Month: May 2016

Big Men Don’t Let Big Men Dress Like Fat Boys

Mya / May 31, 2016

Hey Kids — Memorial Day is done and now it’s time for the serious business of getting that summer gear together. Now, I have plenty to say about the ladies and their various fashion offenses – be on the lookout for my blazing new single, Guts, Butts and Lacefronts®, hitting ya ears summer16. However, for now, you will have to lend your eyes to Myalogy contributor Brendan, known on the low and high ends as Big Man. He wants to help out our extra-cushion-for-the-pushin guys, in an effort to keep them fly………. Brendan? You know there are a lot of outlets and articles giving the regular size people tips on fashion. But who is the voice for the Big Guy? Now before we dig into this valuable info lets decipher who a big guy is because some of you cats got it twisted. I got love for ya but you’re NOT a big guy if you; aren’t at least 6’2 don’t weigh at least 250lbs don’t have difficulty fitting in regular size cars don’t get chased and harassed by short women (5’5 and under) aren’t asked to grab something off the top shelf don’t have more than 2 XX’s in the tag of your clothes have never been asked by a total stranger “Do you play football/basketball” Sorry fellas, if none of these things apply to you may need to pass this along to your boy who wears a size 15 shoe and you always feel safe around, so you talk mad shit cause you got your “team”. Now that we got that out the way, I want to hook my “Fully Evolved©”, (that’s copy written by the way, so don’t pull it or ill sue your ass!) brethren up on 5 FASHION TIPS FOR THE BIG GUY THIS SUMMER. Big fellas you have to remember you’re automatically going to get attention. We are not the norm, and we attract attention. Chicks dig big men (Biggie put us on…RIP). Command the room! Nothing is sadder than a big dude with clothes on that just don’t look right. My grandmother use to tell me “Baby you’re going to be the biggest thing in the room, you better OWN it!” When a man’s clothes fit properly or he understand fashion trends and tailors that to fit his body he stands apart from the average guy, and this applies no matter the size. Women love men who look good and smell good. Yea we have a few fashion challenges but just like you invest in your car, your 401k and that bottle of Glenlivet 15 yr. (yea get up on it if you’re not), you should invest in your wardrobe. ←THIS IS SOME GOOD SHIT MY DUDE! And by the way, if anyone questions my right to speak on this subject, I am 6’4, 280lbs, and former offensive lineman. I check all off boxes…….anyway…HERE WE GO! 1. SAY NO TO THE BLUE JEAN SHORTS!!! Fellas, the 90’s called and they want their blue jean shorts back! Let it go! There are so many options when it comes to shorts selection. Why wear them hot ass, heavy, jean shorts that make your ball sack smell like rhino spit? Grab you a pair of nice cargo shorts, camo, or even some simple casual khaki shorts (khaki comes in all colors). Remember you’re not a hip hop artist from 1997 no matter how many Nas or No Limit songs you know! Give it up! Caveat: The exception to this rule is a nice pair of distressed jean shorts…but if you needed this tip about blue jeans shorts, you aren’t ready for that level of fashion, but see below for the difference; NO GOOD!!! GOOD!!! YOU SEE THE DIFFERENCE? You want to make a statement, not just put some shit on! 2. INVEST IN SOME NICE SOCKS…NOBODY WANTS TO SEE YOUR TREE TRUNKS IN WHITE CREW SOCKS! Dude! Are you still wearing the exact same socks you wore to gym in high school? Really? The same white socks with the string unraveling the elastic around the top? C’mon son! Time for an upgrade! A grown man should have a new rotation of socks (and draws or underwear for the non ebonic audience) every few months. You look like a goofy getting undressed in front of a woman in socks her son wears! STOP IT! Invest in some nice quality socks from any department store, Macy’s, Nordstrom’s Rack etc. Be creative, there are no rules for socks other than they more unique the more attention you get from woman and lets be for real, that’s what you want right? And if you can’t step outside your box far enough to rock the creative socks, then just don’t wear any with shorts! It’s too damn hot anyway! NICE!! 3. YOU CANT WEAR JUMPERS/SNEAKERS EVERYWHERE, GRAB YOU SOME CASUAL SHOES! Bro! Yes your Jordan game is sick, and yes they are a premium shoe but you can’t wear Jordan’s or Air force 1’s every damn where! It sickens me to see a big guy fresh to death at a casual or upscale event and he got on gym shoes (I’m from the Chi, that’s what we say, do something about it!). Plenty of shoe companies sell our sizes in nice casual shoes. Stacy Adams has upgraded, I REPEAT STACY ADAMS HAS UPGRADED! For $80 you can have on a nice pair of shoes at a summer event and not look like Baby Huey who momma dressed him and he cried because he couldn’t wear his Bug’s Bunny Jordan’s! Boat shoes, driving loafers, hell even Ugg has some nice casual shoes for men, and they go up to a 16! Look the part, not like the overgrown kid. 4. NO MATCHING LINEN SHIRT AND PANTS COMBO’S! SIGH……..Man look! Who the hell told big dudes they had to have a matching short sleeve linen shirt to go with linen pants? Who did it/ Imma slap FIRE

MyPOPalogy

It’s Been Real, Tamar

Mya / May 26, 2016

Tamar Braxton is a bonnet on the head of your cousin on your daddy’s side at your high school graduation. Tamar Braxton is your friend that tags you in world star videos of black people fighting. Tamar Braxton is your date that uses two forks to try and pull his steak apart. (true story) Tamar Braxton is your black co-worker that uses the wrong word/verb tense/pronunciation in the staff meeting. Tamar Braxton is that folded up plate full of spaghetti you sneak in the trash at your mother in laws 50th birthday party – you know, the one with sugar in it. I’m sure I lost some of you readers by now. Some of y’all really, inexplicably, like her and some of y’all really, inexplicably, think sugar in spaghetti is a great idea. But, I trade in my truth here at Myalogy and last weekend was the one of those moments that touch you so deep in your soul, one of those moments where the world validates your hate. I’d felt this way, one time before….when Jerry “Organizations Win Championships” Krause left the Chicago Bulls. I remember it vividly. I was driving down 101st and Parnell when it came on the radio. I legit pulled over and started honking my horn like they had just won yet another ‘ship. This time, I was laying down when I got the news from B.Scott. – “Tamar Braxton has been Fired from The Real!” Now, the first thing *I* do when I see news like this, is find another source. Maybe it’s the journalist in me. Maybe it’s me not wanting to be like 75% of folks on the internet – posting shit as fact from tmznews.biz, never once stopping to consider that maybe, MAYBE, it’s inconceivable that Michael Jackson was resurrected with DNA from all his old cryogenically preserved facial features, or the fact tmznews.biz isn’t tmz.com. A small distinction in urls, but an IMPORTANT, ESSENTIAL, one nonetheless. Looked around to some other sites and found concrete evidence that her time on The Real was over. I like The Real, or should I say I developed a taste for it. Part of my real life employment is watching, or keeping an eye on, a television. As a result, I watch The Real everyday. Although an obvious The View knock off, I think it’s really well produced and speaks to an audience The View, The Chew, The Whatsup, The Talk, The Chat, The Low Down, doesn’t speak to, and I can appreciate that. Tamar was always the worst part of the experience to me. She is everything I despise about a black woman – the missing edges, the loudness, the drag queenDIDness, the loudness, the lip smackin, that annoying tongue click off the roof of her mouth when she is about to begin speaking, the loudness, the eyerolls, the bug eyes, the shuck, the loudness, the jive. I’m truly surprised she never showed up in a bonnet. Truly. I know people like this exist out in the world. I do. I get it. Not everyone can go to one of the best high schools in the country – Hey Dolphins. Not everyone can go to a white school or tier 1 HBCU, with lobster picnics for incoming freshman – I see you Hampton. Not everyone has an educator for a mother – WHADDUP Teresa McCray Seals? Some folks see themselves in Tamar, or their mother, or their fave aunt, or their fave cashier at Harold’s Chicken and that’s fine. It takes all types to make the world go round. But I have no desire to see them everyday on my god damn television, just like I didn’t want to see Elizabitch on The View…I think white folks should have been just as disgusted by her as I am by Tamar. My friend said I was bogus for cheering for someone losing their job, but lets be clear; 1. that is true sometimes, and 2. Tamar is a bitch, one who ain’t gonna miss no meals. Do you know how much money she stockpiles by not paying bills? She’s mean, petty and venegeful — her social media accounts speak to that fact. Upon her firing, she took to social media to throw shade at unnamed targets then unfollowed the social media accounts of certain co-hosts knowing the webosphere lives for that type of fuckery. Vengeful, like I said. Tamartians started (BARF) launching attacks all over Loni, Adrienne, and Jeannie. She got poor Loni making “It Wasnt Me, Please Call Me, I Was Taking A Nap When You Called” confessional videos. TIP: No one looks good when shot from below, Loni – especially wearing a multi-colored braid wig. What seems to be the fact of the matter, is that she was difficult and obstinate on set and advertisers didn’t find her likable. They found her so unlikeable in fact, that they did not want her in segment featuring their products. Strong Black Women™, y’all can write all the think pieces you want about black women being “difficult” and what that means in white spaces or shared intersections or whatever the fuck, but imma tell you one thing. Cash Rules. At the end of the day, nothing matters but the money. Sales are THE ONLY thing that matter when it comes to television, radio, blogs, anything media related. If advertisers weren’t buying what she was selling, she had to go. Let me put it a way, tamarbraxtonher.com and her fans can understand. The advertisers told her: *tongue click* LIES! YOU AINT FINNA MESS UP OUR COIN, HUNTY! HAVE SEVERAL SEATS!

MySAYalogy

Admin-tal Illness

Mya / May 24, 2016

“I’m not gonna tell y’all one more time to watch it with the name calling.” And just like that, I knew that my idyllic safe haven of a fun Facebook group had gone on to glory. Someone added me to the group, and once I saw the subject matter, I didn’t object – which was huge for me. I’m not really a fan of groups – open, secret, closed, hidden, or otherwise. I’d been added to several; I left them immediately. I’d been invited to several; I ignored the invitations. But this one was different, it was fun. It was seemingly comprised of black women, around my age, discussing or better yet, tearing to shreds, something we all enjoyed. These chicks were, and are, funny, witty, smart, stupid, entertaining, ratchet, classy, trashy and cool. Once in a while, someone would craft a post about how happy they were to be in the group, a group without drama, messiness or the typical fuckshit that comes along with the congregation of people from different walks of life. These groups are no different than high school, sororities, frats, the workplace, nor the old lady crew that holds down the first pew at the sunrise service. Gangs. With an unfortunate hierarchy. The whole lot of them. They all eventually start to eat their own. Armed with this knowledge, I was saddened, but not surprised when my utopia ended. Not to get into specifics, because I wouldn’t, but, someone did something, then someone told they did it, then the someone they told it to, said something to the first person that did something, which led to someone else contacting the person that the thing was told to in hopes of finding out who told them, but that person wouldn’t tell who told, so the person that contacted them brought it back to the group and told us all. Madness ensued. Who told the thing that the first person did to the person they told it to who wouldn’t tell the person who contacted them trying to find out who told the thing that the first person did? “Who is in contact with all of these people?” “Oh, only this person, that person and Them, know both sets of us.” “Well that person said it wasnt them.” “Musta been that person cuz Them, on second review – Them dont know both sets of us.” Then the person that did the first thing left the group. Then the person who was trying to find out who told in the first place invited others to leave if they ain’t like it. Then other people chimed in bout the person who left and the other people that may have initiated the betrayal. Folks were invited to block other people if they ain’t feel safe, as if the fucking 28 pages redacted out the 9/11 Report, social security numbers, the location of the fallen Malaysian airliner, passwords, their STD screening results, credit scores, Rihanna’s secret phone number and the princess’s name ol boy screams out at the end of The NeverEnding Story were shared in a fucking Facebook group. OY VEY! Shade was thrown. Damns went out the window. And names were called, which led to the opening statement of this post. High School. Told ya. A classic whodunit over a whogivesafuck. I am forty. I say that often in this space. What I do not say, but what I am sure some of you can surmise is the fact I can also be a raging thin-skinned bitch, which Tony would say qualifies me greatly to be an admin. So even if the admin of this group meant, “Hey guys, name calling isn’t cool, lets just chill on that and be adults and move forward with our fuckery and have fun!” MY THIN SKINNED ASS heard “Bitches, call one more muthafucka a name and its gonna be a muthafuckin problem in this bitch, muthafuckas.” I do not respond well to that type of instruction. But, regardless of my propensity to get a muthafucka ALL THE WAY TOGETHER using words that will sending them running to Merriam, Webster, the Urban Dictionary and Jesus, I don’t enjoy conflict, nor arguing with folks on the internet, especially those that I do not know personally. Needless to say, my time in the group has come to a likely end – its bullshit met with my silence. I’m sure I’ll be removed soon and that’s fine. I had an excellent run and so many laughs. I’ll honestly miss some of the folks in there, but I know them in regular Facebook, so the hits will keep on coming. I wish the ladies in that group well, but when a comment makes my cheeks burn, its time to go. I was initially gonna write about this, then decided to let it go, not wanting to ruffle any feathers, nor make any enemies out of former compadres. But then I ran across this post by my stupid friend/guest blogger Tony and my fingers got inspired…… After I cleaned the off the Coke I spit out on my Macbook screen, I asked him aboard cuz my own experience in a group and the experiences I hear about have left me asking this very question. Tony? Group Admins Wanted Employer Name: Facebook Location: All Over Mark Zuckerberg and his other rich friends are looking for Facebook Group admins to help monitor mostly insignificant social groups and ensure that no one posts a flyer that is not supposed to be there or disagrees with ANYTHING one of the almighty admins says. You must have lots of free time, very thin skin (Mya) and have been super unpopular in high school (Not Mya) and at the college promoted by that Master P and Lil Romeo. This job requires 0% travel and you must remind group members that you are an admin at every opportunity. The pay is competitive and commensurate with experience but usually averages around ZERO

MySAYalogy

I DO! Wait…Do I?

Mya / May 17, 2016

“It’s not a diss post; it’s a real post. Feel Me?” – Mya and Beyoncé’s Lemonade Co-conspirator I am forty years old. I am black. I am a woman. I am intelligent. I have no children. I have a job some would consider fun. I’ve been told I am easy on the eyes. I owe a bitch named Sallie a manageable amount of money, but no one else. I own a crib. I own a car. I am not married. If you have a penis and you are reading this, you are going thru all of the reasons that I am not married. You likely don’t remember anything from the first paragraph aside from the fact that I still have my daddy’s last name. Shocking! Yes, I not only know my dad, but I also enjoy a wonderful relationship with him. You are also likely unmarried, but that doesn’t stop you from wondering and deducing why I am single and coming to your own conclusions about my said condition. Judging me for it even. If it helps add any validity to what follows, I do have a man in my life. This fact is verifiable on Facebook, so it must be true. I was sitting at work watching Family Feud, as my fun job allows me to do, and some black family won the game (yay us! yall so racist when it comes to game shows and competitions, jeez!) and went on to fast money, lightening round, or whatever the shit is called at the end. They elected to send two of the male members out to try and win them a 1959 Ford Excursion or some other crap that can’t be split 5 ways. Question number two for both of these gentlemen: Name something most women want of their own. Both Australopithecus and Cro-Magnon excitedly yelled out “A HUSBAND” in each of their respective rounds. You could literally see them auto-fellating themselves over such a genius answer. Already thinking about who was gonna drive the Excursion on what day of the week. The sounds. The rims. Limo Tent on that bitch, fa sho. But poor second man had to answer something else, which I don’t remember, cuz I was thinking about writing this blog at that very minute. Doesn’t matter – Austro, got a measly 15 pts for his effort and Cro got 10 maybe. From Dr. Whateverfakemuslimname’s latest post about why the black woman is single to these Rhodes Scholars on Family Feud, so much time is dedicated to ASSuming what a woman wants out of life or should have in her life or should be doing in her life, and a black woman in particular. The women whose bosoms nurtured a nation – could never want to be anything more than, well, a nurturer. Fixing plates at the picnic. Serving her huzzzzzzzband before THEIR children. Cooking for her maaaaaaaaaaaaaaan, every night. Braiding lil mama’s hair after baby momma #4 drops her off, while you go hoop or play Madden at DoDirty’s house with P and Jody. Doing “things” to completion. Man please. Listen……Dig. I started thinking to myself, okay smartmouth, you had a reaction to their answers, what are somethings YOU want more than a husband. 1. My dream career: Professional Shittalker. My job is cool. Great. Fun. Networking opps up the wazoo. It’s still just a job. I gotta come. I gotta ask for vacation. And at any moment they can tell me to leave. Not enough for me. 2. A Passport Full of Stamps This world is humongous. Varying terrains. Sand and water in different hues. People that look like me clear across the world. Animals I’ve never seen. Food I’ve never tasted. And some of yall keep going back to Miami and the Dominican every chance yall get. Fine. 3. A child. I think I’m the shit and the opportunity to raise a lil hellraiser/rapscallion in my image is one I truly desire and hope comes to fruition. 4. An Abundant Number of Comfortable High Heels I love wearing heels and strutting into and out of a room….I’d just like to be able to do something other than sit while I’m in the room. This one may seem frivolous, but its real. 5. Resources for my Family. I want a legacy, socially and more importantly financially, for my family, while I’m living and after I’m gone. I’m lucky in that all my family elders are hella self-sufficient. No needs, no wants. But if mom wants a Jag or Dad wants a Rado, I wanna walk in the spot and drop it. I want my lil cuzzins and nieces and my nephews to be able to trade on my name or drop a Black Card in a muthafuckas face if they wanna pretend like they don’t know. I cut my list there, just cuz 5 is a good round list number, but trust me, health, beautiful skin and hair, and one cycle of being Rihanna’s tour manager were included. I did open the floor to some chicks I admire, respect and some I love. And they had said: A great career, a vacation home, 10 Academy Awards, great health, MONEY, To become a travel blogger, PEACE OF MIND, A cushy savings account, A child, family pride, A well-adjusted son, whose life won’t be taken at the hands of a madman who will go on to try to sell the weapon that took his life, FREEDOM, SANITY, an education and my most ignit and go-to girl said “$$$$$$, cars, banging weaves, purses, and great boobies.” And she’s nearly a six figga banker, so don’t…… Listen, I love men. I say I hate them daily, but it’s not true. I fucking love yall. I need yall. We need each other. I asked HIM to kill a spider on the ceiling last week, not cuz I was scared, but cuz he’s taller than me and I couldn’t reach it. He asked me to – well, I’m not gonna write that here, but I

MyPOPalogy, MySAYalogy, Uncategorized

Just Cuz You Got Miseducated…..

Mya / May 10, 2016

I don’t really care about Nas. Wu-Tang neither. HATE KRS-ONE. Hate him. I stopped being friends with a person that MADE me watch The Matrix more than one time. Game of Thrones mania escapes me. Does anything different actually happen on the Walking Dead – aside from Run, Kill, Survive, Get eaten? So Chipotle IS worth getting sick and possibly dying for? Mkkkkkay. A lot of shit people think is great; I just don’t really care about or find it horrible. But, one of my closest friends in the world is a SUPER NAS fan, SUPER. We spent many workdays in his office discussing the GOAT’s identity. There is an obvious answer, but I don’t feel like fucking any of you up right now, so, I’m gonna digress. Again, my boy was a Nas fan, and had been a really great friend to me, so when his birthday rolled around and Nas was gonna be in town, there was only one thing to do. Excitedly (I love buying gifts/surprising folks) I went to the Ticketmaster……and saw who was gonna be there with him: The Artist Formerly Known as “This Chick is Doper than Ladybug.” Lboogie what dey call her. I was not pleased. I’m not gonna act like Lauryn changed my life in any MAJOR way. I came of age a little before her time and Mary had already laid claim to my maturation. Blunted on Reality and The Score were really dope albums. “Some Seek Stardom” WAS MY SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT. Rewound, yes kids, the hell out that tape at the conclusion of that song. She was a beautiful chick, talented beyond measure, holding her own with the fellas. (HEY MIRROR!) Then she dropped that got danged album, that gorgeous lush masterpiece. I aint care she told yall to stop wearing weaves. But I did care that her and Mary tore some wack ass dude to shreds. And that she had a joy in her life called Zion. And that she wanted to tell him to let her be patient and to let her be kind and to make her unselfish without her being blind. I cared. Lawd, did I care. I even cared about the follow up – 20 tracks of the same song. Cried like a baby to that album. Why? I dunno. Probs cuz she was crying thru the entire thing. Sadly, it was pretty much all downhill from there. Missed performances, erratic appearances, jail, NO MUSIC, lawsuits, chick started being late for everydamnthing she could. Still I bought the tickets for the concert and hoped against hope – slightly excited at the prospect of seeing them perform “If I Ruled the World”. NAS came on – ripped it (I guess, my friend looked happy) – he did sing his songs with Amy Winehouse, which was enough for me. He performed first, which I’m guessing he was not planning to do, being the headliner and all, but….yall know why. Wrapped up his tight lil set and took his leave. 3 days later, she emerged, clearly not herself, singing songs foreign to our ears, and from the looks on the confused faces of her background singers, foreign to their ears as well. 10 minutes later, we left. As we walked down the street, he said to me “I wished she sang ‘Ex-Factor.’ It broke my heart to tell him that she did. It was just unrecognizable. Never again. NOT EVER will I pay to see her. A free concert would be a tough sell for me. So when Amissah, hit me so full of life and asked “Lauryn? Ravinia?” I couldn’t curse her ass out quick enough for asking me such a dumb ass question. And bout a month later, Lauryn proved me right. She kept fans waiting in Atlanta over two hours, to watch her “perform” after spending their hard earned money on Groupon tickets to see her NOW wack ass. (click the link. I aint lying. You can also find lil Kim tickets there. Okay, now I’m lying.). I heard the performance was dope, but short due to time restrictions at the outdoor venue. A video posted on social media saw a fan taking her to task about her lateness. She told him her driver got lost. He said “bitch, you were at the 4pm sound check. I heard you. I live across the street. Fuck you.” I made up part of that, but that’s what he really wanted to say. Or that’s what I would have wanted to say. The sound check and him living across the street is for true. Atlanta is as big as your thumbnail and if you live mentally or physically in 2016, which is questionable about her, and have GPS, it’s even smaller. You can’t get lost. People were admittedly outraged and took their voices to the world wide web, which prompted her to respond in kind. From Ms. Hill’s Facebook: “I don’t show up late to shows because I don’t care. (Seems that way.) And I have nothing but Love and respect for my fans. (This is a lie. ‘Memba the House of Blues in Chicago? You don’t owe us anything. ‘Memba, Lauryn. Guess we should be thankful and grateful you were only 1.5 hours late that time.) The challenge is aligning my energy with the time, taking something that isn’t easily classified or contained, and trying to make it available for others.” (WAIT, JUST A FUCKIN MINUTE) You telling me, I, who must work for my money, need to extend patience to you for you to align your energies in order for you to appear somewhere you charged me my aforementioned money to see you? How bout dis? Wait til your on/off switch is set to on. Get open, rested, do whatever you need to do to feel “sensitive and liberated” then do a free concert in the park and promote it on Facebook. Don’t sell tickets and waste my time and money, muthafucka. I’m over being miseducated by you.

MyMedialogy

MyMedialogy : Presidential Race to the End of My Nerves

Mya / May 6, 2016

HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY Kids! Storytime! Once a upon a time, a well respected program director at a beloved Chicago radio station reached out to a hyper opinionated blogger/writer/shittalker/rihannabiggieamylover/facebookaddict, and asked if she would like to share her thoughts on his station. “Thoughts?” she wondered. “Thoughts on what?” she asked aloud. “Anything you want,” he responded. She sat back and thought about it. Nope can’t talk about that, mama’s gonna listen. Nope can’t talk about that, that happened two weeks ago. Nope can’t talk about that, cuz you do want them to invite you back. Sad and uninspired, our fearless blogger sat back, <redacted>, stared dead-eyed and slack jawed at the beauty outside her window, and shouted “Eureka!” to her plant, aptly named “Junior Walter.” Nonplussed, and unable to process nor return human thoughts, speech or fux, Junior Walter just sat there. Slowly the most sly of grins emerged on the lips that birthed some of the most foul mouthed words the world had ever heard. The rest, kids? Well, click below to judge for yourself. MYALOGY ON WVON This commentary also can be heard at 9:20am, 5:20pm and 11:55pm cst (or is it cdt – who cares. central time, suckas) on WVON 1690 on ya AM DIAL or at www.wvon.com online.