Brought 2 U By The Letter H

Once upon a time in the burbs a young hot mom named Heather that was new to the sub took her son outside to play. He ran off down the street and found some kids. It was a regular day, non glam, mom life, no make up, boring updo. Just play time in between laundry and dinner. He ran to the corner. The ice cream truck comes down the street. All the kids swarm the corner. I see another Mom approach the truck. By the time I get there...She paid for all the treats for all the kids. I offered to reimburse her for my child. She refused. And introduced herself. With a firm outstretched hand she said "Mrs Brown." I smiled. And said "Heather Jay. Recognize Bitch." No I didn't. I just said "I’m Heather."

Could it be? Was I making a friend in the sub-division? Here we were looking like before the make over (me) and after (her) but who cares? I knew our kids would be going to the same school. Yay. A mom friend. I told my momma. And she got an attitude. "So what she got a husband?" "She just wanted you to know that's her husband and not her baby daddy. You shoulda said Mrs. Henderson." Dear Mom, first of all, yuck. I don't like Mr. Henderson. (I only kept the name for the kid's sake). I be forgetting about him half the time. Also, who cares if she's married. Can't you see I'm assembling my Real Housewives of Redford Township? Its about to be all wine and boobs up in here. And now I'm halfway there.

Fast fwd to the first day of school. I sleep in joggers and tees. I roll out the bed and walk the #1Son to the bus stop. So? What exactly is the dresscode for elementary school drop off? Cocktail party? Semi-formal? Black tie? Wha? Anyway. She works during the day. But her husband MR BROWN? He works nights. So every morning when I’m walking my kid, he’s also walking his... along with many other parents. She drives past and waives on her way to work. Now Mr. Brown is sorta kinda ain't shit. Maybe a little flirtatious. Nah I'm tripping. He's just being nice. Right? One morning he sends the boy alone. BUT! A random mom dressed only in a shortie robe clutching the top to cover her breasteses yells out to the Brown brat, "WHERE YO DEDDY?"

The poor kid hit her with the blank face and somebody said, "Mm." (it was me). It's a naked bish at the bus stop looking for your husband Girl! I felt bad for my new friend that I hadn't seen since the ice cream from weeks before. That's still my girl.

But this was the beginning of our season 1 drama.

Fast fwd again to Parent night. My momma called me to remind me how much I used to hate it when she came up to the school looking bad. "What are you wearing? Don't you embarrass that baby." And yes, I had planned on my afternoon joggers (which are different from my sleep joggers). But I did hate when she wasn't at her best up at the school. My momma was a cold piece. But she worked and was tired a lot. She hated coming up to the school and usually wore that attitude when she came. So!! I put some effort in. Not that much. Jeans. Heels. Lipstick. I let my hair down. I took my handsome lad by the hand and we went to his trap. And his class was next door to the Brown brat. Imagine my surprise to see my old friends the Browns standing in the same hallway as me? Mrs. was speaking with the teacher. But Mr.? Was looking directly at me! He smiled and waived. I smiled and waived. She looked over at us smiling and waiving... and begin screaming! "Who the f#%* is that?!!" She yelled in the hallway with all the other parents who then looked at me like I was Olivia Pope. Yoooooo! He was so embarrassed. He mumbled, "she live on our street. That's Christion's momma." She looked me straight from in my face, eyed me up and down. Then said, "That ain't nonna Christion's momma!" My son looked out at her. Her brat tugged at her arm and said, "That is Christion's Mommy." She said, "Oh." And she continued to cuss Mr out all the way down what seemed like the worlds longest hallway.

Now HOW is my favorite desperate housewife embarrassing me in front of all the other parents like that? "She better check that naked chick from around the corner! What she need to do!" --is what I should’ve said! But I didn’t. I was in shock. I thought we was better than that.

It didn't matter anyway. I had been officially branded as a home wrecker. It was a PTA event after all... When I got home I told my momma what happened. She said, "That's what you get for looking a mess." "I told you when she said Mrs. Brown she wasn't playing about that husband! And she ain't recognize you! That's your fault."

What about the naked lady around the corner Ma? She shoulda been the one getting humiliated in the hallway! Not me! All I did was get cute! "She wasn't there! And you were! That lady probably going off on every woman she thinks want her man." And, actually she was. Needless to say she didn't buy my kid no more ice cream. In fact the Brown brat wasn't cool with #1Son after that. She eventually left her Mr. He moved another woman in. They broke up and Mrs. Brown came back and gained a bunch of weight. And did I mention how friendly she is now? Always trying to speak...  I'm still salty, the magic is gone. We could’ve gone at least 5 seasons like Girlfriends or Cougartown.

The boys have graduated high school by the way. But I'm petty and only speak back half of the time.

Moral of the story. Ladies, don't dial your fine back on these hoes. They don't appreciate it.

Moral of the story: Its never the lady you worrying about, it's always a naked one around the corner that you don't see.So look around the corner.

One day I was walking down the street and I came upon a small gathering of birds. I'm not sure how many make a flock and I don't want to be dramatic, so let's just say, it was more than a mob, but less than a gaggle. I was on a phone call running my mouth at full speed and as I got closer to the birds I realized that they weren't moving out of my way. They continued in their spaces, minding their business pecking at the ground and not making eye contact with me. I had to scoot around them. I had to get out of their way. There was a moment when I got nervous. I stepped delicately through their path and was kind of freaked out. I cleared the birds, looked back at them still not looking at me and an eery chill went down my spine. I knew those birds could take me. That bird gang could legit end my life were they so inclined. The moments we recognize that there is no level of swag, or education, or financial standing, no pair of shoes or car keys, no waists small enough or extremities big enough to stop the sparrows from pecking your eyes out... are the humble moments. The longer we go without forgetting that fact is the art of humility. Some people think that humble means minimizing self or allowing others to minimize. It doesn't. It means remembering that as humans we are capable of much, but still just a speck. We are fragile, we are imperfect and we are at the mercy of the animals every day. And we all we got. So let's treat each other accordingly. Give praise and thanks where it's due. Be grateful for everyday of life and its many blessings. And be kind to one another. #StayHumble

“No! She just got lucky! What does a ghetto girl like her know about real police work?” Adrian said. “Ok, she’s smarter than Carter. But so is a monkey!”

Woo stood up just in case Carter took a well deserved swing at Adrian. Everyone in the precinct knew that their work rivalry was dangerously close to fisticuffs. But Carter just smiled.

“You’re just mad she saw through you. Your mistake was underestimating my sister. You saw a girl from the hood that works at the grocery store and thought she was easy pickings. And when she called out all of your bullshit you got mad. Chelsea is no hoodrat and you know it. She’s a human lie detector and that’s kryptonite to a man that lies to every woman he meets.”

Woo laughed. He knew his partner inside and out. “Ooohhh, burn.”

Carter turned to Totty. “This genius tells her he was almost in the space program.”

Totty laughed out. “Come on A! You out here tellin’ hoes you was in NASA?”

“I could’ve been an astronaut!” Adrian defended.

“Not after Chels rattled off all the requirements. She told him that his glasses were too thick. He needed 20/200 vision and Adrian is nearsighted.”

Woo howled with laughter. “Shorty got skills!”

Carter continued. “He told her he played ball in college, was pre-med, and had been sending money to a family in Zimbabwe. Chelsea caught every lie and at the end of the night he dropped her off and never called her again.”

Woo and Totty were laughing so hard that his hand was slapping the bar and she had buried her head in his chest.

“Yeah, well you still wore Tom Ford sunglasses to the Barristers Ball.” Was Adrian’s only quip.

“I can’t wait to meet your sister now. She’s amazing.” Totty said coming up for air and taking a sip of water.

Carter nodded. “She really is something.”

As if a light bulb had gone off over his head, Woo exclaimed, “Maybe Shorty should be a detective!”

Carter scoffed. “Totty’s right. It's not safe. Besides she's pregnant.”

“Exactly. By a thug in jail for murder. And that's not hoodrattish at all.” Adrian made one last sarcastic crack before dropping a twenty dollar bill on the bar and walking out.

What happens next??? Find out June 3.

...crime solving skillz.

CHELSEA FRENCH refuses to move, refuses to drive and refuses to find a better job. She is perfectly content in her life much to the annoyance of her big brother Carter, who describes Chelsea as “a place where ability and ambition will never meet.” So when she effortlessly solves 2 crimes, her best friend Snap is convinced that Chelsea missed her calling and talks her into a little urban sleuthing. But as much as Carter, the police detective, wants to see her do something better, he might not be ready to see her do something better than him.

Before the ladies cry out just how independent they are keep reading… a damsel in distress isn’t always getting kidnapped and tied to the railroad tracks. You could be too helpless at work, in a social setting, with your kids, with your friends, in the car, in the mall, and in your relationship. Sometimes we bring our own rope. Its not a question of how much you can do for yourself Ms. Independent. The question is how much damseling can you do? There are several different types. All equally annoying to the people around you. Don’t get mad, let’s just take a minute to laugh at ourselves.

You could be the:

Every day is your first day on the job type.  You’ve been on the job for 5 years. You’ve seen people come and go. And while you know the UPS driver by name, every day you have to ask the lady in the next cubicle where the paperclips are kept. You may be the best at your job but some of the smaller tasks that you don’t want to bother your mind with you just assume your co-workers want to remember for you. They don’t.

Here do this for Mommy type. Our kids love us, but they get tired of constantly trying to demonstrate how to you use the iPhone, tablets, remote controls, and microwaves. They might not mind occasionally downloading an app, but if you can’t text, email or take a picture without assistance from the 6 year old maybe you shouldn’t have bought the $500 phone.  So don’t get mad at him when he sighs in frustration every time you call him downstairs. He’s sick of you. We all are.

Lived in the city my whole life and still can’t find 9 Mile type.  It’s after 8 mile. One mile exactly. And your navigational system is far more patient than I am. When you make a wrong turn, she’ll very politely tell you how to go back around. But if you call me the second time asking the same questions about the city you’ve known you’re entire life—I will scream at you. Promise. If you can’t get anywhere without calling in one of your lifelines… you are damseling too much.

Can’t dress yourself type. A woman’s sex appeal is more than just her physical beauty. A big part of it is her confidence and the way she walks into a room. Nothing is sexier than a woman that makes it look effortless and simple. But if you couldn’t buy a New Year’s Eve dress without trying on 10 only to take 3 home and still need the approval of your best friend and your  man. Or worse you end up returning the dress you thought was perfect because your man didn’t like it…( last time I checked we told them what was hot, not the other way around). Independence means picking a dress, owning your decision and rocking it until its time to take it off.

Never have money type. This one is definitely me. I’m the kind of helpless that never has a dollar. I have my visa and my mastercard but not one single dollar. I get parking tickets because I can’t find any loose change in my purse or the creases of my seats. At work, I have to bum money for the vending machine and I didn’t know how annoying I was being until one of my friends heard I was writing this and said to me, “You never have cash.”  (lol)

Needs a personal assistant type. We all have a friend that really should’ve been born rich. She needs a secretary, personal shopper, chef, downstairs maid and chauffeur. Whenever a task needs to be done, if you’re within earshot she’ll ask you to do it. Never in a bossy way, always in the “of course you want to do this for me” way. From going downstairs to get that bag off the sofa to stopping at Meijer on your way to her house —she needs to hit the lottery or do it herself.

Grown ass still afraid of bugs and cats type. We live in a world filled with war, pestilence, tornados and hurricanes that wipe out entire cities in less than 10 minutes. With all the unforeseen things to fear and dread you’re still running around screaming at the moth in the kitchen or the spider on the steps. Do you have to get car jacked before you realize the true evil in the world does not have 8 legs? No one wants to run around killing bugs and shooing cats for you. Get a glass, put it over the spider. Move the glass on the dustpan. Walk outside and put the dustpan down.  Pick up the glass and run back in the house. It’s just that easy. *See also: Still afraid of the dark.

My Daddy is the only man I can depend on type. This is also me. I met a guy that I liked a lot. But when I locked my keys is my car one night I called my daddy. And when he didn’t answer, I just walked home (I was in the neighborhood). And when my new Boo asked me why I didn’t call him—I didn’t have an answer. I think I was afraid he would disappoint me. So I called the man I depend on far too much. And a daddy dependency makes it hard for a man to compete. So you can’t get mad at the new guy when he stops trying.

So you basically just needed me to call AAA for you type.  My friend Ashleigh knows how to change her own spark plugs. I’m very impressed with that. My mom could change her own tires and my neighbor did her own oil changes. Bravo Ladies that know how to maintain their vehicles! But there’s nothing wrong with NOT knowing how to do those things as long as you know how to get them done. Get your AAA membership for the year, and make sure you understand how it works. Don’t call me when you’re stranded just for me to facilitate the towing of your car. They have an 800 number for that.

Can’t stand being alone type. Lonely and alone shouldn’t be the same thing. But for some of you it is. A strong woman enjoys the time she spends with her friends, her loved ones and her lover but can certainly do things alone if necessary. If I’m the only one that wants to go see the new Meryl Streep movie that strangely reminds me of my childhood in its familial dysfunction and no one else wants to go, I’m going without them. And everyone isn’t staring at you when you walk into a room alone. Remember it’s a crazy world, people have other things on their mind than finding flaws with you as you cross the room. And the people that want to hate on you can do that just as easily when you’re with your crew as they can when you’re alone. So get over it. And stop making people go places they don’t want to go with you.

So does “helpless” behavior stem from fear of failure or selfish sense of entitlement? Feel free to comment and let me know what you think. But I say a modern woman can’t be afraid to commit to a decision. She can’t be afraid to try. She can’t be afraid to fail. She can’t be afraid to learn.  It stunts the growth. And how will I ever be the woman I want to be if I won’t let myself grow? I guess I need to carry a little cash and stop calling my Daddy (and stop calling him ‘Daddy’). What about you?

We live in a modern world where a man’s show of interest has replaced tipping his hat with liking a sexy picture and a good morning text replaced a good morning kiss. We can’t complain because while we’ve all fallen victim to misleading signals and mixups due to technology—we give as good as we get. But if I lose my phone or my tablet gets wet I can just get another one. This crazy heart inside of me however, can only take so much abuse and can’t be replaced. Therefore certain kinds of miscommunication must be avoided. I can’t leave the comprehension of who really likes me (and to what extent) to the chance that he might find a meme of Barak and Michelle Obama.

Before an organic bond between a man and woman completely gets replaced for emojis with hearts in the eyes, I’ve composed a list to let you know when he’s not really your guy. Not to ruin your day, but knowing where you stand can only make you happier in the long run. No one has time to run through a maze.

10) His wife calls you. I know it seems obvious to some. But you’d really be surprised at the growing number of women (young and old) that truly believe 1+1= 3. You’re the 1 that needs to get carried to another relationship.

9) If he rates you on Instagram. There’s a game that guys play where they post pictures of girls they know and other guys comment with numerical ratings. When a man values you he doesn’t want another man to see you let alone put a number on you. And if you’re not hip to this, welcome to 2014 where misogyny is already ahead of the game.

8) If you receive your Season’s Greetings, Birthday Wishes, Get Well Soons via text message. When a man cares, he calls you. He sees you. He brings you things.

7) If he watches you struggle. Your car broke down, a check bounced and the overdraft fee left with you only $30 until the next pay day, the driveway is snowed in, there’s a spider on the steps… whatever the disaster, the man that regularly climbs into your bed has absolutely nothing on it beyond a pitiful declaration of sympathy. Now one of my guy friends interjected , “What if she always needs something?” And I concede there are some women that are perpetual damsels in distress. My next blog will be entitled Top 10 Ways to Know if You Damseling too much.

6) If you don’t hear from him daily. There are way too many methods of communication (including carrier pigeon) at our disposal for this to be excused.

5) If it feels… feels… like all he does is take. It isn’t about money spent or materialism; it’s about the interchange of thoughtfulness.  You get a tight feeling in your chest when you want to ask for something because you already know he either won’t do it or worse, he’ll say he will, and then let you down.

This is a good time to interject that any one of the above listed could be explained with general male complacency and selfishness just as easily as it could mean that you’re wasting your time with a wrong guy. But if you find yourself identifying with several of these symptoms at the very least you deserve to treat yourself to a relationship conversation with your fella. Which brings me to my next point.

4) You can’t have a relationship conversation with your fella. He avoids it like its dipped in arsenic. All men would rather push a car uphill in the snow than have a feelings talk with his girl. But the man that belongs to you will do it anyway. Even if he’s huffing, and sighing the entire time. The guy that runs from it, well, doesn’t want to invest emotionally in you. He likes you, just not enough to be uncomfortable.

3) If he doesn’t endorse you. He’s not part of your fan nation. Whatever your verb is, you’re an artist, you’re on the corporate path, you just opened a real estate office—he should be rooting for you loud enough for others to hear. Wouldn’t it be bizarre to watch the red carpet premiere of Angelina Jolie’s new movie and not see Brad anywhere in sight? Well just because you’re not Angelina doesn’t mean your hustle deserves less support.

2) He did more for his Ex. When he tells you the stories of his past life, you get the feeling that she got a better version of him than you’re presently getting. He took her better places, he bought her better things. Now this could just be me in my petty place but why does a woman he didn’t want to be with deserve better than the woman he’s trying to be with? Might be a huge rebound clue. #ijs

1) If everything in your heart tells you he’s not. Before you drive him crazy with a relationship talk have one with yourself. Deep down you know. And this of course assumes you’re not crazy stalker chick. In which case you need to read my next blog: Top 10 Ways to Know If You’re Crazy Stalker Chick.

Hard for some to read. Harder for me to write. I had to confront some of my own delusional behavior. We all make choices and live with the consequences. And facing facts makes it easier for you to make informed decisions. You can still love the guy. Just love in truth not in fantasy.

It was a SoundBoard Heartbreak.

My problem is that I always forget that I said I wasn’t messing with no more crazy people. And I don’t remember until I’m knee deep in someone’s crazy. And of course, there are always clues that I glaze over and shrug off. After all, I’m in the middle of forgetting. How can I be expected to remember when I’m actively doing the opposite? 

Johnny Gill concert. Motor City Casino, 2016. My readers may have noticed that most of my previous stories have been dated. But this last one is quite recent. Which just proves that my unexplainable magnet to cookoo puffs is still fully operational. 

I had casually known Cookoo Puffs for years. Of course I wasn’t calling her cookoo, I was calling her Cool. Because I thought she was. A few months ago, she posted on Facebook that she wanted to go see Johnny Gill at the casino. I commented that I wanted to go too. A couple of days later she calls me and invites me to join her. She’d buy the tickets. I’d drive and buy the drinks. Sounded fair. I didn’t have any other plans, I love all things NE. She’s cool. Why not? 

I’LL TELL YOU WHY NOT! (Sorry, Im getting ahead of myself.)

My friends know me. They know it is not at all uncommon for me to have a small bottle of wine in my purse or a flask in the console of my humble car. So when we set out on our JG adventure, I handed her my pink sequenced flask with the “party girl” inscription. Let’s get this party started. That was the first drink. We parked, went inside, found our seats and had another round while watching Christopher Williams struggle. He died a slow and painful death. Then we had another round. That’s 3, right? I’m good. She wanted more when Johnny came onstage. I told her I would buy one more and then I was done. I was feeling fine, besides I still had to drive us home. But I bought her one last drink just to honor our deal. She drank it swiftly. I could hear the slurp of the final inhale over Johnny’s band. 

Johnny is great. His show is great. She exclaims, “I need another drink!” And goes to the bar by herself. I continue to enjoy Johnny with my eyebrow slightly raised. Uh oh. She came back with 2. Is that 6? The show ends and the 6 have definitely kicked in. I went to the ladies’ room, came back and heard her telling her life story in great detail to a random security officer who’s facial expression was saying to me, “Get your Girl.” I thought it was time to grab a sandwich and go home. But actually it was time to stalk Johnny Gill. 

I will say this. She’s a great stalker. She started with that one random security officer and worked her way up to a member of the band and then Mr. Gill’s brother, Freddy. She begged Freddy to help her meet her idol. She told him about her struggles and her dreams and how much she loved Johnny. She said she was an entertainer and could do impressions and tell jokes. Freddy, possibly taken with Cookoo’s beauty, called up to Johnny’s room and before I knew it, she was waving for me to follow them. I didn’t want to go. Her speech was beginning to slur. This was about to be horrible. 

But I got dragged up to the master suite of Johnny Gill. In a huge living room area that overlooked downtown Detroit. It was a beautiful room. There was no room for a train though. Let alone the train wreck that was coming in fast. 

Johnny and his friends were very nice and hospitable to us. His entourage was made up of family, friends, background singers and dancers. You could tell they were all one big happy family. It was exactly how I want my future entourage to be. One of his singers recognized me from a show and of course that was cool but the overwhelming feeling of doom wouldn’t allow me to enjoy it. Johnny and his friends got comfortable on the crescent shaped sectional couch. A couple of people were scattered around on various chaise loungers and chairs. A buffet of top shelf liquor had been set up by the door. His personal security leaned against the bar. I sat near him. I knew we were going to get thrown out and I thought staying near him would allow me to minimize the fallout. 

Johnny said to Cookoo, “I heard you were a comedian. Gone do something.”

“Okay, just let me get a drink.” she replied heading to the liquor.

“Help yourself.” he replied also motioning to me. I shook my head. 

She knocked over the buffet and a pool of Remy spread across the floor. He was so accommodating and kind to her. Clearly this is the GTFO moment, right? Someone got a towel and cleaned the floor, she managed to get another drink, everyone sat back down. She started her show. There were a couple of brutal old stock jokes at first. The kind that your father’s friend might have told you when you were 10 or Milton Berle might have told on the Tonight Show in 1961. They didn’t go over well. 

Then she went into her impressions. Her drunken impressions. It was supposed to be Beyonce. But it sounded more like Beyonce if she was really drunk and doing an impression of Cookoo. People started laughing but for all the wrong reasons. She kept doing it as eyes got wider and faces got more confused. You could hear the random voices of people saying, “Who tf is this chick?” Cookoo said Johnny was her favorite singer and Eddie Murphy was her favorite comedian. Johnny said:

“Give me your best joke, right now. Your best impression, whatever. I’m going to record it and send it to Eddie.” 

A comedians dream, right? If you’re wondering why I didn’t jump up and try to do something, I’ll tell you. She was swirling down a toilet bowl and I wanted no part of it. 

She jumped up, squealing. She was ecstatic. She took one more drink, (are we at 10 yet?) and a deep breath. I sighed. Johnny hit record and she did that beaten down Beyonce and some other old hack joke. I said to myself, “Eddie is going to cuss Johnny out.” That’s what I would do if somebody sent me that bull ish. Johnny tried to direct her. There were a couple of takes. But it just kept getting worse. 

As if reading my mind, one of the homies said to me in a low voice, “You know you can’t leave her.” Security asked me my name. We chatted for a few minutes. I asked him to let me know when he was ready for her to go so that I could leave with some dignity. He agreed. 

The show was over finally and everyone begin talking among themselves. Cookoo had latched on to some of the singers. I knew we had more than overstayed so I decided to gently admonish Cookoo to leave. She screamed out that I was a hater. So I backed off. She told the singers her life story, including the birth of every child, the college years and the c-section scars that she displayed. At one point she grabbed one of the ladies and said something about being strong supportive women. There was an aggressive one sided hug. Johnny nicknamed her Beyonce and I heard him reference her to laughter a couple of times. “Is Beyonce done?” 

She wouldn’t let go of the one singer who was being so nice to her. She kept grabbing her. Security said, “Heather, its that time.” I got up and walked out. He struggled with her for a minute while the singer was noticeably annoyed and trying to push Cookoo away.” 

And she got thrown out. Freddy came into the hallway and started fussing at her. “I gave you your shot! And what did you do?” 

Now. Here’s the thing about casinos. You can kill a stripper inside of your room but once you get in common areas where those cameras can see you– you might want to be on your best behavior. No breakdowns in the hallway. No tears or fighting. Security will swoop down so fast and have you sitting on Grand River in 15 seconds. Don’t ask me how I know. I will only embarrass one person at a time. 

So when she began to ball uncontrollably, screaming out how sorry she was, barely able to walk in flats, telling the entire floor how much she loved Johnny… I got so mad. I told her to pull it together. Freddy and I got her to elevator and down to the lobby. 

We were about a 3 minute walk to the car. 

30 minutes later she was cussing me out in the lobby of the casino but not before she offered fellatio to a random casino employee. I wanted to just call her an uber and leave her there. But in her condition I didn’t want it on my conscience if someone assaulted her. She was the perfect victim. At least I’m not a fairweather friend. I could’ve shrugged my shoulders and told her, “Its your body.” But she would’ve ended up making love in the elevator. And I would’ve felt bad. She just needed some quiet time to sleep it off. Besides, I knew she was going to wake up so embarrassed to the reality that she was not the lady dujour. 

She wanted to continue stalking Johnny and that’s why I was getting verbally abused. She didn’t stop until we got to Southfield.

“You’re a hater and a miserable person!”

“Eddie is going to send for me! You’ll be sorry when I don’t take you!”

“I only invited you to help you out! I’m about to get on! But I’m not doing anything for you now! You’re ugly!”

etc. At the top of her lungs. In my humble car. 

Thought it was going to end in the driveway. But it ended with her chasing my car down the street as I pulled away. 

Lesson: When people don’t have their own friends to go to concerts with…that’s probably a sign that they are unfuckwithable. Take heed. 

I did manage to grab this one selfie before she got throw’d out. She didn’t notice. Probaby was in the middle of a child birth story. 

Summer, 2012. Detroit to Atlanta. Construction on I-75 added about two hours to an already intense drive. They were breaking up, only she didn’t know it. I remember pulling out of the gas station in Cincinnati, knowing there was a good seven hours in front of us, and saying to myself “Why am I in this car?“ 

We’ll call her Superwoman. Because she was always trying to save a man that didn’t deserve to be saved. Independent, smart, good job, good head on her shoulders with a soft and desperate heart– the type that was doomed to attract Mr. Wrong. I was kind of sort of having a bad month… season…year. Superwoman suggested a getaway. She's cool like this: Her family reunion was coming up in Atlanta and she said she would appreciate the company for the ride down. I wasn’t feeling it. I didn’t think the answer to my problems was spending the weekend with someone else’s family. I don’t even do full weekend reunions with my own. I’m the cousin that shows up at one thing and blows off the rest. But she could talk you into anything. She had solutions to every possible objection I could throw up. So once she decided that she wanted me to join her on this trip, she worked out where I would stay what I would do, and how I would occupy myself when she was with her family. I did have friends and family of my own in Atlanta, and the idea of performing at some comedy shows was appealing to me. So I agreed to help drive Superwoman and her young daughter down south. Only 11 hours if we speed. 

Now Super had started seriously dating a comedian compadre of mine. I tried to tell her that it wasn’t a good idea. I often try to tell women dating comedians is not a good idea. Even an unknown comic with no money has a stable of women and THE most entitled attitude. I wouldn’t wish some of those dudes on a middle school mean girl that drafts a slam book who grows up and doesn’t change. In spite of my admonishment, she pushed ahead and pursued a relationship with a man I’ll lovingly call User. (Comedy is a weird fraternity. We love even the weakest of our own.) 

Thursday:

The morning of our departure, I packed a light but fly bag and arrived at her house bright and early as instructed. It would take about an hour to rent a car and drop a car off etc. During the trip she announced that User was joining us after all. I immediately raised an eyebrow. My presence was no longer necessary. But again she insisted that it was. While he agreed (was eager even) to meet her family and attend at least one function– he had booked some shows and wouldn’t be around much. But! He was paying for the hotel room and kicking in on gas. My eyebrow stayed raised. I knew he didn’t want to really hang out with her family. Why? Because I didn’t. Weird fraternity. Like Jerry Seinfeld said in an interview, 2 very different comedians can be more alike than everyone else around them. I knew his mind. So…we get back to the house, wake up Baby Girl and pack the car while waiting for User to get up, shower, pack and finally bring his stuff outside. We saved him some trunk space. But not nearly enough. I noticed that he was bringing a lot of things for a four-day weekend. Every pair of shoes he owned in fact. The daughter and I had to ride with his Nike boxes on our laps in addition to the duffel bags and the garbage bag that contained the rest of his things. I knew then that he wasn’t coming back with us. This nigga was moving. And a premonition of doom laid heavy on my chest. I felt like I was watching her board the Titanic. I could only hope that I was wrong. Maybe he was just a diva supreme and I never knew it. Maybe? He had already put us 2 hours behind schedule.  

Once we were on the road, I chatted for a few minutes before Baby Girl and I drifted off to sleep around Toledo. When I woke up we were in Cincinnati at a gas station. User jumped out of the car to go pay for gas and before the door even close behind him she looks back at me, distraught eyes wide open and said “He hasn’t said a word to me in three hours.” Here’s the thing about comics. We can be dark, broodish, temperamental and quirky. We are artists. I’ve been on the road with comedians that didn’t talk in the car. I’ve been in the company of some very funny people onstage that acted really crazy offstage. So my first reaction was to charge his behavior to some possible artistic quirk. I told her about a time I was on the road and a mutual friend did something similar to me. I was giving him the benefit of the doubt and was thus dismissive of her concerns. She was probably tripping. She asked me to take over driving for a few hours and I happily complied. She got in the back to catch a nap and he remained in the front. He was talking before we were out the gas station lot. Words faster than the speed of sound, animated, excited. I looked in the rear view mirror, saw her facial expression, shook my head and said to myself  “Why am I in this car?” The rest of the ride was brutal. He would only talk to me and the daughter. He was laying the groundwork for a fight that would be his reason to leave her once we got to Atlanta. And she was completely blindsighted by the 180 he was doing. She was confused. I wasn’t. Of all the low-life, douchebaggery. He was really about to ruin our weekend all for a ride to Atlanta. When she wasn’t looking, I would just stare at him throwing all kinds of side eye and curse eye. And without an ounce of remorse, he would say loudly, “What’s wrong Heather? We going to Atlanta! We bout to kill it!” And then he would laugh. I won’t lie. He made me laugh a couple of times too. 

By the time we finally got to Atlanta it was late. But Super wanted to drop her daughter off with Grandma and the cousins. We pulled up into her brothers fabulous house, that I would have loved to tour any other time. But not now. She hadn’t figured it out yet. But I had. The best thing for her to do is take her daughter inside, kiss her parents (without even acknowledging that we were in the car) and set a time to meet up with them in the morning. I let my seat back preparing to take another nap in the car while she went inside. She was going to hate having to answer questions about where her friends were. Remember, I had already made other plans to occupy my stay in Atlanta and it was obvious that her wack ass boyfriend wasn’t going to be at the family picnic. I thought it was best if everybody just stayed in the car while she dropped her daughter off. If they don’t meet us, they can’t miss us. But her persistent, insistent, controlling ass stood at the passenger side door open fussing at me to come inside. User had already jumped out eager to go inside and meet her family. In a low voice I said to him, “Why? You know you’re not trying to be here tomorrow.” He laughed. We get inside and boy oh boy does User turn on the charm. He actually told Super’s mother that she looked more like a sister! And her family fell in love with him in 5 minutes. He was huggy and lovey and flattering. He was complimentary and oily. He was what parents want their daughters to bring home. And I couldn’t believe how horrible he was behaving! The audacity to come to her family and actually pretend that he cared for their daughter and was looking forward to spending the weekend with them. And she bought into it as well. Grinning from ear to ear she thought he had rebounded from his stank attitude of earlier and was about to go back to being the wonderful boyfriend he had been faking to be. Until we got back in the car. He said, “Heather! They liked me better than you.” Because Heather sat quietly in a corner trying not to be noticed. But by the time we left I knew the Titanic had hit the iceberg. And I had a sinking feeling that even if they didn’t like me they would by the end of the weekend since it was beginning to look like I was going to be her date.  

By the time we checked into the hotel, he  was back to snapping at her and focusing most of his conversation toward me. This nigga… We were tired but still excited to be in the A and chatty about all we planned for the weekend. I was linking up with my high school friends who promised to show me a good time. And I had 2 guest spots on comedy shows. He needed to make a mysterious phone call in the hallway at 1 am. WTF? When he left the room, she once again expressed her concern for his demeanor. I suggested they have a talk when he returns. Put it on the line, find out what’s what. I tried to stay awake until he came back, she needed to talk. But I eventually dozed off on the couch. When he came back in the room, she was in the bed. He had a Walmart bag with him. The room was mostly dark and he couldn’t see me looking at him in utter disgust. He had been gone for hours. It was about 3 am and Walmart was next door. We woke up. I flat out asked him, “Where you been? And what you got in that bag that’s so important?” Had it been a toothbrush or some other necessary toiletry his late night trip to Walmart would have been slightly understandable but it wasn’t. And I knew it wasn’t! I knew he was trying to stay out long enough for her to be sleep, thus avoiding the obvious questions she would have about his behavior. He pulled a jump rope out of the bag. It was the second time I would say to myself, “Why did I come?”

A jump rope. 

Friday:

I woke up knowing I had to be the first one out the door or else I would be stuck being the violinist that had to keep playing when the boat was breaking in half. I jumped up quick and ran into the shower. I was texting my friend. I was dressed and ready to ride in 20 minutes. I could put make up on in the car. But when I came out the bathroom I immediately noticed that all 17 Nike boxes were gone. I was screaming DAMN DAMN DAMN like Florida when she dropped that punch bowl. I ran outside, knowing I couldn’t stop him but wanting to give him one more evil eye before he left. Just one more wish of death. He was standing with her in the atrium of the hotel. He hugged me, and wished me well for my shows. He gave me some advice. I couldn’t thank him. I hated him too much. And then it happened. 

A big black SUV pulled up bumping Notorious BIG. Some big dude jumped out and dapped up the User. I was introduced as a new up and coming comedian and I was polite to the man that was part of the plot to destroy our weekend. User got in the truck, gave Super a very insincere promise to call her later. But we both knew he wasn’t. They pulled off, sounds bumping, embodying everything Atlanta is in the summer. We stood and watched them drive away. I was afraid to look at her, but I did. Tears were coming down her face. In my mind I was screaming, arms outstretched, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!”  And part of me whispered, “Take me with you.”

Did I mention it was 4th of July weekend? And I couldn’t leave her. She was too distraught. She told me I had to come to the family Meet and Greet. I told her no. She said I had to because her family would be looking for me. THATS WHY I DIDN’T WANT TO GET OUT THE CAR!!!!! 

Meanwhile Baby Girl has been left in the care of Grandma, who I ever heard telling an Auntie that she was not going to spend the weekend babysitting. I told Super what I heard her Momma say and she dismissed me. The Meet and Greet was nice. The family was staying in a better hotel than us. 

Saturday: 

I woke up hoping she was feeling better. She was my girl, but she wasn’t me. I would have handled that different. Not necessarily better, but different. I would have gotten a boyfriend for the weekend. There would have been no feeling bad and dragging around. But who am I to tell her how to grieve? He did some major effed up ish to her. I was sympathetic but impatient. It was a long weekend. I needed her to shake it off. And not just because I had plans I was eager to get back to, or because I was tired of talking about it. But mainly because I don’t cry and fall apart when its me. I don’t know how to do that for someone else. And he was obviously not the One. What I hadn’t realized is that his betrayal had triggered other betrayals. Because she was Superwoman and had to save all the Mr Wrongs of the world. She was an emotional wreck. 

I had dinner plans with one of my homies so I called my cousin to take Superwoman out to a poetry spot since she didn’t want to be around her family. Where was Baby Girl?

Sunday:

One of my dearest friends was determined that our plans would not be derailed another day. She called emphatic about picking me up to take me to some basketball player’s pool party. Of course I wanted to go. Superwoman was already yelling at me to go to her family picnic. But I want to hang out with my friend. And the ball players. At the pool. That’s your family. She guilted me as she had been doing since User left with her tears and tirades. “Why can’t you come to the picnic with me and then we BOTH go to the pool party?”

“Because you haven’t spent anytime with your family and you need to be with them today. Because you’re super emo and we want to have fun with rich men. Because its 4th of July and you keep crying. Because you’re killing my swag.”– No I didn’t say any of that. I thought it though. 

We get to the picnic. My friend is trying to come pick me up for this party. I was hoping once Super got with her cousins, there would be some healing or nurturing that she would realize she needed. My family would have had my back and got me right. My grandmother would have died if she saw me crying over a shiftless no-good man. And my Aunts would have strengthened me. I would’ve felt invincible after a day with them. But every family is different. And I guess Super felt she would be harshly criticized and judged. Baby girl runs up to us with hugs and smiles although not exactly up to black family reunion standards. Hair not combed, clothes not ironed. Super fussed about her mother not doing anything. I reminded her that her mother said she wouldn’t. I was dismissed again. 

After threatening to dip out, Super compromised with my friend and we agreed to meet at some hot bar in Buckhead for the evening. We got in the area, parked and began to walk a little. It was hot. I was walking fast. I was emotionally exhausted by gloom and doom and wanted desperately to see my friend and have some fun. If only just a little. Super’s uncle called her. He was the oldest brother, patriarchal and a Pastor. When he spoke, the family listened. We stopped off in another dive spot so she could speak with him. He was upset because it had come to his attention that Baby Girl had basically been left unattended for 3 days. And now Super was having to explain why even though she had been told no one was watching her child she kept leaving anyway. She was already at an emotional 15. His call took her to a 25 (on a scale of 1-10). As we approached the bar my friend was at, as I was getting happy for the first time in 3 days– she was breaking down on the sidewalk. In Buckhead. 4th of July weekend. I lost it. Yelling, screaming, PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER. F*** THAT NIGGA! – at one point I actually screamed in the street– “WE ABOUT TO GO IN THIS BAR AND HAVE SOME FUN! YOU BETTER NOT EMBARRASS ME! THIS IS BUCKHEAD!” #BadFriend #HorribleFriend But it seemed to do the trick. She was still gloomy but at least she started trying to shake it off. 

Monday:

Another intense drive home. I was nice to her but I did have to check her a few times for fussing at Baby Girl. You’re not about to take this out on her either. I drove the last leg of the trip. I was doing about 100 mph. I couldn’t get out the car fast enough. I had not another ounce of emotional energy left for this chick or her jackass bf who hadn’t called her once all weekend and didnt come back to Detroit for a few months. 

I did get a chance to perform at the comedy club in Atlanta. And he called me after the show to ask me how it went and offer some encouragement. I couldn’t tell her because I knew it would crush her. I fussed at him though. His last words to me, “I couldn’t deal with it. I had to get out of there.” She really was better off. She deserved so much better than him. And eventually she realized that. But it was a while before I could talk to either one of them. 

Nemesis- the person or persons that every time I see, I squint my eyes… Like Peter when he sees that chicken.

Summer, 2006. I was in New York covering the Urban World Film festival. Just so happened that was the same weekend that Jay Z’s 10-year anniversary show for Reasonable Doubt was at Radio City Music Hall. I’d never seen Sean before and I wanted to go. I had collected a few connects and I hoped that at least one of them could get me in. By this time in my film critickin’ I had figured out that everyone was just one connect away from being anywhere they wanted to be. I had exhausted all my angles even asking my friend Rob Stapleton (who portrayed Jay-Z in a Roc film) to call him up and get me in. Yeah so.. He was like nah. I threw a Hail Mary pass at a record exec homie of mine on the west coast. And as it turned out he had the plug. Well…not exactly. What he had was a homegirl who just so happened to be regularly screwing Memphis Bleek. She was one of those professional groupie types that owed him a few favors. He said that she would probably go with him and that I could just go with her. Crash Bleek’s entourage? Can I do that? Is that even a thing? He assured me it wasn’t a big deal. And I believed him because he was Jeezy’s friend. Why didn’t he just ask Jeezy? Clearly I didn’t have the juice for that kind of favor. But the night might’ve gone smoother for me… Then again I might’ve got ran by some BMFs at the after party. YOU BETTER TAKE THIS BLEEK AND LIKE IT!   My friend gave me the groupie’s number and told me to connect with her. She was kinda cold, you could tell she was only tolerating me because of whatever my friend had told her to do. I could see this girl was in wayyyy too deep. Her attitude didn’t phase me though. I just kept thinking, “You not sweet. I could see if it was a Diplomat.” (We all had our favorite back in those days.) And she wasn’t being mean to me, just dry… like a tired hoe might reasonably be. It wasn’t like I was willing to lay with Freeway. I was riding on all of HER hard work. And we both knew it. First off, there was no going in with Bleek. She told me to meet her on the corner across the street from Radio City. This was my first inkling that we might not get in. But my inner adventuress had to see how this was about to play out. What’s the worse that could happen, right? We either get in or we don’t.

Or… This wasn’t my first time at the “mixed chic that’s so pretty famous dudes want to bang her” rodeo. I had a couple of friends that had already made attempts at that life. And sometimes hanging out with those kind of men, be it professional ball players, entertainers or politicians, there are moments that look just like a music video… there are also moments that you wish you had just stayed home. Like the time an NBA player took us to dinner and proceeded to call my girl a few different type of B***CH before the Veuve and filets were even at the table just because he could and as he said, “she ain’t going nowhere”. Or the time we were styling in VIP and a guy very randomly just begin to shower my girl with champagne until she was down on the ground soaking wet. His reason? He was “sick of light skin hoes”. So I was long since disillusioned to the fallacy that pretty women get treated better and rich men are good men.  

So I left off with us walking across the street and finding the stage entrance at Radio City. Security knows this groupie chic but makes no qualms about their dislike of her. Eyes rolling as the first door opens, an exasperated sigh as we get past the second checkpoint. Why do everybody hate you Ma? A certain back steps led up several stairs to a VIP green room where all the cool famous people were… And food… And liquor. She had done right by me and I should’ve just thanked her and found my way out to the seats. But I technically didn’t have one and nobody knew me so I followed her. We headed for those stairs and ran into Bleek and another dude coming down. The look on his face when he saw us. I had seen that look before. My friend that dated the NBA player had dated a few pro ballers. They all made that face. It’s a combination of “I’ve had you and I’m bored with it.” And “You ain’t coming in.” Oh snap! Of all the days for him to be done with her it had to be the day she was with me? “Why are you here?” Or maybe he said, “Why is you here?” I can’t remember exactly. I’m omitting some of the details that are fuzzy in my mind. I don’t want to get accused of lying. I just remember his aggitation. I had started backing down the steps at this point. The terror had set in. His face, the security’s face and The Jay Z song Do It Again were all running through my head.

“6:15 I be kicking her out!”

It’s not like these Rocafella dudes weren’t capable of humiliating women. (Flashback to video clip of Jay-Z slapping that girl in the hallway). And here it is! We was about to get thrown out of Radio City Music Hall just moments before the Reasonable Doubt Anniversary show. Alicia Keys was there. The Roots were there. Jeezy was there! (I didn’t know any of this at the time, btw, some friends at the festival who had legitimate press passes told me later) I didn’t know much about Hollywood but I knew getting thrown out of a celebrity gala was NOT the look I was going for. Little did we know that Solange would change the rules on gala behavior 9 years later. I started walking down the steps. But not before I heard “Who the f$&k is that?” The “who” was me! I started walking faster. She stayed and argued with him as I hightailed it out of the stairwell. She can get thrown out by herself. I don’t even know her like that. But not Heather Jay! Not today! When I told my LA friend what happened he wasn’t surprised. He labeled her as an opportunist and basically said that once dudes figure out how she’s cut, they cut her. Woulda been nice to know BEFORE the concert. Still would have gone with her but definitely would have asked a couple of questions crossing the street. Don’t worry Family, she didn’t get booted from joint. The next day she posted pics with Jay and Bleek to her MySpace (again with the MySpace H? What can I say? ‘Twas the season.) And Jay Z didn’t exactly take a pic with her as much as he stood a few feet away from her when she was taking a picture. Somebody must have called his name because he glanced up just in time to look confused. I shook my head when I saw it. I wasn’t even sure that the photo was taken the same night. But she had managed to turn the night into a flossable moment. I, on the other hand was too embarrassed to even talk about it. So, I wasn’t even slightly jealous. The price of that picture was $AllOfHerDignity.99.

I attached a picture of the show I found on MTVs website. You can see how big the audience was. That’s where I hid out until I realized that I didn’t really like Reasonable Doubt that much when it came out. I heard Mary J wasn’t there to perform Can’t Knock the Hustle so I left after Foxxy came out for Ain’t No N$&$@. I figured who could do a better job than Mary? Beyoncé. I should’ve known she’d be there. This was around the time they were still denying their very obvious relationship. Of course he would close out the show with his Boo. But I didn’t find that out to the next day either… I’m not really sure who my nemesis is in this story… I hated so many people by the end of the night (including myself for pursuing an event I wasn’t quite ready to pull off). But I feel like if ever see Bleek again I would definitely give him the squinted eyes. And what I found humiliating was probably old hat for him, definitely for her… Which is why I won’t worry about being sued for writing this.

Everybody can get these hands. These words. This side eye. Even famous people.

Detroit City, 2005. Charles H Wright Museum of African-American History. Private room upstairs. Press junket. Place was lit. Guest of honors were the Tate brothers, Larenz, Lahmard, and Laron (I think. It was something with an L). In the main ballroom below there was a sold out screening of their first joint project as brothers. An abomination of a film called THE HOT SPOT. We, the press were privileged enough to meet and greet the brothers upstairs, followed by a round table discussion of the film. I was the youngest and finest sister in the room and was asked to sit directly across from Larenz.

At the time, I was known as the Urban Film Critic. My endgame was to be the first black woman version of Roger Ebert. I had a website and a lanyard with a sexy pic of myself on it. I had gained a little momentum thanks to a lot of love shown by a Paramount publicist named Dawn. She invited me out to cool events like this one, she passed my name on to other publicists so in a few short months I had made a lot of headway in the Detroit press community meeting several celebrities, and attending events. I might have thought I was hot stuff… but unfortunately this was my first lesson in how popularity and revenue are not the same thing. So the brokeness kept me humble.

Sitting across from Larenz I did get a little more attention than the other journalists. We talked about his movie, his inspirations but I was also able to broach other topics of convo…such as, my website. At the time I was trying to drive more traffic to the site. My reviews weren’t cutting it. So I ran a promotion called “Top 25 Black Films”. I encouraged people to vote their top picks and I would update the site daily to reflect the results. At the time of our meeting, all of the Tates’ films had made the list including Love Jones, Why Do Fools Fall In Love, Menace II Society and Don’t Be A Menace. I told him about the promotion and asked him for a quote or a drop that I could use to further market the site. He sat up with enthusiasm when I described the promotion. He asked for details regarding how I tallied the votes and how his films were ranking. I was happy to be getting this extra conversation time with a famous person so I blabbed on and on outlining my promotion. He asked that I give his personal publicist the website information. She stepped into the conversation and took my name, email and website information. I was super geeked and honored that he was taking an interest in my dinky little site. We all took some pictures and then adjourned downstairs to catch the end of the screening and the Q&A that would follow.

Do I even have to tell you how the Detroit sisters represented for this screening? 300 strong. All fine. Nobody got caught slipping. These women came to meet Mr Love Jones himself… but before they could meet him, they had to sit through his awful film. They considered it a small price to pay. But about halfway through the movie they changed their minds. Some had already started walking out. And the women that stayed only did so because they wanted to curse Larenz out. And that’s exactly what happened. The Tate brothers learned that Detroit women don’t care who you are when you waste their time.

THE HOT SPOT was a comedy about a sexual predator who had lied to several women and finally got caught cheating by all of them. It was like How To Be A Player only without the jokes, cinematography, casting, sound quality, and overall production value. It was like John Tucker Must Die without the Ashanti factor.

The Q&A was a disaster. I can still see Larenz’ face as he squirmed to answer such questions as:

“What in the HELL?”

“How could you make some mess like that?”

“We expected better from you!”

And my favorite from a woman I could tell had just left the salon and the mall to attend this event. You could read the disappointment on her face. And she was broke now.

“That was some bullshit!”

Everybody can get these hands. These words. This side eye. Even famous people. This is Detroit.

The Q&A that was scheduled for an hour lasted about 12 minutes before the Tate brothers escaped out of a side door with the voices of 300 fussing black women behind them.

And that was that. Until…. the next week when Larenz’ personal publicist begin to email me daily about assisting her in promoting the film in the Detroit market. That film? To my people? Ummmm… no? Larenz got enough credibility to handle a flop. I, on the other hand, just got to the party. She was trying to get me thrown out. I pacified her over the next few weeks, by posting pics of the event to my website and MySpace page.

And then one day a few months later.. I was channel surfing and I saw a familiar face. He said, “Welcome Back! I’m your host Larenz Tate and this is BET’s Top 25 Black Films!”

I don’t know what part of the countdown I came in on. And I admit I smiled for about 15 seconds before I realized what I was watching. There he was, seated on a couch counting down the top 25 black films. Just like I had told him. And it was another 2 hours before I accepted that he had actually stolen the idea from me. I wrestled with him being a nice guy and not needing to steal from little old me. But his publicist was relentless on my webpage. He took my ish to BET and cut me out of the deal. She emailed me for weeks about his crappy movie but not one email to say, “btw Heather we took your concept to BET!”

Nemesis worthy? I think so. And of course it could have all been a coinkey-dink but cmon nah….

That was a year before I started doing comedy. And when I told my veteran comedy friends the story they scoffed and told me their stories about bigger names stealing bigger projects. There were tears. It could’ve been worse. So I decided to let it go. I guess he showed me that my ideas were good enough for television. And I needed that boost of confidence.

And I still could remember him squirming in that room full of angry black women when I needed a good laugh. I retroactively loved every woman that screamed at him.

That was my welcome to showbiz.

Next up in the Nemesis Stories: Memphis Bleek. Radio City Music Hall. Jay Z is involved but he has no lines. A side chick plays a big part. It was all her fault.

"Not knowing who you want to serve or who your ideal customer or client is was at the top of the list of the Biggest Mistakes and Challenges that business owners and professionals make."

3. Not wanting to give up control