IT'S A VIRGIN THING, YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND

I’ve always been the virgin in the family, so to speak. And that’s fine with me, “not gettin any” and Danielle have been intrinsic since adolescence or around the time when it became cool to talk and more importantly do things that I didn’t and still don’t.
When your first college roommate (currently serving in the U.S. Army stationed in Germany) sends you a MySpace message reading “You still ain’t get none yet?”
Or you’re in 11th grade and your friends say, “Make sure to call me when YOU get some!” Talk about call-waiting. But ya know it’s ‘like that,’ it’s been like that and I don’t mind.
Granted I’ve had my share of friends that are speed-racers or as the ladies in the beauty shops would say “fast” but I also have had some sensible friends who like my speed racer buddies all after riding The Intercourse Express told me the ride, be it short or long , is not worth the cost and if they could do it again- they wouldn’t do IT again.
But more importantly, I have known women who have not had the opportunity to be virgins fore their virginity was stolen by someone during their childhood. Note stolen is PC for rape. But I’ve noticed many of my female acquaintances prefer the term molested. Rape is too harsh. Too vile. I mean rape is what we grew up seeing in those movies where the woman couldn’t get out of bed or couldn’t move forward or was left broken after she was “raped.” Yet stories of “molestation” are very common. I started piecing how common together after I, while waiting on the (6) at a subway platform in the Bronx began talking to a woman about the hypersexual imagery on television and my project… and how some women were raped causing them to become overprotective of their daughters…etc. I must say God is faithful, because how do you begin talking about this to a stranger. How did this conversation start? I know you’re wondering. Well, I saw a young mom maneuvering a baby and a big baby stroller up an escalator. So I asked to snap her picture, she gave the OK and the rest was herstory.
Come to find out, she was molested at an early age. Of course she never sought counseling or talked about it but…this isn’t TV. Fore many women get out of bed the next morning after being “molested” and ACT as if nothing happened…
So, I don’t want people in any way think that I am an Airhead to the trials and tribulations of my sisters because I promote virginity. No not at all, you see I realized that this was a little too big to not mention. It’s too big and too common as I can remember (very fresh still) when, one day while cooking up tofu and seaweed for my roommate and best-friend (both who barely tasted the food) we were all stationed in the kitchen and I had read some article on some superstar who’d been raped and so I began commenting on how almost every girl I’ve befriended has had some kind of story of molestation/rape in their past and how I never have a story to share in those intimate moments when it’s like ‘Ok now it’s my turn to share’ and my bf chimes in with “It happened to me.” I was like “What?”
That stamped it. There was something to this. And, like the girls/women I’ve known before her, she never told.
“It was my cousin,” she said. “My mom would’ve killed him.”
Yup. And I can go on and on from molestation stories to abortion stories.
Abortion. Let me get this in too, fore I can already hear the cheers or girls who’ve gone through this in support of my promoting virginity or the “hate” from girls who will say well, she doesn’t know anything…Let the record show that for the last two summers I’ve been given details of abortions: one pill kill and another vacuum…
Writing this is explainably-odd. Sigh. I’m telling a lot here.
Try having the details of an abortion told to you while you’re eating lunch.
No no rewind. Try having someone ask you your opinion of abortion two days before they’re scheduled to have one then try having the details of that abortion told to you while you’re eating lunch.
Afterwards, I remember the girl thanking me for letting her spiel. She said that it was “Cathartic.”
So, America, world…that’s me in a blogshell.
When it comes to the opposite sex I am cautious. I am picky.
And with all that being said, I don’t believe that anyone is perfect.
I hear this so often (from men especially) it’s become funny they say,“But no one is perfect!”
Duh. But I don’t let people use that as a cop out.
Ask any athlete—perfection is what you strive for be it attainable or not. If you’re not striving to be the best why be in the game?
Sex is beautiful. Hey, it got me here.
But Lord willing, for me, there won’t be teething rings before wedding rings.
Because there is thing called a “covenant” but that’s too much for this little blog.
And yes, I do have to bring up God because he brought me up. And no, I have no desire to promote any one religion be it Islam, Christianity or Scientology.
But without Help, I wouldn’t be here writing this and you wouldn’t be here reading it.
We live in a new time. Jumping off the bridge is no longer uncommon—it’s fashionable. I was in Starbucks in a restroom line and this lady in front of me is wearing these amazing six-inch heels. So I ask her if the comfort level. And we get to talking and she says, “Yeah, I think pain is fashionable.”
Perhaps your friendly neighborhood virgin missed something? I haven’t had TV in a years or read any fashion mags lately. And just today I did say that for the last couple of months (after someone sent me a text asking where I’ve been) I feel like I’ve been out in the wilderness but um…
No comment.
There is a reason that I’ve heard abortion details over sushi and molestation stories on trains… For everyone who seeks to understand their purpose it will be revealed.
Not to harbor those stories but to share them along with my virginity.
My mother deserves credit here, she taught me how to share and care. But more importantly she was frank (regarding sex). When I was a kid people thought I knew too much too early but really she vaccinated me against BS.
Isn’t snake anti-venom made out of snake venom and flu shots aren’t they …
Vaccinations are not 100 percent effective but they dramatically lower your risk, right?
And with that being said, I don’t think that it could be any clearer after reading this what I’m about and if not, stick around if you’re interested. Gosh, I thank my mom for being a good tree. Mashallah!
I know that in this world of positive self-deprecation and wonderfully false humility it’s cool to be down on oneself but I don’t think that pain or following is fashionable—even if it is. Now before someone asks me if I think I’m “cute,” “special” or “somebody?” Let me ask you. Do you like you? Meanwhile, I have a bag of clothes begging to be laundered; sinuses, a new job (that still won’t afford me to pay rent and do laundry in the same week) and now have to screen my phone calls because I STILL haven’t learned the art of saying no to folks (men) when they ask for the phone number. Ladies, perhaps you’ve noticed that men have gotten smarter—they now call your phone IMMEDIATELY after getting your number saying it’s so that you can have their number—but really it’s just to ensure you’ve given them the right number…Don’t we all share this story—guess that makes me a C student, eh? But in some areas I score higher than average and those areas are the ones in which I seek to tutor.
Too it’s summertime, and if there’s one thing we’re all in search of, it’s good fruit ;)






[Chalkboard art by my super G*rl Scout Khayla, 12 ]

LOST IN TRANSLATION

So a Frenchman and an American are on the (E) Train sharing a copy of the Wall Street Journal when the Frenchman leans over to the American and says “Read this.”
Some woman had written in to an advice columnist for advice on colors to pack on her vacation.
No, she wasn’t headed to the valley of the Crips and Bloods...she was going to New Zealand and Fiji (hello, she was writing into WSJ).
The Frenchman says to the American, “Is she serious?”
Haha and so began this New Yorker’s bond with a Parisian.
“Poodle?” I said. “C’mon you have to know poodle!” “It’s a classic French stereotype—the woman walking in fact it’s called a French poodle!!!”
Two hours and 14 stereotypes (French and American) later J. and I see a woman walking a poodle in SoHo.
“Ah you mean that dog?” he said. A woman and her poodle had just walked past us on Thompson St.
“Yes! That’s a poodle!”
“But we are not in Paris we are in Soho,” he said.
“Maybe she was French,” I said.
“No, she was not French,” he said.
On the Staten Island Ferry the Frenchman got his first glimpse of his country's most famous gift to the United States, The Statue of Liberty. One hour later we'd moved on to discussing

another gift from France, Tony Parker. But not the Spurs' Tony Parker no, no Tony Parker the rapper. The two should never be confused. LOL.

"A joke!" J. said as we choked from laughter. Global fact #1. Athletes shouldn’t rap!
“In France we have rappers fake gangsters who imitate U.S…”
“U.S. Oh No,” I said. “You actually see the U.S. rap videos on TV in France?”
“Yes of course!” he said proudly. “I have a YO! MTV RAPS t-shirt.'
“Oh no,” I moaned.
“Why Oh No?” he said.
“Because,” I said, “the images of women, the women in these videos are…”
“Undressed,” he finished.
And at that, for the first time, I had to laugh.
Earlier in the day I had replied
“Whoohoo!” to a grey-haired Frenchman on the corner of 53td and Madison who’d spoken something to me (in French) which I (surprise, surprise) did not understand.
All I understood was Thierry Henry
“What did he say?” I whispered to J.?
J said, "He said is that you Thierry Henry?”
"Oh!" (note: for the day I unretired my Henry Euro 2008 jersey)
“Now can you explain this “Whoohoo?”” J asked as we headed up an escalator from the Dining Concourse of Grand Central Station. “I have a friend who lived here for some years and moved back to Paris and he says this, this “Whoohoo!?”
For 12 hours we took on New York and had conversation on
stinky cheeses, wine, advertising, photography, “whoohoo,” FAO Schwartz, SeanJohn, Thierry Henry, Volvic water, IAM (he says = best rap group in France), Statue of Liberty, real estate, Napoleon, Disney movies, non-Disney movies, Sophia Coppola, Thierry Henry, Mauritania, McDonald’s, roaches, rats, (He said,“I’ve heard that roaches here are bigger than the rats?”) hip hop, Domenech, Thierry Henry, “trainers” (sneakers), Harlem, Ethiopian food, Ginger Ale, Abercrombie & Fitch and every gap in-between…
But all day—the most funny, outside of Tony Parker rapping, was my French.
My favorite breakfast, an item I have nearly 3 mornings a week, I can not correctly pronounce. “Croissant.” And after going back and forth with J. for 5 minutes I made the decision that when in France I will have baguette. I can’t order what I cannot say.
” In fact,” I said, “I’m just not going to pronounce anything French involving Rs.”
“Could be a problem,” he said.
“Why,” I said.
“Ahm,” he said. “Thierry Henry.”

Touché :-D

I CAN'T WAIT FOR THE FIRST TIME

Thierry Henry is here.

(to truly understand this post you'll have to have read all my other posts)
He’s in New York.
He’s practically in my backyard and I, his biggest American supporter, am just sitting here reading about the raping of Congolese women, eating leftover bits of spinach scone and trying to figure out why in the great big round world am I not on Chrystie Street cheering, screaming and holding some kind of ridiculous sign that reads I VIRGIN HENRY!
I hang my head in shame—my focus should solely be on these Congolese women. This is a huge gigantoid big deal and AGH!! Your friendly neighborhood virgin has lost her mind. Wasn't I just envisioning this scenario like two days ago?

Perhaps I’m not a Princess. She would’ve been on the pitch waiting at dawn. However, I didn’t find out until the afternoon. And just as I was about to splash my face with water and run downtown—I didn’t. My Girl Scouts would be soooooooo dissapointed in me!
Perhaps I have a social anxiety disorder? Nah. I met a Parisian (on his first visit to New York City) yesterday and already have a date showing him around tomorrow. But for now, my heart hurts (the combo of Congo and this is too much…I mean the Congo by itself is enough but) and my tummy feels funny and I’m sure my smile has ran away. I’m very excited for the kids who’ll get to see him perform though. I really hope some of my Mexican bros. have a good view and are up front. They afterall are the ones I see rocking the most soccer gear around here (don’t believe me—one need only to get off the (1) Train 240something/last stop in the Bronx on a Sunday afternoon and take a look around)…
Oh well, maybe it’s just not my time to see the genius at play.
Or maybe I really am crazy. Or maybe True Love really does WAIT ;)

... It's my backyard.



And it feels like ooooooBut you don't know my nameAnd I swear it feels like ooooo ooooo ooooo oooooYou don't know my name(round and round and round we go, will you ever know)

TRY IT BEFORE YOU BUY IT

Today I stopped and took a moment to adjust my breasts because the left one seemed to shift. I blame the new bra-- wrong size perhaps? But listen sometimes a girl's gotta do...
But boy did I receive some stares (though no skin during the 15 second adjustment was exposed ) and it hit me, all day everyday men adjust their testicles in this city like it's nothin.
Yes, I am aware of testicular adjustments.
Virgins are not blind, well some are but you get what I'm saying.
Listen, when you're being talked to amidst a testicular adjustment, you can't help but be aware. And when you're standing on the subway in front ...and then when...yeah.
One time, mid testicular adjustment, my friend says, "It's so hot out here my balls are sweaty."
Ew!
Two, once to get around all the traffic on 42nd trying to get to the post office between 8th and 9th Avenue (that post office is the most expedient and friendliest of all post offices that I've experienced in New York) to beat the foot traffic that is 42nd St. I took it to the street--literally--that's where I passed behind a hot dog cart and caught a vendor scratching himself furiously--hand all the way in pants.
Not kosher!
That was the day I gave up food carts.
And I'll probably never think of hot dogs the same--in fact, I've given them up too.
Some perverted reader is thinking but you've never had a real hot dog-- well , guess what--Lord willing, I won't until I'm married.

This reminds me of a quote I read attributed to Gloria Steinem.

She said,
"A liberated woman is one who has sex before marriage and a job after."
Sorry MS.
I don't beg to differ.
I differ.
Perhaps I can make virginity Fourth Wave Feminism?
First rule of business, semblance.
clothing to be exact.
This is something that has been bothering me oh since the 7th grade.
Can someone tell me why let's say at concerts and things where t-shirts are sold do they call t-shirts for women/girls babydoll t-shirts? Go ahead and Google image it and see what pops up. Dolls don’t.
And unfortunately this tiny tee has led to a nation of women wearing shirts that do not fit. A "babydoll" Large is not a regular Large. It's like trying to squeeze a toddler in a shirt made for a Barbie.
Um?
Maybe Susan Jacoby is right?
Hmm.

Perhaps it's our new-age dumbness tha has led to this massive movement of muffin tops in this country.

Muffin tops have made their way to the streets, home and office. It's like commonplace now because it IS so commonplace now to wear the wrong size. Sigh. Everyone is jumping off the bridge.
Anna Wintour care to explore this? Wait. Your readers don't have this problem--muffins (carbs) (hello). I know, I know. Too they have the two Ts to keep them from spilling over--that's tailors and trainers.
But really who decided that it would be cute to label and desize us medium/small sized income women/girls?
It's not cute.
I have an idea.
I think that companies started getting leftover shirts at a discount from Asian countries where the women are smaller and thus just thought of a cute way to market these tees and voila--(excuse my French) the shit don't fit! And we must quit.
Please, I don't understand girls, why do we hate going up a size if that is the size that fits?
Denial--it ain't just a river in AFRICA.
Ladies, we are more than a number! Do you know that for the first time in life we have women dying to be a 0. A zero? What is a zero? And pretty soon will apparel come in negative sizes?

I think it'll happen. Some really rich bored woman will have her designer friend create her a size -1.
Please email me if you're interested in Fourth Wave Feminism--and as soon as I figure out what it is exactly--I'll be sure to email you!

EVERYDAY WITH CONFIDENCE

I AM TIGER WOODS

No, I'm more like a Princess.
Princess (yes, that is her real name) is one of my Girl Scouts and a huge Chris Brown fan.
And like a teenage girl who's just been shown new pictures of the singer, I put my head down to giggle in excitement! Meanwhile, the people at Starbucks (especially the cute stranger seated across from me--he's writing a romantic comedy about a guy...seriously--we met when I sat down--he plugged in my charger ) is wondering what is wrong with her [me]. I was relatively sane when I sat down but this has nothing to do with a cute stranger--well, maybe it does--but not the one seated across from me.
You see, I just logged on to gillettechampions.com.
And oh my, I'm thinkin about giving up waxing and NAIRing no more.
For the record, I'm not really that hairy.
But I am considering shaving. Hey I like to try new things--although the idea of a razor to my skin is frightening--there are women who do it daily. And though I've never been one to follow the crowd (one need only assess my wardrobe for this one) I'm going to give this shaving things ago. My legs shake at the thought.
But I'm not just going to shave. I'm going to Gillette!
And now I've become the equivalent of one of those guys who (circa 1990s) only ate WHEATIES because they saw Michael Jordan's picture
on the box and or heard him saying
"BETTER EAT YOUR WHEATIES!"
Perhaps I'll stop at Duane Reade on my way home and grab some razors and hope that they come with directions.
Agh!!! I haven't been this excited in like 5 hours.
What? Yes, 5. C'mon I live in New York--excitement is all around and when it stops I'll move--to Paris!
But ok, so on gillettechampions.com you can listen to my Thierry (dreamy French accent 101) Henry give his opinions on certain things but it wasn't what he said--it was what I read. Guess what city tops his list of favorites?
NEW YORK CITY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
AGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!(!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) I knew it. I knew it. I knew it.
If there's one thing a man and I have to agree on it's the island.
It's the non-negotiable.
And oh, do you know what this means? This means that I could one day just be at the corner of some avenue and street and bump right into this clean shaven footballer.
Or one day, I could meet him and lead him on a tour of my city (daydreamin and I'm thinkin of you...) first stop Henry St?
LES? Nah!
But I tell you, the possibilities are limitless!!!!!! I know this city like the back of my hand.
And forget SEX , like Gillette , VIRGIN is the best a man can get [ahhmm] if he can get one ;)
Just kidding, Mom! I'm a buyer not a seller!

EXTRA VIRGIN

Back in June 2007 a supermodel spoke these words, words that I've had in the back of my mind and on my harddrive for a while now. Ahhmm.

She said:

"Today no one is a virgin when they get married ...

show me someone who's a virgin!"

Well, Ms. Bunchen, I'm not one to burst bubbles but ,babes, consider this one bizzzurst!

Your fellow Brasileiro Kaka'.

See, I'm not even the one to burst it. But if you want to go there...I mean...

Meanwhile, June 2008 this opinionated supermodel's caught dining at Extra Virgin .
Extra Virgin?
I'd never heard of this restaurant untill today. I dig the name!
West Village, eh? I'll have to give it a go--right after Aquavit--Mayor Bloomberg, I'm still waiting!

Join an extra virgin at Extra Virgin for a heavenly dessert? (wink ;) )


I am feeling it today--must be the sleep--I actually got 8 hours last night--talk about a good first time!

PARDON MY FRENCH

ALLEZ LES BLEUS!

You don’t kick a dog when it’s down—isn’t that how the old saying goes?
Well, I’m no bitch—but I’m definitely down—and getting to the Theatre District from Union Square I took a number of kicks. But before I could dial 3-1-1 I run into NYPD.
And guess what NYPD says to me, your friendly neighborhood France football supporting neighborhood virgin.
He says “I got a question for you, what happened to France today?”
That topped my Mexican brothers who kept poking their heads out of the back to catch the score and glimpses of the lone France fan staring up at the screen and occasionally hitting the stool. I couldn’t sit. I occasionally used the barstool as an elbow rest and I wasn’t willing to relinquish it
After the cop, as I’m still thinking about the cop, I hear someone yell, “No good today. 2-0.” But the worst…I’m waiting for my train at Union Square and this guy comes up to me—talking. You know I prefer the handsome silent types.
But oh, this guy came up talking…"Have you ever been to France, I lived there so many years, university blahblahblah... He says, “2-0 did you see it?”
(I think) ‘No, sir, I’m only wearing this gleaming Euro 2008-I-just-got-it-in-the-mail-today-imported-from-another-hemisphere-Thierry-Henry-jersey-for-nothing.’
“Yes.”
After talking on the platform we continued chatting on the N train (listen, I try to be a good ambassadress for my city)…and he said a lot of stuff. In fact this guy talked more than me.
Synopsis anyone?
Well, he (Muhammad) from New Guinea says that "Americans are bizarre."
“Bizarre like weird?” I say.
“Yes, weird…”
But skip all of that. He tells me to forget Thierry Henry. He says it just like that "Ah forget Thierry Henry!" "Thierry Henry is too arrogant and that at Barcelona this year he had like 1 goal in 3 games. "
FYI: Total #14 for Barca had nine or was it 14--but whatever, he was suffering from an injury and out some and played out of position--yet still managed to score.
I said little.
He says,
“I’ve seen Thierry Henry (he starts counting on his fingers)”
[AGH! I’m screaming silently….]
“How do you know he’s arrogant,” I ask.
He explains.
“But I love Thierry Henry.” Sorry if I sound like a 13-year-old Chris Brown fan). “I’m sorry,” Muhammad says. “I don’t mean to break your heart. It’s ok. Go take a shower, have a tea and remember Germany.”
STAB!
Can you believe that someone would say that—to me?
Does he not know how many cranberry juices I’ve invested, how many prayers when he was injured at Barcelona and how many arguments I’ve had inside my head about putting a poster on my wall? You’re grown, Danielle. Grown people do not put posters on their walls. In fact grown people don’t even THINK about putting posters on their wall.
“What is your name again?” he asks. “Do you go to school here?”
I felt faint. But it was my stop. Any other day I’m left explaining who HEN-REE is…today though, on what could, but let’s hope not, be Henry’s last international game, I left at half time. I didn’t have a good feeling. I still don’t. It wasn’t looking good and I couldn’t bear to see him lose.
Sigh. France will inevitably be part of my great American novel… after speaking with the guy on the train today—I’ve decided to visit. I’ve got my piggy bank on my desk and it’s ready to save.
6 HOURS, one church service, a tea and snack later I’m on the (1) Train heading home when these two guys stand in front of me, one says, “They lost today, I’m sorry. I was rooting for them too."

His buddy asks “Who lost?”
“France,” he replies.
So taken by his sincerity I decide to ask the kind stranger his name.
Kind stranger (I don’t say) “What’s your name?”
“Muhammad,” he says. And that my friends is the tale of two Muhammads. As for me, with football season being abruptly over, I will work on my French.