When It's REALLY Bad...

Put the kiddies to bed. Time to have a grown folks conversation.

So, you meet someone. You vibe with them and let your guard down. You laugh at the same jokes, order your coffee the same way, and even want to name your future imaginary kids the same thing. You spend time together and decide to take your relationship to the next level. Then, you find out an ugly truth...

The sex is awful. I mean, TERRIBLE. I mean, the Worst.Shit.Ever.

What do you do??

Well, beyond figuring out the quickest escape route out of the room, there needs to be a decision made. Is bad sex worth putting up with if you really feel strongly about a person?

In my humble opinion, HELL NAW.

Look, I'm not about throwing folks away for small issues because we all have something that doesn't work for someone else. But, if you KNOW the sex if totally wrong and can't possibly get better, I say cut your losses and roll on.

I have never been the type to suffer through. If his piece isn't making you feel like the most special woman in the world or her "cave of wonders" is a bit too cavernous for you, stop. When you keep going back, you're sending the wrong message to the other person that they garbage they are offering you is acceptable.

I was once involved with a young man that proved to be one of, if not THE most, selfish sexual partners in history. Reciprocity was not in his vocabulary. His sexual philosophy was simply "get yours before I get mine". If I didn't "get mine" in the process of our session, I either needed to make myself useful after I kicked his ass out or enlist the aid of my BoB (who was never too far away, anyway).

Isn't that like hiring a contractor to place new tile in the kitchen and finishing the grout yourself??

Who wants to live life that way? Not I, says the shoe whore. Besides there are far too many day laborers out there willing to get an honest day's pay for a full day of work.

Wait...

OK, I don't want to turn this into a PSA for "screw whatever moves" because that is SURELY not my message nor my personal approach to life. All I'm saying is that life is too short to spend it rolling your eyes at a lame attempt at boot knocking. If you don't enjoy it, SPEAK UP!

Closed mouths get left high and dry... literally.

He Touched Me...: My Night With Idris Elba

*hits beatbox* It's been a long time. I shouldn't have left you without a dope blog to... Never mind.

Hi, y'all!! *dodges tomatoes* I know, I know. It's been forever since my last post. But, I promise I'll be better about writing from now on. *crosses heart*

For those of you that follow me on twitter, you know I have a tendency to "live tweet" certain events that I go to. If you don't follow me, then I'll just say that you miss out on a LOT of foolishness that happens in my world.

Two weeks ago, I had both the most irritating and exhilarating night when I got up close and personal with Idris Elba. Yes, that Idris Elba. Mr. Idris "That one scene in 'Takers' when he's getting out of the bed gets me through those lonely nights" Elba. Sexual, English Chocolate... *fans self and swoons*

Of course, the exhilarating part was shaking his soft, beautiful hand and watching him up close. (We'll talk about his dj'ing skills in a bit.) The irritating part was what I had to get through to get to that point.

Never.Again.

It all started one night on twitter. I saw someone tweet that IE was going to be at The Savoy "Entertainment Center" in Inglewood for the owner's birthday party in a couple of weeks. I had to seek out some confirmation because, you know, it's twitter and folks like to kill people and pretend that sexy, British, Black men are going to be 2 miles from my house in 140 characters or less.

I got my confirmation by way of a radio commercial on KJLH. After hearing IE's lovely accent inviting all the "lay-ees" out to see him spin, I knew that I had a decision to make. Do I risk it all by going to a club that I HATE to see this man up close or just wait until another opportunity presented itself God knows when...

I consulted with my partner in crime, Britni D., and we both decided to risk it all for THAT MAN. We weighed the ratchet/hoodrat quotient versus the old pimps looking for leftovers and figured that we'd at least try to get in and see how things played out.

Saturday arrived and it was time to get dressed. What to wear? I mean, in the fantasy land of my mind, I may get invited back to the SLS to do lurid things in 1000 thread count sheets with him. (Hey! Chunky, red bone girls have fantasies, too! Stop hating!)

After snapping myself out of La La Land, I decided on a cute dress that made me presentable, yet ready to run, should some isht pop off. After all, this is The Savoy.

Britni and I got to the club at approx 9:45 and there was a fairly good sized line formed outside, comprised of 95% women. (Shocker.) The outfit selection in this line ranged from the swapmeet to Macy's, with a good touch of "WTF" splashed in every now and then. The first severe faux pas that Britni spotted was a pair of tan orthopedic shoes being worn by an ambitious club goer. The woman had on a black tank top, black shorts, black slouch socks a la 8th grade, and TAN orthopedic tennis shoes.

After trusting the vehicle to the valet, we entered the line which moved fairly quickly. Women were in free before 10 PM and wouldn't you know that it magically became 10:01 when we got to the check-in desk. "$20", said the jerk ass dude behind the podium, as he tapped his watch to signify the time change. I begrudgingly turned over the money and headed towards the sauna ahead. I got no further than 3 steps when a burly security guard in a cheap suit taps me on the shoulder and says, "Yo, he said $20!" I gave security the side eye of death and walked back to the podium. I looked the clerk in the eye and said audibly, over the 90's groove playing loudly, "I already paid you, muthaf***a!!" (When in Inglewood...) He looked up, nodded, and I was well on my way.

My mood sufficiently sullied from that initial encounter, we headed into the abyss. It was just as I remembered The Savoy: Large, hot, crowded, and filled with men 5'4" and under. With Brit leading the way, we elbowed our way to the bar, where the china bang wearing bartender with the half-shirt asked us what we wanted. I ordered a vodka & ginger ale. "We ain't got no ginger ale." I looked at Britni and asked her to confirm that this yaky weave model just said that this BAR had NO GINGER ALE. I was appalled. (I'm bougie. Sue me.) I settled for a vodka and Sprite. *eye roll*

As we were waiting for our drinks, I spotted 3 very nice gentleman standing to our right at the bar. One in particular caught my eye and I nudged Brit. She gave a "he's aight" shrug. (Britni says more non-verbally than anyone I've ever met, btw.) So, I adjust the girls and tap him on the shoulder. I ask for his name, which I don't remember, and introduced myself. We exchanged pleasantries and I told him that he was an attractive guy. He said thank you and that's where it all ended. I got shut ALL the way down. I nursed my wounds with my vodka and Spite, I mean, Sprite.

We moved to another part of the club, in search of ventilation, and I spotted a childhood friend sweating profusely near another bar. Brit and I walked over and said hello and continued our migration.

During our travels, comedian Michael Colyar (A Comic View regular) kept floating around among the foolishness, with a rather large guy, who I assumed to be his bodyguard. Why he was chilling at The Savoy with a bodyguard, wandering the floor looking lost is beyond me, but I thought I'd throw it in there for color.

Brit and I ended up posting to the right of the club and to the right of the stage. (This will play favorably into my story later.) I promise you that I was standing as still as possible and was sweating like a marathon runner. If I wasn't afraid of attracting either someone's grandfather or someone else's baby daddy on his 2nd strike, I would have put some ice on myself. But, I opted for a stray flyer to use as a makeshift fan, which did nothing.

I took the time while I was evaporating to survey the crowd. Aunties, grandmamas, grandpas, brim wearing uncles, a mini pimp in a white suit, neon colored leggings on a size 28 woman...

Wait...

Did that 5 foot tall dude just walk by my elbow in a teal and white Steve Harvey collection jacket and white hat?? Why, yes. Yes, he did.

At this point, I'm beyond irritated, nowhere near drunk and my phone was going dead, so I couldn't finish live tweeting the f*ckery I was experiencing, and I was just completely unamused. Britni actually has a picture of me standing at the bar looking completely unamused. To top it all off, it was 11:25 and there was NO Idris to be found in the proximity.

Around 11:55, the DJ announces that Idris is "in the building, y'all!" and that starts the game of how long it will take him to get on the lonely looking turntables on the stage. (The house DJ has a booth near the rear of the club, so the turntables were especially for IE.)

In true *Rox Fontaine voice* RATCHET fashion, a fight breaks out on the dance floor between some girls. Britni taps me and we make our move toward the closest exit. We know the drill, having survived many USC Lyons' Center melees. Run and ask questions later. Security came through and literally carried the rowdy broads out and the crown calmed down within a few minutes. In our dash to safety, we landed at the edge of the stage. Finally, a win!

Soon after, Idris was given the microphone as he began to purr his sweet nothings to the "lay-ees" over the loud speaker from the not-so-VIP VIP section. I'm just saying, how is it the VIP section if it's at the same level as the rest of the club?? Who does that?

He slowly makes his way from the shoddy VIP to the DJ booth in the back of the club, where no one could see him and threatens to stay in it! I wasn't having that. No, sir! No, ma'am! At this point, 12:10 in the AM, I have lost 1/3 of my water weight and am now being eyeballed by a very large person, whose gender I am unsure of. Idris is getting his West End ass on that stage!

He finally arrives on the stage and it is well worth the wait. He was adorable in khaki pants, a crisp, white, cotton shirt, his dark shades, and a drink in his hand. He's still on the mic cooing about it being his first time in Inglewood (whoopty-doo) and talking about other things I do not recall. I was visually appeased. That's all that mattered.

Sexual Chocolate began his DJ set with his Serato supported music library and played some jams that were along the lines of the music the house DJ was playing, late 90's/early '00s R&B and Hip-Hop. Idris was rocking it until it came time to transition to another song and it was a rough transition. I mean, rough...

But, that's alright. Coulda been jet lag. Coulda been him being mesmerized by my smile. Whatever. We'll let it ride.

Yeah, he did it again...

That's alright, though. Maybe he's nervous because he's heard stories about the hood. He's trying to watch his back. Umm, Brit, he let that song play too long, didn't he??

He gets on the mic. "Sorry, y'all. I let the song play too long."

Aww, how cute! He admitted it! How humble and endearing! Let's keep the party going. Wait, he just played that song...

But, it's cool. It's Idris. He's fine.

As I said, there was a sizable person, who I later found out was a man (swear I couldn't tell) deposited on the side of the stage, sizing me up like he was picking a steak. I'm in my IE daze and Jabba grabs my hand. I look down and he's holding my hand up, as if he was asking me to twirl around to completely check me out. I was horrified. He then goes, "Damn, you a sexy, big girl." I smiled, put up the church finger and took two giant steps to my right.

Back to Idris. Aww, he loves whatever is in that glass. Aww, he missed another... That's OK.

I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around and no one is there. I feel another tap and look again, this time down. It's the mini-pimp in the Steve Harvey suit. He beckons me down to his level, as he has a question for me. I literally have to bend my knees and lean to get my ear to her the general direction of his mouth. As I got closer to him, I see that this guy looks like Gary Coleman, postmortem, in the face.

"Who is dat dude up there?", he asks, face contorted in supreme confusion.

"Idris Elba!", I say. I'm trying to get away from the goblin ASAP.

"Who is that?"

Now, I'm looking perplexed. "He's an actor. Have you seen 'The Wire' or 'Takers'?"

"Naw. He know Jaime Foxx??" He was SO serious with this question.

At this point, I'm looking for the cameras because this shit can't POSSIBLY be life. "I don't know. Possibly."

"Oh. Let me ask you a personal question..." The gremlin is really pondering this question of his.

Now I'm just bracing for a fight. "What, dude?"

"If I had money like that dude, would all these hoes be in here to see me?" He looked up to me, waiting for the answer.

Before I could even filter my response (hell, he might have had a razor blade), I said, "HELL NAW!! BWAHAHAHAHA!!"

He was pissssssssssed... "WTF you mean 'hell naw'??"

I stooped down one last time and said, "Sir, we're not here for his money. You have a good night."

All disturbances now quelled, I was back to my focus. Drunken lovliness finished his set and got on the microphone and apologized for messing up, even asking people to edit out his mistakes before they uploaded videos to youtube. Awwww...

As he was preparing to leave the stage, Idris went around to the left side and across the front and shook hands with the ladies. Then, he went back to his glass. I recognized the DJ from my cousin's wedding on the stage (Shout out to the McLain's!) and Britni & I shouted his name. He turned around and I gestured to have Idris come and greet the right side of the stage. And come he did.

Though it was only for a few seconds, it can say that he touched me and now I am no longer the same. Oh, the joy that floods my soul... Oh, wait, that's a church song, huh? My bad.

He is fine, though.

National Women and Girls HIV/AIDS Awareness Day

Today is National Women and Girls HIV/AIDS Awareness Day in the United States. I wanted to share some information with my readers from The "Rock the Red Pump" Campaign.

Today is National Women and Girls HIV/AIDS Awareness Day (NWGHAAD) and we're proudly and fiercely Rocking the Red Pump with over 1,200 bloggers from around the country (and the world). Created by the Office of Women’s Health, NWGHAAD is recognized on March 10th of every year with the goal is of bringing women together to encourage dialogue and educate women and girls about the increasing impact of HIV/AIDS epidemic on our lives.

Every 35 minutes, a woman tests positive for HIV in the United States. Though much progress has been made in the areas of HIV/AIDS prevention and treatment, women still represent 27 percent of all new AIDS diagnoses, with African-American women making up an overwhelming 66 percent of that number. In 2006, teen girls represented 39% of AIDS cases reported among 13–19 year-olds. Black teens represented 69% of cases reported among 13–19 year-olds; Latino teens represented 19%. These startling statistics are the driving force behind Red Pump's message.

Fifty days ago, we launched our 3rd Annual "Rock the Red Pump" campaign with the goal of getting 500 blogs involved. Today, we're ecstatic to be standing over

1,200 blogs strong, all uniting to represent the courage of all the women and girls who are infected and affected with HIV/AIDS.

In addition to commemorating NWGHAAD today, we are also recognizing the 2nd Anniversary of The Red Pump Project. What started as a small idea has blossomed into a movement that has grown beyond any of our expectations. We'd like to thank all the bloggers who are "Rocking the Red Pump" on their websites today and are using their voice and influence to shine a light on this issue. We'd also like to thank the women everywhere who are rocking their favorite pair of red pumps (or flats) today. We created a video thank you all! Visit HERE to watch it!

To commemorate the day, we're having official Red Pump events around the country. Please read more about them on our events page. We will be hosting a Twitter Townhall from 1:30-3:00pm CST. Please join us as we ask people to talk about why they find it important to recognize NWGHAAD. Follow us on Twitter (@RedPumpProj). Today, we will be tracking the use of the hashtags #RocktheRedPump and #NWGHAAD on our website.

As you honor NWGHAAD, we ask that you take the time to ask a friend and/or family member when is the last time that they've been tested. Knowing your status is such an important step in the fight against HIV/AIDS. For a list of HIV testing sites, you can visit hivtest.org.

Thank you again for all of support of The Red Pump Project and, more importantly, your commitment to the fight against AIDS. We're all making a difference one red pump (or flat) at a time. And we'll continue to do work that shows that "Awareness is Always in Style!™"

Luvvie & Karyn

The Red Pump Project Co-Founders

What Red Pumps are you rocking today? Know your status!

All About ME! (Venting)

I feel like I have entered a new stage of understanding and enlightenment in the last year. Things that I may have listed highly before have found their way at the bottom of the pile. People I valued before have been reduced, or in some cases eliminated, from my life. In short, things have changed.

One of the things that I am finding myself having less and less patience for is selfishness. We all have moments of self-absorption, which is understandable. The level of selfish I am talking about involves those who have no concern beyond their own well-being consistently and make it known at every opportunity.

We all know at least one chronic commiseration agent amongst us. This is the guy who can relate to EVERY story you tell and can one up your version. It's the girl who has to be heard and will go to any lengths to ensure that this happens. It's the one "friend" that we have that has no suspicion that you are not listening to them drone on about some inconsequential event in their life. It's the person that gets pissy because you refuse to coddle them into a false sense of security when they are obviously on the wrong path.

It amazes me that some people expect that the world should be delivered to their feet without any consequence or sacrifice on their end. I've come to realize that the unhappiest people in the world are those that do not know how to give. Sure, it sounds good to run down your resume and all of your past volunteer opportunities, but what do you do for others on a DAILY basis just because? Do you give to get or give to give?

I'm gonna take a chance and say that God doesn't advocate letting people run over you just to get more jewels in your heavenly crown. Enough is enough.

Where Yo Man At???

Yay! I'm back from my #Dirty30 festivities! Thanks to everyone for the love!

Let's keep it real. I'm a decent looking kid. I'm not your average woman. I am not a size 8 and do not aspire to be. I like artsy things and unconventional places. I keep weave hair in the trunk of my car. My shoe game is pretty impressive. I'm definitely an original by any standard, yet I find it difficult to find someone that is even down for a Starbuck's session. I like to go out and have a little fun every now and again. But, apparently getting a date requires a percentage of detectable, injectable plastic or an advanced degree in whoring, neither of which I am in possession of.

With all that being said, I still find myself catching the eye of a gentleman every now and again. But, that's usually where it ends. They look and say nothing. Smile, nod, and never break stride. Guess I attract attentive mutes or something. *cue Kenan Thompson* What's up with that??

I learned a long time ago that if you don't speak up, you WILL be ignored. Rejection is a part of life, so in some cases, it was better to get the "no, thanks" out of the way instead of sitting around twiddling my thumbs and staring at the phone. That's yielded a 50/50 result for me.

I remember writing a detailed (read: long) e-mail to a classmate expressing my interest in taking things to another level and getting an equally detailed (read: soul crushing) e-mail from him stating why he wasn't interested. But, hey, at least I was aware, right?? *tear drop*

Now, ever so often, one of the mutes decides to dead his inner Helen Keller and strike up a conversation. And for some, that's when I realize that he should have kept walking. For those that pass the preliminary interview stage, there is a usually a key phrase uttered in the next round that solicits an immediate and involuntary *side-eye of death* stare:

"You're too (insert potentially polite adjective here) to be single. Where's your man?"

I don't know if they teach that line at Mack Daddy Academy or if it's one of those things pubescent boys are taught to say to chicks right after they're given their first wallet condom. Either way, it is the epitome of a backhanded compliment. What is essentially being said is:

"You are very (insert same potentially polite adjective here), but there has to be something wrong with you to not be in a relationship."

And, men, even if that's not what you meant, that's what I heard. I have yet to hear a woman come at a man with the same line. It reeks of judgment and I say this after polling several other women on how they respond to the same line. So, it's not just me.

If there is actually someone who has enough sense to not insult or piss me off during the initial conversation, there is usually one MAJOR issue blocking the arrangement of a social outing, outside of scheduling: After asking for a phone number, the fool won't call.

Umm, why ask for a number if you're not gonna use it?? I'll wait for an answer...

That makes absolutely NO sense to me. Why go through the trouble of requesting a number that you're never going to call? Did you have a bet with your 30-something that the first dude with 5 numbers today gets free lunch? Do you call 411 and ask for random numbers not to call, too?

But, despite these constant and troubling pitfalls, I'm gonna keep trying. There's gotta be a coffee-drinking, movie watching, dinner eating guy in the LA area that'll call sooner or later.

Letting Go...

I know that it's officially a week until Valentine's Day and all, but I am feeling compelled to write about the loss of love. Well, at least the loss of what I thought may have possibly been love. I don't write this from a bitter place, but rather from point of gratitude. Sometimes, we need to get rid of hindrances in order to prepare for the receipt of greater things.

In the last two years, I have lost three men in my life that I never would have imagined would go. One of these men I loved romantically. The other two were connections that I had never experienced nor doubt that I will ever experience again. I'll give a brief summary of each to catch you up. Ready??

The first man... Without question the most physically attractive man I have ever been involved with. Everything and nothing all at the same time. All the relationship, none of the commitment. Terrible communicator with a good heart. Affectionately distant. *My Heart*

The second man... The unexpected connection. Friends on levels that most involved people never get to, minus the physicality. I'm talking telepathy, finishing each other's sentences, same likes, similar dislikes, matching attitudes. And we danced. *My Mind*

The third man... The jumpoff that stayed around. The puppy dog that adored me, yet pissed on my favorite shoes after he chewed the heel on them. Unnaturally attached and dependent upon me. Cried to me in private and lied to me in public. Your quintessential shady bastard. He tried, but sincerity just wasn't his strong point. *My Pain in the Ass*

*My Heart*

I was smitten with this man from the minute I saw him. Just a big 'ol, chocolate, dimple having, piece of gorgeous. When I gave him my number, I told him to list me as "his wife" in his phone. (I know, I know. Lol.) What resulted from that night was two plus years of affection, beautiful moments, estrangement, teeth pulling, ignoring, pleading, and finally, a realization. Without the right words, I was just hoping against hope. I had to stop chasing him because he didn't want to be caught. Not by me, at least. The release wasn't easy, but it was so necessary.

*My Mind*

Unorthodox beginning to a truly unorthodox relationship. Met online, considerable age difference, from different places in the world, but there was something there. The more we spoke, the more quickly the Grand Canyon became a crack in the sidewalk. But, though it all sounds like sunshine, there were plenty of storms. There is something so delicate about a man in transition. In my own way, I tried to be supportive, but sometimes, my extended hand of friendship was seen as a jab at his manhood. And as a man, he moved to defend his manhood by lashing out. Yes, I know it was coming from a place of pain, but it was still too much for me to endure. I had to let him go to heal himself. The sad part is that what we had, a genuine friendship and connection, can never be recaptured.

*My Pain in the Ass*

I blame myself. I should have ended this one before it got as far as it did. Shoulda stopped the good time where it was. But, no. So, I endured almost 4 years of lies masquerading as adulation. I mean this guy would start using words that I used. Wanted to eat where I ate. Work where I worked. Became very jealous of *My Heart* when he entered the scene. Enough was enough. Had to remove the leech. The drain was too much on my life.

I learned a lot from all of these situations and I definitely thank God for the lesson and the experience. I have grown as a woman and evolved into a better person for having gone through these relationships. I love me a lot more and welcome the more suitable replacements into my space.

For Colored Girls Who Will Never Watch That Damn Movie Again...

Ok, so I know I am late in seeing Tyler Perry's For Colored Girls..., but I promise y'all that I could have gone my whole life without it. I'm the first to admit that I have not read the original play by Ntozake Shange (stone me later) nor have I seen any productions of the play, but I can assure you that neither will disturb me more than this movie did.

I think that the reason that FCG hit me so hard was that I was not forewarned by ANYONE about it. I did not go see it in the theater (Thank Black Jesus), but those that I spoke to that did said nothing more than "It was good" or "Tyler did a good job" in reference to the quintessential "How was the movie?" question. At least I got some honest feedback on Precious, which led me not to see that movie. (And you can't make me see that isht, either!)

The only conclusion that I can arrive at is that people were either stunned into silence or signed some kind of gag order upon exiting their local Magic Johnson Theater to not speak on this work. Funniest thing is that EVERYONE I have spoken to about the movie has felt the SAME way that I did. I tore back into the dvd cover after the movie was over looking for the necessary upper that I was convinced came with movie. I found nothing and had to talk myself out of jumping off the nearest curb.

To those I spoke to who did NOT forewarn me, I curse you in my best Florida Evans voice: "Damn, Damn, DAMN!!!"

OK, deep breath. *Woo-Sah*

For Colored Girls... is the unforgivably tragic story of nine women in NYC. They range in age from 16 to 60+, with each enduring their own personal crisis and we get to watch the aftermath. Issues range from rape, abortion, downlow husbands, whoredom, chronic nosiness, and "a piece of man is better than no man" syndrome.

Let me just tell you that the cast roster was indeed impressive. Whoopi Goldberg, Loretta Devine, Phylicia Rashad, Thandie Newton, Kerry Washington, Janet Jackson, Anika Noni Rose, and the MOST cryingest Black Woman in Cinema History, Kimberly Elise.

Side note: I found myself EXTREMELY grateful that Mariah "MiMi" Carey-Cannon backed out of this project. I don't know that I could have stomached her in any of these roles. I'm not the only one that saw "Glitter"...

What was not impressive was the fact that all of these women played the same women that they ALWAYS play, except JJ. Y'all know she doesn't get the chance to act often and we know why. Loretta Devine was the continuation of Gloria from Waiting to Exhale. Kimberly Elise was the snotting mother who couldn't find her way out. And I honestly expected Phylicia Rashad to bust out with some Claire Huxtable Spanish in the hallway at some point.

While I did not expect this to be a feel good experience, I was not ready for the continuous downward spiral into the land of depression and despair. Here are my main gripes.

• Kerry Washington's character was the WORST social worker in history. Period.
• Ain't NO way on God's green earth or in hell below that Macy Gray would be allowed to go ANYWHERE near my lady parts. No, sir! No, ma'am!
• Janet didn't smell penis on her husband's breath when he came home at night? Yeah, OK...
• I had to turn the volume down every time Loretta Devine came into a frame. Why big chicks always gotta be loud? *side eye*
• Thandie Newton is generally awkward when she tries to be all sex-kitteny.
• Anika Noni Rose came off real naive a la "Lorelle" in Dreamgirls. "I's a woman nah!"
• Whoopi sweated like a slave in that movie. All that white did NOT keep her cool.

While this whole post may seem like one giant nit-picking session, I bring it home to one major problem: The writing. The story was written like a musical without the music. The characters would be having a conversation and, all of a sudden, the Colored woman in question would start speaking in flowery language or couplets. There was no fluidity to the incorporation of the original text into Tyler's new fangled storyline. Not that I expected Madea to have a cameo on a stoop or anything, but come on, son, connect the dots.

If there's anyone out there who still wants to see this movie after reading my review, inbox me. I'll mail you my copy.