch”… Are you serious?! No Trinidad James, gold is not all up in your watch, your watch is MADE of gold-get it right. And you realize that rhyming “watch” & “watch” is not working, right?  Because IT’S THE SAME WORD. And don’t let me get into the line about the effects of “popping a Molly”. Did Talib Kweli ever rejoice and rhyme about the delicious effects of smoking crack?  I don’t think so. But man, are we bopping to that BEAT. It is pretty ridiculous. So Trinidad James, thank your producer for that fame. Because you are certainly NOT an “artist”-you’re just an employee for Def Jam, so just make sure you have your ID badge with you when you’re walking through the office. Now that I’ve separated the Froot Loops from the Great Value Fruity Spins, you may find yourself wondering which category your favorite MC falls into. Once you get a good look at the list below, you may even be shocked and awed that your beloved MC is in fact NOT and MC, but a purveyor of TS, and has a tiny shovel in his back pocket to collect all the crap he’s been pushing through your XM Satellite Radio:

  1. The Roots: HIP-HOP- they are the art form personified-this BAND is the perfect mix of rap poetry, fantastic instrumentals and a good time. They are Jimmy Fallon’s house BAND for a reason, and still one of the best concerts I’ve ever been to
  2. Eminem: RAP-This guy can spit like nobody’s business. The winner of battle after battle, Em is hands down one of the best rappers of all time, and he’s White. And that doesn’t matter to him, because he gets respect because he’s true to himself. He always has a message, and whether you agree with him or not, at least you can understand the words that are coming out of his mouth.
  3. Jay-Z: RAP- Like Eminem, Jigga is a wordsmith. he’s turned himself into a global icon, and has people all over the world in mosh pits showing him their chi-chis and throwing up the ROC. Out of everyone else, I believe Jay has truly made rap the voice of this generation, worldwide.
  4. Lil’ Wayne: RAP/TS: Weezy is a special case. Although no one can argue that his lyrical content is some of the most creative yet crazy, he’s slightly insane and on the verge of falling completely into the TS category. His last 3 albums have all been pretty much the same stuff: and just because you make it a “Part 2″ or the “IV” installment of the same CD, doesn’t make it that much greater-you’re starting to bore us.
  5. Nikki Minaj & 2Chainz: TS TO THE MAX- When I thought of the Total Shit category, I created it with two recording company employees in mind: Nikki Minaj and 2Chainz. They are the luckiest mofos alive to even have the stardom they’ve managed to achieve, outside of the Kardashian clan. I don’t know if they’ve won any actual awards outside maybe some Source or MTV trophies, but if they have, they need to give them to their producers and marketing teams, because they are further from real hip-hop and rap than I am from finsihing a 5k.

A Few Other Examples, In Case You’re Wondering:

HIP-HOP: Common, Mos Def, Talib Kweli, Dead Prez

RAP: Drake, Ice Cube, Kendrick Lamar, Nas, Kanye West, T.I.,

TS: Wiz Kalifa, Waka Flocka, Chief Keef, The majority of Cash Money and YMCMB

Take A Picture, It Really Will Last Longer

partial selfie

( this is the most anyone’s ever gonna get out of me)

Last week, there was a disturbance in sky. And by sky, I mean the vast universe that is Apple and its iCloud. Hackers infiltrated the remote computer servers that allow over 300 million Apple customers to wirelessly back up all the data on their devices. Included in those millions of people were about 12 celebrities that had nude photos of themselves shared with the world, as the computer thieves infiltrated the cloud and this was apparently, a REALLY big deal. Basically, we have people all over the world backing up their personal photos, emails, college papers, and contacts onto an entity that was named after something you can fly right through ( if you were an airplane or bird). Yup, sounds pretty safe to me.

There has been quite a bit of public opinion about this “invasion of privacy”, with the majority opinion leaning on the side of feeling empathy for everyone who has been violated. Many individuals who have spoken out on the other side of the fence stating that anything in the cloud is up for grabs and you need to keep your panty pics to yourself, have been blasted, with many being called “slut-shamers”. You can throw me into that group, but I think everyone should chill just a bit and take a step back to think about what happens when you parachute your personal crap into the air. I’m not saying that it’s right for hackers to pluck your “nudes” from the iCloud, the Sky, or whatever, but no one should be surprised that these idiots have the capacity to steal the photographs you upload to your PC ( which does NOT mean “private contraption”). I think people tend to forget that your Smartphone/iPhone is a baby computer. Your computer is also a computer. And what are those? Giant universes of evil, debauchery, imagination, and joy, disguised as a small piece of metal you can fit in your messenger bag ( especially if you have WiFi).

Should you be able to take naked photographs of yourself? Perhaps even share them with your significant other? Of course, but you also need to comprehend exactly what you’re doing. SENDING NAKED PICTURES TO ANOTHER PERSON. BACKING UP SAID PHOTOS TO A REMOTE COMPUTER THAT YOU DON’T OWN. If the person you send your pictures to decides to share them without your knowledge, they suck and you have a right to be upset. Even if you don’t actively share them with another person and they’re sitting idle on your computer, don’t be shocked that these images could resurface out in the public eye, with that eye being the World Wide Web and anyone with a warrant. Has Law & Order SVU not taught you anything? If Olivia Benson and the Hot Asian Guy who always uncovers something on a hard drive can find naked governor photos, some hacker can find your butt selfie you sent your ex on your S5.

Do you remember when we kept our privates, well, private? There was a time where someone had to ask your father for your hand in marriage before any skin was shared between two people. “Relations” eventually became more casual, and many felt comfortable showing their birthday suits to people outside the walls of matrimony. Previously, if you wanted to commemorate a naughty occasion, you took a good old-fashioned Polaroid. One take. One shot. One copy. If you gave it to your lover, they possessed the only copy. If you kept it, it was only for your eyes to see. You decide to burn it? It now belongs to the fireplace. However, the popularity of the personal computer, social media, and camera phones  have thrown discretion out the window that the paparazzi and other creepers are peeking into. These entities have now convinced everyone that it is necessary to document their nudity on devices that many tend to forget can be hacked into.

Celebrities  have it tough. Not in the sense that they have a difficult life being so rich and have the ability to buy everything in Target, but in the sense that the concept of privacy is absent from their lives. I feel for them, because like Us Weekly says, “They’re Just Like Us!”, eating corn and going to Whole Foods. I cannot imagine a life where you cannot hide from the paparazzi, who are willing to stick their neck out just to capture you eating a cheeseburger. With that being said, there has to be an acknowledgement of the absence of anonymity that comes along with the territory of being famous.

Again, let me be clear: Just because you’re a celebrity, does not make it acceptable for someone to violate your privacy, hack into your phone or tablet, and view your naked pictures. Just don’t be shocked, appalled, and surprised that it happened. There’s an extra level of caution you need to take when you’re in the public eye, even if this means never taking naked shots and having them on your iPhone. Unfortunately, it comes with the territory, as sleazy magazines would be willing to pay $20,000 to see Angelina Jolie’s booty pics she sends to her hubby Brad Pitt.  If someone found my photographs in the Cloud, they would probably give them back. I may know about 4 people who would want to see them, but no hacker trying to get a payday would care about my behind. They’d be lucky to get $50 bucks from my ex-boyfriend.



How To Make Fantasy Football Fabulous For You


(Just another excuse to post this fantastic picture of myself on the internet)


I am currently finishing up my third fantasy football draft. That’s right, you heard me- MY THIRD DRAFT. I’ve been in one free league for three years now, and made it to the championship game once. Bragging felt good for a while, but I wanted some cash. However, my guy friends at work have continued vote me out of their monetary league; I’m assuming out of fear and hate. After some social media complaining about my male counterparts not allowing me into their paid leagues, I was finally allowed into two additional groups. Finally, I’m ready to take someone’s money!

If you don’t know about the world of fantasy football, you’re either a woman or from Europe. I’m here to educate those of you who are in the dark about this burgeoning avenue of acceptable nerd behavior, especially women. Granted,  women love football and sports overall now more than ever before, but many of us are still uneducated about the world of athletics and how everything works. If you are a lady out there who wants to either a) truly learn about fantasy football or b) pick up dudes with your football knowledge, I’m here to help you with both. Let’s hit the basics of fantasy football first:

  1. FANTASY FOOTBALL involves all individuals who are playing to hand select all the players on their very own football team. How great- you can have Tom Brady and Reggie Bush on the same team! Two hot guys at the same time! Unfortunately, this is all done on the internet, and this cannot happen in real life, hence the name fantasy football.
  2. FANTASY FOOTBALL will pit you against other teams created by the rest of your fantasy “league”, all of whom have created their own teams. Leagues can vary from 8-14 teams, give or take a few. The more teams included in your league, the more likely your team will suck.
  3. FANTASY FOOTBALL mirrors a real NFL season, as it will have the same amount of weeks played, and includes a playoff, to conclude before the actual NFL playoffs. You will play everyone in your league at least once, and this should keep you very busy between September and January ( will be very helpful if you are single- it will definitely keep you occupied).
  4. FANTASY FOOTBALL works like this: your drafted players score points depending on what they do: throwing/catching/running for touchdowns, interceptions, extra points, all regular football stuff. You win by scoring more points in that particular week than your opponent- very basic stuff. If you’re bad at math, don’t worry- the computer generates everything for you! All you have to do is stare at a computer for 12 hours a day, or your phone if you have a fantasy football app. This will easily distract you from drunk dialing your ex ( but probably not).


Now that we have the rules out-of-the-way, I’d like to bestow upon all of you ladies ( and anyone else) some of my personal observations that will help you understand the world of fantasy football, or at least a bit of what your boyfriend is talking about. Being able to comprehend this fantasy world for men will help you to understand why your boyfriend is distant for the entire fall and part of the winter, and may also help you to win if you get the chance to join and dominate your own league:

  • The best part of it all is picking the name of your team. It’s like naming your baby, that it if you wanted to name your baby “Reggie’s Bushes”. As fantasy football is dominated by men, you will encounter some of the nastiest, crude team names, but this is what men do. Should you join a league, feel free to do what you want when naming your team, but the more clever, the better. There is no need to be gross, but the men in your league will show you respect if you do, as odd as this sounds. My team names this year are “Sorry For Your Loss” and “Marco… Flacco”. I know, I know- pretty awesome, right? Some of the more interesting names I’ve seen include “My Vick in a Box”, “Vajayjay Cutler”, “No Romo”, and the very classy, “Golden Taint”.
  • After the fun of naming your team subsides, you actually have to go through the process of a draft. Most of them are conducted through a website ( i.e. Yahoo! Sports, ESPN, etc.), but there are many leagues that decide to have actually draft parties. How awesome- another reason to have a party! Just think, how fantastic would it be to be in a room full of men, chicken wings, and the brownies that you brought from home? Many leagues decide to have these draft at the home of fantasy football, Buffalo Wild Wings, or at their private residences. These drafts can go on for hours, especially if you’re online. If half of your league has a life, many of them won’t even show up, and the computer will automatically pick for them. If you’re not a person who knows football players and their skills, the computer will usually give you advice on who to pick, so it’s not too difficult. One word of advice: DO NOT PICK PLAYERS BASED ON THEIR LOOKS. This worked for me for one year only, the next season was a complete disaster.
  • Because everyone gets 1-2 minutes to make a selection and you have to select 15 slots, this can often take forever. Being a woman who can multi-task, you can always catch up on your DVR’d episodes of Love and Hip Hop Atlanta like I am right now, while waiting for your next turn. By the time the episode is over, you should be done drafting your team.

Now you have a team! Felicia’s Fabulous Footballers is ready to play! I hope that you take all of this information and dominate your leagues. May you have many victories, tons of points scored, and several talking points to use the next time you’re in a sports bar. You will definitely impress the fellas with all of your newfound knowledge of the NFL. Now go out there and beat “1.21 JJ Watts”.


Respect the Primp



There are approximately 43 items on this sink. There is also a spattering of hair spray, soap, water, and makeup on the mirror. My toothbrush  seems to have committed suicide into the sink, jumping in because there was simply no space on the countertop for him to live. Does this look like a crime scene?  Was I attacked by an intruder in the middle of the night in my bathroom and had to use hairspray? No, this is the result of trying to get ready for a date, with someone who didn’t receive a SECOND date because he became upset when I wouldn’t stop watching Dexter to talk to him. I mean, it’s DEXTER!  Come on…

Before you question the cleanliness of my sink ( it’s water and makeup people!), if you’re a woman, your sink has looked like this- it might even look like this now. And if you’re a man reading this ( thanks guys!), your sink may be a victim to your girlfriend’s crap, and you start to wish that you never told her she “could keep a few things here”. However, this is the necessary method to our beauty madness. In order to understand our struggle, you need to know exactly what we go through to make ourselves look good, whether it be for a hot date, work, going to Publix, or attending a Heat game ( if you’re in Miami, you know what I’m talking about- girls are ready TO GO!). If your lady has had the bathroom door closed going on an hour and all you’re doing is going to Chili’s to watch the game, she may be going through the one of the following transformations ( or perhaps a plethora of them):

PAINTING HER FACE: Most of the damage comes from this ancient ritual of painting ourselves like sexy clowns. Mascara, eyeliner, eye shadow, lip gloss, blush, and cement glue- all these are key ingredients that will take us from WTF to OMG. The process of getting the right combination of these 32 ingredients is difficult, so there is often a rotating application/removal process. And just when we think it looks perfect, you can’t find the ONE lipstick you really want to wear. So we still are going to need “five more minutes”…

DEFUZZING THE GOOD PARTS: This may be the most vital part of the process. Legs need to be shaved, eyebrows need to be plucked ( do you want to make out with Bert?), and some chicks have beards. If you don’t want to rub up on Sasquatch after your dinner date, you will let your woman take her time in the bathroom. and if she is taking longer to complete THIS process, don’t be mad. TRUST ME, this is going to work out in your favor.

FRYING HAM, I MEAN, HAIR: There’s nothing like having a “good” hair day. When your ‘do is on point, you want to conquer the world, cross everything off your to-do list, and flirt with random strangers. However, these days occur about 3 times a month, if you’re lucky. The rest of the days are questionable decisions made in 10 minutes or less, with a little water and hairspray. Trying to wash your hair, condition it, blow it out, and then straighten it is a procedure that can sometimes be compared to torture. It takes time, lots of prayers, and a minimum of 45 minutes.

MAKING EVERYTHING FRESH AS PRODUCE: The typical male idea of freshening up for a date is breathing into his cupped hands and seeing if his breath is okay, and dousing himself with some Axe body spray. Women have to apply several different “sprucers” to make sure everything is as crisp as fresh sheets. After the initial application of the latest Bath & Body fragrance ( how about Juniper Cherry Moon Romance?), there is also the difficult decision of going with an accompanying body spray or cleaning it all off and deciding to bust out the fancy perfume. Heaven forbid, we have clashing scents!  Oh, and wait, we JUST found that lipstick!  Now there’s another 5 minute delay…

PROPPING THEM UP, AND POKING THEM OUT: Once the 10th “right” outfit has been found, we have to adjust our body parts to make sure everything looks good. You may have to undergo several bra changes ( strapless, T-back, or use of the Bra Genie clip), putting a jacket on to hide your whale arms, then deciding to take it off because it’s too hot which requires you to once again change your shirt.

A few poses are struck, and FINALLY- you have found the right look!  After 15 selfies of the same pose, you can finally open the bathroom door, to find your man passed out on the couch and the blast of some fresh A/C. You feel like a queen, and damn it, you look like one! So the next time you whine to your woman if she’s “ready yet”, think of the alternative: you could walk out the door with a hairy, smelly, unkempt beast with bed head. And who wants to take her to Artwalk?

My Way

Once again Corner Politics resident freak Taylor Danes, is back to help put some spice in your bedroom. So let’s do like AG and Showbiz and give her a freaky soul clap

My Way813477

Tonight I want it my way

Tonight I don’t want any hesitation

Tonight I don’t want any questions

I want to cum for you, cum all over you.

I wanna watch you stroke me into ecstasy

I wanna see your hands explore every part of my body

I wanna see your tongue slide in and out of my kitty

I wanna hear you slurp up all my juices as I cum for you over and over

I wanna feel your hands in my hair as you stroke me from the back.

I wanna feel you reach the point of no return and scream my name

Can you handle that, can you let me have My Way

Taylor Danes.

Be sure to check Taylor’s advice and fan page on Facebook at


And follow her on Twitter @MZ_TAYLOR_D