The Harvey Standard (AKA...the Upgrade)

Well..(sigh) it has happened y'all.

Finally.

After all those times I laughed at Halle Berry when US magazine caught her coming out of her pool from the backside...

or when People Magazine caught Beyonce at a bad angle on the beach squatting down..

or when Pamela Anderson lifted up her skirt a little...

...it's finally my turn.

Looking in my bathroom mirror...to me, I look great. Not a thing wrong.

Sure, the bottom half could use some trimming, but everything is OK as long as I can fit into my Rock and Republics.

Mos def good for initial "underwear" presentation at least.

But then, I wore this skirt.

It's A-line, seersucker, very flowy...feminine ...sexy.

AND, there just happens to be a full length mirror in the bathroom at work. So hey.
Nobody is in the bathroom with me. Why not?

I lift up.

Wholly SHIT! WHAT THE FUCK IS...

..is that...(gasp and clutch the pearls)CELLULITE?!!

Ladies and gentlemen... life, or rather, youth, as I know it...is over. Officially.

Men don't seem to understand this and that is yet another reason why I'm hating. (Add it on to the "no biological clock" and "no saggy breasts" list.)

Anyway, what I see ain't cute. And the thing is...I KNEW it was coming.

About six months ago, I put my digital camera on "timer", and snapped a photo of myself from the backside.
(Not for internet use, nasty.)

It was a "before" photo. However, my "before" got sidetracked on the road to "after", and the next thing I knew, I'd missed a few weeks of step class, and my thighs were touching.

Anyway, I'd seen the bulge. A slight one. Nothing to be alarmed about. Just a tiny ripple in the thigh, caused by laying up, over eating and sitting on my ass all day at work. Easily fixed.

But I didn't fix it...and now, it's def con five.

The ripple has spread to my butt. Not too far down the legs, but far enough to make me haul my rippled ass to the gym.
PUN INTENDED.

So then, I began to wonder.

If I'M trying to get rid of these five-ten pounds of blubber that make me feel like bubble-wrap, what's Monique doing?
Yes. The comedienne Monique. I mean, if I've got it, I KNOW she's packin vacuumed packed peanuts in her thighs. But she could give a damn.

So what gives? Why do women (at least those of us who care) continuously bust our ass for smooth thighs, long, luxurious hair, and a six pack abs....when, most likely, the person that loves you could give a shit?

Really.

I've never heard, "Wow baby. I love you so much...and I really want to make love to you. But you need lipo. Today. Right now."

..ever.

But the point is... I CARE. I don't want to walk about looking like I'm smuggling marbles in my legs. And you know what? Men should give a damn too.

Have you ever heard a woman say, "I'm dumping my boyfriend because of his a)gut b)hairy ass c)tendency not to wash his ass (let's just assume anything having to do with a man's ass not being proper is grounds for dismissal.) d)pigeon toes e)dead skin on his thumb that he keeps biting...and that's why I think it's time to get rid of the double standard.

If we, as women want to compare ourselves to the Halle's, Beyonces and Pam Andersons of the world...then damn it. Let's give the men something to aim for.

(And gay men don't count. They keep it together for each other...and God bless you for it.)

I'm talking about straight men.

I'm talking about holding them to a higher standard.

The Harvey Standard.

If you don't know Harvey Walden...he's the fit coach featured on VH-1's "Celebrity Fit Club." An ex-Marine (ooooh....), big, black and fine as hell with a heart of gold. This dude even made Da Brat dress up in some heels, show some cleavage and strut down a runway. Blushing. Yeah...it's like that.

He's not all angry black man though. Harvey has heart. A lot of it.
Even for that really gay Ross kid from Leno, who he turned into a gay dime in 90 days. And he did it...not by yelling. But because the cast respected him. Hell...he got Warren G. over his fear of heights. Gangsta.

I mean, let's keep it real.
I'm not a fan of VH-1 Celebreality garbage, but for some reason, I stayed glued to fit club. Not because I wanted to see if Marsha Brady lost more weight...but just to hear Harvey say, "Ok. Step on the scale."

Ooooh. Okay Haaaarvey.

This season, he almost kicked Screech's ass...and I almost slid out of my chair.

The Harvey Standard.

You'll meet very few men who meet this standard, but when you do, you'll know it.

And the first thing you'll notice...is the body language. Upright. Manly. Confident.

The second thing you'll notice...they're not chasing every twat in the room. They have self control and respect.

Third thing you'll notice...manners. Real manners. Not "I just learned them today" manners. Door holding. Cab hailing. (I know. But they get one eventually.)

Finally....you'll notice, the shoes and the watch. (I'm sorry. Shoes and a watch say a LOT about a man. A LOT.)

There's more, but you get the point. If you ever find yourself in a situation where shit doesn't seem right, ask yourself WWHD?

That's right. What Would Harvey Do?

And it's not a co-winkie-dink that Harvey happens to be an ex-Marine.
I have NEVER met an ex-Marine that didn't meet the grade. Not ever.

Gotta go. Gotta hit the gym, get my toes done, eyebrows done, lip waxed...(the 30's are REAL)...and do some maintenance. Not for anyone but me.

If you do the same...do the damn thing girl.

And if you're a guy who hasn't seen a gym since High School... get scared.
I'm starting a revolution fellas. You betta get right.

(Now if I could only get my old tits back. HEAVY SIGH...)

-Nye

Damn Verizon...

That's just dirty. Still leaving you for the iPhone though.

Top Five ....

This isn't up for discussion.

This is a Dictatorship. Now turn towards my picture and praise me and my declarations, in all their fantastic glory.

I. Am. Awesome.

Movies (Action):

5. The Matrix
4. Terminator 1
3. Terminator 2
2. Aliens (..yes. With an "s")
1. Die Hard


Hip Hop Artists - Dead or Alive:

5. Jay-Z
4. De La Soul
3.
2.Notorious BIG
1.Rakim

(# 3 reserved for Esso's wise 2cents. Yeah, she get to spend em. She's earned it.)

Love Songs That Contributed To My Virginity Loss:
5. Make It Last Forever - Keith Sweat
4. Moments In Love - Art Of Noise
3. Dry Your Eyes - The Deele (...during a summer storm. It was a close one.)
2. Stay - Jodeci (...he sang it. My 17 year old boyfriend, I mean. Almost a goner.)
1. Adore - Prince (Now you know why it was stenciled on my wall Mom. Enjoy.)

Cartoons:
5. Transformers
4. South Park
3. He-Man
2. Jem (fuck off. DICTATORSHIP I SAID!)
1. Tom And Jerry

Kung Fu Movies:
5.Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon
4.Drunken Master
3.Killer Bees
2.Anything containing the Sho-Lin Monks. ANYTHING.
1.Five Deadly Venoms

HONORABLE MENTION: Kill Bill Vol. 1 & 2 (I see you Q. I see you.)

Sisters:
5. Keena
4. Jessica
3. Donnie
1. Shervon
1. Dana
(They're both #1. Awww...)

Childhood Games I'll Still Wax Ya Ass In:
5. Scalzies
4. Ringo-levio
3. Charades
2. Double Dutch
1. Spades (What? Everybody didn't learn this game at seven?)

...more to come.

-Nye

American

I use the word "bitch" a lot in this post. And I mean it. Every single time.

2AM

I'm still awake. Actually, I'm sitting on my travel bag, pleading with the zipper to make it to the other side. I'd already gotten rid of the "BRAZIL" bikini and the "WHOLLY SHIT...I LOOK FUCKING GREAT IN THIS.." bikini. Also left behind are two "just in case" generic looking Gap tee-shirts and one pair of flip flops.

By omitting these few items, I'd gone from "there's no fucking way this thing is going to close" to "it might just happen". And happen it did. If it's not in there, then it's not coming. Fuck it. In twelve hours, I'll be leaning over a bridge in Costa Rica, marveling at the crocodiles below. Laughing and slightly buzzed...thanks to the grocery store we'll stop at along the way. This is going to be great.

4:45AM

"Do you have any luggage?"

"Just these."

Anna, in her official faded red American Airlines blazer shakes her head.

"If you didn't have those, I would let you on."

"We can't carry this on?"

Anna shakes her head and directs the people on another line to the next ticket agent.

I notice briefly that American Airlines seems to be the only airline who has "red blazer" people, who's job is to point you to the next ticket agent. That's it. No other purpose. Oh...or to say you can't get checked in. I check my watch...our plane takes off in 45 minutes. It's sorta like waiting for a meteor to hit the Earth, and there's nothing you can do. Because the bitch in the red blazer said so.

5:30AM

Yep. We're still on line.

Anna lets everyone else bypass us and go up to the ticket counter, claiming she doesn't want to traffic jam the agents. We complain. Then get annoyed. But we still haven't journeyed to the dark side until...

Anna looks at us...and then down at our bags.

"Why didn't you carry those on?"

Blink. Blink.

"You just said we couldn't."

"No...you could."

"Can you check us in?"

Anna lazily walks over to an agent and returns with arms folded.

"No. It's too late. Sorry."

"Look. The plane takes off in fifteen minutes. We can still make it if you..."

"No. Sorry."

Anna almost got jumped.



8:05AM

Mr. Santorelli is going apeshit.

His family of four just had their seats given away since they went for a stroll in the airport. Santorelli Jr. begins to cry. Mrs. Santorelli holds the Santorelli daughter...who is too young to understand that their vacation is fucked. But back to Mr. Santorelli...

"This is completely unacceptable! Nobody told us!!"

"Sir, you should have been at the gate ten minutes prior to boarding..."

"This is insane! Nobody told us that!!"

I actually feel kinda bad. I mean, crying kids and all...geez. However, I don't feel too bad. Thanks to the Santorelli lollygaggin, four people ahead of us on stand-by made that plane, therefore, we've moved up the list. While checking our names in the computer, the ticket agent notices two people are still on the list. He tells the OTHER agent. (OTHER meaning: The agent who referred to all the stand-by passengers as "these people", and thought nobody heard her. )

The OTHER agent then goes into the computer...deletes "these people" who made the plane from the system, allowing the ticket agent I was speaking with to us up.

Next flight...11:20. Well..at least we have time to hit McDonalds. I deserve a McGriddle damn it.

11:10AM

My arms are folded and my stare hasn't broken in five minutes.

By this time, the Santorelli family should be settling into their seats, buckling their belts, sighing with relief. Their vacation, a bit delayed, but not ruined. Ours...however...

"They made the plane because they have executive status. The computer does it automatically. I have no control over that." The OTHER agent tells me.

"Yes you do. I was there when an agent moved us up, so you obviously can manipulate the order. So now, in addition to taking this very personally, I'm offended because you lied to me."

"Ma'am, I know what you're getting at, and really, it's not like that."

"Really?"

...now, let me interrupt and say this before I go on.

Anyone who knows me...KNOWS how reluctant I am to play this card. I just don't do it. For starters, however easy it is to call someone out on their prejudice shit, and although I know white privilege exists, it's a bitch to prove. So when you do this, you'd better have your game tight. Besides, I usually take the fun route. Become a total pain the ass. You know. Push things to an unbelievably annoying peak, whereas, the wrong doer retrospectively wishes they would have just treated me fairly than jerk me around.

Anyway, yeah...I took it there.

"Ma'am, you tell me what I should think. I was there, when the Santorelli family missed their flight. And it was their fault. They should have been placed on the back of the stand-by list, instead, we were bumped to accommodate them. Now, call me crazy, but there's only one difference I see between the Santorelli family and mine."

"Ma'am, anyone who knows me, knows I'm not a racist. I have black friends, I know plenty..."

"I didn't call you a racist. I asked you to tell me what I should think."

"I know how it looks, and I assure you..."

"So, please tell me why the Santorelli family are on the way to Miami, and I'm still sitting in this airport...since 4:45AM."

"Ma'am, would you please tell me the story from the beginning."

I do.

As I tell the story, an American Airline manager and a Port Authority Police Officer show up...in response to the "411" that was called. They asked her what was going on. She turned red. Really red...and never answers.

Yep. The bitch called the cops on me.

Funny. I don't remember Mr. Santorelli getting a "411".

I stare daggers at the OTHER agent, and cock my head to the side.
Oh no you fucking didn't.

"Now let me ask you a question. How, are you going to make this right?"

The officer shakes his head, and leaves.



Midnight

The room smells like old sex. Lots of old sex. Prostitute sex. Cheat on my husband sex. I'm gay and don't want anyone to know sex.

"Don't touch anything." I giggle.

We look like shit. We smell..well...close to it. Feeling? Broken.

Miami International Airport Hotel seems like a good idea when you've been awake for over 24 hours and traveling for 21. But it's not. Don't do it. Ever. Not even if the "OTHER" agent gives you a free voucher and meal credit.

I'm not even going to go into it, but all I'm going to say is I didn't brush my teeth because the water was yellow. And smelled like urine. No lie.

(I purposely skipped over the six hour layover in Boston because, to be honest, I slept through most of it in an uncomfortable rocking chair. Personally, I can't stand Boston. The "what are YOU doing here" stare is definitely in effect. However, they have the highest concentration of hot men that will never...ever bring you home to Mama on the planet. Oh...and a lot of baseball caps. A fucking lot.)


10AM (Costa Rican Time)

I laugh. Pia says she almost wrote "black" down as her nationality on her immigration card. I chuckle, not because she's stupid (far from) because I remember making the same mistake when I first traveled internationally.
There was something in my soul that made me want to AT LEAST jot down "African" before that "American", but to a Costa Rican, that would make no sense. None at all.

Why?

Because the minute we de-plane'd American Airlines flight 988 from Miami to Costa Rica, we left the "African" part on the plane. I know you may not know what I mean, but let me try to explain.

The first thing you notice when you encounter any Costa Rican is, no longer present is the "pause". That tiny, eighth of a second pause when, in America, people shift their normal social personality into their "I'm dealing with a black person" persona. Anyhoo...unknowingly, all Americans do this. All of them. Black, white...we all do it when dealing with a black person because of your own prejudices and belief in stereotypes. (Yes, blacks too. Bougie vs. Ghetto...you know what I mean.)

This shit simply does not exist in Costa Rica.

...and it's pretty fucking nice.

Because coming home...

5:45 AM

Of course the flight is cancelled. Of course it is.
No "red jacket" told us this. The actual agent did. And sorry, there's nothing we can do.

It's cool.

We're on the next flight out...nothing to worry about. Pura vida. I'll just go shopping.

"Hola!"

"Hola papi...coma estas?"

"Bien! Habla espanol?"

"Un poco..."

"Americana?"

"Si..."

"Que linda..."

"Mucha gracias..."

"I will leave you to your shopping. Adios Linda.."

"Gracias. Adios.."

And he did.

And that's when it hits me. I look around.

People could care less that I was there. Nobody even blinked. I could TOTALLY shove ten shirts in my bag..and nobody would notice. Not that I'd want to, but if I did, I COULD. Why? Because I'm not being followed. Or watched. In a STORE.

Nor was I followed, watched, stared at, "paused" on, ignored or paid too much attention to... at all. EXCEPT...when we walked into places where other "Americans" were.

Americans stared.

Americans removed themselves from the hot tub when we entered.

Americans left the pool the minute we arrived.

Americans greeted other Americans with "hi" and "where are you from?"s...but ignored our greetings.

Americans "paused".

...Americans managed to bring that stupid shit with them.

Just hope it doesn't contaminate the Costa Ricans.

To be fair, not all Americans. Anyone I've ever met from Arkansas have always been mad cool. (Shout out to Katie and the crew!)



2:15pm Costa Rican Time

Eyes everywhere.

When you haven't been black for 48 hours, it fucking hurts coming back to life.

The flight to Miami was located at Gate 4A3, which was downstairs.
The minute we walked into the waiting area containing mostly Americans...we were welcomed home.

I sat quietly, opened my book and tried to ignore the woman next to me shifting uncomfortably after she peeked at the title.

"Incidents In The Life Of A Slave Girl"

"Oh for the LORD!! What is with all the damn shifting? Did you NOT know this happened? Don't I seem sorta...over it? I mean, I'm sitting next to you, aren't I? JESUS...can we PLEASE just get over this already?"

...OK. I didn't say that. I wanted to though. Badly.

...just as badly as I'm sure she wanted to ask me, "What are you doing here?"


"I go back to... I go back to...black." - Amy Winehouse