Happy Birthday Michael!

Spike Lee & DJ Spinna

A crowd as far as the eye could see

♥ J'aime Bianca

Michael Jackson Block Party This Saturday

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All The Single Ladies

"All the single ladies, all the single ladies..." - okay now listen up!

I am a self-professed hater - of technology, that is. Yes, it's great to be able to send a picture almost as soon as you take it. And the ability to have a navigation system at your fingertips when you've mistakenly arrived at 8th avenue, when you're actual destination is 8th street, is heaven sent. However, when it comes to the internet and matters of the heart, I loathe being involuntarily privy to the personal information of those I don't talk to on a regular basis.

How many people do you know that have had to completely remove their page from a social networking site because sorting through their virtual relationship shrine was too painful to do after the break up?

How many potential dates have you lost because of a picture or comment that was posted/tagged on your page? How many arguments have you gotten into with your significant other for the very same reason?

Have you ever been a victim of a G-chat, facebook, or AIM status assault?

Are you simply tired of having to change, or seeing someone change their relationship status online?

If you have answered in the affirmative to any of the previous questions, don't let yourself or someone you love be a victim any longer. I have a few successful tips to help you avoid the aforementioned heinous crimes...or your money back guaranteed (sorry, I couldn't help it).

All helpline/infomercial jokes aside, I live by a few personal page guidelines to avert any potential drama. For instance, I don't befriend anyone online that I have dated or had real feelings for because, 9 times out of 10, we're truly friends offline. The only loophole is a rebound guy whose friendship is determined by the amount of time spent with them. If it lasted for more than 3 months, their desire to possibly reconnect via the internet will forever live on as a mere "Friend Request". I also stay away from posting pictures of myself being overly affectionate with any guy - its gross publicly and equally as gross digitally.

I know as women, when a man has wronged us, we often feel compelled to post an indirect message to him in every online status possible. But please, just refrain. Because when others are able to track your emotional state online you tend to look like someone who is suffering from bipolar disorder, not a woman scorned. It's much more effective to anonymously bash him on dontdatehimgirl.com - I'm only kidding...that's even worse.

You will never see my relationship status posted online, because unless the status is "married to", to me, its not worth posting. Come to think of it, when I'm married my page will be inactive because my real life status will be...busy - I'd rather spend my time with my hands on my husband and NOT on a computer keyboard.

You might be thinking to yourself, "Hey aren't you writing about relationships on your blog?" Technically, I write about singlehood. And the major difference between my blog and the homepage of your favorite social networking site is you; YOU choose to read my blog because it is strictly for your reading pleasure and YOU will never be unwillingly bombarded with relationship madness.

Don't let your love life be as accessible as a google search of Amy Winehouse's tumultuous relationship with her former husband. Take a cue from Mrs. Sean Carter and try considering your personal relationship with a man sacred, something that should only be shared with the special, wise, and important people in your life. Maybe then he'll be more eager to "put a ring on it."

And for you textual harassers and tweeter beaters, don't think you've escaped my tirade; I have a blog on the way especially for you...


♥ J'aime Bianca

Just Push Play...

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Saturday Morning Wake Up Call

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A Bite of the Big Apple – NYC Survival Guide

I would like to set the record straight. New Yorkers are not rude; people just fail to follow the rules of the city. For instance, in certain areas of Los Angeles, one must know when it is appropriate to wear red or blue; and in Washington D.C., shouting words or phrases like "bomb", "I love Bin Laden" or "I hate America" will more than likely cause you to be kidnapped in the middle of the night by men dressed in all black. So please, if you're going to visit, if you're thinking about visiting, or if you're simply watching something related to New York life on television, take a minute to read these rules - its essential to your survival in the city.

1. DO NOT stop in the middle of the sidewalk to take a picture of a famous site or

yourselves - most New Yorkers are usually on a mission to get somewhere and YOU

ARE IN THE WAY!

2. DO NOT walk four by four down the sidewalk - again, YOU ARE IN THE WAY!

3. Stay to the right - this is a universal rule in most major cities. If you're walking down the street, walk up or down stairs, or riding on an escalator, stay to the right because it allows people to pass you on the left...otherwise, YOU ARE STILL IN THE WAY!

4. Allow at least one step of space between you and the person in front of you when riding the escalator - no one wants to feel your breath on the back of their neck. This is also great for escape purposes in case of a pile up. Trust me, this alone saved me from a 12 person pile up that occurred when an old man fell at the bottom of the escalator at the 42nd Street AMC Theaters.

5. When entering the subway, move towards the center of the car - doing such allows the flow of traffic, in and out of the subway car, to occur more fluidly. But, if you like profanities being spewed at you or you enjoy being trampled, by all means, stand at the first bar closest to the door.

6. DO NOT stand in front of the car doors on the subway - do I really have to explain that you are in the way yet again.

7. When you go to sit down on the train - especially on an older subway with yellow and orange seats that have been molded to fit a particular body type - please do not do the sumo wrestler squat and assume there is enough space for you to take a seat. Say, "Excuse me," and wait for the non-verbal confirmation; otherwise, it's just rude and uncomfortable for everyone.

8. Be considerate when listening to your iPod, mp3 player, or phone - if you look around the subway, most people are reading and would prefer not to hear Gangster Rap, Heavy Metal, or Reggaeton while doing such.

9. Starring is NEVER appropriate.

10. DO NOT get offended when we New Yorkers roll our eyes when you say you want to go to Time Square. Its not you, we just know 9 times out of 10 there are tourist there breaking the above rules.

I'll be honest, I didn't realize how important these rules were until I moved here. It became even clearer after we had an influx of visitors during the holidays. So, consider yourself warned. And in the event you are here in New York and someone shoots you a crazy look, bumps into you, or shares a few choice words with you, take a minute to think if you've broken one of the rules.

♥ J'aime Bianca

Harlem's Sorrow - In Honor of Michael Jackson

Apollo Theater




Gain A President, Lose A King




Memorial Wall Outside the Apollo




(Click the images to get a better look)

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I Am Not "The One"

Riddle Me This? Why is it that practically every man that I have invested more than five minutes of my time - as a friend, girlfriend, or the like - feels as though I am "the one"? I often wonder...

If I have been "the one" on more than one occasion, doesn't that make me another number at this point?

If most men want to make me their wife, does that make me a pseudo-polyandrist (female polygamist)?

Perhaps it's my stretch marks secretly emitting childbearing energy into my aura that only men sense causing them to want to impregnate me.

And finally, if you believe that I am the one for you, but I don't believe you are the one for me, that technically means 1 + -1 = 0, and you have NOTHING!"

There's no way any of this is possible, which leads me to believe that this whole concept of "the one" is as big a myth as monogamy itself.

Allow me to digress. Contrary to what we are taught to believe, it is not human nature to want to be with one person; that's an act we practice because society says its right. There is no undiscovered formula to the reason why the divorce rate is so high or why Cheaters is such a popular television show. Its very simple, we are greedy and our natural instinct leads us to pursue multiple partners.

While we're on the subject, being with multiple partners is not impressive; it's actually effortless because it coincides with the laws of nature. Convincing a woman you have never met to sleep with you is easy; but try convincing a woman to make love to you when she knows you consistently pee on the toilet seat, your morning breath has the ability to reshape eyebrows, and you have a malignant mole growing three quarters of the way between your navel and your left nipple.

So again I ask, if it's our human nature to be with more than one person, where the heck did this obnoxious concept of "the one" come from and why do so many men assign me the title of such? It can only be one of three things:

• Men have implicit qualifications for being “the one” that I have

unwillingly embodied
• There is a shortage of women who are smart, witty, understanding, adventurous

and challenging – which is not to be confused with combative

Or

• There is no such thing as “the one”

I'll let you decide

♥ J'aime Bianca

"The First Lady Looks Like Me!" (Circa November 4,2008)

Those who were around during the 50's and 60's can recall exactly where they were when Martin Luther King, Jr. gave his "I Have A Dream" speech or the glory years of the JFK era. Sadly, they might also recall when both of these iconic men were assassinated. As a product of the 80's, the only thing I can recall is reading about great leaders and momentous time periods in my History books. But five, ten, or twenty years from now, when someone asks me "Where were you the day Barak Obama was elected president?," I will proudly respond, "Harlem Baby!"

I woke up Election Day with a great sense of excitement...and paranoia. The idea that Obama could become the first Black President made me ecstatic; but the notion that racism was still prevalent and elections had and can be stolen made me nauseous. All day I prayed for my people and my future President. After reports that two skinheads had planned to assassinate Obama surfaced earlier during the week, I was positive the KKK had devised a plan to exterminate anyone who looked like they would vote Democratic or did not pass the paper bag test. However, when I heard that people in Harlem were waiting in line for more than four hours to use one working polling machine at a particular location, my paranoia subsided.

The lines at the local Harlem polling locations were reminiscent of those that formed on the election days that occurred after the Voting Rights Act passed in 1965. And at my particular polling location the machines looked like they were from 1965. "Excuse me Miss, I'm supposed to step behind this curtain, go through the board, switch the buttons for my selections, and pull the lever all the way across to the other side???" My voting experience was one unlike any other voting experience I had ever had. While in the ballot booth, I took a minute to think about how peaceful this day was going. Everyone there exuded an enormous amount of pride, class, and dignity; it truly reflected the entire Obama campaign. Disappointed that I was unable to attain a voter confirmation ticket or an "I Voted" sticker, I called my grandmother to see if she would be able to make it out to vote. She wasted no time telling me, "I'm going to go vote for Obama baby...that's my man. You know I saw him when he came to the church. There were more secret service men there than members."

As the night drew nearer, I prepared to go to my aunt's election party. I stopped by Make My Cake Bakery to pick up some treats. In less than a minute I had a dozen Obama cupcakes and information on the largest outdoor election viewing party in Harlem. I stopped by the viewing party on 125th street before going to my Aunt's and was amazed by three things: the size of the screen streaming live CNN coverage, the size of the crowd, and the number of Black people selling bootleg Obama paraphernalia. About an hour after I arrived at my aunt's party, they declared Obama the winner. I was the youngest person at the party, yet I cried like a runaway slave that finally made it to freedom.

After some time, I found myself being drawn back towards the 125th street viewing party. The minute I, and a couple of folks from the party, walked out the apartment, I heard the people of Harlem roaring. Harlemites walked down the street congratulating one another and singing newly fabricated Obama songs. Standing in the center of 125th street and Adam Clayton Powell Blvd., I noticed the swarms of people coming from every direction making their way to this prime celebratory location. Eventually, the police gave up directing traffic and buses had to find an alternate route as the people continued to trickle in. I had never seen soooooooo many different races and ages of people joined together to celebrate in the magnitude they did that night. And with the African drummers playing in the background igniting the crowd that surrounded me, I found myself at a stand still thinking about one simple statement a young woman made as I was walking towards the festivities..."Finally, the first lady looks like me!"

♥ J'aime Bianca

Back to Blogging

When my three biggest blog fans - my mother and my co-workers Alex and Mr. Mitchell - started asking me why I haven't blogged, it made me wonder, "What have I been doing with my time?" To be honest, I'm not really sure. I know I have a digital camera full of pictures and a notebook full of rough blogs, but I haven't birthed a blog since October - and a distinctively creative blog since the first few. I'm not sure if I am having a muted internal battle or if waking up at 4:30am every weekday has completely drained me creatively. Who knows, but now that I am conscious of others desire to read my work, I have committed myself to blogging again...Lord knows I hate commitments.

P.S. - Despite my absolute hatred of back-blogs, I will be sprinkling in a few blogs that I wrote during my writing sabbatical between November and March (you'll be able to distinguish them by the "Circa" written next to the title).

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Merry Christmas from NYC

Central Park

Frosty

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Harlem for Obama

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Myspace

Langston Hughes once said, "Life ain't no crystal stairs." He was obviously talking about living in New York when he wrote that. I can't complain though, things have gotten much better within the past three months. You can definitely say life in New York ain't been no crystal stairs...but I think my life might qualify me for the cubic zirconium stairs. I've got new friends who are crazy and sweet, old friends who keep me sane and laughing, and after much praying and fasting I finally got a new job. I love my job because it allows me to do three very important things - put money back in my savings, work styling gigs (because I get off at 2:30pm), and BUY FURNITURE! The first item on the furniture shopping list, a bed of course. I can finally get my luxury mattress off the floor.


I feel it is very important to have a room that is a sanctuary. Sanctuaries take time to develop, and my room is no exception. I started with just a blow up bed and a canvas, so at best, my bedroom was a low budget homeless shelter. After two weeks of my butt sinking to the floor from a deflating air mattress, I upgraded to a Kingsdown luxury mattress. Retail value: $1,091.55; the price I got it for with God's favor: $317. The next step was to paint over the horrible wall color - prison grey that was slapped on top of an odd shade of pink. Two coats of primer, two gallons of Behr Enchanted Amber, and a gallon of Swiss Coffee rescued my walls from its former state. Painting took a while, but when I finally finished I was able to unpack my fiberbed. That's right, MORE SOFTNESS! My mattress is a eurotop, which translates to "sleeping on a cloud" in mattress terminology. But when you match the luxury mattress up with the fiberbed it's like sleeping on the wings of an angel. All I needed was a bed to get it off the floor.

Well, my bed arrived yesterday. And as I was assembling it on my own, I thought about how much easier the process would have been if I had done it with a friend or maybe even a mate. I started comparing the "cute couple's way" to a "single woman's way"...


Step One - Connect the base board and the head board to the side rails

The Cute Couple's Way:
"One of us can hold the side rail while the other one screws it to the headboard and the baseboard"

The Single Woman's Way:
"If I place the headboard face down on the floor and screw in the side rails while they are balanced upward towards the ceiling, that will give me enough leverage to connect the base board after I've connected all the other major pieces."


Step Two - Connect the slates to the support bar and the 4 support legs

The Cute Couple's Way:
"Honey, I'll hold the slates while you screw in the support bar and legs."

The Single Woman's Way:
"How in the heck am I going to do this...Okay, if I brace all the slates against the wall, I can put the screws in from behind, attach the support bar and hope that it stays in place long enough for me to screw the legs in. Then I can tighten the screws once I angle it on the floor."


Step 3 - Place the supported slates inside the bed frame

The Cute Couple's Way:
"That's sounds easy. You grab one end and I'll grab the other and we can place it inside the frame."

The Single Woman's Way:
"What?! These instructions apparently do not apply in New York apartments. No one has that much space to have a bed frame next to slates that are connected. This isn't going to work. Okay think...If I brace one of the support legs on my lamp I can put the frame down on the ground. Nope, that didn't work. Okay...if I brace one of the support legs on my lamp which is then supported by my bedroom door (see image, I really did that), I can put the bed frame down and then maneuver the slates inside the frame. Ooooh Jesus, it's hot."


Step Four - Screw all the slates down to the side rail

The Cute Couple's Way:
"Baby we're almost done! You grab the screws and I'll grab the drill."

The Single Woman's Way:
"You must be crazy if you think I'm going to screw in 28 screws when I just put 8 into the side rail, 4 into the support legs, and 2 into the support bar. There's no way"

28 screws later...

"I should have just given the delivery man $45 to put this bed together himself."


I didn't opt not to pay the assembly fee because I had a deep desire to prove my independence as a woman, I was simply being cheap. And although building the bed alone gave me a great since of pride and achievement, I finished with an even deeper appreciation for community and help from others.

Needless to say, my sanctuary is still a work in progress. I still need window treatments for my gold accent wall, a dresser, and some other things. But until then, I'll be enjoying my space as it is.


♥ J’aime Bianca

Jas & James - Back Together Again

Then

Now

I'm With Diddy on This One...

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Last Day of Summer

I like to spend my Sunday afternoons napping and writing, but last Sunday I got a little off track. You can thank my mom, she sent me a digital camera.

Overhead View from the South Ferry to Governor's Island


NYC Waterfall at Governor's Island


Governor's Island


No Cars - Only Biking and Walking on the Island


I don't want to call them picnickers (because the word picnic bothers me)
so I'll just call them "New Yorkers enjoying an outdoor meal"



The Statue of Liberty from Governor's Island

♥ J'aime Bianca

Never Forget

During last semester, in a cognitive psychology course, I learned about the concept of "flashbulb memories." Flashbulb memories are "memories of emotionally charged or especially memorable events that have been claimed to be particularly vivid and accurate." It has been debated that flashbulb memories become less and less accurate and vivid with time; however, when it comes to the catastrophic events that occurred on September 11th, it seems almost impossible to forget.

I remember exactly where I was when I heard the first plane hit the South Tower. I should have been up getting ready to go to school, but I was in bed trying to ignore my mother who was making a fuss in the den. I was positive she was coming to wake me up again, but instead, she ran into the room and told me that a plane had crashed into one of the World Trade Center towers. Still groggy I replied, "It's probably the Russians." When I finally got up, I sat in front of the television in complete shock. Peter Jennings was covering the breaking news. During his report, he paused to allow another correspondent to speak about what was happening on the scene, then suddenly, the second plane hit the North Tower. In my life, on that day, it was a life changing news report; I went to school, I came home, and I continued to watch this story unfold from 3,000 miles away. But for many New Yorkers it wasn't a news report, it was real life.

Now that I am a New Yorker, I felt obliged - to the city and to those who passed away on that fateful day - to pay my respects at Ground Zero. I visited the site two days prior to September 11th, and I noticed that the city had a different tone than usual. Volunteers were setting up the stage for the memorial program and architects were delivering a model of the National September 11 Memorial & Museum, yet, they were all working slowly with such caution and precision. Tourist even stopped taking pictures and took a moment to observe the former location of the Twin Towers, SILENTLY. Sorrow and somberness seemed to reach up to heaven because it rained in a matter that seemed like the city itself was crying. I felt so mournful and enraged.

It's possible I left my feelings there that day; I returned to Ground Zero September 11th and could hear the commotion before I emerged from the train station. There were those who were there crying and mourning the lost, and there were those who were speaking about the controversy that surrounds the "attack." I immediately gravitated to a man who was talking about the "unexplained" things that occurred on that day. He argued why the buildings fell demolition style, why many New Yorkers believe that it was only two buildings that were destroyed in the World Trade Center plaza, and a bunch of other incidents that somehow added up to the number seven. Much of what he said - mostly the seven mumble jumble - was senseless, but even I know there are things that just DO NOT add up from that day. Out of respect, and fear of government surveillance, I'll refrain from giving my opinion about what REALLY happened...but if I send you a postcard from Cuba with a picture of me and Assata Shakur on the front, it's because my super came over unannounced to "inspect" my apartment.

Just as I was about to create a soapbox, made of street meat foil, and trump this man's information with facts, my friend kindly pointed out the Tribute in Lights memorial. The memorial was amazing; approximately 88 search lights directed towards the sky, towering over the city as the buildings once did. When I began to take pictures I noticed large unidentified particles floating within the lights. It definitely wasn't snow, and the particles were too large to be moths, so naturally, we walked towards the lights - which were located quite a few blocks away from Ground Zero - to see what they were. As I stood directly underneath the memorial, which was located atop a parking lot near Battery Park, I ruled out every logical object it could be. The New York Times reported they were "insects (and perhaps birds), but I beg to differ. Perhaps it's just something that cannot be explained, or maybe, just maybe, it's the spirits of those who were lost in the tragedy. If they cannot explain how St. Paul's Chapel, which was located directly across the street from the World Trade Center, suffered no damage on 9/11, than its quite possible the objects traveling within the lights are unexplainable as well.


There were 2,970 plus people who died on that day. Four hundred thousand people were exposed to the World Trade Center dust, sixty four of which have died of September 11th related illnesses. Countless volunteers and rescue workers who worked during the relief efforts are now dealing with illnesses that include post traumatic stress disorder, respiratory disorder, and cancer. Seven years later, it is still very clear that we will NEVER FORGET, especially when 9/11 related problems still persist.

My heart and my prayers go out to those affected by this catastrophe.

♥ J'aime Bianca

Fashion Weak

Labor Day seems to invoke a number of different emotions. For those who actually get that day off, it provides a sense of relief because the three day weekend allows you to circumvent the usual Monday blues. For parents, it brings forth an overwhelming sense of joy because it means the kids are going back to school. And for New York fashionistas, Labor Day brings forth feelings of love, passion and creativity because Mercedes Benz Fashion Week is right around the corner.

I must admit, I was eager to be apart of this seasons festivities. I applied to several different internship postings via craigslist with the hopes of being underneath the magical tents. Evidently, I was not the only girl, or guy or transgender person nowadays, who wanted in because my willingness to labor for free was denied. I was completely content with pursing this quest again in the winter, until I met Tom. He was the Wille Wanka to my fashion factory. It is my personal goal to become a fashion stylist, and when I overheard him tell someone he was a fashion stylist on the train, I had to introduce myself. A few extra stops and a business card later, I found myself with the golden ticket – an invitation to a fashion show.

Unfortunately, I let my fashion fantasies exceed my reality. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe I was going to be underneath “the tent” between Heidi Klum and (my all time favorite editor at large) Andre’ Leon Talley, however, the idea of strutting into the promenade or the salon in my lacey pumps had become a reoccurring day dream of mine. The show I attended was not exactly a Fashion Week show; it’s what I like to call a “Fashion Weak” show.

fashion weak (‘fa•sh^ən ‘wēk) noun. – small scale fashion shows that occur during Fashion Week that are not sponsored by Mercedes Benz (does not denote that they are unworthy of attending or that the designers’ collections are weak, they’re just not as glamorous as the shows in Bryant Park).

After fighting the tropical rain storm, spilling pizza grease on my dress (which thankfully did not leave a stain), and breaking the tip of the heel of my shoe on the sidewalk, I stepped off the train at 42^nd Street Grand Central Terminal – a few avenues away from Bryant Park – with my confidence surprisingly still in tact. My bad luck made me perfectly on time to meet Tom and a few of his friends. He greeted me with the same kindness and sincerity that he did when he first met me, and wasted no time telling me about the exciting Verrier show he had just worked at Bryant Park. We watched the Kahri show, which made me covet the “Leader of the Pack” jacket and “Love Child” top, and I made a few new contacts. By 11:00pm, my stain resistant dress and broken lacey pumps were back in the closet, and I couldn’t have been happier. It definitely was not my Fashion Week dream, but it was well worth the adventure.

♥ J’aime Bianca