I Don't Need A Man

Girl’s Aloud sit down. You’re not, and never were ready.

The top shotta girl-group out there are The Pussycat Dolls. Although I’d be hard-pressed to name any of them apart from the one like Nicole who is showing up Puffy in his new video. Have you seen that video? Puffy also needs to sit down. Where is he going with that off-key dancing in his too-tight suit? It looks like he’s taking the piss out of himself, or he’s ‘lean’ (drunk/high), or he really just can’t dance. I think it is that he really can’t dance. But that girl Nicole his hot, hot, hot. As Tony Matterhorn sings: “Gooders fe dem, gyal yuh ah gooders fe dem.” I don’t know how long they take on her hair and make-up, but she is definitely going in with tings.

I for one could not name one other girl in that group, and would not recognise any of them if they passed me in the street. They must screw that Nicole gets all the attention. Every time they go to do some publicity I bet the others have to constantly tell people who they are.

Athough in general I disapprove of the trend for stripper dancing that dominates the female arena of pop music, I can’t help but love these girls.

Their song, ‘Don’t Ya Wish Your Girlfriend’ was like Marmite, you either loved it or hated it. And I loved it. I found myself pumping my glutes extra hard in the gym every time that tune came on my iPod in an attempt to look as hot as one of them. They is some fit athletic looking beeyatches. Unfortunately I’m not quite there yet.

As a a self-proclaimed ‘womanist (like a feminist but black), I should hate them, but when I see their videos, I marvel at how tight their routines are, the intricate choreography in the high heels, their movement flows like water, and visually they look stunning, even though they’re not all stunners. There’s so many of them, but no one’s off-beat. Not even the white girls. ‘llow me, you know white girls have only been dancing good for about five years or so, before that, as my Lil’ Bruv would say, they were ‘waste’ ( I’m guessing it’s short for a waste of time).

I’m trying to think why I’m not offended by them. But I think it’s because as mainstream journalists like to say, for women they represent the ‘zeigeist’. Just like Destiny’s Child broke through to the mainstream with ‘Independent Women’, at a time when women were earning decent money, and realised they didn’t have to take up with any old man just to say they had one, the Pussycat Dolls have vocalised with ‘Don’t Ya’ the reality many women are dealing with, having to bat away attached men.

In ‘Don’t Ya’ they acknowledge their sexual power and taunt the man with their lyrics: “Don’t you wish your girlfriend was raw like me, don’t you wish she was a freak like me” with a knowingness that further intrigues the man but does not invite him in. There’s no soppy unrequited love shit, it’s more of an acknowledgement of their own feminine power and prowess. And they recognise that they’re more powerful for not acquiesing while the man is in a relationship. As Nicole sings “If it ain’t love, it ain’t enough to leave a happy home.”

‘Don’t Ya’ vocalises the dilemma many single women are facing in these times of ‘slim pickings’. And I think that’s why I wasn’t immediately turned off by this single girl anthem. Because when ‘taken’ men are running you down, that’s what you should sing to them, “Don’t ya wish your girlfriend was hot like me” and tell them to keep it moving.

Their latest single ‘I Don’t Need A Man” is the perfect song for the noughties woman. Again, they’re talking to the underdogs, single women. Both white and black women are facing the ‘Bridget Jones’ syndrome. But instead of bleating about it, like many of us do, they’ve made an upbeat club anthem for women to sing along to say fuck that, “I don’t need a man to make me feel good. I don’t need a ring to make me feel complete”. And it’s true. Women should be able to feel good about living without a man. We don’t ‘need’ one, but yes, we would like one. We need to stop despairing about being single, and women that are in relationships need to stop acting smug and like they’re all that because they have a man. Because you know if their relationship mash-up, they would mash-up too.

Any man I’ve ever been with, I know I can live without them. That’s life. Breaking up hurts, but after getting over the split ten years ago with my daughter’s father, I know that I could never hurt more than that again. Because that was a family breaking up.

Some women out there would literally die if they were single, they just would not be able to cope. The Pussycat Dolls remind me of why I am glad that I am not one of them. As Suzy Wong says, “Don’t worship man”. It’s all about self-esteem. If you feel good about yourself, you can enjoy life until your Shaka Zulu comes.

That’s why I love the Pussycat Dolls, because they’re not whinging on about not having a man. They’re celebrating. And that’s what I’ll do, until my man comes. Celebrate life to rass, it’s too damn short , so enjoy the time that you’re single, and don’t think that your shit can make patties just because you have a man.

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F*ck What You Heard

I have been feeling hella stressed lately. Working six days a week is not a good look for the Butterfly, although it certainly helps when you pop into Kurt Geiger on a whim and drop £70 on a hot pair of fuck-me-pumps. For two evenings when I came home after work, I put the shoes on, and just sat on the sofa smiling to myself. I wanted to fuck myself when I put the shoes on. Black patent peep-toes, with a white platform sole and 4 inch stacked heel. Coming to a rave near you, soon.

Saturday night's rave was a 'duty rave'. A duty rave is one where you have a 'duty' to represent. A couple of the DJs we know were having their 'birthday dance'. Otherwise known as a creative way to make money. But, if certain mans is laying off free tickets to you throughout the year, you got to represent at the birthday dance. It would be rude not to.

People always say to me, "Oh my god, do you still rave..?" In the same sort of way that they might say: "Ohmigod you have crabs?". And although I wasn't desperate to go out on Saturday, it turned into a good night out. I must have been feeling haps because I told Gee to get the £55 bottle of Veuve Cliquot instead of £30 Lanson. That disappeared quite quickly, unfortunately I never did get the hang of sipping champagne. And I was rather disgusted that I had to drink it out of a plastic cup. I mean, £55 for a bottle of champagne and you have to drink out of plastic. But when I looked around the club, everybody was holding a glass of champagne. Figures.

Downstairs was crazy busy, and we had had to queue for 20 minutes to get in. It was just too manic so we headed upstairs with all the 'big people'. Saw a couple heads in there, my friend B'baller was in the house celebrating his birthday, so he topped me up with a house party measure of brandy. That was it, head lick off. The whole place was jam, and lively, sing out crew in the house, and despite how ram it was, no bad vibes.

I saw Very Married. We met recently through mutual friends I would have been interested were it not for the significant fact that he's Very Married. VM wants to take me out for dinner to a Thai restaurant. I'm not mad about Thai food. The menu's so fucking long, and I don't know what most of it is, and I'm sick of the Thai green curry. He says he likes me with a capital L. As the song goes, 'If a man a run you down gyal ah nuh fe yuh fault, tek 'im, tek 'im.' It's a good thing I'm not green like cut grass or else I might just take that foolishness seriously. Directly, as I'm not looking to get lick down in the street by no dogged-out girl over her triflin' man, I think I'll pass. But he's GFC (Good For a Crub).

Last week, I was talking to a cab driver saying I was looking forward to weekend, and going clubbing, and he asked me will there be many white people there. 'No not really'. So he says 'do you think it's because they will feel intimidated'. Now I've heard this bollocks quite a bit from white people. But when I go to the pub, a bar, or a party with my friends from my journalism course, I am usually one of very few black folk there. Do I care? I'm there because I want to be there, and 'I AINT NEVER SCARED'!

In our group, I am the only black person. I am not afraid to go anywhere where the majority of people are white. Except the deep south of the USA because someone called me a nigga as they drove past. So why should white people be? I said to him, the reason why few white people go is because they're not necessarily into black music, and I couldn't even begin to explain to him what 'rare groove' is. It's just a completely different thing culturally. For instance, most black people are not trying to go to some dingy club in Camden and listen to live bands standing on a dancefloor covered in beer. It's not because they are intimidated or 'fraid, it just ain't they're thing.

The white people that do go to 'circuit' raves, go because they have friends on that scene, and they like the music and understand the vibe. Oh and the white girls love a black man. Let's be real. But soon in the name of social interaction I'm going to bring a couple of my white friends to a rave with me, because they have expressed an interest in going. So if you see me in a dance soon crubbing with a white man, you know why.

Anyways, for some people the 'circuit' is not for them. And that's cool. But I just can't take the snobbery involved. 'Oh I don't go to THOSE type of raves'. What you mean is raves that aren't full of try-hard black people wearing drainpipes, mohican hairstyles and snorting coke (and that's just the men). 'It's so old-fashioned, nothing changes, they play the same music'. There's no decent man there (ok that bit's true).

But I put it to you, if you haven't been to a circuit dance lately, how the fuck would you know?

No Romance Without Romance

I have to do a piece for Pride on Love and Romance by next week. The two words most likely to bring out the raging cynic in me. Having been single for three years, I would argue, that both of them m*therf*ckers is dead to rass.

My date count in three years is a grand total of two. TWO! I’ll be honest, my memory is not what it used to be, so it could have been more, but they must have been some boring sonofabitches if I can’t remember them.

Now I know it’s easy for me to sit here and act like my kaka don’t stink, like I’m all that and then some, and brothers ain’t right. But I know, that sometimes it’s just not your time. The moon and the stars don’t align, and Venus is not in your sign, and you just have to get over it and get on with life.

But what the hell am I going to write about on the subject of love and romance? Or Roman-antics as the Bobo Dread calls it. Personally I don’t go in for all that hearts and flowers shit. It makes my skin crawl. Romance to me is not a societal construct, as in, on Valentines Day, you should go to an overpriced restaurant, eat from a crappy set menu and gaze into each other’s bored eyes.

And as for those couples that say smugly ‘Oh, we don’t celebrate Valentines Day. We just stay at home. Together.’ Yeah, sure you do. But could your man go out on his jacks (alone) on Valentines Day? Could he go to a rave on Valentines weekend without your non-celebrating ass? Could your girl? I.Don’t. Fink. So. What you mean is, you don’t spend money on celebrating Valentine’s, but you still celebrate it all the same. It’s a day for people with partners to feel even more smug about the fact that they are not ‘out there’.

Don’t feel smug for too long though, remember Aleesha Dixon, the girl from Misteeq. She has just suffered a very public humiliation after finding out her husband was giving his West End co-star Javine, some extra ‘wuk’ after showtime. Apparently they were caught by Javine’s boyfriend, DJ KG, someone I know from back in the day. He must be screwing. Even more so because I ain’t never seen that mixed-race nigga with a black girl, or a near-black girl in all my life. Yeah, he blanked me long time ago. And no I ain’t bitter.

Anyway Suzie Wong says, ‘Don’t swear for your man’. Something tells me Aleesha did. ME! I never swear for my man. But I always tell them this. If you go out there, and get ‘lean’ or high, or happy that some piece of skirt is showing you some attention and your ego forms itself into a penis and you end up inside her, MAKE SURE you wear a condom. THEN, keep that shit to yourself, I am not interested in sharing your guilt. If it happens again, and becomes some sort of ‘love affair’ do the decent thing, LEAVE. or if you’re feeling really brave, tell me about it so I can make a decision about what I want to do.. After I have lost the plot, I will most probably decide to stay and torture your ass until YOU LEAVE, but not before I have rinsed your credit card, and pawned all your shit to buy myself a ticket to Jamaica to get over your cheating ass.

I digress.

What is Love and Romance? This is what I think romance is:
1. Taking the time to think about somewhere special to take your date. The local pub in Peckham High Street and a Wimpy Bar don’t mek it (both real examples of dates I have endured). The date is a reflection of you and your tastes. It doesn’t mean you have to pick the OXO Tower, but if your idea of haute cuisine is McDonalds, it’s safe to say I won’t find it romantic.
2. Having a meal cooked for me – I am an harassed single working mother of one exhausting child. I will suck dick for this. Guaranteed.
3. Romance is observing the basic rules of courtship. Boy meets girl, he asks girl out, or they agree to go out, they go for a meal or do something ‘fun’ together, and there is no dispute about who pays the fucking bill. He pays. There is no romance in my life right now. As no one can observe these simple rules.

What’s your idea of romance?

The Baddest Bitch

Special request to Michie Wong. Apologies for the long ting in posting. It's just been work, work, work. Anyways here's one I did while pretending to look like I was working.

I try, but I just can’t. A combination of dawning PMS, and kicking the cigarette habit I picked up again while ‘enjoying’ myself in Malaga is making me even more of a bitch than usual.
My sense of humour leans towards the dark side on most days, but throw a looming red flag (period slow coaches), and nicotine withdrawal, and believe it’s time for That Bitch to come out to play.

Bitch 1: The cab man who picked me up last week. I’ve just done 9 hours up in the ‘plant’ (tation) and am dragging my sagging ass out the door to snoozeville. I stop and pick up a packet of low fat crisps (I’m trying) and get to the car. As I open the door, this ‘new nigga’ (eastern European) says to me: “Please don’t make mess in my car.” WTF?!? Butterfly Bitch says: “Do I look like a child?” “No…but”. I repeat very slowly, because his English was not very good. “Do.I.Look.Like.A.Child?”. Let me describe the car the man was fussing over. Beat-up white Ford Escort estate. They don’t even make them anymore. First of all, my company pays him to drive me. Why is the man acting like he’s doing me a favour? Second of all, that is the type of thing you might say to a 2-year-old. How many adults do you know that can’t accurately perform the hand to mouth action needed to eat crisps without making a mess? Ooh that man did vex me.

Bitch 2: For three days I’d been listening to one of my colleagues sniffle and snuffle. Not once did I see that fool use a tissue. By day four, I snapped. I tried to hard to say it nicely, it went something like this: “Let me get you some tissues ‘sniffing fool’….(ah isn’t she nice) because believe I can’t listen to you sniffing like that for the rest of the night.” Damn girl. He was wrong the week before when he said I was more ‘brutal’ than he was, but I wouldn’t have corrected him on this occasion. If there’s any noise that makes me homicidal, it’s listening to people sniff. Now I have a child, and I can’t stand to hear her sniff. At the first sign of a cold I buy her a box of tissues and almost glue it to her hand. If she can’t stop sniffing in my presence, she goes to her room. I ain’t playing, that noise gets on my last nerve. I just cannot listen to it. Soon after I got him the tissues, I didn’t have to. Needless to say, he no longer talks to me. Do I care?

Bitch 3: I was at the nail shop, and my usual technician ‘Su Ling 1’ was busy. Time was short as I had to be at work in an hour an a half, so I went with ‘Su Ling 2’. As soon as she started hacking at my nails I knew she wasn’t The Girl. She asked me if I wanted them trimmed and then used the tool that they use for filing down the acrylic to grind away at the length of the nails. I was starting to get ‘fraid blud and thought to myself, this ‘new bitch’ is crazy.

Su Ling 1 walked by and I gave her the international nail customer’s sign of distress – it’s like morse code but you do it by fluttering your eyelashes instead of tapping on a machine . She came over and I said, while trying hard not to snatch my hand away from Su Ling 2 who was grinding away at what was left of my acrylics, ‘I wanted you to do my nails, but I wasn’t sure how long you’d be.’ I was wrong in assuming that Su Ling 2’s English wasn’t that good, because a moment later she said ‘You want her do your nails?’, dropped the tool, and left the table. Vex. Oh well. When you’re paying your hard-earned plantation money, people need to come correct. Not one of my nails was the same length. So I was reunited with Su Ling 1, and she did a beautiful job at repairing the damage that was done.

Roll on *Arsenal playing at home.

*Americans: This is a euphemism for menstruation – Arsenal Football Club wear red shirts.