Happy Fricken Mother's Day!

Tweet

I'm pretty disturbed by the photo of  Jamie Lynne Grumet on the cover of Time Magazine. Can you blame me? I mean...What the Fergie? Here we go again with another baby with teeth attached to a woman's breast. He's on a stool as if he actually needs to be; as it's clear he could reach her breasts by simply standing on his toes. And she, this Jamie woman, she's actually attractive. No mother with a child that age looks that put together, unless... you're pretty much every amazing fricken' mother I know.

Yes America, here it is. The not so new face of motherhood. Fly, refreshed, perky breasts, clothes without spit up and a child with teeth attached to our breasts. Run for your lives... because we are here to ruin it. Yes I said it. A mother nursing her child is coming to a city near you to freak you out, give you the willies, over-sexualize her breasts all in an effort to make your life hell. Simply because all of the responsibilities she faces in one day i.e. her own personal challenges, work, providing, ovulating (we should get a life time supply of Haagen Dazs for that alone) spraying stain removers in places there should NEVER be stains... isn't enough. Uh huh. Nope, we make it our business to dine out and strategically nurse because we want to make you feel disgusted while lunching at Houston's. 

Don't Ask... Don't Get!

Tweet

Don’t Ask Don’t Tell has been the topic of discussion for much of 2010. Obama was able to end the year with at least one monkey off of his back by getting the policy repealed; making it possible for people to serve our country as they are, no matter their sexual orientation. Typically, I would have been more involved in this movement while leading heated debates laced with politics and lined with Louboutins. But in all honesty, much of the past few months has been a bit of a blur. Life as an indie artist has this new mother investing more time debating cloth vs disposable diapers opposed to my former self, who spent that energy comparing Chanel to YSL. Okay… I still do the latter but my priorities have been made over like Tina Turner. Motherhood has been an intense transition, rewarding, but super duper intense which usually has me pulled in a million different directions. One day, I was so overwhelmed trying to reconcile who I was with who I have to be and I looked around my house and yelled “WHERE THE HELL IS EVERYBODY?” 

the HILLS have EYES

Tweet

Don't be alarmed by the sista with the backside of a Stallion, onion, bunion or whatever the latest homage to the booty is these days. This is her shining moment, on the corner of Washington and Crenshaw during peek hour traffic. For obvious reasons, she is more than going out of her way to make certain her top rests on the small of her back. Thank heavens for camera phones and my girl Kharyns' slick angle for the shot, because seeing is believing. You see, this was one of the many jaw dropping moments we shared at my annual 30th birthday party while eating Kahlua cake and telling each other how good we all look for our varied pretend ages. 
Mad jokes with a coupon for spanks on a warm valley Saturday night in the City of Angels. 

Zapp, jail and bean pies.

Tweet

I was stopped at the light at Florence and Crenshaw with the sunset glaring blindly into my eyes when through my squint I noticed Zapp had an upcoming show. Songs like Heartbreaker and More Bounce To The Ounce had me reaching for the phone to see who wanted to roll to the concert when I noticed the sign underneath. "Receive calls on your cell phone from jail" with a number and discount. Once around 3 people blew their horns and screamed expletives indicating the light was green, I realized I wasn't seeing things. I needed to make a block and come back around to capture the moment. As I was standing on the corner getting the shot and was fortunate enough to get offered both a bean pie and someone's hand in marriage, I got annoyed. But not at the toothless charming man or the brotha offering me Tyler Perry bootleg dvd's. But at the realization that this sign would never be posted in Westwood, Brentwood or Hollywood, but was a no brainer in Inglewood.

The Unlikely Patriot.

Tweet

I was driving west down 60^th in route to Cedars Sanai Hospital 3 days before I was scheduled to fly to Tunisia. I was finally going to Africa. Ok, it's N. Africa where the concept of colonialism was conceptualized, but it's still Africa. I was beyond excited for this journey and learned about 30 words in Arabic that I planned on putting to great use. But on this particular day, I would not be practicing my masculine and feminine nouns. I had the task of being attentive and documenting the most infinitesimal details while a dear friend was consulting with her plastic surgeon. She was having a double mastectomy in two weeks and I was the friend she chose to be there for moral support and to take notes. I was determined to be on time, but with my track record I knew she’d given me a 15 minute grace period due to my notorious tardiness. Why didn't I take Slauson to Crenshaw is what crossed my mind as I was compelled to bust a u-turn and go home to grab my camera. But not to capture moments in my friends journey to beat cancer, or a candid shot of us toasting to a speedy recovery. I had to document what I thought I’d just seen to make sure I wasn't... seeing things.