Look at dat ho, can you believe all that juice drippin from that ho? Man, check your ho out, and make my ho double! In Waco, Texas you can take your ho to go! Yep, Lakita Evans (had to be an “ita” name) started a business and decided not to be ashamed about the tastiness of her burgers by naming the store Fat Ho Burgers. If you need a Ho on the go, you know where to be! The latest burger stand has all the hos you need.

Fat Ho Burgers

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HPQ6yRa3PjM&feature=related

Sloppy Ho Brisket, Super Dupa Ho Burger, Pimp Ho Chicken Sandwich, man all these are on the menu up for your tongue to tangle on at anytime. I say keep it up, when I see my homeboy I would be right at dapping him up and saying, “You been eating the hell out that Fat Ho, huh!”

I don’t think we need to stop there. I heard that Richard Johnson is opening down the street a Big Dicks & Johnsons Hot Dogs, they going to get them Fat Hos a run for their money. I don’t know why they just don’t work together, everyone knows a Fat Ho is a lot better with a Big Dick, I think it would be a match made in heaven.

Really, are we truly surprised? The level of ratchness has escaladed to the point of when is enough, enough? The answer now is never. We can watch what we want to one television, sing whatever melody has a tune, and mask healthy relationships under the radar of any reality show. I am not shocked, in fact chuckled a laugh as I prepare to dig deeper into my bible scriptures cause the gates must be coming.

Unfortunately, Ms. Lakita Evans makes a solid point. Why waste time protesting about her and her hos when we have bigger issues all around us? Her hos ain’t cutting jobs, they are creating them. Her hos ain’t bombing nothing but shimmer toilets, and hers is not the Hos responsible for the recession or economic crisis we are facing. Hell, if she pimp those hos right…she will be recession proof.

In the end, lets just let a ho be a ho and find somewhere else to fight justice and not let these hos put our panties in a bunch, just some extra inches on our waistlines.

(Can I just say I love the white folks trying to be politically correct!  Don’t worry, Ho is an universal term…anyone can be a ho and now…ANYTHING)

“No, no, no, nooooo way…..no, no, noooooo waaay….I’m living without youuuuuu!”

Boy, in my “Big Gurl” stance, I can put my hand on my hip and belt out that melody with the best of them. I mean, full neck roll with an emphasis on a head tilt and some hard eyeball intent stares. I have and summoned up all the powers of Divas Days Past and poured it out to the lyrics of this song. I have won Oscars on these words. Conquered demons and faced fears, coming out victoriously. I have done all these things, all in front of a mirror.

And then one day, the lyrics became real.

“I’m not living without you, I don’t wanna be free…..”

The melody crooned from the depths of my gut and I stood helpless, yet attempting to hold on to something, anything in order to feel like I wasn’t just losing. This was the cry that I attempted to avoid for so many years. A pattern of life that had me convinced on being the best and I now know why. There are no words that can explain the depth on the darkness and anguish of being walked out on. It’s a feeling that is impacted with so many emotions; it’s hard to gather ahead on it. You can feel relived, yet scared, anxious, yet stuck, but mostly abandoned. And that feeling is hollow. So you muster all that you can hope to attain just to fight something to stay with you. To find reason, to hold on to the hope that you had, to them understand your passion and justify it with time. In this moment you diminish yourself and that something becomes your king.

“I’m stayin, I’m stayin….”

The battle is not for love. It’s for security. We love security. It’s the idea of belonging and being a part of something. As long as you are there you feel “grounded”. See, when you are “grounded”, you feel comfortable to establish your roots. You find purpose in your world around you because at least the area you stand is stable, therefore you start exploring, you open your heart and begin to dream a little bigger. This is the planting process where you sow seeds in the earth around you, based upon the secure idea that you are in a place where you can nourish and foster these items. It is how we as people grow, we find a place and settle within it, take root in something we can hold on to and then watch our seeds manifest. It all stems from being on secure ground. Security is the clinging factor that causes our world to flourish.

“And you, and you and you, You’re gonna PAY me…….”

Yes, pay. My reality moment didn’t happen as a man walked out the door. It happened for me when someone told me I had a few days to before I would have to find new employment. Hell, I am putting it nicely, which is a form of denial. I would have been FIRED. It was a rush down to the final clock and it was all about who would leave who first, so I took the high road and left, head high. Yet, it wasn’t the physical job that knocked me out. Really, I laugh about that job. It was the security of working that did. An amazing reality check, Ms. Independent wasn’t so “Independent” after all. I always leaned on an employer as part of the definition of who I was. What is independence and security really then? It’s a title we all race for, but what does it really entail? What does it LOOK LIKE? Because, I thought I was the poster child…I am the lyric of every R&B, Hip Hop song that hails independence, but really, I am dependent on a system and if its not working right…I lose my crown.

So, its pack up the records and place them back on the self. My Jennifers can keep singing, but I found my lesson learned. Perhaps the journey begins with understanding what causes security, and eliminating a salary in that equation. We build our lives based upon what is handed to us, through degrees, certifications, and what not…but who are we will we have to build our definition from nothing? Isn’t that a greater idea of independence? When, what I have, I have created and no man can take away? Hmmm, well I have enough time on my hands to figure it out now.

For a moment I hated your silence

I hated that there were moments there that held small guesses

A chance for my mind to create what you were thinking

Or an opportunity for my imagination to run wild with thoughts you never encountered.

I guess your silence scared me

But its part of your man-code

A disposition that started years ago in tag football, headlocks that lasted to long, or prideful moments that caused you to think in silence

Or scream, or cry, it’s the code that testosterone disables feelings

It’s the loss of emotion

A loss of words

It’s the no words at all

That had me scared, until I realize you spoke in another language

And when I would be quiet long enough to feel your lingers

I realized they screamed in soft tones everything I ever wanted to hear from you

Your fingertips traced over my back

In the language of Braille that asked about my day, while tickle sweet adjectives that make me blush in desert heat

They follow my hips to say I notice you, you are beautiful, magnificent, unique, a star that fell from the heavens and you gladly take out the time to find reasons to make it shine

They tap out Morris code that whisper dirty words in public places and set up meetings for rendezvous promised when time runs short

Then they rest where ever they fall saying don’t leave, you see me, you appreciate me, my warmth powers your soul.

You speak to me, without saying a word, I become a pad of chills and bumps and you read your emotions out loud to me over and over again, and I stay still and silent while I learn to listen to your codes

And it becomes my poetry and understanding

And realize it said more than any word that you could have uttered

So I no longer get frustrated I believed you miss an opportunity to say what you feel

You create moments different from mine and I get it, I won’t tell your boys

Or your father

Or anyone who believes a man is made of steel

Because you are

And in our quiet, I keep hidden your kryptonite

Your locks Samson

Your Juliet oh dear Romeo

For I am now with a secret

A code that you sculpt on skin and stare in eyes and I translate it and hold that dear to me in reminisced shutters and chills that run up my spine

Like the words you will trace out later

And all I ever ask of you is to never stop writing, tracing, sculpting, feeling, with my body as your canvas

Explore me with your words