I know. I did it to you again. I took a hiatus. I’ll fill you in on what the hell I’ve been doing in another post. BUT…while I was away…I see what YOU’VE been doing. You’ve been being an Internet Douche. On The Twidda, on Facebook, and especially on the Douche Tool De Jour: Instagram. And I don’t like it. Not. One. Bit.

So I want you to raise your kissy-face-picture-taking hand and take this pledge. Say it out loud, say it strong and proud!

1) I will stop doing single-outfit-bedroom/bathroom-sink-photoshoots for Facebook/Instagram/Twitter, etc. I realize that ten pics of me wearing the same clothes, at the same dirty sink, with the same face and only slightly different “eyebrow faces” are not believable as “random candids”, no matter what insightful hipster captions I may write beneath them.  I understand that I look desperate for attention, vain, or both.

Instagram Douche Example

2) In 2012, I will cease to use the terms “zoo” or “movie” to refer to an evening of hoodrat shit with my friends.  I understand that popping a few 40s and doing our best “thug poses” for the camera wouldn’t qualify for those terms at any rate, and under no circumstances will I use the nonsensical word “zoovie”. My Ciroc fantasies  are simply not that epic. I hereby throw “zoo”, “movie”, and “zoovie” in the trash…and toss “swagu” in with it. If something’s dripping from me, it’s most likely not a slang pasta sauce derivative.

3a) Ladies:  This year, I will find a new pose. I acknowledge that the skeptical half-mouth trout pout only makes me look like a sarcastic fish. I realize this isn’t attractive, let alone to be done in all my pictures.

Sarcastic Trout - requisite middle finger included...

3b) Guys: This year, I’m retiring the strange “point-at-dude-next-to-me” pose.  It’s not clear to me that two guys, standing side by side pointing at each other is…well…pointless. Ditto this for the sunglasses in the club poses and the 6-dudes-smiling-with-one-bottle pics.

4) I will stop bragging about my drink choices, especially if they came from rhyme-necessitated phrasing in urban music. I further understand that “Marvin Gaye and Chardonnay” is not a drink. Unlike a “Bartles and James”, I cannot buy a six-pack at 7-11 and bring it somewhere.

and finally…

5) I vow to learn the difference between “slander” and “libel” by reading their definitions somewhere other than Twitter.

Actually, let me help you with that last one:

slander: Law . defamation by oral utterance rather than by writing,pictures, etc.

libel:  Law . a. defamation by written or printed words, pictures, or in any form other than by spoken words or gestures.

b. the act or crime of publishing it.

Meh…what am I saying…You read me, but you ain’t HEAR me though… {See what I did there? }

*Photo edits courtesy C.J. Figgs because I’m lazy as hell today…

“If you have to announce that you’re shutting the fuck up, then you’ve completely missed the point of shutting the fuck up.”

- My Lawyer to Me, early 2011

The nerve, right?! I mean, how dare he!  And the worst part? He’s right.

Absolutely correct. Shutting the fuck up, and knowing when it’s time to, is something you just DO, you don’t further discuss.

But I didn’t always see it that way. Quite frankly, a lot of women don’t…till we have reason to…and then it just might be too late.

Let’s flashback to 2005. I had undergone a pretty bad break-up when my mother said to me, “Eva, he wasn’t strong enough for you anyway. You won every disagreement. You need someone who can tell you to shut the fuck up.” (Yes, that’s what my mother said it me. My lawyer, my mother…people are gonna need to learn some damn respect round these parts!  SMH…)

I railed, “WHAT?! If a man told me to shut the fuck up blah blah blah…”

She clarified, “No, that’s not what I literally meant. A man who loves you won’t talk to you that way and I know you wouldn’t take it. I mean you need a man that when you bark like a big dog, he barks back loud enough to turn your big bark into a little YIPE…and you respect him enough to actually stop and SHUT THE FUCK UP. He also needs to know when to just tune your ass out.“

O_O Ohhhhhhhhh…

See, now she had a point. And I agreed with it. If I don’t respect you, I’m very likely to steamroll you. It won’t be on purpose, and I might even be very sorry afterward. But once I’ve steamrolled you, there’s no turning back.  Respect is key. ::shrugs::

That respect factor ties in to two other issues:

1) Let’s say we have a problem to solve. I don’t care who owns the best idea, so long as it’s the one we go with. Do I have faith that you know what you’re talking about and are correct? Or do I think you’re spouting off to seem like you do, at my cost or whoever else’s cost? Is your ego the first priority and everyone else collateral damage? If I’m just going to have to come behind you and do it over anyway, I’ll just show you why you’re wrong now. If your idea is better, show me by doing it right. You’re not automatically right just because you say you are and have a penis. (Sidenote: proper use of said penis might, however, buy my silence as I go do this task over. Oh, I’ll grumble about it, but not loud enough for you to hear. Quid pro quo… See also: dickmatization.)

2) The “Ah-HA!” moment of being right is powerful stuff – especially when you’re on the “Oh! I Was Wrong” end of it.  It can be diminishing for a man to be wrong on a subject his lady really does know more about.  It’s a delicate moment that can go horribly awry if he decides to grandstand and try to look right on principle. Yes, those guys DO exist. I dated one once. He was wrong… A LOT. So, I told him…A LOT! In front of whoever was around…which only made it worse.  But my whole thing is, if you were wrong and insist you’re right, past the point of logic, and as a show, then you put your own huevos in my grinder.  As eager as you are to be right, is as quickly as I’m pulling up the Wikipedia page to show you how wrong you are. Matter of fact, let’s pass this bitch around, shall we?!

Further, if indeed I DO issue a pass and decide to shut the fuck up, my man has to be aware that just because I didn’t say anything, doesn’t mean I didn’t see anything. Gentlemen, we keep a lot to ourselves sometimes in the name of peace. Don’t take that for granted. Not every getaway is clean, and all shut eye is not asleep.

So you see, this shutting-the-fuck-up business is very tricky stuff.  Sometimes, the “Ah-HA!” moment” isn’t worth it. Sometimes, it’s easier to just do the task yourself. Sometimes, a man should just know better than to try me that day.

But overall, it’s about picking your battles and not crossing swords every single time you can. You may have reason to, and be completely correct, but will the benefit of being right outweigh to potential damage done to attain the win? ::shrugs:: Nope.  All in all, that’s the lesson it took me time to learn: battle selection.  I probably owe an ex or two an apology for pointing out their obvious stupidity belaboring a point or three.

You get the point. I’ll just shut the fuck up now.

Oh! Dammit, maaaaaann! I’ll never get the hang of this…

Unless you’ve been under a rock, you’ve seen the new craze that’s sweeping the nation: getting busted with wang pics (yours, or someone else’s) in your email/phone/twitter inbox…etc.

Anthony Weiner (insert allll those penis jokes here) couldn’t tell us “with certitude” if the wang in question was his…till he told us that and a lot more in a circus-style press conference, copping to every sordid lie and nipple shot transmission. Sexting while in office. And married. With a pregnant spouse no less. Bad, Anthony. Bad, bad Anthony. But, as he emphasized, he never met any of the women in person! Just sexting! Who’s cheating?!

Kimmy K was alleged to have had a fling with…uhhh wait…well, some black NFL player. I know. Nothing new there, ‘cept that the accusations put the fling on the same timeline as her current engagement to Kris Humphries. Oh wait! It allegedly all took place on the phone, over text, and email. Just harmless, wholesome sexting! No cheating here either, folks!

::side-eye::

These stories in the news have people examining their own moral compasses to ask: what’s really cheating? Remember when the prime argument was “getting some head isn’t cheating”? Bill Clinton took that one right out the window. But technology has ushered in a new avenue. Skype sex via computer (ew…creepy), mobile Facetime, text messages, videos sent with one click – there’s 100 ways to pretend-fuck a person. So, is sexting the new not-really-cheating?

Do those actions count if they’re not REALLY happening, just being discussed? Fantasized about? Collaboratively acted out across ISDN lines, rather than on satin sheets? Still, it seems almost impossible to defend the notion that a whole fling can happen with two parties never meeting in person or feeling a single warm touch.  But somehow…can it?

The dictionary defines “cheat”:

“to defraud, swindle; to elude, deprive of something expected; to violate rules or regulations”.

In relationships and marriages, there’s an expected amount of fidelity implied by the status itself. Flirting is usually the toughest non-physical threat to that unspoken promise. Can relationships handle an onslaught of cyber booty? Are we supposed to “update the relationship model” to accommodate it? Or is monogamy grandfathered in to all future technological communication mediums?

For me… I think anything that would make your partner feel hurt or betrayed by expressed affection or desire toward someone else…just might count. If I pledge fidelity to you, I shouldn’t be recreationally talking about breaking that fidelity with him with the casual defense “it’s nothing – we never met”. The mental connection, the desire to do what you’re speaking of…sometimes that is realer and more powerful than any physical touch can be.

Ultimately, I think each relationship has to define “cheating” for itself. Every partnership has its own boundaries to set, and decide what falls outside of them. One man’s harmless flirting is another man’s blatant sexting. And while you can’t say with certitude what your partner will feel about it if you get caught, just know that they CAN say with certitude if that’s your wang or not. Think about it before you press “send”!

I was flipping through a friend’s Facebook photos when I saw shots of him with his ex.

“Ohhh, she’s cute! You get on me about dating younger in the past, but I see you dated older! Better shut it!” He was standing beside a really pretty 40 year old.  Sadly, that 40 year old was 27.  O_0

Enter the Old-Faced Young Broads epidemic.

Yes, you read that correctly. It’s a problem I’m seeing more and more…we’re reaching epidemic status. When the skin on a woman’s face looks so painfully dry that she is a full shade lighter, when the rings around her neck tell her age like a redwood tree, when her decolletage (go ‘head and Google that…I’ll wait) seems like there’s a chicken missing its saggy skin somewhere in her house…she is an Old-Faced Young Broad (OFYB).

What are you OFYB doing, washing with sandpaper and toning with whiskey? I kinda wonder if OFYB’s actually have any true friends.  Friends don’t let friends age prematurely.

Now, this isn’t a beauty site, by any stretch of the imagination. But it IS a site where I aim to tell the truth about real life. So here’s a truth that applies to your real life, and mine: MOISTURIZE.

It’s a simple thing I learned when I was a teenager that has served me well in these non-teen years. If you wait till you NEED moisturizer, you’ve waited too long.

Ladies, find a cream that works for your skin type and use it. Use it on your face, your neck and your decolletage.  Don’t skimp on your shoulders either.  Treat these easy to overlook areas the same way you treat your face. Use the same gentility and care – this skin is just as sensitive.  And your age will show twice as fast if your face is well cared for and they are neglected. Have you counted the rings around Kimora Lee’s neck lately? Love her though I do, those lines are etched in. Do you see my point? Okay then.

Another thing that is truly bad for skin: sleeping in your makeup. We’re all guilty of it from time to time.  BUT…too much of this can lead to clogged pores and general skin irritation. (Besides all that, you’ll wake up looking like a homeless hooker. Yes, you, Ms. Raccoon Eyes!) I’ve never been a big make up person: mascara, eyeliner, gloss and I’m done. I know I don’t have the patience to put it on, let alone take it off. But trust me, if you put it on, you DO need to take it off. Get some pre-moistened towelettes and spend the 5 minutes before falling into bed.

I want so badly to give you pictures of OFYB culled from Facebook profiles of course but that would give someone reason to haul my ass into court be mean.  Generally speaking though, if a woman looks like she’s old enough to be her own aunty, she’s part of the OFYB epidemic. Now, go look through your friends list…and mail out some Nivea Night Cream.

O_o