league of your own…

Ever been hit on a guy while he was dumpster diving? No? I have. More than once, unfortunately.  I always find it interesting how the most confident individuals are often the ones that shouldn’t be. When debating this week’s topics, onetrik implored me to write about females that insist their friends are cute when they really aren’t. I decided to take this idea one step slightly less superficial further and explore the bigger question: Why is it that so many people are delusional about their own personal rating?

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window of opportunity…

As a sneakerholic, there is one thing that equally excites and pains me with acquiring new additions to my collection: availability. On the exciting side, there is no better feeling than walking into your favorite shop or clicking your favorite site to see that all black with red bottoms Jordan XI and to only have one left in your size. Scoop! On the flip side, there is nothing more frustrating than to wait and wait and wait for that same beautiful collection of heaven sent materials to be available only to settle for a Jordan VII.

Needless to say as one of the most famous versions of the Jordan collection, the XI is a special shoe. So special that Michael Jordan himself predicted that the shoe would not only be basketball court appropriate but stylish enough to be worn with formal attire (which eventually happened when BoyZ II Men wore them with tuxedos to the Grammys).

Apologies for the brief history lesson but stay with me…I’m going somewhere with this… Read more of this post

please accept our apologies…

last week in part one of “ubf remembers we’re black” we took a look at some things that could possibly benefit the jacksons and jenkins of the world…this week in the maury surprise part (maury surprise because part 1 didn’t now he had a son until right now) we look at a few things we’d like to apologize for…these are of course just my opinions…but because the opinions leaked from my brown hands, they obviously represent those of the black population as a whole…it’s just more efficient that way…
now…where should we start…right…the obvious choice… Read more of this post

why we’re not married…

A male friend of mine sent me this article that’s been blowing up the blogosphere and wanted my opinion. For those of you too lazy busy to read it, it is a list of reasons why women such as yourself are not married. Oh yeah- and it’s also talking about me, too.  You will be surprised to know that I completely agree with Ms. McMillan’s higher level points- she’s 100% spot on about unmarried women like me. And since she’s been married a whopping three times, I think she knows a bit about what it takes to make it down the aisle. Allow me to break down the finer points:

1.       I’m a Bitch – She is absolutely right. I do get angry. I don’t think that’s a surprise to anyone who reads this blog. I never get angry without a reason, but I definitely display my displeasure when crossed.  If somebody wrongs me, am I’m supposed to take the “high road” and just be  quiet? Or as she suggested: I should pull a Kim Kardashian and ‘smile, wiggle and make a sex tape’. Although, last time I checked, Kim’s not married either so I guess that’s not the appropriate reaction after all.  Read more of this post

black thanksgiving…

Now that we are officially 24 hours past the closing of NBA All Star weekend,  it seems like a good time to recap what the fellas of ubf experienced during this year’s hip hop woodstock. For those readers unfamiliar, this collection of tall millionaires bouncing a ball has somehow become a tradition within the African American community to celebrate too little clothing and hennessey.

Before jumping into the embellished memories, there is one caveat:  as true asw veterans, ubf efficiently avoided the masses descending onto LA to either wait in a broken line that never moves or pay ridiculously marked up prices for entry into a party sponsored by a celebrity that would never actually make it to the venue. But don’t worry as that did not prevent the male contingent of this fine blog from partaking in a bit of ridiculousness mixed with good times.

Now bring on the memories: Read more of this post

easy like sunday…umm…afternoon…

i, as did many of my brethren, looked on in amazement as young lolita so eloquently attempted to convince us of something we kinda already told you repeatedly knew…one of the benefits of having a lady on the team is getting a clear view of how wrong you still can be about us…even after we give you the answers…this was another very clear case of how one can gather all of the right facts yet come to the wrong conclusion…

we like dumb women…yeeaah…no…dumb women key your car because they find one of their own pre-colored hairs on your couch…while smart women know it’s ok to pay for dinner sometimes…statistics probably will show how the higher a woman’s income is the less likely she is to be married… Read more of this post

easy like sunday morning…

Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus, blah blah blah. My male friends consistently tell me that women are a mystery. And whenever I demonstrate try to claim my vast knowledge of the opposite sex, they are quick to shut me down. “You don’t know men because you aren’t a man!” Wanna bet?

I hate to break it to you ‘guys’, but you aren’t that complicated. Men need approximately three or four things. Food, Sex, Sleep and Bathroom breaks. Oh yes…and ‘toys’. Toys for men take on many shapes and forms. Some like cars. Others like houses. The straight ones like women. The rich ones like all of the above.

And even though the last paragraph pretty much proves that the scientific equation of the Y chromosome has been cracked, you will still attempt to challenge me. Behold, I will not take the challenge lying down this time. There are quite a few stereotypes that the ladies have about men…that are actually almost always true. Read more of this post

the boomerang effect…

So go ahead and gather around the computer screen as it is once again story time here at ubf. This tale was inspired by a term I was recently introduced to called ‘dating karma’. Evidently some of you out there are running around treating future exes respectfully in a hope to bank enough good will that you will eventually drop the maid/men from your usual wedding title. Once I stopped laughing, I instantly thought of a particular evening that will probably have me with an unending amount of alone time in the future.

As a bit of background, a particular lady and I decided that it was no longer a good idea to date as she expected our semi-frequent interactions to lead to some facebook relationship status changing while I looked at them as a reason not to be on facebook looking at statuses. However, as responsible adults we decided to remain friends (she attempting to keep me in her life such that I might change my mind and I attempting to keep my tires and windows in there current place of non-f’d up). As friends often do, she invited me to attend a function with her. With an empty dvr and not close enough to pay day to go on an actual date, I accepted her invitation.

As the night progressed, my alcohol intake suggested that coitous should be added to the evening as a last minute addendum. Given our recent decision to move to friendville (amazingly not a facebook game yet), I maturely decided against enjoying such activities with her. But realizing a partner would probably make for a more enjoyable experience, I switched from alcoholic to booty caller. Read more of this post

the new black…

i  just realized that we’re half way through black history month and none of us have said anything black…well lucky for you, i’m fresh off of a trip across the former confederacy and due to a quick stop into the national civil rights museum, i have been infused with an extra dose of black and now i’m about to spill it all over ubf…

it’s 2011…and we have overcome…cue the dj khaled remixed version of “lift every voice and sing” …we now live in a world where our limitations are all self-imposed…our own weird insecurities keep us from eating fried chicken in front of our co-workers…our ill feelings towards lactose keep us from bellying up to america’s milkshake counters and our disdain for public restrooms have us missing the fact that they are no longer segregated …and to top it off, we now have a president that was actually born in africa…at least that’s what my tea party friends told me…

wait…somebody grab the fried chicken mic from khaled…upon further ubf review, the call on the field has been reversed…the overcome is incomplete… Read more of this post

tick tock…

At the risk of offending a few people, I have a confession. I don’t like other people’s kids. This isn’t a new development. Nor is it subject to change when I get “older” as I was once promised. Today I am older and I am still unimpressed. This isn’t to say I don’t want children of my own. Of course I do. It’s just your kids I’m not a fan of. Oh yeah- and I’m not in a hurry.

My disdain for other people’s rugrats lovely children can be traced back to preschool. On my first day of school, at the tender age of four years old, my mother came to pick me up after my half day only to find me huddled in a corner covering my ears.  I had in my hand the sugar cookies she had wrapped in saran wrap for me and was holding them so tightly against my head that they were crushed.  She inquired, “What happened?!?” as a frantic young mother would ask to find their child in such a disturbed state. My answer was simple. “Mommy- I don’t like being around little kids. They are bad and too loud!”

And so began my journey on the frustration of being around the bad@ss offspring of anyone but myself (who technically doesn’t have any kids, so I guess that includes all kids until further notice). When I was a teenager, the church was always looking for bright, young, responsible role models such as me to assist with babysitting and rearing the kids during Sunday school. I’ll never forget when one of the trustees asked the 13 year old version of me to ‘watch’ her child during church for twenty dollars. I laughed in her face. At the risk of getting my tale beaten right there on the pulpit by my extremely strict father, I told her in no uncertain terms “I don’t babysit. Ever. I do not like kids. You don’t want me to watch your child. Trust me.” Read more of this post