Joy’s Rant List Volume 58: Own Your Shit

The worst invention in the history of this planet is the modern toilet.

Joy – wtf.  How is a TOILET the worst invention in history?  Not the nuclear bomb? Not the many versions of biological weapons? Not the Twinkie?


The toilet is the worst invention of all time because it was the toilet that taught people how to ignore their own shit.

(Warning: I use the word ‘shit’ 35 more times in this blog.  Just FYI)

Before there were ‘water closets’, people had to squat over a chamber pot, or go outside to the outhouse, or straddle a latrine.  The smell was awful, I’m sure.  And you had to pick up that chamber pot and dispose of it outside – unless you were already outside with one of the other methods.  Suffice it to say, before the advent of the flushable toilet, there was no getting away from what you had pushed forth into the world.  Everyone knew what you had just done, and people dealt with it.  You couldn’t flush it away and pretend it didn’t happen.


But once the flushable toilet was created, people were able to squat over the bowl and then just pull a handle and voila! – no more shit.  Nothing to have to dispose of outside, nothing leaving a constant lasting stench in the corner of the room.  No evidence of your actions, except maybe a lingering whiff, so no one but you knew what you did.  Like the saying goes: if a tree falls in the woods and no one hears it, did it happen? By that logic: if you take a shit and no one sees or smells it, did the shit ever happen?  The flushable toilet was the first worldwide example of humans avoiding the consequences of their actions. Once this happened, people started to do this in other areas of life.  If nobody saw it, it didn’t happen.  And if somebody caught a ‘whiff’ that something was off, you could pretend that they were just imagining it, and deny, deny, deny:

“Did you just take a shit?”

“Do you smell shit?”

“No. It smells like roses… and something else – “

“Well if you don’t smell shit then there is no shit, so stop asking stupid questions.” 

You could argue that Air Freshener was the first known method of gaslighting someone.

 Being able to flush your shit away, never to be seen again, had other unforeseen consequences.  The ability to not see or smell your own shit made people start to think that their shit didn’t stink. This is the foundation of hypocrisy: condemning someone else for something that you have also done.  Hypocrisy leads to a lack of empathy.  In the human experiment with eye color, conducted by the national treasure and renowned researcher Jane Elliott, you see blue-eyed children – who have been told they are ‘better’ – turn hostile and start bullying the children with brown eyes. They were little assholes, because they thought their shit didn’t stink.  They thought they were better than their brown-eyed fellow students.  Some of the brown-eyed kids cried and were traumatized.  But when the experiment turned a full 180 and now the blue-eyed kids were on the lower social standing, they immediately began to cry and despair.  Why?  Because they were afraid that the brown-eyed kids would treat them the same way they had gotten treated earlier.  The blue-eyed kids feared being ‘downstream’, because they knew how badly they had acted when they were ‘upstream’.  Now here is the most interesting part of the experiment: the brown-eyed kids were not NEARLY as cruel to the blue-eyed kids, once they were put on top in the experiment. Why didn’t they take the chance to get revenge?  BECAUSE THEY KNEW WHAT IT FELT LIKE TO BE ON THE RECEIVING END.  And they couldn’t bring themselves to do that to someone else.  They’d been there, and they could empathize.

The world needs more empathy.

A lack of empathy is what leads to contempt of others and their situation.  You haven’t smelled your own shit in so long, that you now have nothing but disgust for people who still use outhouses.  We dehumanize anyone who doesn’t have the same advantages in life that we have.  We call them ‘animals’ or ‘savages’, when really, they’re just humans going through some shit.  We pass homeless people on the street and maybe we feel sorry for them but at the same time we are mightily offended by their smell. Don’t try to act like you aren’t. They smell like shit, but they shit the same as you – you just forgot what it was like to have to deal with it.  You think you are better than someone else because you have access to water or air freshener? GTFOH.

Would you even start some of the shit you have started in life, if you had to deal with all of the results? Would you really super-size your meal or stuff an entire Chipotle burrito in your mouth if you knew you had to deal with it again at the exit? Think of all the times you picked a fight and walked away, or told a ‘white lie’ to a friend, or let someone believe a lie because it benefitted you.  Did you ever consider what would go on downstream?  Would those choices be worth it?  What if you had to be down there to catch all the shit you had been slinging over the years? 

In the words of R&B legend and national treasure James Brown: “Don’t start none, won’t be none.”

If you haven’t figured it out by now, I am talking about the world having a general lack of personal accountability.  We, as a species, have learned how to cast blame instead of take blame.  We fart and blame it on the dog.  Or we do a half-assed job at work and then file a lawsuit when we get fired.  Or we skip class and then snapchat about how unfair it is that the final exam is in another building.  We punch a child in the face and then cry about how the child hurt our hand.  We make excuses.  We murder innocent citizens and then blame them for getting in the way of the bullets.  We ruin lives and end careers by lying or covering up a crime.  We rape women, men, and children and then excuse it because “it’s in the past”. We already flushed that away. And then we have the nerve to get offended if we are ever reminded of our past transgressions – “why’re you bringing up old shit?”

Sooner or later, the chickens will come home to roost, the dog will have its day, you will reap what you sow, and the shit will hit the fan.  IT ALWAYS DOES. Toilets do back up.  It may not be today or tomorrow.  It might be generations from now.  Just know that it will happen.  And then, what will you do?  Everyone knows that once the toilet is broken, everything else in the house stops. The amount of energy, pain, inconvenience, anger, frustration, and disinfectant that it takes to remedy a backed-up toilet makes you think in the moment: “I don’t ever want to be in this situation again.”

But what if everyone disposed of their own shit?  Handled it from colon to grave?  What if we dealt with our shit and actually tried to make the most of it? What if we ate only what we needed to live and then composted our refuse to keep the soil viable for the future?  Turned it into biofuel?  Used it as fertilizer like in the movie The Martian?  Have we thought about how we are shitting on the planet?  Shitting on the future? Shitting on each other?  I don’t want to go back to latrines and out houses.  I’m not saying we should get rid of toilets. THAT WAS AN EXTENDED METAPHOR.  What I AM saying is that we all need to be more aware of what we push forth into the world, and think about the consequences of our actions.  The Golden Rule says, ‘do unto others as you would have them do unto you’.  I want to take that further. Eat like you have to clean the bathroom.

Shit like you’re the one that lives downstream.

keep calmSo what have we learned today? Avoiding your own shit makes you a horrible person.  Learn to deal with your own shit, and stop shitting on other people. The world is a sphere, so sooner or later, you WILL be downstream.  And when that happens, you will wish everyone else dealt with their own shit.  So be the change you want to see.

In 2018: Don’t start none, won’t be none.

Rant 58 done, and I’m out.


Joy’s Rant List, Volume 57: My Celebrity Crush is Better than Yours

What’s good people!  I am dedicating this rant to two groups of people: my friends and family who can’t for the life of them understand what fuels my current obsession with Les Twins, and the Les Twins Clique – my Instagram family of fellow Les Twins fans – THEY GET ME AND I GET THEM. What most fans will tell you about the Twins is that they deeply affected their lives at a point in time that really mattered. That is my experience too. Let me explain…

In the last year I have traveled to Iceland, Costa Rica, Belize, and countless other little fun weekend things. Sounds exciting, right? Don’t be fooled.  One of the reasons I traveled so much is that I was becoming depressed.  So I tried to ‘travel it away’ – and I was also low-key looking for an escape plan if the shit hit the fan in the US. I have not felt … at home … in my own country for about a year now.  (Yes, you are assuming the right reasons.)  None of the things I loved were making me happy anymore.  I love video games, but somehow PlayStation became stale. I love to travel, but it was always over too quickly, and I didn’t want to come back. I basically just disconnected from everything.  Nobody knew this, but I was truly struggling with caring about, or being interested in anything…

And then NBC’s World of Dance came on the air.  And Larry and Laurent Nicolas Bourgeois blew my freaking mind.


I’ve always loved dance competitions and yes, I watch them all.  SYTYCD, DWTS, ABDC, random YouTube dance videos, you name it.  But when WOD came out, I heard that Les Twins were competing. My first thought was: “Is that even fair? Aren’t they, like, professionals or something?” They are.  But so were Fikshun, Kinjas, Keone and Mari, and hell, the Jabbawockeez have their own show in Vegas.  At the million-dollar level, everybody’s in! I won’t bore you with the details, just know that Les Twins won the show.  And they deserved to win and if you say something else I will come to your house and fight you in your face!  

Anyway… I fell in love with Les Twins on this show.  I had seen them before, but hadn’t really connected with them until now.  I love good choreography, and I had been expecting them to be good, but not a “HOLY SH…” level of good.  Normally, hip-hop dancers cannot evoke the level of emotion that you can get from ballet or contemporary dance.  Either the music doesn’t lend itself to that, or the dance moves are one-dimensional.  A pop-lock is always going to be a pop-lock. A windmill is always going to be a windmill, I don’t care how much you change up the music.  You can break dance to Celine Dione and it still just won’t convey emotion. (Sidebar: this is why every other hip-hop act got eliminated in WOD this year.) But Les Twins convey emotion VERY well.  The reason that they can do this so well is the same reason that some people don’t “get” them.

They are not ‘dancers’.  Ask them and they will tell you.  They are creators of urban movement. Think of them as “lyrical” hip-hop dancers. The moves they create are their interpretation of the melody and beat in the music. They don’t use many steps that have names, and they are self-taught.  They make up their own moves based on the song. Their ability to move their bodies in ways that nobody else has thought of – that’s what makes them artists. These two guys came on stage and made me FEEL something, using a song I had not heard before, and expressing themselves with original movement.  (Side note – they did put a windmill in their choreography, but I strongly suspect that it was less for the content of the dance and more to just prove they could do it.  LOL)

And then Laurent gives this speech about how his girlfriend left him, and that’s how they came up with the routine… SQUEAL!  I was done! Suddenly, I cared about what these guys were doing.

So, I won’t bore you further with the minutiae of how I became a ‘stan’ for Les Twins. It has everything to do with YouTube. If you want to gain a comprehensive understanding of who they are, just go to YouTube and look for their channel, or YakFilms, or LBF Channel, or LestwinsPlaylists or dozens of others.

Now this is where my friends became annoyed.  I spent 100’s of hours watching the Twins on YouTube after that first performance.  I even tried to make some of my friends watch their performances, hoping they would feel what I felt, but all I got was “Hmmm, that’s cute,” and “I saw them before with Beyoncé.” None of them were into it!  But then again, none of them are into dance the way I am either.  (Shrug)  But when I got on Instagram and started posting Twins-related stuff, I got an earful of “Why are you so obsessed over them?”

If you ask anyone in the LT Clique why we spend so much time obsessing over these guys, it’s simple. Watching them makes us happy.  It makes me smile.  It was watching them bring music to life through interpretive dance that pulled me out of my depressed state. I escaped into Les Twins.  They were my cure to a bad day or a sad day. Trouble at work?  Watch Their 2010 performance.  Sad about something? Watch their Ukraine SYTYCD performance.  Can’t get motivated to get out of bed? Watch their 2014 WOD performance.  hangout

Can’t sleep? Watch one of their ‘Hangouts’, where they just sit and answer questions and are generally just adorable, with their broken English and constant bickering (omg it’s so cute!!!)


Many days, I was mad at the world because the president of my country – where I was born and where members of my family serve in the military – thinks all POC are either ‘sons of bitches’, ‘rapists and murderers’, ‘terrorists’, ‘lazy welfare queens’… Sigh… I think that is what broke me down the most.  After Nov 2016, I just felt like my own country told me to go “get my black ass back in the kitchen and serve dinner”.  But watching these two gorgeous kids dance around and give ZERO FUCKS about what anybody had to say to them just gives me LIFE!  And furthermore, seeing them stay true to themselves and become so successful doing what they love makes me proud.  I feel pride like I’m their auntie, or older sister. Proud because they look like me, and they are amazing.

If you know me, you know that I am a big proponent of the idea that REPRESENTATION MATTERS.  Seeing images and videos of people that look just like you, doing GOOD things (not getting shot or going to jail) makes you feel better about yourself.  It makes you think that maybe you can do that – or maybe you can be first to do something else.  It’s just like having Obama as president.  Because of him, there are millions of little black kids all over the country that think they can be president, too. And because of Les Twins, hundreds of little boys across the country are finding that it’s okay to be a professional dancer.

Another reason I love them is their brotherly bond. They display open affection for each other and it is marvelous. In the US today, dance is not something that we encourage little boys to do.  I won’t go into the whole ‘toxic masculinity’ issue because frankly I’m tired of explaining it.  It has gotten so bad here that a young man or teenage boy can’t hug another boy, or show love to his male relatives, without being called ‘gay’. (I freaking hate that SO much).  But these two French dancers are sweet, funny, and affectionate with each other – like brothers SHOULD BE.  And despite being totally comfortable expressing their feminine side, they are beyond sexy!!  At least 85% of their fan base is female.  They are French models, after all.  It’s damn near impossible to Google ‘Les Twins’ and not find a picture of them looking sexy – they are a walking, talking, thirst trap. And they know this.  If you watch them closely, you can see that it’s all just funny to them (flirtatious asses). They need a spanking MOST of the time.  😊

Now you can begin to understand that when I speak about the Twins, it’s in the voice of an aunt talking about her favorite new nephews. In other words, if I can look at pictures of your kids online every day, for the last 5 years, you can tolerate my occasional posts about MY babies!!! True, they are grown men, and drop-dead gorgeous, but to me they are just adorable!  They are like golden-skinned dancing angels… that you probably want to bang.  I’m just saying – I recognize it.  But that’s not my true interest in them.  One person online asked “If you had the Twins alone for an hour, what would you do to make them remember you?” That’s easy: feed Larry, and beat Laurent at Tekken.  Like any good auntie should do. 😊

What really keeps my obsession alive is the other fans though.  Instagram is a worse time suck than Facebook or Twitter.  I’ve made a gang of friends on IG from following Les Twins, and most of them are all grown women with boyfriends/husbands, day jobs, and teenage children.  We are a support group for each other, because our other friends don’t understand us.  Each woman that I talk to has a story about how these boys touched their soul.  Deaths in the family, bad divorces, losses of home and jobs, family trouble – you name it.  All of us had something going on that our friends and family couldn’t reach, and somehow, Les Twins and their love of dance pulled us through.  And now we love us some Larry and Laurent!

Unfortunately, our significant others have had ENOUGH of our shenanigans!!  My friend Shannon told me that her husband is so vexed about her obsession with the Twins that he won’t even call them by their names.  He calls them Lefreqent or Lafro or Lefondue!! LOL!  She said he was cool with it for a while but eventually he got to the place where he didn’t want to hear another word about ‘those frenchies’.  LOL!!

When I started writing this blog, I struggled with what I wanted to talk about, and my boyfriend asked me point blank: “why DO you like them so much?” I couldn’t tell him exactly why at first. I told him about their brotherly bond.  He said, “So what? I hug my brother all the time, just nobody films it.”  I told him about how they live fearlessly.  He is a marine, so he side-eyed me SO hard on that comment.  Then he brought up a good point, so I had to quote him.

“The Twins had a marketable natural skillset that was unique to them, and they capitalized on it.  That’s what everyone wants to do in life.  Get paid to do what they love.  They had nothing to lose when they started, so why not dare to dream big?” And you know what? He’s right!!  Larry and Laurent had nothing to lose and nowhere to go but up when they first started. But instead of just getting some boring day job, they took a huge risk and chased their dream.  Most of us wish we’d had the courage to do the same when we were 17 years old.

The Twins also have great taste in music and have helped me discover a whole new generation of artists that I can support – 6lack, Syd, Troyboi, KidtheWiz, and more.  These boys know good music.  Even my boyfriend (who is a music connoisseur) liked some of the music that they found for me.  He hated how I found it though.  It went something like this.

Him: This is a good song.  What’s the album?

Me: 99.9% by Kaytranada.

Him: And how did you find this?

Me: ….um…

Him: Why are you hesitating? Just say it.

Me: Sooooo, the Twins danced to –

Him: I should have known.

(He happens to look down at my phone as the lock screen comes on)

Him: Ewwww, you got them on your phone too? Arrrrghh!!!  (walks off)

(Don’t worry, I made it up to him… 😉)

So, in summary, I love Laurent and Larry because they are the nephews I wish I had, and I have become invested in seeing them succeed, like any supportive family member.  The way they move is captivating.  And it’s not about the way they LOOK.  It’s about how they interpret the sounds in the music to make you HEAR it differently.  In some of their older performances online I have seen them dance to Missy Elliot, Dr. Dre and Busta Rhymes. Those are MY people. I KNOW their music catalogs.  And yet, I’m hearing little sounds and effects in these songs that I’ve never heard before. Why? Because Lau and Larry heard it and choreographed to that specific sound effect.  And now I will never listen to those songs the same again.  THAT. IS. GENIUS. And that also explains to me why I got on a plane to see them.  I don’t even like concerts like that.  I’ve only paid money and flown to another city to see Prince and Stevie Wonder. And now Larry and Laurent. True geniuses.

Wait, back up, Joy. Did you say you got on a plane to go see them?  YES!  I went to their dance workshop in Atlanta.  I flew in for the weekend just so I could meet them.  I didn’t even get a dancer’s ticket.  I was a spectator.  I didn’t dance because I had both my knees replaced this year (one last week!).  Clearly, I am on the bench.  For the month before I went to the workshop, I had all of these ideas about what I was going to say to Lau (the beautiful one) and Larry (the adorable one).  I was going to give them big hugs and tell Larry I was proud of him for taking care of his brother while he was injured.  I was going to tell Laurent that I was proud of him for building his empire, but that he needed to rest his body because everyone has their limits. I was going to show him my knee surgery scar and warn him what can happen when you don’t take care of yourself.  I got them birthday presents and I was going to hand them these gift bags and explain what was in them and they were going to be so happy. And we were going to hug and be buddies.  LOL

Let me tell you right now: I BLEW ALL OF THAT.

As I waited for them to show up and have my turn at the meet and greet, I had my presents ready! Then when it was my turn to meet them and take a picture, I put all my stuff down, so I could run up there and hug them and tell them everything I wanted them to know.  As I walk up to them, Laurent opens his arms and I give him a hug.  When I tell you that I buried my WHOLE FACE in this dude’s chest… LMAO!!!  And then I hugged Larry – and I was supposed to give him shit for this stunt he pulled with his limited-edition hoodies.  But I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING!  I was so star-struck!  I totally forgot to do everything l had planned to do!  I didn’t say a single word to Laurent.  And after hugging Larry I told him “I have a present for you both!” Then I walked away and DIDN’T GIVE THEM THE PRESENTS!  I had to get one of their people to take it to them after the fact, since I was a slack-jawed idiot. Joy!!! WTF!!  Get your shit together girl!! I’ve met celebrities before, but for some reason I just blanked! Here is the killer: I am in sales, I’m an actress, and I am a writer.  I KNOW HOW TO USE WORDS, DAMMIT. What the hell happened?  Sigh.  Okay, next time I will do better.

Me and the Twins!

I look good though.

Anyway, the workshop starts, and they split up the dancers and start going over what they will teach.  They choreograph on the spot – so you get to see them as they create the dance.  That’s pretty freaking cool.  It means every workshop has a unique dance to go with it.  But once they start the dance class, the difference between Laurent and Larry becomes obvious: Larry is there to teach a few steps and have fun, and Laurent DID NOT COME TO PLAY!!  He is so intense!  Like, you can feel the intensity from the back where I was sitting.  He made it clear that he was not messing around.  He had no patience for nonsense. And I understand this mentality.  My patience is short when I am in pain too, and Laurent was in pain. This man has had injuries by the pound this year, yet he is still out here dancing for the delight of his fans.  That’s love. If it were me, I would have told everyone to kick rocks. It would have been a workshop with Le Twin – Larry, because I’d have been at home! LOL

As the dance class starts in earnest, I realize that being a spectator kind of sucks.  I’m not close enough!!  I want to dance with them and be a part of the magic. But I am very self-aware, and I knew better.  These workshops are recorded and put up on YouTube. What will NEVER happen is the world seeing my crippled ass struggling through this choreography like a graceless three-legged English bulldog.  Nope! No sir!!  I wish I could have danced and gotten into it, but watching them from the cheap seats was still a good experience. Furthermore, I realized that the true magic of the workshop was the KIDS.  What Larry and Laurent are doing is encouraging young boys and girls to see dance as a viable lifestyle, not just something you do at home or in the club.  They are giving people confidence, encouragement, love, patience, energy… The real benefit of being at this workshop can be seen in these pictures:

IMG_5013       IMG_5079

This is my friend Shannon’s daughter. Taylar is a dancer, and when there was a free moment she jumped into the Cypher.  Her life was MADE when Laurent jumped out and started freestyling with her.  Look at the shock and joy on her face!  Standardized tests can’t do that.  And as the US starts to squeeze the arts out of school, opportunities like this become more and more crucial.  Les Twins are doing their part to keep the arts alive.


This little baby is my friend Michelle’s son.  He has been waiting forever to show Larry and Laurent his dance moves. When the freestyle cypher started, he surprised her and ran out there all on his own – and was rewarded with a dance with Laurent too!  These kids both struggle with being shy or having confidence, and because they took a chance on sharing their talent with a room full of strangers, they got to get up close and personal with their idols.  It doesn’t get any better than this.


In interviews, Laurent and Larry have both talked about wanting to get more people to follow their passion – no matter what it is.  It was listening to this encouragement that finally got me to start writing again.  It started with a quick Halloween story about them, and hopefully will end with me publishing a full length science fiction novel.  I’m going to do what I love.  (I’m not going to quit my day job though because – bills.)

Now, here’s what else makes these guys special.  They love their fans.  It’s easy for celebrities to say that, but not all of them SHOW it.  Larry and Laurent take as much time as they can to give as many pictures and autographs as they can to the fans.  They don’t turn anybody down.  Laurent had to be dragged away by the event planner.  I know because I was right there, trying to articulate that I had given my present for them to one of their staff. I think I said something stupid like: “The present that you don’t know who it came from, that’s from me.  Don’t throw it away.”  Again – WTF, Joy?!? LOL.  I have no idea why I said that.  But let me tell you how FREAKING COOL this man is.  Since he wasn’t sure what I was talking about (neither of us was) and he knew it had something to do with the presents he got, he made sure to do an Instagram story with clips of them opening all the presents – including mine! YAY! They got it!

IMG_5166And as a bonus, he took a picture with one of the bracelets that he got from my homie Shannon, and she was beyond excited to see something she made for him on his wrist!  How cool is that?!? They are the sweetest guys!!

And if you thought my obsession was over, you are very wrong. I’m not giving up my babies!  They are just getting started!  And before you open your mouth and ask me why I would spend all my hard-earned money on a couple of French dancers, ask yourself these questions:

Have you spent money on a professional sports game? Have you bought concert tickets to see Bruno Mars, or Taylor Swift, or Jay Z, or whomever? Well, Les Twins are my choice of celebrity crush, and I will spend money to see them when I feel like it.  Did you get a hug from Taylor Swift or Bruno Mars? No? Well I got TWO hugs.  So STFU.  I told you – they make me smile.

Look at my babies! 😊 twins-world-of-dance-winners-ftr

Rant 57 Done, and I’m out!

Joy’s Rant List, Volume 52: I’m Glad I Got That Off My Chest

It’s funny that this rant is volume 52. That used to be the measurement around my upper chest. lol

Well, family, it has been almost 5 months since I had breast reduction surgery. And I told you all that once I was back to normal I would give an update. All I can say is…

I AM DELIVERT!!! I’m not a “J” no more!! I like cotton bras! COTTON COTTON COTTON COTTOSHALAHAMABRAYA!!!

(Side note – if you didn’t get that reference, you need to see this: I’m Not Gay No More)

In my last blog I gave you the rundown of what it was like living with 42-J breasts. It was … not fun. It had its perks but by and large I was suffering under the weight of having large boobs. Literally. They were about 15 pounds. But I had a GENIUS plastic surgeon. Dr. Arturo Armenta – aside from looking like he just left the set of Grey’s Anatomy – worked magic on me. He took out SEVEN POUNDS of breast tissue during the reduction. As a comparison, my godson Jacob was born the same day and he weighed seven pounds. I was literally carrying around the equivalent of twins in my shirt. Dr. Armenta took out HALF my chest – and I am still a DDD. And he was also able to keep the nerve endings alive in my nipples. That is a big deal. In a reduction this large, the surgeon normally can’t save the nipples and they end up just being lifeless decoration. Lifeless. Decoration. Can you imagine going through the next 30 to 40 years of your life with no nipple action?!?!  Dr. Armenta said that although I was not the biggest reduction he’d ever done, I was in the top 5. So here’s how the pre-surgery conversation went…

Me: Okay, look, doc. I really want to go down as small as I can – BUT – without losing feeling in my nipples. Can you do that?

Doc: No promises. I think I can, but it is a real concern. I’m thinking –

Me: Triple D? E?

Doc: (side-eyeing me) More like Double D.

Me: Okay, then let’s just say that I want to be as small as I can be while saving the nipple.

Doc: Um, okay –

Me: Let nipple-saving be the main priority during surgery.

Doc: …Look, I’m going to do what’s best for you. I think you will be happy. But I will do everything I can to save your nipples.

Me: Thank you, Dr. Armenta!! (whisper: wit’ yo’ fine self!)

I was gonna hook him up with my BFF but he’s married. Oh well. I still would recommend him to anyone in the Houston area looking for a good plastic surgeon.

So remember this dress from my “before” rant?

Look how my boob reaches my elbow... Ugh!

Look how my boob reaches my elbow… Ugh!

Well here is me, in the SAME dress, after my surgery.

First night out on the town (with no bra!) Freedom!

First night out on the town (with no bra!) Freedom!

I know right?!? So this is what has happened all through my wardrobe. It’s not that I have dramatically changed my height or weight, but that everything I own now fits the way it’s supposed to. This dress went from ‘sausage stuffing’ to ‘sexy’. My blazers now button, and I don’t rip out the inner linings. I can buy a two-piece suit off the rack. I DID drop 2 dress sizes – mostly because I formerly had to buy larger dresses to accommodate the boobs.

Here is a before and after bra shot.bras

See how the smaller new bra fits completely inside the older bra? Additionally, see how the new bra is PRETTY and the old bra is BLAH!! As soon as I am sure that everything is settled, I am going to go buy all new bras. I couldn’t resist and I bought a couple already.



So you may be wondering – how was surgery and recovery? Well let me break it down for you month by month.

Month One

Painkillers. Is it time yet to take the next painkiller? Well how much time? That long? Fix it Jesus! I was in pain for the entire month. I am SO thankful to my editor and one of my employees for coming to take care of me. And what’s funny is that before my editor left, she gave specific instructions to my employee like “Don’t talk to her – she will not go to sleep.” And “Don’t bring her anything salty to eat. Fresh fruit only.” Can I tell you I would have given my left ovary for some popcorn?!? LOL! I know it was for my own good though. I healed like a champ. And lost another 10 lbs on top of the surgery! Although, the loss of the giant boobs revealed the hidden gut that was under them. I’ll work that off later. Everything was either numb, or in pain. And my boobs were chunky squares. It was like having two boxes of animal crackers on your sternum. But it got better…

Month Two

The boobs are rounding out. They are more like square pillows now. But. Everything. Itches!!! OMG! All those healing stitches itch like the devil. And remember when I said I wanted to save the nerves in my nipples? Well – they were definitely alive. The left and right nipples were doing their own interpretive dances.

"Birds in the sky... You know how I feel..."

Left Nipple: “Birds in the sky… You know how I feel…”


Right Nipple: “TURN DOWN FOR WHAT?!!”

Every so often – like every 36 seconds – my nipples would erupt into interpretive dance and I would have to rub them to calm them down. Now I know why I was encouraged to take time off from work. I can imagine I would be fired if I showed up in a meeting, and every few minutes I did this:

Farmer Ted

Month Three

Whew! My skin is healing. Even though the itching has abated, now I have to work on controlling the scarring. So every morning and night I am rubbing shea butter into my skin. I was using cocoa butter, but all that did was make me greasy. On a lark, I tried my whipped shea butter by Nature by Design ( and it did in a few hours what store-bought Palmer’s cocoa butter couldn’t do for days. I really think it helped my skin heal faster. Although I continue to look like a pervert as I slap a glob of shea butter into my hands and then rub my boobs for 10 minutes. I look like a low-budget amateur porn star for 20 minutes a day.

In other news – I can work out again. Now I want to try to keep off this roughly 20 pounds that I’ve lost, and get this gut under control. Yoga is a snap now. No more suffocation (I am delivert!)

I went swimming for the first time and – just like the rest of my wardrobe – I now know how this swimsuit is supposed to fit. Apparently it is supposed to COVER my boobs. Who knew? I went from stretch marks on my swimsuit to having (gasp!) extra space up top! LOL! I also can swim easier and faster than I did before. But my stamina has taken a hit. My first day back in the pool, I could only do about 1/8 mile. 8 laps and I was winded. But it felt good to be back!

I also tried push-ups and discovered that I have been doing them wrong my whole life. No wonder I never had good definition in my arms! I wasn’t going all the way to the floor! With roughly 10 inches of breasts in front of me, I was only getting about half-way to the ground before my boobs hit and I would push back up. When I tried my first post-op push-up, my first thought was that if my life depended on my upper body strength, I was a dead woman. And crunches! Now I can reach my elbows to my knees! Boobs were in the way before. I really think I am going to be able to get my sexy back by summer time. I thought I could get it back by my birthday, but fried chicken and wine slowed me down.

The New Me – Finally!

Pssst. Hey. Over here. Guess what?… I’m outside without a bra on!!! For the first time since I was 10 years old, I went outside without a bra on. I’m free!! I can do things other girls take for granted! Special thanks to my ace Ericka Goodwin for my very first ladies’ tee – also known as a babydoll tee. I have never been able to squeeze into one of those – hence all the Hot Topic men’s tee shirts. But she sent me one in the mail and it fit! Praise the Lord, Saints!!

And speaking of clothing – true story: A couple years ago, I had bought these little maxi-dresses for lounging around the house. They are hideous, but they are just for lounging anyway. Well, I bought them because I was excited to finally find a maxi-dress that had room in the bodice for my gigantic 42-J boobs. Fast forward to my post-reduction self. I put my ugly little maxi-dress on and guess what? That was not a ‘bodice’. That elastic was the WAISTLINE. What used to gather right up under my breasts now goes down to my navel – like it was supposed to do in the first place. Who knew? LOL! When I tell you my whole torso was boobs – mannnnn…..

One other thing before I go. I got my swagger back. Those of you who have known me for years know that I had a certain ‘walk’. I lost that walk when my boobs got so heavy that it took all my concentration just to keep my hips and knees in alignment. Now – with the lighter me – I am in ‘full swing’ again! I didn’t realize how much I missed my natural walk until I had it again. I strutted around downtown Houston for a good 20 minutes yesterday, just to see if it was real. And based on a couple of stares, yeah, it’s real. LOL. But the walk is only half physical. The other half is mental. And now that my physical body is able to walk without pain, my mind has re-released my strutting theme song. Yes, I have a real theme song that plays when I walk and it is “Staying Alive” by the Bee Gees. I got my strut from John Travolta. It looks good on him but better on me. Ha!

Killing it.

Killing it.


So – new lease on my wardrobe, new outlook on going to the gym – 2015 is going to be awesome! And I now have what one of my friends dubbed “college titties” because they are lifted and firm again. You know what time it is? Time to STRUT!

Rant 52 done, and I’m out!



Joy’s Rant List, Volume 51: I Just Had to Get This off My Chest

Date of writing: September 23, 2014…
I can’t sleep. I’m so excited!! I am two days away from undergoing breast reduction surgery, and I just can’t wait. So since it’s 3:30 AM and I don’t have to be to work for hours yet, I decided to blog about what led me to this point.
This blog is about my gargantuan boobies, and how I had to get them literally off. my. chest.
For those of you who know me – you know that I have been the chairwoman of the Tig-Ol-Bitty Committee since its inception. No lie – I was wearing a C cup in elementary school. Now think about that for a minute. Think about all the running around that kids do. Think about how you, with your adult C cup (or your wife’s) may not like to jump up and down a lot without a bra on. Now imagine an 8-year old girl having to sit back and NOT jump rope with the other kids. Children are assholes and I just didn’t want to be the brunt of the bouncy jokes. Now you may say to your adult self that I should have been stronger. Or if you know me now you can never imagine that I would be too timid to do ANYTHING. Well, that’s Adult Joy. Child and Teenager Joy let her bra size rule her life. Here is a list of things that I DIDN’T do because I thought I was too heavy-chested:
Cheerleader. My friend Melita was a cheerleader in middle school and I was SO jealous. Not in a mean-spirited kind of way, but in a “gee, I wish I could do that” kind of way. But here’s the thing – I didn’t even try out. It never occurred to me that I might have been able to make the squad, because I had never seen a cheerleader with oversized boobs. I also didn’t try to run track, or play sports.
Dancer. I love dancing. I really do. But again – no dancers with giant boobs. A gym teacher actually said this to me in high school. He was very compassionate about it, by trying to tell me that my proportions were probably going to stop me from getting very far in dance, because my balance would be affected. So from that point on, I just gave up trying to be sporty. My last hurrah in dance was when I helped my friend Ayanay choreograph her tryout piece for the Mahogany in Motion dancers at Morehouse College. I helped her with the intro. It gave me immense pleasure to know that she made the team, and I helped a little bit. For me, it was like I made the team. That was a great feeling, even if it was mostly vicarious. LOL! I often wonder how my life might have been different if I had been a dancer, or a cheer leader, or ran track, or something.
The one thing I was good at (that was dance-adjacent) was stepping. That was my thing! I had one thing I could do and I wore it out! Shout out to Takasha and the rest of the D.O.A. crew from high school!! I went on to step with my college freshman dorm, and later with my sorority – at least until my knee crapped out on me for good. Then I coached. Now I just watch So You Think You Can Dance. LOL.
SN: I did like to ride my bike, but one day in the summer before 6th grade, I rode to a neighbor’s house and got bit by their dog. That was the last time my mom let me out. A couch potato was born. Hello, Atari. And I still play video games. Like, I’m probably doing that right now somewhere. Xbox is my competitive sport.
Sigh – I know I am painting a very sad picture, but I need people to understand exactly how this works. And if you have a female child who is developing fast, this might help you a little bit.
So let’s move beyond the high school drama and get deeper into college. It wasn’t until I got to college that I even began to realize that big boobs could be an asset. Aside from the male attention I was getting, I discovered that if I put on my one-and-only interview suit, and went to the liquor store at 6:00 pm, I didn’t get carded. Apparently nobody would think that a 5’7” woman with DD’s, in heels and a suit would be less than 21. I was 18. Ha! Take THAT America! I also got my share of free stuff – extra candy at the movies, maybe a free soda at the bar, or whatever. Perks. Gotta love ‘em. Back then I was a 38DD. Ah, the good old days.
Now, let’s move into Adult Joy – the Joy that most of you are familiar with. Hard-won self-esteem, great personality, seemingly fearless, you know – ME. And by the time I was out of college, I had fully embraced my giant knockers. By this time I was a 38DDD. Extra D means another inch to the boobs. I think they grew because I had tried birth control pills for a year to try to mitigate some uterine fibroid issues (and here’s a big MIDDLE FINGER to anyone who tries to deny birth control to women. It’s not about being a whore – it’s about migraines and anemia and 7 day-periods and a bunch of other shyt. So bite me!!)
Where was I? Oh yeah – so adult Joy is now a 38DDD and I’m cool with it. I can’t close a blazer or wear button-down shirts, but that’s okay. I look like this:

They're real, and they're fabulous!

They’re real, and they’re fabulous!

And I looked like this for TEN YEARS. I’m actually 32 or so in this picture. But then, hormones or body changes or something kicked in, and my boobs started to GROW. AGAIN!! (cue Psycho horror music)
The first thing I noticed was that my boobs were sticking out the tops of my bras. I had the quadraboob thing going on. Big-breasted girls know what I mean. My bras were too small. Since when? I’m thinking. Then I noticed that I was starting to get irritation under my arms from the underwires, and I developed other skin issues associated with large breasts. Ugh! Dammit! Why is this happening? I’m still not 100% sure what was going on, but just know that between 2003 and 2013, I jumped from a 38DDD to a 42-J. Yes, that is a J as in “Jesus! Those are some big tit-tays!” LOL
For those that are not sure what that means, here are a few ways to think about it.
1) Each additional letter beyond DDD is another inch in cup size (distance from rib cage to boob tip). DDD is already 8 inches. Count with me. E-F-G-H-I-J. That is ANOTHER 6 inches. I have the equivalent of twice as much boob as I did when I graduated from college. Or add another 6 inches to the picture above.
2) Pick up two newborn babies and strap them both to your rib cage. Walk around for a few years.
3) Try this. Sit in a chair, and put your hands on your upper thighs. At this point, my boobs touch my wrists. When I say my ENTIRE torso is covered in breasteses, I mean it. I mean – look at this nonsense…

Look how my boob reaches my elbow... Ugh!

Look how my boob reaches my elbow… Ugh!

So now that you understand exactly how big 42-J is, let me tell you all the funny things that happened to me in the last 6 months that made me decide to finally go through with the breast reduction.
Trauma #1: Vacation Dismay
I went to Puerto Vallarta for my 40th birthday this year, with my girlfriends. And I bought a new swimsuit for the trip. Now, I have been wearing standard one-piece suits my whole life. But I’m feeling fancy so I go buy a tank-top two piece. It’s a boy-short bottom with a little dress-type tank top that flares out from the ribs. Really cute. But I’m not going to even tell you how emotionally disturbing it is to know that you have to buy a size 26 swimsuit top. That’s the size I had to go up to in order for my boobs to fit in the bra part of the top. I was determined to get it though.
Day three of vacation – I take my new swimsuit to the public beach about ½ mile from our villa. That was the LONGEST WALK OF MY LIFE. I am not a gym rat, but I’m not THAT damn out of shape either. Yo, I couldn’t even WALK 0.5 miles down the beach! The tank top tied around my neck – something I had never tried before – and my boobs pulled SO HARD on my neck that it was pulling my whole torso forward and I was literally carrying my boobs in a sling down the beach. It was too much. True story – I had so much trouble walking in the sand with this dead weight on my neck that at one point I just gave my towel to my friends and jumped in the water and SWAM down the beach. It was easier to swim than to walk, because boobs float. I almost took my top OFF, it hurt so bad. (I didn’t. I ain’t crazy). And speaking of swimming…
Trauma #2: Pool Problems
After I got back from vacation I decided that I needed to focus on losing weight and maybe getting some relief from my lower back problems through swimming and stretching. Let’s address swimming first. I have been swimming for years. I actually swam a mile as my new record last year. I can swim. I know I can. But all of a sudden, my new Speedo swimsuit – exact same make and model as the previous version that died in the washing machine – it didn’t fit. The chest stretched so far as to make fuzzy stretch marks on the lycra. YES. MY SWIMSUIT HAD STRETCH MARKS. I wanted to swim though, so I figured I would go ahead and hit the pool, and worry about the suit later. Mistake. I start swimming and I slowly realize that my stroke feels strange. I am not coordinated like I used to be just last year. Only 6 months since I’d done my mile in the pool. Nobody forgets that fast. Then I realize – my boobs are messing with my stroke. They extend out under my arm and were totally screwing up my rhythm. I adjusted by torqueing my upper body more in order to clear my boob, when – surprise – my left breast decides to just jump out of my suit. So now I am trying to swim in a public pool with one toddler-sized titty hanging out of the top of my suit. And by the way – I am light-skinned and the suit is black, so you immediately could see that something was ‘off’ under the water. I had to stop every 4-5 strokes to put my boobs back together. Finally, after maybe three laps, I just got out. I gave up. It was like swimming with loose balloons tied to my neck. At least I know I will never drown.
Trauma #3: Yoga Death
This last example is the most ridiculous. I mentioned earlier that I was trying swimming AND stretching to relieve my lower back issues, and at the suggestion of my chiropractor I took a yoga class. Well, the first class went pretty well. I did about 80% of the poses and had improved by the end of the class. I felt good enough about it that I went back. And this time, I tried all of the poses including the one where you really stretch your lower back. I think it’s called ‘plow pose’. So here’s how you do this pose: you lie on your back and bring your legs up off the ground, straight into the air. Then you try to bring your toes down over the top of your head to touch the floor. So in essence you bend yourself in half, with your back on the ground. I could do this. I am very flexible. I bend over and touch my toes all the time. But what I didn’t plan for was gravity. I had to rock back and forth a couple of times to get my but high enough to fold over on myself, and when I did I got an unexpected surprise. Just as I am exhaling to put my toes over my head, here come the boobies, like an avalanche, headed straight for my face. And then this position forced them to be squished into my face. Yes, I motorboated myself. The only issue was that there was no room to move – or breathe. I had just exhaled and my boobs created a seal with my nose and mouth in between them. So I laid there, suffocating, trying to hold the pose for at least a few seconds. And then, in the middle of this quiet meditative room you hear “……..GASP!” Like Wesley and Buttercup coming up out of the sand pit in The Princess Bride.
That’s enough of the traumatization of having big boobs. Here are some other things that I have noticed that I do, that other people do not do:
1) I tend to sit leaning forward; trying to hide my boobs under the table, which in actuality only forces my cleavage forward into eyesight. Whoops. This also makes me seem like I am not taking whatever meeting I am in seriously, because I used to lean on one hand. I have modified this to look like I am totally engaged. But really I’m hiding my boobs.
2) I lean forward to eat because if I drop food, it doesn’t land in my lap. It lands 4 inches from my chin, on my boobs. And I look like a slob. This is why you hardly ever see me eat anything with sauce or gravy in public.
3) When nobody is around… I rest my boobs on the table in front of me to give my back a break.
4) I am constantly adjusting my bra. I thought everyone had issues with this, until someone pointed out to me that I was the only person doing that all the time. Like – all the time.
5) When I try to paint my toes myself, I have to move my boobs out of the way to reach my toes. What I usually do is put one boob on the outside of my thigh, and one on the inside, so I can lean down far enough to get to my toes. Normally, I just go get a pedicure. It’s easier.
6) We won’t even talk about how many showers I take in the summer to alleviate boob sweat.
Well, a month has passed since the day I wrote this. I had my reduction on Thursday September 25th. They removed a total of 7 POUNDS from my chest. I’M FREE!!!! And as soon as I come down off the painkillers, I might tell you how it’s going. So far – best decision I’ve made since I decided to go to Spelman. It’s THAT life-changing. More to come!
Rant 51 done, and I’m out!!!

Joy’s Rant List: Volume 48: Sex Packets, Part 3: Birthday Sex

A reminder before we begin…

Okay, I will tell you that I totally made this one up.  So if a piece of it sounds familiar then you REALLY need to be quiet because you absolutely don’t want people to think that “a hit dog hollers” applies to you!!!  Character names from “Brown Sugar” will be used because I am digging my own trend here. 





“I mean, c’mon, Dad!  How am I supposed to get over this?!  It was in my PHONE!!!” Trey’s voice was high-pitched and traumatized – because he was.  Andre had to try to help his ex-wife do some damage control here.

“Well, son, your mother is a grown woman, and you can’t fault her for trying to find a little happiness here and there.  Was it a dumb thing to do? Yes.  But you can’t continue to hold this against her.  It’s been a few weeks now, and she is so worried about you.  Cut her some slack.” Inside, he was still dying laughing over what had happened. Apparently, his ex-wife had done some ‘sexting’ and gotten caught by their son.  “It’s not like you and I haven’t done similar things.  Tell me you’ve never sent a dick shot to your girl.”

“That’s different!  Mom is… She’s… She’s OLD!!  And, she’s MY MOM!!!”  Trey continued to defend his outrage.

“Not hardly old, and you gotta admit… Your moms keeps it tight.  It ain’t like she’s hard to look at.” If there was one thing Andre would never deny about his ex-wife, it was that she was fine as hell.  Crazy! But fine.  “Hey, why don’t you show me those pics so I can see how bad it is for myself!” Andre burst out laughing.

“Not cool Dad.” Trey heaved another long-suffering sigh into the phone, the one that only angst-ridden teens can pull off.  “I guess I’ll call her –  later. Bye Dad.”  *click*  The call ended.

While Andre was musing over the antics of his ex-wife, his new wife was listening at the door to the bedroom.  Sidney wasn’t happy to hear that her husband still thought his ex “kept it tight.”  Why was he even thinking about her!?!  And then, to ask to see the pictures!  What!?!  She’d sent him pictures of herself just last month.  Was he starting to miss his ex?  Calm down, Syd, she warned herself.  You are overthinking it.  But still…

Sidney hurriedly found something else to be doing as Andre exited the bedroom.  “Oh hey, honey.  Is Trey alright?” She gave him her best ‘concerned step mom’ face. 

“Oh.  Yeah.  He’ll be fine.  He’s just been playing the victim for too long.” He stretched, cracked his neck, and rolled his shoulders – all signs of tension.

Syd moved behind him to rub his shoulders.  “You need to relax a little, Dre.  Why all the stress?” She continued to work out kinks in his neck.  He moaned in appreciation.

“It’s just a lot of stuff at work. You know.  The usual.   I really don’t need this nonsense with Nia and Trey right now.  Oh and hey, the guys are taking me out for my birthday on Friday.  So I’ll be home late.  I’m telling you now so you can’t get mad.”  Syd was crazy too, but at least it was a crazy he could deal with. 

“Sure.  Have a good time out.  And when you get home, I’ll have my own little surprise for you!” Sidney let her voice drop to a sultry whisper. 

“Oh really?” Andre turned around and pulled her into a quick kiss. “Well then I’ll be sure to be home in time to enjoy that!”  And with that, he turned to leave for the gym. 

Great…  So now Syd had to figure out exactly what she was going to do for him on Friday.  She was really just talking junk when she’d said it.  And considering that she had already sent him sexy pictures, AND that his EX was doing stuff like that now, she had to step up her game.  What could she do? Obviously he wanted some kind of mind-blowing birthday sex.  What to do, what to do… “To the internet!” She proclaimed, in her best batman voice.

After dozens of failed searches that all ended back at some website called “Pornhub”, Sidney finally found what she was looking for – an article titled “10 Daring Sex Moves to Surprise Your Man!”  This sounded promising. 

“Hmm.  Analingus… Hell no… Handcuffs… Did that… Pole Dancing… Too regular… Threesome… Hell no…” Sidney went down the list rejecting the suggestions one by one.  Finally, she got to one she thought had promise.  “Anal beads?  Maybe… “  She clicked on the link.

Lo and behold, there was an entire Wikipedia page dedicated to anal beads.  Sidney got all the information she needed.  The web entry detailed the differences in sizes, shapes, uses, care and maintenance.  Everything all in one spot.  Thanks Wikipedia!!  There was even information on how to make them.  Great!  A quick stop at Michaels craft store, and she would be set. 



“Man, I gots ta go!” Andre tried to leave for the second time.  His friends had stopped buying him drinks an hour ago, and he was getting tired.  Not that he was getting old or anything; this was only his 39th birthday.  He wasn’t the dreaded 4-0 yet.  “The wifey is waiting on me at home. And I love you guys, but I ain’t missing out on none of that for none of y’all!  Peace!”  And with that, Andre left his friends at the bar and headed to the crib. 

Upon entering the house he found soft music, dim lights, and candles all around. “Hello… Sidney?  Where you at baby?”  He called out to her.

“Right here, love.”   Sidney came out in a silk kimono-style robe.  She slid up behind him and helped him take his coat off.  “Did you have fun with the boys?”

“Yeah – but not as much fun as I’m about to have.  Come here, girl!” He grabbed her around the waist and started kissing her.  She kissed him back and things started getting heavy quickly.  Syd broke the kiss.

“Wait, baby, I’ve got something special planned for you.”  She gave him her best come-hither look and walked towards the bedroom.

“Aww yeah!” Andre started stripping in the hallway.  Shirt off, pants around his ankles, he shuffled up behind her to let his hands roam over her body.  She turned into his arms and started kissing down his chest, following the trail of sparse hairs to his waist.  Yes!! Do it! That was all he could think.  He noticed her hands behind her back and started to ask her about it, but then…  She did that thing with her tongue and “Oh yeah, baby.  I love it when you do that!”  He bent over to reach down and caress her breasts.  She reached around and gripped his hips, setting the rhythm she wanted.  Birthday blow job!  Yes!  He couldn’t be happier!  He loved it when she did this.  He would gladly turn 40 tomorrow if he got this again!  He reached back down to run his hands over her curves.  She was soooo good.  “Baby, I’m about to come.” He felt the orgasm reaching for him, and then –


“What the fuck?!?!?!” He just felt something… come OUT… of his ass. 

Andre jerked straight up and tried to feel behind him.  “What the hell was that?!?!” Sidney kept slapping his hands away.

“They’re anal beads.  Stop trying to pull them out – you’re going to hurt yourself.  Just relax and enjoy it, baby.”  Sidney was still on her knees in front of him, giving his shaft gentle licks.  “Trust me.”

How could he do anything but trust her at this point?  “When did you even put them in there?”  How in the hell had he not felt her putting beads in his butt?!? 

“The last time you bent over, I just slipped them in.” She gave his dick a long drawn out pull.  “Now just relax (lick) and let me do my thing (lick).”  She went back to the task at hand.  Andre tried to relax, but his muscles kept clinching.  Not too much later, though, her magic tongue had him back at the point of orgasm.  His legs started shaking… almost there…


Another bead came out!  And his orgasm was gone again?  How was she doing that?  Wait… so when he got ready to come, she pulled out a bead, and he could keep getting head? “Okay!  I see where this is going!  Do your thing, girl!” He relaxed a little more.  And sure enough a few minutes later, he started to tremble.  This time he was with it.  “Get ready to pull… oh… oh…”


And he was back in the zone.  Hot damn! As long as her jaw didn’t get tired, he was going to let her do this for as long as she wanted.  It was the blow job of a lifetime! He was loving it!  Sidney was working him out and getting him back to the point of orgasm for the fourth time.  Wow!  This was great! “Get ready to pull, baby…”  His orgasm built, but this time, she didn’t pull out a bead.  Her jaw must have been getting tired after all.  But still – “Yeahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!”  He came so hard his legs almost gave out on him, but somehow Syd kept him standing up.

“I’m sorry baby.  I tried to warn you.  You good?” He was more than good but the look on her face said something was wrong.  “What’s wrong, baby?”  He reached out to caress the frown from her forehead.

“Umm… Turn around…” Sidney gently turned him and started to probe his backside.  He was done with the ass play for now so he hustled back around to face her.

“What’s wrong? Tell me now.” Something had her worried.

“Well… um…”  She held up the string of anal beads.  There were three beads on a long length of thread.

“Those were the beads?” he asked.

“…Some of them.”  She gave him a sheepish look and dangled the long empty end of the string.  “I think the other four are still in there.”

WHAT?!?!” Andre chased his tail in a circle, like a puppy, trying to see into his own ass.  “Well get them OUT!”  He started to hyperventilate.

“What do you think I was doing?!” Sidney sounded anguished.  “I guess the knot I tied in the end came loose.”

“The knot you… you MADE these? With what?”  Andre was about to pass out from fright.

“I found instructions online and made them with plastic beads and thread I got from Michaels the other day. I tested them twice, and they didn’t come apart.  I followed the instructions perfectly.  You just kept clinching up.  I told you to relax.”  An accusatory note had snuck into Sidney’s tone.

“Call 911.  Get. These. Out!” Andre was furious!  All he had wanted was a little head and maybe some sex for his birthday, but instead he had four – FOUR – plastic beads up his behind.  Worst. Birthday. Ever.

“I’m not calling 911.  Let’s just think this through.  You can probably pass them pretty easily.  I mean they are right there at the end.”  Sidney’s analytical mind was coming to the forefront.  “Maybe I can run to the store and get you a laxative.”

“That will take hours.  I want these out right now.  I could be getting trauma to my rectum or something.  You and your crazy notions.”  Andre reached down into his pants and got out his cell, dialing 911 immediately. “Hello!  I have an emergency.  I need an ambulance…  Yes, I can hold.”…


The two ambulance techs entered the house.

“What exactly seems to be the problem ma’am.” Asked the first EMT guy.

“My husband has anal—“

“I’ve had a trauma situation happen to me.” Andre looked the EMT straight in his eyes.  “I need to go to the hospital and have… surgery.”

“Sir, you don’t seem to be in any imminent danger, so I need to know what has happened here” the EMT replied.  Andre stared at him in stone-faced silence. 

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Dre!  They are professionals!  I’m sure they’ve had someone else get anal beads stuck before.”

The silence was deafening as the EMTs looked at Andre, and Andre just looked straight ahead at the wall. The first EMT broke the awkward silence.

“Sir, an ambulance ride is expensive. If that’s all, you could just drive to the hospital or try to take a laxative – “

“That’s what I told him!” interjected Sidney.

“You shut up!” Andre pointed a threatening finger at Sidney.  Then he turned it on the first tech. “And you.  Take me to the hospital.  NOW.”   Andre started waddling towards the door.  The second EMT blocked his path.  “Move!” Andre hissed back at him.

“Sir, if you want us to take you, you have to ride on the stretcher.  That’s the rule” said the second EMT.  Andre stopped and tried to stare him down.  The EMT waited with a blank facial expression. 

Then, with as much dignity as a man with beads stuck in his anus could muster, he stretched out face down on the stretcher.  “Let’s go, and you better put on lights and sirens to get me there IMMEDIATELY!” 

Flashing red lights and a stretcher cause a commotion in any neighborhood, and all of their neighbors had come out to see what happened. 

“Is he alright?”

“What happened?”

“Did he have a heart attack?”

“Why is he face-down?”

Sidney ignored all the questions and entered the back of the vehicle with the second EMT while the first one drove off.  She placed her hand on Andre’s shoulders.  “It will be alright, baby –“

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” Andre turned his head away from her and the EMT.  “All of this is your fault.”

“Well if you had quit choking up and just relaxed like I told you –“

“If YOU had just let me get some regular head and bust one out, I would have been perfectly happy! But no!  Now I have homemade beads up my ass!  And now I have to go to the hospital!”  Andre fumed.

“You didn’t have to go to the hospital!” reasoned Sidney. “We could have gotten those beads out with an enema or something –“

“NO!  I need surgery!”  Andre had passed over from rational land to crazy town.

They argued all the way to the hospital.

“You were loving it until the end!” screamed Sidney

“I never asked you to put anything in my butt, woman!” Andre yelled back as the stretcher was unloaded. “We will NEVER speak of this.  Do you hear me?  NEVER!”  Andre continued to rant and rave at Sidney as the stretcher was pushed into the hospital by the first EMT…



…The second EMT reached for the camera phone he had quietly positioned in back of the ambulance and directed it to himself.  He yelled out “WORLD STAR!!!”  before pushing the send button…


Stay tuned for Part 4: Sex, Lies and Videotape.



Joy’s Rant List, Volume 47: Sex Packets Part 2: “Sex Selfies”

You know, I’m really starting to feel this whole ‘short story’ angle.  Maybe I’ll make these into a book, finally…

A reminder before we begin…

All of these events happened, to SOMEBODY, and NOT ME.  So, if a piece of it sounds familiar, “a hit dog hollers” – remember that.  This time, celebrity names from Love Jones will be used to protect the stupid innocent.

Sex Selfies

“So there I was, on the curb, no panties on, waiting on the damn Uber car to show up, people all looking out the windows.  I felt like such a whore!!”  Monica wailed in her sister’s ear.  (Read part 1 for the full story)

That’s because you were being a whore, stupid… Nia made a face at the phone, thinking that her baby sister was never going to grow up.  Who tries a one-night stand in their mid-thirties?!  It seemed like every couple of months, Monica, who was 8 years her junior, was into something else regrettable.  One week it was some new church cult.  Next week, it was pole dancing for “exercise”, and now it’s being a freak in the club?  And she didn’t even get any?  Stoo-pid!!!

At 44, with a kid in college, Nia had long since learned her lesson about these types of antics.  She was so over the club scene and would never even think of going home with a stranger.  She had no pity for her sister, who clearly knew better.  They were raised in the same house.  And although Nia was now divorced, and they were both in the same ‘single’ boat again, there were just some lines you didn’t cross.  “You could have been murdered, fool!”

“I know!” cried Monica. “What if I see some of those people again?  How am I supposed to walk around town, knowing what people think of me?”

“The same way the other whores walk around town…”  This cracked Nia up and she started a deep belly laugh and had to put the phone down.  When she picked it up, it was to hear stony silence on the other end.  “Hello? Monica?”

“I hate you.” And then the line went dead.  Sigh.  Whatever.  Nia had better things to do than to heal her crazy sister’s damaged psyche.  Still, it was her baby sister.  She felt bad and started to call her back – but then came a text:


Nia’s heart skipped a beat.  It was Darius – the tall, dark and mysterious dude from!  She got a little excited.  He was reaching out to her again!!


She didn’t want to seem overeager.  But she was so glad he’d contacted her!  After going through the steps on the matching website, they’d had a couple of good conversations.  Then all of a sudden, she didn’t hear from Darius for 6 days.  Not that she was counting or anything…


She smiled secretly to herself.  He was such a sweet man.



Oh, this man was definitely a charmer.  She was crafting a flirty text back when the phone rang.  It was Monica again.

“Hello.”  She sooooo did not want to engage Monica right now.

“How come you didn’t call me back!?” Monica sounded both victimized and confused.  See, this was the problem with passive aggressive behavior.  Both people had to participate for it to work.  And as of this moment, Nia wasn’t having it anymore.

“Girl, I had another call come in.  Do you still want to talk or what?”

“I just don’t know what to do! What if I go out and I see Morris there again?!” Monica was starting to freak out.  Her voice had gone up an octave.

“You will probably never see him again.  Just don’t go to that club.”  Nia tried to be the voice of reason.


Darius was texting again!


Wait – that might make him think she was busy and he might go away.  She quickly typed:


That was a little flirty.  Yes!  Perfect!  Not too aggressive, but definitely showing interest.


“—even know whose penis that was!  How am I supposed to face myself in the mirror—“ Monica was still yammering on about her own stupidity.

“Mmmhmm.  I feel you girl…” Monica did the standard responses, while focusing on her text conversation.


What was she wearing?  Oh, he wanted to play a little bit!  Well – it was kind of a shock but she was definitely not a prude.  And it wasn’t like she was about to have a threesome like her stupid sister.  But honestly, she was wearing old sweatpants and an over-sized t-shirt that said “My son is a freshman at Hillman College”.  Not exactly sexy…


That sounded believable right?  Without being too nasty?  That could be sexy and innocent, yeah?



A picture?  He wanted a picture?!  Shit!  She didn’t even really own any boy shorts.  What to do?



…Who was she to disabuse his notions?

YES. A LITTLE INDECENT.  CAN’T SEND PICTURES.  Her good girl was coming to the forefront.  She wasn’t the type to send pictures anyway.


Well… seems like everyone else in the world was doing it.  What could it hurt?  She would just snap a quick picture, not showing anything.


She went to the bathroom, slapped on a little lipstick and shook out her hair, and then pulled off the sweatpants, leaving just the t-shirt.  She took the pic and hit “Send”. Then she waited…


Well that was nice of him.



NO!  Okay, he was going too far.  No way was she taking a naked picture of herself and sending it to him.




Yeah right.  Thirty minutes and she would be the latest feature on








There was a long silence from his end.  Did he decide to stop texting her?  Well hell, if that’s all he was interested in, then good riddance!  She didn’t need a man that bad anyway to be sending nekkid body shots through the internet and –


There was an attachment in the text.  Nia opened it and –gasp! – He had sent her a picture of himself from the neck down.  Totally. NAKED.  Wow.  He had a great body!  Ev-er-y-where!!  Caramel brown and flawless!  Now she was a little self-conscious about her own figure.


She tried to laugh it off, hoping he would let it go.


Could she?  It was crazy!  She had just talked about her sister like a dog for crazy behavior.  But, you only live once, right?  Before she could think too much about it, Nia hiked up her t-shirt and took a quick picture of herself in the mirror.  Oh God!  Did she really just do that?  “Send”.


Okay, this man was too much!



Aw hell.  He wanted totally naked? She wasn’t ready for that.  She hadn’t shaved in months! (Why bother? Who’s looking?)  She looked back at his picture.  Did he shave?  Dammit, he did!


She ran into the bathroom and did a quick grooming job.  Quick shave and … missed a spot and… damn missed another spot… Wow, how freaking long HAD it been?!  Finally, she was smooth enough to take the picture (from a distance, anyway).  Then she jumped back into the mirror and snapped it, being careful to keep her face out of the picture.  No for her!!

The phone rang.  It was Monica again.  Dammit!  “Ignore”




The phone rang again.  It was Monica – again.  “Ignore”





Yeah – she’d played it cool.  And he was excited to see her!  Yes!  She might finally get herself some good good –

The phone rang again.  This time she picked up.  “WHAT, Monica?!  What do you want now!?”


Then… “I just wanted to tell you that I know what you’ve been doing while you’ve ignored my calls.”

“I told you I had another call coming in –“

“Remember when you went to Germany last year, and you set up your phone to automatically upload all your pictures to the cloud so I could see them?  You never changed that…  Whore.” The level of smugness in Monica’s voice was unparalleled.

Nia stood frozen in silence.  What!?!  What had Monica seen?  “What are you talking about?” she asked, with fear in her voice.

“Umm, all those naked shots you just took?  Yeah, they’re in the cloud.  Some things you can’t un-see.  And if you had answered the damn phone, I would have told you sooner. What the hell are you doing?”

Nia hung up on Monica and quickly went through and deleted all of the bad pictures from her phone.  Then she called back. “Can you still see them now?”

“Let me see…yep.  Still there.”  She could hear the laughter bubbling up from her sister. Karma was, indeed, a bitch.

“How do I get these off the cloud?”

“I don’t know.  Why don’t you ask – gasp! – Trey!  Oh my God, Nia – Trey’s phone is on the cloud too!”

Shock spread through Nia’s body like lightning.  The thought that her SON may have seen those pictures!?!… Complete and utter disaster.  How could a young man recover from that?  Would she have ruined his image of all women – warped his young mind and poisoned all his future dealings with women?  If your own mother is taking sex selfies, then what does that say for all women?  But she was overreacting.  Maybe it wasn’t too late.  “Girl, bye!  I gotta do damage control!!”  She hung up on her sister’s snickering and called her son.


“Hey baby, it’s your mother.”

“Hey.”  He didn’t sound traumatized.  But he didn’t sound happy to hear from her either.

“I just wanted to tell you”  — THINK Nia — “That your aunt Monica called and said our cloud account got hacked, and that I need to go fix it.”

“Uh huh.” He sounded skeptical.  Oh no! What if he had seen the pictures??? Stick to the story…

“So, yeah, we got hacked.  And I need to get some crazy pictures or something off our cloud account…  How do I do that?”

“You can’t.  I’ll fix it when I come home next weekend.” Trey sounded irritated.  “I gotta go mom.”

“Okay darling.  I just wanted to make sure you didn’t think it was your aunt.”  She hated to throw her baby sister under the bus, but whatever.

“Yeah.  Seeing as those pictures are from your bathroom…”


“Look, Trey, I don’t know what you think you saw because I haven’t seen them yet but I –“

Mom.” He expelled a world-weary sigh. “I gotta go mom.  I’ll see you next weekend.” He hung up.

“Oh. My. God.”


Rant #47 done – Stay Tuned for Part 3: Birthday Sex!!

Joy’s Rant List, Volume 46: Sex Packets, Part 1 – “Throw’d Off Threesome”

A note before we begin…

1.       Hey folks!  It’s been a LONG time since I wrote anything on this blog, and here’s why:  I was tired…  Tired of fighting the good fight…  Tired of trying to combat irrationality with logic…  Tired of trying to put out an opinion and get an open dialogue…  I’ve actually written three different entries that will probably never see the light of day. Why? Because they are either too polarizing which changes nothing (i.e. wasted effort), or they are something everyone agrees, on so why just repeat popular opinion (i.e. waste of YOUR time).  I wrote something about Trayvon Martin.  I wrote something about race relations in America.  I even wrote something about sexism in corporate America, and then I realized that none of it would matter because we are in the new dark ages…  Everyone is too stupid for decent discourse, and all of my die hard supporters are just as tired of these go-nowhere conversations as I am.  So, I’m going back to my roots – Things that make you laugh at work and get you fired!

2.       EDITOR’s COMMENT:  ALL I do is edit!!  I ain’t ask for this porn to come across my desk.  However, I’ve learned to just trust Joy’s writing instincts.  Still…  Don’t read this at work!!!  Now excuse me while I go repent for Joy’s writing sins…  SMH…

And, now…  On to the fun!!!

This first installment is the story of a ‘good girl’ who tried to walk on the other side of the line.  (Almost) All of these events happened although I have taken some creative ‘mash-up’ license.  Just because it happened to someone doesn’t mean it happened to me.  LET ME SPELL IT OUT…  This is NOT ME.  As a matter of fact, it might be YOU, at which point you should really shut up.  A hit dog hollers!  Remember that, okay?  Lastly, celebrity names from “The Best Man” movie will be used, to protect the stupid innocent.

“Throw’d Off Threesome”

Monica was having the time of her life!  She was in a city where she didn’t know anyone, and she was single and ready to mingle.  At 36, she had decided it was time to start getting some of that “good good” she had only heard about or seen on HBO.  For years, she had been a ‘good girl’.  Church every Sunday…  No sex without a commitment, and then only in missionary position because her mother always said that “Doggie style is for dogs”.   Well, after years of being good and still being single, she decided to set out on a quest to answer one question:   “Was she too old to start hoeing?”

12 AM she was at the club…

There she is, out at the edge of the dance floor, looking like a soccer mom, trying too hard to blend in with the other girls.  They are twerking it for all they are worth (about $2.11) and dropping it to the floor like every man in there needed change.  Monica took in the booty gyrations and tried to imitate what she thought was happening.  Of course, having never done it before, she ended up doing something closer to the squats she had planned to do earlier at the gym.  However, she managed not to spill the Moscato in her ringless left hand – which was all Morris needed to see…

1 AM he was checking her out…

Monica searched the crowd to find a new dance move to copy and locked eyes with a FINE chocolate brother coming towards her!  All smiles, pretty white teeth, and the eyes of a wolf on the prowl.  Aha!  Just what she dreamed of catching…  Tonight she was going to find a ‘playa who knew how to play’! He stepped up behind her and leaned into her body…

“You are driving me crazy wit yo’ fine self and I just had to come over here and get close enough to touch you.  What’s your name?” He whispered to her with his lips close enough for her to feel his heat.  Her heart fluttered and she almost fell forward, but his grip on her hips stopped her before she embarrassed herself.  “Uhh…  Muh-Muh-Monica.  My name is Monica.”  She pulled herself together and attempted a flirty look over her shoulder.  “Nice to meet you” as she batted her eyes up at him.

“You too, gorgeous.” Morris began to undulate against her in time with the music.  He leaned down into her neck and inhaled. “Mmmm – Damn you smell good.  Who you here with, bae?”

“Nobody.  I mean –” She squared her shoulders and gathered her confidence.  “I’m grown.  I came here alone…”  Okay, here was the moment of truth! “…But I don’t plan to leave alone.”

OMG!  Did she just say that?  Was she insane? Who knew what type of crazy person he really was?!?  But he was OH SO fine, and she was determined to be a freak, just once in her life.  She followed up her bold statement by turning into him and grinding on his thigh.  Except she really looked crazy because she wasn’t touching him anywhere else.  Her hands were by her sides so her pelvis looked like it had been possessed by Miley Cyrus. (Poor little tink tink)…  Then again – Do you remember how you used to try to make Barbie and Ken hump when you were little, but they were too stiff to do it right?  So, you ended up just bending them forwards and backwards at the waist?  That’s what she really looked like she was doing.

Now Morris was that dude who could spot easy prey from a block away.  He’d seen her come in looking like Bambi on ice over an hour ago.  He’d spent his time wisely, checking her out to see how best to get her home with him.  He decided to go for the direct approach and see how far he could push it before he got slapped.  He started with a caress to the backside… which earned him a smile.  How about a brush against her breast?  She backed off, but then came back in and moved his hand across her breast and down to the small of her back…  Apparently, little honey had something to prove!  Perfect!  Morris went in for the kill.  He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around, bent her over and banged his hips into her, nearly knocking her off balance.  Now, any woman who put up with that blatant disrespect on the dance floor clearly was looking to get ‘got’.  What would Monica do?  He backed up a couple of paces just, in case she turned around swinging.  But she didn’t!  She just stood there waiting for him.  Damn – innocent AND obedient?  This was going to be a good night!

After another 20 minutes of awkward dancing and over-the-top suggestive pelvic thrusting, Morris decided to close the deal.  He led her to the bar to buy her another Moscato before whispering seductively in her ear, “Come home with me.  You’re too sexy not to be made love to until your toes curl, gurl.” He stepped into her space, dominating her with his presence.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and looked hungrily into his eyes. He gave her the soulful sleepy eyes that got ‘em every time.  “Monica, I gotta have you.”  She hesitated for a minute and then nodded…

2 AM they were at his house…

Monica couldn’t believe this was happening. He was so perfect! And man, could he kiss!  His hands were everywhere and before she knew what was happening, her bra was on the floor.  Wait? How did he get her top off?  When did that happen?  Where did her skirt go? Morris walked her backwards until she bumped against the bed.  She fell onto it, and he fell on top of her.  He continued kissing and rubbing her in all the right places.  Then he started licking a trail from her breast to her navel and lower…and lower… Oh Lord!  No!  No!  She hadn’t had a shower!  And she’d been dancing all night!  No, he couldn’t – but he did!!  A gasp of terror and delight left her lips, and he used her distraction to wrap his arms around her thighs and settle in for a late night snack.  By this time, her eyes were closed, and she was thrashing back and forth in his bed. She could feel his tongue doing sinful things down there to her.  His hands were kneading her behind, and his teeth were teasing her nipple… Wait a minute.  Tongue down there… Teeth… up here…


3 AM he was freaking her out…

Monica opened her eyes to see another man standing over her, sucking her nipple and stroking himself.  Who the hell was he!?!  She started screaming!

Morris jumped up and covered her mouth.  “Shh.  Shh, it’s okay bae.  This is Terrence, and he just wants to make you feel good too.  Right, T?”  He turned to give his buddy a lascivious grin.

“Oh yeah, two heads are better than one, baby girl.” Terrence stepped closer to her and attempted to grab her breast.  She slapped his hand away.

“Get the fuck away from me!  I don’t even know you!”  Monica tried to muster up some righteous indignation, while sitting on this stranger’s bed butt nekkid.

Morris moved his hand between her legs and began stroking her clit again. “T’s cool.  It’s all cool girl.  You said you wanted to be crazy for one night. Well, why not go all the way?” It felt too good to stop him.  “Why have a regular one night stand when you can have a one night threesome? It will blow your mind.  Are you sure you want to stop?”  Morris kept up the assault on her senses.  He started kissing her again and pressed her back into the bed.  Terrence was standing there, watching.  Monica had a moment of indecision…  Should she just ‘roll with it’? Is this what everybody was doing?  Terrence approached the bed, and then the sensation of having both of her nipples sucked at the same time was more than she could resist.  Maybe this is what they were talking about in that Fifty Shades book.  She closed her eyes and let it happen.  A palm cupping her behind…  A tongue licking her navel…  Teeth grazing her hip…  Gentle suction on her clit…

A penis poking at her mouth…

“Uh-uh. Hell no!”  Monica started wind milling her arms and flailing her legs in an effort to beat both men back away from her.  “I’m out of here!!!” She jumped up and grabbed her skirt and heels.  She could hear Morris calling “Monica, wait!”  Where was her bra?  To hell with it!  She grabbed her top and purse, and sprinted for the front door.  She slammed it shut just as Morris and Terrence caught up to her.

4 AM she was outta the house…

She tried to dress while searching for the way back to the elevator.  Morris came into the hallway and tried to coax her back inside his apartment.  “Come back bae.  Let’s finish what we started.”  She’d made it to the elevator and franticaly pushed the button.  As she buttoned up her top, she turned to yell at him, “I don’t even know whose penis that was!”  The elevator doors started to close as she backed into it – only an arm came out of nowhere to hold them open.  It was then that she realized that an older couple was waiting to get past her so they could get out.  The wife gave her a disparaging look as she passed.  She heard the holier-than-thou “hmph” from her as she passed.  The same sound she used to make as she passed judgment on other hussies.  She slumped down against the wall in shame…

Standing outside of his building and looking up at his floor while waiting for a cab, she thought she saw a couple of shadows behind the curtains from other apartments.  She could only imagine what they were thinking.  Apparently, her commotion had awakened half of his floor.  They were probably laughing at her and saying “Look at THAT HOE OVER THERE (THOT) that Morris had tonight!”   Great, just what Monica needed – to be labeled a whore with nothing to show for her whoring efforts.  She hobbled down the street to a corner and prayed the Uber guy really was only 2 minutes away!

Question answered:  YES.  Yes, you are too old to start hoeing.

Joy’s Rant Volume 46 done, and I’m out!

Stay Tuned for Sex Packets, Part 2: Sex Selfies